nearly killed someone. Someone small. Someone about two feet tall, to be exact. A gnome. The building was packed with gnomes.
Gnomes ran the Kingdom Postal Service during the week, and during the weekends, well, I’d never actually thought about what they did. It appeared they gathered in large buildings, in orderly lines, and waited for instructions.
I stepped over and around gnomes, making my way up to the front desk. “I have a delivery here, from the Fairy Godfather.”
The counter gnome looked at the box. He looked at me. Then his eyes went wide. “Death Bringer Marissa? Is that really you?”
Ten
“SIGN FOR THE package, please.” I dropped the package on the counter and fished in my purse for a pen, painfully aware of the murmurs going on around me. Back when I was first learning to drive, I ran over a gnome. It wasn’t my fault; he was sleeping in a pothole.
Afterward, the gnomes made sure I didn’t get a single piece of mail from Kingdom for the next four years. They even jiggered up my regular mail, threatened to saw me into pieces, and once nearly got me bitten by asps.
The murmuring nearly reached a roar, then one of the gnomes pounded on the counter bell until the crowd quieted. “Marissa. It really is you.” He looked at my blank stare for a moment, then added. “Petri? From the Kingdom Postal Service?” Then he dropped his pants and mooned me.
There, on his left cheek, was my signature. Exactly how my John Hancock got on the rear end of a postal gnome is a story I’d rather not go into. “Hi, Petri. I have to get going. Lots of important things to do.” I turned to face a solid wall of gnomes.
Petri tapped me on the shoulder using a back scratcher. “We’re honored that you chose to attend.” Then he turned to the crowd. “Tonight, we race for Marissa herself!”
The crowd surged forward, a wave of gnomes rushing toward the back of the building. Each stopped at the entrance turnstile to have their hand stamped in seven different places. Petri perched on the top of one of the entrance booths and waved. “Aren’t you coming?”
I waited for the crowd to thin, and approached. “Coming where?”
“The race! It’s Friday night, and thanks to you, we race every Friday night.” He began to hop up and down in anticipation. Gnomes were weird to start with. I mean, honestly, they ran the entire postal service, but this was beyond gnormal.
“You can’t blame this on me,” I said, hands on my hips. I gave him my very best “Boss” stare.
It was like kicking a poodle, only less fun. The little gnome’s purple hat sagged down on his head. “We don’t blame you, Marissa. You taught us the meaning of living!”
“How exactly did I do that?” I began to suspect Petri had spent the day licking stamps and now suffered from glue poisoning. It was about the only way his scenario made sense. “I ran over one of your cousins. You guys were furious.”
“Yes!” He pumped a walnut-sized fist. “We were. We were afraid. Then we realized, fear is what makes us know we are alive! So we work our day jobs and live for the weekend.” That actually sounded like everyone else.
I turned to leave. “Okay, well—”
Petri leaped from the counter and grabbed my hand. “Hooray! Come on, the races are starting soon.”
I raised my hand, leaving him dangling a few feet off the ground. “What exactly are you racing? Shopping carts? Golf carts? Go-karts?” About that time a roar like the voice of God shook the building. On instinct, I ran for the back exits where the other gnomes had gone, dragging Petri along with me.
I threw open the door, and my mouth flew open just as wide. Monster trucks stood lined up, revving their engines so loud the sound hit me like a punch to the chest.
“Monster trucks are more fun than go-karts.” Petri dropped to his feet and dusted himself off. “Come on. You can have the seat of honor.” I stumbled down steps about three inches wide to a booth that
Gnomes ran the Kingdom Postal Service during the week, and during the weekends, well, I’d never actually thought about what they did. It appeared they gathered in large buildings, in orderly lines, and waited for instructions.
I stepped over and around gnomes, making my way up to the front desk. “I have a delivery here, from the Fairy Godfather.”
The counter gnome looked at the box. He looked at me. Then his eyes went wide. “Death Bringer Marissa? Is that really you?”
Ten
“SIGN FOR THE package, please.” I dropped the package on the counter and fished in my purse for a pen, painfully aware of the murmurs going on around me. Back when I was first learning to drive, I ran over a gnome. It wasn’t my fault; he was sleeping in a pothole.
Afterward, the gnomes made sure I didn’t get a single piece of mail from Kingdom for the next four years. They even jiggered up my regular mail, threatened to saw me into pieces, and once nearly got me bitten by asps.
The murmuring nearly reached a roar, then one of the gnomes pounded on the counter bell until the crowd quieted. “Marissa. It really is you.” He looked at my blank stare for a moment, then added. “Petri? From the Kingdom Postal Service?” Then he dropped his pants and mooned me.
There, on his left cheek, was my signature. Exactly how my John Hancock got on the rear end of a postal gnome is a story I’d rather not go into. “Hi, Petri. I have to get going. Lots of important things to do.” I turned to face a solid wall of gnomes.
Petri tapped me on the shoulder using a back scratcher. “We’re honored that you chose to attend.” Then he turned to the crowd. “Tonight, we race for Marissa herself!”
The crowd surged forward, a wave of gnomes rushing toward the back of the building. Each stopped at the entrance turnstile to have their hand stamped in seven different places. Petri perched on the top of one of the entrance booths and waved. “Aren’t you coming?”
I waited for the crowd to thin, and approached. “Coming where?”
“The race! It’s Friday night, and thanks to you, we race every Friday night.” He began to hop up and down in anticipation. Gnomes were weird to start with. I mean, honestly, they ran the entire postal service, but this was beyond gnormal.
“You can’t blame this on me,” I said, hands on my hips. I gave him my very best “Boss” stare.
It was like kicking a poodle, only less fun. The little gnome’s purple hat sagged down on his head. “We don’t blame you, Marissa. You taught us the meaning of living!”
“How exactly did I do that?” I began to suspect Petri had spent the day licking stamps and now suffered from glue poisoning. It was about the only way his scenario made sense. “I ran over one of your cousins. You guys were furious.”
“Yes!” He pumped a walnut-sized fist. “We were. We were afraid. Then we realized, fear is what makes us know we are alive! So we work our day jobs and live for the weekend.” That actually sounded like everyone else.
I turned to leave. “Okay, well—”
Petri leaped from the counter and grabbed my hand. “Hooray! Come on, the races are starting soon.”
I raised my hand, leaving him dangling a few feet off the ground. “What exactly are you racing? Shopping carts? Golf carts? Go-karts?” About that time a roar like the voice of God shook the building. On instinct, I ran for the back exits where the other gnomes had gone, dragging Petri along with me.
I threw open the door, and my mouth flew open just as wide. Monster trucks stood lined up, revving their engines so loud the sound hit me like a punch to the chest.
“Monster trucks are more fun than go-karts.” Petri dropped to his feet and dusted himself off. “Come on. You can have the seat of honor.” I stumbled down steps about three inches wide to a booth that
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