The house looked innocent enough, despite its fairytale reputation. The front walk was covered with trailing roses, not trimmed and tame, but curling wildly about their frames. Wildflowers peeked out of the tall grass, bright spots of color in the deep green. A small fountain gurgled happily into a pond just to the left of the door. Small gnomes lounged on the banks, chatting with each other as they fished. The sweet smell of roses filled the tranquil air, wafting down into the open cottage window.
Once inside the house however, the tendrils of succulent smell were at a loss. Pots and pans piled haphazardly threatened to topple into the already overflowing sink. Stacks of newspapers were starting to compost on the kitchen table. Odds and ends spilled out of the drawers that weren’t stuck shut, cascading down in frozen waterfalls to the pool of garbage that was the floor. The gnomes had long since given up on the cottage; the owner accumulated goods faster than even their wily thieving could remove them. No sooner would they snatch away a trinket than he would come back, laden with five more.
Finally, the roses decided they had had enough. What was the use of prettily framing a cottage that was slowly turning into a cesspool? They reached their whippy branches down, poking and stinging the little gnomes into action. Grumbling, the gnomes went out to find a solution. They found an agency and hired a maid.
Rachel was bored. Sure, she thought, those little black and white French outfits were fun, but holding a useless feather duster while dodging the groping hands of lonely old men wasn’t in the job description. She, unlike many of her compatriots, had joined the maid force to clean. Nothing pleased her more than turning a mess into a sparkling, squeaky clean home. A compulsive cleaner since her earliest days, her mother had sent her out in disgust to make her own way in the world after she had found Rachel carefully polishing the cow. With a sigh, Rachel broke from her thoughts, and trudged off to her new assignment: Rose Cottage,
Walking up the rose covered path, Rachel eyed the cottage in disdain. Great, she thought, another old man hoping for some poor princess to come along and give him his fairytale ending. Those men were the worst. They had nothing to do while they waited for their dream girl to arrive, so they kept their homes obsessively clean. They simply hired maids as a diversion from the monotony that comes before the fairytale. But when Rachel opened the cottage door, she couldn’t believe her eyes. The place was a mess! Finally, a place she could use her talents. Excited, she pulled back her long, dark hair, rolled up her sleeves and got to work.
The compost heap out back tripled in size in the first five minutes, groaning as it strove to change the old newspapers into food for the roses. The drawers found themselves emptied, cleaned and organized until they once again fit flush into the cupboard. The dishes were scoured until they sparkled, years of accumulated grime giving up in the face of Rachel’s determined scrubbing. The throw-away pile took on a life of its own, sucking small, unwary objects into it, feeding on the junk in the cottage. Rachel would pick up an item, and if there was any doubt at all, she would throw it out. It took her until late afternoon, but the cottage was finally spotless. Happily exhausted, she idly flicked away the dust coming in the open window as she waited for the cottage owner to get home.
The door let out a small sigh instead of its usual creak as it swung open on freshly oiled hinges. The young man looked at it, askance. Shaking his head, he brought in his bundle of newly acquired goods and threw it on the already towering mound on the kitchen table. At least, that’s what he meant to do. Instead, the elephant figurine sailed out the open window, landing in the pond with a splash. The other odds and ends scattered around the empty kitchen, with a chipped Coca-Cola bottle landing in the hand of the waiting Rachel. She promptly threw it away. This angered the young man, who immediately began yelling and gesticulating wildly as he ran around the house, searching for his beloved stuff. This evolved into a wonderful row between Rachel and the young man, who she later learned was named Spencer.
The gnomes shook their heads and stuffed their ears with cotton as the angry cries rang out, late into the night. As darkness faded into day, the arguing finally ceased. The gurgle of the fountain could again be heard. Cautiously, the gnomes pulled the cotton out of their ears. Still quiet. They peeked in the window, giggled, and hastily backed away.
A month later, Rachel and Spencer were married. They were quite happy, for a time. Every day, Spencer would leave on his endless search to collect. Rachel would stay at home, cleaning the house, trimming the roses and chasing the gnomes with a duster. Every night, Spencer would come home with the day’s findings, Rachel would throw them out, they would argue the night away, and make up with the dawn.
One evening, though, Spencer came home without any knick-knacks. Alarmed, Rachel checked him for germs, planning on sterilizing the house the next day, but Spencer wasn’t sick. He just “hadn’t found anything worth bringing home,” he explained with a shrug, like it was no big deal. Awkward and uncomfortable, they went to bed soon after sunset, careful not to touch under the big down blanket.
The next morning, Spencer was late going out. He even offered to help tidy up the breakfast dishes before he left. Disgusted, Rachel shooed him out the door. As if she needed, or even wanted, his help tidying up. Rachel cleaned morosely, half-heartedly sweeping the floor, even though the day was beautifully dusty. What was the matter with Spencer, she wondered, could she really get along with a man she couldn’t clean up after?
This continued for days, sometimes he would bring home a trinket or two, sometimes nothing at all, but she could tell his heart just wasn’t in it. The cottage was still clean, but the night no longer resounded with their angry cries, and they no longer fell in love again each morning.
One morning, as the rose scented tendrils crept in through the window, concerned about the people in their cottage, Spencer made his biggest mistake. “I think I’ll just stay home today, maybe tidy up the vegetable garden.” This was the last straw for Rachel. Wildly waving her duster, she chased Spenser out of the cottage, down the rose-lined path, and slammed the gate behind him.
For a time, she waited in the spotless cottage, spending her days tidying the garden, polishing the furniture and dusting the gnomes, waiting for the perfectly messy man to come along, one she can clean up after and be happy with. But each time a new man came, hoping to be messy enough for the beautiful Rachel, he began to falter, she began to doubt, and he, too, was thrown out of her immaculate cottage.
But the roses, oh those meddlesome roses, were growing impatient. Without a man to clean up after, Rachel had turned her attention to them. Despite their best efforts, they were becoming tamed. The gnomes, too, were growing sick of her ministrations. Instead of playfully chasing them and their muddy feet out of the house, she was actually doing their laundry, mending their clothes and darning their socks. They were gnomes, for goodness’ sakes, they were supposed to be dirty! This time, when spurred into action by the prickly roses, there was no grumbling from the gnomes. They went out willingly, hoping to find Rachel the perfectly messy man.
The gnomes ventured out into the city, casting nervous glances at the cars whizzing by on the busy streets. Dodging from corner to overturned pot to empty can, they avoided the gaze of the bustling, towering people. They knew exactly where to go. Darting across busy streets, ducking under cover whenever anyone came near, they made their way straight across the city to the local college. Full of messy students, it must hold someone who could live up to even Rachel’s exacting standards.
Settling themselves down in the bushes on campus, the gnomes waited for the right man to walk by. They saw plenty go by with their shirts untucked, shoelaces untied, wearing mismatched socks, but none of them seemed quite messy enough. The gnomes had seen better men than these crack under the pressure to be constantly messy. Chattering amongst themselves, they waited patiently, sure that these students wouldn’t let them down.
Suddenly one exclaimed, “Look, there! There he is!” They fell silent as the sun broke free from the clouds, its golden rays caressing his spiky tufts of hair, giving him an unkempt halo. His plaid buttoned shirt, really more holes than cloth, was crooked, held together by mismatched, misbuttoned buttons. His jeans were old and ragged, faded almost to whiteness, on the verge of crumbling into dust. Socks, one blue and one green, peeked out from sneakers held together with safety pins, the laces knotted into a ball near his toes. It was his backpack that gave the gnomes their final clue. Filled to the bursting, bits of paper trailed behind him as books, pens, pinecones and old juice bottles peeked out at the seams. Bending down, the young man stopped to pick up a shiny blue marble, shoving it in to the already groaning knapsack. Excited, the gnomes trailed him, following his haphazard journey across campus as he stopped to collect odds and ends. Finally, they followed him to his class where they learned his name was Mitchell.
Later that night, the gnomes snuck into the records office. Perusing his file and giggling, they discovered he was “a bright boy” but a “collector” to the point of distraction, his favorite excuse being, “um… my room ate my homework?” Specializing in paranormal studies, he was about to get his masters and join the work force. With a wicked smile, the gnomes began crafting a letter, inviting him out to the rose covered cottage to investigate some “unusual activity.” Slipping the letter into his mailbox, they hurried home to create some paranormal events.
Rachel whistled tunelessly as she trimmed the roses in the early morning light. Even the gnomes had left her, for awhile, and since they’d come home she’d hardly seen them. They were tiptoeing around the house, wiping their feet on the doormat, not leaving a trace. Was everyone conspiring against her? Why couldn’t anyone be messy anymore? She brooded as she pruned, ruthlessly grabbing the tendrils that were flailing wildly to escape her shears. She heard footsteps on the path and turned. Who would be calling at this hour? She saw a tall young man, nicely dressed in a suit and tie, blonde hair smoothed down, suitcase in hand. Great, she thought, another young professional who wants to “seek my hand.” They always come here in their pressed suits and shiny shoes and what do they leave? Nothing! If they could only just make a mess, then at least I’d have something to do for awhile. Much to Rachel’s surprise, however, Mitchell explained that he was there to investigate a rumor of paranormal activity. That was it. Slightly disgruntled (the attention was flattering, after all), she invited him to stay as long as he needed, even though there was nothing unusual about the cottage.
The gnomes were scared. Why was he so clean? They decided to do their best to keep Mitchell interested long enough for his innate messiness to shine through. That night, bumps and moans filled the attic, interspersed with muffled giggles. Mitchell was overjoyed and began setting up recording equipment; his first real ghost! Pulling her pillow over her head with a groan, Rachel tried to sleep through the noise. What were those crazy gnomes up to now?
This went on for weeks, with Mitchell getting more and more excited. Finally, Rachel couldn’t take it anymore. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a good night’s sleep. When the bumps and moans started up that night, she stormed up the stairs and flung open the attic door, ready to kick those gnomes out once and for all. She was greeted not by the tidy, dust free attic she was expecting, but by a disaster zone and, standing in the middle, a panicking, guilty-faced Mitchell.
“I-I-I’m sorry,” he stammered. “I promise I’ll clean it all up!”
Rachel twirled around, overjoyed. Piles of papers stacked precariously on boxes threatened to tip and add to the snowy mounds already covering the floor. Bits of glass bottles, marbles and old doorknobs hid beneath the papers, threatening to trip an unwary walker. Mitchell’s camera and recorder were covered in sticky notes, buried beneath mounds of food wrappers and old bits of newspaper. “You’re messy!” Rachel exclaimed, and ran downstairs to get her mop and broom.
Dumbfounded, Mitchell watched as Rachel cleaned the night away, tidying his piles, tossing the trash, scrubbing the floor. He didn’t even notice that the mysterious noises had disappeared. She finished cleaning as dawn broke. With a triumphant smile, she tucked a few stray strands of hair behind her ears. As Mitchell watched, he realized he was in love. Finally, a woman who didn’t nag, but actually loved messiness! As they kissed, he thought he heard giggling coming from the walls, but he wasn’t sure, it was hard to hear over the pounding of his heart.
The roses framing the cottage regained their wild tendrils and the gnomes went back to their carefree life of fishing by the pond. Mitchell could create enough mess to keep Rachel happy and then some. His collections of papers, haunted objects and unusual finds spilled over the house each day, and were tidied by Rachel each night. They had finally found their fairytale ending, but sometimes Mitchell wondered where those strange noises had gone, and why he sometimes heard the sound of giggling floating in on the rose-scented breeze.
