Just Right: A Dark Goldilocks Horror Tale
Time felt frozen inside the tiny, creaking cottage hidden deep in the forest. The walls, once warm with the laughter of stories told by the fire, now stood silent witnesses to the sharp scent of blood in the air. Goldie’s parents’ bedroom, a cramped space barely big enough for two, let alone three, was now the stage for something final, something that would change the forest forever.
Goldie stood by the bed, staring at the knife in her trembling hand. She remembered the moment the blade sliced through the thick fur, felt the warm spray, and saw her reflection in the blood pooling on the wooden floor. She expected to see guilt in her own eyes, fear, maybe even regret. But instead, she saw triumph—a reflection of victory against the creatures she had learned to despise.
For as long as she could remember, the bears of the forest had loomed over her life, powerful and indifferent, treating her like a child, reminding her of her smallness every day. They took whatever they wanted, crushed anything that resisted, and roamed the forest as if they owned every leaf and root. Goldie was tired of being small. She was tired of hiding in the shadows, obeying rules that kept her in her place while the bears roared with laughter and power.
Now, they lay dead on her parents’ bed, lifeless and silent, unable to ever look down on her again.
Outside, a hundred black crows burst from the trees, dark shapes scattering against a gray midday sky, their cries echoing over the darkened forest floor. The forest, under its dense canopy, was a world of shadows where light was a rare visitor, where even day and night blurred together in the endless green gloom. But there was one place the light always found its way: the small clearing around the Locks’ cottage, the only home for miles.
Goldie returned home from her walk, stepping carefully over roots that tried to pull her back into the forest. Her homemade red dress was torn at the hem, but she couldn’t remember how. She ignored it, too focused on the melody she whistled, hoping her mother would recognize the song and come to the door smiling. But as she reached the cottage, her song faltered when she saw the door slightly open, hanging crooked on its hinges.
When she reached for the handle, her hand sank into something sticky, dark, and warm. She pulled back and saw blood smeared across her palm. Her breath caught, and for a moment the forest’s silence pressed in around her.
Inside, the kitchen was a battlefield. Broken cupboards spilled their contents like open wounds, shattered glass from the windows lay scattered like jagged teeth across the floor, and flour mixed with blood in white and red streaks across the tiles. Among the destruction, three bowls sat on the table. Two were empty, scraped clean, while the smallest bowl remained untouched, still holding a small pool of porridge.
Goldie remembered how her mother would always prepare her a bowl after her walks, but it was never just right. It was too hot or too cold, always leaving Goldie to wait or force down cold, lumpy oats. She stared at the untouched bowl, wondering why her parents had eaten without her, why the house looked like it had been attacked by a wild animal.
Moving into the main room was like stepping into a nightmare. The shattered windows let in cold drafts that rattled the broken furniture. Her parents’ favorite blue chairs were soaked in red, unrecognizable in the chaos. Only her small red chair in the corner was untouched, the only island of familiarity in a sea of violence.
Goldie fell to her knees as the pain behind her eyes returned, sharp and relentless. Her migraines had always come and gone, leaving her disoriented and confused, but this time it felt like drowning, as if she were sinking under waves of pain she couldn’t fight. She clutched her head, waiting for the storm to pass.
When the pain finally lifted, she found herself holding a family photo she didn’t remember picking up. Her parents stood in the background, smiling, her father’s protective arm around her mother’s shoulders, while a small, golden-haired girl stood in front, grinning at the camera. But two perfect burn holes had been made over her parents’ faces, erasing them from the photo, leaving only the girl.
Goldie felt a wave of confusion and fear wash over her. Had the bears done this? Had they come into her home, destroyed everything, and left her parents for dead? Or was there something she was forgetting, something her mind was protecting her from?
She ran to the bedroom, the last place she hadn’t checked. The door was open, and the smell of blood was thick in the air. The curtains fluttered in the cold breeze, and for a moment, Goldie thought the two large brown shapes on the bed were just sleeping.
But they weren’t sleeping. The two bears were dead, their massive bodies sprawled across the bed, blood dripping onto the floor. They would never wake up, never growl at her, never remind her that she was small.
Goldie’s relief turned to confusion as she caught her reflection in the mirror above the bed. Her eyes, once the clear blue her mother had loved, were now red, bloodshot and wild. She tore her gaze away and looked down, finally noticing the knife in her hand. The blood was still fresh, dripping onto the floor in slow, heavy drops.
As the knife fell from her grip, she looked back at the bed—and the bears were gone. In their place were her parents, their lifeless eyes staring up at the ceiling, blood soaking the sheets.
In that moment, the confusion faded. The truth settled in her mind like a dark, comforting blanket. Her parents were gone, and she finally understood who had killed them.
Goldie wiped the blood from her hands, her breath steady, her mind clear for the first time in her life. She walked out of the bedroom, closing the door behind her like closing the final page of a story.
As she stepped outside, the forest seemed quieter, the air lighter. She began to whistle again, the same song her mother used to hum while making porridge that was never quite right. But now, everything felt just right.
For the first time in her life, Goldie felt powerful. She felt free.
Lesson / Moral of the Story:
Sometimes the monsters we fear are not outside in the forest but inside ourselves. Facing the truth, however dark, is the only way to find freedom—even if it comes at a cost.
