Ansel and Greta

In a densely populated neighborhood in America, there lived a man with his wife and two children. His children were enthusiastic creators and builders, and they filled his small home to the point of bursting with all their projects, gadgets, and other brainchildren. The man, having a meager income, could not afford a larger space for the children to spawn their fantasies.

One day, after tripping over an elaborate model of an imagined solar system, the wife said to the man, “Honey, we need to get these kids a computer like the Johnsons have. They can do all these things on the internet, and we’re about to drown in their things.”

The father resisted, because seeing the fruits of the fruits of his loins was one of his rare pleasures. “I’m not going to do that. The kids love their projects.”

But the woman was insistent. She jabbed the man’s ears with disturbing needles of dissatisfaction, until his home life felt like a Chinese water torture.

When he was passing her in the hallway, she would let out a barely audible “uh-uh”, apropos of nothing, but conveying sure rejection and future sexual frustration.

When he checked the refrigerator for his lunch in the morning, a dry “nope” slapped his ears from the next room. He marveled at her for being so connected to him, and nursed his mental wounds discreetly.

This continued for weeks.

Finally, since more space was unaffordable in their crammed city, the man relented and purchased a computer. The night before it was scheduled to be delivered, Ansel and Greta overheard their parents talking in another room.

“Honey, I want their trash on the curb by seven tomorrow,” she demanded. “Did you tell them that they’re to make their messes on the computer now?”

He wavered. “Now, dear, please don’t be rash. Give them some time to sort their things out.”

“No. We’re set to suffocate from all their infernal mess. Get it done.”

They heard a sigh and the sounds of running water and dishes tinking.

Greta turned to Ansel, chagrin warping her face. “What are we going to do, Ansel? She’s really got the old man by the balls now! We’ll be blue-light zombies like everyone at school!”

Ansel replied, “Don’t worry sis, we’ll figure it out. We’re in this together.”

The next day, the computer was delivered, and the mother set it up in the children’s bedroom. “You’re going to be making your messes on this computer from now on,” she explained dryly as they looked on in horror.

“But Mom, we can’t do the same things! The screen’s just 2D! We wanna build!” they wailed.

“Hush,” said the mother. “I’ll fetch you some headphones and some virtual reality headsets. Then you’ll have all the space you need.”

“But Mom, it’s not real!”

“Your dinner won’t be real if you don’t stop whining,” she responded.

They glumly acknowledged her demand and remained silent until she left the room.

On a Tuesday a few weeks later, the children stayed home from school for a snow day. In that era, the schools closed when a significant amount of snow fell the night before. They were relaxing in their bedroom, discussing what they should do on the computer, when Greta shouted a lamentation of boredom.

“I NEED TO TALK TO ANOTHER PERSON. THIS IS SO BORING…no offense bro.”

“Only boring people are bored. We could go in a chat room,” suggested Ansel.

“Ugh…I’m not a texter like you. I need to see people’s expressions and body language…it’s just not the same,” she explained.

Ansel smirked. “You’re gonna love me. I just read about something called a virtual chat room. You control a digital avatar and talk to people like it’s school or a coffee shop or something.”

“How do you control a body in the internet?” she asked.

“I think the router reads your brain waves or something,” he mused.

“Ugh, fine. Let’s go,” she replied.

They put on their headsets and headphones, and Ansel led the way to a virtual chat room, a site called “The Forest.”

Greta griped and moaned as they looked around at the digital imagery. “I can’t believe I let you talk me into this…we should have gone to the one called “Puppy Palace”."

The virtual room looked like a billionaire’s private library. There were shelves of books lining every wall, and luxurious, plush armchairs scattered around the space. Some of the chairs were arranged around small tables, so the sitters could talk in hushed tones.

Greta scanned the room eagerly while Ansel browsed the stacks of books. There weren’t many discussion partners that appealed to her, so he reached the “L” row of the fiction section before she decided who they should approach. She pointed out their quarry, “Look, Ansel, let’s talk to her!”

It was a young woman sitting by herself in the corner, a large, ancient leather book propped open on the table in front of her. She had smooth porcelain skin, as white as pearls, and long, flowing auburn hair. Her eyes were almond-shaped and bright, luminescent green. She seemed to feel them looking at her, and shifted her gaze toward them. Her lip curled slightly, and she beckoned them to join her.

Greta squeaked with excitement, “Come on bro, let’s go talk to her!”

“Hold on,” he replied, as he pocketed a copy of “Lust and Love” by Aidan S Lawrence. “I might want something to read when you’re talking to her.”

They walked over to her table and sat down in the armchairs opposite hers. She grinned and lowered her book. “Hello children,” she uttered bemusedly.

“Hi, I’m Greta, and this is Ansel. What’s your name?”

“I am called Arborea,” said the woman, her eyes sparkling.

“Do you come here a lot?” asked Greta.

At this, Arborea tittered.

“A lot? Girl, I live in here,” she said.

“Huh?”

“I have a little place in a clearing in the forest. It’s usually employees only, but I can make an exception for you and your delicious brother.” She glanced at Ansel greedily. “Would you care to see it?”

Greta agreed, and Ansel nodded reluctantly. Arborea’s eyes were sparkling as she said, “Come with me.”

She stood up and walked toward a hidden corner in the back of the room. There was a door they hadn’t observed before, carrying a sign that read “Employees Only”.

She opened the door, and motioned for them to follow her. The space beyond the door was pitch-black and cavernous. Greta hesitated. “Uh, aren’t we not supposed to go to strangers’ houses?” she asked.

“Hmm..I guess it’s only a virtual world,” Ansel replied. “What harm could it do? Let’s check it out.”

They followed Arborea in through the door

Now that they were inside, they could see that some light emerged from a glowing, weblike pattern on the floor, and from what appeared to be a large number of pillars positioned around the space. Behind them lay the faintly glowing outline of the door they had entered through. From the library, it had seemed like an entrance to a backroom, but now it seemed like the library’s exit. The space was vast. No walls were visible. The surface they stood on was etched with what looked like a radiant spider web. At some of the intersections between the spiral and the cross-threads, there stood lustrous columns that lit up the space around them. These columns rose dozens of feet, and then branched out into numerous arms that continued to ascend at angles. The branches were decorated with what looked like long strips of florid fabric, which bore large, ornamental buttons.

“Oooh…trees, Greta uttered softly. “I wonder if…”

CLICK. The children heard a locking sound behind them, and turned around to see Arborea taking a glowing green key out of the door and depositing it in her pocket.

“Wait…what…why?!” stammered Ansel.

“Did you just lock us in?!” asked Greta, her voice polluted with fear.

Arborea cackled, and wrinkles became perceptible on her face.

“Oh, children, children. You shan’t be leaving. Oh, heavens no. And when you see what there is to eat here, you shan’t ever want to leave. Each of my trees is an infinite tapestry of experiences, with fruits and flowers, and good wood to build with.”

“You need only hug the tree, and you shall be brought into a new world with delights beyond your reckoning. Eat, experience, and enjoy. I desire your minds to be plump and rotund, for I plan to plant you beautiful children as new trees, and trees need nutrients.”

Greta gulped.

“Now I must go visit another of my children, and attend to a dire task. Please enjoy my forest, children. All shall be well upon my return,” said Arborea.

The pale woman then sauntered off into the distance, wrapped her arms around one of the pillars, and slowly merged into the tree, until her body was no longer perceptible.

Panic now beset Greta. She grabbed the handle of the door they entered through, and pulled, to no avail.

“Ansel how do we get out of here? I want to leave! “Computer…end! Computer…cancel! Wait, how do we take off the headsets? Oh, I don’t like this! Ansel, do something!”

The boy was surprisingly serene. He frowned and looked around.

“Fear is the mind killer, sis. There must be a way out. I guess we should try to learn about what these are,” he said as he gestured toward the trees.

“Look, they’re different,” he explained. “The stuff at the top is different colors on different trees, and some of them are thicker than others.”

“Should we try going in one?” asked Greta.

“Seems like the only option to me,” said Ansel.

“Okay…what about that one with the green stuff at the top?” said Greta.

“Green always was your favorite color. I’m in,” said Ansel.

They approached the tree and simultaneously wrapped their arms around it.

Unexpectedly, their brains began to fog. They felt themselves slowly losing consciousness, and their field of vision was gradually overshadowed with images of other people from another place. Greta felt her head nod involuntarily as they slumped against the shaft.

A while later, they returned to consciousness, in a twisted embrace on the ostensible ground. It took them a while to shake the grogginess, and then they compared what they had just experienced. Greta actually twitched and put her hands on her head, as she scrambled to remember the ordeal.

“Do you remember what happened?” she asked.

“Not much,” replied Ansel. “It was like a dream. I remember needing money and trying to go into a bank, but the bankers told me I had to donate blood to a blood van before I could go in and make a withdrawal. Really weird stuff.”

“I only remember images. Mean men in suits…people counting money…so weird,” recalled Greta.

“Look,” said Ansel. “One of those button things from the top fell down. There’s something written on it!”

The button was the size of a vinyl LP, and gilt text adorned its face.

Ansel walked to it, plucked it off the ground, and read, “No Pain, No Gain.”

“What does that mean?!” Greta wailed.

“If I knew, we wouldn’t need to talk about it,” replied Ansel coolly.

“Wow, point taken,” said Greta. “I wanna try another.”

Ansel frowned. “Yeah, we should. Here, I’ll put this thing between this tree and the next one we try, so we know our way back. I don’t wanna lose that door.”

Then they tried another.

“What do you remember?” asked Greta when they awoke.

“I remember squirting honey onto a girl’s tongue while I cooked dinner,” said Ansel.

“All I remember is a really comfy bed,” lamented Greta.

Another button had fallen. This button read, “Home Sweet Home”.

“Bizarre,” admitted Ansel.

“What would happen if we tried the same tree again?” wondered Greta. “Maybe something different will happen.”

“Good idea,” said Ansel. “But let me go in alone this time. Wait out here and watch what happens. Then we’ll know more.”

Ansel strolled back to the “No Pain, No Gain” tree, and wrapped his arms around it.

He woke to a horrified Greta.

“You were in there for hours!” she shouted.

“Hmm…it seemed like years…I remember having a beard. I was wandering in a desert…” He stroked his hairless, adolescent face.

“Ansel, another button fell as you were waking up!”

Greta ran to it and plucked it off the ground.

“No Rain, No Grain,” she read aloud. “What the hell does that mean?”

Ansel frowned. “A desert joke? This is getting even weirder.”

He looked up, and realized that the fabric decorating the treetop was now yellow instead of green.

“Uh…Greta…did you notice that?” He pointed up.

“That’s it,” she said. “I’m trying the home tree again.”

She ran and hugged the tree that yielded “Home Sweet Home”. When she woke, Ansel quickly showed her the new button that had fallen.

“Home is where the heart is,” he read aloud.

“Is that…a clue?” asked Greta. “Why would this place tell us how to get home if she wants us trapped here?”

“Don’t overthink,” said Ansel. “Let’s walk around for a bit and see what we can learn.”

The children followed the spiral web path and steadily moved toward its center. They noticed that some of the trees had designs on the trunks, and some had more elaborate buttons.

After hours of walking, Greta suddenly shrieked.

“ANSEL, LOOK! THAT TREE HAS BUTTONS SHAPED LIKE HEARTS!”

There was no hesitation. They rushed over to the tree, and put their arms around it. Like waking from a bad dream, they found themselves in their bedroom again, and ripped off their headsets and headphones. The following hug was verifiably the tightest and longest in recorded history.

Later that night, as they were helping their parents with dinner, Greta suddenly cocked her head. Ansel noticed, stopped what he was doing, and studied her.

Greta heard a distant cackle in her mind’s ear. “There were many hearts, my sweetie—hearts plural! Are you sure you found your true home? I expect I’ll see you again someday…hehehehehe.”

Greta turned to Ansel—a pleading, tortured expression on her face.

“What?”