"Don't open the door!"

"Just... Leave it!"
 For me, not wanting to open the door was a familiar sentiment. Today, however, it was Max voicing the command. He'd arrived at mine, looking rather flushed, about 5 minutes ago. He'd rushed in, drawn the curtains and tried to hide behind the fridge. Yanking him out, I'd placed him in a chair and asked him what was going on. Before he could answer, the ominous door had knocked, taking us neatly back to the start of our story.
 "Why? What've you done?"
 "Oh, don't ask. Just... Well, do you have an escape tunnel?"
I did, but I wasn't going to tell Max. I might need it one day, to escape him.
 "No," I replied. "You destroyed them all last year, when you pretended to be a Dwarfish miner in my backyard."
 By now, my cat-like curiosity had kicked in, and I was attempting to peer out, through the kitchen curtains. At first, I couldn't see anyone outside. But, looking down, I noticed my callers: Smurfs!
 A large, yet tiny, mob of Smurfs had gathered by the front door. Bearing pitchforks and burning torches, they were obviously pissed about something.
 "Seriously Max, what have you done now?"
Max, head in his hands, refused to answer. I watched the Smurfs: After a few minutes, they began to mill around, their anger replaced by boredom. A few more minutes passed, and the mob turned to leave as one. On the way out, they stopped long enough to tip over a gnome.
 Max, still at the table, refused to answer why the Smurf mob were after his blood, except to mutter occasionaly, "But they looked so tasty..."
 I expect they'll be back tomorrow. But I'm not worried, I've set the sprinkler system up in the garden. That ought to see them off...