Good the Goblin Queen Read online

  Good gave a little shriek of fright and leaped straight out of her swing.

  Swinging in the other swing beside her was not an old man, but a ghost!

  This elderly ghost was wearing a pinstriped suit with dark shoes. Over his eyes were dark rectangular spectacles and on his head was a bowler hat with goggles around the rim. He had a mustache and goatee and he wore a dandelion pinned to his lapel. The elderly ghost was green all over, he was as see-through as a green bottle, and he glowed with an eerie green light.

  He had a green see-through umbrella in his hands as he swung back and forth in the swing. But the more Good looked at the ghost swinging the more she realized that he was not swinging, but floating just above the swing.

  “Oh goodness gracious,” the elderly ghost said with a little chuckle. “I did not mean to frighten you, my dear. I am simply looking for a girl named Good and I was wondering if you might know where I could find her.”

  Good was surprised to hear the ghost speak her name. Slowly she stepped toward him. “That’s me,” she said in a trembling voice. “My name is Good.”

  The elderly ghost took out a ghostly pocket watch and looked at the hour.

  “Jolly good!” he exclaimed. “It seems I have made excellent time. I thought it might take me several years to find you.”

  The ghost stood up but his feet did not touch the ground. He floated with the tip of his shoes dangling just above the snow. He tipped his bowler hat at her in a greeting.

  “Allow me to introduce myself, my dear,” he said. “I am Mr. Fuddlebee.”

  Then he reached into his see-through jacket and took out something that was not see-through. In fact it was a small mechanical device. It was a little smaller than the size of a compact mirror and made of copper.

  “I am pleased to present you with this not so new Crinomatic,” he said as he handed it to her.

  Good did not take it. Instead she turned from the ghost and ran as fast as she could away from there.

  She did not get very far when the ghost appeared again, but this time it was right in front of her. He was sipping a cup of tea.

  “Chai tea with maple syrup?” he asked. “It is quite delicious and refreshing.”

  Good turned and ran in another direction. But the ghost appeared before her again.

  “I understand,” he said with a gentle smile. “This is a very normal reaction.”

  “It is?” asked Good.

  “Why, yes,” Mr. Fuddlebee the ghost said. “Many people run in fear when they receive their first Crinomatic. And many people have run screaming from this one especially. Oh, but do not worry. It has not killed anyone since 1997. And that was over a very bad misunderstanding with a zombie, who was already dead, or at least mostly not alive anymore.”

  The elderly ghost floated a little closer to Good and handed the small round device to her. “Here,” he said, “it’s yours now.”

  “I—” Good stammered. “I—I don’t think I want it.”

  “You might not want it,” Mr. Fuddlebee said, “but you certainly need it.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Well, why else would you have wished upon a star?” he asked. “Over a hundred stars, I believe. I counted them on my little ghostly fingers and toes.”

  Good’s eyes went wide with fear. She started trembling all over. “Are you going to arrest me for making that wish?” she asked.

  Mr. Fuddlebee chuckled with delight. “Oh my dear!” he exclaimed. “I have not chuckled that hard since Miss Broomble said she liked the way I tap dance.”

  He floated a little closer to Good. “My dear, I’m not going to arrest you,” he said with a kind smile. “I’m here to grant your wish.”

  “My wish,” Good said a little doubtfully.

  He pulled out a scroll from his sleeve and opened it. One end rolled down to the ground and went under some bushes nearby. “Let’s see. Let’s see,” he said. “Gabby, Gail, Glenda, Gertrude, Gobble—Ah!” he exclaimed. “Good! Here you are, my dear. It says here that at precisely the right time you made a very important wish on a star. You wished to be a queen.”

  He looked at her from over the top of his rectangular spectacles. “You do wish to be a queen, don’t you?” he asked.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Crinomatics & Gossamingles

  Good wanted to be a queen more than anything. If she were a queen, her castle would be a great big library where she could read all the books she liked.

  “Yes,” Good said. “I did make a wish to be a queen.”

  Mr. Fuddlebee the elderly ghost handed her the small circular device. “Then this Crinomatic is yours,” he said.

  He dropped it into her open hands and then disappeared in a puff of green smoke.

  Good looked closely at it. He had called it a “Crinomatic.” But she had no idea what that meant. It looked like a compact mirror, but it wouldn’t open.

  “Have you ever used a Crinomatic before?” asked the voice of the elderly ghost.

  Good was startled to see his head floating beside her.

  “No,” she confessed. “I don’t even know what it is or what to do with it. What does it mean? Crin—o—ma—tic.”

  The rest of the elderly ghost appeared. He looked absorbed in thought as he scratched his goatee. “Well,” he said in his gentle voice, “it is how you will become a queen. Just tell the Crinomatic what you would like to wear and it will make new clothes for you.”

  This was amazing! Good studied the Crinomatic more closely. “How does it work?” she asked.

  “Millions of tiny little spiders live inside it,” he said matter-of-factly. “They come out, link together, and make you wonderful new boots and shirts and pants and goggles and—”

  Good shivered all over. “I don’t want spiders crawling all over me!” she exclaimed.

  “Oh do not fret, my dear,” he said. “They’re not real spiders. They’re mechanical, like little robots. They are called Gossamingles.”

  “Gossamingles and Crinomatics!” exclaimed Good, thinking these were the strangest words she’d ever heard.

  “You got it!” said Mr. Fuddlebee with a tip of his hat. “Just tell the Crinomatic what you’d like to wear, let the Gossamingles make it for you, and then look at yourself in the mirror. I promise you, my dear, you’ll be very pleased. Very pleased indeed! You’ll be a brand new queen before you know it.”

  The ghost saluted her goodbye, touching his umbrella to his hat.

  “Ta-ta,” he said and disappeared for the last time in another puff of green smoke.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Good the Goblin Queen

  Good could barely believe what had just happened. What did Mr. Fuddlebee the ghost say? She only had to tell the Crinomatic what she wanted to wear and it would make it for her. She knew what she wanted to wear. It was the dress of a queen and the shoes of a queen and the crown and jewels of a beautiful queen! But she had no idea how the Crinomatic could make her a queen. It is one thing to look like a queen, but it is another thing to actually be a queen.

  She held the Crinomatic close to her mouth and she whispered to it, in case her voice was too loud for the… What were they called? The Gossamingles was it?

  “Hello?” she said softly. “Is anyone in there?”

  She heard no response. She gave it a little shake, as if it were a Christmas present and she were trying to find out what was inside before she opened it.

  But—oh no!—her fingers must have been slippery because, the instant she shook it, the Crinomatic slipped out of her hands, fell on a stone at her feet, and broke!

  “What have I done?” she shrieked.

  She knelt on the ground and looked at the copper device. She was glad that it had not smashed to bits like glass. But it now had a large dent on one side. Seeing that dent made her heart sink like a stone in a sea of sorrow. Very gently she pinched the Crinomatic between her fingers and studied its sides. There was no other damage but that one dent in the copper. It d
id not matter if it was small because it seemed very large. She did not dare shake it again, but as she was turning it, she heard a rattling noise inside. It was not a hopeful sound. Turning it over she heard it again. Yes, something was definitely rattling around. She thought her heart could not sink any lower, but it did.

  “I broke it,” she said in a tone of despair.

  Large tears began to pool in Good’s great big eyes. She would never be a queen now. She had wasted her wish.

  Would it still work? Good did not know, but she did not want to give up. She wanted to be a queen more than anything and that gave her enough hope. So believing that the Crinomatic might still have enough magic in it to make one last wish come true, she stood up and held it carefully in her hands. She would not let it drop ever again.

  “What did Mr. Fuddlebee say?” she asked herself. “Just tell it what I want to wear and it will make it for me?”

  Will it really make me a queen? she wondered. Or will it only make me look like a queen?

  Both ideas seemed impossible. Nothing like that had ever happened to her before. But she had to have faith to go with her hope.

  “Okay,” she said. “I hope it will happen, so I believe it will too.”

  Carefully she brought the Crinomatic close to her mouth. Softy she spoke to it, putting into her words all her hope to become a queen and all her faith that it would happen.

  “Make me a queen,” she said.

  The Crinomatic did nothing, not for a few seconds. And they were very long seconds to wait.

  Suddenly it started to shudder on her hand. Her eyes widened. It shuddered a little more. Her heart beat a little harder. It shuddered faster and faster and she was afraid she might drop it again. Her breathing quickened with every second.

  But then the Crinomatic stopped.

  She held it for a few seconds more, wondering what might happen next, if anything would happen.

  Just then, very slowly, like the sun rising on the horizon, the lid opened up. Bright white light shone out. It completely surrounded her. She could not see anything through it and no one could see her looking into it. But the light did not hurt her eyes. Tiny little things, as small as motes of dust, came out of the Crinomatic. They covered her all over and she could feel them tickling her from her head down to her toes. They made her laugh and she wiggled with delight. If she could look very closely at those little motes, she would have seen itty-bitty mechanical spiders crawling all over her. These were the Gossamingles. They were linking their legs together, changing their color, and shaping themselves into a queen’s dress and shoes and crown.

  It took only a second for the Gossamingles to do their work. It took another second for the light to go back inside the Crinomatic. The lid closed. A few more seconds passed before Good’s eyes could see what had happened.

  “Am I—Am I a queen?” she asked, rubbing her eyes with one hand.

  She looked down and saw first that she had shoes made of black jewels. They twinkled brightly against the snow. Then she saw that she was wearing a long black dress covered in black ribbons. It felt softer than silk. Good thought they were the most beautiful shoes and dress she had ever seen.

  Then she felt something on her head. She reached up and felt that she was wearing a crown. It felt as if it were attached to her! She was very curious to see what she looked like now.

  The lake in the park was frozen over. Its surface might make a mirror. So she ran over to it and looked at her reflection. What she saw made her gasp in amazement…

  A beautiful crown was coming out of the top of her head! It had tall points and it was covered in many colorful gems. Some were green, some were purple, most were red, and they all twinkled like stars.

  But then she saw the most disturbing sight. Her skin had turned green!

  CHAPTER SIX

  The Pots and Pans Parade

  Green skin. Green cheeks, green chin, green forehead. Green hands, green elbows, green arms. Green everything.

  Good was green all over!

  But then she took a closer look and saw that her lips and eyes were now bright red. Her fingernails were long and black like the claws of crows.

  “What’s happened to me?” Good shrieked.

  Her voice echoed over the hills and into the wind. She felt very alone and scared. Would she be like this for the rest of her life? How would she explain this to people? And was she a person anymore? She felt like one, even though she did not quite look like one. What was she going to do?

  Then she remembered the Crinomatic. She still had it in her hand.

  Panicked, she brought it to her mouth once more, yet this time she was not so timid. “Make me normal again,” she demanded.

  The Crinomatic shook on her palm, made spluttering noises, and puffed out black smoke. Then it did nothing more.

  Perhaps she had not given it the right command.

  “Make me me again,” she said this time.

  The Crinomatic once more shook and spluttered and puffed black smoke, but it did not open and no bright light came out. Was it out of those little Gossamingle-thingies?

  Now she gave it a hard shake hoping that might make things better. And there is one thing you should never do with strange devices given to you by even stranger ghosts: You should never ever shake them. Good found this out the hard way when she shook it and it came completely apart. The lid came off and springs leaped out and gears fell into the snow.

  “ACK!” she cried. “What have I done?”

  Hurriedly she dropped down on the snow and started gathering up the pieces. She thought she found a spring but, no, that was just a dead sprig. Then she thought she found a gear but, no, that was just a weed.

  She cupped the broken pieces of the Crinomatic in her hands and she stared at them in disbelief. She had struggled to believe that it would work. And now that she knew it would work, she struggled to believe that it would ever work again.

  This was quickly turning into the weirdest and worst day of her life.

  But then, right when she was about to give up hope, her day got a little bit weirder. And when it got weirder, it actually got much better, but she would not know how much better until the day came to an end.

  The weirder thing happened when she heard a parade coming over a bridge on the other side of the lake. She didn’t recognize the noise at first. But the louder it grew the more she realized that it was the sound of spoons banging on pots and pans.

  Good looked in the direction and she saw seven little men—men? or were they creatures?—coming over the bridge.

  “I know what those are,” Good said to herself. “Those are goblins!”

  And in fact she was right. They were goblins—seven of them.

  They were marching in rhythm and singing a song about bugs and mugs and rugs and slugs. At the same time they were wearing pots and pans on their heads while banging on them with dented spoons.

  The pots, the pots,

  it’s the Pots and Pans Parade.

  We prance, we dance

  like ants in pants

  in the Pots and Pans Parade!

  That’s all the seven goblins sang over and over again. And pretty soon the song got stuck in Good’s head.

  The goblins had green skin like Good. But they were different shapes and sizes. None were taller than her, but some were taller than most while most were shorter than some. Some had long teeth, some had snaggleteeth, and some had no teeth. Some wore armor and others wore boxes. Two had swords, two others had rifles, two more had bows and arrows, and one had a rubber duck, which he squeaked loudly on the last line of the song:

  …in the Pots and Pans Parade!

  SQUEAK! SQUEAK!

  All seven goblins were singing and banging and marching and squeaking in a single file line. And it took a moment before Good realized that they were coming straight toward her.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Seven Goblins

  The seven goblins came to a halt right before Good. They all bl
inked at her with large eyes filled with curiosity. Then one of the goblins wearing dark green armor gingerly stepped forward and sniffed her with his pointed nose. He shivered all over and grimaced as if he had smelled rotten eggs and he ran back to the other six goblins. They all huddled together and started whispering to one another. Sometimes one would peek out of the huddle and blink at Good, but would duck back inside before she could speak and they would all continue frantically whispering.

  Then the goblins lined up before Good and bowed so low to the ground that they all lost their balance and fell over. They got back to their feet after they fought with one another about who had lost their balance first. Finally, they stood once more in a line before her like soldiers at attention.

  They saluted her by punching themselves in the face.

  A short one spoke up. “All hail, Our Pie-ness.”

  “No,” the tallest one hissed at him. “Not pie-ness. High-ness. Your Highness is how you address the Queen.”

  “Maybe she has some pies,” the first replied.

  “I like mud pies,” said a third.

  “She doesn’t look that high to me,” said a fourth.

  “Maybe it’s cry-ness,” a fifth goblin said. “She looks like a weeper.”

  “Did you say she’s a keeper?” said a sixth. “I think we could throw her back and get another.”

  “We could keep her toes and throw away the rest,” said not the seventh who was silent, but one of the others.

  Then the tallest goblin, who had a long sword and was wearing the heaviest armor, stepped forward and silenced the other six.

  He took out an old photograph, crept closer to Good, and held the photograph beside her face. The other six goblins looked at it and then they all nodded together, saying among themselves, “Yes, yes, they do look a lot a like.”