Alice in Wonderland- Through the Looking Glass

by Kari Sutherland

  “Bloody moths,” Hamish complained. He slammed his hand down on the table to smash the insect flat.

  “Absolem! No!” Alice shouted. Without thinking, she launched herself off the table onto Hamish, and they both tumbled to the ground.

  “Help! Assault! Police! Mother!” Hamish shrieked as Alice’s fists pummeled him.

  “You brute!” Alice screamed.

  “Helen! Control your daughter!” Lady Ascot’s tone was aghast.

  “Alice! What are you doing?” Helen said, running to them. Her hands reached down toward the tussling pair, but then she pulled back as Alice twisted abruptly.

  “Get her off me!” Hamish yelped. He shielded his face as best he could.

  Succeeding where Helen had not, a pair of footmen managed to pull Alice off Hamish. Alice saw a flutter of blue near the grand staircase.

  Keeping her gaze fixed on the footmen and the stairway beyond, Alice ran her hands over the table behind her. With a surge of hope, she felt a salt and pepper shaker set. She grabbed a shaker in each hand and flung them forward, coating the footmen in the spices. The men doubled over, sneezing fiercely. Alice ducked past them and bounded up the stairs, calling for Absolem to wait for her.

  Alice rounded the corner at the top of the stairs, but the butterfly had disappeared. She dashed down the hallway, but at the sound of men thumping up the stairs behind her, she ducked into the nearest room and locked the door.

  Alice waited as the men pounded down the hall, their footfalls making the floor vibrate. As they passed, she let out her breath. Only then did she turn to survey the room.

  It was a parlor, but clearly one that hadn’t been used in a long while. A cluttered desk sat to the side; a chess set on a table was covered in dust; and the woven rugs let off a moldering smell.

  Dominating one wall were two oil portraits and a giant antique mirror, which hung above a fireplace. The immense white marble mantelpiece was inlaid with green stone. On top, the exposed silver cogs of a clock ticked under a bell-shaped glass.

  A movement in the mirror caught her eye. The blue butterfly flitted toward her.

  “Absolem? It is you, isn’t it?” Alice exclaimed as the insect landed on her shoulder. His antennae waved at her before he lifted off again.

  As Alice twisted to watch the butterfly, she noticed that something was happening to the mirror above the fireplace. Before her eyes, the glass began to fog up and evaporate into a glowing silvery mist.

  Absolem flew toward it, and instead of slamming against the surface, he made his way straight into the swirling looking glass.

  Alice gasped as the butterfly’s silhouette appeared in the reflection of the room. She spun around; there was no butterfly in the parlor with her. Puzzled, she turned back to the looking glass. Absolem had glided to a rest on the chess table in the reflection.

  “Curious,” she whispered to herself. Nearing the fireplace, she reached toward the mirror.

  The glass felt like a cool pond of water, her fingers passing through it with no resistance. When she pulled her hand back, she was surprised to find it was dry.

  Someone rattled the doorknob of the parlor and Alice whirled. Through the thick oak of the door, she could hear men in the hallway calling for the key.

  Not wanting to face them, Alice quickly climbed up onto the mantelpiece, careful not to jar the surely priceless vase balanced on the edge. She hesitated before the mirror, the clock next to her ticking much more loudly all of a sudden. Taking a deep breath, she stepped through the looking glass just as a key jingled in the lock behind her.

  A ripple of coolness broke over Alice’s skin as she passed through the mirror, but no droplets of water or mist clung to her. She emerged on the other side, where the room was much larger than she’d anticipated—a giant replica of the parlor she had just left—and where she was the size of a large insect. She was standing on the marble mantelpiece, her head reaching only halfway up the clock. The walls and ceiling—not to mention the floor—seemed impossibly far away.

  “Curiouser and curiouser,” she said, a bolt of déjà vu flowing through her as the words left her mouth. Only Underland made her feel this excited and disoriented at the same time.

  “Hello again, Alice!” chimed a voice.

  Alice turned to discover the clock on that side of the mirror featured an old man’s face. As he smiled at her, the numbers next to his mouth lifted higher.

  “You shouldn’t be here,” the lady in the oil painting whined. “You’re too old for this nonsense!”

  “Oh, hush,” countered the man in the painting opposite her. “One is never too old!”

  Ignoring the woman, Alice smiled gratefully at the two gentlemen. She gathered a deep breath and stepped off the mantelpiece, then plummeted to the cushioned bench surrounding the fireplace. Her feet sank into the soft cloth as she made her way toward the distant chess table.

  Alice noticed a round egg man with cracks all over his face resting on the table’s edge. It could only be one fellow: Humpty Dumpty. He gave her an encouraging wave. With a running start, she leapt for the table, her arms pinwheeling as she landed.

  Unfortunately, one of her arms brushed against the egg man and he began to teeter. Alice regained her balance just as Humpty Dumpty wobbled forward.

  “Not again! Uh…uh…ooohh!” he cried as he tumbled to the floor. Alice winced as he shattered into pieces.

  “Sorry!” she cried guiltily. “I’m so sorry!”

  “Don’t worry, dear!” Humpty’s disembodied face called up to her. “I really ought to stop sitting on walls.”

  One of the chess kings charged over and peered off the edge next to Alice. Turning, the king bellowed at his team, “All my horses, all my men! To the rescue!” The chess pieces obediently swarmed around Alice and began to slide down the long table legs to the ground. There they began sorting through the bits of Humpty Dumpty’s shell, matching them up as best they could.

  Alice followed the chess men down the table leg, apologizing as she went. Poor Humpty!

  The butterfly landed on the floor beside her. His blue wings shimmered, but his face held its usual disapproving frown. “Clumsy as always, and twice as dim,” he drawled. “I thought you’d never get the idea.”

  “Oh, Absolem,” Alice cried happily. “It is you!” She flung her arms around him, and the Butterfly’s face softened even as he wriggled away.

  “You’ve been gone too long, Alice. Friends cannot be neglected,” he said.

  “Why? What has happened?” asked Alice in alarm.

  Absolem lifted off into the air. “All will become clear in the fullness of time. For now, hurry, follow that passage.” His antennae waved toward the far door.

  Shaking her head at his vagueness, she started across the room. Clearly Absolem’s metamorphosis into a butterfly had not made him more forthright. As she reached the door, Alice felt her luck turn. The door was just her size. As she opened it, she heard Absolem’s voice, and she turned to look over her shoulder.

  “Do mind your step,” Absolem called out as Alice stepped through the doorway…and straight into thin air.

  “A AAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!” Alice screamed as she tumbled through a brilliantly colored sky. Fluffy pink clouds floated serenely by and a few gangly birds squawked as they veered out of her way. Why did she always have to fall into Underland? The ground was rushing toward her at an alarming rate, and unlike during her tumble down the rabbit hole, there were no objects to slow her descent.

  “Oof!” Alice landed with a thud on the petals of a giant chrysanthemum. Sitting up in a daze, she realized the flower stuck out of an arrangement on a table in the garden of Marmoreal Castle. To her delight, her old friends were gathered around the table, peering down at her.

  At the end sat McTwisp, the White Rabbit, who had first led her to that magical place; and Thackery, the wacky March Hare. The Tweedles, bald and roly-poly as ever, rocked slightly on a bench to the side. Opposite them, Bayard, the brown-and-black bloodhou
nd with the sharpest nose in Underland, woofed a low greeting at Alice. Pacing back and forth among the papers scattered on the table was Mallymkun, the fearless Dormouse. And directly in front of Alice, the ever-beautiful and kind face of the White Queen, Mirana, peered down, although her expression looked troubled.

  Alice stood and brushed herself off. She beamed up at everyone, but nobody returned her smile.

  “Have I come at a bad time?” she asked.

  “We were afraid you weren’t coming at all,” Mirana said somberly. With gentle hands, she moved Alice down from the centerpiece to rest on the table.

  “Whatever’s the matter?” Alice said. The Jabberwocky was dead, and with Iracebeth, the Red Queen; and her lackey, Stayne, banished to the Outlands, Alice had hoped Underland would enjoy years of peace.

  “The Hatter’s the matter,” McTwisp said. Alice realized with a jolt that the Mad Hatter was indeed missing—something he would hate. He always loved a good party.

  “Or the matter of the Hatter?” Tweedledum said.

  “The former!” Tweedledee insisted.

  “The latter!” his brother retorted.

  “Tweedles!” Mirana’s tone was brisk as she shot the boys a warning look.

  “He’s mad,” the Tweedles said in unison.

  “Hatter?” Alice said. “Yes, I know. That’s what makes him so…him.” She wished they’d get to the real problem.

  “But worse,” Tweedledum continued ominously, bending his head down toward her. “Denies himself laughter.”

  “Grows darker, less dafter,” his brother finished.

  The Hatter not laughing? It was hard for Alice to imagine him without a mischievous glint in his eye and a grin on his face. As if summoned by her thoughts, a toothy grin appeared in midair. Slowly, the rest of the Cheshire Cat came into view as he lazily twisted himself into a circle.

  “And no scheme of ours can raise any sort of smile,” Chessur explained, gesturing to the papers on the table.

  Looking down, Alice saw that the pages she stood on were covered with sketches and ideas of ways to make Hatter laugh: diagrams of where to tickle, schemes of how to surprise him, and pages of scribbled jokes and riddles to amuse him.

  Chessur’s eyes fixed on Alice as he continued: “We’d rather hoped you might help us save him.”

  Alice frowned. “Save him? What happened?”

  Everyone exchanged looks; then Bayard nosed forward. As he leaned in, Alice got a close-up view of his nostrils, which loomed large next to her shrunken stature.

  “There was a great storm and we ventured out on to Tulgey Woods to investigate,” Bayard began. He described how the wind had scattered leaves and branches everywhere. As they’d walked along, they had started to play fetch, with Bayard hurling a stick and Hatter bounding after it on all fours, his tongue hanging out sideways.

  “Hatter was perfectly Hatterish,” Bayard continued, “until…”

  The hound paused, the skin between his eyes crinkling in concern. He continued, explaining how Hatter had suddenly frozen, all the color draining from his face as though he had seen a ghost. Then Hatter had plucked a tiny hat made out of blue paper from inside a tree stump, where it appeared to have been hidden.

  “That was the start of it,” Bayard said ruefully.

  “Of what?” Alice asked, pressing him.

  “The grand decline,” Mirana said somberly.

  McTwisp hopped forward. “He’s convinced his family are still alive.”

  “Which has made him deadly serious,” Bayard went on.

  “Terminally sane,” Tweedledum intoned. And for once, his brother had nothing to add.

  Mallymkun sniffed, then shook her head. As Alice was the same height as the Dormouse, she had no trouble patting Mally on the shoulder. Silence fell over the table, everyone lost in thought.

  “We’ve tried everything,” Bayard said finally. He pawed at some of the papers on the table, unearthing a recipe for giggle juice and a scribbled skit entitled We’re Just Mad for Madness!

  With hopeful eyes, Mirana turned to Alice. “And then we thought of you.”

  Alice drew herself up tall—well, as tall as she could, given her diminished height. No matter what, she would not let them—and, more importantly, the Hatter—down. “Where is he?” she asked.

  After ducking behind a bush, eating a bit of Upelkuchen cake—she knew better than to take large bites—and adjusting her outfit, Alice emerged feeling normal-sized. She nodded at Mirana, who broke into the first smile Alice had seen since she had arrived.

  The White Queen then led the way out of the castle’s garden and down into a shaded wood. The rest of the gang trailed behind them, with the Tweedles nudging each other out of the way every few steps to get closer to the front.

  Mirana stopped at the edge of a clearing overlooking a canyon. Beautiful cherry blossom trees sprouted along the sheer cliffs facing them, and a small waterfall tinkled merrily down one wall. Straight ahead, a narrow strip of land barely three feet wide stuck out into the canyon and led to a house that could only belong to the Mad Hatter. For one, you’d have to be crazy to risk that path every day. For another, the house was shaped like a top hat, with circular walls and a roof that jutted out like a brim.

  With careful steps, Alice picked her way along the path and walked up onto the red-and-white porch. She raised her hand to knock on the bright turquoise door, but it flew open before she could. A man stood there in a neatly pressed dark gray suit. His red hair was combed flat and he wore a serious expression on his face. Blinking, Alice tried to process what her eyes were showing her. It was the Hatter, but it wasn’t. He looked completely…normal. If not for the color of his hair, he could have fit in with the bankers in London.

  “Yes?” Hatter asked. Even his voice was different—flatter and lower.

  “Hatter? It’s me…Alice!” she said. She stepped forward to hug him, but he shied away, peering behind her anxiously.

  “I’m not taking on any new heads now,” Hatter said quickly. “Good day.”

  Ducking backward, he slammed the door in Alice’s face. She stared at its wooden planks for a moment, then firmly pushed it open and marched inside. This might prove to be more difficult than she had thought, but he would talk to her.

  The interior was cozy, with warm wooden floors, and achingly neat. Rolls of fabric filled a set of shelves, all impeccably labeled with their exact colors and materials. Hanging on the walls, examples of the Hatter’s past work showed off his skill—the hats all brushed and the feather plumes fluffed to perfection—and a turquoise spiral staircase led up to the next floor.

  The Hatter himself had settled in behind a large desk and had his head buried in an accounting ledger, a quill pen in his hand poised over the page. Startled by her entrance, he looked up, eyes wide.

  “Hatter, it’s me! Alice! Alice!” she exclaimed.

  “Miss, please.” Hatter set down his pen and raised his hands. “If you want a hat—”

  “I don’t want a hat,” Alice said. “I’ve come to see you. I want to talk to you!”

  “Well, if you don’t want a hat, I’m quite certain I can’t help you!” Hatter said matter-of-factly.

  “But you can help! I’m sure you can.” Alice leaned across the desk, searching his face for some spark of recognition. “I just need you to be you again! Everyone does.”

  The Hatter narrowed his eyes at her. “Don’t bring any funny ideas here,” he said.

  Alice smiled slyly. “Not even if I know how a raven is like a writing desk?”

  Hatter’s face remained blank.

  “Because there is a b in both and an n in neither,” Alice continued.

  She grinned triumphantly at him, but Hatter just stood up and turned away. Muttering to himself, he moved through an open doorway to a back room. Disappointed but undeterred, Alice followed him.

  In the back parlor, Hatter paused beneath a giant family portrait. The men and women were posed around a tall black top hat that
rested on a white stone pillar. Hatter himself stood at one edge of the group. The man closest to him looked stern and was leaning slightly away from Hatter, as though Hatter didn’t quite belong with them. All the relatives wore serious expressions except for Hatter and the young baby.

  “Was that…” Alice began softly.

  “My family,” Hatter said proudly. “Lost for many years, but now they’re coming home! Look, I’ve made hats for each of them!”

  Turning with a flourish, he gestured to a row of beautifully crafted hats. “My father, Zanik; my mother, Tyva; Uncle Poomally; Aunt Bumalig; Cousins Pimlick, Paloo, and baby Bim.” Hatter pointed to each hat in turn, starting with a black top hat bound with a bright red sash and ending with a light blue bonnet.

  “But…how do you know they’re alive?” Alice asked.

  Hatter leaned toward her, studying her face.

  “Can you keep a secret?” he whispered.

  “No,” Alice said honestly.

  “Good!” Hatter spun around and dug in a drawer. “I found this,” he cried, producing a tiny blue paper hat. “Proof! A sign! A message!” He paused, then continued with conviction. “They’re alive!”

  Alice frowned in dismay: how on earth could a crumpled paper hat prove his family had survived? “But if they’re alive,” she said, trying to reason with him, “where are they?”

  “That’s the trouble, isn’t it?” Hatter grumbled, his hands waving in the air. “High and low. I’ve searched both. Nowhere. Naught. Nothing. I don’t understand why they haven’t come and found me.” His shoulders slumped as he sank onto a chair.

  “I don’t understand.” Reaching forward, Alice touched his back gently. “You yourself told me your family died. Long ago—” She broke off as Hatter stood abruptly.

  “I don’t know who you are or what you’re trying to do”—Hatter’s voice rose in agitation—“but my family is not gallsackering dead!”

  “Hatter, please,” Alice said.

  “Get out!” Hatter bellowed. The force of his words caught him off guard and he stumbled back. Alice started forward to help support him, but he shook his head and waved her away. Breathing heavily, he turned and leaned against a table.