With an exasperated huff, she looked at the rest of the long room. There were three beds. The first bed had the mattress ripped clean off. It had been thrown against the wall, where it drooped brokenly. Goldilocks put a hand on the wooden slats of the bed frame. “This bed is too hard,” she said.
The second bed was a feather mattress. Goldilocks knew this because feathers were still floating lazily in the air, freed from the mattress by several deep gouges that had been clawed in it. One feather brushed her nose and she sneezed. “This bed is too soft.”
The third bed was smaller than the first two, a perfect size for a large child or perhaps a small bear. (I always measure my furniture in terms of bear sizes. For example, the couch I am sitting on is medium bear–size. My bed is large bear–size. My bathroom is no bear–size, because bears don’t use indoor plumbing, except in horrible toilet paper commercials.) Though the quilts on this bed had been ripped up, there were a lot of them.
“This bed is just right,” Goldilocks declared, and she crawled under the blankets, covering herself up.
Wake up, Goldilocks! I whisper desperately. You really shouldn’t sleep here. But she doesn’t move. If you didn’t know she was there, you wouldn’t ever guess. She’s so still. So silent.
Not silent was the front door as it slowly creaked open. Three shapes—one hulking, one slightly less hulking, and one that would be hulking in the future but for now was more cuddly-adorable—came into the kitchen.
I know how this part goes! First, Papa Bear will say, “Someone has been eating my porridge.”
Papa Bear stumbled into the table, knocking it over. The three bowls of porridge crashed to the ground. “Braaaaaiiiiins,” he growled.
Oh. That is—well, that is not what I thought he would say. But look! Now they are going into the room with the chairs. “Someone has been sitting in my chair!” is the line you are looking for, Mama Bear.
Mama Bear dragged her feet across the floor, powerful arms held out in front of her as she passed her chair without even noticing it. “Braaaaaaiiiiiiins,” she growled.
This isn’t going at all how I expected. I’m confused, and even more worried for poor little Goldilocks than I was before. She has no idea what’s coming!
The three bears groaned and shambled slowly toward the bedroom. Papa Bear dragged his long claws along the end of his bed. Someone hasn’t been sleeping in his bed!
Mama Bear snuffed slowly, her red eyes unblinking. Someone hasn’t been sleeping in her bed, either!
Baby Bear stopped in front of his bed. His adorable little bear snout under his genuinely terrifying red eyes sniffed and sniffed. “Braaaaaaaiiiiiiiins?” he groaned. Someone had been sleeping in his bed, and there she was!
Goldilocks jumped up, whacking Baby Bear across his sensitive nose with her chair leg club. “Come and get me, zombears!” she screamed. Ducking under Mama Bear’s powerful paw as it swiped through the air, Goldilocks rolled. She dove between Papa Bear’s legs. His jaws snapped around where her head had been mere seconds before.
She threw the chair leg through the nearest window, shattering it. Then she jumped out, catching a tree branch and h
anging in the air. She turned around, facing the window. The three bears were still inside, groaning for brains, thick saliva matting their fur.
“I’ve got your brains right here!” Goldilocks shouted. (No, sweet little girl, run! Run for your life!)
The bears roared. First, Papa Bear climbed out the window. But Goldilocks was too high, and he fell down. Right through a screen of branches and into a cage.
Next, Mama Bear climbed out the window. But Goldilocks was too high, and Mama Bear fell down into the cage.
Finally, Baby Bear climbed out the window. He stood on the sill and reached for Goldilocks, his sharp claws catching on her boots. She wrapped her feet around his neck and tugged back, pulling him out the window and straight down into the trap.
She dropped down and slammed the lid shut, pulling a set of golden locks out of her bag.
The first lock was too big.
The second lock was too small.
But the third lock was just right.
Oh! I get it! GOLDILOCKS.
Goldilocks sighed, flipping her hair back and glaring up at me. “Do you mind?” she asked. “I’m kind of trying to hunt zombies here, and your commentary isn’t exactly helping.”
Right. Sorry. We’ll leave her to her work, then, and move right along to another part of the forest. Preferably one with fewer zombears.
When Jack finally found his stepmother, she smelled like fire and exhaustion. They met on the edge of a town. In the distance, smoke curled lazily from the ruins of the castle. His stepmother held a gleaming red apple.
“Can I have that?” Jack asked.