Goblin's Feast (Story) was a story that was presented as one of the Halloween Horror Nights: Echoes from the Fog narrated by. Matthew Flood on Spotify. It was based on the Goblin’s Feast haunted house for Halloween Horror Nights 33.
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The orange beams of morning sunlight squeezed through the cottage shutters and crept across Doaug's little green face. She slowly opened one eye at a time and began her morning yawn. With arms stretching towards the thatched ceiling she gave a quick yelp and bounded off her cot.
"It's here! It's here! Goblin's Feast has begun!"
"Not yet", her mother corrected,
"Once the sun sets the feast begins."
Doaug nodded and shrugged off any disappointment. Her mother grabbed a broom, passed it to her, and frowned while laying out her expectations.
"Chores must be complete and then we begin preparations for the feast. There is much to accomplish. So stay out of the way".
Doaug's little goblin mind wandered and raced, matching the swift tempo of her wrists as she whisked her broom about the small cottage, humming loudly, and creating dust clouds that enveloped her mother in the small cottage corner. She wondered why she should waste her time sweeping a dirt floor when all the other goblin imps raced around outside. But mother had her ways, and if helping with chores moved mother closer to feast preparation, then she would lend a helping claw.
The sun moved higher in the sky and Doaug munched on a piece of stale bread, wishing the fireball in the sky would speed up its course. She swung her little legs back and forth, knocking her heels on the back wall. Each time her heels hit the cottage surface, her mother twitched, and exhaled loudly. After a few more thunks against the old mudded structure, her mother swung around with fire in her eyes.
“Go!” She exhaled and gripped her ladle tighter as she slowly found her words, “Go, and see if Basilwretch has any extra herbs for our roast, she owes me.”
Doaug’s eyes widened. She would get to see the village witch up close and personal. Basilwretch was famous among the five hamlets and surrounding villages. Not only did her potions provide the goblin community success as a whole, but her cooking was renowned. Even the great King himself was known to orders special entrees and meals from her cauldron. Doug wondered if Basilwretch was creating anything for the royal table, at this year’s Goblin’s Feast.
With the cottage and chores far behind her, Doaug skipped towards the village. She passed the mill, with its slow rotating wheel, and avoided being tackled by Grubish, her least favorite ore. He grunted and pushed past her, his battle axe handle tapping his back in time with his stride. He glared at other goblins he stormed past and grumbled his disdain. Doug wondered why an ore was in the village Doaug remembered the holiday, and smiled. He was here to pick up or deliver the fresh livestock that would later grace the King’s and local goblin’s tables.
This holiday was her favorite. Every goblin, high and low born celebrated with equal zeal and ferocity. Yes, the choicest cuts and most expensive meats went to the palace for the hobgoblin royalty and the king, but the entire kingdom ate their fill on the sacred and joyous holiday. She felt the pride that every goblin experienced on this day.
A date marking the day when all of the goblin kind rose up and defeated humans and elves alike. True, the goblin kingdom included goblins, hobgoblins, trolls, and a giants, but they were equal in their struggles. They put aside their differences and joined forces on that historic day of freedom. That day of freedom was generations in the past and most of goblin kind had long since forgotten the struggles and their elders, but the feast was a good reminder to be positive and thankful.
Hammers slammed nails into a newly painted sign over the front door of the pub. She slipped past the bustling workers and entered the backside kitchen door. The smell of herbs and boiled meat embraced her as she passed through the tight shelves and towards the hot ovens. A large cauldron bubbled and popped while the head chef and darkest of souls Basilwretch ladled out a taste. She didn’t bluff any tea, from the large spoon, but sipped the boiling concoction through her cracked black lips.
“Not ready,” she yelled, “bring me more marrow and another bit o’ swamp mushroom”. Her frown drew further down her face when she spotted Daoug.
“Get out of her imp,” she sniffed
Doaug bowed her little head and lifted a claw in the traditional way of subservience, palm up.
“Oh great Basilwretch…”
“Oh get on with it! I’m busy!”
“My mother needs any herbs that you can spare on this great goblin’s feast. She says you…uhhh…owe her.”
The eyes of Basilwretch popped wide at the words and then narrowed so that her enormous nose and eyebrows covered her thin eye slits. “Ahhh yes. Now I know who you are. It is true I always pay my debts.” She shifted her gaze towards the pub side of the building. “Go see K’nik and he will fill the order.”
“A Good Goblins’ Feast to…” Doaugs words trailed off as Basilwretch pushed her out of the bustling kitchen. The smells of rotten ale and stale bread filled her green nose and she snorted before breaking into a smile. She skipped over to the bar and tapped on a familiar hump. The lumpy back belonged to her favorite farmer.
“Papa!”, she exclaimed.
She was taken aback when she noticed his gnarled face dripped with tears. He wiped the long dangling snot from his nose, sniffed, and blew into his burlap kerchief.
“Why look who it is. My little green sprout. Why you not helping yer mother?, he questioned.
“Why are you so sad?”
“I be thinking of me father and those who came before. Those who are buried in the trees. I came to be alone, to ponder. The burial forest be too full today. No goblin thoughts there for me, all too hazy when other goblins be about.”
Doaug looked around the crowded pub and wonder what he really meant. She kept that thought to herself. She patted her Father’s substantial gut and winked. “I’m up to no good today.”
Her Father laughed and pushed her towards the door.
“This be no place for little goblin folk. Now go play and stay out of big goblin business.”
She frowned and felt hurt, but her father took the small bag from K’nik and tossed it to her.
If ye stay in trouble, but keep it all away from ye Mother, then this year I will letting’ ye use the family mallet!”
She caught the bag, squeaked, and smiled a wide grin, showing off all her pointy teeth. Her little feet carried her through the door, around the bend, and didn’t stop until she told them to. She looked around and realized she was in the dark woods. The burial forest. She was so deep in thought she had traveled a long distance.
“Mischievous feet,” she laughed “you are always up to no good.”
The thought that this was the year her Papa would let her use the holiday mallet had created such a stir in her tiny head that she was lost in thought longer than usual. So, there she stood, alone in the burial woods. Didn’t Papa say this place was too full of goblins? They must have left, unless he meant the ones in the trees.
The thick trees had hollowed out sections where goblin families could place their loved ones after they went to the great feast in the sky. She ran her long nails over the carved inscriptions above one such hole. The shriveled skeleton inside looked peaceful, curled up like a house cat, sleeping in sun rays. She smiled. This goblin would be joining all of goblin kind, feasting in the kingdom of the afterlife, while the earthbound family raised a glass towards the sky.
As she exited the forest she saw one lone picnic blanket at the base of an old tree. The newly carved bark and hole in the tree signified the recent arrival to the burial forest. She looked away in haste, so as not to offend. Only the family should gaze in the hollow until the first picnic with the tree was complete. She was glad someone was enjoying the sun on this perfect day.
The sky slowly turned from bright white clouds to pinks and purples. Her heart leapt. It was nearly time to begin the feast. She raced home, passing the cries and groans from the holding cages, and sliding under wagon loads of feast flesh. It was her time to take that next step in her journey of becoming a fully grown goblin, the mallet ceremony. Tonight was the night.
Her thoughts were so deep and visions blurring, that she nearly crashed into a large ore guard. She skidded to a halt and landed inches away from the spiked gauntlet holding a vicious mace. The ore looked down at her, drew in a long snort, then spat. The glob flew past her head and landed at her feet. She smiled at her luck. That would have been quite the mess to clean up before the feast.
A shrill and loud voice called out in the square and Doug peered past the thick orc’s legs. She crept closer and peeked through the gathered crowd. The Hobgoblin read from a royal scroll and relished each word with precision and finesse. As if tasting each word before releasing it for all to share. The long thin mustache quivered with each word. The hobgoblin’s orange face was magnificent. His monocle and bushy eyebrows gave him a presence of importance. His multicolored painted nails gripped the parchment with delicate flare.
His voice continued, “So we say farewell to all of mankind and their succulent flesh, on this most precious of days, this Goblin’s Feast. King Pusnubber, spawn of King Rashwaddle IV, in the year of our Great Sluffing.
He rolled up the scroll and mounted his saddle with a large flourish. The large hog bellowed an oink and waddled towards the distant castle, which was already beginning to light the giant torches for the evening. She bowed as he passed and then sprinted towards home.
Smoke trailed pout of the cottage chimney and the smells of roasted roots and meat filled Doaug’s nose. It gave her the energy to speed her cadence up until she burst through the wood door. Out of breath, she smiled at the sight that greeted her. Mother and Papa sat at the thick table, which was piled high with all sorts of food. Herbs and spices filled the air around the centerpiece of the feast, the trussed up beast that lay crisp and roasted at the table center.
“A happy goblins feast to you Papa and you Mother,” her excitement sped her through the litany of the day, “I’m so sorry I almost missed the feast, but I didn’t. Nope, I didn’t. I was right on time. And truly that is the best time. On time. I saw so many things today.”
“Basilwretch, and the burial forest where all the forefather sleep. And I saw a royal hobgoblin messenger, but not just any messenger, but thee highest one. You could tell by his nails. Oh and then I….”, she stopped.
Papa had rested his hand on her little shoulders and passed her the mallet.
“We are glad ya here my little green sprout. Now take a breath and take the first whack”.
Doaug inhaled and grabbed the mallet. This moment was the culmination of everything she loved about Goblin’s Feast. Traditions, joy, family, and food. She swung the mallet down hard on the still-steaming skull, and with a loud crack, the feast began. She wiped blood hands on her skirt and smiled at her parents. This roasted human was gonna be delicious!
She proclaimed loudly, “A good Goblin’s Feast to all of us, and to all goblin kind!”
