Grak had attended the Goblin Academy of Mischief and Menace, graduated top of his class in Cackling, and received a distinction in Inconvenient Timing.
His career was not going well.
The problem was the village he'd been assigned to haunt. The people there were, without exception, extraordinarily cheerful and accommodating.
He hid their keys.
"Oh, found them!" said the baker, immediately.
He put slippery mud on the front steps.
"How helpful," said the mayor. "We'd been meaning to fix that drainage."
He made strange noises in the attic at midnight.
"Oh, the goblin must be chilly," said the farmer's wife, and left out a blanket. In the morning it was gone.
Grak was wearing it. It was very warm. This made him feel conflicted.
He filed a complaint with Goblin Headquarters.
The response: Have you tried working with the community rather than against it?
Grak wrote back: That is categorically not what goblins do.
The response: Are you sure? Several of our best operatives have transitioned into community liaison roles. Excellent work-life balance.
Grak looked at the blanket. He looked at the village.
He thought about how the baker had given him a small cake last Tuesday. By accident, he claimed. But she'd winked.
He cackled, softly, to himself.
Then he went to fix the leaky roof on the schoolhouse. No one needed to know why.