Alice Rabbits

Round and Round He Goes

Detective Samuel Wells remembered those memories, playing through each one like a mini movie only by now the film was blurred and scrambled on the floor in great fat rolls. The colic wails of a sick baby echoed throughout Mill Woods, picked up on stray breezes, traveling through the trunks of trees stripped bare of their leaves.

It was the cries of baby Finn, named Finnigan if you wanted to be proper, that he ended up wandering the woods, trying to locate the infant, far from his fellow companions. Missing reports were being filed frequently, but the orphan was a special case. Everybody heard his terrible screeches thick in the woods. A place everyone wouldn't ever go, too chicken after the incident.

Finnigan, tiny lungs never ceasing, landed Samuel in a situation with no hope of escaping. Wingtip dress shoes stopped beside an ancient oak tree, covered in wet leaf litter. He imagined his own son, Theadore Wells, tucked inside warm blankets layered atop his bed, sleeping fitfully. Deep down, he knew the future events, and how he never had a chance to say goodbye. How he filled his dead dad's shoes.

Happy the Smiley Clown always smiling despite circumstances stood in between two bowed trees. His swelled red shoes bulged out in front of him, matching his pin striped costume stained a suspicious red. In his gloved hands rested baby Finn, wailing and waving his tiny balled fists in the air. His face was red from bawling, tears squeezing past his tightly screwed shut eyes.

"We meet again, Samuel Wells. Or should I say, Detective Samuel Wells." Happy's orbs glittered like black stars, matching the nasty fake grin on his cheap, plastic mask.

Samuel ignored the clown, already reaching for his pistol hidden inside his coat. "I don't want to shoot you, hand over the child."

"Shoot me? Now now, this little boy is perfect for my circus."

Finnigan's blubbers quieted, his hands going to his mouth so he could suck on them. He peeked open his eyes and stared up the white painted clown's face.

"He doesn't belong to you." Samuel pulled his gun out, aiming it at the ground.

Nerves under the clown's right eye twitched, muscles tensed underneath the costume. "He doesn't belong to anyone, so I adopted him." His voice spoke quietly, holding a dark warning in each word. "He's mine."

Finnigan peered up at the clown, a smile dimpling his plump cheeks.

Samuel lifted up the gun, ready to fire, but stopped as his gaze drifted to a shape flitting about behind the clown.

Happy didn't look behind him, his concentration on the baby. "Rosie GQ," he growled out.

A girl no older than six years of age skipped forth from hiding in the surrounding shrubbery.

Samuel gagged, unable to stare at the gas mask creatively attached to her face. It swallowed her whole, the edges hidden behind her knotted brown hair. He heard her wheeze through the small hose dangling down her chest. Red glass covered eyes stared at him, and he sensed a deep hatred emitted from the girl. She gripped a cleaver in her hands, the metal glinting dangerously under the moonlight.

"Hello," Rosie GQ gasped, her voice nasally and muffled. Her free hand, fingernails caked with dried blood scratched at the wounds on the side of her head. The gas mask was stitched firmly in her skin; thick green puss oozed out of the infected abrasions. "My head itches," she complained, aimed at Happy.

Happy waved her off. "You'll get used to it." He held out his hand and the girl promptly pulled off his glove.

Samuel watched knobby clawed fingers prick baby Finnigan on the mouth. "This is disgusting," he breathed, eyeing Rosie GQ.

"I think I'll name you Chelsea." Happy ignored the detective, dragging one hooked nail across the baby's cheeks. A bead of blood welled up under his touch. "You'll have a beautiful smile from ear to ear. Yes, yes, that sounds very nice. What do you think Rosie GQ?"

Rosie GQ tried to nod her head, but the heavy weight of her gas mask wouldn't allow it. Instead she wheezed,"Can he be my friend?"

Happy let out a trilling laugh. "Of course, Chelsea and Rosie Gas Queen! King and Queen!"

Samuel decided now was the time to fire his gun. The bullet ripped through the clown's chest.

"Mind your manners Sammy," Happy giggled, his voice pitch higher than Rosie's. His fake grin seemed to grow wider, the jagged teeth eager to sink into his flesh. "I might make you the boy who couldn't fit his dead daddy's shoes."

The girl on the other hand wasn't amused in the slightest. She breathed through her gas mask, lumbered forward, her cleaver dragged behind her. It gouged the soil, creating a thin line. "You do not hurt master." The rage in her voice vibrated through Samuel's body, invaded his mind.

Happy continued to laugh.

Finnigan started up his shrieking, kicking his chubby legs.

Samuel's hands shook in fear, he didn't want to shoot a girl no older than six. Detective Dave Wells would never attempt to cause pain.

Rosie GQ decided to sing as she lurched closer. "Little Mr. Muffet, sat on his tuffet, eating his curds and whey."

Happy joined in, squeaking along the lines. "Along came a spider, that weaved a web he couldn't escape."

Tiny strands dropped from the trees, coiling around Samuel's arms. He found he wasn't able to lift his arms, and started thrashing violently. His life shouldn't end like this.

"Who sat down beside him, but Little Mr. Muffet couldn't run away." Rosie GQ lashed out her cleaver with sudden strength. The blade sank deep into Samuel's stomach. "He struggled and struggled," she growled as she stabbed him, crawling over him as he collapsed to his knees.

"She stabbed and jabbed, until Little Mr. Muffet couldn't run away." Happy ended the verse, watching his little Alice Rabbit pulverize Samuel's body with her cleaver, slashing and dicing. Blood soaked the fancy detective coat, deep gashes gushing blood as Rosie GQ painted him a lovely scene. Baby Finnigan wriggled in his arms.

Samuel felt his body run cold, he no longer felt the horrible pain. Was this what his father experienced when they found his body pocketed of holes? His eyes rolled skywards, staring up towards the moon. His fingers twitched, slackening their hold on his pistol. Black dots invaded his vision until he no longer saw. No longer felt.

Rosie GQ stood from straddling Detective Samuel Wells, rising slowly, her rattling pants loud as her chest heaved. Gore and flesh bits splattered and soaked her entire dress, coated her arms and specked her gas mask. She felt satisfied though as she walked back towards Happy the Smiley Clown who patiently waited. "Did I do good?" She asked him, worry in her raspy voice.

Happy gave her an impish, evil grin. "Very good," he replied, "As a treat you can make the first mark when we decorate Chelsea." He stared down at the baby watching him with a fist in his slobbery mouth.

"Okay!" The little girl cheered, brandished her cleaver slick with scarlet and trotted into the woods.

"Bye Samuel," Happy waved at the dead man, shadows eating his silhouette. "I wonder if Theadore will fill his dead daddy's shoes." He chuckled and followed his minion towards the circus tents.