Outside the hut, the hostile wind swept snow across the dreary landscape. Inside, Pascoe herself making a slight fire and began to roast chestnuts and mushrooms. Tensely, Pipkin unwrapped the one special item that his father had given him before he disappeared. It was a small fragile stone that had a mysterious, sea green glow. It excelled its green glow out of the creak in the brown, wooden door. Even Prue knew that was a bad sign for it meant that goblins were close by!

In a flash, there was a demand from one of the households in the alleyway. “Hey, who are you?” A scard, shabby face glanced out from a window at Pipkin. Tucking himself into a shadow, his heart beating rapidly. Pipkin turned into a statue. Something was now dashing down the street towards him. He could hear it pulling itself towards the Inn. Shadows moved. An orange, pus-filled eye glared.