Jareth's escapade (part 1- short story)

Warning- use of outdated terms

I'll be numbering the Gublenn Co. story line in chronological order as soon as possible. I've only just realized how many stories they have! For now, heres the next part


In the early morning, just a day after Jareth’s birthday, Cole and Nigel arrived as a pair to Jareth’s estate. Nigel pressed the front door open, which creaked slowly and echoed in the grand entrance, then held it for Cole. After Cole entered, Sonya and Anthony followed behind. Anthony dragged a stuffed rabbit named Barnaby behind him.

“We ought to have that oiled, really,” Cole said, glancing back at the door.

One of the manservants stood at the top of a ladder just beside the staircase with his arm outstretched. He carefully unhooked one corner of Jareth’s birthday banner which had been tethered to the ceiling. It fell, then splayed across the railings of the staircase, still held by one corner. By the door, a maid swept the twinkling glitter that had fallen from the guest's gowns and spattered onto the wood flooring. The maid raised a white gloved hand and waved. 

“Would you oil the front door?” Cole asked.

“Of course,” she said.

“Morning, Winnifred” Nigel said to her, then eyed Cole.

“Yes, morning,” Cole said, then cleared his throat.

“Morning,” she replied.

Anthony’s leather shoes clunked as he ran from behind Cole towards the carousel horse beside the bottom of the stairs, which Jareth had bought after using it in a music video some years ago. It was adorned with a saddle made from light blue, pink, and gold, and had flowers that hung from its bridle. Anthony reached up to hold the bridle and he stepped on its raised leg to push himself up.

“Anthony,” Cole said.

Anthony’s shoe touched the ground again, and he turned back to Cole. He held his hands together in front of himself. For just a moment, everyone stared at Anthony. He looked down and dug his shoe into the wood finished flooring. Sonya put her hands on her hips.

“You can’t just run,” she said.

“That is a terribly expensive horse,” Cole said. “It’s not a toy.”

“Vinnie had him up on it just yesterday,” Nigel said, standing beside Cole with his hands in his pockets.

“Did he really?” Cole said, shaking his head. “Splendid.”

“Does that mean we can go on it?” Sonya asked.

“No,” Cole said. 

He looked up at Nigel, and before he could speak Nigel said

“Go on Cole, I’ll take em,”

“I’ll only be a minute,” Cole said.

“Go on,” Nigel said.

Cole began up the stairs and glanced down at his peacock feather watch, eyeing the time but not reading it. As he went, Sonya began to follow behind him.

“Can we go to the cafe? With Jareth?” Sonya asked.

Cole looked down at her, then pointed at the bottom of the stairs.

“Can we?” She asked.

“Yes, go with Nigel.”

“What does Jareth’s room look like?”

“An attic.”

“Can I see it?”

“Not today,” he said.

“Please?”

“Sonya,” Cole spoke very seriously and dropped his arm. “I’d like to think Jareth would want to know about it before you go into his room. Go wait.”

“Well does he know when you’re going in?” she asked.

Cole’s stache bristled and his brows lowered, and he put a hand on his hip. Sonya looked at his face, then turned and began to walk back down the velvet covered stairs with her hand on the sleek mahogany railing.


Cole gripped the golden door knob to Jareth's room, then began to twist it. But, for the first time, he stopped and briefly knocked three times. Then he pressed open Jareth’s door. 

Jareth’s room was particularly scattered that morning, more so than Cole had known it to be. His dresser’s glass cabinets were swung open, and clothing trailed from it throughout the room. The window had been left agape, and leaves from the garden teetered atop Jareth’s work desk. Wooden milk boxes that held stacks of paper had been dragged out from under the bed and tipped, which spread white sheets of hand written music across the carpet.

Cole shook his head and placed his hands on his hips.

“Jareth,” he said. “Come on, up you get now.” 

He walked to the bed where Jareth laid each morning, rotting, and he peeled back the curtain to reveal a flat, empty bed. He looked over his shoulder to the opened window.

“Jareth?” Cole called, leaning out the window with his fingers on the sill. He scanned the balcony. Both chairs- that were turned towards the railing so they may look down at the garden- were empty. His brows furrowed.

Cole went back to the bed to open the curtain again, then to the other side to disturb the pile of pillows that had built up. He wondered if Jareth had slept at all. Or if, perhaps, he was wandering in the garden. Or sulking in the music room.

Cole then went to the bathroom and flicked the light on. He took a step and leaned his body in, looking first to the bath then the shower. 

Just at the foot of the shower on the tile, a blotch of red caught Cole’s eye. Then another, and another. His gaze followed a trail of dots to the counter, where bundles of red soaked toilet paper littered around the sink. The bowl of the sink had a faded red line from the rim to the center where blood sat in a circle around the drain.

Cole’s face dropped. He pictured a black and white photograph of Jareth laying limp out in the garden somewhere, his arms splayed and wrists slit. He imagine himself in a suit standing beside Nigel looking at a casket while a crowd photographed them.

He took a step back, following the red dots from the tile in the bathroom to the carpet where they became fewer and far between. The last blot of red he could spot was at the door, directly under the handle. Only then did a thought come to Cole. He turned and looked at the papers all over the floor. Then the clothes.

He walked back to the bed and got on his knees to look under the frame where he knew Jareth's god awful ugly carpet suitcase lived. It was gone.

Cole jogged down the stairs blindly with one hand on the railing. His heart beat in his ears, and a heavy weight swirled in his chest. When Nigel spoke from the grand entrance, he didn’t hear him.

“Jareth’s gone, he’s ran off somewhere and I haven’t a clue where,” Cole said.

“Has he really?” Nigel asked.

Nigel stood beside the bottom of the steps with one hand in his pocket. Vinnie had joined him in the time Cole was away. Sonya and Anthony, who had been playing fox hunt with the carousel horse, had both gone very still.

“He’s gone. Winnifred, check the garden,” he said to the maid. “why the living fuck would he run off! Where the hell has he got to go? What's wrong with him!”

“Hold on- hold on now Cole,” Nigel said.

“Or he’s been kidnapped.”

“Maybe he’s gone and had a walk in the garden this morning,”

“His suitcase is gone for god sakes, I’m not a lunatic- he’s gone. He’s gone, I don’t know where.”

Nigel began up the stairs and placed a brief hand on Cole’s shoulder, then continued up. Cole turned to follow, but turned back with a hand on his forehead. He shook his head, then reached to hold the railing.

“Had he said a thing to you? Had he hinted- I haven't any idea what about, god,”

Vinnie stared at him. Then, he shook his head no. After a while, he began up the stairs after Nigel. 

Eventually, Cole reached the bottom of the steps.

Anthony and Sonya watched him, and they began to get off of the horse very slowly.

“Does this mean we’re not going to cafe?” Sonya muttered

Cole turned and stared at her. She stared back, holding the bridle of the horse.

“How could you possibly think of that now!” Cole said.

Only a few minutes later, Nigel was coming back down the stairs with a grim, white expression. He stopped halfway down to look at Cole.

“He’s gone,” Cole said.

Nigel nodded.

Three Months Later

Jareth had a horrible tendency to drive on the wrong side of the road. And when he was honked at, his tan truck would swerve back into the right lane. And when he turned at the next light he would be in the left lane again.

Jareth had one hand on the steering wheel and one on the radio dial. He turned it carefully, eyeing the red marker as it moved between stations. A song about a devilish hooker began to play. The man who sang it had a god awful oily twang, and Jareth continued turning the dial. The radio dipped into static, then back into music. A slow bass plucked the same chord, tiredly, and a sad man sang about a woman named Lucy May who left him for a rich man. Jareth continued turning the dial and wondered if all country men were homosexuals on account of hating women so much.

And when Jareth reached the last station, he shut off the radio. 

The car drove in silence as the wheels chugged against asphalt and created white noise. After every grocery run, or shopping trip, Jareth would drive back down the road that stretched between town and the motel, which sat just at the edge of the forest tree line. The only scenery while driving there was a row of wooden power lines and a single house out in the field. It was charred black and abandoned. Beside Jareth in the passenger's seat was a plastic bag with four stacked records inside.

The road went from tar black to gray, then to light brown as it faded to dirt. The tires began to crackle, and the truck’s front turned into the motel lot.

The motel was two stories and wrapped around the square parking lot, which had no parking lines and three cars sitting crooked in front of their rooms. The exterior was made from wide, flat, wooden planks with a light by each door. The windows and tailing were once copper, but had rusted and turned green.  The slanted white roof was speckled with pine needles and the gutter that ran along it was hoarded with wet dead leaves.

As Jareth pretended to find a parking spot, a man called out to him.

“You were driving on the wrong side of the road!” he said.

Jareth put the car in park, then looked out of his rolled down window. (it once had the ability to roll back up, but after jamming Jareth pretended not to notice it.)

A man with a large head and a small face was standing beside his motel door with his pink thumbs in his belt loops. He was fat beyond reason, and was chewing on something. He spat at the ground.

Jareth said nothing, and stared at him.

“You deaf?” he asked.

Jareth stared at him.

“What were you driving on the wrong side of the road for?” 

Jareth looked down and took the bag off the passenger's seat. He pulled the keys from the ignition and stepped out of the car while the man watched him. He closed the door, locked it, then walked forward to his motel room.

“Hey,” the man called.

Jareth opened the door- without unlocking it- and closed it behind him.

Jareth's motel room was dim, and bathed in orange. Even during the afternoon when the only window drawn open, the room was dark. The room smelt tangy and sour, which worsened the closer one was to the bathroom.

The walls were made from dark wood planks with a thin film from cigarette smoke. The carpet was blood orange and completely flat despite once being a shag carpet. The bedspread was a yellow, orange, and dark brown floral pattern with blotches of dark green polka dots, and when Jareth sat down on the edge of it the mattress springs squeaked loudly.

Jareth slid the stack of albums from the bag and placed them on his lap. The cover depicted a man in a purple shirt jumping in the sky, and the tezt at the top read; Leo Sayer- endless flight. Jareth slid it to the side to see the album beneath that was done in black and white. It was George Harrison’s first solo album, which Jareth had never listened to on account of finding him musically stupid.

He placed it aside and looked at the next album, which depicted a paper collage of clouds, stars, insects, and three men standing in front of skyscrapers. It read; Aphrodite’s Child- End of the World.

Jareth carefully slid the vinyl from the sleeve and cradled the rim with the pads of his fingers. He then stood and walked it to his record player on the floor.

He knelt, positioned the record, then flicked on the player. The record began to spin lazily on the turntable. After he positioned the needle, he stood and waited as the record speakers began to crackle.

Then, the speakers boomed as though a piano had been dropped from some great height. Then, a man began to sing.

Jareth rubbed his neck and stared down at the record for a long time. Then, he turned and walked deeper into the motel, down the short hallway, and into the bathroom where a single yellow light flickered above. Jareth looked up at it, and the dead bugs stuck in it, then at himself in the mirror.

He eyed the pink gash just under his right eye which had scarred up and closed. Now, a carved indent replaced the single dot on his upper cheekbone. He slid two fingers along the bottom rim of it, feeling the dip in his skin.

He looked down, and took hold of the black rubber scissors balancing on the sink’s rim.

His hair was just two inches lower than his ears and chopped straight like Vinnie’s. Unlike Vinnie’s, each chunk was splendidly chopped at different lengths which made his head look much like a pinecone.

Jareth pinched the tip of a section, held it taught, then raised the scissors to cut. The lock fell into the sink, then another, and another.

The record played in the other room, the light flickered, and the scissors snipped at Jareth’s hair in the back of the motel. When Jareth’s hair was an inch shorter, he balanced the scissors on the sink again.

He scruffed his hair with his hands over the bathtub to shake the strays, then returned to the bedroom.

He pulled out his spiral notebook from the dollar general, opened it to the first blank page, then stared at the record spinning on the floor. The first song ended, the second song began, and the singer sang a shrill story about a silly old man named Thomas.

Jareth held his pencil to the paper as though he was going to begin writing. And after a few minutes of holding, and staring, and thinking, he stood from the bed and went to the record player. He picked up the vinyl by the rim, then walked it to the corner of the room where a trash bin was overflown with ball-pressed papers. He pressed his thumbs into the center of the record and it split with a loud snap. He dropped both pieces on top of the crumpled papers, then walked back to the bathroom.


That night, Jareth found himself at a diner by the name of Henry’s Diner which he had frequented since arriving in Idaho.

He liked this particular diner because the waitress that served him was very quiet, and because he was the only patron.

For tonight, Jareth was having a pathetic plate of stacked pancakes that were no bigger than his palm with a side of fries and microwaved peas that he wouldn’t eat. He sunk his butterknife into the stack and listened to the table directly in front of him where a group of teenagers placed themselves. The two boys- caped heroically in letterman jackets- were enjoying their own voices. One of them had a girl under his arm. Another girl who had come in with them was standing at the jukebox. 

Jareth looked at them, then back down at his plate.

“Stop it Barney!” one girl said, a smile in her voice.

Then, she giggled, and tried to evade ear nibbling from the acne faced 5’5 stud. She squealed, and he began to poke at her sides.

“Are you going to Janice’s fourth of July party?” The other girl asked as she walked back over. The jukebox began to play, and it was Jareth’s hit from last year: Out of Hand.

“No,” said the boy, placing his arm on the back of the bench.

“Oh ick,” the first girl said. “No, she’s a total slut. She tried to have sex with mister Ruttenot last semester.”

“Pam!” the other girl said, smiling. She then said, “She’ll do anything but study.”

Jareth wondered if they knew how to shut up.

He pictured each man with a beer belly, laid back on a recliner with the television blaring while their wives called on the telephone.

“Are you going to Barbara’s baby shower?”

“Oh god no, it’s not even her husband's you know.”

“She’ll do anything but him!”

“Haha.”

“Haha.”

Jareth looked up at them, prodding his pancake stacks with his fork. One of the girls looked back, so Jareth looked down. Very suddenly, the table went silent. Then, they began to speak much quieter than they had been before. Jareth looked up again, and one of the boy’s was turned in his seat, eyeing him. Jareth pretended he hadn’t noticed.

After a couple of minutes they continued to look back at him and whisper, and giggle, and Jareth continued to eat. 

“Here you go, James,” The waitress said as she passed his table and placed his check on the edge.

“Thank you,” he said in a mutter.

Jareth wiped his mouth with a napkin and placed down his fork. Then, without writing the tip amount, he pulled a five dollar bill from his flannel shirt pocket and placed it atop.

He stood and slipped out from the dining booth, and the group began to shoosh one another because he might just realize they had been discussing him.

Not once had Jareth been recognized. He had been told he looked familiar, or asked where he was from, but not a word about Jareth Gublenn was said to him. And as walked from his table to the door of the diner, he felt that he was caught.

When Jareth reached for the door one of the boys said;

“Hey, I like your hair.”

And the girl beside him slapped his arm.

Jareth looked back at them, and the girls began to giggle again.

“What’s that haircut called?” The boy asked.

“It’s really groovy!” said one of the girls.

Jareth stared at them, they stared back, and his song played from the other side of the diner. After Jareth said nothing, one of the boys looked back at the group.

“Is he retarded?” he asked, truly.

Jareth left.

Jareth’s truck drove down the road back to the motel, which was no more than a twenty minute drive. He knew it well, he would go past the highschool, through a small neighborhood of homes that mimicked cabins, then to the clearing where the motel was.

Two headlights lit the wet road as he drove silently. Light rain tapped at the roof of the car and his windshield wipers squeaked each time they rocked. Occasionally another car would pass on the road and zip by Jareth’s open window. His left shoulder and arm were damp from drops of rain that came in.

It was during this particular drive that Jareth thought of Vinnie. He was wondering how long Vinnie had thought they were being romantic together. 

He pictured Vinnie watching him in bed while holding his hand, or watching him while they shared a microphone. He focused on Vinnie’s face, and imagined that he was hopeful. Very hopeful that Jareth would do what he’s expecting of him. Then, he pictured Cole’s face.

Jareth wondered if he was angry at Vinnie, or sad at him. 

It was then that a brown tabby cat darted across the road into the beam of Jareth’s headlights. She then hesitated and tried to run back, which put her right in front of Jareth’s right tire. Jareth, without thinking, turned his wheels as far right as he could while still holding down the acceleration. 

His headlights whipped away from the road and the front of the truck dipped as the wheels followed a steep decline. Then the back of the truck bounced when the ground leveled again. Jareth held the wheel with two tight fists and kept his body very still as the car rolled for some time before slowing to a stop. 

He had made a sharp turn off the elevated road into a fenceless backyard, and his truck halted right beside someone’s back porch. The home’s windows were lit through closed curtains, and a figure walked past the window closest to the porch. Jareth stuck his head out of the window to look back at the road, and porch light flicked on.

Jareth sat back again, staring at the porch with wide eyes. 

The door came open with a loud squeal that Jareth could hear past the rain, and under the single lightbulb above the door a large, wide man stepped out. He raised something and pointed it as Jareth. A bright light flicked on and Jareth’s entire face was lit. 

He stared, blind, then looked down to shift the stick into reverse.

“Hey!” he called.

The truck began to roll back, but only an inch before the wheels caught on the wet mud and spun with no movement.

The man began to walk forward, and Jareth pretended not to see him.

He attempted to drive forward again, then back, and when the car got stuck again, he decided to lock the doors. The man’s flashlight neared the car and became bigger and brighter, and Jareth could not see the man’s face.

“Cool it,” the man said in a low, gruffy voice.

He then walked past the car to shine his light on the deep tracks Jareth’s wheels made in his yard.

“Are you okay?” called another voice from the porch. A woman was standing at the door wrapped in a wool coat. She leaned forward to look at the tracks as well, but she did not come out in the rain. 

Jareth didn’t reply and squinted as the flashlight returned to his face. The man stared at Jareth, but didn’t say anything. So neither did Jareth.

“Can you talk?” The man asked.

“Yes,” Jareth said.

“You’re in my yard,” he said.

“I don’t mean to be,” Jareth replied.

“Mm,” he hummed.

“Are you alright?” his wife called. “Ramsey, what happened?”

The man’s head turned to look at her, but he said nothing. He waited for Jareth.

“I didn’t want to hit a cat,” Jareth said, suddenly.

“Oh,” the woman said. “Can it drive?” she asked.

“No traction,” Ramsey said.

The man, Ramsey, lowered the flashlight and pointed it to the ground. His silhouette gestured for Jareth to come on out, then he began to walk back towards the porch.