The tall and slender man slumped from the Underground. The subway was particularly hot this day, and his usual ride from work to home was filled with sweaty, frustrated people also getting away from their jobs until tomorrow. The man wiped his forehead as he climbed the stairs and stepped onto the bustling London streets. He noticed a few clouds in the sky as he shielded his eyes from the sun, hoping they would block the fiery orb's smite on his walk home.

His suede shoes pattered softly on the pavement as he contemplated his awful day. His desk job was anything but his dream. He did not even know what his dream was yet, but he knew he would not find it behind a typewriter, in a cubicle, in a room with no windows. Today was particularly bad, having jammed his company-assigned typewriter and locked the file cabinet key inside its top drawer.

The rest of his life had not been a cakewalk in comparison, however. He was left for dead in the dirty streets as an infant, picked up by who-knows and dropped at an orphanage. At four, the orphanage had a fire and he was trapped inside, escaping narrowly, though he could not recall how. Having been transferred to a foster program, his caregivers never paid much attention to him among the other boys. He had only imaginary friends to keep him company until middle school. There, he wished away the imagination which threatened his social life and his focus on school. He struggled with his grades through high school and dropped out with no prospects.

Having never been adopted, he outgrew the foster system and was kicked out by his caregivers. He soon moved into his own flat after a few weeks on the streets and scraping for money. There, he job-hunted fruitlessly for months. One day, upon turning in an application, he became horribly lost taking a shortcut through a back alley and miraculously wound up at a small office firm with a horrible location, which affected business greatly. He was offered a job on the spot, but it was nothing to boast.

As he tried to brush off his bad day at work, sprinkles of rain began to fall. He looked up and saw the few clouds had expanded. Though they now blocked out the sun, they were grey and brought with them an angry storm. Thunder rolled softly and the rain came down harder by the second. People around him dashed indoors or popped open umbrellas if they had prepared after watching the weather report on the news that morning. He did not own a television, so was unaware of the chance of rain. He groaned as it poured down on his dirty-blonde pompadour, which quickly lost volume. He rushed home through growing puddles.

He put his key into the front door's lock. As he turned it, the key handle broke off. Still caught in the rain, he shouted out in exasperation and let his forehead hit the door hard. Suddenly, the door clicked open, as if someone had let him in. He rushed inside. "Hey, thanks," he said in a tone that was not overly-appreciative, as he shook off his blazer. He looked up and noticed nobody was there. He glanced around the apartment foyer, but there was not a soul to be found. His face looked puzzled as he trotted up the stairs to his flat.

He locked his door and put the kettle on. After a trip to the loo, he came back to his boiling water and poured a cuppa after turning off the stovetop. Reaching for the sugar, he knocked over the mug and spilt the hot liquid all over the countertop. He looked in the immediate area for a rag, but did not see one. He spun around to the opposite counter, but no rags were to be found. Turning back to the kettle, he noticed a dishrag right beside his cup. Brow furrowed with confusion, he grabbed the rag and cleaned up the spill. He poured a new cup and decided to skip the sugar.

"What a day," he spoke softly as he exited the kitchen. He walked to window and saw a billboard through the rain. It was getting dark, but he could make out the advertisement. It portrayed a bank with piles of coins outside and several little creatures dressed in nice suits, swimming in the money. It was an ad for a local bank, which read, "Don't let those goblins take your money away! Bank with us!" It bragged high interest rates, something that made him consider switching banks. His accounts had little in them, but he could use whatever small interest increase he could get. He sipped his tea and turned away from the window and moved towards the furniture to rest.

He dropped onto his couch with his mug. With his fall, a leg broke off the sofa causing one side to hit the ground, spilling his tea all over his button-down shirt. He let out an exasperated sigh as he set his cup on the end table and dropped his head in his hands.

"I wish the goblins would come and take ME away, right now."

Lightning cracked loudly and the lights cut off. He swiftly glanced up at the palladian windows across the room to just catch the lightning fading. The windows burst open, and he covered his eyes for a moment in surprise. He looked back, and there stood a short figure on the sill.

He leapt to his feet, confused and afraid. "Who's there?!" he demanded. Lighting struck again, illuminating the room, and he could see the figure belonged to an elderly woman, decrepit and fragile. She was robed in a white gown and clutched a staff that was taller than she was even if she were not severely bent from old age.

"I'm Zylvia, Queen of the Goblins."

"Okay," he said, voice quavering. "Wait right there just a second." He turned to the end table which had a rotary phone upon it. He picked up the receiver and dialed 9. About to reach for the 1 button, the phone was snatched up and chucked into the opposite wall. He looked up to see a monstrous creature with a dirty, mangled face. It smiled darkly at him before disappearing under the end table.

His mouth was agape. He turned back to see the hag, but she was upon him, standing just a foot away from the broken sofa.

"Now be a good lad and listen to an old woman's story," she said, hobbling over to the other end of the couch and struggling to sit upon it.

He shivered and dared not speak. He caught a glimpse of something clatter hurriedly across the living room and duck into a vase. On the other side of the room, he noticed something else sneak quickly into a cabinet with a high-pitched giggle. He clenched his cluttered teeth and waited for her to begin speaking.

"You're a lucky boy, Jareth," she grinned, revealing only a few teeth beside many empty spaces. "You've had it rough, but we try to look out for you when we can."

"Listen, lady- what are you on about? Who are you?" the young man barked, finally finding his voice.

"My name is Zylvia, you little runt! Now pipe down and listen to me!" She scoffed, and regained her train of thought. "We've saved you from the streets and from flames and all sorts of things. Today, we were extra helpful before our visit: the door, the tea… And in your past, Jareth, the goblins were friends to you when you had none."

"You did-? So my imaginary friends…" He had considered going to therapy for these vivid visits from what he thought were figments of his imagination, which was just at this time becoming a socially acceptable course of action.

"Until you wished them away," she frowned. "Then they could only help you from afar, changing street signs to point you in the right direction towards your job and so forth."

"Some job," he muttered. He knew he should be grateful to have any job with no prospects to his name, but he was still bitter about the daily struggle to keep his head at work.

"You see, you're not unlucky at all, Jareth," she said hoarsely. You've been blessed with the wishing gift, and we have done very much to keep you out of harm's way, usually at your command."

This phrase made Jareth's muscles twinge. His command?

"Do you remember?" she asked, pulling a crystal ball from her cloak. She whirled it around her fingers and over the back of her hand before holding it up to him. Jareth sneered, but looked into it.

"I wish I could leave this place!" It was a younger Jareth, sitting in his foster home bedroom after a fight with his caregivers. The crystal then showed a few weeks later when he was kicked out to live in the streets.

"So you grant wishes with stupid consequences?" he gritted, but could not look away from the crystal.

"I just wish I had a job; is that too much to ask?!" his younger self cried to the heavens, as he carried several pristine applications. He looked up to see a sign directing him to his potential workplace, but it was pointing down a damp alleyway. Jareth shrugged and took the route, winding up at a pathetic office, run-down behind another towering building. It had a few broken windows which were taped up, and the front door was a rusting fire door.

"My job is awful!" he barked at the old woman, pushing away the crystal.

"A job's a job. The other places were not going to hire you, Jareth," she said, tucking the crystal back into her cloak after rolling it around in her hands for a moment. There were many more memories of Jareth's wishes, if only the boy were patient enough to watch them all.

"You're ungrateful!" she said sternly. "You sent away your only friends and now you're berating your wish-granter! But you could be great, you know. You could have a life ruling instead of one where you're pushed around." She wheezed into her hand and felt a bit weak.

Not caring about the cough, Jareth glanced out the window. "I suppose that billboard is your doing too. Isn't that cheating?" he pondered.

"We're not saints," she chuckled, then wheezed. "We make things work in our favor sometimes to get what we want."

"And what do you want?" he asked.

"I'm dying," she said.

"Aren't we all," he said coldly, giving his eyebrows a bounce to instill his uncaring attitude further.

"Listen, brat, the Goblin Kingdom needs a new ruler. I don't have long left, and I thought you might fill my shoes," she hissed, cutting to the chase.

"But this guy's a jerk," whispered one of the goblins in a kitchen cupboard.

"Then he's perfect!" replied another, before dodging into a trash can and gobbling up some tossed leftovers.

"I want you out of here!" Jareth said, standing. His home had been violated by unwelcomed visitors and he could bare their company (and their smell) no longer. He pointed a quivering finger to the door.

"Jareth," the hag coaxed. "Can't you see yourself somewhere exotic? Somewhere you can be in charge." She stood with a bit of a struggle.

"You didn't help me at all, did you? You set everything up to make my life miserable!"

"We helped you, boy, of course we did," she tried to convince him.

"No," he began. "You helped in ways to ensure everything lead up to this moment… No family to miss me, a job that would fire me anyway..."

"Even if that were true," she said, with a dastardly twinkle in her eyes, "What is there for you here now?"

Jareth turned away from the woman and looked around, catching glimpses of the goblins crawling about. His head pounded. Had his entire life been staged to ensure this strange woman an heir? Whether it were true or not, did he have anything to live for here? He considered the pleasure of having a fresh start, able to recreate himself. He could really be someone great, he thought. He wrinkled his brow heavily and stared at the floor.

"Get me out of here," he said, defeated.

"Wish it so," she said gently from behind him, with a dark smile.

"I wish I were the King of the Goblins." he whispered. In an instant, all around him was glowing. Jareth closed his eyes and felt warmth buzz through him.

Jareth woke on a hard and clammy floor. He breathed sharply, then coughed at the foul stench in the air. Covering his nose for a moment, he sat up and looked all around him. He was in a stone chamber with a high ceiling and pit in the center of the floor. There was a large, round seat with a low back positioned beside the pit. Stepping slowly ever-closer to investigate, were dozens of ugly creatures.

"Where am I?" he demanded of them, rolling to his feet and grabbing a small goblin by the collar of its tunic. Though mortified of the monsters, he held his ground for now.

"The Goblin Kingdom throne room," the creature choked.

"Where's the way out?" he cried, looking for an exit and moving to leave the room.

"Your majesty, no!" the goblins protested. Jareth halted, but with eyes seeking an escape.

"You musn't return to the old way," said an oafish, pig-faced goblin. "Master was not happy. He wanted to come here instead."

Jareth's eyes investigated every dirty corner of the room and every broken item and piece of garbage strewn about the floor. "If I traded my life away for this, it must be something I never wish to return to…" He imagined sadly what sort of terrible home he had left- what kind of world had been so cruel to make him wish himself here. It's best not know, he decided after a long time up in his head, and after glancing at the pleading eyes of the beasts around him.

Jareth's more serious thoughts were interrupted when he looked down at his attire: a three-piece suit and suede shoes. A goblin noticed the new King's confusion, then rushed off down a hallway. Jareth surveyed the throne room for a few moments before cautiously sitting upon the ruler's decorative, ivory seat. He was rather uncomfortable sitting forward in it, as the back was hard and low. He turned sideways and lounged with his legs over an arm of the throne. As he got comfortable, the goblin returned and knelt before Jareth, offering a stack of clothing.

"Perhaps something more comfortable for your majesty," said the beast, making careful eye contact with the king.

Jareth pondered the sparkling pile of clothes for a moment before snatching them out of the goblin's claws. "Begone!" he said, not giving the creature a second glance. It jumped and scurried off in fear.

The goblins knew how cold Jareth was, but now that he had power over them, they would soon become aware of how dreadful getting on the king's bad side could be.

"King of the Goblins," he said softly. He set the clothes on his lap and closed his eyes.

And thus, for hundreds of years Jareth ruled in this world in which the time moved so much more slowly than on Earth. Wishes by those with the gift had come and gone, children were whisked away and turned to vile goblins, and deals were made and broken by the wretched Goblin King. He was sly and hard-hearted, always finding a way to keep the winnings of a bet by cheating. It was not until he had met one Sarah Williams that he was true to his word.

All throughout his rule, Jareth's Earth clothes were tucked into the back of his large closet, preserved only by magic out of some meaningless obligation on Jareth's behalf. Should he question his origins, perhaps he would start there someday.

Beyond the castle at the center of the labyrinth stood the old woman Zylvia. She took from her clothing four crystal balls. She twirled them in her free palm, the other hand gripping tight her staff. One by one, she let the crystals fall from her hand, and roll into the labyrinth. Jareth would learn to use them, along with many other forms of magic. His power would grow immensely and he would become a legendary Goblin King.