Disclaimer: I dont own the 'Alice in Wonderland' characters mentioned in the following story. I do not own any of the colorful ideas brought to us by Lewis Carroll in his timeless classic.

CHAPTER ONE: Hatter in the Mirror

My name is James. This is my story:

I couldn't clear the vision from my mind. His long, horse like teeth grinning at me from behind the mirror glass. His large eyes crinkled slightly as he laughed hysterically. He said nothing. He just laughed and stared. I knew immediately that he was the Hatter. He was wearing a hat, after all, and certainly looked mad.

The Mad Hatter. Not how I pictured him from the book. It's a wonder poor Alice didn't run away in fright at the sight of him (in spite of the fact that he was keeping company with an equally mad, talking Hare and Dormouse).

This all happened in the wee hours of the morning, while my parents were dead asleep. Liz, my sister, had left hours before, through her bedroom window, to party with some friends downtown. Oh, the secrets I keep for her. I knew she'd owe me someday. Some inevitable day when I lost my mind completely. I just didn't think that day would come so soon.

I couldn't believe it. The Mad Hatter in my bathroom mirror. A nightmare, but I wasn't dreaming. I pinched myself as hard as I could. I even bit myself!

I came to the conclusion that the next time I bite myself to the point of bruising (and bleeding slightly) I'll be sure to do so in a less noticeable place. My forearm was purple and yellow for the next few weeks. Two crescent-shaped bruises with four or five thin red scabs. Unpleasant to look at, and impossible to explain, so I kept it covered.

My disturbing visitor raised many hopeless questions. What does one do when faced with such things? Ask their closest friend for their thoughts or advice? I haven't got any friends. Maybe tell my parents and hope they wont send me to an insane asylum? No, that wouldn't do, I prefer to eat with metal utensils. Will he visit again? I certainly hope not.

So, in the end, I decided to keep quite and lie about my injury, should anyone happen to notice it. Simple enough. No one needed to know.

Little did I know the most unlikely person would soon be bleeding the truth from me.

Mom had been visiting my grandmother more often than usual in the weeks following my mirror incident. My bruise was beginning to fade, but only slightly. I heal slowly. It was annoying, wearing long sleeve shirts in the middle of summer. I was sure my parents were getting suspicious.

That one fateful day I decided, against my better judgment, to tag along with mom on one of her lengthy visits to Grams. Gram had air conditioning, at least. And although her house smelled like floor wax and mothballs, that was the price I had to pay to keep my cool. Gram was alright to be around, and it was fun to see mom be treated like a child for a change.

As we walked through the front door we were greeted by Charlie, Grams hyperactive dog she got to replace Gramps, who had passed away when I was twelve.

"Oh, Charlie! For crying out loud!" my mother said as she grabbed the naked coat-rack to keep from falling over.

"Charlie! Go lay down!" it was Gram. She appeared in hall wearing her trademark yellow apron. Her arms were open wide, ready for a hug. I finished removing my shoes and accepted her embrace. I could feel her love, and found myself wondering why I had been so reluctant to visit her. After she was done gawking at how tall I'd gotten since the last time I'd seen her (four weeks ago), we all walked into the kitchen and took our usual seats at the dining room table.

"Nice and cool in here," my mother said.

"Oh, Alice likes it cold," Gram said, rolling her eyes.

"She's here then, is she?" my mother asked.

"She arrived this morning. She's resting in the spare bedroom."

Alice was a very old friend of Gram's, from England. Gram had attended a prestigious school in London when she was a little girl. Alice was her best friend's mother, and took Gram in, almost as her own child, when she discovered that Gram had been living on campus, with no parents of her own. Gram would even spend the summers in Alice's cottage, playing all day in the meadows with her best friend, Alice's daughter, Bridget. Gram always thought of Alice as her mother, and told many stories about her adventures in England, growing up under Alice's care.

Bridget had recently passed, and Alice was sent to a nursing home (which didn't last long). When Gram found out, she took Alice in at once.

Now obscenely old (as you can imagine... Gram wasn't a spring chicken herself), Alice was said to be clinging to life.

"The doctors have given her about a month," my grandmothers eyes were welling up. "Alice said that should be more than enough time, whatever that means." Gram chuckled, a small laugh that betrayed her tearing eyes.

"Oh, mom," My mother said. She reached out across the table for Grams hand, "Do you need me to help around the house. I would be more than willing."

"I'll help too, Gram."

"That's very sweet of you but I think I have it under control–"

Ding. Ding. Ding. A distant bell sounded.

"That would be Alice," my grandmother explained. She got up from the table and disappeared through a narrow doorway off the kitchen. Moments later she was back, grinning at me.

"She wants to meet you, James," she said "Straighten up your hair."