Ollie stammered. “Me?”

An older woman sat in a chair in the far corner of the living room, reading a book, a thin shawl draped over her shoulders. Retirement age, most likely. She peered up at him over rectangular reading glasses and gave him a friendly wave from the back of the room. He instinctively raised his hand in return before the younger woman cut him off.

“It is you, right? The landscaper?”

She gave him a sidelong look that said he should play along. Ollie didn’t know what to say, so he said nothing.

“You probably want to take a look at the grounds.” She grabbed his arm and turned him around. She called back to the old woman. “We’ll be back in a few! Keep the dogs inside, please!”

She hurried out onto the front porch, closing the door behind her.

“Let’s go around back to the work shed,” she whispered. “We can talk in private there.”

She dragged him along the gravel driveway for several steps until he pulled away.

“I’m not sure what’s going on here, but I’m not a–”

“No, it’s okay,” she said, barely containing her excitement. “I know who you are.” She glanced over at the dusty Chief sitting in her driveway. “Actually, I recognize you more from that thing. Not really staying under the radar, are you?”

Ollie looked at her, then at the car, then back at her. “Excuse me?”

“It’s kinda garish.”

His jaw hung open, but she didn’t see it.

“Come on!” She jogged around to an outdoor shed on the back side of the house, near the corner of the fenced-in pen that stretched from the rear of the house all the way to the forest line a few hundred yards away. Three cows meandered in the pen, along with some chickens and pigs, all of them ignoring the sudden commotion. She pulled him into the small, wooden, workmanlike shed, painted red with a tile roof, then close d the door behind them. Ollie, bewildered, glanced around at the assortment of large, sharp tools hanging on the walls around him.

She pulled over a stool and sat on it. Her foot tapped the floor incessantly as she watched him, seemingly studying his clothes and beard, and possibly the bewilderment on his face. “Do you go by Oliver, or Ollie? I saw both, but you never know with some people. My name is Kimberly, but I go by Kimmie–”

“Wait. You know who I am?”

“I tried to find your father, first,” she continued in a way that made it hard for Ollie to know if she was answering his question or just rambling on. “Jed Hauk, professor of folklore and mythology at the University of Virginia, right? Only he retired a few years ago, and now he’s completely off the grid. I don’t even know what country he’s in. So, I did some more research and I found out about you. The next best thing, I hope.”

She flashed a smile so disarming that Ollie almost forgot how confused he was.

“You’re hard to find, too, by the way. You’re in a few blog posts, and only like one picture where you can actually tell it’s you, but that car of yours is unmistakable. And you’re only mentioned by name once, well, your real name. I ran across a couple of your aliases, but Arlen Smith is a new one. I think. Do people really buy that whole ‘I’m a reporter’ cover story?”

The blood drained from his face. This woman had stalker-level information on him. He thought he’d been more careful.

“Hold on.” Ollie held up a hand. “Let’s slow down a sec. Just to be clear, you are …?”

“Kimmie.” She stuck out her hand. “Kimmie Blanco.”

He stared at her for a moment before tentatively shaking her hand, remembering belatedly the reason he’d come out here in the first place.

“The niece,” he said, more to himself. He felt like he was three steps behind in the conversation.

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She held out her arms and did a mini-curtsy. “I’m the niece.”

Ollie leaned back against a support beam and ran his hands through his hair. “Okay. Let’s, uh, take a moment here to reset. You’re obviously who I’m here to see.”

She nodded. “Yep.”

“And you probably reached out because you wanted me, or my dad, out here for a reason.”

“Right again.”

“Okay.” He caught sight of a large, impeccably sharp axe hanging on the wall next to his head. He moved a half-step away. “Is this a prank?”

She shook her head. “No. Not a prank. This is for real.”

Ollie crossed his arms. He finally felt in control of the conversation, and he wasn’t about to let her throw him off again. “Is it about your aunt and uncle?”

She hesitated, which seemed a weird thing from her.

“No. Not exactly.” She bit her lip and looked out the small window to the backyard. “I mean, you probably know how they died, otherwise you wouldn’t be asking. And in your line of work, animal attacks are suspicious. When I heard how they died, I didn’t even think to question it, not until… well, that’s actually why you’re here. Yes, I’d love to know if there’s more to my aunt and uncle’s death, but this is about something more specific. And… recent.”

“And that is?”

She looked right at him, her eyes wide with excitement. “I found a goblin!”

Ollie scratched his beard. “You sure about that?”

“Of course I am! How can anyone not be sure about something like that?”

Ollie shrugged. “Some people want to see strange things.”

“No.” She shook her head emphatically. “I didn’t want to see this. And now that I have, it’s impossible to unsee. I see that thing in my dreams now.”

Ollie studied her demeanor for any sign of a lie, but he couldn’t find one. He’d run into more kooks and crazies in this business than he could count, and more than a few had been willing to pay him for the idea of hunting a goblin, even if the goblin was nothing more than a bobcat in the bushes, or a shadow in a grove. He gave a sympathetic nod. She at least sounded like she believed what she was saying.

“Well, if there is a goblin out here, I can find it, and I can take care of it. Quickly, and discreetly. You discussed the price and all that with my handler?”

“Yup. Well, technically my handler spoke to your handler, and they worked all that out.”

Ollie gave her a half smile. “You have a handler?”

She squinted. “That might be overstating it. More like an online friend who worked out the details for me. You know that blog, Creatures of the Nite?” Ollie’s face tightened. “Me and the Goblin King are kind of tight. I help him search for new articles and leads, and I post some of my observations about goblin clans and turf wars and the weird bone statues over by Bull Creek. Things like that. I’ve been trying to learn everything I can about this kind of stuff. It’s amazing!”

Ollie fought to keep the half-smile on his face. Of course he’d find a client connected to that stupid website. That would be just his luck. And to top it off, instead of being terrified by the prospect of goblins running amok on her land, she was thrilled about it. This entire trip had been one red flag after another. Some of them expensive red flags. If he was smart, he’d run away. All the way back to New Orleans, where goblins actually were just myths. Unfortunately, after today he might be too broke to get there.

She continued, oblivious to his unease. “Anyway, he’s the one who said we should try to get your dad for this, or you, and he made all the arrangements.” She leaned forward. “Now that you’re here, does that mean this is all official?”

“When I find the goblin, then it’s official.”

“Can I show you where I found it? Maybe you can look for tracks, or evidence, or something? I’ve been waiting forever for this, and now that you’re finally here, I’d hate for you to have come out for nothing.”

Ollie took one last moment to collect his thoughts. He needed the money, he reminded himself. Get paid, finish up his personal business, then get out of here and forget about goblin hunting for a long time. Again.

He motioned to the door. “Show me your goblin.”

*

Somewhere in the distance a door creaked open. That was followed by the sound of animal feet pounding along a wooden deck and then onto the gravel driveway. Grika sat up in alarm. His ears twitched, waiting for the inevitable sound of sniffing. Sniffing wasn’t good. Loud, obnoxious sniffing was worse. That usually meant dogs.

Grika hated dogs.

The sniffing came only a moment later. He pulled back a section of the tarp that protected him from prying eyes and looked up through the windows. Maybe someone was walking their dogs past the car. That meant the dogs would sniff the car, but then leave once their owner dragged them away. They’d be gone any moment now.

The sniffing didn’t stop.

He took a couple sniffs of his own, testing the air. The scent was mixed – lots of animals close by, along with something sweet yet artificial. Probably a heavy dose of dog shampoo. His specialty was sniffing out goblins, but he could also catch a suffocating whiff of dog if they were close, or especially stinky. He clambered up onto the seat, his trembling hands clutching the tarp to his shoulders like a cape. He slowly lifted his head and peered through the passenger side window to see the house at the far end of the driveway, the animal pen in the back, with cows, the shed off to the side, but no humans. No surprise. He didn’t smell humans. He took a chance and stretched up on his tiptoes to see the ground below.

A dog stared back at him. A big, hairy, smelly dog. They locked eyes for only an instant, but it felt like eternity before the dog opened its trap and started barking. Another joined in from the back of the car.

Grika dove down into the floorboard and threw the tarp over his head.

He hated dogs.

Hated them.