Hall of Infinite Doors
You have already experienced a few cautionary moments since your arrival in Gingerbread Land. From these experiences, you have learned a few cautionary lessons: when in Rome, do as the Romans do. When in Gingerbread Land, avoid pressure-cooking the natives. Knowing better than to stir the batter, you sink into your seat, stare at the floor, and wait for that moment of relief when you hear someone else's name called.
That moment doesn't come.
There is a strange silence in the auditorium. The Muffinman's voice has turned angry when he finally bellows,
"It is customary for visitors to our fair country to express their gratitude and goodwill by taking full part in our customs and traditions!"
A thousand frosted eyes all turn their glaze to you. You sink a little lower into your chair, knowing full well that it is a lost cause.
"Perhaps our strangely fleshy visitor would humor us!"
The audience erupts into laughter. You feel yourself pushed and prodded by a multitude of crumbly fists, all the way up to the stage. The Muffinman grabs you by the shoulders as the heavy red curtain swings shut in front of you.
You hear a shuffle of delicate feet behind you. Glancing quickly over your shoulder, you see a flurry of chocolate babies. They are setting up a most unusual scene, strewn with fiery streamers, a low primitive drumbeat rising up slowly from the ground. You notice that one particularly diminutive chocolate baby has been chained in place near the faux fire. She shivers with fright, jerking her head frantically in all directions.
The Muffin Man whispers something into your ear.
No! That couldn't be! Not in a place as genteel as Gingerbread Land! Your eyes go marshmallow-wide and you are about to make a quick escape, but alas, it is too late.
The curtain swoops violently open. The Muffinman takes a deep drink from his flask. He grabs onto the microphone stand as the red spotlight finds him, bathing him in a bloody glow.
"And now!" he screeches into the microphone, sending the entire hellish chorus of gingerbread faces wincing backwards against their seats, "The moment you have all been waiting for!"
That moment doesn't come.
There is a strange silence in the auditorium. The Muffinman's voice has turned angry when he finally bellows,
"It is customary for visitors to our fair country to express their gratitude and goodwill by taking full part in our customs and traditions!"
A thousand frosted eyes all turn their glaze to you. You sink a little lower into your chair, knowing full well that it is a lost cause.
"Perhaps our strangely fleshy visitor would humor us!"
The audience erupts into laughter. You feel yourself pushed and prodded by a multitude of crumbly fists, all the way up to the stage. The Muffinman grabs you by the shoulders as the heavy red curtain swings shut in front of you.
You hear a shuffle of delicate feet behind you. Glancing quickly over your shoulder, you see a flurry of chocolate babies. They are setting up a most unusual scene, strewn with fiery streamers, a low primitive drumbeat rising up slowly from the ground. You notice that one particularly diminutive chocolate baby has been chained in place near the faux fire. She shivers with fright, jerking her head frantically in all directions.
The Muffin Man whispers something into your ear.
No! That couldn't be! Not in a place as genteel as Gingerbread Land! Your eyes go marshmallow-wide and you are about to make a quick escape, but alas, it is too late.
The curtain swoops violently open. The Muffinman takes a deep drink from his flask. He grabs onto the microphone stand as the red spotlight finds him, bathing him in a bloody glow.
"And now!" he screeches into the microphone, sending the entire hellish chorus of gingerbread faces wincing backwards against their seats, "The moment you have all been waiting for!"