Goblin

A goblin leaned out of the dark with the grin already made. Green skin. Clever hands. A plan smaller than the door and older than the warning on it. People laughed once and then stopped, a goblin gift already in the pocket they had not offered. It comes back in goblin playing cards that turn up one too many, in a goblin notebook with a line written in a hand not their own, in a goblin postcard of that grin, close enough to touch. The door shuts. The grin does not.