Happy April! Has spring come to everyone? We are very green and have had some fun (and scary) storms. So it’s one in the morning here in Georgia. Why am I up late? Because there is a Camp NaNoWriMo going on, and I am determined to write at least a little every day, even if it’s just a couple hundred words. Mez is also joining me at camp, so wish us luck!

Fortunately for us, we held a Fairy Tale Competition last month, and to help us out with the blog, we will be posting our top four reimagined fairy tales each Monday, and a quick how we are doing on Friday. Thanks to everyone who participated!! So here is out first one, a reimagining of Goldilocks by Alex Thaxton!

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Goldilocks: The Untold Story

Re-imagined by: Alex Thaxton

    Once upon a time, in a land very far away, there lived a young girl with beautiful golden hair… Stop me if you’ve heard this one before.  I’m sure you have, in some way or another, but I’m not here to tell you that she was eaten when the bears suddenly came home to find her snoring in one of their beds, or to tell you that she lived happily ever after; this is the real story.

You see, Goldilocks (for that was the name of the young girl) was my best friend.  We did everything together—rode our ponies, went to school, window shopped in our little village, and went on walks through the woods.  It was on one of these such walks that the incident occurred.

While humming and skipping along, we came across a house in the woods which we had never happened upon before.  Our parents had taught us not to speak to strangers, but they had also always encouraged us to be polite, so we decided we should try to say hello to the inhabitants.  After walking all the way around the house, we still couldn’t find anyone nearby.  I tried to convince Goldilocks that we should be on our way, but she wouldn’t listen.  She always was a stubborn girl.

Goldilocks found a door that was unlocked, yelled “Hello!” as she opened it, and crept inside.  I followed, hesitantly looking over my shoulder the whole time.

“Goldi,” I whispered, “we really shouldn’t be in here.”

“Why are you whispering?  There’s no one home.  Let’s just explore the place!  Look over here…there are three different-sized chairs.  That seems strange—so mismatched…” she muttered as she marched herself right over to the largest of the chairs.  “Here, give me a boost.”

“We really should go, but I’ll do just this one thing for you, and then I’m going home—with or without you.”

I gave her a boost into the giant chair.  It was large enough for her to lay down without any of her body hanging off of it.  She stood on the edge of it and looked down at me, pouting.

“I think you should stay.  We could both fit up here.  Come on, take my hand,” she said as she knelt down and stretched out her hand.”

“Fiiiiiine.  But then I’m going home.”  I had to climb the leg of the chair as though it were a small-ish tree until I could reach her hand.  She helped me the rest of the way up.  “Wow, this is an even bigger chair than I thought.”

“See!  It’s so fun.  But I also want a chair that’s not so hard to get into.  Let’s climb down, then try the medium-sized chair.”

“Ok…but I still think that one will be too big.  You try that one, and I’ll try the smaller one.  And then, for real, I’m going home.”

“Ha ha, seems like I’ve heard that before,” she said with a smirk.

She hoisted herself into the medium-sized chair, and I sat in the little one with ease.  “This one is just right,” I said.  “Maybe a little bit too wide for me, but at least I didn’t have to climb into it!”

“Let me try it!”

No sooner had Goldi sat in the smallest chair, than she spotted a table with bowls on it.  One of them was steaming.

“Ooooooo I wonder what that is!”

“Goldi, don’t even think about it!  You’ll barely be able to reach the table anyway.”

Unfortunately, I think she took those last words as a challenge.  She clamored into one of the chairs at the table, and up onto the table itself—that was the only way she was able to reach the bowls.

“Mmmm, it looks like porridge.  I love porridge…especially after all the climbing I’ve just done.”  The steaming bowl was, of course, too hot for her to try.  The second bowl she came to had apparently been sitting out for a while.  She dipped her finger into it, pulled out a glob of porridge, and tasted it.  “Well, it’s tasty, almost like they added cinnamon to it, just like I always do…but this one is cold.”

“Goldi, get down here now, and let’s go.  Please!”

“Hold your horses!  There’s one more bowl up here, and I’m hungry.  I just want to try it, then we can leave.”

She moved to the next bowl.  Just as she had done with the previous bowl, she dunked her finger into this one, pulled it out, and tasted the porridge.  “Oh, this one is just right!  And it tastes like cinnamon too!”  To my disgust, Goldi began to use her entire hand to eat the porridge.  She started off slowly, but then a sort of frenzy took over, and she was nearly shoveling it in, until the whole bowl was empty—at which point, she licked the bowl clean, then licked what was left of the porridge off of her hands and arms.

“Well that was one of the most horrid displays I’ve ever seen,” I said.

“Stop trying to be such a grown-up.”  Goldi then climbed back down onto a chair, and down to the floor.  Then, in spite of my objections, she seemed to sort of float towards the back of the house—away from the door we came through.  I tried to grab her arm and pull her back towards the door, but she didn’t even seem to feel it.  She had suddenly grown very strong…and if I remember correctly, her arm felt bigger than normal.

“Leave me alone,” she grumbled (or was it more of a growl?) at me.  “I’m going to take a nap, and I don’t care what you say.  Go home.  I’ll be fine.”

She entered a room with three different beds in it—one giant, one just a little too big, and one that seemed like it was somewhere in between.  With the hand that I wasn’t pulling, she felt each bed, but settled for the smallest of the three.  The first was much too soft, the second was too hard, but the third was, apparently, just right.  I tugged on her arm one more time as hard as I could, but to no avail.  I didn’t know what to do.  I knew our parents would be looking for us soon, and who knew when the owners of the house would return…but as my brain fired off different scenarios, something started to happen.  The golden hair that she was known for seemed to be growing in soft curls on her face, neck, and arms (at least, that was all that I could see since she was under a blanket).  It stopped growing once it reached about two inches thick, but the only “normal” thing that was still visible were Goldi’s eyes.

Then, her eyes started to change too.  They grew farther apart, and became more round.  I was slowly backing away, out of the room, when I noticed that she was growing ears—and not human ones.  These were round and fuzzy, and more on top of her head than human ears.

Snap!  I heard a twig break outside the window.  “Oh no, they must be back!  What do I do now?”  I barely had time to recognize that I had just spoken aloud to myself, when Goldi’s hands shifted on top of the blanket.  Only, they weren’t Goldi’s hands anymore.  They were the hands (well, the paws) of a bear!

It was all I could do not to scream.  I knew then that the house must’ve belonged to bears, and that there had to have been something strange in the porridge that Goldi ate.  I heard the front door creak open, and voices coming through—one very low and gruff, one that kind of sounded like honey (if honey could make a sound), and the third was somewhere in between.  I hid under the bed that my friend was sleeping on.  I couldn’t just leave her there—I had to make sure she would be okay.

I heard some grumbling near the table about porridge being eaten, and I heard them shuffling and clomping toward the bedroom.  They took in the scene of Goldi lying in the bed, and I heard them mutter “not another one.”

I peeked my head out from under the bed.  “Umm, excuse me,” I said nervously.  “My friend and I wandered in here, and she ate a whole bowl of porridge, even though I tried to stop her, and then, she, umm, turned into a bear?  I don’t know what to do.  Please don’t be mad.”

The giant Papa Bear turned and stomped out of the room.  The Mama Bear came toward the bed.  In her honey-like voice, she began to tell me a sad story about how they, too, used to be humans.  An evil witch had played a trick on them and given them some cinnamon to use in their favorite meal: porridge.  Years ago, they used it, and the same thing happened to them as happened to Goldilocks.  She explained that the only reason they still used the cinnamon was that it tasted so good, and that they assumed they were the only ones who would be eating it, so it wasn’t doing anyone any harm.  She promised they would look after my friend, if I would promise to one day catch the evil witch and bring her to justice.  Mama Bear knew that no one would listen to a family of bears.  BUT, Mama Bear did tell me that I shouldn’t tell the real story until the witch was finally caught, or she might come after me.

So I came up with the lie to tell Goldilocks’ parents—that she was eaten by bears in the woods, and that I barely escaped with my life.  Now, however, after years of searching and spreading that lie, I am able to come clean.  I am happy to report that the evil witch was indeed found, put to trial, and condemned to a life sentence of scrubbing out bowls of old porridge.

And she did not live happily ever after.