Once Upon A Nursery Crime

Morgan's eyes slowly unglued themselves from sleep to find he was lying in an enchanted forest. He knew it was enchanted because a passing rabbit smiled and waved to him. "God! What the fuck did I smoke last night to bring this shit on" he exclaimed to no one in particular. 'I'm clearly hallucinating' he thought as he took in his alfresco surroundings. He also had to take in the fact that his pair of 'Iron Man' pyjamas had mysteriously changed into a full length nightgown as modelled by Wee Willy Winkie. Although none of this could possibly be true, it all felt so very real. The grass under him certainly felt real enough, but then so did the grass he'd stuffed into last night's reefer - and now in consequence, HE appeared to be completely stuffed! Common sense suggested he shouldn't panic but just wait for the effects of whatever toxins had been in that innocuous looking mix to pass. An hour later, after he'd just had a swarm of bees hum the Hallelujah Chorus to him in perfect harmony, Morgan began to wonder if common sense was all it's cracked up to be and decided to follow Goosie Goosie Gander's example and go for a bit of a wander.

As is often the way with enchanted forests, he came upon a quaint thatched cottage, standing in a woodland glade. From inside the building, Morgan heard the plaintive cry of one of those spoiled brats who likes everything to be just right. "Who's scoffed all my not too hot, not too cold porridge and broke my just the right sized chair? Waaaaarrrrgh!" "There, there Baby Bear! Mummy and daddy will soon get to the bottom of this atrocity and make everything right again." Suddenly, the whole forest echoed with the sound of shrill female screaming coming from one of the cottage's upstairs windows. This was followed by the soft sound of naked feet running at speed down wooden stairs.

The very next instant, the front door of the cottage burst open and out sped . . . well, according to form, it should have been Goldilocks. The immerging figure certainly had the right coloured hair for the role but she was substantially more mature and well endowed than Morgan was expecting. Were it not for the bedsheet wrapped round her, the voluptuous lady would have been completely naked. A second later, she was - because the shock of seeing Morgan barring her escape route caused her to stop dead in her tracks and forget to not let go of the sheet. Her mouth silently opened and closed as she mouthed the words, "what the fuck . . ." Coincidently, those were the very words that sprang to Morgan's mind on being suddenly confronted by so much nude female flesh in one go. He sensed a consequential erection coming on and hoped his voluminous nightgown would hide it. Apart from that though, he wasn't much unnerved by this turn of events; particularly since he was still under the impression that he was hallucinating. "Good morning" he said genially, looking the woman straight in the tits. "I say, you wouldn't by any chance happen be that world famous escapologist, Goldilocks, would you?" "And I say, what if I am?" There was more than a hint of belligerent defiance in her response.

At this point, Daddy Bear came lumbering out through the open front door on all fours. On seeing Morgan, he too came to an abrupt halt and slowly stood up and up and up - for he was an exceptionally tall grizzly. As far as it's ursinely possible for a bear to do so, he looked . . . puzzled, as did Mummy Bear when she finally arrived. Meanwhile, Morgan pressed on with his attempt to engage this adult and nakedly gorgeous version of Goldilocks in conversation - just so he could ogle her a little longer. "Please excuse me for staring but I can't help but notice you're not the little girl collecting sticks for her poor old and frail grandmother as described in the fairy story. Why is that, may I ask?" Goldilocks gave a long exasperated sigh and shook her long, golden locks before replying, "considering I'm around two hundred years old, it's probably not too surprising that I've grown up a bit. As for the old stick-collecting-for-granny's- fire routine, we kicked that crap into touch when Granny converted to gas. We all just go through the motions now for the sake of the narrative." "You mean you just pretend to collect sticks, brake chairs, scoff porridge and crash out on Baby Bear's bed, just so kids will have a story to listen too?" "Pretty much; yeah. The only thing I have to do for real is always escape, just so I can live happily ever after. Apparently, that's important for some reason or another. D'yer get me?" "Yes, I think so, except for the ALWAYS escape bit." "What to you mean?" "Well, I mean you didn't escape today, did you. You stopped and talked to me instead." "Yeah, but you weren’t supposed to be here were you. You're not part of the story so you don't count." "Okay, I can see how I might not count; but what about the seven foot tall and rather pissed off looking grizzly bear currently looming over you?" "Er . . . oooooh SHIT!!!!!

Morgan turned away. He couldn't bare to watch. It was bad enough hearing the screams as bones got snapped by giant, powerful jaws and copious soft female flesh was noisily shredded to ribbons by hard as steel claws. Arterial splatter was everywhere as the acid stench of blood, gore and spilled guts filled the air. Morgan could feel the heat of it as it soaked through the back of his nightgown. Above Daddy Bear's frenzied growling, he heard Mummy Bear's encouraging voice voice calling "small lumps, darling. Turn her into small lumps. They'll fit in the freezer better."

Suddenly, everything went deathly silent - if one ignored that irritating bluebird's incessant singing about what a beautiful day it was turning out to be. The air smelt fresh and clean again. Daring to turn round, Morgan was confronted by a sight that truly unnerved him. Goldilocks was gone. Every last drop of her, even the splashes of her that seconds ago adorned his nightgown. All vanished, along with the three bears and their quaint, thatched, forest glade cottage. How? Why? As a student of literature, he already knew. Fiction only comes alive in it's re-telling. If no one ever tells a story, then it ceases to exist and who would ever attempt to send their beloved little ones to sleep by repeating the story of Goldilocks's grizzly end? 'Hmmm! It looks like I might have inadvertently caused the **** of a fairy story here' he mused. 'I wonder what the penalty for that might be?'