Rollin' with the Gnomies

Barnacle Winterbottom scratched his red-bearded chin as he and the cat sat amongst the dense summer leaves of the oak. ‘Scritch, scritch…’ His thick red brows a fat caterpillar low over hooded blue eyes. “Lightfoot my friend, we’ve got work to do.”

The big striped tabby was lighter in color than Barny’s beard and thrice as large as the gnome. Lightfoot's pale green eyes were locked on the dog.

“Don’t worry my friend, we’ll be rid of the dog in no time,”

Lightfoot’s ear twitched, the cat’s white whiskers splayed forward as if tasting the dog’s scent with them.

The old Victorian home was a masterpiece of gothic-ness. Three stories, four if you included the basement, with gabled dormers upstairs, a large bay window downstairs, and a circular turret housing the attic. All adorned with black iron peak ornaments, fish-scale shingles, and carved panels in matching shades of charcoal, black, and cream. In the attic window, a pale face peered out from an inch wide space between the curtains in the attic window’s frame.

***

Sitting at my desk by my window, I spied the wee man in the oak tree. Sitting by my cat. Both their attentions were upon the new arrivals in the driveway. My cousin and her husband, their children, and a scruffy grey terrier mutt.

I’d always wanted a dog, but my aunt wouldn’t allow it. She had had one when I had come to live with her. Then it was gone in a terrible way. When my aunt finally emerged from her bedroom three days later, I had followed her downstairs and into the kitchen. I had asked about Twinkie. She had turned and I knew I shouldn’t have asked. Her normally perfectly coifed hair was tangled and limp and dull grey. Her face nearly the same shade, the wrinkles twice as deep as they had been, and her puffy eyes red as stoplights.

She said quietly, “I don’t want to think about it. Never ask again.”

So, I didn’t. And I did have my cat. Although…I didn’t really trust Lightfoot after that. I had a feeling those little people were somewhat devious creatures. ‘Paranoia? Hahaha. The least of my problems. Besides, I really didn’t trust anyone. The pair were gone from the tree; I was about to turn around but froze as the voice behind me said, “You can trust me.”

I sat at my desk but didn’t turn around. I wasn’t scared of the wee folk. But I was scared I was losing my mind. When I was ten, the voice of my invisible friend had been a great comfort. Now not so much.

“I’m your friend, Adrianna,” said the familiar voice---soft, feminine, pleasantly lilting.

I took the hatpin I’d ‘borrowed’ from my great aunt’s fancy feathered fascinator and plunged it deep into the flesh between my thumb and forefinger. I pushed until the point stretched the skin …then broke through. I raised my skewered hand to eye level; the pain was intense. Good. The voice was gone.

I thought about going down to see my distant relatives. My great aunt’s granddaughter, Lenore, was 36, Stan, a little bit older than that, Marcie was three and Jimmy was ten. But I was in old grubby grey sweats and a pink flowered pajama tunic, and that was ironic, because I hardly ever slept. I sniffed my pits. ‘Peeyou.’ Plus, my hand was bleeding. I didn’t really care what they thought of me because I really, really, didn’t want them here at all. My aunt thought having them live here would be good for me. I loved her dearly, but she clearly did not know me at all.

Stan had lost his job, they lost their house, Auntie May was loaded and a sucker for a sob story. They’d convinced her they’d treat me like a daughter. They were lying.

I put on a clean hoodie. Down the hall was a closet with old winter coats and scarves hung in its shadowed depths. I pushed the clothing aside and slid back the wooden panel in the back, revealing a narrow staircase. The stairs led down to the mudroom next to the kitchen, where the closet there kept the adjoining secret. I heard voices in the kitchen, peeked out and saw Auntie May glance towards the mudroom.

“Isn’t Addy coming down?” Lenore asked. “Her cousins were hoping she’d show them around the place.”

I hated that name. Auntie May shrugged and said, “She’s probably off in the woods. She’s an elusive one to be sure. Come on, I’ll show you your rooms.”

I peeked out when I heard footsteps shuffling away from kitchen then ascending the stairs. Auntie’s heavy breathing was alarming; sounded like she had lungs made of cornhusks and reeds in her throat. I wished she’d take the guest room downstairs, but it seems I get my stubborn streak from her.

I took off out the door, ducked around the back of the house and then around the corner. Only the frosted bathroom windows on the second and third floors, as well as my own high above, faced this direction. Next to the vegetable garden was Twinkie’s grave. As usual, there were fresh flowers on it, today, daisies and dogwoods…and cat poo. With a stick, I flicked the poop into a nearby bush. Lightfoot, sitting by a baby pumpkin, nonchalantly licked a paw and preened a smug orange face.

I said, “That’s not very nice. Can’t you just be content that he’s gone?” Lightfoot looked at me, green eyes wide with artificial incomprehension. “And aren’t cats supposed to bury their poop?”

I heard voices in the garden around the corner and took off for the woods beyond the property. I’d brought a backpack with me, full of paper and colored pencils, erasers, and a sharpener.

***

In the burrow in the oak, Barnacle Winterbottom addressed a group of eighteen gnomes. “Okay fellow gnomes…”

“Ya mon! Rollin wi’ da Gnomies…”

“Jamar. You may tan really well, but there are no such things as black gnomes. So quit it.”

Jamar, in bright yellow and green with a red pointed hat, was unfazed. “Ja mon, I be da first.”

Barny put his face in his hand and sighed.

Josie Pussywillow was perky with bright red cheeks and a fluffy bulbous white hat like a seeded dandelion. “We saw the newcomer-humans…and dog” She licked her lips and several others in the crowd did the same. “Do we get to scare the children this time?”

“I have a plan,” said Barny while twisting his long mustache. “Jasper, what have I taught you about children?”

A rotund gnome in cobalt blue, with a long-pointed white beard, said, “No one believes them!”

The crowd roared with laughter. A voice in the back cried out, “Children are sooo yummy!”

Then Barny raised his hand, nodding, and said, “We pushed the old woman to the brink with the dog. She’s on the edge. One more little push ought to do it.”

More cheering until the burrow darkened. The gnomes went, “Oooooooo.”

Lightfoot peeked his head into the burrow. Barny nodded. The cat left. “Okay Gnomefolk, game on.”

“Ja mon! Rollin wi’da Gnomies!”

***

I watched Lightfoot leap from the oak tree. The gnomes filed out of the burrow, under the cover of dusk, their bright clothes turned to shades of grey as they blended into the gloom. They were like rippling smoke as they raced to the house and ducked out of sight. I was not afraid of them…I kept telling myself.

”Nor should you be. I’ve got your back. You can trust me.” The ten-year-old me’s invisible friend crooned, now just my insanity. I reached for the hatpin.

After supper, they all went to their rooms early, eager to unpack and get settled, and exhausted from a day of travel. As Lenore and Stan drifted off to dreamland…a furious high-pitched barking roused them, then a scream! “Wha?”

“I’ve got this hon,” Stan said as he rushed out and down the hall to May’s room.

“Twinkie! He was here!”

“May, shhhh, it was just a dream---”

“No! He’s haunting me. Oh Stan. You didn’t see his m-mangled c-c-corpse. Bloody…no eyes…”

“That’s enough now, shhhh. Just a dream.”

Lenore came in and relieved her husband who went out to check on the kids. Jimmy’s room was closest, as Stan stepped in Jimmy said, “Dad. What was that? Why did Gramma scream? Was it the little people?”

` “Wha---? No. She had a bad dream.”

Marcie toddled into the room on her chubby legs and announced, “Oling m-m-mi nomies!” She clapped her pudgy hands and Stan ignored her.

“Sounded like she was being stabbed or something,” said Jimmy.

“Stop scaring your sister. Go back to sleep.” Marcie didn’t look scared and giggled as Stan whisked her up and left his son’s room.

Jimmy curled into the fetal and stared at the closet door which had slowly swung open as his father left. A shadow slunk out and posed in the moonlight. It was a little person. It disappeared like a puff of dusty air; Jimmy stifled a scream with his pillow when Peter the terrier hopped back up to the bed.

Lightfoot slunk out from under the bed and Peter took off after the striped rascal, barking the house to full alert once more.

The next morning at the breakfast table, the family was silent as Lenore served them omelets and crumpets.

I watched from the mudroom closet door. Jimmy looked awful, he obviously hadn’t slept. Stan looked nearly as drained and Lenore’s hand holding the spatula quivered. Marcie was in high spirits.

‘Ah, to be so young and oblivious again,’ I thought. Auntie May was still in bed. Lightfoot sat under the table and…seemed to wink at me. I waited until the family had gone upstairs to get dressed: Jimmy for school, Marcie and Lenore for an outing to the mall, and Stan for another job interview. I brought Auntie a plate of breakfast. She looked good. Pink blushed her cheeks and her breathing wasn’t so audible.

She said, “I’m so sorry for causing all that ruckus last night.”

“Oh Auntie, it wasn’t your fault.” I held off mentioning the gnomes, and my imaginary friend. “If you see anything like you did last night…again…just believe it’s not real. Isn’t that what you used to tell me?”

She patted my hand, smiled, and drifted off to much needed sleep.

As the family came home, I made them feel welcome and happy by donning an apron and cooking them supper. Fettuccini Alfredo with garlic prawns and asparagus. I’d even made pudding and whipped cream parfaits for dessert. They were visibly relaxing, and the presence of me in a foofy pink apron made them feel I had been being just a typical moody teenager upon their arrival.

In my room later that night, Lightfoot cuddled with me until I fell asleep.

I awoke to the sound of a scream. High pitched enough to shatter glass like only little girl lungs can produce. I felt a pang of sadness; she was an innocent in all of this drama. I crept downstairs from my attic room and listened.

“Peter!” she cried. “Wittle men…”

Stan looked around but had no idea what she was talking about.

Then a scream from the end of the hall snagged his attention like a trout caught on an invisible line. Lenore!

He picked up Marcie and took her to Jimmy’s room. “Just calm her. Stay here, I’ll be right back.”

“Lenore!” he called out.

“In here!”

He went to her grandmother’s room and staggered in the doorway. The cream chenille bedspread was covered in blood.

Peter lay on the spread…or what was left of him. It looked like the pup had exploded. His chest was clawed open. A gory black hole gaped from where his heart used to beat. His head rested upon May’s chest, eyeless. Lenore was bent over vomiting next to the bed. May was a horrific marble statue, her lifeless eyes wide, her mouth a hideous scream.

“Nomies!” cried Marcie from the doorway.

Jimmy scooped her up and carried her away. Stan was torn between his wife and his children. He knew Lenore never liked her grandmother, so he went after his children.

“Dad! It’s little people! Evil little fuckers…”

“Jimmy! Now stop that! And Language!”

“And that damn cat!”

“That is ENOUGH!” Stan roared, desperate to gain control. “Hold your sister. I’m going down to make you some warm milk…with chocolate in it. Would you like that son?”

Jimmy, dazed, said, “Sure Dad.”

The children had been trained, with discipline, to put their toys away when done with them. That’s why the look on his face when he hit the bottom of the stairs was one of wonderment, his mouth an O. The yellow Tonka truck he’d stepped onto at the top of the stairs was lying next to his glassy eyes.

I lay back into my pillow with tears blinding my vision. Poor Autie May.

But I was glad Stan was dead. Maybe the rest would leave now.

***

Down under the oak, the meeting hall was softly lit by lanterns fueled by yellow tallow candles. The musicians played spritely tunes of celebration---reeds toodling, strings thrumming, and a variety of drums from bongos to bass, kept the beat. Wine and mead flowed freely, fueling the fires of the celebratory night. It was a tad too soon to revel. But what the heck, the wee folk had been waiting for so long. ‘Let them revel,’ Barny thought. ‘We are nearly there. Let them dance and revel…at last.’

Lightfoot lounged on a branch outside the burrow, purring, and gnawing on dog liver.

***

The next morning, Jimmy pleaded with his father, “Please! It’s the little people! They’re going to kill us all…”

Lenore, dressed all in black, said, “Jimmy. Stop. She was old, Stan had an accident…” She narrowed her eyes as she said this. It had been Jimmy’s truck. “I dunno bout the dog…probably a raccoon…or…or rats.”

Jimmy shook his head and screamed in frustration. No one listened to children. The screaming went on and on. For hours. Lenore had no choice but to send him away to an institution. He hadn’t been Stan’s child anyways.

Lenore coddled Marcie as she babbled about wee folk and her new best friend. Lenore laughed and told her, “I had an invisible friend too when I was your age.” They were bonding. So sweet. ‘Gag’ As I slunk away from the doorway of her bedroom, Lenore added, giggling, “Josie Pussywillow. What a quaint imagination you have.”

My voice had been silent. And my cat off on ‘missions du sottises’. Typical cat. A dog would have stayed by my side through thick and thin. Cats…they were like, “meh.”

Later that afternoon, Lenore was outside putting clothes on the line. We had a dryer but the clothes with sleeves or legs would get shrunk, also the fresh outside air made our clothes smell wonderful, like wearing springtime clouds pregnant with rain. It was old-school like my aunt. I almost liked Lenore for the tradition. But I knew she was a vulture just wanting the whole pigeon pie. For her to have it I had to die because everything had been left to me.

There was only one thing that would drive her away.

Marcie’s nightlight dimmed as the small figure streaked past it. She gasped. She’d been awakened by Josie’s wee squeaky voice. “Don’t be afraid. We’re your friends. Look what the cat dragged in, Marcie.”

Josie summer-saulted across the pinewood floor through the orangey light like a tumbleweed under the bed, then popped up onto the bed, displaying a big yellow zinnia flower. Marcie clapped with delight. Everyone had told her they weren’t real …but the chocolate candie the doll-like little person pulled from the center of the flower, was real. It was silky smooth and melted in her mouth like cream.

The little person put a finger to her lips ‘shhh,’ and pointed to the floor where a line of chocolates beckoned Marcie to follow them. She did. The candies led into the closet.

I heard Lenore screaming the next morning and sat up in bed, my chest filled with frozen icy dread while my veins ran with molten lava anticipation.

The voice said, “It is done. Go back to sleep.” Though I saw no one, I felt a warm hand brush my cheek and my eyes droop closed. The last thing I felt was my hand being pried open. The hatpin dropped to the floor.

Lenore was gone the next morning. All that remained of Marcie was a large pool of blood in her closet. The house should have been silent…but was not. Pots banged and cutlery clanged…the kitchen was a storming cacophony of singing, laughing revelry! Upon the table were mountains of pancakes, bacon, bowls of berries in cream

…then

…as one they froze and swiveled their heads to me. There seemed to be about twenty of them. They all grinned at me. Their teeth were pointy. Then they ran at me like a great mass of chittering, slithering rats!

Their tiny feet pattered down the hallway behind me! I felt tugs at the hem of my jeans and heard squeals of triumph. I flung my door open…and the voices hushed. Tiny hands let go of my clothing and the ‘rats’ plopped to the floor. They were backing away from me…

,,,but not from me…

Lightfoot was so puffed up she filled the doorway---ears flattened, long white teeth bared in a rictus snarl. The empty hall was quiet. Lightfoot’s ears perked forward. She said, “I hear them hiding. What fun this is going to be!” As she stalked down the hallway she said, “I kept telling you to trust me.”