Hall of Infinite Doors
"I don't think the little ones are too far off," you say with a smile. "They nearly ran me over just a few minutes ago!"
"Those rascals!" Mrs. Gingerbread reproaches playfully. "Bring this shopping list to them and tell them to be back before sunset. And you be back before sunset too. It gets mighty cold here at night. Now be on your way, sweetcheeks!"
Immediately after she nearly slams the door into your backside, the wondrous aroma of baking gingerbread again wafts out of the back window to tantalize your nose. You walk slowly in the direction in which the bicycle had been going, and you notice its tire track imprinted on the firmly packed snow. At an intersection, the track turns left onto a little street with a white-lit sign reading "Tart Terrace". The houses on Tart Terrace all bear a striking resemblance to the residence of Mr. and Mrs. Gingerbread. You smile ironically as you ponder how suburbia has become a truly international phenomenon. Through a light, almost caressing snow, you see two little figures running in circles at the end of the street. You notice the licorice bike turned carelessly on its side beneath a streetlamp.
"Hey there," you call out to the children. "I have a message for you from your mom."
"Who are you?" demands the little gingerbread boy, all gumdrops and rosy cheeks, but trying to look tough as he stands defensively in front of his sister.
"I'm a visitor from another land," you say calmingly. "I just met your parents and they were kind enough to invite me to your house for dinner tonight. Here is a shopping list with a few things your mom would like you to pick up from the market."
You extend the paper to the little boy, who snatches it from your hand, glaring at you suspiciously before reading the short grocery list. Having recognized his mother's handwriting, he seems to relax a bit.
"I'm Saffron, and this is my sister Dolce."
"Pleased to meet you," you say, leaning over to shake the little boy's gloved hand as you introduce yourself to him.
SPLAP!!
A cold, wet snowball hits you squarely on the nose, immediately beginning to melt and drip down your face. You turn your gaze to the little girl, whose mischievous smile reminds you immediately of Mrs. Gingerbread.
"That's not a nice way to treat our guest!" Saffron yells at his sister.
"That's ok," you say, smiling despite yourself at the charming little demon. You watch as the two gingerbread kids take off on their bike, Dolce's silver scarf waving gracefully in the air behind her. You are now standing on a street called Crumpet Way, which is much wider then Tart Terrace and seems to be one of the town's major thoroughfares. Gingerbread people pass you on both sides, some turning their heads to gawk at your strangeness. You in turn stop and stare as a majestic carriage pulled by what appear to be white reindeer rushes by you, sending up billows of pure white snow in its wake.
To the right, in the direction the children have gone, Crumpet Way descends steeply down. You can make out the multicolor lights of the town as well as the icy sheen of a frozen lake. A gingerbread couple, linked arm-in-arm and carrying ice skates, walks past you. Perhaps it would be nice to go skating for a little while and work up your appetite. On the other hand, you're feeling pretty worn out and that snowball has sent a chill into your whole body. You see some warm-looking red lights to the left on Crumpet Way, and a few subdued individuals heading that way.
Which way should you go?
"Those rascals!" Mrs. Gingerbread reproaches playfully. "Bring this shopping list to them and tell them to be back before sunset. And you be back before sunset too. It gets mighty cold here at night. Now be on your way, sweetcheeks!"
Immediately after she nearly slams the door into your backside, the wondrous aroma of baking gingerbread again wafts out of the back window to tantalize your nose. You walk slowly in the direction in which the bicycle had been going, and you notice its tire track imprinted on the firmly packed snow. At an intersection, the track turns left onto a little street with a white-lit sign reading "Tart Terrace". The houses on Tart Terrace all bear a striking resemblance to the residence of Mr. and Mrs. Gingerbread. You smile ironically as you ponder how suburbia has become a truly international phenomenon. Through a light, almost caressing snow, you see two little figures running in circles at the end of the street. You notice the licorice bike turned carelessly on its side beneath a streetlamp.
"Hey there," you call out to the children. "I have a message for you from your mom."
"Who are you?" demands the little gingerbread boy, all gumdrops and rosy cheeks, but trying to look tough as he stands defensively in front of his sister.
"I'm a visitor from another land," you say calmingly. "I just met your parents and they were kind enough to invite me to your house for dinner tonight. Here is a shopping list with a few things your mom would like you to pick up from the market."
You extend the paper to the little boy, who snatches it from your hand, glaring at you suspiciously before reading the short grocery list. Having recognized his mother's handwriting, he seems to relax a bit.
"I'm Saffron, and this is my sister Dolce."
"Pleased to meet you," you say, leaning over to shake the little boy's gloved hand as you introduce yourself to him.
SPLAP!!
A cold, wet snowball hits you squarely on the nose, immediately beginning to melt and drip down your face. You turn your gaze to the little girl, whose mischievous smile reminds you immediately of Mrs. Gingerbread.
"That's not a nice way to treat our guest!" Saffron yells at his sister.
"That's ok," you say, smiling despite yourself at the charming little demon. You watch as the two gingerbread kids take off on their bike, Dolce's silver scarf waving gracefully in the air behind her. You are now standing on a street called Crumpet Way, which is much wider then Tart Terrace and seems to be one of the town's major thoroughfares. Gingerbread people pass you on both sides, some turning their heads to gawk at your strangeness. You in turn stop and stare as a majestic carriage pulled by what appear to be white reindeer rushes by you, sending up billows of pure white snow in its wake.
To the right, in the direction the children have gone, Crumpet Way descends steeply down. You can make out the multicolor lights of the town as well as the icy sheen of a frozen lake. A gingerbread couple, linked arm-in-arm and carrying ice skates, walks past you. Perhaps it would be nice to go skating for a little while and work up your appetite. On the other hand, you're feeling pretty worn out and that snowball has sent a chill into your whole body. You see some warm-looking red lights to the left on Crumpet Way, and a few subdued individuals heading that way.
Which way should you go?