You edge forward. From within the room with a cupcake on its door, you hear a sneeze. Tilting your head to one side, you eye the flat barrier – behind it could be demons who happen to have a cold, perhaps! Well, that’s a bit of…wild thought. But nevertheless, you edge another step forward. The hair of your bare arms stands on end.
At first, you are tempted to turn around and inspect the other doors, but something keeps you looking at that glorious golden cupcake. When was the last time you ate? you find yourself questioning. Maybe you’re just hungry. Maybe it’s just a distraction from the truth of the situation. ‘Cause you have not a clue how you got here, and something is niggling you—as if you might be facing some greater peril behind the light-heartedness of pressing through of this…house.
If you’re absolutely honest to yourself, you’re not even sure what lies beyond the door. You might well die—
Moving on quickly.
“Hello? Is anyone there?” It’s becoming a common phrase of yours.
Rooting through your pockets, it becomes icily clear that you have no key. Besides which, this keyhole is as deliciously-shaped as the symbol on the door.
Who has a cupcake key, anyway? Seems a bit ridiculous. The kind of thing one only finds in a dream.
Right. You raise a fist to knock at the door instead. If something really is resident behind it, you might as well barter with the creature or something. Hopefully.
Unless I’m just going mad, you add to yourself. How long has it been since you even had a conversation with another human being?
Biting the bullet of anxiety starting to ball in your chest like a long-tailed parasite, you knock. Once, twice, three times.
The sound echoes around the chamber.
You wait a minute, counting the seconds in your head, but you already know what you’re going to hear. Or, rather, what you’re not going to hear.
You knock again. Come on. Now, your wish to pass through this door is ever more insistent. You can’t help it. You need to know! Until you are smashing your fist against the door, no longer just knocking, but pounding for an ingress you feel it’s your right to have.
You slide down the door onto your bum. “Let me in,” you whisper, rather pathetically.
A click now echoes around the chamber—you know because it makes you jump about a foot off the ground—followed quickly by an odour as if someone has set a leprechaun on fire.
The door swings open, choosing this moment exactly to smack you in the back.
You ignore it, and roll upwards to stand beyond the cupcake door.
You’re through! What is the first object upon which you set your eyes? Where have you found yourself?