Saturday Goblin by Terry Whidborne for goblin week

Saturday Goblin by Terry Whidborne for Goblin Week


He stood, as he had always stood, at the entrance to the Goblin King’s vault, guarding the gold.  He’d sworn, on his eternal life, to guard it forever.


In 1896 an archaeological expedition set out to discover the Valle dei Re dei Goblin, believed to be found deep within the Dolomiti in Italy. The expedition was lead and financed by Conte Francesco, an amateur archaeologist, who had discovered ancient documents purporting to be the truth regarding Goblin Clans and their golden hoards.

Conte Francesco gathered together a small team in Rome, including three Mountaineers.  After taking trains from Rome to Milan and then on to Bergamo, they began their trek into the mountains.

Weeks later, tired and hungry, they found the hidden valley: Valle dei Re dei Goblin.

The documents had proven to be extremely accurate.  At the far end of this valley they discovered a petrified soldier guarding the entrance to a rocky cave.  By the look of his tarnished armour and gaunt face, he had died a long time ago of starvation. He was a goblin.

When Conte Francesco looked closely at the cave’s entrance he spotted some goblin graffiti…

SatDay woz erE

Chuckling at the long gone goblin’s bad spelling, he entered the cave first as was his right as the leader. Within they found the finest of goblin gold:  filigreed jewels, beaten bowls and plates, knives and forks.  As they loaded up their backpacks a sense of unease wove its way through the group. No one could pinpoint the source, but all gathered gold quickly, unanimously deciding to camp further along the valley.

Later that night as they lay alongside a dying fire, an eerie voice was heard calling endlessly for food.

“Meeeeeeeat! Want fresh meeeeeeeeat!”

Despite their fear they all fell into an exhausted sleep.  When Conte Francesco woke the next morning, the three Mountaineers had disappeared, along with their backpacks and the food.  Only the original four expeditioneers remained.  Cursing the untrustworthiness of country folk, Conte Francesco assured the rest of the team that he knew his way back through the mountains.

All day they trekked through the valley, never seeming to reach the end. Again they had to camp for the night.  Again the same plaintive wail for food could be heard.

“Meeeeeeeeat! Want fresh meeeeeeeeeat!!”

Leaving two on guard, Conte Francesco slept an uneasy sleep, full of nightmare wars, strange creatures battling each other.  He woke with the sun to find he was alone. The other three had gone, leaving him with his own pack of gold.

All day he walked. No water. No food. He walked endlessly along the valley carting his gold and his dreams.

Days later he was found, rambling and naked on a walking track in the mountains. His talk of goblins and gold had him sent to a local Abbey, to be cared for by the monks.  He never recovered his mind.

Years later a travel diary was discovered after a landslide in the Dolomiti. It contained the above story as written by Conte Francesco himself. The monks were not forthcoming with details of his stay with them. They would only say that God looked after the feeble of mind.


He stood, as he had always stood, at the entrance to the Goblin King’s vault, guarding the gold.  He’d sworn, on his eternal life, to guard it forever. The sunlight hit a patch near the cave’s entrance underneath the graffiti the Conte had read aloud…

aNd still iS

Copyright January 2014



1st Flight of the Helicopcycle

Friday Goblin by Terry Whidborne for goblin week

Friday Goblin by Terry Whidborne for Goblin Week


Goblin Jim had set out to market that fine morning with a skip in his heart and joy in his feet. His Helicopcycle was finally finished and he was most confident that his first flight would be the talk of the village.

With one eye on the Goblin Inventor of the Year prize, the other had strayed. Which was why he now found himself peddling for dear life with a flock of Pelifishers in pursuit. How was he supposed to have known that The Catch of the Century would be on display at the exact spot the rotators would fail and he would crash.

Still, if he peddled fast enough, he could escape with a bonus of fresh fish for tea.



Copyright January 2014


Thursday Goblin by Terry Whidborne for Goblin Week

Thursday Goblin by Terry Whidborne for Goblin Week



“I tell you George there’s one in the garden.”

“Yer crazy Harry!  Aint no such thing as goblins!”

“Look here! Look!! You can see in this photograph, plain as day. Well a little blurred. It’s a goblin!!”

“Yer nuts Harry. Ever since that fox got yer cat”

“Wasn’t a fox. The taxidermist said the fur hadn’t been chewed. Fingers were used George. Fingers!!  He’d been cut and gutted with a knife!”

George smiled and thought back to last week, the sharpened knife, the squeals. He’d always hated that cat.



Copyright January 2014





Wednesday Goblin by Terry Whidborne for goblin week

Wednesday Goblin by Terry Whidborne for Goblin Week


“One cockroach short of a snack!!!!!!”

“He’s a SPECIAL goblin our Grig!! “

The jeers and shouts followed Grig as he carried the bunny home.

He didn’t care what they said. He was helping his Mum. Each day he brought home a bunny for the pot. He WAS a special goblin.  Mum had always said so.

After dinner when she’d tucked Grig into bed, before she locked up for the night, Mira took the stuffed rabbit, hid it in the same musty cave in the woods.  Then she collected lizards, snails and frogs for the next night’s dinner, knowing Grig would not know the difference.  He was a good goblin son, but she had to admit, if only to herself, not terribly bright.

Later, after watching Mira leave the woods, a troll set up a trap just inside the entrance to the cave.  Tomorrow he would eat fat juicy goblin Grig for dinner.



Copyright January 2014