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Monty Episode 1 The Flomble Traps Cover

The Flomble Traps

“Monty! Where are you?”

A pale green-furred boy quickly stuffed his tattered copy of The Great Pickle Mystery into his apron pocket.

“Coming sir!” He scooted into the kitchen where Snort, a patchy, red and grey-furred warthog-like creature, was ladling a glop of steaming green stuff into a wooden bowl.

Snort is the boss here at the Gristling Inn, a twelve room bed and breakfast at the end of a dark forest road.

“Here I am!” said Monty. “Sorry. I was about to stack the...”

“Never mind what you were about to do! Get this GreenGravy up to Ms. Sourbaum in room number five. Snip snap!”

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The lad scooted out the kitchen door, careful not to spill the bowl of steaming, green slop.

This is Monty, our boy hero. Well, he’s not exactly what you might be thinking of as a boy. You see, Monty is a monster. I don't mean he’s naughty or beastly in his manners. I mean literally - he’s a monster. In fact, everyone is, here at the Gristling Inn Bed & Breakfast. Young Monty looks a bit like a stub-nosed alligator, with big round eyes and a gentle overbite. His short, soft fur is a pale avocado-green colour. Monty works and lives here at the Gristling Inn in room number nine with his very old grandfather. 

The smell of the GreenGravy filled the tiny lift as it went up to the second floor where Monty got out. He knocked on the door of room number five. Ms. Sourbaum, a yellow penguin-ish woman with horn-rimmed glasses on her beak scowled at Monty. “About time! We’re starving up here, can't you see?”

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The room smelled like a peanut buttery bird cage. A matching, yellow penguin-ish child sat on a rug littered with empty food and candy wrappers, as well as several small stuffed toy creatures. As Monty set the tray down on the bed, the child rose up and bit Monty’s arm. “Yowch!” he cried.

The youngster stuck her candy-blue tongue out of her beak at Monty as he left the room.

“And your vending machine is all out of candy. You’d better refill it!” Ms. Sourbaum said before she slammed the door. In the lift back down, Monty squeezed in with another Inn worker. 

This is Plonk. Plonk resembles a large, raspberry-furred hamster. 

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Taking notice of the bite mark on Monty’s arm, he said “Room number five, huh? Gotta wear armour in there. Heh.' Plonk’s teeth clicked when he talked. 

Monty scooted out, crossed the lobby and sighed as he put his hand on the doorknob to the Gristling Inn’s storage basement, where the snack-machine snacks were kept. The stairs were steep, old and very creaky, and not at all easy to manage. Especially for Monty. 

This is probably a good time to tell you: Monty’s left leg from the knee down - is a wheel. Yes. A wheel from an old tricycle was fashioned in place by his grandpa after...the incident. But we’ll get to that another time. 

Monty – with a very cautious squeak-thump, squeak-thump, squeak-thumpgot to the bottom of the stairs. He now stood among the boxes of snacks. Cases of Frosted KornKrinklers®. Crates of Zingaling® soda. Monty opened a carton labelled LicoriceLazer® crisps.  But what was this?  He found mostly just empty wrappers, and lots of crumbs. Digging through the mess, he discovered a big hole chewed through the bottom of the box. 

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“Monty!” Snort shouted without warning from the top of the stairs. “What are you doing down there?!” Monty looked up to see ol’ Snort’s red-patched warthoggy face grow even redder upon noticing all the scattered wrappers. “Hoppin’ hogsnaps! You forgot to put out the flomble traps, didn’t you? Now look at what's happened! I better see dead flombles in traps, boy. This is your last warning!” Monty could hear Snort snorting all the way back to the kitchen as he eyed the shelf with the still-unopened package of flomble traps. 

“Sigh. But I don’t want to hurt any flombles,” Monty whispered to himself. “I’d like to see ol’ Snort’s prickly nose caught in a flomble trap.” Picturing it made him giggle. But he stopped when he suddenly heard a chattering squeak coming from behind the boxes of Stinkpickle®. Pushing one aside, he saw a dusty pink, furry apple-sized creature cowering in the shadows. It had cat-like ears, mouse-like eyes and a short fluffy tail. 

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“Oh, my. You’re a flomble, all right. I know you can't help it. You need food just like everyone else. Don’t worry. No one’s gonna hurt you,” Monty gently scooped up the flomble, held it against his apron and stroked its soft head. The flomble gave a little gurgling purr. 

“Oh, goodness. We’ve got to keep you hidden from ol’ Snort. But - we need him to think that I’ve trapped you.” Monty considered as he stared at the unopened flomble traps. His eyes suddenly gleamed. “Aha! You stay hidden. I’ll be right back.” 

Monty grabbed an empty sack, some bags of LicoriceLazer® crisps and hurried (as fast as his one foot and one wheel could carry him) up the basement stairs and into the lift. Back at room number five, the yellow penguin-ish woman flung the door open and cocked an irritated eyebrow at Monty. 

“Uh, hi Ms. Sourbaum. I have snacks for you... and while I’m here, I can take some of that rubbish out.” 

“Sigh. Yes, but make it quick. Pookum gets a bit cranky if naptime is off.” The penguin-ish child tore into the LicoriceLazer® crisps, growling and snapping at Monty as he collected food wrappers off the floor. 

“A bit cranky? Sheesh,” Monty whispered to himself as he scooted out of the room with a full rubbish bag. 

A short while later, Monty had squeak-thump, squeak-thump-ed back down to the storage basement. The flomble blinked curiously as Monty unwrapped one flomble trap, then from the rubbish bag pulled out one of the child’s stuffed animal toys. It was nearly the same size and dusty pink colour as an actual flomble! Monty pulled back the trap’s spring-loaded clapper and placed the stuffed toy face down on it. 

“Better stand back. Ready?” *WHACK!* The trap snapped onto the toy. Hearing the sound, ol’ Snort poked his warthog-ish head into the basement doorway and saw the furry thing clapped in the trap. “Hmph! It’s about time. Now, back to work!” 

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Snort left and Monty patted his new friend’s head. 

“You’re so fuzzy. Hey. How about we make that your name? Fuzz! Heh. Grandad’s gonna love meeting you. C’mon!”

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The End