Bad Luck
“I already hate this job,” one of the goblins in the line said.
“You’re new, Grimngor. It’s not that bad,” the goblin behind him answered. “We’ll get paid for it. And we never get paid!”
“Of course we get paid, Hrothgar!” Grimngor said, “The life expectancy of the average worker is quite low. I know what happens! Everybody knows!”
Hrothgar sighed. It was always like this with the new recruits.
“We only work once a month, Grimngor. That must count for something,” he said.
“Once a month? On a full moon night? You know what kinds of creatures lurk out here during the full moon, don’t you?”
Hrothgar actually chuckled at that.
“I do, but no-one ever bothers us. Not with our job, and not while the Boss is watching.”
Grimngor shuddered and looked around. Shadows seemed to be moving under the bright moonshine.
“The Boss cannot be always watching, I tell you,” he whispered.
“Why are you whispering then?”
“Hey, back there!” a muffled voice sounded from the head of the line. That had to be Gormm. “Keep silent. night creatures, everybody. You know the drill!”
Grimngor shot Hrothgar a ‘told-you-so’ stare. Hrothgar shrugged and kept walking.
After a few minutes, the goblins saw the ghostly lights. A row of yellow points seemingly hanging in midair in a cold mist that raised from the ground. Among grunts and grumps, the group soldiered on. The lights resolved into windows, and newbie Grimngor was rewarded with an amazing sight: the Bridge over Groflgar Chasm.
It resembled a house rather than a bridge proper. It was a long narrow corridor flanked with windows on both sides, where the pale yellow light shone through. The bridge was inserted between the stone walls: a man (or a goblin) could only reach it through a set of rock steps, excavated on the side wall, that started from a side door on the wall of the mountain itself. Grimngor knew that there had to be an entrance near that would lead them to the Antechamber, the room whose door opened to the stairs.
But the most amazing feature of the bridge was that a porch clung to one of the sides of the house, as if a madman had decided that it would be nice to take a walk in the chasm from time to time and built a nice spot to start the trip from. And an odd contraption was attached to it: an open wooden cabin, connected with chains to the porch.
There was a loud noise, and a light appeared on the floor. The line of goblins descended underground.
“I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” Grimngor muttered to no-one.
They reached the Antechamber and Gormm opened the outer door. Keeping the line, they stepped outside. The mist was cold, their only guide the pale bridge lights. Up ahead, Grimngor saw Gormm opening the door and entering the bridge. In seconds, all the goblins were inside.
“OK guys, you know the rules. Paper, scissors, stone, everyone!”
***
As the others worked the pulleys and he descended inside the cabin into the Chasm, Grimngor damned his bad luck once again. First of all, he had been drafted. Then he had lost the game. And here he was, the bright torch hanging under him, signalling Fenrir, the Rag’Narok wolf, that the monthly food that was going to keep his hunger barely abated was here.
Grimngor noticed the smell first. He then heard the roar. And then he saw the glint in the eyes of the beast as it raised from Hel to meet him.
~~~~
This is my entry for the Weekly Writing Exercise: July 13–19, 2015 at the Writer’s Discussion Group in Google+.
This week the idea for the story came as soon as I saw the illustration. To me it was clear that the wolf was Fenrir (even though, if I recall correctly, he’s supposed to be chasing the moon). And the humorous turn was also something I wanted to do from the start.
