A/N: This is the second part of the Harvest Writing Festival. We had to write a story based on the music video for Shout Out Louds by Very Loud. I based mine one what I was reminded of by watching it—which was Alice in Wonderland. For the first entry (chapter one) I had to write a story composed of letters, if you didn't guess. Please give me some corrective critism for this or just comment to tell me that you liked it (if you didn't, corrective critism please!)

So now, I give you, Wylie's Adventre.

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“What are we having for dinner then, Mum?” Wylie Robertson called, walking in through the back door of his house and into the kitchen. He had just come back from church and was absolutely beaming. Beccalynn Smith had just agreed to go out with him that night for dinner. Unfortunately, he needed to get the money first as his family was quite poor, of the middle-class, and didn’t have enough to give to him when he wanted.

“The shepherd’s pie on the counter,” his mother replied. She was in the sitting room down the hall knitting a new scarf for Wylie. He had ripped his last one.

“What pie?” Wylie asked, picking up the shepherd’s pie he could see on the counter, opening the window, and chucking it outside. “I don’t see one here.”

The old floor boards rattled as his mother got up and walked to the kitchen, her eyes narrowed. “What do you mean, ‘What pie’? It should be right there.” Her eyes scanned the kitchen and her suspicious face fell. Wylie looked outside at the food he had just thrown.

“It’s out here Mum! Alexandra must have had another temper tantrum!” Alexandra was his elder sister who was currently going through a mid-teen crisis (as she called it). She’d been having tantrums regularly. He could feel his mother’s face reddening behind him. Hopefully his plan would work.

“A-LEX-AN-DRA!” she hollered, pausing a second between each syllable. She turned to Wylie. “Wylie, dear, here’s some money. Go to the store and buy us one of those pre-made meat pies.” Wylie took the money without hesitation, nodded and bolted out of the door before his lie was found out. Just outside the door the family’s chocolate lab lay on its side, woken by Mrs. Robertson’s yelling. “Come on, Roger!” Wylie called to it and it got up obediently and ran at his side.

It was a long walk to Beccalynn’s. Wylie knew it would be rude to go over early—especially when the date was for dinner and it was just after lunch. But he needed to know exactly where she lived.

He finally reached her neighborhood and looked around enviously. She was so much richer than he was. The houses stood tall with amazing arches and designs all over them. This was the richest part of England. He spotted her house, knowing it was hers as a horse-drawn carriage was out front and she stepped out, her long, wavy, brown hair immaculate and her posture angelic. He would have liked to stay and watch but she already had some suspicions that he was stalking her and Wylie did not want to prove her suspicions true. He turned around and walked at a fast pace into the forest, where he’d stay for another two hours before calling on her. The money jangled in his pocket as he walked into the forest. It felt good to have some pocket money, even if it was really for his whole family’s dinner. Sometimes, he felt, he needed to be selfish.

When he reached the heart of the forest he set himself up against a tree, ignoring the cold snow that was melting underneath his behind. Every tree in the forest was similar, quite unlike the division of the riches his town—or, really, all towns, were experiencing. Roger nestled himself next to Wylie and rested his head on Wylie’s leg. Wylie put his head back, suddenly overcome by tiredness and closed his eyes. He could feel Roger’s steady breathing on his leg.

It was so sudden. Roger’s head popped up and he looked around. Wylie flung himself forward and looked at his watch—it was four o’clock! He had to pick up Beccalynn. He started to run but stopped immediately as classical music, he recognized it as Beethoven, filled the air. Wylie looked around frantically—where was it coming from? He began to walk through the snow, Roger following close by and whimpering, to find the noise. His thoughts of Beccalynn had vanished. This was much more of a mystery.

The further he traveled, the deeper the snow got. It was when the snow had reached his knees that he tripped over something and fell face first into the ground. Startled by the cold of the snow, he jumped up onto his feet quickly. Roger was digging into the snow at the thing he had tripped on. He had uncovered a red, leathery piece. Wylie took hold of both sides of it and ripped it from the snow. In his arms was a red suitcase.

“What am I going to do with this?” he asked himself aloud, brushing some snow from it. He tried to open it but the buckle-lock wouldn’t budge. Wylie stood up and continued to walk, signaling Roger to follow with his head. He held the red suitcase by its handle, not wanting to give it up just in case he needed it later.

The music was getting louder. He could feel that he was getting closer to its source. It was getting darker. He looked up; the sky was clearly visible through the leafless trees. What was also visible was a gramophone wedged to a tree and its branch. How it got up there, Wylie was not sure. But he knew that that was the source of the music. He walked up to the tree and touched it with the hand that did not hold the handle of the suitcase. But once this hand made contact with the tree, he was falling. It was so sudden. Surrounding him was blackness. The only light came from above from a perfect hole five feet in diameter all around—where he had fallen from. He could see Roger looking down at him, too cowardly to follow his owner into the hole.

Wylie was spiraling down, much slower than he expected to, considering his weight. But it seemed that his pants were slowing him down as he fell, the air around him blowing the legs up. He could feel himself lightly hitting things lined up along the walls. But he ignored them. He was surprisingly calm for someone falling down a deep hole, probably close to dying when he reached the end. Suddenly, something hard hit his head. He swiped his left hand around to find it, ignoring the goose egg that was probably growing where it hit, and not letting go of the red suitcase he still held in his right hand. He hit something. Pulling it down and feeling around it (it was falling equally as fast as he was); he realized it was a gas lamp. He turned the knob on it and immediately everything surrounding him was illuminated. There were shelves, hundreds of them, lining the walls. They were full of books, toys, and a few other things. Rocking chairs hung idly in the air, Wylie just missing hitting each of them when he passed. And, suddenly, just has calmly as he had fallen, Wylie’s feet gently touched the ground and he found himself in a room with a tiny door right across from him and a normal sized table beside it.

He placed the gas lamp on the floor and walked slowly over to the small door. He pulled the knob but shot his hand back. It had coughed.

“Ouch,” the door said unhappily. “That’s my nose there! How would you like it if I pulled yours?”

“I-I’m sorry, sir,” Wylie stammered, not believing that he was talking to a door. He put his hand up to his forehead to feel his temperature. Nope, it was fine.

“Well, then, look around! The key’s got to be somewhere. Have you checked the table?” the door spoke, impatiently. Wylie looked up to the table as the door had instructed and picked up the key that he had not noticed on its surface. It was a normal sized key, or at least the handle was. The end would fit perfectly into the door’s…mouth; Wylie wasn’t sure what to call it. He put it toward the door, which had opened his mouth, stuck out its lips, and chomped. He flung open.

“I haven’t had a taste of that for years! Scrumptious!” the door exclaimed. Through the opening a light, surprisingly brighter than the gas lamp, seeped through.

“How do I get through?” Wylie asked, on his hands and knees looking through.

“The drink, m’boy!” the door replied, motioning his nose toward the table again. Wylie looked up to see a big bottle, which resembled one of wine, labeled ‘Drink me’. He was sure the things on the table were appearing on their own for he would have definitely seen that. He uncorked the bottle and took a swig. Immediately coughs erupted from his chest. He dropped the bottle, which smashed onto the ground, and bent double. He was shrinking! After all those years of growing and trying to be tall, he was shrinking! Of course Wylie didn’t like it. And he and the red suitcase continued to shrink until he was tall enough for the miniscule door. He was about the size of Beccalynn’s thumb—what would she say when he arrived the get her? It would be impossible to have a proper date! The date! Wylie though suddenly and checked his watch. It still read four o’clock, perhaps it was broken? He supposed he wouldn’t be meeting Beccalynn for dinner, he hoped she wouldn’t be mad. But, if he missed this, it might be his last chance! How was he going to get back? The only way he could see was forward, everything would work out, he figured. It always did. He felt bad for not liking church because clearly God was watching over him—he hadn’t died yet, right? So Wylie straightened up to his full height, which wasn’t too tall at all, and strutted through the door. It was very sunny and warm. It looked like a summer’s day—from a bug’s point of view. Wylie wished to grow again.

The first creature Wylie met was the caterpillar. It sat perched on a mushroom and watched him as he walked up to it. Wylie had originally decided to walk past, but, as he got closer, decided against that. He wanted to know where he was. The caterpillar sensed this and rolled onto its stomach, head perched on hands.

“Hello there,” it greeted in a high-pitched, girly voice. It looked like any caterpillar (hairy and creepy) except for its eyes which were most definitely human. They were a deep brown that was so familiar to Wylie. Where he’d seen them, he did not know.

“Where am I?” he asked her casually, hiding the fact that he was somewhat scared—it was a caterpillar! And it was, unfortunately, bigger than him.

“Wherever you want to be,” she responded.

Wylie’s eyebrow’s furrowed. “That doesn’t make any sense.” The caterpillar chuckled. It was so high-pitched it sent shivers down Wylie’s spine.

“Do you know the story of Adam and Eve?” she asked. Wylie nodded. “I know what could help you understand. Do you know what it is?”

Wylie shrugged. “The Tree of Knowledge? The one in the middle of the Garden of Eden?” he asked, not entirely serious.

“But this is not the Garden of Eden, you realize,” the caterpillar said. Wylie nodded once again. “But there is fruit.” Wylie’s eyebrows furrowed once again. He did not see any fruit.

“This mushroom is really an apple,” the caterpillar stated. “Once you eat from it, you’ll understand everything. This mushroom will turn into an apple.”

Honestly, Wylie didn’t really want to eat the mushroom. And the caterpillar was creepy; he didn’t feel right trusting it. But he went forward and ripped a piece off the mushroom’s side and placed it in his mouth anyway. When he swallowed, nothing happened. Not immediately, anyways. Slowly, his neck stretched upwards. The caterpillar flipped onto its back and began to laugh loudly, the laugh echoed around them.

“Keep eating!” it exclaimed. Wylie shook his head. “It’s the only way you’ll change back. You’ll have to eat the right part of the mushroom’s hat’s side to change yourself back to normal.”

Not seeing any other option, Wylie took another piece of the mushroom. His neck shrunk when he swallowed, but his legs stretched this time. The caterpillar laughed again, rolling and rolling around on the top of the mushroom. He continued to eat: his arms stretching, his eyes bulging, his nails growing with every bite. The caterpillar couldn’t stop laughing.

“So, if this is a fruit from the Tree of Knowledge, this makes you the devil for tricking me into eating it?” Wylie asked when only two pieces of the mushroom’s side were left. His left ear was sticking out and his right far too large for his head.

The caterpillar nodded. “Yes, I suppose so.” Wylie frowned and took another bite of the mushroom. This time he turned back to normal, not in height though. He still remained small. The caterpillar frowned now. “Aw, no fun,” she said sadly. She slid off the top of the mushroom and walked away, disappearing into the thick forest made of grass.

Wylie sighed. That was no help at all. He looked at the mushroom again, now noticing a cookie on its top. He picked it up and flipped it around, the word ‘Grow’ had been shaped into its back. He made to put it in his mouth but stopped halfway. The cookie had been on the mushroom—was it safe to eat it? But Wylie was never one to really think through his decisions. He stuffed it in his mouth. This time when he swallowed, instead of shrinking or making on of his body parts too big for him, he grew. He grew and grew until he was as tall as he had been before. Before him was a cottage. He could hear crying coming from inside of it. Curious, he walked to the open door and stuck his head in.

“Cat!” a woman said loudly. “Watch my baby while I am gone. You may be his only parent after this!”

“Yes, of course, Duchess,” a sly voice responded.

“Oh, I do wish he’d speak though. Just before I p-p—” the Duchess let out a great sob. “I only changed it a minute after! This punishment is so severe!”

“Yes, it is, Duchess,” the sly voice responded, not sounding concerned in the least.

“You and my child are all that I have!” she sobbed some more. Suddenly she stopped and looked up at the open door. It took a while for Wylie to clue in that she had been staring at him. “A visitor! Or are you here to take me to her?”

“N-no, ma’am!” Wylie stuttered, bringing himself into full view at the threshold of the open door. “But…what is the matter?”

The Duchess seemed pleased that he’d asked. Her face hadn’t a tear on it from her earlier sobbing nor was it red in the slightest. “Oh!” she said dramatically. “It’s the queen! The new queen! It must always be four o’clock here! She is an evil woman, the queen, evil I say!”

“Why is four o’clock so bad?” Wylie asked.

“The Duchess is tired,” a purple cat, which had been curled up on a rocking chair next to a crib, spoke.

“I am tired!” the Duchess repeated. “My nap is a minute after four o’clock but I can’t sleep when it is not that time! And the days drag on! So does this sunny weather! So I changed the time on my old clock. And what does this queen do? She punishes me with…with—” she sobbed again.

“The Duchess will play croquet,” the purple cat spoke again.

“I will play croquet!” the Duchess repeated after the cat.

A loud knock sounded from the front door, Wylie had walked in through the back.

“It’s them! Hide my baby, will you?” the Duchess said, fleeing to the front door. Wylie walked to the crib and grabbed the baby. He took away the blankets around it but in his arms was not a child—it was a pig!

“Um, excuse me?” Wylie said. The Duchess stopped in her tracks. She turned around and shrieked.

“My child! My child! What have you done?”

“It was a pig when I held it!” Wylie protested

“You did something! I had a piglet before, what have you done?”

“We’re coming in!” a gruff voice sounded from the door. With a loud ‘boom’, the door was knocked forward off its hinges. “We’re here for the Duchess!”

The Duchess shrieked and grabbed a clock off of the wall, chucking out the back door. “Follow it!” she screamed at Wylie. “Get out! Get out!” She turned and began throwing other things outside: a radio, a record, a gramophone, a gas lamp, candles—anything she could get her hands on before the man who had knocked the door open grabbed her by the arms and pulled her back out the front.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk,” the purple cat said suddenly. Wylie turned to it. “That was interesting.”

“I didn’t mean to—what’s the difference—it was only croquet—why’s she so—what can I do?” Wylie said, not entirely sure what he wanted to say.

“Kill the queen,” the cat said in a voice that made it seem as if that was the obvious solution.

“I can’t kill her!” Wyle exclaimed. “I…I shall reason with her! Just talking.”

“Tsk, tsk, tsk,” the cat said again. “The Cheshire-Cat knows that is not the right solution.”

“But I won’t kill her!”

“Then you are not ready for this, you can’t make a difference.”

“Isn’t there another way?”

“Perhaps…” the Cheshire-Cat said, tapping the bottom of its face with its paw. “I suppose you could visit the Hatter and the March Hare and the Dormouse.”

“The Hatter, the March Hare and the Dormouse?” Wylie repeated.

“Yes. It shan’t be hard to find them.”

Fortunately, the Hatter, the March Hare and the Dormouse were not far away. The Cheshire-Cat had described only the Hatter, who was, as the cat said, a man with a top hat. It was a very brief description but, surprisingly to Wylie, he was very easy to find. He was drinking tea with the March Hare and the Dormouse, who was sleeping. The Hatter and the March Hare were drinking some tea in a way that was hardly peaceful. They’d start one cup and then pour another.

“Um…excuse me?” Wylie asked. The two stopped abruptly.

“Who are you?” the Hatter asked, scooping some tea out of a cup with his tongue.

“Who be he?” the March Hare said quickly, standing on its head on the table and pouring some tea into his mouth.

“My name is Wylie…I’m going to see the Queen, the Cheshire-Cat said you could help…?”

“A party!” the Hatter exclaimed.

“What party?” the March Hare asked.

“How is a party going to help me?”

“I don’t know!” the March Hare said sharply.

“She may come because of the ruckus!” the Hatter said confidently.

It seemed pointless being there. Why had the Cheshire-Cat told him to go there? “Where can I find the Queen, then?” he asked.

“Continue through the hills…her castle is quite visible…” the Dormouse muttered in his sleep. The Hatter looked at him, picked him up, and shoved his head into a tea pot.

“We want more to our party, Dormouse!” the Hatter exclaimed.

“M-more!” the March Hare added, pouring some tea on his head.

Wylie turned on his heel and bolted away from the trio without a glance back.

Wylie wanted to go home. He had not been in this…other world for very long, but he knew that he didn’t like it. He could see the castle clearly in front of him. He was still running until his foot got caught on something and he fell into the ground, his face smashing into something like glass. It shattered and left parts of his face bleeding. Sitting up, he realized that what he had smashed into was a clock. It read that it was four o’clock, of course.

“Wylie!” a familiar voice sounded. He looked up and his heart started beating wildly. There, in front of him, was Beccalynn.

“Beccalynn!” he said happily, sitting up immediately.

“You’re bleeding!” she said and knelt down beside him, wiping some blood away from his face with her sleeve. “But I knew you’d come! You had to! There was no way you could be late!”

“What?” Wylie asked. But before Beccalynn could answer, someone else spoke.

“You made me play croquet, a sport which I hate, might I add, to wake me up yet you decide to ignore me for this boy who has, firstly, turned my child into a pig, and secondly ruined the set up of our game?” It was the Duchess. Wylie looked back to realize that he had tripped over a croquet hoop in the ground. And then it clicked.

“Croquet…Beccalynn…are you the Queen?” he asked.

“Yes, I am!” she exclaimed, standing up and offering him a hand. He looked into her eyes, realizing they weren’t the blue that he recognized as Beccalynn’s eyes, but dark brown. The same familiar dark brown as the caterpillar’s.

“You made it four o’clock all the time?”

“Yes!”

“Why?”

Beccalynn sighed. “Wylie…I didn’t want you to be late.”

“For what?”

“Our date! I made it four o’clock the whole time so that it’d be impossible for you to be late. But you’re here. And you can get us dinner! There’s this amazing place I’d love to go.”

Wylie sighed and looked at his knees. He didn’t think he had enough money.

“And then you can buy me a few things—it’ll be a great memory of a first date!”

“But…Becca…I don’t think I’ll have enough. I’ve never had much,” Wylie said, hesitantly. Beccalynn’s expression dropped.

“You mean…you’re middle-class?” she asked. It had never occurred to Wylie that he had never spoken of his lineage to her or anyone. His clothes looked nice enough—his mother was good with the needle and thread. But for Beccalynn’s reaction to be like that…it was something he hadn’t expected. It was something he had feared.

“What’s in that suitcase?” she asked suddenly. Wylie looked down at the red suitcase that he still held in his hand. He had forgotten about it. He let his fingers go loose from its handle—they had a pins and needles feeling in them. Beccalynn touched the buckle-lock and it opened for her. In the suitcase was something he couldn’t identify. It looked like a white mixture between liquid and gas.

“What is that?” Wylie asked.

“I don’t know…” Beccalynn mumbled, edging her index finger to it. Once her finger touched the substance inside, the suitcase sucked her in and she was gone.

“Becca?” Wylie exclaimed. He shoved his hand in and found his legs leave the ground. He was falling, once again, only this wasn’t a dark hole. It was one that was far too bright.

“Becca! Becca!” Wylie hollered. Roger was barky wildly and running around the tree. Wylie’s eyes were still closed.

“I’m here Wylie! Wylie!” The sound of snow beneath feet came closer and closer. Roger ran toward it and growled at the person who was walking. Wylie’s eyes fluttered open. He looked around, terrified.

“Becca?” he asked, a little quieter than before.

“Wylie, I’m here!” Beccalynn said. Roger growled at her some more. Wylie’s heart went back to its normal pace. He stopped worrying. It had been a dream. A really strange dream. He found tears trickling down his cheeks. Roger turned around and hopped onto his master’s lap, licking his tears. Beccalynn took advantage of this and walked to Wylie, sitting next to him.

“What’s wrong, Wylie?” she asked, patting his shoulder. Wylie, embarrassed, pushed Roger lightly away and wiped the remaining tears away.

“Nothing,” he sniffed. “Just a really bad—no, strange dream.” Beccalynn laughed and held his arm awkwardly, almost as if hugging it.

“But what are you doing here, Becca?” Wylie asked. Beccalynn smiled.

“You’re taking me for dinner, right? I thought I’d meet you out here because my parents…well you know the difference in our class. Thankfully they’re not aware of it but…I’d rather they didn’t come close.” Wylie’s face dropped.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized.

“There’s nothing to be sorry for!” Beccalynn exclaimed, squeezing his arm tighter and sending shivers up his spine as well as triggering thoughts he’d rather not be thinking.

“I’ll do better, I promise!” Wylie said, standing up quickly. “I’ll get a job and soon I won’t be middle-class!”

“You don’t have to do that Wylie…anyways, we haven’t even been on a date and we’re only fourteen! You’re scaring me, talking like that…”

“Oh,” Wylie said quietly. “Sorry about that, then.” He looked into her eyes—they were their regular blue. But in his dream they had been brown. The same dark brown, he remembered, as his mother’s, his father’s and his sister’s. The same dark brown as his eyes. “It was me, all along,” he muttered to himself.

“What?” Beccalynn asked.

“No…in my dream you were there but you had dark brown eyes—my eyes! I dreamt something I’d feared. But it was me in my dream telling me that you wouldn’t like me for it.”

Beccalynn looked at him curiously. “What do you fear?”

“Oh, it’s silly. But…I wasn’t sure you’d like me because, well, I’m not as rich as you.”

“Riches don’t matter, Wylie,” Beccalynn said honestly. “If they did, I wouldn’t have agreed to go out for dinner with you.”

“Oh, well, thanks.”

“Anyways, I’m hungry! What are your plans for dinner?”

Wylie looked up at the sky. By taking the money for dinner, he had stopped his family from eating. “How about meat pie? We’d have to eat with my family though.”

Beccalynn smiled. “I’d like that.”