Godfather Death

Death is a pretty common theme in fairy tales, but there have been only a hand full of stories about Death. One noteable exception is "Godfather Death" by the Brothers Grimm. My telling, however, incorporates elements from a few other stories, including “Death’s Messengers” and “The Wonderful Glass” also by the Brothers Grimm and clearly descendants of the same ancestral story.

I have, in the past, been criticized for this blog's pro-happy ending stance. Certain readers have indicated that my reworking of otherwise unhappy tales is "giving them diabetes," to paraphrase one specific unsolicited review. If you are one of these who are disatisfied with happy endings, I reccomend that this week's entry be the last that you read. I also reccomend you avoid fairy tales entirely and read grown up books, pausing only briefly to wonder what made you think you'd find morbid material in a collection of what are, essentially, childrens' stories.

However, if for no other reason than to prove to my friend that I can write dark stories, I just choose not to because they are bummers, I offer this week's story. A sort of morality play on the subject of avoiding, outsmarting, and conquering one of the admittedly few things that every single living creature on this planet has in common.

Everything that lives, dies. This is the way of the world, and cannot be changed nor altered in any way. Death, with his sweeping black cloak, his cold, empty eyes and his beckoning hand, can be delayed, of course, through good health and security, but even then, he might have an unforseen trick up his sleeve. But we shouldn't fear his coming. We should just make sure that the life we live before he arrives has been a good one, as this has so far proved to be the only thing that makes knowledge of Death's arrival easier to handle: A life well-lived. Avoid, Death, certainly. But don't try to conquer him. That is the mistake made by the Death's Godsons.

The father of these infamous young men was traveling much further and much longer than he should have at his age when he come upon a figure lying prone by the side of the road. Without a thought, he rushed over to see if he could help the man. Had he paused, he might've noticed that the only things protruding from the figure's black, black cloak were the hands and feet of a skeleton. But it was not until he had helped the spectre to its feet that this man realized that he was in the presence of Death himself. And, like virtually all men before and since, he feared the cloaked figure immensely.

“I was waiting on this road for you, old man,” said Death, “when I was set upon by a pack of wild dogs. That is how I came to be hurt when you found me. But now, you must come with me, for your time is nigh.” The old man continued to shiver and sweat, but he nodded his acceptance to Death. “However,” said Death after a moment's thought, “you did help me when you had no reason to, and for that I believe I owe you. I shall be godfather to your three sons,” (it didn't occur to the man to ask how Death knew of his sons), “and to each I shall give a great gift. A powerful, unique item which will ensure their great fortune for the rest of their days.” The man thanked Death and went to his reward peacefully, knowing, at least, that his sons would be all right.

Death has been called many things, but he could not be called a liar. He was as good as his word. He bestowed upon his godsons three objects of unparalleled power. To Tom, the eldest son, he gave a small glass full to the brim with water which, though quite cool to the touch, appeared to be perpetually boiling. “If you come across a person on their sick bed,” he explained, “look at them through the water in this glass. And if you see me at the foot of the bed, then they can be cured by sprinkling them with water from the glass. But if I am at the head of the bed, then it is too late, and I must have them.”

Philip, the middle son, received a magic sack. “Bid any animal get inside,” came Death's explanation, “and they will do so, and stay in the sack until you let them out.” Philip asked if it would work for men just as well. “Man is an animal, too,” was Death's sinister reply.

Finally, there was Harold. Harold, the youngest of the three, was the closest to their father and took the news of his passing the hardest of all. To him, Death gave a magic mirror to hang in his home. “If you miss your father, or any deceased person, simply think of them while looking in this mirror, and they will be reflected as though they are standing next to you. You can talk to them, ask them questions, but they can never leave the mirror.”

“Thank you,” said Harold, the first brother to do so, upon receiving his gift. “I'll use it well.”

Tom used the magic glass to become a great Healer. From all over the country, people would come to him with their ailing friends and relations and beg him for help. So he would go the sickbed, and look at them through his magic glass. And when he found Death at the foot of the bed, he sprinkled the cool, boiling water over the patient and they would be instantly cured. But when he found his godfather at the head of the bed, he told the family that there was nothing he could do, that the patient was beyond help. Of course, some people were upset to hear this and got angry with Tom, but most, knowing his power from his reputation, understood that if he said he couldn't help, he could not help, and thanked him for his time and counsel.

And all was going well for Tom, until the fateful day when he fell in love. He was taking a drink at a tavern when the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen burst in. “Are you the great healer? My father is very ill. Please, come quickly!”

Happy to help, espeically one so beautiful, Tom followed her to her father's bed. He took out his magic glass and looked through...and, alas, there sat Death at the head of the bed. The old man's time had come, and he, Tom, had to accept that. But he could not bring himself to let down this woman who was counting on him. So he hastily ordered, much to the confusion of the assembled, that the old man be turned in his bed, and his head placed at the foot of the bed, and his feet placed at the head. When this was done, Tom looked once again through his glass, and there, sitting at what was now the foot of the bed, was Death, looking furious. But the water was sprinkled and the old man revived. He was so pleased to be cured that he at once offered Tom his daughter's hand in marriage.

It was the happiest moment of Tom's life...but when he was alone again, he looked into the magic glass and in the bubbling water he saw his godfather looking back at him. “How dare you defy my will!” Death cried. “You know the rules. When I mark someone, they are mine, and you must not interfere. I will forgive you this time, but do not let this happen again!” The water bubbled more fiercely and the image of Death dissolved.

But Tom wasn't worried about his godfather's threat. He married the beautiful woman, lived in a beautiful home, had three beautiful children and lived a truly beautiful life...but Tom was tempted once again when he was called to the home of a poor old woman with many children who depended on her to survive. And when he looked through the glass, Death was at the head of her bed. Out of a desire to be merciful and spare these poor children, Tom once again cheated Death out of another soul and cured the old woman. The water in the glass bubbled fiercely and overflowed, spilling on Tom's hands and burning them, though the water in the glass remained cool.

A few years passed and Tom, his burn long ago healed, had once again forgotten all about Death's warnings. Until the terrible day when his own son took ill. And Tom knew that Death was challenging him, daring him to defy his will a third time and his son was just a pawn in Death's twisted game. Filled with the fury of a father protecting his son, Tom sent word to his brother, Philip, to come and see his ailing nephew...and to bring his sack.

Philip arrived only a few days later. In the intervening years he had become a successful hunter, thanks to the magic of his sack. The rarest and most elusive game walked willingly into his sack at his command. He had a wife and children of his own and they wanted for nothing. But when Philip heard of the cruel trick Death was playing on Tom and his family, he was just as angry as his brother. And the two of them went to the boy's sick bed. And Tom looked through his magic glass. And there was Death, standing at the head of the boy's bed with a sickening smile on his skeleton face. And Philip looked through the glass too and cried out, “Death! Get into my sack!” Death had no choice. He climbed into Philip's sack. Philip tied it shut at once and he and Tom took it outside, promising to tie the sack to a high tree branch and never let him out again.

“No!” cried Death from inside the sack. “I beg of you, let me out! Let me out! Do you not know what the world would be like without me? If I cannot claim the souls of the deceased, then everyone will live forever. The world will get so full up that there won’t be room for everyone. I must perform my duties!”

“We will release you, Godfather,” said Tom, with cruelty poured into each word. “But you are to leave me alone from now on.”

“I shall,” said Death and the brothers released him. “Perhaps,” said Death as he departed, “in the future you will learn to choose your words with greater care.” And with no further explanation, he was gone.

Of course, Tom's son was cured at once. The whole family was glad of this and Philip took his magic sack and headed for his own home, to tell his own wife and children of the good news. But when Tom looked at his magic glass again, he found the water was still. The bubbles had gone. He put his finger in. The water was tepid, room temperature. It was just an ordinary glass filled with ordinary water. And suddenly the meaning of Death's parting words became clear to him. He had chosen his words poorly and Death had sworn to leave Tom alone from now on.

The years passed and there was sickness, and injury, but always recovery. The children grew and left, starting families of their own. Tom and his wife grew very, very old together before she finally succumbed to Death and passed away. In time, Tom's brothers passed away and left their treasures to him. More time passed and even his children had grown old and gone with Death to the next world. But Death would not come for Tom. He grew old, he grew sick, he grew weak. But Death would not come for Tom. He sat alone in his home, with no one and nothing to comfort him, except an empty glass, a burlap sack and a mirror.

Tom looked at himself in the mirror. His face was lined and gray and, were he not moving, a stranger might well think he had died years ago. He could not help but think of his brothers, and as soon as he did, there they were, reflected in the mirror on either side of him and, without thinking, Tom looked to see if they were actually standing next to him. Then he turned back to the mirror. “At least we can see each other again,” he said. His eye fell to his younger brother, Harold, who was smiling warmly at him. “Tell me, brother,” Tom said, “how did you manage to live so happily and so well. Why were you not burdened with Death’s gifts as I was?”

“I used the mirror to speak to our father, and other deceased persons. From them I gained wisdom and knowledge which helped me to lead a long, fulfilling life. And when my father appeared in the mirror and told me that my godfather had come for me, I accepted it. I didn’t fight, I didn’t beg for more time. I simply went with Death when he arrived.”

“Death,” said Philip, sagely, “is not so terrible or difficult or frightful as life.”

THE END

If You Liked My Story, You Might Enjoy:

• "Jim Henson's The Storyteller" (TV) The episode "The Soldier and Death" uses  elements from the same stories I culled from. It is based on an old Russian fable, which may have been the ancestral story I alluded to in my introduction.
• "The Tales of Beedle the Bard" by J.K. Rowling. In this companion volume to her 'Harry Potter' series, Ms. Rowling gives us five fairy tales such as wizarding children might have heard while we were hearing Snow White and Cinderella. The best of these is, in my opinion, "The tale of the Three Brothers" which features prominently in the last Potter novel, "Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows." Perhaps the Grimm story inspired Ms. Rowling with the idea of Death bestowing gifts on humans which are then used to try and outdo him.

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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”

Rapunzel

Next Wednesday, Disny’s newest animated fairy tale opens in theatres nationwide. Though it is called Tangled, it is based on this classic tale from the Brothers Grimm, though it has been given a decidely different slant. I just thought that I should bring out my version first, knowing full well that it will suffer by comparison.

No theme seems more prevalent in these tales than the suffering of beautiful women at the hands of jealous, ugly witches. This particular story, however, has an interesting twist, which was explored most expertly by James Lapine and songwriter Stephen Sondheim in their Tony-winning musical Into the Woods. Here the witch keeps Rapunzel not as a trophy, but as a daughter. She truly loves Rapunzel (or as close as she can come to love) and wishes to shield her from the outside world. But her love is selfish, and leads to her eventual destruction, as does all love which is anything less than pure and selfless.

And if you don’t believe that kind of love can exist, you are most definitely reading the wrong blog…heck, you’re probably reading the wrong author.

  

M

any, many years ago, back when you weren’t even born, a baker and his wife lived in a little house near the woods. They were not wealthy, but had everything they really needed. Indeed, the Baker’s Wife was expecting a child.

The funny thing about women when they’re in a family way, is that they tend to get unusual cravings. Some mothers-to-be like odd flavors of ice cream or bizarre food combinations like watermelon and chop suey (ew!). But the Baker’s Wife had a different sort of appetite. See, her bedroom window overlooked the most beautiful vegetable garden in the world. She told her husband that she absolutely needed a salad made from that lettuce.

The funny thing about men whose wives are in a family way, is that they tend to do all manner of stupid things to make their brides happy. Ordinarily, of course, the Baker would not dare fetch any vegetables from that garden, because that garden was kept by a wicked old witch with terrible dark powers. But, the flora of the Witch cast a strange spell on the wife, and she refused all food except the Witch’s Lettuce, so the Baker agreed.

That night, when the Witch was sure to be asleep, he climbed over the garden wall and started picking as many heads of lettuce as he could carry. And just when he had all he could carry and was on his way back over the wall he heard a voice from behind him cry out:

“Stop, thief!”

A bolt of power struck him and he fell from the wall. He looked up and saw the Witch standing over him! A horrible, ugly witch with a hump and a clawlike hand which clutched her magic staff.

“How dare you defile my garden!” cried the Witch. “I should turn you into…into…well, something pretty bad, I can tell you!”

“Please, Madame Witch,” pleaded the Baker. “Have mercy!” He had to say this a few times because the witch wasn’t really listening. She was trying to decide what to change him into.

“Mercy?” she said when she finally snapped out of it. “Why should I be merciful to a petty thief?”

“I’m not a thief, honestly. I only wanted your vegetables for my wife. She is with child and has an uncontrollable desire for greens! And, as everyone knows yours are the finest vegetables in all the kingdom…” This was a pretty lame attempt at sucking up and the witch knew it, but she did stay her hand.

The truth is that witches are not necessarily vindictive and merciless. And this one appreciated the Baker’s predicament. If his wife said she wanted the witch’s lettuce, what could a devoted husband do? And, after all, she had plenty of vegetables to spare…but, darn it, that lettuce was her favorite! And she couldn’t let him get away with it!

“All right,” she said when she had reached her decision. “You may take as much as you wish. But listen well! If you want something from me, I demand something from you!”

“But what could a humble Baker own that is of any value to a witch? We have nothing of any great worth!”

“Don’t you? Did you or did you not, just tell me that your wife was going to have a baby?”

In a fit of desperation, the deal was made. And soon thereafter, the Baker’s Wife gave birth to a beautiful daughter. They begged and pleaded, but the Witch would have none of it. A bargain had been made and the Witch intended the Baker to honor it. However, before she left with the child, she made the Baker and his Wife a promise: That she would protect the child from the evils of the world. And with that, the witch vanished into the night with her stolen daughter.

Seventeen years went by, and the little girl (whom the Witch had named “Rapunzel,” being another word for lettuce) had grown into a great beauty. Fair of skin, fair of voice, fair of manner, fair of eyes…and her hair…well, that was the most remarkable thing of all. She had never had it cut, so it grew down to her feet and well past. She had to be careful when she moved, for fear it would snag on something…

Not that she had that much room in which to move. For, you see, the Witch had been as good as her word to the Baker and his Wife, if not better. She had taken tremendous steps to protect Rapunzel from the outside world. She had even built a large tower in the middle of the forest and shut Rapnuzel inside. She was high above the ground and the tower had no doors, or stairs, and only one small window at the very top. The only way the Witch could get in or out was to climb Rapunzel’s hair like a rope! When she wanted to visit, she stood at the base of the tower and sang out:

Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair

That I may climb the golden stair!

Every time she heard this, Rapunzel was to lower her hair for the Witch to climb up. Once inside, the Witch would bring food or drink, give Rapunzel lessons or simply talk pleasantly of this and that.

Poor Rapunzel. She longed to see the world with her own eyes. Meet people, have adventures…get a bloody haircut! But the Witch said no. There are dangerous things out in the world, and she would not let Rapunzel get herself into trouble. It looked as if no one would be able to free Rapunzel from her unfortunate predicament…

Nobody, that is, until one day, when Prince Roger was traveling through the forest with his right hand man, Count Basie (an unfortunate coincidence). Roger was an adventurer, and always eager to try new things. He saw the world as a challenge to be faced and fought. Count Basie, for his part, wished that his master would go a little easy sometimes, or at least stop forcing the Poor Count to go with him.

Today they were getting lost. Prince Roger would often get deliberately and hopelessly lost, just to see how fast he could find his way again. In this case, however, he was getting loster than he’d ever lost before. Deeper and deeper into the heart of the forest until, if he took one more step, he’d officially be moving out of the forest.

That sentence makes sense, just think about it for a minute.

“Congratulations,” said Count Basie, sarcastically. “You’ve gotten yourself hopelessly lost in uncharted forest to die miserabley of starvation and/or cold. What are you going to do next?”

“First I’m going to fire my sarcastic companion,” said the Prince. “Don’t worry, Count Basie, this is easy. We’ll be out of here in no time. Just listen for birdsong and that will tell us roughly where we are.”

The men listened, and they did hear a song. But it was not a bird’s song. No bird could sing this beautifully. Birds got into fights over who sounded more like this voice. It was a woman’s voice. The most beautiful voice Prince Roger had ever heard. Without waiting for the Count, he pulled his horse’s reins and sped through the woods after the voice.

It was then that he saw Rapunzel’s Tower. He saw the Witch approaching it and calling out:

Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair

That I may climb the golden stair!

And within moments, a beuatiful rope of flaxon hair was lowered and the Witch climbed it and dissapeared within. But this was all Prince Roger needed to hear to know exactly what was happening. The girl, apparently called “Rapunzel” was being held prisoner in this tower by that horrible Witch. He could barely see her through her tiny window as she pulled up her hair, but what he saw was lovely and graceful. And she sang beautifully. This, he reasoned, was enough to rescue her by.

“We should return to the palace,” said Count Basie.

“Yes,” said Roger, not daring to take his eyes away fro Rapunzel. “But tomorrow I will return to this spot, and rescue Rapunzel before that horrible Witch returns.” He said this with great determination, then proceeded to navigate his way out of the woods in less than five minutes.

The next day, Rapunzel was reading a book when she heard a familiar phrase:

Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair

That I may climb the golden stair!

Obediently, Rapunzel lowered her hair in the usual way. She started wrapping it around the bedpost about a foot and a half from her scalp and lowered the rest out the window so that the tugging wouldn’t hurt her (you’d be surprised how long it took her to figure that one out). She was shocked, however, when her visitor turned out to be not the Witch, but rather a handsome young man in expensive-looking clothes. Indeed, he looked every bit like a prince from a picture book…which, I guess, he is, in a sense.

“Who are you?” she said.

“My name is Prince Roger,” said the young man, bowing elegantly. “I assure you, I mean you no harm.”

“Why have you come here? How did you find me?”

The Prince explained briefly the events of the previous day and how he simply had to meet the woman who sang so beautifully. He asked Rapunzel how she came to be locked up in this tower, but when he described her captor as a terrible, evil witch, he was surprised when Rapunzel seemed offended.

“Don’t talk about my mother that way!”

“Your…your mother?” said the Prince, incredulously. So, Rapunzel told Roger the whole story. How the only family she ever knew was the Witch, and how in her attempts to take care of her, the old hag had locked her away from the world.

“I know she loves me,” said Rapunzel. “But I wish to see the world with my own eyes.”

“Let me help you,” said Prince Roger. “Let me take you away from all this. I can show you the world.”

“That would be wonderful,” said Rapunzel. “But there are a few problems.”

“Like what?”

“First of all, I barely know you! You cannot expect me to run off with some stranger.”

“A prince?”

“Still!”

“You are right. I will return tomorrow at this same time. And every day until you love me as much as I feel I love you.” With that he bowed again and descended Rapnuzel’s hair.

And, for the next month, every single day at the exact same time, the Prince returned to Rapunzel’s side. They talked on every subject, they played simple games, they fell deeper and deeper in love. Until at last the day came when Rapunzel lowered her eyes and said to her Prince:

“I love you. And I wish for you to take me away from this place.”

“I will. Tomorrow, when I come to see you, I will bring with me a rope ladder. I will climb your hair and we will tie it to the window. Then we will climb down together and take you far away from this terrible tower.” With a kiss, Prince Roger was gone, elated by his newfound love.

The next day, at the usual time, the Witch returned to the tower and called out:

Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair

That I may climb the golden stair!

Rapunzel did as she was asked. Moments later, the Witch was in the tower, teaching Rapunzel to play the lute, for some reason. She was having a hard time paying attention, because, sure enough, her mind kept floating back to the handsome prince and his promise of freedom. But, glad though she was to be running away with him, she felt terrible betraying her mother after all these years. She knew she couldn’t just leave without talking to her.

“Mother,” said Rapunzel when she had summoned up all her courage. “You love me, don’t you?”

“My child, of course I love you.”

“Then why do you keep me locked up in this tower?”

“Rapunzel, my precious, it is precisely because I love you that I keep you in this tower. Have you any idea what the outside world is like? There are dangerous, treacherous things out there. Things that a child like yourself must be protected from.”

“I do not feel like a child anymore. I wish to see the world.”

“You may see what you want through your window. You may see the cruelty of men, the savagery of nature, the unfairness of life.”

“Yes, but I want to see them for myself. I want to see the good and the bad of life. I want my own experiences. I want freedom.”

“Enough!” yelled the Witch. “You are mine! I will do with you as I wish. And I do not wish for you to see the world.”

“That is not for you to decide. I have made that decision for myself.”

“What do you mean?”

“I have had another visitor. A prince. He loves me, Mother. And I him. This evening he will come for me and set me free. Then I will never see you again as long as I live!”

“This is how you repay me? I have cared for you as my own all your life, and you dare speak to me in this way? I will teach you a lesson you will never forget!” And with that, the Witch took out a large, sharp knife and cut all of Rapunzel’s hair off. Then, using her magic, she took Rapunzel away from the tower and dragged her to a tiny cottage far, far from anywhere and locked her inside. Here Rapunzel wept, knowing that she might never see her beloved Prince again.

Meanwhile, the Prince was on his way back to the tower with the ladder he had promised to bring. Count Basie was along, too because, in those days, when a couple was eloping, the groom chose his best friend to help them make their getaway. He always chose his best, most reliable friend and this led to our modern tradition of having a “best man” at a wedding.

No, really. Look it up.

When he got to the tower, he stood at the base and sang out:

Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair

That I may climb the golden stair!

In a moment, the long hair was lowered and the Prince climbed up. But when he got inside he saw not Rapunzel, but the Witch! She had taken all the hair that she had cut off and tied it to the bedpost to fool the Prince. Then, with a wave of her magic staff, the Witch pushed the Prince out of the window where he fell on some thorny bushes, piercing his eyes and blinding him.

Count Basie took his friend back to the palace where the king’s physicians were unable to do a thing to help him. He would be blind for life. When the doctors had left, Prince Roger called his friend close to him.

“Basie, you are more than just a servant, more than a companion. You are my brother. And I need your help now more than ever.”

“Yes, your high—Yes, Roger?”

“Find her.”

“What?”

“Find her. The witch has hidden her from me, but you must find her.”

“How do you know she did not simply destroy your beloved when she found out about you?”

“Because she loves Rapunzel. She could no more hurt her than I could. You must help me find her again.”

The Count could not refuse and acting on Prince Roger’s orders, he assembled all the king’s guards, all the best hunters and warriors, and anybody else who answered his classified ad. “Somewhere in the wide world,” he said to the assembled throng, “there is a beautiful young girl of about eighteen. Her hair is the color of the first rays of dawn. Her voice is the voice of the angels. Her name is ‘Rapunzel.’ And, provided we can track her down, she will be our prince’s bride.”

The search was on. Good men and true formed search parties that covered the countryside like a vast shadow. And, to their credit they found quite a lot. They found a funny little man who claimed to be able to spin straw into gold, a house made out of gingerbread and candy, a frog who swore blind that he used to be a prince, several talking animals, a very small girl whose best friend was a bird, and a bear of very little brain who…no, sorry, that’s another book.

The point is, they found no sign of Rapunzel. Until one fateful day many, many months later, when Count Basie, almost despairing of ever finishing his mission, tripped over something in the underbrush. At first he thought it was a vine, but it was too stringy and thing and…and…blonde!

It was hair! He followed it like a set of footprints and it led him to a small clearing with an even smaller cottage right in the center. A stream running next to the cottage seemed to stop at the end of the clearing, which was enough to convince Count Basie that it was magic. That’s why they hadn’t been able to find her before now. The witch created this magic glade so that it could not be found. But Rapunzel’s hair must’ve outgrown the spell, for it led the Count right to her door.

To knock on her door, explain the situation and help her up on his horse was, with Basie, the work of a moment…the next part, however, took much longer, when they realied her hair was waaay too long for a horseback ride through the woods and they gave her an impromptu haircut with the Count’s sword. Once that was sorted, they raced back to the palace as fast as they could and Rapunzel was let in to see the prince.

“Rapunzel?” he said. “Is that you?”

“Oh, my beloved!” cried Rapunzel upon seeing his sightless eyes. “What has that horrible witch done to you?”

“It’s all right, Rapunzel. I don’t need my eyes to know how beautiful you are, or to hear your heavenly voice…or to love you.”

This was too much for Rapunzel and she wept. The Prince held her in his arms and dried her tears with his hand. At that moment, his eyes began to itch and he rubbed them with the same hand. And the minute her tears touched his eyes, his sight was restored!

Rapunzel and the prince were married the very next day, and (except for the days when Rapunzel couldn’t do a thing with her hair) they lived very happily ever after.

THE END

If You Liked My Story, You Might Enjoy:

• “Faerie Tale Theatre” (TV) Series host Shelley Duvall is Rapunzel and Jeff Bridges is her prince.
• Tangled (2010) Go see it during your Thanksgiving break. Mandy Moore is the girl in the tower with magic hair and Zachary Levi (TV’s “Chuck”) is the dashing thief who becomes her unlikely hero.

Next week: A Thanksgiving Special

The Three Little Pigs

The Silly Symphony based on this story is probably the most successful film Walt Disney ever made. At a time when animated shorts ran only a few days, weeks at the most,it ran for months, often times longer than the feature film it was playing with. One theatre owner put fake beards on the pictures of the pigs out front of the theatre to show how long they’d been there! The theme song “Who’s Afraid of the Big Bad Wolf?” was the studio’s first hit song and it made a weary nation laugh in the face of a Great Depression. So successful was this cartoon, that it spawned three sequels: The Big Bad Wolf, Three Little Wolves and Practical Pig. It was while accepting the Academy Award for this cartoon that Walt referred to the statue as an “Oscar.” Before then, it was just an industry nickname for the award. After that, everyone started calling it the Oscar.

O

nce upon a time there was an old sow (that’s a lady pig, kids) who had three sons. The oldest boy was named Hank, and he was lazy and loved to eat. The next oldest was Henry, and he was vain and loved to flirt with girl pigs. The youngest was Huey, and he was smart and kind and hard-working and he loved his family very much.

           

Well, Hank, Henry and Huey lived with their mother for many years. Until finally, they were old enough to go out into the world and make lives for themselves. Hank and Henry resisted, but Huey was enthusiastic. They all set out with a little money they had saved to make their fortunes. Huey suggested they pool their assets and work together, but Hank and Henry wanted to be on their own.

They knew the first thing they would need was someplace to live. And since this is a fairy tale, they couldn’t just find a real estate agent (and, really, why would they want to?), so they had to build their own houses. Hank spent most of his money on food, so by the time he had to buy building material, all he could afford was straw. Henry spent a lot of money on nice clothes to attract girls, so all he could afford were a few bundles of sticks. Huey, however, saved his money diligently, so he was able to buy bricks and mortar.

Hank and Henry built their houses in no time at all and decided to visit their brother to see how he was doing…and to gloat about being so far ahead of him. When they saw that he had only built one wall in the time it took them to build their whole houses, they laughed and teased him. But Huey didn’t care.

“Your houses may have taken less time to build,” he said, “but they won’t last as long. One good windstorm and you’ll both be homeless.” But his brothers ignored his warnings and went out to play in the sun, swim in the lake…and meet girl pigs.

But while they were out in the woods, goofing around and eating, someone was watching them. A pair of eyes that were greedy and hungry. A pair of eyes that longed for a pork dinner. It was a lone wolf who licked his chops at the sight of those plump, juicy pigs. He leapt out of the trees and snarled. Hank and Henry, of course, ran as fast as they could, which wasn’t terribly fast because, let’s face it, they’re pigs. But Hank got to his house fast and locked the door behind him. The Wolf pounded on the straw door with his paw.

“Little pig, little pig!” he said. “Let me come in!”

“Not by the hair of my chinny-chin-chin!” said Hank. This was an old pig adage that had been handed down from pig to pig to pig over many generations. It was, of course, completely lost on the wolf which infuriated him. And if you think it's a stupid expression, ask yourself what the heck a "kit and kaboodle" are.

“Then I’ll huff and I’ll puff and I’ll blow your house in!” The Wolf could just as easily have pushed somewhat hard and the house would’ve collapsed just as easily. But, he saw how flimsy the house was and saw an opportunity to get in a cheap joke. So he took a deep breath and blew with all his might. In seconds, the straw house collapsed and Hank was without a home. He ran as fast as he could, wishing he hadn’t had that third liverwurst sandwich, and got to Henry’s house just in time.

And, again, The Wolf knocked on the door.

“Little pigs, little pigs!” he said. “Let me come in!”

“Not by the hair of  our chinny-chin-chins!” said Hank and Henry.

The Wolf groaned at the phrase, still not understanding, but knowing that it probably meant “no.” “Then I’ll huff and I’ll puff and I’ll blow your house in!” This time it took two deep breaths, but the house fell down and Hank and Henry were again exposed. Running even faster than as fast as they could they arrived at Huey’s house just as he was putting on the finishing touch: a horseshoe over the door. But when he saw his brothers running toward him with a wolf on their heels, he opened the door quickly and invited them in and, instead of hanging the horseshoe, he decided to put its luck to practical use and threw it at the Wolf.

This time, the Wolf was too angry (and in too much pain) to do the whole “chinny-chin-chin” bit so he just screamed in pain and banged on the door, which was locked tight. “Okay!” he yelled. “You asked for it!” And with a deep breath and two full lungs, he huffed and puffed and snuffed and scruffed and ruffed and whuffed until he’d had enuff.

The house would not blow over.

“See?” said Huey. “I told you my house was sturdier. Now, don’t worry. The wolf can’t get in now. We’re perfectly safe.”

And so it seemed. For the rest of the day, the Wolf tried to find a way in while the pig brothers played backgammon. But the doors and windows were shut and locked. The house was too well built to be knocked down with anything less than a battering ram, and even then it would have to be a pretty big one (plus they might not have been invented yet. “Once Upon a Time” is pretty vague, hard to tell exactly what had and hadn’t been invented. These are just some of the problems you face when you’re in a fairy tale)

Finding himself unable to break in, he thought he would employ some kind of deceit or tickery. He tried an old wolf standby: sheep’s clothing. This does not mean he borrowed a jacket and tie from a sheep, rather it was clothing designed to make him look like a sheep. That’s a common mistake, so don’t feel bad if you were confused. Anyway, he put on his sheep pelt and knocked on the door.

“Who’s there?” asked Huey from inside.

“No one really,” said the Wolf in his meekest voice. “Just a poor little lamb who has lost his way.” (Evidently, the Wolf went to Yale) “Will you let me come in and get warm?”

“If you’re really a poor little lamb, let me see your hands.” Well, the Wolf had forseen this, so before he had knocked on the door, he’d covered his paws in flour so they would like white and fluffy. He put his hand in through the mail slot and the pigs saw that it was white and fluffy, very much like a sheep’s hand would be.

“Well, I guess it is a little lost lamb,” said Hank.

“Let’s let him in!” said Henry.

“No!” said Huey. “It’s not a little lost lamb, it’s the wolf!”

“But it sounds like a lamb,” said Henry.

“And it looks like a lamb,” said Hank.

“Yes,” said Huey. “But what does it smell like?” Pigs are known for having very keen senses of smell and one good whiff was all it took. “Flour! You are the wolf. And you’re not coming in. Not by the hair of my chinny-chin—”

“Stop saying that!!” growled the wolf. Now he was really angry and more determined than ever to get inside this house. Then the answer came: the chimney! So, cackling at his own ingenuity, he climbed to the top of the roof…which of course, the pigs heard from inside. It wasn’t long before they figured out what was going on…actually, it wasn’t long before Huey figured it out. Hank and Henry actually did take quite a long time and, in fact, they thought it might be Santa Claus.

Eventually, Huey convinced them it was the Wolf, so they took a big pot and put it in the fireplace. They filled it with water and lit a fire beneath. Soon they had brought it to a rolling boil. Meanwhile, up on the roof, the wolf licked his chops again and slid down the chimney…right into the boiling water!

He yowled and howled and screamed and ran around the room trying to cool himself off. Huey opened the front door and the Big Bad Wolf ran screaming into the woods, never to be seen by any pig again (though there is evidence to indicate that, after being dismissed from his wolf pack in shame, he did make trouble for a little girl in a red cape, but that’s another story).

And that’s how Hank and Henry Pig learned not to cut corners and to take pride in their work. They also learned that not even a big bad wolf can hurt you if you’ve got family by your side.

THE END

If You Liked My Story, You Might Enjoy:

• Three Little Pigs (1933) See introduction
• “Faerie Tale Theatre” (TV) Starring Billy Crystal, Fred Willard, Doris Roberts and Jeff Goldblum
• “Muppet Classic Theatre” Old VHS release introducing Miss Piggy’s brothers, Andy and Randy Pig, in this timeless story

Next Week:

"Tang--" I mean, "Rapunzel"