Return To Wonderland

• Jacob Allen, Grade 5, Eltham East Primary School
• Short Story
• 2016

Excellence Award in the 'Top Secret 2016' competition

1 - The door is made from ancient oak, bleached from the neglect of decades. The brass knob is coated in a thick layer of dust gained from many years of disuse and the small keyhole has rusted shut.
I reach into my dress pocket and take out a small golden key. I carefully slot the key into the rusted keyhole and wait. It is then that the first truly magical thing happens. As if the key has activated some sort of reaction the old worn wood vanishes, revealing gleaming oak panels and leaving the brass knob spotless, and the keyhole rust-free.
Without warning, the door creaks open unleashing vast clouds of rancid smoke, which enshroud everything in the room in a deep purple. I cough violently as the smoke invades my lungs. The smoke shifts slightly and a voice speaks from within; ‘Yes?” it says, the tone deep and gruff. “It’s me - Alice,” I choke out. The smoke clears, revealing a purple human-like face, with a very large cigar clenched between its teeth, attached to a dark blue caterpillar body.
“Hello Alice,” it says.
“Hello.”
“Why have you come back? Surely you remember what happened all those years ago?”
“Of course I do, I lost a great friend in that horrible war.”
“Ah, the Hatter, he was a good man.”
There is a hint of sadness in his voice.
“I came for the new arrival. He has completed the testing procedures I believe,” I say, trying to change the subject.
“Ah yes,” chuckles the caterpillar, “he has... except for one.”
“Go on,” I prompt.
“Perhaps it would be best to show you.”
He then clicks his fingers conjuring a non-existent person.
“Hello, my-,” I start, until I see that there is nobody there. “Where is he?” I ask, turning around to see if he is behind me, but to no avail. Then suddenly I hear a voice that sends a shiver down my spine, a voice I thought I would never hear again. “Hello Alice.”
2 - My knees buckle beneath me and I crumple to the floor.
“H-Hatter?” I ask, my voice shaking.
“Yes?”
”Is—is it really you?”
“In the flesh… or... not.”
“Wh- what do you mean?” I ask, shakily standing up.
“I mean that I am no longer in the.., visible spectrum, if you will.”
“But I shouldn’t even hear you! You’re supposed to be dead!”
“Indeed. I am, as you say, dead.”
“So... you’re a g-host?” I say, choking slightly on the final word.
“You could say that,” he answers, with a slight hint of sorrow in his voice.
“I, I, .. .Oh,” I stutter, speechless.
“Well, now that that’s all behind us, let’s move on to more important matters,” he says hurriedly, clearly trying to change the subject.
“Such as?”
“Well, where shall we go first?”
“How about we visit the March Hare?”
“An excellent idea.”
The smoke clears, revealing the path ahead, a path filled with possibilities.