"There’s nothing in this world quite so cozy like a hobbit’s burrow. It’s a slice of paradise, you know, a little heavenly maze of pantries and snug little rooms, nestled quietly beneath some idyllic Shire hill. In the grey days of autumn, in that sunset of the year, a Hobbit hole becomes a real refuge. Autumn never touches its hidden little nooks, the fireplace crackling merrily and washing the entire burrow in a dull orange glow. And there’s nothing so nice as a rainy autumn day, a book, and a tea in front of the fireplace. Or..erhm…a pint of Bullroarer’s brew. It’s the dream of every aspiring Hobbit.
But Frederic Chubb was no ordinary Hobbit. Oh no. Because Frederic Chubb wanted adventure. Mind you, a nice pint of ale in front of the fireplace was just fine for young Frederic – but it was not enough.
He yearned for adventure so much, that one day he made his decision. He would take a deep breath of life, fill his lungs with the freshness of thrilling travels! Frederic Chubb will venture out and far away. But Frederic Chubb had no idea what was about to happen – adventure would find him.
Just as he was sorting his backpack, filled with odds and ends, Frederic was startled by an awful ruckus in the back room.
“My, oh my!” he exclaimed, flushed. It was so dreadful to hear such crashing and tumbling in his own burrow. “What could it be?” he thought as he rushed to investigate.
As his little shaggy feet carried him to the back of the burrow, Frederic could smell an awful stench spreading all over.
“Not another skunk!” he said loudly, rolling his eyes, “I barely aired out the burrow the last time!”
But as he stumbled into the back kitchen, Frederic could see that it was no skunk at all. He froze in the doorway like a statue, not moving.
A goblin was bent over his tea kettle, sniffing hectically. A goblin! In his own burrow!
It stank awfully – of pigs and poo and stale beer. It was dressed in a mish-mash of torn rags and bits of iron. Sniffing in the kettle it suddenly froze, and turned around to look Frederic straight into the eyes.
“G..G’day!” clucked the hobbit desperately. “Feel free to help yourself!”
The goblin stared with its huge, bulbous eyes. Its face was a lump of uneven features, ugly and repulsive. Suddenly it grinned – his teeth were utterly disgusting.
“Is this me lunch?” it muttered. “You’s a plump ‘un, ain’t ya now?”
It began laughing – a drawn out cackle, as if someone was tickling him with a feather. But Frederic Chubb didn’t mind the giggling – his eyes were drawn to the crude piece of iron at the goblin’s hip.
“L-lunch?” he said unwittingly.
“Aye, lunch! Ain’t nothin’ so juicy as a chubby little Halfling…roasted…” The goblin said and smacked his thin lips.
Frederic felt a wave of fear wash over him. This wasn’t the kind of adventure he wanted!
“Don’t be silly!” he said to the goblin. “You haven’t lived until you’ve tried some Shire beans with onion sausage!”
The goblin stared, confused. A thin sliver of drool hung from his open mouth.
“Or, or..Frogmorton fried frogs! Or Brandybuck bacon wrapped flapjacks! And dee-licious oxtail soup! If you haven’t tried those, you can’t eat me yet! It wouldn’t be right.”
The goblin stared, its mouth still wide open.
“Frogbuck ox saw-siege?” it mumbled slowly. “Wot’s that then?”
“Oooh!” Frederic sprang forward, full of joy. “Wonderful things, my friend! Just imagine: A slice of fresh Shepherd’s pie, or fresh baked toast with some juicy blackberry jam! Life can’t get better than that, I tell you. Then you wash it all down with a pint of Blind Troll Stout, or even a tall mug of Old Withywindle!”
He spoke filled with animation, wiggling his arms to and fro, totally immersed into a treatise on the wonders of Hobbit cuisine. All the while the goblin just stared in confusion.
“Old With-the-what?” he muttered after Frederic was done.
“Old Withywindle! The finest ale in the Eastfarthing! And deeeee-licious Hobbit foods!” he entwined his fingers and looked to the ceiling, enamored with the vision of some juicy slice of food. “I insist you try some! Will you?”
The goblin was utterly confused – through and through. His prey doesn’t usually talk this much.
“Y’mean…you’s gonna feed me?” he stumbled out at last.
“Why, of course!” Frederic Chubb exclaimed. “I cannot imagine that someone hasn’t yet tasted our tasty mashed taters, or washed his gullet with Barmy Rootknot’s ale. Come, right this way!” he waved his hand towards the next room in the burrow. “Don’t be shy!”
He led the goblin to the room adjacent to the kitchen, and seated him behind a stout wooden table. The grizzled, bent, and crooked goblin was completely taken aback, almost hypnotized by the frantic and elated movements of the hobbit.
And Frederic Chubb? Well, Frederic seemed to have forgotten that the creature sitting at his dinner table was a foul goblin. He was so elated to have a chance to introduce the vast and wonderful world of Hobbit cuisine to someone who was yet to experience them. In fact – this might turn out to be quite the adventure! And he didn’t even have to leave the burrow.
And so it was that for the next hour or two, a hobbit by the name of Frederic Chubb feasted a foul and lost goblin at his very kitchen table!
Oh, but was it ever a grand feast! It was the finest selection of hobbit dishes: Lamb and mushrooms stew, honeyed Took biscuits, fried Needlehole Nine-spined Stickleback, and even some delicious onions with bacon. The goblin was in a trance – such foods he never tasted! He munched and swallowed, devoured and stuffed his gullet – eyes wide open all the while. More and more he wanted, ravenously filling himself with all the hobbit’s delicacies.
That is until Frederic Chubb brought out his secret dish.
“And now…the dessert!” he exclaimed happily.
“The what?” The goblin said, his mouth all messy from food, his belly bulging out.
“Why, the dessert! The finest dish yet!”
“Yes!” said the goblin, “Give it! What’s it called, then?”
Frederic rummaged inside his pantry and at last produced a plate. In its center was a thick wedge of cheese. It was deeply yellow and tough, streaked with tiny blue veins. The smell was rank, but the goblin didn’t mind it.
“Barrow Brie!” Frederic said proudly. “The finest cheese in the Shire!”
“Cheeze!” the goblin grinned, “I love me some nice an’ smelly cheeze! Give it!”
He sank his meager gathering of teeth into the wedge of Barrow Brie, slowly munching. In no time, the wedge was gone.
But soon after he became restless. He wiggled in his chair, burping loudly and loosin’ farts.
“I ate a lot!” he said. “Trickster Halfling! I need to use the loo…”
But before he even finished the sentence, he got up and let loose the loudest fart that Frederic Chubb has heard in his life. The burrow echoed. Braaaaaaapppppp.
Holding his belly, a panicked look on his face, the goblin chaotically moved around, searching for an exit. And then he let out an angry yelp and promptly squeezed back through the window through which he crashed, leaving just as he arrived. Frederic looked through it, seeing the creature running away into the distant Bindbole wood.
Relieved, the hobbit let out a deep sigh, and surveyed the state of his kitchen. The pantry was near-empty, the mess was dreadful, and the place stank awfully!
And just like that, Frederic Chubb realized that adventures are not that fun after all."
The End.
