"Facts Concerning the Strange Case of Wonderland"

Harland Edison's Personal Journal, November 29, 1870

I have managed to secure a horse and carriage to take me to the Chestsnuts. I was informed by the tavern keeper that it was a day's journey from Oxford to Guilford, which suits my needs perfectly. Having had the composure to pack my things beforehand, I idled and re-read Alice's Adventures in Wonderland.

The Cheshire Cat's words have given me the impression that the realm I have visited during my walks was indeed Wonderland as the story, the author and Alice know it. Of course, the book is entirely devoid of chess, but I, as per Henry Acland's testimony, know that Charles Dodgson's primary problem was not having seen the entirety of Wonderland in terms of scope. It would appear as if he wasn't telling (or writing) the story, but simply dictating (or transcribing) it, which would, of course, keep his vision narrow and his perception limited. He had no control.

If I am to consider Wonderland and the waking world two separate, albeit connected, realms, then I have to wonder about the bigger conundrum: who is Miss? Who is she that she has such a firm grasp on the intricacies of the waking world, enough to appear to almost know the answers to the questions my services were employed to ask?

More importantly: what is it that prevents her from revealing herself?

I have no other choice but to come to the conclusion that Miss herself isn't a bystander, nor is she a victim. She appears more the perpetrator under these circumstances, and while I do intend to see my investigation to the end, I don't suppose I will be surprised if Miss is revealed to be just that in the end.

It would seem that my carriage has arrived. I have prepared my usual concoction and have some opium in my pipe. I intend to dream-walk during the latter part of my journey to Guilford.

The Third Dream Walk:

I hope my writing is legible after the fact, for it is difficult to transcribe the experience in a mobile carriage.

I opened my eyes, again, in the carriage, or what passed for the carriage's reflection in Wonderland. The vehicle had no glass in its windows, nothing to separate me from the searing heat rushing in, carried on the wings of burning winds… the surrounding world of the dream was a scorched earth. Molten pools intermingling with dry, cracked soil, often bleeding through the fault lines. The sky was ashen gray, and it was indeed raining ash so much like black snow. The smell of sulphur was heavy in the air.

Fire and brimstone. It was fire and brimstone.

Every once in a while, I could see things moving from rock to rock, as well as hear the reverberation of a deep rumbling resembling how one pictures a giant would sound when stirred from his sleep.

I did not dare stop the carriage, nor could I take the risk of actually extending a limb out of the window. I contended myself with stripping down to only my shirt. The heat was exhausting. The scenery continued to pass, unchanging, until I began to hear, softly at first, but louder and louder, the sound of nasal, malevolent snickering. I took out my Beaumont-Adams just to be safe. The snickering was joined by footsteps, small, rapid and urgent, and the noises interrupting the fire and brimstone were unmistakably coming closer. I could also distinguish multiple voices, each one with a different inflection. I cocked the hammer back and cautiously peered out of the window.

I can only describe what I have seen as impish creatures, rather caricaturized depictions of the Devil, not one of them any bigger than a child. They even carried little pitchforks in their hands, and those were currently raised into the air as they, almost in swarms, began to dash towards the carriage. My mind must have stalled somehow, either by the heat or by the exhaustion of my investigations, as it took me a few precious moments to realize that they were, in fact, charging the carriage.

I retrieved my swordstick and unsheathed the blade, just in case, despite lacking adequate room to swing it. Luckily, I had invested in a double-action revolver, which would allow me to wield them both.

It didn't take long for one of the little pitchforks to pierce through the right side door of the carriage, followed by three more in the surrounding panels. As the left side, as well as the back were pierced in a similar manner, one of the creatures leapt to the right side window frame. It's visage was goblin-like, with pointed ears and a stern brow – yet, it carried a smile perhaps more vicious than that of the Cheshire Cat. It bared its numerous incisors to me and let out a cackle.

I took aim and shot it in the head. The momentum of the carriage tipped the corpse over and it disappeared just as more of the creatures began to appear. I turned to my right and found one poised, ready to strike, and I jabbed it in the chest with my sword. It let out a gargling sound and I used the moment to take aim at one in the far right window. I had to plant my foot onto to head of the one impaled to push him out, which was when one of the imps managed to leap into the carriage. I tried to turn my gun, but the creature was too close. I elbowed it and jabbed it in the throat with my swordstick. It gargled, spitting a substance onto the floor that started to singe the carpet. I caught one out of the corner of my eye, about to leap, and I took aim. I shot it out of the air, but the corpse landed squarely on top of me.

A small, nubby hand grabbed me by my left wrist and bent it, making me lose my swordstick. From where it had come, another was in the process of climbing up, and I expanded yet another bullet to get rid of it. Two more of the imps leapt into the carriage itself, making me call out to the driver, who seemed either absent or entirely unaffected.

The one holding my wrist bit down, hard. The pain was excruciating. The two other imps were tumbling over each other in attempt to reach me, and the one biting my arm was too busy clenching its teeth to tear off a chunk, thus I lifted my left boot and retrieved the dagger I kept there. I rewound the blow, and slashed the imp across the head, causing more of what passed for its blood to spurt out – stray droplets landed on my chest and legs, and immediately I felt a burning sensation, gradually increasing in intensity. I clenched my teeth and bore it.

As if I had experienced a momentary lapse in awareness, a thought occurred to me: the dream, for all intents and purposes, should have more than begun to fray by now. Pain, overwhelming terror and other such extremes are the enemy of dreams, but I could sense nothing.

I felt an imp on my chest, and thus swiftly abandoned any worries as to whether or not my dream-walk had gone awry. With a swing, I buried the blade into its neck, causing it to twitch disgustingly while the other one's nails, sharp as razors, sliced into my shoulder. Another swipe and my right cheek was cut open. I shifted in my seat, held out my elbow to keep it at a length, but it dodged me, the sneaky little bastard, and leapt towards me, in attempt to get at my throat.

I barely slid out of the way, but the imp then was stuck in between my neck and the dagger. I reached with my free hand and retrieved my weapon, just as the imp shifted and tried to inch closer. One stab to its neck and it seized up for a few moments before going limp. I set it down and pulled the dagger out. The blade was heavily damaged; in fact, the tip was slowly contorting into strange shape. I could feel that the metal was hot, almost to the point that it could be bent with nothing more than gravity. I set it down, sat up and leaned back. The carriage continued to move forward. For a short while, there was nothing but the sound of the wheels clacking on rough stone, and the fire and brimstone hum of the surrounding area.

Suddenly, a sense of cold began to overtake me. I sifted through the carriage to retrieve my jacket. As I put it on, I witnessed the scenery begin to change. The molten rivers running through the cracks on the stone dried up, and for a very short while, I could only see bare mountains in the distance. The cold got worse, and before long I had my coat wrapped around my body, and my teeth were chattering. I could see that outside, a blanket of snow had covered the land, draping everything under the smooth white.

I approached the window and stuck out my head to see the road. The carriage's wooden wheels were moving forward, producing a steady clacking sound, but they were turning on glistening, thick ice. I slunk back in, feeling my hands shake from the chill, and moved forward, towards the front of the carriage. I could understand if the driver hadn't seen the imps or wasn't stirred by the gunshots, but the fact that he was so casually driving over ice begged a question or two.

I saw that the carriage had no driver. In fact, the carriage wasn't being pulled by horses.

The edges of the dream began to fray with a ferocity that I had scarcely seen before. My awareness of my body in the waking world, the various sounds surrounding the carriage came rushing in, flooding me and I felt the dream slowly slip away. I awakened in the carriage to the scent of opium smoke, drenched in cold sweat. The driver was asking if I was all right. He told me that I'd been screaming.

I said I was. Yet, I am not sure.