or all my friends, family, and fans, a twisted fairytale that will hopefully leave you grateful for your circumstances, as imperfect as they may be. Enjoy!
An
old mankin ran a finger alongside his nose, staring at its crooked reflection
off the still surface of a black pond.
This misshapen snout happened to be his most notable feature—all
dimpled, extended, and swollen as it was—and the mirror image at his knees did
nothing but augment the fact, magnifying his nostrils to twice their actual
size. But everything about this little
man was deformed, frightfully blemished and warped. And though the pond reflected this truth
about his outward appearance, it failed to reveal that his inner character could
be described in the same way.
The
mankin leaned in closer to the water, very nearly dipping the tip of his snout in
the pond while his beady eyes scrunched to see what lived beneath the glassy
surface. Searching for a raw fish dinner
within reach, his eyes began to focus on shadows roaming the darker
depths. Just then a gust of wind twirled
past, placing a single red leaf upon his reflection. The gentle swells that formed around the leaf
distorted the mankin’s misshapen image, altering traits already grotesquely
warped. He growled at his ugliness
before turning away. But it wasn’t
detest of his own person that made him turn and rise. No, it was his nose. Or rather, what his nose had detected in the
breeze.
For
you see, this shrewd character possessed a rare gift inside his sizeable
nostrils. He could sniff out nearly any
trail he longed to follow, being particularly keen on detecting one scent above
all others. It wasn’t spicy or sugary or
citrus smells that lured him. Nor was it
the ambrosia incense of fame and money.
And it certainly wasn’t the sweaty stench of hard work and labor that
attracted this measly character. No, it
was something potent and ripe with a subtle, unsavory flavor.
The
little mankin inclined his head, closed his eyes, lifted his chin, and breathed
in deeply. A sly grin crept across his
face as he identified the cold whiff of utter desperation. As quickly as his bowed legs could swing each
hairy foot forward, he hobbled away from the pond in pursuit of a hopeless
soul.
Sunset
had stained the western sky in fiery colors about the time the mankin
approached a one-level farmhouse set close to the edge of a small town. He ignored the well-lit dwelling and scuttled
inside a wooden barn large enough to act as a landmark for villagers. The structure stood naked, without paint or
stain, just a box of raw timber planks nailed together yet artfully assembled
to attract the eye. Inside, dusk grew
dimmer while space seemed to expand—an odd illusion for confining oneself
within four walls—most likely owing to an arched ceiling and an openness
uncustomary for regular buildings.
There
was no need to follow his nose any longer, for the sound of muted weeping took
over as his guide, beckoning him forward to a high stack of straw bales along
the furthest wall. Circumventing this
pile brought all eight of his fuzzy toes smack dab before the balled-up form of
a young lady who had withered to the ground.
She was bent over her knees, sobbing, with both hands covering her
face. So upset by whatever travailed
her, the frail creature didn’t notice she was no longer alone. Not until a gnarled hand patted her shoulder
did she jump, startled, and scurry onto her backside against a prickly wall of
straw. Her eyes rounded into the shape
of coins as she gasped. It was a miracle
that her natural reaction hadn’t been a high-pitched scream. Perhaps she would have screamed had the
darkness not masked the mankin’s repulsiveness.
He didn’t wait for her to think to do so, however.
“Good
evening, deary. I couldn’t help but
overhear your heartrending sounds of sorrow. May I ask, why? Why are you crying so bitterly?”
The
young lady’s sad face contorted into an even sadder expression at the knowledge
that sympathy might very well be standing over her.
“Oh! I am in a dreadful mess!” she exclaimed. “My father is behaving like a monster! A tyrant!
An unfeeling ogre! He’s bent on
destroying my life and bashing any hope that I might ever find true happiness!”
“I
see. And how is it that he’s treated you
so awfully?”
The
poor darling wiped at her swollen eyes, unable to keep from sniveling as she
explained. “He’s forcing me to marry a
man I don’t know, someone I don’t love, to better his own estate! He won’t listen when I tell him my heart
belongs to another, to my true love.
My father hates me! He must,
because he doesn’t care about my happiness at all!”
The
little man rubbed at his stubbly chin.
“Hmmm. And when is this wedding
to take place?”
A
sound of sheer despair squeaked from the girl’s throat before she bawled, “In
two weeks!” Once again her hands hid her
face as a flow of misery soaked her cheeks.
Over the ruckus of her weeping, a possibility of hope was extended.
“I
can help you……if you want my help, that is.”
Her
hands fell, unveiling two wide, bleary eyes for a second time. “You can?”
The
squatty stranger nodded. “Oh yes. And I will agree to do so, if that is what
you want.”
“Oh
I do, I do!” she exclaimed assuredly.
“But how? How will you stop my
father? He’s a stubborn man, a
tyrant! He won’t listen…”
A
hairy hand, knotted at each joint, lifted to halt any concerns. “Don’t worry about how, deary. What you should be asking is….how much?”
“How
much?” She repeated the question without
understanding. When the little man
explained, her face wilted again, not hopeless as before, but nearly.
“Ah,
yes, how much is correct. What
will you give me to stop your father from forcing your tender heart into a
loveless marriage? My generosity must
bear a cost or there’d be no value in what you gain from it. There’d be no second thought for me,
the tiny, humble mankin who came to save you.
Is it right for a desperate soul to expect redemption for nothing? No.
No, no. So, tell me, child, what
will you give me in exchange for my services?”
The
young lady slanted her brows, looking as if she might cry again. “I don’t know. I have nothing to give.”
“Not
so,” the tempter disagreed. There was a
sparkle in his eyes and a grin that told her he already had a wager in
mind.
“What
is it that you want?” she asked.
Standing
as tall and straight as his decrepit form would allow, he voiced his
terms. “I want your wedding ring. The one your true love will offer when he
asks your hand in marriage. This tiny
trinket in exchange for preventing your being wed to a stranger.”
She
agreed without hesitation, eager to live out the events that the mankin had
painted in her head with words.
“I
promise I will give you the ring.”
“Then
it is done.”
With
that verbal agreement he hobbled away, no further sounds of sorrowing at his
back.
The
next day while standing over his reflection in the black pond as before, the
mankin lifted his snout to a mild breeze, catching his most hunted scent. A cold and unsavory whiff of desperation came
to him, more potent than the evening prior.
Waddling like a wounded duck, he made his way as quickly as possible to
the same modest barn, discovering behind the same wall of straw the same
girl. She was curled up on the ground,
bemoaning her lot with more fierceness than ever. Edging his eight fuzzy toes up to her balled
figure, he once again reached down to administer a gentle pat. The young woman flinched but didn’t coil away
from the strange, little man whom she recognized immediately.
“How
could you have done this to me?” she cried, rising to her knees. “My father……my poor, kind, dear papa! He’s dead!”
The
mankin raised a bushy eyebrow as if this were news to him. “Is he, now?”
“Yes! He failed to wake up this morning. When I couldn’t rouse him, I ran to the
village for help. My true love met me
outside his house and ran all the way here with me. Father had turned pale by then, his face and
hands as cold as ice. We tried to save
him, to warm him, but it was too late.
My father is dead!”
The
girl dropped her face in her hands to shed a torrent of tears. The ugly little man hunkered down, leaning
sideways, his long crooked nose near her profile. He had questions to ask.
“Did
your true love have any further words for you?”
The
girl nodded.
“Did
he say he would take care of you? Marry
you?”
Whimpering,
she nodded yes.
“And
did he give you a ring?”
The
weeping child sucked in a ragged breath, making the most grief-stricken noise.
“Well,
did he? A ring? A golden ring?”
Her
eyes shot up—swollen, bloodshot, and narrowed—to stare at her interrogator with
the bitterest detest. “Yes,” she
snapped.
The
mankin held out an expectant hand, his bony fingers curled into a skeletal
cup. His longest finger wiggled twice,
gesturing that she relinquish the prize.
With angry haste, the young maiden pulled a ring from her skirt pocket
and slapped it onto his waiting palm.
There was a gleam in the little man’s eye that twinkled above an
irreverent smile.
“You’re
a vile monster,” the young woman accused.
Her mounting anger somewhat nullified the need to weep. She locked her jaw and glowered, her hot
stare most assuredly supported by unforgiving thoughts.
“Am
I? Did I not keep my end of the
bargain? Are you not free now to marry
whomever you choose? I earned my reward,
deary. You have what you asked for. Neither of us was cheated.” He slipped the gold ring into a coat pocket
and turned his slumped form around as though he would leave. A quiet protest rose over his shoulder.
“I
would never have agreed to accept your help had I known that you meant my
father harm.”
Slightly
turning back, enough for one beady eye to peer over a shoulder, the mankin responded. “I heard the names you called him. Monster.
Ogre. Tyrant. You alleged quite convincingly that he hated
you.”
“But….I…I…I
was upset! I didn’t mean it!”
An
ugly mug screwed up in an attempt to portray remorse. Or perhaps the imp was simply mocking the
girl’s youthful folly. “Deary,
deary. Well, I suppose I could offer my
services once again. That is, if
you want me to.”
“There’s
nothing you can do for me now. My father
is dead! What I want is to have him back
again, alive and well.”
“Perhaps
he is not dead. Perhaps the ogre simply
sleeps. Such errors have occurred.”
She
regarded her tempter strongly.
Doubting. Wondering. Speculating.
He
leaned in closer, one eye grotesquely wide as he assured her, “I can give you
what you want. Although, if your father
is awakened he will no doubt have his say in whom you marry. Is it worth it to you?”
She
thought for a second; a brief time before making the only choice she could live
with.
“Yes. Yes, of course. Please, bring my father back.”
“How…”
the mankin started.
“I
don’t care how, just do it!” The girl
reached out to take hold of his arm, but instantly recoiled her fingers upon
brushing over a rash of warts.
“No,
no, you misunderstand, deary. There is
the tiny matter of…..how much? As
I told you before, my generosity must bear a cost or there’d be no value in
what you gain from it. There’d be no
second thought for me, the tiny, humble mankin who came to save
you. Is it right for a desperate soul to
expect redemption for nothing? No. No, no.
So, tell me, child, what will you give me in exchange for my
services? How much do you truly want
your father back?”
“How
much?” she repeated, understanding this time that the greedy creature expected
pay. “I have nothing to give. I’m penniless, and without a dowry now too.”
“Not
so,” said the mankin. There was a
sparkle in his eyes and a grin that told her he had a wager in mind.
“What
is it that you want this time?”
His
bony fingers reached to tap beneath her chin, making the young lady lift her
pretty face to him. “I want your
beauty.”
“What?” A crease formed between her eyes,
communicating confusion.
“Your
beauty, my sweet. You won’t be needing
it now that you’re betrothed to your true love.
That is if your father allows the union.
If not, you’ll still have your father to care for you, hateful tyrant
that you claim him to be.”
The
maiden spoke up defensively. “He’s not a
hateful tyrant! He’s a good man! I was upset when I said…”
“Aaugh!” With a brusque wave the mankin cut her
off. “Your beauty or no deal!”
Her
fingers rose to feel at the smoothness of her milky-white skin. This pretty face had earned her many
approving looks from admiring young men.
But what real value did it possess?
And besides, she hardly ever looked in a mirror anyway.
Her
head vaguely bobbed in agreement to the bargain. “Okay.”
“Then
it is done.”
With
that verbal promise he staggered away, a cold quiet at his back.
It
was three evenings later when the mankin rested beside a rippling black pond,
its surface troubled by a disagreeable wind.
His crooked nose sniffed at the air, detecting a riper scent than the
raw fish he was feasting upon. Grinning
slyly, his bony fingers tossed aside dinner so he could make haste toward the
little village where the same girl lamented.
She was huddled in the darkest corner of her father’s barn, completely
shadowed by blackness, when the creepy mankin came hobbling up. Her back to him, she still sensed his
presence draw near. A bony knuckle
tapped against her shoulder, causing the girl to hunker down in the corner even
more, hiding her face from view. Crying,
she spilled her woes for the wretched little man.
“I’m
hideous! A repulsive sight! My true love.…..not so, not so. He won’t have me any longer. And he threatens my father for the worth of
the ring I gave to you. He threatens to
take us before the judge if I fail to return his gold ring. And my father, he beat me for making a deal
with the devil. That is what he believes
I’ve done.” The young lady made a
sorrowful groan before repeating her father’s words. “Not even a witch or a
demon, but only the devil himself could have disfigured a face so grotesquely
as mine, to keep any living soul from eying me with the least degree of
affection!”
“You’re
no more a sore sight than myself,” the mankin said.
The
young maiden turned her head, steering her face away from the dark corner. The move was slow and hesitant, but motivated
by a desire to clearly examine her wish-crafter’s features for the first
time. Her forehead, now thickly browed,
pulled tight over a pair of swollen eyes set close together on each side of a
large, crooked nose. She turned herself
completely around, surprised by a couple of things: Firstly, that the little man didn’t so much
as flinch at the sight of her. And
secondly, observing more clearly than previously, that looking at him was very
much like seeing into a mirror.
His
beady eyes scrunched, contemplating.
“You want help. You wish for your
ring to be returned.”
“I wish
for my beauty returned,” she corrected in a tone that made it adamantly
clear.
“But
the ring will pacify your lost love.”
“My
beauty will win him back!”
The
old character shook his head. “No, it
will not. Not now that he’s witnessed
your worst face. The man you call your
true love has proven he doesn’t love you at all.”
“And
how could he?” she cried. “No one could
love a face like this!”
The
mankin cringed the slightest bit as if personally stung by her declaration.
“Father
says I’m to be locked away for the remainder of my days, hidden from the eyes
of all who can see. He blames me for the
curse that’s ruined my pretty face.”
“Then
your father has called off the prearranged wedding?”
“How
could he not?” she exclaimed. “No one,
especially a stranger of means and reputation, would agree to have me this
way!”
The
mankin gestured to the contrary. “There
are those few who look within.”
The
maiden made a disgusted sound and dropped her head. A bony finger extended to tap beneath her
whiskered chin, and she lifted her lashes, looking up.
“I
can help you…..if you want my help that is.”
She
nearly growled at the sly bargainer.
“And what will you take from me this time? My soul?”
He
didn’t answer the question, instead extending an enticing offer.
“I
will return both the ring and your beauty.
At which time your father will hastily wed you off to the stranger whom
you lamented so fiercely against marrying a few days ago. This man, your husband, will treat you like a
queen, showering you with gifts, love, and attention. You will have all that your heart desires,
including three sons born to you for nurture and care. They will grow in stature to be strong,
industrious, virtuous young men. All of
this I offer you.”
She screwed
up her unsightly face. Disbelieving. Skeptical.
“How?”
“No,
not how,” he corrected once again.
“The question is, how much? You
know, for I have told you already, that my generosity must bear a cost or
there’d be no value in what you gain from it.
There’d be no second thought for me, the tiny, humble mankin who
came to save you. Is it right for a
desperate soul to expect redemption for nothing? No.
No, no. So, tell me, child, what
will you give me in exchange for my rare services?”
The
young woman sunk, letting her head hang hopelessly. Mumbling, she asked his price. “How much?”
“I
offer a handsome gift, I do,” he reiterated.
“The ring, your beauty, and twenty years of marital bliss! All of it without intrusion from me.” A gnarly finger rose, very nearly brushing
the side of his nose as he carefully laid out his terms. “On the twentieth anniversary of your
wedding, when your boys have grown independent and strong, I will come. You will leave your family on that day to be
my bride, and for the rest of your years you shall abide with me.”
She
looked up suddenly, mouth gaping. “You
want me to wed you?”
The
little man raised a humped shoulder.
“It’s your choice. Remain as you
are now and be locked away forever. Or……let
me restore you to your former self and your former plight.”
Her
former plight.
The
words hit hard. From where she sat now,
regretting that she had ever met the creepy, old, dimple-nosed mankin, her
original state of affairs seemed enviable by comparison.
If
only….
An
impatient, throaty noise sounded before the little man swiveled on his thick
pads and hobbled towards the open barn door.
A quiet voice wafted past his ear.
“I’ll
do it.”
The
bargainer paused long enough to smirk over his shoulder. “Then it is done.”
Twenty
years elapsed with events transpiring exactly as promised. More beautiful than ever, the young maiden
was married off to the suitor of her father’s choosing. The man proved to be a kind, gentle husband
who loved and spoiled his wife excessively.
She was showered with gifts and true devotion, every year receiving comparable
shows of affection as in their newlywed years.
Owning a large and successful farm, the happy couple never wanted for
anything. Three boys were born to them
early on. And, as boys go, they were an
energetic and cheerful lot—a great help in the home and on the farm. Taught by their father’s example, the boys
learned to treat their mother kindly and to shower her with gestures of love
and affection. With wholehearted joy and
gratefulness she returned their precious hugs and kisses.
For
the most part, the years transpired with only fleeting thoughts of an ugly,
little creature who had crossed her path in youth, three times in one
week. He never appeared, except for in
the shadows of her dreams. And then,
upon waking, the woman did her best to shove his image aside, dismissing it as
a convincing nightmare. But on the eve
of the couple’s twentieth wedding anniversary, a raspy voice spoke to her quite
clearly in a vision.
“Tomorrow
I will come for you. Do not forget your
promise, deary. It is time to pay for
the services rendered.”
She
woke up in a sweat, heart palpitating, terrified that what she had convinced
herself to think of as nothing more than a nightmare was indeed a memory from
the past. It proved so when the mankin
snuck up on her, all alone in a big red barn built by her husband and three
boys. She backed herself against a wall
of straw bales, eyes transfixed on the wish-crafter who had not changed a bit
since their first meeting.
“No,
no, no, no,” she shook her head rapidly, denying his existence and the reality of
their agreement.
The
mankin wrinkled his large, crooked nose.
“You would go back on your word and refuse me that which is rightfully
mine?”
“No,
but…but my family….my husband….they won’t understand.”
“That
is not my concern. We had a deal, and I
have kept my part. Now it is time for
you to keep yours.” His bony hand
reached out, waiting for her to take hold.
She
stared at his fingers, paralyzed.
“Please. Please, let us make another deal, one in
which I can stay here.”
The
mankin grumbled objectionably. “No. It would profit me nothing.”
With
clasped hands she begged him. “But I
don’t want to go! My husband, my boys, I
love them! Please, please, let me
stay! I’ll give you anything else, my
ring….my beauty….money….the farm…”
A
growl of annoyance shut her up.
“No! You are my bride now,
and I will not let you out of my sight forevermore.”
He
grabbed hold of her wrist, and she fell to the ground, sobbing. Though the mankin tugged, managing to drag
the woman a few inches across a spread of straw, she would not cooperate nor
stop her wailing. The crying became so
violent in nature that hyperventilation and dry stomach heaves were the
result. This effected the old mankin,
who finally proposed a new deal—the thinnest ray of hope.
“Alright! Alright!
I’ll make you another offer. Just
stop this carrying on!”
Her
tear-stained face appeared from behind trembling fingers. “You will?”
“Yes. But if you fail to live up to this
bargain, I will take all three of your boys as punishment for your crime.”
The
mother swallowed hard, willing to do anything to protect her sons. But if there was a chance that she and her
family could remain together….
“What
is your offer?”
A shrewd
grin crept across the mankin’s face. “I
will release you from the promise of being my bride, completely and wholly,
without future obligations to me. And I
will leave your family be, never to show myself again.”
He
stood there with that devious grin, waiting.
It was an offer too appealing to not have a nasty catch.
“How
much?” she asked.
“Not
much. All I ask is a name.”
“You
want my name?” She was ready to agree
until he quickly jumped in with a clarification.
“No,
no. Not your name. My name.”
Her
forehead tightened, confused. “But you
already own your name.” Just then it occurred
to her that she had never learned it.
“What is your name?”
The
mankin stretched his wicked smile to its limit.
“I’ll give you three days, three guesses per day.”
“What?”
“If
you guess my name correctly, if you whisper it to me, our deal will be
sealed. If not…….well, then you have no
promise.”
Suddenly,
the air seemed heavy and hard to breath.
“But how can I possibly….”
Brusquely
he waved off any further complaints.
“That is not my concern! You either come with me now, or give me my name
in exchange for your freedom! Which will
it be?”
She
took the only option that would buy her time.
“I will guess at your name.
Tomorrow.”
The
mankin grumbled at her desire to put off the first day, but agreed. “Then it is done.”
Once
his hobbling figure disappeared on the horizon, the worried wife and mother ran
to the house to tell all to her husband and boys. It was agreed that they would do everything
within their power to discover the creepy, little demon’s name. That entire night and following day was spent
scribbling out possible names for a character so old and heinous. The men, father and sons, went searching the
woods for any sign of the mankin, but to no avail. That night the woman met her wish-crafter in
the red barn.
“Have
you three guesses at my name?”
“I
do.”
A
nod told her to proceed.
She
swallowed hard. “Is your name,
Rasputin?”
“No.”
“Is
it, Damien?”
“No.”
She
drew in a quavering breath and let it out.
“Could it possibly be, Beelzebub?”
“No!”
the little man snapped. “I will return
tomorrow for three more guesses.”
“But
it’s impossible!” she cried. “There are
too many possibilities!”
Hunched
and staggering away, he offered a hint. “My name has never hit your ears because it is
mine, and mine only. Don’t bother me
with a borrowed name, deary.”
This
information only served to make matters worse, and for the entire night and
next day the tired woman scribbled out made-up names, praying that a
combination would miraculously strike her as the right one. Meanwhile, her husband and sons did their
best to follow the creepy mankin into the woods. But somehow he was able to disappear within
the foliage.
That
night the woman met her wish-crafter in the barn for a second three guesses at
his name.
“Is
your name Rumplruney?”
He
shook his head no.
“Is
it……Twizzeltzker?”
The
mankin smirked. “No.”
She
hesitated with a third guess.
“Have
you no more ludicrous names for me, deary?”
“They’re
not ludicrous,” she said defensively.
The
little man made a chortling sound in his throat. “They’re rubbish! Not real names at all!”
“But…..but,
you said your name was original. Unheard
of.”
“It
is,” he assured her with a nod. “But it
isn’t a random string of nonsense!”
“What
do you mean?”
“Exactly,”
the little man winked. “What does it mean?”
She
was stumped and confused.
“So
do you have a third guess or not?” He
shuffled slowly sideways as if he would turn to leave.
“Um….y..yes.” Thinking hard, she created a name in her head
from parts of words with meaning. “Is
it, um……Grumpy~lumpy….uh….rotten~bottom?
Yes, is it Grumplumprotbottom?”
She
laughed for a moment at the absurdity of a name that fit the imp’s character
quite well before the emotion turned to tears.
The mankin walked off into the darkness, grumbling. Her husband and boys would no doubt do their
best to follow his sneaky shadow into the woods again, but at what hope of
actually keeping on his trail? And if
they did happen to trace his path by some miracle, what was the chance his name
would be uttered, audibly and recognizably?
Giving
in to exhaustion and despair, the woman curled up in a bed of straw and cried
herself to sleep.
The
next morning she was awakened early with squeals of laughter and delight.
“Mother! Mother!
Good news, Mother! Open your
eyes! Open your ears and hear!”
Scooting
up into a sitting position, she lifted her eyelids to the sight of her three
grown boys and loving husband encircling her with the widest smiles stretched
across their faces. The young men were
nearly bubbling with enthusiasm, eager to tell all.
“Father
followed that creepy, little bugger into the woods last night. He watched through the window of a mud hut
built right into the side of a cavern.
And he listened at the door, Mother.
You’ll never guess what Father heard!”
Her
wide eyes darted straight to her husband.
“His name? You learned his name?”
Unable
to keep the truth a secret, he gestured for his boys to join him in singing the
rhyme he had overheard the mankin chant by firelight.
“Tomorrow I wed, today I sing,
And then my bride away I’ll
bring;
For little deems that pretty
dame
That Dimpellumpzki is my
name!”
Shedding
tears of relief, the woman hugged her men, and then went to the house to wait
for sunset and the return of the crooked-nosed Dimpellumpzki.
That
night the woman met her wish-crafter in the barn for the final three guesses at
his name.
“Are
you ready, deary?”
She
clasped her hands and nodded assuredly.
“And
if you fail to give me my name, are you prepared to keep your promise and come
with me?”
Again
the woman nodded. Quickly, she asked him
the same question. “If I do whisper your
name correctly, are you prepared to keep your promise and leave me and my
family be?”
The
little man twitched his nose. “If you
guess it correctly…..yes.” Then he
gestured for her to voice her first guess.
“Okay. Is your name……….Dimpellnose?”
The
little man flinched, somewhat startled.
So close to his actual name.
Lucky guess. A stab at his most
notable feature, no doubt. “No. No, that is not my name.”
“Alright
then. Is it……um………Lumpyskin?”
The
makin’s eyes flashed wide for a moment.
Another lucky guess? Was that a
stab at his wart-festered skin? “No, no,
no, that is not my name! One more
guess. Hurry up! Hurry up!”
“Okay,
okay. Is your name……..oh, um…could it
be…” She released a tremulous exhale,
then whispered, “Dimpellumpzki?”
Furious,
the little man ranted and raved and stomped his big feet, kicking up a cloud of
dust and straw. Then he hobbled off
howling at the moon, never to be seen by the woman, her husband, or three sons
ever again.
To
say that this blessed family lived happily ever after would be an
understatement. For knowing what their
lives might have been—what they had managed to narrowly escape—the relationships
preserved became priceless.
In
the deepest corner of a cold, dark, cavernous house, an unhappy mankin brooded
over the fact that his name was no longer a mystery. He dreaded the likelihood that this knowledge
would be gossiped and spread, destroying the secrecy of his title,
Dimpellumpzki. The name might become a
commonly uttered joke, laughed at among villagers near and far.
“This
cannot be,” he grumbled. “This will not
do!”
And
so the surly character decided to change his name. Throughout the night he thought and pondered
and made up unusual anonyms until he settled on the finest of them all—a tricky
utterance; a name that no one would ever stumble upon a guess……not ever!
Rumpelstilzkin. How very mysterious a name, indeed.
