Act I
The Threshold

Sarah Williams liked puzzles; she solved them for a living.

Hollywood was a place of a million pieces that always needed putting together. There were so many beautiful people, beautiful pictures, beautiful ideas, but sometimes they wouldn't come together correctly. And when that was in danger of happening, and if people were very lucky, they called on Sarah Williams.

She had certain rules.

She didn't like visual effects. She considered them cheating. And the finished product never looked as good, as real as it needed to, if the actors were interacting with green screens instead of the real thing. You could waste all the money you wanted to on computer graphics, but if the actors couldn't see it, feel it, touch it, then it didn't matter. It looked fake; the dream would break, and the audience would know they'd been cheated. Anyway, not that it mattered at this point in her career; she wasn't operating at a level quite yet where there was much of any money to blow whether the director wanted to (always yes) or not. So Sarah would come in and look at the set and the script, and have four hours to find a solution to the puzzle. How does one create a car-crash scene without wrecking any cars? How does one shoot a piece of fight choreography without using trained stunt performers? Things like that.

Sometimes, when Sarah was working, the problems she solved were problems that no one else, other than the director, seemed to notice were problems. She had a knack for actors; not telling them their business or petting their ego, but she could go up to one after friendly introductions and tell them their story. Actors didn't have the advantage of seeing the whole film put together before they did their work; Sarah had a way of summing up the narrative for them, from their character's perspective, that reassured them about how to go about working the scene if they seemed stuck. Small problems, tiny things really. The details that mattered and couldn't be bought for any amount of money, that helped create one flawless picture the way fitting the last piece of a jigsaw did for a puzzle. And Sarah solved puzzles.

Like the one here. Long after she'd rather have been catching up on her sleep, Sarah was pacing inside a dark studio. This scene was supposed to be set in a ruinous medieval castle, and their production designer had done his job well, considering what he had to work with. But they needed a way to create the illusion of additional infinite space beyond, and a canvas painting wouldn't match up exactly, not with increased film speeds. It needed to look as real to the camera as the painted plaster stones. Sarah frowned as she looked around at the limited depth of field space. She threw the lights on and grabbed her camera. She'd go through the set, take high-def pictures of some of the curves and arches of the interior space, and have that fidelity-printed onto fabric.

All the things that could be done, and done well, and done quick and cheap—they weren't impossible puzzles to solve, but they were puzzles that most other people, even Hollywood magicians, didn't even realize were there to solve, or puzzles they didn't want to waste the mental energy to solve. Sarah Williams could do it, though. She'd had valuable experience in that area.

This set reminded her of the Labyrinth, something she hadn't really thought about in years. At least, not the whole of it. The people and the pieces, certainly. The last time she'd needed her friends was her junior year of college, when she had a case of the flu so terrible that she'd barely been able to totter from the bed to the toilet down the hall, much less eat. Hoggle had come, put her back in bed, fed her soup, kept her company. "You're a woman now," he said, touching her hand. "You won't be needing us much anymore. But we're still right here, Sarah." She'd been too weak to cry, but she was fiercely glad that he'd come. She realized now that it was a goodbye.

She sniffed and realized she was crying now. Stupid. Stupid. A small hand tapped her shoe and offered her a stained handkerchief. "Thank you," she said, wiping away the tears to get a better look. "Oh. It's you."

"Yes-Ma'am-Lady." A trio of goblins was standing by her feet, huddled close together. "You needed us."

"Well… no, I didn't." Sarah sighed and glanced up as a shadow passed overhead. The studio was crawling with goblins, now, hanging from the set, scurrying on the equipment, and in one disturbing case gnawing the duct tape on a rig. Had she said some right words? Was the Goblin King about to show himself to her after almost two decades? Impossible. "What are you doing here?"

"You needed us," insisted the little goblin, reaching back up for his handkerchief.

"No not needed us," said the taller one behind him, snippy-beaked with bronze horns. "Needed by us."

"Yes-Ma'am-Lady. Needed."

"Oh?" She packed her camera back in her bag. "Why?" She had an ominous feeling with so many goblins around. Ominous, but exciting; something was about to happen.

The goblins shared a secret look before the taller goblin shoved his smaller companion. "King gone," the goblin said, twisting its hands together.

"What do you mean, 'King gone?" Sarah crossed her arms over her chest and gave the goblins a severe look. "Gone how long?"

"Long gone," the goblin replied with a shrug. "King left throne and go. King go. King gone." The other two goblins nodded in unison.

"Now wait a minute," Sarah said, clenching her fists. She looked at the second and third goblin in the representative trio. Ambassadors? Supplicants? "The Goblin King's gone?"

"Yes."

"And what, you didn't notice until just today?"

"We was busy!" insisted the third goblin. He had a forthright but stupid look to him. "We were gonna look for him, but we forgot. Then we forgot we forgot!"

Sarah took a deep breath. So the Goblin King had left his kingdom. She'd imagined telling the Goblin King off many times over the years, and for many things. For the promised dreams that popped like a soap-bubble when they landed in her hand; for trying to seduce her when she was barely more than a child, and for the Cleaners—yes, she'd created and memorized a tirade about attempted murder and was always adding new good bits to it—but of everything, this took the prize. The goblins needed to come to her for help? She'd have to add at least two pages to her speech. "King gone" indeed!

Sarah felt heat rising to her cheeks. Speaking to goblins was like speaking to rather stupid people, frustrating and confusing. "Did he leave a note?"

"Yes-Ma'am-Lady!" The little goblin's face lit up, and Sarah breathed a sigh of relief. But then the little goblin sang a word, and all the other goblins one by one stopped what they were doing with the set and props and leftovers at the craft table, and layered their voices until the entire studio was filled with the song. The word was "I" and the note was in the key of longing pain.

The sound was tragic and unbearable. "Stop," Sarah shouted. They stopped, though the sound echoed off the walls before fading completely away.

Something sad twisted in her. When she'd come home, she'd said she needed all of them. And that had included the Goblin King. There were so many questions she had for him. There were so many things she needed to know. And when she'd gotten a little older, there were sexual longings she'd wanted him to satisfy but, instead had to be content with herself or with the clumsy, self-absorbed attentions of boys her age. He'd never come. He'd never cared. That was a secret speech that hurt so badly she never even tried to put it in words.

When she was confident her voice would not shake, she asked, "So where did he go?"

"He walked away," the taller goblin offered helpfully. "He put on best coat and go."

Putting on clothes? Walking? The Goblin King on foot?

"King somewhere in kingdom. King lost, but we don't know where. Are you King now instead?"

"Ladies is not Kings! Ladies is Queens, dummy!" The first goblin kicked the other.

"Stop that!" Sarah snapped, and felt bad when the goblins flinched. But they looked at her a moment from under hooded eyelids and smiled knowing smiles.

"You talk like King. We like you. Keep you instead?"

"No," said Sarah. "Definitely not. "

"We need King," cried the first goblin. "Need him!"

"I'm very sorry about that," Sarah said. Sorry about the predicament it's put me in. What should she say to them? Go home? I don't want to? Was that the sort of person she was? She rubbed the bridge of her nose. She looked at the goblins, looking at her with hope and sad longing. No. I can do this. I miss the Labyrinth. I miss Hoggle and Sir Didymus and Ludo and everything else about that insane, wonderful place—even its missing king. This is what I was meant to do. This is a puzzle. And a true hero never turns down the call to adventure, or checks her calendar first.

She must have waited too long to decide, for the goblins started to pout, big lips sticking out and tears welling up in their eyes. "Stop looking at me that way." She snapped, "I'll come back with you. I'll even try to find the Goblin King for you, and bring him back. I don't promise it's possible, but I'll try."

Sarah rechecked the gear in her go bag. She'd learned that sometimes solving puzzles took all night and took her to strange locations, and was always prepared to spend a night in her car. She pulled her jacket on, flexed her feet in her rubber-soled clogs, and grabbed a few bottles of water from the craft table. Should I let someone know where I've gone? She paused, and then reconsidered. No. Screw that. Either I'll find the Goblin King and he'll re-order time, or not. Call to adventure, leap of faith, all that stuff. She paused and took out her camera, substituted it with a sixth and seventh bottle of water. She considered leaving her phone too, but didn't. There were likely no outlets in the Labyrinth, but she'd want her phone as a talisman against trouble. Maybe she'd even wear it around her neck, an amulet in black. She laughed to herself. "When do we go?" She slung her bag over her shoulder.

"Already here," the goblins insisted, as they moved through the empty set, pushing and pulling her along with them. She went through the blank place where she'd planned to put the photo, and the world tilted.

Oh no, she had time to think. She grabbed a sandstone ledge as she felt the floor fall from under her feet. "Help!" she cried out to the goblins, but they cowered in fear in the archways of the familiar and disorienting room. It was the Escher stair room, just where she'd left, and gravity no longer worked the way it should. She clawed at the landing and managed to push one shoulder over the ledge; her feet couldn't find any purchase. The bag on her back was heavy…too heavy. Her hands wouldn't hold! She was going to fall!

And we're off!

This is the story I've wanted to write for years, but never had the right words. For those with appetites for horror and suspense, allow me to recommend my story "Exile from the Labyrinth: The Lament Configuration." Written as a prequel to Labyrinth, it exists in the same continuity as this story and the film.

The usual caveats and provisos apply: you know the drill, Labyrinth fans: the film is copyright to its creators, and this is a work of fanfiction, and an homage. Rated T for language and danger; the rating will change if and when we get to sexytimes with Sarah and the Goblin King. (... duh. What kind of monster would I be to withhold that?)

Many thanks to my superb beta, Nyllewell, who has already prevented several headlong grammatical crashes and continuity pileups, and will be helping to make this story as scrumptious and fun as it can possibly be!

The beginning of each chapter will include a suggested soundtrack for ambiance and general shenanigans. Cue up or ignore at your whim BUT-the soundtrack will contain clues, themes, and foreshadowing for the story.

Soundtrack for Chapter 1:

"Lady Grinning Soul" -David Bowie
"Within You" -David Bowie
"So Real" -Jeff Buckley

Next... Chapter 2: "In the Halls of the Goblin King"