Mr. Smith's Garden Gnome

 

Mr. Anderson couldn’t believe his eyes. Isn’t that a garden gnome? Why is it coming towards him? More importantly, how is it even moving? Can inanimate objects move?

He rubbed his eyes to check whether he was still in his dreams. Nothing changed. Now, the garden gnome is even closer. He is standing right in front of him, panting, even in this early winter morning!

“A living garden gnome? What on earth is he seeing? Hasn’t last night’s hangover left him yet?” Mr. Anderson said to himself.

The garden gnome was still sweating profusely. It wore a red and white velvety costume with a woollen red cap. It looked like a miniature version of Santa Claus.

Mr. Anderson is a fearless man. There is nothing in this world that he is afraid of. But, this garden gnome seemed to inject a sudden fear into him. How will he speak now?

Mustering enough courage, Mr. Anderson finally asked, “Who are you? Why are you here?”

“Mr. Smith! Mr. Smith!”, a weird voice came out from the little creature.

Mr. Anderson threw a glance at Mr. Smith’s apartment and asked, “What has happened to him?”

“Murdered…he has been murdered!” replied the garden gnome.

“Murdered? Why will anyone…?” Mr. Anderson didn’t trust the garden gnome. Without completing his sentence, he rushed to Mr. Smith’s apartment. The door was open. After looking here and there for a few seconds, he rang the calling bell. Once, twice, thrice. He rang as many as five times. No one answered. No voice, no face.

Bewildered, Mr. Anderson returned to his house only to find the gnome still waiting for him. “What will I do now? Will I get caught? But, I didn’t commit any crime. I just went to meet Mr. Smith yesterday over a game of chess. But, will anyone trust me? Will anyone listen to me?” Mr. Anderson’s mind was full of questions.

“What’s wrong with Mr. Smith and who are you?” Mr. Anderson asked the garden gnome.

“I’m Peter, Mr. Smith’s garden gnome”, came the reply. “Last night Stephen, the younger son of Mr. Smith broke into the house and killed his father!”

“And how do you know that? You are just a...just a…” Mr. Anderson struggled to finish.

“A garden gnome? Is that why you aren’t believing me?” Peter sounded offended.

Unaware of what a garden gnome’s rage might do to him, Mr. Anderson mellowed his voice a little and said, “No, no. I…I believe you. All I’m asking is how do you know about it?”

Rolling his eyes Peter said, “Last night while I was guarding Mr. Smith’s garden along with some of my other gnome friends, we saw Stephen opening the house with the duplicate key. After some time, there was a loud cry. It was Mr. Smith’s voice! Before we could understand anything and make a move, we saw Stephen running out of the house and disappearing into the darkness.”

“Then?” asked Mr. Anderson, worried.

“We did nothing throughout the night. In the morning, we all went upto the door but no one was brave enough to enter and find out what was wrong. Finally, I entered the house and found Mr. Smith lying on the floor of his living room. I didn’t know what to do. I had to tell someone about this!” said Peter.

Mr. Anderson felt his knees shaking and his forehead sweating even in this early January morning. He hurried to his apartment. Grabbing a glass of water from the kitchen, he poured it down his parched throat. The water cooled him down a bit. Putting the glass in the sink, he came near to the telephone table. A bunch of questions started to pop into his mind.

“Will he call the police? Will he inform the other neighbours? But, what will he say if anyone asks how he came to know about the incident? No one will believe his story about Peter. People might also think that he is the real culprit! He might get arrested, he might…” Mr. Anderson could think no more. He fell into his armchair and closed his eyes when suddenly the doorbell rang.

“Good morning. Are you Mr. Anderson? Mr. Charles Anderson?” a stern face and a sterner voice asked.

“Good morning. Yes, I…I’m Charles Anderson, replied Mr. Anderson.

“We’re from the California Police Department. We need to talk to you about Mr. Anderson’s murder”, came the reply.

“This is it!” thought Mr. Anderson. “Now that they’ve arrived at the door, within a few moments I would be arrested! But, how did the police come to know? Did Peter inform anyone else other than me?”

“May I know who informed you?” asked Mr. Anderson.

“Mr. Barry called us. He used to meet Mr. Smith every day at the nearby Rosewood Park but didn’t find him there today. On his way back, he thought of dropping by Mr. Smith’s house. But, how is all this information necessary for you?” asked the policeman, narrowing his eyes.

Trying to manage the situation, Mr. Anderson brought a helpless smile to his face and replied, “Nothing…uh, I was just wondering how you came to know…that’s all!”

“You don’t seem to be very surprised at the news. Did you know it even before we arrived?” the policeman asked.

“Shall I tell him about Peter? Will he believe me? Oh…what the hell am I thinking! He will definitely think that I’m crazy!” Gathering himself a bit, Mr. Anderson answered, “Oh, no…no. I’m quite surprised! How did all these happen?”

“You had visited Mr. Smith yesterday evening. Am I right?” the officer asked.

“Yes. He’s a good neighbour. We frequently visited each other”, replied Mr. Anderson.

“Alright. So, when you met him yesterday, did you notice any abnormality?” the policeman asked.

“No, nothing. We had wine and had a long chess session. He seemed fine”. Mr. Anderson replied promptly.

“At what time did you go to his place?” The policeman’s questions were not stopping anytime soon.

“I went at 6:30 pm and came back around 8 pm.” Mr. Anderson said with a faint voice.

The policeman said “Hmm” in a deep voice. He continued, “How was his relationship with other neighbours?”

“God knows how many more questions I need to answer. What made him visit Mr. Smith yesterday? Had I not gone, I wouldn’t have had to face such unending questions.” Mr. Anderson started cursing himself in his mind. Aloud he said, “Mr. Smith went along very well with the neighbours. Everyone loved him for his jolliness.”