Chapter 05 Kind Creatures with a Terrible Plan

The largest hatchling let out a tiny war cry.

 "Wreeee!" It lunged for the yellow fruit nearest. It didn't try to eat it. It wrapped its arms around the fruit, sank its teeth into the waxy skin, and began to wrestle it. It rolled onto its back, the fruit pinned against its chest, kicking its legs furiously as if trying to subdue a wild beast. The fruit squirted out of its grasp and bonked it right on the forehead. 

Boink!

 The hatchling blinked, stars circling its head.

Inspired, two others targeted a single loaf of bread. They each grabbed an end. 

"MINE!" squeaked one.

 "SHARE-TUG!" shouted the other. 

They began a furious tug-of-war, grunting and straining, their little feet slipping in the dirt. The bread didn't give. They pulled harder, leaning back, their faces turning red with effort. Suddenly, their little hands slipped. 

SPROING!

The two hatchlings shot backwards like goblin-shaped arrows from a bow. One flew straight into Trog's legs, wrapping around them like a living belt. The other rocketed backwards, smacking flat against the cave wall with a soft splat, then slowly peeled off and slid to the floor, dizzy but grinning.

 "Wreee! That hurt!"

The final hatchling, meanwhile, had climbed on top of the remaining loaf of bread, standing on it like a conqueror, raising its fists in victory. Then it tried to take a victory bite out of the throne beneath its feet. It leaned down, opened its mouth wide, and chomped.

CRONCH.

Its tiny teeth met the crust. Its eyes crossed. It wobbled, took two steps forward, and walked directly off the edge of the loaf, plummeting the great height to the floor where it lay on its back, feet in the air, seeing little birdies.

Finally, the last of the food crumb went down their hungry mouths. The laughter slowly faded, leaving behind exhaustion and six very full, very sleepy hatchlings. Their bellies were round with pulped fruit and breadcrumbs, their eyelids drooping heavily.

Grub clapped his hands softly.

 "Alright, little gobbos. Feast is done. Food is in the belly. Now is time for… nap-nap-rest. Very important."

The smallest one, already half-asleep in a smear of mashed yellow fruit, murmured, "Rest… for more eat?"

"Yes. Big eat soon, little one. So sleep good now."

We made a nest of the driest grasses and moss in the warmest corner, near the remnants of the incubator's heat. The hatchlings curled into a single, breathing, chirping pile of green skin and tiny snores, nestled between Snag and Muddy, who looked at them with a devotion so pure it was painful to see.

The rest of us sat in a loose circle by the dead fire-pit, the reality of our situation settling back over us. The food was gone. All of it. Eaten in one joyous, desperate feast. The only thing left in our pathetic nest was the squirming mass of worms and grubs in the old, hollow log—the maggot farm. It was a day's worth of food. Maybe less, for seven adults and six hatchlings.

"We save the wriggles," Grill said, "We eat in the morning. Before we go. Strength for walking."

 Our bellies were empty, but the memory of the hatchlings' full ones made the hunger a bearable ache. For now.

"We go where?" Fort asked, "We cannot stay. The basket-trap… Hermit was smart, but humans are not stupid. They will check their trap. They might come tomorrow."

"The forest, maybe? Ughh... but more monsters there." Trog suggested meekly, then flinched at his own idea.

"The plains are open, we could go further away from town," Snag said, "but no cover. Humans on stone-path can see far. And monsters, we are slow. With hatchlings… we are a moving snack."

 We were in a box. Stay: death by human. Forest: death by monster. Plains: death by both. My mind, still buzzing from panic, felt sluggish.

"Not toward human town," I said, "stone-path goes to human town, we no go there. Forest... forest bad. Open plains are best, I think we should go to Big Water, stinky marshes."

"Marshes are bad," Grub said, "Biting flies. Water that burns feet. No good ground for burrows. Too muddy and sticky."

"But," Grill said, "Humans hate marshes. Too wet. Smells bad. Monsters from forest… they also hate wet. Too soft for running. It's bad for us too but it's the best we can do right now. We stay we die; we go forest we die. By the Big Water we have a chance. It will be hard, but we have a chance there."

"I think Grill is right," Muddy agreed, "This can work, been living in a swamp before. Not too bad. Food plenty. We go… into the bad place to be safe from worse things." 

"Yes," I said. "The place no one wants. We follow dirt path, but far from it, in the long grass. We look for where the ground gets soft and air smells like old eggs. We find a new hole there."

"It will be a terrible home," Snag said, "Damp. Will need to dig deep to find dry. Food will be… different. Water-beasts. Maybe marsh-roots."

"Better than no home," Fort whispered, "Better than sharp-metal sticks spilling our guts."

The decision was made. It was the only option that wasn't immediately fatal. 

Outside, through the tiny cracks, the last light of the day was fading. 

 "Dark time is coming. We stay under rock. We sleep now. Early, when the sky is grey, but the sun is still sleeping, we move. Quick and quiet."

We huddled together in a pile of grown goblins around the nest of the young. The stone floor was hard and cold. Our stomachs growled. We were a pile of doomed, stupid, kind creatures with a terrible plan and a handful of worms for breakfast.

The last grey light bled from the cracks. We were a pile of silent misery, listening to gentle snores of hatchlings in the dark, when a new sound startled us.

 A voice.

"Erwin! It's this way! Hurry up!"

The voice was young and too close. It came from just beyond our ceiling stone.

We froze. Our green skin seemed to leach of color, turning ashen grey. Our breathing stopped mid-gasp. My heart didn't just skip a beat; it shriveled into a hard, cold pebble in my chest. We were not goblins. We were statues of terror.

"I followed basket thieves all the way to these rocks! They should be around here! There is no mistake, I saw few goblins, they dragged our basket here, dragging markings still here, trail ends by the big rocks!"

The markings. We’d been in such panic we hadn’t even thought to hide our trail. 

A second voice, higher, answered.

  "Great job, David. I knew some stupid goblins would fall for our trap. Now we just need to look for their nest! But let's be careful, we don't know how many there are!"

Trap. The word echoed in my mind. Grub had been right. And we had fallen for it. We were the stupid goblins.

Paralysis held us. Mind and body, locked. We couldn't move. We couldn't even think to move. Only our eyes, wide and white-rimmed, darted toward the entrance crack.

Then, the tiny hatchling with the big ears, the one who'd asked for a song, sneezed in its sleep.

A-a-aa-a-choo-choo!

It was a sound so small, so adorable. In any other moment, it would have melted our hearts. Now, it rang through the silent burrow like a death call.

"Erwin! I think I hear something! Look! Over there! Coming from this crack in the ground! By the bush!"

"David, hold my spear. I'll throw some rocks inside, try to lure them out! You stab whatever crawls outside, ready?"

"Yeah, go for it!"

We watched, petrified, as a small rock tumbled through the entrance, clattering to the floor.

"Stupid goblins! Anyone home!? Come out, come out!"

 A moment later, another followed, landing near my feet. 

"Here! Have another! I hope that hit your heads! Filthy freaks!"

Our meager goblin brains, overloaded with fear, offered no solutions. No clever plans. Only a primal, silent prayer to any spirit that might listen.

 "We are not here. We are not here. Go away."

More rocks fell. We were statues in a cave of falling pebbles.

"Huh. No reaction. If there were goblins inside, I bet they would have attacked us by now. I mean we are making so much noise and goblins are not a friendly enough bunch to ignore someone at their nest."

A sliver of hope, thin as a spider's thread. They thought we’d attack. They didn't know we were the kind of goblins who huddled and cried.

"Hold up, let me try."

We flinched as the rusty tip of a spear poked through the entrance hole. It wavered, then began to stab violently downward, jabbing at the empty air and dirt of our burrow floor.

"Take that! And that! If there are any goblins inside, I will stab them! Eat my spear! Take it, filthy goblins!"

Jab. Jab. Scrape.

The metal tip came closer with each wild thrust, glinting in the fungal light. It was a nightmare puppet show. We watched its chaotic dance, knowing a single lucky, unlucky thrust could find flesh. It stabbed the ground where Grill had been sitting moments before.

"Hey, hey! David! Relax, don't break the spear. If there was anyone in that hole you would have got it by now! I think it's empty. This was a bust, we need to go. It's getting too dangerous out here, night is coming. Dad will kill me if he finds out I was outside town walls at this hour."

"Yeah, you're right. We should get out of here before we get in trouble."

The spear was withdrawn. The voices began to fade. A tremor of relief. They were leaving. They thought the hole was empty. We had survived the inspection.

"We need to run. The moment they’re gone, we run." I thought.