Rumpelstiltskin Story

Once upon a time, atop a lofty hill, stood a resplendent golden castle. Its every facet, from its towering spires to the furnishings within, shimmered with pure 24-carat gold. Even the moat surrounding the castle was filled with liquid gold, upon which the most magnificent golden swans glided gracefully.

Within this opulent abode resided a queen, a woman of insatiable greed and erratic temperament. Her reign was marked by tyranny, and her subjects, burdened by her avarice, detested her. This was hardly surprising, for the queen’s sole obsession was her precious gold.

One morning, a commotion erupted in the queen’s grand hall.

“Enter!” she boomed.

A slender servant boy entered, bearing a large scroll. He unfurled it and began to read.

“A message has arrived from the mine, your Majesty!” he announced, then paused, his feet shuffling nervously.

Also See the Story: The Elves and the Shoemaker

The queen, impatient, glared at him. “Speak, boy! Your hesitation bores me!”

“U-um, well, the scroll states that… all the gold is gone, your Majesty.”

The boy presented the scroll to the queen.

“No! Impossible!” she shrieked.

But it was true. The kingdom’s gold reserves were depleted, the mines barren. Not a single shekel of gold remained. The queen, enraged, erupted in fury.

She summoned a meeting, demanding the attendance of every man, woman, and child throughout the kingdom.

On the appointed day, the populace gathered before the castle’s golden gates, awaiting the queen’s arrival.

Suddenly, a trumpet blared.

“All hail the queen!” a voice proclaimed.

The queen emerged, her gaze sweeping across the assembled crowd. “We need gold!” she declared, her voice ringing with authority. “And I will not rest until someone provides it!”

She pointed to a young man in the crowd. “You! Can you bring me gold?”

The man, trembling with fear, replied, “Oh no, your Majesty! I am but a humble baker’s boy, possessing no gold.”

The queen’s fury erupted. “Exile this traitor!” she roared.

Three guards seized the man and dragged him into the castle’s dungeons. The queen then pointed to a young woman. “And you? Can you bring me beautiful, precious gold?”

The girl replied, “Oh no, your Majesty! I am merely a woodcutter’s daughter.”

Without hesitation, the queen thundered, “Cast this impudent girl into the dungeon!”

The guards swiftly apprehended her and led her to the depths of the castle. Fear and anxiety gripped the crowd. It was clear that this cruel, greedy queen would stop at nothing to satisfy her insatiable lust for gold.

Restless, the queen pointed to a young boy standing beside his parents. “You, boy!”

“Yes, your Majesty?” the boy replied.

His parents exchanged worried glances, knowing their son possessed no gold.

“Speak!” the queen demanded. “Can you bring me gold?”

“Well, your Majesty,” the boy stammered, “I am a farmer’s son, and I… I can turn straw into gold!”

The queen summoned the guards. “Confine this boy to the barn!” she ordered. “He must transform all my straw into gold by sunrise, or face eternal imprisonment in the dungeon!”

The guards seized the boy and threw him into the barn, locking the door with a heavy chain and padlock.

Darkness descended. The boy sat amidst the straw, his head in his hands. “What am I to do?” he despaired. “I merely wished to avoid the dungeon. I have no idea how to turn straw into gold!”

As he pondered his predicament, a strange phenomenon occurred. A brilliant light erupted, and a diminutive genie materialized.

“I can help you,” the genie declared.

“What can you do?” the boy inquired.

“I can transform straw into gold and save you from a life of imprisonment,” the genie replied.

The boy, faced with no other option, reluctantly agreed.

“Very well,” the genie said.

With a flick of its wrist, a loom appeared. The genie sat down and began to weave, magically transforming the straw into shimmering gold.

By sunrise, the barn was overflowing with a mountain of gold, far surpassing the wealth of any mine.

The boy, however, began to weep.

“I saved you from the evil queen’s clutches!” the genie exclaimed, bewildered. “Why the tears?”

“I weep because I am now your slave,” the boy sobbed. “I will never see my family again. They love me dearly, and I cannot bear the thought of living without them.”

The genie, touched by the boy’s plight, offered a glimmer of hope.

“I will offer you a chance,” it said with a mischievous glint in its eyes. “If you can guess my name by sunrise tomorrow, I will grant you your freedom. Now, go to your family and return to my hut in the forest tomorrow morning.”

The boy raced home, overjoyed to see his parents.

“How is this possible?” his mother exclaimed, her eyes wide with astonishment. “What have you done?”

“Oh, my dear son,” his father cried, “We despaired of ever seeing you again. Did you deceive the queen? You had no gold! How did you return?”

The boy recounted his extraordinary encounter. His parents listened in stunned silence, their mouths agape.

“Son,” his father said, “I know the cottage you described. It lies deep within the forest. We will wait for nightfall and venture into the forest to seek clues that might reveal the name of this magical being.”

As night fell, they ventured into the forest, guided by the flickering light of a candle.

They reached a small, white cottage, smoke curling from its chimney. Inside, the genie sat before a crackling fire, playing a harp and singing:

tonight tonight, my plans I make, tomorrow tomorrow, the baby I take. The queen will never win the game, for Rumpelstiltskin is my name

The boy and his parents exchanged triumphant glances. They returned home, their hearts filled with hope.

The next morning, the boy returned to the genie’s cottage.

“You wish to guess my name?” the genie inquired.

The boy hesitated, feigning uncertainty. “Speedwick?” he ventured.

“Hehehe… Speedwick is not my name!” the genie chuckled. “Guess again!”

“Oh, well, perhaps Goldspin?” the boy suggested.

“Haha… Goldspin is not my name! Try again!”

The boy leaned forward, a sly smile playing on his lips. “What about Rumplestiltskin?”

The genie shrieked in frustration. “Impossible! Only my mother knows my name! This is preposterous!”

In a fit of rage, the genie tore at its hair, splitting itself into two identical beings.

“You shall be my slave!” one genie declared.

“No, you shall be my slave!” the other retorted.

The two genies engaged in a furious battle. Seizing the opportunity, the boy slipped out of the cottage and fled into the forest, returning safely to his family.

The boy and his family lived happily ever after, while the fate of the warring genies remained unknown. From that day forward, the little white cottage stood empty, a chilling reminder of the boy’s extraordinary encounter.