Ah, gnomes! Those adorable little creatures with their pointy hats, rosy cheeks, and garden-hiding antics. But darling, what if—just what if—there was more to those cute little statues than meets the eye? Hold tight, because Alice is about to spill some tea on a tale that might just have you side-eyeing your own garden gnomes after the sun goes down. Let’s dive in, shall we?
☕️ Alice’s Mad Tea Party Presents: Storytime
🫖 Alice Spills the Tea on: The Gnomes of Sablewood Hollow
Oh, darlings, gather close. This one’s for anyone who’s ever stood in front of a garden gnome and thought, “Oh, isn’t he cute?” Well, I’m here to tell you—don’t get too comfortable with that thought, because what I’m about to tell you will have you second-guessing every cute, little figurine you’ve ever tucked into your flowerbeds. Yes, those gnomes. The ones with the beady eyes.
Let me set the scene for you. Deep in the heart of the misty woods—where the trees grow thick and twisted, where the fog never quite leaves the ground—there lies a village by the name of Sablewood Hollow. It’s a quaint little place, all cobblestone streets and ivy-covered cottages, where the air smells of pine, lavender, and… something a little darker.
And here’s where it gets good, babes. The residents of Sablewood Hollow? They have a tradition. A tradition older than the village itself, passed down from grandmother to granddaughter. It’s a peculiar one: every home in the village must have a garden gnome. Not just any gnome, mind you, but one that has been handcrafted by the village’s finest artisans. Every gnome must have a face of serene peace, a hand-wrought red hat, and eyes that sparkle with a touch of mischief. The bigger the gnome, the better. Oh, and don’t forget—these gnomes are never alone. Each gnome needs to be placed in pairs. There’s something about the symmetry, something about their “companionship,” that’s... essential.
Now, I know what you're thinking, sweethearts. “Alice, this all sounds delightful. I bet it’s a lovely little tradition!” And it is… at least, until the night falls. Because that’s when the gnomes come to life.
Oh yes. They don’t just stand there, gazing blankly at the stars. No, darling, that’s all part of the game. The gnomes, once night falls and the village is bathed in the pale glow of the moon, begin to stir. Slowly, ever so slowly, they shift on their little stone pedestals. Their feet, once firmly planted in the ground, begin to twitch. Their eyes—those glittering eyes—snap open, wide and unblinking. They start to watch.
And here’s the most deliciously terrifying part: no one in Sablewood Hollow ever knew this happened. No, no. You see, the gnomes are smart—too smart—and they know exactly when the villagers are watching. The trick is, they wait. They wait until you’ve turned your back, until your attention drifts elsewhere, and then—oh, then—they come to life. They move swiftly, with purpose. Quietly, silently, they scurry to the next garden, to the next house.
It started innocently enough, you see. Just a few missing tools from the garden shed. A lost hat. A gnome here, a gnome there, slightly out of place. But then the gnomes began to watch.
One by one, they appeared in the windows of the villagers’ homes, peering through the glass with those beady, knowing eyes. And if the villagers dared venture outside to confront them, to demand answers from the gnomes? Well, they’d always find the statues standing exactly as they were before, like nothing had ever happened. Their eyes were still, the same peaceful expression on their little faces.
But deep in the heart of the night? That’s when it all changes. The gnomes—the ones with the twinkling eyes and stone-carved smiles—don’t just watch. They listen. And when they hear the tiniest sound, when they hear the tiniest footstep of a villager creeping down the stairs, they move. Always closer, always in the shadows. You might hear the faintest scrape of stone on stone, the whisper of a hat brushing against the ground, or the click of tiny boots scurrying in the dark.
And when the villagers finally put two and two together, when they realize the truth? The gnomes... vanish. The next morning, everything is as it should be: the gnomes are in place, smiling serenely in the garden, no one the wiser. But every so often, a villager will catch a glimpse of those glimmering eyes—just a flash—in the corner of their vision.
And that’s when it begins. The whispers. The knowing. The feeling that, somewhere in the distance, under the cover of night, the gnomes are plotting. Watching. Waiting.
One woman, fresh to the village, thought it was all just a myth. She smiled at the gnomes, placed them in her garden, and went about her day. But then, one night—just one night—she couldn’t sleep. She stood at her window, staring out at the rows of gnomes in her garden. The moonlight illuminated their faces, their little pointed hats, and their eyes—oh those eyes. It was then she saw it. One of them... it moved.
She stepped closer to the window, her heart pounding in her chest. There it was again—another one moved. Then another. And suddenly, the entire garden of gnomes—all of them—shifted. Slowly. Silently. With purpose.
And then, the worst part: she heard it—a faint whisper from the garden, like a hundred tiny voices speaking at once, calling her name.
Ever since then, people in Sablewood Hollow say you can’t trust a gnome. Oh, they’ll still be there in the day, all cheerful, with their grinning faces. But at night? Darling, best not to look too closely.
So go ahead, sweethearts, put your little gnome in the garden. Decorate him for Christmas, make him the star of your lawn. But remember: once the sun goes down, you just might feel a pair of eyes on the back of your neck... And if you do? Don’t turn around.
Just... don’t turn around.
Winkingly yours,
—Alice, Queen of Ink & Lore
Think twice before you place that new one in your yard, darling! You never know when they might start keeping an eye on you. 😉
