Читать книгу Hobgoblin and the Seven Stinkers of Rancidia - Kyle Sullivan - Страница 37

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“Just walk normal,” said Hobgoblin. “Got it.”

After a few hesitant head bobs and practice steps, he remembered how to walk normally (at least nor-mally for him) and headed for the green, blue, and purple trees of the Fetid Forest.

Under usual circumstances and during the day, Hobgoblin loved the Fetid Forest and its bounty of rotten, moldy, and sticky smells. However, his feel-ings were quite different at nighttime with a scary squirrel poking a scrub brush into his back.

The forest was completely dark and very noisy. Hobgoblin and his flies had no idea what was out there spattering the murky air with chirps, scratches, sniffs, coughs, and giggles—and they didn’t care to find out. They flinched at every sound and winced every time the squirrel barked an order or jabbed Hobgoblin with the brush.

“Head to the right,” said the squirrel.

“Yes, ma’am,” said Hobgoblin.

“Don’t call me ‘ma’am,’” said the squirrel.

“OK, um, squirrel lady,” said Hobgoblin.

“Don’t ever call anyone ‘squirrel lady,’” said the squirrel. “Just call me Huntress if you have to call me anything.”