The front door opened, and a young, female gnome stood there, gazing at us. “Hello,” she said. She wore an oversized Dallas Cowboys jersey as a dress. She had brown pigtails peeking out from under her red, conical hat. The front of the jersey was smeared with blood. “Have you come to kill my father? You’re a little late. He’s already dead. Do you want to come in? I’m making lemonade!”
