Chapter V: No Sense of the Future...
The third phantasm moved slowly, silently, gravely as it approached. As it came towards Alice, it seemed to secrete gloom and mystery like a slug secretes mucous, scattering it into the thick, gray mist that seemed to follow it wherever it went. It was huge and dark, seemingly hunchbacked, draped completely in black, priest-like robes. Under its hood, Alice spotted a pair of amber colored eyes, which enraptured her attention, and, from somewhere under its cloak, Alice saw a single, outstretched hand, covered in tough, green, scaly-looking skin, tipped with iron claws.
Alice stared at the solemn shade for a while.
"Am I in the presence of the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come?"
The phantom nodded, but did no more.
"You are going to show me visions of things that have not yet happened, but will happen eventually, then?"
The Ghost nodded again. Alice shuddered.
"I fear you more than any specter I have seen...but, I suspect your purpose is to do me good, and I am prepared to bear your company. Lead on...lead on, spirit..."
The Ghost raised its hand and waved it idly, its clawed fingers twining, spreading the mist that surrounded it through the impenetrable darkness. As the mist cleared, Alice found herself in the Vale of Tears. At the bank of the river of Getting Small Potion, she saw Tweedledee and Tweedledum, apparently fishing for snarks.
"No," said Tweedledee. "I don' know much about it either way, meself. I only knows she's dead."
"Coo? Wot was th' matter wit' her?"
"Lum if I knows."
"Ah, well," Dum shrugged. "It's likely to be a cheap funeral, ye know...I can't 'ardly t'ink of anyone what'll go to it, nohow."
"Contrariwise, I might go...that is, if lunch is provided."
The two fat, peppermint-jumpsuit wearing twins smiled at each other and broke into gales of scornful laughter.
Mist covered the Tweedle brothers, and Alice stared up curiously into her silent companion's deadly, amber eyes.
"Spirit, I don't understand...who has died? The Duchess? The Queen?"
The Ghost of Christmas Future said nothing, but merely waved its hand again. As the mist it scattered around cleared, a single bed came into view.
And, on the bed, shrouded under a thick, red blanket, was a body.
Alice gulped.
"Merciful lunacy," she whispered to herself. "What on Earth is this?"
The Ghost said nothing. It pointed at the body in the blanket.
Alice, understanding, took a few steps forward...
Then stopped.
"I...I know what you want," she said, voice quavering uncharacteristically. "And...one would think that I, of all people, would have the heart to do it. But...I just can't."
She turned to the black-cloaked beast.
"Please...doesn't anyone in Wonderland feel emotion at this poor woman's death? If so, show me that person, I beseech!"
The amber eyes blinked. Then, slowly, the spirit raised its arm, erasing the bed in a cloud of mist, and replacing it with a familiar, terrible sight.
Alice's eyes went wide; she was in the throne room of the Heart Palace Ruins, its battered, caved-in walls dripping with a gummy, pink substance, as well as its throne, and caked with dried blood. Writhing pink and red tentacles were everywhere.
And, seated on her soiled golden throne, was the Queen herself, dressed in a black robe and a red gown printed with black hearts, with a golden crown upon her head, and holding a spiked scepter, topped with a heart-shaped ruby, in one of her oversized, skinless hands. A flock of tentacles spilled out from under her gown, and the lips of her deathly pale face – the face of Elizabeth Liddell – were pulled up in a twisted grin, revealing two rows of shark-like teeth.
Prostrate before her, on the blood and pink goo coated floor, were three skeletal Undead Card Guards.
"Ah," the Queen purred. "The Ace of Spades, the Two of Hearts, and the Six of Clubs. Have you brought me what I asked?"
The Undead Guards nodded, jabbering in their strange, exotic language.
"Excellent! Come forward, one at a time, and give me your stolen goods."
The Cards looked at each other; their empty sockets may have been lacking eyes, but they looked quizzical, nonetheless, as they tried to decide which of them would go first. The Ace took the stand in the end, moving forward two steps. A long, red tentacle snaked out from the Queen's gown, and snatched up the parcel in his hands.
The Queen grinned, biting into the box like a beefsteak and tearing it open. She pulled out its contents.
"Mmm...a pair of old shoes, and a lovely, lovely necklace..."
Alice trie to get closer, to get a better look at the items in the Queen's flayed palms, but the menacing Ghost of Christmas Future placed a claw upon her shoulder, holding her back.
"Mmm..." the Queen murmered again, as if she were eating the items she held. "Marvelous work. Next."
The Ace bowed, and left the throne room. The Six stepped up, and placed a larger box on the ground. Another tentacle lashed out, and the Queen inspected its contents.
"A pencil case, a pad of drawing paper, and a torn, tattered shawl...very nice, all things considered. Well done."
The Six garbled out something to the Queen, who scowled, her green eyes burning like emerald flames.
"Why I want these is none of your concern, my soldier. Now, unless you want to die a third time, I suggest you leave."
The Six bowed hastily, hissing out an incoherent apology, and darted out of the room.
"Two? Your turn. Bring me your bundle."
The Two Card, who carried a large, burlap sack, took a single step forward, and then threw the bag to the Queen of Hearts.
With a cold smile, the Queen whipped out a pink tentacle to catch the bag, coiling a second tentacle around the Two's throat. The "skeletonized" Two let out a short, pig-like squeal before his skull rolled onto the floor. Unable to die again, despite the Queen's threat to the Six, he stumbled out of the throne room, headless, making disgusting gurgling sounds in his broken throat.
"You do not throw things at your Queen," she muttered to herself, opening the bag.
Alice was very glad at that point she had a strong stomach, especially when she heard the Queen's next words.
"Her sheets, and her dress...wonderful. Some idiot tried to bury her in them...Hah!Calico's plenty for that little brat! How handy of Two to remove them. And of course, most precious of all..."
Alice watched the Queen pull something small, fluffy, and white out of the bag, grinning evilly. Before she could get a better look, or hear what the item was, the Ghost swung its claw around again, and the mist covered up the scene.
"I think I'm starting to see your point...the fate of this unfortunate woman, who has gained the Queen's apparent attention, may become my own. My life tends that way now...but, this is too harsh to bear! Please, show me some form of tenderness, connected to a death, or else this grisly pageant will haunt me forever!"
The phantom nodded, and spun around, swirling the mist like a small tornado. The familiar sight of the Mad Hatter's Tea Lab came into view.
Once again, the Hare, the Hatter, and the Dormouse were seated at their table, and in the same positions Alice had seen them before. But now...now, things seemed different. Very different.
The Dormouse was asleep, his dial run down, the dark streaks below his eyes implicating that he had cried himself to sleep. The March Hare was once again wearing his blade on his arm, and had replaced his glove and red vest for a glove and vest of deepest ebony, and was glaring into his teacup. As for Hatter, he sat in his chair, across from March, hunched over, his gear barely moving. He stared listlessly at the floor, his unblinking eyes empty and tragic to see, and held his hands between his knees, clasped together.
For a while, neither of the two conscious partygoers said a word.
It was the March Hare who broke the silence.
"Cheshire tells me that Gryphon had her buried, you know."
The Hatter did not reply at first, but finally said, "Yes, I know. I went there, yesterday. It was a disgustingly green place..."
The silence returned, so overwhelming that it seemed tangible.
"So...what will become of Wonderland, now?"
"The Queen will come to power again," the Hatter droned, dismally. "There's no doubt of it. Corruption and darkness will poison us once again. No doubt I shall return to my gruesome experiments in time."
"And...what of our regained friendship?"
Hatter smiled.
"I hope to keep it intact."
"...But...?"
Hatter sighed.
"But I fear I may not be able to; if I must return to my wretched trade, I want you to be free from it. If you betrayed me again, the last shreds of my sanity will fade away...there's no telling what we three will do to each other, and to Wonderland. And, if I betray you...well, then we're back at square one."
March exhaled deeply through his nostrils.
"Well, then...I guess this is goodbye?"
"Yes, Marchy. It is."
Another long pause.
"I hope she'll be happy, wherever she is," the Hare said.
"As do I," said Hatter. He then looked up, smiling warmly. "March, what say you to one last toast?"
The March Hare returned the smile.
"To...her?"
Hatter raised his cup.
"Indeed. To her."
"Here, here..." the Dormouse snored.
The mist then shrouded the scene, and the darkness returned in full force.
Alice felt a tear slip from her eye. She hurriedly flicked it away.
"Spirit...I have one more thing I must ask...I fear the answer, but I must know: who was the wretched woman whose death brought the Queen power and joy?"
The mist swirled up and around, and Alice found herself, not in Wonderland, but in London, standing in the middle of a cemetery. It was snowing, and many of the graves were covered in frost and thick, white snow.
Alice looked down, and found herself out of her lovely blue dress and white apron, and back in her gritty striped dress and rags. As she looked up, she saw the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come standing beside a tombstone, tapping his claws on it impatiently.
Alice took half a step forward, and then looked up at the Ghost.
"Before I draw nearer to that stone by which you stand, answer me one question: are these the shadows of things that will be, or are they the shadows of things that MAY be, only?"
The dark spirit made no reply, but only blinked, and continued to tap its claws against the stone.
"People's courses must foreshadow certain ends," Alice explained, "And, if these are persevered in, they must occur. But, if these courses are departed from, then the ends must change, too. Please, will you tell me it is so with what you are showing me?"
The Ghost of Christmas Future remained as silent as ever.
Alice reluctantly crept toward the tombstone, unable to see the name written upon it in the fog. Wiping some of the frost away, she recoiled, falling upon her knees, at the name enscribed in the rock: ALICE LIDDELL.
For a moment, Alice remained as quiet as the Ghost before her, who had removed its claws from the grave.
"Am...Am I the one who lay upon the bed?"
The specter pointed first at her, then the stone, then back at her again.
Alice's eyes filled with tears.
"No, Spirit! No, no, no! Spirit...I am not the girl I was! I could never be who I was before, most especially not after this intercourse! Why show me this if I am past all hope?"
The claw continued the sway between Alice and the gravestone.
"Good Spirit," Alice whispered, her voice despairing, her eyes producing salty rivers of tears that ran down her gaunt, pale cheeks, clearing away bits of mud and oil as they went. "Please, assure me I may yet change these shadows you've shown me, by an altered life! I will remember the past, I will live in the present, and I will hope for the future! The Spirits of all three Christmases shall thrive within me! I will not shut out the lessons that they teach! Oh, let me wash away the writing on this stone...!"
The claw still moved back and forth.
"Spirit, PLEASE! SPEAK TO ME!What should I do?"
Without warning, the claws lunged forward, grabbing Alice by the neck. She gasped, struggling, hanging onto the air she had for dear life. Slowly, a second green, claw-tipped hand slid out from under the spirits robe. It reached under its own hood, and pulled away its cloak, throwing to the ground...revealing a pair of mechanical wings, a long, serpentine neck, beaver-like teeth, insect-like antennae, a long, spiked tail, and a torso fashioned from a furnace.
"You selfish, misbegotten and unnatural CHILD!" roared the Jabberwock. "You know all the angles now! Go, and figure it out!"
Alice, both for the shock of the moment and lack of breath to speak, could not reply.
The ground beneath her, directly before the tombstone – her tombstone – suddenly seemed to be vacuumed somewhere deep inside the Earth. She screamed as the Jabberwock released her, laughing maniacally, and she found herself falling once again, down into the bottomless pit below her...