Oh no, Master Farter!

‘Place this peg over your nostrils, and place that peg above to pinch your nose tight. Now, stuff your socks as far as you can into your ears’. Dozy carefully copied Snoozy before they both fell asleep straight away. Soon the entire village hummed with soft snores:
ZZZZZ
ZZZZZ
Quiet. 
Until a thunderous:
PPPPHHHHLLLURRPPPP!
PPPPHHHHLLLURRPPPP!
Walls shook and windows shattered followed by a communal:
THUMP! 
Snoozy fell out of bed. Dozy was already on the floor, squeezing her nose while scrambling for a peg. But it was too late. The stinkiest stench, the foulest fog wafted through and enveloped the entire village, causing everyone to retch:
EEEEUUURRRRGGGGGHHHH!
Oh no, Master Farter!

Later that day everyone was worrying inside the village hall. ‘Settle down! Settle down!’, yawned Moody Mayor with a peg hanging off his nose.‘How can we?’, one villager worried, ‘when that little goblin bounces down the hill every night to terrorise us with such smelly farts!’ Everyone shook their heads worryingly, flinging pegs across the hall.
Suddenly, Bleary Baker stood up and exclaimed, ‘I have the answer. The problem must be his diet!’ Bleary Baker pointed towards the cows, pigs and horses on the hillside and explained, ‘in the morning, he puts his goblin blue hands in their ears to scoop out sticky wax. At lunchtime, he puts his goblin blue hands up their noses to scoop out slimy snot, then dries their bogeys in the afternoon sun. In the evening, he sprinkles crunchy cow bogeys on slimy, piggy snot drizzled with sticky, horsey wax, then licks it like an ice-cream with his goblin blue tongue!’ 
Everyone’s sleep deprived eyes cried. Bleary Baker straightened his chef’s hat and rubbed his bulging belly, then announced, ‘well, I shall serve him a most delicious feast that will cure his diabolical farting!’ Silence, then:
HOORAY!
HOORAY!
Everyone jumped up from their seats. Worried cries turned to tears of joy. Everybody hugged and nodded: a good plan.

That night, the village hummed with soft snores:
ZZZZZ
ZZZZZ
But look! Master Farter bounced down the hill into the village and smiled as Bleary Baker served him up a most delicious feast:
YOM YOM YOM, he gobbled sweet smelling meat pies.
YOM YOM YOM, he gulped juicy pastries packed with jelly. 
YOM YOM YOM, he guzzled fruity tarts topped with fudge. 
Bleary Baker’s chef’s hat inflated as he stood smugly and asked, ‘do you agree to stop terrorising us each night with such smelly farts?’
Master Farter had never tasted such a delicious feast. He was so immersed in savouring all of its tastes, and his noisy gobbling, gulping and guzzling meant that he could not hear Bleary Baker, who was already snoring on the dessert table.

And so: quiet. 
The night owls even popped out, unstuffed their ears and checked on the moon. 
But soon, a thunderous:
PPPPHHHHLLLURRPPPP!
PPPPHHHHLLLURRPPPP!
Thuds echoed as villagers fell onto bedroom floors. 
Bleary Baker was blown off the dessert table and bounced on his bulging belly, crumpling his chef’s hat and deflating it in shame.
The night owls restuffed socks into their ears and popped back into the trees. 
The stinkiest stench, the foulest fog wafted through and enveloped the entire village, causing everyone to retch:
EEEEUUURRRRGGGGGHHHH!
Oh no, Master Farter!

Later that day everyone was despairing inside the village hall. ‘Settle down! Settle down!’ yawned Moody Mayor with a sock hanging out of an ear. ‘How can we?’, one villager despaired, ‘when that little goblin does such loud farts that we cannot sleep!’ Everyone shook their heads despairingly, flinging socks across the hall. Suddenly, Tired Tailor stood up and declared, ‘I have the answer! It’s clear that the problem is not his diet. Bleary Baker, cook up another delicious feast to distract the little monster’. Tired Tailor arched back to show off his braces holding up his trousers, then announced, ‘I shall hide in the bushes with my needle and thread, then will jump out and sew up his goblin blue bum!’
Silence, then:
HOORAY!
HOORAY!
Everyone jumped up from their seats. Despair turned to delight. Everybody hugged and nodded: a better plan.

That night, the village hummed with soft snores:
ZZZZZ
ZZZZZ
But look! Master Farter bounced down the hill into the village and smiled with surprise as Bleary Baker served him up another most delicious feast.
YOM YOM YOM, he gobbled sweet smelling meat pies.
YOM YOM YOM, he gulped juicy pastries packed with jelly. 
YOM YOM YOM, he guzzled fruity tarts topped with fudge. 
Tired Tailor rushed out from the bushes, jumped on top of the distracted little monster and demanded, ‘Do you agree to stop terrorising us each night with such smelly and loud farts? Otherwise, I will sew up your goblin blue bum!’ Tired Taylor reached for his needle and Master Farter was frightened to see how sharp it looked. Since his mouth was still stuffed with food, he could not speak so he nodded his goblin blue head. But Tired Taylor was too focused on threading his needle to notice so he immediately sewed up Master Farter’s goblin blue bum! Tired Taylor proudly thumbed his braces while he also quickly started to snore on the dessert table.

And so: a long quiet.
The night owls popped out, unstuffed their ears and checked on the moon. Even the early birds hopped out, unpegged their beaks and announced the dawn.
But suddenly:
POP!
The stitches had burst followed by a thunderous:
PPPPHHHHLLLURRPPPP!
PPPPHHHHLLLURRPPPP!
Thuds echoed as everyone fell onto bedroom floors. Tired Taylor was blown across the dessert table but it caught his braces, catapulting him out of his trousers and into the bushes where he landed on spiky twigs and thorny weeds. The night owls restuffed socks into their ears and popped back inside the trees. The early birds re-pegged their beaks and hopped back into their nests. The stinkiest stench, the foulest fog wafted through and enveloped the entire village, causing everyone to retch:
EEEEUUURRRRGGGGGHHHH!
Oh no, Master Farter!

Later that day everyone was raging inside the village hall. ‘Settle down! Settle down!’ yawned Moody Mayor with eyes propped open with pegs. ‘How can we?’, one villager raged, ‘when our hair glows green because his farts are so sticky!’ Everyone shook their heads in rage, flinging sticky green goo across the hall. Suddenly, Weary Woodchopper stood up and declared, ‘I have the answer! It’s clear that the problem is not his diet. And it’s clear that thread alone is not strong enough. Bleary Baker, cook up another delicious feast to distract the little monster. Tired Tailor, hide again in the bushes with your needle and thread, jump out and sew up his goblin blue bum’. Weary Woodchopper rubbed his thick moustache and whiskers, and announced, ‘I will then roll out from under the table with my shiny axe and chop off his goblin blue bum!’
Silence, then:
HOORAY!
HOORAY!
Everyone jumped up from their seats. Rage turned to rejoice. Everybody hugged and nodded: the best plan.

That night, the village hummed with soft snores:
ZZZZZ
ZZZZZ
But look! Master Farter bounced down the hill into the village and smiled with joy as Bleary Baker served him up yet another most delicious feast.
YOM YOM YOM, he gobbled sweet smelling meat pies.
YOM YOM YOM, he gulped juicy pastries packed with jelly. 
YOM YOM YOM, he guzzled fruity tarts topped with fudge. 
Tired Tailor rushed out from the bushes, jumped on top of the distracted little monster, threaded his needle and sewed up his goblin blue bum! Weary Woodchopper rolled from under the table and demanded, ‘Do you promise to stop terrorising us each night with such smelly, loud and stinky farts? Otherwise, I will chop off your goblin blue bum!’
Weary Woodchopper raised his shiny axe and Master Farter was horrified to see how razor sharp it looked. Since his mouth was still stuffed with food, he could not speak so he vigorously nodded his goblin blue head. But Weary Woodchopper could not see Master Farter’s face because he was too busy admiring his beardy reflection in his shiny axe, which he swung down and chopped off Master Farter’s goblin blue bum!
Weary Woodchopper arrogantly rubbed his thick moustache and whiskers before he, too, quickly started to snore on the dessert table while hugging his shiny axe.

And so: a very long quiet.
The night owls popped out, unstuffed their ears and checked on the moon. The early birds hopped out, unpegged their beaks and announced the dawn. Even the cockerels bobbed out and welcomed the new day.
Snoozy opened his right eye in disbelief: ‘could it be?’
Dozy opened her left eye in relief: ‘it must be!’
They stretched, hugged and smiled.
But suddenly they were flung out of bed, knocking off their pegs and dislodging their socks.
Weary Woodchopper was blown down the dessert table, and with each roll the razor sharp blade of his shiny axe scraped off his thick moustache and whiskers.
A thunderous belch shook the village like an earthquake.
BBBBBBURRRRRPPPPP!
BBBBBBURRRRRPPPPP!
Oh no, Master Farter had become … Master Burper!