The old mother goblin had been humming around the kitchen, looking for things to throw into the broth, until she stopped short in front of the window.

The night was black as bitumen; her children couldn’t see just what had disturbed her, but the look in her eyes told them it was something big.

“Gather your belongings,” she told her children, not looking away from the window - or, to be more accurate, whatever lay beyond the window. “Leave through the back door. Run to the farm next door. They’ll hide you.”

“But mother - ”

“Do as I say. Quickly!” The children, unaccustomed to hearing their mother speak in such a sharp tone, obeyed immediately. They gathered their clothes and trinkets into a bag and fled from the house, running through the inky blackness of night for the neighbouring farm.

“You took my husband,” she whispered. “I won’t let you take my children, too.”