The pop-up stall in the market sold the most realistic garden gnomes anyone had ever seen. By lunchtime the stall had sold out and the sellers left town.
All was well until the next full moon.
Gardens were full of little men carousing, and fornicating, and using vile language. Not a cat in the district was safe from missiles and abuse and woe betide any dog who had pissed on a garden ornament.
By sunrise the gnomes had gone, leaving carnage in their wake. And one abusive daub on the wall of the vicarage.
‘Fuc yu’, it read