“Poor, sweet, Alice.” A song bearing my name came from the shadowed corner where my little table was set with my precious tiny tea set. “Did that red woman scare you?” In the dim light, I could barely make out what waited.
It was a man, far too tall to be seated at my play table. His knees bent up, spread apart so he might fit. He seemed ridiculously tall, though all adults looked large to children.
His trousers were striped in alternating black and white from his hips, over his knobby knees, down to scuffed shoes. On his shoulders and around his waist was a green velvet coat. His shirt and cravat were yellowed, crinkled, and not at all pretty no matter how big the bow he had tied. Atop his head was a hat like my father wore when he went out in the evenings with Mama.
It was black beaver, hinting at a dint if one looked close enough, and greyed by dust.
He reached for the teapot and poured, holding out the cup he had filled for me, as if I might creep from the bed to play with him.
This one was new, and I knew better than to trust.
I would not move.
Voice dropping impossibly low, he growled, “You don’t need to be afraid of her, you know. She can’t even speak.” Lifting his chin, the man drew his finger across his throat. “Her head was cut clean off. All shhheeee can do is garble. Cracking fun to watch.” He poured more imaginary tea into my cup and held it even farther towards me. “Don’t ever let her touch you though.”
Blinking, feeling the sleepy crust in my eyes, I whispered, “Why?”
“Madder than a march hare, that one. The Red Queen, she’s something special. A true psychopath. Do you know that word, sweet Alice?”
I shook my head no.
“Your skin... she’ll take yours, tie it in knots, and wear it on her head like a hat.” He’d said it in a way that his yellow eyes bugged, his singsong almost silly as he pointed to his head.
Giddy as I was, I giggled.
Looking back now, I see that I should not have done it. All it did was invite more from the monster. “And the boys... they are naughty, naughty boys, aren’t they?”
I nodded frantically, clutching at my bedsheets. My arms were still marked with healing reminders of their claws. Under the covers, I had teeth marks on my ankles.
“Don’t whimper, good, little girl. Come here and have your tea. I’ll keep the rest away tonight.”
I’d seen a puppet show on the street once on a rare occasion when I’d been allowed to accompany Mama on a special trip outside. The marionettes had been controlled by strings. That was how I felt when my covers peeled back and I dared step a stocking foot out of my bed.
I went to that table and I sat across from the tall, grey-skinned man.
His arm holding out my tiny cup was motionless, abnormally unmoving. Reaching forward, I gingerly took the saucer, the edges of my pinky brushing his grip on the plate.
The man with long sideburns, grinned, he stared, and I cowered.
“What is wrong with your fingers?”
There was a bruise across my knuckles, my palms were blistered. Fat tears collected in my eyes, and my pouted lip began to shake. It had been such a terrible day. When I’d dozed during my lessons, the hag who taught me harp had cracked my hands with her cane again.
I wanted to please my parents. I wanted to be good. But I could not help but fall asleep at my lessons.
Where I held the tea cup, the man in the dirty hat reached forward. His finger caught the end of my pinky and drew it up in mimicry of how fine ladies held their libations. “Your tea will get cold.”
“I don’t like the boys. They get me in so much trouble!”
“They are easy to tame. When they poke at you,” his grin, the edges of his mouth shifted enough to take all mirth from the expression. Instead, he looked utterly scary, “give them each a hard smack in the face.”
They were bigger than me, and so much stronger. When I kicked, they bit. When I clawed, they squeezed.
Before I might complain on the topic, the man poured himself a measure of the invisible tea and held up his cup. I sipped in mirror to his movements. He’d made slurping noises and smacked his lips, declaring the flavor superb. My frown grew less severe.
At my shy smile, those yellow eyes became alive in a way the rest of him was decidedly not. “Alice, be a good girl and drink all your tea.”
“It’s good tea, sir.”