-This is a work of fiction based on The Gashlycrumb Tinies, a poem and alphabet primer by Edward Gorey. It is rated T for violence resulting in accidental and intentional deaths. This work is written purely for entertainment value. Please don't sue me.-
B is for Basil
by Elisabeth Henry
Ever since Basil's older sister had returned home from boarding school three weeks ago, she had been teasing him about the wooded area behind their parents' estate.
'There are lions living in the woods,' she taunted, as Basil headed to his mid-morning violin lesson. 'And tigers,' she insisted, as Basil tried fruitlessly to find his appetite at teatime. 'And bears,' she murmured, as Basil crawled into his nightshirt and readied himself for bed. 'And they'll eat you up,' she whispered, as Basil buried his head under the covers and shivered in the dark.
Basil was torn. His sister was probably having him on; after all, lions and tigers only lived in deepest, darkest Africa, didn't they? But then there was that song - the one his mum used to sing to him. The one about the teddy bears' picnic. If teddy bears had picnics, why couldn't REAL bears? Everyone knew that the very best picnic spot was just inside the woods at the edge of the estate.
Finally, Basil had grown tired of his sister's teasing. He would show her once and for all that he wasn't afraid of the woods. With his trusty electric torch - the special one, the one his father had brought back from Switzerland - and his schoolbag stuffed with crisps, Basil sneaked out through the servants' entrance and trundled across the back lawn.
It wasn't so bad, he decided, being out at this hour. After all, the moon was so bright and full, he could see everything around him: the stone sundial, his mother's climbing roses, even the colourful plastic birdfeeder hanging from the recently-trimmed apple tree. This would be a doddle.
But stepping into the woods was like stepping into another world. The trees spread their heavy branches so wide that the moon's light could not penetrate them. Basil felt his knees knocking together, but he bravely switched on his torch and headed deeper into the woods, his satchel bumping against his legs as he carefully picked his way over tangled roots and the occasional fallen log.
About twenty yards in, Basil stopped. He had heard something - some kind of growl. He looked down at himself. Was it his stomach? Supper had been a long time ago... Perhaps he should open a packet of crisps. He certainly couldn't prove his bravery on an empty stomach, now, could he?
Setting down his torch, he dug into his schoolbag and pulled out a small cellophane packet. Tearing it open, he reached in and grabbed a handful of the salty potato crisps. They smelled very good, and tasted even better. Crunching noisily, Basil failed to hear the rustling behind him. It wasn't until the first bear lumbered out from behind a tree that he realised: the growling sound had not been his stomach.
Apparently, real bears do have picnics, after all!
B is for Basil assaulted by bears...