The idea of Neverland being built on top of the fountain of youth seemed perfectly plausible, and Neverland warping into Wonderland. When I started researching each beloved fairy tale before writing the series, I saw so many links between them that although are unintentionally there, work amazingly together. Neverland and Wonderland are so similar, and I absolutely loved writing about these two worlds more than any other.
I hope you enjoyed Into Wonderland. It can be read as a standalone, however, if you have not read books one and two, they are available on Amazon under The Enchanted Kingdom and Journey to Neverland which tells the stories of the characters featured in this book before Wonderland.
Book four, A Wicked Witch, is out June 3rd, 2017 and follows the adventures of James and Snow as they hunt a witch in a magical land called Oz.
If you enjoyed this book, I would love if you could leave a short review on Amazon or Goodreads. If you have any questions or comments, please feel free to email me at [email protected] and thank you for taking the time to read Into Wonderland.
Read on for a short story about Clarissa and the doctor
Deep in the forest, where those take their final breath,
Is one who is quite horrid, as the skinners skin the dead.
A beautiful woman, Tom’s beautiful swan,
Is about to learn what happens to those who try to run.
Conker-brown trees stood serenely; their crumbly bark washed in a flush of morning glow. Their knotted arms rose ever upwards, and the sun flame gold leaves danced in the breeze.
Woodpeckers drummed, squirrels foraged under bristles of wispy moss, and an orchestra of birds sang harmoniously against the orange and red backdrop.
Wild basil grew on the mossy mattresses covering the floor. Each leaf and berry shimmered in the golden sunlight. Woody incense filled the forest from years of trodden twigs and rotting bark.
She continued to walk up the leaf-carpeted path until she reached a fork. Bending ever so slightly to the left was life, beauty, and the sounds of wildlife followed up the path. The path, which turned off on a sharp right, looked out of place. It wound downhill, and silence followed the time-chiselled trees.
As much as Milly Swan would have liked to follow the safety of the well-trodden path, she turned right, regretting her decision already.
The deeper she ventured down the forbidden path, the more the silence grew. The trees narrowed until Milly could only see less than a metre into the depths. Massive roots spread-eagled the ground, making it unsteady to walk over.
Frost lined the edges and skeletons of fallen leaves covered the rest of the path. A never-ending sea of trees reached out far into the distance, further than the eye could see. Milly took a deep breath, suddenly aware of how loud her breathing was. Even her heartbeat sounded like a pounding drum in the silent forest.
Vaporous mist enwrapped itself around the bodies of the trees, writhing in an illusory dance. It caressed the ivy-strangled bark, leaving a thick sheet hanging in the air, like so many of the forests victims.
The forest beckoned Milly into its pulsating heart, luring her with its dark, haunting ancient song. It called out to her deadly desires within, pulling at her fragile, vulnerable heart.
She stepped into the trap of the trees, walking carefully into the consuming blackness. The trees’ canopy thickened with each step, leaving little light shining through the tangled branches high above. Hoods of black shadow hung in the groves as she dared not to look up but only to walk straight ahead and look down at the root-tangled, twig-littered ground.
Finally, she reached the spot in which Thomas had told her to meet him. Silence overhung the hallowed ground where trees dared not grow, flowers would not bloom, and animals would not scurry. The only thing covering the small space was long, drawn-out branches hanging above from the surrounding trees. From each thick grey branch, sketched memories of each victim, each noose, hung with deathly intent. She sat on the cool ground, waiting for the man she had longed for since she was thirteen. Since she had turned seventeen, her mother had harped on about marriage.
Sunlight arrowed through onto the clearing. Milly shuffled uncomfortably, drawing pictures onto the dirt with a twig. She tried not to look around as the eerie feeling of being watched stamped into her mind. She tried not to think about her sadness, the depression that coiled around her soul, tearing it each day with new realisations.
‘Milly,’ Thomas’s voice covered the area. He lowered his voice to a whisper. ‘Are you ready?’
She nodded.
He helped her to her feet, and they looked around. He was nineteen now, and he had become better looking with every year. His well-groomed beard ran into this thick nut-brown hair. His cold eyes were as grey as the branches they pushed through. Scars covered his hands and muscular arms, probably from all of the fighting he had done.
His sun-kissed skin was rough, and you could tell he had grown up on a farm, spending his days doing gruelling work. Now, a soldier, he had the status and money he needed to marry a girl of Milly’s status. However, she’d have married him anyway, a farmer’s boy or not.
His beauty stopped people in their tracks. Milly would watch as their gaze traced over his chiselled features. He’d look their way, and they’d overcompensate with a huge smile and a nervous laugh. He basked in the attention he received, but he had always been a one-woman kind of guy. Milly was and always would be the apple of his eyes. She was his beautiful swan.
‘Why do so many people choose to end their lives here?’ she asked with disgust.
The forest was as dead as the brother it had taken from her. Mortem Umbra Forest (Latin for Death Shadow) was a notorious hotspot for those who’d wished to kill themselves. It was also a perfect place for murderers to hide the bodies of their victims, as the density and vastness of the forest meant that so much of it had been unexplored. With little wildlife and the ghostly stories attached to it, few people visited its deathly depths.
Thomas buttoned his dark brown coat and smiled a small smile. ‘It’s peaceful, lonely, and away from the cruelty of the world. I can see the appeal.’
‘I can’t,’ Milly replied. ‘Why are we here?’
Thomas gulped; beads of sweat dotted his forehead even though it was less than five degrees outside. He seemed jittery, which was unusual. Milly felt uncomfortable. Not much made him nervous. Thoughts shot through her mind—thoughts of the death that filled the forest, the supposed spirits that haunted it, and the tales of how it injected murderous intent into the kindest of men.
‘Milly,’ Thomas started and pulled at his collar. ‘The forest has always been my favourite place to play in. To explore, to find serenity. That’s why I brought you here. Where better to ask the woman I love to marry me?’ He knelt on the ground and pulled out a beautiful diamond ring.
Milly smiled from ear to ear and inspected the ring closer. Around the edges of the jewel were two black wings. Wings of a swan.
‘For a long time, swans have found their partners and remained only with them. Even if one were to die, they’d never go with another. That’s what I want for us. I could not live without you. You are my swan, my one. Forever. Always.’ He looked up at Milly; tears ran down her porcelain skin and onto the tips of her thick curls. ‘Milly Swan, will you marry me?’
She nodded and smiled through her tears. He placed the ring on her finger, a promise of forever.
As the months passed, she and Thomas married under a starlit sky surrounded by snow- covered trees.
Thomas felt incredibly happy. He’d never tell Milly the truth, though. The superficial truth of why he married her.
She was beautiful. Her long, almond brown hair hung in ringlets around her perfectly proportioned chest. Her dress cinched at her small waist and flowed out over her hips, stopping at her knees. She had long legs and silky smooth skin. Her heart-shaped face, blush pink lips, and emerald green eyes that shone brightly due to the thick black ring circling her irises made her look like a godde
ss. Her small nose looked perfect with her symmetrical features. They would have the most beautiful children. He had always wanted two boys and a girl and hoped that she would become pregnant soon.
Milly washed the dishes in their beautifully decorated cottage. It was small, but the perfect size for them. The cute, quaint furniture was all made from the wood of the trees in the forest.
After finishing the housework, she removed her shoes and laid on the sofa in front of the roaring fire. Her thoughts switched to her brother. He had spent so much time in the forest as a child; never did she think it would be where he would one day take his life.
She’d tried to tell Thomas that the woods were dangerous. That the stories of the spirits that called to the depressed, luring them to wrap a rope around their necks, were true. Thomas said they were tall tales and none of them were true. He liked the forest and told her that it was none of her business where he went. She was his wife, and a woman shouldn’t question her husband’s whereabouts. That had been the first time he had spoken to her like that, so she hadn’t brought up the subject of the forest since.
It was late morning when Milly woke. She noticed Thomas’s boots were not by the cabinet where they usually were and presumed he had gone to the forest.
She saw a woman walk up the path through the window. She did not have anything with her—no bag with supplies, no hiking equipment.
‘She’s not planning on coming out,’ Milly said aloud. She got dressed, packed a bag with some food and water, and hurried off up the path.
She reached the same fork in the path as she had before. Secretly, she hoped that the woman had gone up the nicer trail where the forest still looked alive and the animals still played. Unfortunately, as Milly looked right, she watched the woman step off the path and into the trees of the deathly part of the forest.
Milly turned right and ran down the path, pulling her blue hood over her head to block the heavy snowfall. She reached the spot where the woman had disappeared into the trees. Milly took a deep breath and stepped into the woods after her. She trembled as she fought her way through the webs of leaves and tangled brambles. Finally, she reached the clearing. A noose hung from a branch, its shadow covering the glade.
Milly, leave. Her brother’s pleas filled her ears, taking her back to her fifteenth year.
‘Why?’ she called out, but no one replied. Was it her brother's spirit?
Milly, you must go and never return. Her brother’s whispers carried in the breeze, circling her.
‘Please, James, tell me why you did it. Why did you kill yourself?’
You’re in danger.
With those final words, his voice left the forest, leaving Milly alone and confused.
She pushed further into the woods, trying not to think too much about what had happened. Her mind must have been playing tricks on her.
She saw the woman through the narrow trees. She was tied to a tree and was crying. Her hands were tied with rope and so were her legs.
‘She couldn't have done that to herself,’' Milly whispered. She crept toward her, careful not to make a sound. A twig snapped under her boots. The woman looked over at the spot where Milly stood. She was gagged, but she was trying to say something, screaming. She was struggling to free herself.
A hooded man approached the woman. Panicked, Milly stepped behind a tree, careful to stay out of sight. She heard the woman scream; the torturous screams and pleas covered the forest.
After several minutes, the screaming turned to whimpering then silence.
Hooded shadows watched from a nearby cave as Milly gasped for breath as she clung to the trunk of the tree, peering over a small branch. The woman was limp, still tied to the tree. Blood travelled through the grooves in the ground, moving around the twigs, stopping by a hunter’s knife. A familiar hunter’s knife.
The hooded man had gone. Milly stepped over to the woman carefully, holding one hand over her mouth to stop herself from crying out.
The woman’s face had been covered with a cloak. Milly reached the woman and hesitantly lifted the woman’s cloak.
She fell backward into the pool of blood and cried.
Her face was gone. He had taken her face.
The forest was filled with skinners. Men who searched for beautiful women and handsome men, killed them, and then took their best body parts to deliver to the mad doctor. No one knew his name, but they didn’t need to. He gave them a generous amount of gold coins in exchange for the bodies or parts.
Tom placed the face of the woman he had killed into a plastic box filled with liquid that would prevent it from rotting. He packed it away, walked to the nearest stream, and washed the blood from his leather gloves. He discarded his top and put on the new one he had packed just in case. The hooded cloak with material that covered most of his face was his prized possession. It kept him hidden, and when he put it on, he felt like another person.
He never felt bad either. How could he when the women he killed had come to the forest to take their lives? The ugly ones he let take their own lives. The doctor only wanted beautiful people. He would have taken the whole woman to him, but her face and eyes were the only parts of her that were pretty. Her beautiful blue eyes.
Powdered snow captured the forest in a stifling silence. A shiver laced its way down his spine as he walked through the icy trenches to the mad doctor’s house.
Up the winding path, he caught a glimpse of the man through the grimy window of the six-bedroom mansion.
He knocked on the rickety old door three times. The doctor’s drab looking daughter opened it. Mute, she ushered him inside, peering outside before closing the door behind him.
The exterior of the building was a contradiction to the inside. The interior was rich, eye-catching, and regal. Crystal chandeliers hung in the corridors. Paintings lined the walls, each one of the doctor’s ancestors.
He walked into the gleaming white morgue. The doctor looked at Tom with eyes as cold as the snow that settled on the nooses in the forest. ‘Do you have one?’
Tom placed the box on top of the counter and opened it. ‘Fresh today. Pretty girl, beautiful face and eyes.’
The doctor took out the eyes first, examining the empty blue iris, which once held so many painful memories. ‘They will do. Two gold coins for the eyes. What else?’' He peered into the box and a slimy grin spread across his bony face. ‘Such beautiful skin, symmetrical features. This one is perfect.’' He took out the face, placed it on a slab of glass, and then put it into a blue liquid, putting it into cold storage. ‘Twenty gold coins for the face.’
Tom grinned. ‘That’s as much as you’d give for a full body.’
The doctor did not reply but nodded once and turned to the body, which was laid on top of a hospital bed. The body was covered with a thin white sheet, but Tom could tell it was a woman. Wild black hair escaped the sheet, falling down the side of the bed, and her hand peeked out from under the sheet, a silver band on her wedding finger, and her nails were polished and manicured.
‘Clarissa,’ the doctor barked. His daughter rushed into the room. ‘Give the man twenty-two gold coins from the safe, then see him out.’
She curtseyed, disappeared out the room, and then walked back in with a small red pouch. He checked the amount and, satisfied with his earnings, left the mansion.
Clarissa watched him leave longingly. He hated walking down that path; every time, he felt the doctor’s daughter watching after him. She always forgot herself when he was around, being clumsy with the coins and equipment.
She finally closed the door once he was out of sight.
Whispers of the dead travelled with him until he reached the edge of the forest. He looked out at the cottage, and his stomach twisted. No smoke circled from the chimney. The warm light he was used to seeing coming from the window was as black as the sky he stood under.
The moonlight shone onto the cobbled path. He walked up to it, sickness rising in his stomach with each step. When he pushed open the l
ittle red door, his fears were confirmed. Milly was nowhere to be seen. He shouted for her over and over, checking each room, the garden, and the surrounding area.
Where was his beautiful swan?
Milly wrestled through the dead branches and glistening spider webs. Tears streamed down her face. She looked down at the knife left behind with disbelief. It was Tom's knife; he must have left it behind after he killed her. Her hands shot up to her mouth as she tried to stop a cry from escaping.
Her husband, the murderer.
It explained why he spent so much time in the forest. Her cloak ripped on one of the branches and brambles cut into her arm. She cried out and covered the wound with her other hand.
As she emerged from the forest, she saw a weathered old mansion on top of a slight hill. Light came from two of the windows. The rest of the mansion, and the gardens, were emerged in darkness.
Silence hung in the air. She looked back at the forest, which held the souls of so many without ever allowing the sweet release of death. They could never escape the trees.
Once, Milly had asked her father what happened to the souls of those who killed themselves in the forest. He told her that the only kingdom the souls would see would be one of the aged trees, painful memories, and a border they could never escape. The longer a soul spent there, the angrier it became. Then every hundred years, a demon would come to the forest and take the souls of the angriest spirits, dragging them to the underworld.
She pushed the thought out of her mind and hurried up the winding path to the front door. Pulling her cloak tighter to keep her from the cold wind, she waited for an answer.
A woman answered the door. She looked very plain. She had limp, brown hair that looked grey in places. She only looked like she was twenty, at most, but her face showed signs of anguish and hopelessness, and she was, unfortunately, rather ugly. Her eyes, a muddy brown, locked onto the beautiful green gaze from Milly.
Into Wonderland (Haunting Fairytales Series Book 3) Page 11
