Читать книгу Hobgoblin and the Seven Stinkers of Rancidia - Kyle Sullivan - Страница 29

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those turd blossoms don’t look ready to pick quite yet.”

With a wary glance to the tree line and with his flies nervously gripping his hair, Hobgoblin picked himself up from the muck, gathered his tuba, hopped back over the fence, and went inside.

He closed the door and peered out of a side window into the darkening woods. Whatever it was had vanished. Although he tried to ignore it, somewhere deep down Hobgoblin knew this wasn’t a troll or a forest hyena or a perfumist—this was something much worse. From that same deep-down place, Hobgoblin got the feeling this had something to do with the situation in Rancidia.

As Hobgoblin watched the forest through his window, a disturbing vision flashed through his mind. He imagined a huge, menacing ogre lurking in the shadowy depths of the forest. A shiver skit-tered across his neck. For the first time in a very long while, Hobgoblin wished his door had a lock.

Later that night, Hobgoblin got ready for bed by rubbing his face with mud and rinsing his mouth