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....

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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.’

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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. %%~ %%~ %%~ %%~ %%~ %%~ %%~ %%~ %%~ ~%% %%~ %%~ %%~

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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.

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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...

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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.

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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.....

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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 -?-

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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