The House Comes With a Hobgoblin
I don’t believe in hobgoblins, but the house is perfect.
“Before you make your offer, I need to disclose something.” The estate agent looked uncomfortable. During my hunt for an authentic old English cottage, I quickly learned there were always issues. What would it be this time? A leaky roof?
“The house comes with a hobgoblin.” His face was expressionless. Because English isn’t my first language, I wasn’t sure I understood him. “Is there something with the doorknobs?”
He scraped his throat. “No, the doorknobs are fine. The house comes with a hobgoblin.”
Confused, I looked around. “Like what, a statue? Or a painting?”
“I am afraid not. The house comes with an actual hobgoblin. A mythical creature that does small chores in the house while you are asleep. You will never see him, only what he does. All you need to do to keep him happy is to set out a plate of food before you go to bed.”
I was hesitant to press the issue any further. This was probably the first of many cultural misunderstandings I would have to deal with after moving to England. Besides, I was already running late, and I really wanted this house. I decided to offer the asking price.
