It was near midnight when they finally made it home, By then Rowe had to carry Mary back from the last station. By the time they made it back Rowe was knackered. Yet apparently a good nights sleep wasn’t on the cards as her head had barely hit the pillow before a deafening clatter reached her ears.
Muttering she dragged herself from the embrace of her beloved bed, then peered out of the window.
3 doors down Henry was stood outside that big old shed of his and he was cursing the air blue. Rowe didn’t want Mary hearing that, because seriously it was enough to make a dockhand blush. “guess I’d better see what’s gannin on” she grumbled to herself pulling on clothes and quickly shooing a sleepy Mary back to her bed. Then made her way over to Henry’s place, hoping that he hadn’t woken half the street by the time she got there.
To her infinite relief it seems most people had stayed home and were settling for complaining loudly from their windows. Rowe sincerely hoped it would remain that way. Enlightenment dawned as she entered the garden and saw the unlikely sight of an octogenarian built like the proverbial brick outhouse, clutching an iron bar in one hand while swearing at a shed.
“GEROUTOFIT YE LIL BASTADS, AFORE I DECK YE ALL”. This was met with derisive hoots and snickers from inside, and a fresh barrage from the junk pile Henry had been stockpiling inside.
With a sigh Rowe put the final pieces together. Henry was getting along a bit in years, and it seemed that somewhere along the line he had forgotten to lock his shed door. The old man was a notorious hoarder, and that could only mean one thing, GREMLINS.
“Henry, ye alreet here? Ye knaa iron does na work on these uns, want ous to tek care of it.”
“YE, divvent mek ous laugh lass, I was dealing with the fae when your mam was still a twinkle in your mams eye” he shot back. There’s nowt these little gits can hoy mi way I can na handle.”
“That might be true Henry, but you’ve got enough on your plate with your missus at the minute. Get some rest I’ll deal with this.”
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
Eventually the old man reluctantly agreed and shuffled back into the house to see to his wife. She hadn’t been feeling too clever of late, and Henry was starting to get names mied up, he definitely should not be battling gremlins at his age. Picking up an old wooden tabletop from the debris and holding it in front of her like a shield she started her advance. Cursing to herself as an old ninepin got through her defenses and bounced off her shin.
From inside the snickering increased as she charged forward, hoping her the tabletop would hold long enough as she broke into a run, only to find her boots proved little use vs scattered marbles. Cursing to herself loudly she tumbled forward into the old enginbe shed. It was then that she realised she was really going to have a tough time.
To call Henry a hoarder would be too understated looking at this, that old man wasn’t A hoarder, he was THE hoarder. Looking at the piles of assorted rubbish, scrap, and assorted knickknacks it would not surprise Rowe if he had been collecting this stuff since Adam left the garden. There was even the remains of an old diving suit leaning against one wall, handcranked air pump and all.
At that moment she realised it had been quiet too long and ducked back behind her improvised shield as another round of projectiles clattered against, and in one case to her horror partway through the old teak surface. She bit back a curse and took cover in the middle of one of the massive heaps as there was a twang, and what remained of the table took up a new career as kindling. This was worse than she had ever imagined, it seems the little buggers had been building.
No good came of a bored Gremlin getting ahold of tools, or scrap parts, and both at once? Well that was just a whole other level of bad.
The dark was far less of a problem for Rowe than previously, but being outnumbered was not exactly her favourite thing in the world, and so far she had counted no less than 6 Gremlins hiding out throughout the shed.
While Rowe was figuring out what to do next a larger Gremlin stepped forward, he was clad in assorted pieces of debris that had essentially been beaten into shape around him it. The strange creature lacked eyes, but had large batlike ears, in one hand he held an old poker he had somehow beaten into a sword. “watchoo want arfandarf, arf arf like a mutt” the creature taunted, this was treated by his peers with hoots, hollers, and derisive laughter. “No good ‘idin, can smell peeeeeewman stink all the way back ‘ere.” This was again treated as high comedy by his followers. “so no point stayin’ ‘idden ‘away out”.
“Cease fire and I’ll come out” she shot back “but your position for haudin this place may na be as strong as ye reckon so give your word ye’ll hear ous out, I’m here to negotiate in good faith.”
That seemed to ruffle a few feathers eventually the leader seemed to lose themselves in thought, then gave Rowanne a nod.
“I’m na that daft lad, a nod is na your word, nor is it a contract, your word that I will na be harmed and then I’ll step oot.”
“Alrigh’ brat ye ‘ave mi word. Now c’mon out, But play ous false mutt and I’ll skin yer. Ye ‘ave mi word on that an’ all.”
Rowes heart was hammering in her chest but there was only one thing to do, with a sigh she braced herself and clambered out of the pile.