A Christmas Goblin by Francesca Quarto

A Christmas Goblin

"Nothin' tastes better, me dear, than a nicely roasted goose!" 

The old man looked proud of himself as he plucked the big black and white bird of its feathers, its head drooping like a large tear drop, from his knees.  He was careful to put the feathers into a much-dented washtub, knowing they’d to be used inside a winter comforter by his dear wife. He was quite pleased with this acquisition, newly made by him when he raided the nearby farmstead of Cormack Murphy. It was in the darkest hour of night, when he stuffed his squawking, squirming prize in the burlap sack he’d brought along.

It was his wife of thirty years his comments were being directed between pulling great tufts of feathers. They began their harmonious union when very tender in age. He, barely needing to shave; she, just learning the grave meaning of womanhood. They had many challenges over that span of time, but stuck together like a glue pot and its lid.

"Benny, ye are a neat rascal, ye are!  I been fussin' an' worryin' these past weeks, what victuals we'd be ‘avin' fer the Yuletide! An 'ere tis! A goose ta size o' a cart!" she chortled loudly.

He loved to see the merriment on his Megan's face, so bereft she was most days of that sparkle.  Up before the first weak rays of sun, to make the fire in the hearth for her bread baking; then, after their meager pottage, helping her stiff-jointed Benny, to see to the four pigs and one milk cow.  Late into fall, Megan could be found tending her precious garden plot on the sunny side of their cottage. Most days, with the exception of her wash day which was much longer, saw his dear wife working until the sun slipped once more behind the mountains ringing the small hamlet. 

They lost their only son into his fourth year, grateful they'd had the foresight to have him Christened, else he'd been buried outside the Church cemetery as a baby heathen.  They called him Jamie, but he never heard his name, or any word for that matter; him being born without hearing or speech, and suffering in his own well of silence all his short days on earth.  He was as quiet as a passing cloud, and, as soft in the head the villagers said behind their hands. They reckoned his passing as a blessing to the very young couple. He would have proved a sorry burden in their life, and clearly, no help in filling their larder.

"Are ye certain this 'ere goose be free ta our needs then, Benny?" she asked again, still amazed at their great fortune.

"Oy, why da' ya' bother yerself so, my Megan? Tis' a Christmas gift from dat young fella down in Baleyroost Haven. He were cullin' 'is flock, so ta speak, an' I give ‘em a quick hand ta set ‘em straight on 'is day. No use ye worryin' yerself. Let's jest enjoy our feastin' me lass!"

With that, clearly being his last word on the subject of the goose's provenance, Benny continued his plucking while Megan gathered the feathers, imagining to herself, the fine comforter she'd be making.

That night was Christmas Eve. A heavy snow fell persistently throughout the day, gathering the tiny cottage into the cold embrace of high drifts, just skirting its two shuttered windows, and bringing a deep silence into the evening.  Benny and Megan had eaten a scanty supper, looking forward to the rich meal of goose, with the little bit of garden produce Megan had stored in the root cellar. They would rise at their customary hour, and welcome Christmas into their dingy, mean world with their first kiss of the day.  Meantime, the goose was hung near the crude front door of their cottage, keeping it fresh for the cooking, Christmas morning.

That night they slept on their straw-stuffed pallet, curled around each other like a tea pot and its cozy. In the darkest hour, as the wind rattled the cottage door, and the snow was falling in a curtain of white, a shadow passed over the elderly couple. Never disturbing them, they were made to sleep even more deeply, when a vaporous cloud appeared, hovering over their gray heads.   A pale shaft of moonlight was reflected up from the high snow mounds, filtering through a window.  The finger of light found the shadowy figure, and it took shape within its glow.  The goose they had plucked earlier was now tucked under the arm of a very large and hairy Goblin.

This creature was not unknown to the sleeping couple, or the other folk of the hamlet. It occupied a prominent place in their colorful folklore, and was the subject of many a good tale, told by the roaming story tellers and entertainers. The Church tried diligently to dismantle, or debunk, tales of the Little People, and Faeries, and Hobgoblins. But over long eons, through many dark times, the allure of magic and mythical creatures clung to the culture of the people like dew to the morning grass.

The Goblin stood, hulking awkwardly over the pallet, listening to the couple’s gentle snores and sighs. He had visited all of the villagers during their meager lifetimes and over several of his own. Always cautious, he only rarely frightened a small child.

For some reason, these two decrepit humans, touched something in him. Perhaps it was their kindness to others, even when they had so little themselves, and especially when it wasn't the Yuletide! He had witnessed the old man take the goose from his neighbor’s pen, scattering a few tufts of red fox fur around the yard, disguising his part in the theft. At the time, the Goblin thought this clever, but was curious, because Benny never struck the Goblin as being devious and cunning.

You must understand, though they suffer a reputation for their terrifying appearance and ill-tempered nature, Goblins have a deep and curious nature. Sadly, it is often the case that judgments are made solely on the superficial aspects of a being. It was in fact, the Goblin’s curiosity that compelled him to follow Benny back to the small cottage. Hiding in the woods, close enough to be privy to the conversation inside the cottage with his keen hearing, the Goblin heard Benny's explanation about the neighbor's gift of the goose, as payment for his help.

Goblins are not known to have any concept of selfless love, but it gradually dawned on him that the man risked his freedom, and possible hanging, to bring some cheer into his wife's dour life. While the theft would cost the other farmer very little, it gave the old man and his wife so much.  The Goblin wondered at this moral conundrum.

Christmas morning dawned frosty and as clear as the bells from the Church belfry. The old couple shook the deep sleep from their bones.  Benny stepped into worn woolen breeches, Megan covered her thin shoulders in a woolen shawl. They both suddenly stopped, sniffing at the chilled air.

"A beast ‘as been visitin' us, Benny! I ken smell it I ken!"

Megan was thinking their goose would surely have been snatched by such an intruder. But Benny was on to something else altogether. Besides the pungent odor wafting about the small sleeping area of their cottage, the breeze poking through the walls carried the rich fragrance of cooking goose! 

They woke their legs to the task, creeping from the back of the cottage where their pallet was tucked. A warm glow greeted their sleep-dulled eyes. Standing by the fireplace, looking as homely as a mud bog next to a rose garden, was the Goblin.

The fireplace was merry with fine prancing flames. The spitted goose was dripping fat onto the hot coals, sounding like the crack of a whip with each rich plop. The Goblin turned the spit, making minor adjustments to the goose's position. All this the old couple watched, without an utterance passing between themselves.

After a few good turns, the Goblin left off working the spit, and began setting the rough wood table nearby, with two dishes of battered pewter, knowing this was their best plate. Without acknowledging their presence, he then turned back to the fireplace where he shoved two large loaves of dark bread into their pots for baking. Vegetables were in a side iron pot, ready for the cooking. The fragrance of the gastronomic feast of Yule goose, and the baking breads, made their mouths water in anticipation. While the old man was still overcome by fear of the giant, hairy creature, his wife took a different view of the situation.

"We be grateful fer ye ta be joinin' us, on dis 'ere Christmas morn, Goblin. En ye ‘ave outdone yerself, wit all dis fine cookery."

The Goblin gave his shaggy head a quick shake and grunted, "Tis me first Yule feast, an' I've no place ta be, 'cept wit yuns.  Benny, I've sent yer invitation ta the farmer, Cormack Murphy, down the way," he said in a deep, gravelly voice. "’e’ll be 'ere fer ta feastin' en’ is grateful, seein' ‘e's all alone like."

Being a creature of Magic, sending this message to Cormack Murphy was as simple as slipping a word into the sleeping farmer's ear. He awoke, believing he'd been asked to dine with Benny and his wife, and readied himself to do so, whistling merrily at the prospect.

This marked the first of many Christmas feasts to follow over the next decade of years allotted to the elderly couple and their new friends. The Goblin returned each holiday, with a goose tucked under his arm, preparing the feast and then going to fetch the farmer, Cormack Murphy, to join in the fine company of the happy couple and himself. The other villagers were curious about the large visitor coming every Christmas to the couple’s door. 

"Tis like magic I tell ye! We be blessed wit long, lost kin ta me." Benny would explain whenever this was brought up in idle conversation around the Yule Season. The villagers all agreed, the huge, shambling man, did hold a family resemblance with old Benny. And from the size of the geese he supplied for their table, he was both rich and generous.

Before he passed on, joining his Megan in eternal feasting, old Benny asked the Goblin to bring a second, live goose. He took it to the farmer Murphy’s yard, adding it to his flock of geese pecking around in the dirt. Benny felt grand with this compensation for the old wrong he did. Another lesson for the rest of us who have read this tale perhaps.

"While your goose may be cooked, it's always better to share the feast with those whose life may be uglier and poorer then our own."