It was night. There was no storm, nor wind, nor rain. Everything was still. Clouds hung heavy in the sky, but no water fell upon the houses which sheltered sleeping Londoners tucked in their beds. The whole of the city was deep in sleep – not a single person out of bed for a drink of milk or a late night snack but one.
In a nursery, sitting up wide awake was a baby. He was crying, large gulping sobs that made his face red and wet with salty tears. Through the bars of his crib he stared, waiting for someone to burst through and take him into their arms. But no one came.
He was scared, you see. There were strange shadows moving about the room, and he had been woken up by a noise coming from under his crib. There was something here with him, and it made him afraid.
He cried louder, almost screaming, trying to get someone's attention. Still no one came.
But over by the balcony doors, was a presence he did not notice before. A figure stood motionless, shrouded in the black dark of night, watching.
The child stood up in his crib with outstretched arms to indicate his unspoken wish to be lifted. The unknown entity did not approach. Instead, darkness seeped off his form until he was bathed in bright moonlight, revealing a man with wild hair and dark clothes.
Then the man spoke to the shadows, and the shadows answered back.
"Do you think I do not know you are there? Come out."
The shadows broke away from the walls and floor, taking on various shapes, becoming creatures so ugly and so deformed that it was terrible to look upon them. Their skin was rough. They wore old rags covered in grime and dented, rusty metal like armor. And they stank. They smelt of decay and they smelt of rot, and they knew it and they liked it.
"What do you think you are doing here?"
The question was spoken softly, but the goblins started shaking with fear and darting their eyes around the room as if the answer would somehow present itself. "This one has not been wished away."
A goblin with a tail like an alligator and who wore a plastic spork on his belt like a dagger, answered him. "We wasn't doin nuthin'. Just watchin'."
The rest of the goblins smiled up and collectively nodded their agreement with the one who spoke.
"I see," the man said amiably. "So, instead of reporting for you duties, you've all decided to come up here and do nothing." The goblins' grins slowly slid off their faces with each word the man uttered. Goblins may be stupid creatures, but what they lacked in brains they made up for in self-perseverance – they could always tell when their king was not happy with them.
"And not just any child," he continued, stepping closer to inspect the infant, "you disgusting lot of dimwitted imps decide to go after A ROYAL PRINCE OF BRITAIN." The timber of his voice shook the walls and rattled the windows, causing the goblins to cower before him. "WHAT WERE YOU CRETINS THINKING. DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW DANGEROUS IT IS, HOW MUCH MAYHEM WOULD ERUPT FROM HIS DISAPPEARANCE. DID IT ESCAPE YOUR MINUSCULE MINDS WHAT MIGHT HAPPEN IF A CHILD OF HIS IMPORTANCE WENT MISSING."
Now, over in the corner was an odd looking goblin. His skin was bright orange, and he wore an even brighter green garment, which clashed terribly on his person. But that really wasn't the oddest part about him. He had a pair of ears that were so long that it caused him to be slightly hearing impaired – and it is because of this very reason, he never noticed the king appear in the prince's nursery until this precise moment.
"Hey, look! King's here!" The goblin smiled up, one stubby finger pointing at his liege.
If it wasn't quiet before, it was now. None of the goblins dared to breathe as the king turned to the goblin who had spoken.
Before any of the creatures had time to contemplate what was happening, a wind began to blow through the room. It started as a gentle breeze, but in a manner of seconds it picked up enough speed to scoop up each goblin and send them swirling in the air to form a tornado of small limbs and cookware. They screamed and howled as they were lifted off the floor, except for one who put his arms up and giggled like he was having the time of his life. Others clung to whatever they could get a hold of from the posts of the crib to clawing at the rugs on the floor. One even grabbed onto the child's pudgy hands, hoisting him up in the air, but the king promptly snatched the prince from the goblin's clutches, sending him twirling through the air screaming, "Noooooooo!"
When every goblin had been lost to the vortex, the wind died down, and the only thing left was a single chicken feather, floating gently down until it landed on the ground.
The prince laughed and clapped, bouncing in the king's arms.
"Yes, I thought that quite amusing myself." The Goblin King smirked down at the child, clearly pleased with himself. "You should see when I kick them into the bog. Their screams of terror accompanied by the lovely splashes are just delightful." The baby smiled up at him and cooed.
"It is a pity about that tainted blood of yours. You might have made a decent heir. But, unfortunately for you, I doubt my kingdom would take kindly to a werewolf as their ruler." The child's eyes widened from the solemn tone of his new friend. "Don't take it too harshly chap. You are in line for your own throne. Of course, you might not be so lucky if that grandmother of yours manages to outlive you, and by the looks of it she just might." The Goblin King gently tickled the child under his chin, receiving a soft gurgle.
"You know, I think I'll call you Jareth," the king mused. The baby promptly attempted to nip at the finger tickling him, but not before the king could pull back to wag that same finger in admonishment. "No, I think not. There's no telling what could happen if our blood mixes. Let's not find out, hmm?"
The child yawned and did his best to keep his fluttering eyelids open. And then the king began to sing. It was a song without words and with unknown meaning. It fell from closed lips through the ground. The stars and moon grew brighter. The world and its people grew quieter. It filled the air with a sweet sugar smell, and when it was over the little prince was in a place where everything was light and laughter.
The Goblin King laid the child down an ornate crib, and smoothed down his hair in goodbye. But as he turned to leave, a flash of gold caught his eye.
Next to the cradle was a fine, shinning timepiece that the king took in his hand. It popped open with a click, and the monarch frowned. With a singular tap, the clock began to twist until there were thirteen digits shown upon its crystal glass face. Then the watch was gently tucked between the prince's fist, ticking away the seconds and days and years to come.
"Something to remember me by," the king spoke. And he stepped back into the darkness where it took him back on home.
A/N: I think the DW reference is pretty obvious, but for those of you who don't watch, in the Doctor Who verse, the Royal Family are supposedly werewolves.
Thanks for reading.