HorrorAddicts.net Press presents… Clockwork Wonderland.
Clockwork Wonderland contains stories from authors that see Wonderland as a place of horror where anything can happen and time runs amok. In this book you’ll find tales of murderous clockworks, insane creations, serial killers, zombies, and a blood thirsty jabberclocky. Prepare to see Wonderland as a place where all your worst nightmares come true. You may never look at classic children’s literature the same way again.
Edited by Emerian Rich
Cover by Carmen Maslosk
Trinity Adler | Ezra Barany | Jaap Boekestein | Dustin Coffman | Stephanie Ellis | Jonathan Fortin | Laurel Anne Hill | N. McGuire | Jeremy Megargee | James Pyne | Michele Roger | H.E. Roulo | Sumiko Saulson | K.L. Wallis
Foreword by David Watson
And now an excerpt from Riddle…
Whitechapel Station was better kept than the surrounding neighborhood. The dirt and grime of London couldn’t touch the pride of the Queen’s steam trains. The immaculately maintained rail system had only a single flaw: tardiness.
A young lady of some twenty years of age sat on a bench, in rapture. Her pale blue eyes swung from left to right across the pages of The Book of the Thousand Nights and One Nights, but none were privy to that fact as the book was hidden behind the latest issue of The Girl’s Own Paper.
The bench creaked as a man sat down beside her and the young lady glanced up from her book. The man wore a smart tweed suit and black top hat. His white hair hung down to his shoulders and was divided into two sections. The young lady blinked. What she had thought was hair was not hair at all, but a pair of floppy rabbit ears. The patches on the elbows of the man’s jacket were the color of chocolate.
“I’m late,” he said, clicking the watch shut and slipping it back into his pocket.
“So is the train,” said the young lady.
“Oh!” The man startled, a cry of surprise escaping him. “My lateness is not the fault of the locomotive,” he said flatly. “Robert White.” He extended a white gloved hand to her.
She closed her book and smoothed the fabric of her skirt over her knees. With her other hand she shook Mr. White’s hand.
“Alice Lutwidge.” The young woman covered her mouth to hide a yawn. Reading always made her drowsy.
Just then the train pulled into the station and screeched to a halt.
“Shall we?” Mr. White offered Alice his arm and the two boarded the train. They parted ways upon realizing Mr. White’s ticket seated him further down the train.
Alice’s compartment was adequate, with enough room to comfortably seat four people and store their luggage on the overhead shelves. The deep cherry upholstery of the seats blended nicely with the mahogany walls and door. Alice hoisted her bag over her head and struggled to situate her belongings on the shelf above. She grunted and heaved with no success and was considering stowing her luggage beneath her feet when a slender hand appeared beside hers on the bag and gave a mighty shove. Alice’s belongings placed appropriately, she turned to thank the owner of the hand.
The young man wore a dove gray top hat and smartly matching suit. Shocks of dark curls fell about his ears and over the collar of his shirt. His face was not unpleasant, a Roman nose, shapely lips, cleanly shaven square jaw, and one very light-blue iris-flecked eye with bits of amber. The left eye was obscured from her view by a very unusual monocle fashioned from a brass gear. Within the looking glass were tiny gears, cogs, springs, and all manner of other parts, all moving three clock hands, none of them the correct time. As the clock-monocle whirred softly, the man smiled, glimmering white teeth catching the light.
“Hello, there,” he said removing the eye piece and tucking it into the breast pocket of his waistcoat. “My name is Jack. Who might you be?” He removed his coat.
“Alice,” she answered and sat down in her seat.
“Do you like riddles, Alice?”
Alice peered at Jack. Now that he had removed his looking glass, she could see his eyes were not the same color. The pale blue of the right eye disappeared into white as the left was black as pitch in entirety. Alice stared into the void where Jack’s left eye should be.
“I am very fond of riddles,” she said, looking away. Staring was rude.
Jack eased into the seat across from Alice and grinned, his smile so broad that his eyes shrank to narrow slits.
“I have no wings, yet I can fly. Can you tell me, what am I?”
Rubbing her palms together, Alice fell into thought. The train whistle cut through the air, and they pulled away from the station. Some moments passed while Alice mulled over the riddle. She was still rather stymied when the passenger compartment door opened and a porter rolled a tea trolley into the small gap between the seats.
“Tea time,” the porter announced.
Having discovered the answer to the riddle, Alice’s face brightened and she smiled to herself knowingly.
“I have the answer to your riddle, Jack.”
To read the full story and more Clock-inspired, Alice Horror, check out