The stench of burning wool was filling the air as the hearthrug smouldered beneath the imp who’d leapt from the flames.
“HUNGRY!” It spat in a voice that crackled.
“I’ve soup. It’s thin but you’re welcome to share”
It hissed in horror. The rug blazed.
“I’ve kindling outside…?” Matthias offered. His guest glowed with greedy glee.
Matthias ran and drew the bucket up from the well, soundlessly.
Returning to the smoke-filled cottage he declared “No guest is offered dinner without something to wash it down!”
With that, he doused the imp. It hissed, writhed and died.
Matthias ate his soup.