Hall of Infinite Doors
The door opens to reveal Mrs. Gingerbread's impressive figure dressed in a glazed frosting skirt and a matching blouse with a plunging neckline.
"You're back!" she squeals with delight. "I was afraid the Abominable Snowman had gotten you! Oh, you look so tired, you poor little sweetiepie muffintop. Go rest on our couch." In the corner of the room is a large couch shaped like a huge gummy bear. Well, by now you've seen even stranger things. You lie down on the couch and find it amazingly comfortable as it sinks under your weight in a thick, bubbly sort of way. Your eyelids feel quite heavy now.
"Woman, where are the goddamn chocolate babies?" you hear Mr. Gingerbread complain.
"Don't worry, honey. Sergeant Stiff called from the market to tell me there weren't any left today. Seems that greedy Muffin Man had need of them for another one of his perverse shows."
You doze off to the sounds of a subdued argument in the kitchen and the children playing very quietly across the room from you
"Wake up, sleepy!" Mrs. Gingerbread whispers, rubbing your chest lightly with the tips of her scratchy fingers. "It's time for dinner!"
You open your sandman-sealed eyes and make your way slowly from your gelatinous dreamcouch to the dining room. You blink in disbelief as you gaze upon the flawless white tablecloth which drapes gracefully down to the floor. The silverware and the fine china shimmer magically in the light of a large chandelier. The whole scene is framed within the large bay windows, now totally frosted over in the snowstorm. A feeling of warmth washes over you.
"How lovely!" you exclaim, taking your place between Dolce and Saffron.
Mrs. Gingerbread brings in a huge pot, out of which she ladles a bright blue, steaming-hot liquid.
"This, my dear," she informs you, "is my signature cinnagum soup. I hope you'll enjoy it!"
You try your best to smile appreciatively, but this is in fact the first time you have been served bright blue soup made primarily from gumballs. Taking a sniff of the stuff, you are pleased to find that it smells like cinnamon. Mrs. Gingerbread squeezes you on the shoulder, leaving behind some charming little crumbs. Having served the entire family, she sits down opposite you, smiling approvingly.
"Well, enjoy!" she exclaims, letting out a strained laugh.
You look over at Mr. Gingerbread and notice he has already started eating. Saffron and Dolce are looking at you sideways, waiting to see what you'll think of the soup. Boldly, you take up your spoon, dip it in, and shove it into your mouth, swallowing quickly. To your pleasant surprise, the soup is quite tasty! It's sweet like cinnamon, with just a little hint of sour to balance it out. And, really, who wouldn't be entertained by blue soup?
"This is wonderful!" you exclaim.
Mr. Gingerbread grunts hatefully in response. Mrs. Gingerbread's brow furrows as she turns to face her husband.
"Now what was that all about?"
"Keep your glaze on," he slurs back at her, his head drooping over his soup bowl. If you didn't know any better, you'd think Mr. Gingerbread was a little drunk.
"Are you drunk?" Mrs. Gingerbread shouts at the very moment this same thought is crossing your mind. "Of all the days you could be drinking, why today when we have a guest? That damn Ginger Juice is what makes you such a stale baker!"
"This coming from the woman with a nonpareil habit! Don't think I haven't noticed those in the top cupboard!" he roars back at her.
"How dare you accuse me of such things! In front of the children! In front of our guest!"
"Well, since our guest is already privy to so much, why don't we also reveal the little fact that half the gingerbread in town is your baking! You overcooked confectionery slut!"
"You preposterous picklehead!"
"And what about that Sergeant Stuff, or Stiff, or whatever his name is, eh? I thought I said I wever nanted you to talk to him again!"
"He's just a merchant, for gumdrops sake!"
Speaking of gumdrops, Mr. Gingerbread does finally pop one, as you always suspected he would. It flies off of his elegant frosted suit, zooms across the table, and hits the wall before dropping to the floor.
"See what you've down now, woman?!" Mr. Gingerbread howls, banging his arm against the table. You hear a sickening snapping noise as his arm breaks in half. He bellows in pain, shaking the sugar from the windowpanes.
"Serves you right! And don't you think I'll be getting the dough to put that back together either!"
A tense moment of silence ensues as Mr. Gingerbread sits hunched over the table, gripping the stump of his arm in agony. It is now that you hear soft cries to your left and you look over to see tears streaming down Dolce's delicate gingerface. To your right, Saffron is staring stoically out the window. Not able to sit a moment longer, you stand abruptly. Mrs. Gingerbread looks up at you, her candy eyes drooping melancholically at the corners.
"If you don't mind," she says softly, "please put the children to bed. The guest room is set up for you. I'm so sorry."
Taking each child by the hand, you walk up the rickety little staircase to the second floor. Throwing one more glance back, you see Mr. Gingerbread passed out with his face in his soup bowl while Mrs. Gingerbread sobs mutely into a muffin-cup napkin. A heavy weight of disillusionment makes the trip up the stairs nearly impossible. However, you find the children's room and the two crawl silently into their beds. Saffron quickly turns his face to the wall, but Dolce tugs at your sleeve.
"Tell me a fairytale," she pleads.
"Well," you begin hesitantly. "Well, once upon a time, there was a land made not of candy and snow, but of rock and green grass and real living trees. Different-looking people lived in this land. They grew vegetables from the earth and they hunted in the forests. Eventually, they became very advanced and discovered what is now known as the Infinite Hall, where there are many, many doors leading to all sorts of different worlds."
"I wish I lived in that fairytale land," Dolce whispers dreamily, a troubled look clouding her pretty eyes. "Tell me, do mommies and daddies always love each other there?"
"Well, no," you begin, at which Dolce immediately starts up crying again. You seem to have a problem with unimpeachable honesty. Quickly, you recover your thoughts. "You know," you say soothingly, "where your dreams are, that's where fairytale land is. It is a place that belongs just to you, and no one can take it away from you. Goodnight now, sweetheart."
"Goodnight. I'm glad you're here."
She closes her little brown eyes and is instantly asleep. You smile, despite it all, collapsing into the bed in the guest room. As though inspired by your own words, you dream of a magical place filled with enchantment and the promise of happily ever after.
When you wake up, it is early morning and the house is quite still. Your dreams slip quickly from your thoughts as the memory of last night's battle seeps insidiously back in. It's time for you to return home. Hastening down the stairs, you step out the door into a clear, sunny day.
"You're back!" she squeals with delight. "I was afraid the Abominable Snowman had gotten you! Oh, you look so tired, you poor little sweetiepie muffintop. Go rest on our couch." In the corner of the room is a large couch shaped like a huge gummy bear. Well, by now you've seen even stranger things. You lie down on the couch and find it amazingly comfortable as it sinks under your weight in a thick, bubbly sort of way. Your eyelids feel quite heavy now.
"Woman, where are the goddamn chocolate babies?" you hear Mr. Gingerbread complain.
"Don't worry, honey. Sergeant Stiff called from the market to tell me there weren't any left today. Seems that greedy Muffin Man had need of them for another one of his perverse shows."
You doze off to the sounds of a subdued argument in the kitchen and the children playing very quietly across the room from you
"Wake up, sleepy!" Mrs. Gingerbread whispers, rubbing your chest lightly with the tips of her scratchy fingers. "It's time for dinner!"
You open your sandman-sealed eyes and make your way slowly from your gelatinous dreamcouch to the dining room. You blink in disbelief as you gaze upon the flawless white tablecloth which drapes gracefully down to the floor. The silverware and the fine china shimmer magically in the light of a large chandelier. The whole scene is framed within the large bay windows, now totally frosted over in the snowstorm. A feeling of warmth washes over you.
"How lovely!" you exclaim, taking your place between Dolce and Saffron.
Mrs. Gingerbread brings in a huge pot, out of which she ladles a bright blue, steaming-hot liquid.
"This, my dear," she informs you, "is my signature cinnagum soup. I hope you'll enjoy it!"
You try your best to smile appreciatively, but this is in fact the first time you have been served bright blue soup made primarily from gumballs. Taking a sniff of the stuff, you are pleased to find that it smells like cinnamon. Mrs. Gingerbread squeezes you on the shoulder, leaving behind some charming little crumbs. Having served the entire family, she sits down opposite you, smiling approvingly.
"Well, enjoy!" she exclaims, letting out a strained laugh.
You look over at Mr. Gingerbread and notice he has already started eating. Saffron and Dolce are looking at you sideways, waiting to see what you'll think of the soup. Boldly, you take up your spoon, dip it in, and shove it into your mouth, swallowing quickly. To your pleasant surprise, the soup is quite tasty! It's sweet like cinnamon, with just a little hint of sour to balance it out. And, really, who wouldn't be entertained by blue soup?
"This is wonderful!" you exclaim.
Mr. Gingerbread grunts hatefully in response. Mrs. Gingerbread's brow furrows as she turns to face her husband.
"Now what was that all about?"
"Keep your glaze on," he slurs back at her, his head drooping over his soup bowl. If you didn't know any better, you'd think Mr. Gingerbread was a little drunk.
"Are you drunk?" Mrs. Gingerbread shouts at the very moment this same thought is crossing your mind. "Of all the days you could be drinking, why today when we have a guest? That damn Ginger Juice is what makes you such a stale baker!"
"This coming from the woman with a nonpareil habit! Don't think I haven't noticed those in the top cupboard!" he roars back at her.
"How dare you accuse me of such things! In front of the children! In front of our guest!"
"Well, since our guest is already privy to so much, why don't we also reveal the little fact that half the gingerbread in town is your baking! You overcooked confectionery slut!"
"You preposterous picklehead!"
"And what about that Sergeant Stuff, or Stiff, or whatever his name is, eh? I thought I said I wever nanted you to talk to him again!"
"He's just a merchant, for gumdrops sake!"
Speaking of gumdrops, Mr. Gingerbread does finally pop one, as you always suspected he would. It flies off of his elegant frosted suit, zooms across the table, and hits the wall before dropping to the floor.
"See what you've down now, woman?!" Mr. Gingerbread howls, banging his arm against the table. You hear a sickening snapping noise as his arm breaks in half. He bellows in pain, shaking the sugar from the windowpanes.
"Serves you right! And don't you think I'll be getting the dough to put that back together either!"
A tense moment of silence ensues as Mr. Gingerbread sits hunched over the table, gripping the stump of his arm in agony. It is now that you hear soft cries to your left and you look over to see tears streaming down Dolce's delicate gingerface. To your right, Saffron is staring stoically out the window. Not able to sit a moment longer, you stand abruptly. Mrs. Gingerbread looks up at you, her candy eyes drooping melancholically at the corners.
"If you don't mind," she says softly, "please put the children to bed. The guest room is set up for you. I'm so sorry."
Taking each child by the hand, you walk up the rickety little staircase to the second floor. Throwing one more glance back, you see Mr. Gingerbread passed out with his face in his soup bowl while Mrs. Gingerbread sobs mutely into a muffin-cup napkin. A heavy weight of disillusionment makes the trip up the stairs nearly impossible. However, you find the children's room and the two crawl silently into their beds. Saffron quickly turns his face to the wall, but Dolce tugs at your sleeve.
"Tell me a fairytale," she pleads.
"Well," you begin hesitantly. "Well, once upon a time, there was a land made not of candy and snow, but of rock and green grass and real living trees. Different-looking people lived in this land. They grew vegetables from the earth and they hunted in the forests. Eventually, they became very advanced and discovered what is now known as the Infinite Hall, where there are many, many doors leading to all sorts of different worlds."
"I wish I lived in that fairytale land," Dolce whispers dreamily, a troubled look clouding her pretty eyes. "Tell me, do mommies and daddies always love each other there?"
"Well, no," you begin, at which Dolce immediately starts up crying again. You seem to have a problem with unimpeachable honesty. Quickly, you recover your thoughts. "You know," you say soothingly, "where your dreams are, that's where fairytale land is. It is a place that belongs just to you, and no one can take it away from you. Goodnight now, sweetheart."
"Goodnight. I'm glad you're here."
She closes her little brown eyes and is instantly asleep. You smile, despite it all, collapsing into the bed in the guest room. As though inspired by your own words, you dream of a magical place filled with enchantment and the promise of happily ever after.
When you wake up, it is early morning and the house is quite still. Your dreams slip quickly from your thoughts as the memory of last night's battle seeps insidiously back in. It's time for you to return home. Hastening down the stairs, you step out the door into a clear, sunny day.