Authors: Kaye Umansky - (ebook by Undead)
2 House Hunting
3 The Over-Familiar Familiar
4 The Trial
5 Little Pieces of Paper
6 Scott Sinister
7 The Contest
10 The Party
AND (In order of appearance):
The Other Goblins
The Hedgehog Hair Rollers
Sneering Wood Pigeons
Tree Demon With Knife
The Toad In The Hole
Scott Sinister, Lulu
Gnome with Umbrella And Fan
Butler/Coachman with Paper Bag Over Head(?)
Talent Contest Audience: Skeletons, Banshees, Ghouls, Bogeymen, Werewolves,
Wizards in Disguise
The Witchway Rhythm Boys
Pierre De Gingerbeard
Dwarfs in Kitchen
Make-up/Hair By: Sharkadder
Music: Agglebag/Bagaggle, Macabre,
Witchway Rhythm Boys
Produced By: Kaye
I owe it all to my husband
I did it for peanuts
“Witch Sharkadder! My old friend!” cried Witch Pongwiffy, opening the front
boulder with her very best welcoming smile firmly fixed in place.
“What a lovely surprise. Welcome to my humble cave. My, you do look nice. Is
that a new hair-do, or have you had some sort of terrible shock, ha ha? Just my
little joke. Come in, come in. Let me take your hat.”
She seized the tall hat, gave it a respectful little brush and waited until
Sharkadder’s back was turned before booting it into a dark corner.
“It’s hardly a surprise if you knew I was coming,” remarked Sharkadder
coldly, advancing into the cave. “I know you want to be my friend again,
Pongwiffy, but I’m not at all sure I want to be yours. So stop putting it on.”
There was no doubt that Pongwiffy was being revoltingly smarmy—but it was for
a good reason. You see, she and Sharkadder were usually best friends, but they
had recently had one of their quarrels, and Pongwiffy was anxious to make
“Oh, you’re not still thinking about that silly old quarrel are you? Come on,
Sharky, let bygones be bygones. Have a look at my new cave. I only moved in last
week. You’re my first guest.”
Sharkadder stared around distastefully.
Pongwiffy’s cave wasn’t a pleasant sight. It had shocking damp problems for a
start. Slimy green moss grew on the walls, and the floor was a sea of muddy
puddles. The broken-down furniture wasn’t so much arranged as thrown in any old
how. Thick black steam belched from the horrible looking slop which bubbled and
glopped in the cauldron.
“Well, sit down, Sharky, make yourself at home,” fussed Pongwiffy, removing
Sharkadder’s cloak and dropping it into a slimy pool.
“There’s nowhere to sit,” observed Sharkadder truthfully.
“You’ll have to use that cardboard box. I haven’t sorted the chairs out yet.
That’s the trouble when you’ve just moved in. It takes ages to get organised,
“You’ve never been organised,” said Sharkadder. “What’s that terrible stink?
Smells like dead skunk.”
“It is,” said Pongwiffy cheerfully. “It’s tonight’s supper. My speciality.
You’ll love it. Skunk stew. I’ll just give it a stir,” and she took a large
ladle and poked at the heaving goo in the cauldron.
“Oh,” said Sharkadder, wishing she’d stayed at home. “Skunk stew. Really?”
“I knew you’d be pleased,” said Pongwiffy. “Now, tell me truthfully. How do
you like the cave? It’s a little damp, I know, and perhaps a bit small, but it
was very cheap. Of course, it’s a nuisance being in Goblin Territory, but I can’t
afford anything better at the moment. What do you think of it?”
“It’s a dump,” said Sharkadder. “It’s a smelly little slum. It’s not fit to
live in. It’s squalid and yucky. It’s the worst cave I’ve ever been in. It suits
“It does, doesn’t it?” agreed Pongwiffy, pleased. “I feel it’s me. It’s a
pity about the Goblins, though. I’ll tell you about them later. Now then. How
much stew for you, Sharky?”
“Er—about half a teaspoon,” said Sharkadder hastily. “I had a huge lunch. And
I think I’ve got a touch of tummy trouble. And I’m slimming.”
“Nonsense,” said Pongwiffy, relentlessly approaching with a huge, greasy
plateful. “Get that down you. You don’t need to slim. You’re beautifully thin.
You could model rags with that figure. And that’s a lovely perfume you’re
wearing. Don’t tell me—let me guess. Night In A Fish Factory, right? And I do
like the new hair style. It really suits you. Brings out the beakiness of
“It does, doesn’t it?” agreed Sharkadder, finally coming round after such an
onslaught of flattery. She scrabbled in her bag, took out a small, cracked hand
mirror and examined the frazzled mess with satisfaction.
“I’ve got some new hair rollers,” she explained. “Little hedgehogs. You warm
them up. Not too much, or they get bad tempered and nip. Just enough to send
them to sleep. Then you wind the hair around, and wait for them to cool. And it
comes out all curly, like this.”
“Beautiful,” nodded Pongwiffy through a mouthful of stew. “You always look so
nice, Sharky. I don’t know how you do it.”
“Yes, well I do try to take care of myself,” agreed Sharkadder, tossing her
tangles and applying sickly green lipstick. “You’d look a lot better yourself if
you washed once in a while. And changed that disgusting old cardigan.”
“What’s wrong with my cardigan?” asked Pongwiffy, clutching the offending garment to her
“What’s right with it? It’s got holes. It’s got no buttons. You’ve spilt so
many droppings down it, you can hardly see the pattern. It looks like it’s been
knitted with congealed egg. Want me to go on?”
“No,” muttered Pongwiffy sulkily.
But it was true. Pongwiffy’s sense of personal hygiene left a lot to be
“As for those flies that buzz around you all day long, it’s time you swatted
them,” added Sharkadder, enjoying herself.
“Swat Buzz and Dave? Never!” declared Pongwiffy, aghast at the idea. She was
fond of her flies. They circled round her hat, shared her food, and slept on her
pillow at night.
“Look, let’s not talk about flies and cardigans. You’ll never change me,
Sharky. I like the way I am. Try some stew. I made it specially.”
“I can’t. I haven’t got a spoon,” hedged Sharkadder.
“What on earth do you need a spoon for? Slurp it from the plate, like I’m
doing,” said Pongwiffy, demonstrating.
“No, I want a spoon,” insisted Sharkadder.
Pongwiffy sighed and went to the sink. Sharkadder watched her crawl under the
table, duck under the cobwebs, heave a heavy wardrobe to one side and kick a
dozen cardboard boxes out of the way.
“I don’t know how you bear it,” said Sharkadder with a shudder. “Don’t you
ever tidy up?”
“Nope,” said Pongwiffy truthfully, retracing her route with the spoon.
Sharkadder eyed it with a critical frown. “It’s dirty,” she observed. “What’s
all this crusty stuff?”
“Last week’s skunk stew,” explained Pongwiffy. “No point in washing it,
seeing as we’re having the same. Now, what was I going to tell you? Oh yes. My
new neighbours. You see…”
“I want a clean spoon,” interrupted Sharkadder.
The strain of being a polite hostess was suddenly more than Pongwiffy could
bear. “Honestly!” she shouted. “You’re such a fusspot sometimes. I go to all the
trouble of inviting you for supper, and all you do is…”
Just at that moment, there came an interruption. There was an ear-splitting
crash, and the walls shook. The Goblins in the cave next door had arrived home.
You should know quite a bit about the Goblins Next Door, because they feature
rather a lot in this story.
The Goblins Next Door consisted of a whole Gaggle. A Gaggle? That’s seven
Goblins. These were called Plugugly, Stinkwart, Eyesore, Slopbucket, Sproggit,
Hog and Lardo. They moved in a week ago, about the same time as Pongwiffy, and
they had already caused her no end of aggravation.
This seems a good time to tell you a little about Goblins in general. Then
you can decide for yourself whether or not you would care to live next door to
The most important thing you should know about Goblins is this: they are
stupid. Take the business of their hunting night—Tuesdays. That’s when they hunt. It’s Traditional. Whatever the weather, every
Tuesday they all troop out regardless and spend from dusk till midnight crashing
about the woods hoping to catch something. They never do. It’s common knowledge
that the Goblins are out on Tuesdays, so everyone with any sense stays safely
indoors and has an early night.