The paralysed trio lay helpless on the floor, glitter-covered, shoelaces knotted, snacks ruined.

  The limping gnome stood triumphantly over them, one hand on his crooked hip, the other raised as if delivering a Broadway finale.

  “Hehehehehehee…”

  His voice echoed gleefully.

  “So! You thought you could KICK me into a wall?”

  Harlada’s eyes narrowed.

  Leo attempted to shake his head, producing only a weak “Hnnhh…”

  Bert whimpered through clenched teeth.

  The gnome leaned in until his oversized nose almost touched Leo’s.

  “Well guess WHAT?” he hissed.

  “REVENGE… HAS… COME.”

  He straightened, puffed out his tiny chest, and limped in a slow, taunting circle around them.

  “Do you feel it? Do you FEEL the dread?”

  He clamped his hands together dramatically.

  “Oh, the sheer AGONY you are about to experience…”

  He pointed at Harlada.

  “You kicked me.”

  He pointed at Leo.

  “You mocked me.”

  He pointed at Bert.

  “You cried.”

  Bert internally screamed: “THAT WAS EMOTIONAL PROCESSING!”

  The gnome ignored him.

  He raised both arms toward the ceiling, like a tiny dark priest invoking the powers of the Unholy Short Kings.

  “Prepare yourselves… for the MOST TERRIBLE THING…

  to EVER befall a group in the Maze of Many!”

  Leo’s eyes widened in pure terror.

  Harlada went rigid (more rigid).

  Bert felt his soul attempt to escape his body.

  The gnome’s grin stretched unnaturally wide.

  “I have… devised…”

  He paused dramatically.

  “…the ULTIMATE punishment.”

  The trio strained against paralysis.

  They couldn’t move.

  Couldn’t speak.

  Could only watch as the gnome’s limp became more purposeful, more theatrical.

  He took a deep breath.

  And whispered:

  “I will now do something… so awful… so horrid… so mentally scarring…

  that NONE OF YOU will ever be the same.”

  He leaned out of view behind them.

  Somewhere behind their heads, something rustled.

  Something clicked.

  Something… squelched?

  Leo’s eyes went wide.

  Harlada’s pupils dilated.

  Bert made a muffled strangled sound of pure existential horror.

  The gnome giggled.

  “Heheheheeeee… does it SOUND frightening?

  DOES IT?!”

  Something slid.

  Something popped.

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  Something… jingled?

  The gnome cackled.

  “Oh yes! Yes!

  Despair, tall ones!

  For this is the gnomish way!”

  Then in his most ominous voice:

  “It.

  Is.

  DONE.”

  He limped back into view, breathing triumphantly, wiping glitter off his hands like a surgeon finishing a complex operation.

  The trio lay paralyzed, each imagining different nightmares.

  The gnome bowed low, sweeping his crushed hat elegantly.

  ***

  The paralysis hadn’t faded.

  But the truth finally became clear.

  Very clear.

  The trio wasn’t just lying on the floor anymore.

  The gnome had posed them.

  Arranged them.

  Installed them.

  Like lawn ornaments.

  Harlada stood frozen upright — somehow — with a conjured fishing rod in her hands, the line dangling sadly toward a puddle of glitter.

  Leo was stuck with one arm raised in an eternal friendly wave, smile frozen somewhere between panic and politeness.

  And Bert…

  Bert sat in a tiny makeshift wheelbarrow, hands locked on the sides, mouth twisted into a cheerful little O.

  He whimpered internally:

  This is the end of dignity.

  The gnome stepped back to admire his masterpiece.

  He clasped his hands dramatically.

  “Behold!” he declared.

  “My art!”

  He pointed at Harlada.

  “A fisher-gnome!”

  He pointed at Leo.

  “A welcoming-gnome!”

  He gestured triumphantly at Bert.

  “A wheelbarrow-gnome!”

  The gnome danced a little half-limping jig, squeaking in delight.

  “Do you LIKE it?” he hissed gleefully.

  Leo, frozen mid-wave, thought:

  This is somehow worse than death.

  Harlada thought:

  If I ever move again, I am kicking him twice.

  Bert thought:

  I look adorable AND I hate it.

  The gnome stood before them, arms wide, as if addressing an audience only he could see.

  “You TALL ones don’t KNOW the SUFFERING my people endure! The mockery! The TINY HOUSES! The FAKE WELLS! The POINTY HATS GLUED TO OUR HEADS!”

  He paced back and forth, spitting fury.

  “We are placed in front yards!

  In FLOWERBEDS!

  Next to PLASTIC FROGS!

  AND EXPECTED… TO SMILE!”

  He pointed at Harlada.

  “So I give YOU what YOU give US!”

  He swung toward Leo.

  “A life of STIFF POSES AND HUMILIATION!”

  He jabbed a finger at Bert.

  “And cheap props!”

  He spread his arms dramatically.

  “A FATE FAR WORSE THAN DEATH!”

  The trio mentally begged for paralysis to end.

  But then—

  A deep rumble echoed through the chamber.

  Stone… grinding over stone.

  Harlada’s eyes widened.

  Leo’s frozen smile twitched.

  Bert’s wheelbarrow trembled.

  The gnome froze.

  His triumphant grin dropped.

  He spun around, knife in hand, and darted behind a wall, pressing himself flat against it, eyes darting wildly.

  what could it be? everyone else was already dead.

  ***

  The grinding grew louder.

  The gnome pressed himself flat against the wall, knife trembling in his tiny hand.

  “Wo can it be,” he whispered.

  Harlada, Leo, and Bert—still frozen in their humiliating garden-gnome poses—could only stare, helpless and confused.

  A final deep CRRRRRRK echoed above.

  The gnome looked up.

  “Wait—”

  A massive square stone block, the size of a horse and twice as heavy, dropped from the ceiling with zero warning.

  WHUMP.

  The gnome didn’t even finish screaming.

  He vanished beneath the crushing weight with a wet little splut.

  His hat puffed upward like a dying confetti popper.

  Silence.

  A very long, awkward silence.

  Leo desperately wanted to look down.

  Harlada desperately wanted to swear.

  Bert desperately wanted to not think about what just happened.

  But none of them could move.

  Then the Maze pulsed.

  Once.

  Hard.

  Its voice boomed through the chamber, dripping with irritation:

  “FRECKING GNOMES.

  NOT IN MY DUNGEON.”