Goblin King, Goblin king....

This was so much fun to write!

Goblin King

"Say your right words," I heard the voice whisper in my head "I wish the Goblin King would come and take you away, right now."  A phrase that kept coming back to me over the years. I wasn't sure where I'd first heard it. Sometime in my childhood for sure, I remember my mother hissing it at me when I misbehaved. I'd had no reason to doubt her, the threat kept me terrified for years.

Of course, I was older now. The threat didn't quite hold the same sort of terror. After all, I had never seen a goblin, I doubted they actually existed. Nonetheless, it was a threat I had resolved to never use of my own children.

This wasn't quite the same. I was tired, and crabby, and I doubted Millie really cared.

"I wish the Goblin King would come and take you away," I said, then took a deep breath, "right now!"

For a moment, nothing happened. I laughed nervously. What did I actually expect to happen? Some small ugly green monster to appear and take Millie away?

Outside the house, the wind picked up. I heard a clattering as hail hit the window panes. Inside the house, the atmosphere changed a little, in the air, a slight odour of sulphur. There was a crack of lightning and I closed my eyes. When I opened them again, it was there. The goblin.

It was about three feet tall, it's bald green head glimmering like a stagnant pond at midnight. It's face was ugly, almost deformed, with ears that stuck out like cup handles and fat protruding lips. It had a large bulbous nose complete with a large wart and arms that seemed a little too long for its body.  It was dressed in rags that may once have been denim dungarees.

"That's not a baby," it said, and pointed to Millie.

"It's a cat," I said. "Are you really a goblin?"

"No," it replied, "I'm a fairy. Obviously."

We stared at each other. I hadn't really expected a goblin, and if I had, I certainly wouldn't have expected one with a developed sense of sarcasm.

"Why did you call us in for a cat?" It asked. "We don't do cats, only babies."

"You really take babies?"

"Up to two years old," the goblin, stuck a thick, gnarly finger into it's ear and wiggled it.  It pulled its hand away and studied the finger, there was a small glob of brown wax stuck beneath its overgrown fingernails. "Maybe two and a half if they're small."

"Why not older?"

"They don't fit in the oven."

I looked at him (?) and wondered if he was being serious. "You cook them?"

"What did you think we did with them?"

"I thought goblins came from stolen babies." I said.

"I bet you also think the stork brings 'em."

"So you weren't someone's baby once?"

"Honey, we were all someone's baby once." It (he?) pulled out a rag from its pocket and blew its nose. Then it stowed the rag back in it's pocket and glared at me. "So you don't have a baby you want shut of?"

"No, just this cat."

"Looks a cute cat, why do you want shut?"

"Well," I said. I had no explanation, I hadn't even been serious. "It was a mistake. I'm just tired. Not sleeping, y'know? Damn cat whines to go out and five minutes later wants to come in. Twice already tonight. I'm just... weary."

The goblin nodded. "That's cats for you, contrary little bastards." It bent to one knee and extended a hand, Millie sniffed it, recoiled. The goblin sighed, straightened up.  "I best be off, infants to collects, children to roast, potatoes to peel." He (it?) winked.

"You seriously cook and eat children?" I asked again, still not sure whether I was having my leg pulled.

The goblin grinned. "Do you really want to know?"

"Yes?"

"Even if it's really horrible?"

I thought for a moment. Was this creature going to give me a recipe? A step by step guide on how to cook a baby? Finally I nodded. "Yes, tell me."

He took a couple of steps closer, put his green blubbery lips to my ear. "When a mother gets really really desperate, and in those final stages of desperation calls upon the Goblin King to take her child away, we come in, and we take the child," he paused, "you really want to know?"

I wasn't sure I did any more, but I nodded again.

"We take the child, and we wrap it up tight..."

I swallowed nervously, imagining an infant swaddled up like a chicken dinner.

"... and then we rock them to sleep." The Goblin hoisted Millie up and gently tucked her into its (his?) long arms. "What do you think we are? Monsters?"