by Lotus Rose
Hatter joins in. “Boing! Boing!”
“Cease that, you two!” Malice shouts, and they cease boinging.
Froud proclaims, “I’m utterly, gloriously, divinely mad!”
“Me too!” Hatter says, sounding a bit rankled.
“No, you’re not as mad as I! Why I bet I can even...” He untucks his shirt and places his hand upon his belly, and begins giggling. “Ha ha! I’m tickling myself. That proves how mad I am, in a supremely divine manner!”
Hatter mimics him but doesn’t giggle. He frowns. “I’m incapable of tickling myself.”
Humpty looks as if he wants to give it a go, but refrains from doing so.
Malice doesn’t even bother. She places her hand on her hip and says to Froud, “Is that all your so-called genius is good for? Silly words and giggles? I should like to hear some of the wondrous, genius poetry you’ve been prattling about.”
“Why?” Froud says, “So you can steal it? No, I shall compose my grand works in private, away from common, boorish plebeians such as yourself. Only the exalted and refined aesthetes capable of truly understanding and appreciating my poetic arts shall be gifted with the unveiling of my poems. It pains me to spend a single moment more amongst such unsophisticated clods.”
“Hmpph,” Malice says. “So you’re going then? How far do you think you’ll get?”
Froud says, “Speaking of poetry, I am reminded of the little-girls-goodbyes of the jabberwocks, particularly those that reference the little girls’ cruelty toward the poor jabberwocks of the past.”
The Knight shrieks. “Oh no! That is not a good thing to remember!”
Froud says, “Well I admit, they’re unsophisticated and sing-songy, but they are after all, meant for little jabberwock children. However, they do have some foundation in events of the past. And the Queen and her entourage seem quite interested in the history. Perhaps if I sang some, it might shed some light—”
“Please, sir, I beg of you!” the Knight pleads. “My phobia! You know how those songs affect me!”
Froud dramatically rubs his chin. “Ah yes, I remember from our therapy sessions. I seem to recall one little-girls-goodbye in particular...well, when I sang that one, it was hard to keep you on the couch. Do you recall which one?”
“Yes, but I shan’t tell you, you mind meddler! Don’t toy with me!”
Froud snaps his fingers. “Ah! I remember now.”
“Well then sing it,” Malice says. “Now that you’ve got our curiousity piqued.”
“Please, My Queen,” the Knight says. “Don’t ask him to do that. You don’t understand.”
“Pish posh,” Malice says. “I’m your Queen again now? Why should I care for your wishes after you’ve pulled a sword on us?”
The Knight’s jaw works silently but no words come out.
Froud sings to him, “Hush little jabberwocks—”
“Stop!” the Knight yells, but Froud continues singing:
“Sleep soundly, sleep tight,
And don’t let the little girls come out to bite.”
The Knight shouts, “Oh, their jaws that go snicker-snack! Don’t bite me! Don’t bite me!” He begins swinging his sword through the air, at the height of what would be a little girl’s head.
Malice says, “It’s the vorpal blade that goes snicker-snack in that Jabberwocky poem, not girl jaws, you dolt!”
And Froud sings:
“Mama’s gonna check underneath your bed,
For any hiding girls who want you dead.”
“No!” the Knight yells, while swinging his sword more frantically and looking about, twitching his head this way and that. “No! I don’t want to die! Don’t let them tear my arms off and feed them to me!”
“That’s a bit much, isn’t it?” Malice says. She wonders if the Knight is actually hallucinating a horde of murderous little girls.
Now Hatter is looking frantically about. “Well don’t expect the little girls to eat me! I’d much rather they eat the Knight. After all, he’s the one that’s been afraid of them this whole time.”
“There are no little girls, Hatter,” Humpty says. “He’s imagining them.”
“Now why would he do a silly thing like that?” Hatter says.
And now Froud sings, while giggling some between some of the words:
“OH, HUSH LITTLE JABBERWOCK, don’t you cry,
Even though little girls stole our wings to fly.
Oh, ever since the little girls clipped our wings.
Little-girls-goodbyes, we jabberwocks sing.
MALICE SAYS, “OH, BRAVO for the scary song about the boogeymen, or ‘boogeygirls’, as it were.”
But the Knight is freaking out, twisting, and looking over his shoulder. “They’re so stealthy! They surround me, but evade my sight! They’re like little ninjas! I am not safe here! Queen, please call them off!”
Malice shrugs. “I can’t control the little urchins.” She waves at empty air. “Oh, hi, little Miss Emilia McKnightshebops, nice battle mace.”
The Knight shrieks and Malice grins, the Cat chuckles, and Froud sings some more:
“SO REST YOUR WEARY head tonight,
And dream your wings are capable of flight,
In a dark and gloomy world,
Where there are no little girls.”
“AH,” THE KNIGHT SAYS and closes his eyes. “A world without little girls. How pleasant that would be...”
“What’s with the ‘Dream of a dark and gloomy world’ bit?” Malice says.
“The jabberwocks fancy dark and gloomy things,” Humpty says.
“Ah yes, that’s right,” she says.
“They also fancy red and bloody things,” says the Cat. “A predilection I wholeheartedly approve of.”
The Knight has been muttering to himself. Malice wasn’t paying attention before, but now she listens to him saying, “’Twas all my imagination, yes. I must use my coping techniques. I can handle this. Yes. Yes.” Despite his words, he’s trembling, though.
Froud places his hand next to his mouth, and quietly addresses Malice and friends. “I taught him various coping techniques to manage his fears. But as his former therapist, I believe I know my patient better than he knows himself. Behold.”
Malice thinks it strange he said ‘Behold’ so quietly, when usually one would expect the word to be loudly shouted, but Froud didn’t want the Knight to overhear.
Indeed the Knight seems to still be lost in his internal reverie, his eyes still closed, saying to himself, “Yes, stay calm. Use your breathing techniques. If you can control your breathing, you can control the fear.”
Froud sings:
“HUSH LITTLE KNIGHTY, just give in,
The little girls will punish all your sin.
The ruthless girls who feed on fears,
Have come to take away your ears.
They’ll woo you with their dimpled charms,
And leave you with no toes or arms.”
THE KNIGHT GIVES A high pitched shriek that echoes throughout the cave. He drops his sword, turns, and runs toward the door in the back, howling the whole time.
Froud shouts after him, “Run! Run free and embrace your madness!”
The Knight disappears from view, but his howls can still be heard.
Froud waits patiently for the howls to go silent, before stating, “I made that last stanza up myself.”
Humpty says, “We figured.”
“Ooh!” Hatter proclaims while raising his hand like a schoolchild. “I knew that after only three lines.”
Froud waves his hand in the direction the Knight had fled. “Behold the power of poetry! The poetry wrought of my genius!”
“It was hardly genius,” Malice says, and rolls her eyes.
“I scoff at your naivete.” He makes a scoffing sound. “The effects upon my specific audience speaks for itself. The Knight found my poetry so inspiring, he had no choice but to run and inform all of Wonderland of my greatness.”
“You ins
pired fear,” says the Cat.
Malice, speaking to Froud, says, “Your interpretation is interesting.”
Froud lets loose a shout frustration. “I cannot bear to be in the presence of such mental inferiors a single moment longer. My madness is so great, that to you simpletons, it is like gazing upon the sun. My level of madness is so grand in comparison to yours, that it is as if you are ants at my feet, each carrying teeny tiny crumbs of madness, whereas I am like a huge, giant-sized ant carrying a huge boulder of madness, like the giant, Atlas, carrying the world upon his shoulders.”
Humpty says, “I thought you were an ant.”
“At least I’m not a pissant, like you!” proclaims Froud. A look of confusion comes over his face. “But if I was, I’d be the greatest pissant ever known to ants!”
“Wait,” Malice says, “you do know a pissant is not a sort of ant, right?”
Froud thinks upon that for a moment. He shakes his head as if to clear it. “This grows tedious. You are not worthy to be in my presence.” He dramatically places the back of his hand to his forehead. “Oh, the life of a genius is a lonely one, because of the lack of companions on my level, you see. And even though I am already a legendary poet of exalted status, I shall only accomplish even more in the future, causing greater envy in others. The common masses shall shun me, thus further increasing my loneliness.”
Malice says, “How can you be a legendary poet, when you haven’t composed any poetry, unless you mean that silly song of yours?”
“The genius of my poetry is self-evident. It needn’t even be created yet for its gloriousness to be felt—that’s how powerful it is.”
“Interesting theory,” the Cat says.
“Utter tripe,” Humpty mutters under his breath.
Froud snarls. “I wouldn’t expect such plebeians to comprehend. And now, I bid you adieu, for I must go seek solitude to contemplate the torturous thoughts of a mad genius that lead to all the greatest art.”
“Whoa, horsey!” Hatter shouts. He pulls upon imaginary reins.
The Cat chuckles and says, “Blimey, the invisible little girls brought an invisible horsey!”
“He means halt,” Humpty says.
“Yes,” Malice says. “After what you’ve done to me, my friends, and the Knight, do you truly think we shall let you simply waltz out of here?”
“That’s exactly what I think. For, I took precaution to aid my escape. Because, that whole time I was swinging that watch, I was hypnotizing you. So here we go. When I snap my fingers, you shall enter a hypnotic state.” He snaps his fingers.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
A STRANGE, TRANCE-LIKE feeling comes over Malice. Her arms drop to her sides and she stares blankly ahead. She feels utterly calm. In her unfocused vision, she sees Froud grin and wave at her.
Hatter says, “Humpty? Malice? Snap out of it!”
Froud says, “Malice, Humpty, when I snap my fingers, you both shall turn into chickens.” He snaps his fingers.
Malice feels herself transform and begins flapping her wings and pecking her head forward and back just like the chicken that she’s certain she is.
Humpty has been transformed as well. He peers at her, cocking his head in that peculiar way chickens have.
Hatter steps in front of her, meets her eyes and says, “When I snap my fingers you’ll wake up.” He snaps his fingers. “You’re no longer a chicken.”
“It’s no use,” Malice says. “I’m still a chicken, but I find it rather enjoyable,” but since she’s speaking in chicken language, it sounds like, “Buckbuckgaw! Buck buck.”
Hatter nods at her words. “Yes I know it’s very distressing to be a chicken. But the good news is that you’re not one—you neither, Humpty. You’re just hypnotized.”
The Cat says, “I’m glad you’re not one, because I’m rather hungry at the moment, if you catch my drift.”
Froud has been laughing at them. He says, “The chicken gag never gets old. But I have more mischief in store for you. Malice, when I snap my fingers, you shall have the strong desire to kiss Hatter.”
“What?” Hatter exclaims.
“Humpty, when I snap my fingers, you shall have the strong desire to kiss Malice. Oh, and by the way, I should tell you that, even though the phenomenon of hypnosis is quite powerful, it can’t make you do anything you don’t want to do already.”
He snaps his fingers.
Malice feels the sudden urge to kiss Hatter, so she turns to him and says in chicken language, “I’ve wanted to kiss you, really kiss you, for a long time. Please allow me one passionate kiss—if you don’t want me to, say so now!”
Hatter looks utterly perplexed, as if he can’t even understand a word she’s saying. “Huh?” he says. He looks past her, says, “Froud is dancing with one of the tall little girls!”
Malice turns to see that Froud still has his sword in hand, but now he’s holding his arms in the air while performing a ball room dance. It is as if he is dancing with an invisible female partner, and yes, his partner is the height of a full grown adult woman. So, there is a bit of logic to Hatter’s statement, because if Froud were actually dancing with a little girl, then she would be a quite tall one for her age.
But now Malice realizes it’s all preposterous speculation, because there weren’t any little girls around here to begin with.
The Cat shouts to Froud, “What the blooming heck are you doing?”
Froud shouts back, “I’m waltzing out of here!”
Malice watches as Froud sidesteps and twirls in the direction of the rear exit. But she doesn’t watch any further, because she really really needs to place her lips upon Hatter’s. And so she turns to face him, she meets his eyes and puckers her lips. It strikes her as odd that she now has lips on the end of her beak. Curiously, she can still feel the fake mustache clinging by its glue above her mouth.
Hatter cringes and waves his hands, palms out at her. “Whoa, horsey!”
Malice says (in chicken), “I’m no horsey, I’m a chicken, and chickens like pecking, and I want to give you a peck on the lips, baby.”
Once again, Hatter fails to understand chickenspeak. He says, “You’re only acting this way because you’re hypnotized, but if—” He looks past her. “Froud is gone, the hypnosis should wear off soon.”
Now Humpty steps out behind Hatter’s shoulder and says (in chickenspeak) “Don’t waste your time on him. I think you’re a beautiful and charming chick, and I very much want to kiss you.”
“Awww,” Malice says, in human-speak this time. But she doesn’t take her eyes off of Hatter—who she’s very much focused on at the moment.
“Love triangle,” comments the Cat, who is hovering above Hatter’s other shoulder, opposite Humpty.
Hatter is still looking past Malice, making her angry by ignoring her, and he’s saying, “He’s getting away! There’s no time for smooching! We must—”
Malice pounces on him and tries to kiss him, but he holds her at arm’s length. “Whoa! Chicky! Wouldn’t want to do anything we regret, now would we?”
Hatter seems a bit embarrassed as he holds her arms—his eyes linger upon her beak mouth, which she feels has become an odd combination of chicken beak and human mouth, for some reason.
“I like to think I’m a quite attractive, kissable chick,” Malice says in English, since she seems to have temporarily forgotten how to speak chicken.
“You are,” Humpty says in English.
Hatter twitches his head as if to clear it. “We must catch Froud! Come on!” He releases Malice and runs toward the door.
Malice finds herself staring into Humpty’s eyes. She is intrigued by the fact that his face is currently a curious mix of chicken and boy. He doesn’t have a beak—he has a mouth, with soft, pillowy-looking lips.
Those lips say, “He doesn’t appreciate you and how wonderful it would be to kiss you.”
She says Humpty, “I’ve wanted to kiss you for the longest time, but you didn’t want to.”
<
br /> “Why are you two just standing there?” Hatter calls out from a distance away.
“I wanted to,” Humpty says. “I was just afraid, but not now. Malice, I think you’re the most beautiful, part-girl-part-chicken I’ve ever known.”
“Am I exactly half of each?”
“Presently, you are mostly girl, and for that—”
“Hey horseys!” Hatter calls from a not-as-far-distance as before.
“For that,” Humpty says, “I am grateful, for despite the attractiveness of your former beak, I yearn to feel your soft girl lips upon mine...” He leans forward.
Malice closes her eyes.
She feels his lips touch hers.
Hatter is screaming, “Noooo!” He’s much closer now.
Malice’s eyes pop open. Humpty’s lips are jerked away from hers and he’s carried off to her left.
She lets out an involuntary shriek and turns her head to see Humpty falling onto his side on the hard cave floor, with Hatter on top of him, his arms around Humpty’s waist.
“Get off him, you brute!” Malice shouts. She runs over and slaps down a couple times on Hatter’s shoulder, and Hatter is flinching whilst saying, “Ow! Hey!”
The Cat is floating next to Malice, laughing his head off, figuratively. “Bravo!” he proclaims. “What a tackle!”
Malice grabs Hatter’s shoulder and with a rough shove pushes him off of Humpty. Hatter lands on his side.
Humpty is lying on his side as well—he grabs his arm and groans.
“Humpty!” Malice says. “Are you okay, honey?”
“Unfortunately, I don’t see any blood,” the Cat says, to no response from anyone.
Hatter says, “I had to stop the kiss! You didn’t touch lips, did you? And don’t kiss anymore.”
Malice kneels, and her mouth forms a pout of sympathy as she meets Humpty’s eyes. She can feel her heart beating erratically in her chest. Without turning to look at Hatter, she says to him, “Of course our lips touched, but not for long, thanks to you, you jealous kiss-cuckold.” She strokes Humpty’s cheek. “Are you okay, baby?”