Tim Burton's Alice in Wonderland

by T. T. Sutherland

  “I said so,” said Tweedledee.

  “Contrariwise, you said she might be,” snapped his brother.

  “No, you said she would be if she was,” shouted Tweedledee.

  “Little imposter!” cried the Dodo. “Pretending to be Alice! She should be ashamed!”

  All of them glared at Alice as if everything was somehow her fault.

  “I’m sorry!” Alice protested. “I don’t mean to be the wrong Alice!” She really thought this was all rather unfair. “Wait, this is my dream,” she remembered. “I’m going to wake up now, and you’ll all disappear.” Wrong Alice, indeed!

  She closed her eyes and firmly pinched herself, the way her father had shown her. After a moment, she opened her eyes again.

  The creatures were all still there staring at her, with the pale mist-wreathed trunks of the mushroom forest behind them.

  She pinched herself again, harder this time.

  The animals just looked at her. Nobody had the good manners to disappear.

  “That’s odd,” Alice muttered. “Pinching usually does the trick.” She frowned at the creatures in puzzlement.

  The Dormouse pulled a long, sharp hatpin from the scabbard hanging on her breeches. “I could stick you if that would help,” she offered.

  Alice considered the idea for a moment. “It might, actually,” she said. “Thank you.”

  “My pleasure,” said the Dormouse, a little too gleefully. She scampered over and stabbed Alice in the ankle with relish.

  “Argh!” Alice shrieked, grabbing for her foot. That hurt more than a pinch—and it still didn’t work. This was a horrible dream!

  And it promptly got much worse. A thunderous roar echoed through the mushroom forest, shaking the soggy ground beneath them. Alice screamed as something came crashing through a high wall nearby. For a terrifying moment, she thought it was the Jabberwocky.

  But then she realized that this new beast was furry, not scaly. It had the head of a rabid bulldog and was oozing drool from its squashed muzzle. Its fur was caked with blood and filth. Its teeth looked like shark’s teeth, broken and stained with blood. A foul stench wafted from its huge furry body.

  It might not be the Jabberwocky, but it was equally bloodcurdling!

  “Bandersnatch!” yowled Tweedledee.

  “Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!” shrieked Tweedledum. “It’s so frumious!”

  Everyone scattered, fleeing for their lives. Alice covered her head and ran back toward the garden. Her heart pounded madly in her chest. She did not want to be eaten, even in a dream.

  All throughout the garden and the mushroom forest, animals were fleeing in terror. But many of them found themselves running into the arms of an equally dangerous foe. Tall Red Knights intercepted them, waving swords and shouting orders. The White Rabbit spotted the crest on their armor—a heart in flames—the Red Queen’s crest. The White Rabbit bolted through a hedge, hoping to escape.

  Ahead of him, a pig and a flamingo were seized by rough, armor-clad arms and flung into a caged wagon. As the rabbit darted under a low branch, he saw the Dodo slip through the circle and escape.

  Unfortunately, the White Rabbit was not so lucky.

  A knight grabbed his leg and lifted him into the air. The White Rabbit flailed angrily, waving his paws. “Unhand me!” he shouted. “I do not enjoy being—”

  The rest of his sentence was muffled as he was tossed into the caged wagon with the other animals.

  Alice saw none of this; she was still racing down a garden path, feeling the hot, smelly breath of the Bandersnatch close on her heels. The ground shook as his meaty paws thundered behind her.

  Suddenly, Alice skidded to a stop. “Wait,” she said. “It’s only a dream!” For a moment the fear had made her forget. She nearly laughed. “Nothing can hurt me,” she reminded herself. Crossing her arms, she turned to face the Bandersnatch.

  Not far away, the Dormouse watched from behind a tree. She pressed her paws to her face in disbelief. “What is she doing?” she whispered.

  The Bandersnatch loomed over Alice. Drool dripped from its muzzle onto her shoes as it opened its mouth wide to devour her.

  “Can’t hurt me,” Alice said defiantly. This was an awfully realistic dream. But it had to be a dream. None of this could possibly be real. “Can’t hurt me,” she said again, a little less confidently this time.

  “Run, you great lug!” the Dormouse screamed. With a groan of despair, the tiny mouse darted out from behind the tree and leaped onto the Bandersnatch. She pulled herself up, paw over paw, to its shoulder and drove her hatpin straight into its wild, rolling eye.

  “RRROOOOOOOWWWWRRRRRR!” the Bander-snatch bellowed in pain. It thrashed and kicked furiously. The Dormouse struggled to pull out the hatpin . . . but the whole eye popped out!

  The Bandersnatch’s howls increased in fury. It whipped around, lashed out, and raked Alice’s arm with its long claws.

  “Ow!” Alice shrieked. She’d had enough of testing this dream. She turned and ran for her life.

  Back in the mushroom forest, the Oraculum lay forgotten and unattended on the ground, where it had been dropped in the mad stampede to escape the Bandersnatch. A long, quiet moment passed, and then a grim-looking man stepped out of the mist and stared down at it. A flaming red birthmark covered half his face and hands, and he also wore the crest of the Red Queen. He picked up the Oraculum and studied the page it was open to.

  An alarmed look flitted across his face. He glanced around surreptitiously, tucked the scroll into his saddlebag, and rode away.

  The Tweedles suddenly appeared, running one on either side of Alice. They pointed at the path up ahead, where it diverged in two directions. A road sign indicated that one direction led to “QUEAST” and the other led to “SNUD,” which really told Alice nothing.

  “This way!” Tweedledum shouted. “East to Queast!”

  “No!” Tweedledee bellowed. “South to Snud!”

  Each grabbed an arm and tried to pull her down his chosen path. Alice felt as if she were being ripped in two. She didn’t care which way she went— she just wanted to get away!

  An ear-splitting screech rang out from above. The Tweedles froze in terror as an enormous bird landed in front of them. It had the terrifying death-dealing beak of an eagle and the long towering legs of an ostrich. Blood dripped from its mouth as it clattered its beak at them. Its glittering, beady eyes darted from Alice to one Tweedle and then to the other.

  “JUB-JUB!” the bird screeched. It lunged forward and seized the Tweedles in its claws. Before Alice could react, the bird was in the air, flapping away.

  The Tweedles were gone. The White Rabbit was gone. Everyone was gone.

  Alice was quite alone.

  Chapter Six

  On the shore of the Crimson Sea stood the castle of Iracebeth, the Red Queen. From the top of its tall, twisting spires flew her flag, a heart in flames fluttering as if it were truly on fire. The craggy walls were too steep to scale, and vultures wheeled over the sharp rocks below, testifying to the victims of the Queen’s wrath who had been tossed off the battlements.

  Surrounding the castle on one side were the barren red sands of Crims, and the fierce waters of the Crimson Sea battered the other. It was a fortress, and the dangerous aura around it matched the darkness at the heart of its ruler.

  Inside, the Red Queen was screaming.

  The frog footmen who lined the grand hall winced and gulped. Their pale legs trembled as they heard her footsteps stomping closer. The tall doors at one end of the hall suddenly banged open, revealing the Queen herself.

  The first thing one noticed about the Red Queen was her positively gigantic head. That was also the second and third thing one noticed, and possibly all one might ever notice about her, as it really was extraordinarily huge. One might wonder why she never toppled over, as it looked extremely unbalanced to have a head so out of proportion. Her extremely large features protruded under a shock of bright red hair.

  And
right now—as it often was—her enormous face was contorted with anger.

  “Someone has stolen three of my tarts!” she roared. She seized the lapel of the nearest frog footman and leaned into his face. “Did you steal them?”

  “No, Your Majesty,” the frog stammered.

  The Red Queen stalked down the long line of frogs, studying each of their faces through narrow eyes. At the end, she whirled on one particularly terrified frog.

  “Did you?” she snarled.

  “No, Your Majesty!” he cried.

  Her black eyes gleamed with anger and triumph. One long finger reached out and wiped a telltale bit of jam from the side of the frog’s mouth. His whole body shook as she held up her finger and sniffed the jam with her gigantic nose.

  “Squimberry juice,” she hissed.

  “I was so hungry! I didn’t mean to!” the frog wailed, nearly collapsing to the ground.

  “OFF WITH HIS HEAD!” screamed the Red Queen.

  Red Knights hurried into the hall and converged on the guilty frog.

  “My family!” the frog pleaded. “Oh please, don’t. No! I have little ones to look after!” His cries of despair faded as the Knights dragged him out the door.

  The Queen turned to her Fish Butler, licking her lips with her hideous fat tongue. “Go to his house and collect the little ones. I love tadpoles on toast almost as much as I love caviar.”

  As she turned away, the Fish Butler suppressed a shudder of revulsion and anger. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

  “Drink!” the Red Queen barked. Almost immediately, the Fish Butler produced a drink with a straw and the Red Queen took a sip.

  “Majesty?” said a new voice.

  The Red Queen whirled, her face lighting up. Her whole manner became flirty and simpering as the man with the birthmark strode down the hall toward her. “Ilosovic Stayne,” she purred. “You knave, where have you been lurking?”

  The Knave of Hearts bowed low and took her extended hand. He kissed it, but barely, only brushing it briefly with his lips. The Red Queen sighed.

  “Majesty, I found the Oraculum,” he said, taking a step back. The Red Queen led the way into the throne room and watched him unroll the scroll on a table.

  “That?” she said skeptically. “It looks so ordinary for an oracle.”

  “Look here,” he said, his face serious. “On the Frabjous Day.” He pointed to the illustration that had startled Alice earlier, of the blond knight battling the Jabberwocky.

  The Queen squinted at it, and her face reddened with anger again. “I’d know that tangled mess of hair anywhere,” she sneered. “Is it Alice?”

  “I believe it is,” said the Knave.

  The Queen peered closer. She gnashed her teeth. “What is she doing with my darling Jabberwocky?”

  The Knave cleared his throat and took a sideways step out of the Queen’s reach. “She appears to be slaying it.”

  The Queen’s eyes nearly popped out of her head. “She killed my Jabberbabywocky!” she shrieked.

  “Not yet,” the Knave said hurriedly. “But it will happen if we don’t stop her.”

  “Find Alice, Stayne,” said the Queen, her voice rising. “Find her!”

  He gave another bow. “I will bring her head and lay it at your feet.”

  “No!” The Queen glared darkly at the scroll. “Bring the whole girl. I want to do it myself.”

  Stayne mounted his horse in the stableyard and looked coldly down at the bloodhound groveling on the paving stones. Bayard was a large, growling, brown dog with drooping ears and sad eyes, but it was said he had the sharpest nose in all the land. Three knights held him at bay with heavy ropes attached to the spiked collar around his neck. Bayard winced as the spikes pressed into his loose skin.

  The Knave of Hearts had no pity in his gaze. “Find the scent of human girl and earn your freedom,” he said to the dog.

  “For my wife and pups as well?” asked Bayard, lifting his head. A spark of hope flared in his eyes.

  “Everyone goes home,” agreed the Knave.

  The bloodhound lowered his nose to the ground and inhaled deeply. With a low growl, he bounded out through the castle gates with the Knights close behind him. Stayne leaned down to stroke his horse’s neck.

  “Hrrrrrrrmph,” muttered the horse. “Dogs will believe anything.”

  * * *

  Alice finally stopped running. She leaned against a tree, gasping for air. She had no idea where she was, but that had been true ever since she fell down the rabbit hole, so she was trying not to worry about it. She was surrounded by odd-looking trees, so it was some kind of wood, but a more normal one than the mushroom forest.

  She pushed back her long golden hair and looked at the gashes on her arm. Blood welled up from the deep scratches and she flinched as she touched them. How could a dream-injury hurt so much?

  “Ahem,” said a voice above her. “It looks like you ran afoul of something with wicked claws.”

  “Yes, and I’m still dreaming!” Alice said indignantly. She looked up and realized she was talking to . . . part of a cat. The cat’s disembodied head floated in the air above a nearby branch. Alice blinked at it, trying not to show her surprise.

  “What did that to you?” asked the cat head.

  Alice tried to remember the word Tweedledee had used. “Banner or Bander . . .”

  “The Bandersnatch?” said the cat. His head disappeared suddenly, making Alice jump. And then, just as suddenly, the entire cat reappeared beside her on the ground. He sauntered closer to her with a seductive grin, all calm, casual sensuality. Something tugged at Alice’s memory. She didn’t know how she knew, but a name slipped into her mind: the Cheshire Cat. “I’d better have a look.”

  He inspected the wound for a moment. His pink tongue slid out and he reached to lick the gashes. Alice jerked away.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  He blinked slowly at her, looking amused. “It needs to be purified by someone with evaporating skills, or it will fester and putrefy.”

  That sounded quite horrible. But Alice didn’t want to be licked by a strange, giant cat whose various parts kept disappearing. “I rather you didn’t. I’ll be fine as soon as I wake up,” she insisted.

  “At least let me bind it for you,” offered the Cheshire Cat, pulling out a white silk handkerchief. Alice let him tie the handkerchief firmly around her wound.

  “What do you call yourself?” the cat asked as he worked.

  “Alice.”

  He looked up sharply. “The Alice?”

  “There’s been some debate about that,” Alice said.

  The Cheshire Cat sidled away from her. “I never get involved in politics.” He glanced around, as if making sure they were not being watched. “You’d best be on your way.”

  “Which way?” Alice asked. “All I want to do is wake up from this dream!”

  The Cheshire Cat sighed heavily. “Fine. I’ll take you to the Hare and the Hatter. But that’s the end of it!” And with that, he vanished into thin air. Alice whirled around, then checked the branches again. There was no sign of the cat.

  Finally he reappeared a short way away through the trees and gave her a curious look. “Coming?” he asked.

  There was nothing she could do but follow him.

  Chapter Seven

  Even if Alice had not known that they were going to the home of the March Hare, she might have been able to guess who lived in the unusual house they found at the end of a tangled, hidden path. It was not an ordinary house. The roof was thatched with thick brown fur instead of straw or shingles. The long chimneys sticking out the top were shaped like rabbit ears. The doorknob was a soft white tuft of fur—unmistakably a rabbit’s tail. Rabbit feet poked up out of the ground in place of a picket fence, and as Alice peered at the house she realized that it was peering right back at her with large pink rabbit eyes where its windows should be.

  “Who? What? Where?” the Hare cried, wringing his paws and whipping around so
his long ears flapped.

  The March Hare was seated around a long table in his front yard, presiding over a tea party with only two other guests.

  And from the looks of it, the party had been dragging on for a very long time. The white tablecloth was stained and threadbare, with glimpses of the pale wood underneath peeking through the holes. The chairs stood at lopsided angles, as if waiting for guests who would never come. None of the pieces of the tea set matched; in front of the Hare, a blue willowware cup stood alongside a cracked white saucer and a pale green teapot. The rest of the set was an odd mixture of cracked pots and chipped cups, many of them tipped over next to ancient brown tea stains no one had ever bothered to try cleaning up.

  Slumped in one of the chairs was a pale, morose man wearing a ragged, scorched top hat. His threadbare dark velvet coat hung loosely on his thin frame, and his eyes were lined with circles of exhaustion. He was staring blankly into space as Alice and the Cheshire Cat approached.

  Alice realized that the third member of the tea party was the Dormouse, who had somehow gotten around ahead of Alice again. The gruesome, bloody eye of the Bandersnatch hung like a trophy at her waist. She scowled when she saw Alice emerge from the trees.

  But the man, who was called the Mad Hatter, had another reaction entirely. At the sight of Alice, he bolted upright. His whole being seemed to brighten; even his clothes perked up. Transfixed, he moved toward her, stepping directly up onto and over the table, as that was the shortest route to reach her. Alice shivered a little as he came closer, staring at her intently. There was something in his face that made her anxious for him. She knew she couldn’t possibly deserve the delighted look he was giving her.

  “It’s you,” said the Mad Hatter. He reached toward her golden hair, then pulled his hand back before touching her.

  “No, it’s not,” the Dormouse snapped. “McTwisp brought us the wrong Alice.”

  The Mad Hatter shook his head. “It’s absolutely Alice! You’re absolutely Alice! I’d know you anywhere. I’d know him anywhere.”

  This time he did touch her, seizing her hand and pulling her back to the table. He stepped right up onto a chair and led her over the table the way he had come. Alice tried not to step on any teacups as they walked across the tablecloth. On the other side, the Hatter plunked her down in the chair next to his. She fidgeted nervously under his rapt gaze.