Chapter 4
Chapter Four
HOOK
Falling. Let me tell you, when you first start to fall from somewhere very high, the first thing that goes through your mind isn’t your life flashing before your eyes, it isn’t a sense of what the hell?
No. For a brief second, there’s a moment of wondering, a not-quite-figuring-out what the bloody hell is happening.
Then there’s a moment of total and utter panic.
And that’s me. I’m flailing through the air as if I’ve been yanked off the side of my ship mid-storm.
My heart’s pounding, my breaths coming fast, and all I can think is, “Shit, shit, shit.” as I desperately grapple for anything close to me, anything that might stop me from falling to my death.
The portal was supposed to bring me to Wonderland, not drop me into a bottomless pit.
“Bloody hell,” I shout, twisting in the air, trying to grab onto something—anything, I don’t care. It just has to stop the freefall. My fingers scrape against cold, damp stone, but nothing holds. It’s just endless black, endless falling, and no ground in sight.
But something catches my eye—a table, a freaking table, floating to my left, drifting past me like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “What in the—?”
Before I can even finish that thought, it’s gone, swallowed up by the shadows. And then there’s a clock, ticking away as it lazily floats by. Oh sure, I think, because Wonderland couldn’t let me just fall. No. It’s gone and tossed in some random furniture for good measure.
Bravo.
I reach out instinctively, snatching at the ledge sticking out from the wall, but my hook scrapes uselessly against the rock. “Of course. Why would it do anything else?”
I twist around again, trying to find some sense of up and down, because believe me, at this point, I have no fucking idea.
The world is spinning. Lamps, mirrors, and teacups float by in a nonsensical parade, tumbling past me like I’ve fallen into some lunatic’s storeroom.
There’s even a rocking chair—a ROCKING CHAIR—drifting serenely past me, like it’s taking an afternoon nap.
“This can’t be real,” I mutter. It’s the only explanation I have as I reach out for a branch that seems to materialise out of nowhere. I grab hold, hoping for a reprieve, but the sodding thing snaps in my hand and I’m back to falling. “Oh, bloody brilliant. Because why wouldn’t I?”
I kick out in the air, trying to regain some balance, but it’s like I’m suspended in a world that’s given up on the laws of gravity.
Objects drift lazily by, taunting me with their absurdity—a portrait of a cat, a spinning globe, a stack of books.
Each one glides past as if this entire place is showing off its mad little collection of odds and sods.
The panic is still there, bubbling under the surface, but it’s giving way to something else now. Annoyance, maybe. Because this isn’t even falling. This is floating.
“Wait a second,” I mutter, glancing down. I’m not hurtling through the air anymore. My descent slows. I’m still falling, yes, but it’s more like drifting down a lazy river rather than plummeting to my death.
I know, dramatic. I don’t care.
I grab another root—this one thicker and gnarled—and it holds. For a moment I dangle there, catching my breath. “Well, Wonderland, would you look at that. You’ve got yourself a sense of humour. Hook is hooked.”
And just as I think I might be able to pull myself up, the root cracks and sends me spinning again.
Another bookcase drifts by, stacked with dusty old tomes. I’m half tempted to reach for one, just to see if it’s real, but before I can, a chandelier—yes, a chandelier—floats past me, swinging gently.
“This place... this whole place is one big joke,” I spit out, torn between laughter and frustration. “Alright, Wonderland, you’ve had your fun. Now where’s the sodding ground?”
I’m still descending, slowly but surely, my body twisting and turning in the air as objects float in their own bizarre orbit.
I try to right myself, but it’s no sodding use.
There’s no sense of direction here—just an endless freefall through a world that’s decided it’s going to torture me and gravity is optional.
A grandfather clock floats by next, its pendulum swinging back and forth. I reach for it, thinking maybe I can grab onto something solid and float back up, but my fingers slip off the polished wood and I’m spinning again. Brilliant.
I catch a glimpse of a mirror—my own reflection, wild-eyed and frustrated, staring back at me as I careen down. “Oh, you’re just enjoying this too, aren’t you?” I roll my eyes at myself and the mirror spins out of view, leaving me with nothing but the occasional floating teacup for company.
And then, finally, the ground appears. Not rushing up to meet me, but slowly—like the earth itself is taking its sweet time. Still, I brace myself, arms outstretched, ready for the inevitable thud.
With a dull thump, I land and lose my balance, sprawling onto my back, the wind knocked out of me.
I’m otherwise intact. I stare at the ceiling—if you can call it that.
It’s a dark, endless cavern dimly lit by patches of glowing moss that cling to the walls.
For a moment, I just lie there, catching my breath.
“Well,” I say to the empty room, “that could have been worse.”
I sit up, rubbing my ribs as I take in the space around me.
The cavern is wide, with jagged walls and damp stone.
It smells of earth and something metallic.
I’ve landed in the belly of some forgotten beast. There’s no clear exit—no doors, no windows.
Just a vast empty space with nothing but shadows.
“Of course.” I drag myself to my feet. “Why would there be a door? Why would it be that easy?”
I dust myself off, grimacing at the dirt clinging to my leather coat. “I wonder if Smee is stuck in some place like this? He better be. Sending me down here after his sorry arse.”
I start pacing, my boots echoing off the stone floor. The silence is unnerving. Even the objects that had drifted past me seem to have vanished. It’s just me, the empty space, and the oppressive quiet.
“Alright, Wonderland,” I say, glancing around. “What’s your next trick? You’ve thrown me down a hole, floated a damn chandelier past my head, and now what? Just leave me here?”
It’s then that I turn, and behind me is a table. It wasn’t there before, let me tell you. On top of it is a small bottle. It has a small tag hanging from it. I lift it, turn it over.
“Drink me.”
I let out a breath, shaking my head. “Oh, hell no. I know how this part goes.” So I open it, bring the bottle to my nose, take a whiff of it. It smells like peppermint. And I tip the contents into my mouth. Because why not? What’s the worst that could happen in this mad world?