I blink open my eyes slowly and then immediately slam them shut again when the light shoots pain through my skull.

“What the literal hell?” I mumble, rubbing my forehead.

The piercing ache fades away, and I’m finally able to open my eyes. I wish I hadn’t. I have no idea where I am, but it certainly isn’t anywhere I’ve been before. Panic spears through me, but I squash it down. Now isn’t the time to lose my head.

I take stock of my surroundings. I’m lying on a cold tile floor, like I had been dumped here and forgotten. My body aches, and I run through wiggling my toes and fingers, shifting around. Finding nothing broken or in serious pain, I sit up, relieved to see my dress and shoes are still on. Nothing like being in an unknown situation without clothes. I curse the fact that I left my jacket hanging on my chair in the office. It would have come in handy against the chill seeping into my bones from the tile.

I look at the room I’m in, having to squint my eyes to really focus. The entire room is done up in black and white diamonds, from floor to ceiling, but it’s distorted, like someone dipped their finger in and swirled it around. I look away when the headache starts up again under the strain of focusing too hard. The room is trippy.

From what I can tell, the area is square, though assigning a shape to it feels wrong. It seems to switch between shapes, depending on the angle you look at it. Along the walls, are various doors, different sizes and colors. Slowly standing up, I brush myself off and go to the door closest to me, a normal-sized teal one. I grab the knob and twist, annoyed to find it locked. I move to the next one, this one so giant I have to stand on my tiptoes to reach the handle and try again. Same thing. Frustrated, I circle the entire room and try each and every knob, including the one so small I doubt my hand can even fit through. I growl in anger when the last one is the same. I’m locked in a room with no way out. My headache comes back full force.

I whirl, preparing to scream in fury, when I notice a small table in the center of the room. It sits completely alone, and I wonder how I missed it before. Momentarily forgetting the doors, I cross the room, my heels clack, clack, clacking across the tile. On the table, there is a teacup on a saucer, a purple liquid inside, with the words “Drink Me” on a plaque. Next to it is a piece of candy labeled “Eat Me”.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I say out loud, looking around the room again. I’ve obviously been kidnapped by some sick people. That or I was bashed over the head, and I’m currently lost in some sort of twisted dream. “Hello?” I call, searching the room for cameras. I don’t see any, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t there. If I was kidnapped, these kinds of people get off on recording the action. No one answers me, so maybe I’m just dreaming. I refuse to think I might just be dead and in some sort of limbo.

I turn my attention back to the table and see a small key, one that almost blends in with the table cloth. It’s then that I really take note of the material. I lean closer to inspect it. The smell hits me first, a rancid, rotting aroma that makes my nose hairs curl and my stomach roil. I reach out and touch the cloth lightly with my finger tip. The material is smooth, a kind of silicone sponginess. I jerk away in horror, realizing the only thing it could be.

“What the fuck?”

I run to one of the doors again and begin yanking on it as hard as I can. It’s futile—it doesn’t even so much as budge—but I’m growing desperate. I’m pulling so hard, my shoulders pop with each tug, threatening to snap out of socket.

“Let me out!” I shout. “Let me the fuck out of here!”

Realizing it’s pointless, I turn and put my back against the door, breathing hard. I’m not stupid. The similarities between what is happening and the Alice in Wonderland book my mom got for me when I was young are uncanny. Someone is playing games, and I’m not sure I’m ready to face whoever could make a tablecloth out of human skin. I assume it’s human skin. The texture is correct, the stitching on it showing where pieces had to be joined to form linen. Either way, it’s rotting, and I have no idea how I didn’t notice the smell before. Now, it fills the room, overpowering my senses.

I wrack my brain for details I remember about the book. Maybe this is a puzzle of some sort. If I win, I’ll live. Isn’t that how the horror movies work? Eat me, Drink me. One made Alice grow, and one made her shrink, right? That means I have to drink whatever is in that tea cup to get anywhere.

I slowly walk towards the table, covering my nose with one hand to try and block out the worst of the smell. It doesn’t really work, the rot making my eyes water the closer I get. My hands are shaking with nerves when I reach out and pluck the key from the table. Then I curl my fingers around the tea cup and lift it.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” a voice echoes behind me.

It startles me so badly that I drop the cup, the porcelain shattering as it crashes against the table. I spin, almost tripping over my heels in the process, and meet the eyes of none other than Mr. Alastair White. I let loose a sigh of relief.

“Mr. White,” I sigh, placing a hand on my chest to slow my heart rate. “They got you, too. I hate to say it, but I’m thankful I’m not here alone.”

The rabbit ears still twist and flop on his head, but I have bigger problems at the moment than whatever mechanism makes the things move as if they’re real. Besides, I really don’t want to think too hard about the similarities between the fairytale and what I’m witnessing.

“Actually, here I just go by White,” he drawls, his hands in his pockets as he studies me. He’s only wearing the green waistcoat, no shirt underneath, and slacks, the exact outfit I saw him wearing in the alley. I can see rolling tattoos across his body, swirling designs that I can’t make out. They seem to move and shift even as he stands still. It peaks my curiosity, but I push it away for now. It isn’t the time to study tattoos.

“What do you mean by ‘here’?” I ask, deciding to focus on one thing at a time. If he goes by a certain name wherever we are, that means he comes here often, which means there’s a possibility he’s my kidnapper.

He ignores my question, instead pointing towards the table where I dropped the tea cup.

“It’s a good thing you didn’t drink the tea,” he says.

I look, and my eyes widen at the giant hole eaten through the tablecloth and the wood. The tea still sizzles where it spilled, completely destroying the table. It begins to lean to the side, as crooked as the rest of the room. Holy Hell, I’d almost put that stuff in my body. I shiver thinking about it. I run my hand through my hair and look at Mr. White again. White, I correct myself, because wherever we are, he has been here before.

“What was in the cup?” My voice is rough with nervous energy. I’m equal parts afraid and intrigued.

“The last time the queen came through, she switched out the cup for poison. Didn’t want anyone coming in that could take her down. She didn’t count on me, though.” He looks at the table, sadness in his eyes. “I was almost too late.” He turns back towards me. “Rule Number one: Don’t drink the tea here unless you trust the person giving it to you.”

“How do I know who to trust?” I ask, moving further away from the table. It gives me the creeps.

“You don’t.” An ominous smile spreads across his face. “Rule number two: Trust no one.”

“Noted.” I take his warnings seriously. I’m out of my depths here, have no idea where I am, or how long I’d been passed out. I’m going to trust the lunatic with bunny ears because he’s the only thing familiar at the moment.

“Now come along.” White turns towards one of the doors. “We’re already much too late as it is. Nothing waits for you here.”

As I follow White towards an ornate gold door, I get up the courage to ask.

“And where is ‘here’?”

I’m afraid of the answer, and when he turns and looks at me, that smile still on his face, I know I’m not going to like the answer.

“Why, you’re in Wonderland, of course.”

Yep. I knew I wasn’t going to like it.