Sarah had refused. In the beginning.
The goblins had been coming and going from her bedroom mirror for years, trailing behind them mud, dirt, bugs that could talk, and taking sandwiches, balloons, her purple thongs, and every can of hairspray she'd ever owned back with them. They were hellions.
So, when they'd tromped on through with some hair brained scheme to breed chickens she knew that they'd been binging on her Discovery Channel again—and also that maybe, just maybe, they were going to piss Jareth off so much that he'd keep them busy for a while (Karen and Daddy were supposed to visit next week you see). So she hadn't really minded that they had come up with such a silly, ludicrous plan that was destined to fail, but when they asked her if she wanted to join in on the fun—like having Jareth pissed of at her was fun! Hah!—Sarah had, very smartly she thought—refused. The goblins had gone away depressed and dragging her silky black bra behind them (Sarah didn't want to know what they had planned for it; she only wished it a quick and painless death).
Sarah refused again when they asked if she wanted to keep their roosters for them (something about eating eggs but they didn't taste good once the roosters got to them and Sarah had been sufficiently horrified and kicked them all back into their own world at that point).
She had refused to keep the chicks in her house when they came barging in just as she was getting ready to go clubbing—she had spent far too much on a pair of sexy boots and was ready to break some hearts and toes. They hadn't seemed too disappointed though and they had gone off, muttering about boots—Sarah was just glad that they had gone without stealing another pair of her undergarments.
Sarah had laughed when they asked her to help them colour their chickens with her Crayola markers. She had declined—of course—but had suggested that, if they wanted their chickens to stay whatever colour they picked, a dye might be more helpful. They had looked rather dejected and Sarah did feel a slight tinge but then she saw the wisp of red lace belonging to her newest pair of underwear—located in the grimy pocket of a goblin—and she didn't feel the slightest bit sorry anymore.
The next time they asked for her help it was to paint numbers onto their chickens and have them race each other. Sarah promptly put a parent control on any racing programs on her television and told them that the chickens wouldn't race each other. The goblins brought Henry over. Henry was a very large, very gruesome looking wolf. Who happened to eat broccoli, but the chickens didn't know that—the goblins swore her to secrecy and threatened to move the Bog of Eternal Stench to her bathroom should she ever break her vow. So Sarah refused again but sent them on their way, she also may have—though the idea could never really be traced back to her!—mentioned that most people liked to gamble at these races and perhaps the goblins should go about earning some coin. The biggest of the goblins—who Sarah secretly thought was behind the whole chicken fiasco—nodded and grabbed her purple lace bra with the black detailing (which still had its tag on!) as he was leaving. Sara finally snapped. She hadn't even worn that bra yet! But when she went to confront them, the biggest goblin grinned at her (she wanted to brush his teeth very badly) and told her that it was her bet. Sarah was so flabbergasted that she let him get away without getting her bra back.
And then it happened. The day came when Sarah didn't refuse the goblins.
They came into her bedroom through the mirror just like any other day, and this time they had another silly idea—and Sarah secretly wondered why the Goblin King hadn't put them all out of their misery yet, surely all of these brightly dyed chickens must be driving him mad? Only this time they had actually brought a chicken with them—something that greatly troubled Sarah (as the chicken was a strange meld between brown and purple and a hideous red…puce! The chicken had been dyed puce!) and made her want to blind herself. While they were explaining their idea of a chicken fashion show—Sarah decided that she didn't really need that subscription to Flare anymore—Sarah's eyes finally adjusted to the chicken. And then she saw it. Or, rather, saw the many its.
The puce coloured chicken was wearing not one, but three of Sarah's bras, and had several of her stolen thongs hanging off of her like ornaments from a Christmas tree! Sarah wasted no time in leaping for the chicken, but it was trained to run from hungry looking predators and, despite Sarah's hunting-of-troublesome-creatures ability, it got away. The biggest goblin—who Sarah was quickly coming to hate—smiled at her and suggested (the little beast!) that if she were to help them with this one thing maybe she could have what Gerald—who, Sarah discovered after much humming and hawing, was the puce coloured chicken—was wearing.
Now, Sarah was of two minds. On the one hand, underwear was rather expensive and she had to give the goblins credit because they had put Gerald in her very best underwear, but on the other, Sarah wasn't all that sure she wanted her stolen goods back—who knew what had been wearing them or what had been in them? But…some of those had never been used, and besides, if nothing else, Karen had taught Sarah how to get stains out of fabric and give things a good wash. A little soap and a truck load of disinfectant and her undergarments would be good as new. She hoped. So Sarah agreed.
And that was how she found herself standing up on a stage, microphone in one hand, barely legible cue cards in the other, as she announced each and every ugly coloured chicken that the Goblins had bred and managed to push onto the runway.
And then she saw him. Jareth. Sitting there, bold as you please, watching her. Oh, he was wearing some kind of a hat that had floppy ears attached to it, and his clothing was rather subdued, but there was no mistaking his hair—or that fact that he stood at least two lengths above all the other goblins in the room. So. He had been behind this. She should have known. And now that she'd finally given in he was there to laugh at her. Sarah was furious. How dare he!
So, he thought he could make a fool of her did he? And he didn't even have the guts to own up to it, if his sneaking away was any indication! Well, Sarah would just have to prove him wrong. Turn the tables. Make him look the fool. She would play his little game, and soon he'd be begging for mercy.
Because Sarah was an excellent hunter of troublesome creatures, and because Sarah refused to let him win.
She refused.