The rain fell in steady sheets, turning the streets of Willowbrook into slick, glistening avenues of mystery. Neon signs buzzed and flickered, casting eerie reflections in the puddles below. It was a night for secrets, for the unseen, and the unusual. Down a narrow alley, past the rusty fire escapes and shadowy corners was the hidden burrow of Grib, a goblin with a reputation for solving the unsolvable: at least in his neighbourhood.

Grib’s burrow was a cluttered haven of curiosities, filled with gadgets, blueprints, and the soft, steady hum of an old radio playing jazz. His sharp green eyes scanned the latest case files sprawled across his desk, their edges curling in the damp air. A half-empty glass of apple cider sat within reach, and a lit cigarette smouldered in an ashtray, sending up tendrils of smoke that mingled with the dim light.

Yeah, Grib was a kid and he shouldn’t be smoking, but life was tough for the green-skinned in Willowbrook. It was either get hard or get snuff out.

Grib was no ordinary goblin. He had a knack for seeing what others missed, for connecting the dots no one else even noticed. Tonight, he was particularly focused—another pet went missing, another mystery to solve. But the nagging feeling that something bigger was brewing gnawed at the back of his mind.

A knock echoed through the burrow, sharp and urgent. Grib extinguished his cigarette, grabbed his trench coat and fedora, and opened the door. There stood Grandma Maggie, the town’s sharpest mind and retired librarian, now wrapped in a heavy coat and cloche hat. Her face was a mask of determination, shadowed by the brim of her hat.

“Evening, Grib,” she said, her voice steady despite the rain dripping from her hat. “I need your help. Something’s been stirring in Willowbrook, and I don’t like the look of it.”

Grib nodded, letting her in. “Evening, Maggie. What’s the trouble this time?”

Grandma Maggie pulled a damp folder from her coat, laying it open on Grib’s desk. Inside were photographs of symbols, sketches of strange figures, and notes in Grandma Maggie’s neat handwriting. “These symbols started appearing around town a week ago. People are uneasy. Something’s not right, and it feels... sinister.”

Grib examined the photos, his sharp eyes narrowing. “Looks like we’ve got ourselves a pattern, Maggie. Any leads on who’s behind it?”

“Not yet,” Maggie replied, settling into an old armchair. “But I’ve got a hunch it’s tied to the old Willowbrook legends. You know the ones.”

Grib did know. The legends spoke of an ancient pact, a dark force that once threatened the town. Most folks dismissed them as fairy tales, but Grib had seen enough to know there was often truth buried in the old stories.

“I’ll start poking around,” Grib said, slipping the photos into his satchel. “See if I can stir up any leads.”

There was a pause between them. Grib didn’t want to ask, but he knew he should.

“Maggie,” Grib began, his voice low and gravelly, “have you talked to the police about this? Seems like they should be in on something this big.”

Grandma Maggie sighed, her breath visible in the cool night air. She closed the folder and looked up at Grib, her eyes shadowed with worry. “I tried, Grib. I went to Chief Wallace this morning. He brushed me off, and said it was just kids playing pranks.”

Grib frowned, his brows knitting together. “Kids playing pranks? With symbols like these? Doesn’t sound like the kind of trouble kids would stir up.”

“That’s what I said,” Maggie replied, her voice tinged with frustration. “But Wallace isn’t interested. He thinks I’m seeing ghosts in the shadows. Said I’m just an old lady with too much time on her hands.”

Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

Grib let out a dry chuckle, shaking his head. “He clearly doesn’t know who he’s dealing with. You’ve solved more puzzles in that library of yours than he’ll ever face on the streets.”

Maggie gave a wry smile, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “Flattery will get you everywhere, Grib. But the fact remains, the police won’t help. We’re on our own with this one.”

Grib straightened, the determination in his eyes mirroring Maggie’s. “Then we’ll just have to do what we do best. Dig deeper. Find the connections. Someone’s stirring up old magic, and it’s up to us to stop them.”

Maggie nodded, her resolve firm. “Agreed. I’ve already compiled a list of names from the old records—people who might know more about these symbols. We can start there.”

Grib took the list, scanning the names quickly. “Alright, we split up and cover more ground. I’ll take the east side, and see if any of my old contacts have heard whispers about this. You take the west. We’ll meet back here at midnight. You stay safe, Maggie.”

“You too, Grib,” she replied, her eyes reflecting the same gritty determination that had made her the best librarian—and now a friend—the town had ever seen.

Grib and Grandma Maggie left the office and ducked under an awning to escape the intensifying rain. The night air was thick with the scent of wet earth and the distant hum of jazz from a nearby bar. Grib reached into his satchel, rummaging through a collection of papers and gadgets, before pulling out a slightly crumpled photograph.

“Oh, before I forget, Granny,” he said, holding up the picture. “Have you seen this cat? The old woman in the shoe down by the river asked me to find her.”

Grandma Maggie squinted at the photograph, which showed a sleek black cat with a distinctive white patch on its chest. “Hmm, that’s Miss Tibbles. She’s a bit of a wanderer, that one. I think I saw her skulking around the butcher’s shop yesterday, probably after some scraps.”

Grib tucked the photograph back into his satchel with a nod. “Good to know. I’ll swing by the butcher’s after we finish up here. The old woman was in quite a state about it.”

Maggie chuckled softly. “She always is. Miss Tibbles is her only companion, poor dear. After all her kids joined that gang.”

“Another mystery to solve,” Grib said with a wry smile. “Our plate’s getting pretty full, Maggie. Between ancient symbols and missing cats, we’ve got our work cut out for us.”

“Indeed,” Maggie replied, her eyes twinkling despite the gravity of their main investigation. “But I wouldn’t have it any other way. Keeps us sharp, doesn’t it? At least we don’t have a dead body on our hands.”

The two of them shared a sad laugh. Grib nodded, appreciating the familiar banter that lightened the weight of their more serious task. “You know, Maggie, there’s something comforting about solving the small stuff. It reminds me that not everything is doom and gloom. Sometimes, it’s just about finding a lost cat.”

“And sometimes,” Maggie added, her voice gentle but firm, “it’s about stopping old curses and protecting our town. We balance the scales, Grib. That’s what we do.”

The two friends shared a moment of silent understanding, the rain pattering around them like a steady heartbeat. They had faced many challenges together, and they knew this one would be no different, with a nod of mutual resolve and parted ways.

As Grib stepped out into the rain-soaked night, he pulled his hat low over his eyes and hunched his shoulders against the wind. The streets of Willowbrook were dark and full of secrets, but he had a feeling this case would be different. More dangerous. More important.

The first stop was the old records office, a dilapidated building that held the town’s history in dusty filing cabinets and brittle parchment. Grib’s contact there, a nervous pixie named Tink, was always up for a bit of intrigue.

“Grib, you old fox,” Tink said, fluttering her wings to shake off the rain as he entered. “What brings you here at this hour?”

“Need some old records, Tink. Anything on these symbols.” He showed her the photographs.

Tink’s eyes widened. “These... these are ancient, Grib. Really old. Let me see what I can dig up.”

As Tink disappeared into the labyrinth of files, Grib’s mind raced. The symbols, the legends, the unease spreading through Willowbrook—it all pointed to something big. Something that needed to be stopped before it could start.

Tink returned with a stack of brittle papers and a worried expression. “These symbols are linked to an old curse, Grib. One that’s never been fully explained. If someone’s trying to invoke it...”

“Then we’ve got a serious problem,” Grib finished. “Thanks, Tink. You’ve been a big help.”

Grib tucked the papers into his satchel and stepped back into the rain. The night felt colder, the shadows deeper. But he wasn’t alone. With Grandma Maggie’s sharp mind and his knack for trouble, they’d get to the bottom of this. They had to.

As he made his way through the darkened streets, Grib’s thoughts turned to the next step: finding out who was behind this and stopping them. He didn’t know what awaited them in the shadows, but he was ready to face it head-on. The Goblin and the Grandma Detective Agency was on the case, and nothing in Willowbrook would ever be the same again.