In Wonderland: A Combination Of Fact & Fiction

“Morning, Stalker,” I mumble to my shade as I plod to the kitchen in the late morning, bleary-eyed and fumbling for caffeine. It sits on a bar stool, watching me while I make coffee.

“Sleep well?” I ask, smiling at my joke. It appears unimpressed. I pour a cup for myself and sit on the stool across from it. “Want a cup?” I ask, prodding it for a reaction. Its head cocks to the right, then back to a neutral position.

“Where do you go when I sleep – you haven’t been in my dreams, so you must just disappear.” I continue to fill the silence with questions. “You pop back up when I’m awake to haunt me. Is that it?”

“Just my imagination, once again,” I continue singing in my slightly off-key voice until it leans towards me quickly, reaching to set its hand on atop mine.

The action and the warmth of its skin startle me. I pull back, but it cups my hand firmly, resting on the counter. A stillness settles over our limbs. Stalker smiles, mouth closed, with lips newly formed upon its face. Though not fully fleshed out, the mouth’s evolution progresses as its smile widens, toothless and stretching into place like skin freshly applied to the skull and tissue – blood and nerves. Muscles strain to find their mark on a stage, and all the players shift into position to perform. Does it have a brain? My head shakes the thought away. Ridiculous.

“My imagination has been working overtime. You’re not real.”

It pinches my hand sharply, leaving a red mark, and smiles at my yelp. Smiling at me again, Stalker pats the red welt on the back of my hand. Then, walking to the fridge, it returns with creamer and hands it to me with a spoon. Sitting across from me, its secretive smile is firmly set in place, but its eyes are still absent.

“Alright. That’s real then,” I say, inspecting the mark for signs of a bug bite, working out the possibilities. I could have done that to myself, but then I would be hallucinating, so that leaves – I leave the thought unfinished. “Not possible.”

Instead of disappearing in a poof of air, as desired, Stalker pours itself a cup of coffee, stirring the creamer into a mug, and proceeds to drink it, coffee sliding down its throat. Every movement is unhurried. I watch the beige liquid slip south through Stalker as its organs continue to form. The skin is pixilated in blues and grays like the snow of static from an old television. I listen for the sounds of hissing or crackling white noise, but all is quiet. The shades of color on its body overlap and separate, allowing me to peer through and watch the coffee travel. Fragmentary muscles propel the drink down to Stalker’s stomach.

“Now I’ve named you. Shit.”

It grins, still toothless, but I can see gums, the inside of its lips, and the beginning of a tongue, slowly lengthening from its root.

“I see you decided to kick it up a notch today. What are you supposed to be then?”

Stalker stands, stretching two arms to the ceiling before walking to the door.

“Fine. Who are you?” I ask, following it outside. I trail behind it as it appears to look for signs of last night’s noises. It nods satisfactorily and gestures to some sunflower seed hulls abandoned in the dirt under the home’s large windows. Only the tracks from squirrels or other small friends.

“No signs of boots or shoes,” I note. It nods and strolls over to investigate the chicken coop leaning against the wire fence. Stalker watches them peck and scratch in the hay before it crouches and pokes its fingers through the wire mesh, gently stroking the russet feathers as a hen rubs against its hand. The hen’s plump friends follow suit.

“I don’t understand. How do they know you’re here? Do they see you? None of my friends have seen you. Or those jerks in the truck. Just me.”

Stalker shrugs before making a tour around the house, inspecting for signs of unwanted guests, nodding as it circles back to the porch. I follow, toeing the ground with my feet, happy to see that no one came to cause trouble last night.

“You know you’re naked, right? You’re kind of hideous to look at, with your organs and everything showing and growing. No genitals yet. Interesting. Are you a eunuch or – hey! Quit pinching me.”

Stalker sticks its tongue out at me, now almost whole. I watch as the tongue elongates, muscles undulating up and down, curving as it flaps about like a fish breaching water to escape.

Stalker smiles with satisfaction as it watches me rub my arm.

“That wasn’t rude of me. I’m merely curious. Anyway, you’re not answering any of my questions. If you’re real, then that’s rude.”

Stalker says nothing and points to its throat before opening its mouth wide and showing me its unfinished innards and an incomplete larynx. I think. A sight that makes me scrunch my nose.

“Excuses. Excuses.”

I followed it to the shore, where I found Alice’s latest message and bent to read it. We smiled together. I left messages in the sand, telling Alice that The Labyrinth was one of my favorite movies and asking her what her favorite flower was. Then, I gathered empty purple shells and small stones to decorate my script.

“Besides, you’re not supposed to be insulted when you’re only make-believe,” I say, distracted by my work, before standing up.

“A fact I’m starting to doubt,” I add, dodging another pinch. “And I’m uncomfortable with that idea. Are you a good ghoul or a bad one?”

Stalker gently brushes a hand down my arm and points to a patch of wet red sand, where it has sketched runes with a sturdy piece of birch that the ocean washed to shore, bits of dark seaweed stuck between its thin curls of papery bark.

ᛒ ᛈ are etched deep into the earth, away from the waves, with another set of runes under it.

ᛚᛁᚾᛖᚷᛖ

“I don’t know what these mean,” I say, looking at its face for clues.

Stalker crouches down and continues to write, pointing to the first rune in the next row, ᛗᛟᚦᛖᚱ, and watches me, still without eyes, but I feel the expectations it has set upon my shoulders. I shake my head, and Stalker clucks its tongue, making a slight sound of impatience. The first noise it has made since its appearance. It writes one last message, draws a circle around the runes, points its stick at me, stands up, points the stick to its chest, and gestures back to the final message before throwing the wood back into the ocean. We watch the birch branch slowly pull away by the waves.

ᛊᚨᚠᛖ

“Well. You’ve got me puzzled and hooked. Congratulations.”

I shake my head again, and Stalker mimics me in agreement. I take a few pictures of each row of runes with my phone, curious enough to research them.

“I’ll look these up. In the meantime, if you’re sticking around, you’ll need to grow some teeth and start talking, Stalker. Otherwise, we’re in for a long game of charades.”

It smiles wide and points to its upper gums, with a slightly white appearance underneath its pink tissue.

“Good, that’s progress. Then you can start to answer my questions.”

Stalker nods, and I gesture for it to walk back to the house with me.

“I need to head into town to pick up some wine and a few things for tonight. Come on.”

It lingers outside my room, waiting for me to reappear, dressed in jeans, a blue t-shirt, and a soft flannel shirt to keep me warm from the slight breeze.

“And if you’re going to stick around for a bit, I need you to make me a promise and stay out of sight when I’m around other people. I don’t need them to think I’ve lost my mind and started having conversations with the air. Thank you for saving me from those assholes earlier. I suppose you could do that if they come at me again. But I don’t need the girls or others to think I’ve lost my mind. Okay?”

Stalker considers this, then shrugs its shoulders and hands me my car keys before opening the door.

“I’m going to need that to be a firmer agreement, please,” I say.

Stalker opens my door and gestures for me to sit down before bowing satirically before closing my door. An amused expression remains on its face as it sits on the passenger side, waiting for me to drive.

“Was that sarcasm? Noted. Careful, I can do that too,” I tell it, ignoring the dismissive spluttering sound that Stalker makes with its mouth.

I turn on a mixed CD and crank the volume up on my stereo. Stalker taps its fingers to the beat and wiggles its butt in its seat while it watches the island from its window. I laugh and dance along with it in my own seat on the drive to the store.

Stalker remains with me, much to my annoyance, following me into Arnold’s, but at least seems to have decided it’s best to remain in the periphery, watching me but staying out of the way. I plan to go on a hike with Lizzy later in the week, and she helps me pick out wines and different food pairings, then gives me directions to a flower farm.

I walk through fields of tulips, cutting my own bouquet. My invisible friend trails behind me, smelling the flowers and reverently brushing petals with its fingers as I walk through the rows of reds and yellows. I can’t decide if it’s discovering the world for the first time or returning to it. Turning the corner from one row to the next, we explored each color and variety in bloom. At the cashier’s station, a small wooden table, I buy fancy lavender soaps and oils from one of the owners, who invites me to walk through their woods before I leave, as some of the flowering trees have started to bloom.

Stalker follows as I walk through a grove of cherry trees, which leads to a dense forest of oak trees that mingle with pine and spruce, tall and old. The ground is soft, and everything is quiet. I lose myself in daydreams, wandering through the forest with my bouquet and the bag of treasures I bought. It’s not until I’ve walked further down the trail, turning from one bend in the path to another, that I realize the light here is muted, and the trees have closed in on us, towering over our heads, branches entwined to block out the sky.

The roots of the forest spread out onto the path and are damp. We must be closer to the ocean now. A fog has slowly rolled towards us. Everything is wrapped in silence. I embrace the quiet for a while before turning to say something to Stalker, and I am surprised to see two eyes staring back at me, the color of the rest of its skin, now blinking slowly at me.

“Eyes and ears now. Do you have teeth, too?”

Stalker shakes its head, opens its mouth, and looks like it’s about to try to speak. Before it can try, Stalker is distracted by the sounds of branches breaking somewhere to the right of us, further into the forest. It stares through the trees, listening, then moves quietly to block me. It places its fingers on my lips, and I nod, remaining quiet and still. Stalker’s face is placid with no signal of threat on its face. It stands alert and scans the forest. The fog rolls further down the path, heading languidly towards us. I study the woods but see no signs of danger. Stalker shifts its weight from one foot to the other, arms shaking stiffness out of muscles, as if it’s been a while since it moved with any great effort or speed, shoulders rolling backwards, knees bending, all while continuing to listen and look. For what I still don’t know. Another branch breaks in the distance but closer to us now, and Stalker runs toward the noise, moving so fast I can’t track its movements with my eyes. I quickly lose sight of it and am left alone.

I can’t see where it is. But I know the path my companion’s carved, where it left a wake of broken ferns and other plants. I should run in the opposite direction, but something pulls at my mind, and like an absolute idiot, I run, following Stalker’s path. I move as quickly and quietly as possible, much slower than my accomplice. Anyone or anything could hear me if it wanted to do so. I breathe as slowly and softly as possible. The fog thickens the further I run. I see trees and plants and the ground, but little else, and the further I run into the woods, the darker it gets and the less I can see until I am surrounded by fog.

I think that I hear laughter ahead, and the suddenness of it surprises me. Tripping over a root, I stumble, hands landing on soft earth. My fingers dig into the dirt. The moment that I do so, I feel the sound of something beating inside me. Drums in my blood, so sudden it makes me shout. They reverberate, inside my chest, the beat quickens. My ribs vibrate as the drums become louder. Noises foreign and guttural echo from within and make their way to my ears. Tongues and teeth and sounds from strangers throats — a storm of noise and song stirring in my heart and lungs. I hear the low vibrato of strings, playing a slow, haunting melody, reedy and raw as it thrums. On my knees, I fall forward, forehead pressed against the dirt, unbalanced by the sensations and unable to control them. A shock runs down from my neck to the base of my spine and something moves in me, bringing a warmth with each pulse. Something trapped, trying to escape. I press my hands to my ears and scream into the mud. There is the understanding in my mind that this is something ancient.

I hear the voices in me, pulling their way up to my mouth and pouring out of my throat. My heart is a hundred drums playing at once. I have no control of my body, as my pelvis and core contract, my back arcs, pushing my shoulders and neck forward, head bending with them, before my muscles release. An exaggeration of breathing in and out, like a dance, my body repeating these moves to exhaustion, then stopping in one moment. I roll over to look at the trees from underneath them, my eyes wide with shock, shaking and clawing at my ears to stop the noise, my body driving me mad. There is no stopping any of it.

Until I hear a woman’s voice speaking in a language, I cannot translate. Her voice is clear, breaking through the war inside. She soothes me until my body stills and my lips close. The drums and the voices stop. I roll onto my stomach and collapse into a weary supplication. My skin is cold and dampened by sweat and earth. I feel someone stroking my back, but no one is there when I turn to look. Slowly, I work to return my breath to a shallow pace until I can silence it and wipe tears from my face, coughing and spitting as I brush the dirt away from the corners of my eyes.

When I sit up, the world is shockingly new. I breathe purposefully, trying not to go into shock, but my skin tingles. It feels like hundreds of rope burns have spidered their way across my body. I rub my arms and shake my legs, focusing on my breath until I can shift my attention to my surroundings again. No breeze moves it, yet the fog circles me. The air is warmer here.

Looking around, I realize the way back is also covered by the fog. I look at the sky to find a crack of sunlight but nothing shines through. I can’t decipher what’s in front of me. Standing, I step slowly forward, testing my body. Once, then twice more, before I hear a scream that startles me. I cover my mouth and bite my lip to keep from screaming. Another scream follows shortly. Something guttural and longer than the last one. A third and one more before something falls from above me. I hear the sound of a body falling from a tree, close but I can’t tell how near it is to me. The thud of it landing on the ground is next.

Before I can move, a warm hand reaches out for mine and soft fingers are on my lips again. Stalker is there, face close to mine for a moment, eyes watching me, before it pulls me away from the direction of the body. I want to run, but my companion shakes its head and we walk in silence. I follow obediently, still shocked by what’s happened to me. Around me. I scan our surroundings with my eyes, never stopping, until Stalker squeezes my hand three times. The gesture of affection is at once familial and known to me. How does it know my family’s handshake? I let out a shaky breath but find my heart slows again.

The fog begins to disappear as though it were being erased by some giant pencil, not at all natural or gradual in its dispersal. There’s a noise in my ears that starts slow. Stalker walks beside me, watching me. I wait until we return to our original path before asking the most logical question. One that I continued to ask on our walk back to my car without any answer.

“What the fuck?”