Wonderland Chapter 1 - Down the Rabbit Hole

The sun fell in uneven beams, sliced by the canopy of trees that covered the forest. The crisp spring air was just barely beginning to warm in the late morning, drying up the last droplets of dew that still clung to the leaves on the lower branches. The forest floor was a vast array of greenery, toadstools, and earthen paths that wound their way over roots, through bushes, and into the very trees themselves. The songs of birds echoed like a distant chorus over Tulgey Wood while little things twittered unseen in the underbrush.

A white rabbit skittered past wearing a waistcoat and carrying a little bag. It was a strange sort of run, a kind of tumbling combination of running on two legs and hopping on all-fours but it seemed to work all the same for the rabbit as it bounded down a twisting bend of earthen path. He ignored the cat that grinned at him as he passed, hurrying at full speed with eyes widened in panic before he disappeared into the bushes. Grin never faltering, the Cheshire Cat slinked along a narrow branch and hopped nimbly into the air where it disappeared momentarily only to reappear on a low branch in the next tree.

"My ears and whiskers," the off-white cat muttered happily to itself, "he is always late isn't he?" Dropping nonchalantly off of the branch, the cat landed hard on the large umbrella-like top of a red and yellow toadstool that was growing within the exposed roots of the massive tree. The cat bounced once and slid to the edge of the toadstool making it bend surprisingly far until the creature plopped down onto the floor, flinging the toadstool back up as though it were made of rubber. There, the cat prowled along the underbrush, prancing over exposed roots and vanishing periodically only to reappear a few paces away. It then stopped, his face breaking again to a wider grin. His yellow eyes glinted as it listened to the sounds of the woods before taking a backwards leap in which it all but floated back up to a lower branch on the nearest tree. "Ooh, what is this? Someone approaches? Someone new? Many not? Something awry in Tulgey Woods today?" While the cat seemed well aware it was talking to itself, its tail swished happily as it perched himself in an almost conversational manner in the crook of the branch.

Folding its paws inward, it stared intently down at the woods as though watching some unfortunate prey wander into its territory. For several moments, it didn't move, yet it continued to stare and grin happily as though it were watching some entertaining scene. When the sounds of movement finally drifted closer, however, the cat unfolded its paws and let out a little chuckle. Prancing across the branch, it watched eagerly, slowly fading away as it giggled in amusement. Its body disappeared in chunks, almost by color. First, the off-white fur vanished followed then by the grayish pink pads of its feet and its dark claws. The dark gray stripes then spiraled out of sight until only its grin and lamp-like yellow eyes remained . . . then the eyes vanished . . . then, finally, the grin, until all that remained was the faint, distant chuckling that echoed from nowhere in particular around the tree.

Fynn did not know how long he fell. It could have been a few moments or an eternity and when he had last touched down he struck the ground as if he had only just fallen off a chair. It was dark. Too dark to see clearly and oddly enough when he tried to stand, struck his head on a rather low ceiling. Feeling around with his hands it became quite evident that he was in an earthen tunnel and instinctively he reached for his soldier's bag slung across his shoulder which he had thankfully not lost. Unfortunately when he searched for his flashlight it was gone. He distinctly remembered packing it and it could not have fallen out of the sealed bag, yet it was no where to be found in the leather satchel, but he did have matches and a few candles. Lighting one, he saw that he was indeed in some underground tunnel. A bunker maybe? His mind struggled to make sense of the events that had just transpired but could think of nothing that would explain his vision of the talking white rabbit.

"I'm late, I'm late, I'm late."

The words echoed through the tunnel in the direction that he was facing. It was a time of war and all Fynn could think of was that somehow he had suffered some memory loss. Whatever the reason, he had to be cautious and reached for his side arm. It was gone, as was the holster! Taken, but wait, he had his knife. Why would they have not completely disarmed him? Nothing made any sense! Fynn's head began to spin, and the candle before his eyes started to swirl about. It flickered like a dancer and at one point it jumped right off the wick like a ballerina, twirling about gracefully. Fynn closed his eyes tightly and spoke a silent prayer. He must be dreaming, it was the only explanation and he convinced himself that when he next opened his eyes he would be back on the island of Fiji.

Fynn opened his eyes and beyond the candle he could see a faint glow. The tunnel stretched out before him as straight as an arrow ending at a bright center the size of a penny. He no longer cared to know where he was, only that he had to get out, so cautiously the soldier crawled toward the light. Oddly, the further he went and the closer he got to the end didn't seem to make the source any larger, in fact the tunnel seemed to getting smaller. He saw it then, the white rabbit! It was running ahead of him, staring at his clock and muttering to himself in a most distressed way, "I'm late, I'm late, I'm late."

Where the rabbit was running the tunnel had changed. It was now a cylinder of bricks and as Fynn crawled toward it a most peculiar thing happened. As he reached out with his hand, it touched the constructed tunnel or more precisely it passed into it. It was no bigger than pigeon hole and the white rabbit was the size of a mouse! Unable to comprehend the topsy turvy occurrence, Fynn drew back his hand in fear and that's when he saw the forest. Before the small hole was a tiny staircase and around that was a tiny forest, with little oak trees that would have only stood as high as his knees if were able to stand. Moving the candle through the miniature grove, Flynn inspected the micro realm with the curious doubt of a man who expected the world to tumble down around like the back drop of a stage.

Right at the base of the stairway was a well, no bigger than a tea cup with a tiny winch and bucket and all around it the ground was purple. Closer inspection revealed that the well was surrounded by little purple mushrooms each no larger than the the head of a pin, then it became apparent that the well had a handle on the side of it. Then he saw that etched into the stone around the base of the well were words that read, 'Drink from the well and chime the bell.' At this point Fynn had given up trying to be rational and upon seeing that the rabbit had left the signs of running his finger through the mushrooms took note that the tiny bucket had some remnants of the purple fungi.

"When in Rome..." Fynn muttered to himself as he ran his finger through the tiny mushroom patch and transferred the purple smear into the thimble sized bucket. He ever so gently turned the tiny winch then and lowered it down and when he did there was the familiar sound of what he swore was water boiling then a sweet aroma rose up from the well. Fynn grabbed the handle and carefully lifted the well to his lips. He was surprised that it rose with no resistance from it's stone saucer and he drank down the warm contents the taste was bitter sweet, but refreshing. Placing the well-cup down, the tiny winch turned on its own, and the bucket was retracted as if it were some mechanized toy.

Fynn felt strange. He stared at the tiny well admiring its fine intricacies, he remembered staring down into the deep well he found behind the old barn at the edge of Mr. Hitchings pasture. It was so black and imagined that if he fell into to it he would arrive in some distant land like in the stories his father told him. Fynn then became cognizant of his reflection staring back at him and he was leaning over the tea cup well. He and all his possessions were now as tiny as the miniature forest that had become the world all around.

"I'm late, I'm late, I'm late."

The voice of the white rabbit echoed through the tunnel and Fynn wasted little time. Repressing all contemplation of his diminutive size he thought only to capture this 'white rabbit' and force him or what ever he represented to reveal to him where he was and how they were doing this to him. He climbed the stone steps and ran into the tunnel, which was illuminated by lanterns mounted on the sides of the walls. The rabbit was gone, but at the end of the tunnel was round red door. It looked as though it had just been painted, it was so shiny and clean, and the large brass knob at it's center gleamed like the trumpets and trombones of an orchestra. Fynn tried the knob but it was locked and the door would not budge, however, beside the door mounted into the space between the round door jam and the walls was a cuckoo clock. It looked just like the one his grandfather had made, but it had been broken since he could remember and for some reason his father had never attempted to fix it.

'Drink from the well and chime the bell.', the words around the teacup well had said, and so Fynn reached up and pushed to big hand to the twelve. The little door opened and out sprung a little queen ringing a bell. The first chime the door knob unlocked, the second it turned, the third Fynn's head began to spin, and the fourth and beyond it opened and all became bathed in white light.

When his eyes adjusted to the brightness of the day, Fynn stepped through the door and into a beautiful forest. A crystal blue stream babbled by, birds sung sweet songs and the sky was the bluest he had ever seen. It was like he stepped into a fairy tale. Behind him, the outer side of the door was covered with grass and when it closed by itself it blended into the side of the hill and vanished but Fynn was not worried. He knew that there were no answers back the way he had come and so he pressed onward into the forest following the brook to where ever it would take him in this land of wonder.

The rabbit bounded through the forest. If he was aware of Fynn's pursuit, he gave no sign. The forest grew dense and yet the rabbit seemed on a fixed path. He darted over exposed roots and through shrubs keeping Fynn just barely on his heels. As he dashed around a corner, Fynn would lose sight of him for a moment in which the White Rabbit pulled on a low branch and darted through the opening that formed in the trunk of the tree. By the time Fynn turned the corner, the opening and the Rabbit would be gone. As Fynn looked around in bewilderment, a strange sort of crescent shape would form high above his head. Shortly after that, a pair of yellow eyes appeared above it and the grin rocked back and forth as it drifted along the branch, watching Fynn search for the Rabbit and grow increasingly bewildered and frustrated.

Finally, the Cheshire Cat let out an amused giggle and perched itself directly above the man as the rest of its body slowly appeared around it in seemingly random chunks. First the feet appeared, then a few stripes, then the tail, the body, and finally its back legs. When the man paused upon hearing the cat laugh, it snickered again and swished its tail in amusement, wondering if he'd ever find what he was looking for. Finally, he looked up and the cat's grin stretched just a little wider.

"Looking for something?" it asked.

Fynn was nearly at his wits end when the strange tabby cat appeared on a bough above him. His eyes wide he was trying to convince himself that the creature had somehow slipped out from the behind the leaves in a magical fashion when it spoke! There was no denying it now he was definitely going mad. Maybe he was lying in a hospital bed at that very moment?

"What ever you are, I don't believe in you. I don't believe in any of this!" Yelled Fynn trying to force himself awake and back to reality. He firmly closed his eyes and counted to ten, praying that when they next opened he would be either be staring at a ceiling or be back in the grove where he had first spotted in the white rabbit.

When Fynn opened his eyes, he found himself staring into the cat's unfaltering grin.

"Seeing things that you don't believe exist will only drive you mad!" the Cat chuckled, bopping its head from side to side in amusement as it did so. It then rested its head against the branch and its body rose impossibly into the air so that he was balancing somehow on its chin. "It would be a shame for you to get lost in a place that doesn't exist!" it went on, "then what would that say of you?" The Cat sniggered and lowered its body, hopping onto its back pause and leaping nimbly into the air where it vanished for a split second before reappearing landing softly on another nearby branch. The grin then widened as it perched on this one and leered down at Fynn. The look in its yellow eyes was unreadable. Within their gleam, he could see a hint of friendliness and yet a spark of malice. All within them though was that indecipherable glimmer of madness that only accompanied those that lurked within the shadows, falling within the cracks of society, so purposefully unnoticed.

The Cat's grin faltered however at the sound of a thunderous shriek that echoed through the woods. Though it remained stretched across its off-white face, the amusement melted away as it turned back to Fynn. Another shriek shook the woods, closer this time. It was an otherworldly sound, like a screech of a predatory bird riding the harsh, growling roar of a lion. It wasn't quite reptilian, nor quite mammalian. What Fynn would know, however, was that it was large, it was getting closer, and it did not sound friendly.

The Cheshire Cat's grin tilted strangely at its corners as its lamp-like eyes gleamed. "Beware the jabberwocky!" it hissed before it fell into a fit of giggles and rolled backwards on the branch, vanishing before it would even begin to fall and before Fynn could say anything else. Now the woods trembled and the twittering sounds of tiny creatures scattering pattered behind a low snarling murmur that reverberated through Fynn's feet and in the very air around him. From within the trees, a massive figure approached. It stepped into the light that filtered in through the trees and stood looming over him.

It was like nothing Fynn had ever seen. Its tall, thick body was muscled and covered in tough scales. It stood on two tall legs that balanced on a pair of clawed, birdlike feet. A long, green tail trailed behind it, draping over the fallen logs and underbrush. Two arms hung, bent from the elbows, at its sides with razor sharp claws that hung like enormous talons on unnaturally long-fingered hands. Its head was pushed in and vaguely shaped like a rugby ball with two red eyes that peered malevolently down at him and a huge, gaping mouth that spread open like the entrance to some terrifying cave. Exposing its knife-like teeth, the Jabberwocky let out a bloodcurdling scream that gusted through Fynn and echoed, almost deafening, in his ears.