Comedic Fantasy Bundle #1: 4 Hilarious Adventures (Tales from the land of Ononokin)

by John P. Logsdon

  “Why?” asked Hedger.

  “Because The Twelve are all vying for each Agnostic to believe in one of them instead of remaining Agnostic.”

  “But wait,” Hedger said, feeling very confused by all of this, “they can no longer be Agnostic. They know that The Twelve exist!”

  “That’s true, little friend,” replied a Human host, who was standing next to them, “but they still have to choose which one to believe in, and that means that each of The Twelve has to pull out all the stops to make themselves the most interesting choice.”

  “So they’re living a life of bliss now because of this, right?” Hedger asked.

  “Yes.”

  “How many of them have chosen one of The Twelve since you opened that place?”

  “Not a single one,” the Gnome host replied.

  “Henry!” came the sound of a Human woman who had called from the Human God’s station. “Henry, it’s me, Matilda! It’s about time you got here!”

  “Do you know that woman, sir?” the Human host said to a newly arrived Human man.

  “Unfortunately,” the man answered, swaying slightly.

  “Henry, I got us a house here in the Human area and there’s a lot for you to do on it already. Honestly, I can’t believe how selfish you were to leave me up here while you stayed alive. And don’t think I didn’t see how you let the house go. I was not happy about that, Henry. And I also saw you dating that tramp Looly Tambeleek, but we’ll talk about that later.”

  “Ah,” said the Human host. “I see. She’s your wife.”

  “Henry,” the woman called out again, “you need to get in here quick because there is a lot of work to do. The new house needs to be power-washed, the garden needs mowing, and I want a fence put up because I can’t stand our next door neighbors. They make too much noise. Oh, and we’re going to be meeting with my mother, father, and sister for dinner tomorrow night, and you know how particular my mother is. I don’t want the house looking like a pigpen when they arrive.”

  The Human host cleared his throat. “According to your records, you were a follower of the Human God, yes?”

  “Does it actually say that?” the recently deceased Human replied.

  “I’m afraid so.”

  “Must be a typo,” the guy said as his wife continued her rant. “I’m, uh, Agnostic. Yeah, that’s it.”

  “Agnostic, eh?”

  “Honest to God … erm … or not God. No way to know really.”

  “You’re standing in the Afterlife, sir,” the Human host replied. “You do know.”

  “Henry,” his wife yelled again, “are you listening to me? You never listen to me. Well, that’s going to change, let me tell you!”

  The Human host winced. “Agnostic, you say?”

  “Henry?” the wife yelled more sternly.

  The recently deceased Human nodded pleadingly.

  “Okay, pal, Agnostic it is. If you’ll just follow me we’ll get you on your way.”

  Hedger chuckled as the recently deceased Human was led to the Agnostic area. His wife was screaming after him the entire way, but the fellow was smiling from ear to ear.

  Hedger looked around some more. “What about Atheists? I don’t see a sign for them.”

  The Gnome host looked at her feet. “They don’t get to come to the Afterlife, sir.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because the Fates won’t allow it.”

  “The Fates?”

  “Yes, sir,” she said. “I thought everyone knew about them. The Fates are the gods of The Twelve.”

  “The Twelve have gods?”

  “Indeed, sir, and the Fates state that the people on Ononokin must be allowed their own choices, regardless of what those choices are.”

  “Okay?”

  “Well, sir,” the Gnome host explained, “Atheists believe that there is nothing after life and that there are no gods.”

  “Right, I know that,” Hedger said. “So what happens to them?”

  The Gnome host turned her tablet around and showed that on the way up to the Afterlife, Atheists were sorted out and sent through what appeared to be a giant bug zapper.

  “That’s awful!”

  “They don’t feel a thing, sir,” she replied sadly. “They don’t even know it’s happened.”

  “Oh.”

  “Hedger?” He knew that voice. It was sweet and gentle and reminded him of better years. He looked over at the Gnome area and saw his beloved Pitliwin standing there with a sweet smile on her face.

  “Oh my goodness,” he said, rushing to her.

  “Good luck, sir!” called out the Gnome host.

  “Pitliwin,” he said in tears. “Oh, how I’ve missed you.”

  “And I you,” she replied, “but we’ll be together forever now.”

  “After you go through the security screening,” said the guard, who was an Orc of some size. “Sorry, ma’am, but rules is rules.”

  Hedger walked through the screen without any issues and then hugged his wife for the first time in what seemed like an eternity. She hadn’t aged a day. If anything, she looked to be young and full of vigor.

  Suddenly his happiness faded.

  “What about Gappy?”

  “He’s still alive,” Pitliwin said.

  “He wasn’t in the explosion?”

  “No,” she answered softly. “He was near the house when it happened.”

  “Can we look down on him?”

  “Didn’t we always?”

  “What?” Hedger said with a sideways look. “No, I mean can we watch him from up here?”

  “Ah, yes, of course,” Pitliwin replied as she took her husband by the hand. “There’s a video device specifically for that purpose. That’s how I knew you were coming.”

  THE FUNERAL

  Gnome funerals were, well, different.

  As opposed to the generally expected publicly spoken kind word by a few friends, it was Gnome tradition that anyone and everyone who knew or even just crossed paths with the deceased say something. It didn’t have to be kind, either, it just had to be the truth. It was one of those non-judgmental situations.

  The worst part was that they also were expected to say something about those left behind, assuming anyone was left behind.

  With Gappy being the sole heir, that meant that everyone said something about him.

  “Sad to see one so skilled as Hedger taken at such a pivotal point in his career,” said a Gnome that Gappy didn’t recognize. He was gray haired and chubby and had thick, black glasses on. “And to leave behind this young lad to toil without proper rearing is just a tragedy.”

  Next up was Mrs. Wrenchploddle. She’d always been keen on Gappy’s father since she too had lost her spouse. “What a dear, dear Gnome,” she said, patting the casket and dabbing a handkerchief on her damp eyes. “His blueprints were so precise and he toiled unendingly to make sure his far too young son Gappy would do well even after losing his mother many years too soon.” She paused and looked at Gappy. “I’m so sorry, child.”

  Gappy wiped his nose and sniffled.

  The day wore on as person after person spoke their mind about both Hedger and Gappy. It was amazing that the little people ever accomplished anything with the daily funerals that happened in the land of Hubintegler. On the days when two or more funerals were held, productivity was a complete wash.

  Gappy appreciated most of their words. What he disliked was the constant belief that he was too young to accomplish anything on his own. The fact that they all felt that the community would have to pull together to take care of him was ridiculous. He could take care of himself!

  The preacher stepped up to the podium and said, “We are now at the conclusion of today’s services. All the words heard here today show that Hedger Whirligig was indeed a solid member of the community and a tinkerer with appropriate talent. He will be missed.”

  There was a general murmur of saddened agreement.

  “But now we have something else t
o discuss,” said the preacher. “As many of you pointed out, Hedger has left behind a rather young boy that we have to take care of.”

  Gappy groaned.

  “He will not be of age for another…” the preacher looked at a card, “eight years. I think everyone can agree that we can’t have one of our flock wandering aimlessly for such a duration, especially when we’ve all spoken out today about what an asset his father was to this community. Mr. Thumbsocket, maybe you have room at your cottage?”

  “Not me,” said Mr. Thumbsocket. “I’ve already got a twenty-three-year-old and thirty-seven-year-old living under my roof, and you know how they are in their twenties.”

  “Understandable. Maybe you, Mrs. Tacks?”

  “I wouldn’t know where to start, Preacher. He’s a nice lad, I’m sure, but everyone knows that he wants to start tinkering before the Age. I’m too old to take on one like him, but I hope The Twelve bless his heart.”

  The preacher nodded sagely. “Amen. How about you, Mr—”

  “Excuse me,” Gappy said, having had enough.

  “Yes?”

  “First, I want to thank you all for your kind words about my father. I know that, were he here to hear what you said, he’d agree with what you’d said.”

  Another general murmur of agreement.

  “And I also appreciate that you are all trying to sort out who’s going to watch over me as I wait for The Age of Tinkering.” Gappy took a deep breath to calm himself. “But I have come to the conclusion that I am not going to wait any longer.”

  Gasps.

  “I understand that this goes against everything you all believe in,” he added, after the chatter died down, “and I mean no disrespect to any of you, but the fact is that people half my age in the world of Humans, Dwarfs, Trolls, Orcs, and even Ogres…Ogres!…well, they’re all allowed to work and contribute.”

  “This is true,” said the preacher calmly. “But, young man, you must recall that these other races blow themselves up because they are allowed to tinker far too young.”

  Gappy pointed at his father’s casket. “Was he too young?”

  Gasps.

  “The nerve,” said one woman.

  “Insolence,” said one of the men.

  “Again,” Gappy said above the crowd, “I’m not trying to be disrespectful here. I’m merely pointing out that there are funerals every day in this town and the majority of them have to do with exactly what happened to my father…they blow themselves up. How many deaths by old-age have any of you seen recently?”

  More murmurs.

  “Exactly. So what’s the difference?” Gappy put his hands up in the air. “I’ll tell you the difference. The difference is that we have to wait fifty years before we’re allowed to blow ourselves up!”

  Gasps and murmurs and the occasional “watch your tongue” and “foolish child.”

  The preacher came to his rescue, in a manner of speaking. “You are talking from a state of distress, young Gappy.”

  “Yes,” said Mrs. Teeterboard. “That’s it. He’s distressed.”

  “You have just faced a horrible loss,” said the preacher.

  “Horrible, yes,” agreed Mrs. Teeterboard. “That’s it. Horrible.”

  “And you are grieving.”

  Mrs. Teeterboard raised her hands. “Let the child grieve!”

  “What you need is a loving family to support and care for you.”

  “Give the child love,” echoed Mrs. Teeterboard.

  “You need to be nurtured.”

  Mrs. Teeterboard jumped up. “Give the child nurturing!”

  Praise The Twelve, chorused the congregation as they all started getting into the groove of things.

  “You need a guiding hand,” continued the preacher.

  “Guide that boy,” continued Mrs. Teeterboard.

  Praise The Twelve!

  “Let us raise our voices in song!”

  The Twelve! The Twelve!

  The Tinkerers delight!

  They lend a hand and a soldering stand…

  They provide a jolt or the perfect-sized bolt…

  They build all day and all night too…

  When the chips are down they’ll give you a screw…

  The Twelve! The Twelve! Delight!

  Silence filled the room. All faces were on Gappy, smiling at him in a forgiving way.

  “I know you are still but a child,” said the preacher, “but you must understand that we only want the best for you.”

  Gappy knew that they all meant well, but it was time for him to leave. He had stuck with the rules only out of respect for his father. But now that his father was gone, Gappy was the man of the house and he was damn well going to act like it.

  “I appreciate all of what you are saying,” he said, finally.

  “He gets it,” said the same woman that was egging the preacher on before the congregation had broken out in song.

  “And I know that you only have the best intentions.”

  Best intentions!

  “And I know that any one of you would do right by my father.”

  “We’d do right,” Mrs. Teeterboard said powerfully.

  Praise The Twelve!

  “But I’ve made up my mind.”

  Mrs. Teeterboard looked at the ceiling. “He’s made up his mind.”

  Praise The Twelve!

  “I’m not waiting until The Age of Tinkering.”

  “Oh,” Mrs. Teeterboard said, dropping her hands along with her smile.

  Oh!

  “I’m also not going to stay in Hubintegler,” he added gloomily.

  Mrs. Teeterboard blinked. “What?”

  What?

  Gappy walked up and patted his father’s casket and whispered, “I know you would not approve of what I’m doing, Father, but I have to be my own Gnome.”

  TINY HOUSE

  Gappy stood on the front porch looking out at all of the Gnomes who had turned up to make offers on his house.

  Once it was known that a property was going to be vacated in the suburbs of Hubintegler, it took very little time to sell. This was mostly because there were many families who had orphans filling up their current properties. Thus, they would go out of their way to find suitable marriages and gift the newlyweds with a house in order to gently push them along. Not everyone had this kind of money, of course, but not everyone participated in raising orphans either.

  There was more to selling his property than just getting the best deal, though. Gappy had lived here all of his life and he didn’t want to just hand his home to anyone. In fact, there were a few Gnomes that he would not to sell to regardless of the price offered. While he may not be upholding his parents’ wishes as it came to starting out as an engineer before the Age of Tinkering, Gappy could at least ensure that he only sold to a suitable homeowner.

  “Thank you all for coming out today,” he said in a raised voice. He was still considered an adolescent in the eyes of those standing before him, but he refused to allow their prejudices to stifle him. This was his house until it wasn’t and there was no amount of browbeating that they could do to change that. He held the deed. They wanted the deed. They would treat him with as much respect as possible, unless something turned up to change their minds on the desire for getting his home. “I know that many of you disagree with what it is that I’m doing here, but I have made up my mind, so if we could please keep the discussion to the selling of my house, I would appreciate it.”

  Mr. Mooze, an angry-looking Gnome who wore an eye patch, though nobody knew why seeing that both of his eyes functioned perfectly, stepped up and said, “How much for the entire lot, including the tools?”

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Mooze,” said Gappy, trying to keep his voice from quivering, “but most of the tools were destroyed in the explosion, and those that weren’t are coming with me.”

  “Bah,” Mr. Mooze said, moving the eye patch from one eye to the other, “then what am I doing here? I’ve already got a house!” The grumpy
Gnome turned and stormed through the crowd saying, “Outta my way!” and “Scoot aside, you bunch of dolts!”

  Gappy was glad that Mr. Mooze had left because Gappy wouldn’t have sold the property to him anyway.

  “Does the sale include the shed?” Mrs. Davinka said in a snooty voice as she blinked in her uppity way.

  “Yes, Mrs. Davinka,” Gappy replied as kindly as possible. “It’s a foundational structure, so it has to stay.”

  “Pity,” she replied, spinning her little lace umbrella as she strolled out the same way that Mr. Mooze had.

  The difference between Mrs. Davinka’s departure and Mr. Mooze’s departure was that everyone was quick to make a path for Mrs. Davinka, and she hadn’t even needed to say a word.

  “Gappy,” said Mr. Cloogate from the railing on the left, “I’ll speak with you off to the side for a moment, okay?”

  “Certainly, Mr. Cloogate.”

  The two Gnomes met at the side of the house as the rest of the Gnomes began discussions and debates regarding who was the best-suited to own the estate. From what Gappy could overhear, it was clear that he was not the best candidate from their perspective.

  Mr. Cloogate looked similar to Gappy’s father. He was short, stocky, and had that horseshoe-shaped bald spot that Gappy coveted. Mr. Cloogate didn’t have his hair pushed up in the framing way that Gappy’s father had done, but it was still a better style than Gappy’s full cranial foliage. Another similarity was that Mr. Cloogate wore a belt instead of suspenders. Gappy was a suspenders guy all the way.

  “Gappy,” Mr. Cloogate said kindly, “you know that I’ve been a friend of your family for many years, since even before you were born.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Your father and I built many projects together over the years.”

  “He spoke of you often, Mr. Cloogate.”

  “He was a good Gnome,” Mr. Cloogate said, looking teary-eyed. “Well, I’ll have you know that both he and your mother would be proud of what you’re doing here. They may not have approved of you doing it so young, but they would beam at the courage you’re demonstrating. You’re industrious, Gappy, and that’s both a good and a bad thing. But if you’re anything like you’re father—and I know you are—then you’ll work things through rightly enough.”