Free Pwf & The Goblins' Revenge pdf by Kaye Umansky Page A

remain a mystery. You had to
    hand it to him. When it came to transformations, that Genie was a genius.
    The Dump had been taken over and changed beyond all recognition. It had been
    spruced up and tartified. It now looked like a sort of cross between a rubbish tip and an
    oriental fair ground. It had an exotic, Aladdinish sort of allure. It was brilliantly illuminated.
    Coloured magic lanterns. Fairy lights. Bunting. Flags. That sort of thing.

    Ali Pali obviously believed in heavy advertising. There were posters tacked up on
    trees all over Witchway Wood, advertising the event in huge, screaming letters:

    TONIGHT! GRAND RAID ON RUBBISH DUMP! EVERYTHING MUST GO! FIVE QUID ONLY FOR
    TEN MINUTES UNINTERRUPTED LOOTING. BRING YOUR FRIENDS. HAVE FUN! WALL OF
    SMELL DISMANTLED COURTESY OF GENIE ENTERPRISES.

    Yes, indeed, the Wall Of Smell had gone. The tip now smelt strongly of the antidote
    (the main ingredient of which was a cheap eastern hair oil called Desert Pong).
    At the entrance, a striped awning had been erected. Inside, Ali Pali sat cross-legged
    on a pile of cushions. He was smoking a large cigar and stuffing fivers into a till. He was
    further equipped with a megaphone and a very fancy pocket watch which he consulted
    regularly. His carpet bag lay at his feet. A large ruby was flashing on one of the medallions
    around his neck (otherwise you would never have known that he was simultaneously
    working very complicated Magic. Erecting a barrier on all incoming spells from Crag Hill to
    be precise. It's all rather technical and hard to understand unless you're a paid up member
    of the Magic Circle).
    A long queue stretched far back into the woods. It consisted of the usual crowd. A
    languid group of Skeletons; a gang of Ghouls, behaving like louts as always; the local chapter
    of the Hell's Gnomes; abevy of Banshees and a troupe of Trolls; several hairy types you
    couldn't really put a name to. Everyone clutched handbills saying All You Can Carry For A
    Fiver and wore expressions of barely containable glee. They had been itching to get their
    hands on Pongwiffy's rubbish for weeks.
    Two buskers entertained the waiting hordes. A tap-dancing Gnome with a banjo
    attempted to drown out a Leprechaun who sang a sad song about his grey haired ol’
    mudder. Every so often they would stop to bawl insults at each other and pass their hats
    along.
    Once inside, the fun really started. There was better class entertainment for a start.
    A sinister figure with a paper bag over his head(?) turned the handle of a barrel organ. A tall,
    quiet chap with a bolt through his neck played the spoons. An enterprising Fiend was selling
    commemorative badges saying "I Raided Pong's Dump" followed by the date. A lipsticky
    gnome in big earrings had taken over Pongwiffy's garden shed and turned it into a
    fortune-telling booth where she dished out lashings of doom to anyone fool enough to poke
    his nose in. In order to give herself room she had turfed out a rusty old rake and an ancient
    coal shovel she'd found cluttering up the place.
    There were refreshments too. As the ultimate insult, Pongwiffy's hovel had been
    turned into a tea hut. Teas said the sign over the door. The Management Accepts No
    Responsibility said the small print. Pongwiffy's very own kitchen table and chairs had been
    placed outside, and two Yetis in filthy aprons moved around with a tray, wiping up spills
    with one of Pongwiffy's very own cardigans!
    Next to the tea hut, there was the inevitable hot frogs stall. The hot frogs were
    proving rather more popular than the vegetarian alternatives — a choice of fungus burgers
    or curried nettles served on a bed of lightly toasted pine needles.
    But the main attraction, of course, was The Rubbish. Perfect bonfire fodder. It made
    you drool. It made you want to dance and sing. It made you go a bit funny in the head. All
    that lovely rubbish, just sitting there waiting to be stolen. Yipppeeeee!
    Once the punters were inside the