Sissy Pantelis

The Catepillar Syndrome

 

 

The clock chimes three times. Trying to ignore it, I grasp my cup of coffee and bring it to my lips. Before I have time to take a sip, the white rabbit emerges from the coffee. The rabbit darts a glance at the clock then stares at me. “Time to go,” he says and fastens the clock to the pocket of his waistcoat with a golden chain. As we dive into the coffee, I wonder how a clock as tall as the room can fit into the miniscule pocket of the rabbit and how the thin golden chain can hold it there. I am about to ask the rabbit, but the brown curtain is lifted and we are at a theatre stage that looks like a courtroom. The three judges at the bench are birds in black robes, the sleeves of which are adorned with three rows of red hearts. The judge sitting at the centre is a crow and wears golden-framed glasses; the judge on his left is a duck and the one on his right is a sort of a woodpecker crowned with a huge red crest. All three remind me of the cartoons I used to watch on TV when I was a little girl.

 

“Silence,” caws the crow-judge in a raucous voice while the woodpecker hammers his beak on the table. In the courtroom there is no audience (the white rabbit and I are out of the stage so we hardly count as court audience) so I don’t see why the crow-judge demands silence. “Robin Hatter, will you stand up?”

 

Only then do I notice the guy at the desk. A tall hat in various colors covers his violet hair and his eyes are shining feverishly. “I am here, Your honor,” he says in a voice like an out-of-tune violin.

 

“You are accused of having stolen some… tarts.” The crow-judge adjusts his glasses on his beak to better consult his notes.

“Raspberry tarts,” he adds while a few notes escape from the papers he is holding and float in the air, filling it with a sweet melody that makes my mouth water. “How do you plead?”

 

“Not guilty, Your honor. I have not stolen those tarts. They were sent to me as a present by the Queen of Hearts.”

 

“Accused, do you mock me?”

 

“Not at all, your honor…I am sorry that you even think so!”

 

“Does your defence consist of silly rhymes?”

 

“No, your honor. We also have solid prose at your disposal.” This time it is not the Mad Hatter that speaks. It is a huge cat, dressed in a velvet costume and boots. He appeared out of thin air and now he stands above the hat of the accused.

The crow-judge peers at him from above his glasses. “Who are you, pray?”

 

“Why, Lord Cheshire – the lawyer of Mr Hatter, Your honor. My client has not stolen those tarts.”

 

“Do you have proof of this or are you wasting the time of this Court?”

 

“We have plenty of time for the Court, Your honor,” replies the Mad Hatter. He takes his hat off and from inside it, he produces some cards – all of them spades and clubs – that he throws in the air. The cards turn into clocks that depict dancers dressed in black velvet costumes and performing various dancing figures to the tune of Irish music. The hands of the dancers are pointed at hours that correspond to the number of their card. The spade ballerina indicating nine o’clock falls in front of the judge. The rest of the cards are strewn throughout the courtroom.

 

“SILENCE,” shouts the judge. The music ceases and the card-dancers keep dancing noiselessly. “Accused, you may speak.”

 

“As I was saying, Your honor, those tarts were sent to me as a present for my unbirthday…”

 

“By the Queen of Hearts?”

 

“Yes, Your honor. Her Grace knows that I prefer lemon pies, but she sent raspberry tarts as the hare loves them so much.”

 

The judge stared at the hat of the accused. “You put the tarts on your hair? What for?”

 

“No, I don’t,” shrugs the Mad Hatter. “I only use lavender for my hair- it suits better the color and it smells nice. I

sometimes use raspberry in my alchemy experiments, though.”

 

“Alchemy?”

 

“Yes, Your honor. To produce red music in dreams – raspberries are a good ingredient for the flavour of the melody.”

 

“So, you did not steal the tarts.”

 

“No, Your honor. He did not,” confirmed the cat in boots. “I am afraid there is a misunderstanding. You see, no tarts were stolen.”

 

“No tarts, you say?”

 

“No tarts, Your honor. Cards.  The stolen items are playing cards.”

 

“Oh!!”

 

“And my client did not steal them. I did!!”

 

“B… But you are a lawyer!!”

 

Lord Cheshire’s face splits into a wide grin. “Exactly,” he exclaims in triumph “and this is the ace up my sleeve!!” Out of his sleeve, he produces an ace of hearts and throws it in the air. “And now, Your honor, you will excuse me. I have an important poker game to attend to.” For a brief while, only his wide grin is visible. Then he vanishes.

 

“I have to go too,” says the Mad Hatter. “I have a fashion show – the eight ladies in waiting of the queen of hearts are expecting their new hats. You will excuse me too.” Taking his hat off, he salutes the judges and exits the courtroom.

 

“This is not regular,” says the crow-judge. “I have to continue the procedure…” He turns to the ace of hearts – a poor guy dressed in red sitting on the ground and breathing with difficulty. “Accused, do you plead guilty or not?”

 

“I… I am not the accused!! We were stolen, Your honor!! Also I have asthma…”

 

“Aha!!! And who gave it to you?”

 

I don’t want to see more. I know that the judge needs someone to condemn and I might be the next one he will blame. “This is enough wisdom for this time,” I whisper to the white rabbit. “I am off—”

 

It is not necessary to go back through the coffee. I just open my eyes and wake up. My psychiatry books are lying on the table, but there is no more time to study. I have to hurry to my exam - I am late!!

 

I rush to the street and mount the first giant snail that happens to pass by. “To the Bandersnatch University –Department of Psychiatrics. And please do your best – I am late!”

 

The snail does its best – it goes on so slowly that I almost fall asleep again. Finally, it brings me exactly where my exam takes place. Sitting on a huge mushroom that towers the piles of books all around, Professor Caterpillar is waiting for me.

 

“Miss Alice Littlewood, you aaare late,” he says when he sees me. Actually, Professor Caterpillar never speaks to students directly. He always talks to us through his pipe. Now the pipe is shaped as a green dragon that produces smoke out of his mouth as he talks to me.

 

“Forgive me, Professor. I overslept. I was studying and I had some coffee…”

 

“Cooffeeee???” Emerald-green smoke comes out of the dragon’s mouth, a sign of discontent. “Why, Miss Littlewooood – coffee should never be used to keep one awake! Milk or wine will do a much better job at keeping one alert. Any psychiatry student should know this.”

 

This is not a good start for my exam. “You… you are right, Professor Caterpillar. I will have milk next time.”

 

“Perrrfect. Wined milk with honey is most efficient…” The violet smoke produced by the dragon is some relief to me– it is a sign that the professor is appeased. “Now, yourrrr question…”

 

I write down the question. “Please talk me about Oneiric Kleptomania.”

 

I fervently note down a few things to put my ideas in order. “Oneiric Kleptomania, also known as dream robbery is a rare psychiatric disorder. According to your own theory, dream theft is mostly a compulsive disorder quite alike to gambling addiction to card games or roulette…”

 

“Corrrect Miss Littlewooddd…” Pink smoke comes out of the dragon’s nostrils. “You prooobably know that this theory is the most widely accepted at present.” I glance at the red smoke. I have to be cautious from now on – modesty is not Professor Caterpillar’s prime quality.

 

“I am aware of this, Professor. There are even rumors about  you receiving the Vorpal Award for this theory…” Bright red smoke encourages me to continue. “Nevertheless, with your permission, I wish to discuss another possibility.”

 

“Of courrrse Miss Littlewood. In psychiatry, one has to keep an ooopen mind.”

 

“I think that – well, when it comes to the theft of red dreams at least, there might be another cause than mere compulsion.”

 

“Which is?”

 

“Attraction to the particular fragrance produced by those dreams. Which is most likely lemon perfume or lemon-pie flavoured scent.”

 

“Quite an interesting theory!! And in this case, what would motivate the dream theft?”

 

“Why, Professor – pleasure of course!”

 

 

 

Sissy Pantelis is a fantasy writer of prose and comics. Her short stories have been published in various magazines and anthologies in French, Greek, Spanish and English in various magazines and anthologies.Her two graphic novels Red Nightmare and Blue Sparkles are just completed and will come out by British comic publisher Markosia in the coming months. http://www.markosia.com/

 

Here is the preview of the first comic (Red Nightmare): http://www.markosia.com/graphic-novels/red-nightmare

 

The author & DM wish to thank Michael Cheval for kindly giving permission to use his painting "Metamorphosis" to illustrate this story.