The forest was dark. It was always dark, but the paths remained illuminated. And The Cheshire Cat lounged in a tree waiting and singing. “’Twas brillig and the slithy toves. Did gyre and gamble in the wabe…” The galumphagrunt started at a distance and got louder and louder until the great head came into view. “Hello brother.” The Cheshire Cat said not opening his eyes.
The Jabberwock looked menacing and didn’t speak. It only stared with its yellow eyes.
“I brought you a present.”
The Jabberwock sniffed the air as the Cheshire Cat rolled aimlessly on his back hanging off the branch. There was a small lighted glade below, but it wasn’t regular grass.
“I don’t know if it will work for you any longer. You really shouldn’t have eaten the mome raths, they are poisonous.”
The Jabberwock sniffed the glade. It was all Payasograss.
“Here’s a riddle for you brother.”
The Jabberwock took a snout full off the Payasograss and began to chew slowly.
“You are in a ten by ten room.” he looked down at his gargantuan deformed brother who looked up at him like he was crazy. “Okay then a fifty by fifty room. The room is completely solid, but you can breathe. All you have is a piece of wood, a two by four, and a mirror. How do you get out of the room?”
The Jabberwock looked confused and lost as the payasograss took effect. His yellow eyes rolled.
“Look into the mirror and see what you saw. Take the saw. Saw the two by four in half. Make the two halves a whole. And climb out of the hole.”
The Jabberwock began to growl. He continued to chew and growl.
The Cheshire Cat began to laugh so hard that his head came right off and began to float into the air spinning and giggling.
The Jabberwock’s growl turned rhythmic. His eyes glossed and glazed over and his great yellowed teeth opened wide. The smell of its last meal stuck in the betweens and it laughed a horrible guffaw that stunk of the evil it was known for. None ventured into the Tulgey Wood any longer. All of Wonderland knew and feared the Jabberwock, almost as much as they feared the Queen of Hearts who had annexed both the land of the clubs and the land of the spades. She had married the King of Diamonds, a short nondescript little man and had dressed him in hearts so that now she ruled all.
“I think I will be traveling brother. There is a lot to see and name and discover. Don’t be too bad while I venture. For it is well known the Jabberwock has a temper.” Khamet concentrated. There was the sound of air imploding and The Cheshire Cat was gone.
The little house in Yonderland, on the little street, in the little town of the great country was comfortable and cozy. The winter had been extremely cold, but the constant fire kept everything warm. The tree was decorated and it was not three days before the arrival of Santa and the girls were expectant. Megette was often quiet at this time of year. “It was all the red,” she told her husband, who assumed her own fiery red hair had something to do with it, but he was not sure.
When they had met she was holding a deck of cards, something she had always kept close and every so often she would flip through them. Always when she did this she carried an air of melancholy, very like people would do with old family pictures or remembrances and days long gone, but his wife Megette did this with cards. He never asked her why and she had no family to speak of. When they had met she was in the family way, having lost her husband she said to a traveling adventure in the wars, which was in many respects the truth. He never asked her for more than that for when he did, she began to tell stories of things he could not understand and places he had never heard of. In a small notebook she wrote things, little poems and whimsical fancies, just as she did now, with the deck of cards in her pocket, she penned. A slight tear attempted to dislodge itself from the corner of her eye, but she would not allow it.
“What’s that mommy?” A small voice by the open doorway said.
The figure stood silhouetted in the hall light, but the darkness held her shrouded so nothing save the outline of her long hair and night shade could be distinguished.
“You should be in bed. Come here Alice, up with me.” Megette said and opened her arms to the little girl who ran and climbed up into the chair beside her mother. “This is a poem. Do you want to hear it?”
“Oh yes,” Alice said snuggling beside her mother. She was not tired and didn’t wish to go to bed now. She was a very curious girl.
“Alright then. ‘Twas brillig, and the slithy toves. Did gyre and gimble in the wabe. All mimsy were the borogoves. And the mome raths outgrabe…”
In the basement of the house the Vorpal Sword remained. It stood nestled in a back corner. A gift from a lost uncle, she had told her husband who had accepted it without question.
They had hung it in the living room for a time, but moved it to the basement for the blade hummed when it was touched and ever so slightly it seemed to twitch. The blade recalled the adventure. It remembered the taste of the neck it opened though it had missed. It wanted the head that should have been taken in one and two and through and through. It itched to return to the slim slam and the snicker snack to finish its purpose. To end, the Jabberwock, and the Cheshire Cat.