Dumpelstiltcon 

The city lights flickered through the curtains of Rumpelstiltskin’s condominium, casting long, restless shadows on the walls. She sat by the window, staring out at the world she no longer trusted. Once, she had lived an ordinary life just a Christian woman, a devoted mother, and a diligent employee at the State Department. But now, she was something else: a woman under siege. 

The accusations had come without warning. One day, she was at her desk, typing away, and the next, there were whispers in the office. Someone had stolen personal information, and somehow, the blame had landed on her. No formal charges, no evidence—just an unspoken condemnation. The department had not arrested her. Instead, they had done something far worse. 

They watched her. 

Everywhere she went, she felt eyes pressing against her. In her home, at work, at the grocery store always there, lurking in unseen corners. They had hired people to follow her, to monitor her every move, but she had no proof. No one to believe her. No one to help her. 

Then came the voice. 

At first, it was just a whisper in the dark, so faint she thought it was only her mind playing tricks. She ignored it, prayed over it, rebuked it in Jesus’ name. But it persisted. 

And then, one night, as she lay half-asleep, she heard it clearly: 

“You are talking to me when you are asleep.” 

Her eyes snapped open, heart pounding in her chest. 

“No,” she said aloud, as if the voice could hear her. “I don’t talk in my sleep. I would know.” 

But the voice laughed, soft yet unnervingly present. 

Day after day, it returned, filling the silence with riddles and warnings, feeding her cryptic pieces of information about the surveillance, the people following her, the truth the department was too afraid to speak aloud. 

One evening, exhausted and desperate, she finally gave in. 

“Who are you?” she asked. 

The reply sent a chill down her spine. 

“I am hired by the department you work for,” the voice admitted. “They want to know if you stole the information. If you did, they want to fire you. Maybe even put you in prison.” 

Anger surged through her. 

“Then tell them to arrest me!” she snapped. “Instead of sending you to whisper in my ear while I sleep.” 

The voice chuckled. “But that’s not how they work.” 

“What’s your name?” she demanded. 

The voice hesitated for just a moment before answering. “Dumpelstiltcon.” 

The name felt strange on her tongue, heavy with something she couldn’t quite place. 

“Then do something for me,” she said, leaning into the madness of it all. “Record whatever I say while I sleep. Because when I wake up, I remember nothing. Not my dreams, not my visions. If you do this, I’ll go to court and speak on your behalf.” 

Dumpelstiltcon agreed. 

But the game was far from over. 

One night, as she knelt in prayer, the Holy Ghost came upon her, and she began to speak in tongues. The words poured out of her, strong and unstoppable, filling the room with a force that even Dumpelstiltcon could not ignore. 

And then, something happened. 

“I saw something come out of you,” he whispered in awe. “It went into my laptop. Into the recording.” 

She didn’t understand. “What was it?” 

He hesitated. “I don’t know. But it was powerful.” 

Then the dreams changed. She dreamt of a cure—a cure for COVID-19 and other diseases, something revolutionary, something that could change the world. And Dumpelstiltcon claimed he had recorded it all. 

“Then give it to me,” she begged. “I’ve always wanted to start my own pharmaceutical company. Just drop it off, and I’ll take it from there.” 

But he never came. 

Only his voice remained, haunting, taunting, always just beyond her reach. 

“You need to dream more,” he urged. “Keep dreaming. I’ll keep recording.” 

But the recordings never came. 

And she began to wonder—was he here to help her? Or was he the one spinning straw into gold, collecting the secrets of her soul while she remained trapped in a prison of whispers? 

He reminded her of an old story. 

A story about a little man who made impossible promises. 

A story about a deal that was never meant to be fair. 

Chapter two 

Something Was Happening to Her Body 

She woke up one morning, staring into the mirror—and gasped. 

Her face… had changed. 

Her skin looked different, almost distorted, like a version of herself that didn’t quite belong to her. She touched her cheeks, her forehead, tracing unfamiliar lines and shadows. Her body felt foreign, like it wasn’t hers anymore. 

“What is happening to me?” she whispered. 

The next night, she felt it. 

It started as a tingling in her fingers. Then her arms. Then her entire body. A current of energy, almost like electricity, pulsing through her veins, making her muscles tense and her skin burn. She tried to move, but she couldn’t. 

She was awake, but paralyzed. 

Trapped in her own body, forced to endure whatever was being done to her. 

In the morning, she felt sore. Weak. Violated. 

“What is he doing to me at night?” 

She looked for marks, for bruises—anything—but there was nothing. Just the lingering sensation of something unnatural crawling through her body. 

She couldn’t tell anyone. 

“No one will believe me.” 

Could she go to the police? The FBI? Would they even take her seriously? Would they say she was crazy? 

She had evidence of nothing—only the voice, the strange physical changes, and the dreams. 

The Promises That Never Came 

Dumpelstiltcon still whispered to her, still taunted her with secrets. He told her things, led her deeper into the mystery of her own torment. 

But he never gave her what she asked for. 

“You said you recorded my dreams,” she told him. “Then give them to me.” 

“You need to dream more,” he replied. 

“I already dreamt. You said you had the cure for COVID-19. You said you recorded it.” 

“Dream more.” 

The cycle continued. She spoke in her sleep, and he listened. He promised, but he never delivered. 

One night, she felt the Holy Ghost come over her. She fell to her knees, speaking in tongues, the power of God flowing through her, filling every part of her being. 

And then— 

“Something came out of you,” Dumpelstiltcon whispered. “It went into my laptop.” 

“What was it?” she asked. 

“I don’t know. But it was powerful.” 

A revelation struck her—he was feeding off her. 

He was taking something from her, collecting pieces of her mind, her soul, her spirit—but never giving anything back. 

He had never intended to. 

Spinning Straw Into Gold 

She thought of the old story. 

A girl, locked away, forced to spin straw into gold. A little man who made impossible promises. A bargain never meant to be fair. 

And she realized—she was that girl. 

Dumpelstiltcon was spinning her thoughts, her dreams, her very life into something valuable. For himself. 

And she was left with nothing. 

No proof. 

No justice. 

No gold. 

Only whispers in the night. 

And a name that haunted her every breath. 

Dumpelstiltcon. 

Chapter three 

Dumpelstiltcon: The Bargain That Was Never Meant to Be Kept 

The walls of Sueanna’s condominium felt tighter now, suffocating, like a prison of invisible bars. The whispers had turned into reality the State Department had fired her. No proof, no justice, just exile. 

And Dumpelstiltcon still had everything. 

All her ideas, her dreams, the visions that had come to her at night they were trapped inside his laptop. He had promised to record them. Promised to return them. But now, she realized… 

He never meant to. 

She had lost everything. 

Her job. 

Her reputation. 

Her sense of self. 

And he still came. 

The Pain That Never Ends 

At night, the torment continued. She would wake up gasping, her skin tingling with an unnatural sensation, her body no longer feeling like her own. Electric currents ran through her veins, pulsing, humming, leaving her weak and disoriented. 

She touched her face in the mirror. The reflection that stared back at her was someone else. Her features were altered. Twisted. Almost… disfigured. 

“What is happening to me?” she whispered, pressing trembling fingers against her cheeks. 

No one would believe her. 

She couldn’t go to the police. 

She couldn’t go to the FBI. 

They would say she was crazy, paranoid, delusional. 

But she wasn’t. 

“Will He Ever Return My Records?” 

Dumpelstiltcon still whispered. He still taunted her. 

But every time she asked about her records, about the dreams, about the ideas he stole from her, he always had the same answer. 

“Soon.” 

“When?” she demanded. 

“Just wait a little longer.” 

But she had waited. And she had lost everything. 

“You have my records! My ideas! My work! GIVE THEM BACK!” she screamed one night, sobbing into the darkness. 

Silence. 

He never answered. 

But the pain came. 

The nights filled with suffering. 

The electricity, the body that no longer felt like hers, the life that had been stolen piece by piece and no one to save her. 

“Dear God, Help Me!” 

She fell to her knees. 

“Father, please!” she cried. “I have nothing left! He took everything from me! My job, my ideas, my body, my peace who will help me? Who will fight for me?!” 

Tears burned down her cheeks. 

“Will I ever get them back? Will I ever be free?” 

The room was silent. 

The only answer was the whisper of a name. 

Dumpelstiltcon. 

And she knew 

He was never going to leave. 

Not until there was nothing left of her. 

Not until she was completely unmade. 

The Bargain That Was Never Fair 

She thought of the old fairy tale. 

The girl who had spun straw into gold. The little man who made a deal. 

A name that held power. 

“If I call him by name… can I undo this curse?” she wondered. 

But as she whispered it aloud, the air itself seemed to hum with a presence she could not see. 

And she knew, then and there 

Dumpelstiltcon had never been just a man. 

He was something more. 

Something far, far worse. 

Dumpelstiltcon 

Chapter three: The Whispering Shadow 

The night was thick with silence, but Sueanna was wide awake. She lay frozen in bed, eyes fixed on the ceiling, heart pounding. 

She could feel him. 

Dumpelstiltcon. 

Not in the way you sense another person in the room, but as a presence that seeped into her bones, wrapped around her thoughts, and settled into the cracks of her soul. 

She had once thought he was just a voice. A government agent sent to manipulate her. But now, she wasn’t so sure. He knew too much. He was too powerful. 

And he was changing her. 

Her face, her body warped, unfamiliar. The electric pulses that ran through her at night—violating her from the inside out. And every morning, she woke up weaker. 

“What do you want from me?” she whispered into the darkness. 

No response. 

But she felt it. 

A shift in the air. The sensation of something standing just out of sight. Watching. 

Waiting. 

Then, the whisper came so close to her ear, she felt the coldness of his breath. 

“You already know the answer.” 

A shiver ran through her spine. 

No. She didn’t want to know. 

But deep inside, she feared she already did. 

Chapter four: The Bargain of Blood 

She had always been a woman of faith. A believer. 

But faith hadn’t saved her job. 

Faith hadn’t protected her from the accusations. 

Faith hadn’t stopped Dumpelstiltcon from coming. 

And now, she was out of time. 

She had lost everything her career, her money, her future. All stolen, just like her ideas, locked inside his laptop, never to be returned. 

And still, he came. 

Still, he took. 

One night, as she lay paralyzed, electricity pulsing through her body, she finally spoke through clenched teeth. 

“What do you want?” she hissed. 

The darkness laughed. 

Not just a chuckle rasping, inhuman sound, like something ancient and decayed. 

Then the voice slithered into her mind. 

“You already gave it to me.” 

Her breath caught. 

What had she given? 

Her dreams? Her visions? Her very soul? 

She clawed at her chest, as if she could rip out whatever invisible contract, she had signed without knowing. 

“Give it back!” she screamed. 

The laughter stopped. The silence stretched. 

Then, the whisper: 

“You want it back?” 

A single chilling pause. 

“Then make a new bargain.” 

Chapter five: The Door That Shouldn’t Exist 

She spent the next day pacing her condo, clutching a Bible in one hand and a knife in the other. 

She wasn’t crazy. 

She wasn’t hallucinating. 

But she was trapped. 

No job. No future. No proof of what was happening to her. 

And Dumpelstiltcon still had everything. 

That night, as the city lights flickered through her curtains, she heard it. 

A click. 

Not from inside her apartment but from somewhere that didn’t exist. 

She turned toward the sound. 

And there it was. 

A door. 

A door in her bedroom wall, where no door had ever been before. 

The handle was old, rusted, as if it had been waiting for centuries to be turned. 

Her pulse hammered. 

“This isn’t real. This isn’t real.” 

But when she reached for the knob it was cold. Solid. 

Real. 

And then, from the other side 

A whisper. 

“Come inside.” 

Her hands trembled. 

Her heartbeat roared in her ears. 

If she entered, she might never come back. 

But if she didn’t… 

She might never get her life back. 

She took a deep breath. 

And turned the knob. 

Chapter six: The Room of Secrets 

The moment the door swung open, Sueanna stepped into darkness. 

The air was thick, suffocating, filled with whispers. 

She took another step 

And suddenly, the walls lit up. 

Screens. Hundreds of them. 

Each one playing her dreams. 

Her ideas. 

Her stolen thoughts. 

And in the center of the room a single laptop. 

Her breath caught. 

This was it. 

This was where Dumpelstiltcon had kept everything. 

She ran to the laptop, fingers shaking as she reached for it 

But before she could touch it, a shadow rose from the darkness. 

Tall. Twisted. Smiling. 

Dumpelstiltcon. 

And in his skeletal hands, he held a contract. 

“You want your life back?” he whispered. “Then sign.” 

She stared at the parchment. 

It was written in her own blood. 

She looked up at him, heart hammering. 

“What happens if I don’t?” 

He smiled wider. 

And then 

The screens shattered. 

The electricity surged. 

And the room collapsed into nothing. 

Chapter seven: The Electric Chains 

Weeks passed. She waited. 

No recordings came. 

But every night, Dumpelstiltcon came to her. 

And soon, the pain began. 

She woke up with electric currents burning through her veins. Her skin felt like it had been branded from the inside out. 

Her face changed. Her body felt wrong. 

Was she sick? Or was he doing something to her in the night? 

“What are you doing to me?” she demanded. 

“You already gave me what I needed.” 

She gasped. What had she given? 

Her dreams? Her thoughts? 

Or something deeper? 

She ran to the mirror. 

The reflection staring back at her wasn’t her. 

“Help me!” she sobbed, pressing her palms against her face. 

No one would believe her. 

The police? The FBI? They would call her crazy. 

He is still here 

And He haunted her every breath. 

And Dumpelstiltcon still has everything. 

To be continue …