by R. L. Stine
Mom bolted straight up. “What? What’s wrong?”
Dad didn’t budge.
“It’s the gnomes!” I shouted, shaking Dad’s shoulder. “Wake up!”
My father opened one eye and squinted up at me. “What time is it?” he mumbled.
“Get up, Dad!” I pleaded.
Mom groaned as she snapped on the light next to her bed. “Joe. It’s so late. Why did you wake us up?”
“They’re—they’re gone!” I stammered. “They disappeared. I’m not kidding. I’m really not.”
My parents glanced at each other. Then they glared at me. “Enough!” Mom cried. “We’re tired of your jokes. And it’s the middle of the night! Get to bed!”
“Right now!” Dad added sternly. “We’ve had just about enough of this nonsense. We’re going to have a serious talk about this. In the morning.”
“But—but—but—” I stammered.
“Go!” Dad shouted.
I backed out of the room slowly, stumbling over someone’s slipper.
I should have realized that they wouldn’t believe me. But someone had to believe me. Someone had to.
I raced down the dark hall to Mindy’s room. As I neared her bed, I could hear the whistling sounds she always makes when she lies on her back. She was fast asleep.
I stared down at her for a moment. Should I wake her? Would she believe me?
I patted her on the cheek. “Mindy. Wake up,” I whispered.
Nothing.
I called her name again. A little louder.
Her eyes fluttered open. “Joe?” she asked drowsily.
“Get up. Quick!” I whispered. “You have to see this!”
“Have to see what?” she groaned.
“The gnomes. The gnomes have disappeared!” I exclaimed. “I think they ran away! Please, get up. Please.”
“The gnomes?” she mumbled.
“Come on, Mindy. Get up,” I pleaded. “It’s an emergency!”
Mindy’s eyes shot wide open. “Emergency? What? What emergency?”
“It’s the gnomes. They’ve really disappeared. You have to come outside with me.”
“That’s the emergency?” she screeched. “Are you crazy? I’m not going anywhere with you. You’ve totally lost it, Joe. Totally.”
“But, Mindy—”
“Quit bugging me. I’m going back to sleep.”
Then she closed her eyes and pulled the sheet over her head.
I stood in her dark, silent room.
No one would believe me. No one would come with me. What should I do now? What?
I imagined the gnomes ripping up every last vegetable in our garden. Yanking out the yams and smashing the squash. And for dessert, chomping on the rest of Mr. McCall’s casabas!
I knew I had to do something. Fast!
I ran from Mindy’s room and raced down the stairs. I jerked the front door open and sprinted outside.
Outside into the murky fog.
Swallowed up inside the thick blanket of mist.
So dark and foggy. I could barely see. I felt as if I were moving through a dark dream. A nightmare of grays and blacks. All shadows. Nothing but shadows.
I inched forward slowly, moving as if I were underwater. The grass felt so wet against my bare feet. But I couldn’t even see my own feet through the thick carpet of fog.
Like a dream. Like a heavy, dark dream. So many shifting shadows. So silent. Eerily silent.
I pushed on into the haze. I had lost all sense of direction. Was I heading toward the street?
“Ohhh!” I cried out when something grabbed my ankle.
Frantically, I shook my leg. Tried to break free.
But it held on.
And pulled me down.
Down into the whirling darkness.
A snake.
No. Not a snake. The garden hose. The garden hose that I had forgotten to roll up after watering the lawn that night.
Get a grip, Joe. I told myself. You have to calm down.
I pulled myself up and staggered forward. Squinting hard. Trying to see my way. Shadowy figures seemed to reach for me, bend toward me.
I wanted to turn back. And go inside. And climb into my nice, dry bed.
Yes. That’s what I should do, I decided.
I turned slowly.
And heard a shuffling sound. The soft thud of footsteps. Nearby.
I listened closely.
And heard the sounds again. Footsteps as light as the mist.
I was breathing hard now. My heart pounding. My bare feet chilled and wet. The dampness creeping up my legs. My entire body shuddered.
I heard a raspy cackle. A gnome?
I tried to turn. Tried to see it in the billowing blackness.
But it grabbed me from behind. Hard around the waist.
And with a dry, evil laugh, it threw me to the ground!
16
As I hit the wet ground, I heard the low, evil laugh again.
And recognized it.
“Moose?”
“Scared you big time!” he muttered. He helped me to my feet. Even in the fog, I could see the big grin on his face.
“Moose—what are you doing out here?” I managed to cry.
“I couldn’t sleep. I kept hearing weird sounds. I was staring out into the fog—and I saw you. What are you doing out here, Joe? Causing more trouble?”
I wiped wet blades of grass from my hands. “I haven’t been causing the trouble,” I told him. “You’ve got to believe me. Look—the two lawn gnomes—they’re gone.”
I pointed to the deer. Moose could see that the gnomes weren’t standing in their spots.
He stared for a long time. “This is a trick—right?”
“No. It’s for real. I’ve got to find them.”
Moose frowned at me. “What did you do, hide the ugly little creeps? Where are they? Come on, tell me!”
“I didn’t hide them,” I insisted.
“Tell me,” he repeated, leaning over me, bringing his face an inch from mine. “Or suffer the Ten Tortures!”
Moose shoved his huge hands hard against my chest. I fell back and landed in the wet grass again. He thumped down on my stomach and pinned my arms to the ground.
“Tell me!” Moose insisted. “Tell me where they are!” Then he bounced up and down on top of me.
“Stop!” I gasped. “Stop!”
He stopped because lights flashed on in both of our houses.
“Oh, wow,” I whispered. “We’re in major trouble now.”
I heard my front door bang open. A second later, Moose’s door opened, too.
We froze. “Keep quiet,” I whispered. “Maybe they won’t see us.”
“Who’s out here?” my father called.
“What’s going on, Jeffrey?” I heard Mr. McCall shout. “What’s all the noise out here?”
“I don’t know,” my dad replied. “I thought maybe Joe…” His voice trailed off.
We’re safe, I thought. We’re hidden by the fog.
Then I heard a low click. The long, thin beam of a flashlight swept across the yard. It settled on Moose and me.
“Joe!” Dad screamed. “What are you doing out there? Why didn’t you answer me?”
“Moose!” Mr. McCall shouted in a deep, angry voice. “Get in here. Move it!”
Moose climbed up and raced into his house.
I hoisted myself up from the grass for the second time that night and slowly made my way inside.
Dad crossed his arms tightly across his chest. “You woke us up twice tonight! And you’re outside in the middle of the night again! What’s wrong with you?”
“Listen, Dad, I only went outside because the gnomes are missing! Check,” I begged. “You’ll see!”
My father glared at me with narrowed eyes. “These gnome stories are getting out of hand!” he snapped. “I’ve had it! Now go upstairs. Before I ground you for the entire summer!”
“Dad, I’m begging you. I’ve never been so serious in my
life. Please look,” I pleaded. “Please. Please. Please!” And then I added, “I’ll never ask you for anything else again.”
I guess that’s what convinced him.
“Okay,” he said, sighing wearily. “But if this is another joke…”
My father stepped over to the living room window and peered out into the swirling fog.
“Please let the gnomes still be gone!” I prayed silently. “Please let Dad see that I’m telling the truth. Please…”
17
“Joe, you’re right!” my father declared. “The gnomes aren’t out there.”
He believed me! Finally! I jumped up and shot a fist into the air. “Yes!” I cheered.
Dad wiped at the moist glass pane with his pajama sleeve and squinted out the window again.
“See, Dad! See!” I cried happily. “I was telling the truth. I wasn’t joking.”
“Hmmm. Deer-lilah’s not there, either,” he said softly.
“What?” I gasped, feeling my stomach churn. “No. The deer is there! I saw it!”
“Hold on a minute,” Dad murmured. “Ahhh. There she is. She was hidden in the fog. And the gnomes! There they are! They’re right there, too. They were hidden in the fog. See?”
I stared out the window. Two pointy hats broke through the mist. The two gnomes stood dark and still, in their places beside the deer.
“Noooooo!” I moaned. “I know they weren’t there. I’m not playing tricks, Dad. I’m not!”
“Fog can do funny things,” Dad said. “One time I was driving through a real pea soup of a fog. I spotted something strange through the windshield. It was shiny and round and it sort of hovered in the air. Oh, boy, I thought. A UFO! A flying saucer! I couldn’t believe it!”
Dad patted me on the back. “Well, my UFO turned out to be a silver balloon tied to a parking meter. Now, Joe. Back to this gnome problem.” Dad’s face turned stern. “I don’t want to hear any more crazy stories. They’re only lawn ornaments. Nothing more. Okay? Not another word. Promise?”
What choice did I have? “Promise,” I muttered.
Then I dragged myself up the stairs to bed.
What a horrible day—and night. My father thinks I’m a liar. Our tomatoes are ruined. And Moose isn’t allowed to hang out with me anymore.
What else could possibly go wrong?
I woke up the following morning with a heavy feeling in my stomach. As if I had swallowed a bowl of cement.
All I could think about were the gnomes.
Those horrible gnomes. They were destroying my summer. They were destroying my life!
Forget about them, Joe, I told myself. Just forget about them.
Anyway, today had to be better than yesterday. It sure couldn’t be worse.
I peered out my bedroom window. All traces of the fog had been burned away by a bright yellow sun. Buster slept peacefully in the grass, his long white rope snaking through the garden.
I glanced over at the McCalls’ house. Maybe Moose is outside helping his dad in the garden, I thought.
I leaned farther out the window to get a better look.
“Oh, noooo!” I moaned. “No!”
18
Globs of white paint splattered over Mr. McCall’s red Jeep!
The roof. The hood. The windows. The whole Jeep covered in paint.
This meant major trouble, I knew.
I pulled on a pair of jeans and yesterday’s T-shirt and hurried outside. I found Moose in his driveway, his jaw clenched, shaking his head as he circled the Jeep.
“Unbelievable, huh?” he said, turning to me. “When my dad saw this, he had a cow!”
“Why didn’t he park in the garage?” I asked. Mr. McCall always parks the Jeep in their two-car garage.
Moose shrugged. “Mom’s been cleaning out the basement and attic for a yard sale. She stuck about a million boxes of junk in the garage. So Dad had to park in the driveway last night.”
Moose patted the roof of the Jeep. “The paint is still sticky. Touch it.”
I touched it. Sticky.
“My dad is steaming!” Moose declared. “At first he thought your dad did it. You know. Because of the tomatoes. But Mom told him that that was ridiculous. So he called the police. He said he won’t rest until whoever did it is thrown in jail!”
“He said that?” I asked. My mouth suddenly felt as dry as cotton. “Moose, once the police start to check things out, they’re going to blame you and me!”
“Blame us? Are you nuts? Why would they blame us?” he demanded.
“Because we were both outside last night!” I said. “And everybody knows it.”
Moose’s dark brown eyes flickered with fear. “You’re right,” he said. “What are we going to do?”
“I don’t know,” I replied sadly. I paced back and forth in the McCalls’ driveway, thinking hard. The asphalt felt warm and sticky on my bare feet.
I moved to the grass. And noticed a line of small white paint spots.
“Hey, what’s this?” I cried.
I followed the paint trail across the grass.
Over the petunias.
To the corner of my yard.
The paint drips ended where the gnomes stood, grinning at me.
“I knew it! I knew it!” I cried out. “Moose, come look at this trail. The gnomes splashed your car! And did all the other bad things around here.”
“Lawn gnomes?” Moose sputtered. “Joe, give up. No one will believe that. Why don’t you give it a rest?”
“Check out the evidence!” I demanded. “The melon seed on the gnome’s lips. This trail of white paint. I even found black paint on their fingers. Right after your dad found the smiley faces on his casabas!”
“Weird,” Moose muttered. “Very weird. But lawn gnomes are lawn gnomes, Joe. They don’t run around doing mischief.”
“What if we prove they’re guilty?” I suggested.
“Excuse me? How would we do that?”
“Catch them in the act,” I replied.
“Huh? This is nuts, Joe.”
“Come on, Moose. We’ll do it tonight. We’ll sneak out, hide around the side of the house, and watch them.”
Moose shook his head. “No way,” he answered. “I’m in big trouble after last night.”
“And after the police finish, what kind of trouble will you be in then?”
“Okay. Okay. I’ll do it,” he muttered. “But I think this whole thing is a big waste of time.”
“We’re going to trap these gnomes, Moose,” I told him. “If it’s the last thing we do.”
Ahhh!
My alarm clock! It didn’t go off!
And now it was nearly midnight. And I was late. I’d promised to meet Moose outside at eleven-thirty.
I leaped out of bed, still dressed in my jeans and T-shirt. I grabbed my sneakers and ran outside.
No moon. No stars. The front lawn lay blanketed in darkness.
The yard was silent. Too silent.
I glanced around for Moose. No sign of him. He probably went back inside when I didn’t show.
What should I do now? Stay out by myself? Or go back to bed?
Something rustled in the bushes. I gasped.
“Joe. Joe. Over here,” Moose whispered loudly.
He popped his head out from behind the evergreen shrubs in front of my house. And waved me over.
I slid down next to him.
Moose punched me hard on the arm. “I thought you chickened out.”
“No way!” I whispered back. “This was my idea!”
“Yeah, your crazy idea,” Moose replied. “I can’t believe I’m hiding behind a bush. In the middle of the night. Spying on lawn ornaments.”
“I know it sounds crazy, but—”
“Shhh. Did you hear something?” Moose interrupted.
I heard it. A scraping sound.
I reached into the shrub and parted the thick green branches. The needles clawed at my hands and arms. I jerked my arms out quickly. Too quickly. B
lood dripped from my fingers where two needles had pierced right through my skin.
The scraping sound came closer.
My heart pounded in my chest.
Closer.
Moose and I sat there. We exchanged frightened glances.
I had to look. I had to see what was making those sounds.
I parted the needles once again. And stared through the mass of needled branches. Two small, glowing eyes met mine!
“Get it, Moose! Get it!” I cried.
Moose jumped up from behind the bush. Just in time—to see it scamper away.
“A raccoon! It was only a raccoon!”
I let out a long sigh. “Sorry, Moose.”
We sat there a while longer. We parted the branches every few minutes to check on the gnomes. My arms were scratched raw from the rough needles.
But the gnomes hadn’t budged. They stood grinning into the night in their silly suits and caps.
I groaned. My legs felt stiff and cramped.
Moose checked his watch. “We’ve been out here for over two hours,” he whispered. “Those gnomes aren’t going anywhere. I’m going home.”
“Wait a little longer,” I begged him. “We’ll catch them. I know we will.”
“You’re a pretty good guy,” Moose said as he parted the bushes for the millionth time. “So I hate to tell you this, Joe. But you’re as crazy as—”
He didn’t finish his sentence. His mouth dropped open, and his eyes nearly popped out of his pudgy head.
I peered into the shrubs—in time to see the gnomes come to life. They stretched their arms over their heads. And stroked their chins.
They shook out their legs. And smoothed out their shirts.
“They—they’re moving!” Moose cried.
Too loudly.
And then I lost my balance and fell. Right into the bush.
They’ve seen us, I realized.
Now what?
19
“No. Oh, man. No!” Moose whispered. He tugged me to my feet. “They’re moving. They’re really moving!”
Squinting through the branches, we both stared in horror at Hap and Chip.
The gnomes bent their knees, limbering up. Then they each took one stiff step. Then another.