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You've Got Me Where You Want Me Again

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Dear Diary,

 

I don’t have time to waste on introductions. This is just insurance. Something for when I get scared. Like now, for example. That’s why I need to do this. Just in case.

 

Because that thing still hasn’t moved.

 

It’s just kind of…standing there. I mean, sure, it’s blinked once or twice. Even though it’s still dark in here, I can tell it’s blinking because of how the little bit of light from the window reflects off it’s eyes. The same light I’m using to write this by. Other than that, it hasn’t

 

It just grunted.

 

I can’t stand this anymore, I’m going to turn on the light. If this journal ends here, that means either this is an elaborate hallucination, and I’ll be too busy gulping happy pills to continue writing this.

 

Or there is an actual person standing in my room who, as far as I can guess, is going to kill me.

 

Either way, goodbye.

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Dear Diary,

 

So.

 I’m not dead, although my hallucination theory is still up in the air because when I turned on the lights there was a garden gnome in my room and

 Wow, that sounded crazy even to me.

 I’m not sure how else to describe it, though. I had turned on my bedside lamp, fully expecting to see an armed robber or maybe even Mom, if I was lucky.

 But no. I turn on my lamp and see an honest to god garden gnome standing in the middle of my room. And it just stood there, even after I turned on the light, and stared at me. It’s still staring at me. It has the ugliest eyes I’ve ever seen, droopy and soulless and sunken and red.

 

Help

 

As I’m writing this, I can’t help but wonder how it got in.

 I know, I know, I need to get my priorities straight, but the adrenaline rush has long since worn off by now, and it hasn’t made any move to kill me yet.

None of my windows even open.

 I lock my door when I sleep, always.

 The floor seems intact.

 

So where did it come from?

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Dear Diary,

 

This is getting kind of redundant. This whole “writing in a journal” thing is getting old fast, and I won’t have time to write down every little thing that happens, so for now, I’m going to stop this little project.

 

Before I go, however, here’s everything I managed to learn about the little gremlin:

 

It’s tiny. I don’t happen to have a measuring stick with me at the moment, but minus the full meter that its hat adds on, it seems to only measure up to my chest.

 

The hat. While not the strangest of its fashion choices, the yellow cone-shaped hat is definitely the most noticeable. Pair that with a bright red tunic, and it really does look like a garden gnome.  

 

The beard. Maybe you’ve seen some fancy facial hair in your life. I know I have. Like in that dusty old picture of Father that sits on the mantelpiece. Or one of those “bearded ladies” in those old circuses. And there was this one cartoon character who had the most fabulous orange mustache I had ever seen.

But I’m getting off topic.

This thing has a big, soft, tangly black beard, with a head of matted grey hair to match.

 

Yes, I did say “soft.”

On that note, it didn’t really respond when I touched it, just kind of looked at me weirdly. And I could swear that those eyes are familiar. I can’t place it right now, but that voice in the back of my head just won’t shut up.

 

Anyways.

 

Goodbye.

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Dear Diary,

 

I can’t do it anymore. I just can’t.

Ever since that first night, that little gnome has been there. Every time I’m alone, BOOM, there it is.

Well, not “BOOM” exactly. I’ll blink and it will appear, but always when I’m least expecting it.

Even after just one month, things have gotten to the point where Mother and my friends have begun to notice.

If the situation is that bad, I need to do something to fix it.

The problem is, I’m at my wit’s end. I’ve tried everything from running away from it (which happens to be my go-to choice of problem solving) to ignoring it (another good method) to trying, and failing, to lock it in my closet.

 

And that’s why there is a suspiciously gnome shaped sack on my floor right now.

 

There may be a few coils of rope missing from the utility cabinet as well.

 

The reason I’m going to start this journal again is fairly simple. I want to see how far I make it from here on.

I’m not stupid. I know that thing in the bag hasn’t moved since I hit it in the head with a shovel. I also know that this will eat away at me a little bit every day. I just want to know how long it will take.

 

Dang. I scare myself sometimes.

 

With that slightly unsettling thought in mind, goodbye.

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Dear Diary,

 

Please, I just want

 

There are two of them now. I can hardly tell them apart, except that one of them is slightly smaller than the other and refuses to go outside.

Hmm….

They seem to be more aggressive, too. It’s way scarier than it should be, but it there is a small part of me that worries about what will happen if I try to get rid of the gnomes again.

 

Will they do more than just breath down my neck and glare at me with more anger than before?

 

Dare I risk finding out?

 

For all of my big talk, I am getting pretty scared, and the only time I sleep is when I pass out from exhaustion. Otherwise, the moment I get in bed, they’ll be right there, looking for all the world like a pair of overeager parents waiting to tuck in their child and kiss them goodnight.

Except these things still manage to tower over me menacingly despite their small size, and all they ever do is stare at me until I turn off my light.

Then the whispering starts. Honestly, I can’t even explain it, but it just sounds so….unsettling. Like a hive of bees or old leaves being blown across the driveway.

 

One way or another, this needs to end.