The Evil Elves Writing Guild Proudly Presents:

~%%%  "The Package"   %%%~

In honor of Valentine’s Day and Cynthia, E.I.'s insinuations that our Dear
Goblin King pads his physique with men’s hosiery , some of us
Undergroundlings (see legalese section) got together and whipped up a, um,
well... *squirm*...

<momentary silence.>

Folks, there’s really no word to describe the tale we’ve spun together.
'Twisted' doesn’t even come close.

DISCLAIMER: about PG-13, not for violence or people doing the nasty, but
because the story involves elements of goblin physiology/anatomy as put down
by Brian Froud and Terry Jones, part of the team that created the movie
Labyrinth.

Comments are more than adored -- mark with COMMENT: and send to list, if no
one minds (there were so many 'helping hands' in this). Any flames will be
used for a wiener roast.

And now for a twist on the age-old tale of love, loss, and reconciliation....
**************

Introduction:

Before plunging ahead, Dear Reader, into this offering, you will need some
information about Goblin Physiology and Anatomy. We went to the experts --
Brain Froud and Terry Jones, the people who gave the movie Labyrinth much of
its look, flavor, and feel. Below is the quote from page 28 of their book,
“The Goblin Companion” (and we won’t even *mention* what is on page 64).
Isn’t it nice to know that they set the precedent for such things???

‘BÖING’
‘Feared by goblin maidens through the centuries, Racing Goblins (such as
‘BÖING’) are remarkable (to say the least!) for their detachable members
(see fig. V xii). These members are invariably kept in small (or sometimes
large) pouches and left lying around on benches, sent through the post, or
secreted under bushes. The members are capable of operating totally
independently of the Racing Goblin himself and have been responsible for
some of the most ill-judged unions in the history of the Labyrinth.’
*************

Interestingly enough, Dear Reader, the facing page in ‘The Goblin Companion’
has drawings of the pouch (!) and what we assume is the generative organ.
Frightening to contemplate. And oddly, there is a Ghostly Owl Face With
Mismatched Eyes up in the corner of the page..........

<drumroll!>

[Sarah: “Umm, Jareth...I keep finding these pouches all over the place....”
Jareth nonchalantly begins to look around, his hand strays to his own umm...
package... finding it still there, he resumes his characteristic cocky
attitude... checks his pouch... umm... not there? what's this? a SOCK?!?]
-- per Dreamspinner!!!

And Thus the Inspiration For Another Tale! We Present:

'THE PACKAGE' By Four Undergroundlings Plus One

first, the legalese, it’s long but informative -- be patient!

This story was written over the course of several e-mails during the last of
the Old Year and the Beginning of the New, the discussions originally
sparked by a dream of Cynthia, E.I. wading through a room full of socks.
Many thanks to Brian Froud and Terry Jones for documenting the Racing
Goblins’ unique, ah, lessee... anatomical feature in their book, “The Goblin
Companion”. In “King’s Holiday”, Rebecca (in the GNW) found out that
their... packages have a unique form of communication. Dreamspinner further
explored the phenomenon and THEN some, thus providing the.... uh, ...
ahem.... *cough* ‘MEAT’ for the story. Xarael added a rolling start,
Anakerie added her own very unique twisted -- I mean TWIST, and at various
points Rebecca enlisted the help of the goblins Sylvie, Solvang, and the two
Frankies, plus a fair goblin maid who at this time wishes to remain
anonymous for political reasons.

In addition to the writers above, many, many thanks must go to April for
her contribution of a separate piece -- included as the epilogue for this
story. It helped set things in motion for the longer tale. Many thanks
also to MadMarian for moral support (and kudos to you others -- you know who
you are). We must express gratitude to Cynthia, E.I. for her accusation that
the Goblin King *stuffs* -- this story would never have come to be without
the inspiration those sock comments provided. And of course we must give
thanks for the world of Jim Henson's Labyrinth and all in it. And *JOE*, we
could not have pulled off Cynthia’s little snail-mail surprise without YOU.
Joe, our endless thanks.

The characters of Dreamspinner and Gwydion/The Wild Hunt belong to
Dreamspinner, see the thankyous above for the rest of the who belongs to
whom.....

Cynthia, Evil Incarnate, We’ve Done This All For You.
%%~ %%~ %%~ %%~ %%~ %%~ %%~ %%~ %%~ ~%% %%~ %%~ %%~

*************
Chapter 1: ‘The Tease’
by Xarael

Jareth lay, sprawled on his bed, gazing at the crystal before him. She was
so beautiful now, really. Especially in the shower...

He felt surges of lust rising within him.

“Damn... I really should stop watching her at moments like these.... damn
thing's so jumpy lately. I'm just provoking it.” But he didn't quite tear
his eyes away from that crystal.

His....er... package began twittering about, really begging to be let out
and have some fun.

Jareth gave it an annoyed glance. “Oh, stop it. You can't have her now and
you know it. So just accept it and stop dancing around.” And his eyes
returned to the crystal.

It chirped back at him, a bit irritably.

“Silence. You keep this up and you're grounded for a week.”

Twitter, twitter, chirp... HISS.

“Really. Well, I wouldn't do that if I were you.” Silly thing, threatening
to go off without him. It couldn't do that. It didn't even know how.

*************
Chapter Two: ‘Too Much Rejection’
by Rebecca

It sat there heavily on the nightstand, limp and forlorn. Jareth was true
to his word and had grounded it for the week, electing to wear longer tunics
for now. And such a party was taking place in the castle that night! Faint
bits of the merrymaking could be heard clear into the King’s chambers. It
drooped even more, hanging its... head, elegant pouch strings dangling over
the side of the little table. The click of a key in the chamber door
briefly stirred it to attention, but it deflated dejectedly when it
recognized the voice of the goblin Sylvie, one of the chambermaids. She had
come to turn down the bed for the night and put away a fresh load of clean
garments. It chirped morosely.

“Oh, MY, love,” she cooed in a voice of concern, “what could the Master be
thinkin’, leavin’ you ‘ere on such a grand night? So many lovely ladies
about, too.....”

The.....uhm,..... package huddled miserably into the corner of the
nightstand, emitting a barely audible hiss.

“Ah, punkin, don’t take it so hard... the Master even now is chattin’ up a
real sweet young thing. I saw ‘im myself from the ballroom door -- I’m sure
he’ll be comin’ for ya soon.” She leaned closer and lowered her voice to an
apologetic whisper. “I’d cheer ya up myself, ‘cept--” a harsh squeak
sounded from a bulge in her apron pocket -- she gave it a pat -- “Little
Frankie is a bit on the jealous side, though Frankie ‘imself don’t care
much.... ya knows how it is with some of them Racing Goblins, dearie.....”

Sylvie straightened up with a sigh. “Here, punkin, I brung ya a nice clean
pouch up from the laundry, the Master will be popping it on ya later.... so
fresh, smells of the sun, and so purty, what with all them gems and such
mixed in with them gold threads.....” Sylvie stepped away to check the
hamper for dirty laundry, kicking open a hatch in the floor. ‘Punkin’
perked up with interest at the sight of the yawning black hole. And gently
slid off the table and onto the floor, stealthily rolling up behind the
chambermaid as she tossed soiled things into the laundry chute. She turned
to address it again, and started when she saw it had disappeared. She
rushed to the nightstand. “Oh, bad, bad, punkin! Not nice to play games
like that with old Sylvie! You come out now, don’t ya make me come lookin’
fer ya!” Too late she saw movement from the corner of her piggish eyes, and
whirled in time to see a glittering pouch somersault gaily into the chute.
She sank to her knobby goblin knees, contemplating the drop. It was several
floors to the laundry.......

As if things couldn’t get worse, she could hear the Goblin King himself
coming down one of the hallways with some other folk. They all sounded a
bit drunk and a bit LOUD. She broke out in a greasy sweat. What to do? In
his current state she doubted that His Majesty would be in a forgiving mood,
especially if his..... uh, well, ...package had gone bungee jumping without
a cord.

In a burst of inspiration Sylvie kicked the hatch closed, then grabbed a
clean pair of rolled up socks and stuffed them into the remaining pouch,
pulling the strings up tight. She plopped the pouch back in place on the
nightstand, then grabbed her basket and bolted from the room as fast as her
stubby feet could carry her. She skittered around the corner just as Jareth
and his companions came into view from the gallery. She didn’t think he’d
seen her, as his attention was focused on that pretty young woman he had
been talking to all evening. She heaved a sigh of relief and rushed back
down to the laundry. Too bad Little Frankie was a one
woman.........uh...... package. Otherwise she would have popped IT in the
pouch instead of the socks.......

Jareth excused himself from his group for a moment. “Just stopping to get
something from my rooms -- I’ll meet you in the Moon Gardens.” The laughing
and chattering group moved on, Jareth catching the arm, then chin of an
enchanting lady. “For you, love, I have something very special planned in a
private section of the Gardens...” he breathed. Quickly dipping his head,
he gently nipped her neck, chuckling as he heard the sharp intake of breath.
He cupped her face. It pleased him that she looked almost faint - from
desire, he hoped. “I'll join you soon....”

She wandered away as if in a daze, staggering slightly. Jareth frowned,
wondering briefly if he had put a bit too much of an enchantment on that
last peach she ate. He shrugged. It would make her easier to manage later
if he had. He went in. Now, where had he put that thing...

*************
Chapter Three: ‘Oh, Where Oh Where Has My Little Dong Gone?’
by Anakerie

Jareth walked over to the nightstand. He hoped that it wasn't in too bad of
a mood for the grounding. He did so hate to have to punish it, but it would
never do to let it forget who was boss. He had heard that far away on Earth
the packages were running completely wild, even threatening to bring down
entire governments. No, any punishment he issued was for its own good. And
his.

Spying the package on the stand, he picked it up, and without opening it,
stuffed it in his pocket. She was waiting for him exactly where he had left
her. With a smile, he took hold of her arm and led her off to his private
gardens. Jareth handed her the package. “Open it, my dear. You'll like
what's inside.”

She gave him a woozy grin and unzipped the package, and dumped the contents
into her hand. “Socks!” she cried in glee and began to pull off her shoes.

“Socks?” he looked over at the contents of her hand, feeling a bit faint.
What do you know? It *was* socks. “Excuse me for a moment, my dear.”
Jareth told the young lady. She just nodded, pulling the socks on her feet
and smiling like an idiot.

Jareth rushed back to his room, dumping out all the contents of his drawers.
No package. He searched all of his pockets. He found ten quarters, a stick
of chewing gum, a ticket stub from “Titanic”, (he choked up just thinking
about Jack and Rose's ill-fated love), and for some odd, probably drunken
reason, Kenny Roger's phone number. No package, however.

Oh, now how was he going to face everyone? His package was his trademark.
The shame alone.... Well, no one would have to know. He grabbed another
pair of socks off the bed. Hmmmphh. That would fool them for a while, at
least until he found his package.

*************
Chapter Four: ‘In And Out’
by Rebecca

Falling, falling, falling, for what seemed like forever... The....ah......
creature turned this way and that, surprised by all the endless space
surrounding it. With a squeak of shock, its journey came to a rude stop in
a pile of fragrant soiled linen. Goblin hands reached for it, turning it
this way and that. It twittered softly, but its meek chirps were covered by
the racket of the machinery in the Castle Laundry.

“Blast, Sylvie’s not here to help with me new duties.....” Solvang the
laundry maid muttered. “What’n ‘ell am I supposed to do with this damn
pouch? Looks like cold-water wash to me, what with all that fancy beadwork
and such.....” Solvang waddled over to a open tub-within-a-tub that was
almost full, the inner tub agitated by some odd-looking machinery
underneath, a large pipe exiting the outer tub. “I ain’t washin’ nuttin’ by
hand..... ain’t in me contract.” she growled. She lifted the pouch and
looked at the handworked insignia again. It seemed familiar, somehow, like
she’d seen it elsewhere, on a piece of jewelry or something..... naw.
“Shouldn’t hurt to pop it in ‘ere. It’s nearly time for me break anyway,
and I ain’t stickin’ around for old Sylvie to show....” Solvang tossed the
pouch in and headed for the door, not hearing the protests coming from the
washtub. She did stop for a moment to absently scratch her rear. “Didn’t
Sylvie say sumpin’ about turning out all pockets ‘n pouches before tossing
‘em in the wash? Blast it all, I cants remember..... I’ll asks her when I
gets back.......” Solvang headed out the door.

Whirling, spinning -- it was getting dizzy. And SO cold!!!! Warm and wet
it understood -- and liked immensely. But this cold and wet sensation was
most unpleasant. Sort of like.... swimming, or just coming out of the bath.
It shriveled into itself, shaking with the cold..... There was a lot of air
trapped in the pouch which mercifully kept it near the top of the tub. A
jet of cold water hit the, uhm, package, as part of the rinse cycle. The
jet pushed the package and a single buoyant sock up and OVER the lip of the
inner wash tub, the heavier clothing remaining in the tub. With Sylvie’s
cry of despair echoing in the laundry room, package and sock were promptly
sucked down the drain tube to be deposited in the River that ran under the
Castle.

Sylvie pounded her fists on the tub, arriving too late. She howled again,
yelling for that idiot Solvang. She wished the Master would stop enchanting
the really young ‘uns. He needed to grow ‘em a little first before he
slapped ‘em, so the new goblins wouldn’t come out SO stupid..... Sylvie
pulled out her sharpened knitting needle, murder in her eyes. It was time
to teach Solvang a little about knitting, goblin-style.... she could hear
Solvang’s feet flapping down the hall. Grinning evilly, Sylvie faced the door.

The current carried the shivering package downriver a bit, the package
washing up in the shallows at the River’s bend where the drenched thing
joined a multitude of unmatched wet socks. It cheeped miserably. And again
was picked up, this time to be held against something warm. With a grateful
sigh it snuggled closer.

“Oh, my, only the lost socks are supposed to end up here...” The goblin
maiden murmured as she cradled the package to her breast. “You’re desperate
cold..... Listen, I gotta collect all the socks before mornin’, ‘cause I
sells them at market, but lets git you warmed up first.....” to which it
chirped enthusiastically. The maiden blushed. “Oh! ...well... let’s see
what I can do about that.....” she drawled shyly.

The next morning dawned clear and warm, and the goblin maiden, much as she
hated to do it, left the sparkling pouch near the Wiseman’s chair. It
seemed the best place for such a.......... treasure. She hadn’t really
noticed the design on the pouch until this morning, when it was much too
late. She sighed regretfully -- the last few hours had been most pleasant.
It was a shame her intended’s wasn’t detachable, otherwise she would talk
him into making a switch.....

*************
Chapter Five: ‘The Package’
by Dreamspinner

Jareth lounged impudently on his throne, a pouty smile playing about his
lips. He really must find that thing. Goodness knows where it was -- he
shuddered thinking about it. The possibilities... made him gag. It
wouldn't answer any of his summons, entreaties, pleas... nothing. With a
flick of power, he blasted a section of the Escher room into
non-existence... how dare it take such liberties without him!!!

Dreamspinner skipped through the hedge maze on her little quest. Jareth's
dreams were getting to be quite amusing... she snickered as she rounded the
next bend and saw the tell-tale glint of embroidered fabric peeking from
under the Wiseman's chair.... the creature was not there... good. She
tugged on the corner of the pouch, and it rolled out from where it had been
hiding... greeting her with an excited chirp. She laughed out loud at
that... taking the pouch embroidered with Jareth's personal standard into
her hands with an expression akin to distaste. Oh, he wasn't going to like
the terms of its freedom... not one bit. She smirked evilly and
disappeared, the standard now safely wrapped in a blanket of dreamfabric.
He'd *never* find it now.

Jareth woke with a start... he had almost sensed its presence... but then
something had excited it, and he couldn't get an articulate answer from it
after that. Drat. He stood and looked into the mirror which hung opposite
his throne... adjusted his package to look more convincing, then yawned. He
couldn't help but feeling like something was terribly amiss...ing....

Dreamspinner skipped down the very faint trail which lead to her cottage,
knowing none would ever detect her presence. She knew Gwydion would be
waiting for her, and she hadn't decided what she was going to tell him about
her latest acquisition... Grinning hugely, she waltzed into the door, an
impish smile plastered all over her face.

Gwydion looked up and regarded his wife, and noticed her mood... “What have
you been up to, bright-one? You look like the cat who ate the canary and a
few other things in the pantry while the lady of the house was away...”

Dreamspinner wordlessly dropped the package into Gwydion's lap -- who jumped
up and almost shrieked when he realized what it was...

“Aaahhhhhhhh!!!! Where'd you get this thing? Oh -- how nasty! Go put it
back!” he screeched, knocking the article off his lap and onto the floor as
he jumped from his chair to stand on the other side of his greatly amused
wife. During his outburst, the package had rolled on the floor and was
nearly ignited by the fire in the hearth... Dreamspinner quickly retrieved
it, wrapping it back up into the dreamcloth, all the while smiling at
Gwydion. He got a twinkle in his eyes when she mentally told him whose
package it was... and he started outright laughing. The emblazoned regal
standard on the pouch should have tipped him off... but it's not everyday
your wife drops another man's umm... package... in your lap...

“Oh, please, let me borrow it just for one hour...” he said, laughing so
hard his sides began to ache, sending her a mental image of his plans for
the umm... piece... which sent her into uncontrollable hysterics.....

Jareth startled awake, the golden sound of a hunting horn ringing in his
ears and he slipped out of his bed to go and look out his window... what he
saw there made him cringe... Gwydion and the Wild hunt were riding the winds
tonight -- and swinging from the end of a long spear carried blatantly in
front of the whole laughing group of amused elves was his prized package....
and it was chirping merrily!

Jareth silently fumed as he pulled his clothing on. How did they get it?
Who found it? He'd have to ask around, confidentially, of course. Maybe
Dreamspinner would take pity on him if she heard what had happened. He
gritted his teeth with an audible crunching noise. Oh, the embarrassment!
How many people knew of his dilemma now! With the way his luck was going,
she probably orchestrated this whole little performance. Well, if she
wanted his undivided attention, she certainly had it now. He muttered
darkly to himself as he shifted into owl form and flew out the open window
on soundless wings. Now if he could only convince it to come back...

Gwydion and a few huntsmen came into the cottage with bright smiles
plastered all over their faces. The spear still carried its um... burden,
which Gwydion flipped onto the floor. He then threw the spear into the fire
with a look of utter disgust painting his handsome features, all the while
muttering “Goblins...” like a curse.

Dreamspinner crossed over to the corner where the package lay and asked it
if it had a good time... its resounding chirps caused her to chuckle. She
looked up at the elfin men who watched this exchange with amused but
disgusted interest. Horrid fascination, really.

“Did he see it?” she asked impishly.

“Couldn't have missed it!” Gwydion started laughing again, and his huntsmen
all joined in, nearly killing themselves with mirth.

Once they were all semi-calm again (random fits of chuckles did arise here
and there), Dreamspinner said, “Of course you realize that he'll be on his
way here now.”

Gwydion sobered immediately, “Want us to stand guard?”

“Dearest, it does belong to him, after all...” Dreamspinner chided gently,
causing the huntsmen to all burst into fits of hysterics again.

“I'm staying to see how this plays out, if you don't mind...” Gwydion
saucily stated.

“He might not appreciate an audience during the...uh...reunion...”
Dreamspinner giggled behind her hands.

“Well... I'll be outside with the others then. If I hear anything that I
even think could be wrong, I'm in here, okay?” he said with all seriousness.

“Okay.”

Jareth glided into the large open window just as the hunters were leaving.
He stalked up to the chair where Dreamspinner sat enthroned.

“Okay...why?” he asked, trying to control his embarrassment. He fought the
wild surges of emotions until they were under his reign of tight control.

“Because.” she retorted.

Drat -- she wasn't going to make this any easier for him. “Because why?” he
really needed to know.

“It asked...”

When she said that....he decided he really *didn't* need to know... “Never
mind! I don't want to know! Arrgh! Can I have my property back?” he
demanded, arms folded across his chest, perfect jarenthian scowl.

“It doesn't like you. It wants to be free...” Dreamspinner couldn't believe
this whole scene... she tried *very* hard not to laugh.

Jareth cocked his head to the side with a puzzled expression on his pale
features. This only added to her mirth. “What? Oh, damn!” he cried.
“Might I have a word with it?” he pleaded.

“Over there -- in the corner....” Dreamspinner motioned to the other side
of the room, a sly smile playing about the corners of her mouth.

When Jareth approached the umm... package... it hissed at him, cautiously
backing as far into the corner as it could go. Dreamspinner lost all
composure at that point, much to Jareth's dismay. Her musical laughter ran
up and down his last tightly-strung nerve.

“Would you stop! You're only making things worse!” he snarled. The
package chose to make a break for it at that moment, and bounced out of the
corner, rolling frantically until it was well hidden under Dreamspinner's
chair. She barely resisted the urge to shriek and leap out of the chair.
Jareth noted her reaction to his uh... package with mild amusement. He
stalked up to her, and seductively took her chin in his hand.

“Well, we know it likes *you*.... want to help me convince it to come home?”
he purred, and an indignant squeak sounded from beneath the chair.
Dreamspinner extricated herself from Jareth's clutches with amazing
quickness; she was up and out of that chair in just a blink.

“This problem is all yours. You left it wanting... didn't see to its needs.
I'm surprised it didn't leave you sooner, from what it's told me...”

“Enough! I yield! Mercy!” Jareth threw himself to the floor at
Dreamspinner's feet, “Please help me with this... I know you can, umm..
heal things...” he glanced up into her eyes, silently pleading....

Dreamspinner sighed, “Okay...but only *if* you can convince it...and no
thoughts of revenge -- got it? Be very aware that I can remove it as
quickly as I put it back...”

Jareth nodded solemnly, pledged the required oath, then jumped up and went
over to the chair where his package was hiding. After a brief but heated
discussion, the package chirped its agreement, and bounced out into Jareth's
eager hands. He turned to Dreamspinner with a triumphant expression... and
she did her best not to laugh as she told him to put it where he wanted it.
In polite deference to her, he left the room to adjust his now-real package,
and then returned. Dreamspinner bit her bottom lip and placed her
fingertips on his brow. Jareth felt the warmth of her healing magic
coursing through his veins. He sighed in total contentment as he realized
he was no longer to be subjected to such a nightmare again. It was a part
of him now... forever.... and suddenly carefully repressed desires from many
lifetimes flooded into his frantic brain.

He convulsed once, then grabbed hold of Dreamspinner, his face a mask of
total terror. “Make it stop! Please...” he uttered a strangled whisper.

“You asked for it. Get ahold of yourself!” she tried to break his hold on
her, but his terror lent him strength beyond what she was used to. He
continued to shudder as the feelings long dormant ran free within him,
clinging to her like he was drowning and she was the only person who could
save him. With a impatient wave of her hand, Jareth found them transported
within the bubble-fantasy he had created for Sarah. Dreamspinner gracefully
pulled herself from his stunned grasp and pointed to all of the court
dancing within the ballroom.

“Go and get it all out of your system. It's safe enough in here. I'm not
going to stay around and watch, so there.” she said primly, smoothing her
rumpled dress. Suddenly, she smiled with impish glee, “If this dream isn't
enough, I can always weave another. But I think your passions will play
themselves out sooner than you think.” His mind barely registered her
remarks as he sighted a lovely young thing....

Dreamspinner peered into the crystal she held on her fingertips, then shook
her head. She sent the crystal to Jareth's apartments with a mental
command. He was going to be very tired when he finally got out of there.
She knew his ah... fashions would be all the more umm... enhancing now that
he had his prized possession back. Might as well paint a bull's-eye on the
front of every pair of pants he owned....

THE END -?-
*************

Epilogue: 'Valentine From Jareth'
Delivered Via April


February 2, 1998


From: Jareth

To: Cynthia, E.I.


Dear E.I.,

It being that romantic time of the year, I'd like to pledge something to
you. No, not my heart... that's *so* passé. INSTEAD, I give you my sock.
May you cherish it as much as I did. Put it to good use... and every time
you touch the sock, think of me.

Love Always,

Jareth
King of the Goblins