Carousel | New Fiction Writers

Chapter One

“Eva?!” I demanded, stopping in my tracks. “But why?”

George shrugged, his hand on the doorknob to our house. “Dunno, and anyway, I’m just curious is all.”

“You can’t be serious.”

He opened the door and stepped in, giving me one of his looks over his shoulder.

(If you’re wondering what’s going on, sit tight, I’ll tell you.)

“Ah, okay,” I obliged him, dropping my backpack and jacket by the stairs. George sat his backpack down next to mine, neatly hanging his jacket on the coat rack mom constantly demanded that I use. I shook my head in disbelief, following my older brother into the kitchen. He had asked me a question that I wasn’t too comfortable answering, not that I couldn’t (I could), I just didn’t want to hurt his feelings. I stifled a yawn with a fist.

“Still not sleeping?” He asked.

I cringed, yawning again, “Not really, no.”

He motioned to the stools underneath our fancy island-kitchen and I sat, folding my arms over the granite countertop.

“Thought you were abusing Tylenol PM,” He said, opening the fridge door.

“Nah. Mom caught on to me. She gave me melatonin, said it was more natural than putting all those chemicals in my body.” I shrugged, “Puts me to sleep for a little while.”

George straightened and turned around, a carton of milk in his hand and one eyebrow raised, “You were abusing Tylenol PM?”

“No.”

(I had been.)

He looked at me once, shook his head and shrugged. Following the milk were two glasses and a plate of saran-wrapped cookies.

All right, here’s my chance. I’ll make this quick, there’s a lot that’s going to happen in the space of a night and I want to get to the good stuff. I’m not gonna skip over a lot, but come on, how much do you really care? Check it out; my name is Evan Richardson, the guy pouring the milk is my brother George. Long story short; he’s a year older and the star quarterback of our high school team but he could give a rat’s ass about sports. To give you an idea, my brother looks like Brad Pitt and thinks like Steven Hawking, while I’m stuck looking like Leonard from the Big Bang Theory. Guess which one of us girls trip over themselves for. Anyway, we live in Danvers, Massachusetts and tonight’s Eva’s birthday party. Oh, and it's Halloween which means it's a costume party, and that's always fun.

“Do you really want to know what I think of Eva?” I asked him, pulling one of the plastic cups toward me.

He shrugged a shoulder.

“Do you care?” I pressed.

Another shrug.

“Oh-kay. Well, if you don’t care and you don’t want to know what I think, why did you ask me?”

He pursed his lips, grabbing a cookie from the plate. His eyes flicked to the kitchen clock on the wall behind me.

(It’s one of those black cat clocks that “meows” with each hour. You don’t know how many times I’ve contemplated taking a bat to it.)

“Shit,” He cursed.

“Practice?”

(Nice timing, big bro. No one would ever guess you liked her.)

“Yeah, you gonna be all right until I get back?”

I stared at him. “Seriously? What am I, twelve?”

He looked stunned for a minute, his brown eyes narrowing in thought. Realisation came to him with a laugh and a vigorous nod, “Right, right. I gotta go.”

“We still going to the party tonight?” I called.

He had already popped his headphones in and headed for the door. A wave behind his back told me he had heard me but didn’t give me a definitive one way or the other.

(Let’s just assume we’re going.)

I waited until the door slammed shut to read the note mom had left us. Placed conveniently by the fruit basket, it stood in stark monochromatic contrast to the brightly coloured assortment. She knew I’d see it (I’m picky about my fruit. If it’s fuzzy or has a weird name, I won’t eat it.)

Boys,

Gone up to New York to visit your grandmother for the week. Money is in your accounts. Don’t spend it all in one place, yeah?

Love you both,

Mom

I scanned her curved writing again, making sure I had read it right. New York, cool. Money in our accounts? Even better. I smirked, knowing mom she had the house wired with video cameras just so she could make sure her rules were enforced. Not that she had many, but “eating healthily” was at the top of the list. And with two teenaged boys in the house, it was the rule most often broken as evidence by the chocolate chip cookies. Finishing off my milk and cramming two more cookies in my mouth, I shimmied off my seat and put the carton back. Deciding I didn’t want anything more filling in my stomach, and suddenly tired, I made a beeline for the den. Once there, I kicked off my flip flops and dove into the couch. I wriggled, grunted, punched and pounded the beige suede into submission. Grabbing one of my mother’s ostentatiously bright (1970’s inspired) throw pillows, I stuffed it under my head and arm and grabbed the remote.

Three hundred and fifty seven channels and there’s nothing on.

History Channel?

(Secrets of the Pyramids.)

Seen it.

Discovery?

(How the Earth Was Made.)

Boring.

Natgeo?

(Something about birds.)

Yawn.

(I refuse to watch Spongebob Squarepants.)

Hey! Zorro! Oh, wait, it’s the one with that Banderas guy, (click.)

My eyes drooped as I scrolled through the channels for the umpteenth time.

(Alice in Wonderland?)

Yeah, okay. I can do that.

The remote slipped from my fingers as pure, old-school Disney goodness washed over me in bright hand-drawn Technicolor and RKO sound. Another set of grunts and shifting and I was fast asleep listening to Alice sing about a world of her own.

Chapter Two

The dream is always the same (and the reason I haven't been sleeping without the aid of medication).

I start off walking in a forest that looks like someone gave Tim Burton a paintbrush and told him to have at it. An old white knight is beside me, swaying to and fro on his oversized saddle, metal pots and pans clanging happily against his horse's less than eager gait. Poor thing looks like it's about to fall over dead, really. Contrastiong him is the knight, who despite his long bone-white beard, is chatting me up eagerly.

Too bad I can't hear him.

He carries on as if I can, looking at me every so often for affirmation of something he's just said, laughing even if I haven't, like we're old friends or something. We come to a fork in the road, he always always tries to get me down the right road. Two kids in old-fashioned sailor suits stand at the road's edge right under the "This Waye" sign and wave at me, their round faces hopeful.

I shake my head and turn away.

The knight never follows, but he sticks out his hand and calls out to me.

Too bad I can't hear him.

Silence takes over as I head deeper into the crooked forest and I keep walking. What I want is just over a curved hill. And, just when I feel like I'm going to wake up, I change positions and the strangest sinking sensation comes over me. Night falls right at this moment, a large full moon (as big as a pumpkin if I'm honest) climbs the sky, tinting everything with a milk-white glow. As I walk (faster now) tinny music floats through the air, music that's way too old to be from this century.

I speed up, heart fluttering in my chest, part twisted tree branches, and there it is.

The Carousel.

It's old, it's decrepit, it's falling apart, and it's undeniably beautiful.

Or, it was anyway.

This is the thing that's keeping me up. I've spent every single dream reparing it, trying to get it to work. I wake up exhausted because of it. The music is as far as I've gotten. Today is different (we were let off early from school) I've got time.

I look around, finding my tool kit where I left it. Grabbing it from the hollowed out stump I left it in, I set to work, humming along with the music.

(Now you see why girls go for my brother, right? Chicks don't really dig guys who fix broken-down dream carousels.)

The work goes on for hours. I'm greasy, tired, and stained, and only halfway done. A lot of the animals are off their stands or in pieces, but the steam engine works. The Carousel turns.

Around me, something else comes to life. It's weird, the music isn't anything I've heard before, but it's so familiar, I feel like I should know it.

Mushroom tents balloon with loud, audible pops, popping up like popcorn in a cooker. Bright gaslamp lights flicker to life on a heavy line and I hear someone shouting "Come one! Come all!"

I answer the call. I can take a break.

Leaving my precious Carousel behind, I walk the short distance from it to the throng of tourists lining up at the ticket booth. Possessing no money, I find that it isn't necessary. I trade something else to the affluent-pinstripped rabbit standing on top of his soap box and some other somethings to get popcorn and cotton candy.

A E I O U

I look up. The letters hover in multicoloured smoke, disappating quickly in the heat of the lanterns. Munching on my goodies, I follow the sounds of delighted children stopping in disbelief when a giant metal caterpillar fills my vision.

I'm in love.

The impossibly large bug croons and sings to the assembled kids, moving this way and that, occassionally putting his hookah pipe to his mouth to produce the coloured smoke from the smokestacks lining his bulbous, segmented body. Long, thin antennae twitch in time to the children's shouted requests. Adults, feigning disinterest, hang back laughing and talking quietly to one another behind their hands. I edge closer, completely in love with the moving metal megalith.

A E I O U

I lean forward, drinking in the repeated vowels, knowing there's a deeper meaning in them ( I just have to listen hard enough). I'm almost touching one of the delicate antennae when someone grabs me by the shoulder.

"You can't be here!"
I blink. A rag doll dressed like a tran conductor, with a button left eye is glaring at me. Shouting something.

A E I O U

don't listen to her

leave and we'll be blue

Rain clouds gather around, generated from the caterpillar and his hookah. The children turn watery. tear-filled eyes on me. The rag doll shakes me violently, desperation in her voice.

"Wake up! You can't be here!"

A E I O U

children, you know what to do...

Then they change.

The caterpillar stands on his legs, straightening as a snake does before it strikes (three inches, indeed!) leveling bright red eyes on me. Impossibly delicate wings unfurl from its back. The children all turn around, their sweet faces contorted in masks of rage and determination. I don't have time to back away or to think, little hands hold me fast.

"Run," The rag doll pleads. "You can break through them."

I try. They're stronger than they look.

Suddenly I'm flying high, six sharp metal feet hold me to a warm metal body. I climb higher and higher, high pitched mechanical laughter echoing in my ears. Below me the circus and the carousel, my carousel, get smaller and smaller.

I think I scream.

Higher and higher it goes, into inky blackness that I take for sky, singing all the while.

A E I O U

the red queen doesn't like you....

I look down. Underneath me, so small it looks like it should belong in a dollhouse, is my carousel, turning around in a jerky circle, steam hissing from its pointed top.

Tap tap tap tap goes the mirrors in the centre column.

A tiny voice that I shouldn't hear screams HELP!

The caterpillar laughs, an ugly sound that makes his insides rattle dangerously.

A E I O U

No one will help you!

The caterpillar shrieks right before he lets me go.

Chapter Three

Something cold hit my head the exact moment I landed back in my body.

"Dude!" My brother yelped, jumping back from the couch, sloshing water on his shirt, the glass he'd been holding making a new home on his lap.

I stared at him blinking stupidly, "Wha-?"
Someone chortled. An ugly sound. I recognized it immediately.

"You should have seen the look on your face, man!"

I snorted, running a hand through my sodden hair. "Good to see you too, Kyle. I see they let you out of the pound today."

That stopped him. His cow eyes turned murderous.

"You okay Evan?" George asked, suddenly worried.

I waved off his concern. "Bad dream. Wha'd you wake me up for?"

"You were twitching and making all kinds of crazy sounds."

"So you decided to pour water on me?"

He shrugged, a smile tugging the corners of his lips. Still looking at me strangely, he stood.

"Still coming to Eva's birthday?"

I looked at my watch. Damn.

"Yeah," I nodded. "When's it start again?"

"Seven."

I looked at my watch again. "Wake me up in two hours, okay?"

A dark look crossed my brother's eyes. I ignored him and flopped back down on the couch, hugging a pillow against my chest.

"Pizza's on the counter," He called from the stairs.

I started awake.

"Thanks."

Kyle's heavy footsteps told me they had gone upstairs. Loud introductory music let me know that they had turned on the XBOX and were planning to play it with no regard to the fact that I was going back to sleep. George could be a bastard like that. Oh well, at least there was pizza.

I sat up, grunting in pain, and allowed my body to double over with it. I still felt the sharp points where the caterpillar's legs had sunk into the skin. My head throbbed, sending jolts of pain throughout my entire body.

"Ugh," I moaned, standing up.

I even felt where that rag doll girl had grabbed my shoulders. Rubbing the spot, I rolled the bone in its socket, feeling the muscles complain and the tendons pop. For someone made of fabric, she'd been strong. I dragged myself into the kitchen. Half a pizza sat in a box on top of a second empty box. Crumbs littered the counter and two empty plates, upsetting my mother's scrupulously clean kitchen. Ignoring the mess, I snagged two pieces and the litre of Pepsi from the fridge, intent on a hot bath and two Tylenol PM.

(Safe to say the latter didn't happen. Three bites into my first slice, and the water's head got to me. I was gone as soon as I turned off the tap.)

Chapter Four

I'm nearly done with the Carousel. Nothing has popped up, no circuses, no crazy caterpillars with homicide tendencies, just me and the weird-slightly crooked-forest. I sit back on my heels, admiring the machine. It's a work of art, nothing like the crap you see today in the pop-up circuses or State Faire's. This thing is amazing. All of the animals are carved wood and carefully applied paint. Unicorns accompany Cinderella's pumpkin carriage and other cutesy fairytale creatures dominate the outer circle and spin to the right. Snow White and Cinderella are there, I've put together Alice and Sleeping Beauty. The Frog Prince is still waiting, but the princesses are all there. The Prince's too, but they're not done yet, they go in the inner circle.

The inner circle hosts the Mad Tea Party, and I've pieced together a few dragons. Mix in some screaming horses replete with javelins and the inner circle weaves a darker tale. These spin to the left, creating a fairytale in of itself. All the Princesses meet their Prince's and the bad guy is vanquished by the end of the rotations. Amazing. Every piece is perfectly carved, perfectly fitted to match exactly where it's supposed too and nowhere else.

It doesn't run on electricity, I've tried. It's completely steam powered by a little engine inside the centre column. Mirrors reflect and multiply the different fairytale scenes. I haven't touched any of the paint, it's too delicate, too intricate and I have no artistic skill to speak of. But the fact that it's worn lends it an antiquated feeling and look, the music completes the picture.

I whistle softly. A few more things and it's almost do-

"What are you doing here?"

I stiffen, straightening slowly.

"There is a reason that thing is broken."

I turn around. The rag doll girl is standing behind me, her arms crossed over her chest, her good eye narrowed into a glare.

"All the king's horses and men tried to put it back together. No one could."

I laugh (a little uncertainly). "I think you mean Humpty Dumpty. The king's horses and men couldn't put him together again."

She raised an eyebrow. "Of course, how stupid of me. It was Humpty Dumpty and not a carousel that smashed into pieces, never to be repaired."

She kicked the platform, adding another dent to the multitude already dimpling the metal. I stare at her, hurt by her tone without knowing why.

"You did mean Humpty Dumpty, didn't you?"

"Do you care?"

I take a minute to decide.

"I didn't think so."

"Wait!" I call.

She looks over her shoulder.

"Where is the circus?" I ask, feeling like an idiot.

She shrugs, "Moved on."

"Why?"

"Circuses have a run, a set number of days in one place before they move on to another. It's good for you though, right? No one will interrupt you now."

She made to walk away again.

"You don't want to stay?" I ask carefully.

She pauses, sticks her hands in her trouser pockets, and turns around, coming back. Smiling to myself, I get back to work. She sits on the platform near me, watching silently.

"What's your name?" I ask.

"Hat."

"That short for something?"

"Hatfield Winnifred Top."

"Wow."

"What about you?"

"Evan Jeremiah Richardson."

I look up, she nods pursing her lips.

"Jewish?" She asks without preamble.

I can't help the surprised laugh. "Is that a bad thing?"

"Just curious."

I can't think of a delicate way to ask, so I simply stare at her hoping she'll give up the answer. She blinks her good eye.

"What? Do you honestly think a rag doll would have the frame of mind to give a thought as to whether or not a metaphysical "super being" exists with the capability to decide which way my life is going to go and then based on the decisions I've made whether or not I'm going to get into some magical place where everything is right with the world? Or, barring that, if I'm a bad girl send me to a horrible place made out of fire and eternal punishment?" She blinked again. "I don't think the fact that I'm made of fabric really qualifies me to think along those lines, really."

I laugh. She smiles at me. She lets me work in silence for a time, kicking her feet over the platform's edge and lying back, her hands on her stomach.

"Help me!"

My head snaps up. "Did you hear that?" I demand.

"Hear what?"

I listen intently, stretching my sense to see if I can catch the voice again. Silence. Furrowing my brows, I shake my head. "Nevermind."

"If you say so."

Hat coughs once, then starts to sing. Her voice is untrained but harmonious. She does justice to Whiskey in the Jar. I sing along in an undertone. She sits up suddenly, swatting at something.

"Hey!" She yelps, jumping up.

I look, freezing immediately. Something slides up my back. Something wet, unpleasant, and thorny.

"We're the only ones allowed to sing here," A voice hisses behind me.

I look down. A vine, thick and heavy and covered with moss has made Swiss cheese out of my shirt and pants. Blood cascades down my stomach. The vine's grip tightens, squeezing my chest until I can't breathe.

The ground gets very small, my carousel with it.

Hat is screaming.

I'm pretty sure I am too, until I'm drowned out.

"Ser-PENT! Ser-PENT!"

The shriek echoes in my brain as branches crash around me. Somewhere I should feel the impact of so much wood at one time, I just can't bring myself too.

"Ser-PENT! Ser-PENT!" It shrieks again, feathers flapping in my face. "Ser-PENT! Ser-PENT!"

"Shut up!" The vine shouts.

"You're after my EGGS!" The feathery thing continues to scream, diving at something that I can't see.

The vine jerks at the bird with me still attached.

"I demand a tri-AL!" The bird screeches, diving again.

"Get away! Get away!"

I look down. Flowers look back up at me with eager, expectant faces, gnashing long pointed teeth together. I gulp. There are dandelions with teeth. Hat screams. I crane my neck to try and catch a glimpse of her.

Up.

Down.

Up.

Down.

The vine holding her and the dragon's tooth its attached to are playing with her. The flower patch underneath catching her and tossing her back up to the vine. Each time she's missing a limb.

"HAT!" I scream.

"Ser-PENT!" The bird echoes me. "Ser-PENT!"

Rustling billows the trees around us. I can hear other birds tweeting in distress.

"Ser-PENT!" dive peck. "Ser-PENT!" dive peck.

"ARGH!" The flower holding me roars, "I am not a serpent!"

"Why are you trying to steal my eggs then?" The bird demands, its wings on its hips. "Ser-PENT! Ser-PENT!"

"SERPENT!" I scream, seeing an opening. "SERPENT!"

All at once a cacophany of birds erupts from the trees, attacking the vine I'm attached too. I keep screaming. "SERPENT! SERPENT!" And even manage to snag some eggs from a nearby nest, enraging the mother.

"Ser-PENT! Ser-PENT!"

The other birds take up the call and dive bomb my flower patch. With a roar, I'm released, careening in an inglorious arc directly for the ground far away from Hat and the carousel. The only thing that prevents me from a very messy landing is a rather large spiderweb.

It vibrates, rippling with the force of my impact.

"Oh god," I bark a laugh. "I'm alive. I'm alive!"

"Mmm, for the moment dearie," A strange voice says.

I manage to unstick my neck and cheek from the fibrous web. Looking around, I can't find the source of the voice. Bare trees stare back at me, a little too close for comfort.

"Here dear," The same British voice says.

I cross my eyes. On the tip of my nose is a small black widow with a friendly smile. She tsks. My blood runs cold. I shake, beginning to sweat, upsetting the web.

"And so cute. Too bad I'm going to have to eat you."

I tried for a lighthearted grin, my heart slamming a staccato in my chest.

"I thought you guys were supposed to be more scared of us than we are of you."

"Tosh." The spider's grinned widened, green poison dripping from her exposed fangs, "Why do you think our webs are so big?"

Oh God.

I scream, long and hard, trying everything to get away from the mad spider and her web.

"It's no use dear," She sighs, climbing up my nose and forehead, "No one will be able to save you."

My eyes slam shut.

Wake up.

WAKE UP!

Chapter Five

I screamed myself awake. I blinked. My bathroom stared back at me, all unadorned hospital white walls and hideous rubber duckie shower curtain.

"Hey shut the hell up will ya?"

"Oh god," I said ignoring the threat inside Kyle's shouted warning and clapping my hands on my face and chest just to make sure. "Holy shit."

I look down. The water is bright red and there are marks on me that indicate I've been torn up pretty bad by something with thorns.

"Jesus tap dancing Christ," I muttered, pulling the plug from the drain. "What the hell was that?" Then. "Oh shit! Hat!"

I stop the drain and immediately lie back in the bloody water, willing myself asleep again.

No good.

My heart won't slow down.

"DAMN!"

The door slams open, revealing an irate Kyle.

"I said shut the hell up maggot!"

"Fuck you Kyle!" I shout, pulling the curtain just in time to shield myself and the bloody water from his eyes.

"Open your mouth one more time Richardson and I swear to God," He growls.

"Get out," I snarl. "Take your misguided anger and threats and shove them up your ass, jockstrap."

(In case you're wondering; the three of us have grown up together. Kyle is like a second brother to me. He comes from a messed up home and deep down inside I'm sure he's a good guy, but he's not exactly bright and he's used me as a punching bag since we were little. Both literal and figuratively. Like I said, good guy somewhere deep down inside, messed up family life and unresolved anger issues.)

"You okay?" He asks, his tone changing. "You were screaming."

"Fine," I said, trying to hide the edge in my voice.

Silence passes between us and over the sound of a rapid-fire machine gun I think I hear George shouting something.

"Your brother wants to know if you're still coming to the party."

Damn. "Yeah, yeah I'm coming."

"Hurry up and get dressed then."

The door slams shut, though less forcefully than it was opened. I sighed and slid back into the tepid water.

Damn.

Chapter Six

We had to make a stop at Starbucks. I am not ashamed to say I begged, pleaded, threatened, and finally bribed George to get my way.

Despite sleeping half the day away, I was exhausted. Chai latte and three espresso shots later, I'm slumped in the back seat; still tired, still worried about Hat.

(Not that it should matter. She's a dream, right?)

My gut churned with the thought.

(But, while we're sitting here, watching glowing neon signs speed by, I'll fill in the space by telling you about where we're going. Unless, you want to hear my brother's recap of this afternoon's football practice?

Kyle's providing sound effects.

No? I didn't think so.

If you know anything about the great state of Massachussetts; you know that the unemployment rate isn't as bad as it could be but not where we want it to be, either. It's also home to Martha's Vineyard, and a whole lot of history. For instance, the USS Constitution is docked here, and Paul Revere rode through a few towns that fateful night screaming at the top of his lungs. It's also the place that the first shot of the Revoultionary War, and if you were paying attention in history class, you would know that Danvers was once named Salem and played host to the Witch Trials.

But, what you probably didn't know, unless you're a History Channel buff or you really paid attention to your history teacher, is that there were actually two Salems. Salem Village, and Salem Town. Salem Town throws the huge party where all the witches and wizards across the United States gather to drink, carouse, dance around a bonfire, and play a game of quidditch or two. It's a good time and a sort of celebration for the pagan new year.

Danvers throws a party as well, but the History Channel didn't cover that in their Witch Trials special.

The party is thrown by Eva Schaeffer and her family, the richest people in the entire town. Halloween also happens to be Eva's birthday, so the party is big and loud and always fun. It's this party we're going too. Oh, and so I don't have to describe them to you later; I'm dressed up like Lestat from the Vampire Chronicles, Kyle is going as a werewolf, and George is pulling off the zombie look.)

George pulled up to the curb right as I started to fall asleep. To say that I'm irritated when the sudden cessation of motion wakes me up is an understatement.

It took work to unfold myself from George's back seat. Once outside, I stretched, groaning loudly.

"Was that necessary?" George asked, pacing around his car.

"Yes," I yawned. "Very."

(How he managed to squeeze a '67 Camaro in between a Prius and Toyota Tundra, I'll never figure out.)

I rolled my eyes, making sure the present George had given me eariler was still in my trouser pocket. "I'm going to the party," I said, taking off from the car.

Not bothering to look back, I headed in the direction of the loud music. Around me, kids in brightly coloured costumes laugh and squeal as they dart from house to house, opening pillowcases or shoving forward plastic pails demanding free candy in the most ancient of sayings;

"Trick or treat!"

Some of them, too young to go at it alone, stared up at me with wide eyes, quickly hiding behind their parents' legs as I passed them by.

The music gets louder and louder, settling into a roar as I approached the Schaeffer's yard. Green grass is covered in realistic looking tombstones. My heart stopped in my chest.

(This is familiar. Proceed with caution.)

"Mr. Schaeffer?" I asked, taking a careful step up the stone walkway and clearing my throat loudly. "Mist-mister Schaeffer?"

Memories of being five years old and screaming in this very yard assaulted my mind, numbing my joints and nearly freezing me in place.

(Steady now. All you have to do is make it to the patio, you'll be fine there. Nothing will come jumping out at you that close to the front door.)

Maroon 5 belting out "Moves Like Jagger" from the speakers in the backyard does nothing to quell the fear strangling my throat.

"Oh-okay!" I stammered, "This isn't funny anymore!"

A cold wind blew through the trees, sending a chill running up and down my spine. It gave me the courage I needed. With a desperate yell, I flew forward toward the patio, pushing my legs faster and faster until I was hammering on the front door, screaming for Eva's mom.

It opened with a creak. My eyes went wide and I screamed.

A clown with glowing red eyes stared back at me, crooking a long, thin green finger into the house and smiling. His teeth were pointed and yellow, his make up garish and greasy. His bow tie turned in a very slow circle, almost hypnotic.

High pitched laughter assaulted my ears. The sound was like nails, digging into my scalp. I slapped hands over my ears, trying to drown out the sound.

"Evan!"

I shut my eyes and shook my head.

"Evan!"

A hand gripped my shoulder, shaking me.

"Evan!"

"NO!" I screamed, tears streaming down my cheeks.

"EVAN!"

My eyes flew open with the force of the hand shaking me. I screamed again. Concerned blue eyes looked at me, two plump hands squeezed my cheeks and chin.

"Ach, Herman! Every year with the poor boy!"

"Oh come on Gertrude, I was only playing with the boy."

Herman-Mr.Schaeffer's-hand still on my shoulder, still sickly green and knobbly gave me a good shake. He smiled at me and disappeared into his hidey-hole, waiting for the next poor sap to ring the doorbell.

(Sadist, I'm telling you.)

Mrs. Schaeffer, crooning to me in German, took me into the kitchen and stuffed me full of food and something smelling suspiciously like alcohol. Cup in hand, she shoved me out of the back door and into the backyard just as a high-pitched wail echoed behind the doorbell. Laughter followed me into the party, dissolving as the music took over. Scared to death as I was, I hadn't had the chance to take everything in. Taking a deep breath, I straightened my shoulders and looked around. Mr. and Mrs. Schaeffer had outdone themselves. Their backyard, big in the first place, had been turned into an exact replica of Halloween Town. Their house was made to look like many, stepping in for the bulk of the town while Oogey Boogey's tree house and Jack's House stood painted in careful detail on huge canvases. The curled hill, forest, and graveyard had been painstakingly built and arranged. The forest housed the DJ booth, the different holidays lighting up in time with the music. The hill and graveyard claimed the centre of the dance floor. People danced around, between, and on top of it respectively.

I gaped.

"You like it?" Someone asked, shouting in my ear to be heard.

I turned, heart suddenly hammering in my chest. Eva grinned at me, crossing her arms over her chest.

"It's great!" I shouted.

"What?" She cupped a hand over her ear.

I leaned in closer, still shouting, "I said-"

Shaking her head, she grabbed my arm, dragging me bodily through the partygoers and into a tented buffet table.

"Can you hear me?" She asked.

I nodded, grateful that the noise was muffled enough to carry on a conversation.

"It's a great party," I said, answering her earlier question.

"Honestly I didn't think you would show up."

"Why's that?"

She looked at me askance, raising an eyebrow.

"Oh, that." I flushed, "Ancient history. Besides, aren't you and George-?"

Her turn to flush. "Erm. Well, I mean-sort of. He hasn't really-"

"What," I asked, needing to tease her. "He hasn't given you his class ring yet?"

She rolled her eyes. "You think you're so clever, don't you?"

"Every now and again."

Another eye roll. She leaned against the table beside me, nudging my arm with her elbow. I nudged back. We shared a grin.

"Whose deejaying? " I asked, listening to Party Rock Anthem blend with Cascada.

"Whoever it is has skill."

"It's the new girl," Eva answered, tucking a strand of honey-blond hair behind her ear.

"New girl?" I asked, casting my mind back to see if I remembered anyone walking through Lee Ernestwood high's rotting school doors. My mind returned a blank.

"That transfer student from Wichita?" Eva urged.

"Nope, nothing."

She shrugged. "Really nice, cheap too."

I nodded noncomittally, peering through the crowd to see if I could catch a glimpse of her.

(Not that I was interested or anything.)

Eva nudged me again. "So what did you get me for my birthday?"

Grinning, I pulled the small package from my trouser pocket and handed it to her, going back to look for the DJ while she unwrapped it.

"Um, Evan?"

I started, looking at her. Mild curiosity turned into shock and awe and embarrassed stammering in less than sixty seconds.

"I-uh.."

She laughed, cradling the velvet box in her cupped hand.

"It's really sweet Evan, but I don't think-"

"NO!" I yelled, laughing to cover up my nervousness. "No, I mean-I didn't-this isn't-"

"I'm flattered, honestly, but it didn't really work out when we were six, I just don't see-"

"Eva," I said, swallowing, hoping to stop her before she convinced herself. "I think I grabbed George's present by mistake."

Her face changed right then and there. Embarrassment gave way to an audible sigh of relief and pleasure. Her eyes lit up and her cheeks glowed. The girl next to me had never looked prettier or more in love. My traitorous heart jumped with jealousy.

(Once. I swear.)

"Obviously you're going to wait a while, right?"

"Oh yeah," She said, snapping back to reality. "We're not even graduated yet, and there's the matter of business school."

"Of course," I said.

"Daddy wants me to run the company when he," She paused, "you know."

"Right. Naturally."

We sat in silence, staring at each other. I laughed first, pulling her into a hug.

"Welcome to the family."

Tears streaked down her cheeks.

"Thanks."

I nodded, choking down the lump in my throat. Releasing her, I slapped my hands on my knees and grinned. "Time to dance."

I didn't really want too, but losing myself in techno seemed a better alternative than the uncomfortable feeling currently snaking its way through my gut.

"Wait! What about this?" Eva asked, thrusting the velvet box at me.

"Wear it," I shrugged. "Put it on your finger, go find him, and have a Disney moment on top of the hill."

Her violet eyes twinkled at me. "You think?"

I smiled, "What girl doesn't want a princess moment?"

I left her laughing and crying, and set out to find the quickest way to get lost.

(If you want an explanation you're out of luck.She is the one part of my past I'm not delving into.)

Getting lost wasn't as hard as I thought. The crowd was massive. As always, Eva had invited the whole school; geek, jock, cheerleader, goth or Future Farmer of America, it didn't matter. Everyone got an invitation. Seeking an out for the suffocating throng, I headed for the DJ booth. Usher blarered through the speakers, thumping my heart in time with the beat. The dancers moved as one, programmed by the music. I was thrown and tossed about like a rubber duck in a tub with a five year old that likes to splash. The crowd parted once, and I caight a glimpse of George dancing very close to Rosalind Murray. My brows furrowed.

A hand on her thigh?

Lips against her neck?

What the hell?

Enraged, I pushed and shoved my wau through to where I'd seen them dancing. My anger grew with each person I forced out of my way. I found them facing each other, leaning in for a kiss, sweat obscuring their make up, making their skin glisten in the low lantern light. It was a scene from Dirty Dancing. Lust came off them in waves, maginified by the tilt of her head and the way he ran his fingers through her hair, pulling her lips closer to his.

My fist connecting with his cheek and chin was a satisfying end to that scene.

He went sprawling to the ground, knocked momentarily senseless. Rosalind shrieked and stepped back, glaring at me. I ignored her, shaking with anger.

"You bastard!" I screamed at him.

He held his chin in one hand, looking angry. Rosalind helped him up, trying to tell him something over the music. He shrugged her off, balling his fists. Suddenly, I realised how much bigger my brother was compared to me. He lunged at me, taking me to the ground.

Chapter Seven

"Wake up!"

The voice echoes over and over buzzing in my head until sheer annoyance wakes me up.

"There he is," The same voice says, relief making the sentence a sigh.

I open my eyes, groaning in pain. Four bright blue eyes look down at me, curiosity in one pair, worry in the other.

"He is awake then?" The first pair of eyes asks.

"Well, he's looking around, isn't he?"

"Doesn't necessarily mean that he's awake."

"Does."

"Not. It could be that he is walking in his sleep."

"Absurd. Nonsense and utter fiddle faddle."

I blink, trying to clear my vision, not understanding what was going on around me. I felt sticky and sore. Blurry blue eyes and pink splotches clear until smiling cherub faces appear. And behind them, a pair of gnarled leathery brown knees. I stare at them, confused.

"Where?" I shake my head, "What?"

My face stung where my hand made contact. I remember the beating at the hands of my brother.

What the hell had he been doing hugging up on Rosalind?

"Out of the way, out of the way," A new voice calls, inserting himself between the cherubian boys.

I recognise him. The knight from the beginning of my dream. He looks different out of his armour. Smaller and wiry with a long white beard and bushy mustache that looks as though its used to being curled.

"I'm not dead?" I ask stupidly, sitting up off the makeshift bed underneath me.

"No, son. You're not," The knight answers. His voice is surprisingly deep and kind, given his advanced age.

I groan, putting a hand to my throbbing head. The memories came rushing back, forcing my eyes open and my feet on the floor.

"Hat!" I cry out, standing up.

Gentle hands push me back on the couch. Sad eyes and mouths turned down at the edges tell me everything I need to know.

"Oh god," I moan. "She's dead, isn't she?"

"What?" The knight asks, hands on my shoulders to keep me from leaping off the mattress. "No. She's not dead. She's being held."

"Held? What do you mean held?"

Everyone went silent, looking uncomfortable. My head hurts too much, preventing me from questioning them further. Instead, I look at my surroundings, trying to get an idea of where I was, hoping there were no talking spiders lurking in the corners, waiting until the lights went out to finish the job the one in the forest started. I'm in a small house that smells faintly of gingerbread and sugar cookies.

(Odd.)

It's not much of a house, really. The kitchen is nice and old timey with a roaring fire burning underneath a large black cauldron. To the right of it is a double oven deep set into light cherry wood cabinets. A small table sits kiddy corner to the brick fireplace complete with two chairs and pumpkin decorations. The living room sports a small television set and a comfortable couch where I currently reside, shifting uncomfortably under a heavy blanket.

"How did you find me?" I ask, hating the silence pervading the room.

"Miss Sparrow told us?"

"Miss Sparrow?"

"She was in a tiff about serpents stealing her eggs," The pair of knobbly knees tells me. "She's only screamed serpent one time, when Alice came through. That's how we knew humans were in the vicinity. And, since you've been our visitor for quite some time, well, the connection was made."

"But the spider?"

The knight looks sheepish. "We had to do some intense negotiations with Miss Spider."

"Negotiations?"

"Porridge and whey!" One of the cherub boys pipes up.

"Irresistible," His twin confirms. "The spider's only weakness."

Every nursery rhyme I had ever been told as a child comes running back to me in a litany of mismatched rhymes and double-meanings.

"What about Hat?" I demand.

"She's being held."

"The Red Queen doesn't like people who interfere."

"We tried to rescue her, but when we got there she was already gone," Knobbly knees says.

"Gone?"

"The Red Queen's men," The knight clarifies. "She doesn't appreciate those that try to rebuild the Carousel."

I scowl. "Why?"

"The Carousel is not meant to be rebuilt."

"It was broken for a reason."

It is said so quietly that I almost don't hear it.

"What?"

"It was broken for a reason." One of the cherub boys says, his voice stronger now. "The Tweedle Brothers were there."

Chapter Eight

"It was many many Sun Turns ago when the Carousel was built. Eggbert Wilderhands was its builder. He had a funny shape to his head."

"Pointed," His brother interjects, "like an egg. But not so that he wasn't handsome. Oh no, Eggbert was the finest boy in the land."

"Despite the ears."

A nod, "Yes. Despite the ears."

Knobbly knees clears his throat. The boys jerk bodily. One coughs.

"Yes, anyway. See, Eggbert didn't build the Carousel for just anyone. No, no. Eggbert was in love. The Carousel was a present for her. She was happy at first, the thought of getting a Carousel was lovely to her young heart."

"But, war broke out between the Cards."

"The Cards?" I ask.

"The Suit Families. After the Queen of Hearts was deposed with her king, war began." The Knight answers. "The Queen of Hearts is always the winner in any card game you know, without her we had no ruler. Each suit wanted to be the most powerful."

"Which is why the Chancellary was created," pointed out the first Tweedle.

The Knight nodded. "The Black and White Queen rule-" he stops himself, "ruled. For a time."

"Ruled?"

The story is making my head hurt unbearably. "Whose voice do I keep hearing in the Carousel? And why is there a circus? And what does Hat have to do with any of this?"

"You hear a voice?"

The four converse among themselves, their voices too low for me to hear. Silence. A nod. They've reached an agreement. It is the knight who speaks rather than the Tweedle brothers.

"It was arranged for the King and Queen's daughter to marry Eggbert-"

"The eldest daughter-" Interjected knobbly knees.

"Yes, yes, the eldest daughter. Everything was going well. The Card War was over and the Chancellary was proving to be an acceptable way to rule. The Cheshire Cat is really a genius when he puts his mind to it." He harumph humphs himself back to the point. "The relationship between all three of them seem to be going well. The Princess Minnie, Eggbert and Princess Hattfield all got along."

"I'm sorry, what? Did you say Princess Hattfield?"

He raises an eyebrow, "Yes?"

"That ragdoll is a princess?"

"Yes."

"She wasn't always a ragdoll, you know," One Tweedle said petulantly, crossing chubby arms over his small chest.

"Yes, she used to be much better stitched together." The other quipped.

That earns him a smack on the back of the head from one of the knobbly kneed man's feet.

"Continue. We don't have much time," He urges.

"The long and short of it is, Minnie was playing poor Eggbert for a fool and Eggbert was in love with someone else. The announcement that the Clockwork Maker's boy was going to create a Carousel as a wedding present stunned the whole nation. A party was given after its completion-the circus you so actively enjoyed-and that's when the truth came out."

"The truth?"

"Princess Hattfield and Eggbert were sitting on the Wall."

I feel so stupid for asking, like a child who's not quite getting the story despite carfeul listening. "The Wall?"

The knight sighs, pinching his large nose between his thumb and forefinger. "The Wall that separates the Kingdom of Mystery."

"Mystery? I thought this was-?"

"Be QUIET!" The knight roars. "There isn't enough time to explain the particulars of this kingdom, just understand what you know as this "Wonderland" is actually called Mystery and can be whatever its creator wants it to be."

"This is the cornerstone of our predicament, you see," Knobbly knees says.

"Thank you, William," Snarls the knight. "Understand that the wall is very high and is guarded twenty five hours a day."

I make no move to correct his timetable.

"The duty is dull and the hours long, but it must be done. I was on watch that night that Master Eggbert confessed his love to Hattfield. It was touching and sweet. They both had drinks in their hands and the moon was shining full and bright on them, illuminating their coutenances and love for each other. Then, the unthinkable happened. Eggbert was pushed."

The knight stops, gathering himself. "I was on the side opposite them, in the guardhouse. I heard the scream and came rushing out, too late. Princess Hattfield had toppled over as well and there was Minnie, screaming. A man was behind her, trying to comfort her."

"The Jabberwock," The Tweedles say together.

"The Jabberwock?" I ask incredulously.

"Its keeper, and Princess Minnie's consort." Their explanation comes out in a rush, "He loved Minnie, it was true. But the girl was a jealous one, she couldn't bear for Eggbert to love anyone else but her."

"The thought that the Clockwork Boy loved her sister was too much. She pushed them both."

"At least that's what those of us in the circus believe."

One Tweedle nods to the other.

"The circus knows. Even after the trial when the Carousel broke." He shakes his head, blond curls bouncing. "It broke when he did. The king's men put him back together, you see."

"There had to be a trial."

"It was a lie."

Their back and forth hurt to follow. Screwing up my face, I ignore the pain in my head and try to keep up.

"A sham trial. Minnie cried and wailed and blamed her fiance for the crime. He pushed her sister, she testified. The fact that he had fallen first never came into question."

"What about Hat? She would be able to tell someone the truth."

A shake of the head. "Her lips were sewn shut."

"Peter Pan is long dead, you see," The second Tweedle says gravely.

"I thought he couldn't grow up?"

"Don't be stupid. Mystery isn't the key to immortality. Peter died, but Tink lived on and took her place in the circus. She granted the king his wish to see his daughter reborn. A sack was sewn together and her soul put into it. Minnie sewed her mouth shut to keep her from talking."

"What about Eggbert?"

"The Carousel is his home now."

"So, then it's his voice I hear?"

They nod.

"How did all of this happen?" I ask. "Who is the Red Queen and why do I keep getting attacked?"

"Had you followed me the first time, you wouldn't have," The knight grounds out.

"I couldn't hear or understand you," I snap.

He stays silent. The knobbly kneed man pushes his way forward, between the Tweedles. I'm not surprised to see his feet balancing on the top of his bald head, his body bent in a perfect "C".

"Minnie and her consort have taken control of Mystery. She is the Red Queen and she doesn't want you bringing Eggbert back."

"Why?"

"Would you want to give up your throne and admit that you tried to kill someone?"

A cackle interrupts our conversation. I watch in wonder as a striped tabby cat spirals into view.

"Oh it's been too long since someone has spoken of a rebellion. Tell me, gentlemen, what are we planning this time?"

"Cheshire."

There wasn't a welcoming tone to the Knight's voice. His hand goes to the pommel of a rusty looking sword. The cat sighs as if this is a game he's played before.

"Is this the boy?" He asks instead, floating closer to me. "Found an Alice of the opposite sex, have we?"

"I'm not an Alice," I say, swiping at his bushy tail.

"Of course you aren't. Poor Hat says you are, but what do our torturers know?"

"Torturers?" My throat goes dry. "What do you mean torturers?"

He looks at me, a sly smile playing about his lips. "Just what I said. The poor little rag doll is in the gaol at the mercy of our rather excellent staff."

"She's a ragdoll?" I say stupidly, wondering just how someone could torture a person made of sacking and string.

The grin grows wider. "That makes it all the more fun. But, we're not here to talk about the many uses of fire, are we?"

The cat is dressed in livery befitting a fine court. Red and black with a puffed collar and jaunty hat. From a pouch around his neck he produces rolled parchment and tosses it to the knight. "Everything you need to know," He says before disappearing.

"That cat is on our side?" I ask nervously.

"He is on no one's side," One Tweedle says.

"An opportunist."

"Not right in the head."

"What does it say?" I ask, ignoring the brothers.

"It is a warning from the queen," The knight says, rolling the paper shut. "It says we should wake you up and let you return to your world before she's forced to act."

I think back to the beating I'm not sure if I'm still suffering at the hands of my lust-driven brother and shake my head. "I think I'll take my chances here."

Chapter Nine

We're back in the forest and I'm beginning to regret my bravado driven words. The small, rag tag bunch has equipped me with an old tool case. I suppose I should be humbled that they've trusted me with Eggbert's tools and have put me in his shoes and have so many expectations of me, but if I'm honest; I'm scared to death.

"The caterpillar is on her side," I whisper to the knight, staying close to his lazily clip clopping horse. "And so are the flowers."

"The flowers have always been hungry," He says, his deep set eyes darting from left to right in anxious anticipation. "The caterpillar needs to be reprogrammed. She thinks she has subverted us, but she is wrong."

He is talking to himself now. I stop paying attention and direct my thoughts inward, wondering if I can pull off what they want me too.

"It's not as if she's a bad queen," One of the Tweedles says to me in a low voice. "She's done some good for Mystery."

"So, why are we doing this?" I demand, unable to keep the tremor from my voice.

"She didn't get her throne the proper way. She killed two people to ascend."

(Obviously they don't know much about politics.)

"I just want to fix the Carousel," I say, my shoulders slumping.

The Tweedle claps my shoulder and fixes me with a tight smile. I try to smile back. The horse halts in front of me.

"The circus is back," The Knight says. "We'll go around. The Carousel isn't too far from here."

It wasn't. I could feel it as if it were a living thing, connected to me. I hurry in front of the Knight. He overtakes me, shooting me a dangerous look over his shoulder. We walk, slower now. The forest with its thin, misshappen trees seems to crowd me, pushing closer and closer until I'm sure they're going to suffocate me. I feel something wrap around my throat and struggle to breathe, clawing at an invisible hand, trying to pull myself free. A wayward rock trips me and brings me back to my senses just as the trees clear and a descimated Carousel comes into view.

A wail wells in my throat. All of my work, gone. Undone in one fatal blow from something much larger than the metal heap on the ground.

"Can you fix it?" The Tweedles ask in unison.

"Not without help," I admit. "It's going to take too long if I have to do it myself."

I turn and face the group. They look at me helplessly.

"I'm sorry," I say. "I've lost count how many dreams it took me just to get where I was. The idea that I can do it all in one night is kind of stupid, don't you think?"

The looks on their faces was that of betrayal and disappointment. I tried to ease the sting.

"Look, you guys said Mystery is whatever its creator wants it to be, right? Well, why can't I just will this thing back together."

"It doesn't work like that," One Tweedle says sadly, "Mystery has rules."

"Right. Of course it does."

"Help me..." The voice pleads.

I turn around and glare at the ruin the Carousel had become. "I can't help you Carousel, or Eggbert, or whatever the hell your name is."

"Please."

A makeshift plan forms in my head.

"How long will it be before Minnie notices I'm here?"

The question is directed to the general group. The Knight answers.

"If she doesn't already, it will be when you start working. We're all connected to that Carousel, we feel when something changes."

"How bad will it be when she realises?"

William answers me, thump thump thumping his way to the front of the group. "Bad."

"How bad?"

"Every confederate she has, every remaining bit of the card army will be used to stop you."

I couldn't believe it. It didn't make sense. "Why?" I demand again, thoroughly exasperated.

"Because she doesn't want to give up her crown," The Tweedles answer me again with such emphasis that I feel I should take a deeper meaning from it.

My mind draws a blank and I'm left staring at them in consternation bordering on despair.

"When the attack comes, can you hold them off?" I ask, pushing my fear deep down into my stomach.

"We can," The Knight says decisively, his hand once again on the rusty sword.

I turn back to the Carousel. "Eggbert?"

"Help me?" It says, the plaintive wail sounding faintly like a question.

"Yes," I soothe. "I'm going to help you. But you have to help me."

Somehow I feel the Carousel struggle.

"How?"

"I don't know," I admit. "But you have to help me if you want to get out of there."

Making up my mind, I ignore the others and loosen my cravat. Pushing up my lacy sleeves, I set the toolbox on the rotating platform and set to work.

I must have worked for hours, frantically trying to fit pieces together and hammer out dents, certain that the attack would come within seconds of me starting.

Nothing.

My anxiety slowly started to disappear. Soon I no longer looked over my shoulder, sure that I would see something lunging out of the shadows. My hearing dulled until all I was focused on was the sound of tools against metal. My mind narrowed. Instead of preparing myself for the attack, I focused more and more on what needed to be done, even going as far as to ignore the Carousel when pieces started fitting together on their own. It was slow work, but productive. I have most of the Carousel finished when the attack does come. I don't see it. I'm inside the Carousel, talking to Eggbert in a very limited conversation, trying desperately to put the steam engine back together. Screams float into the centre column, jerking the hairs on the back of my neck and arms.

"What do I need to do?" I demand of the Carousel.

I have fixed the engine once, but that was when I had more time, when I could be careful and thorough about what I was doing.

Now I had none of that and I needed answers. The Carousel is less than forthcoming. It stalls and stutters, stammering as if it can't remember.

"You built it!" I shriek at it, panic finally overtaking me.

I dare a look outside.

It's a massacre. Somewhere in the fight, the circus members had abandoned their show and come to defend the Carousel. Bodies litter the ground. Some dead, others half-dead and still putting up a fight, makeshift weapons in hand. The enemy, made up of strange, disfigured creatures, advances through the thinning defence slowly. Crumbling clockwork pawns take to the front lines, brandishing sharpened tent poles as swords, taking down as many of the equally broken down playing card soldiers as they could before succumbing to their weathered gears. I stifle a scream. My heart is ratta tat tatting against my ribcage, and the engine clanks loudly in my trembling hands.

"Have at you!" The knight screams, dodging in and out of a Jack of Spades playing card, easily ducking the two swinging swords above and below him.

The Tweedle boys are screaming with delight, taking pleasure in a perverse game of tag where one boy races away from the enemy, leading him to his twin who is hiding behind a tree or stone. Enraged, the enemy has no idea the second boy has a secret weapon.

(I think I forgot to mention the Tweedle brothers each have a bandaged hand.)

One boy squeals delightedly, taunting the enemy until he is within sight of his brother. One ducks, the other jumps up, huge steel blades in place of fingers shining in the moonlight.

The enemy never knows what hit him. Paper bits float through the air like so many snowflakes, coming to rest on the boys' shoulders as they giggle delightedly. Even William has a few tricks, as only a contortionist who spends much of his time resting his feet on his head can.

They're buying me time, but they can't hold out forever.

With feverish intensity I turn back to the engine in my trembling hands. Eggbert is trying to help me, by directing my hands with various cords and wires. It's no use. The thing is damaged internally. Whatever came through and rent the Carousel did it carefully and with purpose.

I want to scream.

Something else does it for me.

The sound rips through me like a thunderclap, freezing me in place and stopping my heart.

The sounds of battle, familiar now, stop as well, shocked stupid by the unearthly roar.

"Come out, come out wherever you are," A silken voice croons underneath the roar's diminishing echo.

"EVAN!"

Hat!

The Carousel moans, creaking around me, almost as if its trying to reach for her.

"Come out come out wherever you are," The sweet voice calls again.

"Don't!" Hat screams. "Stay wherever you are!"

"Come out or I turn her into a pile of sand."

I drop the engine and come out of the centre column, hands raised. A girl, not much older than me looks at me through narrowed eyes.

"Kill him," She snaps.

The roar sounds again.

Hat screams.

I look up.

I scream.

The woman laughs as the beast lunges toward me, vaulting over the Carousel's tent. I barely manage to dodge out of the way of the teeth. Claws I missed tore my vest in two, separating skin from bone, causing me to land, face first in the soft ground.

"Didn't count on that, did you?" The girl holding Hat demands, tightening her hold on the ragdoll.

"Let him go, Minnie!" Hat screams, trying to twist her way out of her sister's grasp.

"Not until he's dead," The other girl said calmly, looking at me dispassionately.

She was dressed for battle in chainmail and armour. A large red heart was painted on her breastplate, smeared with drying blood.

(When had she joined the battle?)

Blood leaks from between my clutched hands. I feel lightheaded and sick. The beast screams again, smelling blood.

"Kill him," Minnie repeats.

A whip cracks through the night. The beast recoils from it, bearing its long teeth in a snarl. Another crack, the beast fights back, spreading impressive wings in a challenge and raking its claws in the air.

"'Twas brilling and the slithey toves..." The queen sings.

The beast jerks its massive head in her direction, curious. Minnie sings as if it were a lullaby.

"Did gyre and gimble in the wabe....dole a mimsy and the borogoves and the momerathes outgrabe.."

I swallow hard. The beast purrs loudly now, staring at me with hungry eyes.

"No sudden movements now," Minnie teases, stroking the thing's ugly head. "It doesn't like it when you make sudden movements."

"What the hell is that thing?!" I demand.

"The Jabberwock," The knight pants, coming to stand beside me.

"What?!"

"Go boy, if you have any sense in you, you'll get to that column and fix our Carousel!"

He hauls me to my feet with no care to my injury, pushing me toward the yet untouched Carousel.

"GO!" He roars, finally pulling the ancient sword from its scabbard.

The blade sings as if it had been forged yesterday. A look of recognition crosses the Jabberwocky's horrible face.

(I swear the thing smiles.)

They circle each other.

I force myself to run for the Carousel. With no way of fixing the machine, there's no way I can do what they want me too, but at least it's moderately safe inside.

"Help me," The Carousel moans when I slam the column door shut.

"What?" I demand.

I'm losing too much blood. I can barely focus. My vision swims, obscuring the engine thousands of wires are trying to point to.

"I don't-"

I want to throw up. I hear the pit patter of blood dropping onto a metal floor.

Pit

"Help me," It insists, trying to lift the heavy engine.

I shake my head.

The door rattles in its hinges.

"Fee fi fo fum," Minnie rages. "I smell the blood of a dead man!"

I scramble toward the engine. Clasping it in both hands I check it over. A hole gapes at me from two of the pipes. Another hole, the size of a quarter reveals singed and bent gears.

"There's no way!" I despair, my breathing shallower now. "I don't have the parts!"

The Carousel groans a disagreement. Claws the size of Volkswagen Beetles rend the door from its hinges, revealing a dishevieled Minnie. Her hands balled into fists, she tears after me, intent on the engine, slamming into me with all the force she could muster.

I go down like a sack of potatoes.

She laughs triumphantly, one foot on my wound, the engine in her hands.

"I have it!" She crows, holding the engine over her head. "I have it!"

My vision blurs again, creating a Van Gogh of colours and sounds.

"Here Demon!" Pierces my hearing in short bursts.

Battle sounds accompany the Knights challenges, seconded by Hat's shouted curses and the Carousel's constant creaking. Above all this was the knowledge I was dying and the Jabberwock's screams of pain and rage.

My body went numb very slowly, starting from the tips of my toes. Crawling up my legs, it took great pleasure in sapping the warmth from my limbs in languid spirals until I couldn't feel my fingers. As if in a dream, I watched blue and yellow wires snake up my legs, ducking Minnie's delicately slippered foot, and insert themselves into my chest.

A wonder I couldn't feel them. They looked so strange, wriggling like that as if they were searching for something.

It doesn't surprise me when they find what they're looking for and the missing parts appear at the end of their fibres.

(This is a dream, after all. Why shouldn't it happen like this?)

I feel myself smile stupidly. My head dangles from side to side, my neck suddenly unable to support it. I try to move my fingers and toes.

Nothing.

I catch sight of the hideous red stain marring my destroyed clothing.

"Ugh," I say tiredly, "well, that's not very attractive."

Then I laugh, struck by how ridiculous I sound. I'm dying and I suddenly care what I look like.

(Ludicrous.)

The laughter takes the queen by surprise. She doesn't notice the Jabberwock behind her, doesn't notice when the Knight lunges for its throat. She doesn't hear the snicker snack his blade makes as it takes off the stupid beast's ugly head. She doesn't realise her head has followed until its too late.

Hat screams again.

I close my eyes, still feeling the stupid grin on my face.

Chapter Ten

"CLEAR!"

Checking for pulse...

Charging...

"Evan?"

A hand shoves my shoulder. Someone else is slapping my face.

"CLEAR!"

Bright light floods my vision, bringing with it heat and searing pain.

"Turn out the light!" I demand, trying to shield my eyes.

Laughter.

"We can't. It's rather difficult to turn out the sun, you know."

"CLEAR!"

Checking for pulse...

Charging...

"Come on Evan, wake your ass up!"

"Evan!"

"Hey buddy, you gotta wake up all right? Wake up for me! Wake up!"

"Evan, can you stand up?" Hat asks me, kneeling down to help me up.

I nod, taking her hand and using her as leverage. I climb slowly to my feet and am assailed by claps on the back and shoulders. The Knight is beaming, one foot over the cooling Jabberwock as Minnie's foot had been on my chest not tn minutes before. I didn't see her body.

The Tweedle brothers, bruised and battered but otherwise no worse for wear, whooped and hollered dancing the do si do to invisible music. What remained of the rag tag army congratulated me one by one then made their way back to the circus.

"I don't get what I did," I said, genuinely confused.

"CLEAR!"

Pain doubles me over. Another flash blinds me.

Checking for pulse..

Charging...

"I don't think he's going to make it."

"Keep trying!"

"But-"

"Keep trying!"

"You okay?" Hat asks.

I nod. "Fine. Are you all right?"

She looks up at me, her good eye shining. I know the look, Eva's face was just like hers. She smiles at me and turns.

"Eggbert?"

A man, older than me by maybe a year (and a whole helluva lot more handsome) turns around. His eyes go wide, matching her incredulous expression.

"Hat?"

She runs into his arms, laughing and crying. He crushes her to him, kissing her.

"CLEAR!"

I coughed, grabbing for air in deep, wheezing gasps.

"Omigod! He's alive! He's alive!"

"Evan can you hear me?"

"Evan are you all right?"

"Back off!" An authoritative voice shouts. "I said, back the hell off! Give the guy some room to breathe, will ya?"

An arm attached to the voice reaches out for me asking, "Do you think you can sit up?"

I stared at the arm. It's stitched together. My hands went to my chest, checking for the wound I know is there.

"Hey, are you okay?"

I kept staring. "H-Hat?" I croaked.

"What? No. My name is Beezy. Do you know where you are?"

My head throbbed. "Eva's party."

The arm disappeared, replaced by a girl with concerned amber eyes and painted patchwork skin. "Good," she sat next to me. "Do you know your name?"

"Evan."

"Evan what?"

"Evan Jeremiah Richardson."

"Social security number?"

"I gave it to her."

She nodded and stood up, "The ambulance is on its way. I'm gonna need you to stay in that spot, okay? I'll go get you some water."

"I'm cold," I murmured.

"I'll see if I can get you some blankets." She glared at the crowd that had gathered around me. "What are you guys staring at? Isn't it time for you to be getting home?"

They looked at her, mumbling amongst themselves. She put her hands on her hips.

"I said, git!"

Alerted by the lack of music; Mrs. Schaeffer came out of the house, took a look around, and began shooing people off her property.

"Evan?" A trembling voice asked me.

I tilted my head to look behind me. George stared down at me, tears streaming down his cheeks.

"So, what hit me?" I asked.

"I-I think I did," He said. "I'm so-Jesus Evan, I didn't mean it!"

He sobbed audibly, crashing to his knees above me. I felt the bruises where his fists had made contact, but they didn't feel serious enough to cause whatever had happened to me.

"Dude, quit your blubbering. It's embarrassing."

"You DIED!" He nearly shrieked.

"Yeah, but I'm alive now. Jeez. I don't know what happened, all right? But I don't think it was your fault."

He snuffled, wiping snot from his nose. It should have been embarrassing to see him like that, but then I remembered why he had hit me in the first place. I set my jaw, anger returning to me in a hot flash.

"So, where's Rosalind?"

"Who?" He thought for a minute. "Oh, yeah."

(Cue the hand on the back of the head routine.)

"Look, Evan I-"

"Yeah, no. I don't know what the hell happened to me to put me on the ground but you'd better set this whole thing straight before I figure how to get up and kick your ass again."

His face flushed. "I don't know what happened!"

"I don't give a damn." I stopped, about to tell him what I had been through, decided against it. "She got the ring, George."

He went white. "What?"

"I took the ring by mistake and gave it to her thinking it was my present. She got the ring."

"Oh, oh no."

My eyebrows shot up in surprise. "You weren't going to give it to her, were you?"

"No! I mean, I was-but..."

The amber eyed girl returned, her arms laden with blankets, preventing me from leaping up and strangling my older brother.

"You need to make this right, George."

"Evan?"

(Speak of the damned devil.)

"Hey, Eva."

Her eyes swam with tears. She darted a look at George, bent down, kissed the top of my head, and fled.

"Eva!" George wailed, following behind her.

I sighed, closing my eyes.

"Thank you," Hat says, reaching out for my hand.

I hold it. It's surprisingly warm for a woman made of burlap and buttons.

"I didn't do anything," I protest.

"You put him back together again for me."

"Evan?" Amber eyes asks, squatting down. "You think you can sit up?"

I jerk out of my half-sleep.

"What?"

"Do you think you can sit up?" She repeated patiently, once again reaching out her hand to help me up. I took it, slowly manoeuvring myself to a seating position.

(To be perfectly honest, I was using her as a crutch. It's sad, I know, but hey they'd just shocked me to get my heart going, what do you expect? Besides, she didn't seem to mind.)

"What's your name again?" I asked, needing something to break the silence.

"Beezy," She answered, wrapping blankets around my shoulders and legs.

"Beezy?"

She snorted. "My full name is Beatrice Beezlebub Waileran."

"Beezlebub?"

"My parents are reformed Satanists, what do you want from me?"

I laughed. It killed my battered body, but I laughed. Her cheeks flamed red, her amber eyes narrowing into a glare. Afraid she was going to pull out from under me, I stifled myself and tried to look apologetic.

"So, um, do you know what happened to me?"

She shrugged, jarring me painfully. "Your brother was wailing on you pretty badly over that blond girl with the cans."

"I remember that."

"Not the one who just came up."

"Right."

She searched my gaze, "The other one with the bigger-"

"I got it. The one who came up is Eva, the other one is Rosalind."

"Eva?"

"Yes."

"You two aren't related are you?"

My brows furrowed. "No, why?"

"It's just Eva and Evan-you know what? Nevermind, not important."

I stared at her. She grinned sheepishly and continued, "Then, I don't know," she shrugged again, "you sort of went blank and just laid there. I think your brother came to his senses somewhere when you stopped fighting back. He screamed, I shut off the music and tried to get through with the defribillator." She looked at me, raising an eyebrow, "Thank god people are stupid when they panic. You tell one of them to get out of your way, knock a few others about and they get the message. Anyway, you were on the ground and twitching but, try as I might I couldn't find a pulse. It was really weird. We thought we almost had you a few times, but you slipped away."

"How'd you figure that?"

"You were mumbling something."

My heart skipped a beat. "What?"

She laughed, "I can't, I can't, I don't know. You have to help me?"

I shivered, sinking deeper into the wool blankets. I heard a siren's wail and sighed.

"Paramedics are coming. My mom is not going to be happy."

She nudged me, "Hey, it's better than almost dying."

"Yeah." I laughed, "I guess."

"So, while we're waiting. You want to tell me what that little scene with your brother and the girl who isn't related to you but has the female version of your name is all about?"

I looked over my shoulder. George was on his knees in front of Eva, his body language that of a desperate man. I couldn't hear what they were saying and part of me wanted her to slap him and never look back. The other part, the one that nearly escaped being torn in half by a Jabberwock hoped that she would forgive him and get her princess moment on top of that curliqued hill. I looked back at Beezy, a slow smile spreading on my lips.

"I don't even know," I admitted.

"Seems intense, whatever it is."

"It's melodramatic and stupid."

"I'll take your word for it."

We sat in silence for a time, listening to the siren get closer to the Schaeffer's house.

"You have a cell phone?" I asked.

"Why?" Caution made her look at me out of the corner of her eye.

"There's a coffee place in town that's really good at speciality brews."

"It's not Starbucks is it?"

I shook my head. "Nah."

"Are you asking me out?"

"Yes," I said, then noticed the dark look on her face. "But as a friend! I mean, you're new and all, you might as well get to know the town."