The Jabberwock Hunt

This story is inspired by Lewis Carroll's poem 'Jabberwocky,' originally published in 'Through the Looking-Glass, and What Alice Found There.' His imaginative creation serves as the foundation for this adaptation.

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‘Twas the harvest festival, and all the people of Heathenridge celebrated. The youngest citizens ran and galavanted about the town square, while the elders spoke and sang old melodies; forgotten by all but them. In the middle of those groups were the young-ish girls and boys, who, with their friends, got up to all types of mad mischief. Silas, the boldest boy in the town, led his band around the festival, terrorizing the crowd as they went. Soon enough, they came upon the town fool, who’s true name was known only to himself. The man spoke intensely of wild beasts in the forest that bordered the small town. He trailed endlessly on and on about Jabberwocks, Bandersnatches, and the ‘frumious’ Jubjub bird. His speech was all but memorized by the townsfolk, but today caught the attention of Silas.

He brought his band of rascals to a halt and listened to one refrain of the mans garbled speech. “Where, my good man, should I find such terrible beasties,” he inquired. Through a coughing fit, Silas was able to pick out his destination as a suspiciously circular clearing about sixty Fathomeres from the East entrance into the woods. Though he tries to forget about the old man’s ramblings, his friends are not being so helpful. They continuously bring up the mystical beasts from the man’s stories. They tease Silas about the Jabberwock and how the phantom beast would be to strong for even him. Silas steeled his mind, and speaks in front of his crew, saying, “Surely this fantastical beast wouldn’t be too harsh of an opponent. I will venture to find this creature and bring back its head!” This brings much excitement and joy to all surrounding him. Silas warns them not to come after him, but says that if he is to not return by the next sunrise, give his family peace.

The young boy-turned-beast-hunter sneaks to the stables on the west edge of Heathenridge, and hurries away, with feet in stirrups and hands on reigns. He makes a final, farewell speech to his band of boys and swiftly races towards the east entrance to the dark woods, just as the sun begins to set. On the overgrown trail he followed, he found an old blade, barely visible through layers of muck and brush. He gripped the hilt and pulled forth a miraculously intact iron broadsword. So, with his stallion and his sword he continued into the rapidly dimming forest. Tendrils of mist curled around his face, beckoning him to follow all manners of eerie sounds. From twigs snapping or branches moving, from small bird calls to haunting growls, Silas was rightly tempted to turn around many times. But on and on he drudged through the underbrush. Just as the silver beams of moonlight started to reach through the tree canopy, and just as he started to rest by a colossal Oak tree, a loud bellow shook the very ground beneath him.

He stood in thought for a while, partially dismissing them as more of the hallucinations he’s been getting this whole trip, but suddenly, a louder, longer, manic shout sounded. It seemed closer. The earth beneath Silas’s feet shoot and even the plants seemed to turn away from the direction of the horrible sounds. A terrible stench reached his nostrils, stinking of mold and sulfur. The crashing and snapping of branches and brush - continuously getting louder, closer - sent a shiver down his spine. His rational voice screamed at him to run away while he still could, but his brash braveness rooted him to the spot. He raised his old iron sword and braced himself for whatever was about to come next. A haunting orange glow appeared and began getting brighter as the sounds and the stink got stronger. Finally, as the last rational thought left his brain and only his will and his grip on his pony kept him in one place, the trees that were the only shield from him and the monster broke down, and he saw it. Eyes glowing the same color as the sun after a wildfire, and fur as matted and dank as a dead man’s hair, its skin seemed to create a void with its deep blackness. There was no forest anymore, only the Jabberwoky. A yellow-toothed maw opened from below the fire-like eyes and Silas got more than a glimpse of every sharp tooth. There must have been twelve rows of plaque-covered swords inside of this beast’s mouth.

A rouge thought went through his shattered mind that asked why he wasn’t dead yet. That thought was answered when the tail of this creature wrapped around him like a lasso, listing him off his steed and closer to its body’s infinite darkness. A terrible sound, like a sinner’s laugh echoed all around him. Silas thought about his life: his friends, his family… even that old man. Silas swore he would kill that old man if he made it out, which was seeming extremely unlikely. But this thought brought him to his wits enough to realize he was still holding that iron blade, and Silas brought it down as hard as he could onto the base of the Jabberwoky’s tail. It howled out in pain, and didn’t stop, because Silas slashed and slashed until finally the whining ended. Silas looked around in disbelief of what he’d done. His hands and his blade, both slick and wet and red. His clothes, meant for celebrating, now splattered with a sinister red paint. He couldn’t see himself, and wouldn’t want to, because he knew the look in his eyes would betray him. Pride, that foul sin, wouldn’t dare let him go back without proof of what terrible thing he’d done. So with great effort, he used his now dulled blade to sever the beasts horrific head from its maimed body. He hefted it over his shoulder, mounted his horse, and galloped through the forest to his village.

As Silas expected, riding into town with a monstrous head caused more than a bit of excitement. His friends lifted him off his exhausted steed and carried him on their shoulders to the old man that started all of this. It seemed that all the town had shown up to celebrate this victory. All Silas wanted to do was sleep. The impromptu parade arrived at the corner where the old man eternally squat. Silas’s prize was taken from his hand and thrown to the ground. The crowd sat with bated breath as the old man took in the scene. “And hast thou slain the Jabberwock? Come to my arms, my triumphant boy! Of fabulous day! Hallelujah! Hooray!” And the joyous exclamations of the frail man finally brought the spirit of success back to this tired and spent young boy.

For, ‘twas the harvest festival, and all the people of Heathenridge rightly celebrated. The youngest citizens ran and galavanted about the town square, while the elders spoke and sang old melodies; forgotten by all but them. In the middle of those groups were the young-ish girls and boys, who, with their friends, got up to all types of mad mischief. Silas, the boldest boy - and hero - of the town, led his band around the festival, mingling with the crowd as they went. Soon enough, they came upon the town fool, who’s true name was known now, only to Silas and himself. The man spoke intensely of wild beasts that used to haunt the forest that bordered the small town. He trailed endlessly on and on about the Jabberwocks, Bandersnatches, and the frumious Jubjub bird. His speech was memorized by the townsfolk, but today brought about new truth for the townspeople.