Did it really shrink me, now that I think I am smaller than my own phone?
But I’m gripping it. What kind of mind-bend is that?
Through my hazy vision, I realize that almost everything around is much bigger than me. Or I am much smaller than them.
Even the small door at the foot of the wall.
Then again, when I reach for it, I can touch it as if it’s small, not big.
The phone keeps beeping.
I push the overly big answer button—the one that is also small—and find more than a hundred messages from an anonymous number.
It must be the Hatter.
What you’re experiencing now is no hallucination—although it is in a way. It’s a medical condition, induced by the pink drink. It’s called the Alice Syndrome.
What?
Furious, I message back:
Why don’t you just talk to me face to face, instead of hiding behind the alphabet of your messages!
The reply arrives instantly:
I don’t think that will be useful, since you can’t talk at the moment.
Suddenly, I remember my numb tongue. I try to say my name but can’t. My tongue is just dangling like an earring from my mouth. I suppose it was also induced by the drink, but it feels horrible.
What do you want from me? I message back.
A reply arrives:
To continue playing the game until it has to stop.
I don’t even know what that means. He continues writing: You will crawl through the small door and find yourself in a vast tunnel system underground. Then, with the GPS coordinates, I want you to find a place for me.
I write back:
How can I even get past the door?
He writes back:
Don’t worry, I will tell you how. You haven’t asked me about the place I want you to find. I’m starting to think you’re not taking this seriously. If you don’t, I will set the rabbit loose on the streets of London.
I have no idea how he’d send the rabbit back to London, or where the rabbit is right now. All I know is that I am dealing with craziest maniac I’ve met so far. I don’t think I can ask him where I really am.
Where is that place?
He responds immediately:
If I knew I’d have found it myself. Only you can find it. It’s either in Wonderland or the real world. I am not sure, but I know it can be accessed behind that small door—and don’t ask why.
My tongue still feels numb. I write to him:
I will do as you say, but you will show me the rabbit’s place in return when I finish your mission. Again, does the place have a name?
He takes a bit longer again:
It’s called the circus.
A lot of memories flood into the swimming pool of my brain. It’s as if I know this place, but I can’t really tell. I remember the March Hare telling me about the circus in the Garden of Cosmic Speculation, and how dangerous it is. Why did he warn me about a circus? Isn’t it supposed to be a fun place? Unless you meet the clown, of course.
I type back:
If you don’t know where the circus is, how am I supposed to find it?
A response arrives:
Once you pass that door, memories of your past should come back to you. That’s when you will know where the circus is.
I type:
Are you saying you’re one of those who believe I am the Real Alice?
The reply:
You better be, or a lot of people will die. Now get past that door.
Furious again, I write:
How?
He responds:
What do you mean how? I suppose you think you need a key. Not all doors open with keys. Some you only have to knock, and they will let you in.
Chapter 46
Beyond the door, the Garden of Cosmic Speculation
Time remaining: 11 hours, 30 minutes
Once I knock, the doorknob turns and the door opens, and a gust of wind plows against my chest. It smells of mushrooms.
With a numb tongue and misleading vision, I realize I am not underground anymore. Instead, I’m looking at the colorful world of Wonderland.
It seems hard to grasp its vastness at first—harder to believe this is really happening.
But I step forward into a green road with yellow bananas for trees, bending on both sides. The banana trees have their sides peeled. A few birds twitter on top on the edges.
The sky is the color of marmalade, which is gross at first sight, but within the context of all the green and yellow, orange shines through. It all looks like a child’s drawing.
There isn’t enough time to take in the surroundings. I prefer to figure out how I’m supposed to find the circus—which isn’t showing on my Wonderland map.
I walk ahead, looking for someone to meet, but the place seems abandoned.
Where did everyone in Wonderland go?
A banana tree bends too close, as if spying on me.
“What do you want?” I want to say, but nothing comes out. My tongue feels like cotton.
I am not even sure the banana—or the tree—is as large as I think.
When I stare at my feet, they are bigger than the hole I fell through earlier. They flap loudly, as if I’m a seal.
My toe is also scaring me. It’s really awful and big. Red, as if bruised. It’s one big tomato.
I look away.