Alive In The Garden

 It was five p.m. on a lovely summers day in England. While the sun peeped down through the trees Nancy was tending to her garden. It was not anything special but for her she found it a way to escape the rat race. However, on this particular weekend what was once an ordinary day in the garden, turned into something far more surprising and mystical than normal.

Our story begins while Nancy was talking to herself. You know, like when you get lost amongst your thoughts and find yourself saying them aloud. Well this was one of those moments. The only thing was Nancy came to a riddle which her friend left her without an answer too. For the next five-minuets she continued her mulch sifting below the hedges, racking her brain and mumbling the posed riddle under her breath, “What does a troll call his apartment?” Slowly getting closer to the corner of her garden, where she kept a little area filled with small objects and ornaments collected from over the years, again Nancy posed the question “What does a troll call his apartment.” This time the riddle was followed by a soft childish giggle. Immediately Nancy popped her head up over the top of the hedges. She expected to see a small child. But to her dismay all that lay ahead was her own mailbox and an empty pathway. “That's weird.” Nancy swore she heard someone giggle. At this point the night was drawing to a close, the sky was a beautiful haze of orange and the street lights clicked on. That was Nancy’s cue to take off her gloves and pack up her tools for the day, she would continue her mulch sifting tomorrow.

The evening passed and morning came. Fresh from a goods night sleep, Nancy made a cup of coffee and headed back out to her garden. It was Saturday and finally she had a weekend of pure serenity. The fiancé was out for the day tux shopping with his groomsmen, and they were yet to have any children or pets. So this meant pure one and one time with her very own paradise, the garden. Charlie, Nancy's fiancé, agreed to a home wedding. Nothing to grand but they both still wanted it to be as perfect as possible. This now gave Nancy not only a dead line but a purpose to really ramp up her gardening skills. Anyway back to our story. Sipping on her coffee she surveyed the land, taking notes on what needed to be done. “Hmmm, a little trim here and a dash of colour there.” The ideas were endless. Now heading over to the hedges and picking up from where she left off, she placed her coffee on the soft grass, slipped on her gloves and finally with trowel in hand was all set to get going on her mulch sifting. “AHA! The answer to what does a troll call his apartment is…”                                            “For gods sake woman, its gnome sweet gnome!” interrupted a voice from the corner.            “Ahh,” Nancy fell back knocking over her coffee and stared blankly ahead mouth wide open. Did a gnome just respond to my riddle? Surely not, it must have been the subconscious or something like that connecting the dots. Dusting herself off she now crouched in front of the gnome, blinking hard and waiting for a sign of life. Nothing happened. Though as she leaned in just a little bit closer to inspect, she jumped out of her skin once again. “Well, are you not going to thank me?”                           “Oh my days. How? Is this a practical joke?” Nancy grabbed the small critter and started prodding about for answers. “Hey put me down,” the gnome had a shrill annoying voice, much like a young Childs.                               “Amazing, it must be battery powered or remote controlled?”                                                                                   “I am no such thing missy, how dare you! Now put me down immediately.”                                                    Nancy ignoring his wishes continued her investigations, shaking the poor thing until he wailed. Realising it was your ordinary gnome, she placed him back where he came from between the toadstool and frog. At first Nancy thought this wedding planning must be getting her more stressed than originally thought. Followed by the picking up of her trowel and taking aim at the defenceless gnome.                 “No, no, no, please I beg you missy,” the gnome squealed just as Nancy was about to swing. “I will explain it all, you probably wont believe me, but I will tell you the truth.” It was incredible, Nancy put down her weapon. The gnome really was alive. His mouth moved in time with his words and his little arms had covered his face in an attempt to defend himself. The only thing the gnome was unable to do was move his legs. She needed to remember to ask him about that.                                                       “Alright then, you have one minuet to convince me I’m not insane or I smash you up into itty bitty pieces.”                       Panicked the gnome started to splutter, “um, ah okay, so the gist is missy, and to be frank any true gnome enthusiast would know this…,” Nancy shot the accusing gnome a look and leant for her trowel. Realising he was in no position of power he hurried along his spiel, “…that today, the twenty-first of June is international gnome day, and upon this day each year we are granted by the powers that be twenty four hours of breath, my twenty four hours started yesterday evening. So there you have it." The proud gnome finished his speech with a power pose, before dropping his head and adding “Please don’t turn me into dust missy.”        Uncertain of her mental state, Nancy took a quick look up and down her street. No one was around. “Okay then, say I believe you and I'm not going insane, how come no one has mentioned it before.”  The gnome let out a giggle, and Nancy remembered the previous evening. “You’re the one who giggled at me last night!”                                                                                                           “I’m afraid so missy, but to answer your question and I know its ironic considering we gnomes do tend to stick out, but we rather stick to the shadows and not be made spectacles of. So we simply freeze in front of any form of media to make our owner look crazy.” “That is so mean.” Nancy now having her turn to accuse the critter. The gnomes giggling statement turned serious, his piercing blue eyes shot through Nancy like daggers, “No what’s mean missy is acting like we don’t have feeling and laughing at us three-hundred and sixty-four days of the year. Then on the one day we have freedom you’re all up in our hats.”                                      “Woah, calm down little guy,” how Nancy was entertaining the current situation was beyond her, but she found herself intrigued and excited. Imagine if it wasn’t just gnomes, what if teddy bears and children’s dolls came to life too? Meanwhile the gnome was berating “missy” on referring to him as little, but she was paying no attention. All Nancy could think about was googling every international toy day she could think of, and without wasting another second she headed inside to do just that, forgetting all about her current encounter.

A few hours glued to the computer and pages of notes later, Nancy remembered her new friend out in the garden and had a list of questions for him to answer, one including his leg situation. Notes in hand and a fresh cup of coffee in the other, she made her way outside. It was another lovely evening, the sun was now passing behind the rooftops and the sky was a striking red. Across the garden Nancy yelled, “Hey, Mr gnome do you mind if I ask you a …” Nancy in her own world had not heard the car pull up behind her and was interrupted by her concerned fiancée, “Nancy? Who are you talking to?” In that moment right on time, the street lights clicked on and Nancy knew she would have to wait a whole year before her questions would be answered by the gnome. Oh well she thought, who knows, maybe my barbies will come alive tonight. In the meantime, Nancy would have to go back to focusing on her ordinary life tending to her garden in preparation for another day of magic in a different form.