How I Spent My Summer Vacation

Chapter Four:  A Mighty Short Man?

 

June 21

Okay, perhaps when I was "praying" to my cursed house, I wasn't specific enough. Or the blasted thing has a really unfortunate sense of humor.

I've finished painting everything and hung the lovely drapes, thanks to Arwen, and now it was time for me to roll out those carpets I've inherited from various family members over the years. I've always been a fan of Persian rugs, and now I finally had someplace to show off all the ones I had that had been sitting in storage forever.

Anyhow, it was mid-afternoon yesterday when I got to the rugs in the living room. I knew I had to push back the couch, which is no small feat, really, when you're a one-woman moving company, so to speak. I probably should've waited to place the couch, but I needed somewhere to sit, and couldn't paint with the rugs down. So, I figured I'd start at one end, give that a heave-ho, and then catch up the other end later.

I pushed with all my might, hoping I wouldn't scrape my carefully polished hardwood floors, and managed to swing one side of the couch significantly away from where it had originally stood. And there, huddled in a fetal ball beneath it, lay a shivering and sniffling Frodo.

I rolled my eyes. *Okay, when I said 'man', I meant 'male more than three feet tall and not an elf'.*

I touched Frodo's shoulder, and he jumped up and ran cowering to the corner nearest the fireplace. "Get away!"

"I'm not gonna hurt you," I offered pointlessly. "You just fell through the cursed portal in my house. Odd--it's never been under the couch before."

He straightened up almost immediately. "Oh, just another portal to 21st Century Earth, then?"

I nodded.

"You don't have any teenaged daughters hiding about, do you?" His baby blue eyes were impossibly wide with terror at the very thought.

"What is it with you Middle Earth people?! Do I honestly look old enough to have a teenaged daughter?!"

Frodo promptly began to cry. I could see that this was going nowhere. I had absolutely no desire to comfort and console him. He had a look on his face that said, to my trained teacher's senses, "But Mr. Parker's classes have their paper due on *Monday*...." I didn't want another whiny teenager type on my hands. Besides, any attraction to this little fellow seemed too much like dating one of my students. I know he's really about 50, but I just can't get the whole kid-looking thing out of my head. Definitely not my taste. Stupid house.

"Why don't you just lie here under the couch until the portal comes in again?" I suggested helpfully. "I can move the couch back, and you'll be nice and safe there."

I have no idea how long he sat under there. All I know is that by the following evening--tonight--he was gone.

Lisa



 

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