Creepy Creature wanted candy. He wanted more candy than anyone in the foothills had ever seen. All morning he had chased the folks who walked the hilltop path. He grabbed their ankles with his tan hands and would not let go. He begged with his big yellow eyes until they dropped a sweet just to be rid of him. It worked. It always worked. By noon his little green arms held a heap of wrapped candy taller than his rounded ears. Then the wind came. One gust, and the whole pile spilled. Candy rolled down the slope in every direction. Creepy Creature scrambled after it on his long tan feet. He caught a handful. He dropped two more. His tail knocked over the rest. He sat in the grass and watched his treasure scatter into the weeds below. The problem was plain. He had no place to keep anything. He grabbed and grabbed, but the hills just took it all back. A hoard needs a home. He had neither. So he searched. He climbed past rocks and roots, hunting for something to carry his loot. Near a dead tree he found it. A giant burlap sack lay crumpled in the dirt. Its opening cinched shut with a thick rope. Its woven sides looked strong and hand-stitched. Creepy Creature dragged it open and stuffed in every candy he could gather. The sack swallowed it all and asked for more. He grinned and hugged the coarse cloth. But a full sack was worse than a full armful. Anyone could see it. Anyone could take it. He needed a hiding place, and fast. He hauled the sack up the mountain. His feet slipped on loose stone. The rope burned his hands. Ahead he saw a cave mouth carved into the rock face. Its arch was ancient and dark. He crept inside, dragging the sack behind him. But the floor was smooth and open. A gust whistled straight through. This place would not keep a secret either. Deeper along the ridge, he found something better. An old mineshaft leaned into the hillside. Timber beams sagged over the black opening. Dust and broken planks lay across the mouth. No wind reached inside. No eyes could see past the dark. Creepy Creature dragged the sack through the gap. He set it down in the cool shadow. He opened the top and looked at his candy piled safe at last. For the first time, nothing rolled away. Nothing scattered. The hills could not steal it back. He stroked the burlap and licked his teeth. He had a stash now. A real one. But the sack was only half full, and half full was not enough. He turned back toward the light. Somewhere down those hills, more folks walked with more sweets in their pockets. He would grab every ankle he could reach until this shaft overflowed.