Grumpelstiltskin
This story is from my third book of short stories, “Stumptown Stories” Being published in the spring of 2025.
Back in the days when they were homesteading and building the cottages and farmhouses located in what is now known to be called Maplewood (a neighborhood located in S.W. Portland), back around 1920 or so, there was talk from the locals about a legend if you will, a character for sure, his name was handed down through the years.
Some folks thought he might be part Sasquatch. His name was immortalized, and a statue was made in his honor because of his actions and the things that took place during this time, it was a lesson in life. He might have been a Yeti, The tales of the famous escapades were legendary. This story is about forgiveness and in realizing how special life is, it’s about someone that made mistakes in his life and how he realized that he would need to change to rectify things that had gone wrong in his life a long time ago.
This character if you will lived down in a dilapidated old cottage off of S.W. Nevada and 56th., located off a bend in the road, tucked behind an overgrown grove of Willow trees and back tucked behind an old Apple orchard stood the home of this famous character known by everyone as Grumplestiltskin.
Grumpy if you will, or the Grumpster, or old Grumpy Gus was what most people called him. He’d occasionally flip people off from time to time and mumble stuff. He tried to find anything to complain about. He was around 85 years old back then. He had grown up in the area. His home was in need of repair.
He ate greasy fast food and his car was full of trash. He hoarded stuff in his house and out in his garage. Birds nested in his living room, there was a raccoon in his attic, that “ol racoon was a rascal and would chew on Grumplestiltskins toes. Squirrels would hide nuts in his old golf caps. Nobody liked him, he just made people miserable.
He had bad falls and once he stumbled down his basement stairs.
His pants were baggy and big and he wore different colors on socks with holes in them
He planted corn in his yard and had old hay bales stacked in his front yard, old tomatoes grew along the north wall of his house, and there was a garden in his big yard. He had some aluminum chairs out front of his house so friends could stop and visit. He had corn and green beans. Big black crows swooped down and plucked out hair on his head, A Great Western Owl hooted songs at night and flew in and perched on one of his dining chairs. An old black cat meowed at night. It was dark in his house most of the time. Old branches and twigs were sprawled about. He made paper hats out of newspapers, buddies came over and cussed up a storm.
He complained when he watched the news and kept a pile of Playboy magazines over in a corner. He drooled from time to time and unfortunately picked his nose.
Grumplestiltskin was getting old by now, set in his ways. He grumbled a lot and was almost always negative. Christ it was nearly impossible to hear an encouraging word from the guy. He never gave anyone a chance to finish a sentence. “You know your barn door is open!” He’d yell from time to time, “What the hell are you lookin’ at?”. He’d cut in front of people waiting in the Express line at the local Albertson’s and usually have more than ten items at check out. He reminded people of their shortcomings, he liked to holler and yell, “Hey you Shmuck!” He liked Miracle Whip on his sandwiches and some people called him a “Goy”
People started to complain about Grumplestiltskin. He was ornery and bitched a lot. He was spoiled as a child and entitled in having his way. He got way too many toys and cheated his way through grade school and skated in high school. His dad was a powerful man that got his son into an Ivy League School and his dumb ass kid never graduated. He got a job because of his father. He got married and his first wife divorced him after giving birth to his first child, a boy named Jasper.
He acted old for his age. He worked in local politics, got involved in being a philanthropist, some people said he reminded them of Virginia Woolf in the way he howled and screamed in the middle of the night; he ran with Creepy City Slickers that chased after younger women. He went to disco’s and danced on people’s toes. He treated women very poorly and made fun of them. He was a bad loser. He drank Hennessy and beer chasers and cussed and acted tough and went to beauty pageants and ate at McDonald’s and got accused of embezzling and went bankrupt a couple times. He was known by the name of ol’, “Happy Face.”
He married a couple more times, they never lasted more than a couple years. His kid Jasper ignored him. He never paid his alimony and his wives complained to him when he owed them money. He made stuff up to impress people and as the years went along, he acted like a moron most of the time. He started losing his hair and wore an orange toupee. He had blotchy skin and had skin cancer on his head. He was very materialistic and judged people by what they had. He saw himself as perfect in every way and was far superior to anybody he had ever met. He continued to attend charitable events and got overweight and ate a lot of soft serve. He wasn’t well liked by his community.
He was sent off to military school at a young age, “It’s not about you, it’s about me!” he’d shout and kind of go nuts like with his big eyes bugging out and his crazy looking teeth. He threw temper tantrums from time to time. Some thought he might be hooked on Oxycodone. He yelled and liked to grind things into the ground. He was a Narcissistic, a control freak and ate jelly filled doughnuts. He wore Dockers and thought he looked cool, especially when he would wear his golf cap.
He’d repeat himself and make an ass of himself. He’d pass gas from time to time and remind people of what a “Loser” they were. He ragged on people and picked fights and liked to act tough, he was delusional in thinking that he could lick anybody.
He finally retired, thank God, and retired to his home tucked up in the Vermont Hills. He’d go to the Cider Mill and have a pint and walk home and yell at an old cat or racoon that was crossing the street. He’d toss rocks at stray dogs.
Neighbors would turn on their back door porch lights to check out who was yelling at the top of their lungs. He tipped over garbage cans from time to time. He wasn’t much fun to be around. Some folks thought that his home should be condemned, it was a tear down for sure. He grew big plants in his living room and had a very dirty floor and had a trough of Ranch dressing in his big, oversized backyard. The city came out a few times to check on the place. He had an old beehive in a field next to his house where he would get fresh honey and put it on his peanut butter sandwiches and stuff those sticky sandwiches in his pockets. He licked his fingers and squinted when a bumble bee stuck him in his big nose. He had untrimmed nose hairs and had a scruffy beard. His friends brought him food. He was unhealthy and practiced poor hygiene. Toilet paper would stick to one of his shoes.
He was demanding and looked down upon people with less wealth or status. He felt superior and would look for loose change in people’s furniture if you invited him over for dinner. He was fat and overweight and liked to be rude to people, he yelled at his parents when he was a kid. He was a slob. He yelled a lot and would get angry and drink beer and eat chips and bean dip and drop some chucks of the bean dip on the carpet in the living room. His cat would lick the bean dip and eat it. He was kind of an old gnarly hermit that liked to hoard stuff and cram it in the house. He had no internet.
He left stuff in the kitchen sink and had garbage piled up in a dark corner of his kitchen. He was a huge hoarder and had stuff laying around on his property, stuff that nobody would want. He planted stuff everywhere and his gutters had stuff growing out of them. He had holes in his roof and the rain would pour through the roof during the winter. He liked to take the bus to the local Farmers Market on Saturday’s.
He’d get up early in the morning just to go down to Willamette Park and chase the Canadian Geese that would feed in the soccer fields, located in the neighborhood known as John’s Landing. He hiked over the Sellwood Bridge and would go to Oaks Bottom and cut in line to get on the rides. He stole a kid’s cotton candy once. He was kind of crazy and people were concerned about the way he treated people.
He had a few clothes that he liked and wore big Brown Columbia boots on his big hobbit sized rabbit feet. His toenails needed trimming. He was kind of like a Hobbit in a way, I guess. He had a couple front teeth missing, had a small carnation in his jacket lapel, he stood 5’6” or so. He was stocky and his britches needed mending. His socks didn’t match. He ate flapjacks and drank coffee and had a small side yard garden where he grew mushrooms. As he got older, he read more and collected stuff. Because of his vast knowledge with the neighborhood, he was appointed the village Historian and he kept historical notes and memorably in his cottage. He was smart and read books. He attended Elk Lodge meetings and ate roasted rotisserie chicken.
Lots of people called him, “Grumpy” or “Grumpy Gus” or just good ol’, “Grumplestiltskin” Sometimes he would wear an old stocking cap on his head, he looked like an old lumberjack.
So, he lived in this old cottage that was part of an old farm. The talk was that he wound up inheriting it from his father when he died. His aunt (his mom’s sister) had gotten mad at him when “Grumpy” got the family farm from his dad who died, “You’re dead in my family as far as I’m concerned!”, yelled his aunt at him one day while he was on the phone with her. So, he didn’t talk to that aunt much, wasn’t really close to her and her family, the kids were told not to talk with him. He lived on the property and never talked to his kids or ex-wives. He became a god damn hermit; he wore an old green corduroy suit from Nordstrom. He collected stamps and kept a magnifying glass nearby. He smoked a pipe from time to time.
He was kind of a miser and left his cottage all messy and such. He was mean and never talked to anybody if he didn’t have too. He monitored his calls, and reminded people that they better remember his birthday and give him presents, he had kind of a crazy, queezie cough and laugh. He was a Creep.
His lawn needed mowing and old vines had worked their way through a few of the windows in the living room. He had a fireplace and burned old newspapers in it. He had newspapers and magazines spread out around the living room. His basement was full of old appliances and junk.
He had a cat named, “Puddin’ Head,” and that darn cat slept in Grumplestiltskins pile of clothes that he kept in his bedroom. The toilet bowl in his bathroom needed cleaning. He was very messy. Neighbors kept an eye on him, once he burned a steak and threw it outside in his backyard, it sat there and smoldered.
His kitchen was a nightmare, and he hardly ever did dishes. He didn’t have much dish soap and his kitchen floor had old soup stains on it. He read a lot, and had a big library full of all kinds of books. Awards and photographs with important people shaking Grumplestiltskins hand adorned his walls. He had prized ribbons that he won at the state fair from his canned jar of green beans. He had mementos and awards pinned on the walls.
“Looks like rain”, he said to himself as he looked out one of the windows in his living room, as the sun tried to poke out and a local weather forecaster chimed in with the weather report on one of the local television stations. He bitched a lot and complained, his face would turn red from getting mad. It almost looked like steam would escape from his ears when he’d blow a fuse. He had a stroke once.
People used to complain, “Grumple!” Kids would pick on him and ring his doorbell. Nobody was ever at the door. “This isn’t about you this is about me!” he would tell his friends when they would meet at Fat City Café and drink coffee and eat these huge Cinnamon Rolls that they would sell. He liked Multnomah Village. He’d stare at people and say things like, “Maybe you aren’t good enough!” just to make people angry. He looked down on people and got snooty and cranky, kind of like a little baby whose diaper needs fixing. Sometimes he would go feed the bird in one of the parks, when he got a flock of birds around him, he would usually scare them and they would fly away. Once a pigeon that he frightened flew over him and took a poop, it landed on his green corduroy Nordstrom jacket. He really couldn’t see that well and he had found out that he had a cataract in his left eye.
People would kind of cringe when he came to town. Someone stopped and called him, “A Brat.” Some of the shops would close when he’d come to town. People would protect their kids and pull them out of the way of his path. He was kind of hunched back and wiped his fingers on his old jacket when they were covered with peanut butter and honey. Flies would stick to his fingers, he carried those darn Peanut Butter and honey sandwiches in his pockets. He would correct his friends when they were wrong and cuss at them and raise his voice, he drank way too much coffee.
He’d swear at the television, turn it off and sit down and read for hours, until he’d fall asleep, and his cat would sit in his lap and then he’d get up out of his chair and step on that poor cat’s foot and it would yell bloody murder. He was mean and had to have things his way. He threw a cake once, it was a birthday cake, he got mad and threw that cake as hard as he could against the kitchen cabinet. People left the room, and someone started to cry. He ruined Christmas and Thanksgiving for everybody. He cheated on his girlfriends and lied a lot. He had a temper, maybe from concussions that he had suffered while playing sports in high school. He talked back and was a brat most of the time. He was a dumb turd and if it hadn’t been for his parents, he never would have amounted to anything. I guess we all know people like that.
He got a girl pregnant and denied that he banged her up. He drove too fast when he was in high school, and he ran with the wrong crowd. He antagonized people as he got older. His parents never knew how to disciple Grumplestiltskin.
Once he was seen yelling at the owner of a local coffee shop, he used to frequent, he had had too much coffee that day. He liked perennials. He liked to plant in his garden. He stumbled around town, rode the bus and as a kid watched hockey games at the old Ice Palace on N.W. Marshall and N.W. 21st. He saw the Portland Rose Buds play in the Stanley Cup in 1917. He threw popcorn on the ice once and they had to halt play.
He had a horse and buggy and that old horse pretty much starved on that old farm that he had. He’d yell at people, He voted for conservatives and called people “Commies”, he hated liberals and anyone that was of another color and was miserable most of the time. Some people wished that he would die. As he walked down the street, he’d like to yell from time to time, sometimes he’d yell at little kids. He was totally disrespectful to people and tried to frighten them. He usually got his way and had lots of money. He counted it every day, he watched his money like a hawk. He had an old phonograph and played old vinyl 78’s. It was always about him, nobody else. Money was the only thing that mattered to him. He was a cranky old man. He whined about having to work so hard, and bitched and complained, he was miserable to be around.
He had a flathead crew cut and looked and sounded like Waylon Jennings. He saved and saved and scrimped and became a tight wad. He worked his way to a pension and had bought stocks and investments, bought his house, and complained a lot. He watched the stock market and kept notes everywhere.
Kinder people couldn’t stand him. He felt sorry for himself and got angry, became bitter as he got older, his temper at times was kind of like a guy having a stroke, he drank a shit load of coffee and listened to music, mostly classical. He read a lot and knew about a lot of financial stuff. He shifted and weaseled his way around, he knew where cool stuff was hidden and knew gossipy stuff about people. He liked to embarrass people. He hung out at Fuller’s Coffee Shop, or he might go to the Steppingstone Café. Usually after breakfast he would go hiking in Forest Park, usually on Wildwood Trail.
He had a sharp memory of things, he would embarrass people. He’d try to make people feel small. He had to be superior and he horded stuff in his house and threw half eaten sandwiches in the basement. He hadn’t used a vacuum in years. There was dust and stuff piled up. He had a few friends that were older, that could barely get around, some of his buddies would knock things off the coffee table, they would visit and sit out on the side yard, they’d sit in an old wooden bench and watch the stars at night. He planted beans that eventually became bean stocks and he planted Sunflowers and cut his yard with an old mower that was rusty and needed oil.
He howled at night, kind of like a wolf in heat. He wore stinky T-Shirts and looked like he needed to use deodorant, his yard had all kinds of shit in it. There was an old fence that needed mending. Old feral cats would nest under his house, there were a few hornets’ nests in a few of the old Apple trees.
Dogs would gather in his backyard looking for scraps of food. Grumplestiltskin would throw rocks and try to kick them from time to time, believe it or not one dog kept coming back to visit, he’d sit from a far, far enough away in not getting hit by one of the rocks that “Grumpy” would throw. It was a male black and brown mix Rottweiler and Pit Bull, with a massive chest and head, a beautiful dog that had been shot and left for dead. He had a prosthetic front leg, people called him, “Lucky.” It came around and befriended old Grumplestiltskin. Kind of like ol’ Yeller in a way. He followed old Grumplestiltskin almost everywhere that he went. Sometimes he’d bark at the grumpy old man. He was a bitter old man and that dog adopted him. He’d whimper that old dog did.
One dark, frigid, cold winter night, a night that will go down in infamy, old grumpy Grumplestiltskin got to reading and drinking a few beers, he lit a candle so he could see and then he fell asleep on the couch, it got around midnight. Well, the wind blew, and the rain poured, and thunder cracked outside, and lightning flashed, and the shutters flapped. “Puddin’ Head” got scared and that darn cat ran through the living room and knocked over that candlestick that was lit, it fell over and it started a fire! It started a big fire that startled Grumplestiltskin, he woke up and jumped off the couch, the fire and smoke had gathered in the living room. He could barely see, he choked and coughed, and fell a few more times to the floor. “Lucky” was outside in the rain, out in the front yard in the storm. He got to barking, saw the fire from the living room window, he barked and ran in circles.
Grumplestiltskin stumbled and fell as he tried to reach for the front door and in trying to do so turned the doorknob open, he stumbled and fell to the ground. He struggled to reach up from where he had fallen on the floor, he slowly dragged himself to the front door handle, twisted it open and fell unconscious from the smoke. The smoke continued to gather in the living room, suddenly, and without warning, when the front door opened a gust of smoke and fire rushed out of the room. The front window in the living room broke and shattered to the ground. Smoke and flames shot out the front window.
“Lucky” rushed in once the front door had opened, the smoke engulfed the poor dog as he struggled to drag the old chromogen outside. He saw Grumpy on the living room floor and ran inside to grab the scruff around his neck and drag him outside onto the front lawn. The dog started to cough from all the smoke and suddenly fell over and died from smoke inhalation, he was stiff as a doornail. His legs stuck out real stiff like, Poor dog.
The Paramedics got on the scene shortly thereafter, neighbors had gathered and had seen what had happened. Children cried and old ladies wept. People bowed their heads and cried. Grumpy got up and looked at Lucky. “Lucky!” “Lucky! Lucky Boy!”, the dog just laid there, yep he was dead alright. Poor dog.
Grumplestiltskin realized what had happened and looked at the crowd. Children picked up rocks and pelted him. An old lady threw a pair of false teeth at him. Someone had a rotten egg and threw it at him and hit him right in the eye. “Meanie!” “Old mean bastard!” “Greedy Turd!”yelled some lady that had just thrown an Apple at him. He slowly waddled inside of his old cottage and locked the front door. He flipped the crowd off. He watched as the crowd gathered around the poor dead dog. He flashed in front of the Living Room window and shook his fist at people that stood outside.
Something happened that night, a miracle I suppose. For you see for the first time Grumplestiltskin felt his heart break, he felt something he had never felt before. He had lost a dear friend, a dear dog that had forgiven him hundreds of times in the way Grumpster had treated the poor dog. He wept and cried like a baby, people left flowers by the dog, soon the Animal Clinic drove up and scooped up Lucky and took him to the pet Cemetery down the road. He was cremated and his remains were spread out in the Columbia River Gorge.
The next morning people gathered and put more candles, flowers and notes down, Grunplestiltskin shut the blinds so nobody could see him. He sat there and tried to forget the terrible event. The fire had caused extensive damage to his home. He had burned walls and rotten framing was exposed. He sat there and cried for days.
He decided to ask for forgiveness, he decided to reach out to every person that he had wronged, he decided that he would contact every person that he had used or abused, that he would get in hold of every person that he looked down upon and he would ask for their forgiveness and that once that they forgave him, that he would somehow compensate or reward that person in kindness by giving that person a financial reward, a gratuity if you will in hoping to help that individual if he could. He had realized what he had done, what he had done to people that loved him, he was a miserable sod.
He made a list of people that he had belittled. He worked on that list for weeks, he tried to remember anyone that he had wronged. He sat down and plotted a map with stops that he would make in trying to contact these people. He decided to donate $100,000 to the Portland Humane Society. He contributed to unwed mother organizations. He gave to the local P.T.A., he bought himself new duds and gave candy to all the kids that would gather in the village. He shaved and paid back alimony to his three former wives. He contacted his only son and bought him dinner; it was the first time that he had seen his son Jasper in over forty years.
He worked at the food bank and carried groceries home for older people that couldn’t quite carry the load. He became a model citizen and people that once shunned him now gave him their approval, the village reached out and tried to let Grumplestiltskin know that he was O.K. by them. He changed his life to ask for forgiveness. He contacted almost everybody on his list and sent Christmas cards to them each year with checks written out for hundreds of dollars. He was well liked and people that once were annoyed by him wanted to share coffee and doughnuts with him at the local Sesame Doughnut’s store. He was curious, inquisitive and kind and kind to animals. He changed his act for the better.
He got involved with charitable organizations and belonged to local Neighborhood Associations. He tried to be a kinder, gentler person.
As the years rolled on, the community came out and offered to fix and work on his cottage. They cleaned up the yard and pruned the trees. Soon his place was sparkling.
A few years after Grumplestiltskin died, they found him asleep one day on his coach. He had died peacefully. The entire community came out to remember him, everyone wept. They decided to bury him under one of the Willow trees in his front yard. They made a statue in his honor, they put it in Multnomah Village, next to the Multnomah Art Center. Children put flowers down and a small group of people sang songs in his honor. His home sat vacant for years, until his son Jasper sold it to a developer that subdivided his land and built three condominiums on the property. He was immortalized and became a local folk hero that had resurrected himself and his life.
He was loved by everyone that knew him.