“What the…?”

Bobo leaned over and checked the trap he’d left yesterday. A simple snare trap, made with steel wire, using poisoned gummy snacks in a box for bait. The wire for the snare had been yanked down from the tree, and the bait was missing. Well, not missing. He’d found the box about thirty yards south, along with a pack of unconscious squirrels and badgers.

He sighed. This was the third disarmed trap he’d found today, and the fifth since coming out here a few weeks back. The goblins in this part of the world were smarter than what he was used to. Or, someone smarter was calling the shots. He’d need to take a page from Ollie’s playbook and start mixing things up.

He left the broken trap behind and trudged through the thick grass to the next one. He hadn’t been kidding when he called this prime goblin territory. Almond-brown trees sprouted from the ground like Manhattan skyscrapers, providing dense foliage and limited visibility. Red, yellow, and brown leaves blanketed the ground, covering any holes goblins might use as burrows. The branches may have thinned, but they still cut out enough moonlight at night to make navigating without a flashlight a nightmare. Fortunately, the sun hadn’t set yet. But it would within the hour. He wanted to get this done before then.

Heavy footsteps crunched through the brush nearby. Bobo froze and reached for the gun in his hip holster, a .357 Desert Eagle. He squinted through the gaps between the thick trees, searching the long shadows cast by the early evening sun. He caught a glimpse of a dark shape peeking out from behind a tree in the distance, but it ducked away as soon as he saw it.

More footsteps, this time from the other direction. He spun around, searching the edges of the forest for any sign of his new guests. It was still a little early for a pack of goblins to be roaming around. Maybe he was dealing with kids? Or hikers? Or tourists?

Something cackled in the distance.

Bobo cocked his gun. Definitely goblins. More than one. And they were flanking him.

He threw his satchel over his shoulder and ran back in the direction he’d come from. Goblins weren’t good sprinters, at least not these types of goblins. Unfortunately, neither was he. But he could at least outrun them back to his truck. Another pair of footsteps paced him on his right. He looked over to see a hunched figure darting from tree to tree about fifty yards away. He aimed his gun at the beast. He doubted he’d hit it, but the noise might scare them all off.

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Something barreled into him from the left. He stumbled and crashed face first into a pile of leaves. He pushed himself up as a goblin latched on his right arm. He threw his body into the creature, knocking it away, then aimed his gun at it. He fired, and the impact of the bullet knocked the goblin off its feet. Another crashed into him from behind, wrapping its arms around his head and pummeling him in the face. A third did the same to his stomach. He curled his arm around his belly and fired into the one on his back. The goblin fell off, but another one grabbed his wrist and ripped the gun from his hand. Then another – he’d lost count – appeared out of nowhere and smacked him in the side of the head. He fell back to the ground and curled up into a ball, trying to deflect the blows. One slammed a rock into his arm over and over, finally breaking it with a sickening crunch. He screamed, only to feel grimy goblin fingers jab into his mouth.

He tried to buck them off, but every time he put his weight on an arm or a leg, they knocked it out from under him. Eventually, he lay still on the ground, waiting for the beating to stop. They punched, slapped, and hit him for what seemed like forever. Mercifully, the carnage ended, and he lay there panting, clutching his broken arm.

“Big hunter thinks he can trick us,” a breathless voice above him said.

Another laughed. “Big hunter got tricked.”

They all screeched in delight. Bobo opened his eyes. Only one worked. The other was swollen shut. He looked over to see his gun lying on the ground a few yards away. He reached for it, knowing it was futile, but he had to try anyway. One of the goblins waddled over and picked it up. It turned the gun over and over in its hands, eventually finding the mechanism that pulled out the clip. It laughed as it took the gun apart.

The goblins all turned at the same time and stiffened. Bobo tilted his head to see a large figure emerge from the nearby shadows. It stepped lightly through the leaves, agile despite its size, and it came to a stop next to Bobo’s head. Bobo stared back with his one good eye.

“Hunter,” it said in a deep, rumbling voice, “is now hunted.”

Bobo rolled onto his stomach and grabbed for a tuft of grass, to pull himself away. He had to get far away from this thing. This monster. He barely made it a half a foot before it reached down and grabbed him around the neck. It lifted him up off the ground, barely straining with the effort. It spun him around and pulled his face close to its own.

“Make peace with your gods, hunter.” Hot, fetid breath washed over Bobo’s face. Scaly, green lips curled into a sneer, wrinkling the skin around the creature’s fierce yellow eyes. “You will see them tonight.”