Kitabı oxu: «Alice in Zombieland / Алиса в Стране зомби»

© Willie Banks, рукопись, 2025

© ООО «Издательство АСТ», 2025

ONE
A Most Unusual Afternoon

The sun hung low in the sky, casting a golden haze over the field where Alice reclined beside her sister. A pressed flower journal lay open in her lap, its pages filled with poorly labeled blooms, but her gaze wandered to the meadow's edge, where wildflowers swayed gently in the breeze. Her sister's voice droned on – something about self-discipline and obedience – but Alice paid no heed. She sighed, propping her chin in her hand, and let her thoughts drift.

A whisper, faint and peculiar, tickled her ears. “Oh dear… oh my ears and whiskers… if only someone could help…”

Alice sat up, her brow furrowing. The voice wasn't her sister's, and it certainly wasn't the wind. She scanned the field, and there, just at the tree line, she saw him – a white rabbit, dressed impeccably in a waistcoat and clutching a gleaming pocket watch. His fur, though snowy at first glance, was strangely uneven, with faint patches of discoloration that reminded her of mildew or ash. He paced back and forth, muttering to himself in a voice that sounded both urgent and hollow, his movements hurried yet oddly stiff, as though one leg resisted bending altogether.

Alice's gaze fixed on the distant figure of the Rabbit, his peculiar attire and pacing captivating her more than any of the eerie old tales her granny used to whisper about talking animals and cursed woods. “Did you see that?” she asked her sister.

Her sister barely glanced up from her book. “See what, Alice?”

But Alice was already stepping away, her attention fixed on the Rabbit. As she moved closer, she noticed more peculiarities. His glassy eyes reflected the sunlight unnaturally, almost as if they belonged to a doll. His waistcoat, though finely tailored, was frayed at the edges, with faint stains she couldn't quite identify.

The Rabbit stopped his pacing and turned toward her, his gaze locking onto hers. For a moment, he looked desperate, as though he'd been waiting for her all along. Then, with a sharp jerk of his head, he muttered, “No time to waste, no time at all,” and began hobbling toward a hollow tree at the meadow's edge.

As he hurried forward with uneven steps, something shiny slipped from his pocket and landed in the grass, unnoticed by the Rabbit in his haste. Alice knelt and picked it up: a pocket watch. The glass face was cracked, and the hands ticked erratically, spinning forward and backward as though unable to decide the time. Inside the casing, she caught a glimpse of her own reflection, but it wasn't quite right. Her face appeared slightly distorted, her eyes wide and glassy, and the image seemed to shift unnaturally before snapping back to normal. Alice shook her head.

“Wait!” she called, clutching the watch. The Rabbit paused at the base of the hollow tree and glanced back at her, his glassy eyes catching the light again. He extended his hand toward her, not with the politeness of a request but with the expectation of someone who knew he would be obeyed.

“You'd better hurry, miss,” he said, his voice low and urgent. “There isn't much time.”

Without waiting for a response, he disappeared into the hollow tree. Alice hesitated, the pocket watch ticking madly in her hand. The sound was unnervingly loud, each tick resonating deep within her chest, almost as if it matched the rhythm of her own heartbeat. It was hypnotizing, pulling her focus entirely, and for a moment, she couldn't tell if she was still in the meadow or somewhere else. Her sister's voice called faintly from the distance, but it sounded so far away now, so unimportant.

The hollow tree loomed before her, dark and inviting. She felt a pull, not just of curiosity but something deeper, something she couldn't quite name. And so, clutching the Rabbit's peculiar watch, Alice stepped forward and crawled into the tree.

At first, the hollow seemed like a simple tunnel, but then the ground gave way, and Alice was falling. She let out a gasp as the sensation of weightlessness consumed her. Down and down she went and, as she fell, the walls around her seemed to blur and warp, as though the hollow was stretching into infinity. Objects floated past her, some familiar and others utterly bizarre: a child's toy horse that galloped in mid-air, a picture frame displaying a couple she didn't recognize, and a silver bell that chimed without sound. Alice reached out instinctively toward a leather-bound book, its cover etched with shifting golden symbols. When she opened it, the pages were completely blank, as if waiting for words that had long been forgotten. The emptiness sent a shiver down her spine, and she quickly let it go, watching as it floated out of reach.

The descent seemed endless, the sensation of falling both exhilarating and terrifying. Every so often, she thought she saw shapes moving in the shadows – tall, spindly figures with glowing eyes watching her silently. She shook her head, trying to convince herself it was a trick of her imagination. Yet, the deeper she fell, the more the world around her seemed to hum with a strange, otherworldly energy, pulling her ever downward.

She thought of her sister – not as she was now, sitting calmly with her book in the meadow, but as she had been back when they used to play together. The two of them clasping hands and spinning in circles under the sun, dizzy with laughter. They'd let go all at once and fall into the grass, giggling and breathless, the world still spinning around them. Now she was falling too, yet endlessly, hopelessly. Why did falling always go down, anyway? Never up, never sideways. Always down-down-down, like the sand in a clock. Maybe she was the sand. Or a speck of it. A grain tumbling through a world that didn't bother to catch her.

She liked the clocks that ticked more. She remembered one in their sitting room – how calm it used to make her feel, the soft, orderly rhythm of it while Dinah purred and the fire snapped. But not this watch. No, this one in her hand ticked like it didn't know what it wanted. Its hands spun unevenly, as though they couldn't decide if time was coming or going. It was trying to trick her, maybe. Or it was broken. Or it was laughing.

Tick-tack. Tick-tack. Hee-Haa.

The ticking swelled in her ears, filled her head, pressed into her chest. She gasped as though all the air had gone missing. Her heart thudded against her ribs in time with the erratic clicks. She pressed the watch away from her, but the sound didn't fade. It was everywhere. “Stop it,” she whispered, though whether to the watch or herself, she didn't know. How could this tiny thing be the source of such a tremendous sound? Her thoughts turned to the desperation she'd seen in the Rabbit's eyes, his muttering voice echoing faintly in her memory. “No time… no time…”

The ticking grew louder still, a roar of seconds and minutes collapsing in on themselves, each tick stabbing through her like a pin. It was unbearable – no longer a sound, but a force shaking her bones. Her head spun, her breath came in shallow gasps.

And then – she landed.

It was so abrupt it made her flinch. The world around her went utterly still and quiet.

She sprawled for a moment atop a bed of soft tiny mushrooms and thick moss, catching her breath, the vibrant caps of the fungi bending slightly beneath her weight before springing back. She scrambled upright and looked around, her eyes wide.

The world was strange and otherworldly. Towering mushrooms stretched overhead, their caps shimmering faintly, and moss blanketed every surface, pulsing faintly as though alive. Shadows danced across the space, but no clear source of light could be found. The air smelled damp and faintly metallic. Alice glanced down at the watch in her hand. It ticked steadily, hands no longer jerking in confusion but circling forward with purpose. It was nearing 4:40. For a moment, she just watched it, mesmerized.

In the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of the White Rabbit, his movements jerky and hurried as he disappeared between a cluster of vines. “Wait!” Alice called. He turned his head slightly, just enough for her to hear him mutter, “Hurry, miss! Wonderland's been waiting long enough!” Then, with a flick of his ear, he was gone. Her feet squished against the moss as she ran after him, each step accompanied by the persistent ticking of the watch in her hand.

She emerged into a grand hall lined with towering doors, each more peculiar than the last. Some were enormous and others so small she would have to crawl to fit through. None of them had handles, and their polished surfaces gleamed in the dim, shifting light. Her eyes darted around, searching for the Rabbit, and then she saw him. He slipped through a door with a handle, the only one of its kind, leaving it wide open.

Alice rushed toward it and stopped at the very threshold, her hand gripping the cold, ornate handle tightly. She saw a radiant summer garden bathed in golden light. Roses bloomed in vibrant reds, and a beautiful woman sat at a tea table in the center, smiling kindly. The warmth of the scene drew her in, and for a moment, Alice thought of home – the comfort of her sister's voice and Dinah's soft purr. She leaned closer, one foot hovering over the threshold, but before she could move further, the door slammed shut with a deafening thud, nearly catching her foot in the process. The handle in her hand twisted sharply, pulling her away and dragging her toward another door.

The new door creaked open – six feet above the ground, lodged absurdly in the upper row of the wall like a misplaced cupboard. A faint chill wafted out, and Alice, now several inches off the floor, dangled awkwardly by the handle.

“Well, this is entirely uncalled for,” she muttered, kicking her feet to find purchase. She scrabbled the points of her shoes against the wall and managed to plant them against a knot of molding beneath the frame. Her grip tightened.

“Now see here!” Alice scolded the doorknob, her voice wobbling between indignation and curiosity. “You can't just drag me about without so much as a by-your-leave! What kind of doorknob are you, anyway?”

The doorknob, of course, gave no reply, but it shuddered slightly, as though offended by her outburst. Alice tilted her head, her curiosity outweighing her fear. “I daresay you're the rudest handle I've ever encountered,” she continued. “And I've met some rather rude ones in my time, you know. Do you even know where you're taking me?”

She gave it a small tug, then a firm twist, but the knob wouldn't budge. It rattled once, then pulled sharply back, nearly jerking her off balance. “Oh, so that's how it is, is it?” Alice muttered. “Well, two can play at this game!”

With a huff, she braced her foot against the molding and gave one final pull. The doorknob seemed to decide it had had enough of her resistance. With a decisive twist, it yanked her forward into the doorway like a bag of onions on market day – her shoulder bumped against the doorframe as she was swung through and the space beyond swallowed her whole.

TWO
Of Smoke and Shadows

Alice dusted herself off and looked around. The hall of peculiar doors was gone, and so was the doorway she had just passed through. She turned in a slow circle, half expecting the Rabbit to appear again, muttering urgently. But there was no sign of him – just the endless stretch of the strange world she had fallen into.

“No matter,” Alice said aloud, though the ticking watch in her hand gave her pause. “If you want to go out of somewhere, you must go through somewhere first. That's only sensible.”

Satisfied with her logic, she began to walk. The ground beneath her was soft and springy, and the air carried a faint, sweet rot, like overripe fruit left too long in the sun. Towering mushrooms loomed overhead, their luminous caps casting shifting patterns of light. Tangled vines dangled lazily, their tips brushing against her as she passed. Every so often, she thought she heard whispers, but when she turned her head, there was nothing there – just the dry rustle of leaves scattered across the grass.

Ahead, a faint glow marked a clearing. As she stepped into it, she saw a large mushroom at its center, its cap wide enough to provide shade for a small crowd. Seated atop it was a creature so peculiar that Alice stopped short. A Caterpillar – or at least, something that resembled one – was lounging there. Its segmented body shimmered faintly, with patches of its shell appearing cracked and brittle, as though time or decay had begun to claim it. It held what appeared to be a pipe that emitted thin tendrils of mist that swirled with a faint, sickly green glow. The mist clung unnaturally to the air, as though reluctant to dissipate.

“Why are you here?” asked the Caterpillar, its voice sharp but trembling slightly. Its many legs shifted as if it were trying to steady itself, and its eyes gleamed with an unspoken urgency.

Alice tilted her head. “Why am I here? Well, that's a rather peculiar question, isn't it? I was following a Rabbit – a very odd Rabbit – and now I'm here, wherever here is.”

The Caterpillar exhaled a plume of green mist, its antennae twitching. “That doesn't answer the question.”

Alice frowned. “But how can I answer properly when I don't know what you mean? If you mean why I'm here at this precise moment, it's because I walked. If you mean why I came down the Rabbit's hole, it's because I was curious. And if you mean why I'm still here, well, that's rather your fault, isn't it?”

“Curious?” The Caterpillar sneered. “That's a pitiful excuse. People get curious about all sorts of things – why clouds float or why mushrooms grow – but they don't tumble into holes over it. What a bother.”

Alice straightened. “I don't think it's fair of you to judge when you haven't tumbled into any holes yourself.”

“I don't tumble into holes, Alice,” the Caterpillar drawled, each word floating lazily like smoke from its pipe. “I make them. And I always know where they lead. It's the tumblers who don't.”

Alice shifted uneasily. “Well, I didn't mean to come here. It was a mistake – a misfortune. I didn't want to end up in a place like this.”

“A mistake?” the Caterpillar declared, slow and smoke-laced. “No, I don't think so. They don't come to me by mistake.”

Alice narrowed her eyes. “And what are you, exactly?”

The Caterpillar took another long drag from its pipe, the glowing mist swirling around its form like a veil. “Me? I am what waits. What watches. What wonders when the wondering stops. But if you need something shorter – call me the welcome committee.”

“Well, I should call you terribly unhelpful,” Alice muttered. “Which way should I go to leave, then?” she asked, lifting her chin. “Surely there's a path out.”

The Caterpillar chuckled, a low, curling sound. “As if you really mean to leave,” it said. “If you wanted to leave, Alice, you would never have come.”

Alice bristled. “You don't know anything about me!”

“No,” the Caterpillar agreed. “You're a case to be unraveled. Something new in the stale breeze. But I know that you haven't been here long, that your cheeks are rosy, and your eyes still shine. Have you eaten anything? Drunk anything?”

Alice frowned. “Not yet. Why?”

“Why?” The Caterpillar exhaled slowly, a faint chuckle curling in his throat. “You didn't even notice the cake or the bottle? Marked so plainly – Eat me, Drink me?” His tone was more amused than scolding, as if the oversight were part of a long-running joke only he understood. He tapped his pipe against the edge of the mushroom, sending a lazy puff of green mist into the air.

Alice blinked in confusion. “What cake? What bottle? I didn't see anything like that.”

The Caterpillar exhaled a slow coil of mist and smiled – not kindly, but with a shade of amusement. “No, I don't imagine you did. Curious how the pieces shift when they're left to move on their own. How does one miss what's meant to be found? That's a trick worth studying.”

“Perhaps,” Alice retorted, “if one is too busy chasing Rabbits and trying not to be flung about by a stubborn doorknob, one might overlook a few things.”

The Caterpillar muttered something under its breath, its antennae twitching. Then it gave a small, amused shake of its head. “Doorknobs are curious creatures. Always pretending to be the key, but they're really more like riddles. Sometimes they open doors. Sometimes they open you.”

Alice's eyes narrowed. “That makes absolutely no sense.”

“You don't have to understand it for it to be true,” the Caterpillar said mildly, then gestured toward the mushroom. “Eat.”

Alice folded her arms. “Why should I eat anything you offer?”

The Caterpillar sighed, its glassy eyes flicking toward the edges of the clearing. “Trust isn't on the menu here, Alice. They'll find you soon enough, rosy cheeks and all.”

Alice's stomach turned at the cryptic warning. “Who's 'they'?” she demanded.

The Caterpillar ignored the question. Instead, it leaned closer, its voice dropping to a whisper. “It's bad manners to face a world in ruin on an empty stomach, don't you think?”

Alice stared at the mushroom, its speckled surface glistening faintly in the misty light. It didn't look appetizing in the least. “Is it poisonous?” she said finally.

“Perhaps,” the Caterpillar murmured, exhaling another plume of mist. “But every poison is a medicine, if used the right way. This – ” he gestured lazily at the mushroom, “ – anyway, is just a mushroom. A funny one, yes – but more helpful than you'd expect. Especially for someone like you.”

“That's not very convincing,” Alice said flatly.

The Caterpillar sighed, exasperated, his antennae twitching with mild irritation. “Then let me put it plainly,” he said, his voice less dreamy now, more commanding. “This bit will keep you alive. So eat it, Alice. Now.”

Hesitating and a bit scared, Alice broke off a small piece of the mushroom. “Just a nibble,” she muttered. “And if this turns me into something horrid, I'll – ”

“You'll do nothing,” the Caterpillar interrupted, watching intently as she lifted the piece to her mouth and took a cautious bite.

The taste was cloyingly sweet, with a moldy undertone that made her gag. “It's awful,” she managed, swallowing reluctantly.

“You'll get used to it in time,” the Caterpillar said. Then, he exhaled another slow ribbon of mist. “There now. Keep to the path behind the mushroom – follow where the stems bend.”

Alice looked at the so called path. “Where does it lead?”

The Caterpillar's smile curled ever so slightly. “Don't you see? It leads to the forest.”

Without waiting for another riddle or smoky sigh, Alice turned on her heel, spine stiff with indignation, and stomped out of the clearing, the taste of the mushroom still clinging to her tongue like a vile trick. She paused just long enough to toss over her shoulder, “Thank you ever so much for your… insight.”

“Goodbye, Alice,” the Caterpillar called after her, his tone airy with amusement and the faintest trace of something else. Then he chuckled softly, as if enjoying a private joke.

Alice paced the clearing, muttering to herself as her stomach churned. “Well, that was helpful,” she said under her breath, not meaning it in the least. She glanced toward the looming treeline, where shadows curled thick between the trunks. “Not at all ominous,” she added, trying to sound braver than she felt. “Perfect weather for a polite stroll into probable doom. And now that I've nibbled on a funny mushroom, I must be absolutely invincible, right?”

Alice's steps were hesitant as she moved deeper into the forest, her senses thrumming unnaturally. Every sound felt amplified – the rustle of leaves, the creak of branches, even the faint hum of the air seemed to whisper secrets she couldn't quite catch. Shadows shifted at the edges of her vision, and the ground pulsed faintly beneath her feet, as though Wonderland itself had a heartbeat.

Her thoughts were no better. She found herself thinking, I should keep going. Just a little farther. They're waiting for me. The thought felt strange, as if it had slipped into her mind uninvited, but it was undeniably her own voice.

Alice shook her head, trying to clear it. “This is ridiculous,” she muttered, pacing a few steps. “Nonsense and mushrooms. Why, if I hadn't been chasing that Rabbit – or wrestling that dreadful doorknob – I'd have seen whatever it is I was supposed to see. 'Eat me, drink me' indeed! What rubbish.” She sighed, glancing around at the unfamiliar forest. “And why does everything feel like it's watching me? Trees shouldn't watch. That's hardly proper.”

The forest loomed, its towering trees twisting toward the sky like grasping hands. Their bark was gnarled and rough, riddled with deep grooves that resembled faces – screaming, laughing, or perhaps something in between. Vines draped heavily, swaying ever so slightly as though stirred by unseen breath. Bioluminescent fungi clung to the roots and lower trunks, casting a ghostly blue glow that barely lit the forest floor. Strange insects flitted in and out of the shadows, their wings producing an eerie hum. Somewhere in the distance, a low growl echoed, but when Alice turned her head, it was gone.

She took a shaky breath, brushing her hands against her skirt as though to steady herself. “Now, Alice,” she murmured, “there's no sense in losing your head over some noises. A noise is just a noise, and noises can't hurt you.” Her voice wavered, but she continued. “And even if they can, there's no use standing still and letting them catch up.”

She glanced around, forcing herself to observe the eerie beauty. The twisting trees seemed almost alive, their gnarled roots curling like claws. Tiny creatures flitted from branch to branch – things with too many legs or none at all, their movements unnervingly fast. Strange flowers glowed faintly in the underbrush, their petals curling inward like they were hiding secrets. Despite the oddity, Alice tried to focus on the details. “It's just a forest,” she whispered. “Just a strange, strange forest. Nothing to be afraid of.”

The forest opened into a small clearing, and Alice froze. Shapes shuffled in the gloom, their movements slow and disjointed. Their bodies were in the last stages of decay – flesh hanging in tatters, bones gleaming through gaps in their skin. Hollow eyes glowed faintly, fixed on her with unnerving intensity. Were they dead? She had read about such things in books, but these were worse than anything her imagination could have conjured.

There were five of them, their appearances vaguely familiar, as though they had been someone important once. One of them, a round-faced figure with a vacant stare, gurgled incoherently, his bloated form jerking as he moved. Another, thin and wiry, muttered, “Twinkle, twinkle… twinkle,” the words falling from his rotted lips like broken fragments of a memory.

A third creature, smaller than the others, gripped a rusted umbrella. She tilted her head at Alice, her jaw moving soundlessly as if trying to form words. A wet, choking sound came from another – a tall figure with a once-grand hat now torn and hanging in ribbons. He laughed, a low, bubbling sound, and muttered, “A very merry… un-birthday… to… to you…” before breaking off into an ominous groan.

Alice's mind raced, her own thoughts slipping into unsettling places. They're going to eat me, she thought, her chest tightening. The terror clung to her ribs like a shadow – hot, cold, and very real. She tried to take a deep breath, but it caught in her throat. The clearing around her swam, and the figures – those rotting, swaying things – loomed too close, too silently. They've been waiting for me. She shook her head violently. “No, this is nonsense!” she muttered, forcing her voice into the emptiness like it could hold the fear back.

Alice's breath caught as the last figure, towering and skeletal, fixed her with its hollow eyes. Its gnarled hand reached out, fingers twitching like they remembered how to grasp. All five of them shuffled closer, circling her slowly, as she stumbled backward, nearly tripping over a root. The zombies surged forward – not fast, but with the dreadful inevitability of a tide. Their movements were slow, limbs dragging with decay, their hollow eyes vacant of thought or feeling.

Alice fled, her heart pounding as she darted through the trees. The forest seemed alive, the shadows twisting and reaching like claws. Branches snagged her hair and tore at her dress, their creaks and groans sounding like mocking laughter. The ground beneath her felt unsteady, as if it might give way at any moment. The air grew colder with every step, carrying whispers she couldn't quite make out but that sent shivers down her spine. She didn't stop until she reached a large, gnarled tree and collapsed behind it, curling up with her arms around her knees. She buried her face in her legs, trembling as tears pricked her eyes. She wanted to look behind the tree and see if they followed – wanted it so badly it felt like a pressure in her chest – but her limbs stayed locked in place. Even though she knew they couldn't be that fast, the idea of seeing one lurching just feet away was more than she could bear. Instead, she buried her face deeper into her knees, squeezing her eyes shut and whispering nonsense under her breath like a charm against fear.

A deep, rasping snore startled her, the sound coming from somewhere nearby. Alice froze, her breath hitching as dread pooled in her chest. Her limbs felt heavy, uncooperative. She wanted to look – needed to – but fear clutched at her too tightly. The snore came again, louder, and she forced herself to move. Her limbs shook, her breath hitched, and every inch she leaned felt like wading through ice. Still, she crawled forward just enough to peek around the edge of the tree.

Leaning against the other side of it was a figure, slumped and barely moving. It was a man – or at least, it might have been – draped in a tattered red robe. His face was sunken, the skin mottled and grey, and his bony hands rested limply on his knees. For a moment, Alice thought he might be dead, but then his chest rose and fell in slow, shallow breaths.

“What – what is that?” Alice whispered, her voice trembling.

“That,” came a lilting voice above her, “is the Red King.”

Alice's head snapped upward, and there, perched on a low branch, was a cat. Or at least, something that resembled one. Its striped body faded in and out of the shadows, and its grin was far too wide, its teeth glinting in the dim light. “He's dreaming now,” said the Cat: “and what do you think he's dreaming about?”

Alice frowned. “Nobody can guess that.”

“Why, about you!” the Cat purred, its grin widening as it perched higher in the tree. “And if he left off dreaming about you, where do you suppose you'd be?”

“Where I am now, of course,” Alice said firmly.

“Not you!” the Cat retorted with a chuckle. “You'd be nowhere. Why, you're only a sort of thing in his dream!”

Alice's mouth fell open. “That's absurd! I'm very real.”

“Are you?” the Cat mused, its tail swaying lazily. “If that King was to wake – ” it glanced at the Red King and grinned wider, “you'd go out – fizzle, pop – just like a candle snuffed by a rude wind.”

“I shouldn't!” Alice exclaimed indignantly, her voice rising. “Besides, if I'm only a sort of thing in his dream, what are you, I should like to know?”

“Ditto,” said the Cat with a flick of its tail. “Me? Why, I'm the cat who's always grinning, or perhaps the grin that's always catting. Does it matter? If the King wakes, we all fade – puff, swish, gone with the smoke.”

“He looks…” Alice hesitated, glancing at the King again. “He looks awful.”

“He's been here a long time,” the Cat said, its tone suddenly softer, almost wistful. “Too long, perhaps.”

Alice opened her mouth to ask another question, but her gaze got caught by something glinting faintly beneath the Red King's bony hand. It was a tarnished metal cap, the kind that might have once belonged to a pocket watch, still faintly hinged to a rusted fragment. At first, it seemed like any discarded piece of debris, but as she leaned closer, she noticed faint engravings etched deep into its surface, their curves catching the dim light filtering through the trees.

“What's this?” she murmured, hesitating as she pried it from the Red King's skeletal grip. His rotting fingers, blackened and brittle, crumbled slightly at her touch, releasing the object with an almost reluctant sigh. A sickly-sweet stench wafted up, making her stomach churn, but her curiosity pressed her forward.

The Cheshire Cat's grin flickered slightly, and its tail swayed with what might have been unease. “Oh, best leave it alone, Alice,” it said lightly. “Some words are better left unread. They tend to stick.”

Ignoring the Cat, Alice squinted at the markings, the grooves catching the faint light filtering through the forest canopy. Slowly, she read the words aloud:

 
“Where shadows creep and echoes chime,
The truth lies buried under time.
Hands that point yet cannot move,
Mark the path that you must prove.”
 

She shivered, the riddle settling uncomfortably in her chest. “What does it mean?” she asked, glancing at the Cat.

The Cat stretched, yawning with exaggerated ease. “Mean? Oh, it means everything and nothing, naturally. That's the charm of riddles, Alice. They tell you everything while saying nothing at all.”

“I want to go home,” she whispered, her voice breaking as she stared at the tarnished cap in her trembling hands. The sickly-sweet stench still clung to her fingers, and the memory of the Red King's crumbling flesh made her stomach turn. She gagged, dropping the cap to the ground and wiping her hands frantically on her skirt. Her eyes darted to the King's sunken face, and she froze as his chest rose with a wet, rattling snore.

“Pity,” came a languid voice above her. “You've only just arrived.”

“Who – who are you anyway?” Alice stammered.