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

gate, a sort of rubbish fever came over them. They
    raced madly for the teetering piles, falling on choice items with wild triumphant cries. Some

    dived head-first and vanished. The lucky ones got rescued by their mates. It was like gold
    prospectors coming across a particularly rich seam.
    Everyone seemed to have their favourite sort of junk. The Skeletons, efficient as ever
    formed a non-human chain and passed prized ultra-burnable chair legs along the line into
    the boot of a waiting hearse. Two Mummies bumbled around with a horsehair sofa. They
    kept bumping into things as they tried to find the exit.
    The local chapter of Hell's Gnomes jealously guarded a pile of old motor bike tyres.
    The Ghouls seemed to go in for old newspapers in a big way and were carting off hundreds
    of mouldy back issues of Witch Weekly and the Daily Miracle. Two Werewolves, having the
    double advantages of superhuman strength and nasty sets of gnashers, got more than their
    fair share of the ever-popular broken wardrobes. A small Dragon by the name of Arthur
    made off triumphantly with a whole grand piano, giggling to himself.
    A demented-looking furry Thing with a tee sir which said Moonmad raced around
    madly with an old pram. It was clearly an indecisive sort of Thing, as it kept changing its
    mind, emptying everything out, and starting all over again. The abandoned junk was then
    swooped on and picked over by Banshees with carrier bags and a Troll with a stolen super-
    market trolly.
    It was a shocking sight. So much greed. So much stealing. And all the brain-child of
    one lampless Genie.
    "Come in, you two mummies, your time is up," Ali Pali announced through the
    megaphone, adding "Okay, you can go in now," to a waiting she-demon with a small hand
    cart. Not surprisingly he was feeling very pleased with himself. Things were looking up. All
    his carefully laid plans were bearing fruit. Why shortly he'd have enough for that nice little
    solid silver number he'd always had his eye on. The one with the twirly handle and that
    elegant spout. The one he'd always fancied. By the end of the night, he'd have enough to
    buy it outright. If his luck held.
    "What's goin’ on ’ere then? What you doin’ wiv the rubbish?" enquired a passing
    Zombie from another wood, squinting curiously into the tent. (Zombies are almost as dense
    as Goblins.)
    "I'm cleaning up," explained Ali Pali, and laughed until he choked.

    CHAPTER THIRTEEN – Treachery

    Can you imagine this scene from the air? All the lights and noise and bustle? And can you
    imagine the effect such a spectacle might have on a posse of twelve well meaning AWOL
    Broomsticks who have come sick-visiting?
    On the whole, the Brooms had had a smooth flight. A bit of minor turbulence here
    and there, and a small detour to buy Lucozade and grapes but otherwise uneventful. Until
    they got a bit closer to their destination, that is, and suddenly become aware of a
    mysterious glow in the sky! It appeared to be coming from Pongwiffy's rubbish dump up
    ahead. Instant panic.
    Huh? Glow in the sky? Where? How? Why? What?
    Understandably, the Broomsticks were feeling a bit jittery. Bear in mind that they are
    a law-abiding sort who don't even break the speed limit often, let alone go sneaking off on
    wild mercy errands without permission. The long, cold flight had done wonders to dampen
    their enthusiasm. They were already wishing they hadn't come. Already anxious to get back
    before someone spotted they were missing. Quite honestly, a mysterious glow was
    something they could have done without. However, having come this far, the Brooms felt
    duty bound to investigate. Slowly, hesitantly, keeping close together, they approached the
    Dump and peered down.
    Nothing could have prepared them for the shock. They were instantly thrown into
    confusion. What a revelation! What a bolt from the blue! They came to a ragged halt,
    skittered about a bit, then bobbed unsteadily in mid-air, skulking behind the odd whispy