The Pied Piper of Hamelin: Rumpelstiltskin’s Version of Events
Ah, the Pied Piper of Hamelin—what a hero, right? Wrong! Let me tell you the real story about this self-obsessed flautist and his so-called "service" to the good people of Hamelin. Spoiler alert: He’s a menace, not a martyr.
So, here’s how it begins: Hamelin is facing a crisis. Rats. Big ones, little ones, all of them bold as brass, taking over the town. They’re everywhere—chewing through food stores, scurrying underfoot, spreading disease. The townsfolk are desperate, and in their desperation, they’re willing to trust anyone who claims they can help. Enter the Pied Piper.
This guy? He’s an oddball. Decked out in clothes so garish they’d make a peacock blush, he struts into town, claiming he can solve their problem. His weapon of choice? A flute. Yep, you heard me—a flute. The townsfolk, skeptical but desperate, agree to pay him a hefty sum if he can rid them of the rats.
And wouldn’t you know it, the Piper delivers. He starts playing his flute, and like magic, every single rat in Hamelin comes scurrying out of the woodwork. They follow him in a bizarre, hypnotic parade right out of town and into the river, where they all drown. Problem solved, right? Well, not quite.
You see, when the Piper returns to collect his payment, the townsfolk suddenly get cold feet. Maybe they thought his work was too easy. Maybe they figured, “Hey, we could’ve bought a cat for half the price!” Whatever their reasoning, they refuse to pay him the agreed sum.
Now, here’s where things should have gone differently. A normal person—someone with a shred of decency—might have taken them to court or at least started a stern letter-writing campaign. But not the Piper. Oh no. This man goes full villain.
Instead of targeting the adults who actually wronged him, he takes his anger out on the children. That’s right, the innocent kids who had absolutely nothing to do with the whole rat debacle. He starts playing his flute again, and this time, it’s the children who fall under his spell.
One by one, they leave their homes, enchanted by his tune. Parents watch in horror as their sons and daughters march out of town, following the Piper like lambs to the slaughter. He leads them all to the base of a mountain, where—get this—the mountain opens up. The kids walk inside, the mountain seals behind them, and just like that, they’re gone. Forever.
Now, let me make this crystal clear: the Pied Piper didn’t just overreact—he committed the ultimate act of cowardice. Instead of confronting the people responsible for his grievance, he went after the defenseless. That’s not justice; that’s spiteful, selfish cruelty.
And what happened to the Piper? Well, he vanished, flute and all, probably off to con another town.
The Moral (According to Yours Truly, Rumpelstiltskin):
This isn’t a story about paying your debts. Forget all that nonsense about “you get what you deserve.” No, the real lesson here is to beware of people who pretend to be saviors when they’re really just out for themselves.
The Piper wasn’t a hero. He was a manipulator, a show-off with a grudge and a tune. If he’d crossed my path, I’d have snapped that flute in half and sent him packing. He’s no legend—just a bitter musician who took his frustrations out on the innocent.
So, next time someone promises you miracles, make sure they’ve got more to offer than flashy clothes and a shiny instrument. And Piper? If you’re listening, stay out of my territory. You wouldn’t last five minutes.
