Gnome Coming: A humorous paranormal novel (Freaky Florida Book 4)

by Ward Parker

  After she left, Matt turned to Missy and shook his head.

  “She’s quite a firecracker, isn’t she?” Missy said.

  “Yeah, and I’m worried about her involvement in this. I don’t mind seeing if there’s a story to report here, but I’m not going to be her tool for pursuing vigilante justice. I’ll need your help in handling her.”

  “I’m a little preoccupied at the moment,” Missy said. Her face showed the signs of stress.

  “Is anything wrong?”

  “I had a minor magick mishap. Something went wrong with a spell.”

  “Did anyone get hurt?”

  “Yes,” she said, rubbing her eyes. “Two people have died so far that I know of, though they appear to be accidental deaths.”

  “Wait, how did your spell cause them?”

  “Gnomes caused them. Garden gnomes.”

  Matt knew his open-mouthed, befuddled look wasn’t attractive.

  “My spell—actually it was a spell from Don Mateo—made my gnome become animated by a life-force of some sort. Maybe it’s possessed by an entity. In any event, this effect appears to be spreading to other garden gnomes, who are taking it out on their human owners.”

  “My God, that’s insane!”

  “Welcome to my world.”

  “Is there any way I can help?”

  “You have a police scanner. Let me know if you hear of any fatal accidents.”

  “I will,” Matt said. “Hey, are you free for dinner tonight?”

  “Matt, I’m sorry, but I can’t go out and enjoy myself when my garden gnome is running amok and people are dying.”

  There was always an obstacle in his slow-motion pursuit of Missy. But garden gnomes? Really?

  “I understand completely,” he said. “I would feel the same way if my garden gnome escaped.”

  “You have a garden gnome?”

  “No. And I never, ever will.”

  8

  Rowdy Crowd

  Freddie awoke to the faint sound of music and voices. The TV in her bedroom was off, so she must have left one on downstairs. She pulled on her robe and slippers and slowly made her way down the hallway, through the dining room and into the kitchen. The small TV in her breakfast nook that she watched while she ate her solitary meals was off. The rarely used one in the den was off as well.

  But the sounds continued. The music came from a fiddle and flute. Tiny, high-pitched voices sang and chattered and broke into roars of laughter.

  It sounded like it was coming from her backyard, but that made no sense. Maybe the party was in a boat anchored in the lake just off her property. If the people were actually in her yard, she’d have to call the police. She took a flashlight from the tool drawer.

  She walked through the family room with its walls covered with photos of children, grandchildren, and her late husband. French doors opened onto the pool patio where kids once ran (despite being told not to), and later their own children ran. Now, except during the holidays, no one ever enjoyed the beautiful pool and patio overlooking the lake. No one except for her and her gnomes.

  She turned on the patio lights and saw what was wrong instantly. The gnomes around the pool were missing. Anger burned in her stomach.

  When she opened the French doors, the noise from the party was louder. She could make out the music as some sort of traditional folk music, but nothing she recognized. And the voices—they weren’t speaking English. Their words had a vaguely European lilt to them.

  The noise came from below, where the lawn sloped down to the lake. The property didn’t have any lights past the patio area, so it was too dark to see what was there with the lack of a moon tonight.

  She stormed outside, ready to raise hell.

  Suddenly, all was silent. She walked past the pool and turned on her flashlight, shining it toward where the sounds had come from. The beam illuminated her gnome village. Her breath caught in her throat.

  The village was teeming with a horde of gnomes. All of her gnomes were there, along with some she didn’t recognize. The same vandals who had moved them the previous night must have done this.

  She reached the village and played her light over it. The additional gnomes were placed to look like they were interacting with the ones that belonged in the village. There were too many gnomes to fit in the village and the overflow crowd spread out on the grass just outside in tiny groups like people at a frat party.

  The eyes of the gnomes facing her gleamed as her flashlight’s beam passed over them. Her scalp tingled. Those eyes almost seemed alive.

  She briefly considered returning the gnomes to their proper places, but that could wait until morning. She walked back to the house, debating if she should call the police tomorrow and report the vandalism.

  She tripped on an object and landed on her face in the grass. Before she could get up, her feet were seized by something strong that yanked her backwards toward the lake, her face dragged through the grass.

  Panic flooded her chest. The grass muffled her screams as her face bumped across the lawn.

  Her feet were released. Hyperventilating with fear, she curled into a ball and looked up.

  Dozens of gnomes surrounded her. They were in their normal poses, but somehow their eyes were fixed upon her. Eyes that looked disturbingly alive despite the darkness. And were angry.

  “Why would you hurt me? I love you guys,” she said. “I treat you like family. I built a village for you.”

  Something flickered in their eyes. It wasn’t sympathy for her; it was a sign of interest, like a cat regarding a mouse.

  “I always sensed there was something magical about gnomes. That’s why I collect and display you.”

  It must have been the wrong thing to say. They lifted her from the ground with dozens of tiny unseen hands and carried her toward the house.

  “Please don’t hurt me,” she pleaded in between hyperventilating.

  They marched her toward the swimming pool.

  Maybe they would only toss her in the pool. Maybe it was just the gnomes’ way of goofing around. After all, she was the biggest fan of gnomes. They had to understand that, right?

  They didn’t throw her in the pool. Instead, they dropped her on the concrete pool deck. Her knees and hip hurt, but she could live with that.

  Until she saw the mounted blue marlin that had been hanging on the wall, the one that Bruce had caught off of Costa Rica, come lunging at her face.

  Matt was getting dressed for work when he heard the female voice crackle over his police radio scanner.

  “Possible Code Five at 23 Osprey Lane on Lake Algae reported by a passing boater. Nearest unit please respond to the scene.”

  A Code Five was a homicide, quite rare in Jellyfish Beach. Matt decided to check it out before he went to the newsroom. He finished dressing and drove to the older but upscale neighborhood on the north side of town, not far away. When his GPS app told him he’d arrived at the destination, he was surprised to see only one police vehicle out front.

  The officer appeared to have just arrived on the scene. He was leaving his car and walking around the side of the house. Matt parked and chased after the officer through a gate and along a pathway of pavers to a large concrete pool deck.

  The officer stopped and glanced around.

  “Good morning,” Matt said.

  The officer jumped and put his hand on his weapon. “Who the heck are you?”

  “Matt Rosen with The Jellyfish Beach Journal. I heard the call about the homicide on my scanner.”

  The officer was a young guy, barely old enough to shave. He didn’t seem to have dealt with reporters before.

  “Don’t compromise the crime scene,” he said. “Stay right here.”

  He walked across the pool deck and Matt followed right behind him. He looked at the rear of the house and stopped suddenly. So did Matt. The officer gasped.

  An old lady in a purple bathrobe was hanging on the wall of the house like a mounted fish. In fact, she faced a mounte
d sailfish, both of them curved in a mirror image, as if they were hung together as a pair.

  “Wow,” the cop said.

  “Wow,” Matt said. “This is psycho-killer stuff.”

  “I wonder how he hung her up there. Did he use regular mounting brackets like the sailfish?”

  “No doubt. He has a good aesthetic, though, the way he balanced her with the sailfish.”

  “Man, this sure is an unlucky street.”

  “What do you mean?” Matt asked.

  “The lady next door fell down the stairs and died just yesterday.”

  “That’s quite a coincidence. Hey, did she just move her arm?”

  “The dead lady?” The cop reluctantly moved a little closer to her. “I didn’t see it.”

  “Shouldn’t you check her to see if she’s alive?”

  “I’m not touching no stiff,” the cop said. “The paramedics should be here any minute. They can touch her.”

  “Help me down,” the old lady croaked.

  Both Matt and the officer jumped.

  “I guess she’s not a stiff,” Matt said.

  The two walked over to the lady mounted on the wall. She had a bruise on her forehead but looked alive.

  “We thought you were dead,” Matt said.

  “Someone called in about a dead body,” the cop explained.

  “I was asleep,” the lady said. “Now can you help me off of here?”

  The cop grabbed her by the shoulders, and Matt held her hips as they lifted her up from three brackets in the wall. She didn’t weigh much. They placed her gently on the deck, supporting her in case she fell over.

  “These are awfully sturdy brackets,” the cop said.

  “Do you need to sit down?” Matt asked.

  “Please.”

  Matt pulled a deck chair behind her, and they lowered her into the chair.

  The cop pulled a pad and pen from his back pocket. “Can you tell me what happened, ma’am?”

  “My gnomes attacked me.”

  “Your who? Who is Nomes?”

  “My garden gnomes. They all ganged up on me and I thought they were going to kill me. But I guess they thought better of it because I’m like a mother to them.”

  “The little cheesy garden gnomes?” Matt asked.

  The lady nodded and wiped away a tear.

  “Oh boy,” Matt said. He texted Missy that she needed to come here.

  “What gnomes?” the officer asked. “I don’t see any gnomes around here.”

  “They left me. After all I’ve done for them, they up and left me. I had forty-eight of them displayed all over the property. And last night, they were all down at the gnome village by the lake having a party. There were a bunch of other gnomes there too, besides mine. It was an enormous party. Like the beach at Fort Lauderdale during spring break.”

  The officer walked a few paces away and spoke into his radio. Matt was able to pick up the words, “mental health evaluation.”

  “My gnomes left me,” the woman said sadly. “Even after the love I’ve shown. Like a bunch of resentful teenagers.”

  “Maybe they’re just going through a phase,” Matt said.

  “The yard feels so empty without them. I guess I need to find a new hobby.”

  “Knitting might be a safer bet. By the way, my name is Matt. I’m a reporter with The Jellyfish Beach Journal. I’d like to speak with you afterwards if you’re feeling okay.”

  “I’m Freddie. And I’m thirsty.”

  Matt went inside to get the woman a glass of water. The kitchen was filled with kitschy knickknacks and porcelain figurines which, he guessed, fit the profile of a prolific gnome collector. He felt sorry for the woman, who appeared to live alone in the large house. You can’t blame her for wanting to fill her life with cute mythical creatures, he thought.

  When he returned to the pool deck, a male and a female paramedic were checking her out, taking her blood pressure and shining a light in her eyes. Eventually, they left, and a plain-clothes police social worker arrived, a young Hispanic woman. She brought Freddie inside to the living room and Matt waited in the kitchen.

  After everyone left, Matt felt a little weird hanging out in Freddie’s kitchen. But fortunately, the doorbell soon rang.

  “I’ll get it,” Matt said.

  It was Missy. “Is Freddie okay?” She asked.

  “She seems to be, despite being hung on a wall like a trophy trout.”

  He led her into the living room where Freddie rested on the couch, and Missy knelt down, taking Freddie’s hand.

  “I’m so glad you survived. What happened?” Missy asked.

  Freddie recounted her ordeal last night, the surrealism of confronting animated garden gnomes sounding minimal compared to the hurt of them turning on her.

  “At least they spared you,” Missy said. “Your next-door neighbor wasn’t so lucky.”

  “Yeah. Her dog peed on the gnomes. I, on the other hand, glorified them.”

  “They’re angry at humans,” Missy said.

  “No kidding. I think when I reminded them that I displayed them, the word ‘displayed’ pushed them over the edge. And they ended up displaying me on the wall.”

  “Actually, you looked pretty good opposite the sailfish,” Matt said.

  “Did you see where they went afterwards?” Missy asked.

  “No. I think they made me fall asleep. Come to think about it, I never saw them move. They just did, somehow. Whenever I looked at them, they were ordinary gnomes just standing there. But somehow they picked me up and put me on the wall.”

  “Did you see my gnome among them?”

  “I don’t know. It was dark. And there were too many of them, including lots of gnomes that weren’t mine. But they would look great in my collection.”

  9

  Welcome Gnome

  The crashing of dishes in the kitchen jolted Missy from sleep. As often, she had no idea what time it was since her sleep cycle was so out of kilter. Normally, she kept nighttime hours to make home visits for her vampire patients, but when she had a lot of business with the normal world, she had to adjust and stay awake during the day. Visiting Freddie’s home in the morning meant she didn’t get to sleep until noon-ish. Her clock read 6:30. That was 6:30 p.m., right?

  Great, she had to clean up scattered pieces of porcelain from the floor. She sighed. Either one of the cats had gotten into a cabinet and knocked the dishes out, or a 400-year-old ghost was being a klutz. Her money was on the second possibility.

  “Don Mateo?” she called from her bed. “Is that you?”

  The reek of strange perfume and ancient body odor struck her. A shimmering figure at the foot of her bed coalesced into a bearded man wearing a purple robe and turban.

  “You called, my lady?”

  “Yeah. What was all that noise?”

  “I lost my bearings and ended up in a cabinet. The platter with the picture of a turkey is no great loss, I assure you. You can surely find a less-ugly replacement in any store selling used items for the needy. The same with the plates with the little birds on them.”

  “I don’t make a lot of money, you know.” Missy said. “Being a home-health nurse for cheap vampires and werewolves does not pay well.”

  “You should monetize your magick. When I was a sorcerer in Grenada, noblemen would pay handsomely for my services. Perhaps I could still fetch a fee.”

  “Well, I’ve been waiting forever for you to show up. And I would never pay a ghost who’s so difficult to summon.”

  “My apologies. I am bound to you because you possess my grimoire. But I am not like these mechanical devices you own that you stop or start with a button.”

  Missy sat up in bed. “I need your help. The malfunctioning spell is spreading among the gnomes in town. So far, I know of two humans killed and one almost killed. There could be many more I don’t know about.”

  “You say one was almost killed?”

  “Apparently, the gnomes showed mercy toward this woman
who collected dozens of them. She had a gnome fetish. She practically worshipped them.”

  “Interesting,” the ghost of Don Mateo said. “The gnomes have more consciousness and free will that I expected.”

  “The next-door neighbor of this woman died after falling down her stairs. I’m assuming the gnomes were behind it. The victim’s dogs would pee on the gnomes next door.”

  “Ah, there seems to be a campaign of vengeance here.”

  “We need to stop it. We need to get my gnome back to see if we can diagnose what went wrong with the sentinel spell. The problem is, my locator spells aren’t accurate enough. I think I found my gnome yesterday, but not in time. And I wasn’t able to retrieve him before he disappeared again.”

  “Did you try the summoning spell I suggested?”

  “Yes,” Missy said. “Nada.”

  “Did you do it while using the Red Dragon?”

  “Um, no. I didn’t think of that.”

  “You have one of the most powerful talismans in the world and you didn’t use it?”

  The Red Dragon was a small metal figurine once owned by Missy’s father, a powerful witch who died when she was too young to remember him. It was modeled after the original one owned by Moses and, later, King Solomon.

  “The Red Dragon empowers you to command spirits and demons to obey your will. Surely, a garden gnome would obey you.”

  “I’m reluctant to use the talisman often,” Missy explained. “It’s the heavy artillery. It has so much power it takes a toll on me when I’ve used it. To be honest, I’m a little scared of it.”

  “By its very nature, great power is frightening. If you want to become a successful witch, you must learn how to control great power.”

  “Well, what do you suggest I do?”

  “Repeat the summoning spell you tried earlier, but hold the talisman while you do it.”

  “Do you mind giving me some privacy while I get dressed?” Missy said, more rudely than she had intended.

  The ghost gave an exaggerated bow and disappeared.