In the far off nether reaches, the Wicked Witch heard the Nimby Clan’s grumbling and the people’s glee. She pointed her twisted, green finger at her murky mirror where she viewed the miller’s plans. “This would never do,” she cackled, “for if wind is used the Skyblue folks would no longer buy the bones, blood and breath of long dead dragons to burn in their machines.” She could no longer suck the wealth from the town’s folk, and foul their air and water.
She dispatched her flying monkeys, Nazgûls and her fiendish ambassador, the troll called Nocebo to infect the brains of the humans so they would fear the windmills and talk nonsense against them. She took special delight in the Nimby Clan, who of course didn’t mind that the Wicked Witch turned tap water to flame, killed lakes, destroyed agriculture and increased earthquakes a hundred fold as she extracted sludge and slime from dragon’s graves, as long as it happened not in my back yard, at least not yet.
Nocebo gathered toads, toadstools and snakes for use in Nocebo cookies, but the children proved too well informed. They actually liked the windmill and windmill cookies, but dreaded the evil ambassador and Nocebo cookies. Since the children proved too wise, Nocebo turned to the Nimby Clan with pitchers of Nocebo Sangria. In no time, the very mention of the word “windmill” evoked symptoms of stress in the Nimby Clan. Their hands twitched with the urge to write dozens of complaint letters every day, even though the windmill had yet to operate.
With increasing boldness, the now enchanted Nimby Clan predicted that the windmill’s sails would snare their beloved vampire bats, banshees and pterodactyls. Nevertheless, People for the Ethical Treatment of Vampire Bats, Banshees and Pterodactyls logged no injuries to these endangering species gliding above Skyblue.
The Nimbys claimed that since this windmill was larger than others, it would make more noise. Instead it made less noise than its smaller neighbors. They preached that real estate prices would drop in their neighborhood, but new houses have started as did bidding wars on existing homes.
The Nimbys claimed that in winter the sails would fling daggers of ice, far and wide, slicing town’s folks to the quick. This too has never happened. They said the turning sails would cast spells upon the carters and that their oxen would run amuck. No vehicular accidents ever happened because of the windmill. They spread fear that the sounds of grinding stones would quake the earth and summon demons from the depths to enchant the students at their lessons. The kids still love he windmills and windmill cookies and have excelled in school. The other schools want their own windmills.
Nocebo urged the windmill workers to quit their jobs or their teeth and eyes would fall out and they would soon go mad, but none of these evils befell them. Nocebo hired the scribes, Ditto and Rehash to write hundreds of letter against the windmill. “Look.” Nocebo said, “The households have suffered hundreds of health disorders caused by the windmill, we must tear it down.”
But the miller asked, “Where are the medical records that demonstrate injury?”
Nocebo screamed, “You can’t invade the privacy of these complainants or even know their true number, pre-existing conditions or vested interests.”
The miller and his many workers and thousands of townspeople who benefited from the windmill rose against Nocebo’s fear tactics, while those who had drunk Nocebo Sangria marched like zombies toward the windmill, chanting and grinding their teeth.
Then out of the night rode the heroine Jeannine the Brave, waving the banner of sanity. She sprayed the poisoned Nimby throng with the antidote to Nocebo Sangria. The Nimbys reeled in confusion and finally came to their senses.
They slowly admitted, “We are not victims of the windmill, but of the Wicked Witch and her ambassador Nocebo. Hurray for Jeannine the Brave! Let her look over our health for many years to come.”