Chapter 66

The people of Ireland had a problem. Not the usual sort of problem, like a few bad winters or a crisis of leadership. No, it was the gnomes. They had always been there, buried in the old stories, forgotten by most. But then they weren't.

They had come out of the ground, from their long hibernation, and started killing. At first, no one believed it. It didn't make sense. Gnomes? The little things with the silly hats? But when the first wave hit, it became clear.

One man, James, had seen it first. He lived in a small cottage by the hills, far from the cities. That night, he heard them—those tiny footsteps, soft but sure. They crawled across his roof, scratching and scraping. He had laughed it off, thinking it was a raccoon or some other animal. But when the knocking came, he froze.

The door rattled. Not the wind. He knew that sound. Someone—or something—was trying to get in. His heart slammed against his chest. He grabbed the iron rod by the fireplace and stood by the door. The knocking stopped, replaced by a low, wet sound—like something dripping.

Then the door burst open.

There were three of them. The gnomes. They were small, but twisted, their faces like melted wax. Their eyes gleamed red, like blood in the dark. And their hands… they were sharp. Not like human hands. Their fingers ended in claws.

Long claws that dug into his skin when they grabbed him. They didn't speak. They didn't need to. They just dragged him, kicking and screaming, toward the ground. James had tried to fight, but they were faster, stronger. His blood splattered on the walls.

He didn't see the rest.

The reports came hours later, and then days. People started disappearing. Whole villages, gone in the night. The gnomes never left a trace—just blood and scraps of clothing. The government's first reaction was to deploy the military.

But it was no use. No amount of guns could stop them. No amount of fire could burn them. The gnomes were something else, something ancient, and they had a plan.

Soon, it wasn't just the countryside. The gnomes were everywhere, creeping through cities, their tiny claws ripping through flesh. The survivors, panicked, begged for help, but no one had answers. No one knew how to stop them.

And then the decision was made: a wall would be built around the country. A great wall, to contain them. The people who lived in Ireland would sacrifice themselves. They would stay, to keep the rest of the world safe. They would die.

James didn't know how long he had been in the walls. Days, weeks? It didn't matter anymore. The constant thrum of fear, of dread, was all that remained. Every day, more and more people disappeared. The gnomes kept coming, their numbers growing. The wall was a lie. It didn't keep them out. It trapped everyone inside, forcing them to face the truth: they would die here.

James had no idea how many were left. Maybe a few thousand. Maybe fewer. He didn't know what time it was anymore. What was the point? The wall didn't protect them. It made them easier targets.

The gnomes had all the time in the world, and they loved to play with their food. They would come for you slowly, one by one, or in a pack. They'd grab you when you weren't looking. They'd drag you to the ground, and you'd never see daylight again.

One evening, in the dark of a crumbling building, James thought he heard the soft scrape of little feet. He could feel it, deep in his bones—the terror creeping up. He ran, but there was nowhere to go.

He never saw them, not exactly. But he felt the claws. They tore into his flesh. One on each arm. He couldn't scream. The pain was too much. The gnomes were silent, their breath foul in the blackness. James stumbled, blood falling from him like rain. His body grew cold.

And as he collapsed, unable to fight anymore, he realized they weren't just killing people. They were making them part of themselves. Their claws dug deeper, into his very soul.

And when James died, his blood didn't just spill onto the floor. It soaked into the earth, into the walls. It became part of the gnomes, feeding their hunger, turning him into one of them. He was still trapped in that hell, now just another monster in the dark, waiting for the next victim.