The Gnome (standard:horror, 2225 words)
Author: Hulsey	Added: Jun 16 2002	Views/Reads: 4184/2625	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
A young boy purchases a gnome but is it really responsible for the strange occurrences?

It was love at first sight, when little Ben eyed the unsmiling gnome. It
looked so out of place on the wooden table, amongst the wristwatches, 
tools and books. Ben's mother ignored the tugging of her blouse, and 
continued to browse through the CD's, searching for that elusive 
bargain. 

“Mummy, Mummy.” 

“Not now, Ben. You should have gone before you left the house.” 

“No, Mummy. Can I have that gnome?” 

Her attention was distracted from the Kylie CD for a moment, and she
looked towards the table that was covered in junk. She relented, when 
her ten-year-old son dragged her towards the table. She grimaced, as 
she eyed the ugly mustard-coloured effigy. With his sombre face, grey 
beard, and red hat, he certainly was no work of art. 

“Wouldn't you rather have a toy sword or a car, Ben?” 

“I want the funny man.” 

The fishing rod that the gnome was holding prompted her decision. She
now envisaged the eyesore sitting by the side of her pond. 

The frumpy woman with the buck teeth offered Ben a false smile, when she
picked up the gnome. 

“How much?” asked his mother. 

“Fifty pence.” 

“Anything for a bit of peace,” she mumbled, as she foraged through her
purse. 

Ben knelt on the sun-kissed, lush lawn, instigating the World Cup final
between England and Brazil, as his tiny fingers moved between the 
colourful toy figures. He stopped momentarily and sniffed the air, 
taking in the pleasant aroma of his mother's baking, before returning 
to his game. He swatted away a wasp and lined up Wayne Rooney to score 
the winning goal. 

“Rooney, it's Rooney, he only has the goalie to beat and he shoots!” 

Ben watched open-mouthed as the Brazilian goalkeeper dived to his right
and saved the shot. He never heard his mother approaching from behind. 

“Ben, have I got a surprise for you? Butterfly cakes and jam tarts for
tea. Also, Harry is coming home later this evening. Isn't that 
wonderful?” 

She noticed as her son's head dropped, his large, brown eyes registering
sadness. “Is something wrong, Ben?” 

“Does he have to come home?” 

“Ben! Harry thinks the world of you. I don't hear any complaints when
you accept his present do I?” 

Ben picked up the Brazilian keeper and frowned. “Mummy, the Brazilian
keeper saved a shot from Rooney.” 

“That's nice dear,” she said, ruffling his thick brown hair, before
wiping away a spot of mud from his face with her handkerchief. 

“No you don't understand; he moved by himself. He dived and saved a
certain goal.” 

“Ben, you have such an imagination. Your father used to come home with
some right whoppers, god rest his soul, and now I know where you get it 
from.” 

“But I'm telling the truth Mummy.” 

She never heard him, and looked straight past her son towards the pond.


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