WonderLand

As time wore on, and darkness began to creep through the densely packed forest trees like a thick fog, I began to feel rather thankful I was in the company of the Cat, rather than on my own. Even though I was more or less technically being shanghaied, I still didn't relish the ideas of trying to find my way through these woods alone.

When I had arrived, it couldn't have been past five o' clock in the evening and still light out, but once under the cover of the trees darkness seemed to set in unnaturally quickly.

Whether this was because of the thick canopy of oppressive foliage overhead, or because of some strange workings of the forest itself, it quickly became so dark I was stumbling in the wake of the Cat, clinging to his steady arm to help keep my on my feet.
Unlike me and my awkward attempts to navigate through the undergrowth, the Cheshire Cat lithely slid over the uneven terrain with the nonchalance of one born to it. In fact, his lightly tripping gait was, no pun intended, quite cat-like in itself. He barely even seemed to notice my difficulties; at the very least he made no move to try to help me.

I would have been annoyed with him, but I was too distracted by the increasing sense of foreboding that seemed to press in on me from all sides. When the Cat had asked me earlier if I could "feel" the fact that this place, WonderLand or whatever it was, was in an uproar, I'd truthfully answered no.
But now, I could definitely feel something ominous looming just out of sight. It was the sort of feeling you got when you felt you were being watched, when you knew you were all alone. I could feel invisible eyes on me from all sides, and their gazes weren't friendly. Goosebumps rose on my arms, and I knew that the creeping chill in the dank air had little to do with it.

"How much longer until we get to where ever it is we're going?" I finally spoke up. The Cat didn't answer me at first. His grin, which he hadn't quite lost, seemed harsher, more fixed.

"Too long." He said after a moment, his eyes narrowing slightly. There was a rustling somewhere out of sight, as if something unseen were moving slyly through the bushes.

The Cat twitched at the noise, and his grip on my arm became a little more aggressive.

"We need to get out of the trees," He said, an edge to his voice.

"What? Why?" I asked, fear gripping me tightly. "Is there something out there?"

"Keep your voice down," He warned. "And no, not yet. But it's only a matter of time. I had thought we would have gotten further than this, but it looks as if WonderLand has other plans. Come on." He started to drag me at a quicker pace, heading with purpose in no particular direction in the depths of the forest.

"WonderLand has other plans? I'm beginning to suspect this whole place has it out for me," I said darkly, peering nervously in the shadows that surrounded us. The rustling had become faint, but it certainly hadn't stopped.

"I wouldn't be surprised if it does." The Cat said, and in the darkness I couldn't tell whether he was kidding or not. "It doesn't take kindly to strangers- don't let it catch you off guard."

I decided he wasn't.

"Where are we going then?" I asked. From where I was standing it looked as if the forest went on forever in every direction, I couldn't think where a reprieve from the endless maze of tightly packed trees would be.

"The house of an old friend." The Cat answered curtly. "The Duchess doesn't live there anymore; it's all but abandoned. We can stay the night there."

"The Duchess?" I repeated, more to myself than to the Cat. Either way, he didn't answer me.
Most of the rest of the trek passed in grim silence. I was too busy peering hard at every shadow, listening intently to every tiny sound to say much, and the Cat likewise seemed distracted.

Just as I was beginning to wonder if we were really getting anywhere or just traveling in circles, the suffocating mass of trees suddenly gave way to a large clearing, expelling us into the moonlit space of emptiness so abruptly I only just managed to bring myself to a stumbling halt at the edge of the line of trees. In the middle of the clearing was a little house, which had perhaps been quaint at one time, but now in sad disrepair.

Even if the Cat hadn't told me it was abandoned, I would have been able to tell.

"We're staying there?" I asked, a little tentatively. It didn't look very safe; the rotting roof looked as if it would cave in at any moment, and the walls seemed to sag inwards, as if they didn't have the willpower to keep themselves upright.

"It's preferable to sleeping in the forest, believe you me." The Cat replied darkly. "Come on."
He ushered us forwards, into the clearing. The closer I got to the house, the worse my opinion of it became. Most of the windows were broken, and a strong smell of decay wafted towards us with malicious intent. Yet the Cat was right- staying the night in this decrepit little house was far more appealing than sleeping out amongst the stooped trees and perpetually rustling bushes.

"Quickly now. Watch your step." The Cat said, pushing me forward to close the distance to the shack.

Something disconcertingly close by howled; a long, sorrowful, almost hungry note.
I sped up. The Cat wove around me, grabbing hold of the dull, rusted door handle. He pulled the door open creakily and stepped aside to let me pass through, but before I could take even a step forwards, something small and pale shot out of the darkness inside the house and darted past us, squealing in fright.

I very nearly squealed and ran myself; perhaps the only reason I hadn't was because I was too surprised at first, and by the time my shock had worn off, I'd caught sight of the thing's curly tail, short snout, and, more disconcerting this, a white, lacy little baby's bonnet. It was a pig, barely as tall as my knee.
Before I could get a better look however, it had disappeared into the looming forest beyond, everything but it's frightened squeals swallowed by the darkness.

"Mind the baby," The Cat said, in all seriousness, and stepped inside the shadows of the house.

"The baby?" I repeated bemusedly, staring at the spot where the pig had vanished. I hesitated for a moment on the threshold, but then shrugged, and turned to follow the Cat inside. I certainly hoped the pig baby didn't get eaten by anything.

The inside of the house was in even worse condition than the outside, if that were possible. The door had led right into a small, cramped kitchen, which was made to seem even smaller than it really was by the amount of mismatched furniture someone had accumulated in it.

There was a long, low wooden table, completely covered in countless crusty, dented pots and pans and chipped plates. A few hardback chairs, many of them missing a leg or two, had been shunned to the far sides of the room, set leaning precariously upon each other. Across the room was a huge blackened old fashioned stove, which loomed like some hungry beast, dominating the entire room.

The moment I stepped inside, I was crippled by a severe sneezing fit as years of dust and something that smelled suspiciously like pepper rose up into the air to meet me.

After a few uncomfortable minutes, the sneezing subsided, leaving me out of breath with watering eyes.

"Are you quite done?" The Cat asked, his tone officious. I tried to glare at him.
"Quite. Thank you for your concern." I shot back.

"No one ever died of sneezing." He pointed out in an obvious tone.

"There's a first time for everything," I muttered back, but only under my breath. It wouldn't do to start arguing now. As if in silent agreement, the Cat wordlessly crossed the room and began pushing lopsided chairs away form the far wall, revealing a row of low cupboards covered in peeling paint on their rotting wooden doors. He crouched onto the ground and pulled them open, and began rummaging through them, though for what exactly I couldn't see.

As he dug through them, I wandered over to the cluttered table. Foodstuffs of indeterminable age and type lingered foully in the dishes, and I thought I saw something with too many legs scurry out of sight as I drew near. Though as I looked, what caught my eye was what looked like words, crudely scratched into the surface of the table. I peered at them through the dim light until I could make out what the short paragraph said.

Speak roughly to your little boy,
And beat him when he sneezes:
He only does it to annoy,
Because he knows it teases.

"How awful," I said, wincing at the thought. Why would anyone carve that into a table?

"What did you say?" Came the Cat's voice, rather muffled.

"Nothing," I replied, turning back to look at him.

He had finished his searching, and he rose to his feet once more, clutching something large and lumpy in his arms.

"Here," He said, crossing the room and shoving the something, which turned out to be a blanket, into my arms.

I recoiled at the touch of the fabric; it was stiff, and almost oily to the touch. It was musty with age and disuse, and as I picked at a corner, I saw it was decidedly moth eaten and threadbare.

"Oh," I said, trying to sound grateful. "Um, thank you." I didn't relish the thought of curling up under this particular specimen of blanket, but it didn't look as if I had much of a choice.

As if reading my mind, the Cat paused in his mumbled "you're welcome", and looked from the sorry excuse of a blanket to my bare arms and legs. After a brief moment's hesitation, during which his expression was unreadable, though he seemed to be wrestling with himself internally, he gave a heartfelt sigh.
He slipped out of his purple jacket in a fluid motion, revealing the baby pink button up shirt, purple pinstriped vest, and hot pink tie beneath it.

One a normal day I would have wondered about the practicality of a three piece suit in a forest, but this wasn't exactly a normal day, even by my standards. So I ignored it and instead gratefully took the jacket offered.

"Thanks," I said again, and this time I meant it. The Cat shrugged, as if indifferent.

"Losing the famous Alice of WonderLand because I let her freeze to death in an abandoned hovel would look rather poor on my record." He said. I frowned at him.

"I told you, I'm not Alice, and I'm not from... wherever we are." My assertions fell upon deaf ears as the Cat simply waved my words away.

"Close enough," He said.

"No, not close enough!" I insisted heatedly. "I refuse to be dragged into anything because of some prophecy that isn't even about me!"

"Nobody is dragging you into anything yet." The Cat assured me. "We're just trying to get all of this sorted out. Now you need to get some sleep. We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow." He patted me patronizingly on the head, and turned to walk out the door back into the clearing outside.

"Wait, where are you going?" I asked, a little too quickly. I couldn't help it, but I didn't relish the idea of being left alone in this desolate shack.

"To sleep outside." The Cat answer, pausing and turning to look back at me, the corners of his mouth flicking upwards.

"But I thought it was dangerous." I said uncertainly, remembering that all too hungry howl.

"For you. There's not much in these parts that would dare bother me. Besides," He waved his hand around the room in a vague manner. "I can't stand pepper."
And with that, he turned on his heel and strolled from the kitchen, leaving me by myself in the semidarkness.

I glowered after where he had vanished, and pulled his jacket over my shoulders with a little more force than strictly necessary. It was far to big on me, but it was still warm from the Cat's body, and quite comfortable. With a sigh, I turned away from the gaping doorway and surveyed the room, wondering where the softest bit of floor was, and whether I had the nerve to sleep on top of the oily blanket.

I wound up curled up in a corner, the blanket sitting in a sad lump at my feet. Try as I might, sleep refused to come to me. Every time I closed my eyes, visions of the Dodo's leering face, the Tweedle Brother's grasping fingers, and the Cat's impossibly wide smile wavered ghostlike in my mind, leaving me unsettled and very much awake.

It also didn't help that I was fiercely hungry, not having eaten since early morning. As my stomach growled piteously, I said aloud, more to break the oppressive silence that settled upon the neglected room than anything, "If only I'd actually eaten before the show, like Mom told me."

To my vast surprise, I received an answer.

"Why don't you eat something now?" A high pitched voice replied sensibly.

I jumped to my feet, looking wildly around for the speaker, until my gaze alighted on none other but the pig in the bonnet, who sat on its haunches on a small stool in the middle of the room. How it had gotten back in the house, I had no idea. How it was talking was a problem I didn't even bother to contemplate, for fear of my own sanity.

"Excuse me?" I said slowly, watching the pig intently. Certainly it hadn't been the one to speak- it was the Cat, messing with me. But now I saw it with my own eyes as the pig baby thing answered- it was the pig speaking, alright.

"I shan't excuse you, for you haven't done anything to insult me." It said, peering back at me with it's beady black eye.

"Oh," I said, more than a little confused and not entirely sure how to address the pig, or a baby, or any combination of the two. "I beg your pardon."

"You won't get it." It snapped, sounding rather put out. "I hand out my pardons at my own leisure, and certainly not to every strange girl who comes begging for it."

"Oh, all right then," I tried again, making sure not to ask anything from the pig-baby. "Er, what was it you said about eating?" I asked, before I could be reprimanded again.

"You should do it." The pig-baby answered, then fell silent.

"Um, and where exactly would I find something to eat?" I pressed it gently.

"Behind you, of course, you silly twat." It said harshly, sounding thoroughly annoyed with me. I ignored its rudeness, and turned to look behind me. Where a moment before there had been nothing but empty space, a small end table now sat, just as dust-covered as everything else in the room and looking for all the world as if it was daring me to deny the fact that it had been there all along.

Atop it, thankfully free of dust or pepper, was a small, colorful cookie tin, and a little blue glass bottle. I picked the bottle up, and saw that tied around the neck of it was a paper label, with the words "DRINK ME" beautifully printed on it in large letters. I set it down carefully and opened the tin of cookies, only to see that they were all delicately iced with the words "EAT ME" on every single one.
I set the tin back down and turned to the pig-baby again, who thankfully hadn't moved.

"Are you sure these are safe to eat?" I asked, not sure if I dared to trust anything in this tospy-turvy dream world, most certainly not anything I had to put in my mouth.

"If they weren't, then they wouldn't be labeled as such." The pig-baby replied stoically. I looked back at the drink and cookies. They did look very good, and I was very hungry.

After a moment's consideration, I shrugged and picked up the little bottle.

"Well, there's no sense in going hungry I suppose," I said out loud, and I uncorked the bottle and drank the entire thing in one mouthful, finding it to have a very pleasant flavor- like cherry tarts, custard, pineapple, roast turkey, and hot buttered toast all rolled into one smooth drink.

But at the exact moment the bottle touched my lips, and a few seconds too late to stop the liquid from sliding down my throat, the door of the cottage burst open to reveal the Cheshire Cat, who took one look at me, bottle in hand, and shouted "Stop!", his eyes wide and flashing.