“To its foundation. Children’s dreams are the infrastructure of Wonderland. You are versed in the Lewis Carroll tale and his poetry: A childish story take, and with a gentle hand, lay it where Childhood’s dreams are twined in Memory’s mystic band … thus grew the world of Wonderland.”
We both duck as a wraith skims by.
“Uh, yeah,” I mumble. “That’s a little different than I remember.” Not that I’m surprised.
“In either version, the truth is there, if you but look for it. There are two halves to each child’s dream. The borogoves are the frivolous and mischievous half and are used by Sister Two within the cemetery to distract and entertain the angry spirits. But wraiths are the nightmarish and horrific half. They guard the rabbit hole, keep anything that belongs in Wonderland from escaping, or retrieve by force those things that already have. They’re tucked within the soil, and something violated their resting place.”
I remember my dream with Morpheus in Wonderland while I was drowning, how the mud seemed to breathe and bubble beneath my feet. Could that have been a collective of wraiths? Then I think of the ants, how they’re masters at moving more dirt than any other organism, including earthworms. They must’ve disrupted Wonderland’s foundation, awakened the defense mechanism to prevent the flower army from breaching the hole.
Gossamer’s wings flutter in a misty blur as she hovers in front of my face. Her green flesh shimmers. “Wraiths are much like lost children, since they are born of children. They’re fearful, vexed creatures, unless they’re tucked within their resting places. Once disturbed, they only wish to do their job so they might return to safety again. They crave the security that their brighter halves, the borogoves, once provided. Which is why they’re drawn to the light and to you. Your crown-magic forbids them to touch you, but they think you bid them here. Since they’ve found nothing that belongs to Wonderland, they are confused. They expect you to lead them back to safety, to light their way.”
I stare at the swirl of formless beings just behind Gossamer’s glowing body. They bob close to us, as if trying to decide whether Gossamer belongs in Wonderland or here. The light she emanates must be hypnotizing them—confusing them.
“So that’s why they busted the overhead bulbs and stole my lantern? They were trying to get close to the light?”
Gossamer nods. “You must show them the way to the rabbit hole.”
“Why can’t you? Let them follow your glow.”
She turns up her nose at the suggestion. “I haven’t the ability. The light you choose must be powerful enough to illuminate their footsteps so they will return to their place, while at the same time erasing their footsteps, so they will not follow them back.”
I moan. Another riddle. “They don’t even have feet.”
Gossamer lands on my thigh, where my oily handprint from earlier is still damp. She drops to her hands and knees, tracing the shape with a palm the size of a ladybug. “Footprints are unique to every creature.”
I glance at the oily streaks they’ve left upon the floor and walls.
“Use what my master taught you,” she says. The affection in her voice indicates that Morpheus has forgiven her. It also gives me hope that he’ll forgive me. “Send them home.” She takes to the air.
The phantom shapes close in as she floats away. I cover my head with my arms. Even knowing they’re forbidden to touch me doesn’t ward off my fear. “Wait! Don’t leave me. Tell Morpheus I’m sorry I hurt him. Tell him I need him here. Please, it’s important!”
“I must leave. Before the wraiths take me forcibly. And Morpheus is seeing to Rabid’s safety. Do you not consider that important?”
Ashamed, I let my silence answer for me. I was one step away from getting on my knees and begging for his return … just like he said I would.
“He wants you to find him when this is over.” Gossamer flutters into the locker room, leaving me alone to take care of Taelor and the wraiths, the two sides of me now entwined inexorably. I was delusional to think I could ever keep them separate.
The school’s 8:05 warning bell rings, and someone jiggles the handles on the gym doors. Shouts escalate from the other side.
“It’s stuck,” the principal hollers.
“I’ll find the janitor,” a teacher answers back.
My temples throb—thoughts bouncing around like Ping-Pong balls in my head—as I attempt to formulate a plan.
The wraiths wail and shriek, agitated by the human voices. They flap and ruffle through my hair, sucking my breath away in gasps. They rip through Taelor’s fluttery dress and leave the sleeves in rags. I slap them away and shout. They cower, but I know their retreat is only temporary. They’re becoming less like frightened children and more like volatile monsters the longer they’re stuck here.
I have to send them back before someone from the Pleasance High staff opens the doors and experiences full-blown cardiac arrest.