Glitter Is Not A Cleaning Solution, Moppin
It was a peaceful morning. Which, in Zef and Snorb’s home, meant nothing was currently screaming, levitating, or actively trying to devour the couch.
Marzipan the ferret was nestled in a teacup like the overstuffed noodle she was, tail draped over the rim in sleepy splendor. Ziggy, their calico cat, sat in the windowsill like a disdainful gargoyle, glaring at the wind as if there was a blood feud.
Zef was halfway through his second cup of peace and bergamot when the front door exploded off its hinges with a sound like a fizzy sneeze.
“FOR THE FLUFF AND THE FLOORBOARDS—AGAIN!”
A blur of brown, sock fuzz, and unchecked audacity cannonballed into the sitting room. Moppin Tiddlewhack skidded across the hardwood on a coaster, flinging open his arms like a conquering hero.
Zef didn’t even flinch. “The door was unlocked.”
Snorb, emerging from the hallway in pajama pants and a “Gnome Sweet Gnome” crop top, blinked blearily. “Are we under attack or is it just Tuesday?”
“Both,” Moppin declared, and then whistled.
That’s when the smell hit.
A scent like wild marshes, sugar cereal, and glitter glue assaulted their noses just before a puddle of water—sparkling with iridescent flecks—sloshed across the floor.
The creature that squelched in behind Moppin looked like a pony drawn by someone who’d only ever seen horses in dreams and Lisa Frank binders. It had oversized eyes, sparkly hooves, a tangled mane of rainbow kelp, and the self-satisfied smile of someone who had just licked the icing off your birthday cake.
It also immediately vomited a rainbow jet of glitter all over Ziggy.
Ziggy did not blink. But something in the air chilled, as if the spirit of vengeance had just awakened and it had claws.
“This is Puke!” Moppin announced proudly, hopping up on the coffee table and striking a pose. “My kelpie! He’s a rescue. Isn’t he precious?”
“Did he just puke glitter on my cat?” Zef asked calmly.
“Yes! Isn’t it adorable?” Moppin beamed.
Ziggy leapt from the windowsill and stalked toward the glitter-drenched kelpie, tail twitching like a fuse.
Snorb caught him mid-air by the scruff. “Ziggy, no murder before breakfast.”
Marzipan yawned and peeked out of her teacup. Puke immediately slurped her up like a spaghetti noodle and spat her gently back out, now covered in sparkly drool. The ferret blinked, gave a long-suffering sigh, and waddled away to roll in Zef’s sock drawer.
“So what exactly brings you and your... sparkle geyser to our home?” Zef asked, conjuring a towel with a flick of his fingers and trying to wipe up, to no avail.
“I’m being haunted,” Moppin declared dramatically, flopping backward into a pile of decorative pillows like a very small, chaotic fainting goat. “There’s a wraith in my pantry. Keeps rearranging my spices alphabetically. It’s unnerving.”
Zef blinked. “You’re upset... because your pantry is organized?”
“Exactly! I live in carefully curated entropy! There’s a system! The cumin goes nowhere near the cinnamon!”
Snorb rubbed his temples. “So you brought the kelpie why, exactly?”
“Oh! Puke detects spectral disruptions. He’s very sensitive.”
Puke immediately began licking the wall.
“Does... that help?” Snorb asked.
“No,” Moppin admitted. “But he enjoys it.”
Zef was about to offer some magically-enhanced calming chamomile when Puke hiccupped and let out a glittery belch that set the curtains on fire.
Snorb yelped and ran for a fire extinguisher. Ziggy narrowed his eyes and began plotting something involving string and revenge.
“Moppin,” Zef said gently. “Why didn’t you just call an exorcist?”
“I did! But they tried to vacuum Puke. He’s still traumatized.”
Puke farted glitter and kicked over a potted plant.
“I can see how that would be distressing,” Zef deadpanned.
Marzipan reappeared with Zef’s favorite left sock over her head like a helmet. She squeaked triumphantly and charged at Puke, who responded by licking her again and coating her in pastel goo.
Zef waved his hand. “All right. This has reached ‘curse magnet’ levels of nonsense. Living room lockdown. Snorb, distract Puke.”
“With what?”
Zef handed him a novelty kazoo.
As the kelpie pranced in dizzying circles to the sound of kazoo solos and enraged cat yowls, Zef drew a containment rune around the chaos. The glitter slowed. The water stopped sloshing. Puke blinked—once in each direction—and curled up in a sparkly puddle, snoring bubbles that spelled out the word honkhonk.
“I think he’s recharging,” Snorb whispered, now barefoot and singed.
“Good. Because I am not letting him back into my kitchen until I can move without stepping in marsh slime,” Zef muttered, conjuring a mop from the ether.
Marzipan, now wearing the sock like a full-body jumpsuit, belly-flopped dramatically onto Puke’s back and started snoring, too. Ziggy slinked away into the shadows, but not before dropping a dead spider into Moppin’s teacup.
“So,” Snorb said, crawling onto the couch beside Zef. “We keeping him?”
Zef sighed, looked at the pile of sparkly monsters, and took a long sip of his reheated tea.
“Against my better judgment,” he said. “Yes. But he sleeps outside.”
Moppin perked up from the pillow nest. “Puke loves mud pits! I’ll dig one!”
“Do it in your dimension,” Zef warned.
Moppin grinned. “You’re the best gnome ever. I’m gonna knit you a hat cozy.”
“I accept no responsibility for what happens to your pantry while you’re here,” Zef said flatly.
Moppin tipped his mushroom hat. “A risk I’m willing to take.”
They all sat in the aftermath of glitter, goop, and eldritch snuggles, sipping warm tea and listening to Puke snore like a foghorn possessed by unicorns.
It wasn’t peaceful. It wasn’t quiet.
But it was home.
Marzipan the ferret was nestled in a teacup like the overstuffed noodle she was, tail draped over the rim in sleepy splendor. Ziggy, their calico cat, sat in the windowsill like a disdainful gargoyle, glaring at the wind as if there was a blood feud.
Zef was halfway through his second cup of peace and bergamot when the front door exploded off its hinges with a sound like a fizzy sneeze.
“FOR THE FLUFF AND THE FLOORBOARDS—AGAIN!”
A blur of brown, sock fuzz, and unchecked audacity cannonballed into the sitting room. Moppin Tiddlewhack skidded across the hardwood on a coaster, flinging open his arms like a conquering hero.
Zef didn’t even flinch. “The door was unlocked.”
Snorb, emerging from the hallway in pajama pants and a “Gnome Sweet Gnome” crop top, blinked blearily. “Are we under attack or is it just Tuesday?”
“Both,” Moppin declared, and then whistled.
That’s when the smell hit.
A scent like wild marshes, sugar cereal, and glitter glue assaulted their noses just before a puddle of water—sparkling with iridescent flecks—sloshed across the floor.
The creature that squelched in behind Moppin looked like a pony drawn by someone who’d only ever seen horses in dreams and Lisa Frank binders. It had oversized eyes, sparkly hooves, a tangled mane of rainbow kelp, and the self-satisfied smile of someone who had just licked the icing off your birthday cake.
It also immediately vomited a rainbow jet of glitter all over Ziggy.
Ziggy did not blink. But something in the air chilled, as if the spirit of vengeance had just awakened and it had claws.
“This is Puke!” Moppin announced proudly, hopping up on the coffee table and striking a pose. “My kelpie! He’s a rescue. Isn’t he precious?”
“Did he just puke glitter on my cat?” Zef asked calmly.
“Yes! Isn’t it adorable?” Moppin beamed.
Ziggy leapt from the windowsill and stalked toward the glitter-drenched kelpie, tail twitching like a fuse.
Snorb caught him mid-air by the scruff. “Ziggy, no murder before breakfast.”
Marzipan yawned and peeked out of her teacup. Puke immediately slurped her up like a spaghetti noodle and spat her gently back out, now covered in sparkly drool. The ferret blinked, gave a long-suffering sigh, and waddled away to roll in Zef’s sock drawer.
“So what exactly brings you and your... sparkle geyser to our home?” Zef asked, conjuring a towel with a flick of his fingers and trying to wipe up, to no avail.
“I’m being haunted,” Moppin declared dramatically, flopping backward into a pile of decorative pillows like a very small, chaotic fainting goat. “There’s a wraith in my pantry. Keeps rearranging my spices alphabetically. It’s unnerving.”
Zef blinked. “You’re upset... because your pantry is organized?”
“Exactly! I live in carefully curated entropy! There’s a system! The cumin goes nowhere near the cinnamon!”
Snorb rubbed his temples. “So you brought the kelpie why, exactly?”
“Oh! Puke detects spectral disruptions. He’s very sensitive.”
Puke immediately began licking the wall.
“Does... that help?” Snorb asked.
“No,” Moppin admitted. “But he enjoys it.”
Zef was about to offer some magically-enhanced calming chamomile when Puke hiccupped and let out a glittery belch that set the curtains on fire.
Snorb yelped and ran for a fire extinguisher. Ziggy narrowed his eyes and began plotting something involving string and revenge.
“Moppin,” Zef said gently. “Why didn’t you just call an exorcist?”
“I did! But they tried to vacuum Puke. He’s still traumatized.”
Puke farted glitter and kicked over a potted plant.
“I can see how that would be distressing,” Zef deadpanned.
Marzipan reappeared with Zef’s favorite left sock over her head like a helmet. She squeaked triumphantly and charged at Puke, who responded by licking her again and coating her in pastel goo.
Zef waved his hand. “All right. This has reached ‘curse magnet’ levels of nonsense. Living room lockdown. Snorb, distract Puke.”
“With what?”
Zef handed him a novelty kazoo.
As the kelpie pranced in dizzying circles to the sound of kazoo solos and enraged cat yowls, Zef drew a containment rune around the chaos. The glitter slowed. The water stopped sloshing. Puke blinked—once in each direction—and curled up in a sparkly puddle, snoring bubbles that spelled out the word honkhonk.
“I think he’s recharging,” Snorb whispered, now barefoot and singed.
“Good. Because I am not letting him back into my kitchen until I can move without stepping in marsh slime,” Zef muttered, conjuring a mop from the ether.
Marzipan, now wearing the sock like a full-body jumpsuit, belly-flopped dramatically onto Puke’s back and started snoring, too. Ziggy slinked away into the shadows, but not before dropping a dead spider into Moppin’s teacup.
“So,” Snorb said, crawling onto the couch beside Zef. “We keeping him?”
Zef sighed, looked at the pile of sparkly monsters, and took a long sip of his reheated tea.
“Against my better judgment,” he said. “Yes. But he sleeps outside.”
Moppin perked up from the pillow nest. “Puke loves mud pits! I’ll dig one!”
“Do it in your dimension,” Zef warned.
Moppin grinned. “You’re the best gnome ever. I’m gonna knit you a hat cozy.”
“I accept no responsibility for what happens to your pantry while you’re here,” Zef said flatly.
Moppin tipped his mushroom hat. “A risk I’m willing to take.”
They all sat in the aftermath of glitter, goop, and eldritch snuggles, sipping warm tea and listening to Puke snore like a foghorn possessed by unicorns.
It wasn’t peaceful. It wasn’t quiet.
But it was home.
