Читать книгу Hobgoblin and the Seven Stinkers of Rancidia - Kyle Sullivan - Страница 24

saluting the occasion as he always did: by tooting his heart out on a rusty tuba. It was a cherished family heirloom that went back many generations.

Six flies buzzed in lazy figure eights above Hobgoblin’s head as he gazed across the Unincorporated Mucklands. Hundreds of bean plants dotted the landscape of mulchy sludge. To his right, large, smelly trees marked the beginning of the Fetid Forest.

The famously stinky hobgoblins had farmed this land for centuries. As he was the last of his kind, Hobgoblin was just called Hobgoblin. It had been a very long time since there was another hobgoblin around, and he couldn’t remember what they had called him, if anything. He was very forgetful.