Andrew Buckley - Stiltskin

“An epic fantasy tale that tickled my nether regions and warmed my heart.” –Academy Award Winning Actor, Sir Anthony Hopkins

“This book changed my life, I may never lick another sledgehammer again. Who am I kidding? Of course I will!” –Recording Artist, Miley Cyrus

“What are you doing here? Get out of my house! I’m calling the police!” –Award winning novelist and screenwriter of ‘ The Princess Bride ’, William Goldman

“Much better than that boy wizard stuff that I wrote a few years back.” –Author of the Harry Potter Series, J. K. Rowling

“Now that Breaking Bad is over I look forward to playing Rumpelstiltskin in the movie adaptation of Stiltskin.” –Emmy Award Winning Actor, Bryan Cranston

“Buckley takes fairy tales and throws them in a blender, the result is tasty.” –Indie Film Director, Kevin Smith

“I took time away from adopting children and making movies to read Stiltskin by Andrew Buckley. It was a delight!” –Academy Award Winning Actress, Angelina Jolie

“As a rockstar I found it easy to relate to Stiltskin as I too live in a fantastical world full of strange and unusual characters.” –Recording Artist and Lead Singer of Maroon 5, Adam Levine

“In 40 years someone will release a book called Stiltskin. It’ll be mildly amusing but nowhere near as good as Lord of the Rings.” –Quoted in 1973 by Author, J. R. R. Tolkien

Note from the Author:While all above reviews are completely fictional, I’m completely comfortable if you choose to believe they’re real –AB

For anyone who loves a good classic fairy tale… this book probably isn’t for you.

Darkness lay restlessly across the land, crept up the walls of the tall Tower, and sneaked through the cold, shadow-clad cells of the inmates. Mist swirled down from the distant hills and settled upon the surrounding water.

The tall Tower prison that held so many guests loomed against a rain-swept sky. Lightning flashed. The moon glanced from behind dark clouds as Jack made his way across the stone bridge, which spanned the vast moat around the tower, with long purposeful strides. He ignored the shrill scream from somewhere high above; after all, this wasn’t his first trip to this land or this prison. No surprises waited for him here, or so he told himself. No one remembered the real name of the prison or even who built it; the inhabitants and all who knew and feared it referred to it simply as the Tower .

The Tower consisted of a large, perfectly square building with tiny, rectangular, barred windows, and a high tower protruding from the top. The stone bridge spanned the length of the moat for almost a mile, and was the only way in or out of the Tower.

Jack stopped for a moment, lost in thought, then approached the side of the bridge. The rain bounced off the cobblestones and soaked him to the skin. His black suit and tie, which looked out of place in such a medieval setting, clung to his muscular body.

Jack’s reason for looking into the lake was the ripples in the water. The creatures that lived beneath the dark surface were restless. The underwater guardians normally slept unless a prisoner stepped on the bridge, but tonight, the creatures stirred regardless. The unease Jack felt at being summoned here showed in his bright blue eyes.

Another half-hour passed before Jack reached the Tower side of the long bridge and stood before the one and only prison guard.

The three-foot-nothing Troll with speckled, dirt-brown skin, a shiny bald head, beaked nose, and black, dull eyes stared up at Jack and drooled on himself with an exemplary amount of skill.

“Troll,” nodded Jack.

“Glarrblleeft,” drooled the Troll.

“I understand one of the prisoners has some information. I don’t like being here so let’s get this over with, shall we?”

The Troll’s voice sounded like someone had wrapped him in sandpaper and rolled him across wet gravel. Tiny rows of sharp teeth infested the inside of the crescent-shaped mouth when he spoke.

“He wants ta speak ta you pacifically.” The Troll’s drawl and accent had always irritated Jack, almost as much as the stubby little creature’s appearance.

“Well, I’m here, aren’t I? Let’s go,” said Jack as he stepped around the Troll and through the Tower’s iron gates.

The Tower held the worst of the criminals from Thiside. Originally, guards were posted throughout the Tower; however, as the inmates were never allowed to leave their cells, and any that escaped the Tower would be killed by the moat creatures, guards became pointless. They became bored; most took up playing cards, which quickly turned to gambling, which turned into fighting, and finally, a great deal of head chopping. The guards were disbanded, those who still had heads, and one inmate in particular, a particularly small and ugly looking troll, who had constantly demonstrated good behavior, was placed in charge of guarding the Tower. His job was to make sure no inmates ever left their cells, and that they received a plate of greenish brown substance to eat every day. Theoretically, he was still a prisoner and any attempt to cross the bridge would be met with the utmost joy by the moat creatures.

Jack hurried through the courtyard within the Tower grounds; he didn’t want to stay here any longer than he had to. The Troll shuffled along, his butt dragging lithely along the ground.

“Did he say what kind of information he has?” asked Jack.

“Dunno, screamed un shouted but ah dint tek no notice fer a while. Screamin ain’t not usual ere. Aftur a week sorta figured he wuz serias.”

They passed through another large gate that placed them directly under the Tower itself. A seemingly endless spiral staircase started its ascent to the left. Ahead and to the right were long stone corridors lit by hanging torches hung intermittently and with little care. Thick, dark wooden doors lined the corridor walls. Small barred windows were cut into each of the doors. Screams and shouts, growls and snarls bounced around the corridors. The same shrill scream resounded high above from the tower.

“Ome sweat ome,” drooled the Troll.

“I hate this place,” said Jack.

They headed down the right-hand corridor. Sunken eyes stared out through the tiny windows. Some shouted, some spit, and some whistled: female and male voices and in some cases, animal. Obscenities flew like seagulls over a garbage dump.

“They jus appy ta see ya, Jack,” chortled the Troll.

The pair stopped at the last door. A pale, skeleton-skinny face with deep, sunken eyes of the lightest brown stared out of the tiny window. The man’s lips were thin and blood red. His brown hair hung in greasy strands across his face, and he grinned the grin of a man who should be locked in a cell. The irony of the situation wasn’t lost on anyone.

The Troll walked back up and down the corridor telling the inmates to shrrup and knock er off until what could only be described as semi-silence drifted through the Tower.

Jack leaned against the stone doorframe. The pale man’s tiny pupils followed Jack’s eyes. Jack steeled his nerves against such stares; it was what he was used to. He looked around the corridor at nothing in particular. Some things had to be played carefully.