Hall of Infinite Doors
Squinting into the dim corner of the cell, you can distinguish the outline of the man huddled there. The whites of his eyes shine out from the darkness, the stillness of his body suggesting that he has been staring fixedly at you since the moment you first appeared.
“Welcome to the Gingerjoint,” he slurs. “I’m the Candyman. Who the fuck are you?”
Such crass language seems out of place in Gingerbread Land—wouldn’t you agree?
“I’m innocent,” you say evasively. Liar!
“We’re all innocent,” Candyman laughs. “I’m innocent too. I didn’t brutally torture and murder those tasty little Gingerboys and leave their bodies on the western slope of the tallest hill in the Ginger Range, marked only by a little jar of jelly beans to keep them going in the afterlife. No, I’m innocent as an unlicked muffin! Haacch!” His laugh breaks into a gut-busting cough, which echoes horribly off the walls of the little cell.
Having coughed, then spat on his pant leg, then farted loudly, the Candyman smiles up at you with a hideous grin of cracked yellow-brown teeth. You grimace almost unintentionally and sit down against the bars of the door, as far away from Candyman as you can get.
A long time passes. As the hours wear on, you begin to shiver in the cold. Your burned hands have now frozen into a hazy shade of blue and you can barely feel your feet. You stand up and pace back and forth a few times, but you feel extremely fatigued and almost fall when you sit back down in your place. There is not a sound to be heard, save the occasional snort or cough from the Candyman. He has stopped speaking entirely.
You look over towards him and inadvertently catch his eyes, still staring intently at you. He smiles again.
“Kid,” he says amicably. “I can see you’re having a rough time. That’s what it’ll do to you here. But I’ve got the cure. Do you wanna know the cure?”
You just stare blankly back at him.
“It’s called Gingerjuice,” he half-whispers, pulling out a surprisingly large flask from the shadows. “It’ll warm you and make you all kinds of happy. I’m a sensitive man and I hate to see the sufferin’ of a young spice drop such as yourself. Come on over here and share some Gingerjoy with your old friend Candyman.”
Well, what will you do?
“Welcome to the Gingerjoint,” he slurs. “I’m the Candyman. Who the fuck are you?”
Such crass language seems out of place in Gingerbread Land—wouldn’t you agree?
“I’m innocent,” you say evasively. Liar!
“We’re all innocent,” Candyman laughs. “I’m innocent too. I didn’t brutally torture and murder those tasty little Gingerboys and leave their bodies on the western slope of the tallest hill in the Ginger Range, marked only by a little jar of jelly beans to keep them going in the afterlife. No, I’m innocent as an unlicked muffin! Haacch!” His laugh breaks into a gut-busting cough, which echoes horribly off the walls of the little cell.
Having coughed, then spat on his pant leg, then farted loudly, the Candyman smiles up at you with a hideous grin of cracked yellow-brown teeth. You grimace almost unintentionally and sit down against the bars of the door, as far away from Candyman as you can get.
A long time passes. As the hours wear on, you begin to shiver in the cold. Your burned hands have now frozen into a hazy shade of blue and you can barely feel your feet. You stand up and pace back and forth a few times, but you feel extremely fatigued and almost fall when you sit back down in your place. There is not a sound to be heard, save the occasional snort or cough from the Candyman. He has stopped speaking entirely.
You look over towards him and inadvertently catch his eyes, still staring intently at you. He smiles again.
“Kid,” he says amicably. “I can see you’re having a rough time. That’s what it’ll do to you here. But I’ve got the cure. Do you wanna know the cure?”
You just stare blankly back at him.
“It’s called Gingerjuice,” he half-whispers, pulling out a surprisingly large flask from the shadows. “It’ll warm you and make you all kinds of happy. I’m a sensitive man and I hate to see the sufferin’ of a young spice drop such as yourself. Come on over here and share some Gingerjoy with your old friend Candyman.”
Well, what will you do?
Choose:
- ID: 43110
- Nickname: meetingthecandyman
- Hits: 140
