The Goblin and the Stolen Ring: Tales from the Forest of the Hooting Owl, #1

By Juliet Boyd

Sprout is a young goblin. Young goblins often get into scrapes. That's probably all you need to know, because who doesn't like to read about others getting out of tricky situations, especially when they're goblins?

 

When Sprout witnesses a Biglander stealing his ma's ring, at a time when he should've been looking after it, he knows he has to get it back. Aided by his uncle Long Tooth, he makes a plan.

 

Even though this task will take him out of The Forest of the Hooting Owl, a place that only forest dwellers know is there, because it is hidden behind a veil of magic, he is determined to succeed. His ma's happiness depends upon him.

 

How many attempts will it take? Is it even possible to do? And what is the truth about the Biglander who managed to get into the forest?

 

The Goblin and the Stolen Ring is a 15,000 word tale for children aged 8-12 and anyone else who is young of heart. Sprout's waiting for you right now. Why not join him on his adventures today?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Juliet Boyd
• Release date: Mar 2, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386112105

Juliet Boyd

Juliet lives in Somerset in the south-west of England. She used to work in administration, but now writes full-time. Her main writing interests are fantasy, science fiction, weird fiction, horror and flash fiction. Details of her work are available on her website.

Book preview

THe GoBLiN aND THe SToLeN RiNG

TaLeS FRoM THe FoReST oF THe HooTiNG oWL

BooK oNe

Copyright © 2018 Juliet Boyd,

including interior illustrations.

All rights reserved.

Second Edition: 2020.

Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This book is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and situations portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. Any reference to an actual event, product or location is used in an entirely fictitious manner.

For all those who were kind enough to read this book before it was published.

There is a place, beyond where your eyesight can normally reach, called The Forest of the Hooting Owl. You will never find it, unless you are taken there, because it is hidden by magic. It might be just across the other side of your road, or next to the park, or it might be in both those places at once. Who knows when magic is involved?

Within this wondrous place, and within this tale, there exist many strange plants and creatures (you can, if you wish, find out more about some of them at the back of this book), but our focus is on one creature in particular. His name is Sprout and he is a goblin.

Young of age and free of spirit, Sprout has, as you might expect, many adventures. In truth, he isn’t that keen on Biglanders (well, we are a lot bigger than him, which has to be scary), but that doesn’t stop him crossing the border. Yes, he can see our world, and I know that’s not fair, but what thing ever is? The good news is, you can learn all about that place right here.

Anyway, time to get on with the story. Sprout’s hiding just over the page. Yes, there. And it seems that he might be in a bit of a scrape right about … now.

BoXiNG CLeVeR

The day was hotter than it deserved to be, given that it was the middle of autumn. It made Sprout’s current situation an extra level of uncomfortable. A horrible, clammy uncomfortable, where sweat dripped slowly down your spine to leave murky puddles in the bottom of a cardboard box. If a cardboard box was where you’d put yourself, which was exactly what Sprout had done. It was the only suitable box they’d found and that had taken them long enough. Bins, he’d discovered, weren’t nice places to search. The box was a cramped space even for a half-grown goblin, or hobgoblin, to be precise, which he was.

As a species, goblins had dropped the hob a long time ago. The reason for this was personal safety. Hobgoblin, so Sprout’s ma said, gave the impression they were supposed to be cooked. That was not an impression you wanted to give to anyone, forest dwellers, or otherwise. Sprout wasn’t entirely sure why being called a hobgoblin would do that. However, being inside the box, he did feel as if he were being cooked. He was being steamed in his own sweat. The day was so horrendously humid, even the breathing holes they’d made in the sides, using a specially sharpened stick, didn’t help to cool him down.

In the back of Sprout’s mind, the place that held all the bad thoughts that usually popped to the front at inconvenient moments, Sprout wondered if you could drown in sweat. He told himself that wasn’t possible. It was easier to lie when it was to yourself.

The heat wasn’t the only issue. The position of his limbs was similar to those of a chicken about to be roasted. He was bent double, with his feet as close to his head as they would naturally go. It was not natural, but it had been the only way he was able to fit. Goblins were not square, even when they’d eaten too much. Their strong, muscled chests made their bodies a triangular shape. Their heads were circular, obviously, with almost wing-like ears. Their arms and legs were spindly and long. So, not square to even the stretchiest of imaginations.

It hadn’t been Sprout’s idea to put himself in this position. Getting into the house had been. This specific method was his uncle Long Tooth’s idea.

You’ll be disguised, he’d said. No one will guess that you’re hidden in a box coming through the posting. Goblins don’t do that kind of thing. Why would they? It’ll be eating-a-portion-of-stew-with-a-big-spoon easy. You can’t get easier than that, can you?

Sprout had cocked his head as he considered the suggestion. Big spoons were definitely easier to eat with, he had to admit, but that wasn’t the whole of the situation.

You’re forgetting something, he said. "She has the dagger. The one that detects goblins. We know that.