Tag Archives: goblins

Renunciation Jones

When people who have never knowingly seen a goblin think of goblins, they think of Renunciation Jones.

Renunciation is not a goblin, this much we know about because island goblins are funny little energy beings who like to possess inanimate objects in order to mess about. In this regard they are much like demons. Whether there is any real difference between demons and goblins is at present uncertain. Renunciation certainly isn’t a demon.

If you ask Renunciation about any of this – as politely and circumspectly as you can – they will point out that living to a hundred and twenty seven years of age will do this sort of thing to anyone and that it is a small price to pay for immortality.

If you ask Condolences Jones – one of the three Jones grandmothers who might be the eldest living grandmother on the island – she disputes this. “I remember how Renunciation looked seventy years ago, and it was exactly the same as they are now. T’aint age. It’s on account of working with them night potatoes. Does things to your skin. Anyway Renunciation ain’t a day over eighty six, being a few years younger than me.”

The trouble with the elders of the Jones family is that none of them really seem to know how old they are, or how old anyone else is. This too can perhaps be attributed to long term night potato exposure.

It is possible to live to a considerable age on this island, although whether that counts as a blessing or some form of karmic punishment, is another question entirely.

(Art by Tracie Tink Voice, text by Nimue)

Making new friends

The shed is a wonderful place to make new friends. Here a wizened root, there a broken fork, a rake, some bit of metal and wood that makes no sense on its own, but calls out to become something new. There is always string in a shed, and sometimes wire – magical sources of joints and attachments, uniting disparate things into new shapes. And so you sit down, and ask of the shed what in it wants to be new, and exciting, and you work with what you get. Your new friend takes form under your hands, moving into the world as you find eyes and toes, limbs and a body.

When you start, you know nothing about the new friend. They may well turn out to be an old friend who has been obliged to hover about, insubstantial and lost. You make the form, invite the spark and wait to see who shows up.

(Text by Nimue, art by Tracie Tink Voice, who we’re delighted to have as a new member of the Hopeless, Maine team!)

More goblins

Steven C Davis recently found this goblin in the kitchen. It appears to have eaten all the cheese, at the very least.

Most of the time we don’t see goblins, because they’re just energy. However, they can pull together assemblages like this at will, taking form from whatever is around them, to enable them to do whatever they want to do. Which in this instance appears to have been feasting on cheese. Quite where the cheese went is anyone’s guess.

Goblins definitely eat things, but need to take a physical form to do so. The good news is that if you can’t see them, they can’t eat you. The bad news is that this can change rather rapidly.

Goblin season approaches!

This October, we’re celebrating our goblins. As you’ve probably noticed, Hopeless, Maine goblins are beings who assemble themselves, and each other, from whatever comes to hand. Their ability to animate themselves is disconcerting.

We invite you to make your own goblin. As you can see from the above image, the odds are good that your kitchen already has everything you need to create a goblin of your own. Sticks, rocks, and shiny things are also a good bet.

If you take photos of goblins that we could share, that would be wonderful, please waft them our way. Hit the comments if you don’t have any other means of getting in touch.

Goblins can also be drawn, cobbled together with image software, collaged out of printed images or exciting combinations of the above. Please no AI. We want to celebrate creativity, and offer a space where anyone would be able to join in. No one needs AI to do something creative.

(This goblin was assembled by Nimue)

Making friends with Goblins

The goblins of Hopeless, Maine, are makers. Arguably the most capable of all makers. Their creations may not appear as striking as Balthazar Lemon’s lighthouse, or Lilly May’s demon infested blunderbusses, but goblins are able to do something that other makers are not: They make life.

Goblins are made by other goblins – usually out of found items. Once a goblin has been made in its entirety, and certain rituals have taken place, the new goblin becomes fully alive and self aware. Goblins tend to show up having a pretty good idea how to get on with being a goblin, and are independent thinkers from their first moment.

With regards to the life-giving ritual, it is difficult to describe because each one takes its own form, depending on the whim of the goblin-maker. One thing is clear – that to make a goblin, one must also be a goblin. Humans attempting to replicate the process do not achieve the same results. 

The choice of materials for a new goblin is mostly a question of taste rather than practicality. A bucket makes a perfectly good head. So does a rock, or a pumpkin. Rocks can be tied in place to create eyes. How do those eyes then see? How do goblins have mouths? These are uneasy questions, for which the most likely answer is ‘because it would be silly not to’. For some time now there has been a fashion for using chicken feet as both feet and hands, and goblins are always fond of bones. String is always a source of excitement to a goblin-maker as it allows you to get so much done.

One of the reasons that very few people notice goblins, is that their random assemblages are easy to disguise. A goblin who is not moving looks like a pile of inconsequential stuff, and you may easily overlook it. Your own pile of random stuff might even have been organised into life while you weren’t paying attention. Untidy houses can attract goblins looking for usable materials. Whether this is a curse or a blessing is open to debate.

It is difficult to say how long goblins live. Broken parts are replaced. Bits of goblins are repurposed. Sometimes goblins trade limbs, because they can. New goblins are made when previous goblins disappear. Do the goblins know what they are or how they function? Probably not. Do they sit awake at night wondering about the implications of having swapped their bucket head for a really good shell? Yes, they do.

Mirco “SteamTinkerer” Sadrinna has been remade

By Frampton Jones

There are some people whose lives you watch with a feeling of morbid unease. Mirco was one such – a tinkerer by nature whose fondness for messing about with devices seemed likely to prove fatal. The risk of attracting a demon into a warm, comfortable device is one I wish more people would take seriously. But, I shall not use Mirco’s untimely death as a reason to lecture on the dangers of demonic infestations.

Not least because I am fairly certain demons were not to blame on this occasion.

In recent weeks, Mirco’s workshop had ever more figures in it. I’ve been seeing more of these little figures around town for a while now – at first I thought they were amusing sculptures made of rubbish. Then, having seen a few of them move, I assumed them to be clever automata. Now, I am unsure and uneasy. Those figures, with their vegetable and bucket heads, their whimsical anatomies do not seem so innocent now.

Mirco was found propped outside the workshop, having been reassembled to resemble one of these creatures. I am no longer sure what to call them. Where Mirco’s actual head went, no one knows. About half of the available body parts are missing, according to Doc Willoughby. All of the automata, sculptures, creatures… whatever they were, they have all gone. Not a one remains in the workshop, and I have not seen one about town for a few days. I am afraid we will start finding parts of Mirco in other assemblies of parts made to resemble a person.

Reverend Davies will be performing the funeral rites for a percentage of a person, where the unburied parts are assumed to have taken on some kind of unwholesome second life. It will be an unsettling service, these forms always are, but we can hope it will bring some relief to the departed.