There's a whittler in the woods. A whittler of wood, who lives in a giant tree stump with small windows and a large green door. He minds his business most days, happy to carve until his hands are too sore to continue, yet the villagers call him a danger and warn their children against going to his part of the woods. They say he preys on the innocent and stupid, stupid like a lovestruck man.
The man who watched the woman he loved everyday from the window of his little shop, but was never brave enough to join the other suitors who vied for her attention.
Thus, he wrote her a note one day and left it by her window before she arrived. He watched intently as she read the note with nary an expression on her face until she sighed deeply, balled it up and threw it on the ground. The man was devastated, but soon a wonderful thought struck him. He thought that perhaps his lovely maiden reacted that way because she thought his note was from one of the other suitors. He saw the disdain on her face as each rose was presented, each gift unveiled, and he knew she did not like them. They were all for show and grandstanding. He knew those men didn't really love her and only wanted to win her affections because it would be seen as a great victory. But he loved her with his whole being.
He loved her for her charm, her talents and ingenuity. It was why he understood that if he wanted to appease her, he had to be different. He had to be sincere. He was sure she would accept a gift if it came from his heart.
The young man mulled for days over what to give her. Yes, she was a great beauty, with velvet skin and soft hair and a smile that could light up the night, but she also loved music. Her voice was like honey as it drifted through her own shop windows whenever she was particularly happy and she hummed pleasant tunes whenever there wasn't anyone to talk to. She also spent a lot of time enjoying the players in the square and made sure to offer them a spare pence if she could. His maiden loved music as much as he loved her. It was settled, he would get her an instrument, the most special instrument in the world, one only she could play.
So, under the cover of night, he went to the place generations before him warned against, trudging through the creek and past the bear caves to the house in the giant tree stump with small windows and a large green door. He knocked once, twice, three times until he heard footsteps from the other side. Suddenly, the whittler whipped open the door so strongly it banged against the inside wall. In his long dressing gown and tiny round spectacles he held tightly onto a wooden cane he raised high to attack. The young man fell to the ground and apologised profusely. He explained in quick succession why he was there and for what. The whittler listened quietly until he decided the young man was not a threat. He lowered his cane and looked the man up and down, down and up and up and down again.
"Return in a day's time," said the whittler with a twinkle in his eye.
The young man breathed a sigh of thanks and did as he was told. He smiled to himself whenever he thought of the maiden and the look on her face when she would receive his gift. It brought warmth to his cheeks and a swell to his heart. At the day's end he finally returned to the woods. The whittler led him inside his hovel. It was covered in wooden figurines on tables, on shelves, in piles on the floor- all around. The young man took a seat and waited. With a dramatic flourish the whittler presented a wooden flute-like instrument that flared at the end and had dozens of small holes along a twisted shaft that was longer than a man's arm. It was beautifully carved, smooth and precise. It would make a fine gift indeed.
The young man asked him what he owed for such an instrument, to which the whittler replied, "Don't worry, you will pay it soon."
The man was confused but offered no debate, instead he took his gift and went home. Oh, how giddy he was as he wrapped a red strip of fabric around the instrument's mouthpiece and pulled it into a lovely bow. In the morning he left it at her shop with a loving note and when she arrived he watched her accept this symbol of his love. She was indeed very happy with her gift but, when he presented himself as the sender, she frowned.
"A beautiful gift cannot come from such an ugly man," she sighed warily, "If only you were handsome."
The woman tutted and walked away with her gift, leaving the giver alone with nothing to do but feel the weight of her words. It had felt as though he'd been struck into silence, with the blow landing right on his jaw that quivered as he held back tears. He returned to his home and stared at his reflection in the mirror. He did not think he was ugly but his opinion mattered very little when his maiden thought otherwise. So, on the very next day he returned to the whittler and requested a new face.
This whittler asked if he was sure.
"Once you have a new face, you cannot get back the old one," he warned.
The young man did not consider the whittler's words and remained steadfast in his mission. He would do what needed to be done to win her affections
When he returned, the whittler sat him down and set a few tools on a table before him. The young man looked at the sharp instruments but felt no fear, only excitement. The whittler hesitated at first, but only for a moment, then he very carefully peeled the layer of skin off the young man's old face before fashioning his new wooden one. It was a painful process, filled with writhing and screaming, but the young man refused to quit.
That evening when he returned home, he stood proudly in front of his mirror. His new face looked as though it had been chiselled by the gods. No one could deny he was handsome now.
However, when he approached his maiden, his face was not enough to assuage her.
"You may be handsome," she sighed again, "but you are too small."
The young man was indeed very small, lacking in height and stature. The other suitors witnessed this insult and laughed at him. But he would not be so easily deterred by his maiden. He immediately paid another visit to the whittler and demanded he be carved a new body.
"I want to be big and strong, so that no man can jeer and no woman can scorn me," he said.
The whittler smirked. Once again he told the man to return in a day's time, closed his door and went to work.
The day began and the day ended. The young man returned to the whittler's hovel, beaming and ready.
The whittler allowed him time to appreciate his new body or reconsider if he still wanted it. He did not, for tomorrow he will be a brand new man. As instructed by the whittler, the man sat next to the table where the body laid and closed his eyes. He felt warm hands on his neck then heard a loud pop and suddenly his head felt light.
"Oh my!" he gasped when he flickered his eyes open.
His head was no longer attached to his body, instead it was suspended in the air by the whittler's hands before it was twisted onto his new wooden neck. The whittler pushed him to stand up to get used to the weight of his new self. The young man trembled and creaked with every movement. The wood was heavy but not uncomfortably so and surprisingly mobile. He giggled hysterically at his new height and build.
"This will surely do!" he cheered.
The whittler sent him on his merry way, bidding him farewell while knowing he would be back soon.
Not a full day's time had passed before the young man returned. He dropped to his knees and cried and begged for a wooden heart. For when he last went to see his maiden she'd been in the arms of another man, accepting his proposal. He begged for a heart that would not bleed with love for her, one that no longer beat her name, one that would not feel the sting of rejection and heartbreak. The whittler tutted at the sight. He knew that eventually this was how the young man's love story would end, because this was how all lovestruck fools' stories ended.
After he was given his wooden heart, the young man didn't return to his home. He instead spent his days roaming the woods. He walked for years and years and years and years until he couldn't anymore. His feet sprouted roots, his body became a solid trunk and his head sprouted branches and leaves. He looked like every other tree in the woods, but the whittler knew it was him, he always recognized his work. The whittler swung his axe and chipped away at the base of the man's trunk.
With a wry smile he tutted one last time and whispered,
"Now your debt is paid."
THE END