Writing for Fun
July 2023
Into the Woods - Lynn Gale
Gina Goldsmith, known as Locks because of her ability to open any door, gate or padlock without a key, was cold, hungry and tired after spending the night huddled in a bus shelter. Ejected from her bail hostel after being caught breaking into the warden’s office, the covered stop near Ursine Forest offered her some protection from the wind and rain. A curious fox strolled into the shelter and froze for a second at the sight of the dishevelled girl before fleeing back into the undergrowth. Gina’s stomach grumbled and with no money, she ventured into the woods to look for fruit and berries.
After an hour of stumbling over logs and pushing through brambles, she found herself deep in the dense forest, covered in scratches. She was about to turn back when something caught her eye. Taking a closer look, she was surprised to see a small house nestled among the trees. ‘Wow!’ she exclaimed, ‘Who on earth would live here?’ Invisible from the main path and encased in dark green ivy, it gave the little dwelling a surreal, fairy-tale look. Maybe it’s abandoned, Gina thought. She approached the large wooden door and knocked loudly. I’ll say I’m looking for a friend if anyone answers. When no sound came from inside, she pulled out a pin from her long, thick, blonde hair and twisted it into the lock, relieved to hear the tell-tale click.
Pushing open the door, Gina crept inside. The yellow-painted walls with red-framed windows reminded her of a dolls house she had as a child. The room contained three armchairs, a coffee table, and a cabinet filled with miniature animal figurines in human poses. She smiled; l didn’t think people collected this sort of stuff nowadays. Charlie would not be impressed with any of this. ‘Charlie Poe’s Pawn Parlour’ was renowned for paying out without question, but even he had limitations. Even so, they must be something of value here. A Postman Pat doll stared accusingly at her from the smallest armchair, ‘Don’t give me that look,’ she said, ‘a girl has to survive.’ Noticing a picture hanging on the wall above an empty fireplace, she tilted her head and looked closely at the three figures, wearing thick, brown fur coats and hats, riding bicycles down a forest path.
I do hope that’s Faux fur they are wearing. She sniffed disapprovingly.
Climbing a flight of stairs, Gina entered the bedroom. It had no wardrobes or dressing table, just three beds of various sizes in a row. Green-checked curtains rustled in the pine-scented breeze from an open window. She looked longingly at the patterned duvets and big fluffy pillows on the beds, thinking of last night’s disturbed sleep with the drunken rantings of people heading home throughout the night … Maybe later, she thought.
Heading down to the kitchen, she was shocked to see breakfast bowls and spoons set out on a wooden table; the three bowls contained a hot paste-like substance with curls of steam rising from them. She spun round, expecting someone to jump out on her but the house was deathly quiet. Why does it all feel so familiar? Calm down, Gina, she said to herself. A memory of a teacher reading a story to the class. If only I paid more attention in school, but Gina was more interested in getting to know the new boy, Jacob Grimm. She knew she should leave before the occupants returned, but the aroma of honey-flavoured porridge made her mouth water. ’Maybe just a little taste,’ she said, picking up a spoon.