Wonderland is nothing like the books. The forest is so dark, it would be pitch-black if it wasn’t for the phosphorescence that emanates from the plant life. The trees glimmer, some sort of neon-colored sap dripping down their trunks, resembling blood more than anything. Giant mushrooms rival the trees, taller and wider than the redwoods I’d seen on the nature channel. Their undersides, the soft fleshy parts of them, glow in various colors, sending a warm incandescence across the forest floor. It gives everything a relaxing feel, even if it is far from relaxing. Every now and then, I’d catch a great, gaping mouth open on the stalk of a mushroom, sharp teeth curling into a smile as black eyes watch me, waiting for me to slip up and step too close. I stay right on White’s coat tails.

The bugs are worse than mosquitoes, constantly buzzing around us and trying to land on me. White just smacks them away but I’m equally parts terrified of touching them as I am of one biting me. The result is a sort of flailing panic as I try to keep them away from me.

“You don’t have any bug spray?” I huff at White. How he’s able to not trip over the uneven ground is a mystery to me. Even if I wasn’t in heels, it would be treacherous. I’m certain the roots and vines move to purposely trip me. After I see one of the trees blink at me, I decide that isn’t so farfetched of an idea. The trees, apparently, like to cause trouble, and I’m the newest unsuspecting victim.

“It wouldn’t work here,” White replies, glancing back to check on my progress. “The bitter smell of it attracts them.”

“So, use something sweet.”

White’s eyes widen before a look of contemplation crosses his face.

“Not a bad idea.”

I put my hands on my hips and look up into the glowing canopy, taking deep breaths to get my heart rate under control. I’m sweating like crazy, the tripping taking a toll on me. Note to self: never wear heels again if there’s a possibility of trekking through a dangerous forest. Just as I move to follow White, there’s a sharp pinch on my forearm. I yelp, jerking away. There’s a bug on my arm, this one with a face. Well, a mouth. I don’t see any eyes, only a round hole lined with layers upon layers of teeth. It looks like a leech with dragonfly wings. The wings glow a brilliant pink, but its body is a slimy brown.

As I look at it in horror, blood dripping down my arm where it bit me, it growls and my instinct kicks in. I smack it from my arm, pick up the closet club-like stick I can find, and proceed to beat the ever-living hell out of it. I might let out the same battle cry I use when killing spiders that manage to find their way into my apartment. It’s the same battle cry that got my neighbor to call the cops once, thinking I was being murdered. Bless the old woman’s heart for trying to help. The embarrassment of explaining the spider situation to the attractive cops who showed up at my door hadn’t been so fun.

I’m proud to say that once I finish beating the bug, there’s nothing left but a small patch of brown and phosphorescent pink. Don’t judge me.

“Did it bite you?” White asks, urgency in his voice.

“Yes. My arm.” I hold it up for him to take a look.

He reaches into a leather pocket on his belt loop. I never realized he had the pockets, and I’m surprised to see quite a few of them. I’m intrigued by what he carries in them. It’s a bunch of little fanny packs. I smirk at the thought as White opens a vial, pulling the cork off the top with his teeth. He spreads a green salve on the wound, the sensation cold. The itch that had accompanied the bite disappears. He doesn’t talk, and I decide not to ask, too afraid of the answer. I’m pretty sure I almost died, though.

We continue on our way, terrifying screeches and shrieks filling the air. There’s a particularly intense bellow from far away, and even though I’m certain we’re not close to it, I still feel it through the ground.

“What the hell is that?” I ask, my eyes wide.

“Bandersnatch.” He doesn’t seem worried at all even though I damn near wet myself. “You don’t want to run into one of those. They’re the Queen’s creatures. If the bellow gets closer, cover your ears. It won’t stop the pain, but it might stop your ears from bleeding.”

“Fantastic.” I shake my head. “There’s absolutely no way this can be real. I’m dreaming. I have to be. Granted, my dreams are never this vivid.”

White smirks at me. “You still don’t think this is real?”

“How can it be? There’s just no way,” I mumble.

White studies the ground in front of him before leaning down and picking up a thin stick. He bends it back and forth before nodding his head in satisfaction. Without warning, he whips the stick across my ass, leaving behind a stinging pain. I shriek in surprise, jumping away from him.

“What the hell was that for?”

He’s grinning, mischief twinkling in his eyes.

“You thought it wasn’t real.”

“So what? How does hitting me have anything to do with that?”

“You can’t feel pain in your dreams, right?”

I stare at him, rubbing my ass as it dawns on me.

“And that just hurt.” I frown at him when he nods his head.

“Logically, this has to be real.”

“Logically,” I parrot mockingly. “I could have just pinched myself. You didn’t have to hit me.”

“But where would the fun be in that?”

I shake my head at the grin on his face. He had enjoyed that way too much.

I take another step, frowning over the exchange. A particularly persistent root rises into the air, catching the heel on my stiletto, and I pitch forward so fast I have no time to catch myself. Before I can hit the ground, White’s arm wraps around me from behind, stopping me inches from face planting. I stare into the eyes of a small flower, it’s petals white and mocking. It smiles at me, razor sharp teeth revealed at its center. A forked tongue flicks out, tasting the air, tasting me. I gulp as White lifts me back up. He lets me gain my footing again before he lets go.

“Watch your step,” he grunts, his amusement from a few seconds ago gone. “It’s best to step high.”

“Yep.” My heart is going crazy. If I don’t have a heart attack before this nightmare is over, I’ll consider myself lucky. Not nightmare, I correct myself. This is all somehow real. “Was that one of the talking flowers you mentioned?”

White glances at the tiny flower, kicking at it with his boot. It snarls in rage, attempting to bite through the hard rubber. White frowns and stomps on it, grinding his toe into the ground. When he steps away, there’s bright red mixed in with the white petals. I cringe and look away, disturbed by the brutality.

“That one was just a seed. The worst they can do is nip you. It’s the big ones you gotta watch out for.”

I glance at the bright spot on the dark forest floor one more time before I follow after White, my shoulders tense. We don’t have trouble with any more bugs.

We finally break through the tree line, a clearing spread before us. In the center, there’s a cute little cottage, vines growing up its walls, smoke coming from the chimney. It’s exactly the kind of house I’d expect the Hatter from the book to have. Which is why I immediately feel suspicious. Nothing is this innocent in the Wonderland I’m coming to know.

“It’s . . . cute,” I say, staring warily at it.

“Look closer,” White mutters, his ears twitching in agitation.

I do as he says, squinting hard until the sight before me begins to shimmer and change. When the true house is revealed in the clearing, I feel my stomach drop out from underneath me. That feeling you have when you’re on a roller coaster and suddenly, you’re free-falling? That’s what I feel when I behold the monstrosity that is the Hatter’s house.

At first, the cabin had been light colors, pinks and blues and pastels, happy almost. Now, it moves between black and a dark, royal purple, the colors shifting like a dark reflection in water. It’s massive, resembling a castle now more than a cottage. Gargoyles stand guard on the roof, their faces twisted and sneering as I look into their eyes. When one ruffles its wings, I take a step back. The gargoyle doesn’t move again, but its eyes focus on me, the intruder.

“This is the Hatter’s house?” I ask. Another stupid question, but I have to ask. I’m not sure I want to meet the master of this mansion.

White nods his head, choosing not to speak. I appreciate the consideration. He knows I’m trying to digest the new information. The place seems in disrepair, desperately needing some TLC. Windows are broken here and there. Some of the stone is worn away in some places, chunks sitting at the base where they fell. There’s a porch at the entryway, but it leans heavily to the side, the boards lifted up and coming unnailed. The harder I look at the house, the worse it appears. I turn my head, and I realize the whole house is crooked, like someone lifted one side the barest hint.

There’s an aura around it, a dangerous air that makes my skin crawl. I feel threatened, my fight or flight instincts rearing their heads, tussling for control. From inside the house, chilling laughter filters out. I lean a bit more towards flight.

“Is this like the house from Hansel and Gretel?” I whisper. I don’t know why I do. “Leading children inside, so they can be eaten?”

White laughs and shakes his head.

“The witch would be safer than the Hatter. At least with her, you know what to expect.”

“Then why on Earth are we coming to see him?”

It doesn’t seem smart to meet up with someone worse than a witch who ate children. Or is that an exaggeration? I’m not sure if I trust White’s word. He could be teasing me for his own amusement.

“It’s prophesied.” He stares at the front porch.

As I watch, the door flies open, bright light spilling from the open doorway. A man steps out, a top hat sitting gracefully on his head. He throws his arms wide, a manic smile on his lips.

“Welcome home, Clara,” he shouts, his voice echoing around the clearing.

His voice is tinged with barely concealed madness, making my heart skip a beat. I take a step back, my eyes wide.

Heart attack, here I come.