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(A short story of 4764 words)

Goffin's Coffin

Humour Fantasy

by Albert Woods

Ha ha... tee hee... we chortled with glee
As we buried the pinchfist Goffin
None of us ever liked him much
Which was why we bought him a coffin

Spot of black comedy here

The man was a complete bastard. Everybody thought it; and one or two had had the gumption to tell him straight to his smug face: a self-centred opportunist who would sell you short as soon as look at you. Thick-skinned as well; he soaked up criticism like a blotter settling on an errant ink globule.

Oh yes; Goffin was a grasping bastard all right – which was why we got him a coffin.

The idea first surfaced when somebody made a passing remark about Goffin's height. "He’ll want to be folded in half when he departs," they said. "He'll not wish to pay by the foot."

"Let's have a whip-round and procure a decent sized casket," I joked. "It would be well worth it, if only to make sure he’s laid flat and doesn’t spring back."

The reaction was not at all what I’d anticipated. Cash appeared without further comment; loads of it. I fell into the role of banker and within minutes there was a couple of pounds in my cap. My word, it was a tidy sum. We all laughed; then I insisted everyone retrieve their contribution.

But there were no takers. Something about the money was tainted. It was earmarked for a purpose, and removing it from my hat seemed tantamount to lifting the coppers from the eyes of a corpse. We all felt the same way about it...

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