Chapter One

Bothilda

Aka BOB

H aving a bad day? Aww. Boss is a douche? Boo hoo. Ex is behind on child support? Waahhh. The diet isn’t working? Sob! I know you think you’ve got it bad, but I promise you that my day is a thousand times crappier than yours. I’m a dryad stuck in a vibrator. I’m sorry, you need me to repeat that? I’m. A. Dryad. Stuck. In. A. Vibrator.

I bet your day is looking much better already, isn’t it?

You’re probably wondering how a tree nymph would get stuck in a vibrator. “What crazy magic is this?” you say. We dryads more commonly possess wood. But then centuries ago evil witches figured out how to harness our souls and put them in their wands, giving them more power. And I once thought living in a wooden would be a nightmare. Honestly, I’d trade living in an elderberry stick polished with dragon fire any day for my current predicament.

You see, a few years ago, a witch recited a spell while holding me, and the magic that ordinarily transports me to wands put me in the wrong wand, to say the least. Oh, but the story gets worse, much worse. After she used me because her husband wasn’t performing up to her standards, she then forgot about me in her suitcase, where I lingered for years until she let me get taken by a gang of girl (nanny) gnomes—the horniest of all the magical creatures!

They know I’m in here, the little shits, and rather than help me escape my silicone prison, they’re taking advantage of the magical power that keeps the wand fully charged and riding me like horny mini bull-riders. They were at it for hours, riding me until they fell off, their eyes transfixed on the ceiling, their stiff legs protruding in the air like petrified goats. I have a splitting headache, and my teeth are still chattering from the vibration, but I can hear them stirring. Any minute and they’ll be on top of me again going, “Wahaha!” until they fall off.

But wait! What have we here? The bucks have convened for a special meeting about the purple menace. Hey, wait! That’s me! I’m no menace! It’s not my fault you don’t know how to please your women. Oh, this should be interesting.

Chieftain Dingleberry of the tribe Fungi-Toes

As interpreted by a narrator, since gnome grammar is atrocious

CHIEF D WAS BIG MAD . His woman refused to rut, and they’d only made forty-eight offspring since the mating call three years ago. The gnome chief must produce many babies, or else he feared the other bucks would take his crown. Already four years old, he was middle-aged for a gnome but still young for a chieftain. His long, black beard was not yet peppered with gray, and some of the older bucks were questioning his leadership. Now all the bucks blamed Chief D for the purple menace. The tribe nannies had been rutting less and less with their mates, but since the giant, shaky weewee (as the gnomes called it) was brought into their den, the tribe nannies wouldn’t rut at all. The bucks’ balls had turned big and blue, and all the bucks were big mad. Luckily, Chief D knew what to do. Destroy the purple menace!

Chief D adjusted the clasp on his crown, a shiny golden earring he stole from a witch with many jewels. She wouldn’t miss it. She had another just like it. The earring reminded him of the pretty jewelry worn by the Enchantress, the most beautiful witch to have ever lived. Thoughts of her filled his days and nights. He and the other bucks counted the days until she posted new videos on Witchtok while wearing down phone batteries watching her old ones. Though he had a mate, he knew the Enchantress would always be the love of his life. If only one day he could meet his lovely goddess. He would sacrifice his litter of firstborns to the cats and give up a week’s rations of cheese and beer just to plant a kiss on her thick, full lips painted with shimmery gloss.

But it wasn’t the time to pine for his true love. It was time for business. He heaved a wistful sigh while pushing thoughts of the Enchantress from his mind, and he used a big whistle to call the bucks to an emergency meeting in the tunnel below the nannies’ den. He paced the creaky floorboards as candlelight flickered across the dark walls and rotting insulation of the den his tribe has called home for over two decades, a very long time for a tribe to survive in one place. Thanks to the leadership of the chieftains before him, he hoped his tribe could go on for decades more. It helped that the striga who managed the single witch boarding house was lazy, and that the witch called Generale Sagredo gave them extra cheese and beer in exchange for a few favors, like bugging and debugging phones.

He scowled when dust rained down on his head from the shaky weewee, which was making the floorboards above rattle like an earthquake had hit the den. He stopped in front of his throne made from a fancy witch phone that folded like a real chair, and he made a big angry face while hundreds of other mad bucks found seats on the floor. They were whispering and pointing and blaming him for the shaky weewee.

“Silence!” he yelled, banging a staff made from a pen that leaked ink onto the floor. He banged the pen again when the bucks refused to shut their mouths. “Bucks of tribe Fungi-Toes call to order emergency purple menace meeting!”

The bucks clamped their mouths shut, their pointy hats scraping the ceiling, and their bushy beards dragging the floor.

“It not purple,” Bruder Gobbleneck called from the crowd. “It gray!”

Bruder Sixfingers poked Gobbleneck’s side. “You colorblind, dummy!”

Chief D thrust his fist in the air. “It not matter what color. It bad thing that make our nannies go cuckoo head!”

Bzzzzz. Bz. Bz.

“Wuhhhh!”

He cringed and swore when the moaning nannies interrupted his speech. Then he banged his staff on the ceiling. He was big mad when the nannies’ laughter echoed from above.

“This silly.” Bruder Sixfingers threw up his hands. “We hide charge. It stop.”

“That won’t work. It run on magic,” an old, crackly voice whispered.

The bucks gasped when Mage Stankbreath came into the tunnel, clutching a real staff made of an old tree root and topped with a pygmy dragon claw as his white beard nearly dragged the floor. He was a very old mage, almost ten years, which was ancient for a gnome. His breath also smelled like doo doo. But he was the smartest gnome Chieftain D ever knew.

He walked slowly, leaning against his staff as the bucks parted for him.

Bzzz. Bzz. Bzzzz.

“Wahahaha!”

“Oh, wise Mage Stankbreath,” Chief D cried, “please tell us how know this.”

Mage Stankbreath stood before them, his breath fogging the air so badly, Chief D had to take a big step to the side. Mage Stankbreath rubbed his bushy beard while his wrinkly eyes narrowed to slits. “Me sense magic in shaky weewee. Me sense dryad!”

The bucks gasped. “Ohhhh!”

Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

“Waaaaaaaahhhhhhh!”

Chief D scowled at the ceiling again. “What do we do, wise mage?” he pleaded, unable to stand the sound of the nannies having so much fun without him.

“Let us ask dryad?” Mage Stankbreath said, then he thumped his staff on the ceiling. “ Revelio .”

The bucks froze when the buzzing from up above stopped and a bright light shone through the floor. Then a spirit woman with bark for skin, branches growing out of her arms, and flowers on her head floated into the room, wisps of her hair still attached to the ceiling.

“Ahh, greetings, little ones.” Her smile was beautiful and peaceful, reminding Chief D of the heavenly goddess, the Enchantress, that made all the bucks go cuckoo head with love. “Thank you for releasing me from my prison, if only for a moment.”

“Oh, blessed dryad,” Mage Stankbreath called to the spirit. “How you in shaky weewee?”

“Long story.” She clasped her hands together and frowned. “Let’s just say I was put in the wrong wand.”

It took a long time for Chief D to find his voice as he gaped at the pretty spirit dryad. “How do we free dryad from prison, so nannies stop humping shaky weewee?”

She nodded to the ceiling above where the shaky weewee was silent. “You must take my vessel to the park.”

Chieftain D scratched his head, giving the mage a confused look. “Park?”

“The park of many trees,” Mage Stankbreath said.

The gnomes froze in fear, for the park of many trees was a dangerous voyage.

The dryad spirit nodded. “There, your cousins, the woodland gnomes, will release me.”

“B-b-but,” Chieftain D protested, “park of many trees is dangerous quest, and there will be many cats.”

The gnomes hissed at the mention of their greatest nemeses, the evil cats.

“Yes.” The dryad spirit frowned. “Some gnomes may die, but I am stuck in here without a living tree to transfer my spirit, and your nannies will keep riding me while neglecting you.”

Bruder Bumblenose, with a nose so big and round it took up most of his face, raised his hand. “We give purple menace back to witch. Then problem go bye bye.”

Many of the bucks grumbled. “Nannies will steal it back!”

“We try again!” Bruder Bumblenose cried.

Mage Stankbreath clucked his tongue. “Witches be gone already! They not coming back.”

Bruder Gobbleneck jumped up and down, his turkey neck jiggling like melty cheese. “Then we go to tribe Bent-Stick and steal them nannies!”

Mage Stankbreath shook his head. “Many bucks die that way, too.”

“Or you could bring me to the park,” the dryad said.

“Dryad right,” Mage Stankbreath said while his breath fumes curled around in the air like rotten cheese. “Bucks must rid tribe Fungi-Toes of shaky weewee for good.”

“Me know!” Bruder Sixfingers waved his hands in the air. “Throw in the sewer of many poops.”

“Ooh!” Several gnomes clapped Bruder Sixfingers on the back.

The gnomes froze when the dryad’s eyes flared like broomstick headlights.

“Listen to me, gnomes!” she roared. “If you don’t take me to the park of many trees, I will curse you with a plague of raging flatulence.”

Bruder Gobbleneck leaned to the side and let out big, stanky fart that smelled like old cheese. “Like this?”

The bucks laughed, fanning their faces and letting out more cheese farts.

Chief D flinched when he saw the dryad’s eyes flare brighter.

“And I will summon every cat within a three-mile radius,” she boomed.

The bucks hissed, arching away from the dryad, and Chief D no longer thought her pretty like the Enchantress. No, she was evil like the bad witches who killed his friends with gnome traps and poison cheese. But he knew the bucks had no choice but to do what she said and go on a dangerous quest.

He cleared his throat and banged his staff, ink spilling on the floor. “Dryad has spoken. We must bring shaky weewee to park of many trees. Who volunteer?”

Chief D scowled when the bucks backed away like frightened mice. He shook his fist. “Me ashamed of tribe. All cowards!”

The dryad disappeared with a gasp like retreating smoke.

Bzzzz. Bzzzz. Bzzzz. Bzzzz.

The floorboards rattled above.

“Wuhh, wuhh, wuhh, wuhh!” the nannies cried.

Chief D slapped his chest. “Me volunteer to go. Who go with me?”

Bruders Sixfingers, Gobbleneck, and Bumblenose all stumbled forward as if they had been pushed. Chief D didn’t care. They would have to do.

“Good.” He protruded his chest. “We wait until nannies tired from riding shaky weewee, then we go on quest.”

Mage Stankbreath frowned then waved his wand at Chief D and the three bruders. “We wish you good fortune, bruders, and blessings of many keys, cheese, and shiny phones.”