Dimpellumpzki
An
old manikin 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 manikin
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 manikin’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 manikin 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 manikin
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 manikin’s repulsiveness. He didn’t
wait for her to think to do so, however.
“Good
evening, dearie. 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, dearie. 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 manikin 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 manikin 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 manikin
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 manikin
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 and 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 manikin
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, dearie. 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 traveled 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 manikin
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. “Dearie, dearie. 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 manikin 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, dearie. 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 manikin 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 manikin. 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 manikin 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 manikin 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 manikin
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 manikin 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 manikin
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 manikin
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 manikin 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 manikin, 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, dearie. 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 manikin 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 manikin
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 manikin
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 manikin
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 manikin, 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 manikin’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 manikin
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 manikin
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 manikin, 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, dearie.”
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 manikin 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 chance at three
guesses at his name.
“Is
your name Rumplruney?”
He
shook his head no.
“Is
it……Twizzeltzker?”
The manikin
smirked. “No.”
She
hesitated with a third guess.
“Have
you no more ludicrous names for me, dearie?”
“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 manikin 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 manikin 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, dearie?”
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
manikin’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 manikin 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.
Be not wishing and pining but thankfully content.
For it is a short bridge between wanting and regret.
~ Richelle E. Goodrich
Copyright 2012 Richelle E. Goodrich
Copyright 2012 Richelle E. Goodrich