King Thrushbeard

I took a couple of passes at this story before I found one I liked. Versions of this story exist all throughout Europe, including one version by the Brothers Grimm. Though the title of the story, the cruel name given to the king and the exact nature of the trick played on the princess are different, they generally end with the princess learning her lesson and living happily ever after. As the story does fall into the "Taming of the Shrew" category of story, however, I am forced to cross my fingers and hope that my readers understand that the deception played upon our princess is due to her being a genuinely unpleasant and mean person, and not just because "a woman needs to know her place" or some other such sexist nonsense.

Let’s face it, kids n’ people: Times have changed. We have cars instead of horses, horses instead of bicycles, bicycles instead of unicycles, polar bears instead of—

(NOTE: This introduction has been abandoned as it was clearly nonsense)

Times have changed. Especially for you lady-types who may or probably not be reading this. Today, you can do whatever you want. Do any job, use any last name, live anywhere, marry whoever you want, marry no one, have babies, don’t have babies. The world is your oyster…unless you don’t like oysters, in which case the world can be, like, your linguini or something. Maybe with some shrimp in there. Or is it shellfish you don’t like?

(This is your last warning!)

Okay, sorry. What I’m trying to say is that being a woman has changed a lot since this story took place. Back then, a young girl had only one job in life: Marry well and bear many sons. This was true of all girls, be they poor or really quite wealthy. Common or ever-so-royal. So whether you were Gwen, the nice girl whose dad was the village smithy, or Princess Caroline, when you reached that certain age (18, in this case) it was time to get engaged.

So Princess Caroline knew that she would have to marry and be beholden to her husband and do what he said and keep his house and raise his children. But Princess Caroline wasn’t just a rich, beautiful princess…she was also selfish, haughty, vain and good-old-fashioned spoiled rotten! She thought she was the most wonderful and important person in all the world, and she refused to marry anybody who wasn’t good enough for her. Suitors came from miles around to seek her hand in marriage, but she invariably found something wrong with each and every one.

“I’m not marrying you! You look like you’re already in love…with pastries!” she said to a slightly overweight prince.

“That nose of yours would put out my eye if I tried to kiss you!” she chortled to a very nice nobleman who had a slightly big nose.

“And you…” she started to say to another suitor, but stopped once she got a look at him. This man, a king from a neighboring country, was actually very handsome. But still not quite perfect in Caroline’s eyes. “Is that your beard,” she asked pointing at the king’s chin, “or did a thrush fly into your face and get stuck there?”

This was too much for her father. Insulting another king to his face like that! He scolded her most violently and vowed then and there that, whether she liked it or not, she would be married to the next poor beggar who came to the castle.

As it turned out, the king didn’t have to wait very long to make good on his promise. The very next day a poor beggar man with a dirty face and a long, slightly frightening beard came knocking at the back door asking for something to eat. “He’ll get more than that!” declared the king, and within an hour, the deed was done: Caroline and the beggar were married!

Now, I know that, ordinarily, the part of the story right after the wedding is the part where I say “And they all lived happily ever after,” but that’s not really how it went down this time. Caroline was horrified at being forcibly married to this beggar man with a dirty face and a long, slightly frightening beard (sometimes it looked like something might be living in it). She begged her father to relent, but he was immovable. He told her it was her own fault for being so haughty and cruel and that it would teach her a much needed lesson in humility. But all Caroline felt was sorry for herself as she rode with her new husband to his shack.

On the long trip away from her home in the castle to the home of this weird little beggar man, they passed through a rich, beautiful forest. “This is a rich, beautiful forest,” said Caroline. “I wonder who owns this land?”

“This is the forest of King Thrushbeard,” said the beggar man, referring to the suitor Caroline had slighted the night before. “And it might have been yours.”

Caroline thought about this and fell into silent despair. After they left the forest, they came to a quaint, fertile stretch of prosperous farmland. “What beautiful farms,” said Caroline. “I wonder whose they are?”

“This is the farmland of King Thrushbeard,” said the beggar man. “And it might have been yours.”

Again, the realization of all her vanity had cost her struck Caroline mute. Until they came to a village which sat next to a beautiful castle, perhaps even more extravagant than her own. “What a beautiful place this is,” she said. “I wonder whose—”

“King Thrushbeard!” said the irritated beggar man. “Might’ve been yours. Well, here we are! Home sweet home!”

The look of horror and disgust on Caroline’s face would be pointless attempting to describe, so I’ll just describe the shack she was looking at…actually “shack” might be a little too generous. Maybe hovel…or cave…actually, it could’ve passed for a large mouse hole it was so shabby and rundown. But, Caroline knew it was her home now and there was nothing she could do about it.

The first days of Caroline’s new life were curious and more than a little depressing. Her husband woke her with the sun so she could start on the housework and the chores while he was out all day doing who knows what (well, I do, but I can’t tell you yet). You wouldn’t think a house so small would have kept Caroline as busy as it did, but being unaccustomed to labor of any kind, it did take her most of the day to get the place clean. Then her husband returned and they shared a meager meal of bread and stale cheese with a small bottle of really bad wine (or really good vinegar, neither was quite sure). After dinner, they were both so tired that they went straight to bed--or rather, straight to cot--and before they fell asleep, Caroline’s poor, oddly-bearded husband whispered in her ear: “I love you.” She didn’t say it back.

So it was from then on. Up in the morning, husband gone, lots of housework, terrible dinner, bedtime, “I love you,” and she still never said it back. As the days wore on and Caroline grew more accustomed to the housework, it took her less time and she had a chance to go out into the village. She didn’t have as much money as she was used to, but she was able to buy a few little tinkets to make her life slightly more bearable. A few new things to wear, some good wine, sofa pillows, candles, and other things which pass for "necessities" if you're a girl.

Don't deny it, you know it's true.

Her husband was, of course, quick to notice the improvements and complimented her on what a good homemaker she had become. She found she felt good when her husband complimented her. And that’s when it struck her. People had been complimenting her all her life. For her grace and beauty and other princessly attributes. Before she had just said something like “Yes, I know,” and ignored the person who had said it. But when her husband complimented her, she actually liked it. She said thank you. It took her a while before she realized that it was because he really meant it. What she did really mattered to him. What she was doing was actually for him. And she got tremendous satisfaction doing something for someone else, which she had little-to-no experience with before her marriage.

That night, they went to bed, and before faling asleep, our beggar man whispered into Caroline’s ear, “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” said Caroline and fell into a peaceful sleep.

The next morning Caroline awoke to a shock. She was not lying on the straw mat she had been when she went to sleep. She was not wearing the cheap nightgown she had put on after dinner. She was, in short, not in the shack. She was lying on a big, soft (but not too soft) bed with satin sheets, exquisite curtains, goosedown pillows and it was all in a big, lavish bedroom, even grander than the one she had known in her father’s palace.

“Good morning, darling,” said a voice. Caroline looked up and just imagine her surprise when she saw…King Thrushbeard? “I hope you slept well. In fact, I’m sure you did or you would’ve woken up when I was carrying you here from our shack.”

“Our…shack?” was all Caroline could manage to say.

The King laughed. Then, in answer to her question, reached into his coat pocket and removed the long, frightening beard which he'd been wearing as a disguise. “I’m sorry to say that I’ve been deceiving you. Your father and I felt that you should be taught a lesson after that comment you made about my beard, so we hatched this little plan. I dressed up as a beggar with a really scary beard and took you away to that awful, rundown hovel where we’ve lived for the past several weeks.”

“You mean, all this time…you’ve been the king?”

“That’s where I was all day. Running the country. My advisors probably thought I’d gone mad when they saw me putting on this awful beard and sneaking down to that shack every evening for dinner.”

“You could’ve been in the castle, having banquets with the finest food in the—”

“I promise you, I was much happier having bread and wine with you,” said the King. “Or vinegar, I guess. We never did figure that one out.” He took Caroline’s hand, a sorrowful expression crossing his face. “I am sorry to play such a trick on you. It hurt me every day to lie to you. But I knew the day would come when you would answer me when I said ‘I love you,’ and it did. So now, the choice is yours.”

“What choice?”

“The truth is, we were never really married. Not legally. Which means now you have a choice. You can go back to your father’s castle and marry some other suitor…or you can stay with me. Marry me all over again.”

Now, you might think that Caroline would be furious at the King for playing this insanely elaborate, beard-related hoax on her. And maybe, somewhere inside, she was a little mad. But more than that, she was grateful. She looked back at the person she was when this whole thing started and she felt sick. How could she have thought so highly of herself that she didn’t think anyone would ever be good enough for her? How could she have been so cruel to such nice people? But living with King Thrushbeard all this time had taught her a lesson she would not soon forget.

And, so, there was a royal wedding. And this time I do get to say that they lived happily ever after…you know, cuz, before I didn’t get to say that and this time I do. Cuz they did, this time. I mean, they didn’t really get married last time, but this time they did and they wed and wedded and welded and were as happy as a penguin on a pogo stick on his way to the—

(Okay, you were warned!)

THE END






Next Week: Shelly Hobbes returns!

Tom Thumb

This is the Brothers Grimm story often confused with Andersen’s “Thumbelina.” In fact, that’s the main reason it’s taken me so long to feature it in this collection. I had to make sure it was distinct enough from the other story. As a matter of fact, the Brothers wrote two stories, one called, simply “Tom Thumb” and the other called “Tom Thumb’s Travels.” Basically, they are the same story, with some slight differences here and there.

It is a dangerous thing to say “I don’t care” when you want something. Making a wish is dangerous enough; you never know who might be listening. But to say you don’t care when you wish it is more dangerous still. It doesn’t happen often, mind, maybe once in a week in a month in a year or more. But now and then, someone makes a wish, and someone else hears them. And it all comes to pass…but maybe not the way you might think.

There was once upon a time a farmer and his wife who were very much in want of a child. For years they tried all sort of tricks and tonics and voodoo and whodoo and howdydoo with nothing to show for it. The farmer had all but given up, but his wife said, “No! I want a baby! Any baby will do. I wouldn’t care if he were odd, or misshapen. I wouldn’t care if he were no bigger than my thumb. As long as he’s mine, I would love him to bits.”

And, sure enough, ears pricked up and eyes winked and things were set in motion, and one morning, the farmer and his wife awoke, and went to the kitchen for breakfast, only to find, right in the center of their dining table, a tiny thing. So small a thing that they might not have seen it at all, but they did. It was a tiny bassinet. So small, the wood it was made of might have come from a stick or a twig. And in the bassinet, sleeping like an angel, was a baby. The smallest baby you ever saw, but a baby nonetheless. And the farmer and his wife rejoiced, for now they had the child they’d always wanted. They named him Tom, after his father, but since he was only the size of his mother’s thumb, they always called him “Tom Thumb.”

Now, as any parent will tell you, taking care of a baby isn’t easy. And if that baby happens to be the size of your thumb, well, that makes it even harder! But love can be a most powerful magic in and of itself, and it helped the farmer and his wife rise to each challenge and overcome it. And Tom Thumb grew…not much, of course. In fact, when he was sixteen years old, he was still not much bigger than his father’s thumb. But he had a lot of spirit, far more than you’d think would even fit in a boy that size. For one thing, he didn’t like to feel useless and, despite his size, was always a great help to his parents. He helped his mother clean house by getting into the hard to reach places, he kept household pests to a minimum by fighting them off with a needle for a sword, and when his father needed to go into town, he even drove his livestock by sitting inside their ears and shouting orders. Tom Thumb was a wonder, all right, and his parents were very proud of him.

One day, Tom Thumb and his father were traveling through the woods when they passed two rogues. The rogues were astonished at what they saw: A horse and cart traveling through the forest with the driver fast asleep at the reins. “How does he drive his horse so well in his sleep?” one asked the other. Then as the cart passed, they spied the tiny figure of Tom Thumb, commanding the horse from inside the animal's ear. “Look at that tiny little fellow! I bet he’s no bigger than my thumb!” A moment later, the two villains had a plan and they began to follow the cart closely as it went along its way. By and by, the horse stopped by the side of the road to rest and as soon as the cart had stopped, the rogues ran to the horse and snatched Tom Thumb out of its ear. Poor Tom Thumb was so small that his sleeping father didn’t hear him cry for help. But it was too late now, and the villains were well away.

“Do not be afraid, little one,” they told him. “We have a job for you. We are professional thieves, you see, and we are planning to rob the patrician’s house. But if you could slip in and pass the money out to us, it would be much easier. And, of course, you’ll get a full share in the take…well, full for someone your size. As much gold as you can carry, let’s say.” The two criminals laughed amongst themselves. Of course, Tom Thumb didn’t want to rob anyone, but he had an idea to teach these two a lesson, so he agreed.

They took Tom Thumb to the home of the wealthy patrician (and I suggest you Google the word if you don’t know it, cuz I’m not wasting time telling you about it now) that very night. “Okay, little man,” they whispered as they held him up to a crack in the windowpane, “it’s easy. The patrician keeps lots of gold in there. All you have to do is go in, pass it to us through the window, and no one will ever suspect. Sound good?”

“Yeah,” said Tom Thumb, softly, “no problem.” And he slid into the room through the crack in the window. He took a good look around the room and was delighted by what he saw: A big, brown hound dog tied up in a corner of the room, clearly there to protect the patrician’s gold. That was all Tom Thumb needed to see, then he shouted back to the robbers, “OKAY! I’M INSIDE! NOW I’LL GET THE GOLD AND GIVE IT TO YOU!!”

“Not so loud!” cried the rogues, but it was too late. The dog's keen ear picked up on Tom's very small shouting and he was awake and howling. A moment later a serving maid came in to quiet the dog and the two rogues, defeated, ran away never to be seen again…by the characters in this story, of course. I mean, other people saw them, they didn’t just go to a cave and stay there forever. And even if they had, they’d still see each other, so…sorry, I’m getting off subject, here.

The point is, they were gone and that was good. The bad part was that Tom Thumb was now hopelessly lost and far from home. Poor Tom Thumb was so busy teaching those crooks a lesson, he hadn’t thought about this. He slid out the crack in the window and wandered aimlessly for a while until he found a nice big pile of hay. He lay down on it and went to sleep at once.

The next morning, Tom Thumb awoke in the pile of hay to an alarming discovery. It seems that his aimless wandering, which had taken about two hours, had only taken him as far as the patrician’s stable. After a moment he realized he was bedding down in the cow’s breakfast! Before he could get away, the hay he was lying in was taken by the dairymaid and fed to the cow. Miraculously, Tom Thumb was able to avoid the teeth and keep from getting swallowed, but then he saw another handful of hay on its way to the cow’s mouth and he knew he would be swept into the cow’s stomach! So, in desperation, he cried out “No more hay! Please, no more hay!”

Now, Tom Thumb’s voice was as small as the rest of him, even when he was shouting. But being inside the cow’s mouth caused his voice to resonate and amplify so that it was quite easy for the dairymaid to hear. Of course, being unable to see Tom Thumb inside the cow’s mouth, she naturally assumed that the cow was talking to her and, under the circumstances, reacted quite reasonably: She fainted dead away. Luckily, she fainted right on top of the hay she was feeding to the cow, so she was not hurt. Neither was Tom Thumb, who climbed out of the cow’s mouth, thanked her for the assist, and went along his way. He had only a general idea of which direction his home was, based on the position of the sun in the sky, and he knew it would be a long walk, so on he went, wondering if he would every see his parents again.

After walking for some time, he looked up into the sky. The sun was right above his head. Midday. He had been walking for about six hours. He looked over his shoulder and saw…the stable. Distant, but still in sight. He guessed that, at this rate, he would see home again when he was about fifty-six years old. Depressed and hopeless, he sat on a pebble and sighed. Just then, a large red fox loped into view and, thinking Tom Thumb was a tasty morsel, snapped him up in his jaws and swallowed…or at least he tried to. But being so very small, Tom Thumb had gotten very good at not being eaten, and he put out his arms and legs and got himself stuck in the fox’s throat. The fox choked and spit him out, growled angrily at him, then turned to go along his way.

With lightning reflexes, Tom Thumb grabbed hold of the fox’s tail and pulled himself up onto his back. Now he was going down the road on foxback and, as luck would have it, he was even headed in the right direction. It was a minute or two later that Tom Thumb realized it was hardly a coincidence. He had seen this fox before; trying to kill his father’s chickens! This fox was headed straight for Tom Thumb’s house! When it arrived there, Tom, Sr. was outraged and took out his shotgun, but before he could fire, he heard a tiny familiar voice say, “No, father! Don’t shoot! It’s me!”

And that’s how Tom Thumb came back home.

THE END

If You Liked My Story, You Might Enjoy:

• Tom Thumb (1958) Russ Tamblyn plays the title character in this lively, musical adaptation. Peter Sellers and Terry-Thomas also appear.

NEXT WEEK: "The Adventures of Brer Rabbit" 

The Singing Bone

A slightly chilling tale from the Brothers Grimm.

It seems there was a savage boar rampaging the country, killing hunters, destroying crops, making life generally unbearable for the populace. The king therefore issued the following challenge: Anyone who can slay the beast (and bring back its head as proof) will get ten million gold coins, their own castle and half my kingdom. Of course, issuing challenges like this is a good way to get stupid people killed and lots of ambitious idiots died trying to slay the boar.

But then a couple of brothers went into the forest to try to kill the boar. The older brother, Terry, was brave, strong, clever and the best fighter in town. His younger brother, Buddy, was sort of dumpy, fat, not too bright, but had a good heart and wanted to help his brother get the reward which he knew he himself was not fit to earn for himself.

For three days they wandered the forest, without so much as a sign of the boar. Finally they saw it devouring the remains of a rabbit. Terry asked Buddy (very quietly) to pass him the crossbow so he could shoot the boar. But poor, foolish Buddy, dropped the crossbow and it went off, the arrow hitting a tree not three feet from the boar. The sound aroused the boar’s attention and it charged at the brothers. Panicked, Terry ran away, but Buddy stayed behind.

“You lousy pig!” he hollered at the charging boar. “I’ll teach you to scare my big brother!” And with that, he began swinging his brother’s sword wildly and by sheer chance, it sliced right through the boar’s neck. Neither one could believe it. The boar was dead. And it had been Buddy, not Terry, who had slain it. “I did it!” cried Buddy. “I actually did it! Say, does this mean I get the castle and the land and everything?”

“Yes, Buddy. Yes it does.” Terry was very disappointed. He wasn’t even happy for his brother, just mad that he wasn’t going to get the reward. The fact that it was his own fault for running away like a scared cockatoo and that his brave, loyal brother really did deserve it didn’t matter. He was Buddy! He was the dopey, stupid-looking one. But I’m Terry, he thought. I’m the handsome, strong son. I look like a hero, not Buddy!

They gathered up the boar's head and put it in a sack before returning to the kingdom to claim the prize. All the way there, Buddy was talking excitedly about how their lives were going to change. “I mean, I know, technically, I killed the boar, but I couldn’t have done it without you, Terry! We’ll share the prize, that’s what we’ll do. We’ll both live in the castle and rule over the half of the kingdom. I wonder if we get to pick which half? Anyway, we’ll be rich and prosperous and we’ll probably meet some nice girls and get married. It’ll be so much fun, huh, Terry? Terry, are you okay? You don’t look so good.”

Indeed, Terry was looking pretty awful. Between that and Buddy’s throat being dry from all the talking, they stopped to rest at a small pond. Buddy went down to the water to take a drink. As he knelt by the pond, bent over the water, an awful thought entered Terry’s mind. They were alone in the woods. Nobody for miles. No one actually saw what happened. I’ve got the sword and the head…he had made his decision. He took his hunting knife…crept up behind Buddy…and stabbed him in the heart. He buried his brother’s body right there, by the pond, under an elm tree. Then Terry returned to the kingdom alone to claim his prize.

Many years passed and by now, more people had moved to the kingdom, so the forest had to be pushed back to make room for more homes. The pond and the elm tree that marked Buddy’s grave were removed and a farmer was now living on that spot, plowing his land to plant some crops. His plow uncovered a bone which he threw to his dog without thinking. But when his son came to play with the dog and saw the bone in his mouth, he took it and looked at it more closely. Too big for a rabbit or any kind of bird, the boy thought. Maybe this is the bone of some great beast that lived in the forest before all this farmland was here. In any case, he thought it was neat and decided to hollow it out, carve some holes in it and turn it into a flute. But when he sat down to play it, instead of musical notes, words came out. The bone was singing, and what it sang was:

     Oh, little farmer’s son

     Listen to my tale

     I slew a boar so long ago

     My courage did not fail

     My wicked brother killed me then

     To claim my prize for his own

     He lay me ‘neath a tall elm tree

     Now I’m nothing but this bone

Needless to say the boy was horrified by what he had heard. He played it through a few more times and the words didn’t change. The bone was singing to the boy. He played it for his father, and then it sang “Oh, Farmer of this land” and he too was shocked. They went at once to the king and played it for him. But this time, it sang “Your majesty, my sovereign king…” The king sent for his longtime ally, Duke Terry and the truth was revealed. Now everyone knew that it was Buddy, and not Terry, who had slain the boar all those years ago. For his crimes, he was stripped of his title, his land and his castle and his gold was distributed among the poor. He was not thrown in prison, but rather forced to wander the earth for the rest of his life with the Singing Bone, as a constant reminder of his crimes and of the kind, gentle brother who only wanted to share his good fortune with the man he loved more than any other.

THE END


If You Liked My Story, You Might Enjoy:

• The Wonderful World of the Brothers Grimm (1962) In this version, Terry-Thomas and Buddy Hackett (see?) are a knight and his squire who are charged by a king to rid the land of a ferocious dragon. This was probably changed to add more traditional "fairy tale" elements to the movie. Also, in this version, the bone magically reconstitutes the squire who becomes master of the knight...but that's weird, so I didn't do it.

For More Great Stories, Click HERE

The Man Who Spun Straw Into Gold

Of course, we all know what this story is really called, but I always thought it was a shame that the biggest surprise in the story was given away by the title. So I came up with this alternate title, which preserves the mystery of the man's name. 

It came to pass that King Rupert’s mother decided he needed a wife. You might not immediately think that this was any of his mother’s business and, in fact, the king himself felt very much the same way. But the Queen Mother (which is what you call ladies whose sons are kings) assured him that she knew best. Rupert was very young for a king, having taken over the throne following the death of his father when poor Rupert was only fifteen years old. Only three years had past and he was slightly more confident in his kingly abilities, but it turns out it’s hard to gain self-confidence when your mother is standing over your shoulder subtly hinting at what she would do if she were in charge of the kingdom and saying things like “Mother knows best,” which is very hard to argue with, especially when you are of a sensitive disposition, like our King Rupert.

So once it was decided that Rupert needed a wife, the Queen Mother issued a proclamation, which is a thing royal persons get to do, and sent her most loyal men out into the kingdom to find someone worthy to be the King’s new bride. Someone beautiful. Someone special. Someone unique.

“Someone,” said Rupert to himself, “who likes me.”

Meanwhile in the Village of Zam, on the far end of King Rupert’s kingdom, lived a humble Yam Farmer named Yom and his beautiful daughter, Pamela. In other words, Pam and Yom the Yam Farmers of Zam, which is hard to say but fun if you can pull it off. Pamela took very good care of her father and helped keep his yam business afloat. And, of course, all the local boys were fascinated by her beauty and wanted to be her boyfriend, but she didn’t want any of them. All they cared about was her beauty and she wanted someone nice. Someone kind. Someone special.

“Someone,” she told herself often, “who likes me.”

One day, when Pamela had gone into town to buy some supplies, one of the shopkeepers noticed her handkerchief.

“Ooh!” said Mrs. Miggins. “What a lovely hanky. Wherever did you get it?”

“I made it myself,” said Pamela proudly. “I make lots of things with my mother’s old spinning wheel.”

“Well it’s just lovely. Would you make one for me? I’d pay for it.”

Pamela was more than happy to oblige and the next day she came back to town to give Mrs. Miggins her very own, homemade handkerchief. And Mrs. Miggins showed her friends and they all thought it was fine. And they all found out that Pamela, the yam farmer’s daughter had made it and wanted their own. First it was hankies, then it was stockings and trousers and jackets and before long, Pamela was making clothes and things for everyone in the Village of Zam.

And that would’ve been just fine, until one day when Yom went into town himself. He was talking to a shopkeeper who noted that he and his daughter had a lot of extra money now that she was making these things.

“I know,” said Yom, never dreaming that his next words would change the course of his and his daughter’s lives forever, “sometimes it’s like she’s spinning pure gold on that wheel.”

Now I’m sure you know how careless talk can get out of hand and, as it happened, someone overheard Yom saying that. Then that person told a friend, and that person told a friend, and that person didn’t really have many friends, but he told someone anyway, and so on down the line until the entire village was irrevocably convinced that Pamela could spin pure gold on her spinning wheel.

By a stroke of incredibly bad luck, it wasn’t long after this rumor started being spread that King Rupert’s mother herself came to town to find a bride for her son. She and her advisors asked around to see if there was a girl in town who was remarkable, special, unique or otherwise noteworthy.

“Well, you’ll want Pamela Yom, the Yam Farmer’s Daughter,” was the unanimous reply. “She can spin straw into gold!” Obviously, this statement was of great interest to Rupert’s mother and she and her men went at once to Yom’s Yam Farm and asked to see Pamela…who was quite overwhelmed by the whole thing, lemme tell you. First of all to be talking to the Queen Mother at all was something extraordinary. Not to mention the fact that she had sought her out and specifically requested to see her, which was nothing short of a tremendous honor.

Needless to say, what with one thing and another floating through her head, Pamela was having a hard time really listening to what her ruler was saying to her. She was nodding her head and saying “Yes, Your Majesty” without really thinking about it or knowing what she was reacting to. So when the Queen Mother suddenly said, “Why, this is wonderful! How do you do it?” she was slightly thrown off. It quickly became apparent that simply nodding her head wasn’t going to cut it this time, but she had no idea what the king was talking about.

“Oh,” she said, thinking on her feet, “it’s an old family secret.”

“I would be honored if you would accompany me to the castle and perform this feat for me,” said the Queen Mother. “And I’m sure my handsome and charming son would be honored as well.”

“Come? With you? To the castle? To perform…what feat?”

“Why, spinning straw into gold, of course.” 

“Oh, of course. Spinning straw into—WHAT?!?!?”

Now, I think I had better explain something to you. The Queen Mother was an amalgamation of the worst qualities of both queens and mothers. Powerful, hot-tempered, protective, demanding, short-sighted, and unwilling to accept certain unpleasant truths. She was also very imposing and Pamela found she was actually afraid of the old woman. Not to mention how horrible it would be to admit that she hadn’t been listening all this time. To deny that she had this ability now would be dangerous and Pamela didn’t dare do it…So, nervous as a mouse in a cat disguise, she journeyed back to the King’s castle, wondering all the way what the heck she was going to do.

Pamela was in serious trouble. As soon as she had arrived at the castle, she had been shown by two guards to the King and when she saw him for the first time, she completely forgot about the terrible fix she was in for the briefest of moments. She could see in the King’s eyes that he was a good man, an honorable man, a gentle and forgiving man…

Course, it didn’t hurt that he was also a major boy-babe.

They talked briefly before the Queen Mother returned and said, “Come, come, son. Don’t talk the girl’s head off. She has work to do.”

“I have?” said Pamela, slowly coming back to reality.

“Of course. All that straw isn’t going to spin itself into gold.”

“Mother,” ventured the King, nervously, “is this test really nessa—”

“It most certainly is nessa, don’t talk back to your mother. Come along, young lady.” So saying, she grabbed Pamela roughly by the arm and dragged her to a large room which was full almost completely with straw. The only thing in the room that wasn’t straw was the wooden spinning wheel in the center of the room. “Your task is simple,” said the Queen Mother. “You have one night to spin this entire room full of straw into solid gold. If this is not done by tomorrow morning, you will be arrested for perjury and punished to the full extent of the law. Sweet dreams.” And with that, the Queen Mother walked out of the room, shut the door, and the last thing Pamela heard was the turning of a heavy lock.

Given the circumstances, I think it’s fair to say that Pamela conducted herself very reasonably: She fell onto the nearest bail of hay and began to sob uncontrollablly.

“Don’t cry, my dear,” came a voice. Pamela looked up and was simply shocked at what she saw. A little man was standing over her. He had a long nose and a wicked grin, very bushy eyebrows and long hair starting at the back of his head and going down past his shoulders. His clothes were ragged and they looked as if they had been sewn together from pieces of hundreds of other garments. When Pamela looked closely at them, she found that this was indeed the case.

“Whatever has made you so unhappy?” asked the Weird Little Man. “It cannot be as bad as all that?” Pamela told the Weird Little Man all about her situation, and all the while he listened very intently. “There, there, child,” he said when she was through and had begun to cry again. “I can help you.”

“You can? How can you?”

“Well, by a staggering coincidence, it just so happens that I can spin straw into gold.”

“You…you can? You mean it’s really possible?”

“It is if you have the knack. And I most certainly have the knack.”

“Would you please help me by spinning this straw into gold?”

“I would be happy to…”

“Oh thank you, my little—”

“…for a fee.”

“A fee? What sort of fee?”

“Well, what have you got?”

The only remotely valuable thing Pamela owned was the ring on her right pinky which had once belonged to her mother. She hated the thought of losing it, but as she hated the thought of losing her life even more, she pulled it off and offered it to the Weird Little Man, who took it greedily and examined it closely.

“This will do nicely,” he said. “Now, you lie down and get some rest, child. I have some work to do.” The Weird Little Man snickered gleefully and went to work. Pamela lay back on a bail of hay to watch the Weird Little Man work. She fell asleep to the hypnotic sight of amber bails of hay turning magically into fine golden thread.

When Pamela awoke the next morning, it was to a blinding light all around her. The sun was coming in through the window and reflecting off the thousand bails of hay which had now become a thousand bails of gold. It was a stunningly beautiful sight. The Weird Little Man was nowhere to be seen, but Pamela didn’t care. Shortly after she awoke, the door to her prison opened and in stepped King Rupert, who was stunned by what he saw as well.

“Holy cow!” he cried in a way most unbecoming of a king. “You really did it!”

“Er…yeah, I guess I did,” said Pamela, unconvincingly. But it seemed to convince the King who was very impressed by her talent and asked her at one if she would be his queen.

“Not so fast!” came a chillingly familiar voice as the Queen Mother entered. “I think this is not sufficient dowery for a king’s bride, don’t you agree, my son?”

“Well, frankly, Mother—”

“Yes, I thought you would. So, we’ll prepare another room full of straw and tonight—”

“What?” Pamela was unable to stop herself from crying out. “You want me to do that again?”

“It’s no trouble, is it?” asked the Queen Mother. “After all, I only want to make sure my son is marrying the very best maiden in the land. Unless you think he doesn’t deserve the best.”

Pamela looked at the man she now realized she wanted to marry more than anything else in the world and agreed that he deserved the very best. And, though not certain that she qualified, especially with all the lying she was doing, she spent the rest of the day with the King, becoming better acquainted. It might have been the happiest day of her life, until sundown, when the Queen Mother took her and locked her up in another roomfull of straw until morning.

Surrounded once again by bails upon bails of straw, Pamela fell once again to despair. She knew there was no chance that the miracle which saw her through the previous night would repeat itself to save her now…The fact that it did just goes to show how wrong a person can be about this kind of thing.

“Oh, dear me,” said the Weird Little Man by way of a greeting. “More straw? Whatever shall you do?”

“Please, good sir,” begged Pamela. “You are the only one in the world who can help me. I don’t have any more jewelry to offer you, but—”

“I am not in the habit of working for free,” said the Weird Little Man. “But seeing as how you’re desperate, perhaps we can come to some other arrangment.”

“What do you mean?” asked Pamela. “What do you want?”

Here the Weird Little Man grinned, somewhat maniacally and said, in a very low voice, “Your first born child.”

“You want me to give you my first born child in exchange for spinning straw into gold?”

“If this straw is not spun into gold by dawn, you will be facing certain death. The decision is up to you.”

Well, Pamela thought about this, and the idea of parting with her future son or daughter did not appeal to her. But she was desperate and out of options, so she nodded in agreement…and once again she awoke to the sight of a roomful of gold. The Weird Little Man had, again, vanished without a trace, but he was not missed in the hours that followed when the Queen Mother finally consented to the marriage, arranged for the engagement party, prepared for the wedding, sent invitations to all the important heads of state in the land, and about a million other preparations which thoroughly exhausted her.

It should come as no surprise then that, shortly after the joyous union of her son, Rupert, and his true love, Pamela, the Queen Mother passed away. But this was all to the good as she was rather old and she did die happy in the knowledge that she had found the perfect wife for her son.

The wedding itself took place a mere week after the engagement was announced. It was a beautiful event, and the bride wore a gown made from the very golden thread that everyone believed she had made. They were a very happy couple, and Pamela made a very fine queen. In fact, it looked very much as though it was all going to end happily ever after right then and there, until that terrible, wonderful day when Pamela gave birth to a little daughter, who was called Goldie.

But in all the joy of the last several months, Pamela had completely forgotten her promise to the Weird Little Man. And a few days after Goldie was born, Pamela was cradling the child in her arms when she looked up and saw the Weird Little Man had appeared in front of her.

“The time has come to pay your fee,” said the Weird Little Man, wringing his hands with glee. “Give me the child.”

“No! I won’t let you take her!”

“We had a deal! Or would you like me to tell the entire kingdom who really spun all that straw into gold?”

Pamela knew what would happen if anyone ever found out. But she also knew that she could never part with her child. She clutched Goldie tightly to her chest and cried and cried to the Weird Little Man for mercy. After many long minutes, he finally relented…slightly.

“I will give you one last chance,” said the Weird Little Man. “I will come at this same hour for the next three days. I will stay for three hours each day. If, by the end of the third hour on the third day, you have not been able to guess my name, I will have your daughter!” With a high-pitched cackle, the Weird Little Man vanished. Pamela had no idea what to do, and her tears of sorrow attracted her husband’s attention.

“Pamela, dear,” said Rupert. “What is the matter? Is Goldie all right?”

“She’s fine, she’s just…er, just a little…” Pamela looked into the eyes of her husband. She remembered looking in his eyes the day they met and how much she had been willing to risk in order to marry him. How ever since they got married he had been so devoted to her. How many times she had lain next to him in bed and felt truly happy. She knew that she loved the King with all her heart and could not bear to lie to him anymore.

She told him the truth. The whole truth. How she had misunderstood the Queen Mother when she had first came to her house, how she had inadvertently lied about being able to spin straw into gold, how the Weird Little Man had saved her and how he had given her three days to save her baby. And to her great surprise, King Rupert was not mad.

“I knew you couldn’t do it since the beginning.”

“What? What do you mean?”

“That morning, when I unlocked the door and saw all the gold. You looked as amazed as I did. That’s how I knew that someone else had done it for you. And I certainly didn’t care to find out who it was.”

“But…you married me anyway?”

“Pamela, darling, I didn’t marry you because you could spin straw into gold. I married you because I love you.”

“I love you too, darling.”

“But now we have work to do.” King Rupert summoned his soldiers and gave them an order. “Get the scribes and all my advisors, send them out into the city and the mountains and the forests. Ask every single person they can find what their name is. I need to know every single name in the world.” The men did their master proud. They fanned out all over Rupert’s kingdom and gathered as many names as they could. So when the Weird Little Man appeared again the next day, Pamela had a very, very long list to read from.

“Tom?”

“No.”

“Dave?”

“No.”

“Stuart?”

“No.”

“Eddie?”

“No…”

For three hours they continued in this way. Pamela reading the names off and the Weird Little Man telling her no. By the time he left, she had gone through the entire list. So King Rupert sent his men out even further and ordered them to gather even more names. Strange names, women’s names, dogs’ names. So when the Weird Little Man returned on the second day, the list was twice as long. But still the answer was the same.

“Ferdinand?”

“No.”

“Magellan?”

“No.”

“Dashiell?”

“No.”

“Polonius?”

“No.”

“Templeton?”

“God, no!”

“Ximmenex?”

“Nope.”

Three more hours passed and they were no closer to learning the Weird Little Man’s real name. The next morning, when the soldiers reported, the news was very dire indeed.

“We have scoured every corner of the globe, sire. There are simply no more names to be found.”

“Nonsense! There must be!”

But there were none. As the hour of the Weird Little Man’s return grew nearer, Pamela and Rupert were beginning to lose all hope. Until, about ten minutes before he was scheduled to return, there came a loud knocking on the bedroom door. When King Rupert answered it, a very bedraggled-looking courtier entered.

“Forgive this intrusion, sire,” said the courtier. “But I have something very important to tell you.”

“Go on,” said the queen, hopefully.

 “Your majesties,” he said, bowing to the King and Queen. “I am one of the hundreds, nay, thousands, who have been assisting you in your quest for names. I believe I have discovered a new one that might help you in your quest.”

“What is it?” Pamela asked frantically.

“I was in the forest late last night, trying to find something that had been overlooked. We were, all of us, very devoted to this mission, Majesty, as none of us wish any harm to befall the newborn princess. Anyway, I was very tired and had not eaten in hours. But I looked up and I saw a campfire burning. I moved carefully toward it, in case whoever built the fire was an enemy. Instead, I just saw a Weird Little Man, wearing tattered clothes. He was dancing around the fire gleefully and he was singing a song. It went sort of like:

            When tomorrow’s sun has set

            Then I will have won my bet

            And at last, perhaps I’ll get

            My very own claim to fame.

            When you outsmart a Queen and King

            Then you can do anything

            That is why I loudly sing

            Rumplestilskin, that’s my name!

“Rumplestilskin. I don’t believe I’ve ever heard that name before. Did that help at all?” asked the courtier.

The King and Queen smiled. “Yes, young man,” said the King. “That helps a great deal.”

The next morning, the Helpful Courtier, woke up to discover that he had been promoted and was now one of the King and Queen’s closest advisors, with a significant pay rise, a much nicer home for he and his wife, and six fine stallions in his own private stable. And that evening, right on schedule, the Weird Little Man appeared.

“Last night!” he said, boastfully. “Where is your list?”

“I’m afraid it’s much shorter today,” said Pamela, trying to pretend she was unhappy. “Is your name Ringo?”

“No.”

“Yensid?”

“No.”

“Lancelot?”

“No.”

“Rumplestilskin?”

“N—WHAT?!?!?”

“Rumplestilskin,” repeated Pamela. “That is your name, isn’t it?”

“But…how…why…if…and…but…chicken…that…you…ARGH!!” Rumplestilskin screamed in anguish and stomped around the room. Eventually he got so mad that he stamped his right foot so hard it went through the floorboards and stuck there, then he took his left leg in his hands and pulled himself into two pieces, like a wishbone, both of which vanished in a puff of smoke leaving not a trace behind.

And from that day on, no one in the kingdom of King Rupert, Queen Pamela and Princess Goldie ever heard the name of Rumplestilskin ever again.

THE END

If You Liked My Story, You Might Enjoy:

• “Faerie Tale Theatre” (TV) How weird is it that so many consecutive stories have been on this show? Anyway, this version featured show host Shelley Duvall and Ned Beatty as the happy couple and Herve Villechaice (the little guy from Fantasy Island) as the eponymous imp.
• "Muppet Classic Theatre" (Video) Gonzo the Great is brilliantly typecast as the Weird Little Man. In this version, the king and queen (Kermit and Piggy, of course) learn that their tormentor went to summer camp and therefore correctly presume that his mother sewed his name into his clothes.

NEXT WEEK: “Godfather Death”