Once upon a time in an enchanted kingdom, there lived a huntsman with a beautiful daughter and a drinking problem. The problem was not the fact that he drank—no, that he enjoyed very much, cheers!—but the fact that, when drunk, he tended to get a little inventive. For example, he'd tell the story about how he once slew three dragons using an earthworm and a knitting needle as his only weapons, or the story about how he flew to the moon on one of his own arrows and ate its entire population.

Usually, the huntsman just drank in the village inn, so nobody minded his tall tales. But then, one day, he was invited to join a royal hunting party. When he came home, he was clutching his head and looking extremely furtive.

"Drank a bit too much, did we?" asked his daughter with a raised eyebrow. She was just doing the wash and hardly looked up, so she didn't see the rather guilty expression on her father's face.

"Um... yes, dear. Since you mention it, the hunting party got a bit festive at the end."

"More party and less hunting, eh?"

"You could say that."

"And? What tall tales did you tell this time?" she laughed. "Did you tell them you had been to hell to drink tea with the devil?"

"Um... not exactly, no."

The daughter looked up. This was interesting. Her father was not usually reticent about sharing his crazy stories. "Well? What did you tell them then?"

The huntsman cleared his throat. "That, err... that you could spin gold out of straw."

The daughter laughed. "And did the other hunters have a good laugh at that one?"

"Not really." The huntsman cleared his throat again. The daughter noticed for the first time that his face was unusually red. "The king was interested, though."

"Really? So he had a good laugh?"

"Um...not exactly. He said he wanted you at the castle tomorrow morning at eight o'clock sharp, and he would have a spinning wheel and a room full of straw ready for you."

The daughter's hand stopped halfway to the washing tub. A pair of her dirty socks dangled from her fingers, forgotten.

"What did you say?"

The huntsman raised his hands. "Um, now, my dear, I know what you're thinking, and—"

"Really?" Hands on hips, the daughter took a step towards him. "What am I thinking?"

"You are probably a bit upset with me and—"

"Upset? Upset? No, dad, when I find a cockroach in the larder I'm upset! Right now, I'm spitting-fire-mad-as-hell-angry!"

"Err...well..." Slowly, the huntsman began to retreat. He had been face-to-face with a lioness once or twice in his life and knew when it was best to retreat.

"You did tell him it was a joke, right? A stupid story? You told the king that you just made it all up?"

"Well...not exactly."

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Early the next morning, a beautiful golden coach arrived, driven by a coachman in golden livery and escorted by guards in golden uniforms with long, golden hair, and the Huntsman's daughter was driven down the golden brick road towards the golden palace with all the pomp and ceremony due to a queen. She couldn't really appreciate the sight of all that gold as much as she probably should have.

The king awaited her in the golden entry hall, wearing a golden crown.

"Greetings, oh fair maiden," he said.

"Um...hi there," she said. Then she remembered that, since this was a king, she probably ought to curtsy. So she did just that.

"Your father has told you the reason why we commanded you to come hither?" the king asked.

"Err...yeah, he did."

"Very well. You shall now hear our royal commands."

A herald in golden livery stepped out of niche next to the king. Raising a golden trumpet to his lips, he blew a short fanfare and announced in a booming voice: "People low and people high, people far and people nigh, listen to your overlord's mighty and commanding words!"

The king cleared his throat. "We hereby ordain and command by the power vested in us by God that thou, huntsman's daughter, shalt be locked into a dungeon wherein thou shalt attempt to spin straw into gold. We give thee from this hour until sunrise on the morrow to achieve this mighty miracle. If thou accomplishest it, and thy father hath spoken the truth, thou shalt be richly rewarded. If thou, however, doth not accomplish it, thy pate shall be severed from thine shoulders and thou shalt die a most horrid death."

The herald sidled closer, and, lowering his voice, whispered: "He means either you turn straw into gold for him or he's going to chop your head off, kid."

"Thanks. I think I got that."

"Can you do that? Make straw into gold?"

"Err...well, no. Not really."

"Oh. Tough luck, kid."

Clapping her on the shoulder, the herald stepped back again. The king, who hadn't noticed the exchange, gestured to a couple of his guards in golden uniforms.

"Our loyal defenders shall conduct thee to thy quarters," he proclaimed.

"The guards are going to chuck you in the dungeon now," the herald translated.

A few minutes later, the huntsman's daughter was being half-pushed, half carried along a dark passageway, deep, deep underground. So far, the girl hadn't been able to think of a brilliant plan for escape, but it was still early in the day. She still had plenty of time before she was to be decapitated, right? She just had to figure out how to outwit the king and his entire army and escape the most secure fortress in the whole kingdom. Easy-peasy.

I'm dead. I'm so dead.

"Here we are."

The guards stopped in front of a thick, dark wooden door reinforced with thick strips of metal. It didn't look as if it was amenable to brilliant escapes.

One of the men opened the door and shoved the girl forward. Inside, there was barely enough light to see, but she could just make out a giant heap of straw in the corner and a spinning wheel against one wall.

"Get going, girl!" one of the guards ordered. Then the door slammed shut, and if she wasn't mistaken, she heard laughter from outside.

"Dad," she murmured, trying to calm her breathing, "If I ever get out of here, I'm going to kill you! Kill you very dead with a big, rusty sword!"

Her gaze wandered to the spinning wheel, and she sighed.

"Okay. Let's try this. Straw into gold. Straw into gold. Simple, right? But first I have to remember how to spin...!" She gazed at the spinning wheel, racking her mind, trying to remember. "First put the leading thread on the flyer...then slip the bobbin on the shaft of the flyer...then put the whirl on the flier...or was it the other way round? Crap! Line it up with the orifa...orifidi...what was that part called again? Crap, crap, crap!"

Cursing, the girl gave the half-assembled spinning wheel a kick.

"To hell with it! How am I supposed to know how to spin gold when I don't even know how to spin? That's the sort of thing my grandmother did! Who uses a spinning wheel nowadays anyway? Anybody with an ounce of sense just buys their shirts and dresses at the shop! You know what, Dad? The sword isn't just going to be big and rusty! It's going to be poisoned, too!"

The girl kicked the spinning wheel a few more times for good measure. Then, when her anger had subsided a little and she remembered that if she did not do as the king had commanded, her head would be chopped off in the morning, she reluctantly took up some straw from the floor and twisted it around the leading thread.

"It can't be that difficult, right?" she told herself. "It simply can't be. The king is just. He has to be, that's what kings are for! So he wouldn't just set me an impossible task just to get the opportunity to watch me have my head chopped off, right? I'll just have to try, and I'll succeed."

She did try. After about five minutes, she was hopelessly entangled in straw that, unsurprisingly, had not turned into gold.

"Bloody freaking Hell!"

She tried her best to untangle herself from the straw, and started all over again—and again, and again, each time with pretty much the same result. After an hour or so, the huntsman's daughter rather resembled a ravaged scarecrow.

"This is stupid!" Picking up a handful of straw, she hurled it against the wall. "Stupid, stupid, stupid!"

"Ehem, ehem."

What? Had someone just cleared his throat? But there was no one here, was there?

"Excuse me, young lady?"

The girl whirled around, and indeed, there was someone there! A small, wiry, long-nosed, green-skinned someone!

"My apologies for interrupting," said the goblin, taking off his feathered cap and bowing deeply, "but you are going about this all wrong. The position of your hand, the speed of the spindle... What are you trying to spin the straw into? Lead? Spaghetti?"

The girl snorted. "Oh, and I suppose you know how to do it better, do you?"

"I most certainly do."

"Bah! You don't even know what I'm trying to do here!"

"I beg to differ, young lady. You are attempting to spin straw into gold to prevent getting your head chopped off."

The girl's mouth fell open in amazement. "How did you know that?"

The goblin waved his hand. "Oh, please! Those kings are all the same. Whenever they imprison some girl in the dungeon, it's because they want them to spit diamonds, or spin gold out of straw, or do cartwheels in a giant pink hamster wheel. Well, the last one was a bit of an oddity, but you get my meaning." He glanced around the room. "And judging by the lack of giant pink hamster wheels, I'd say it's highly unlikely he brought you here for the latter."

The girl raised her chin. "He could have abducted me because he finds me attractive!"

The goblin just grinned.

"Hey, watch it, little guy! I'll have you know that I am considered the prettiest girl in my village."

The goblin's grin widened. "And how many girls live in that village of yours?"

"Three," the huntsman's daughter admitted reluctantly. "If you count my grandma and old one-eyed Meg."

The goblin's grin widened again, until it nearly split his head in two.

"But that's beside the point," the hunter's daughter hurriedly continued, her cheeks reddening. "Let's get back to spinning straw into gold, alright? You say you can actually do that?"

"Certainly. It is among the most popular services provided by my employer."

"And what's the cost?" she asked suspiciously. "I know that when you goblins offer something, there's always a cost!"

"Not true, young lady! My offer is completely free for a thirty day trial-period. After that, you can end your relations with GoblinMagic-Services™, or opt for a complete premium gold-spinning agreement for one year."

The huntsman's daughter perked up. "Really? Well, if that's the case, spin away!"

The goblin bowed, and stepped up to the spinning wheel. "Allow me."

And he went to work, his little green fingers flying so fast that they blurred in front of the girl's eyes.

When the king, accompanied by his guards and his herald, opened the door to the dungeon the next morning, he found the huntsman's daughter smiling smugly, surrounded by heaps of glowing golden thread.

"S'truth!" the king exclaimed. "This fair maiden has powers far beyond mortal man! This is a most wondrous thing."

"He won't chop your head off," translated the herald.

"If thou shouldst be able to repeat this marvel when the sun sinks beyond the horizon, we shall be most grateful."

"And he won't chop your head off," the herald added.

With that, the door was shut in the girl's face again, and she was left alone in the dungeon.

"Damn!" she said.

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That night, the goblin returned, and with a smile and a wink, spun heaps of gold for her. The same happened on the following night, and the one after that.

"Thou art performing true miracles," the king told her. "If thou shouldst manage to spin gold for me for three more months, I shall make you my wife."

"Um...well..." The girl eyed the king doubtfully. He wasn't really that much of a catch, to judge by his looks—but it was probably better than having her head cut off. "Well...thanks so much."

For the next few weeks, the goblin faithfully returned, each night sneaking secretly into the castle and spinning gold for the huntsman's daughter. But on the thirtieth day, he climbed out of his secret tunnel with a smile that the huntsman's daughter didn't altogether like.

"Thank God you're here! There is tons of straw to spin again."

"I am most dreadfully sorry," the goblin said with a bow, "but your thirty day trial-period has expired."

"What?"

"With our Ease and Comfort offer, you can extend your contract for another month for the price of one arm and one ear."

"But...but..."

"In case you should be requiring our GoblinMagic-Services™ for a longer period of time, you can easily opt for our Premium offer and extend your contract to a full year for the ridiculously low price of one firstborn child."

"But...I can't..."

"You can also opt for our customer-friendly credit option: buy now, pay tomorrow! If you do not wish to give up your firstborn, you may keep him—"

"Oh, thank God!"

"—if, in his place, you give up your second and third born child a few years later. Should you happen to have identical twins, you get an extra month of silver-spinning as a bonus."

"That is horrible!"

"What?" The goblin looked offended. "I worked a long time on that sales pitch! It has a ninety-five percent success rate with customers! Please be a little more polite when—"

He ducked just in time to evade the spinning wheel that was hurled at his head.

"Hey! There's no need for that. I was only offering a service. If you are dissatisfied with our offer, you can get in touch with our customer care unit, or make a complaint to—"

He ducked again, as a stool followed the spinning wheel and crashed against the wall just inches from his head.

"I think I'll be going now. This environment is beginning to feel unconducive to providing a stable service."

"No! Wait!"

The huntsman's daughter's fists were clenched. She was breathing hard, and had to work even harder to keep her anger down. But it was clear to her that the goblin was her only chance. If she had her head chopped off tomorrow, both she and any potential firstborns she could have would die with one stroke. If, however, she gave in to the goblin's demands for now, she would have at least nine months to figure out a way of getting out of the deal. She was an expert at getting out of things!

"I'll do it!" she blurted. "I'll give you my firstborn!"

"You wish to opt for our Premium offer?"

"Yes, yes!"

"Congratulations!" The goblin gave her a toothy yellow smile. "You just bought yourself a full year of first-class gold-spinning from GoblinMagic-Services™. We thank you for choosing our offer. Would you like to receive our newsletter or take part in our customer satisfaction survey?"

"No!"

"All right, all right, you needn't shout. I'm standing right here in front of you."

"Get to work already, will you?"

"Already on it!"

When the king entered the dungeon after the stipulated three months, he found a young and semi-beautiful maiden surrounded by great big heaps of spun gold. Instantly, he fell to his knees in front of her.

"Oh, my dear! Thou art the most beautiful girl we have ever seen in our life! Almost as beautiful as all this gold! Willt thou marry us?"

"Err...yes."

"Thou hast made us the happiest men— um, man in the world. And we already know the perfect wedding gift that alone is worthy of your radiance."

"Really? What is it?"

"A luxury first-class spinning wheel!"

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News of the wedding was spread far and wide throughout the kingdom, and after a courtship of three months, the joyous ceremony finally took place in the kingdom's biggest cathedral. And after seven more months, the couple's first son was born. Kings are never very patient men.

The young queen had never been so happy. True, her husband was something of a pathetic loser with a tendency to speak like a Shakespearean tragedy, but her little son was all she had dreamed of, and she was determined to make sure that he grew up into a strong, kind, and just young man.

There was only one problem with that.

"Knock-knock." The goblin peeked his head in the nursery door. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything important?"

The huntsman's daughter wasn't unprepared.

"Stay away from my baby, you nasty little bastard!" she warned, pulling back the string of her bow and aiming an arrow straight at the goblin's pointy nose. "Or I'm going to skewer you!"

"Now, now, there's no call for violence," the goblin said reprovingly. "Besides, if you kill me, all that gold I spun for you will get turned back into straw. I doubt your husband the king would be very pleased about that."

The huntsman's daughter swallowed, hard. He was right. The king would not be pleased.

"I can't let you take my son! I can't!"

"Hm...I see. Do you think you could maybe pay in installments? An ear today, another tomorrow, then a little finger..."

"No!"

"Dear me. Then we do have a problem."

The goblin eyed the cradle behind the huntsman's daughter, his eyes sparkling with entirely too much interest for her taste.

"One move, and I'll put this between your eyes!"

The goblin gave her a reproachful look. "We do have a binding agreement, you know. You should hand over the little brat. Otherwise, I could sue you for breach of contract."

"You can take your lawsuit and stuff it up your scrawny little butt!"

An arrow whizzed past the goblin's ear and buried itself deep in a wooden beam. The little fellow jumped back, his eyes wide. Before he could blink, the huntsman's daughter had another arrow nocked.

"Um...look here. Perhaps we can come to some kind of arrangement."

"Oh yes? Like what?"

"Our company is very customer-friendly. We've recently introduced a new refund policy. If the customer for some reason is, um..." He glanced at the sharp, glinting tip of the arrow, "...unhappy with his contract, he or she can get out of it by guessing their customer consultant's name."

"You want me to guess your name?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

The little fellow gave her a look. "Why do I want your ugly little brat? Why do I go around spinning straw into gold, when everyone knows straw is much more useful? I'm a goblin. Goblins do crazy things. Otherwise, what would be the point of being a goblin?"

"Err...I don't know."

"Right. So, are you going to do it?"

The huntsman's daughter considered her options for a moment. It couldn't hurt to try. If she guessed his name, she would be free of him, and her son would be safe. And if she failed, she could still shoot an arrow through the little bastard's head.

"Yes!" she told him.

"Very well." The goblin put on an important expression. "You shall have three tries to guess my name. I shall return at sunset tomorrow to hear your first guess."

The moment he had left, the young queen called together all the linguists of the country and ordered them to compile a list of the most likely goblin names. The linguists eagerly went to work, and after a few hours of research and scholarly discussion, they came to a unanimous agreement.

"There is only one name it possibly could be," they told the queen.

"What is it?" she demanded, eagerly. "Well? What is it?"

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That night, when the goblin came to visit her (wearing thick plate armor, for he was a smart goblin) the queen was ready and smiling.

"Well?" he demanded. "Have you guessed my name?"

"Yes!" she told him, triumphantly. "Your name is Rumpelstiltskin!"

The little fellow made a face. "Please! That was my grandpa's name. It went out of fashion a hundred years ago!"

"What?"

"Bad luck, I guess. Well, toodeloo. I'll be back tomorrow for your second guess."

"No! Wait, I–"

But the goblin had already disappeared.

That night, quite a lot of linguists were executed in the kingdom.

Not knowing what else to do, the queen sent out messengers to all four corners of the earth (and everywhere else, too, because the four corners of the earth aren't really all they're cracked up to be). She ordered them to search high and low for the goblin, and not to rest until they had discovered his name. But the sun sank and the goblin came before the messengers had returned.

"Well?" he demanded again. "Have you guessed my name?"

The young queen bit her lip. "George?"

"Do you want to insult me? At least Rumpelstiltskin sounds halfway normal!"

"Wait! Let me guess again!"

"Sorry, can't do that. I'll be back tomorrow—and when you fail again, I'll be taking your little brat."

"No, wait, I–"

But the goblin was already gone.

The messengers all returned during the course of the next day. But although they had searched all the kingdoms of Fairyland, none of them could tell the queen the goblin's name—until the very last messenger arrived.

"My queen," he said, "as I rode through the woods near Fairhaven, I came to a crossroads, and in the middle of the crossroads stood a signpost with four signs pointing in different directions. The first said 'Fairy Castle,' the second said 'Squishy Swamp,' the third said 'Purgatory,' and the last said 'Little Goblin's Hut—if you want to find out a goblin's name, go this way!'" The messenger paused for a moment in his narration. "Upon consideration, I thought it wise to follow the last path."

"Yes, yes, and?"

"I came upon a little hut with a sign on top saying 'Goblin's Hut—listen in if you want to find out any names.' So, after mulling the whole matter over for a while, I didn't go and knock at the door, but snuck up to the hut to listen. And it was well I did so! For in front of the hut, there was a little green goblin, dancing around a kettle and singing."

"What was he singing?"

"My queen, his song went thus:

Merrily the feast I'll make.

Today I'll brew, tomorrow bake;

Merrily I'll dance and sing,

For soon the queen her child will bring.

Little does the lady know that my name is..."

He hesitated.

"Yes?" the queen demanded impatiently. "What is his name?"

"Wait a minute, Your Majesty. I wrote it down here somewhere." Fiddling around with his belt pouch, the guard pulled a piece of parchment out and cleared his throat. "Little does the lady know that my name is," he cleared his throat, "John Henry Xmirxfirdlhumph jigjagfnstlgdrg Timothy Absalombomb Necktickle Nonpsychological Logorrhea Succedaneum Blockhead Krktirriliminau Tarofalostesimikalidoraefastingo Junior."

The queen blinked. "Excuse me?"

"John Henry Xmirxfirdlhumph jigjagfnstlgdrg Timothy Absalombomb Necktickle Nonpsychological Logorrhea Succedaneum Blockhead Krktirriliminau Tarofalostesimikalidoraefastingo Junior, Your Majesty."

The queen took a deep breath and held out a shaking hand for the piece of parchment. The messenger handed it to her, and the queen studied it intently.

"And you are sure about this?"

"Absolutely sure, Your Majesty."

"Very well. You shall be rewarded for your loyal services. Now leave me. I have matters of importance to attend to."

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That night when the goblin returned, the young queen was prepared, parchment in one hand and knife in the other, just in case.

"Now, lady?" The goblin made a deep bow. "What is my name?"

The queen unrolled the role of parchment. "Do I get three guesses?"

"Certainly. The customer is king. Or queen, in this case."

"Is your name...Jim?"

"Ha! No."

"Is your name...Tom?"

"Wrong!"

"Is your name...John Henry Xmirxfirdlhumphjigjagfnadg..." The Queen coughed, tried to unknot her tongue, and started over again. "Is your name John Henry Xmirxfirdlhumphjigjagfnstlgdrg Timothy Absalombomb Necktickle Nonphysiological...damnit! Psychological!"

"Pardon?" Grinning, the goblin cocked his head. "What was that you said?"

"I said is your name John Henry Xmirxfirdlhumphjigjagfnstlgdrg Timothy Absalombomb Necktickle Nonpsychological Logorrhea Succedaneum Blockhead Krktirrilimimau...damnit! Not again!"

"You can't say it, can you?" The goblin's grin got even wider. "Ah, my dear old mom was a smart one. She knew a name like that would be a great boost to my career at GoblinMagic-Services™. You should see what happened to the last queen who tried to pronounce it. They had to call in a crew of escape artists from the nearest circus to untie the knot she had in her tongue."

Straightening, the queen raised her knife. "I don't care! You're not getting my son!"

"Ha!" The goblin's eyes glittered. "Do you really think you can overcome me with that puny little knife?"

"Not really, no." The queen smiled. "Which is why the knife was my distraction, and they are my plan. Guards!"

The goblin whirled around—but not in time to evade the guards who grabbed him from behind and started to wrap him in thick, dwarf-made chains (super-deluxe extra special evil overlord dungeon model, five-hundred year warranty included).

"Hey! That's not fair! We had a deal! I was supposed to get the little brat! Let go!"

The queen looked on smiling as the goblin was trussed up like a chicken. Then she ordered the guards to take the little bastard by the ears and throw him into the castle's deepest dungeon.

"You can't do this!" the goblin screeched.

"Of course I can," the queen informed him. "I'm queen now, after all. I can do whatever the hell I want. Which reminds me...Captain?"

The captain of the guard saluted. "Yes, Your Majesty?"

"Do you like your current king?"

"No, Your Majesty! He talks like he's got a screw loose and makes us wear those ridiculous golden uniforms!"

"Well, then throw him in there, too. Along with a spindle and a really, really large pile of straw. Do we understand each other, Captain?"

"Perfectly, Your Majesty!"

"Brilliant! And while you're at it, get my father to keep my dear husband company. Let's hope he can give my dear husband some tips on gold-spinning."

"Yes, Your Majesty!"

And the young queen returned humming to her baby, and everyone lived happily ever after—well, except for the people rotting in the dungeon who died an agonizing death. But you can't have everything now, can you?

And the moral of the story is: only accept payment in dollars or souls. Firstborns can be a very unstable currency.

Or, another moral: try and become an absolutist monarch, because they can do whatever the hell they want, and it's great fun! Yay!

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My dear Lords, Ladies, and Baby-Snatching Goblins,

Hello and welcome to story #1 of my second batch of fairy tales! I sincerely hope you enjoyed it? If so, perhaps you'd like to know that the entire 2nd batch of fairy tales is already finished and published in both ebook and paperback format. Both versions have  three extra tales that aren't available to read here on Wattpad. Just search Amazon for "WARNING! Fairy Tales 2" or order it at a local bookstore, and you'll be able to get hold of all ten stories. Over the next few weeks, I will be posting the majority of those stories here on Wattpad for you to devour, so hold on to your seats, my dear lords, ladies and gentlemen. We have a wild ride all the way through fairyland ahead of us! :-)

When I originally started to post this story on Wattpad, it's title was supposed to be...**taking a deep breath**: John Henry XmirxfirdlhumphjigjagfnstlgdrgTimothy Absalombomb Necktickle Nonpsychological Logorrhea Succedaneum BlockheadKrktirriliminau Tarofalostesimikalidoraefastingo Junior, but apparently, Wattpad apparently only allows a maximum of eighty characters as a title, so I had to shorten it a little ;-)

How many of you can pronounce it, I wonder? ;)

Despite the somewhat unconventional title of this tale, you probably recognized it as a retelling of the well-known German fairy tale Rumpelstiltskin, a tale first written during the the nineteenth century by the Brothers Grimm, and published as story number fifty-five as part of their anthology of Children and Household Tales, which these days is normally known by its shorter title of Grimms' Fairy Tales. Yet the Grimms' edition of the story was in fact based on various much older oral stories that, as literary scholars from a number of universities have discovered, could be as much as 4000 years old. I never really understood the Grimms' version, to be honest. Especially the part of it where the queen, with a whole army at her disposal, was not able to defeat a single measly little goblin that was threatening to grab and devour her only child. Even when she did eventually win the goblin's silly little guessing game, the Queen in the Grimms' version has to just stand around while while Rumpelstiltskin escapes the castle by flying out of the closest window on a cooking ladle.

While I was reading this during my childhood days, I never could help chanting in my head "Kill the little bastard! Kill the little bastard!"

So, in my retelling, I sought to remedy that logical error from the original tale. A Queen who knows who's in charge makes for a much more satisfying ending, don't you think?

Yours Truly

Sir Rob