* Moldy-locks and the 3 Bears
The three bears returned home from a quick run to the grocery store and found the front door ajar. Something slimy covered the door-knob, and a window to the side of the door had been busted out. Grey and fleshy bits had caught on the glass, and flecks of dried blood covered the jagged edges.
“Someone’s been in our house,” said Papa Bear, the master of understatement.
Mama Bear frowned at the doorway. “And they’ve made quite a mess, too.”
Baby Bear clutched at Mama’s paw. Was no one concerned about the sheer amount of blood but him? “What happened?”
“Hush, Baby,” was all Mama said.
The Bear family moved further into the house with caution, and as they proceeded, more destruction was evident. The furniture in the living room had obviously been the next stop of the horrific intruder.
“Someone sat in my chair,” roared Papa Bear, moving over to his massive overstuffed recliner. Dark spatters of blood flecked the back of the seat.
“Someone’s sat in my chair too,” said Mama Bear. She touched the knitted doilies that covered her floral chaise and frowned at the rusty sludge left behind.
Baby Bear moved over to his chair, almost afraid to look. “Someone’s been in my chair too,” he cried. “And it’s been torn to shambles!” The small rocking chair had been ripped limb from limb, the wood splintered and filthy with gore. Bite marks covered the wood, as if it had been torn asunder by teeth alone. Whatever it was in the house, it didn’t like Baby’s chair one bit.
There was a shuffling in the kitchen, and all three bears became instantly alert. Papa Bear took one of the broken chair legs, hefted it like a club, and led the way. Mama and Baby followed close behind him, and the Bear family crept into the kitchen.
The bloody trail had stopped near the table, leaving a mess of red footprints, but there was no one else in the small, sunny room. Papa moved forward, sniffing, and then made a sound of disgust as he looked at his plate. “Someone’s been eating my porridge!” His spoon was covered in dripping saliva, and the porridge was tainted a slight pink.
Mama Bear moved forward and made the same disgusted noise. “Someone’s been eating my porridge as well,” she declared, and lifted a long strand of dirty hair from the bowl.
Baby bear moved forward to check his breakfast. Sure enough, his food had been tampered with. Something greenish-black floated on top of his porridge, and he used his spoon to fish it out. “Someone’s been eating my porridge too, Papa. And they left their finger in it.” He showed the disembodied rotten finger to his father, and the thing twitched. Mama gave a little scream at the sight of it.
The shuffling sound came again, this time from upstairs. There was a whisper of a voice accompanying it, and a small moan.
“Someone’s still here, Papa,” Mama said, pulling Baby Bear behind her. “Go and see what’s going on.”
So Papa hefted the club again and went up the stairs to find the intruder.
All was silent for a long minute, and then he motioned for the other two bears to come forward. “Someone slept in my bed,” he said, pointing at the bloody handprint on his blankets.
“Mine too,” Mama said, frowning as she moved to her bed. “There’s a dent in my pillow and it smells like dirt.” She picked up the offending item and tossed it off the bed with a shudder.
Baby moved over to his bed, noticing a curious twitching coming from the blankets. He could have sworn that he heard low, raspy breath. There was the sickly smell of carrion as he neared it, and he could see a few long hanks of matted blonde hair sticking out from under the covers.
“Someone’s sleeping in my bed too,” Baby said in a whisper as he moved to the side of the bed. “And they’re still here...”
With that, Baby Bear ripped back the blanket and revealed the culprit.
It was Goldilocks, the little girl that lived down the lane. Or, at least, it was once Goldilocks. Half her face had been eaten away by rot, and her hair was mostly a moldy, rusty color, but the figure was the same. Her gruesome face pulled into a delighted smile and she reached her arms out. “Braaaains.”
Baby Bear rushed to Mama’s side, but it was too late. Goldilocks was up and out of the bed in a flash...
And she ran out of the house and down the street in search of more human brains, because zombies vastly prefer human brains to bear brains.
(Come on. What did you think would happen?)