{Reviews equal Love! Thanks to everyone especially my Beta Reader. I have the team together and now…now is the hard part}
Dear Mr. Hatter,
I believe I can not put this into words but the will of having to admit it… The Duchess is dead. Mr. Dodgson sent me an urgent letter saying that she appeared on his doorstep with a letter stitched into her skin.
Have you ever heard of anything so macabre? That, unfortunately, is not the strangest thing to happen. The Duchess's face was not one to forget in its crude shape, but the women who appeared to Charles were not the same person we both had met.
Her face was not scarred, wrinkled, or bent. It was flawless, an image of pure beauty; her golden hair and blue eyes seemed only to glow when in someone's presence. He even took a picture which I have enclosed to you. Such eyes she had, Mr. Hatter. The letter is the one thing I have not mentioned, but you must understand that it is hard to even imagine anything that has happened.
Speaking of all this has weakened my state and I dare not threaten my health. Something is happening, but to question it is beyond me. Give me strength, Hatter, give me strength.
Your Friend, Alice
The mall's atmosphere was heavy with the sound of people snacking in the Food Court and children attacking each other in the Railroad playpen. Sam and I nestled in our favorite spot under the water fountain, beside the coffee shop and far away from the rest of the bustle.
In his fingers, Sam held the third letter and the old photograph. I couldn't bring myself to look at it again. It was at least 80 or 90 years old, its edges worn and bent. The picture was just a rough outline of an older women whose body was young, but her face was beaten and obviously older. Wrinkles and dark bruises surrounding her face.
What still got me was that it was real. This photo couldn't possibly be altered or just made up for a hoax… It was real beyond a possibility of a doubt. Then again, I couldn't help thinking that it might not be real. How convenient for an 18-year old (supposedly young and naïve) to find these mindboggling letters hidden away in Alice's supposed desk. It seemed all too planned out, too easy…
"So do you think it's real?" I asked, nibbling on my thumb nail. His pale green eyes scanned over the letter, then the photograph, then scanned them again. The tense silence between us was painful. "Sam!" I yelled, punching his shoulder to get his attention. His eyes struggled to stare up, but his hand instinctively went to his shoulder. "Hey!"
"What do you think?" I asked, a bit more soothing. He sighed and shuffled the paper before setting it down on the black stone tabletop.
"I don't know. I'm not exactly an expert in this stuff…but this is pretty damn freaky, Pop."
I shook my head and tapped my finger on the letter. "You got to stop calling me that. We can't have Snap, Crackle, Pop without Snap." He shrugged and took a sip from his Dr. Pepper.
"She moved, she didn't die." Might as well have, I thought rudely. "Look, do have any insight in this, Sam? I mean I've been driving myself crazy with this," I said, breaking off a piece of a giant cookie. Taking a deep breath, he looked back over at the letter.
"It's real. I am 90 percent positive, freakers may create this stuff for some stupid publicity stunt…but it's you. Not some rich or famous person, so maybe you're just really lucky."
He tried smiling, but his strange sharp teeth just made me think back to that stupid Cheshire Cat. "How many are there, exactly?" he asked, leaning back in the five-dollar chair. "I counted 15, but some are screwed up and others I haven't even bothered to read yet." Twinkle Twinkle little bat… "How many have you read?" he asked curiously.
"Three…including that one. They just keep getting weirder," I said, shuddering at the thought of the picture again. His eyebrows knitted together and he sat his elbows on the table.
"What did the other ones say?" he asked.
I tried to shadow my face to hide my frustration. "Sam, promise me now that you won't tell anyone—" I raised my face to aim my most evil glare at his face, trying to be imitating. "And I do mean anyone."
Holding out his hands, he shook his head. "Alright, alright! I get the hint." I leaned near him to break the awkward silence that had settled between us. As if anyone would listen in.
"The first one talked about the first time Alice went to Wonderland, and the second was about the Dormouse escaping and telling Alice about the anarchy and crap happening. Then again, that was almost 100 years ago…and of course this letter."
We both gazed at the letter with certain wariness. An itching feeling of unease went up my back. Now that another human being, other than the professor, had seen the letters…they became real. The Letters no longer seemed to be a mind game; they were starting to become a living horror.
Sam put a reassuring hand on my shoulder; apparently, he had noticed my eyes. "Hey, Nat, you can leave these letters. Hell, burn them, just let yourself rest easy," Sam said, nudging me with a soft chuckle.
With a sad smile, I looked back up to him and ruffled his shaggy hair. "I'm too curious to let them go to waste. Plus…I need a partner in crime. Will you offer yourself up?" I smiled and pressed my hands together, thinking it a small, selfish prayer.
Rolling up the sleeves of his green plaid shirt, he paused, thinking it over. My inner voice was screaming for help; these strange letters were proving to be very overwhelming. Doing it with only the Professor made me feel so small. My eyes looked carefully into his and I yelled in my mind. "Please Sam, Please!"
Running a hand through his hair, he cocked his head at me. "Sure, Pop. Can't have you running off to adventure without me." He grabbed me by the neck and tussled my hair with a bellowing laugh. I tried to unwrap myself from his arms, but I couldn't help but laugh with him as my hair was violated.
"Crackle!" I yelled, using my free hand to tickle him. We both tried to ignore the mall rats staring at us and enjoy ourselves, but as I tried to escape my eyes caught the mirror on a booth a few feet away. Instead of my reflection staring back at me, a man with tiny pin point eyes was staring back. His face was long and pointed and he looked familiar, in a way. He was watching, watching everything, and then our eyes met. I froze in Sam's arms and just stared back, my body paralyzed by a paranoid fear. His head raised and then all I saw was his smile, his sharpened teeth glinting happily.
"Hello Natalie," his mouth read, and in my head I heard his faintest whisper.