Twisted Ever After

by Celeste Thrower

"I’m Franklin, my- my fr-fr-friends call me Frankie.”

  The Cat’s grin bloomed again and Franklin was sure its mouth would explode from the strain.

  "Well Franklin, it’s ever so nice to-" The Cat paused for a moment, its eyes roving over its fur as the colours seemed to stutter and fade, it let out an exasperated groan and rolled its eyes, the pupils bouncing around the irises like pinballs.

  "This happens more and more, I suppose it's the last thing I have to hold on to, excuse me for a moment won’t you?"

  The cat shook itself, wriggling from nose to tail and as it did so the fur regained its lustre, its yellowish eyes remained but seemed to balloon as its grin returned.

  “That’s much better, I’ve been rather forgetful just now.”

  For just a moment a mass of intricate black words etched themselves over the cat’s entire body as its fur faded to a parchment yellow then popped back to its usual colours.

  “You have a few choices,” said the Cat, spreading his front paws out as he stretched again.

  “You can either follow this path…” he said, as his left paw detached from his body and pointed down the left path.

  “Where does that lead?” asked Franklin.

  “To the Dormouse, The Mad Hatter and the March Hare, or at least what’s left of them. Everything fell apart, and they didn’t seem to notice, just carried on drinking tea. Some say they even stole the Queen’s tarts after the cakes started to disappear,” the Cat’s grin deepened as his eyes blazed with mischievous memories. “She was ever so mad. Of course, that was before the King disappeared.”

  “The King?” asked Franklin, but the Cat waved the question away, his other disembodied paw pointing down the right path.

  “You’ll find the Walrus and the Carpenter at the end of this path, they tried ever so hard to fix everything but…” his voice trailed off.

  “Well, which path do you recommend?” asked Franklin.

  The Cat’s paws shrugged. “That all depends on where you want to get to.”

  “I want to go home, the last thing I remember was playing hide and seek with my mother and grandmother.”

  The Cat pondered the situation for a few moments, his left paw scratching at his chin.

  “If it were up to me, I’d find Pontefract.”

  “Pontefract?”

  “The Wizard, came about around the time Alice left us for the second time”.

  Franklin tilted his head, “Alice? Not Alice Liddell?”

  “Yes, do you know her?”

  Franklin nodded, “She’s my grandmother.”

  “Really?” said the Cat, slinking its way down the tree. “I thought there was something familiar about you.”

  Franklin took a few steps back as icicles tinkled down his spine.

  The Cat curled up into a tight ball at the base of the tree, keeping its eyes on Franklin as its tail swished against the dirt like a feather duster.

  “I’d be careful Franklin,” mused the Cat. “I won’t hurt you, but things have changed so much since your dear grandmother graced us with her presence. These paths could lead somewhere or nowhere, the Mad Hatter could be as sane as your mother, the White Rabbit could be blue and the way back might end up being the way forward, do you understand?”

  “No…”

  “Perfect,” grinned the cat as its tail began to fade into the trees.

  “Wait!” Franklin shouted. “Where are you going?”

  “I’ll be around, at least for a time.”

  “But I need help! How do I get home?” Franklin pleaded.

  The Cat’s disembodied paws pointed down each path as its face began to unravel like a length of old string, its lamp-like eyes flaring and sputtering before blinking out and leaving nothing but black hollows. Its inane grin shattered like glass, each tooth falling away and bursting into a rainbow of sparks.

  “Cat?” Franklin called. The forest remained silent as a cold breeze sent the leaves whispering around Franklin in a thousand disparate voices. He shuffled forward, snatching a thin, forked branch from the mud and came to the fork in the road, the ghosts of the Cat’s paws pointing down each path. He took a steadying breath and threw the branch into the air, watching it twirl and spin like a magic wand before pattering to the floor and pointing down the left path.

  Franklin straightened a little, puffing out his chest as he peered into the gloom before taking his first steps into the woods.

  The trees seemed to close around Franklin like the jaws of some great beast as he made his way along the path. He could feel a myriad of tiny eyes glaring at him from the shadows as he moved, the whispers rising like a howling wind. Franklin quickened his pace, wishing he had kept the stick as another gust of wind sent the trees craning over the path, their branches snatching and slashing at him as he ran. He shut his eyes and surged forward, letting his small legs carry him along the path and through the trees. The voices from the shadows screamed and howled as the trees scraped at his back and shook their leaves, clattering the branches together like old bones. Franklin screwed his eyes shut and ran until his lungs were aflame, dropping to his knees at the edge of the forest and heaving in great hitching breaths. Saltwater stung his eyes as he swiped at them, great blocks of ruined, moss-covered stone swimming out of the murk. The sky was an aged brownish yellow, patches of bronze cloud drifting from one end to the other. It reminded Franklin of the time he and his grandmother had tried to make maps to pirate treasure by swiping old tea bags across sheets of paper.

  The remnants of a great hedge maze loomed over Franklin, each archway carved in the shape of a heart. The bare, black branches twisted in all directions as the curling, brown leaves fell away like burning paper. Something fluttered in the hedgerows as Franklin made his way along the path towards a ruinous mound of old stone that might have once been a castle.

  “What do you mean we’ve run out of tarts?! If the Knave is up to his old tricks again heads will ROLL!” A harsh, shrill voice exploded from the remnants of the castle, travelling through the ruined hedge maze and clanging around Franklin’s head like a broken bell.

  “Majesty please,” pleaded another voice. “You know the larders have been bare for a long while, we’ve been trying to find the wizard!”

  “The Wizard!” the voice seethed. “That silly old coot thinks he can fall into MY kingdom and act like he owns the place! AND WHERE IS THE KING?!”

  Franklin inched his way through the maze, crouching behind a piece of crumbled battlement as a chill wind hissed its way through a tangled jungle of long, yellowish grass. A few bent and twisted croquet hoops jutted out of the ground like beacons, drawing the eye to the yawning maw of the rotted drawbridge, the moat long since turned to gelatinous greenish brown muck.

  “Of course Majesty,” replied the other voice, swallowing a ball of fear. “But…”

  “BUT?!”

  “Pontefract doesn’t share his magic the Hatter couldn’t get so much as a macaroon out of him!”

  A howling roar shook the castle’s foundation and a strange figure sprinted into the hedge maze, he was a tall man who appeared to be wearing a long, thin smock emblazoned with the simple black three-leafed clover symbol of a set of clubs in a pack of playing cards. His legs span beneath him as he ran, carving a great swathe in the grass before he dove into the moat to escape the furious voice’s wrath. A few fat, sleepy hedgehogs waddled through the underbrush, casting the man an annoyed glare as they yawned.

  Franklin crept past the drawbridge, holding his breath as he shifted through the grass.

  A dry snapping sound broke the silence as Franklin came to the edge of the moat.

  “WHO DARES TRESPASS UPON MY DOMAIN?!” rumbled the voice, the remnants of the castle quaking as its owner thundered out of the entrance.

  Franklin dropped to the floor, covering his face with his hands and peeking through the gaps in his fingers.

  A huge, rotund woman lumbered out into the courtyard clad head to toe in rich fabrics of gold, white an
d red and emblazoned with heart emblems. The hem of her long, flowing gown had frayed and the radiance of the rich fabrics had long since faded. An oversized golden crown squatted on her head, a few heavy dents squashing it against the woman’s greying hair.

  “Who’s out here?!” she demanded snorting through her nose like an enraged bull.

  Franklin curled his hands over his mouth, flattening himself against the earth. There was something familiar about this woman.

  “Reveal yourself at once or your head will roll!”

  Franklin allowed himself a moment of realisation then forced himself up onto one knee, keeping his head bowed low.

  “Forgive me your Majesty! You are most gracious,” he drawled, trying his best to sound as eloquent as possible.

  The plump woman froze for a moment, taken aback by a form of address she hadn’t heard in a very long time. A soft pink blush burst across her cheeks and she drew a heavy, linen fan from the folds within her dress, hiding her eyes as her face lit up in a smile. She gazed over the lacy edges of the fan, scrutinising Franklin and fluttering her long eyelashes as she tried to determine just who or what he was.

  “Who addresses the Queen of Hearts?”

  “Franklin your Majesty,” he replied. “Son of Lorina.”

  One hand scratched at The Queen’s bulbous chin while the other worried the hair beneath her dented crown as she tried to recall the names.

  “I do not believe we’ve had the pleasure child. Tell me how do you know me?”

  “Oh you’re very well regarded in our house your Majesty.”

  The Queen dissolved into childish giggles, fanning herself so much that her crown almost fell from her head.

  “Although…”

  The Queen’s laughter died in her throat, a storm cloud crossing her face.

  “Yes?” she growled.

  “I-I-I was expecting your castle to reflect your regal splendidness, Majesty,” Franklin stammered, bowing low again and adjusting his glasses. “What happened? If you don’t mind my asking.”

  “Oh,” said the Queen, her anger evaporating.

  “Everything went wrong after that wretched child left us the second time, we-”

  “Wretched child?” asked Franklin.

  “DO NOT INTERRUPT!” roared the Queen, rounding on Franklin, the force of her shout blowing back his hair.

  “Y-y-yes your Majesty,” he said, staring at the ground again.

  “Now…” mused the Queen, her sudden outburst forgotten. “Where was I?”

  “The Wretched Child,” Franklin whispered.

  “YES, THE WRETCHED CHILD! OOOH I SHOULD HAVE TAKEN HER HEAD THE MOMENT I SAW HER!” seethed the Queen, “But I had to listen to-to-to-.”

  The Queen’s massive bulk began to quake as she tried to hold back the rush of emotion, her eyes swimming with tears.

  “Oh, Majesty I’m sure it's not that-.”

  It was too late, great waves of tears burst from the Queen’s eyes, splashing across the ruined ground and puddling at Franklin’s feet, rising further and further as it pattered into the ruined moat, the water rising and bringing up the disgraced attendant who still had his head buried in a mound of greenish, brown slime.

  Franklin fought against the new current, sputtering and splashing as he tried to grab anything that might keep him safe, his hand seizing the attendant’s ankle as it swept them away.

  “What’s going on?!” cried the attendant as the two of them twisted against the waves.

  “The Queen!” Franklin replied. “She wouldn’t stop crying!”

  “Oh no!” The attendant screamed as they crested a wave and dove headfirst into a bubbling set of rapids. The salted water crashed over Franklin, a myriad of frothing hands yanking at his wrists and ankles yet he kept his grip on the attendant’s ankle, letting the water carry them between a massive outcropping of rocks before it threw them onto a beachhead of pristine white sand. Great black clouds overhead let out a great rumble of thunder as Franklin checked his glasses, wiping them on his soaking shirt as he spluttered and shook the wet hair from his face.

  He turned his attention to the attendant who wobbled his way up the beach, his flat body warbling in the wind as thick blotches of black ink dribbled across his front leaving clover shaped puddles in the sand.

  “Are you all right?” coughed Franklin.

  The attendant nodded, shaking himself a little.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Three,” he said, turning towards Franklin with a wan smile, watching the first of the symbols adorning his body ooze into the sand.

  “I suppose it's two now,” he said, offering Franklin a hand up.

  Franklin cast his eyes around them, peering into an unfathomable distance as he sank into the sand.

  “Where are we?” he asked.

  Three shrugged.

  “Could be anywhere, nothing makes sense just now.”

  Franklin looked to the sky yet it offered nothing, the beach head wreathed in thick, white fog.

  “AHOY OVER THERE!”

  Franklin stared around, searching for the voice, pushing himself through the sand.

  “Hello?”

  “AHOY?!”

  “Hello?! We’re on the beach!”

  “Beach? Whatever are you talking about?” laughed a jovial voice. “Not to worry, have you in me sights in a jiffy, wot? Hard to starboard me laddie!”

  “Oh dear, dear me. I must apologise, it looks like we’ll have more visitors.”

  “Oh, don’t worry yourself, I do so enjoy meeting new people,” came a rather kind yet timid voice.

  Who could that be? thought Franklin.

  His answer came a few moments later as a rather plump Dodo a large, gold-rimmed monocle ringing his right eye and a rather tight fitting waistcoat clinging to his huge, feathered belly. He carried a stout wooden cane tucked under one wing.

  The Dodo thrust the cane toward Franklin and Three and as the thick mist began to clear he saw the bird to be riding a large porcelain saucer alongside a tiny white rabbit who manned the oars, a third passenger wrapped in a long, red cloak dangled a short fishing rod into the water, dozing off even as the float bobbed beneath the waves.

  “HOHO!” cried the Dodo as the edge of the saucer came onto the shore.

  “New shipmates! Ahoy me hearties, who might you be?”

  “I’m Franklin and that’s Three” Franklin replied.

  The third passenger’s head perked up a little.

  “Three?” he asked.

  “Good to meet you lads!” laughed the Dodo, ignoring the passenger’s question as he waddled onto the sand.

  The Rabbit hopped in the bird’s wake, taking long heaving breaths as he stretched his back.

  The third passenger stayed aboard the saucer, snoozing as his fishing rod continued to dance and twang like an untuned guitar string.

  “That’s a spot of luck, wot?” said the Dodo, curling a friendly wing around Franklin as he planted his cane in the sand like a flagpole.

  “What brings you here, me laddo?” asked the Dodo.

  “I fell,” was all Franklin could think to say.

  “Indeed?” said the Dodo, producing a long pipe from his waistcoat and lighting it with his left foot.

  “Hope you didn’t incur a grievous injury me boy,” mused the Dodo as he puffed out great, grey clouds of smoke.

  “Just like that other girl,” said the third passenger.

  “What?” asked Franklin, sweeping away the tendrils of the Dodo’s smoke as another crack of thunder boomed overhead.

  “That other girl,” said the passenger. “I can’t for the life of me remember her name but she was ever so nice.”

  “It wasn’t Alice was it?” asked Franklin, his heart thrumming in his chest.

  “That was it!” proclaimed the passenger with a snap of his fingers.

  The Dodo turned his head towards the sky.

  “I say you fellows, weather looks worrying, wot?”

  T
he passenger followed suit glaring at the clouds.

  “Indeed. Excuse me!” he called into the sky. “I think it’s time we got out now.”

  After a few moments of silence, the sky began to darken further and Franklin shaded his eyes, his jaw dropping at the sight before him.

  A massive hand loomed from the sky, holding a Bakewell tart, a slice of birthday cake and a scone the size of a boulder between its pudgy fingers. A huge animal paw covered in thick brown fur joined the hand, placing a set of tiny pastries on the white sand next to their enormous counterparts.

  The Dodo, the Rabbit and the mysterious passenger lumbered up the beach, snatching a piece of their chosen foodstuff and taking a bite, bemused Three and Franklin followed suit.

  Franklin gouged a small sample of Bakewell tart from the massive slice and gobbled it down. The pastry crumbled down his cheeks; the jam was sweet and fresh and the icing let out a satisfying crunch as it broke against his teeth and in an instant Franklin lay atop a red and white chequered table cloth between various teapots, plates and spoons. A myriad of disparate chairs surrounded the long table. The smiling faces of a short man in a tall top hat and a thin, ragged hare dressed in a red jacket and blue bow tie grinned down at him.

  “Ohohoho!” laughed the man in the hat. “New guests, how wonderful!”

  “Would you like a cup of tea?” asked the Hare, draining a large cup in two gulps. Franklin seemed to recognise the saucer.

  “That would be nice,” said Franklin, fixing his glasses and attempting to sit down in a vacant chair.

  “NO ROOM! NO ROOM! NO ROOM!” chorused the Hatter and the Hare, shooing Franklin down the table, ignoring his protests.

  “Fix the poor boy a cup of tea, it looks as if he’s been through a lot,” said the mysterious passenger.

  The Hatter and the Hare stiffened, fumbling with the various parts of the tea service and thrusting a cup into Franklin’s waiting hands. Franklin accepted the cup without a word, searching for the sugar pot and scooping two heaping spoonfuls of sugar into his tea.

  ‘Thank you sir,” Franklin added to the stranger as he sipped at his cup.

  “Very welcome,” said the stranger, fixing his own cup, the dull cloak falling away from his face and revealing a thin, mouse-like face crowned by a set of thick blonde ringlets, a small silver crown perched on his head.