Unhinged

by A. G. Howard

She drops her lantern strand back into the basket and squeezes my forearm gently. “Hey, you know I didn’t mean it like that. You’ve got the perfect complexion and bone structure to pull it off. It’s just not … you. And your hair”—she flicks the red strand hanging free from my messy braid—“did you sleep with it like this?” Before I can answer, she inhales a sharp breath. “Oh, my gosh.”

  The basket slides off her arm and tips over, and lanterns roll onto the floor. Ignoring the mess, she grabs my shoulders.

  Her lips tremble on a half smile. “No way. You finally did it!”

  Her outburst echoes louder than the chatter around us. Several of the students turn in our direction. Twyla and Deirdre pause in the act of setting a navy blue sign with silver foil letters on an easel next to the picture cove. They whisper and point; then Twyla heads to the gym’s entrance, where Taelor’s too busy digging through boxes of donated toys to notice us.

  “Way to be subtle, Jen,” I say, frowning.

  She glances over her shoulder and lowers her voice to a whisper. “Sorry. It’s just … this is so huge!”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You spent the night with Jeb. Right? That’s why he wouldn’t answer his phone after he went to the studio. Why he didn’t come home last night. Ha! I knew once he saw you in that dress—”

  “Jeb didn’t come home last night?” It’s my turn to interrupt. Heat rushes to my cheeks as I realize how loud I spoke. Even more of our classmates are watching us now. Taelor’s tuned in, too. She and Twyla wind their way through the crowd. By the pompous look on Taelor’s face, I’m guessing she heard what I said.

  She’s the least of my worries. I drop my lanterns to the floor with the ones gathered around Jen’s feet.

  “I wasn’t with him,” I whisper to her. “You think he spent the night at the studio?”

  Her face falls. “I—I just assumed.”

  “You don’t know for sure? Didn’t your mom go ballistic?”

  “She worked the late shift at the convenience store and crashed as soon as she came in. I didn’t even know he was gone until I walked by his room this morning. His bed hadn’t been slept in. You know he never makes it up.”

  My first thought is Ivy. What if she only said she was going out of town? I know Jeb would never cheat on me. But it’s not my mind behind the thoughts, it’s my netherling instincts. They know something is off.

  Maybe it’s never been just that I’m jealous of Jeb painting Ivy. She appeared at the most inconvenient time, when Morpheus started haunting my dreams with news of Wonderland’s demise. She has to be a real person—I’ve looked her up—but I’ve never actually met her. So a netherling could’ve kidnapped her and could be wearing her imprint as a glamour like Morpheus did with Finley’s. Maybe it’s the same someone who’s in the shadows in my mosaic, and the same someone who’s been taunting me with the clown.

  My blood chills. I grab Jen’s arm. “We have to find him …”

  She nods and we start for the entrance, but the volunteers surround us, looking between us and Taelor. There’s no clear path to the gym door. Rage starts to build inside me. Get out of my way, I want to scream, but everything shuts down the minute Taelor steps into full view.

  She holds a toy in her hands—my stalker clown, complete with miniature cello and strange, squared hat.

  The walls seem to shrink.

  “Nice, Alyssa,” Taelor says, stepping into my personal space. “We ask for new toys, and you bring this piece of secondhand junk. What’s it stuffed with, rocks?” She drops the clown at my feet. It hits the floor with a metallic clang. The red, black, and white checked outfit is dirty and smudged.

  “Where did you get that?” I manage, my voice trembling. I can’t look away from the toy for fear it might move. That beady black gaze gawks up at me—mocking.

  “Don’t play dumb. Your name is on a piece of tape on its back.” Taelor rolls her eyes when I don’t respond. “Leave it to you to be cheap. This isn’t gonna get you in the door tonight. The signs specify new toys. Not thrift-store rejects. And by the way, what’s with you? Did you sleep in the locker room? This is even worse than your usual mortician style.”

  It takes me a second to catch on that Taelor’s referring to my wrinkled clothes and lack of makeup. But I can’t respond with the clown still staring up at me.

  Jen steps between us. “At least Al’s fashion sense isn’t dictated by her flavor of the week.” She gestures to Taelor’s cowboy boots.

  A few snickers break from our spectators. Taelor glares over her shoulder at them. “Don’t you all have stuff to do? Could’ve sworn there are assignments posted on the task sheet. Did you forget how to read?”

  As the students disperse, Taelor exchanges a smug grin with Twyla, then turns to me again. “So, Jeb was out all night, huh? Maybe he’s sick of you cheating on him.”

  The clown at my feet holds my gaze and my tongue.

  Jen doesn’t wait for me to answer. “Al didn’t cheat on him, Tae-ter. British bug boy was trying to get your attention. So lay off.”

  “Your brother might be gullible enough to believe that load of bull. But I’m not.”

  “Really? Then why are you still trying to impress Mort?” Jen presses.

  “Because he’s dead sexy, and his car is worth more than your house,” Taelor snaps.

  Jen grits her teeth. “You little—”

  “Stop.” I tear my gaze from the clown to face Taelor. “Why don’t you go find someone else to annoy.” I want to give her a speech about having some self-respect, about not valuing a guy for his net worth but for how he treats you. But I have to get to Jeb, because something’s very wrong. “I need to go.”

  I push Taelor aside.

  She pushes back. “A little late for that.”

  The students who earlier thinned out gather around again, though they keep a safe distance.

  “You didn’t volunteer to help,” Taelor snarls. “So what were you doing hiding in the locker room? Looking for some way to ruin prom again?”

  “What are you talking about?” My eyes feel hot and dry and my heart pulls toward Jeb. “I don’t have time for your prom fantasies.”

  “Fantasies?” Her face flushes, making her even prettier, if not for the hate in her eyes. “Aren’t fantasies supposed to be happy? There’s nothing happy about being crowned queen of prom when your king has left the dance so he can be with another girl. Bet you loved hearing how I stood onstage by myself.” Her jaw clenches tight. “The one time I got my dad to chaperone something, and all he saw was me looking like a total loser.”

  I shift my feet, an uncomfortable heat rising along my neck. “Jeb knows he didn’t handle things well, and he’s sorry. He’s tried to apologize.”

  She huffs. “I don’t need his pity.”

  “Get over it already, Taelor,” Jenara intervenes. “It was just a stupid dance.”

  “To you, maybe. Not when your family—” Taelor’s lips press tight, as if reshaping her words. “I just want to make one more good memory before I leave this place forever. So stay out of it this time! Don’t ruin my life again!”

  Her words hang in the air. When she sees everyone’s widened gazes, she covers her reddening face and darts toward the locker room. For one second, her perfect mask cracked. I’m used to being under scrutiny at school, but this is new for her.

  My heartbeat hammers as I remember that Rabid is waiting inside the locker room, a sitting duck. I’m torn between him and searching for Jeb, but I choose what’s closest at hand and start toward the locker room and Taelor.

  “Oh, no, you don’t.” Twyla grabs me from behind.

  Jenara intervenes. A shoving match breaks out between them. Some students head for the door, while others pick sides and shout encouragement.

  Things are escalating too fast. My head throbs as I sprint to catch up to Taelor. I snag her elbow and spin her around a few feet from the partition entrance.

  Her eyes are watery. She�
��s vulnerable, like the kid I used to play with in elementary school. I’m struggling to find the right words to keep her out of the bathroom when someone’s shrill scream pierces my eardrums.

  I glance around to check on Jen. Everyone’s attention, including hers and Twyla’s, is on something over my shoulder.

  “What is that?” one student shouts, pointing.

  Fearing the worst—that Rabid is standing there with all of his netherling creepitude hanging out—I follow their gazes.

  “Ants!” someone else yells as a rush of black and red races across the threshold toward us.

  My throat cinches tight. It can’t be. I closed the mirror portal.

  Scrambling, our classmates stampede out the entrance, leaving only me and Taelor. We back up simultaneously. The invasion swirls around us, trapping us.

  “Al!” Jen shouts from the doorway.

  “Stay out!” I yell.

  “I’m getting help!” she screams back and disappears down the breezeway.

  The ants are chanting, but I can’t hear them over Taelor’s yelps. She stomps her feet, killing and maiming several.

  I plug my ears against their agonized screams.

  They retaliate, circling us tighter.

  “Back off!” I yell at them. “She was just scared … she won’t do it again.”

  “Who are you talking to?” Taelor shouts, lifting her leg to stomp some more.

  “Don’t.” I put a hand on her thigh, then pick up a garland of lanterns. By shuffling the globes through the infringing army, I’m able to brush the bugs aside without hurting them. Once a path is cleared, I seize Taelor’s arm and clamber onto the banquet table, forcing her up alongside me.

  She breaks out of my hold once she’s standing on top. “You planted them. That’s why you were in the locker room.”

  “What?”

  “You’ve always been a bug freak! This is a prank. You were going to release them tonight, weren’t you?”

  “No! I …” My tongue can’t complete the denial, because what would it offer as an explanation? The truth?

  “Look,” Taelor snarls. “I’m sorry I told everyone your Liddell secret! How long are you going to hold the grudge?”

  “Shut up!” I shout, dropping the string of lanterns on the table between us. “I need to hear them!”

  She stares at me, eyes boggling. I glare back while listening to the ants:

  Run … run … run! The rabbit hole’s undone!

  They weren’t running toward us, they were running from something, until Taelor started attacking. A faint scraping sound jerks my attention back to the locker room. Five spindly fingers wind around the entrance. They’re shadows, but at the same time they’re not—all black and drizzly as if made of thick liquid.

  The droplets trickle down the wall to form puddles on the floor, dark and shimmery like oil. Nails the size of talons erupt from each fingertip, spreading to birth more drippy fingers. In seconds, a blanket of hands clamps the entire length of the threshold. They grip and pull, as if they can’t get through, as if a huge weight holds them back on the other end.

  My entire body goes numb. I don’t even want to know what all those oozing appendages are connected to.

  “Do you see that?” I whisper, mostly to myself. I hope Taelor doesn’t acknowledge me. This is one time I would prefer to be hallucinating.

  Her attention doesn’t budge from the ants underneath us, our oasis shrinking as they swarm closer.

  “See what?” she snarls. “The millions of creepers you let loose? Yeah. I see them. We need a king-size can of Raid!” She kicks a line of ants making their way onto the table’s top. The lantern strand catches on her heel, and she stumbles. As she tries to right herself, a globe rolls under her foot, and she teeters.

  “Taelor!” I reach out but miss her by an inch. She falls backward onto the table, head hitting the edge with a sick thump. Her eyes go dull before rolling shut.

  “No no no.” I drop to my knees, keeping the shadowy hands in my peripheral vision. I stroke her cheeks gently. “Taelor, can you hear me?”

  As if satisfied she’s defeated, the ants retreat toward the gym door.

  Save our realm, Alyssa.

  Send the trespassers away.

  They siphon into the breezeway, and I leap down. With their whispers gone, the gym falls silent.

  I whip around to face the shadow hands and choke on a strangled breath. The clown stands just inside the locker room entrance. It has a hostage: Rabid White. The clown’s cello’s bow is wedged between his fleshy chin and cadaverous neck.

  Far above them, dark liquid dribbles from the threshold. The fluid runs down the clown’s face, blackening its eyes and teeth.

  “Majesty, sorry I be …” my royal advisor whimpers, his hideous face remorseful.

  His key dangles from one hand, the empty cookie bag in the other. Some crumbs dot the floor around his feet. He must’ve opened the portal, tried to bribe the ants so he could get to Wonderland like I wanted him to. Instead, Wonderland came to us.

  I’m starting to think Wonderland has been here all along, seeping in ever since my accident. That was when the possessed clown appeared. Red could’ve found it in the cemetery and sent it after me.

  I can’t let that demented plaything take Rabid.

  “Let go of him!” I yell.

  With a laugh as eerie and haunting as an out-of-tune cello, the clown squeezes Rabid tighter around his neck.

  The oily shadows claw at the threshold, gouging marks on the painted cement wall. Whatever they’re attached to on the other side won’t let them through. They release a garbled rush of shrieks and moans, more disturbing than what I’ve heard on the third floor of the asylum, where patients cry out in padded cells.

  The noise rakes across every nerve ending in my body and echoes through my bones. I slump to the ground, covering my head until it fades to silence again.

  Depleted, I barely have the energy to look up. A giant black form pushes through the doorway, shoving the clown and Rabid aside. It explodes into a flock of shrouds, constantly changing shape like wisps of living smoke. They screech as they fly up to the rafters and wriggle into the bulbs, filling them with inky fluid until each one ruptures. The lights snuff out in a domino effect.

  I yelp and roll Taelor’s unconscious body from its perch to the ground, then drag her underneath the table to shield us from shattering glass. When the last bulb bursts, the room dims, leaving only the glow from the breezeway slanting through the gymnasium entrance.

  More shrieks hammer my ears. One of the shadows slinks along the floor to the gym doors, trailing a greasy black streak behind. It disengages the doorstops to swing them shut, leaving us in complete darkness.

  The clown hisses. Terror prickles through my backbone, and I pull Taelor closer, holding her like a security blanket. Her breath is warm against my neck and her pulse seems strong. It’s better she’s out cold. I could never explain what’s happening around us.

  “Rabid, what are those things?” I shout, needing to hear his familiar voice in the darkness, needing to know he’s still there.

  “The mome wraiths …” His soft answer is at odds with the loud shudder of his bones. “Outgrabe.”

  All mimsy were the borogoves;

  And the mome raths outgrabe.

  It’s from the Jabberwocky poem. Mome wraiths. The pronunciation, “wraith” instead of “rath,” doesn’t even faze me. Morpheus has mentioned them before.

  The word rath was misspelled and mispronounced in the Carroll poem. In reality, they’re wraiths—gloomy, phantasmal creatures. Mome means far from home, so they’re lost, seeking their way back. Outgrabe is the sound they make, a mind-curdling shriek.

  That’s all I remember. I can’t let them escape into the rest of the school to terrorize the humans. I have to hold them here until I can figure out how to defeat them.

  Their howls and wails scatter my thoughts. Gusts of cold air swoop by my face, rife with the scent o
f menace and clammy sweat. I hold Taelor against me, letting her expensive perfume flush the stench from my nose. I never expected to feel so protective of her. But she has no defense other than me. The responsibility is overwhelming.

  The clown’s laugh erupts again, demanding my attention.

  Rabid screams: “Majesty!” His plea echoes from the depths of the locker room, and I know that he’s gone—taken somewhere out of my reach.

  “No!” I shout.

  I can’t just sit and do nothing. Going against my resolution to stay with Taelor, I prop her along the table’s legs and blindly crawl around, patting the floor and praying I don’t touch something that grabs back. My hand slides through an oily puddle, and I wipe the goop on my pants, then resume the search. Finally, a lantern rolls under my fingers.

  I drag my prize under the table. After fumbling for the light’s switch, I flick it on. A soft amber glow seeps through the doily patterns, creating a luminary effect. It would be beautiful, if not for the gruesome scene it reveals.

  Thick, oily sludge runs down the walls, then gathers in small puddles along the floor. Phantom shapes skim through the air, dipping and diving—like ghouls in a graveyard. Each time they touch the floor, they leave a black streak behind. It’s like I’m locked inside a Halloween movie. All that’s missing are the crumbling tombstones.

  My gut twists with fear. “Morpheus. Come back, please.” I mumble the request, hoping he’ll hear me. Hoping he’s not too mad to listen.

  Underneath the phantoms’ shrieks, Morpheus’s silence rings even louder.

  “Morpheus! I need your help!” My scream echoes off the walls. The phantoms hiss in response, and one lunges under the table, splitting in half to form a pair of floating gloves filled with disembodied hands. They grab Taelor’s ankles to wrestle her away from me.

  “Stop!” I drop the lantern and hug her from behind, fingers laced under her arms and around her chest. She becomes the object of a supernatural tug-of-war. Using my weight, I pull so hard, her boots slip off. My back thuds against the table legs. The gloved hands spin through the air in the opposite direction, then reunite to their original shapeless form.