Excerpt from "Forgotten Corners of Canadian History” Chapter 12: Erie House Asylum and Erye Black’s Island.

Nestled on a lonely, windswept island in Lake Erie, just within the Canadian border, stands Erie House Asylum — a foreboding institution with a history as murky and mysterious as the fog that often shrouds its shores. For over a century, Erie House has been home to individuals deemed too dangerous, too unstable, or simply too different to live among the general population. This isolated facility, located on what was once known as Black’s Isle, has been the final destination for countless lost souls. To understand its place in history, we must look back to its origins and the enigmatic figure who built it.

The Enigmatic Eyre Black: A Legacy of Mystery

The story of Erie House begins with a man named Eyre Black, a reclusive figure who emerged in the early 19th century. A man of wealth, though no one quite knew how he had acquired it, Black was said to have been involved with the Hudson’s Bay Company before retreating from public life. In the 1830s, he purchased Black’s Isle — then an uninhabited and unremarkable piece of land on Lake Erie — from the Hudson’s Bay Company. The reasons for his purchase remain unclear; some say he was fleeing a scandal, while others suggest he sought solitude to pursue his arcane interests.

Construction on the island began in 1835, and by 1837, Black had erected a massive Gothic mansion that would become known as Erie House. Built with dark stone quarried from the island and designed in a style that echoed medieval castles, the mansion was as much a fortress as it was a home. Black spared no expense, insisting on secret passageways, hidden chambers, and fortified walls. The mansion soon became a local legend, inspiring stories of its strange owner and the bizarre activities said to take place within its walls.

Eyre Black himself rarely left the island after the mansion's completion. Local records describe him as tall and gaunt, with piercing blue eyes and a shock of white hair. He was known for his eccentricities, his obsession with the occult, and his collection of rare and unusual artifacts. Rumors swirled around the region: some claimed he was a sorcerer or a member of a secret society, others believed he was a madman who conducted strange experiments. Whatever the truth, the reclusive Black was a source of endless fascination and speculation.

The Disappearance of Eyre Black

In 1847, Eyre Black vanished without a trace. When a supply boat arrived one day, the mansion’s doors were found wide open, and the servants had all disappeared. Black’s personal study, located in one of the mansion's hidden wings, had been ransacked. Books were strewn about, glass shattered, and strange symbols were scrawled on the walls. Despite extensive searches, no trace of Eyre Black was ever found.

Local legend suggests that Black’s fate was tied to his pursuit of the arcane, claiming he was consumed by dark forces or spirits he had attempted to commune with. Others speculate that he fled, driven mad by his own obsessions. Regardless, the mansion stood empty for decades, abandoned to the elements and whispered to be cursed. Fishermen avoided the island, and locals spoke of strange lights in its windows at night and unexplained sounds echoing across the water.

Transformation into Erie House Asylum

By the early 1900s, the Canadian government was in need of facilities to house and treat the mentally ill. The mansion, with its isolated location and ample space, was repurposed to serve this need. The property was renamed Erie House Asylum in reference to the lake that surrounded it. It was expanded and modernized to accommodate its new role as an institution for the mentally unwell — especially those with extraordinary or "Special" abilities, whose conditions made them too dangerous or misunderstood to remain in regular society.

The mansion’s imposing architecture and foreboding atmosphere were deemed fitting for its new purpose. New wings were added, including reinforced cells, padded rooms, and extensive observation areas. Erie House quickly gained a reputation as a place where the most challenging and troubled patients were sent, and from the outset, its practices and its past attracted controversy.

Rumors and Dark Reputations: Eyre House’s Haunting Legacy

To this day, Erie House remains an enigmatic and troubling presence in the annals of Canadian history. Officially, it is described as a necessary facility providing care for those suffering from severe mental disorders. Yet, unofficially, it is a place of whispers and rumors, where history, legend, and the unexplained collide.

• The Ghost of Eyre Black: Some claim that Eyre Black never left his island. Reports of a spectral figure — tall, gaunt, with piercing blue eyes — wandering the corridors of the old mansion have persisted for over a century. Staff and patients alike speak of cold drafts, flickering lights, and footsteps where none should be. The sightings are most frequent near the library and basement, where Black was said to have conducted his strange experiments.
• The Cursed Study: The room where Eyre Black vanished remains sealed to this day. Staff refer to it as "The Cursed Study," and it is said that those who dare to enter experience a deep sense of dread, hallucinations, or even bouts of madness. Some report seeing symbols glow faintly on the walls or hearing whispers in an unknown language. The door remains locked, and few are willing to speak openly about what they have seen or felt within.
• The Hidden Passages and Theories of a Darker Purpose: The mansion is said to be riddled with hidden passages, many still undiscovered. Some believe these tunnels lead to secret catacombs beneath the island where Eyre Black hid dangerous artifacts or conducted forbidden rituals. Occasional sounds — scratching, faint voices — seem to emanate from behind the walls, feeding the fears of those who reside within.
• The Black Journal: A leather-bound journal, reportedly belonging to Eyre Black, was found during renovations in the early 1900s. Filled with cryptic notes, symbols, and references to a secret experiment, it has since disappeared, but rumors persist that it contains the key to understanding Black's fate and the true purpose of Erie House. Some believe that it is in the possession of a secretive government agency, intent on uncovering — or perhaps continuing — Black's work.

Present-Day Erie House: An Ongoing Enigma

Though Erie House is officially a psychiatric facility, its past and its secrets continue to cast a long shadow. Those who enter its gates do so with a sense of trepidation, aware that they are stepping into a place where the line between history and legend, science and superstition, is all too blurred. What remains undisputed is that Black’s Isle — or Erie House, as it is now known — is a place of mystery, where answers are elusive, and the past is never quite as distant as it seems.

(Excerpt from Chapter 12 of "Forgotten Corners of Canadian History" by Dr. Evelyn Foster, University of Toronto Press, 1987.)

It was as if the pages of that old history book were coming to life for Alice Little as she was escorted from the misty docks on Lake Erie, past advanced security checkpoints and high walls, toward her new home. All she could do was watch, feeling trapped inside herself — or perhaps, more correctly, trapped inside the persona who called herself Wonderland.

The guards flanked her on either side, their expressions grim, their eyes wary, as if expecting her to snap at any moment. She could feel their fear like a tangible thing, pulsing in the air around them, though she barely registered it. Alice was there, somewhere deep inside, but Wonderland was the one who had the reins now. Wonderland, with her fractured thoughts and twisted sense of reality, was the one they were afraid of.

Ahead, the shadowy outline of Erie House Asylum loomed, its Gothic towers shrouded in mist, rising like dark sentinels against the gray sky. The building seemed to breathe with a life of its own, the old stones whispering secrets to those who could hear them. Alice shivered, whether from the cold or the sight of the place, she wasn’t sure.

She had read about it once in a dusty old book, a chapter on haunted places and the broken souls who had inhabited them. Now, she was walking into one of those stories herself, the iron gates of Erie House closing behind her with a clang that sounded like a death knell.

Wonderland giggled in the back of her mind, delighted by the atmosphere, as if she were Alice following the White Rabbit down into the depths of madness. But this was no whimsical Wonderland; this was a place where the lines between reality and illusion were blurred, and even Wonderland wasn’t sure who or what might be waiting for her inside.

Alice remembered the trial. She had wanted to scream, to break free, to tell everyone what had truly happened, but Wonderland wouldn't let her. All she could do was make a game of it, treating the judge like the Queen of Hearts and playing her strange little word games with the lawyers. It was a miracle that her friend, no, her best friend Coraline, had kept her from going to prison—but was this place really any better?

Now, as she stood before Erie House, she felt the edges of her mind flutter like the pages of that history book, wondering if she would find answers here or simply get lost in another story. She looked up at the looming building, its shadow stretching out like a giant’s hand, and whispered, "We're all mad here, aren't we?"

And somewhere, deep within the forgotten corners of Erie House, a distant door creaked open in reply.

As the guards led her further into Erie House, Alice’s gaze fell upon a large, tarnished mirror hanging on the wall. In its cracked surface, she caught a glimpse of her own reflection and couldn’t help but notice how disheveled she looked. Her long blonde hair hung in tangled strands, her eyes tired and hollow. The stark white uniform they had given her looked wrong — no, not on her, but on Wonderland.

“That’s right, Alice,” came the voice, soft and lilting, echoing in the stillness of her mind. “I’m in charge because you need me. I’m the one who keeps you safe, who builds a world where you can be happy,” Wonderland's voice cooed from the reflection, a quiet, sing-song melody threading through the air.

Alice felt a pang of sadness, her lips trembling as she whispered back to the figure in the glass, “But you hurt people… you scared them. I know Michael deserved it, but what about everyone else you dragged into it?” Her voice was small, almost pleading, the words barely escaping her lips.

The reflection smiled wider, the corners of Wonderland’s mouth stretching into something that was almost a grin, but not quite. “Oh, Alice, sweet Alice,” Wonderland purred, her voice light, almost playful, but tinged with a strange darkness. “Hurt them? Scared them? I gave them what they needed — a taste of the real magic, a world beyond their dull, dreary lives.”

Alice's eyes filled with tears, a mix of anger and sorrow. “But they didn’t ask for it! They didn’t want to be part of your game.”

Wonderland's expression softened, her eyes twinkling with a knowing look. “Is that really true, Alice? Don’t you remember the look in their eyes, the way they marveled at what they couldn’t understand? Some part of them wanted it… craved it, even. I just… gave them a push.”

The guards tugged her forward, breaking her gaze from the mirror, but Wonderland’s voice remained in her head, dancing around her thoughts like a shadow in the fog. Alice felt her heart tighten, her hands trembling slightly at her sides.

“Maybe… maybe they did,” she admitted softly, but then shook her head. “But it wasn’t your choice to make.”

Wonderland laughed, a tinkling, eerie sound that sent shivers down Alice’s spine. “Choices, choices, dear Alice. When did you ever get to make them on your own? I only stepped in when you needed me most. And here we are, at the edge of a new story, a new chapter… Aren’t you curious to see how it unfolds?”

Alice bit her lip, struggling to hold back the tears that threatened to spill. “I… I don’t know. I just want to feel… normal again.”

Wonderland’s voice softened, almost tender. “Oh, Alice. Normal is just a setting on a washing machine. You and I… we’re something much more interesting than that.”

The guards pulled her through another set of heavy iron doors, the sound of the locks echoing down the long, dimly lit hallway. Alice felt a wave of cold wash over her, the chill of the stone floors seeping through her thin shoes. She felt Wonderland retreat slightly in her mind, not gone, but lurking, waiting.

As they moved deeper into Erie House, Alice took one last glance at her reflection in a small, cracked window. She could still see the shadow of Wonderland in her eyes, smiling back at her with that knowing, playful look.

“You’ll see, Alice,” Wonderland whispered, her voice a soft promise in the back of her mind. “We’re not done yet. Not by a long shot.”

And as they turned the corner, the flickering lights above cast strange, shifting shadows on the walls, like figures dancing at the edge of her vision — a dance only Wonderland knew the steps to.

Minutes Later

Alice sat rigidly in the cold metal chair, her wrists and ankles secured with thick leather straps. The room was stark, clinical, its white walls illuminated by the harsh, sterile glow of fluorescent lights overhead. The smell of antiseptic filled her nostrils, sharp and invasive, mingling with the faint hum of machinery. She felt her heart pounding in her chest, a rhythmic beat that seemed to echo in the stillness of the lab.

An older man with thinning gray hair and a neatly pressed lab coat entered, his steps purposeful. He held a clipboard in one hand, and his eyes glinted with a mix of curiosity and clinical detachment as he approached. "Doctor Little, may I call you that?" he asked, his voice even and calm, almost too polite.

Alice nodded slowly, her voice barely a whisper. "You may..."

In the back of her mind, Wonderland giggled, her voice lilting with amusement. "Doctor! Oh, he calls you doctor... maybe he wants to play operation! Bzzzt! Don't touch the sides while you perform the lobotomy!" Wonderland's laughter bubbled like a child delighting in a twisted game. Alice clenched her jaw, trying to drown out the sound. She was in control, but Wonderland was still there, lurking just beneath the surface, ready to pounce.

The man gave a small smile, introducing himself with a slight bow of his head. "I'm Doctor Rollins. We’re just going to fit you with a psychic inhibitor today. Nothing to worry about — just a precaution to help manage your condition." He gestured to a nearby technician, who began adjusting a device that looked like a metal collar, its surface lined with intricate electronic components. The technician stepped closer, locking it around Alice's neck with a click. She could feel the cold metal pressing against her skin, the faint hum of the electronics buzzing in her ears.

Alice’s mind immediately began cataloging the components, identifying their functions, and understanding their design. She knew what they were meant to do — disrupt psionic activity, suppress any psychic projections, limit her powers. It was primitive, crude even, compared to the technology she had developed. Wonderland’s voice purred softly, cooing to her from the recesses of her psyche, "I bet we could get this ugly necklace off with a fork. It's so crude, nothing compared to your works, sweet Alice..."

Alice bit the inside of her cheek, trying to focus on the present, trying not to let Wonderland's voice take over. But it was hard, so hard, especially with the collar pressing against her throat, a constant reminder of her containment, her new reality.

Doctor Rollins continued, seemingly oblivious to her inner struggle. "I've read your papers, you know," he said, his voice almost cheerful, as if they were having a casual conversation over coffee instead of strapping her into a chair. "I'm a big fan, actually. Your work on psycho-reactive technology — groundbreaking stuff. I hope your stay with us is short and productive."

He leaned in, checking the calibration on the dampener around her neck. His eyes flicked up to meet hers, and for a moment, Alice saw a spark of genuine interest, maybe even admiration. But it was fleeting, replaced quickly by the professional detachment that seemed to define him.

"Productive?" Alice murmured, her voice flat. "What do you expect me to do here, Doctor? Continue my research in a padded room?"

Doctor Rollins chuckled lightly, as if she had made a joke. "Oh, no, nothing like that. But I do believe that with the right environment and support, even someone with your... unique talents can find a way to contribute positively to society. We’re here to help you, after all."

Alice’s eyes narrowed slightly, a flicker of defiance in them. "Help me? By putting me in a cage?"

Rollins’s smile didn’t falter, but his eyes seemed to sharpen, just a bit. "Not a cage, Doctor Little. A place of healing. A place where we can understand you better, and you can learn to control what’s inside of you."

Alice swallowed, feeling the cold metal of the collar constricting around her neck. "I’m not sure you understand what’s inside of me," she replied softly, her gaze unwavering.

Wonderland’s voice was quieter now, almost a whisper. "They think they can cage me, Alice. But they don’t know the game. They don’t know the rules. We make the rules…"

Doctor Rollins straightened, seeming satisfied with the adjustments. "Well, we’ll see about that," he said with a final, placating smile. "Your progress will be monitored closely. I’m confident we can help you, Doctor Little."

Alice remained silent, her mind whirling. She felt the pressure of Wonderland pushing against her consciousness, felt the edges of reality beginning to blur around her. She took a deep breath, trying to center herself, trying to keep Wonderland at bay.

As Doctor Rollins turned away, she caught sight of her reflection once more in a small, round mirror mounted on the far wall. Her own eyes stared back at her, wide and anxious, but in their depths, she saw Wonderland lurking, smiling that knowing, playful smile.

“Productive…” Wonderland murmured in her mind, her tone mocking. “Oh, Alice, I think it’s going to be anything but.”

Hours later

The nurse, a woman with broad shoulders and a stern expression, loomed over Alice like a mountain of muscle. Her hands were large, calloused from years of handling difficult patients, and her eyes held no softness, only a cold practicality. She had pushed Alice toward the tiled stall with an impatient grunt, her voice sharp and devoid of sympathy. "Strip down," she ordered, her tone leaving no room for argument.

Alice’s hands trembled as she began to undress, her fingers fumbling with the fabric of her uniform. Wonderland, ever present in the back of her mind, giggled with glee. "Shall we do a little dance for the brick-shaped woman?" she teased, her voice dripping with mockery. "Or maybe sing a song? Something lively and absurd!"

Alice tried to drown her out, tried to focus on the nurse’s stern face, her robotic movements as she complied, shedding her clothing piece by piece. She stepped under the cold spray of water, the sudden chill biting into her skin, stealing her breath. The showerhead sputtered to life with a hiss, releasing a stream of icy water that pounded against her body, each drop like a tiny shard of glass.

The nurse watched her with a clinical detachment, arms crossed, her bulk filling the narrow space of the shower stall entrance. She seemed utterly uninterested in Alice’s discomfort, her gaze flat and impersonal. "Make sure you wash thoroughly," she barked, her voice echoing off the tiled walls. "And don’t try anything funny."

Wonderland’s voice continued its playful whisper in her ear. "Oh, Alice, such a dreary place, isn’t it? All gray and wet and cold. We could make it so much more… interesting. A little bit of color, a little bit of magic…”

Alice clenched her teeth, forcing herself to ignore Wonderland’s incessant chatter. She reached for the powdered soap the nurse had shoved into her hand, a chalky substance that smelled faintly of antiseptic and something else — something sharper, almost acrid. She rubbed it into her skin, the powder dissolving into a thin, grimy lather. It felt abrasive, gritty, like it was meant to scrub away not just dirt but something deeper, something more fundamental. She suspected it was meant to ward off parasites or other contagions, a dehumanizing precaution in a place where everyone was seen as a potential threat.

She scrubbed harder, her skin reddening under the rough lather, her movements automatic, detached. Her eyes flicked briefly to the drain at her feet, watching as the suds swirled down into the dark, gurgling hole, disappearing into the pipes below. It felt like she was washing away pieces of herself, fragments of who she had once been.

“Don’t forget to get behind your ears,” Wonderland sang out in a lilting tone, her voice mocking. “And under your nails. They’ll check, you know. They’ll always check.”

Alice shivered under the cold spray, wondering how much longer she could keep ignoring Wonderland's voice, how much longer she could keep herself together in this place. The nurse, seemingly satisfied with Alice’s compliance, stepped back slightly, her eyes never leaving Alice, never offering her a moment of privacy or dignity.

"Make it quick," the nurse grunted. "You don’t have all day."

Alice nodded, her movements slow and mechanical. She rinsed off the last of the gritty soap, feeling the water chill her to the bone. She could feel Wonderland pushing at the edges of her mind, her presence like a shadow stretching long and dark across her thoughts.

"You’re going to have to let me out sometime," Wonderland whispered, her voice low and teasing. "They’ll never understand you like I do, Alice. They’ll never know how to keep you safe."

Alice swallowed, blinking back the sting of tears. She knew Wonderland was right, in a way. These people didn’t know her. They saw only the mask, the madness. Not the pain, not the girl who had been broken and put herself back together in the only way she knew how.

The nurse thrust a rough towel into Alice's hands, and she dried herself off quickly, her skin prickling with goosebumps from the cold. Wonderland fell silent for a moment, almost as if waiting, watching. Alice could feel her there, just beneath the surface, ready to slip out the moment she let her guard down.

"Come on, move," the nurse ordered, her voice as hard as ever. Alice nodded again, clutching the towel tightly, trying to keep herself grounded, trying to hold on to who she was — or at least, who she was trying to be.

More Hours later

Alice stumbled slightly as Nurse Calloway shoved her forward, her heavy hands a firm reminder of who was in control. The halls of the women's ward stretched out before them, long and dimly lit, the walls a dull, institutional gray that seemed to sap the very color out of the air. Each step echoed against the linoleum floor, the sound sharp and unnervingly rhythmic, like the ticking of a clock counting down to something unknown.

Alice’s eyes drifted to the name tag pinned on Calloway’s chest, the block letters stark against the white fabric: Calloway. The name seemed to fit, heavy and solid, much like the woman herself. As Alice moved along, she couldn’t help but think back to her school days, to the bigger girls who had tormented her for being too small, too awkward, too… everything. The ones who laughed as they pushed her down, who called her "elf" or "stick figure," who told her she'd never be wanted because she was too much of a "child."

Nurse Calloway’s bulk, her stern, expressionless face, brought all those memories rushing back, and Alice felt a familiar knot of anxiety tightening in her chest. She could feel Wonderland stirring, her presence like a ripple beneath her thoughts.

"I don’t like her, Alice," Wonderland whispered, her voice conspiratorial, almost sulking. "She reminds me of the Walrus or perhaps the Shoemaker… someone who’d gobble us up or lock us away in a shoe and throw away the key."

Wonderland's voice softened, became almost childlike. "If she hurts you, Alice, I’m going to break into that janitor's closet we’re walking by," she added with a mischievous giggle, "and sneak something with a pretty skull and crossbones picture on it into her coffee."

Alice’s lips twitched with a flicker of a smile at the absurdity of it, even as a chill ran down her spine. She knew Wonderland was joking, in her own twisted way, but there was always an edge of truth to her words, a line that could too easily be crossed.

“Quiet,” Alice whispered under her breath, feeling her heart hammering in her chest. Wonderland’s thoughts were not her thoughts… not exactly. But they danced too close to the edge sometimes, too close to a place Alice didn't want to go.

Calloway turned sharply, her eyes narrowing as she looked down at Alice. “What was that?” she barked, her voice like gravel grinding against stone. Her hand clamped tighter around Alice’s arm, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise.

“Nothing,” Alice muttered, lowering her gaze to the floor, trying to keep her voice steady. “I didn’t say anything.”

Calloway huffed, her grip tightening for a moment longer before she let go, clearly annoyed. “You’d better not be talking to yourself, girl,” she muttered. “Talking to yourself is a bad habit in a place like this. Makes people think you’re not right in the head… and we wouldn’t want that, would we?”

Wonderland’s giggle rang in Alice’s mind, high and delighted. "Oh, but they already think we’re mad, Alice! Isn’t that the fun of it?"

Alice clenched her teeth, fighting to keep her composure, to keep Wonderland’s voice at bay. She could feel Calloway’s eyes on her, watching for any sign of weakness, any slip that might justify harsher treatment. Alice knew the type. She’d known them all her life — the ones who waited for you to falter, who thrived on the power they held over you, even in the smallest ways.

“Keep moving,” Calloway snapped, shoving Alice forward again. “No dawdling.”

Alice stumbled forward, but caught herself, glancing back at the janitor's closet as they passed. A small, rebellious part of her wondered if it was unlocked, if she could make a quick dash inside. But she pushed the thought away, knowing it was Wonderland whispering again, feeding her ideas that led nowhere good.

The ward stretched on ahead of them, and Alice felt the weight of the place pressing down on her, the cold, sterile air, the dim lighting, the knowledge that this was her reality now. A place where she would have to find a way to exist, a way to keep herself — and Wonderland — in check.

As they walked, Wonderland's voice grew softer, a soothing hum at the back of her mind. "Don’t worry, Alice," she murmured. "I’m here. I’ll always be here. We’ll find a way to make this place… fun."

An Evening Later

Alice looked around her new "room," if it could be called that, and felt a wave of exhaustion wash over her. The walls were padded with a dull, beige fabric that seemed to absorb sound, muting even the smallest of noises. The corners were soft, rounded, designed to prevent her from hurting herself or anyone else. The bed was little more than a narrow cot, bolted to the floor, with no springs, no softness, just a slab with a thin mattress that offered little comfort.

She turned slowly, taking in every detail — or lack thereof. There was a small metal sink built into the wall, a toilet, and a single, shatterproof mirror. The lights overhead were recessed into the ceiling, covered with thick glass to ensure they couldn't be shattered or tampered with. The door was thick, reinforced with steel, and locked from the outside with a grim, metallic click that echoed in the silence.

The words of Nurse Calloway still hung in the air. "If you behave, you'll get to see the exercise yard, maybe even get library privileges," she'd said, her tone flat and emotionless, as if those small freedoms were something precious.

Alice couldn't help but feel a twinge of bitterness. If you behave. The phrase echoed in her mind like a taunt. What did behaving mean in a place like this? Staying quiet? Following orders? Pretending to be someone she wasn't?

Wonderland’s voice drifted into her thoughts like a gentle breeze, playful and insistent. "Oh, Alice, what a dreadful room! The bed has no springs — we can't even bounce! How do they expect us to have any fun?"

Alice closed her eyes, trying to push Wonderland's voice to the back of her mind, but it was difficult. Wonderland always found a way to slip through, to twist her thoughts into something bright and manic, something that made everything seem like a game.

"This isn't fun," Alice muttered under her breath, feeling the weight of her situation pressing down on her. "This isn't a game, Wonderland."

But Wonderland wasn't deterred. "Oh, but it could be, Alice! All the best stories start in places like this, don't they? Dark, dreary rooms where heroines are trapped by wicked wardens, waiting for their moment to break free!"

Alice opened her eyes again and stared at the padded walls, the stark, blank canvas that was now her world. She felt a pang of despair, wondering how long she would be trapped in this place, surrounded by soft, suffocating walls that seemed to close in on her more with every breath.

"What are you going to do?" Wonderland continued, her voice a singsong whisper. "Are you going to sit here and let them make you dull? Or are you going to play along… and find a way to make things a little more interesting?"

Alice shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts. "No," she said firmly, speaking aloud now, as if to drown out Wonderland's voice. "No games. Not this time."

Wonderland giggled softly, her laughter like chimes in the wind. "Oh, Alice, you always say that… but we both know it's never quite that simple."

Alice sighed and sat down on the edge of the cot, feeling the thin mattress compress beneath her. She leaned back against the padded wall, trying to steady her breathing, trying to find some measure of calm in a place that seemed designed to strip her of it.

"Maybe," she whispered to herself, "maybe this time, it can be different."

Four days later

Alice Little stood in line, clutching her plastic food tray with a mix of resignation and quiet determination. The asylum's cafeteria was a cold, sterile room, filled with rows of metal tables bolted to the floor. It smelled faintly of disinfectant and overcooked eggs. She stared at her tray: oatmeal, a small carton of milk, a single over-easy egg, and a breakfast sausage so tiny it seemed almost like a joke. A meager portion, but it was what she had come to expect in this place.

Around her, other women shuffled through the line, each moving with a strange rhythm, a slow-motion dance that spoke of resignation and routine. These were the women who were allowed some measure of freedom—the ones who were still deemed capable of being among others, if only for a short time. Alice felt their eyes on her, watching, assessing, always assessing.

Wonderland stirred within her mind, restless and impatient. "Alice, our oatmeal has no jam, and our egg requires toast to complete the breakfast tableau! Fetch some before our morning is overwhelmed by ennui!" Wonderland's voice was a playful, lilting command, and Alice couldn’t help but mutter back, “Fine,” under her breath, shuffling over to the table where packets of condiments were arranged beside a plate of freshly toasted crumbs.

Crumbs. All that remained of what must have been a full plate of toast. Alice stared at the empty space where the toast should have been, feeling a mix of frustration and absurdity. "What some greedy goblin has gorged themselves on all the toast? How rude!" Wonderland’s voice hissed in her mind. "We should tell the queen! Heads will roll for this affront!"

Alice sighed, rolling her eyes slightly as she scanned the cafeteria. Her gaze settled on a woman sitting nearby, carefully constructing a model of Stonehenge out of toast slices. The woman seemed entirely absorbed in her project, her brow furrowed in concentration as she arranged the toast with a precision that bordered on obsession.

"Or," Wonderland whispered slyly, "we could just ask her for a spare…”

Alice hesitated for a moment, weighing her options. The woman with the toast was an enigma, her face set in a perpetual scowl of focus. There was something almost endearing about her dedication, even if it was to something as mundane as toast architecture.

“Go on, Alice,” Wonderland urged, half-encouraging, half-mocking. “Ask her! Surely she can't need all the toast for her masterpiece. A slice or two won't topple the whole thing... probably.”

Taking a deep breath, Alice approached cautiously. “Um, excuse me,” she began, her voice soft but trying to project confidence. “Could I… have a slice of toast? Just one? It looks like you might have… a lot.”

The woman slowly looked up at her, dishwater blonde hair cut short with faded hints that it had not so long ago been dyed in a riot of rainbow colors. Her eyes were a sharp, crisp blue, and her smile stretched from ear to ear.

"Oh, she looks happy! I like her, Alice; she shall be our Cheshire Cat!" chirped Wonderland.

Alice spotted the name on her uniform: L. Sinclair. Lyra Sinclair, the Doctor of Chemistry and Psychiatry who had recently been exposed to a near-lethal dose of experimental psychoactive drugs, had become Toronto's queen of chaos and mistress of madness, known as Psychedelic. "She's a killer… we don't kill, we aren't like that," Alice muttered quietly to Wonderland, already regretting asking her for a slice of toast for her egg.

Psychedelic—Lyra Sinclair—peered up at Alice with a grin that was just a little too wide, a little too bright. Her sharp blue eyes twinkled with a strange mix of amusement and mischief, as if she were constantly in on some cosmic joke no one else could understand.

"Toast, you say?" she asked, her voice lilting and sing-song, as if Alice had just asked her to dance. "Why, of course! But tell me, darling, are you asking for a slice of bread… or a slice of life?" Her fingers danced over the neatly stacked slices, each one carefully positioned to hold up her intricate model of Stonehenge.

Alice felt Wonderland's presence tingle at the back of her mind, intrigued by this new character. "Oh, I do like her, Alice! She's like a storybook come to life—chaotic and full of surprises!"

Lyra leaned in closer, her smile never faltering. "You know, people think I'm mad," she whispered conspiratorially, as if sharing a secret with Alice. "But really, I'm just aware. Aware of the colors, the shapes, the hidden wonders that everyone else is too blind to see." She plucked a slice of toast from the structure and offered it to Alice with a flourish, her eyes sparkling. "Here, have a piece. But remember, it's not just toast—it's an adventure waiting to happen!"

Alice hesitated, glancing at the toast in Lyra's outstretched hand. For a moment, she wasn't sure whether taking it was a good idea, but Wonderland's voice urged her on, eager and excited. "Take it, Alice! This is our new friend! Every adventure needs a companion, and who better than a Cheshire Cat?"

Slowly, Alice reached out and took the toast, her fingers brushing against Lyra's for just a second. A chill ran down her spine, but she forced herself to smile. "Thank you," she said quietly, trying to keep her voice steady.

Lyra's grin grew wider, and she winked. "Anytime, Alice. After all, we're all just characters in someone else's story, aren't we?"

Alice nodded, clutching the toast a little tighter than necessary. "Yes," she replied, her voice barely a whisper. "I suppose we are."

Alice looked around for a seat, a wave of memories from high school drifting back like unwelcome ghosts. She remembered being younger than every other student, pushed ahead because of her intellect. She recalled the way she always felt so alone in a room full of people eating and socializing, never having anyone to sit with. The cafeteria felt like a time warp, dragging her back into those same old feelings. Here, even in this strange new place, groups of patients formed little cliques, and once again, she felt like an outsider.

"Funny how things never change, isn't it, Alice?" Wonderland whispered in her mind, the voice playful yet edged with a hint of bitterness. "There is a chair free next to our Cheshire Cat. She is like us—one of the weird kids!"

Alice glanced over and noticed that even in this place, where everyone was struggling with their own battles, people seemed to distance themselves from Lyra. A little bubble of empty space surrounded her like an invisible barrier.

"Come on, Alice," Wonderland urged, her voice coaxing and insistent. "The Cheshire Cat needs a friend to keep her company!"

Alice hesitated for a moment longer, feeling the familiar sting of self-doubt prickling at the edges of her thoughts. Then, with a quiet sigh, she decided to listen to Wonderland. She picked up her tray and made her way over to the empty chair beside Lyra, her steps slow but purposeful.

"Mind if I sit here?" Alice asked, trying to keep her voice steady, a small, hopeful smile on her face.

Lyra looked up, her smile widening with delight. "Oh, please do! The more, the merrier!" she exclaimed, gesturing grandly to the empty chair. "After all, what's a tea party without guests?"

Alice smiled a little more genuinely this time and sat down, feeling a strange mix of apprehension and curiosity. Maybe Wonderland was right—maybe this was exactly where she was meant to be, sitting beside the Cheshire Cat, in a world that didn’t quite make sense, but where, for the first time in a long time, she didn’t feel entirely alone.

Six Days later

Alice sat on a comfy couch in the therapy room, doing her best to focus on the young man sitting across from her. He wore a comfortable-looking sweater vest and slacks, his demeanor calm and open. His name was Doctor Kincaid, and he looked at her with a gentle curiosity.

"Oh, he is a cutie pie," Wonderland purred in the back of her mind, her voice light and teasing. "I bet he likes to dance. We should ask him to dance, Alice!"

Alice kept her face neutral, ignoring Wonderland's flirtatious commentary, and focused on the conversation. Doctor Kincaid seemed to notice her distraction, but he continued with a calm, professional smile. "So, Alice," he began, "I suspect I can skip the psychiatric jargon with a woman of your background and training and get right to the matter at hand?"

Alice nodded slightly, feeling Wonderland giggle inside her mind. "Oh, he thinks you're smart," Wonderland continued, her tone gleeful. "Boys like him like smart girls. Tell him his eyes are like two frosty chocolate milkshakes!"

Alice's jaw tightened, and she forced herself to ignore Wonderland's rambling. "I…" she began slowly, carefully choosing her words. "I have a severe form of dissociative identity disorder, if I were to hazard a guess. I suspect a personality that formed during my childhood trauma came to the surface fully after the emotional and psychological damage brought on by the actions of Michael Macentyre. It allowed this personality to emerge as a psychological defense mechanism."

Doctor Kincaid blinked, clearly taken aback. He had read the notes, knew she was considered a super-genius, a polymath of extraordinary ability, but hearing her articulate her own condition so precisely was another matter entirely. For a moment, he seemed to recalibrate, adjusting his approach to match the sheer intellectual weight Alice brought into the room.

"That is… a remarkably accurate self-assessment, Alice," he finally replied, his voice thoughtful. "You've given a lot of thought to your condition."

Alice nodded again, a slight, almost imperceptible movement. "Of course," she said, her tone even. "I’m… aware, even if it doesn’t always feel like I am."

Doctor Kincaid smiled softly. "Awareness is the first step toward healing," he offered, his tone gentle. "But tell me, Alice, what is it that Wonderland wants? What does she tell you?"

Alice hesitated. Wonderland, ever eager, jumped at the opportunity to speak through her. "Oh, don't be shy, Alice," she whispered with a laugh. "Tell him I want fun! I want to dance on the edge of reality and never come down!"

Alice's eyes flicked away, just for a moment, and she swallowed hard. "She… she wants to protect me," Alice answered slowly. "She thinks the world is too dangerous, too cruel. So she creates… stories. Games. Anything to make it more bearable."

Doctor Kincaid nodded, leaning forward slightly. "And do you agree with her, Alice? Do you think the world is as dangerous as she believes?"

Alice hesitated again, feeling Wonderland's presence swirl around her thoughts, like a shadow just out of reach. "I… I think," she said carefully, "that the world is what it is. But I don't want to hide from it anymore. I want to understand it… to face it, without the need for games."

Doctor Kincaid’s eyes softened with understanding. "That's a very brave thing to say, Alice," he replied gently. "And a very good place to start."

"Liar, liar, pants on fire, sitting on a telephone wire," Wonderland sang in a cheerful, sing-song voice, echoing through Alice's mind like a child on a playground, teasing and taunting with an almost innocent delight.

Alice flinched inwardly, feeling the familiar dread creeping up her spine. Wonderland knew her better than anyone—knew all the hidden corners of her mind, the dark places she kept buried even from herself. And the terrifying truth was that Wonderland might be right. Maybe she had created Wonderland because, deep down, she needed her. Wonderland was braver, bolder, more willing to push back against a world that had always seemed to want to swallow her whole.

"Wonderland only wanted what was best for me," Alice thought, her hands clenching into fists on her lap. She stared at the doctor, who was still watching her with those soft, understanding eyes, and felt a pang of guilt. "Didn’t she?" Wonderland had always been there when things got too hard, when the nightmares became too vivid, when reality felt like a cage that was slowly closing in. Wonderland was her escape, her shield, her way of making sense of a world that so often seemed senseless.

But as she looked at Doctor Kincaid, she wondered if maybe Wonderland had also been her prison.

"I… don’t know," Alice admitted, her voice barely a whisper. She wasn't sure who she was answering—the doctor, Wonderland, or herself. "I don't know if I can do this without her."

Wonderland laughed, a soft, tinkling sound that was almost affectionate. "Oh, sweet Alice," she murmured. "You don’t have to do it without me. I’m here to keep you safe, to help you see the world in all its beautiful, chaotic glory."

Doctor Kincaid leaned in slightly, sensing her hesitation. "It's okay not to know, Alice," he said gently. "Healing is a journey, and it's not one you have to take alone. It's about finding balance—finding a way to live with all the parts of yourself, even the parts that scare you."

Alice nodded slowly, feeling a tight knot in her chest begin to loosen, just a little. She wasn’t sure if she believed him yet, wasn’t sure if she could ever truly separate herself from Wonderland. Then something shifted inside her, and Doctor Kincaid sensed it immediately—her body relaxed, the shy genius melting into something entirely different.

"My turn, Doctor Handsome! Tell me, oh tell me, should I fall asleep, will Prince Charming give me a kiss to keep?" Wonderland rolled over and lounged on the couch, kicking her legs softly in the air.

"That's not fair! You didn't even give me a week!" Alice moaned from within her own mind.

"It's couples therapy, Alice—we both need to chat with Doctor Tall, Dark, and Handsome here!" Wonderland replied cheerfully.

Doctor Kincaid raised an eyebrow, quickly recovering from the sudden shift in Alice's demeanor. He kept his expression calm, though he felt his pulse quicken slightly. This was Wonderland speaking now—the unpredictable, whimsical personality that had caused so much concern among the staff. He knew he needed to tread carefully.

"Hello, Wonderland," he replied smoothly, offering a gentle smile. "I'm glad you decided to join us today. It's important that both of you feel heard in these sessions."

Wonderland giggled, a sound that was light and airy, like wind chimes in a storm. "Oh, aren't you just a charmer!" she teased, twirling a lock of Alice's hair around her finger. "You know, it gets dreadfully boring when I'm left out of the conversation. I'm the life of the party, after all."

Doctor Kincaid nodded, maintaining his calm demeanor. "I understand," he said. "I want to make sure that you have a voice too, Wonderland. But I also want to make sure that Alice feels safe and supported. You both deserve that."

Wonderland's expression shifted to a playful pout. "Oh, you say all the right things, Doctor. But let's not pretend this is all about poor little Alice," she purred, her voice dripping with a mix of mock sympathy and amusement. "She’s too scared to do what needs to be done, so she leaves it to me. Isn't that right, Alice?"

Inside, Alice felt a wave of frustration and helplessness. "I didn't ask for you to take over, Wonderland," she muttered inwardly. "I just… I just want to feel normal again."

Wonderland laughed softly, a musical sound that somehow held an edge of menace. "Normal? Oh, sweet Alice, normal is boring. Normal is what they want you to be so they can put you in a box and close the lid."

Doctor Kincaid watched the interplay, aware that this conversation was happening somewhere deep within Alice's fractured psyche. He leaned forward, careful to keep his tone neutral. "Wonderland," he said, "you clearly care about Alice. You want to protect her. But what if there were other ways to help her feel safe—ways that don't involve taking over entirely?"

Wonderland’s eyes narrowed for a moment, considering. Then she gave a mischievous smile. "Oh, Doctor, you're trying to play diplomat, aren’t you? Trying to make peace between me and dear, timid Alice. But I’m not some villain in a fairy tale, you know. I’m here because she needs me, whether she wants to admit it or not."

Alice could feel herself wavering, caught between the doctor's calm logic and Wonderland's seductive defiance. "Maybe…" she whispered, unsure who she was speaking to, "maybe we could try to find a way to work together?"

Wonderland paused, tilting her head thoughtfully. "Work together, you say? Hmm… I suppose that could be interesting. But only if Doctor Handsome here is willing to dance with us on the tightrope of madness." She fluttered her eyelashes playfully.

Doctor Kincaid smiled, relieved to see a glimmer of cooperation. "I'm willing to try," he said softly. "I'm here to help both of you find a way to be at peace with each other. Maybe we can learn to share the stage, so to speak."

Wonderland grinned, lounging back on the couch with a satisfied sigh. "Well, then, Doctor," she replied with a wink, "you've got yourself a deal. But remember—no promises about staying quiet. After all, what's life without some fun?"