Invasion of the Garden Gnomes

“It’s an invasion,” Ryan James screamed, flicking on the deck lights in the backyard. There were hundreds of them. Thousands. Little porcelain gnomes no bigger than subway rats. Red and green caps. Beady black eyes. Fluffy white beards. Some with wheelbarrows, some with miniature flowerpots, some with small axes or shears. Dotting the lawn like a swarm of locusts.

Ryan James cracked the sliding glass door and grabbed his Red Ryder wood grain BB gun and dropped to the floor in a prone position. A .174 ball bearing cracked the quiet suburban night like the bounce of a pogo stick and then shattered the head of a porcelain gnome with a booming tthhhwwaapppp—crack sound. “Got one,” he said. Then reloading, he fired again. And again. Two gnomes exploded. One ball bearing crashed into the landscaping mound in front of the Azalea bushes.

Megan came rushing into the kitchen. “What is all this racket?” Megan said.

“It’s an invasion!” Ryan chuckled. “But don’t worry, I’ve got them under heavy fire.” Ryan said.

“What in the bejezus are you talking about? Get up off of there. You’ll get your clothes dirty. You aren’t getting into our bed with those until you’ve changed.” Megan said.

“Hunny, I think you might want to look outside,” Ryan James said.

“Holy Mother of bleep,” Megan said.

“Mother of bleep is right,” Ryan James agreed.

Ryan James was a frat boy. He would always be a frat boy. He wore it on his person the way he wore his former College Baseball days on his person, like a uniform. Standing in the kitchen in his boxer briefs and Sponge Bob tee shirt, you could see him dropping into an athletic stance with glove out, ready for the ball.

Megan was a sorority girl—once—a long time ago—but that was over now. She wore it on her person the way she wore her job as a third-grade teacher on her person, like a name badge with a merit badge for crafting inscribed underneath. Standing hands on hips, barking at Ryan, she commanded a sense of authority over little people, and you could see her yelling to the class to line up before recess, glowering like a benevolent taskmaster—the kind whose orders she once ignored—at attention and ready to reign in any unruly kid who was fooling around like the snap of a whip. Who knows, maybe it worked on garden gnomes as well?

They convened at the kitchen island and Ryan poured himself a healthy nip of Macallan Scotch, and for Megs about two pours of Pinot Noir—a solid half bottle pour.

“What we are dealing with here is a full-scale garden gnome invasion. There have to be a thousand of them out there all wearing Smurf caps and grinning evilly like demented satyrs,” Ryan said, taking a healthy swig of Scotch.

“But what could they possibly want?” Megan said.

“Want? Want! Who cares what they f**king want for f**k’s sakes. You are starting with a very bizarre assumption that these are sentient beings Meg. That’s a very bizarre thing to be assuming, don’t you think,” James said.

“I guess there are only two possibilities. Either they are sentient beings, or they are man-made, right?” Megan said.

“Wrong. There are a whole host of other terrible and horrifying possibilities. Aliens, for one. How ‘bout that. They could be aliens. They could be demons. Demons are real, right. At least as real as f**king sentient garden gnomes for f**k’s sake! They could be robots. Then we have some lovely combinations, alien robots. Alien robot demons. Demon alien robots—which is worse—much worse. The possibilities are endless Megs! This is some Alfred f**king Hitchcock shit we are dealing with right now, dear.”

“I don’t think they’re aliens. Aliens that happen to look like something from human folklore? That’s a hard no. Robots is a possibility, for sure. I can buy robots. Maybe even demons. But aliens are most definitely out,” Megan said.

“Oh. Babe. I’m sorry. My mistake. I didn’t know you were such an expert on murderous six-inch tall garden ornaments. Did you get a degree in that along with your master’s in children’s studies?” Ryan James said.

“Do you want to go recover the body of one of the one’s you killed,” Megan asked, nonchalantly.

“Recover the body? Do you hear yourself. You want your dear old husband to go out into a viper pit of man-eating terracotta assassins so we can see what makes it tic? Are you loopey?” Ryan James said.

“I’m kind of freaking out here Ryan. Why is this happening?” Megan asked.

“Gnomes, trolls, fairies, f**king elves, and ogres—this Hobbit sh*t is not my area babe—I have no f**king idea what in the world we are dealing with, and it is kind of freaking me out too, babe,” Ryan James said.

“I’m going to go out on a limb here and say we go to bed and see if they are still here in the morning. They aren’t trying to get in. I think we are safe at least, whatever is going on. At least in the daylight we’ll have a better chance to figure this out,” Meg concluded.

“Ok, babe. Sure. Sleep tight. Gonna be a lovely f**king evening. Let’s finish this bottle and head up. Babe, grab my gun please.”

Lying in bed, Ryan James said, “so we are those people.”

“What people, babe,” Megan said, yawning.

“The ones who grab some shut eye in the middle of a full on garden gnome invasion. Those people,” Ryan James said, rolling over and fluffing his pillow.

Ryan James slept. It was a light sleep. One arm was cradling his Red Ryder, which was propped against the nightstand. In his dream Poppa Smurf was staging an offensive against a Barbarian Hord of Garden Gnomes all dressed in primitive leather smocks. The Smurfs were taking heavy casualties.

* * *

Meg brought Ryan James a cup of coffee, extra cream, extra sugar, just the way he liked it. Ryan James shot up in bed like a missile. “Are they still there,” he said, clutching the comforter like a little kid.

“No hunny bunny. They are all gone,” Meg said.

“Even the one ‘Lampy’ we installed by the Azaleas, the one that was there before the invasion?” Ryan James asked.

“Yeah, him too,” Meg confirmed. And then added, “but the fragments are still there in the yard from the two you shot…”

Ryan James bolted out of bed like a lightning bolt. Meg sat on the bed and drank her coffee while she watched in amusement as her husband collected the remains of the felled garden gnomes in a brown paper bag. Minutes later he reappeared in the doorway, looking earnestly at her.

“No internal organs. No gearworks. This is getting spooky,” he said.

* * *

Ryan James’s first stop was at the Spottswood Lawn and Garden Center.

Bob was behind the counter with the same overalls he always wore, and he was doing a fairly good job of spilling over and out of them. Whatever this guy was eating on a regular basis, he was not on Weight Watchers, that was for damned sure. His baby-thin blonde hair crowned his head like a patch of turf. He was reading the news from an actual newspaper with a shit-eating grin on his face. What was he so amused about?

“Hey Bob, anything unusual going on?” Ryan James asked, giving Bob some topsoil to ring up that Ryan James didn’t need, as a peace offering.

“Like what, the Cougars actually winning a game. No such luck buddy boy,” Bob said with a shrug.

“Has there been a run on garden gnomes by any chance?” Ryan James asked.

“This time of year, with everyone focused on back-to-school planning, we haven’t sold a one.” Bob said, and before he had a chance to turn the page of the Sports Section, Ryan James was out the door. Things were getting serious. It was time to get supplies and hunker down for a last stand against these bastards.

Ryan James stopped at Target to pick-up a pair of green camo JStoon Night Vision Digital Goggles in the electronics aisle. He also picked-up some Arcuturs Combat Camo face paint in cosmetics. Next stop was Walmart for some cheap flares. Then Ace Hardware, where Ryan James picked up some high lumen flashlights.

Next stop was the M*A*S*H Army & Navy Store. Tactical Camo Field Jacket.  Check. Field Medical Kit. Check. Waxed Canvas Shoulder Duffle. Check. Smoke grenades, flash bangs, box of F-1 hand grenades. Check and check.

Ryan James pulled into the driveway with his duffle bag full of supplies. He walked around back and inspected the backyard. Come nightfall he was going to be ready for these sons of bitches.

* * *

In the game room in the basement, Ryan James had created a Crime Board called “Gnome Invasion.” At the top was a hand drawn photo of the de facto leader “Lampy.” He was a very old and wrinkled gnome wearing red overalls and carrying an old-fashioned oil lantern. Down to the left was his muscle, who had an alias of El Capitano, a wily gnome with a green and white lumberjack flannel and a Forster heavy felling axe, hedge clippers at his waist, who he was naming “Jack the Clipper.” To his right, wearing an orange jacket, was “Bellpepper Burglar” who was named that because he had a garden weasel gardening claw and Ferry Morse gray clawed gardening gloves, and because he was spotted by Meg’s pepper plants.

Below those were “Bimble” a blue gnome with a wheelbarrow, and “Half-Pint” a brown frocked gnome who had a barrel of ale in tow. These two had Xs through them and R.I.P. written above. They had bit it. And bit it hard.

All of the usual suspects were fastened to the thumbtack board, and little red ropes hung between the thumbtacks. Yellow post-it notes were added as Ryan James came up with ideas. There was a time: “10:36 p.m.” There was a place: “back yard only.” There was a placeholder: “motive?” The plot was still developing.

“What are you doing down there, honey,” Megan yelled down the basement stairs.

“Tactical planning,” Ryan James shouted back. He heard her feet on the stairs.

“What is this?” Megan asked.

“We need to know the enemy Megs. It is the only way to win this war,” Ryan said.

“War?” Megs said.

“That’s right Megs. War. They brought the fight to our backyard. Now it is time to lay the smackdown on these turf monkeys. We’re gonna send those mulch sniffers home in body bags,” Ryan James said.

“What is that on your face?” Megs asked.

“War paint Megs. Haven’t you ever seen Commando?” Ryan James asked.

* * *

“FRAG OUT!” Do What? “Hit the floor, Megs.” The flash bang went off—BANNGGG—and a curl of smoke went up over by the Azaleas. They were back. Hundreds of garden gnomes. Thousands even. Beards. Soulless eyes.  Overalls. Red and green and brown overalls. Garden tools. And they were on the move. Forming lines. Marching. Two-by-two. Two pick-axe toting bastards were climbing up the porch on the garden hose side, by the rain gutter, trying to breach. A handful of the red overalled ones were leopard crawling through Megan’s tomato patch, with balls on the ends of their Smurf hats giving away their position.

“They are trying to breach! We have to defend our position, Megs. Cover your ears!” Ryan James said. He tossed an F-1 grenade over by the Azaleas.  BOOOMmm. Turf went everywhere. It hit the sliding glass door. Some got in Meg’s hair. It was floating in the pool. Some shrapnel cut a hole in the yew bushes. 

There was a crater in the yard. Garden gnomes were falling in. They were unable to avoid the ditch, marching in such close quarters. There was a small stampede as the rear flanks were unable to stop and went over top of the gnomes pitching at the edge of the ditch. Served the little bastards right.

“We got a squad of the wheelbarrow pushers, Megs,” Ryan James said, “take that El Capitano!”

Ryan James peered around the corner, through the night vision goggles.  Ryan and Megs were holding a cover position by the laundry room door.  

Megan was in wedge formation picking off lamp-handlers one-at-a-time with the Red Ryder. But there were too many. 

For every one she hit, it seemed like three more appeared. Where the hell were these bastards coming from?

“Is knocking off a squad good,” Megan asked.

“Good! No it isn’t f**king good, Megs. Good would be if we took out a whole battalion. That would be good. These things are on the move Megs,” Ryan James said, lobbing another grenade over the Cherry laurel. BOOOMmm. Twigs scattered. Some vinyl siding splintered off the house. Dogs were barking in the neighbor’s yard.

“This is a first-class cluster f**k Megs—Lampy is on the move—we’ve got to chop off the head of this snake, Megs, for f**k’s sake! We are outnumbered. They are overtaking us” Ryan James said.

“Look over there,” Megan said, pointing.

“For the love of all things holy,” Ryan James said.

“It’sss…” Megan froze.

“For f**k’s sake,” Ryan James said, “they’ve got a Grimble Grumble.” He was twice the size of your average garden gnome. He wore a scarlet tunic. A blue green hood. And wielded a sling shot. The sling shot was filled with—slugs, cutworms, and small toads. And he was on the move. Slinging slugs as he went.

“Where did they get a Grimble Grumble?” Megan asked.

“Evil geniuses,” Ryan James said, shrugging. “Is there no end to this madness? Are there no lengths they won’t go to?”

“Kill them, babe. Every last one!” Megs said. “I’ll take out Grumble. Grumble is all mine.” And with that Megs executed a perfectly choreographed dive role, landed to her feet in a triple-threat pose, and pulled a long piece of duct tape from her son’s old Elmo backpack. She attached the torn end to a lamp post. And she ran all the way to the rail bar of the hot tub and fastened the other end. Now she just had to corral that bastard into her trap.

* * *

The doorbell had been ringing and ringing.

Ryan James and Megs scurried around the side of the house, on a little stone path, and looked out past the garage to the front door.

There was a patrol cruiser in the driveway. Two uniformed officers at the door. Drat. The neighbors must have called the police.

It was too late. The gnomes were everywhere. A whole squadron of pick-axe wielding gnomes had infiltrated the roof and were advancing down slope to the front door. As the two officers kept ringing and knocking, they dropped down and attacked the officers.

The officer named Pereira screamed, “Whattttt.” The officer named Simons drew his weapon and fired. But it was useless. They were bound and tied in an instant and the squadron of gnomes pulled them kicking and screaming into some bushes to do God Knows What to them.

“This is getting really bad,” Megan said.

“Is the insurance on the house still up to date,” Ryan James said.

“Yes, why?” Megan said.

“I think you know what we have to do here Megs. It’s them or us,” Ryan James said.

“You don’t mean…”

“… give them no quarter Megs… no defeat, no surrender,” Ryan James said.

“But our home,” Megan said.

“We can always get another home, babe,” Ryan James said.

“If it’s the only way, then, I mean… what choice do we have,” Megs asked.

* * *

The State Farm adjuster asked her again, “you have no idea what started the fire?”

“No… oh, my… no, nope,” Megan said.

“And sir, you can’t tell me, can you, what all of that porcelain and terracotta material in the yard was from, by any chance, could you?” the State Farm adjuster asked.

“Can’t really say, to be honest,” Ryan James said, lying.

“It is the strangest thing I’ve ever seen,” the State Farm adjuster said.