I think my neighbor’s lawn gnomes formed a cult

I’ve never been much for lawn decorations. But my next door neighbor–a widow in her early 70s–is. She has just about every type of lawn ornament you can think of, but if one type is her favorite, it’s the gnomes. 

At least they were. 

They’re gone now. All twelve of them. I don’t know why, I don’t know where, but I don’t think it was the kids on the block, or a sudden change of heart. I think they formed a cult.

It’s hard to say exactly when all of this started. I didn’t exactly make a habit of keeping track of Mrs. Ellis’ lawn ornaments. I guess there were a few standouts–one had a little rake, one pushed a wheel barrow, and one looked like it was fighting a garden hose. But other than that… well they were just lawn gnomes. 

I do remember when I started to notice though. It was subtle at first. A slight shift of position, the wheel barrow facing the wrong way. Things like that. 

But one morning, as I was taking my trash can to the curb, I saw one face down in the street. 

Feeling a sense of neighborly obligation, I picked it up and turned to Mrs. Ellis’ lawn to spot where it had come from. That’s when I noticed the gnomes were all facing the street. 

Wheel Barrow, Rake, and Garden Hose stood in a perfect line a few feet from the curb. The others lined up behind them. Their lifeless ceramic eyes fixed on their fallen comrade. They wore the same painted expressions as always, but they seemed more…satisfied. 

I glanced up and down the empty street, then back at the gnome in my hands. Its paint was chipped–like it’d been thrown on the pavement. 

I let out a breath and shook my head.

I began walking towards Mrs. Ellis’ front door. I figured it would be best if she dealt with this. 

I’ll admit, something about seeing a woman in her 70s mourning a ceramic lawn ornament broke my heart. I guess when your husband of 52 years passes away–without any children to call your own–an army of lawn gnomes can be some kind of stand in. 

Mrs. Ellis gasped when she saw what was in my hands.

“Oh Mr. Pennyhill, what have they done to you?” She cried, tearing it from my hands. “Peter, his hat! Oh dear, where is his little hat?” 

I hadn’t noticed the hat–or lack of a hat. I glanced at the other gnomes, each one had a pointy red hat atop their head. 

I shook my head slightly.

“I–I’m sorry Mrs. Ellis. I didn’t see a hat in the road or…” I said, but she held up a hand as if to stop me. 

“They’re always picking on Mr. Pennyhill, Peter. It’s not your fault.” She turned to the gnome “But we’ll fix you up, right as rain, won’t we?” 

“Who is? The kids…or? I can talk to their parents for you if…”

I paused when I saw her eyes drift a little.

“Oh no need Peter, but thank you. I’ll just fix him up and straighten this mess out.”

Mrs. Ellis then turned and went inside. Whispering reassuring words to the damaged gnome.

I walked back to my house passing the gnomes as I went. Stupid prank.

When I got home from work, Mrs. Ellis had rearranged her yard. All twelve gnomes back in their places. Mrs. Ellis had repainted “Mr. Pennyhill,” but it stood out from the rest. She had done a great job repairing the face–even adding a small painted bandage on its cheek. But as good as the repair was–it was still missing the hat.  

I wish that’s where this whole thing ended. Maybe then I could have just chalked it up to kids messing with an old woman. But the next morning something else had changed.

The gnomes were roughly where they had been the night before, but they all faced the center of the yard. I followed their gaze and saw that someone had moved three of those glass spheres—gazing balls, I think they’re called… into an almost perfect triangular pattern.

Something lay at its center.

I know it was none of my business, but I had to check it out. As I got closer, I saw a pile of ceramic shards. I picked one up. It had been newly painted–a small bandage ran across it.

I didn’t have the heart to tell Mrs. Ellis this time. This one was beyond repair. So, I scooped up the pieces and threw them away. Somehow that felt like a better option than having her find him like that.

I figured when something you love disappears, you at least have hope it’s still out there somewhere–hopefully in a better place. 

Anyway.

At this point I was convinced the neighborhood kids were playing a prank. There’s not much to do around here. Had it just been moving lawn gnomes around I might not have said anything. But destroying one was a little too far.

None of the parents had a clue. Most of them said their kids were too afraid of that yard to go near it.

Even the Dirks’ boys—who’d blown up just about everything else in the neighborhood—wouldn’t go near it.

One of them asked me why I did.

Up to that point I hadn’t thought much about it. It all seemed like a prank to me–a bad one, at that. But now, I was the only one–other than Mrs. Ellis–that wasn’t afraid of that yard. 

If it wasn’t a prank, then there was nothing else that made sense. 

I passed the lawn on my way home and stopped for a while to look at it. 

I counted eleven gnomes, three gazing balls, one of those multi-colored pinwheels, and ten other assorted “deal of the day” ornaments. But the gazing balls were more spread out now. Still triangular but much farther apart. 

The gnomes were arranged within it. All circled around the gnome with the rake. 

For the first time, I felt like I was interrupting something.

I caught myself staring. It was time to go home. 

The next morning I stepped outside to see Mrs. Ellis pacing around the lawn. She was holding her head, mumbling to herself.

I walked over.

As I rounded the small hedge row that separated our lots, I saw it.

The three gazing balls were still there. Same triangle pattern as the night before.

But the lawn…

Between the three glass orbs, there was nothing left.

Just bare earth.

And eleven little red pointy hats.