Peter and the Goblin

Peter didn’t know exactly what he’d been expecting to see when he broke into the room, but it definitely hadn’t been a small man with slightly greenish skin, a too long nose and wire-rimmed spectacles, sitting on a stool reading a paperback.

The creature peered over his glasses at Peter. “Hello,” he said, “can I help you?”

“Err,” said Peter. “Wha- I mean, who, are you?”

“I think I should be asking you that, considering that you’ve just broken in,” said the little man, peering and the splintered doorframe. “But to answer the question you almost asked, I’m a goblin.”

“Ah. Right.” Said Peter. His brain frantically struggling to catch up with what his eyes and ears were telling him. “But – “

“As you can see, I do exist”.

“Yes, but – “

“So. Usual sorts of rules. What do you want? Let’s get this over with, I’d just got to a good bit.” He waved the paperback book for emphasis.

“Err, I… I mean we… we were looking for…”

“Oh good grief. What do they teach you humans these days? I mean what do you wish for? Three wishes. You’re entitled, you’ve broken into the fortress -”

“The fortress? You mean this house?”

“Yes, yes, past the treacherous moat -"

"Err… well there was a puddle in front of the gate."

The goblin scowled at the interruption, "and subdued the fearsome canine guardian –“

“Guardian? Canine? What… not the poodle?”

The goblin looked exasperated, “the FEARSOME guardian, yes, and found the enchanted key needed to enter this room…”

“Nah, broke the door down, look.”

The goblin pointed impatiently at the debris on the floor. Peter followed his gaze and saw something glinting in the dust. It was a small golden key. “It was balanced on the top of the doorframe. You found it. You may not have used it, but you found it. Close enough. So, wishes. Standard rules. The next two words out of your mouth need to be ‘I wish’. Get on with it. I’ll give you some friendly advice, be specific.”

Peter opened his mouth, and then shut it again. A rational part of his brain was telling him that this couldn’t be happening, while the rest had decided to make the best of a crazy situation and try to remember the lessons learned from fairy tales. After all, goblins, wishes: that was definitely Once Upon A Time territory. Although wasn't it usually genies and witches that did wishes rather than goblins? His brain gave up, gave its rational part a kick and sent it off to sulk in the corner.

Ok, right, wishes. So, first thought was to wish for money. Only… didn’t these wishes always seem to go wrong? If you asked for a million pounds, you’d get it, but it would turn out to belong to someone else, the proceeds of a bank job or something, and you’d be in serious trouble. So the goblin had said be specific. If he was clear about where the money came from, it couldn’t go wrong could it?

“I wish… to win the jackpot in the National Lottery this Saturday.” Said Peter. There, that couldn’t go wrong, could it? The money had a source, and his winning couldn’t affect anyone else.

“Not very original,” said the Goblin, “but hey ho, here you go. Winning ticket. Don’t lose it.” He waved his long, green fingers, plucked a piece of paper out of the air and handed it over.

Peter took it and looked it over. It certainly looked like a legitimate lottery ticket. It had one line of numbers, which read 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6.

“1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6?”

“Yes. I promise you they’re going to come up this Saturday. After all, they’re no less likely than any other set." He smiled evilly. "Apparently ten thousand people play those numbers every week, so lots of people will be very happy.”

Peter looked at the ticket and sighed. He was hardly a mathematical genius but even he could work out that split between that many winners the prize would hardly be the millions he’d been aiming for. If the goblin was telling the truth it might be worth a couple of hundred pounds. He folded the paper carefully and tucked it into his breast pocket. It could’ve been worse.

“Come on, come on, next wish.” Said the goblin cheerfully.

Peter tried to think. He could try again with the money, but he couldn’t help thinking there would always be some way around it. Absently he rubbed his hand where a splinter had become painfully stuck under the skin. A thought occurred to him. He was always suffering with little nicks and scrapes like this. Maybe…

“All right. I wish that I can’t be injured, no matter what happens I’ll walk away without a scratch.”

“Done.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“I didn’t see you do anything.”

“Were you expecting glittery stars and smoke?”

“No I guess – “ At that moment there was a loud creaking sound. Peter looked up and saw a crack snake across the ceiling. Flecks of dust drifted down. He stared transfixed like a rabbit in headlights as part of the roof slowly detached from the rest and fell, almost in slow motion, towards his head.

---

“Anyone in – hey, HEY, I’ve found him! Over here!” Yelled the fireman dressed in full safety gear as he clambered cautiously into the room. He made his way over to the man lying under a roof support.

“Sargent, can you hear me?” He asked, noting the chevrons on his shoulder.

Peter blinked and tried to clear his head. “Yes, yes…” he tailed off as pain hit him like a sledgehammer. His head felt like it was splitting in half and his spine as though someone was trying to fold him into an origami elephant. “Shit that hurts,” he muttered. He blinked again and the goblin appeared in his field of view. “I thought I couldn’t be injured?” He said, weakly.

“You didn’t say anything about things not hurting though, did you?” said the goblin, cheerfully. “Once they’ve pulled you out of here and checked you over you’ll be fine. Eventually.”

“What do you mean, eventually?”

"Oh it'll hurt for a day or two probably. Then you'll be back to normal."

"A day or TWO?"

Two paramedics made their way into the room and, after getting the nod from the fireman that the roof was, for the moment, safe, dashed to Peter’s side. “Vitals are strong. He’s stable. Who’s he talking to?” Asked one of them, curiously.

“No idea. Must be the bang on the head.” Said the fireman. "Name's Sargent Peter Jamison," he added. "He and his team were here on a drug bust. It's an old building, part of the roof collapsed after they broke this door down. It's stable for the moment, but let's get him out as soon as we can."

Peter groaned loudly, “it REALLY hurts!”

“Ok mate, I’m going to give you some pain relief.” Said the first paramedic, holding out his hand as his colleague passed him a syringe.

Suddenly Peter had the sensation of a red hot poker being stabbed into his thigh. He screamed. “Shit!” Exclaimed the paramedic, “the needle just snapped! Must be dodgy. Get me another syringe.”

The goblin floated into Peter’s field of view again. “You did say 'without a scratch'.” He chuckled evilly.

Peter groaned, "undo it!"

"Oh you want to undo your wishes?"

"Just the last one!"

"Oh I'm afraid you can't do that. It's all or nothing. Standard Ts and Cs. And of course you have to use your last wish."

"Ok, yes, I wish to - argh! - undo my wishes!"

"All done," said the goblin, and promptly disappeared in a puff of faintly green smoke. Peter felt a little flash of heat against his chest, as the lottery ticket disintegrated into ashes.

"Crap!" shouted the paramedic, about to administer a second injection, "he's stopped breathing! Damn I think the weight of this stuff just cracked a rib - we need to get him out…" But Sargent Peter Jamison faded into blessed unconsciousness and heard no more.

---

"You heard anything about the Sarge?" Asked the Constable walking beside her colleague.

"Yep, seems to be fine. His injuries were only minor. Funny thing though, apparently he kept mumbling something about a goblin all the way to the hospital. They were really worried about concussion." He paused, "or something else. They found a whole kitchen worth of chemistry in one of the rooms, thought maybe he was exposed to something."

"Blimey. But he's fine now?"

"Yep, I think so. Won't be back at work for a while though."

"Oh well, at least we'll have a quiet life for a few days!" Grinned the young police officer.

They walked on, past the newsagent. There was a newspaper headline board outside. It read, "ESTIMATED 10,000 WIN WITH 12345 IN FREAK LOTTERY DRAW!"