Don't bother the gnomes at night
Is it bad to say I'm afraid of my daughter? I can't help but think that makes me a bad mother. She has this strange fascination with with gnomes, specifically holiday and festive ones. I'm not sure why she likes them so much, I personally find them kind of creepy.
I was fine with her new fascination in the beginning, if anything I found it cute and more funny than anything. And after her best friend moved away, I thought she was just turning to her gnome friends for consolation, like how little kids her age do with dolls and plushies. It's never easy saying goodbye after all.
Soon after that, I noticed she started stealing stuff from around the house, anything from thrown away expired makeup that I'd find later in her room to old work notes scattered in shreds on her floor next to her dolls. I was getting worried and confronting her about it never yielded answers. She would only respond in short fragmented sentences like "hungry friends" and "wanted it". Out of all these strange occurrences though, one anomaly never ceases to perplex me.
Whenever the holiday season nears, she always becomes extra paranoid, so much so that she would check the doors at least three times a day on some occurrences. Then Christmas day would roll around and her nerves would calm down suddenly again. If anything, it's as if she's relieved. Relieved of what? I wish I knew.
Her sleepwalking would also get progressively worse leading up to Christmas day, with her checking the doors and windows in the dead of night. On the eve of Christmas, she would always sleepwalk into my room while mumbling something under her breath.
"Don't bother the gnomes at night."
At least that is what I think she was saying. It can be hard to tell sometimes. If you ask me, I would have burned those God forsaken gnomes a while ago. But they were given to her friend, and I know she has a special bond with them because of it. They're just so creepy! I understand they're fake, but whenever I'm in a room with one, it never fails to feel like eyes are lingering on me: small, beady eyes. And if I listen for too long, I can even hear the faintest of pitter-patters, and the softest of whispers. I usually store the ones I find out and about in the basement, but they always seem to keep popping up in the crevices and corners of other rooms.
One Christmas Eve, I woke up needing to use the bathroom. I stumble, still half asleep, to the bedroom door to open it. Something stops me dead in my tracks though, as the wood boards creak outside in the hallway.
The sound of my alarmingly fast heartbeat is all I hear for what feels like three hours. I stand completely still, arm still raised to grab the door. I don't dare move a single muscle or hair. The floor on the opposite side of the door creaks more as I hear labored breathing coming from a hair's breadth away. Time stops as the floor continues to creak, footsteps syncing with the tick tock of the old clock.
I want to cry so bad, but the tears won't fall. I wan't to run and scream but my body doesn't obey. It stays frozen merely a foot or two away from the door, too terrified of making a single move too sudden for the creaky floor to handle. Petrified, all I can do is stare unblinkingly at the door, too afraid the sound of eyelids closing and opening would alert the thing outside my door.
The air gets noticeably chillier as time passes. My arm and hand go numb from staying frozen in the air for so long, and my body aches from being so still. For the first time in years, I pray to whoever that my daughter is still safe and that whoever or whatever is outside of the door won't attack her. The clock strikes twelve am. How much more torment will there be?
Just as I think that, the labored breathing stops and the room returns to normal. Apprehensively, I lower my arm, and lifting one foot at a time, head back over to the bed. I'm covered in a cold layer of sweat from head to toe, but I don't dare change. A part of me is still terrified the mysterious creature will come back. I don't even know if it was a creature! Maybe I just hallucinated it and was still in a half dream state. The words of my daughter ring loud and clear in my mind.
Don't bother the gnomes at night.
I no longer feel the need to use the bathroom.
