THRICE Upon a Time...

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The caw of a blackbird. The cracks of sticks under the horse's hooves. The forest thick with inky darkness, even in the morning.

Gold-Locks was sitting stiff and afraid. She flinched at every sound, yelled at every move. Her head was reeling, sick with fear. She could hear the thumping of her heart, ringing in her ears, filling the empty silence.

The forest was a frightening place. Gold-Lock's horse slowly clicked past fallen trees and dead leaves, and once he slipped on a patch of swamp-green moss.

Gold-Locks tugged her horse viciously back towards the rough path. Stories told that, so long as you followed the path of shrivelled, brown grass, you will eventually arrive at the hut of the Three Bears.

Gold-Locks was parched, and her stomach ached of hunger. Her big flabby body was sore and rigid from sitting up-right. Her horse was stumbling shakily over the tangled earth, and what she wanted to do most was curl up and fall asleep.

Suddenly Gold-Locks saw the slightest glimmer of light.

She squinted into the distance.

Light. It was light!

Gold-Locks gave her horse a harsh whip and sent him racing down the path, tripping occasionally. The light grew brighter and larger. It was coming from a wooden cottage, a flickering fire through the scratched windows. The house glowed in the darkness, inviting.

Gold-Locks gasped to herself, swallowing hard. Could this cottage belong to the bears?

Her horse skidded to a stop, pebbles flying like dust. Gold-Locks struggled down and tied her horse to an old, crumbling tree.

She gazed in through the windows of the house into what must have been the living room. The fire was burning brightly, oak furniture and paintings decorated the room. A sheep-skin rug was lying on the glossy wooden floor. However, nobody seemed to be inside.

Gold-Locks carefully walked to the front door, grimacing at the loud, give-away cracks under her feet. The door was covered with ivy and silvery snail trails.

She didn't bother to knock. Instead, she turned the slippery round doorknob and went in.

A gust of warm air greeted her. Gold-Locks tightened her grip on her knife.

The living room was full of Autumn colours, cheerful and sweet. Gold-Locks glanced at the dying flowers on the big, rectangular table in the middle of the room, the logs crackling in the fireplace, the pure white rug. She strained her ears, but all she could only hear the fire and the night animals. Gold-Locks slowly shut the door behind her.

Suddenly she noticed a smell. Like baked goods. Like sugar. Her stomach groaned.

Besides the flowers, there were also three bowls of white porridge sitting on the table, and Gold-Locks immediately turned to them. She was starving. And they smelt so good...so delicious and fresh.... They were smooth and steaming and sprinkled with powdered sugar in a stripy blue bowls...and each of them had a convenient white spoon.

Would the bears notice if Gold-Locks just tasted one of the porridges? Just a little lick?

Gold-Locks quickly scooped up a spoonful of porridge from the bowl closest to her and swallowed it.

She swore loudly.

The porridge was so, so HOT!! It burned her tongue furiously, and Gold-Locks gulped in big lungfuls of air.

She dumped the spoon back into the porridge. Well. That was that. But Gold-Locks was still hungry. That one burning taste of porridge only teased her. Perhaps, if she tried one spoon from each of the bowls...the bears couldn't possibly notice. And anyway, this house might not even BELONG to the bears in the first place!