SWAMP GOBLIN

by

BRADLEY W. SIMPSON

     Patrick liked to play outside.  He could pass the hours easily climbing trees, chasing grasshoppers, and doing as he pleased.  Trouble was, he would not go inside the house when his mother told him to.  He could be very stubborn when he wanted to be, and when it came to going inside for the night, he just would not listen to reason.

     He lived with his mother in a little house near a swamp.  There was nothing around but bogs and marshes.  It was a dreary enough place during the day with shadows from the surrounding sloughs creeping up and smothering the little cottage, but nighttime was even worse.  It was eerie and desolate.  The wind seemed to carry ghostly whispers about the swamp.  Patrick’s mother did not like it at all.  As soon as the sun began to sink behind the thick trees to the west, she would lock up the house, build up the fire, and draw a chair near the fireplace.  As long as the fire was burning brightly and the house was locked soundly, she felt safe.

     “It’s time to come in, Patrick,” she would holler from the door after she had latched every window and drawn every shutter.

     “But it’s not even dark yet,” he would say.  And he would stay out playing as long as he wanted.  Sometimes, when the moon allowed enough light, he would stay out until midnight or later.

     One night, the wind was stirring around the house and Patrick’s mother was sure there were phantoms roaming about the swamps.  “It’s time to come in, Patrick,” she called with a shiver in her voice.

     “But it’s not even dark yet,” he said.  She pleaded with the stubborn boy, but nothing she said made any difference.  Patrick was sitting in a tree, toying with a tree frog he had just caught and  he would not move.  She finally got fed up.

     “Well, if you won’t come inside where it’s safe, then you will be locked out,” she said, and she slammed the door.  Patrick heard the deadlock on the door fasten, and in a moment the house fell silent.

     But Patrick was not worried.  There was still plenty of excitement outside.  Crickets chirped, tree frogs croaked, and lightning bugs flashed.  There were many things a boy could do to pass the time.  He decided to walk down to the old bridge that crossed over the marsh.  It was almost completely dark now, but the moon sprinkled its light across the swamp, and he could see well enough.

     Patrick sat on the bridge with his legs dangling over the side.  He listened to the insects buzzing in the brush and the other mysterious sounds that whispered from the depths of the hollow.  But as the night passed, the creatures fell silent, and the swamp grew still and quiet.

     Presently, there was a rustling among the reeds near the bridge… and a goblin child popped up from the marsh.

     “Who are you?”  asked Patrick who was not the least bit afraid, though he had never seen a goblin before.

     “I’m Swamp Goblin,” answered the goblin child.  “I live in the swamp.”

     “Well, that sure is a funny name,” said Patrick.  “But I guess it’s as good as any.”

     “I’ve come to play,” said the goblin child.

     “Good thing!”  said Patrick.  “I was starting to get bored.  What should we play?”

     “What about hide-and-seek?”  said the goblin child.  And without waiting for Patrick to reply, he ran away and hid.

     Patrick searched so long for the goblin child that he began to grow tired.  He was about to give up, when he found the goblin child crouching inside a hollow log.

     “Found you!”  said Patrick as he pulled the goblin child out.

     “No fair! No fair!”  hollered the goblin child.  “You CHEATED!”  He let out a long, awful, ear-piercing scream that echoed through the swamp.

     A moment later, Patrick heard someone, or SOMETHING emerging from the bog in answer to the terrible scream.  Terrified, he ran and hid behind the nearest tree.

     “Who’s there?  What’s wrong?”  groaned a voice from the swamp.

     “It’s me, mother, Swamp Goblin. 

     “What are you doing out here?” The voice said, sounding closer.

     “ We were playing a game, but he cheated!”  cried the goblin child.

     “Who cheated?”  the voice asked angrily.  Patrick knew the goblin child meant him.  He could see the angry face of a goblin mother evolving from the thick brush.

     “HE cheated!”  said the goblin child, pointing toward the tree where Patrick was hiding.

     That was Patrick’s cue to run for his life.  He took off running as fast as his trembling legs would allow him, and did not stop until he got home.  But of course, his mother had locked the door, so he dived behind the hedges, hiding himself the best he could.

     Patrick crouched in the bushes all night long, afraid to come out.  Several times, he thought he saw shadows emerging from the depths of the hollow in search of him. 

     When the first rays of morning sunlight glowed in the east, his mother opened the door and called him into breakfast.  He had never felt so happy to see her in his life.  And you can bet that the next night when his mother said, “Time to come in, Patrick,” he did so right away.  He was afraid the goblin mother might discover where he lived and come looking for him.