Through the Looking Glass

by Carla Jablonski

  IF YOU WANT TO REVISIT A MOMENT IN THE PAST, GO HERE.

  IF YOU WANT TO SKIP AHEAD INTO THE FUTURE, GO HERE.

  WARNING! You’re about to spoil a great story by not making a choice! Page back, then click one of the links to advance the story. Otherwise, the next section may not make any sense to you.

  YOU DECIDE to go three weeks into the past: back to your eighth birthday party. That was a frabjous day!

  All your friends sit around the festive party table. You take turns eating and drinking the special cakes and potions that make you grow smaller or larger. You laugh hysterically when Mallymkun the Dormouse eats so much Upelkuchen cake she can reach in through your bedroom window on the second floor and get six more hats for you and your friends.

  After many giddy experiments, you and your friends settle on your perfect sizes for the afternoon. You clap your hands and declare, “Time for Stick the Swizzle on Chessur!”

  This is much harder than it sounds, since different parts of the kitty keep vanishing! You twirl around blindfolded, then stumble to where you hear Chessur purring. You whip off the blindfold, confident that you won!

  Oops! As Chessur materializes, you realize that you stuck the striped candy right on his nose! Everyone laughs—Chess the hardest of all.

  You have so much fun that you return to this day over

  Go here to continue.

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  MAYBE THINGS will be better when you’re older. You go into the future and arrive on Toomalie Day—the day of the coronation. Your father had the great honor of making the tiaras for the princesses. You’re now in your twenties and quite an accomplished hatter apprentice to your father.

  You stand with him in the throne room of Witzend Castle, holding hatboxes. You’re a little nervous. Every citizen of Witzend is there to witness the great event.

  Mirana looks lovely dressed all in white. Iracebeth, on the other hand…she must have a headache in that oversized head of hers, because she hasn’t smiled once. You don’t particularly like being this close to her. She’s a nasty piece of work, that one.

  Your father has just placed the tiara on Mirana’s head and is reaching out his hand to you. You quickly open a hatbox and pull out Iracebeth’s tiara. It’s much bigger and heavier than Mirana’s. You hope you don’t drop it!

  You give it to your father. But when he tries to put it on Iracebeth’s head, it doesn’t fit.

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  and over again. The best parts are that your father is always in a good mood and you never run out of cake!

  THE END

  AH, BUT EVENTUALLY YOU DO RUN OUT OF ROOM IN YOUR STOMACH FOR CAKE. GO BACK TO THE BEGINNING TO TRY A DIFFERENT PATH.

  WARNING! You’re about to spoil a great story by not making a choice! Page back, then click one of the links to advance the story. Otherwise, the next section may not make any sense to you.

  You can’t help yourself: you chuckle.

  You can see Iracebeth is growing impatient. Your father tries again, pushing down on the tiara harder. Iracebeth tugs on it, too.

  You laugh again, and this time there are snickers in the crowd. Your father and Iracebeth yank on the tiara so hard it breaks in two, sending jewels flying. The whole room guffaws.

  Irate, Iracebeth points a trembling finger at your father. You don’t believe it! Her head grows even larger! Rage must be making it expand.

  “Zanik Hightopp!” she bellows. “I will never forget what you and your family have done to me this day!”

  She yells and screams at everyone, but all you can see is your father’s furious expression—directed at you. He’s so angry you worry that his head will swell up like Iracebeth’s. When Iracebeth storms off the stage, your father turns on you.

  “All I did was laugh, Father!” you say in your defense. “I couldn’t help it.”

  You and your father argue, the way you always do. “Why am I never good enough for you?” you finally ask, throwing up your hands.

  “Why are you always such a disappointment to me?” he demands at the same time.

  Your arms fall to your sides. It takes enormous effort, but you keep yourself under control. No tears. No shouts. You speak very reasonably. “There. You’ve said it. Well, if I’m such a disappointment, I don’t suppose you’ll be sorry if I leave home!”

  Your mother rushes up and grabs your father’s arm. “Tarrant, no!” she begs you. She looks pleadingly up at your father. “Please, Zanik, tell him to stay! Zanik!”

  Your father straightens up even taller. “If he is to be a hatter worthy of the Hightopp name, he must be sane, sober, disciplined, prudent, punctual, punctilious.” He shakes off your mother’s arm and points at you. “Everything he is now not!”

  How can you be all those things? Where is the fun in any of that?

  You fear if you say anything, you’ll get into a screaming match with him, or, worse, not be able to fight the tears welling in your eyes. You give your mother a sad nod, then stride out of the throne room.

  You march along Witzend Street. You’re hurt, angry, and confused.

  You hear someone calling your name.

  You turn and see a young blond woman rushing toward you. To your utter shock, she throws her arms around you.

  “It’s you, isn’t it? It’s really you!” she cries.

  Startled, you stumble backward a bit. Righting yourself, you say, “I’m sorry. Have we met?”

  She releases you and grins. “Yes! I mean, no! I mean, not yet.” She laughs and shakes her head. “I’m Alice.”

  You cock your head and study her. She does seem familiar, in an entirely unfamiliar way. “Funny. I feel I should know you.”

  A passing merchant carries a large basket of ribbons. You lift a particularly luscious blue one from the pile and start walking. You want to put some distance between you and the castle. You don’t want your father to come across you on the street and start berating you again.

  “We met once, when I was young,” the woman explains, walking beside you. “Years from now. When you’re older.”

  “So you’re Alice, my new, old friend.” You grin at her. “You’re bonkers, aren’t you?”

  “Am I?” she asks.

  “All the best ones are,” you assure her.

  You and your new, old friend walk by a fruit stand. You quickly snag a purplemelon fruit. A hat is beginning to take form in your mind, and when that happens, your hands must follow.

  “You must meet my friend Thackery Earwicket,” you say. You spot a borogrove sunning itself in a window. You yank out a few of its colorful tail feathers.

  “Squarrk!” the bird complains, and snaps its beak at you. You tip your hat at it, hoping the gesture will suffice as both a thank-you and an apology.

  “Ol’ Thackery lives out by the old mill,” you tell Alice. “I’m hoping he’ll put me up for a bit. Will you join us for tea?”

  You stop walking so you can flick, fluff, and finalize your creation. With a flourish you produce for Alice a delightfully deranged hat, purple and blue with white feathers. Delighted, she puts it on. You pull a mirror from your pocket so she can admire your creation.

  You resume your pleasant amble and come to a large oak tree. You crook your finger so Alice will move closer to you. “Can you keep a secret?” you whisper. “This tree is magical! Every night when I was a boy I would make a wish, and the next morning the tree would have granted it. Usually green-and-white Swizzles.” You lick your lips, remembering. “Delicious!” You give the tree a fond pat. “What a tree!”

  You walk on, assuming Alice will follow.

  Instead, she has stopped and call
s after you. “Wait! Stop! Your family is in danger! You must warn them about Horunvendush Day!”

  You turn and stare at her. Is this some kind of trick? “I’ve no idea what you’re talking about, but if my father sent you to change my mind, you can tell him that I never will.”

  Seething, you spin around and stalk away.

  “Tarrant, wait!” she shouts. “Listen! You are right now creating a past you will never be able to change. Hatter!”

  You stick your fingers in your ears and ignore her. You thought she was your friend, not a spy for your father!

  You can’t talk about this right now. The wound is too fresh. You pick up your pace. Only, where should you go?

  GO HERE AND MARCH FURIOUSLY TO THE MARCH HARE’S HOUSE.

  OR GO FARTHER INTO THE FUTURE BY JUMPING HERE.

  WARNING! You’re about to spoil a great story by not making a choice! Page back, then click one of the links to advance the story. Otherwise, the next section may not make any sense to you.

  YOU GO far into the future. But something is wrong. You can’t put your finger on it at first. Then it comes to you.

  “No hats?” No matter where you look, there is not a single, solitary hatted head. They’re all bare. With very elaborate hairstyles.

  “Excuse me,” you say to a girl with orange-and-purple-striped hair piled into a two-and-a-half-foot tower. “Where does one buy hats?”

  “What’s haaa-wt?” she asks, pronouncing the word as if it were a foreign language.

  You clutch your heart. Can it be true? A world without hats?

  You wander the streets, confused and sad. You pass the place where your father’s hat shop once stood. It’s now a hair salon, famous for creating the tallest designs in all of Underland.

  You stand in front of the salon and raise your fist to the

  Go here to continue.

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  YOU SIT at a festively decorated table. Glum, you slump in a chair. Mallymkun, the Dormouse, lifts a teaspoon as big as she is and slides it onto a saucer. Thackery hops about in typical March Hare fashion, putting finishing touches on the table settings.

  “Teatime!” Thackery says, bouncing over to you and carrying a plate piled with scones.

  “Cheer up, Tarrant,” Mally says, sitting beside your plate. “We’ll have fun now that you’re living here.”

  A bizarre sound makes you look at the sky. The Universe itself seems to tear open, and an extraordinary machine careens through. Its pilot is even more astonishing. Clad in blacks and silvers, this new arrival is tall, with an impressive mustache and shoulder pads as wide as the March Hare’s height. And oh, what a hat! He smashes into the windmill sails, then crash-lands in a crumpled heap.

  Your eyebrow lifts. This could be interesting, you think. A bit mad, as a matter of fact. You inhale deeply. Yes, you definitely detect a whiff of nuttiness. Perhaps things are about to improve?

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  sky. “It may take the rest of my life, but I will make it my mission to bring the hat back to Underland!” you swear.

  Now that you have a goal, you have renewed vigor. You create the very first hat museum, hoping that will kindle interest in the citizens. Only problem is there are no hats to put on display. So you set about making them. You work day and night and day and night and day and night and day and night and eventually become known as that crazy curmudgeon always talking about the good old days. Mostly people just call you the Mad Hatter.

  THE END

  LIVING IN A PLACE WITHOUT HATS IS JUST TOO HORRIFYING. GO BACK TO THE BEGINNING TO GO ON A DIFFERENT ADVENTURE.

  WARNING! You’re about to spoil a great story by not making a choice! Page back, then click one of the links to advance the story. Otherwise, the next section may not make any sense to you.

  The unusual fellow grunts and groans as he extricates himself from his flying device. Seems a bit rickety for a fellow of his proportions, but if he wants to risk it…

  “Greetings. I am Time,” he announces. “The infinite and immortal. You may express your awe and wonder. But keep it short.”

  Mally bows. She nudges Thackery. He bows, too. But you don’t. This fellow irks you. You don’t like it when someone takes your awe for granted.

  “I wonder, my lord,” you say, “why you have lowered yourself to mingle amongst us mere and mundane mortals?”

  He looks a little shifty. “Ah, well. I’m looking for a girl called Alice. Have you seen her?”

  Alice? That’s the new old friend you just met for the first time again. You eye him suspiciously. “What is your business with her?”

  “She took something from me. I need it back. As soon as possible.”

  Hmmm. She didn’t strike you as a thief. You need to find out more. “You’re in luck, oh, eternal one!” you say. “Why, just today I invited Alice to tea. Have a seat! We can wait together!”

  Mally and Thackery look at you in surprise. You signal to them with your eyes to play along. They shrug as Time sits.

  “If you’re really Time itself, or himself,” you say, sloshing some tea into his cup, “perhaps you can answer me this. I’ve always wondered when ‘soon’ is. Is it before ‘in a few minutes’ or after ‘a little while’?” You grin at him and offer up a plate. “Scone?”

  Time studies you disdainfully. “If you vex me, it’ll be an eternity.”

  You continue your interrogation of Time. “Is it true you heal all wounds?” You grab a butter knife to test this theory. You reach for Thackery’s ear, but he bounds away, knocking you backward. The knife skitters along the table.

  Mallymkun scurries up to Time. “We have such a lovely Time here!” she says. She pats his cheek with her tiny paw and bats her eyelashes at him flirtatiously.

  “The best Time ever!” Thackery agrees, giving Time a thumping whack on the back.

  You stretch out on top of the table, belly down. You prop yourself up on your elbows, resting your chin in your hands.

  “Do you fly when you’re having fun?” You cock your head to the right. “And why is it that you wait for no man? Do you wait for women?” You pop up onto all fours. “For animals?”

  Time stands and glowers down at you. “Bah!” he growls, giving you a dismissive wave of his hand. He turns and stomps away.

  You follow Time and put your hands on his head. “Look! I’ve got Time on my hands!”

  He smacks your hands away and keeps walking.

  Mally runs up beside Time. “Yes, but Time is on my side!”

  You dash to the table and pour tea into a cup. Then you race back to Time and hold the teacup up to him. “Oh, oh! Now I’m serving Time!”

  Thackery flops onto the ground, laughing hysterically.

  “I’m racing against Time!” you shout, starting to run. Time has much longer legs than you, so when he picks up speed, you have to jog to keep up with him.

  Mally scrambles up your leg and perches on your shoulder. She takes out her tiny sword and wallops Time with the hilt over and over. “I’m beating Time!” she chortles.

  “I’m passing Time!” you cheer, pulling ahead of him.

  Mally flips around her sword and aims its tip at Time’s throat. “I’m killing Time!” Mally declares.

  You quickly flick Mally’s sword out of her hand. “I’m saving Time!” you say, then waggle a finger disapprovingly at Mally. She wiggles her whiskers at you and jumps off your shoulder.

  She lands beside Thackery, who hoots and hollers, thumping the ground with his oversized feet and rolling around on the grass.

  You grab Time’s arms and flap them up and down. “Look, look! Time is flying! No, no, wait
!” You knock Time onto the ground. As he gets up on all fours, you leap onto his back. “Time is crawling!” you shout.

  Time flings you off him and stands up abruptly.

  “Enough!” Time bellows. “Stop! Please!”

  You look at him.

  DO YOU CONTINUE TEASING HIM? THEN GO HERE AND KEEP READING.

  OR DO YOU STOP? GO HERE.

  WARNING! You’re about to spoil a great story by not making a choice! Page back, then click one of the links to advance the story. Otherwise, the next section may not make any sense to you.

  REALLY? STOP making jokes? You must be mad!

  Are you sure you’re Tarrant Hightopp, the Mad Hatter? Positive?

  Then you’d better make a different choice. Because there’s no way the real Hatter would ever choose to stop his shenanigans.

  Go here if you want anyone to believe you’re the Hatter!

  THE END

  WARNING! You’re about to spoil a great story by not making a choice! Page back, then click one of the links to advance the story. Otherwise, the next section may not make any sense to you.

  YOU SLING an arm across Time’s shoulder. “Tell me, old bean. Do you exist at all? Some say Time is an illusion.”

  Time shakes off your arm. “I am not an illusion! Could an illusion do this?”

  You watch as Time reaches into his heart clock and stops the second hand. The entire world freezes. The tea from the pot hangs in the air, mid-pour. Mally’s tongue is reaching to lick a sugar cube, and Thackery’s mouth is wide open as he’s stopped in the middle of a guffaw. Only you and Time can move.