Jane had a father who loved her and meant well, but was far too overbearing. He had plotted out Jane’s whole life in advance and now she had reached the age of eighteen he had decided that she would attend Harvard University to study law. Jane had little interest in law herself but she was intimidated by her father and too scared to challenge his will. Furthermore, if she did not succeed in attending Harvard, Jane would be put to work in the family automobile business, which to Jane would be a life in hell.

Sat at a desk in her bedroom, with her laptop computer at the ready, Jane started to cry. She had been commanded to write an essay on the Law of Torts, which would serve as a work of admission for the university – and it needed to be good. Having paid no attention to law in prep school, Jane had no earthly idea where to start and simply sat there, head in hands, surrounded by thick, leather-bound books. With only the weekend to complete work, two frustratingly short days, the task seemed impossible.

All of a sudden, without any warning, the lights in her room went out and in the darkness Jane lifted her head in confusion. Just as suddenly, the lights came on again and Jane was almost floored with shock at the sight of a tiny man, no bigger than the computer screen, stood in the chrome silver bowl of her weighing scales, which always stood on the desk as a reminder of her mother and their happy days baking cakes.

“Hello”, it said, “why the tears?”

“I must write this essay on law and I do not know how”, Jane replied, utterly confused.

“As it happens”, the little man continued, “I come from a family of lawyers and could complete that task with ease. How would you pay me for doing so?”

After thinking long and hard, Jane offered up her CD player and the man set to work. At first he struggled with the pen, which was as long as his legs, but in no time at all he had completed half the essay and promised to return the following night to finish it all.

The next morning, Jane’s father came into the room to check on her progress and he was delighted. For the first time in months he cast Jane a beaming smile, which she fondly returned. Soon enough though her father’s face became stern again as he reminded her that the work must be finished by midnight without fail. Jane made a confident nod of agreement but was secretly anxious as to whether her little helper would return at all.

Jane waited at her desk, as she had done the previous night, but hours and hours passed without anything happening and she became increasingly nervous by the minute. Eventually the lights flicked off and on again and there was the little fellow, stood, yet again, in the chrome silver bowl of Jane’s weighing scales.

“Good evening”, the imp said, “I have come to finish the work but I will need a second payment. What can you offer?”

Jane had not expected this, and felt a little cheated, but offered up some of her personal items anyway; if he was to finish her task tonight no price was too high. Necklace? No. Watch? No. Mobile Phone? No.

“Then what would you like?” pleaded Jane.

“Your first born child”, replied the man whilst scratching his knee.

Jane found this highly amusing and instantly agreed. She then lay back on her bed and, with a relieved smile, turned on the television. The little man heaved the pen up onto his shoulders and finished the essay.

Seven years after graduating from Harvard, and by now a very wealthy lawyer, Jane gave birth to a beautiful baby boy. Shortly after, she returned to her father’s house to collect some of her old baby toys, which she intended to pass on to her new son. Whilst sifting through old belongings in her room the door mysteriously slammed shut on its own accord and the lights went out. Seconds later they were on again and there he was, the little imp, sat in the chrome bowl. Jane was instantly terrified.

“I have come to collect my payment”, it said.

Tears pouring out of her eyes, Jane offered the man all the money she had made from law, her lavish house and flashy car.

“Take it all”, she screamed, “anything but the boy!”

Jane was now on her knees, numb with terror, unable even of uttering a sound. She was in such a sorry state that even the insidious little imp pitied her.

“Maybe I can be persuaded not to take the baby”, it said.

“Let me guess your name”, Jane replied, “like the old tale!”

“No, I don’t want you knowing my name”.

“Let me guess your height to the millimetre?”

“No, I don’t like talking about my height”.

“Let me guess your weight to the ounce?”

“So be it”, the man finally acquiesced, “you have twenty-four hours to guess my weight exactly, and then shall you keep your child.”

Jane made her excuses to her father and stayed in her old room all night and throughout the next day. She constantly paced around her room deliberating over her task. Is he heavier than a bag of sugar, she thought? Is he lighter than an iron? By the hour Jane got more anxious until finally, only minutes before the imps’ impending arrival, she had an amazingly lucky realisation. She walked up to her old weighing scales and looked at the dial, which always records the weight of the last thing placed in it’s chrome bowl. Six pounds, three ounces. Jane closed her eyes and thanked God.

Soon afterwards the tiny man arrived the usual way.

“Do you have an answer?” he asked, “or do I take your son?”

“One stone?” asked Jane.

“No”, replied the imp with a wicked grin.

“Four pounds?”

“No”.

“Ten pounds, two ounces?”

“No”.

“Six pounds, three ounces?”

The little man jumped back in a jolt, smashed through the bedroom window, and left only two tiny hands balancing on the remaining glass shards.