The good people of Huskington Village burst out of their thatched-roof cottages and poured into the streets when Brave Sir Rubil, astride is grey and silver steed, returned to town with the head of Mattaux, the last monster. Green blood and ichor still dribbled from it’s severed neck and sloshed onto the ground.
The good people of Huskington Village put on their brightest, boldest clothes and waved handmade signs thanking Brave Sir Rubil. Songs of joy burst spontaneously from the mouths of schoolgirls, so happy were they that the age of monsters had been consigned to the pages of history.
There was mad dancing and feast-foods were cooked and shared and the sounds of revelry lasted so long and the people were so happy that no one could think to sleep and so, when the sun went down, celebratory bonfires were lit all over Huskington so that no one would have to stop rejoicing the death of the last monster just because it grew dark.
And Max Rubsenstein, eight years old and small for his age, followed the grand village-wide party in his mind as he hid underneath a slide on the playground of Husker Elementary School, hoping that Marty Johnson wouldn’t find him today.