The Pied Piper
of Hamelin

A fat, black rat with razor-sharp teeth and a trailing tail stared out of the cupboard at the cook.

“RAAAAAAT!” she screeched, and jumped up on to a chair.

At first only a few rats were spotted in the town of Hamelin. Then there were a hundred rats, then a thousand, then ten thousand rats. Eventually there were a million rats.

The townsfolk chased them out of their houses, threw water over them and baited traps with poisoned cheese. But the rats wouldn’t go away.

In desperation, the people gathered outside the mayor’s house in the main square.

“Help us get rid of the rats,” they shouted. “What are you going to do?”

“Um... er... well, er... I’m thinking about it,” mumbled the mayor, who didn’t have a clue what to do.

“I can help,” said a strong, confident voice.

The crowd parted, and a stranger walked towards the mayor. His tunic was a vivid green, he wore a bright red and yellow cloak, and he had a feather tucked into his hat. In his hand he carried a golden pipe. He was the Pied Piper.

“I can get rid of the rats,” said the man. “But you will have to pay me a million pieces of gold.”

“That’s an awful lot of money,” groaned the mayor.

“There are an awful lot of rats,” smiled the stranger.

“It’s a deal. When can you start?” asked the mayor, and the people began to cheer.

“By morning there won’t be a rat left in Hamelin,” promised the Pied Piper.

As the sun set, the piper began to play. His music floated across the square, into every street and every doorway. Then something moved in a dark alley. A fat, black rat pricked up its ears. Then another rat listened, and another. As the piper played, rats began to flood into the streets. They followed him as he danced toward the town gates. When the piper came to the river, he waded in until the water reached his middle. The rats swarmed after him, drowning in the icy water.

Next morning, the Pied Piper knocked at the doors of the mayor’s house.

“The rats have gone,” he said. “One million pieces of gold, please.”

“Nonsense, I can’t possibly pay you all that money,” grumbled the mayor.

“Are you breaking your promise?” asked the piper, narrowing his eyes and baring his little teeth. “You will regret this.” And with that, he vanished.

The mayor breathed a sigh of relief.

“What a brilliant man I am. I have saved Hamelin from the rats, completely free of charge!”

The mayor slept soundly that night and so did everyone else in the town – except for the children. In the middle of the night, they awoke to hear a haunting tune drifting through their bedroom windows. First one child ran into the square. Then another skipped past, and another. Soon every child in Hamelin was gathered in the main square. The Pied Piper turned and danced toward the city gates. The children followed him.

Outside the city, they crossed the bridge and danced through the forest until they reached a great mountain. As the piper played, a vast rock in the cliff-face began to move. It slid aside, revealing a huge cave. In danced the children, following the piper. Behind them the rock slid back, sealing the mouth of the cave.

The children of Hamelin were never seen again. Only a lame boy who had not been able to keep up with the others was found outside the cave. He told the townsfolk what had happened. They searched day and night for a year, but they never found a way into the cave. Occasionally, some mothers thought they could hear the eerie notes of a golden pipe, but the Pied Piper never returned to Hamelin.