Gram Croakies by Sam Cheever

Author:Sam Cheever [Cheever, Sam]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781950331147
Publisher: Electric Prose Publications
Published: 2019-10-15T04:00:00+00:00

I sat down at the table with a steaming cup of tea. Lea sat across from me, her gaze sliding nervously toward the book. “What’s wrong with this Oswald guy?” she asked.

“Osvald,” I corrected. I grimaced as the tea hit my tongue, way too herbal-ly tasting and scorching hot. I really wished I could brew tea like Sebille. She truly was tea-talented. “He’s just odd and annoying.”

I set my tea down and shoved it away, looking at Lea. “Ready?”

She frowned. “I’m not sure…”

I opened the book. Nothing happened for a moment. Finally, a nose and a pair of eyes oozed upward from the yellowed paper. The black eyes blinked and then the lips eased into view. “Is it safe?”

Guilt slid through me. I’d been kind of abrupt closing the book before. “Yeah. Sorry about that, Doctor Osvald. I had a…an emergency.”

He eased upward, his head rising above the page and circling to take in the surrounding area. The dark brown hair was still unkempt, still clinging to his heavily veined neck, and his black eyes still seemed to follow me no matter how I moved.

Doctor Osvald looked like an evil character from a Grimm’s Fairytale. I didn’t believe the man was malevolent. However, the jury was still out on my second thought…that he was slightly insane.

As before, he addressed me with a smile, his full lips looking cracked and dry in his ruddy face. “Welcome to my comprehensive volume of Hobgoblins and Other Pesky Vermin. Would you like to read through the text on your own, or shall I guide you through the text and footnotes?”

I glanced at Lea and she shrugged, sipping her tea. She didn’t grimace so either my horrible attempt at tea had numbed her pallet completely, or she was used to me making horrible tea.

I decided it would be faster for him to give us the high points. “Your guidance, please.”

Osvald inclined his shaggy head. “Excellent. Where shall we start?”

“I’ve been infested by a hobgoblin.”

Osvald’s head seemed to shudder, his eyes rolling back in his head.

My pulse spiked. Were the little pranksters really that bad? I swallowed hard. “Can you help me find it?”

His eyes opened and he gave me that tight, terrifying smile again. “Of course. That’s why I’m here.” He frowned. “Well, actually I’m here because a warlock bound me to my library of books and I can’t escape until a thousand people ask for my help.”

I felt my face fall. “Oh.” That was so sad.

Then he grinned. “Gotcha.”

“Hey,” I said. “That was mean. I was feeling sorry for you.”

He laughed. “I just thought you should know what you were in for. Hobgoblins are skilled at playing the victim. They’re wretched little actors who take great pleasure in creating chaos wherever they go.”

“Fiddling frog farts,” I murmured.

He nodded in agreement. “Hobgoblins are the cockroaches of the magical world. They tend to hide inside walls and underneath floors. They’re happiest within the bones of a structure and have been known to set up nests and grow large families if left alone in a place for long enough.

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