The Storyteller of Hamelin
– a story to read in bed before you turn out the light –
In the town of Hamelin – yes, that Hamelin of dubious fame, where the citizens were disinclined to pay the piper – in that very town, they hold a carnival at the end of every harvest.
To this carnival, come people from miles around, enticed by the prospect of every sort of entertainment. Dispersed among the sellers of exotic merchandise and foreign viands, are jugglers, dancing bears, boxing kangaroos, mimes, clowns on unicycles, a man sawing a woman in two; there are drummers, horn-blowers, fiddlers – no pipers, for they have been banned from Hamelin – and on the very last day, a woman who is so fat, she bounces on her belly like a ball as she sings. It is said, the carnival of Hamelin isn't over until the fat lady sings.
But the greatest attraction of the carnival is the storytellers' competition. To this carnival, every year, come tellers of tales and spinners of yarns to try their luck at being recognised as The Storyteller of Hamelin. The winner is offered the chance to grace the public with his stories for the whole final week of the carnival – until the fat lady sings.
As you read this by the light of your bedside lamp, you wonder what it is that brings them.
It's the honour they seek. As for the pay... – well, just remember how they paid the piper.
One year, there came to that carnival, a man of stark appearance, whose long flowing robe shone with all the colours of the rainbow. His long hair and beard were white as the snow, but his eyes were black, like the vast universe at night. It is said, if you look into them closely, you can see the stars. This wizard of narration drew near to the carnival officials' table, and said, “I wish to spin my yarns in the hearing of your pleasant crowd.”
“Indeed,” said the president, “you came at just the right time. Tonight, you shall declaim your tale.”
Said the vice-president, “If you win, you shall grace us with your repertoire until the fat lady sings.”
Then spoke the first assistant, “And, before the fat lady has finished her song, you shall be paid most handsomely.”
To which the town clerk added, “But we ask only one thing. You must not recite any stories by a certain Robert Browning.”
To this, the wizened chronicler agreed.
That night he stood before the longing crowd...
He speaks of a child, bewitched by her wizard god-father
she enters the royal ballroom, where her enchantments entice the prince
who dances with her until midnight
whereupon she abruptly departs, leaving behind a slipper
The prince, helpless in his infatuation, searches for the one for whom the slipper is a perfect fit
The child becomes his queen, and she reigns as her god-father's spells enslave the kingdom, binding it in darkness...
As he speaks, he leans towards each listener, and each one gazes into the blackness of his eyes, drawn by the stars that they see there, hanging on to every word.
You turn the page. Your eyes are drowsy. You need your sleep. Should you finish this story tomorrow? Worry not, it is but a short story – “flash fiction”, they call it.
The president of the carnival committee arose and spoke thus, “Without a doubt, this is the one chosen to grace us with his stories each day until the fat lady sings.
The vice president said, “Before the fat lady has finished her song, he will be paid most handsomely.”
To which the first assistant added, “But, there shall be no stories by a certain poet known as Robert Browning.”
The town clerk affirmed, “Such stories, as is the playing of the pipe, are banned in our humble town of Hamelin.”
So, night after night, the wizened storyteller poured his spiel...
Tales of princesses bewitched by frogs
a girl wearing red devoured by a wolf in the guise of her grandmother
a knight who rescues a princess from a dragon
– only to be enslaved by the princess already betrothed to an evil wizard
a prince who gives the kiss of life to a princess under the spell of an evil wizard
– but, himself, falls into eternal sleep
a wolf who eats two pigs, only to be eaten by a third
an evil wizard who brings darkness to whole kingdoms
a princess and her seven dwarf companions enslaved under a wizard's spell
of naked emperors
and fishes that grant wishes...
Each night the children dream of fairy-dust, gingerbread houses and talking rabbits. Others wake up screaming – for behind many stories, lurks the same evil wizard, one who paralyses his victims with fear and eats young children.
You must keep reading, lest the evil wizard appear in your dreams. But don't worry, the end is near and the resolution will set your mind at ease – you hope...
On the final day, the Storyteller of Hamelin said to the carnival officials, “Today is the day you 'pay the piper'.”
“We wish you wouldn't use that word,” said the vice president.
“Not until the fat lady sings,” said the president.
“We're ready for your last story now,” said the first assistant.
“And again, no stories by Robert Browning,” said the town clerk.
And so, the Storyteller of Hamelin got up to tell his final story. The crowds gathered around, for though they had suffered at night with visions of princesses and the evil wizard, they craved more of the storyteller's art.
In another part of the carnival grounds, the fat lady prepared to sing. She practised by hopping off one foot onto her belly. She bounced, and rolled until she bounced off the stage. Then she rolled into a corner, and there she stayed, no breath in her to sing – she had disobeyed her doctor's orders to cease being a fat lady.
“Ah!” said the president, “a technicality.”
“Only after the fat lady sings,” said the vice president.
“And the fat lady will never sing again,” said the town clerk.
“Let's see Robert Browning top that one!” said the first assistant.
But the Storyteller of Hamelin knows. He smiles, and begins his story.
How does he know? You, the reader, are about to find out.
“It is time to pay the piper,” he begins.
This is the story of the wizard.
This wizard is vastly powerful,
So powerful, in fact, that if one were to merely tell a story about him,
His enchantments would enable him to burst forth from the story into real life...
The people gasp.
You, the reader, see it in your mind's eye: the town shrouded in darkness.
The storyteller of Hamelin looks directly at you.
And he says, not to the town's people – their faces are frozen in intense fear – but to you:
“This story, that you are reading, is that story. And the wizard? Why, that's me!”
You hear a noise downstairs in the kitchen. You'd better go down and check it.
Or, maybe you'd better not...