(1700 words) Oswald remembered his mother’s advice. “Never accept food from strangers.” “Why not mother?” he’d asked. “Well, if you buy it from Mr. Barmwell, the baker, you know he will have checked the ingredients and made sure they were all tip-top and wholesome. If you buy food from a shop, well they have important people who will have made sure the food is healthy and safe to eat.” “Yes, mother.” “But a stranger, well, they could have put poison in it, or worse!” Oswald scratched his head. “What’s worse than poison!” “Ah, well, there are potions that would turn you into a giant cockroach, or make your arms shrink to nothing, or turn everything you say into a scream of pain, or ….” “No, I won’t mother,” Oswald interrupted hastily, not wishing to hear further horrors. But now the wicked witch, for such was she, held out a crumb from the most delicious-looking cake Oswald had ever seen. “My mother said I mustn’t accept food from strangers.” “Ah, one little crumb can’t do any harm, surely?” Oswald, hesitated, then took the crumb from the old woman’s wrinkled hand and popped it into his mouth.