Mr Gum and the Goblins (3 page)

S
o let us go now, far, far from the room at the tavern where our heroes sit covered in goosebumps. Far, far from the high street, where Martin Launderette is working on a
VERY SECRET INVENTION
which probably won't get explained until a bit later. Far, far from the woods on the edge of town, where Friday's secret cottage lies hidden. Far, far from Lamonic Bibber and away we go, over the frozen fields and streams, until we come to a place where the snow falls like Frankenstein's dandruff and the wind howls like Dracula stubbing his big toe on a coffee table. Where the way is hard and steep and twisty, and where no sunlight ever seems to fall –
Goblin Mountain!

Up, up the cold, bare mountainside we go, almost to the very top, until we come to a horrible gaping hole, all ragged and torn from the rock. And there is a terrible din coming from that hole, like nothing ever heard before. For 'tis Goblin Cave, and 'tis ram packed full of . . .
GOBLINS!

Big ones, weeny ones, sort of

in-betweeny ones. Goblins!

Bald ones, hairy ones, dirty great big

scary ones. Goblins!

Giant ones, tiny ones, nasty little

spiny ones. Goblins!

Stinky ones, clean ones, not really,

they were all stinky.

GOBLINS!

Yes, wherever you looked, it was tails and spikes and fins and fur and extra arms and knobbly knees and all sorts. One of the goblins even had two heads, and sat there constantly arguing with himself, no he didn't, yes he did, no he didn't.

Oh, and talk about badly behaved! Those goblins were always up to mischief – scratching and
biting, hanging from the ceiling and gobbing on the ones below, cheating at Monopoly, you name it. The only time they ever shut up was when the Goblin King arrived to give his commands.