Gremlin Mitigation

Yes, we arrived home to see copious streams of hot water-heater water
meandering like ess-obsessed snakes oblivious to the coldness of concrete,
and if that wasn’t enough to grandfather distress, up on the main floor, away from
the millimoles of assuagement afforded by the stark realm designated as basement,
we were introduced to a strike by the usually reliable Frigidaire, a walkout
of sorts, an abdication of cold keep and freezer fastidiousness
for the ordinary ballyhoo of mundane room temperature.

“I am brunt with fever!”* I said to Maryann, flopping on the kitchen rocker
out of breath having heaved up the final steps after checking the cellar fuse box.
“Let me guess,” Maryann offered sarcastically, “The fuses are okay!
“O yes, they are fine,” I fired off, voicing vehemence directly at the
off-duty appliance only inches from my wrath which was now,
suddenly, a Borg-like monolith of staid unconcern mocking
in muted conspicuousness, its veins of once flowing freon
stilled, its current induction eerily severed to await,
seemingly, major appliance embalming. 

“But you know...”
Maryann’s unassuming voice served
as appropriate deflection, and she needed to say
no more, and indeed she said no more, for my pensive
nodding acknowledged what her deflection was meant to do,
and which indeed did do.  I calmly looked up and said,
“It’s them again,” and with that, she tipped her palm.

The gremlins first manifested themselves, some years back, in the performance of
mischievous pranks reserved primarily for Halloween, April Fools, or on-campus
initiation of unsuspecting freshmen.  They would, these invisible, intangible and
incorporeal imps, unravel rolls of Bounty towels, mess up drawers of neatly arranged
tee shirts and underwear, and get into the ceramic canisters and open all the teabags;
yet curiously enough, they made sure all the lids were back on properly!  Mostly these
were wee-hour shenanigans, yet there were occasions when they would, while I was
making toast in the morning, unplug the toaster, causing me to glance at Maryann
and point toward the cupboard--she would then reach for the Graham Crackers.

Turns out, our gremlins liked Graham Crackers, but not in any supernatural sort
of ingestion, but as an item of amusement, for they loved to crush them into a powder.
Maybe it was the sound, I don’t know.  And we knew very well, all right, the next day,
wherever we left one, by not only seeing the pulverized Graham, but also detecting that
Vicks-Vanilla scent unmistakable to our nocturnal friends with penchant for the peculiar.
O and by the way, the first thing I checked on the fridge was the plug, and it was in,
but I was fooled, for they had stuck a Q-Tip in the slot, preventing electrical
contact.  As to the water heater, we just needed a new one.

40 Lines
Writer’s Cramp
December 7, 2013

*”I am brunt with fever,” (I used “brunt” because I like the way this sounds!)