2005 Shory Story Competition Winner

Joe and the Goblins
EJ Feek

I knew if was bad news when the letter growled as it hit the hall floor. It wasn't the fierce, guttural growl we'd been expecting; it was high-pitched, playful.
     I picked up the little white envelope - it should've been six times the size! There was a yellowish damp patch in the corner; the stamp was beginning to curl upwards. When I realized what had caused the wetness I pulled my hand back with a loud 'Ughh!'
     "Joe, are you alright?" Mum asked, coming out of her study to see what all the fuss was about. "Did the package from Aunt Eustace arrive yet?"
     I showed her the envelope.
     "There's been a mistake, surely," said Mum, opening up the envelope. "Did you tell her how many goblins we've got running round in the attic?"
     "Well, I didn't count them if that's what you mean ... there's too many!" I looked away guiltily; I never can look Mum in the face when I've done something wrong. I'd only received my Silver Paper Cut last week - that's level six - and I'd already made a mess of things! My brother, Mark, moved up to level nine last year - he's so big-headed about it!
     Mum looked inside and rolled her eyes.
     "What are you doing in there?" She tipped the contents onto the hall table. At first glance it looked like an ordinary piece of white paper, folded neatly with thin blue stripes. Then it began to move. A small, straggly-cut tail began to wag. Then two eyes - made with a paper punch - opened and blinked. Its four stubby legs stretched as it yawned. It stood up and stared expectantly.
     "It's not exactly the cardboard rottweiler we were expecting, is it?" I grumbled, my hand reaching out to stroke Aunt Eustace's beloved dog, Pumpkin. Pumpkin licked me with his dry paper tongue.
     After a long phone call to Aunt Eustace, Mum came back with the news that there had been a mix up: Aunt Eustace had meant to send Pumpkin to Grandma Hallow and the cardboard rottweiler to us. Grandma Hallow wasn't pleased. She had spent two days perched on her kitchen table because Bones, the cardboard rottweiler, mistook her for one of the goblins. It took her ages to disarm him. Grandma had sent him back to Aunt Eustace's paper shop, but by the time he'd arrive Aunt Eustace would be in Mexico for her annual holiday. So who was going to catch the paper goblins in the attic? I doubt Pumpkin would scare them. Pumpkin, who'd now be staying with us until Aunt Eustace came back, was more a pampered pooch than a security dog.
     "What are we going to do?" sighed Mum, sitting on the couch. Pumpkin jumped onto her lap and curled into a ball. After a while he began to snore, his paper nostrils flapped as he exhaled. "Your aunt's the one for magic in this family."
     It was true; Aunt Eustace was the most talented when it came to bringing paper to life (although I'm almost as talented when it comes to belching). Aunt Eustace has her own shop. It's full of singing cards, self-wrapping paper and designer paper decorations that dictate where they want to hang, depending on the 'brief'.
     The Hallow family has always had magic in their fingers. It had started with Great-Great Grandmother Hallow. When she was a young girl, she'd cut her finger on a mysterious glass bottle filled with red, glittery powder. She'd said that it had just 'exploded'. She was in the shed at the time, and had no idea where the bottle had come from, or what was inside it. But from then on, everything changed in the Hallow family.
     Over the next few days, the situation with the goblins got worse. They were now brash enough to start coming downstairs - Mum even found one of them using her perfume! They were stealing anything they could carry and hoarding it up in the attic.
     At least Pumpkin was settling in. Aunt Eustace gave Mum a list of instructions over the phone before she left for Mexico:
     1) Don't feed Pumpkin after seven o'clock as he gets gassy
     2) Do tickle his ears
     3) Try not to get him wet
     4) Don't allow him to lie in strong sunlight - or near the fire!

When Mark came home from university that weekend, he teased me non-stop about the goblins. I told him that I'd only made them to scare a bully at school - which got me into even more trouble as I'm not supposed to let anyone see what I can do; not until I've found a good excuse like Aunt Eustace has. She tells people that the items in her shop are made with nanotechnology from Japan.
     Mark was furious when his essay was stolen. The goblins, it seemed, were collecting as many paper scraps as they could, which was making us all nervous. Mum's shopping list was next to go.
     "Why can't Pumpkin go and eat them all?" Mark complained. Mum insisted that Pumpkin was not to be sent into the attic. Mark had other ideas.
     Later that evening, Mark unveiled the new and improved Pumpkin. Mum was furious.
     "What did you do that for? Eustace will go mad!" she shouted.
     Mark had used a permanent marker to draw a moustache on Pumpkin that curled up at either end.
     "I thought this would give him more confidence - I was asserting his manliness!"
     Pumpkin didn't seem to care. And he didn't come across as any more 'manly' to me. In fact, he just sat down and scratched himself.
     Next morning, Mum went out shopping and I stayed home making paper aeroplanes which Mark wouldn't let me fly around the living room. "I've done it loads of times before!" I pleaded, but he wouldn't listen.
     I sat looking out of the kitchen window, bored. It was then that I noticed something move out the corner of my eye. It was one of the goblins, it was trying to drag Mum's cookery book off the counter. It wasn't having much luck; the book was far too big for one goblin alone. I picked my empty glass up off the table - then leapt at the goblin and trapped it underneath.
     The once white goblin was now a shade of mucus and his toenails stretched out like gangrenous motorways. Sneering, he watched me with his beady eyes. They seemed strangely unfamiliar considering I'd spent all last week drawing tiny comma-like eyes with a black biro - these were more like slits. I looked closer; the word 'bananas' was written across his chest. This was not one of the goblins I'd made. This goblin had been made out of Mum's stolen shopping list.
     "This is your fault!" said Mark. "Who knows how many there'll be next week. We must get rid of all the paper so they can't make any more of themselves." Mark had begun to panic. He ran round the house opening all the drawers and dumping every bit of paper into the bin bag he carried.
     I went off to find Pumpkin, as I didn't want him accidentally thrown in. I couldn't find him anywhere; not even under my duvet where he'd often sneak to for an afternoon nap.
     I searched the whole house. Pumpkin had vanished.

We weren't brave enough to tackle the attic head-on, so, in order to see if Pumpkin had been taken by the goblins, we climbed the tree in the garden and used a pair of binoculars to peer into the attic's grubby window.
     Pumpkin had his nose pressed against the glass, looking dejected.
     One of the window panes was broken - Mark's fault, he made me throw stones at him last summer. Pumpkin began to sniff the cool air blowing into the stuffy attic. Maybe he smelt us, sitting in the tree like two perspiring chickens, because he looked right at us and 'yipped'.
     Then the goblins came...
     Pumpkin was surrounded. I had a nasty feeling that the goblins were going to tear him up and turn his remains into more goblin soldiers.
     "We've got to get up there!" I shouted at Mark, who, to my surprise, agreed and swiftly descended the tree. We ran into the house and up the stairs.
     We pressed our ears to the door of the attic ... silence ... and then a terrified squeal from Pumpkin. Mark tried to open the door but it had been locked. He tried bashing it down, but only ended up hurting his shoulder - serves him right for trying to be an action hero when he's just a swot!
     Mum came in through the front door bemoaning the queues at Sainsbury's. I rushed downstairs to tell her what had happened. I tripped on something and fell; it was Mark's bin bag! Paper spilled down the stairs. My paper aeroplanes landed in a heap next to me. I took a closer look at one of the planes. It was a little battered, but it might work. I smoothed its wings out - ignoring Mum's fussing; "Are you hurt?" she asked. "Who left that bag on the bloody stairs? You could've been killed!" No time to stop, Pumpkin had begun to whimper loudly. I ran into the garden, the plane in my pocket, and pulled myself up onto the tree's lower branches. The binoculars were still hanging where we'd left them. There was no sign of Pumpkin.
     I held the plane tightly. This was the part I hated. I ran my finger along the edge of its wing and winced as I felt the sting of the paper slicing through my finger. A streak of blood ran down the plane like one of the go-faster stripes on Mark's laughable car (he calls it his 'baby'). The plane began to jolt, eager to leave my hands. I pointed it in the direction of the window, hoping that it would distract the goblins long enough for Mark to break down the door. The plane shot forwards and flew speedily across the garden, straight through the broken window pane. I waited patiently, binoculars moulded to my eyes.
     Suddenly, Pumpkin appeared at the window. The plane was coming up behind him. But it was now being flown by twenty goblins, some hanging off its wings in groups of five. I kept one eye shut as I watched them head towards Pumpkin. They flew straight past him and out the window. I sighed, relieved. The goblins jeered as they soared above me. The plane got further away from the house before disappearing completely.

A few days later and we said our goodbyes to Pumpkin. He was sent back to Aunt Eustace's upon her return from Mexico. She was delighted to see her pet safe after hearing that he'd been kidnapped by goblins. (She was not so delighted to see that he was now sporting a new - and permanent - moustache.)

Although we hadn't seen or heard from the goblins in weeks, I still couldn't help wondering where they'd gone. Were the plaguing somebody else's attic? Mark hoped they'd flown down a chimney and burned. Mum thought that this was a bit harsh, until she found out that they'd eaten her pictures of Elvis.
     A few days later however, the local newspaper reported an incident at the recycling centre about a mile away from here. They'd interviewed a Mr H. Bogget, who told of a 'small white craft' - a 'UFO' - flying 'uncontrollably' into a vat of pulp. It then proceeded to sink, leaving no trace of its existence.
     I've often wondered what the goblins turned into; a carton of milk, a Christmas card, a cereal packet ... please let it be toilet paper! But as I write this, I get the awful feeling that something is staring back at me.