When I opened my eyes, the sun had risen, and single golden ray rested on my body, warming my dirtied pinafore. I hoped against hope that it had all been a dream and that I was back in bed at the Manor, with Marge prepared to scold me in the other room, but when I felt rough grass beneath my skin, I knew that my prayers had gone unanswered. I drew in a shuddering breath, when a voice spoke from behind me.
"Still with us, Alice?" it said.
I rolled onto my other side to see the boy from the previous night leaning against a tree trunk a few meters away and drinking from a dark brown, clay bottle. Seeing him in the sun revealed that he wasn't as pale as I had thought. His skin, instead of dead white, was the color of French cream, like in my mother's favorite pastries. He wore a vest of scarlet satin and golden buttons on top of midnight-black shirt made from the same material. Pinstripe grey-and-black pants were tucked into leather hunting boots. I could now see his hat more clearly, and took note of how unusual it was. Fabrics of all sorts of colors were sewn into the hat's skin, from intricate navy lace to textured brown cloqué. Pins and buttons were sewn onto the hat's surface, and the price tag – 10 shillings and 6 pence – stuck out of the magenta ribbon that was tied around the hat's circumference.
"Where am I?" I croaked. My throat was so dry, it was painful to swallow.
He spread his arms out, gesturing to the whole wood. "Skeleton's Forest, they call this place," he said. "Hmm… Strange how they seem to give everything a name except themselves, so we are forced to call them they all the time. I'll have to write a letter of complaint to they, not that they'll read it. Nobody ever seems to read my letters." He pursed his lips thoughtfully and took a swig from his clay bottle.
"Wha – they?" I shifted my arm, God knows why, and caused fresh daggers of pain to jab forcefully up to my shoulder. I cried out, tears stinging my eyes.
"Slow down there, doll. You hurt yourself pretty badly there," said the boy. He got up from his place on the trunk and crouched down next to me. "Here, this'll do the trick." He gathered me up in one arm and held the bottle to my lips, dribbling some of its contents into my mouth.
As soon as the first drop hit my tongue, the strength of the taste caused me to scrunch up my nose and clench my teeth. The liquid burned my throat as I swallowed, and twisted my stomach into knots. My eyes bulged. I turned my head to the side and retched.
"Easy now," he said as I heaved, spitting out the drink I had just imbibed.
"What – what is that?" I panted when my fit was over.
"Rum mixed with brandy and – is it vodka?" He sniffed the top of the bottle and nodded. "Yep. Rum mixed with brandy and vodka," he confirmed. When he caught sight of my expression, he shrugged. "I can't tell you how much I'm aching for a nice cuppa right now, but seeing as I've got none on hand, and I have some bloody good spirits right here…" He gave me a quirky smile, his arm still around my shoulders. "Well, you just make do with what you've got!" He gulped down a few more mouthfuls of the poisonous liquid.
I groaned. His nonsensical babble made my head swim, and the spirits had not helped the sickness in my stomach. "I can't… I can't…" I moaned. My arm was throbbing, every movement sending agony shooting through my body.
"Slow it down," he said. I felt his breath on my face. It was warm, and smelled like tea leaves and alcohol. "Drink this." He pressed the bottle insistently against my mouth. I was too weak to resist, and swallowed more of the stinging drink. The taste burned through my mouth, into my nostrils. But it seemed as though every gulp lessened the pain in my arm, until I could move it with only a slight pulse of pain.
I spluttered. "Breathe," I gasped. "Breathe." He seemed to understand my words, and pulled the bottle away so that I could inhale without difficulty. I began to sit up, and he released his hold on my body and shimmied a few feet away to give me room.
"Are you OK?" he asked.
I didn't answer, but snatched the clay container from his grip. I hungrily gulped down the spirits, trying my best to ignore the taste, yearning only the relief the alcohol brought me. "What was it that attacked me?" I panted between swallows.
"Bandersnatch," he said. He was eyeing me with a semblance of amusement, watching me inhale the alcoholic mixture. "You're lucky it was just the one. They usually travel in packs, and even I couldn't handle 10 of those beasties. You should probably slow down," he added. The bottle already felt half as heavy as it had been 20 seconds ago. The feeling of the burning liquid washing down my throat was strangely addictive, but I paused for a moment and handed it back to the boy. He took it and downed another mouthful.
"I don't believe I heard your name last night," I said.
"You did. Hatter," he said, wiping his mouth on his sleeve.
I chuckled, feeling giddiness swell in my chest. "That's an occupation, I believe," I pointed out.
"Well, it's also my name," he said casually. "Mad Hatter."
"Mad?" I snorted, the most unladylike laugh escaping my lips. "You don't seem mad. Just…slightly drunk is all."
At this, the boy laughed. "Pffft, no. I'm always like this." He waved the bottle of spirits in the air. "This isn't doing a thing. I'm actually very alcohol-tolerant." He looked me up and down, taking in my ragged clothing, my mussed up hair, and my flushed face. "You on the other hand…"
I laughed, throwing my shoulders behind me. Even with my groggy mind, however, the pain of this sudden movement was still sharp, and it stabbed into me, quickly turning my laugh into a whimper.
His expression morphed into one of concern, and he started towards me. "Now, now, hold still." He took my arm in his hand. His hands…they were so soft. I looked down at my wound, and felt as if my drink would soon come back up.
My entire upper arm was purple and swollen, while the lower part was pale and blood-depraved. Rust-colored blood crusted the broken skin along the gash that spanned from the bottom edge of my shoulder to the tip of my elbow. Clear liquid oozed from the exposed flesh, and I saw shards of white bone peeking through my sliced skin. I looked back up at Hatter, who was inspecting the wound with his mismatched eyes. All signs of humor left his features as he turned my arm this way and that, looking into all corners of the broken bone.
"Alright, Alice," he said. "I'm going to try to fix this a bit, OK? Now, this won't hurt a bit." He poured some of the spirits over the wound.
I could not hold it in. I opened my mouth and screamed my agony. The hurt clawed and tore at my throat, pushing the scream passed my lips and splitting the air. Excruciating pain pounded passed my flesh, digging into my bone and drilling into my brain. When he was satisfied with the amount of liquid he had poured over my arm, he produced a pocket handkerchief and pressed it down against the open wound. I wept as more agony coursed through my veins. Pus sputtered up from my flesh, bubbling at the top of my skin. It felt as if a hot iron was being forced against my arm, growing in heat and intensity.
I was crying, sobbing through the pain. I tried to speak and tell him to stop, but I choked on my tears, and I only managed a strangled gurgle.
Hatter removed the cloth, but then gripped his hand around my arm on both sides of the wound. He hesitated for only a moment before jerking his hands upward. With one swift movement, the bone tore through my flesh and snapped down back inside my arm. My scream lasted for near a minute, and the force of it caused bloody lumps to form in my throat. I did not even notice, though. My mind was only on the agony in my right arm.
I braced myself for another onslaught of pain, but none came. I looked up at Hatter. Even through my tears, I could see his eyes staring into me with a gaze that was completely, utterly sober. "You said it wouldn't hurt," I said weakly.
"I lied," he said. When I was silent, he spoke. "I didn't heal your wound, but that should hold out until we can get some help." He stood and offered me a hand. I sniffled and grasped it, and he helped me to my feet.
"Where are we, Hatter?" I asked, swaying in place.
"I already said, the Skeleton's Forest," he said.
I hiccupped. It was supposed to be a laugh. "The forest outside of my manor was called Aberdale Wood," I said. "My sister Madge was reading Man and Nature to me and… oh, God, Madge…" I dissolved into a fit of sobs.
Hatter's arms circled around me. He held my head to my chest and shushed in my ear. "Calm down," he murmured. "We'll figure this out. My camp is not too far from here. My friends will be waiting for me, and we can talk things out there."
"I don't know where I am, Hatter," I sputtered. "I don't know how I got here, and I don't know how to get out…"
"Shh, I know. It's OK," he said.
I looked up at him with red, swollen eyes. "I'm scared, Hatter," I said.
He only looked at me with sadness in his eyes. "You'll have to get used to that, doll," he said. "You're in Wonderland now."
I awoke to a tickling sensation on my nose. I smiled, my eyes still closed. "Mother, stop it," I mumbled. I could almost hear her soft, sweet voice telling me how foolish I'd been, running off into the woods like that. I opened my eyes, expecting to see her staring down at me, but instead was greeted with the sight of coniferous trees surrounding me. A fly had perched itself on my nose. I tried to swat it away, but the slightest movement made my arm scream. I tried to voice my pain, but my throat was sore, and no sound came out.
It took me a few moments to remember all that had happened the previous night. The fall, the crash, the catlike monster. I gasped audibly.
Minding my arm, I slowly sat up and looked around, causing the fly to buzz away. I was still in the same clearing, the carcass of the feline creature sprawled out, its round belly pressed against my back. The skin had gone cold, and tiny insects had begun to gather around the gaping mouth, thus the flies. I turned my gaze to the creature's neck. The branch was still lodged in the beast's throat, and dried blood caked the once-white fur around the wound. The dead flesh and blood left a rotten, sour stench in the air, making me cough and cover my mouth.
I climbed unsteadily to my feet and risked a quick look at my arm. The powerful odor brought tears to my eyes, and I realized that the animal carcass wasn't the only thing attracting flies. Around the area where my bone was sticking out, torn flesh and sinew was dangling, slapping my purpling skin with every movement. I realized that I could not let it sit like this for much longer – but what could I do?
The answer dawned on me slowly and painfully, and I released a dry sob in fear of the oncoming pain. Still, I knew in my heart what must be done.
I took a deep breath, trying to calm my speeding heart. I'd read books, and seen Mum fix a few broken bones, but nothing had prepared me for what I was about to do. I looked down at my ruined pinafore. The fabric was rough cotton, and stained, but I took the garment with one hand and tore off a long strip of cloth. Balling it up, I then stuffed it into my mouth. It acted as a large cushion, should I bite down on my tongue. I then ripped off a longer section of the apron, and set it to the side.
With the cloth ball in my mouth, I settled my palm against the section of bone that was sticking out through my skin. Just that small touch made my nerves shriek and sent a fierce pulse of pain ringing through the flesh around the bone. I whimpered through my cloth, but steeled my nerves before pushing down on the bone with as much force as I could.
My sharp, agonized cry was muffled by the rag in my mouth, but the fabric did nothing to help the pain from exploding through my limb. Tears fell down my cheeks when I removed my hand. It was crimson with blood, and agony still oozed from my wound, but at least the bone was back inside my body.
Still weeping softly, I spat the rag out and grabbed the other strip of cloth. I then wrapped it tightly around the extent of the gash. The pressure numbed my arm some, making it possible to move it this way and that without an unbearable amount of pain. I took a deep breath. Now that my arm was temporarily taken care of, what to do? Again, I looked at my surroundings. I was in an unfamiliar wood, with a large, dead animal lying before me, and a broken arm. Really, there was only a handful of things I could do.
I began staggering into the wood. This was the only chance I had of finding anybody else. A part of my mind hoped that they'd be able to direct me back to the Manor, perhaps contact Mum and Dad and Madge, but the other part of my mind knew that I wasn't anywhere near the Manor. I was sure that I wasn't even in Aberdale Wood anymore.
What kind of rabbit hole transported you from one forest to another, possibly miles away? How had nobody discovered such a phenomenon before? Was such a thing even possible? Madge would have claimed that there was no logical way it could exist, yet here I was.
Wait until Madge finds out, I thought, and then added darkly, if I ever get the chance to tell her.
I wandered through the forest, sometimes stumbling, sometimes having to stop and hold my throbbing arm against my chest. The air was cool and raised goosebumps. The trees were tall and menacing, with twisting branches that resembled clawed limbs. They were somewhat less frightening than they had been the previous night, with sunlight shining through the thin, needle-like leaves and covering the forest floor with golden speckles.
Before long, I was tired, my breath was ragged and painful, and sweat beaded along my brow. I barely noticed when the birds stopped chirping and the insects stopped buzzing, and I didn't think twice when I heard the sound of an animal begin to shriek and was suddenly silenced. I did, however, notice when the voices began.
"What did ya' get, there?" grumbled one voice in a Cockney accent.
There was a rustling for a moment, and another voice spoke, closer than the first. "Eh…a rabbit. Skinny one, too – barely enough for a stew! Mayla'll pitch a fit," it said. The voice was thick and unintelligent.
My eyes widened and I dropped into a crouch and snuck forward, moving as quietly as I could. I don't know why I didn't want to be seen, but something in their voices told me that the men were not the friendliest.
"Damn… All the good game's movin' northways, is what I heard. Spring's comin' 'round, the herds' s'posed to be comin' back. But February's come 'n gone, and March's nearly halfway through, but still our bellies are empty 'n twisted, and our children are growin' with brittle bones that won't last another winter," the first voice said. His tone was pained and angry, and he finished his little speech with a snort. "Damn!"
The second voice spoke up. "Damn? Damn who? Who can we blame for there bein' no food? The palace is a ghost place, with no king on the throne. The guard's roamin' the streets, 'restin folks 'n lockin' em up for trial, but there's no one to pass judgment! We're a lawless land, Cory, 'n that's the truth of things," it said.
I gasped. Was this the land I had been dropped in? A starving kingdom with no law and a guard with nobody to guard? The thought made me shiver, and I turned my attention back to the two men.
" – ya' hear that?" said the second voice.
"Think it came from them bushes," the first replied.
It took me too long to realize what they were talking about, and before I knew it, someone had grabbed me by the hair and yanked me to where the voices had come from. "No!" I cried, but the hand pulled me towards a man waiting by a tree. He was dressed in rags, and a thick, grey beard covered most of his face. He carried a bow and arrow, and he was squinting at me through brown eyes. I saw that his left one was glazed over, blind.
"Well, what do we have here?" he asked, smiling. His teeth were crooked and black.
"Looks like a little birdy," said the one who was holding my hair. He sniggered. "Maybe she can add some meat to my stew. Mayla doesn't have to know."
The other one threw back his head and hooted with laughter. "Depends on how much she's got on her. Why don't we slice her up and see for ourselves?" he said. I heard the sound of steel being unsheathed, and then there was a long, curved dagger hovering in front of my face.
"No! No, please! I – I just want to get home," I sobbed.
They both cackled. "Don't worry, darlin'," said the one who was holding my hair. "This'll only hurt for a moment." He lifted the knife high in the air and swung it towards me.
"No!" I jerked my head to the side, feeling some hair being ripped from my scalp. The knife hissed passed my cheek and plunged deep into the man's knee. He screamed and released his grip on my hair, hands traveling to the wound.
Wasting no time, I whirled around and grabbed at the dagger's hilt, wood bound in leather, and wrenched it from the man's leg. Another bloodcurdling screech filled the air as I brought the knife down again and again into the man's chest. I clutched the blade with my right hand, but I was so full of adrenaline that I did not notice the pain coursing through my arm. Blood splattered up from the knife wound and coated me from the tips of my fingers all the way to white pinafore hanging over my chest. Finally, the man's screams stopped, and he fell silent.
Ripping the knife from his chest, I slowly turned around to face the other man, darkness gleaming in my eye.
He had not moved an inch, staring at me with shock and horror, but the realization of what I was about to do seemed to break his trance. "Shit!" he exclaimed, hurriedly notching an arrow and firing it in my direction. It had been hastily shot, without aim, and it landed a few feet to my left. I jerked to the right and ran towards him, tackling him to the ground from his blind side. He had another arrow in his hand and raised it to strike me, but I reached up and snapped off the top half before burying the arrowhead in his abdomen.
He screeched, the other half of the arrow falling from his grasp, but I did not loosen my hold. His screams dissolved into sobs. "You little bitch!" he cried. I dug the arrow in deeper, making him release another yelp.
"Now, listen here, you brute," I said through gritted teeth. "In the past day, I have fallen down the biggest hole in existence, broken my arm, was attacked by a savage cat, and was nearly killed by your friend over there." I jerked my head in the direction of the body lying behind me. "After all that's happened to me, you should feel grateful that I have just one question to ask. Where – am – I?" I dug the arrow in deeper with every word, and he released a sob with every movement.
"You – you're crazy, woman. I'm not telling you shit!" he wept. I twisted the arrow in his gut, hard. He screamed again.
"Where?!" I demanded.
"Wonderland!" he screamed immediately. "You're in Wonderland!"
I nodded. My nostrils were flared and my breath was harsh. Wonderland? That didn't help a bit, but at least he answered. I considered him for a moment. I had been through more than I could ever have imagined in just the past few hours. I had no idea where I was or how to get back. More than anything, I was enraged.
I took a deep breath. "You… you and your friend were about to kill me, right?" I tried to keep my voice steady, but it quivered with fury. "You were about to chop me up and put me in your stew. Is that what you normally do to people you find, helpless in the woods?"
"No!" he sobbed. "No, please!"
"You were," I hissed. "Don't pretend. You were going to murder me."
"We weren't! I swear!"
"My father tells me never to lie," I said through gritted teeth. I tightened the grip on the dagger in my other hand and plunged the tip into his throat. His eyes widened, and he gurgled, red staining his lips. Blood bubbled up from the wound. He thrashed for a moment, and then lay still.
I took a deep breath and lifted the blade from his neck when I noticed that I felt no pain. I was holding the knife in my right hand, the hand from my broken arm, but there was no pain. I dropped the dagger and looked at my bound wound. Blood from both of the men coated the bandage, seeping through the cloth. I slowly peeled the fabric from my skin, and started.
There was no gash, no broken bone. It was completely healed.