When I placed a cheerful little gnome on my front lawn, I had no idea it would start a full-blown war with Josh—my grumpy neighbor who treats superstition like it’s a religion. But all it took was one glare from him, one weird threat, and suddenly, the battle lines were drawn—right between my rose bushes and his perfectly trimmed hedges.
It was early morning, and the golden sunlight stretched across my damp lawn. The grass was cool and soft under my bare feet. Everything was calm—the kind of peaceful you only get before the world fully wakes up.
In my hands, I held a little ceramic gnome. He had rosy cheeks, a fuzzy-looking white beard, and a green hat that flopped to one side. His painted smile was small and mysterious, like he knew a secret he wasn’t going to tell.
“I think right here,” I whispered, crouching beside the rose bushes, their petals still curled from the morning chill.
I placed him gently in the grass, facing the street like a tiny, cheerful guardian.
Then came the sound.
SCREEEECH! Josh’s screen door groaned open like a horror movie soundtrack.
“Mary,” he growled, voice like gravel rubbed between two bricks. “What in the blazes is that?”
I sighed before even turning around. Of course. Josh.
Josh—who once yelled at a squirrel for touching his petunias. Josh—who clipped his bushes like he was preparing for a hedge inspection from the Queen.
“It’s a gnome, Josh,” I said, giving him a big smile. “Isn’t he cute?”
Josh walked closer, arms crossed like a prison guard.
“They’re bad luck,” he barked. “Gnomes. Evil little omens. I’ve read the stories. Seen what they cause.”
“You’ve read about gnomes?” I raised an eyebrow. “Let me guess. On some secret forum for cranky garden fanatics?”
He didn’t laugh. Didn’t even flinch.
“I warned you. If that thing stays on your lawn, don’t blame me when misfortune strikes.”
I leaned down and gave the gnome a gentle pat on the head.
“If misfortune shows up, tell her to bring coffee. I’m keeping him, Josh.”
He gave me a slow, serious nod.
“Then I hope you’re ready for the consequences.”
And just like that, he turned around and marched back into his house.
A gust of wind blew through the roses. I looked at the gnome again. His little smile almost seemed wider.
The next morning, the quiet was… too quiet.
No birds chirping. No lawnmowers humming. Even the Johnsons’ yappy dog was silent.
Instead, there was a smell.
Sharp. Smoky. Like someone was burning herbs, pine needles, and maybe… an old shoe?
I wrinkled my nose and stepped outside. And that’s when I saw it.
Josh’s yard looked like a strange forest ritual. Metal lanterns dangled from tree branches, porch hooks—even his flagpole.
Thick gray smoke poured out of each one, floating directly into my open windows, my drying laundry, and—honestly—my soul.
“What in tarnation are you doing?!” I yelled, storming over to the hedge line.
Josh stepped onto his porch like he’d just summoned rain from the heavens.
“These,” he said, arms stretched out, “are sacred smudging lanterns. Used to cleanse dark energy.”
“Dark energy?” I coughed and waved the air in front of my face. “The only evil around here is that smell! Are you trying to smoke me out?!”
He grinned, smug as ever. “Wind’s blowing your way all day. I checked the forecast. Science is on my side.”
I glared at him, tears in my eyes from the smoke.
“Game on, Josh. GAME. ON.”
I stomped inside, grabbed my car keys, and drove straight to the garden center.
If Josh wanted war, I was bringing a whole gnome army.
An hour later, I returned with ten more gnomes. Tall ones. Tiny ones. One fishing. One sleeping. And my favorite—one dressed exactly like Elvis, complete with sunglasses and a cape.
I arranged them around the original gnome like royal guards protecting their king.
Josh walked out of his house, coffee in hand. He saw my new gnome army and froze. His mug slipped and shattered on the porch.
The war had begun.
By noon, the sun blazed down on my yard, lighting up my army of gnomes. Each one had its own little expression. Elvis even looked like he was winking at the mailman.
I felt good. My yard had personality. My personality.
Then came the knock.
BANG BANG BANG!
I opened the door to a tall, stiff woman in a wrinkle-free navy pantsuit and giant sunglasses. She held a clipboard like it was a sword.
“HOA inspection,” she said, her voice as flat as a dry pancake. “We received a complaint.”
I crossed my arms. “Let me guess… Josh?”
She didn’t answer. Just turned on her heel and began inspecting my yard like it was a crime scene.
Her pen scratched against the clipboard as she scribbled nonstop. Her lips were so tight, they looked stapled shut.
She stopped at the gnomes, crouched down to glare at Elvis, and sighed like it physically hurt her.
Then she pointed to my porch.
“The wind chimes,” she snapped. “They’re non-compliant. Noise pollution.”
I blinked. “You’re serious?”
She handed me a citation list so long it curled at the bottom.
“Remove all garden figurines from public view.”
“Repaint trim to HOA-approved color.”
“Power wash walkway.”
“No hanging objects on porch.”
“No wind chimes?” I said again, stunned.
“We appreciate your cooperation,” she said, turning and clicking away in her heels like a wind-up doll.
Across the yard, Josh stood with another mug of coffee, smirking like a kid who just tattled and got away with it.
That night, I moved my gnomes to the backyard. My heart felt heavy. I sat on the porch steps, staring at the now-empty lawn.
Had I lost?
The next morning, I dragged out my creaky old ladder and started scraping paint off the porch trim. I was sweaty, cranky, and ready to cry when Josh appeared, slowly walking over.
In one hand, he held a paint bucket. In the other, two brushes.
“I think I took it too far,” he said quietly, eyes on the ground.
“Ya think?” I snapped, wiping sweat from my face.
He sighed. “I’m sorry, Mary. I didn’t mean for them to write you up.”
I paused and looked at him. Really looked.
His shoulders sagged. He looked tired. Not grumpy—lonely.
“What’s in the bucket?” I asked.
“White cedar mist,” he said. “Matches your shutters.”
I stared at it for a second. Then nodded. “Fine. But you climb the ladder.”
He smiled just a little. “Fair enough.”
We painted together, side by side. The sun moved through the sky, and so did our laughter. He spilled paint on his shoe and grumbled. We took turns on the ladder. We didn’t talk about the gnomes—not yet.
Later, while washing brushes, he said, “Lost my wife two years ago. House has been too quiet. Sometimes the silence feels like a weight.”
I nodded. “This house used to feel too big. But the gnomes made it feel like mine. Silly, right?”
“No,” he said softly. “Not silly at all.”
As the sun set, the trim looked perfect. The house looked… lighter.
“You still mad about the gnomes?” I asked.
Josh shook his head. “Nah. Maybe they’re not unlucky. Maybe they’re just misunderstood.”
“Like you?” I teased.
He looked over at me and said, “Maybe.”
That evening, I stood on the front lawn again, gnome in hand.
“Can I put him back?” I asked Josh, who leaned on the fence like he belonged there.
“Let’s start with one,” he said. “Test the spiritual waters.”
I laughed. “Hard to choose. They all have such personality.”
He picked up the original gnome. “This one’s seen battle. Let’s go with him.”
We placed him back together, just beside the rose bush.
Then Josh cleared his throat.
“Dinner?” he asked, scratching the back of his neck. “Maybe I can help you choose the least haunted one.”
I felt my cheeks warm. “Sure. Bring your smudge sticks. Just in case.”
He chuckled. “Deal.”
The wind shifted. His strange lanterns were gone. And the gnome? His smile looked calm now. Peaceful.
Maybe luck, like people, just needs time.
And maybe peace, like paint, takes a few layers before it finally sticks.