Bill slowly came to at the base of a tree near his home. He staggered to his feet dazedly, and then tried to piece together the events of the previous night. Spotting the skeletonized corpse of the police chief, he marveled at his own ferocity. But only momentarily, as a large-fanged pixie floated over and hovered protectively over the carcass. Seeing that he didn’t really hurt anyone lifted a small weight off Bill’s gnomish shoulders, but he figured that was from passing gas.
Wandering over to his house, Bill recalled the torch-wielding group posting a sign on his house the night before. Quickening his pace, he saw the sign come to view, tacked neatly to his house’s little front door. He jogged closer and closer, the sign slowly coming into focus. “Co…” whispered Bill, his eyes squinched nearly shut in both an attempt to see better and concentrate. “Co… Con… Dem… Ned… Condom-Ned? That makes no sense!” After a short moment of curious deliberation, a light flared briefly on in his little head. “Condemned!” he wailed helplessly. “My house has been condemned! They took my workshop away from me! My living room, my foyer, my bath… outhouse! They took it all away!”
His wails broke away into horrible sobs as he threw himself onto the ground, kicking his feet feebly in an overpowering fit of self-pity. Getting to his feet, his tiny hands balled into tight fists, he looked straight up into the sky and screamed. “WHY!?!” he asked the sky, “WHY?!?”
“Because you let the house rot,” came a booming voice from above.
Bill shrieked and dove, burying his torso under a pile of rotting compost. “Don’t eat me, God!” came a muffled cry.
“God? I’m not God,” said the voice from above.
Bill scurried deeper into the molding remains of leaves, “Don’t eat me, tall, evil stranger!”
A hand reached down and pinched Bill’s foot between its thumb and index finger, then lifted him carefully out of the pile of garbage. Pulling him up to eye level, the tall, evil giant stared at him with a large, pearly smile on his face. “Why, I’m no evil giant, I’m an insurance sales representative and a real estate agent. I’ve come here to discuss the monetary worth of your… er, log, here.”
Bill twisted and struggled futilely, trying to escape the monstrous salesman. “Let me go, demon,” he shouted, “so’s I can pluck your eyes from your head and bludgeon you to death with them!”
The salesman’s grin widened, and he slowly set the violent little gnome on the forest floor. “There you go, little guy, now how’s about we discuss this little transaction peacefully?”
Ian the insurance salesman wasn’t very surprised to see the gnome flee into his decrepit little log. Small, violent creatures tend to be all talk. It was a fact he’d learned early on while selling his goods to the tiny folk of the forest. He turned and began to walk away, watching his step lest he make a tiny prospective pixie-insurance buyer go *squish*.
Suddenly, a deep-rooted pain burst into his ankle. He yelled loudly as the pain continued to intensify, punctuated with little stabs of agony. Looking down, he saw the grungy-looking gnome he’d spoken to earlier clinging to his calf and hacking away at his leg with a mean-looking battleaxe. Ian smiled through the pain and ran towards a nearby tree. He lifted his foot as high as he could, the gnome still swinging his axe, and then brought it down as hard as he could. A tiny crunch emanated from the gnome he’d smashed between his leg and the tree. Satisfied, the salesman stalked off to make a claim on his own company.
His eyes twinkled brightly as the thought hit him. He smiled, nervously, and then took a deep breath. Closing his eyes, he braced himself, and then ran out into the field yelling a war cry of sorts. Anyone who saw him running off into the sunset could have sworn he was shouting “I’ll carve and sell furniture!”
"Either that or 'Aisle car van sail miniature!'" agreed a couple of local prairie dogs.