It had just finished raining, and the air was pregnant with the sweet, rich scent of summer—undertones of wet grass and fresh regret.
A newly discovered hedgehog family was drinking at the river’s edge.
A mother, and her three little hedgehoglets.
Because that is apparently the correct term for baby hedgehogs.
Three stones downstream, one tiny hand clamped the edge of a slick boulder and pulled a soaked, furious body from the water.
Wet. Dressed entirely in black.
Eyes full of burning rage.
Gnomum hauled herself from the river and straightened her ceremonial pointy hat.
She sat in the newly found sunlight for a minute, catching her breath.
wrangling the water out of her beard.
Gnomes were not built for swimming. Their heads were far too heavy—impossible to keep above water.
She’d discovered that blowing air into her beard gave her just enough buoyancy to surface for a gasp—right before she went under again.
But she made it.
Because hate floats.
***
One of the hedgehoglets looked at her and tried to offer a small caterpillar to eat.
She snatched it angrily from his paw.
“Only one? Can’t you see how hungry I am?” she snapped.
The mother hissed, and the little boy ran back to her.
It would be the last time he ever offered kindness to a gnome.
Good, Gnomum thought. All these furry, huggable creatures sicken me.
Once she was dry enough, she stood.
Faced the sun. Closed her eyes.
Her heart could always feel where her victims were—track them down, and kill them.
A life choice, you could say.
It gave her direction.
She sighed at how far it was.
She needed another ride.
“Not a dog again,” she muttered. “Happy little bastards. Can’t shut up. Always wagging their stupid tails.”
No—this time she needed something fierce.
Something that inspired awe.
A sound came from the river—the same rock she had climbed out of minutes ago.
A rabbit.
White. Small. Fluffy.
Red eyes. White foam bubbling from its mouth.
Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.
It shrieked at the sight of Gnomum, who regarded it with one raised brow.
“You look pathetic,” she yelled.
It shrieked again—locked eyes with her—then hopped over to the hedgehogs and kicked one straight into the stream.
The mother just barely managed to fish it out in time.
“Hmm,” Gnomum said, impressed. “Perhaps you don’t.”
Three minutes later, Gnomum sat on the back of the rabbit, riding swiftly toward the setting sun.
“Forward, steed!” she yelled, tasting revenge on her tongue.
Her little hand was raised in the air as she savored the moment, imagining all the ways she might kill the two tall people.
Preferably more than once.
The bunny hopped along surprisingly well—until it stopped.
Nose in the air. Sniffing.
“No! Steed, go!” Gnomum barked.
She did not tolerate dallying.
“Go, stupid rabbit!” she snapped, kicking it with her tiny black boot.
The bunny looked back at her. It seemed… amused.
Then, without warning, it took off—faster than ever.
Gnomum had to cling to its ears just to stay on.
“Yes! Like that! Hahaha!”
Her laugh was mean. Sharp as knives.
And then—the rabbit vanished.
Summoned, elsewhere.
Because some other poor fool had just, stupidly, unknowingly, crossed a bridge.
Still riding the momentum of the full-speed dash, Gnomum flew through the air.
She bounced—once, twice—six, seven, eight times across the forest floor.
Then tumbled a great distance before finally slamming face-first into the wide trunk of an old brown oak tree.
“I curse you, rabbit!” she screamed, nose bloodied and voice hoarse.
“You’re on my list now! I will not rest until I dine on your little furry paws!” one fist in the air in defiance one keeping her nose from bleeding on the ground.
***
She sat on the forest floor, a small stack of four or five pages in her lap.
Her death list:
- Uncle David — for never bringing presents.
- All the chipmunks everywhere — for stealing my acorn that one time.
- Dogs — for being too happy.
- Tall man, silver hair — for killing Mom, Dad, and all the grown-ups.
- Tall man, tired-looking — for laughing at me when my hat got stuck in the shrubbery.
She scribbled it down with her small knife, using her own blood as ink:
- White rabbit with foam — for being a terrible mount.
“They will face my wrath,” she told herself.
Then she stood up and started walking.
She would get her revenge.
All of them would die.
And then… then she would find somebody else to kill.
Or something.
“The chipmunks will keep me busy for a lifetime,” she muttered.
“Maybe I was too rash to scribble them on…”
She hardened.
“No. When you’re on the list, you’re on the list.”
gnome on a stick happen.
But you know... I think she’ll be returning soon.