Green Glass, Goblin

I do not own Jareth, or the Labyrinth, any specific goblins, OR any of the poems I may mention, unless otherwise specified. If you would like a copy of any of the poems used, email me...

Chapter One: Green Glass

"Elaaaaaiiine."

"Please, Rhiannon." Elaine begged, falling to her knees in mock-theater fashion, clasping her hands in front of her.

"Noooo."

"Rhiannon,C'mon just this once! I want to see!" Elaine tugged on her friend's trench coat pleadingly. "Pretty, pretty please!"

"NO!" Rhiannon squealed a protest, her cerulean eyes sparking merrily. "That is sooo boring! And we only have a few days left, come on! We have to hit the good shops!"

"PLLLLEEEAAAASSSSE!

"FINE!" Rhiannon threw up her hands in mock disgust, rattling the vast amount of shopping bags that were tangled around her freckled wrists. She tossed her brilliant red hair out of her eyes and nudged Elaine towards the shop. "But be fast! And for God's sake, don't spend all your money, we still have to shop tomorrow! I don't know why you like that stuff." She added, rolling her eyes at the battered sign reading Primrose Antiques.

"Thank you!" Elaine squealed, bounding up the steps with irrepressible energy. Her hair, chestnut-gold and very long, bounced behind her, swinging in the slight sea breeze. "I won't be! I'll hurry! I promise!"

Elaine was, Rhiannon thought sarcastically, possibly the only person in the world who would forgo a lovely Welsh day for a dusty antique shop. But then, there you were. That was just Elaine.

Elaine entered the shop with a jangle of brassy belles. There was an old man asleep behind the counter, a grandfatherly looking figure, who didn't even bother to wake as Elaine slid in. The shop was crowded, cluttered, and dusty, as though no one had been in there for months. Old relics, trinkets and curios were piked around: gilded treasure chests, banged-up suits of armor, glimmering goblets with half-etched golden lines on them...Elaine sighed. Even in the middle of Wales, hundreds of miles from home, an antique shop could always cure her homesickness.

The shop was quiet, mostly, but a music box played in the background, slow and soft, a tune she didn't know. Elaine closed her eyes and concentrated on the music, listening, then opened them with a sigh. The tune seemed familiar, somehow, but she couldn't quite place it. She lightly picked up a few things, hearing her mother's voice in her head "that's a cheap imitation, darling, and that vase is certainly not worth what they've got on it. Those books, though, those look like a good buy..."

"Oh!" Elaine let out a startled cry. She clapped a hand to her mouth. In front of her stood a mirror, gilded around the edges with fantastic faces and scrolling, and her own reflection had startled her. Elaine looked at herself appraisingly, mentally taking stock, as though she was an antique her mother was cataloging. In her mind again she heard her mother...

"Tall—maybe too tall—long hair, brownish, still a bit wet, we could refinish that—two bluish eyes, not too clear, and far too much eyeliner on—skin too white. Do you think it could tan, dear? Perhaps with a little bit of work? Mouth, nose, chin, arms, breast, narrow waist all intact—hips too wide. Far too wide, and legs not as long as I like them. Oh dear, you didn't inherit your grandmother's legs." Elaine winced. Her mother was a wonderful woman, but not always the most tactful person in the world. Even in her mind.

"Laws!" The old man shook himself awake. "My heavens, child, you startled me!"

"I'm sorry." Elaine smiled at him, moving away from the mirror. "It's a lovely shop!" she added.

"You a yank, then?" He asked, putting a finger beside his nose.

"Yes indeed. My mother owns an antique shop there, so I thought I'd stop in."

"In the business eh?" The man yawned. "Well, look about, if you need help I'm right here."

"Thanks." Elaine moved towards the back, fingers brushing everything as she walked past. The music was fainter now, as though the music box had wound down. Elaine followed the noise, half heartedly, wondering why she cared.

When she found the box, she was mildly disappointed. The tune had been a sweet, faintly sad tune, and she had expected something slightly more ornate to go along with it. Instead, there was a carved soapstone box, white and pretty, but virtually worthless. Elaine fingered the top, then opened it.

A surge of music greeted her, not the slow, sad, soft tune she had heard, but a carnival tune, fast—but faintly bittersweet. Spinning around where the ballerina should have been was a miniature castle, black against the soapstone white, twirling lightly. Elaine sighed. Not anything worthwhile. Just another trinket. She shut the box, and the music stopped abruptly.

That's funny.

Hmmmmm. Elaine turned around and opened the box again, and instead of the carnival tune she had heard, the slow, faintly sweet song greeted her. Hmmmmm.

A glimmer of something in the corner of the box caught her eye. Something green and gold. She picked it up.

A shimmering green pendant fell from between her fingers, suspended on a simple gold chain. The music stopped abruptly, as though someone had smashed the box, but Elaine hardly noticed. She was looking at the pendant.

It was stone, completely, perfectly round, about the size of a marble, but it was different than a marble, somehow, more green, more faultless. It was almost uncanny; like a drop of sea water from the bay of Naples, blue-green, shimmering with aquamarine glint, beautiful, spinning on the end of the gold chain like the miniature castle had spun within the music box. It was like the tears of the stars, the tower of Atlantis, something otherworldly and mysterious, suspended in the air like a miniature planet suspended in space.

Green glass, goblin.

"Elaine!"

Elaine started with a cry. Rhiannon was behind her, grinning, hands on her hips.

"Oh Rhiannon!" Elaine tore her eyes from the pendant, "I'm—I'm sorry, I lost track of time, you see and..."

"Aw, forget it." Rhiannon smiled. "Nice necklace."

"Yes...it went to that box..." Elaine looked over to the table. "That's funny..."

"What?"

"The box—that music box—it's gone." Elaine looked around the shop. "I could have sworn it was right there."

"Well, check out and let's go!"

"I'll have this, please." Elaine set down the necklace. The man behind the counter looked at her with wide eyes behind his half-moon spectacles. "It came with a a box, but I can't find the box anywhere!" she looked around again. "It was playing music when I first came in." she said helpfully.

The old man stood up. His eyes were so wide, they looked as though they were close to falling out of his face. "T' box?" He said, in a whisper. "Y' mean t'white music box?"

"Yes! That's the one!" Elaine swatted away Rhiannon's hand as it poked her in the side.

"My God!" the old man sat down with a thump. "It's 'appened again!"

"What?" Elaine asked.

Rhiannon was looking out the window, fiddling with a toy ship, but she looked up and began to listen.

"You 'eard the music?" The man took out a bright red silk handkerchief. "You're only the third one to do so, but lord love ye, you're much less frightenin' than the other two."

"To do what?"

"To hear the music!" The old man leaned in. "That box 'as been in 'ere for years...it was even 'ere when i bought the shop! And there ain't but three people, countin' you, who've ever 'eard that music comin'--real sweet and sad, did you say t'was?"

"What do you mean?" Rhiannon stepped in. "Look, we don't believe in that sort of thing."

"But the other two..." the old man continued. "Laws, was they ever strange. The one—the woman—she was all in white, she was, even her hair, and Bob from the barber shop was there the day she was in, and he claimed he didn't never see no woman, but she asked me about the box, where I had got it or some such nonsense." the old man worked his hands. "Made me right trembly, if I do say so. And then the other one." He shuddered "aA man—but 'e was angry, that one was, and he wanted me to open the box, but i couldn't do it—it t'aint never opened before." He looked at Elaine in wonder. "What did you do t'make it open—t' other man, that dark one, 'e was right angry when i couldn't open it for him.'e looked right like a goblin he did, a real unseelie."

"I just opened it!" Elaine held out the pendant. "Can you tell me how much this is?"

"Take it!" The old man backed away. "It's bad luck, that box is, and no mistake!"

"Well, it's gone now." Rhiannon's tone was slightly acid. "and you don't have to worry about it any more—and your goblins, or unseelies, or whatever."

"Are you sure?" Elaine held up the pendant, but the old man backed away.

"Ay, ay. Take it and my blessing with it, missie. 'tis bad luck, such a goblin-trinket."

"Come on." Rhiannon dragged Elaine out of the store and into the sunlight. Elaine winced at the change of light.

"Idiot." Rhiannon twirled a finger next to her head. "Absolutely mad."

"Rhiannon...did you see the box?" Elaine was peering intently at the necklace. "I mean, didn't you hear the music?"

"What music, mate?" Rhiannon gave her an odd look. "There wasn't any music. Nor any box that I could see. Are you having me on?"

"That's strange." Elaine threw Rhiannon a look."I'm not kidding, you know."

Rhiannon shrugged. "Believe what you like, then, chum." she elbowed her. "We have to get home anyhow. My Mum'll be waiting."

"Green glass, goblin." Elaine's voice was far-off, misty. "That's a poem I heard, once. He reminded me of it, all the talk of goblins, you know. I wonder, Rhiannon, are there really goblins, somewhere?"

"What?" Rhiannon shot her a funny look. "God, Elaine, you really took him seriously. You're worse than all the old fogies. I thought Americans were supposed t be more sensible"

"Do lots of people believe in the unseelies, or whatever he called them?

"Nobody with a brain. My grandfather used to tell me tales about the kind under the hill, though."

"The king under the hill?" they were walking through the quiet streets of the little town where Rhiannon lived. Elaine loved Wales—it was the only place she had wanted to come when she graduated high school—Wales, to see her longtime pen pal, and have a little fun before her mother shipped her off to college. "Who's that?"

"Oh, some people say King Arthur." Rhiannon said "Other people say the goblins, or the unseelies. But that's all nonsense. Some people even put out bread and milk for the hobs to clean the houses." She laughed her merry laugh. "Isn't that insane? Elaine? Elaine?"

Elaine was silent, gazing at the pendant in her hand.

"It's pretty, isn't it?" she showed it to her friend, eyes half closed "Like something from a poem or a fairy tale or something...:"She looped it over her neck in one fluid motion.

"You and your books." Rhiannon rolled her eyes. "Honestly, dear, you ought to have been born in a fairy tale."

Hey! I know it is a bit slow to begin with, but it's my very first endeavor, so be patient with me! It will pick up in the second chapter. And please, pretty please, review—an author is no good without her editors!