The important thing to know is I survived.
One year ago…
I remember hearing something about it on the news. Something about a serial killer who’d been killed in a garden supply store. The randomness of it stuck with me. Who gets killed in a garden supply store? Two people, apparently. There’d been a shootout between the serial killer and police. A propane tank exploded. The explosion took out the killer and an innocent bystander. A Romanian woman.
Seven days ago…
My son, David, is three now. I picked him up from school and took him to the park. It’s our routine Monday to Friday. Swings, monkey bars, and slides. In that order. His size six Stride Rites came down the slide and hit the sand. Time to go.
Depending on where I find parking, we may walk past Uma and Opa’s house on the way to the car. I try to avoid it. I wish I’d tried harder. Uma and Opa like to sit on collapsable lawn chairs at the end of their driveway with a bowl of tangerines at their feet. They have a tangerine tree in their yard. They give out tangerines to the kids as they leave the park.
It’s not Uma and Opa that creep me out. It’s not the tangerines. It’s the garden gnomes on their front lawn. You know, those 12-inch, not-so-cute, smiling lawn statues? I don’t know what possesses people to decorate their homes with these tacky tokens, but I suppose, hey, to each his own. I’m not their neighbor.
Uma gave David a tangerine. Said something about David in Romanian that, based on her tone and smiling eyes, I translated as “So cute.” I told David to “Say ‘thank you.’” He did, and we were on our way. Tomorrow, I’d hope to park on the other side of the street. Something about those gnomes…
Dinner time. Bath time. Storytime.
When I put David to bed, I found a garden gnome in his crib. He must’ve taken it from Uma and Opa. I asked him if he had taken it. He told me he didn’t. I’m embarrassed to say I assumed he was lying. After all, kids take things and lie when they know they’re in trouble. After all, how else could a garden gnome get in my son’s crib?
I set the gnome on the kitchen table. We’d return it to Uma and Opa tomorrow. I wouldn’t look for parking. David could give a lispy apology while staring at the velcro straps on his Stride Rites. I’m sorry I stole the garden gnome. Uma and Opa would forgive him and give him a tangerine, and that’d be the end of the garden gnome.
If only things had gone that way…
Six days ago…
Mornings with kids are chaos. Breakfast. Diapers. Shoes. Clothes. Shoes again. Getting out the door anywhere close to on time is a feat. But David and I did it. I got him to daycare and went to work. I forgot all about the garden gnome. Until it was time to pick David up.
I was looking for parking and remembered I’d meant to grab the gnome on our way out. Now, I really wanted to find a parking space on the other side of the street. I did. Great. I’d put the gnome in David’s backpack once we got home and return it to the ladies tomorrow.
Five days ago…
The next morning, I woke up. Checked on David. There were tiny scratches on his arms. Had he scratched himself? This was more than a loose hangnail and an itch in the night. I checked his fingers. He stirred awake. And then I saw it.
Something that couldn’t be.
My breath clogged in my throat. My face went pale. My belly turned to lead.
The gnome was in David’s crib.
I grabbed it and squeezed with force. I don’t know why. Something inside of me, from deep in the recess of my lizard brain, told me I neede to throttle this inanimate statue with one hand. Like I expected it to come to life and begin writhing in my hand. I hurried the gnome outside, yanked the lid on the Brute trash barrel, Sorry Uma and Opa, but you’ve got plenty, and threw the gnome inside. The gnome landed in a tuft of white Hefty bag like suicide jumpers landing on that giant air mattress.
I put the lid on the barrel and stared at it for a moment. Waiting to see if the gnome would somehow lift the lid and peer out at me. I was losing my mind. I told myself there must be an explanation. David must’ve climbed out of his crib in the night and found the gnome. He was clearly enamored by it. But standing there, staring at the trash barrel, I turned the lid clockwise to lock it. Just to be safe.
Four days ago…
I woke up. Went down the hall to take a piss. Washing my hands, I caught my reflection in the medicine cabinet. I stopped washing my hands. Slowly reached up to my face. I had to touch it to believe it. My face was covered in tiny scratches.
The faucet kept running as I walked into my bedroom, terrified of what I might find. I almost didn’t want to go in. I stopped in the doorway and listened. I didn’t know what I was listening for. A breath? That’d be crazy, right? I managed another step. Just far enough to give me a full view of my bed. And there he was on the pillow. Smiling at me. The gnome.
Will update more soon.