Revenge of the Lawn Gnomes by R. L. Stine Page A

your dad did it.
You know. Because of the tomatoes. But Mom told him that that was ridiculous. So
he called the police. He said he won’t rest until whoever did it is thrown in
jail!”
    “He said that ?” I asked. My mouth suddenly felt as dry as cotton.
“Moose, once the police start to check things out, they’re going to blame you
and me!”
    “Blame us? Are you nuts? Why would they blame us?” he demanded.
    “Because we were both outside last night!” I said. “And everybody knows it.”
    Moose’s dark brown eyes flickered with fear. “You’re right,” he said. “What
are we going to do?”
    “I don’t know,” I replied sadly. I paced back and forth in the McCalls’
driveway, thinking hard. The asphalt felt warm and sticky on my bare feet.
    I moved to the grass. And noticed a line of small white paint spots.
    “Hey, what’s this?” I cried.
    I followed the paint trail across the grass.
    Over the petunias.
    To the corner of my yard.
    The paint drips ended where the gnomes stood, grinning at me.
    “I knew it! I knew it!” I cried out. “Moose, come look at this trail. The
gnomes splashed your car! And did all the other bad things around here.”
    “Lawn gnomes?” Moose sputtered. “Joe, give up. No one will believe that. Why
don’t you give it a rest?”
    “Check out the evidence!” I demanded. “The melon seed on the gnome’s lips.
This trail of white paint. I even found black paint on their fingers. Right
after your dad found the smiley faces on his casabas!”
    “Weird,” Moose muttered. “Very weird. But lawn gnomes are lawn gnomes, Joe.
They don’t run around doing mischief.”
    “What if we prove they’re guilty?” I suggested.
    “Excuse me? How would we do that?”
    “Catch them in the act,” I replied.
    “Huh? This is nuts, Joe.”
    “Come on, Moose. We’ll do it tonight. We’ll sneak out, hide around the side
of the house, and watch them.”
    Moose shook his head. “No way,” he answered. “I’m in big trouble after last
night.”
    “And after the police finish, what kind of trouble will you be in then?”
    “Okay. Okay. I’ll do it,” he muttered. “But I think this whole thing is a big
waste of time.”
    “We’re going to trap these gnomes, Moose,” I told him. “If it’s the last
thing we do.”
     
    Ahhh!
    My alarm clock! It didn’t go off!
    And now it was nearly midnight. And I was late. I’d promised to meet Moose outside at eleven-thirty.
    I leaped out of bed, still dressed in my jeans and T-shirt. I grabbed my
sneakers and ran outside.
    No moon. No stars. The front lawn lay blanketed in darkness.
    The yard was silent. Too silent.
    I glanced around for Moose. No sign of him. He probably went back inside
when I didn’t show.
    What should I do now? Stay out by myself? Or go back to bed?
    Something rustled in the bushes. I gasped.
    “Joe. Joe. Over here,” Moose whispered loudly.
    He popped his head out from behind the evergreen shrubs in front of my house.
And waved me over.
    I slid down next to him.
    Moose punched me hard on the arm. “I thought you chickened out.”
    “No way!” I whispered back. “This was my idea!”
    “Yeah, your crazy idea,” Moose replied. “I can’t believe I’m hiding behind a
bush. In the middle of the night. Spying on lawn ornaments.”
    “I know it sounds crazy, but—”
    “Shhh. Did you hear something?” Moose interrupted.
    I heard it. A scraping sound.
    I reached into the shrub and parted the thick green branches. The needles clawed at my hands and arms. I jerked my arms out
quickly. Too quickly. Blood dripped from my fingers where two needles had
pierced right through my skin.
    The scraping sound came closer.
    My heart pounded in my chest.
    Closer.
    Moose and I sat there. We exchanged frightened glances.
    I had to look. I had to see what was making those sounds.
    I parted the needles once again. And stared through the mass of needled
branches. Two small, glowing eyes met mine!
    “Get it, Moose!