Tol-in-Gaurhoth LXIII: The Cottage of Lost Play

[Mnemosyne]

The envelope had no return address. It was written in a simple, elegant hand: black ink on ivory paper. And Feanor of the Peredhil had no idea how it had gotten to her.

For one thing, it was addressed to her Barrow-Downs name, a product of an adolescent mind who thought that “grandiose” meant adding “of the _________” to everything. And while she knew it wasn’t terribly difficult for people to find her on Facebook, it was still kind of creepy getting an unsolicited letter from someone on the internet. Hoping that whatever was inside would give some clue as to who sent it, she opened the envelope

* * *

and found an invitation. At first Eönwë thought it was to a Downer wedding and was inordinately pleased that he had received one (even though he almost certainly wouldn’t be able to attend it), but there weren’t any names he recognized.

It read,

* * *

You are cordially invited to a formal dinner at the Cottage of Lost Play. As a member of one of the foremost Tolkien discussion boards on the internet, it is hoped that you will have a particular appreciation for this one fan’s homage to the world he created. All expenses will be paid for; should you choose to accept, a private jet will be awaiting you at the nearest airport on Saturday 18 July. Guests will be accommodated overnight.

Attire is to be formal.

I hope that you are able to attend.

Very sincerely yours,
M.

How very James Bond, thought Pitchwife as he folded up the note. It looked too good to be true. Going over to his computer (one of the few things unpacked in this mess) he did a quick search on this “cottage of lost play.” But the only things that came up were to be expected: A few Tolkien wiki articles, something from SecondLife, generic fandom. Nothing that pointed to a specific location.

He couldn’t quite shake the odd feeling in his gut, but it wouldn’t hurt

* * *

to see if anything came of the invitation. After all, what was the chance of a private jet just for him showing up in the middle of nowhere, Oklahoma? If whoever was doing this thing thought that Shastanis Althreduin would drive all the way to somewhere with an actual airport, they’d have to be out of their mind. And dress up for something no one had ever heard of. It was probably some stupid scam.

* * *

“Or,” said Nessa Telrunya, “it could be the chance of a lifetime! Why would a scammer spend that much money on a plane? And I’ve been itching to wear that dress…”

“All right,” said her father. “But don’t say we didn’t warn you. And keep your phone on and let us know what’s going on.”

* * *

“Of course,” said autume98. “You’re probably just jealous you didn’t get invited yourself.”

“Mnemo would say it’s because I haven’t read the books,” said sally, sticking out her tongue. “But you just joined! How would they know anything like that?”

“I dunno, but a free flight to somewhere weird

* * *

might be just what I need,” said Nogrod. “This house has been getting rather boring of late. And if other people are taking up the invitation, well, maybe I’ll get to see some members I haven’t had the pleasure of seeing before. I wonder where this Cottage place is, for it’s certainly not going to be

* * *

in the Midwest,” Boromir88 grumbled. “About the only good thing Tolkien we have here is some of the manuscripts. And that is not Ohio. Now, what to wear?”

* * *

“Black,” declared McCaber, in a rather unoriginal move. After all, black went with everything. Everything black, that is. He pulled a few more articles of clothing into his suitcase, threw on his overcoat and wide-brimmed hat, and loaded everything into his car. It was time to see if this invitation was good on its promise of a free flight.

* * *

Nerwen was impressed. Not only was the small plane well-apportioned; she didn’t even have to go through security. Which meant that there were no problems with camera film being x-rayed, no lithium batteries to be restricted to different parts of the plane, and no one giving her funny looks as if professional equipment equaled nefarious intent. Not that anyone would even be interested in a place like this…

She tried her best to make herself comfortable in her seat. It was sure to be a long flight. She pulled out a book and began

* * *

to pour herself a glass of red. It wasn’t the cheap airplane kind, either. Whoever was behind this, Lalaith mused, had a considerable amount of money.

And considerable taste, too, she decided after a sip. Perhaps this would be an enjoyable

* * *

flight after all, thought Inziladun as he drifted into sleep.

When he awoke the plane was already descending. He checked his watch; the flight must have been about six hours long. When it touched down there was a towncar waiting for him. The airport was small, in a place that must have taken some considerable landscaping to level out among the hills. But other than that he could not say where it was. The driver of the cab did not speak. And as they drove off the farms nearby grew

* * *

less and less, until the car drew to a stop and the driver opened the door for her. Rikae looked out—it seemed to be midmorning, but she was tired as if it were the dead of night. A glossy carriage pulled up, drawn by four black horses. The door opened and a white-gloved hand reached down to her. Since she seemed to have no other choice she took hold of it, and stepped inside. They turned up a winding cobblestone road and rode for a good ten or fifteen minutes. The stones gave way to dirt, and trees began to crop up until she got the impression that they were driving through a forest, ancient and mighty.

In a burst of sunlight they crested a hill, and the trees ended abruptly. A footman came to open the door and help her down. Peering out the window, Rikae saw before her

The Cottage of Lost Play

being an interactive tale of a macabre nature, consisting of eight acts encompassing eight days, featuring

Nessa Telrunya
Inziladun
Shastanis Athreduin
Pitchwife
McCaber
Nogrod
autume98
Boromir88
Lalaith
Nerwen
Rikae
Feanor of the Peredhil
Eönwë

and the narrative and modly talents of Mnemosyne and satansaloser2005,

with love and respect for
J.R.R. Tolkien
Ray Bradbury
Patrick McGoohan
and
The Barrow-Wight Himself,
without any of whom this would be quite impossible.

NIGHT ONE begins at 19:00 GMT, Sunday 19 July 2009.



Ignorance is fatal.