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Going Gnome.

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This story is No. 2 in the series "Tails From The Slaughtered Lamb.". You may wish to read the series introduction and the preceeding stories first.

Summary: Inspired by David Bowie’s ‘Laughing Gnome’. A young Slayer discovers some little known facts about Gnomes, namely what they’re laughing about.

Categories Author Rating Chapters Words Recs Reviews Hits Published Updated Complete
Miscellaneous > Music(Recent Donor)DaveTurnerFR1813,529051,20418 Feb 0818 Feb 08Yes
By Dave Turner.

Disclaimer: I do not own Buffy the Vampire Slayer or ‘The Laughing Gnome’ I write these stories for fun not profit.

Crossover: Inspired by David Bowie’s ‘60’s hit ‘The Laughing Gnome’. A ‘Tales from The Slaughtered Lamb’ story.

Spelling Punctuation and Grammar; Written in glorious English-English. English idioms are used throughout this fic.

Timeline: Set shortly after ‘Big Girls Rules’ in my ‘Tales from the Slaughtered Lamb’ series.

Words: 3000+, some are even spelt correctly!

Warnings: Minor smut!

Summary: Inspired by David Bowie’s ‘Laughing Gnome’. A young Slayer discovers some little known facts about Gnomes, namely what they’re laughing about.

Beta-ed by Rachael, who is, as I’m sure you must all realise by now, a wonderful woman!


In case you’re not familiar with the song, copy and paste this to YouTube or you favourite search engine (you may need to remove the http:/ bit first).

Music Vid:


By Dave Turner.

Walking into the staff lounge at the Slaughtered Lamb Tavern Mrs Fitzsimons gave a little gasp of shock; she pointed to the creature that was presently sitting in front of the TV chuckling at some children’s cartoon.

“What the hell’s that?” she demanded of Trish the young slayer who was sitting on the sofa reading a magazine.

“What’s what, Mrs F?” Trish peeped from behind her magazine and looked up at Britain’s senior slayer with a look of contrived innocence on her face.

“That!” Mrs Fitzsimons stood, hands on hips in the doorway she turned full on to Trish, her ample breasts tracking towards the younger slayer like two large soft gun turrets, “Well I’m waiting.” she demanded, tapping her foot on the floor.

“He sorta followed me home,” admitted Trish putting down her magazine and meeting Mrs Fitzsimons’ glare with one of her own, for all of five seconds, before turning away.

“What is he?” Mrs Fitzsimons advanced into the room a little and then crouched down to examine the mysterious little creature as it continued to watch the cartoon and giggle to itself.

The creature in question looked like a little old man, who, had he been standing, would have been about twenty to twenty-four inches high. He wore a tall, scarlet, pointy hat with a little brass bell at the apex, his jacket and trousers were grey edged with scarlet and on his feet he wore black shiny boots that almost reached to his knees. He had small twinkling eyes, long white whiskers and red rosy cheeks. His tiny hands were clasped across his tummy, and a fishing rod lay close to hand.

“It’s a Gnome isn’t it?” Mrs F answered her own question.

“Um yeah,” agreed Trish guiltily.

“Well get rid of it then” Mrs Fitzsimons straightened up and looked at Trish angrily, the expression on her face said that there was going to be no arguing with her decision, however much Trish might want to.

“He doesn’t eat much,” Trish tried to explain to an implacable Mrs F, “an’ he’s not evil or anything and he’s always very happy…” Trish wilted under Mrs Fitzsimons’ furious stare.

“Now look here my girl,” Mrs F wagged her finger at Trish, “you let one of those little buggers in and before you know it your garden’s full of the little swine!”

Trish considered pointing out that they didn’t have a garden, but the look on Mrs F’s face told her it was best not to bother.

“Then one day you find the creepy little so ’n’ so’s eating all the goldfish in your pond, an’ marching around the garden singing ‘Hi-Ho’ all bleedin’ night and keeping everybody awake; and they attract those god awful concrete storks as well, you know? Worse than mice they are.”

Trish looked up at Mrs F pleadingly, she’d never been allowed to have a puppy or a kitten when she was a little girl in Sheffield where she’d been brought up and she was kind of hoping that she could keep the Gnome as a sort of pet. What harm could possibly come of that, she wondered. Mrs Fitzsimons heaved a mighty sigh, the two civilisations that were her bust rose and fell simultaneously.

“Now I’m going to have a glass of sherry and a lie down.” she announced, a very long suffering look on her face, “When I get up I expect to find that thing gone, you understand?”

“Yes Mrs Fitzsimons,” replied Trish with all the enthusiasm of a schoolgirl going to an unheated comprehensive on a cold Monday morning.

Mrs Fitzsimons turned to leave.

“You know you’re supposed to report those things to the Gnome Office, don’t you?” Mrs F asked without a hint of a smile as she walked from the room.

Trish looked down at the Gnome who stared up at her with big pleading eyes, she mouthed the words ‘Gnome Office?’ to the little man who just sat there on the floor and shrugged his shoulders.


Trish led the Gnome down to the kitchen were she fried up some mushrooms, the Slaughtered Lamb’s kitchen didn’t stock toadstools, and gave him a glass of Dandelion wine.

“Oh well,” sighed Trish sadly as she watched the Gnome eat his meal, “it was nice while it lasted. I’m sorry but you’ll have to leave.”

“Oh don’t fret about it girlie,” replied the Gnome between mouthfuls of mushroom, “I’m used to it.” The Gnome sighed wistfully, “Even in this day and age there’s still a lot of Gnomeism amongst the older generation.”

“Oh that’s terrible!” gasped Trish, she picked up the Gnome’s empty plate and put it in the sink, “I suppose you’d better be going, I’ll walk you up to the train station, where do you’ll think you’ll go?”

“Oh,” the Gnome jumped down from the chair, “the seaside’s very nice this time of year…I’ve got a brother in Eastbourne, I could go there.”

“Okay then,” Trish bent down and picked up the Gnome’s luggage which consisted of a red spotted hanky on the end of a stick, it contained the Gnome’s meagre possessions.

Seeing Trish’s sad expression the Gnome tried to put on a happy face, it wasn’t everyday a slayer took you in and cooked you a meal.

“Don’t look so sad,” he said with strained jollity, “you don’t need much when you’re on the road travelling…seeing the sights…dodging every fox that comes your way.” the Gnome’s shoulders sagged, “Nearly freezing to death in the hedgerows in winter.”

He was beginning to wish he’d never left the Gnome Sanctuary at number twenty-seven Mahatma Ghandi Drive.

“Oh well, you make your bed and you get bitten to death by ants in it.” He sobbed wiping away the tears with the sleeve of his jacket.

“Come on,” Trish leant down and patted the Gnome on the shoulder, “I’ll take you to the station and buy you a ticket.”

“Don’t suppose I could ‘touch’ you for a packet of fags do you?” the Gnome looked up at Trish hopefully.

“It’ll stunt your growth.” a smile played once more around Trish’s lips.

“What do I care,” replied the Gnome sadly only then realising Trish had made a Joke, he smiled weakly.

“I think we should stop off at the barbers,” Trish announced as they headed towards the door, “you look like a Rolling Gnome!” the Gnome laughed again, “Do you come from Eastbourne?” Trish wanted to know.

“Nah,” the Gnome chuckled to himself, “I’m sort of a gnomad!”


Trish escorted her vertically challenged friend down to Charing Cross station and bought him twenty Rothmans and a box of matches from a shop along the way. She stood on the platform and waved her hanky to the Gnome as the train pulled out of the station taking her little friend off towards the coast and who knew what new adventures. Slowly she made her way back to the Slaughtered Lamb.


That evening Trish found herself standing in the kitchen doing some washing up that had been left in the sink, Mrs F came in and looked around the kitchen suspiciously.

“Has he gone?” she asked briskly.

“Yeah,” moped Trish as she unenthusiastically washed up some coffee mugs.

“Look Trish,” Mrs F’s voice softened as she went over to the girl and put her arm around her shoulder and gave her an affectionate squeeze, “it’s all for the best y’know? London’s no place for a Gnome, he’ll be happier out in the countryside.”

Trish wasn’t so sure about that but she bowed to the inevitable and resolved to put the entire incident behind her. That night she went on patrol around Soho where she took out all her disappointments on the local vampire population.


The next morning Trish woke up to the sun shining in around the edges of her curtains, she lay in bed and yawned and stretched. Relaxing back on to her pillows she realised that it was Wednesday and she had the whole day off! No bar duties, no Slayer duties in fact she had nothing to do until five o’clock on Thursday afternoon. She was just deciding on which shops to visit and whether or not to go out clubbing that night…midweek wasn’t that good maybe she’d go to the cinema if there was something decent on. It was only as these happy thoughts were going through her mind that she realised that she was not alone in her room. Cautiously Trish raised her head to look around.

“’Ello!” came a cheery voice from the bottom of her bed.

“What!” Trish spluttered in surprise as she looked over her covers to see two Gnomes sitting at the foot of her bed, one she recognised as the Gnome from the day before, the other was a stranger.

Trish pulled up her duvet around her chest and pointed at the newcomer.

“Who’s that?” she demanded, shocked at having a strange Gnome in her bedroom.

“That’s Fred,” explained the first Gnome, “he’s my brother. I told him how kind you’d been and he wanted to come along and sing you a song.”

“Yeah, alright,” Trish relaxed a little, but was still more than a little confused; she really wasn’t at her best first thing in the morning. “But make it quick an’ if Mrs F hears you she’ll go ballistic,” a strange clicking noise came to Trish’s ears, “What’s that noise?” she snapped looking around suspiciously.

“That’s Fred,” quipped the Gnome, “he’s a metrognome! Ha-ha!”

Trish groaned and pulled her duvet up over her head, she was starting to think that maybe Mrs F had been right after all. The first Gnome, whose name turned out to be Bert, looked on in panic as his prospective meal ticket quietly started to fume at the other end of the bed.

“Look,” Bert cried trying to sound reasonable, “all the stuff I said about the foxes, an’ the ants an’ freezing to death it was all true.”

Trish reappeared from under her duvet; the two Gnomes seemed to shrink under her baleful stare.

“We don’t want much,” pleaded Bert, he and his brother took their hats off to expose little bald heads, “we just want somewhere out of the cold…”

“An’ the rain.” sniffed Fred pathetically.

“We won’t be any bother.” added Bert.

“We can eats the rats an’ mice,” volunteered Fred, “see you won’t even have to feed us!”

“Well maybe a bit of cheese every now and then,” Bert added quickly

“Oh yes!” agreed Fred eagerly, “we’re both fancy a bit o’ cheese.”

“And we’re both clean and well educated,” Bert added proudly.

“Yeah,” a grin spread across Fred’s face, “we both went to The London School of Eco-gnomics!”

Both Gnomes grinned hopefully up at Trish.

“Okay,” she knew it was hopeless, how could she throw these two little jokers out on the street, “but if Mrs F finds you…”

“She won’t!” chorused the Gnomes excitedly.

“Mind she doesn’t,” warned Trish as she started to sit up, still keeping the duvet clutched closely to her chest, “I don’t think she likes Gnomes. So, where are you going to live?”

Bert and Fred put their hats back on and sat down cross-legged on Trish’s bed.

“Well,” explained Fred, “there’s a nice gap behind your gas fire that leads up into the old chimney.” The Gnome pointed out, “Give us a couple of days and the materials an’ we can have a flue put in to take away the fumes from the fire an’ we can make it nice an’ snug an’ no one will be the wiser.”

“I hope not,” Trish looked from one gnome to the other, “if; and I say again ‘IF’ I agree to let you stay there’s got to be some rules, okay?”

The Gnomes nodded their heads hopefully.

“No wild parties,” Trish started to count the points off on her fingers, the Gnomes shook their heads; no parties. “I expect you to keep the place clean and tidy, no nasty smells and no rubbish left lying around,” Again the Gnomes nodded their agreement. “And most importantly,” Trish’s arms shot out and grabbed the Gnomes jackets by their lapels before either Gnome could react, “absolutely no peeping when I’m changing or anything…okay?”

The Gnomes nodded their heads frantically with fixed grins on their faces. It was easy to forget that this seemingly harmless young woman was in fact one of the most dangerous predators on the planet. While a slayer’s bedroom was possibly one of the safest places in the world, if the slayer liked you. If on the other hand you pissed her off, you could expect your life to be very short and extremely painful.

“No ma’am!” squeaked the Gnomes, “No peeking…not never!”


The Gnomes had lived in the old fireplace in Trish’s bedroom for two weeks now and everything seemed to be working out. The Gnomes kept mostly to themselves, but every few days one of them would pop out to have a chat with Trish. This usually happened if she was feeling low or unhappy. But after a visit from one of the Gnomes she always felt better, more able to face her life as a slayer with all it ups and downs.

This particular night Trish had come home after an exceptionally frustrating patrol. She had tracked this vamp halfway across London only to lose him out by Wembley Stadium. Then she had missed the last tube home and had to hire a bandit in a wreck of a minicab to get her home. He wouldn’t take a credit card so she had had to find a ‘Hole in the Wall’ to get cash to pay the scoundrel off. By the time Trish had got back to the Slaughtered Lamb it was nearly three in the morning and she was feeling fit to drop.

Wearily Trish climbed the stairs and fell into her room and collapsed onto her bed. God she was tired, foregoing a shower she with a sigh she pulled off her clothes and left them in a pile on the floor by her bed. She crawled under her duvet and switched out the light and tried to get to sleep.

Have you ever had one of those nights when you’re really tired but there’s so much going one inside your head that you can’t drop off? That was how Trish felt, she tossed and turned but sleep just wouldn’t come. Eventually she sat up and switched the light back on, she needed to take her mind off things. Opening the drawer of her bedside cabinet Trish reached in and pulled out her ‘Rampant Rabbit’, smiling to herself Trish snuggled down under the covers and switched on.

Nothing happened!

“Crap!” cursed Trish, “Dead batteries,” her mind raced wondering where she could get spares at four o’clock in the morning; her mind came up with a blank.

Sadly she replaced her plastic friend into its drawer and lay on her back wondering what she should do. Just then she felt something heavy climb onto her bed, looking down her bed she saw Bert walking across the duvet towards her, he sat down on her tummy and regarded Trish with knowing eyes. Trish’s eyes on the other hand were round with surprise because Bert was dressed only in his pointy hat with the bell at the end and his black boots.

“May I be of some assistance?” he asked nonchalantly.

“I really don’t think so,” Trish tried to be kind not wanting to crush the little guys ego, “but you don’t really…um…measure up?”

“Ah!” Exclaimed Bert standing up again and putting his hands on his hips, the bell on he end of his hat went, ‘tinkle-tinkle’ as he moved. “There’s something about Gnomes that isn’t common knowledge.”

There was the tinkling of fairy bells and a slight flash of multicoloured light. Trish’s eyes and mouth formed three large ‘O’s’.

“Oh my!” she gasped.

“Yes!” agreed Bert triumphantly as he tried not to overbalance and fall on his…face?

Trish’s eyebrows formed a frown as she tried to puzzle something out.

“Doesn’t that make all your blood rush to your…away from your brain?”

“Nah,” explained Bert with a careless wave of his hand, “its magic init?”

“Yeah well it’d have to be, I mean something that size and you only being two foot tall.”

“Twenty-five and a half inches, please,” corrected Bert, “so do you want it or not?”

“Yeah, why not?” grinned Trish eagerly throwing back the duvet to let Bert in.

“Right let’s get on with it then,” Bert walked the rest of the way up the bed towards Trish and disappeared under the covers, “switch the light out please…I’m shy!”

“I can’t see why,” Trish obediently switched off the light and lay back on her pillows, “You’ve got nothing to be ashamed of…OH MY!”


Trish woke up the next morning to find a rather bedraggled Gnome lying next to her. She smiled lazily and rolled over to pock the Gnome in the back.

“No more!” ne groaned he’d forgotten how ‘energetic’ slayers could be; it was just as well he’d got his brother to move in. If he hadn’t he’d be worn away to a frazzle in a couple of weeks otherwise. Bert climbed to his feet and searched around for his hat.

“Bert,” Trish said sleepily, “next time could you take off your boots first?”

Bert opened his mouth to say something but Trish cut him off.

“It’s a girl thing, okay?”

“I’ve got to keep me hat on though,” Bert summoned up all the dignity that he could, “A Gnome has his pride.”

“Yeah sure,” mumbled Trish as she rolled over and drifted off back to sleep.

Bert jumped down from the bed and made his wearily way across the bedroom floor towards the fireplace.

“Typical Slayer,” he grumbled as he walked, “one night of passion and its ‘take y’boots off, an’ ‘not like that’ an’ ‘take me roughly from behind’!” He sighed as he reached the fireplace, what did she expect he was only twenty-five and a half inches tall!

Next time it could be Fred’s turn, see how he liked it!



Rampant Rabbit:

The Laughing Gnome, by David Bowie.

I was walking down the High Street
When I heard footsteps behind me
And there was a little old man (Hello)
In scarlet and grey, chuckling away
Well he trotted back to my house
And he sat beside the telly (Oaah..)
With his tiny hands on his tummy
Chuckling away, laughing all day

Oh, I ought to report you to the Gnome office
(Gnome Office)

Ha ha ha, hee hee hee
"I'm a laughing Gnome and you can't catch me"
Ha ha ha, hee hee hee
"I'm a laughing Gnome and you can't catch me"
Said the laughing Gnome

Well I gave him roasted toadstools and a glass of dandelion wine (Burp, pardon)
Then I put him on a train to Eastbourne
Carried his bag and gave him a fag
(Have you got a light boy?)
"Here, where do you come from?"
(Gnome-man's land, hahihihi)
"Oh, really?"

In the morning when I woke up
He was sitting on the edge of my bed
With his brother whose name was Fred
He'd bought him along to sing me a song

Right, let's hear it
Here, what's that clicking noise?
(That's Fred, he's a "metrognome", haha)

Ha ha ha, hee hee hee
"I'm a laughing Gnome and you don't catch me"
Ha ha ha, hee hee hee
"I'm a laughing Gnome and you can't catch me"

(Own up, I'm a gnome, ain't I right, haha)
"Haven't you got an 'ome to go to?"
(No, we're gnomads)
"Didn't they teach you to get your hair cut at school?
You look like a rolling gnome."
(No, not at the London School of Ecognomics)

Now they're staying up the chimney
And we're living on caviar and honey (hooray!)
Cause they're earning me lots of money
Writing comedy prose for radio shows
It's the-er (what?)
It's the Gnome Service of course

Ha ha ha, hee hee hee
"I'm a laughing Gnome and you don't catch me"
Ha ha ha, oh, dear me

(Ha ha ha, hee hee hee
"I'm a laughing Gnome and you can't catch me"
Ha ha ha, hee hee hee
"I'm a laughing Gnome and you can't catch me")

The End

You have reached the end of "Going Gnome.". This story is complete.

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