Goblin Hitman
1001 Words
Without further warning, the goblin fired off three rounds in quick succession. Apple screeched, and fled into the night.
Harold slapped a hand to his chest, then to another spot on his chest, and only then dared to look down. "You missed.", he said, looking up at the goblin.
Harold considered himself average of size, being five foot eleven. The goblin stood seven and a half feet, and was wearing military surplus pants and a leather jacket.
"Deliberately." he said. "Now, dead or alive you're going in the trunk."
"What trunk?" Harold asked, looking around.
"The trunk of the car my lazy younger sister should be pulling up in any moment now. Any. Moment. Now. Anyway, we're then going to take you to a funeral parlor, stuff you in a box, and then burn both you and that box to ashes. Before you ask, just because we can."
"Well, why me?" Harold asked.
The goblin shrugged. "Take that up with the Sheriff. Oh, you'll be too dead to ask." He chuckled as though he'd just made the best joke in the world. Then, "Okay, we're taking a short walk down the street."
Harold noticed that people were watching. "Isn't this a bit public?"
"Keep walking." the goblin shoved him. "They just see two people, one walking with a gun on the other one. They won't help you."
And they didn't, although Harold saw several cell phones in use.
The car was black, and a Plymoth, and had obviously seen better days. "You're not worried this car will break down?" Harold asked.
"Nah. Dad may be an old grump, but he's still a good blacksmith, taught us all we need to know about auto mechanics." he kicked the front bumper as they approached, denting it and shaking the car enough to wake the driver. She was smaller than her brother, and more green than black, but with the distinctive goblin nose and ears.
"How old is your sister, six? Should she really be involved in a murder at her age?"
"I'm NINE!" came the muffled reply from inside the car. She punched (literally punched) a button on the inside, and the trunk clunked open.
"Your concern for our familial skills is noted, but if it helps," the goblin said, raising the lid of the trunk, "you're not going to be her first. Now, get in."
The trunk, Harold noticed, was pristine, and lined with plastic sheeting.
But instead, Harold got into the trunk, which the goblin closed on him.
"Yeah, this can't be the first time someone carrying you has been taken prisoner. What's your advice?"
"I thought you said that was like, magically automated."
"Great, so... Why are we already slowing down?"
"Okay, so grow, so we can stab stuff."
"I don't know if you've noticed, but my nature isn't that sinful."
"There's an etiquette?"
Slayer sighed.
The trunk shot open. Officer Swetland and the goblin were both there. "Oh." Officer Swetland said. "Yeah, I know this guy. Open hunting license on him."
"Thank you for your time, officer." the goblin said, barely suppressing a laugh.
"Officer Swetland! Help me!" Harold burst out, which did set the goblin off.
But it was the mechanical Swetland who looked in and down upon Harold that night. "Harold, there are laws. This is LEGAL. I can't help you; you'll have to help yourself." and to the goblin, "Have a good night, Vincent."
Vincent slammed the trunk; the car was under way again soon.
"What the hell was THAT?" Harold asked.
Harold found himself fumbling in his pocket, dropping Slayer of Men.
"s**t. Hey, can you glow or something so I can find you?"
"Okay, okay, I get it, your batteries are dead."
"Wait, they have batteries in hell?"
"Yeah, yeah. Okay, I found you."
"Okay, Sloth worked last time. I don't want to stab things."
Nothing happened.
"I really, really don't want to stab things. I don't."
Slayer of Men sent.
- Writer
