Page 22 of Did It Have To Be Gnomes?!
It didn’t take me long to finish my last room on this floor, so I headed out and aimed for the room I was meeting Miles in. Halfway there, a strange sound made me pause my footsteps and listen.
“What the hell?” I whispered to myself, heading toward the noise.
Was that… lots ofmeeps?
The sound was associated with gnomes, but I’d never heard so much at once before. Gnomes tended to be quiet during the day—at least they always were when I was in other homes infested with them.
My brow furrowed as the meeps continued. Where was it coming from?
I turned in a circle and finally stopped, facing the door Miles had gone through.
The sound was loud enough that I paused. That wasn’t… music or something Miles was listening to, was it?
There was no way it was really that many gnomes, right?
Maybe it was some kind of new trap method he hadn’t shown me yet?
The cacophony grew, and I stared at the door, a little horrified and a lot unsure. Should I go in or wait for Miles to finish… whatever the hell he was doing?
And then I heard a sob, and I was moving before I told my feet to go.
When I rushed through the door, I didn’t see him at first. I could only see what looked like hundreds of gnomes all over the floor, the desk, and in a large pile on the side of the desk.
Where the hell was Miles?
I gasped in horror when a voice mumbled from the pile. “No. Please, leave me alone.”
Holy shit. Miles was under there?
Miles's booted foot kicked out, making a wave of gnomes open up as they dodged out of the way.
Another sob came from the gnome pile. It was a sound filled with horror, fear, and defeat.
The meeping sound changed in tone, confusing me, but then I saw several of the gnomes crying. There were also many that looked… terrified.
It was as if the gnomes were feeling Miles's emotions, or he was feeling theirs.
Feeling his emotions.
Them feeling his.
His gloves.
He always wore gloves.
Oh… oh no.
“Stop touching me! Stop!” Miles yelled out, and I finally forced my feet to move again.
Not knowing what else to do, I used my feet and hands to nudge the gnomes out of the way, pushing them aside gently but quickly to get to Miles. I knelt beside him and brushed several of the pests off, but he had his eyes squeezed shut, mumbling about fear, confusion, anger, annoyance, and curiosity.
“Miles.” He didn’t respond. “Miles, it’s Winter. What’s wrong?”
He still didn’t respond, so I glanced around at a loss for what to do.
The gnomes were making their way back over to us, but they didn’t seem to care one bit about me. They just wanted Miles.
As I watched, a gnome jumped up and pressed its palm against Miles's throat, and the man let out a low groan. I flicked the gnome off as my new suspicion was confirmed.
