Shifti - User contributions [en]

User:Posti

2013-06-23T13:55:21Z

Posti: /* Stories */

==Stories==
*[[User:Posti/After_and_Before|After and Before]]
*[[User:Posti/Baylors_Rein|Baylor's Rein]]
*[[User:Posti/Bite_of_the_Apple|Bite of the Apple]]
*[[User:Posti/Blind_Man|Blind Man]]
*[[User:Posti/Bottom_Up|Bottom Up]]
*[[User:Posti/Broken_Hart|Broken Hart]]
*[[User:Posti/Business_Associate|Business Associate]]
*[[User:Posti/charlies_eyes|Charlie's Eyes]]
*[[User:Posti/Circe_com|Circe.com]]
*[[User:Posti/Cleaning_Up|Cleaning Up]]
*[[User:Posti/Clothes_horse|Clothes Horse]]
*[[User:Posti/Fairytail_Picture|Fairytail Picture]]
*[[User:Posti/Companion|Companion]]
*[[User:Posti/Gypsy_Gold|Gypsy Gold]]
*[[User:Posti/hangover|Hangover]]
*[[User:Posti/Jacked_into_the_System|Jacked into the System]]
*[[User:Posti/Joker|Joker]]
*[[User:Posti/Lasting_Impression|Lasting Impression]]
*[[User:Posti/Lost_in_Translation|Lost in Translation]]
*[[User:Posti/Midsummer|Midsummer Night's Unemployment]]
*[[User:Posti/Mortal_Danger|Mortal Danger]]
*[[User:Posti/No_Bull|No Bull]]
*[[User:Posti/One_Way_Ticket|One Way Ticket]]
*[[User:Posti/Outfoxed|Outfoxed]]
*[[User:Posti/paid_with_interest|Paid With Interest]]
*[[User:Posti/Quiet_Place|Quiet Place]]
*[[User:Posti/Pulling_weight|Pulling His Own Weight]]
*[[User:Posti/rain_dance|Rain Dance]]
*[[User:Posti/real_time|Real Time]]
*[[User:Posti/Reenactment|Reenactment]]
*[[User:Posti/Reindeer_games|Reindeer Games]]
*[[User:Posti/Replacement_Cost|Replacement Cost]]
*[[User:Posti/Salvage|Salvage]]
*[[User:Posti/Simple_life|Simple Life]]
*[[User:Posti/Something_to_Remember|Something to Remember]]
*[[User:Posti/Special_Edition|Special Edition]]
*[[User:Posti/strapped|Strapped for Cash]]
*[[User:Posti/Surrogate|Surrogate]]
*[[User:Posti/taken|Taken]]
*[[User:Posti/Team_Spirit|Team Spirit]]
*[[User:Posti/Totally_Pucked|Totally Pucked]]
*[[User:Posti/Unicorn_Dance|Unicorn Dance]]
*[[User:Posti/Wearin_of_the-Green|Wearin of the Green]]
*[[User:Posti/Where_Wolf|Where Wolf]]
*[[User:Posti/Whicker_Man|Whicker Man]]
*[[User:Posti/Xmas_Delivery|Xmas Delivery]]

{{author page|Bob Stein}}
{{DEFAULTSORT:Posti}}

User:Posti

2012-09-24T21:25:00Z

Posti: /* Stories */

==Stories==
*[[User:Posti/After_and_Before|After and Before]]
*[[User:Posti/Baylors_Rein|Baylor's Rein]]
*[[User:Posti/Bite_of_the_Apple|Bite of the Apple]]
*[[User:Posti/Blind_Man|Blind Man]]
*[[User:Posti/Bottom_Up|Bottom Up]]
*[[User:Posti/Broken_Hart|Broken Hart]]
*[[User:Posti/Business_Associate|Business Associate]]
*[[User:Posti/charlies_eyes|Charlie's Eyes]]
*[[User:Posti/Circe_com|Circe.com]]
*[[User:Posti/Cleaning_Up|Cleaning Up]]
*[[User:Posti/Clothes_horse|Clothes Horse]]
*[[User:Posti/Fairytail_Picture|Fairytail Picture]]
*[[User:Posti/Companion|Companion]]
*[[User:Posti/Gypsy_Gold|Gypsy Gold]]
*[[User:Posti/hangover|Hangover]]
*[[User:Posti/Jacked_into_the_System|Jacked into the System]]
*[[User:Posti/Joker|Joker]]
*[[User:Posti/Lasting_Impression|Lasting Impression]]
*[[User:Posti/Lost_in_Translation|Lost in Translation]]
*[[User:Posti/Midsummer|Midsummer Night's Unemployment]]
*[[User:Posti/Mortal_Danger|Mortal Danger]]
*[[User:Posti/No_Bull|No Bull]]
*[[User:Posti/One_Way_Ticket|One Way Ticket]]
*[[User:Posti/Outfoxed|Outfoxed]]
*[[User:Posti/paid_with_interest|Paid With Interest]]
*[[User:Posti/Quiet_Place|Quiet Place]]
*[[User:Posti/Peanut_Gallery|The Peanut Gallery]]
*[[User:Posti/Pulling_weight|Pulling His Own Weight]]
*[[User:Posti/rain_dance|Rain Dance]]
*[[User:Posti/real_time|Real Time]]
*[[User:Posti/Reenactment|Reenactment]]
*[[User:Posti/Reindeer_games|Reindeer Games]]
*[[User:Posti/Replacement_Cost|Replacement Cost]]
*[[User:Posti/Salvage|Salvage]]
*[[User:Posti/Simple_life|Simple Life]]
*[[User:Posti/Something_to_Remember|Something to Remember]]
*[[User:Posti/Special_Edition|Special Edition]]
*[[User:Posti/strapped|Strapped for Cash]]
*[[User:Posti/Substitution_penalty|Substitution Penalty]]
*[[User:Posti/Surrogate|Surrogate]]
*[[User:Posti/taken|Taken]]
*[[User:Posti/Team_Spirit|Team Spirit]]
*[[User:Posti/Totally_Pucked|Totally Pucked]]
*[[User:Posti/Unicorn_Dance|Unicorn Dance]]
*[[User:Posti/Wearin_of_the-Green|Wearin of the Green]]
*[[User:Posti/Where_Wolf|Where Wolf]]
*[[User:Posti/Whicker_Man|Whicker Man]]
*[[User:Posti/Xmas_Delivery|Xmas Delivery]]

{{author page|Bob Stein}}
{{DEFAULTSORT:Posti}}

User:Posti/Pulling weight

2012-01-21T03:35:33Z

Posti:

[[Category:Story]] [[Category:Bob Stein]] [[Category:Equine]] [[Category:Animal]] {{DEFAULTSORT:Pulling His Own Weight}}
{{title|name=Pulling His Own Weight|user=Posti|author=Bob Stein}}

“Come on, ‘Sampson’! At this rate we won’t get to town before dark.” It was Ge’nael, of course. While none of Thomas’ new companions were exactly friendly, the dark-haired elf fighter rarely missed the opportunity to toss a barb.

He bit back a protest and struggled to pick up his pace. The saddlebags and sacks on his back represented a fraction of what most of the others carried – to his shame, even the frail-looking elf taunting him was managing twice the load. If he fell too far behind, the group was likely to distribute his payload amongst themselves and give him the boot. Actually, considering the foul moods and dubious personalities of this battered collection of adventurers, he might just as easily end up buried in an ant hill for their amusement.

Not that the boy was complaining. If he hadn’t stumbled on the group’s campfire three days ago, he might still be lost in the forest. Or in the process of being digested by something large and unpleasant. Of course, he’d narrowly escaped ending his short life as a pincushion when he came blundering out of the trees. Tyrell claimed he had intended his arrow to miss, but Thomas credited survival more to the lanky human’s empty wine flask.

“Sampson?” There was a snort of derisive laughter. “I think he’d make a better Delilah.” Jurgen, a badly scarred dwarf who barely came up to Thomas’ chest, leered back at him. “What do you say, boy? If you can’t pull your own weight doing work, maybe we should see how well you can provide pleasure.”

“He’s better looking than that bristled pig you call a wife, Jurgen.” One of the biggest humans Thomas had ever seen strode back towards them. Seth was the leader and the closest thing to a friend Thomas had in this group. He had a wild mane of red hair streaked with gray, and wore only a loincloth and sandals despite cool temperatures. “Anyway, ‘Sampson’ is supposed to be working for me right now, so shut up and leave him alone. You can proposition him once we get to town.”

Thomas gave the man a grateful look, and received a scowl in return. “What are you smiling at, you miserable little whelp? I’ve seen goats carry more than you, and I didn’t promise to pay them my last coppers, either. Get a move on!” Seth spat in disgust and then went back to the front where Tyrell was leading their one remaining horse. The animal was limping, and had some ugly cuts on its flanks from an Orc attack that had not only claimed the lives of all the other mounts, but two party members as well.

Gritting his teeth against bitter complaints from his back and legs, the boy trudged a little faster and actually caught up with Jurgen at the tail end of the procession. Determined not to lose what little of Seth’s regard he might still retain, Thomas put all of his concentration into getting each foot to take that next step. As the afternoon sun began arching down towards the horizon, he saw other travelers - people on horseback, some peasants carrying bags and bales on their backs, and an ox-drawn cart laden with barrels. They were getting close to town, and none too soon. He was stooped like an old man now, his legs threatening to buckle under his burdens.

His hopes rose as they entered the main business district. There were inns and taverns all along the rutted, muddy street, full of noisy patrons. Yet the party passed by the brightly painted signs, turning off the main road into a section of much shabbier, smaller buildings. The air reeked of human and animal excrement, rotting food, and unwashed bodies. Although Thomas expected to collapse at any moment, he was relieved when they continued past the slums into a cleaner, more open section near the outskirts of the town. Unfortunately, he did not notice when the party finally stopped, and almost fell over Jurgen. The dwarf swore and shoved Thomas away, sending the boy sprawling backwards onto the muddy road.

“Idiot!” Seth grabbed Jurgen by his greasy hair and jerked him backwards so hard the dwarf’s feet actually left the ground. In other moment, the human had pulled Thomas up with his free hand. “That’s my stuff on his back, you pile of minotaur dung!”

“Come on, you two!” Tyrell shouted from the door of ‘Ba’el’s Bowels,’ a dark and somewhat foreboding Inn that nonetheless rang with laughter and loud voices mixed with grunts and an occasional animal snarl. He grinned and gestured inside. “We’ve got food, ale, and real beds waiting! Kill each other tomorrow.”

The dwarf grumbled, but stomped off after Ge’nael, who had already started inside. Seth undid the straps securing the bags on Thomas’ back and hefted them easily. He looked down at the exhausted boy with a faint smile. “”You made it, ‘Sampson.’ I was beginning to have my doubts.” He inclined his head to the injured horse. “Take her to the stable at the end of the street. Ask for Liam. Tell him that Seth of Aramath wants her healed and ready to go in the morning. And that I will be in need of a new mount.”

Too tired and sore to move, Thomas stared blankly at the horse. The barbarian set down his sacks and removed a drawstring bag from the waist of his loincloth. “Oh, that’s right. I promised you 9 coppers.” He fingered through what appeared to be a sizeable collection of coins, plucking a few out. After a moment’s consideration, he added a couple more and tossed the handful on the ground at Thomas’ feet. “There’s 12. Some extra for saving me the trouble of going to the stable. Don’t spend it all in one place.” He chuckled and picked up his belongings.

“Uh, Seth?” Thomas looked towards the Inn. “What about me? I mean, how much is a room?”

The barbarian snorted. “One silver for some dirty bedding in the common room, and five for a private room the size of an ox cart. Unless you want to see if Jurgen is still interested?”

“No!” Flushing, Thomas stooped painfully to recover the coins from the mud. How stupid could he have been to actually think he was anything more than a temporary tag-along? “I’ll find something.”

“Yes. I think you will.” Seth smiled faintly, then picked up his belongings. “Good luck, ‘Sampson’.” Then he strode inside, leaving the boy alone with the injured mare.

Thomas felt a surge of resentment. Even this broken, bleeding nag rated more concern and care than he’d ever gotten from anyone. He snatched the dangling reins a little harder than he intended, jerking the mare’s head. The animal whickered low in her throat, and looked at him with almost human misery. Guilt washed over him and he rubbed her nose gently. “Sorry, old girl. It’s not your fault.” Besides, he thought glumly as he headed for the stable, this horse had probably been far more useful than a scrawny peasant boy could ever hope to be.

The doors were shut and locked from the inside, and he had to double-check the location to make sure he was in the right spot. No sign marked the stable as a public business, but it was also the only such structure on the whole street. It was tempting to just leave the nag and look for someplace to sleep, but the few people walking this part of town didn’t look like they’d pass up the chance for free horsemeat. A couple might even have a taste for roast Thomas.

He pounded on the door and yelled a couple of times before a muffled voice shouted “Go away! We’re closed!”

“I’ve got a horse that’s hurt. I was supposed to bring it here.”

There was a short pause, and then a small window opened up in the left door. A young man peered out at him and scowled. “We don’t handle charity cases.” He slammed the peephole shut again.

“Hey!” Thomas pounded on the door again. “She’s not a charity case! Seth sent me! Seth of Ara… Ari..” He stopped, struggling to remember the Barbarian’s place of origin.

The window opened again. “Seth of Aramath?”

“Yes! He wants her healed and ready to go in the morning. And said to tell you he needs a new mount. Are you Liam?”

“Short, ugly troll-like guy, right?”

Thomas was flustered for a moment. “Uh, no. He’s huge, great big human. Red hair.”

“And he sent you here?” The young man stared down at him intently.

“Well, yes. He asked me to bring the mare here and give you those messages. That he wants her fixed up and he needs a new mount.” Thomas swayed slightly, fatigue starting to win out. “Look, I’ll just leave her out here and you can take her inside, OK? I gotta find a place to sleep.” He had already started trudging away when the stable doors creaked open.

“Hey, kid! Hold up a minute.” The young man stepped out and took the horse’s reins, then looked at the boy curiously. He was maybe 4 or 5 years older than Thomas, with a tangle of brown hair and the wispy beginnings of a mustache and beard. “I’m Liam. Seth still hanging around with that nasty little dwarf?”

Thomas nodded wearily. “Jurgen.”

“Yeah, that’s him. A piece of work, that one. How did you meet Seth? It’s not like him to trust a stranger.”

“I’ve been traveling with them.” Thomas started to embellish his role, then realized it was stupid to even try. “I stumbled onto their camp, and they let me tag along.”

Liam snorted. “You’re lucky they didn’t use you for target practice.” He looked over the mare. “Gods. What did they run into? And where are the other horses?”

“They got attacked by Orcs – a whole tribe, I think. They lost a couple of party members and all of the other horses.” Thomas indicated the mare. “They walked her all the way back. I’m surprised they didn’t leave her. Isn’t it a lot cheaper to buy a new horse than try healing one in that bad a shape?”

“Depends on the horse. Too bad about Seth’s.” He sighed, and then gave a dismissive shrug. “How come you aren’t staying at the Inn? Seth usually takes care of party members.”

Thomas flushed. “I guess I’m not really a party member. He paid me to carry stuff for them.”

“They must have been desperate.” The young man looked him over and smirked faintly, making Thomas’ blush deepen. Then he shook his head and started in to the stable. “Well, come on in, then. You probably haven’t got enough coppers to sleep in a doghouse.”

It took a moment for the invitation to register on Thomas’ exhausted brain. Then he stumbled after the mare, just barely making it inside before the young man shut and bolted the heavy door. It was dark in the stable, with a strong ammonia stench of old excrement. Once his eyes adjusted, he saw that there were small stalls along both sides. Most were occupied, some with animals that barely fit in the cramped quarters.

He followed as Liam took the horse all the way to the back, stopping in front of a stall that appeared to be at least three times the size of any other. The heavy wooden door had a rusty padlock, which the stable hand opened with a key from around his neck. After leading the mare in, he closed and latched the door, then turned. “OK. Here’s the deal. You want to sleep here, it will cost you ten copper.” He raised an eyebrow at Thomas’ pained expression. “I’m cutting you a break – we don’t usually let people stay here at all, and it’s two silver a night to board a horse. I’ll throw in some bread and cheese, and you can get water from the bucket. Or you can try your luck out on the street.”

Thomas supposed this was as close to kindness he could expect in the city – that didn’t make it easier for him to turn over most of his short-lived wealth. He’d probably regret this in the morning, but right now all he wanted was a safe place to sleep. Not that he’d mind something to eat.

The young man counted his coins, then nodded to the small stall next to where the mare was quartered. “Take that one. You might want to muck it out first. There’s a manure pile just outside the back door. I’ll be back in a minute with the food.”

A larger stall might have had a clean corner he could curl up in, but it was easy to see he’d either have to clear the bedding or sleep on horse shit. Actually, that didn’t bother him as much as he thought it would, but mucking the space would keep him awake until his dinner arrived.

He’d just staggered back from depositing the last of the soiled bedding when Liam brought the bread and cheese. They looked like leftovers from a couple of other people’s meals, but the two partial loaves of bread weren’t too stale, and he was able to brush the mold off the cheese. Sinking down into the back corner, Thomas nibbled at the food carefully, making sure he didn’t get any surprises – the kind with legs.

His host was obviously busy working on the mare, for he could hear muttering and an occasional oath next door. Thomas was drifting into slumber despite the noise when a sudden yell startled him awake again. Oaths exploded, followed by the bang of something hitting the stall wall. Thomas scrambled up and went around to the other stall.

Liam was balanced on one leg, glaring at the mare furiously as he rubbed his other foot. However, it was the mare that caught Thomas’ attention. The animal looked like its front half had been joined to the back end of a different horse. From mid-chest back, her coat was a glistening, unmarked chestnut brown with no sign of injuries or scars. Her front half still looked battered and dirty, though her wounds were covered with some sort of thick yellowish paste.

“Stupid beast stomped on my foot.” The young man wiggled his toes, and then tried standing. He winced a bit, but was able to walk over and pick up the brush he had obviously thrown against the wall. “You’d think she’d be grateful.”

“How did you…?” Thomas frowned a moment, then gasped. “Magic! You’re healing her with magic!”

“You know any other way to cure cuts like that overnight?” Liam looked at him in amazement. “Don’t tell me you’ve never seen healing before.”

“I’ve never seen any kind of magic before.” Thomas stared as the young man started working the mare’s shoulder, his brow furrowed in concentration. Her matted fur cleaned up with a few strokes, and the long streak of salve that marked one of the worst gashes brushed out completely to reveal hide as perfect as a foal’s. He watched the grooming in awe, his fatigue forgotten. It was more than just healing going on – the animal had been unable to graze properly, and become gaunt and bony. Now she was the picture of health, sleek as a noble’s steed. Actually, the mare looked even larger than before, taller and more thickly muscled.

“Does that…” He hesitated, not wanting to sound stupid. “I mean, the magic. Does it work on people?”

“This?” Liam held up his brush. A faint blue glow was visible in the dim light. “Not really. It’s animal magic, a special enchantment that only works in this stall. Take the brush outa here and it’s just a bunch of bristles and wood.”

“But in the stall?” Thomas couldn’t take his eyes off the soft shimmering light. “Would it make a human bigger and stronger?”

“Forget about it, kid.” The young man shook his head. “Even if it would work, which it won’t, there’s a nasty penalty for unauthorized use of enchanted items on another person. Especially animal magic – go too far and even a Master Wizard can’t undo the changes. That’s why the stall gets locked up every night.” Then he frowned. “Which is what I am about to do. Go on back to sleep. Or if you got so much energy, maybe you could muck a few more stalls out for me?”

Thomas sighed and returned to his corner next door. After a few minutes, he saw the top of the mare’s head go past as Liam took her down to one of the regular stalls. Getting up quietly, he peered through the cracked stall door. They went into an empty spot a few spaces up. Liam emerged and secured the gate, then peered back down towards the back of the stable. Then he went into the large tack and feed room where he apparently had his own sleeping spot, and shut the door.

After waiting a few minutes, Thomas eased the gate open and checked out the enchanted stall. It was securely padlocked. He felt a pang of disappointment, even though Liam had already told him the magic wasn’t set up for humans. That would have been too easy. Besides, the very thought of trying something so unpredictable and dangerous was foolhardy at best, and potentially fatal. Sighing, he lay back down and tried to put the brush out of his mind.

It was still dark out when he woke, not sure why. Then he realized his bladder was complaining. Sighing, he got up and shuffled to the opposite corner to relieve himself. It wasn’t as if the usual occupants didn’t do the same thing. As he drained off the pressure, his eyes were drawn to dim light from the night sky filtering through the high barred windows over the stalls. Most stables had much larger openings to allow for circulation – this place obviously prized security above odor control.

His thoughts drifted back to the miraculous transformation of the injured mare. The animal must have gained a couple hundred pounds in minutes. If he could get just a fraction of that muscle, a few inches in height. But it only worked on animals, and besides, it was locked away where no one could get at it. Then he frowned. Why? Liam had said something about penalties for using magic against other people. If the brush only worked on animals, how could there be a risk of that? Unless…

Finishing up in the corner, he slipped back outside and stared at the locked door. It was heavy wood, with iron hinges and a hasp that would take an axe to break. The wall itself went all the way to the ceiling, and there wasn’t as much as an inch gap anywhere. Oh, well. It was a stupid idea anyway.

Thomas went back and lay down again, staring at the shadowed roof above him. Why did it always come down to size and strength? Everyone had said he was the cleverest boy in the village, and he was by far the fastest runner and swimmer. The problem was that working the fields didn’t require speed or brains. Which was why his older, dumber, and much larger brother would always have a home, while Thomas had been ‘encouraged’ to seek his fortune elsewhere.

He was almost asleep again when something about the shadows made his eyes pop open. The dark shape on the wall didn’t match up to anything - the bottom was straight, and parallel to the floor. Getting up, he picked up a clump of dried horse manure and tossed it at the black area. It continued over the wall, landing with a muffled thud in the next stall. The enchanted stall.

Heart pounding, he reached up as high as he could. The edge was a good five feet above him. There was a rub rail about shoulder height. Thomas upended the bucket and used it as a step to get up on the rail. From there, he was just able to hook his fingers over the top. If he hadn’t had a little sleep and some food, he’d never have managed to pull himself over. As it was, he ended up falling to the ground with a grunt of pain.

Now what? He looked around and had a moment of panic. It was almost pitch black in here – he couldn’t make out his own hand as anything more than a vague shape. How could he find the brush – if it was even in the stall? He hadn’t actually seen where Liam got it. But the stable hand didn’t have it when he took the mare to her stall. Moving slowly, he felt the walls, and when nothing turned up, the bedding around the edge.

He never would have found the hidden compartment if Liam had shut it completely. However, as he searched the back corner he made out the barely discernable blue outline of a small door. The panel swung open easily, revealing the glowing brush inside. Thomas stared at it a few moments, afraid to touch it. Then he reached out, half expecting some protective spell to sear his flesh, and picked it up gingerly by the leather strap.

Nothing happened. He let out a shaky breath that he hadn’t even realized he was holding and examined his prize. Dimmer than a small candle, the bristles’ pale shimmering was just enough to make out worn carvings of horses and donkeys around the outer edge. In comparison, the hand strap was plain and almost new-looking – obviously a replacement. Whatever power the tool had, it was not immune to the ravages of use and time. He wondered how old it was. Where had it come from?

As if any of that mattered. Thomas knew the real question here was whether or not he would actually try it. A hundred reasons against this foolishness popped into his mind – not the least of which was that this could kill him. Yet he also realized that if he didn’t take this chance he would regret it for the rest of his life. Odds were good that it wouldn’t work anyway. Putting the brush down, he quickly stripped and threw his loincloth and tunic aside. Then he slipped his hand under the strap and hefted the tool. After a moment of consideration, he touched it to his belly.

The bristles prickled his skin, causing a faint itching sensation, but nothing else. He watched nervously, chin pressed against his chest. “Come on. Do something.” Muttering under his breath didn’t seem to help. How did it work? He thought furiously, trying to remember anything about the way Liam had used it on the mare. As far as he could tell, the young man had groomed her normally. He tried sliding the brush across his stomach, leaving faint white scratches on the still-human skin. All he felt was more itching. Feeling frustration build, he closed his eyes and concentrated hard, imagining glistening chestnut hair like the mare’s.

He stopped suddenly – there had been a sensation of something – not quite heat, or pressure, or pulling. But his belly looked the same when he examined it, and he decided it must have been wishful thinking. Then his fingers absently scratched the still-itchy area and encountered a slight roughness that hadn’t been there before. Stubble?

Thomas ran the brush over the spot again, half afraid that it wouldn’t work, and half afraid that it would. There– that faint feeling that he couldn’t quite identify. He watched this time, willing the change to happen. And though the change was painfully slow, he saw dark hairs thicken around his navel. The bristles began to meet resistance, but he continued until his entire belly was covered by glossy black horse hide.

Running fingers over the furry patch, he was amazed to find that the depression of his navel had smoothed out. Didn’t horses have navels? Perhaps not the same place as humans. Why black fur, though? He’d been picturing the mare’s chestnut hair. Then he gave a short laugh. As if he cared about color! The brush worked!

The question now was just what he would do with it. Judging from the slight rounding of his belly and his lost navel, gaining the muscles and size he craved was definitely possible. But at what price? It was obvious he’d end up covered in horse hide. That would get him a lot of stares by itself – he’d look like a victim of some weird curse. However, the changes would have to be a lot more than skin deep to make any real improvements.

He began running the brush over his right thigh. Hair seemed to appear faster this time, catching at the bristles after only a couple of strokes. This time he continued after the skin was fully transformed, sending the magic deeper. Muscles tightened and shifted under the thick hide as he worked the change down and around, like shaving in reverse. The sensation was so fascinating that he didn’t stop until he realized he was leaning to the left.

Gods! It felt like he had one foot in a hole. Blinking, he squinted in the darkness trying to make out the results. Holding the brush close enough to make use of its glow also caused the odd sensation to start up again, so he had chose to check out the changes with his free hand instead.

Starting just below the waist, his right thigh was fully furred all the way down to the knee, and was quite a bit larger. He could feel blood vessels snaking under surprisingly soft fur, and taut muscles that quivered slightly with the promise of great power. Feeling a bit giddy with success, he started working on the left.

When he was level again, Thomas took a couple of tentative steps. His hips and knees felt a little stiff, forcing him into a slight forward lean. Nothing he couldn’t adjust to, he thought, especially as he savored the unfamiliar sense of strength. A standing jump of at least four feet nearly made him shout in joy. Landing, however, twisted one of his still-human ankles.

Sitting, he tried to work the pain out first, then remembered how the mare’s injures and bruises had been healed. Experimenting with the brush cured the throbbing, but his now-hairy ankle wouldn’t rotate properly when he tried flexing his foot. Exploring fingers confirmed that the joint felt quite a bit thicker, with almost no rounding of the joint at all. That puzzled him. Horses could swivel their hooves. But that was more like moving toes. The equine equivalent of an ankle must be different. .

Sighing, Thomas considered his options. The only way to get what he wanted was to become a lot more horse-like than he had thought would be necessary. Not that half-animal beings were all that unusual. He had seen a few – centaurs and satyrs sometimes passed through his home village, even the occasional minotaur. Some people were scared of them, but nobody thought of them as freaks or monsters. Well, maybe the minotaurs. But none of the horse-based creatures were ever looked down on.

There were several part equine forms: regular and horse-headed centaurs, hippogriffs, even satyrs that were part horse instead of goat. That last seemed to be his most likely course, given the limitations of the brush. Satyrs had full animal legs and tail, maybe a little bestial around the face, with pointed ears and horns. An equine version wouldn’t have the horns of course. But all the changes required involved changing human parts to horse – no added bits, like extra limbs or wings.

So he’d try for a horse satyr, part pony instead of goat. The mental image he conjured up was interesting – his body would have to be fully furred if he wanted to build up his chest and arms. That would leave his boy’s head looking a bit stuck on, unless he used the brush on it as well. Thomas the human would no longer exist. Sadly, he realized that no one, not even his family, would know or care.

Apprehensive now, he forced himself to run the brush over his knees and shins. Skin turned to hide at the first touch, kneecaps smoothing out as the back of his thighs dropped behind them. The shift of joints made it harder to sit upright. His calves stretched out and thickened under the glow, making his feet difficult to reach.

Thomas paused a moment to wiggle his toes one last time, then closed his eyes and groomed them into numb lumps that rapidly formed into heavy hooves. He was surprised by the amount of hair that sprouted over them – He could barely feel the hooves themselves through the thick, shaggy growth.

Some of the big plow horses back home had the same kind of feathering, but the implications did not hit him until he stood back up. It took some effort, for equine legs did not move the same way as human limbs. He had to roll onto all fours and push himself up. And up. Thomas swayed slightly, feeling a little hunched over and off balance. Then he blinked as he realized the top of the wall was now within easy reach.

While the added height pleased him, it was obvious his new legs were way oversized for his human body. By the time he adjusted the rest to fit, he’d be more an equine minotaur than any kind of satyr. Attempting such extensive changes made him nervous, but he’d known the risks when he started. Besides, it was easy to accept himself as a hoofed giant, the barbarian fighter Seth sculpted in equine flesh.

Bolstered by that impressive image, Thomas continued to work up his body. Changes to his buttocks seemed to reach deeper than anything previous, especially when the bristles tickled his anus. The odd sensation flowed into his gut, tugging at his insides, while new muscles appeared to work the full, thick tail that emerged from the base of his spine.

Which brought him to his crotch. Ironically, he could remember quite a few boys idly wishing that they could make just the change he now faced after a centaur passed through. How many of them would go through with it if they actually had the chance? It was one thing to make crude speculations, and quite another to give up the most basic human function. Not that anyone would ever see him as human again. However, closer examination revealed that the decision had already been made for him. The magic had snuck in from his thighs, swelling his testicles into heavy orbs that would never produce human seed again.

Sighing, Thomas completed the transformation of his nether regions. Even relaxed in its sheath, the stallion’s thick penis provided some interesting sensations. However, any pleasure he got from the impressive maleness was offset by intense internal shifting that pushed his belly outward even further. These changes to his insides actually scared him more than anything else - the very core of his body was becoming animal.

Maybe scared was too strong a word. He should frightened by all of this, but curiously, he was calmer now than when he started. Despite the unexpected size and intensity of the changes, he couldn’t work up anything stronger than vague concern. Perhaps this easy acceptance was an indication of how little he valued his human life. Or worse, how little anyone cared about his life at all, human or not.

At least this bitter thought made it easier to continue. Still working in the dark, Thomas spread the transformation up his chest and back. He tried not to linger in any one area long enough to cause deep changes, moving on as soon as hide and muscle seemed complete. Even so, his chest and shoulders pulled more than he wanted, and his neck stretch out a couple of inches. Using extreme caution, he managed keep his arms mostly human except for animal hide and fingers that were a little stiffer. Even so, they did feel a good bit stronger.

All that was left now was Thomas’ head. The magic was working very fast now - one light touch was all it took to make each ear into fully equine. The bristles caught in a thick tangle of hair when he started on the back of his head, and his skull started to sink inward. He yanked the brush free and felt the area anxiously. The effects didn’t seem too drastic – a fleshy ridge had formed and sprouted a creditable mane that continued down an even longer neck. That was OK. It even fit the equine minotaur image.

He felt the familiar contours of his face, the last remnant of Thomas the human. Why wasn’t he terrified? It was pointless to stop now, but that didn’t mean he should accept the loss of his identity so readily. He was almost afraid. Almost excited. Both emotions and a hundred others seemed to be boiling in the back of his mind, yet none could work past the contentment that lay heavily over his thoughts like a winter blanket. In fact, what he most wanted to do now was finish up so he could get some sleep. His oppressive fatigue was returning, no longer kept at bay by the thrill of danger.

Despite efforts to be careful, his forehead dropped a good inch as he completed his mane. However, when none of the changes seemed to affect his mind, Thomas felt safe going for more drastic alteration of his features. Instead of stopping when his cheeks were covered with hide, he allowed the jaw itself to swell out in a more equine configuration. Then, after staring at the glowing bristles for a moment, he grinned nervously and began brushing his nose and mouth.

This final alteration provided the most sensory feedback of all. Scents increased as nostrils softened and flared outward, the taste of his elongating mouth changed, and vision seemed to brighten even as it split and blurred. Fascinated, he continued recklessly even when tendrils of magic began to pull at his head and throat, jerking the brush away only when his ears twitched in new positions near the top of his head.

Ignoring the faint inner voice that was accusing him of stupidity, Thomas explored his new muzzle with curiosity. Although his forehead had sunk almost below the level of the jutting equine eye sockets, his skull actually felt larger than before. There was a beardlike growth of hair under his chin, and long whiskers like a cat’s around his lips and mouth. It appeared that his head was as fully transformed as his hindquarters, and that thought stilled even the feeble protest from the back of his mind. This was his reality now - concerns and regrets were pointless.

The brush glowed invitingly against the dark shadow of his enlarged hand. He wished he could see himself. Improved night vision still only gave him vague representations of shape. His body reported back a confusing mix of signals – in some ways, he felt better than he could ever remember, yet there was also a nagging sense of being incomplete. In the end, he decided that he had tempted fate enough for one night, and put the brush back into its hidden compartment.

With even the faint glow of magic gone, he had trouble locating the top of the wall. It turned out he was looking way too high – the edge was now level with his eyes. He worked his jaw absently as he stared. There was no way his new bulk would fit through what was now a comparatively narrow opening between stall and roof. So much for sneaking out unobserved.

He had no doubt that he could kick the door open easily, but that would wake Liam. The thought of damaging the stable made him uneasy – he would be in enough trouble already. Better to let the young man at least get a good night’s sleep. Which, he decided, was the best course of action for himself as well. Lying down in the stall, he stretched out once, and was dead to the world in minutes.

“Wake up!”

Thomas was startled out of deep sleep by Liam’s shout and a foot connecting solidly with his backside. The young man’s annoyed tone actually had more impact than the physical blow, which felt more like a friendly pat on the butt. Thomas was confused by sensations that should have faded with the rest of the strange dream etched vividly in his mind. And why was the stable hand so anxious to roust him out of the stall so early, anyway? It was obviously still dark out, early dawn at best.

“Come on, kid!” The foot thudded dully against his rump again. “We have to get you sorted out quick! If anyone else sees you like this…”

What was he talking about? Thomas blinked, but his vision refused to clear. Odder still, he was getting two distinct images. One was a panoramic view of the entire stall showing the first pale light of morning across the roof, and the other was much darker blur that appeared to be a close-up view of the stall floor. Even then, it took another moment before he realized that he hadn’t been dreaming at all.

After two unsuccessful attempts to rise, he fell back with his heart pounding and eyes wide in bewilderment. Panic boiled up, but couldn’t quite push through the blanket of calm that seemed to have thickened as he slept. His nostrils flared, sucking in air rich with scents. Two distinct odors stood out from the general stable stink – a musky sweat and urine smell that had to belong to this equine body, and a much less intense variation of the same that must be Liam. He tried to speak, but the words caught in his throat and emerged as a low rumbling. What had he done to himself?

“Just take it slow.” Liam sighed, his indistinct outline moving back to the open stall door. “Roll up to your side and then push up. Come on. We don’t have a lot of time.”

Although he didn’t really understand the haste, Thomas was anxious to prove he hadn’t been crippled by the night’s foolishness. Following Liam’s instructions, he was able to rise to all fours, and then straighten to an almost upright position. What had happened? Why was he so much worse this morning? Another attempt to talk produced a definite animal whicker.

“Climbed over the wall, didn’t you?” Liam shook his head, though he actually sounded more amused than annoyed now. “I tried to warn you. But you couldn’t leave it alone. Well, let’s see how badly you’ve messed yourself up.” The young man walked around him slowly.

Thomas stood nervously, grunting in surprise but not resisting when Liam’s inspection included physical probes of his mouth and genitals. Being treated like a beast at market was embarrassing, but the stable hand’s businesslike manner made the experience easier to tolerate. The rising sun was sending more light into the stall now, and he twisted his head to get a better view of himself.

In truth, he had come very close to the horse-minotaur form. As he suspected last night, everything below the waist was fully equine, and very large equine at that. Liam, who was muttering to himself as he squatted to check out a hind hoof, looked like a small child in comparison.

Above his waist, however, the transformation appeared spotty. His belly had swollen noticeably under a mostly human chest, creating the look of a grown man who spent too much time in taverns. And though he had managed to completely change skin to hide, his coat had a ragged, uneven texture. This was especially evident on his arms, which were far too small in proportion to his legs – the overall effect was more giant horsy squirrel than minotaur.

Liam leaned casually against the back wall, arms crossed. “I can only guess you were trying for some sort of two-legged horse shape. If you had been listening last night, you’d have known the brush only makes horses. Animal magic. Not minotaur, or satyr, or centaur. They aren’t really animals, even though animal stuff works a lot better on them than on humans.”

“Still, you did a pretty good job. If you’d stopped sooner, you might have even pulled it off.” The young man shook his head ruefully. “Problem is, magic works sorta like fire. It takes a while to get wood to start burning, and when you try to put it out, there are always embers glowing for a while. That’s why you woke up more changed than I think you wanted to be.”

Thomas snorted and nodded his head in agreement.

“From the looks of things, you’re more than halfway changed into a big Clydesdale or Shire stallion. You can’t talk any more, and I bet those thick fingers are pretty much useless.”

It hadn’t even occurred to Thomas that his hands felt somewhat numb this morning, and a quick experiment revealed that the stable hand was right. Although the dark, swollen digits still flexed slightly, he had lost the ability to grip anything.

“You have two choices. Leave now and try finding someone willing to care for a freak.” Liam gestured towards the secret compartment. “Or you can let me finish you up. If we’re lucky, you can still be a pretty impressive horse. If not, well, pulling plows still beats being laughed at. Or worse.”

Thomas was a little disturbed by the stable hand’s casual attitude - he might as well have been talking about whether or not to wash out a tunic. However, there really was no choice at all. Stripped of his voice and hands, barely able to even stand upright, Thomas was even more useless than he had been as a scrawny human. At least he might make a good horse. He moved a step closer to Liam as an answer.

“That’s the first smart choice you’ve made since you got here.” The young man looked back at Thomas as he retrieved the brush. “I’m going to be working pretty fast. So here is the deal. Pretty much everybody ends up no different from a born animal. And I mean that in every way possible. The original person doesn’t exist anymore.”

Cold fear surged up, actually slipping past the barrier in his mind – what was the point of anything if his identity wasn’t going to survive? He backed away from Liam, ears back and eyes showing whites. Better to live even a few months as a freak than lose everything that made him who he was forever.

The young man smiled grimly. “Good. You’re scared shitless. Hang onto that. Remember, I said -most- people. Not everybody. Somebody who doesn’t waste all their time screaming and moaning about turning into an animal, who maybe appreciates being big and strong and beautiful?” He took a step closer but kept his brush hand dangling at his side. “Somebody who has already taken himself most of the way? That’s the kind of person who gets to find out what it’s like to run like the wind. You could be one of the best, kid. A mount fit for a king.”

Staring at the glowing bristles, Thomas felt even the fear of losing himself being pushed back under the mental blanket. Yet it was more than that - despair was dragging him down as well. What was the point of fighting? Did it matter if he ended up a plow mule?

Yes! The small voice inside that had been chiding him all along suddenly changed its tune. Liam said he could be one of the best. Big and strong, a horse ‘fit for a king.’ This was his chance to be special, to have the size and power he had dreamed of. OK, he’d always imagined himself on two legs, but this beat life as a freak. In fact, it probably would be an improvement over anything he might have found as a human. Doing his best to ignore the cold lump in his gut, Thomas held his arms up.

“Smart kid.” Liam grinned, but began the grooming immediately, perhaps afraid Thomas would lose his nerve again. A couple of strokes closed his fingers forever, fusing them into broad, heavy hooves that matched those on his legs. His hind legs - the brush stretched out both arms round and thick as tree trunks. Thomas found himself teetering forward, and struggled to stay upright.

“Give it up.” The young man stood back. “You need to focus hard on who you are. The horse mind will try to take over, push all of your human thoughts out. It’ll be hard to fight, because the animal instincts belong in your head now. Come on - we’re almost there.”

Dropping to all fours was at the same time the easiest and hardest thing Thomas had ever done. Easy because gravity and his reshaped body were working to pull him down, and hard because he knew it was the last surrender to animal form. Yet the real battle didn’t start until Liam was finishing up the massive equine back and chest . With physical transformation almost done, the magic seized on the one remaining vestige of Thomas’ humanity - his mind.

The attack was so sudden and brutal that he almost lost despite being prepared for it. Senses exploded in his mind, every square inch of muscled hide trying to make itself known at once. Hazy images of pastures, stalls, and other horses poured in, nameless people grooming him, training him, riding him. The magic was weaving a complete identity to match his equine body, instilling knowledge and experience along with natural instincts. And most disturbingly, that identity had memories of more love and better treatment than Thomas had ever enjoyed.

Perhaps it was that sense of belonging that caused him to falter. The acceptance and contentment that had escaped him as a human was being offered freely by this swirl of enchantment. All he had to do was let it in. Resistance began to crumble, and the magic surged in anticipation. He felt the impact, knew some small part of himself had been swallowed up and lost forever. The promise was a lie! He retreated a bit, sacrificing more memories, but giving himself a chance to erect a stronger barrier.

Liam was still grooming him, running the brush down his neck and back. “Hold on, kid. Fight it. You can make it all the way. It’s almost over. Hold on.” The constant drone of encouragement gave Thomas an anchor - not just the young man’s words, but the confidence behind them.

That extra fortification gave him just enough strength to stand firm against the barrage of equine thought. It shook the very foundations of his soul, but just as he thought his resolve was going to finally crumble the pressure eased. Afraid this was a trick, he continued his fierce concentration until Liam’s voice finally broke through.

“It’s over, kid. You still in there?”

Thomas took a deep, shuddering breath. They had won. Or had they? As he explored his mind he found most of the equine identity in place. It was a curious experience - every memory, every sensation installed by the magic was completely real - he was a stallion trained for years to be a warrior’s mount, right down to impressions of nursing from a mare’s teat. Much of his human past had been reduced to blurred and sometimes confusing impressions - but he remained aware of the transformation itself.

“Come on - you had to make it. Show me you’re still with me, kid!” The stable hand was standing in front of him now, concern evident in his voice.

Thomas snorted, then tossed his head. Realizing that this probably wasn’t enough to indicate anything, he pawed the ground with one hoof, then whickered and lowered his head to Liam’s shoulder.

“I hope this means you survived, kid.” The stable hand patted his neck affectionate. “I don’t suppose you could count to five with a hoof for me?”

Stepping back, he raised his right forehoof and stomped firmly on the ground five times.

A broad grin fixed itself on Liam’s face. “Gods! You even understand what I’m saying! Count to three with your left hoof, then one with your right. When Thomas complied, the young man let out a shout of excitement that was cut short as a figure suddenly filled the doorway.

“I’d guess you have my new horse ready?” It was Seth! The red-haired barbarian no longer looked huge to Thomas, though he still towered over the stable hand as he came into the stall with an appreciative smile. “Did I hear right? Can he understand spoken commands?”

“Not just commands!” Liam beamed proudly. “He made it all the way! Even better than that last boy. I swear I don’t know how you can pick ‘em like that.”

Pick? Thomas pricked up his ears, confused. What did the stable hand mean, picked?

“You didn’t see him struggling under the saddlebags. More than twenty miles, with Ge’nael and Jurgen harassing him the whole way.” Seth reached up and patted Thomas’ neck. “Two tons of willpower and determination trapped in a skinny kid’s body. I knew he was the one I wanted - I just wasn’t sure he’d go for the brush.”

A sick feeling began to form in the pit of Thomas’ stomach. It had all been a setup - a test to see if he would make a good horse! He wanted to jerk his head back from the barbarian’s hand, but couldn’t quite pull away.

Liam snorted. “Are you kidding? Once he saw the magic he was hooked. Probably would have let me change him right then, even knowing he was going to end up a horse. But I knew you wanted a stallion like the last one, and I had to adjust the spell.”

“He’s perfect.” Seth grabbed Thomas’ head with both hands and stared up into his eyes. “You are perfect. Maybe you think you’ve been tricked, or badly used. But nobody held you down and changed you against your will. All we did was give you an opportunity. You made all the choices here. And it looked like you made the right ones.”

Thomas snorted incredulously, then found that he could not contradict a single thing the barbarian was saying.

“You wanted to adventure, to explore the world?” Seth cocked his head slightly. “As a human, you wouldn’t have lasted two weeks on your own. As my warhorse, you will travel the world, see places most men only dream of. Peasants and nobles will pay to have you mount their mares, and you will be admired by all who see you. One of my mounts ended up in a royal stable - the offer was too great, and he was agreeable. The same could happen to you.”

“Or he could end up hacked to pieces and eaten by a tribe of angry orcs.” Liam looked at the barbarian with a wry smile. “You don’t want a stupid horse, right? He’s got to be wondering about that.”

It was true - Thomas had been thinking about all the horses that hadn’t come back from Seth’s last adventure.

“There is always danger. I lost Daryl, my last mount. We also lost an elf and a human. If you want safety, you can plow fields. Does it really matter which end of the plow you are on?” Seth sighed. “I want a willing mount, a horse that can listen and act on his own. Not just a horse - a partner. I will protect you as I would any other member of the party. If you are injured, I’ll spend my last gold piece to have you healed. And if you are killed? Well, your death will come as part of doing something exciting, something different. What do you say, Thomas?”

Liam wrinkled his nose. “Thomas? He never did tell me his name. Not exactly what I would choose for an earth-shaking warhorse stallion.”

“Oh, he has another name, if he chooses to join me.”

Thomas stared down at the barbarian, working his jaw absently. Seth was no Paladin - but he also had no reason to lie about this. In fact, everything the man had said was true, even the part about Thomas making all the choices. There was only one more to make. He looked down at the red-haired giant, wondering what would happen if he decided to be a plow horse. Yet he knew that there really was only one choice to make. Whether by Seth’s plan or his own desires, this course of action had been fixed from the start.

Although he had made no outward sign of his decision, Seth grinned and pointed to the stall door. “OK, Sampson. Let’s go on out and get you tacked up.”

Sampson. As Thomas plodded out into the brightly lit main stable, the blanket over his emotions faded away. The stall must have some sort of spell to calm animals while they were being worked on. That explained his reactions to the transformation. However, the contentment he had felt remained - was it a lingering effect of the animal wards? No. The control spell only limited emotions - it couldn’t create them.

The barbarian had piled his things near the supply room, and picked up a black and silver bridle and a set of saddlebags that looked awfully familiar. “The others will be here in a few minutes. Oh, and feel free to piss on Jurgen. He bet you’d lose yourself to the horse.”

So, the dwarf had been in on it too. Sampson, former peasant boy and now warhorse to Seth of Aramath, felt the beginnings of an equine grin as the barbarian started fitting his tack. There was no longer any doubt that he could pull his own weight now - maybe he could find out how much pleasure he could get out of tormenting Jurgen.

The End

User:Posti/Pulling weight

2012-01-21T03:32:17Z

Posti: A scrawny peasant boy with a thirst for adventure finds a dangerous way to make his dreams come true.

Pulling His Own Weight
By Bob Stein

“Come on, ‘Sampson’! At this rate we won’t get to town before dark.” It was Ge’nael, of course. While none of Thomas’ new companions were exactly friendly, the dark-haired elf fighter rarely missed the opportunity to toss a barb.

He bit back a protest and struggled to pick up his pace. The saddlebags and sacks on his back represented a fraction of what most of the others carried – to his shame, even the frail-looking elf taunting him was managing twice the load. If he fell too far behind, the group was likely to distribute his payload amongst themselves and give him the boot. Actually, considering the foul moods and dubious personalities of this battered collection of adventurers, he might just as easily end up buried in an ant hill for their amusement.

Not that the boy was complaining. If he hadn’t stumbled on the group’s campfire three days ago, he might still be lost in the forest. Or in the process of being digested by something large and unpleasant. Of course, he’d narrowly escaped ending his short life as a pincushion when he came blundering out of the trees. Tyrell claimed he had intended his arrow to miss, but Thomas credited survival more to the lanky human’s empty wine flask.

“Sampson?” There was a snort of derisive laughter. “I think he’d make a better Delilah.” Jurgen, a badly scarred dwarf who barely came up to Thomas’ chest, leered back at him. “What do you say, boy? If you can’t pull your own weight doing work, maybe we should see how well you can provide pleasure.”

“He’s better looking than that bristled pig you call a wife, Jurgen.” One of the biggest humans Thomas had ever seen strode back towards them. Seth was the leader and the closest thing to a friend Thomas had in this group. He had a wild mane of red hair streaked with gray, and wore only a loincloth and sandals despite cool temperatures. “Anyway, ‘Sampson’ is supposed to be working for me right now, so shut up and leave him alone. You can proposition him once we get to town.”

Thomas gave the man a grateful look, and received a scowl in return. “What are you smiling at, you miserable little whelp? I’ve seen goats carry more than you, and I didn’t promise to pay them my last coppers, either. Get a move on!” Seth spat in disgust and then went back to the front where Tyrell was leading their one remaining horse. The animal was limping, and had some ugly cuts on its flanks from an Orc attack that had not only claimed the lives of all the other mounts, but two party members as well.

Gritting his teeth against bitter complaints from his back and legs, the boy trudged a little faster and actually caught up with Jurgen at the tail end of the procession. Determined not to lose what little of Seth’s regard he might still retain, Thomas put all of his concentration into getting each foot to take that next step. As the afternoon sun began arching down towards the horizon, he saw other travelers - people on horseback, some peasants carrying bags and bales on their backs, and an ox-drawn cart laden with barrels. They were getting close to town, and none too soon. He was stooped like an old man now, his legs threatening to buckle under his burdens.

His hopes rose as they entered the main business district. There were inns and taverns all along the rutted, muddy street, full of noisy patrons. Yet the party passed by the brightly painted signs, turning off the main road into a section of much shabbier, smaller buildings. The air reeked of human and animal excrement, rotting food, and unwashed bodies. Although Thomas expected to collapse at any moment, he was relieved when they continued past the slums into a cleaner, more open section near the outskirts of the town. Unfortunately, he did not notice when the party finally stopped, and almost fell over Jurgen. The dwarf swore and shoved Thomas away, sending the boy sprawling backwards onto the muddy road.

“Idiot!” Seth grabbed Jurgen by his greasy hair and jerked him backwards so hard the dwarf’s feet actually left the ground. In other moment, the human had pulled Thomas up with his free hand. “That’s my stuff on his back, you pile of minotaur dung!”

“Come on, you two!” Tyrell shouted from the door of ‘Ba’el’s Bowels,’ a dark and somewhat foreboding Inn that nonetheless rang with laughter and loud voices mixed with grunts and an occasional animal snarl. He grinned and gestured inside. “We’ve got food, ale, and real beds waiting! Kill each other tomorrow.”

The dwarf grumbled, but stomped off after Ge’nael, who had already started inside. Seth undid the straps securing the bags on Thomas’ back and hefted them easily. He looked down at the exhausted boy with a faint smile. “”You made it, ‘Sampson.’ I was beginning to have my doubts.” He inclined his head to the injured horse. “Take her to the stable at the end of the street. Ask for Liam. Tell him that Seth of Aramath wants her healed and ready to go in the morning. And that I will be in need of a new mount.”

Too tired and sore to move, Thomas stared blankly at the horse. The barbarian set down his sacks and removed a drawstring bag from the waist of his loincloth. “Oh, that’s right. I promised you 9 coppers.” He fingered through what appeared to be a sizeable collection of coins, plucking a few out. After a moment’s consideration, he added a couple more and tossed the handful on the ground at Thomas’ feet. “There’s 12. Some extra for saving me the trouble of going to the stable. Don’t spend it all in one place.” He chuckled and picked up his belongings.

“Uh, Seth?” Thomas looked towards the Inn. “What about me? I mean, how much is a room?”

The barbarian snorted. “One silver for some dirty bedding in the common room, and five for a private room the size of an ox cart. Unless you want to see if Jurgen is still interested?”

“No!” Flushing, Thomas stooped painfully to recover the coins from the mud. How stupid could he have been to actually think he was anything more than a temporary tag-along? “I’ll find something.”

“Yes. I think you will.” Seth smiled faintly, then picked up his belongings. “Good luck, ‘Sampson’.” Then he strode inside, leaving the boy alone with the injured mare.

Thomas felt a surge of resentment. Even this broken, bleeding nag rated more concern and care than he’d ever gotten from anyone. He snatched the dangling reins a little harder than he intended, jerking the mare’s head. The animal whickered low in her throat, and looked at him with almost human misery. Guilt washed over him and he rubbed her nose gently. “Sorry, old girl. It’s not your fault.” Besides, he thought glumly as he headed for the stable, this horse had probably been far more useful than a scrawny peasant boy could ever hope to be.

The doors were shut and locked from the inside, and he had to double-check the location to make sure he was in the right spot. No sign marked the stable as a public business, but it was also the only such structure on the whole street. It was tempting to just leave the nag and look for someplace to sleep, but the few people walking this part of town didn’t look like they’d pass up the chance for free horsemeat. A couple might even have a taste for roast Thomas.

He pounded on the door and yelled a couple of times before a muffled voice shouted “Go away! We’re closed!”

“I’ve got a horse that’s hurt. I was supposed to bring it here.”

There was a short pause, and then a small window opened up in the left door. A young man peered out at him and scowled. “We don’t handle charity cases.” He slammed the peephole shut again.

“Hey!” Thomas pounded on the door again. “She’s not a charity case! Seth sent me! Seth of Ara… Ari..” He stopped, struggling to remember the Barbarian’s place of origin.

The window opened again. “Seth of Aramath?”

“Yes! He wants her healed and ready to go in the morning. And said to tell you he needs a new mount. Are you Liam?”

“Short, ugly troll-like guy, right?”

Thomas was flustered for a moment. “Uh, no. He’s huge, great big human. Red hair.”

“And he sent you here?” The young man stared down at him intently.

“Well, yes. He asked me to bring the mare here and give you those messages. That he wants her fixed up and he needs a new mount.” Thomas swayed slightly, fatigue starting to win out. “Look, I’ll just leave her out here and you can take her inside, OK? I gotta find a place to sleep.” He had already started trudging away when the stable doors creaked open.

“Hey, kid! Hold up a minute.” The young man stepped out and took the horse’s reins, then looked at the boy curiously. He was maybe 4 or 5 years older than Thomas, with a tangle of brown hair and the wispy beginnings of a mustache and beard. “I’m Liam. Seth still hanging around with that nasty little dwarf?”

Thomas nodded wearily. “Jurgen.”

“Yeah, that’s him. A piece of work, that one. How did you meet Seth? It’s not like him to trust a stranger.”

“I’ve been traveling with them.” Thomas started to embellish his role, then realized it was stupid to even try. “I stumbled onto their camp, and they let me tag along.”

Liam snorted. “You’re lucky they didn’t use you for target practice.” He looked over the mare. “Gods. What did they run into? And where are the other horses?”

“They got attacked by Orcs – a whole tribe, I think. They lost a couple of party members and all of the other horses.” Thomas indicated the mare. “They walked her all the way back. I’m surprised they didn’t leave her. Isn’t it a lot cheaper to buy a new horse than try healing one in that bad a shape?”

“Depends on the horse. Too bad about Seth’s.” He sighed, and then gave a dismissive shrug. “How come you aren’t staying at the Inn? Seth usually takes care of party members.”

Thomas flushed. “I guess I’m not really a party member. He paid me to carry stuff for them.”

“They must have been desperate.” The young man looked him over and smirked faintly, making Thomas’ blush deepen. Then he shook his head and started in to the stable. “Well, come on in, then. You probably haven’t got enough coppers to sleep in a doghouse.”

It took a moment for the invitation to register on Thomas’ exhausted brain. Then he stumbled after the mare, just barely making it inside before the young man shut and bolted the heavy door. It was dark in the stable, with a strong ammonia stench of old excrement. Once his eyes adjusted, he saw that there were small stalls along both sides. Most were occupied, some with animals that barely fit in the cramped quarters.

He followed as Liam took the horse all the way to the back, stopping in front of a stall that appeared to be at least three times the size of any other. The heavy wooden door had a rusty padlock, which the stable hand opened with a key from around his neck. After leading the mare in, he closed and latched the door, then turned. “OK. Here’s the deal. You want to sleep here, it will cost you ten copper.” He raised an eyebrow at Thomas’ pained expression. “I’m cutting you a break – we don’t usually let people stay here at all, and it’s two silver a night to board a horse. I’ll throw in some bread and cheese, and you can get water from the bucket. Or you can try your luck out on the street.”

Thomas supposed this was as close to kindness he could expect in the city – that didn’t make it easier for him to turn over most of his short-lived wealth. He’d probably regret this in the morning, but right now all he wanted was a safe place to sleep. Not that he’d mind something to eat.

The young man counted his coins, then nodded to the small stall next to where the mare was quartered. “Take that one. You might want to muck it out first. There’s a manure pile just outside the back door. I’ll be back in a minute with the food.”

A larger stall might have had a clean corner he could curl up in, but it was easy to see he’d either have to clear the bedding or sleep on horse shit. Actually, that didn’t bother him as much as he thought it would, but mucking the space would keep him awake until his dinner arrived.

He’d just staggered back from depositing the last of the soiled bedding when Liam brought the bread and cheese. They looked like leftovers from a couple of other people’s meals, but the two partial loaves of bread weren’t too stale, and he was able to brush the mold off the cheese. Sinking down into the back corner, Thomas nibbled at the food carefully, making sure he didn’t get any surprises – the kind with legs.

His host was obviously busy working on the mare, for he could hear muttering and an occasional oath next door. Thomas was drifting into slumber despite the noise when a sudden yell startled him awake again. Oaths exploded, followed by the bang of something hitting the stall wall. Thomas scrambled up and went around to the other stall.

Liam was balanced on one leg, glaring at the mare furiously as he rubbed his other foot. However, it was the mare that caught Thomas’ attention. The animal looked like its front half had been joined to the back end of a different horse. From mid-chest back, her coat was a glistening, unmarked chestnut brown with no sign of injuries or scars. Her front half still looked battered and dirty, though her wounds were covered with some sort of thick yellowish paste.

“Stupid beast stomped on my foot.” The young man wiggled his toes, and then tried standing. He winced a bit, but was able to walk over and pick up the brush he had obviously thrown against the wall. “You’d think she’d be grateful.”

“How did you…?” Thomas frowned a moment, then gasped. “Magic! You’re healing her with magic!”

“You know any other way to cure cuts like that overnight?” Liam looked at him in amazement. “Don’t tell me you’ve never seen healing before.”

“I’ve never seen any kind of magic before.” Thomas stared as the young man started working the mare’s shoulder, his brow furrowed in concentration. Her matted fur cleaned up with a few strokes, and the long streak of salve that marked one of the worst gashes brushed out completely to reveal hide as perfect as a foal’s. He watched the grooming in awe, his fatigue forgotten. It was more than just healing going on – the animal had been unable to graze properly, and become gaunt and bony. Now she was the picture of health, sleek as a noble’s steed. Actually, the mare looked even larger than before, taller and more thickly muscled.

“Does that…” He hesitated, not wanting to sound stupid. “I mean, the magic. Does it work on people?”

“This?” Liam held up his brush. A faint blue glow was visible in the dim light. “Not really. It’s animal magic, a special enchantment that only works in this stall. Take the brush outa here and it’s just a bunch of bristles and wood.”

“But in the stall?” Thomas couldn’t take his eyes off the soft shimmering light. “Would it make a human bigger and stronger?”

“Forget about it, kid.” The young man shook his head. “Even if it would work, which it won’t, there’s a nasty penalty for unauthorized use of enchanted items on another person. Especially animal magic – go too far and even a Master Wizard can’t undo the changes. That’s why the stall gets locked up every night.” Then he frowned. “Which is what I am about to do. Go on back to sleep. Or if you got so much energy, maybe you could muck a few more stalls out for me?”

Thomas sighed and returned to his corner next door. After a few minutes, he saw the top of the mare’s head go past as Liam took her down to one of the regular stalls. Getting up quietly, he peered through the cracked stall door. They went into an empty spot a few spaces up. Liam emerged and secured the gate, then peered back down towards the back of the stable. Then he went into the large tack and feed room where he apparently had his own sleeping spot, and shut the door.

After waiting a few minutes, Thomas eased the gate open and checked out the enchanted stall. It was securely padlocked. He felt a pang of disappointment, even though Liam had already told him the magic wasn’t set up for humans. That would have been too easy. Besides, the very thought of trying something so unpredictable and dangerous was foolhardy at best, and potentially fatal. Sighing, he lay back down and tried to put the brush out of his mind.

It was still dark out when he woke, not sure why. Then he realized his bladder was complaining. Sighing, he got up and shuffled to the opposite corner to relieve himself. It wasn’t as if the usual occupants didn’t do the same thing. As he drained off the pressure, his eyes were drawn to dim light from the night sky filtering through the high barred windows over the stalls. Most stables had much larger openings to allow for circulation – this place obviously prized security above odor control.

His thoughts drifted back to the miraculous transformation of the injured mare. The animal must have gained a couple hundred pounds in minutes. If he could get just a fraction of that muscle, a few inches in height. But it only worked on animals, and besides, it was locked away where no one could get at it. Then he frowned. Why? Liam had said something about penalties for using magic against other people. If the brush only worked on animals, how could there be a risk of that? Unless…

Finishing up in the corner, he slipped back outside and stared at the locked door. It was heavy wood, with iron hinges and a hasp that would take an axe to break. The wall itself went all the way to the ceiling, and there wasn’t as much as an inch gap anywhere. Oh, well. It was a stupid idea anyway.

Thomas went back and lay down again, staring at the shadowed roof above him. Why did it always come down to size and strength? Everyone had said he was the cleverest boy in the village, and he was by far the fastest runner and swimmer. The problem was that working the fields didn’t require speed or brains. Which was why his older, dumber, and much larger brother would always have a home, while Thomas had been ‘encouraged’ to seek his fortune elsewhere.

He was almost asleep again when something about the shadows made his eyes pop open. The dark shape on the wall didn’t match up to anything - the bottom was straight, and parallel to the floor. Getting up, he picked up a clump of dried horse manure and tossed it at the black area. It continued over the wall, landing with a muffled thud in the next stall. The enchanted stall.

Heart pounding, he reached up as high as he could. The edge was a good five feet above him. There was a rub rail about shoulder height. Thomas upended the bucket and used it as a step to get up on the rail. From there, he was just able to hook his fingers over the top. If he hadn’t had a little sleep and some food, he’d never have managed to pull himself over. As it was, he ended up falling to the ground with a grunt of pain.

Now what? He looked around and had a moment of panic. It was almost pitch black in here – he couldn’t make out his own hand as anything more than a vague shape. How could he find the brush – if it was even in the stall? He hadn’t actually seen where Liam got it. But the stable hand didn’t have it when he took the mare to her stall. Moving slowly, he felt the walls, and when nothing turned up, the bedding around the edge.

He never would have found the hidden compartment if Liam had shut it completely. However, as he searched the back corner he made out the barely discernable blue outline of a small door. The panel swung open easily, revealing the glowing brush inside. Thomas stared at it a few moments, afraid to touch it. Then he reached out, half expecting some protective spell to sear his flesh, and picked it up gingerly by the leather strap.

Nothing happened. He let out a shaky breath that he hadn’t even realized he was holding and examined his prize. Dimmer than a small candle, the bristles’ pale shimmering was just enough to make out worn carvings of horses and donkeys around the outer edge. In comparison, the hand strap was plain and almost new-looking – obviously a replacement. Whatever power the tool had, it was not immune to the ravages of use and time. He wondered how old it was. Where had it come from?

As if any of that mattered. Thomas knew the real question here was whether or not he would actually try it. A hundred reasons against this foolishness popped into his mind – not the least of which was that this could kill him. Yet he also realized that if he didn’t take this chance he would regret it for the rest of his life. Odds were good that it wouldn’t work anyway. Putting the brush down, he quickly stripped and threw his loincloth and tunic aside. Then he slipped his hand under the strap and hefted the tool. After a moment of consideration, he touched it to his belly.

The bristles prickled his skin, causing a faint itching sensation, but nothing else. He watched nervously, chin pressed against his chest. “Come on. Do something.” Muttering under his breath didn’t seem to help. How did it work? He thought furiously, trying to remember anything about the way Liam had used it on the mare. As far as he could tell, the young man had groomed her normally. He tried sliding the brush across his stomach, leaving faint white scratches on the still-human skin. All he felt was more itching. Feeling frustration build, he closed his eyes and concentrated hard, imagining glistening chestnut hair like the mare’s.

He stopped suddenly – there had been a sensation of something – not quite heat, or pressure, or pulling. But his belly looked the same when he examined it, and he decided it must have been wishful thinking. Then his fingers absently scratched the still-itchy area and encountered a slight roughness that hadn’t been there before. Stubble?

Thomas ran the brush over the spot again, half afraid that it wouldn’t work, and half afraid that it would. There– that faint feeling that he couldn’t quite identify. He watched this time, willing the change to happen. And though the change was painfully slow, he saw dark hairs thicken around his navel. The bristles began to meet resistance, but he continued until his entire belly was covered by glossy black horse hide.

Running fingers over the furry patch, he was amazed to find that the depression of his navel had smoothed out. Didn’t horses have navels? Perhaps not the same place as humans. Why black fur, though? He’d been picturing the mare’s chestnut hair. Then he gave a short laugh. As if he cared about color! The brush worked!

The question now was just what he would do with it. Judging from the slight rounding of his belly and his lost navel, gaining the muscles and size he craved was definitely possible. But at what price? It was obvious he’d end up covered in horse hide. That would get him a lot of stares by itself – he’d look like a victim of some weird curse. However, the changes would have to be a lot more than skin deep to make any real improvements.

He began running the brush over his right thigh. Hair seemed to appear faster this time, catching at the bristles after only a couple of strokes. This time he continued after the skin was fully transformed, sending the magic deeper. Muscles tightened and shifted under the thick hide as he worked the change down and around, like shaving in reverse. The sensation was so fascinating that he didn’t stop until he realized he was leaning to the left.

Gods! It felt like he had one foot in a hole. Blinking, he squinted in the darkness trying to make out the results. Holding the brush close enough to make use of its glow also caused the odd sensation to start up again, so he had chose to check out the changes with his free hand instead.

Starting just below the waist, his right thigh was fully furred all the way down to the knee, and was quite a bit larger. He could feel blood vessels snaking under surprisingly soft fur, and taut muscles that quivered slightly with the promise of great power. Feeling a bit giddy with success, he started working on the left.

When he was level again, Thomas took a couple of tentative steps. His hips and knees felt a little stiff, forcing him into a slight forward lean. Nothing he couldn’t adjust to, he thought, especially as he savored the unfamiliar sense of strength. A standing jump of at least four feet nearly made him shout in joy. Landing, however, twisted one of his still-human ankles.

Sitting, he tried to work the pain out first, then remembered how the mare’s injures and bruises had been healed. Experimenting with the brush cured the throbbing, but his now-hairy ankle wouldn’t rotate properly when he tried flexing his foot. Exploring fingers confirmed that the joint felt quite a bit thicker, with almost no rounding of the joint at all. That puzzled him. Horses could swivel their hooves. But that was more like moving toes. The equine equivalent of an ankle must be different. .

Sighing, Thomas considered his options. The only way to get what he wanted was to become a lot more horse-like than he had thought would be necessary. Not that half-animal beings were all that unusual. He had seen a few – centaurs and satyrs sometimes passed through his home village, even the occasional minotaur. Some people were scared of them, but nobody thought of them as freaks or monsters. Well, maybe the minotaurs. But none of the horse-based creatures were ever looked down on.

There were several part equine forms: regular and horse-headed centaurs, hippogriffs, even satyrs that were part horse instead of goat. That last seemed to be his most likely course, given the limitations of the brush. Satyrs had full animal legs and tail, maybe a little bestial around the face, with pointed ears and horns. An equine version wouldn’t have the horns of course. But all the changes required involved changing human parts to horse – no added bits, like extra limbs or wings.

So he’d try for a horse satyr, part pony instead of goat. The mental image he conjured up was interesting – his body would have to be fully furred if he wanted to build up his chest and arms. That would leave his boy’s head looking a bit stuck on, unless he used the brush on it as well. Thomas the human would no longer exist. Sadly, he realized that no one, not even his family, would know or care.

Apprehensive now, he forced himself to run the brush over his knees and shins. Skin turned to hide at the first touch, kneecaps smoothing out as the back of his thighs dropped behind them. The shift of joints made it harder to sit upright. His calves stretched out and thickened under the glow, making his feet difficult to reach.

Thomas paused a moment to wiggle his toes one last time, then closed his eyes and groomed them into numb lumps that rapidly formed into heavy hooves. He was surprised by the amount of hair that sprouted over them – He could barely feel the hooves themselves through the thick, shaggy growth.

Some of the big plow horses back home had the same kind of feathering, but the implications did not hit him until he stood back up. It took some effort, for equine legs did not move the same way as human limbs. He had to roll onto all fours and push himself up. And up. Thomas swayed slightly, feeling a little hunched over and off balance. Then he blinked as he realized the top of the wall was now within easy reach.

While the added height pleased him, it was obvious his new legs were way oversized for his human body. By the time he adjusted the rest to fit, he’d be more an equine minotaur than any kind of satyr. Attempting such extensive changes made him nervous, but he’d known the risks when he started. Besides, it was easy to accept himself as a hoofed giant, the barbarian fighter Seth sculpted in equine flesh.

Bolstered by that impressive image, Thomas continued to work up his body. Changes to his buttocks seemed to reach deeper than anything previous, especially when the bristles tickled his anus. The odd sensation flowed into his gut, tugging at his insides, while new muscles appeared to work the full, thick tail that emerged from the base of his spine.

Which brought him to his crotch. Ironically, he could remember quite a few boys idly wishing that they could make just the change he now faced after a centaur passed through. How many of them would go through with it if they actually had the chance? It was one thing to make crude speculations, and quite another to give up the most basic human function. Not that anyone would ever see him as human again. However, closer examination revealed that the decision had already been made for him. The magic had snuck in from his thighs, swelling his testicles into heavy orbs that would never produce human seed again.

Sighing, Thomas completed the transformation of his nether regions. Even relaxed in its sheath, the stallion’s thick penis provided some interesting sensations. However, any pleasure he got from the impressive maleness was offset by intense internal shifting that pushed his belly outward even further. These changes to his insides actually scared him more than anything else - the very core of his body was becoming animal.

Maybe scared was too strong a word. He should frightened by all of this, but curiously, he was calmer now than when he started. Despite the unexpected size and intensity of the changes, he couldn’t work up anything stronger than vague concern. Perhaps this easy acceptance was an indication of how little he valued his human life. Or worse, how little anyone cared about his life at all, human or not.

At least this bitter thought made it easier to continue. Still working in the dark, Thomas spread the transformation up his chest and back. He tried not to linger in any one area long enough to cause deep changes, moving on as soon as hide and muscle seemed complete. Even so, his chest and shoulders pulled more than he wanted, and his neck stretch out a couple of inches. Using extreme caution, he managed keep his arms mostly human except for animal hide and fingers that were a little stiffer. Even so, they did feel a good bit stronger.

All that was left now was Thomas’ head. The magic was working very fast now - one light touch was all it took to make each ear into fully equine. The bristles caught in a thick tangle of hair when he started on the back of his head, and his skull started to sink inward. He yanked the brush free and felt the area anxiously. The effects didn’t seem too drastic – a fleshy ridge had formed and sprouted a creditable mane that continued down an even longer neck. That was OK. It even fit the equine minotaur image.

He felt the familiar contours of his face, the last remnant of Thomas the human. Why wasn’t he terrified? It was pointless to stop now, but that didn’t mean he should accept the loss of his identity so readily. He was almost afraid. Almost excited. Both emotions and a hundred others seemed to be boiling in the back of his mind, yet none could work past the contentment that lay heavily over his thoughts like a winter blanket. In fact, what he most wanted to do now was finish up so he could get some sleep. His oppressive fatigue was returning, no longer kept at bay by the thrill of danger.

Despite efforts to be careful, his forehead dropped a good inch as he completed his mane. However, when none of the changes seemed to affect his mind, Thomas felt safe going for more drastic alteration of his features. Instead of stopping when his cheeks were covered with hide, he allowed the jaw itself to swell out in a more equine configuration. Then, after staring at the glowing bristles for a moment, he grinned nervously and began brushing his nose and mouth.

This final alteration provided the most sensory feedback of all. Scents increased as nostrils softened and flared outward, the taste of his elongating mouth changed, and vision seemed to brighten even as it split and blurred. Fascinated, he continued recklessly even when tendrils of magic began to pull at his head and throat, jerking the brush away only when his ears twitched in new positions near the top of his head.

Ignoring the faint inner voice that was accusing him of stupidity, Thomas explored his new muzzle with curiosity. Although his forehead had sunk almost below the level of the jutting equine eye sockets, his skull actually felt larger than before. There was a beardlike growth of hair under his chin, and long whiskers like a cat’s around his lips and mouth. It appeared that his head was as fully transformed as his hindquarters, and that thought stilled even the feeble protest from the back of his mind. This was his reality now - concerns and regrets were pointless.

The brush glowed invitingly against the dark shadow of his enlarged hand. He wished he could see himself. Improved night vision still only gave him vague representations of shape. His body reported back a confusing mix of signals – in some ways, he felt better than he could ever remember, yet there was also a nagging sense of being incomplete. In the end, he decided that he had tempted fate enough for one night, and put the brush back into its hidden compartment.

With even the faint glow of magic gone, he had trouble locating the top of the wall. It turned out he was looking way too high – the edge was now level with his eyes. He worked his jaw absently as he stared. There was no way his new bulk would fit through what was now a comparatively narrow opening between stall and roof. So much for sneaking out unobserved.

He had no doubt that he could kick the door open easily, but that would wake Liam. The thought of damaging the stable made him uneasy – he would be in enough trouble already. Better to let the young man at least get a good night’s sleep. Which, he decided, was the best course of action for himself as well. Lying down in the stall, he stretched out once, and was dead to the world in minutes.

“Wake up!”

Thomas was startled out of deep sleep by Liam’s shout and a foot connecting solidly with his backside. The young man’s annoyed tone actually had more impact than the physical blow, which felt more like a friendly pat on the butt. Thomas was confused by sensations that should have faded with the rest of the strange dream etched vividly in his mind. And why was the stable hand so anxious to roust him out of the stall so early, anyway? It was obviously still dark out, early dawn at best.

“Come on, kid!” The foot thudded dully against his rump again. “We have to get you sorted out quick! If anyone else sees you like this…”

What was he talking about? Thomas blinked, but his vision refused to clear. Odder still, he was getting two distinct images. One was a panoramic view of the entire stall showing the first pale light of morning across the roof, and the other was much darker blur that appeared to be a close-up view of the stall floor. Even then, it took another moment before he realized that he hadn’t been dreaming at all.

After two unsuccessful attempts to rise, he fell back with his heart pounding and eyes wide in bewilderment. Panic boiled up, but couldn’t quite push through the blanket of calm that seemed to have thickened as he slept. His nostrils flared, sucking in air rich with scents. Two distinct odors stood out from the general stable stink – a musky sweat and urine smell that had to belong to this equine body, and a much less intense variation of the same that must be Liam. He tried to speak, but the words caught in his throat and emerged as a low rumbling. What had he done to himself?

“Just take it slow.” Liam sighed, his indistinct outline moving back to the open stall door. “Roll up to your side and then push up. Come on. We don’t have a lot of time.”

Although he didn’t really understand the haste, Thomas was anxious to prove he hadn’t been crippled by the night’s foolishness. Following Liam’s instructions, he was able to rise to all fours, and then straighten to an almost upright position. What had happened? Why was he so much worse this morning? Another attempt to talk produced a definite animal whicker.

“Climbed over the wall, didn’t you?” Liam shook his head, though he actually sounded more amused than annoyed now. “I tried to warn you. But you couldn’t leave it alone. Well, let’s see how badly you’ve messed yourself up.” The young man walked around him slowly.

Thomas stood nervously, grunting in surprise but not resisting when Liam’s inspection included physical probes of his mouth and genitals. Being treated like a beast at market was embarrassing, but the stable hand’s businesslike manner made the experience easier to tolerate. The rising sun was sending more light into the stall now, and he twisted his head to get a better view of himself.

In truth, he had come very close to the horse-minotaur form. As he suspected last night, everything below the waist was fully equine, and very large equine at that. Liam, who was muttering to himself as he squatted to check out a hind hoof, looked like a small child in comparison.

Above his waist, however, the transformation appeared spotty. His belly had swollen noticeably under a mostly human chest, creating the look of a grown man who spent too much time in taverns. And though he had managed to completely change skin to hide, his coat had a ragged, uneven texture. This was especially evident on his arms, which were far too small in proportion to his legs – the overall effect was more giant horsy squirrel than minotaur.

Liam leaned casually against the back wall, arms crossed. “I can only guess you were trying for some sort of two-legged horse shape. If you had been listening last night, you’d have known the brush only makes horses. Animal magic. Not minotaur, or satyr, or centaur. They aren’t really animals, even though animal stuff works a lot better on them than on humans.”

“Still, you did a pretty good job. If you’d stopped sooner, you might have even pulled it off.” The young man shook his head ruefully. “Problem is, magic works sorta like fire. It takes a while to get wood to start burning, and when you try to put it out, there are always embers glowing for a while. That’s why you woke up more changed than I think you wanted to be.”

Thomas snorted and nodded his head in agreement.

“From the looks of things, you’re more than halfway changed into a big Clydesdale or Shire stallion. You can’t talk any more, and I bet those thick fingers are pretty much useless.”

It hadn’t even occurred to Thomas that his hands felt somewhat numb this morning, and a quick experiment revealed that the stable hand was right. Although the dark, swollen digits still flexed slightly, he had lost the ability to grip anything.

“You have two choices. Leave now and try finding someone willing to care for a freak.” Liam gestured towards the secret compartment. “Or you can let me finish you up. If we’re lucky, you can still be a pretty impressive horse. If not, well, pulling plows still beats being laughed at. Or worse.”

Thomas was a little disturbed by the stable hand’s casual attitude - he might as well have been talking about whether or not to wash out a tunic. However, there really was no choice at all. Stripped of his voice and hands, barely able to even stand upright, Thomas was even more useless than he had been as a scrawny human. At least he might make a good horse. He moved a step closer to Liam as an answer.

“That’s the first smart choice you’ve made since you got here.” The young man looked back at Thomas as he retrieved the brush. “I’m going to be working pretty fast. So here is the deal. Pretty much everybody ends up no different from a born animal. And I mean that in every way possible. The original person doesn’t exist anymore.”

Cold fear surged up, actually slipping past the barrier in his mind – what was the point of anything if his identity wasn’t going to survive? He backed away from Liam, ears back and eyes showing whites. Better to live even a few months as a freak than lose everything that made him who he was forever.

The young man smiled grimly. “Good. You’re scared shitless. Hang onto that. Remember, I said -most- people. Not everybody. Somebody who doesn’t waste all their time screaming and moaning about turning into an animal, who maybe appreciates being big and strong and beautiful?” He took a step closer but kept his brush hand dangling at his side. “Somebody who has already taken himself most of the way? That’s the kind of person who gets to find out what it’s like to run like the wind. You could be one of the best, kid. A mount fit for a king.”

Staring at the glowing bristles, Thomas felt even the fear of losing himself being pushed back under the mental blanket. Yet it was more than that - despair was dragging him down as well. What was the point of fighting? Did it matter if he ended up a plow mule?

Yes! The small voice inside that had been chiding him all along suddenly changed its tune. Liam said he could be one of the best. Big and strong, a horse ‘fit for a king.’ This was his chance to be special, to have the size and power he had dreamed of. OK, he’d always imagined himself on two legs, but this beat life as a freak. In fact, it probably would be an improvement over anything he might have found as a human. Doing his best to ignore the cold lump in his gut, Thomas held his arms up.

“Smart kid.” Liam grinned, but began the grooming immediately, perhaps afraid Thomas would lose his nerve again. A couple of strokes closed his fingers forever, fusing them into broad, heavy hooves that matched those on his legs. His hind legs - the brush stretched out both arms round and thick as tree trunks. Thomas found himself teetering forward, and struggled to stay upright.

“Give it up.” The young man stood back. “You need to focus hard on who you are. The horse mind will try to take over, push all of your human thoughts out. It’ll be hard to fight, because the animal instincts belong in your head now. Come on - we’re almost there.”

Dropping to all fours was at the same time the easiest and hardest thing Thomas had ever done. Easy because gravity and his reshaped body were working to pull him down, and hard because he knew it was the last surrender to animal form. Yet the real battle didn’t start until Liam was finishing up the massive equine back and chest . With physical transformation almost done, the magic seized on the one remaining vestige of Thomas’ humanity - his mind.

The attack was so sudden and brutal that he almost lost despite being prepared for it. Senses exploded in his mind, every square inch of muscled hide trying to make itself known at once. Hazy images of pastures, stalls, and other horses poured in, nameless people grooming him, training him, riding him. The magic was weaving a complete identity to match his equine body, instilling knowledge and experience along with natural instincts. And most disturbingly, that identity had memories of more love and better treatment than Thomas had ever enjoyed.

Perhaps it was that sense of belonging that caused him to falter. The acceptance and contentment that had escaped him as a human was being offered freely by this swirl of enchantment. All he had to do was let it in. Resistance began to crumble, and the magic surged in anticipation. He felt the impact, knew some small part of himself had been swallowed up and lost forever. The promise was a lie! He retreated a bit, sacrificing more memories, but giving himself a chance to erect a stronger barrier.

Liam was still grooming him, running the brush down his neck and back. “Hold on, kid. Fight it. You can make it all the way. It’s almost over. Hold on.” The constant drone of encouragement gave Thomas an anchor - not just the young man’s words, but the confidence behind them.

That extra fortification gave him just enough strength to stand firm against the barrage of equine thought. It shook the very foundations of his soul, but just as he thought his resolve was going to finally crumble the pressure eased. Afraid this was a trick, he continued his fierce concentration until Liam’s voice finally broke through.

“It’s over, kid. You still in there?”

Thomas took a deep, shuddering breath. They had won. Or had they? As he explored his mind he found most of the equine identity in place. It was a curious experience - every memory, every sensation installed by the magic was completely real - he was a stallion trained for years to be a warrior’s mount, right down to impressions of nursing from a mare’s teat. Much of his human past had been reduced to blurred and sometimes confusing impressions - but he remained aware of the transformation itself.

“Come on - you had to make it. Show me you’re still with me, kid!” The stable hand was standing in front of him now, concern evident in his voice.

Thomas snorted, then tossed his head. Realizing that this probably wasn’t enough to indicate anything, he pawed the ground with one hoof, then whickered and lowered his head to Liam’s shoulder.

“I hope this means you survived, kid.” The stable hand patted his neck affectionate. “I don’t suppose you could count to five with a hoof for me?”

Stepping back, he raised his right forehoof and stomped firmly on the ground five times.

A broad grin fixed itself on Liam’s face. “Gods! You even understand what I’m saying! Count to three with your left hoof, then one with your right. When Thomas complied, the young man let out a shout of excitement that was cut short as a figure suddenly filled the doorway.

“I’d guess you have my new horse ready?” It was Seth! The red-haired barbarian no longer looked huge to Thomas, though he still towered over the stable hand as he came into the stall with an appreciative smile. “Did I hear right? Can he understand spoken commands?”

“Not just commands!” Liam beamed proudly. “He made it all the way! Even better than that last boy. I swear I don’t know how you can pick ‘em like that.”

Pick? Thomas pricked up his ears, confused. What did the stable hand mean, picked?

“You didn’t see him struggling under the saddlebags. More than twenty miles, with Ge’nael and Jurgen harassing him the whole way.” Seth reached up and patted Thomas’ neck. “Two tons of willpower and determination trapped in a skinny kid’s body. I knew he was the one I wanted - I just wasn’t sure he’d go for the brush.”

A sick feeling began to form in the pit of Thomas’ stomach. It had all been a setup - a test to see if he would make a good horse! He wanted to jerk his head back from the barbarian’s hand, but couldn’t quite pull away.

Liam snorted. “Are you kidding? Once he saw the magic he was hooked. Probably would have let me change him right then, even knowing he was going to end up a horse. But I knew you wanted a stallion like the last one, and I had to adjust the spell.”

“He’s perfect.” Seth grabbed Thomas’ head with both hands and stared up into his eyes. “You are perfect. Maybe you think you’ve been tricked, or badly used. But nobody held you down and changed you against your will. All we did was give you an opportunity. You made all the choices here. And it looked like you made the right ones.”

Thomas snorted incredulously, then found that he could not contradict a single thing the barbarian was saying.

“You wanted to adventure, to explore the world?” Seth cocked his head slightly. “As a human, you wouldn’t have lasted two weeks on your own. As my warhorse, you will travel the world, see places most men only dream of. Peasants and nobles will pay to have you mount their mares, and you will be admired by all who see you. One of my mounts ended up in a royal stable - the offer was too great, and he was agreeable. The same could happen to you.”

“Or he could end up hacked to pieces and eaten by a tribe of angry orcs.” Liam looked at the barbarian with a wry smile. “You don’t want a stupid horse, right? He’s got to be wondering about that.”

It was true - Thomas had been thinking about all the horses that hadn’t come back from Seth’s last adventure.

“There is always danger. I lost Daryl, my last mount. We also lost an elf and a human. If you want safety, you can plow fields. Does it really matter which end of the plow you are on?” Seth sighed. “I want a willing mount, a horse that can listen and act on his own. Not just a horse - a partner. I will protect you as I would any other member of the party. If you are injured, I’ll spend my last gold piece to have you healed. And if you are killed? Well, your death will come as part of doing something exciting, something different. What do you say, Thomas?”

Liam wrinkled his nose. “Thomas? He never did tell me his name. Not exactly what I would choose for an earth-shaking warhorse stallion.”

“Oh, he has another name, if he chooses to join me.”

Thomas stared down at the barbarian, working his jaw absently. Seth was no Paladin - but he also had no reason to lie about this. In fact, everything the man had said was true, even the part about Thomas making all the choices. There was only one more to make. He looked down at the red-haired giant, wondering what would happen if he decided to be a plow horse. Yet he knew that there really was only one choice to make. Whether by Seth’s plan or his own desires, this course of action had been fixed from the start.

Although he had made no outward sign of his decision, Seth grinned and pointed to the stall door. “OK, Sampson. Let’s go on out and get you tacked up.”

Sampson. As Thomas plodded out into the brightly lit main stable, the blanket over his emotions faded away. The stall must have some sort of spell to calm animals while they were being worked on. That explained his reactions to the transformation. However, the contentment he had felt remained - was it a lingering effect of the animal wards? No. The control spell only limited emotions - it couldn’t create them.

The barbarian had piled his things near the supply room, and picked up a black and silver bridle and a set of saddlebags that looked awfully familiar. “The others will be here in a few minutes. Oh, and feel free to piss on Jurgen. He bet you’d lose yourself to the horse.”

So, the dwarf had been in on it too. Sampson, former peasant boy and now warhorse to Seth of Aramath, felt the beginnings of an equine grin as the barbarian started fitting his tack. There was no longer any doubt that he could pull his own weight now - maybe he could find out how much pleasure he could get out of tormenting Jurgen.

The End

User:Posti

2012-01-21T03:27:41Z

Posti: /* Stories */

==Stories==
*[[User:Posti/After_and_Before|After and Before]]
*[[User:Posti/Baylors_Rein|Baylor's Rein]]
*[[User:Posti/Bite_of_the_Apple|Bite of the Apple]]
*[[User:Posti/Blind_Man|Blind Man]]
*[[User:Posti/Bottom_Up|Bottom Up]]
*[[User:Posti/Broken_Hart|Broken Hart]]
*[[User:Posti/Business_Associate|Business Associate]]
*[[User:Posti/charlies_eyes|Charlie's Eyes]]
*[[User:Posti/Circe_com|Circe.com]]
*[[User:Posti/Cleaning_Up|Cleaning Up]]
*[[User:Posti/Clothes_horse|Clothes Horse]]
*[[User:Posti/Fairytail_Picture|Fairytail Picture]]
*[[User:Posti/Companion|Companion]]
*[[User:Posti/Gypsy_Gold|Gypsy Gold]]
*[[User:Posti/hangover|Hangover]]
*[[User:Posti/Hoof_Beat|Hoof Beat]]
*[[User:Posti/Jacked_into_the_System|Jacked into the System]]
*[[User:Posti/Joker|Joker]]
*[[User:Posti/Lasting_Impression|Lasting Impression]]
*[[User:Posti/Lost_in_Translation|Lost in Translation]]
*[[User:Posti/Midsummer|Midsummer Night's Unemployment]]
*[[User:Posti/Mortal_Danger|Mortal Danger]]
*[[User:Posti/No_Bull|No Bull]]
*[[User:Posti/One_Way_Ticket|One Way Ticket]]
*[[User:Posti/Outfoxed|Outfoxed]]
*[[User:Posti/paid_with_interest|Paid With Interest]]
*[[User:Posti/Quiet_Place|Quiet Place]]
*[[User:Posti/Peanut_Gallery|The Peanut Gallery]]
*[[User:Posti/Pulling_weight|Pulling His Own Weight]]
*[[User:Posti/rain_dance|Rain Dance]]
*[[User:Posti/real_time|Real Time]]
*[[User:Posti/Reenactment|Reenactment]]
*[[User:Posti/Reindeer_games|Reindeer Games]]
*[[User:Posti/Replacement_Cost|Replacement Cost]]
*[[User:Posti/Salvage|Salvage]]
*[[User:Posti/Simple_life|Simple Life]]
*[[User:Posti/Something_to_Remember|Something to Remember]]
*[[User:Posti/Special_Edition|Special Edition]]
*[[User:Posti/strapped|Strapped for Cash]]
*[[User:Posti/Substitution_penalty|Substitution Penalty]]
*[[User:Posti/Surrogate|Surrogate]]
*[[User:Posti/taken|Taken]]
*[[User:Posti/Team_Spirit|Team Spirit]]
*[[User:Posti/Totally_Pucked|Totally Pucked]]
*[[User:Posti/Unicorn_Dance|Unicorn Dance]]
*[[User:Posti/Wearin_of_the-Green|Wearin of the Green]]
*[[User:Posti/Where_Wolf|Where Wolf]]
*[[User:Posti/Whicker_Man|Whicker Man]]
*[[User:Posti/Xmas_Delivery|Xmas Delivery]]

{{author page|Bob Stein}}
{{DEFAULTSORT:Posti}}

User:Posti

2012-01-21T03:26:18Z

Posti: /* Stories */

==Stories==
*[[User:Posti/After_and_Before|After and Before]]
*[[User:Posti/Baylors_Rein|Baylor's Rein]]
*[[User:Posti/Bite_of_the_Apple|Bite of the Apple]]
*[[User:Posti/Blind_Man|Blind Man]]
*[[User:Posti/Bottom_Up|Bottom Up]]
*[[User:Posti/Broken_Hart|Broken Hart]]
*[[User:Posti/Business_Associate|Business Associate]]
*[[User:Posti/charlies_eyes|Charlie's Eyes]]
*[[User:Posti/Circe_com|Circe.com]]
*[[User:Posti/Cleaning_Up|Cleaning Up]]
*[[User:Posti/Clothes_horse|Clothes Horse]]
*[[User:Posti/Fairytail_Picture|Fairytail Picture]]
*[[User:Posti/Companion|Companion]]
*[[User:Posti/Gypsy_Gold|Gypsy Gold]]
*[[User:Posti/hangover|Hangover]]
*[[User:Posti/Hoof_Beat|Hoof Beat]]
*[[User:Posti/Jacked_into_the_System|Jacked into the System]]
*[[User:Posti/Joker|Joker]]
*[[User:Posti/Lasting_Impression|Lasting Impression]]
*[[User:Posti/Lost_in_Translation|Lost in Translation]]
*[[User:Posti/Midsummer|Midsummer Night's Unemployment]]
*[[User:Posti/Mortal_Danger|Mortal Danger]]
*[[User:Posti/No_Bull|No Bull]]
*[[User:Posti/One_Way_Ticket|One Way Ticket]]
*[[User:Posti/Outfoxed|Outfoxed]]
*[[User:Posti/paid_with_interest|Paid With Interest]]
*[[User:Posti/Quiet_Place|Quiet Place]]
*[[User:Posti/Peanut_Gallery|The Peanut Gallery]]
*[[User:Posti/Peanut_Gallery|Pulling His Own Weight]]
*[[User:Posti/rain_dance|Rain Dance]]
*[[User:Posti/real_time|Real Time]]
*[[User:Posti/Reenactment|Reenactment]]
*[[User:Posti/Reindeer_games|Reindeer Games]]
*[[User:Posti/Replacement_Cost|Replacement Cost]]
*[[User:Posti/Salvage|Salvage]]
*[[User:Posti/Simple_life|Simple Life]]
*[[User:Posti/Something_to_Remember|Something to Remember]]
*[[User:Posti/Special_Edition|Special Edition]]
*[[User:Posti/strapped|Strapped for Cash]]
*[[User:Posti/Substitution_penalty|Substitution Penalty]]
*[[User:Posti/Surrogate|Surrogate]]
*[[User:Posti/taken|Taken]]
*[[User:Posti/Team_Spirit|Team Spirit]]
*[[User:Posti/Totally_Pucked|Totally Pucked]]
*[[User:Posti/Unicorn_Dance|Unicorn Dance]]
*[[User:Posti/Wearin_of_the-Green|Wearin of the Green]]
*[[User:Posti/Where_Wolf|Where Wolf]]
*[[User:Posti/Whicker_Man|Whicker Man]]
*[[User:Posti/Xmas_Delivery|Xmas Delivery]]

{{author page|Bob Stein}}
{{DEFAULTSORT:Posti}}

User:Posti/Fairytail Picture

2009-06-17T02:23:30Z

Posti:

[[Category:Story]] [[Category:Bob Stein]] {{DEFAULTSORT:Fairytail Picture}}[[Category:Equine]] [[Category:Animal]]
{{title| name=Fairytale Picture| user=Posti| author=Bob Stein}}

(A long-overdue story set in the Quechee National Enchanted Forest universe and based on a commission that Bones did for me a couple of years ago –incorporated into the story)
The centauress gripped the phone handset so tightly that the plastic started to make cracking sounds. “Gods, that satyr is treading a thin line. You sure he didn’t break any rules? I really need to get him kicked back to the other side of the curtain.”

Cillian grinned to himself. Though he could only hear one side of the conversation, the gnome had no trouble figuring out who the subject was. While the goat-kind were known for being mischievous, Brighthorn was linked to a disproportionate number of incidents involving guests. Not that he had ever been caught directly harming anyone – but a lot of the humans who encountered the satyr ended up as part of the Quechee National Enchanted Forest rather than just visitors.

She snorted. “It doesn’t matter if the guy was a jerk. We’re supposed to be here to prevent accidents, not encourage them. Well, have someone go looking.” She slammed the receiver down and whickered some centaur profanity deep in her throat.

“What did he do this time, Celia?” The gnome rather enjoyed hearing about park incidents, as they usually meant fewer humans to point and gawk at the ‘funny plants and animals.’ Still, despite dire warnings, posted statistics, and liability waivers that all but promised something awful was likely to happen, the stream of visitors from the mundane world never seemed to let up.

“A Freakazoid came in this morning with a camera. He offered Brighthorn an empty soda can as a snack.”

Cillian chuckled. “Oh, I know that went over well.” Freakazoids were humans who gawked and pointed at forest residents and staff as if they were exhibits in a Carnival. This idiot photographer had gone one better, or worse, by treating Brighthorn as if he were a mundane animal. “Goat-foot vine is blooming over in the south quarter. Might have sent him over there so he could eat the can himself.”

“That would be too easy – we could always donate him to a petting zoo.” Celia looked worried. “Last time he was seen, the photographer was heading for the Rings.”

The gnome paled. “Oh, shit.”

***

Bobby zoomed in on a cluster of brilliant yellow and violet leaves, making sure that the pulsing neon pink flowers were at their brightest. That goat guy had done him a real favor by showing him this unmarked side path. Besides being free of other tourists, he didn’t have to deal with all the warning signs and notices that were posted all over the place. Yeah, yeah, everything was dangerous, deadly, harmful. He got it. Like the goat guy had said, just don’t touch anything. He’d have to save him a soda can for later. Bobby wondered if he could get the guy to take off his uniform for a photo. Not like the Park Ranger shirt was covering any of the important parts. Of course, he’d be even happier to get that horse-woman to take HER shirt off.

Speaking of taking shirts off… Bobby frowned up at the large breaks in the forest’s canopy. As much as he’d like to strip down a bit, there was still a lot of sun coming through the trees. He’d forgotten to bring sunscreen, and along with his distinctive red hair and green eyes, his Scotch-Irish ancestors had passed along pale, freckled skin that burned very easily. He sighed, and decided to leave the T-shirt on for now. Maybe he could find something in the park to protect his skin.

After clicking off a dozen shots from different angles, he looked around as he finished up the last of a Milky Way. Given the cost and red tape it took to get into Quechee, he’d made sure he could make the most of his one-day pass. There were enough memory cards and batteries in his backpack to shoot non-stop for days, and he’d also stocked plenty of snacks and sodas. A friend had already warned him about the park concession – signs said no outside food and drink were allowed so they could sell overpriced ‘healthy’ food and bottled water. It was just like a movie theater, and he snuck his own candy into those, too.

Damn. Another thing he’d forgotten was napkins. The candy bar had partially melted on the wrapper and he wasn’t about to risk getting chocolate and caramel on his equipment. After a quick check to make sure no one else was around, he tossed the wrapper on the ground. Some buzzing rose up from the dense undergrowth – sounded like the local insect population was excited over some real sweets for a change.

[[File:fairytailed1.jpg]]

So what now? He frowned, looking around the forest. Most of the other plants looked pretty normal, though he’d been warned that a lot of them were very, very dangerous. Especially to anyone who wanted to leave the forest in the same shape they had entered with. Maybe someone with arcane knowledge would be able to tell, but the magazines he generally sold to were looking for dramatic stuff, like those glowing pink things. And where were all the weird creatures? This was supposed to be like a fairytale world, with talking animals, monsters, and all sorts of neat magic stuff.

He caught some movement off to the side. A shadow? Hope rose, and then faded as the dark shape turned out to just be a swarm of bugs. Sighing, he continued along the path, shooting the general locale. It all looked like most any other forest to Bobby, but then, he wasn’t much of an outdoors person anyway. Not that it mattered. This whole Enchanted Forest thing was new enough that he should be able to sell most any photo he could authenticate. No small matter to guy fresh out of college. With some luck, he might be able to turn his freelance gigs into stable employment.

Something glinted on the path just ahead. He approached it carefully, only to stop short and scowl when he got close enough to recognize the crumpled Mountain Dew can. Then annoyance shifted to puzzlement. That looked like the soda he’d finished up a while back. He was about to put it off to coincidence when he spotted a banana peel and a Milky Way wrapper just beyond it. They couldn’t be his. He’d had the drink and banana an hour ago, and the wrapper was just a hundred feet back. It had to be someone else’s trash. Weird, but not all that improbable. It just meant that someone else was too smart to pay park prices and had good taste.

Kicking the can off the trail, Bobby continued on. The path veered sharply around some small trees ahead. They didn’t look like anything special at first, but as he got closer he realized the branches were all swept towards him. He’d seen similar growth on beaches where the wind constantly blew in the same direction, but these were in the middle of a forest. They ranged from small saplings to young trees just a little taller than he was, though all looked to have been planted pretty recently. Except for some sparse weeds and grass around the roots, the ground was clear of the old leaves and small brush present on both sides of the trail.

He moved off to the side for some shots that contrasted the raked trees against the normal-looking forest around them. From this angle they were even odder, with split trunks that merged into one and then divided out into branches again. Something about the formation made him uneasy, but he snapped a couple of pictures before he saw something glinting in one of the branches. He pulled it down for a closer look. A gold wedding band was embedded around one of the smaller branches.

“Shit!” Letting go of the branch, Bobby stepped back on the trail and wiped his hand off on his shorts. The trees had been a group of people. Scared people, all running from something. Once he made the identification, it was easy to fill in the details. The larger ones were adults or older teenagers, and the little saplings had been kids. He shivered, trying to imagine what happened. It was horrible and fantastic at the same time.

He didn’t have to wrestle long with his conscious. Although he felt sorry for the victims, stuff like that was why he was here. Magic was strange and new and scary, and people would pay for pictures that showed it. He might as well get some profit out of it. Anyway, it wasn’t like they were dead. Not exactly. He kept telling himself that as he snapped at least a hundred shots, making sure to get close-ups of the wedding band. One thing for sure – he was going to be doubly careful. Whatever hit those folks had caught them in mid-stride, and he had no desire to join the forest.

A soft blue glow caught his eye just off to the left. Anything glowing was good subject material. After making sure the ground was clear, Bobby decided it would be safe enough to leave the trail. The source turned out to be a bunch of mushrooms that looked pretty normal other than their unusual color and, of course, the glow. As he snapped some images, the steady buzzing of insects began to separate into short bursts. It was almost like they were talking. Maybe they were. Photos of talking bugs would definitely be marketable – Orkin would probably pay a fortune.

He waited a minute or two, but none of the noisemakers appeared. Shrugging to himself, he started back for the trail only to stop and stare down at a crumpled Milky Way wrapper. Squatting down, he picked it up and then stood as he examined it. Melted chocolate and caramel. Oh, duh! The wrapper must have stuck to the bottom of one of his sandals. Chuckling at his own edginess, he tossed the paper over his shoulder and continued towards the path.

The buzzing suddenly swelled into a roar. Before Bobby could react, someone yanked his camera from his hand and shoved his back hard enough to send him sprawling face-first in the dirt. His first reaction was a flash of outrage – he was being robbed in the middle of the forest! However, that thought was lost as his gut wrenched painfully. Had the bastard kicked him? He scrambled up to hands and knees, looking frantically for his attackers – and saw the bugs.

[[File:fairytailed1_5g.jpg]]

They weren’t insects, of course. He was surrounded by a swarm of two-inch tall glowing blue people with wings. Angry, two-inch tall people who somehow had the strength of giants. His backpack was wrenched brutally away with enough force to break the straps, and it felt like he had a Buick on his back when he tried to stand. Tiny hands tore his clothes and pulled painfully at his ears and hair. Even so, he wasn’t really terrified until one of them yanked his nose out several inches from his face - and it stayed there.

He couldn’t linger on the impossibility of the swelling mass, for other parts of his body were being similarly reshaped. Fingers flowed together and stiffened , elbows and wrists shifting to bend in new directions. The loud buzzing dropped in pitch as his ears were stretched up, and the smell of dirt, grass, and sweat grew stronger in flaring nostrils. One of his sandals floated in front of his face, carried with apparent ease by one of his tormentors. It smiled at him, looking vaguely human while remaining completely alien to anything he had ever seen before.

Other blue figures appeared, drawing the leather out like brown taffy to create a tangle of straps that they yanked over his face. Bobby screamed, but the sound caught in his changing throat and emerged as a strangled wheeze. Each breath was deeper, lungs expanding in a barreling chest. The Mountain Dew drifted lazily through the air, collapsing in on itself as the metal was reshaped into something else. He blinked at it, dimly noting that the colors of both the glowing figures and the can itself were washing out. In seconds, the can had become a silvery horseshoe which dropped down onto the upturned lump that had been his right hand. He felt the cool metal for only a moment before the lump went numb and heavy, sculpted into a perfect hoof to match the shoe that was now permanently attached.

[[File:fairytailed2.jpg]]

Bobby stared at the equine extremity, his mind overloaded. The changes bombarded his mind in such variety and quantity that he could only let the transformation wash over him. Bones thickened, internal organs altered size and shape, his teeth and tongue enlarged to fill the large protrusion of his muzzle. Muscles pulled and twitched in new places, including his skin. Curiously, the one sensation absent was pain. Though the experience was far from pleasant, being mauled into a new shape should have hurt like Hell.

[[File:fairytailed3.jpg]]

A sense of urging was conveyed within the rumblings that now filled his elongated ears. They wanted him to get up. Bobby obeyed without thinking, rising awkwardly on what were now four legs. The swarm surrounded him, more gray than blue to his altered eyes, thickening skin into hide covered with shaggy, dark hair. One of the figures flew up with a familiar-looking scrap of paper – the Milky Way wrapper. A moment of confusion turned to resigned understanding. This was his sentence for littering. Harsh, but they’d given him several chances to save himself. He snorted and then gave a wheezing sigh.

[[File:fairytailed4g.jpg]]

Forward. He blinked, flicking ears back and forth a moment before following the unspoken command. They were settling on him, so light he was barely ware of their presence. A few still flew around his head, and he realized they were not quite done. His skull was deflating, the brain within shrinking as it emptied. It was a curiously pleasant sensation, like drifting off to sleep. And then Bobby dreamed he was a donkey.

----

“At least they didn’t go on a rampage this time.” Celia looked out the window where a group of tourists were posing for pictures. “And he is cute.”

Cillian snorted. “You just like him because he’s related now.”

The centauress wrinkled her nose. “From the back end he’s a dead ringer for a gnome I know.” She grinned at the rude gesture Cillian made in response and looked back at the tourists. The subject of their attention was a shaggy animal surrounded by a glowing blue swarm of the normally reclusive Fae. A crudely lettered sign said ‘PIKTURE WITH HEWMAN DONKEE - $50.’ Pretty steep for the privilege of posing with a green-eyed Jackass and some Fae, but magic was strange and new and scary and people would pay for pictures that showed it. They might as well get some profit out of it.

The End

[[File:Fairytailed5.jpg]]

User:Posti/Fairytail Picture

2009-06-17T02:22:08Z

Posti:

[[Category:Story]] [[Category:Bob Stein]] {{DEFAULTSORT:Fairytail Picture}}
{{title| name=Fairytale Picture| user=Posti| author=Bob Stein}}

(A long-overdue story set in the Quechee National Enchanted Forest universe and based on a commission that Bones did for me a couple of years ago –incorporated into the story)
The centauress gripped the phone handset so tightly that the plastic started to make cracking sounds. “Gods, that satyr is treading a thin line. You sure he didn’t break any rules? I really need to get him kicked back to the other side of the curtain.”

Cillian grinned to himself. Though he could only hear one side of the conversation, the gnome had no trouble figuring out who the subject was. While the goat-kind were known for being mischievous, Brighthorn was linked to a disproportionate number of incidents involving guests. Not that he had ever been caught directly harming anyone – but a lot of the humans who encountered the satyr ended up as part of the Quechee National Enchanted Forest rather than just visitors.

She snorted. “It doesn’t matter if the guy was a jerk. We’re supposed to be here to prevent accidents, not encourage them. Well, have someone go looking.” She slammed the receiver down and whickered some centaur profanity deep in her throat.

“What did he do this time, Celia?” The gnome rather enjoyed hearing about park incidents, as they usually meant fewer humans to point and gawk at the ‘funny plants and animals.’ Still, despite dire warnings, posted statistics, and liability waivers that all but promised something awful was likely to happen, the stream of visitors from the mundane world never seemed to let up.

“A Freakazoid came in this morning with a camera. He offered Brighthorn an empty soda can as a snack.”

Cillian chuckled. “Oh, I know that went over well.” Freakazoids were humans who gawked and pointed at forest residents and staff as if they were exhibits in a Carnival. This idiot photographer had gone one better, or worse, by treating Brighthorn as if he were a mundane animal. “Goat-foot vine is blooming over in the south quarter. Might have sent him over there so he could eat the can himself.”

“That would be too easy – we could always donate him to a petting zoo.” Celia looked worried. “Last time he was seen, the photographer was heading for the Rings.”

The gnome paled. “Oh, shit.”

***

Bobby zoomed in on a cluster of brilliant yellow and violet leaves, making sure that the pulsing neon pink flowers were at their brightest. That goat guy had done him a real favor by showing him this unmarked side path. Besides being free of other tourists, he didn’t have to deal with all the warning signs and notices that were posted all over the place. Yeah, yeah, everything was dangerous, deadly, harmful. He got it. Like the goat guy had said, just don’t touch anything. He’d have to save him a soda can for later. Bobby wondered if he could get the guy to take off his uniform for a photo. Not like the Park Ranger shirt was covering any of the important parts. Of course, he’d be even happier to get that horse-woman to take HER shirt off.

Speaking of taking shirts off… Bobby frowned up at the large breaks in the forest’s canopy. As much as he’d like to strip down a bit, there was still a lot of sun coming through the trees. He’d forgotten to bring sunscreen, and along with his distinctive red hair and green eyes, his Scotch-Irish ancestors had passed along pale, freckled skin that burned very easily. He sighed, and decided to leave the T-shirt on for now. Maybe he could find something in the park to protect his skin.

After clicking off a dozen shots from different angles, he looked around as he finished up the last of a Milky Way. Given the cost and red tape it took to get into Quechee, he’d made sure he could make the most of his one-day pass. There were enough memory cards and batteries in his backpack to shoot non-stop for days, and he’d also stocked plenty of snacks and sodas. A friend had already warned him about the park concession – signs said no outside food and drink were allowed so they could sell overpriced ‘healthy’ food and bottled water. It was just like a movie theater, and he snuck his own candy into those, too.

Damn. Another thing he’d forgotten was napkins. The candy bar had partially melted on the wrapper and he wasn’t about to risk getting chocolate and caramel on his equipment. After a quick check to make sure no one else was around, he tossed the wrapper on the ground. Some buzzing rose up from the dense undergrowth – sounded like the local insect population was excited over some real sweets for a change.

[[File:fairytailed1.jpg]]

So what now? He frowned, looking around the forest. Most of the other plants looked pretty normal, though he’d been warned that a lot of them were very, very dangerous. Especially to anyone who wanted to leave the forest in the same shape they had entered with. Maybe someone with arcane knowledge would be able to tell, but the magazines he generally sold to were looking for dramatic stuff, like those glowing pink things. And where were all the weird creatures? This was supposed to be like a fairytale world, with talking animals, monsters, and all sorts of neat magic stuff.

He caught some movement off to the side. A shadow? Hope rose, and then faded as the dark shape turned out to just be a swarm of bugs. Sighing, he continued along the path, shooting the general locale. It all looked like most any other forest to Bobby, but then, he wasn’t much of an outdoors person anyway. Not that it mattered. This whole Enchanted Forest thing was new enough that he should be able to sell most any photo he could authenticate. No small matter to guy fresh out of college. With some luck, he might be able to turn his freelance gigs into stable employment.

Something glinted on the path just ahead. He approached it carefully, only to stop short and scowl when he got close enough to recognize the crumpled Mountain Dew can. Then annoyance shifted to puzzlement. That looked like the soda he’d finished up a while back. He was about to put it off to coincidence when he spotted a banana peel and a Milky Way wrapper just beyond it. They couldn’t be his. He’d had the drink and banana an hour ago, and the wrapper was just a hundred feet back. It had to be someone else’s trash. Weird, but not all that improbable. It just meant that someone else was too smart to pay park prices and had good taste.

Kicking the can off the trail, Bobby continued on. The path veered sharply around some small trees ahead. They didn’t look like anything special at first, but as he got closer he realized the branches were all swept towards him. He’d seen similar growth on beaches where the wind constantly blew in the same direction, but these were in the middle of a forest. They ranged from small saplings to young trees just a little taller than he was, though all looked to have been planted pretty recently. Except for some sparse weeds and grass around the roots, the ground was clear of the old leaves and small brush present on both sides of the trail.

He moved off to the side for some shots that contrasted the raked trees against the normal-looking forest around them. From this angle they were even odder, with split trunks that merged into one and then divided out into branches again. Something about the formation made him uneasy, but he snapped a couple of pictures before he saw something glinting in one of the branches. He pulled it down for a closer look. A gold wedding band was embedded around one of the smaller branches.

“Shit!” Letting go of the branch, Bobby stepped back on the trail and wiped his hand off on his shorts. The trees had been a group of people. Scared people, all running from something. Once he made the identification, it was easy to fill in the details. The larger ones were adults or older teenagers, and the little saplings had been kids. He shivered, trying to imagine what happened. It was horrible and fantastic at the same time.

He didn’t have to wrestle long with his conscious. Although he felt sorry for the victims, stuff like that was why he was here. Magic was strange and new and scary, and people would pay for pictures that showed it. He might as well get some profit out of it. Anyway, it wasn’t like they were dead. Not exactly. He kept telling himself that as he snapped at least a hundred shots, making sure to get close-ups of the wedding band. One thing for sure – he was going to be doubly careful. Whatever hit those folks had caught them in mid-stride, and he had no desire to join the forest.

A soft blue glow caught his eye just off to the left. Anything glowing was good subject material. After making sure the ground was clear, Bobby decided it would be safe enough to leave the trail. The source turned out to be a bunch of mushrooms that looked pretty normal other than their unusual color and, of course, the glow. As he snapped some images, the steady buzzing of insects began to separate into short bursts. It was almost like they were talking. Maybe they were. Photos of talking bugs would definitely be marketable – Orkin would probably pay a fortune.

He waited a minute or two, but none of the noisemakers appeared. Shrugging to himself, he started back for the trail only to stop and stare down at a crumpled Milky Way wrapper. Squatting down, he picked it up and then stood as he examined it. Melted chocolate and caramel. Oh, duh! The wrapper must have stuck to the bottom of one of his sandals. Chuckling at his own edginess, he tossed the paper over his shoulder and continued towards the path.

The buzzing suddenly swelled into a roar. Before Bobby could react, someone yanked his camera from his hand and shoved his back hard enough to send him sprawling face-first in the dirt. His first reaction was a flash of outrage – he was being robbed in the middle of the forest! However, that thought was lost as his gut wrenched painfully. Had the bastard kicked him? He scrambled up to hands and knees, looking frantically for his attackers – and saw the bugs.

[[File:fairytailed1_5g.jpg]]

They weren’t insects, of course. He was surrounded by a swarm of two-inch tall glowing blue people with wings. Angry, two-inch tall people who somehow had the strength of giants. His backpack was wrenched brutally away with enough force to break the straps, and it felt like he had a Buick on his back when he tried to stand. Tiny hands tore his clothes and pulled painfully at his ears and hair. Even so, he wasn’t really terrified until one of them yanked his nose out several inches from his face - and it stayed there.

He couldn’t linger on the impossibility of the swelling mass, for other parts of his body were being similarly reshaped. Fingers flowed together and stiffened , elbows and wrists shifting to bend in new directions. The loud buzzing dropped in pitch as his ears were stretched up, and the smell of dirt, grass, and sweat grew stronger in flaring nostrils. One of his sandals floated in front of his face, carried with apparent ease by one of his tormentors. It smiled at him, looking vaguely human while remaining completely alien to anything he had ever seen before.

Other blue figures appeared, drawing the leather out like brown taffy to create a tangle of straps that they yanked over his face. Bobby screamed, but the sound caught in his changing throat and emerged as a strangled wheeze. Each breath was deeper, lungs expanding in a barreling chest. The Mountain Dew drifted lazily through the air, collapsing in on itself as the metal was reshaped into something else. He blinked at it, dimly noting that the colors of both the glowing figures and the can itself were washing out. In seconds, the can had become a silvery horseshoe which dropped down onto the upturned lump that had been his right hand. He felt the cool metal for only a moment before the lump went numb and heavy, sculpted into a perfect hoof to match the shoe that was now permanently attached.

[[File:fairytailed2.jpg]]

Bobby stared at the equine extremity, his mind overloaded. The changes bombarded his mind in such variety and quantity that he could only let the transformation wash over him. Bones thickened, internal organs altered size and shape, his teeth and tongue enlarged to fill the large protrusion of his muzzle. Muscles pulled and twitched in new places, including his skin. Curiously, the one sensation absent was pain. Though the experience was far from pleasant, being mauled into a new shape should have hurt like Hell.

[[File:fairytailed3.jpg]]

A sense of urging was conveyed within the rumblings that now filled his elongated ears. They wanted him to get up. Bobby obeyed without thinking, rising awkwardly on what were now four legs. The swarm surrounded him, more gray than blue to his altered eyes, thickening skin into hide covered with shaggy, dark hair. One of the figures flew up with a familiar-looking scrap of paper – the Milky Way wrapper. A moment of confusion turned to resigned understanding. This was his sentence for littering. Harsh, but they’d given him several chances to save himself. He snorted and then gave a wheezing sigh.

[[File:fairytailed4g.jpg]]

Forward. He blinked, flicking ears back and forth a moment before following the unspoken command. They were settling on him, so light he was barely ware of their presence. A few still flew around his head, and he realized they were not quite done. His skull was deflating, the brain within shrinking as it emptied. It was a curiously pleasant sensation, like drifting off to sleep. And then Bobby dreamed he was a donkey.

----

“At least they didn’t go on a rampage this time.” Celia looked out the window where a group of tourists were posing for pictures. “And he is cute.”

Cillian snorted. “You just like him because he’s related now.”

The centauress wrinkled her nose. “From the back end he’s a dead ringer for a gnome I know.” She grinned at the rude gesture Cillian made in response and looked back at the tourists. The subject of their attention was a shaggy animal surrounded by a glowing blue swarm of the normally reclusive Fae. A crudely lettered sign said ‘PIKTURE WITH HEWMAN DONKEE - $50.’ Pretty steep for the privilege of posing with a green-eyed Jackass and some Fae, but magic was strange and new and scary and people would pay for pictures that showed it. They might as well get some profit out of it.

The End

[[File:Fairytailed5.jpg]]

User:Posti/Fairytail Picture

2009-06-17T02:20:39Z

Posti: Bobby is after photos of magic to sell - but he just might end up as the subject of the photo instead of the photographer!

Fairytail Picture

By Bob Stein

(A long-overdue story set in the Quechee National Enchanted Forest universe and based on a commission that Bones did for me a couple of years ago –incorporated into the story)
The centauress gripped the phone handset so tightly that the plastic started to make cracking sounds. “Gods, that satyr is treading a thin line. You sure he didn’t break any rules? I really need to get him kicked back to the other side of the curtain.”

Cillian grinned to himself. Though he could only hear one side of the conversation, the gnome had no trouble figuring out who the subject was. While the goat-kind were known for being mischievous, Brighthorn was linked to a disproportionate number of incidents involving guests. Not that he had ever been caught directly harming anyone – but a lot of the humans who encountered the satyr ended up as part of the Quechee National Enchanted Forest rather than just visitors.

She snorted. “It doesn’t matter if the guy was a jerk. We’re supposed to be here to prevent accidents, not encourage them. Well, have someone go looking.” She slammed the receiver down and whickered some centaur profanity deep in her throat.

“What did he do this time, Celia?” The gnome rather enjoyed hearing about park incidents, as they usually meant fewer humans to point and gawk at the ‘funny plants and animals.’ Still, despite dire warnings, posted statistics, and liability waivers that all but promised something awful was likely to happen, the stream of visitors from the mundane world never seemed to let up.

“A Freakazoid came in this morning with a camera. He offered Brighthorn an empty soda can as a snack.”

Cillian chuckled. “Oh, I know that went over well.” Freakazoids were humans who gawked and pointed at forest residents and staff as if they were exhibits in a Carnival. This idiot photographer had gone one better, or worse, by treating Brighthorn as if he were a mundane animal. “Goat-foot vine is blooming over in the south quarter. Might have sent him over there so he could eat the can himself.”

“That would be too easy – we could always donate him to a petting zoo.” Celia looked worried. “Last time he was seen, the photographer was heading for the Rings.”

The gnome paled. “Oh, shit.”

***

Bobby zoomed in on a cluster of brilliant yellow and violet leaves, making sure that the pulsing neon pink flowers were at their brightest. That goat guy had done him a real favor by showing him this unmarked side path. Besides being free of other tourists, he didn’t have to deal with all the warning signs and notices that were posted all over the place. Yeah, yeah, everything was dangerous, deadly, harmful. He got it. Like the goat guy had said, just don’t touch anything. He’d have to save him a soda can for later. Bobby wondered if he could get the guy to take off his uniform for a photo. Not like the Park Ranger shirt was covering any of the important parts. Of course, he’d be even happier to get that horse-woman to take HER shirt off.

Speaking of taking shirts off… Bobby frowned up at the large breaks in the forest’s canopy. As much as he’d like to strip down a bit, there was still a lot of sun coming through the trees. He’d forgotten to bring sunscreen, and along with his distinctive red hair and green eyes, his Scotch-Irish ancestors had passed along pale, freckled skin that burned very easily. He sighed, and decided to leave the T-shirt on for now. Maybe he could find something in the park to protect his skin.

After clicking off a dozen shots from different angles, he looked around as he finished up the last of a Milky Way. Given the cost and red tape it took to get into Quechee, he’d made sure he could make the most of his one-day pass. There were enough memory cards and batteries in his backpack to shoot non-stop for days, and he’d also stocked plenty of snacks and sodas. A friend had already warned him about the park concession – signs said no outside food and drink were allowed so they could sell overpriced ‘healthy’ food and bottled water. It was just like a movie theater, and he snuck his own candy into those, too.

Damn. Another thing he’d forgotten was napkins. The candy bar had partially melted on the wrapper and he wasn’t about to risk getting chocolate and caramel on his equipment. After a quick check to make sure no one else was around, he tossed the wrapper on the ground. Some buzzing rose up from the dense undergrowth – sounded like the local insect population was excited over some real sweets for a change.

[[File:fairytailed1.jpg]]

So what now? He frowned, looking around the forest. Most of the other plants looked pretty normal, though he’d been warned that a lot of them were very, very dangerous. Especially to anyone who wanted to leave the forest in the same shape they had entered with. Maybe someone with arcane knowledge would be able to tell, but the magazines he generally sold to were looking for dramatic stuff, like those glowing pink things. And where were all the weird creatures? This was supposed to be like a fairytale world, with talking animals, monsters, and all sorts of neat magic stuff.

He caught some movement off to the side. A shadow? Hope rose, and then faded as the dark shape turned out to just be a swarm of bugs. Sighing, he continued along the path, shooting the general locale. It all looked like most any other forest to Bobby, but then, he wasn’t much of an outdoors person anyway. Not that it mattered. This whole Enchanted Forest thing was new enough that he should be able to sell most any photo he could authenticate. No small matter to guy fresh out of college. With some luck, he might be able to turn his freelance gigs into stable employment.

Something glinted on the path just ahead. He approached it carefully, only to stop short and scowl when he got close enough to recognize the crumpled Mountain Dew can. Then annoyance shifted to puzzlement. That looked like the soda he’d finished up a while back. He was about to put it off to coincidence when he spotted a banana peel and a Milky Way wrapper just beyond it. They couldn’t be his. He’d had the drink and banana an hour ago, and the wrapper was just a hundred feet back. It had to be someone else’s trash. Weird, but not all that improbable. It just meant that someone else was too smart to pay park prices and had good taste.

Kicking the can off the trail, Bobby continued on. The path veered sharply around some small trees ahead. They didn’t look like anything special at first, but as he got closer he realized the branches were all swept towards him. He’d seen similar growth on beaches where the wind constantly blew in the same direction, but these were in the middle of a forest. They ranged from small saplings to young trees just a little taller than he was, though all looked to have been planted pretty recently. Except for some sparse weeds and grass around the roots, the ground was clear of the old leaves and small brush present on both sides of the trail.

He moved off to the side for some shots that contrasted the raked trees against the normal-looking forest around them. From this angle they were even odder, with split trunks that merged into one and then divided out into branches again. Something about the formation made him uneasy, but he snapped a couple of pictures before he saw something glinting in one of the branches. He pulled it down for a closer look. A gold wedding band was embedded around one of the smaller branches.

“Shit!” Letting go of the branch, Bobby stepped back on the trail and wiped his hand off on his shorts. The trees had been a group of people. Scared people, all running from something. Once he made the identification, it was easy to fill in the details. The larger ones were adults or older teenagers, and the little saplings had been kids. He shivered, trying to imagine what happened. It was horrible and fantastic at the same time.

He didn’t have to wrestle long with his conscious. Although he felt sorry for the victims, stuff like that was why he was here. Magic was strange and new and scary, and people would pay for pictures that showed it. He might as well get some profit out of it. Anyway, it wasn’t like they were dead. Not exactly. He kept telling himself that as he snapped at least a hundred shots, making sure to get close-ups of the wedding band. One thing for sure – he was going to be doubly careful. Whatever hit those folks had caught them in mid-stride, and he had no desire to join the forest.

A soft blue glow caught his eye just off to the left. Anything glowing was good subject material. After making sure the ground was clear, Bobby decided it would be safe enough to leave the trail. The source turned out to be a bunch of mushrooms that looked pretty normal other than their unusual color and, of course, the glow. As he snapped some images, the steady buzzing of insects began to separate into short bursts. It was almost like they were talking. Maybe they were. Photos of talking bugs would definitely be marketable – Orkin would probably pay a fortune.

He waited a minute or two, but none of the noisemakers appeared. Shrugging to himself, he started back for the trail only to stop and stare down at a crumpled Milky Way wrapper. Squatting down, he picked it up and then stood as he examined it. Melted chocolate and caramel. Oh, duh! The wrapper must have stuck to the bottom of one of his sandals. Chuckling at his own edginess, he tossed the paper over his shoulder and continued towards the path.

The buzzing suddenly swelled into a roar. Before Bobby could react, someone yanked his camera from his hand and shoved his back hard enough to send him sprawling face-first in the dirt. His first reaction was a flash of outrage – he was being robbed in the middle of the forest! However, that thought was lost as his gut wrenched painfully. Had the bastard kicked him? He scrambled up to hands and knees, looking frantically for his attackers – and saw the bugs.

[[File:fairytailed1_5g.jpg]]

They weren’t insects, of course. He was surrounded by a swarm of two-inch tall glowing blue people with wings. Angry, two-inch tall people who somehow had the strength of giants. His backpack was wrenched brutally away with enough force to break the straps, and it felt like he had a Buick on his back when he tried to stand. Tiny hands tore his clothes and pulled painfully at his ears and hair. Even so, he wasn’t really terrified until one of them yanked his nose out several inches from his face - and it stayed there.

He couldn’t linger on the impossibility of the swelling mass, for other parts of his body were being similarly reshaped. Fingers flowed together and stiffened , elbows and wrists shifting to bend in new directions. The loud buzzing dropped in pitch as his ears were stretched up, and the smell of dirt, grass, and sweat grew stronger in flaring nostrils. One of his sandals floated in front of his face, carried with apparent ease by one of his tormentors. It smiled at him, looking vaguely human while remaining completely alien to anything he had ever seen before.

Other blue figures appeared, drawing the leather out like brown taffy to create a tangle of straps that they yanked over his face. Bobby screamed, but the sound caught in his changing throat and emerged as a strangled wheeze. Each breath was deeper, lungs expanding in a barreling chest. The Mountain Dew drifted lazily through the air, collapsing in on itself as the metal was reshaped into something else. He blinked at it, dimly noting that the colors of both the glowing figures and the can itself were washing out. In seconds, the can had become a silvery horseshoe which dropped down onto the upturned lump that had been his right hand. He felt the cool metal for only a moment before the lump went numb and heavy, sculpted into a perfect hoof to match the shoe that was now permanently attached.

[[File:fairytailed2.jpg]]

Bobby stared at the equine extremity, his mind overloaded. The changes bombarded his mind in such variety and quantity that he could only let the transformation wash over him. Bones thickened, internal organs altered size and shape, his teeth and tongue enlarged to fill the large protrusion of his muzzle. Muscles pulled and twitched in new places, including his skin. Curiously, the one sensation absent was pain. Though the experience was far from pleasant, being mauled into a new shape should have hurt like Hell.

[[File:fairytailed3.jpg]]

A sense of urging was conveyed within the rumblings that now filled his elongated ears. They wanted him to get up. Bobby obeyed without thinking, rising awkwardly on what were now four legs. The swarm surrounded him, more gray than blue to his altered eyes, thickening skin into hide covered with shaggy, dark hair. One of the figures flew up with a familiar-looking scrap of paper – the Milky Way wrapper. A moment of confusion turned to resigned understanding. This was his sentence for littering. Harsh, but they’d given him several chances to save himself. He snorted and then gave a wheezing sigh.

[[File:fairytailed4g.jpg]]

Forward. He blinked, flicking ears back and forth a moment before following the unspoken command. They were settling on him, so light he was barely ware of their presence. A few still flew around his head, and he realized they were not quite done. His skull was deflating, the brain within shrinking as it emptied. It was a curiously pleasant sensation, like drifting off to sleep. And then Bobby dreamed he was a donkey.

----

“At least they didn’t go on a rampage this time.” Celia looked out the window where a group of tourists were posing for pictures. “And he is cute.”

Cillian snorted. “You just like him because he’s related now.”

The centauress wrinkled her nose. “From the back end he’s a dead ringer for a gnome I know.” She grinned at the rude gesture Cillian made in response and looked back at the tourists. The subject of their attention was a shaggy animal surrounded by a glowing blue swarm of the normally reclusive Fae. A crudely lettered sign said ‘PIKTURE WITH HEWMAN DONKEE - $50.’ Pretty steep for the privilege of posing with a green-eyed Jackass and some Fae, but magic was strange and new and scary and people would pay for pictures that showed it. They might as well get some profit out of it.

The End

[[File:Fairytailed5.jpg]]

User:Posti/Fairytail Picture

2009-06-17T02:18:57Z

Posti:

Fairytail Picture

By Bob Stein

(A long-overdue story set in the Quechee National Enchanted Forest universe and based on a commission that Bones did for me a couple of years ago –incorporated into the story)
The centauress gripped the phone handset so tightly that the plastic started to make cracking sounds. “Gods, that satyr is treading a thin line. You sure he didn’t break any rules? I really need to get him kicked back to the other side of the curtain.”

Cillian grinned to himself. Though he could only hear one side of the conversation, the gnome had no trouble figuring out who the subject was. While the goat-kind were known for being mischievous, Brighthorn was linked to a disproportionate number of incidents involving guests. Not that he had ever been caught directly harming anyone – but a lot of the humans who encountered the satyr ended up as part of the Quechee National Enchanted Forest rather than just visitors.

She snorted. “It doesn’t matter if the guy was a jerk. We’re supposed to be here to prevent accidents, not encourage them. Well, have someone go looking.” She slammed the receiver down and whickered some centaur profanity deep in her throat.

“What did he do this time, Celia?” The gnome rather enjoyed hearing about park incidents, as they usually meant fewer humans to point and gawk at the ‘funny plants and animals.’ Still, despite dire warnings, posted statistics, and liability waivers that all but promised something awful was likely to happen, the stream of visitors from the mundane world never seemed to let up.

“A Freakazoid came in this morning with a camera. He offered Brighthorn an empty soda can as a snack.”

Cillian chuckled. “Oh, I know that went over well.” Freakazoids were humans who gawked and pointed at forest residents and staff as if they were exhibits in a Carnival. This idiot photographer had gone one better, or worse, by treating Brighthorn as if he were a mundane animal. “Goat-foot vine is blooming over in the south quarter. Might have sent him over there so he could eat the can himself.”

“That would be too easy – we could always donate him to a petting zoo.” Celia looked worried. “Last time he was seen, the photographer was heading for the Rings.”

The gnome paled. “Oh, shit.”

***

Bobby zoomed in on a cluster of brilliant yellow and violet leaves, making sure that the pulsing neon pink flowers were at their brightest. That goat guy had done him a real favor by showing him this unmarked side path. Besides being free of other tourists, he didn’t have to deal with all the warning signs and notices that were posted all over the place. Yeah, yeah, everything was dangerous, deadly, harmful. He got it. Like the goat guy had said, just don’t touch anything. He’d have to save him a soda can for later. Bobby wondered if he could get the guy to take off his uniform for a photo. Not like the Park Ranger shirt was covering any of the important parts. Of course, he’d be even happier to get that horse-woman to take HER shirt off.

Speaking of taking shirts off… Bobby frowned up at the large breaks in the forest’s canopy. As much as he’d like to strip down a bit, there was still a lot of sun coming through the trees. He’d forgotten to bring sunscreen, and along with his distinctive red hair and green eyes, his Scotch-Irish ancestors had passed along pale, freckled skin that burned very easily. He sighed, and decided to leave the T-shirt on for now. Maybe he could find something in the park to protect his skin.

After clicking off a dozen shots from different angles, he looked around as he finished up the last of a Milky Way. Given the cost and red tape it took to get into Quechee, he’d made sure he could make the most of his one-day pass. There were enough memory cards and batteries in his backpack to shoot non-stop for days, and he’d also stocked plenty of snacks and sodas. A friend had already warned him about the park concession – signs said no outside food and drink were allowed so they could sell overpriced ‘healthy’ food and bottled water. It was just like a movie theater, and he snuck his own candy into those, too.

Damn. Another thing he’d forgotten was napkins. The candy bar had partially melted on the wrapper and he wasn’t about to risk getting chocolate and caramel on his equipment. After a quick check to make sure no one else was around, he tossed the wrapper on the ground. Some buzzing rose up from the dense undergrowth – sounded like the local insect population was excited over some real sweets for a change.

[[File:fairytailed1.jpg]]

So what now? He frowned, looking around the forest. Most of the other plants looked pretty normal, though he’d been warned that a lot of them were very, very dangerous. Especially to anyone who wanted to leave the forest in the same shape they had entered with. Maybe someone with arcane knowledge would be able to tell, but the magazines he generally sold to were looking for dramatic stuff, like those glowing pink things. And where were all the weird creatures? This was supposed to be like a fairytale world, with talking animals, monsters, and all sorts of neat magic stuff.

He caught some movement off to the side. A shadow? Hope rose, and then faded as the dark shape turned out to just be a swarm of bugs. Sighing, he continued along the path, shooting the general locale. It all looked like most any other forest to Bobby, but then, he wasn’t much of an outdoors person anyway. Not that it mattered. This whole Enchanted Forest thing was new enough that he should be able to sell most any photo he could authenticate. No small matter to guy fresh out of college. With some luck, he might be able to turn his freelance gigs into stable employment.

Something glinted on the path just ahead. He approached it carefully, only to stop short and scowl when he got close enough to recognize the crumpled Mountain Dew can. Then annoyance shifted to puzzlement. That looked like the soda he’d finished up a while back. He was about to put it off to coincidence when he spotted a banana peel and a Milky Way wrapper just beyond it. They couldn’t be his. He’d had the drink and banana an hour ago, and the wrapper was just a hundred feet back. It had to be someone else’s trash. Weird, but not all that improbable. It just meant that someone else was too smart to pay park prices and had good taste.

Kicking the can off the trail, Bobby continued on. The path veered sharply around some small trees ahead. They didn’t look like anything special at first, but as he got closer he realized the branches were all swept towards him. He’d seen similar growth on beaches where the wind constantly blew in the same direction, but these were in the middle of a forest. They ranged from small saplings to young trees just a little taller than he was, though all looked to have been planted pretty recently. Except for some sparse weeds and grass around the roots, the ground was clear of the old leaves and small brush present on both sides of the trail.

He moved off to the side for some shots that contrasted the raked trees against the normal-looking forest around them. From this angle they were even odder, with split trunks that merged into one and then divided out into branches again. Something about the formation made him uneasy, but he snapped a couple of pictures before he saw something glinting in one of the branches. He pulled it down for a closer look. A gold wedding band was embedded around one of the smaller branches.

“Shit!” Letting go of the branch, Bobby stepped back on the trail and wiped his hand off on his shorts. The trees had been a group of people. Scared people, all running from something. Once he made the identification, it was easy to fill in the details. The larger ones were adults or older teenagers, and the little saplings had been kids. He shivered, trying to imagine what happened. It was horrible and fantastic at the same time.

He didn’t have to wrestle long with his conscious. Although he felt sorry for the victims, stuff like that was why he was here. Magic was strange and new and scary, and people would pay for pictures that showed it. He might as well get some profit out of it. Anyway, it wasn’t like they were dead. Not exactly. He kept telling himself that as he snapped at least a hundred shots, making sure to get close-ups of the wedding band. One thing for sure – he was going to be doubly careful. Whatever hit those folks had caught them in mid-stride, and he had no desire to join the forest.

A soft blue glow caught his eye just off to the left. Anything glowing was good subject material. After making sure the ground was clear, Bobby decided it would be safe enough to leave the trail. The source turned out to be a bunch of mushrooms that looked pretty normal other than their unusual color and, of course, the glow. As he snapped some images, the steady buzzing of insects began to separate into short bursts. It was almost like they were talking. Maybe they were. Photos of talking bugs would definitely be marketable – Orkin would probably pay a fortune.

He waited a minute or two, but none of the noisemakers appeared. Shrugging to himself, he started back for the trail only to stop and stare down at a crumpled Milky Way wrapper. Squatting down, he picked it up and then stood as he examined it. Melted chocolate and caramel. Oh, duh! The wrapper must have stuck to the bottom of one of his sandals. Chuckling at his own edginess, he tossed the paper over his shoulder and continued towards the path.

The buzzing suddenly swelled into a roar. Before Bobby could react, someone yanked his camera from his hand and shoved his back hard enough to send him sprawling face-first in the dirt. His first reaction was a flash of outrage – he was being robbed in the middle of the forest! However, that thought was lost as his gut wrenched painfully. Had the bastard kicked him? He scrambled up to hands and knees, looking frantically for his attackers – and saw the bugs.

[[File:fairytailed1_5g.jpg]]

They weren’t insects, of course. He was surrounded by a swarm of two-inch tall glowing blue people with wings. Angry, two-inch tall people who somehow had the strength of giants. His backpack was wrenched brutally away with enough force to break the straps, and it felt like he had a Buick on his back when he tried to stand. Tiny hands tore his clothes and pulled painfully at his ears and hair. Even so, he wasn’t really terrified until one of them yanked his nose out several inches from his face - and it stayed there.

He couldn’t linger on the impossibility of the swelling mass, for other parts of his body were being similarly reshaped. Fingers flowed together and stiffened , elbows and wrists shifting to bend in new directions. The loud buzzing dropped in pitch as his ears were stretched up, and the smell of dirt, grass, and sweat grew stronger in flaring nostrils. One of his sandals floated in front of his face, carried with apparent ease by one of his tormentors. It smiled at him, looking vaguely human while remaining completely alien to anything he had ever seen before.

Other blue figures appeared, drawing the leather out like brown taffy to create a tangle of straps that they yanked over his face. Bobby screamed, but the sound caught in his changing throat and emerged as a strangled wheeze. Each breath was deeper, lungs expanding in a barreling chest. The Mountain Dew drifted lazily through the air, collapsing in on itself as the metal was reshaped into something else. He blinked at it, dimly noting that the colors of both the glowing figures and the can itself were washing out. In seconds, the can had become a silvery horseshoe which dropped down onto the upturned lump that had been his right hand. He felt the cool metal for only a moment before the lump went numb and heavy, sculpted into a perfect hoof to match the shoe that was now permanently attached.

[[File:fairytailed2.jpg]]

Bobby stared at the equine extremity, his mind overloaded. The changes bombarded his mind in such variety and quantity that he could only let the transformation wash over him. Bones thickened, internal organs altered size and shape, his teeth and tongue enlarged to fill the large protrusion of his muzzle. Muscles pulled and twitched in new places, including his skin. Curiously, the one sensation absent was pain. Though the experience was far from pleasant, being mauled into a new shape should have hurt like Hell.

[[File:fairytailed3.jpg]]

A sense of urging was conveyed within the rumblings that now filled his elongated ears. They wanted him to get up. Bobby obeyed without thinking, rising awkwardly on what were now four legs. The swarm surrounded him, more gray than blue to his altered eyes, thickening skin into hide covered with shaggy, dark hair. One of the figures flew up with a familiar-looking scrap of paper – the Milky Way wrapper. A moment of confusion turned to resigned understanding. This was his sentence for littering. Harsh, but they’d given him several chances to save himself. He snorted and then gave a wheezing sigh.

[[File:fairytailed4g.jpg]]
Forward. He blinked, flicking ears back and forth a moment before following the unspoken command. They were settling on him, so light he was barely ware of their presence. A few still flew around his head, and he realized they were not quite done. His skull was deflating, the brain within shrinking as it emptied. It was a curiously pleasant sensation, like drifting off to sleep. And then Bobby dreamed he was a donkey.

----

“At least they didn’t go on a rampage this time.” Celia looked out the window where a group of tourists were posing for pictures. “And he is cute.”

Cillian snorted. “You just like him because he’s related now.”

The centauress wrinkled her nose. “From the back end he’s a dead ringer for a gnome I know.” She grinned at the rude gesture Cillian made in response and looked back at the tourists. The subject of their attention was a shaggy animal surrounded by a glowing blue swarm of the normally reclusive Fae. A crudely lettered sign said ‘PIKTURE WITH HEWMAN DONKEE - $50.’ Pretty steep for the privilege of posing with a green-eyed Jackass and some Fae, but magic was strange and new and scary and people would pay for pictures that showed it. They might as well get some profit out of it.

The End

[[File:Fairytailed5.jpg]]

User:Posti/Fairytail Picture

2009-06-17T02:15:34Z

Posti:

Fairytail Picture

By Bob Stein

(A long-overdue story set in the Quechee National Enchanted Forest universe and based on a commission that Bones did for me a couple of years ago –incorporated into the story)
The centauress gripped the phone handset so tightly that the plastic started to make cracking sounds. “Gods, that satyr is treading a thin line. You sure he didn’t break any rules? I really need to get him kicked back to the other side of the curtain.”

Cillian grinned to himself. Though he could only hear one side of the conversation, the gnome had no trouble figuring out who the subject was. While the goat-kind were known for being mischievous, Brighthorn was linked to a disproportionate number of incidents involving guests. Not that he had ever been caught directly harming anyone – but a lot of the humans who encountered the satyr ended up as part of the Quechee National Enchanted Forest rather than just visitors.

She snorted. “It doesn’t matter if the guy was a jerk. We’re supposed to be here to prevent accidents, not encourage them. Well, have someone go looking.” She slammed the receiver down and whickered some centaur profanity deep in her throat.

“What did he do this time, Celia?” The gnome rather enjoyed hearing about park incidents, as they usually meant fewer humans to point and gawk at the ‘funny plants and animals.’ Still, despite dire warnings, posted statistics, and liability waivers that all but promised something awful was likely to happen, the stream of visitors from the mundane world never seemed to let up.

“A Freakazoid came in this morning with a camera. He offered Brighthorn an empty soda can as a snack.”

Cillian chuckled. “Oh, I know that went over well.” Freakazoids were humans who gawked and pointed at forest residents and staff as if they were exhibits in a Carnival. This idiot photographer had gone one better, or worse, by treating Brighthorn as if he were a mundane animal. “Goat-foot vine is blooming over in the south quarter. Might have sent him over there so he could eat the can himself.”

“That would be too easy – we could always donate him to a petting zoo.” Celia looked worried. “Last time he was seen, the photographer was heading for the Rings.”

The gnome paled. “Oh, shit.”

***

Bobby zoomed in on a cluster of brilliant yellow and violet leaves, making sure that the pulsing neon pink flowers were at their brightest. That goat guy had done him a real favor by showing him this unmarked side path. Besides being free of other tourists, he didn’t have to deal with all the warning signs and notices that were posted all over the place. Yeah, yeah, everything was dangerous, deadly, harmful. He got it. Like the goat guy had said, just don’t touch anything. He’d have to save him a soda can for later. Bobby wondered if he could get the guy to take off his uniform for a photo. Not like the Park Ranger shirt was covering any of the important parts. Of course, he’d be even happier to get that horse-woman to take HER shirt off.

Speaking of taking shirts off… Bobby frowned up at the large breaks in the forest’s canopy. As much as he’d like to strip down a bit, there was still a lot of sun coming through the trees. He’d forgotten to bring sunscreen, and along with his distinctive red hair and green eyes, his Scotch-Irish ancestors had passed along pale, freckled skin that burned very easily. He sighed, and decided to leave the T-shirt on for now. Maybe he could find something in the park to protect his skin.

After clicking off a dozen shots from different angles, he looked around as he finished up the last of a Milky Way. Given the cost and red tape it took to get into Quechee, he’d made sure he could make the most of his one-day pass. There were enough memory cards and batteries in his backpack to shoot non-stop for days, and he’d also stocked plenty of snacks and sodas. A friend had already warned him about the park concession – signs said no outside food and drink were allowed so they could sell overpriced ‘healthy’ food and bottled water. It was just like a movie theater, and he snuck his own candy into those, too.

Damn. Another thing he’d forgotten was napkins. The candy bar had partially melted on the wrapper and he wasn’t about to risk getting chocolate and caramel on his equipment. After a quick check to make sure no one else was around, he tossed the wrapper on the ground. Some buzzing rose up from the dense undergrowth – sounded like the local insect population was excited over some real sweets for a change.

[[File:fairytailed1.jpg]]

So what now? He frowned, looking around the forest. Most of the other plants looked pretty normal, though he’d been warned that a lot of them were very, very dangerous. Especially to anyone who wanted to leave the forest in the same shape they had entered with. Maybe someone with arcane knowledge would be able to tell, but the magazines he generally sold to were looking for dramatic stuff, like those glowing pink things. And where were all the weird creatures? This was supposed to be like a fairytale world, with talking animals, monsters, and all sorts of neat magic stuff.

He caught some movement off to the side. A shadow? Hope rose, and then faded as the dark shape turned out to just be a swarm of bugs. Sighing, he continued along the path, shooting the general locale. It all looked like most any other forest to Bobby, but then, he wasn’t much of an outdoors person anyway. Not that it mattered. This whole Enchanted Forest thing was new enough that he should be able to sell most any photo he could authenticate. No small matter to guy fresh out of college. With some luck, he might be able to turn his freelance gigs into stable employment.

Something glinted on the path just ahead. He approached it carefully, only to stop short and scowl when he got close enough to recognize the crumpled Mountain Dew can. Then annoyance shifted to puzzlement. That looked like the soda he’d finished up a while back. He was about to put it off to coincidence when he spotted a banana peel and a Milky Way wrapper just beyond it. They couldn’t be his. He’d had the drink and banana an hour ago, and the wrapper was just a hundred feet back. It had to be someone else’s trash. Weird, but not all that improbable. It just meant that someone else was too smart to pay park prices and had good taste.

Kicking the can off the trail, Bobby continued on. The path veered sharply around some small trees ahead. They didn’t look like anything special at first, but as he got closer he realized the branches were all swept towards him. He’d seen similar growth on beaches where the wind constantly blew in the same direction, but these were in the middle of a forest. They ranged from small saplings to young trees just a little taller than he was, though all looked to have been planted pretty recently. Except for some sparse weeds and grass around the roots, the ground was clear of the old leaves and small brush present on both sides of the trail.

He moved off to the side for some shots that contrasted the raked trees against the normal-looking forest around them. From this angle they were even odder, with split trunks that merged into one and then divided out into branches again. Something about the formation made him uneasy, but he snapped a couple of pictures before he saw something glinting in one of the branches. He pulled it down for a closer look. A gold wedding band was embedded around one of the smaller branches.

“Shit!” Letting go of the branch, Bobby stepped back on the trail and wiped his hand off on his shorts. The trees had been a group of people. Scared people, all running from something. Once he made the identification, it was easy to fill in the details. The larger ones were adults or older teenagers, and the little saplings had been kids. He shivered, trying to imagine what happened. It was horrible and fantastic at the same time.

He didn’t have to wrestle long with his conscious. Although he felt sorry for the victims, stuff like that was why he was here. Magic was strange and new and scary, and people would pay for pictures that showed it. He might as well get some profit out of it. Anyway, it wasn’t like they were dead. Not exactly. He kept telling himself that as he snapped at least a hundred shots, making sure to get close-ups of the wedding band. One thing for sure – he was going to be doubly careful. Whatever hit those folks had caught them in mid-stride, and he had no desire to join the forest.

A soft blue glow caught his eye just off to the left. Anything glowing was good subject material. After making sure the ground was clear, Bobby decided it would be safe enough to leave the trail. The source turned out to be a bunch of mushrooms that looked pretty normal other than their unusual color and, of course, the glow. As he snapped some images, the steady buzzing of insects began to separate into short bursts. It was almost like they were talking. Maybe they were. Photos of talking bugs would definitely be marketable – Orkin would probably pay a fortune.

He waited a minute or two, but none of the noisemakers appeared. Shrugging to himself, he started back for the trail only to stop and stare down at a crumpled Milky Way wrapper. Squatting down, he picked it up and then stood as he examined it. Melted chocolate and caramel. Oh, duh! The wrapper must have stuck to the bottom of one of his sandals. Chuckling at his own edginess, he tossed the paper over his shoulder and continued towards the path.

The buzzing suddenly swelled into a roar. Before Bobby could react, someone yanked his camera from his hand and shoved his back hard enough to send him sprawling face-first in the dirt. His first reaction was a flash of outrage – he was being robbed in the middle of the forest! However, that thought was lost as his gut wrenched painfully. Had the bastard kicked him? He scrambled up to hands and knees, looking frantically for his attackers – and saw the bugs.

They weren’t insects, of course. He was surrounded by a swarm of two-inch tall glowing blue people with wings. Angry, two-inch tall people who somehow had the strength of giants. His backpack was wrenched brutally away with enough force to break the straps, and it felt like he had a Buick on his back when he tried to stand. Tiny hands tore his clothes and pulled painfully at his ears and hair. Even so, he wasn’t really terrified until one of them yanked his nose out several inches from his face - and it stayed there.

He couldn’t linger on the impossibility of the swelling mass, for other parts of his body were being similarly reshaped. Fingers flowed together and stiffened , elbows and wrists shifting to bend in new directions. The loud buzzing dropped in pitch as his ears were stretched up, and the smell of dirt, grass, and sweat grew stronger in flaring nostrils. One of his sandals floated in front of his face, carried with apparent ease by one of his tormentors. It smiled at him, looking vaguely human while remaining completely alien to anything he had ever seen before.

Other blue figures appeared, drawing the leather out like brown taffy to create a tangle of straps that they yanked over his face. Bobby screamed, but the sound caught in his changing throat and emerged as a strangled wheeze. Each breath was deeper, lungs expanding in a barreling chest. The Mountain Dew drifted lazily through the air, collapsing in on itself as the metal was reshaped into something else. He blinked at it, dimly noting that the colors of both the glowing figures and the can itself were washing out. In seconds, the can had become a silvery horseshoe which dropped down onto the upturned lump that had been his right hand. He felt the cool metal for only a moment before the lump went numb and heavy, sculpted into a perfect hoof to match the shoe that was now permanently attached.

Bobby stared at the equine extremity, his mind overloaded. The changes bombarded his mind in such variety and quantity that he could only let the transformation wash over him. Bones thickened, internal organs altered size and shape, his teeth and tongue enlarged to fill the large protrusion of his muzzle. Muscles pulled and twitched in new places, including his skin. Curiously, the one sensation absent was pain. Though the experience was far from pleasant, being mauled into a new shape should have hurt like Hell.

A sense of urging was conveyed within the rumblings that now filled his elongated ears. They wanted him to get up. Bobby obeyed without thinking, rising awkwardly on what were now four legs. The swarm surrounded him, more gray than blue to his altered eyes, thickening skin into hide covered with shaggy, dark hair. One of the figures flew up with a familiar-looking scrap of paper – the Milky Way wrapper. A moment of confusion turned to resigned understanding. This was his sentence for littering. Harsh, but they’d given him several chances to save himself. He snorted and then gave a wheezing sigh.

Forward. He blinked, flicking ears back and forth a moment before following the unspoken command. They were settling on him, so light he was barely ware of their presence. A few still flew around his head, and he realized they were not quite done. His skull was deflating, the brain within shrinking as it emptied. It was a curiously pleasant sensation, like drifting off to sleep. And then Bobby dreamed he was a donkey.

----

“At least they didn’t go on a rampage this time.” Celia looked out the window where a group of tourists were posing for pictures. “And he is cute.”

Cillian snorted. “You just like him because he’s related now.”

The centauress wrinkled her nose. “From the back end he’s a dead ringer for a gnome I know.” She grinned at the rude gesture Cillian made in response and looked back at the tourists. The subject of their attention was a shaggy animal surrounded by a glowing blue swarm of the normally reclusive Fae. A crudely lettered sign said ‘PIKTURE WITH HEWMAN DONKEE - $50.’ Pretty steep for the privilege of posing with a green-eyed Jackass and some Fae, but magic was strange and new and scary and people would pay for pictures that showed it. They might as well get some profit out of it.

The End

[[File:Fairytailed5.jpg]]

User:Posti/Fairytail Picture

2009-06-17T02:15:04Z

Posti:

Fairytail Picture

By Bob Stein

(A long-overdue story set in the Quechee National Enchanted Forest universe and based on a commission that Bones did for me a couple of years ago –incorporated into the story)
The centauress gripped the phone handset so tightly that the plastic started to make cracking sounds. “Gods, that satyr is treading a thin line. You sure he didn’t break any rules? I really need to get him kicked back to the other side of the curtain.”

Cillian grinned to himself. Though he could only hear one side of the conversation, the gnome had no trouble figuring out who the subject was. While the goat-kind were known for being mischievous, Brighthorn was linked to a disproportionate number of incidents involving guests. Not that he had ever been caught directly harming anyone – but a lot of the humans who encountered the satyr ended up as part of the Quechee National Enchanted Forest rather than just visitors.

She snorted. “It doesn’t matter if the guy was a jerk. We’re supposed to be here to prevent accidents, not encourage them. Well, have someone go looking.” She slammed the receiver down and whickered some centaur profanity deep in her throat.

“What did he do this time, Celia?” The gnome rather enjoyed hearing about park incidents, as they usually meant fewer humans to point and gawk at the ‘funny plants and animals.’ Still, despite dire warnings, posted statistics, and liability waivers that all but promised something awful was likely to happen, the stream of visitors from the mundane world never seemed to let up.

“A Freakazoid came in this morning with a camera. He offered Brighthorn an empty soda can as a snack.”

Cillian chuckled. “Oh, I know that went over well.” Freakazoids were humans who gawked and pointed at forest residents and staff as if they were exhibits in a Carnival. This idiot photographer had gone one better, or worse, by treating Brighthorn as if he were a mundane animal. “Goat-foot vine is blooming over in the south quarter. Might have sent him over there so he could eat the can himself.”

“That would be too easy – we could always donate him to a petting zoo.” Celia looked worried. “Last time he was seen, the photographer was heading for the Rings.”

The gnome paled. “Oh, shit.”

***

Bobby zoomed in on a cluster of brilliant yellow and violet leaves, making sure that the pulsing neon pink flowers were at their brightest. That goat guy had done him a real favor by showing him this unmarked side path. Besides being free of other tourists, he didn’t have to deal with all the warning signs and notices that were posted all over the place. Yeah, yeah, everything was dangerous, deadly, harmful. He got it. Like the goat guy had said, just don’t touch anything. He’d have to save him a soda can for later. Bobby wondered if he could get the guy to take off his uniform for a photo. Not like the Park Ranger shirt was covering any of the important parts. Of course, he’d be even happier to get that horse-woman to take HER shirt off.

Speaking of taking shirts off… Bobby frowned up at the large breaks in the forest’s canopy. As much as he’d like to strip down a bit, there was still a lot of sun coming through the trees. He’d forgotten to bring sunscreen, and along with his distinctive red hair and green eyes, his Scotch-Irish ancestors had passed along pale, freckled skin that burned very easily. He sighed, and decided to leave the T-shirt on for now. Maybe he could find something in the park to protect his skin.

After clicking off a dozen shots from different angles, he looked around as he finished up the last of a Milky Way. Given the cost and red tape it took to get into Quechee, he’d made sure he could make the most of his one-day pass. There were enough memory cards and batteries in his backpack to shoot non-stop for days, and he’d also stocked plenty of snacks and sodas. A friend had already warned him about the park concession – signs said no outside food and drink were allowed so they could sell overpriced ‘healthy’ food and bottled water. It was just like a movie theater, and he snuck his own candy into those, too.

Damn. Another thing he’d forgotten was napkins. The candy bar had partially melted on the wrapper and he wasn’t about to risk getting chocolate and caramel on his equipment. After a quick check to make sure no one else was around, he tossed the wrapper on the ground. Some buzzing rose up from the dense undergrowth – sounded like the local insect population was excited over some real sweets for a change.

[[File:fairytailed1s.jpg]]

So what now? He frowned, looking around the forest. Most of the other plants looked pretty normal, though he’d been warned that a lot of them were very, very dangerous. Especially to anyone who wanted to leave the forest in the same shape they had entered with. Maybe someone with arcane knowledge would be able to tell, but the magazines he generally sold to were looking for dramatic stuff, like those glowing pink things. And where were all the weird creatures? This was supposed to be like a fairytale world, with talking animals, monsters, and all sorts of neat magic stuff.

He caught some movement off to the side. A shadow? Hope rose, and then faded as the dark shape turned out to just be a swarm of bugs. Sighing, he continued along the path, shooting the general locale. It all looked like most any other forest to Bobby, but then, he wasn’t much of an outdoors person anyway. Not that it mattered. This whole Enchanted Forest thing was new enough that he should be able to sell most any photo he could authenticate. No small matter to guy fresh out of college. With some luck, he might be able to turn his freelance gigs into stable employment.

Something glinted on the path just ahead. He approached it carefully, only to stop short and scowl when he got close enough to recognize the crumpled Mountain Dew can. Then annoyance shifted to puzzlement. That looked like the soda he’d finished up a while back. He was about to put it off to coincidence when he spotted a banana peel and a Milky Way wrapper just beyond it. They couldn’t be his. He’d had the drink and banana an hour ago, and the wrapper was just a hundred feet back. It had to be someone else’s trash. Weird, but not all that improbable. It just meant that someone else was too smart to pay park prices and had good taste.

Kicking the can off the trail, Bobby continued on. The path veered sharply around some small trees ahead. They didn’t look like anything special at first, but as he got closer he realized the branches were all swept towards him. He’d seen similar growth on beaches where the wind constantly blew in the same direction, but these were in the middle of a forest. They ranged from small saplings to young trees just a little taller than he was, though all looked to have been planted pretty recently. Except for some sparse weeds and grass around the roots, the ground was clear of the old leaves and small brush present on both sides of the trail.

He moved off to the side for some shots that contrasted the raked trees against the normal-looking forest around them. From this angle they were even odder, with split trunks that merged into one and then divided out into branches again. Something about the formation made him uneasy, but he snapped a couple of pictures before he saw something glinting in one of the branches. He pulled it down for a closer look. A gold wedding band was embedded around one of the smaller branches.

“Shit!” Letting go of the branch, Bobby stepped back on the trail and wiped his hand off on his shorts. The trees had been a group of people. Scared people, all running from something. Once he made the identification, it was easy to fill in the details. The larger ones were adults or older teenagers, and the little saplings had been kids. He shivered, trying to imagine what happened. It was horrible and fantastic at the same time.

He didn’t have to wrestle long with his conscious. Although he felt sorry for the victims, stuff like that was why he was here. Magic was strange and new and scary, and people would pay for pictures that showed it. He might as well get some profit out of it. Anyway, it wasn’t like they were dead. Not exactly. He kept telling himself that as he snapped at least a hundred shots, making sure to get close-ups of the wedding band. One thing for sure – he was going to be doubly careful. Whatever hit those folks had caught them in mid-stride, and he had no desire to join the forest.

A soft blue glow caught his eye just off to the left. Anything glowing was good subject material. After making sure the ground was clear, Bobby decided it would be safe enough to leave the trail. The source turned out to be a bunch of mushrooms that looked pretty normal other than their unusual color and, of course, the glow. As he snapped some images, the steady buzzing of insects began to separate into short bursts. It was almost like they were talking. Maybe they were. Photos of talking bugs would definitely be marketable – Orkin would probably pay a fortune.

He waited a minute or two, but none of the noisemakers appeared. Shrugging to himself, he started back for the trail only to stop and stare down at a crumpled Milky Way wrapper. Squatting down, he picked it up and then stood as he examined it. Melted chocolate and caramel. Oh, duh! The wrapper must have stuck to the bottom of one of his sandals. Chuckling at his own edginess, he tossed the paper over his shoulder and continued towards the path.

The buzzing suddenly swelled into a roar. Before Bobby could react, someone yanked his camera from his hand and shoved his back hard enough to send him sprawling face-first in the dirt. His first reaction was a flash of outrage – he was being robbed in the middle of the forest! However, that thought was lost as his gut wrenched painfully. Had the bastard kicked him? He scrambled up to hands and knees, looking frantically for his attackers – and saw the bugs.

They weren’t insects, of course. He was surrounded by a swarm of two-inch tall glowing blue people with wings. Angry, two-inch tall people who somehow had the strength of giants. His backpack was wrenched brutally away with enough force to break the straps, and it felt like he had a Buick on his back when he tried to stand. Tiny hands tore his clothes and pulled painfully at his ears and hair. Even so, he wasn’t really terrified until one of them yanked his nose out several inches from his face - and it stayed there.

He couldn’t linger on the impossibility of the swelling mass, for other parts of his body were being similarly reshaped. Fingers flowed together and stiffened , elbows and wrists shifting to bend in new directions. The loud buzzing dropped in pitch as his ears were stretched up, and the smell of dirt, grass, and sweat grew stronger in flaring nostrils. One of his sandals floated in front of his face, carried with apparent ease by one of his tormentors. It smiled at him, looking vaguely human while remaining completely alien to anything he had ever seen before.

Other blue figures appeared, drawing the leather out like brown taffy to create a tangle of straps that they yanked over his face. Bobby screamed, but the sound caught in his changing throat and emerged as a strangled wheeze. Each breath was deeper, lungs expanding in a barreling chest. The Mountain Dew drifted lazily through the air, collapsing in on itself as the metal was reshaped into something else. He blinked at it, dimly noting that the colors of both the glowing figures and the can itself were washing out. In seconds, the can had become a silvery horseshoe which dropped down onto the upturned lump that had been his right hand. He felt the cool metal for only a moment before the lump went numb and heavy, sculpted into a perfect hoof to match the shoe that was now permanently attached.

Bobby stared at the equine extremity, his mind overloaded. The changes bombarded his mind in such variety and quantity that he could only let the transformation wash over him. Bones thickened, internal organs altered size and shape, his teeth and tongue enlarged to fill the large protrusion of his muzzle. Muscles pulled and twitched in new places, including his skin. Curiously, the one sensation absent was pain. Though the experience was far from pleasant, being mauled into a new shape should have hurt like Hell.

A sense of urging was conveyed within the rumblings that now filled his elongated ears. They wanted him to get up. Bobby obeyed without thinking, rising awkwardly on what were now four legs. The swarm surrounded him, more gray than blue to his altered eyes, thickening skin into hide covered with shaggy, dark hair. One of the figures flew up with a familiar-looking scrap of paper – the Milky Way wrapper. A moment of confusion turned to resigned understanding. This was his sentence for littering. Harsh, but they’d given him several chances to save himself. He snorted and then gave a wheezing sigh.

Forward. He blinked, flicking ears back and forth a moment before following the unspoken command. They were settling on him, so light he was barely ware of their presence. A few still flew around his head, and he realized they were not quite done. His skull was deflating, the brain within shrinking as it emptied. It was a curiously pleasant sensation, like drifting off to sleep. And then Bobby dreamed he was a donkey.

----

“At least they didn’t go on a rampage this time.” Celia looked out the window where a group of tourists were posing for pictures. “And he is cute.”

Cillian snorted. “You just like him because he’s related now.”

The centauress wrinkled her nose. “From the back end he’s a dead ringer for a gnome I know.” She grinned at the rude gesture Cillian made in response and looked back at the tourists. The subject of their attention was a shaggy animal surrounded by a glowing blue swarm of the normally reclusive Fae. A crudely lettered sign said ‘PIKTURE WITH HEWMAN DONKEE - $50.’ Pretty steep for the privilege of posing with a green-eyed Jackass and some Fae, but magic was strange and new and scary and people would pay for pictures that showed it. They might as well get some profit out of it.

The End

[[File:Fairytailed5.jpg]]

File:Fairytailed1.jpg

2009-06-17T02:13:34Z

Posti: uploaded a new version of "File:Fairytailed1.jpg"

Bobby is not a neat person - not a good thing in an enchanted forest where the fae ARE.

File:Fairytailed1 5g.jpg

2009-06-17T02:13:05Z

Posti: uploaded a new version of "File:Fairytailed1 5g.jpg"

The Fae have a system of quick justice - once they decide you are guilty, it's time to serve sentence.

File:Fairytailed2.jpg

2009-06-17T02:12:31Z

Posti: uploaded a new version of "File:Fairytailed2.jpg"

Where Bobby was tossing trash, the Fae have a much more 'green' view of things - finding new uses for unwanted items, such as turning soda cans into horseshoes.

File:Fairytailed3.jpg

2009-06-17T02:11:54Z

Posti: uploaded a new version of "File:Fairytailed3.jpg"

A pull here, and prod there. The Fae can even make something useful out of a careless photographer, as Bobby is finding out.

File:Fairytailed4g.jpg

2009-06-17T02:11:21Z

Posti: uploaded a new version of "File:Fairytailed4g.jpg"

Little is left of the letter or the young man who tossed it. Bobby was taking pictures to sell - at least he ended up with stable employment.

File:Fairytailed5.jpg

2009-06-17T02:09:54Z

Posti: uploaded a new version of "File:Fairytailed5.jpg"

A picture is worth a thousand words - but is it worth a lifetime of braying? Bobby has plenty of time to think about that answer.

User:Posti/Fairytail Picture

2009-06-17T02:04:47Z

Posti: Created page with 'Fairytail Picture By Bob Stein (A long-overdue story set in the Quechee National Enchanted Forest universe and based on a commission that Bones did for me a couple of years ago...'

Fairytail Picture

By Bob Stein

(A long-overdue story set in the Quechee National Enchanted Forest universe and based on a commission that Bones did for me a couple of years ago –incorporated into the story)
The centauress gripped the phone handset so tightly that the plastic started to make cracking sounds. “Gods, that satyr is treading a thin line. You sure he didn’t break any rules? I really need to get him kicked back to the other side of the curtain.”

Cillian grinned to himself. Though he could only hear one side of the conversation, the gnome had no trouble figuring out who the subject was. While the goat-kind were known for being mischievous, Brighthorn was linked to a disproportionate number of incidents involving guests. Not that he had ever been caught directly harming anyone – but a lot of the humans who encountered the satyr ended up as part of the Quechee National Enchanted Forest rather than just visitors.

She snorted. “It doesn’t matter if the guy was a jerk. We’re supposed to be here to prevent accidents, not encourage them. Well, have someone go looking.” She slammed the receiver down and whickered some centaur profanity deep in her throat.

“What did he do this time, Celia?” The gnome rather enjoyed hearing about park incidents, as they usually meant fewer humans to point and gawk at the ‘funny plants and animals.’ Still, despite dire warnings, posted statistics, and liability waivers that all but promised something awful was likely to happen, the stream of visitors from the mundane world never seemed to let up.

“A Freakazoid came in this morning with a camera. He offered Brighthorn an empty soda can as a snack.”

Cillian chuckled. “Oh, I know that went over well.” Freakazoids were humans who gawked and pointed at forest residents and staff as if they were exhibits in a Carnival. This idiot photographer had gone one better, or worse, by treating Brighthorn as if he were a mundane animal. “Goat-foot vine is blooming over in the south quarter. Might have sent him over there so he could eat the can himself.”

“That would be too easy – we could always donate him to a petting zoo.” Celia looked worried. “Last time he was seen, the photographer was heading for the Rings.”

The gnome paled. “Oh, shit.”

***

Bobby zoomed in on a cluster of brilliant yellow and violet leaves, making sure that the pulsing neon pink flowers were at their brightest. That goat guy had done him a real favor by showing him this unmarked side path. Besides being free of other tourists, he didn’t have to deal with all the warning signs and notices that were posted all over the place. Yeah, yeah, everything was dangerous, deadly, harmful. He got it. Like the goat guy had said, just don’t touch anything. He’d have to save him a soda can for later. Bobby wondered if he could get the guy to take off his uniform for a photo. Not like the Park Ranger shirt was covering any of the important parts. Of course, he’d be even happier to get that horse-woman to take HER shirt off.

Speaking of taking shirts off… Bobby frowned up at the large breaks in the forest’s canopy. As much as he’d like to strip down a bit, there was still a lot of sun coming through the trees. He’d forgotten to bring sunscreen, and along with his distinctive red hair and green eyes, his Scotch-Irish ancestors had passed along pale, freckled skin that burned very easily. He sighed, and decided to leave the T-shirt on for now. Maybe he could find something in the park to protect his skin.

After clicking off a dozen shots from different angles, he looked around as he finished up the last of a Milky Way. Given the cost and red tape it took to get into Quechee, he’d made sure he could make the most of his one-day pass. There were enough memory cards and batteries in his backpack to shoot non-stop for days, and he’d also stocked plenty of snacks and sodas. A friend had already warned him about the park concession – signs said no outside food and drink were allowed so they could sell overpriced ‘healthy’ food and bottled water. It was just like a movie theater, and he snuck his own candy into those, too.

Damn. Another thing he’d forgotten was napkins. The candy bar had partially melted on the wrapper and he wasn’t about to risk getting chocolate and caramel on his equipment. After a quick check to make sure no one else was around, he tossed the wrapper on the ground. Some buzzing rose up from the dense undergrowth – sounded like the local insect population was excited over some real sweets for a change.

So what now? He frowned, looking around the forest. Most of the other plants looked pretty normal, though he’d been warned that a lot of them were very, very dangerous. Especially to anyone who wanted to leave the forest in the same shape they had entered with. Maybe someone with arcane knowledge would be able to tell, but the magazines he generally sold to were looking for dramatic stuff, like those glowing pink things. And where were all the weird creatures? This was supposed to be like a fairytale world, with talking animals, monsters, and all sorts of neat magic stuff.

He caught some movement off to the side. A shadow? Hope rose, and then faded as the dark shape turned out to just be a swarm of bugs. Sighing, he continued along the path, shooting the general locale. It all looked like most any other forest to Bobby, but then, he wasn’t much of an outdoors person anyway. Not that it mattered. This whole Enchanted Forest thing was new enough that he should be able to sell most any photo he could authenticate. No small matter to guy fresh out of college. With some luck, he might be able to turn his freelance gigs into stable employment.

Something glinted on the path just ahead. He approached it carefully, only to stop short and scowl when he got close enough to recognize the crumpled Mountain Dew can. Then annoyance shifted to puzzlement. That looked like the soda he’d finished up a while back. He was about to put it off to coincidence when he spotted a banana peel and a Milky Way wrapper just beyond it. They couldn’t be his. He’d had the drink and banana an hour ago, and the wrapper was just a hundred feet back. It had to be someone else’s trash. Weird, but not all that improbable. It just meant that someone else was too smart to pay park prices and had good taste.

Kicking the can off the trail, Bobby continued on. The path veered sharply around some small trees ahead. They didn’t look like anything special at first, but as he got closer he realized the branches were all swept towards him. He’d seen similar growth on beaches where the wind constantly blew in the same direction, but these were in the middle of a forest. They ranged from small saplings to young trees just a little taller than he was, though all looked to have been planted pretty recently. Except for some sparse weeds and grass around the roots, the ground was clear of the old leaves and small brush present on both sides of the trail.

He moved off to the side for some shots that contrasted the raked trees against the normal-looking forest around them. From this angle they were even odder, with split trunks that merged into one and then divided out into branches again. Something about the formation made him uneasy, but he snapped a couple of pictures before he saw something glinting in one of the branches. He pulled it down for a closer look. A gold wedding band was embedded around one of the smaller branches.

“Shit!” Letting go of the branch, Bobby stepped back on the trail and wiped his hand off on his shorts. The trees had been a group of people. Scared people, all running from something. Once he made the identification, it was easy to fill in the details. The larger ones were adults or older teenagers, and the little saplings had been kids. He shivered, trying to imagine what happened. It was horrible and fantastic at the same time.

He didn’t have to wrestle long with his conscious. Although he felt sorry for the victims, stuff like that was why he was here. Magic was strange and new and scary, and people would pay for pictures that showed it. He might as well get some profit out of it. Anyway, it wasn’t like they were dead. Not exactly. He kept telling himself that as he snapped at least a hundred shots, making sure to get close-ups of the wedding band. One thing for sure – he was going to be doubly careful. Whatever hit those folks had caught them in mid-stride, and he had no desire to join the forest.

A soft blue glow caught his eye just off to the left. Anything glowing was good subject material. After making sure the ground was clear, Bobby decided it would be safe enough to leave the trail. The source turned out to be a bunch of mushrooms that looked pretty normal other than their unusual color and, of course, the glow. As he snapped some images, the steady buzzing of insects began to separate into short bursts. It was almost like they were talking. Maybe they were. Photos of talking bugs would definitely be marketable – Orkin would probably pay a fortune.

He waited a minute or two, but none of the noisemakers appeared. Shrugging to himself, he started back for the trail only to stop and stare down at a crumpled Milky Way wrapper. Squatting down, he picked it up and then stood as he examined it. Melted chocolate and caramel. Oh, duh! The wrapper must have stuck to the bottom of one of his sandals. Chuckling at his own edginess, he tossed the paper over his shoulder and continued towards the path.

The buzzing suddenly swelled into a roar. Before Bobby could react, someone yanked his camera from his hand and shoved his back hard enough to send him sprawling face-first in the dirt. His first reaction was a flash of outrage – he was being robbed in the middle of the forest! However, that thought was lost as his gut wrenched painfully. Had the bastard kicked him? He scrambled up to hands and knees, looking frantically for his attackers – and saw the bugs.

They weren’t insects, of course. He was surrounded by a swarm of two-inch tall glowing blue people with wings. Angry, two-inch tall people who somehow had the strength of giants. His backpack was wrenched brutally away with enough force to break the straps, and it felt like he had a Buick on his back when he tried to stand. Tiny hands tore his clothes and pulled painfully at his ears and hair. Even so, he wasn’t really terrified until one of them yanked his nose out several inches from his face - and it stayed there.

He couldn’t linger on the impossibility of the swelling mass, for other parts of his body were being similarly reshaped. Fingers flowed together and stiffened , elbows and wrists shifting to bend in new directions. The loud buzzing dropped in pitch as his ears were stretched up, and the smell of dirt, grass, and sweat grew stronger in flaring nostrils. One of his sandals floated in front of his face, carried with apparent ease by one of his tormentors. It smiled at him, looking vaguely human while remaining completely alien to anything he had ever seen before.

Other blue figures appeared, drawing the leather out like brown taffy to create a tangle of straps that they yanked over his face. Bobby screamed, but the sound caught in his changing throat and emerged as a strangled wheeze. Each breath was deeper, lungs expanding in a barreling chest. The Mountain Dew drifted lazily through the air, collapsing in on itself as the metal was reshaped into something else. He blinked at it, dimly noting that the colors of both the glowing figures and the can itself were washing out. In seconds, the can had become a silvery horseshoe which dropped down onto the upturned lump that had been his right hand. He felt the cool metal for only a moment before the lump went numb and heavy, sculpted into a perfect hoof to match the shoe that was now permanently attached.

Bobby stared at the equine extremity, his mind overloaded. The changes bombarded his mind in such variety and quantity that he could only let the transformation wash over him. Bones thickened, internal organs altered size and shape, his teeth and tongue enlarged to fill the large protrusion of his muzzle. Muscles pulled and twitched in new places, including his skin. Curiously, the one sensation absent was pain. Though the experience was far from pleasant, being mauled into a new shape should have hurt like Hell.

A sense of urging was conveyed within the rumblings that now filled his elongated ears. They wanted him to get up. Bobby obeyed without thinking, rising awkwardly on what were now four legs. The swarm surrounded him, more gray than blue to his altered eyes, thickening skin into hide covered with shaggy, dark hair. One of the figures flew up with a familiar-looking scrap of paper – the Milky Way wrapper. A moment of confusion turned to resigned understanding. This was his sentence for littering. Harsh, but they’d given him several chances to save himself. He snorted and then gave a wheezing sigh.

Forward. He blinked, flicking ears back and forth a moment before following the unspoken command. They were settling on him, so light he was barely ware of their presence. A few still flew around his head, and he realized they were not quite done. His skull was deflating, the brain within shrinking as it emptied. It was a curiously pleasant sensation, like drifting off to sleep. And then Bobby dreamed he was a donkey.

***

“At least they didn’t go on a rampage this time.” Celia looked out the window where a group of tourists were posing for pictures. “And he is cute.”

Cillian snorted. “You just like him because he’s related now.”

The centauress wrinkled her nose. “From the back end he’s a dead ringer for a gnome I know.” She grinned at the rude gesture Cillian made in response and looked back at the tourists. The subject of their attention was a shaggy animal surrounded by a glowing blue swarm of the normally reclusive Fae. A crudely lettered sign said ‘PIKTURE WITH HEWMAN DONKEE - $50.’ Pretty steep for the privilege of posing with a green-eyed Jackass and some Fae, but magic was strange and new and scary and people would pay for pictures that showed it. They might as well get some profit out of it.

The End

[[File:Fairytailed5.jpg]]

File:Fairytailed5.jpg

2009-06-17T02:03:47Z

Posti: A picture is worth a thousand words - but is it worth a lifetime of braying? Bobby has plenty of time to think about that answer.

A picture is worth a thousand words - but is it worth a lifetime of braying? Bobby has plenty of time to think about that answer.

File:Fairytailed4g.jpg

2009-06-17T02:01:30Z

Posti: Little is left of the letter or the young man who tossed it. Bobby was taking pictures to sell - at least he ended up with stable employment.

Little is left of the letter or the young man who tossed it. Bobby was taking pictures to sell - at least he ended up with stable employment.

File:Fairytailed3.jpg

2009-06-17T02:00:20Z

Posti: A pull here, and prod there. The Fae can even make something useful out of a careless photographer, as Bobby is finding out.

A pull here, and prod there. The Fae can even make something useful out of a careless photographer, as Bobby is finding out.

File:Fairytailed2.jpg

2009-06-17T01:58:40Z

Posti: Where Bobby was tossing trash, the Fae have a much more 'green' view of things - finding new uses for unwanted items, such as turning soda cans into horseshoes.

Where Bobby was tossing trash, the Fae have a much more 'green' view of things - finding new uses for unwanted items, such as turning soda cans into horseshoes.

File:Fairytailed1 5g.jpg

2009-06-17T01:57:23Z

Posti: The Fae have a system of quick justice - once they decide you are guilty, it's time to serve sentence.

The Fae have a system of quick justice - once they decide you are guilty, it's time to serve sentence.

File:Fairytailed1.jpg

2009-06-17T01:56:17Z

Posti: Bobby is not a neat person - not a good thing in an enchanted forest where the fae ARE.

Bobby is not a neat person - not a good thing in an enchanted forest where the fae ARE.

User:Posti

2009-06-17T01:53:45Z

Posti: /* Stories */

==Stories==
*[[User:Posti/After_and_Before|After and Before]]
*[[User:Posti/Baylors_Rein|Baylor's Rein]]
*[[User:Posti/Bite_of_the_Apple|Bite of the Apple]]
*[[User:Posti/Blind_Man|Blind Man]]
*[[User:Posti/Bottom_Up|Bottom Up]]
*[[User:Posti/Broken_Hart|Broken Hart]]
*[[User:Posti/Business_Associate|Business Associate]]
*[[User:Posti/charlies_eyes|Charlie's Eyes]]
*[[User:Posti/Circe_com|Circe.com]]
*[[User:Posti/Cleaning_Up|Cleaning Up]]
*[[User:Posti/Clothes_horse|Clothes Horse]]
*[[User:Posti/Fairytail_Picture|Fairytail Picture]]
*[[User:Posti/Companion|Companion]]
*[[User:Posti/Gypsy_Gold|Gypsy Gold]]
*[[User:Posti/hangover|Hangover]]
*[[User:Posti/Hoof_Beat|Hoof Beat]]
*[[User:Posti/Jacked_into_the_System|Jacked into the System]]
*[[User:Posti/Joker|Joker]]
*[[User:Posti/Lasting_Impression|Lasting Impression]]
*[[User:Posti/Lost_in_Translation|Lost in Translation]]
*[[User:Posti/Midsummer|Midsummer Night's Unemployment]]
*[[User:Posti/Mortal_Danger|Mortal Danger]]
*[[User:Posti/No_Bull|No Bull]]
*[[User:Posti/One_Way_Ticket|One Way Ticket]]
*[[User:Posti/Outfoxed|Outfoxed]]
*[[User:Posti/paid_with_interest|Paid With Interest]]
*[[User:Posti/Quiet_Place|Quiet Place]]
*[[User:Posti/Peanut_Gallery|The Peanut Gallery]]
*[[User:Posti/rain_dance|Rain Dance]]
*[[User:Posti/real_time|Real Time]]
*[[User:Posti/Reenactment|Reenactment]]
*[[User:Posti/Reindeer_games|Reindeer Games]]
*[[User:Posti/Replacement_Cost|Replacement Cost]]
*[[User:Posti/Salvage|Salvage]]
*[[User:Posti/Simple_life|Simple Life]]
*[[User:Posti/Something_to_Remember|Something to Remember]]
*[[User:Posti/Special_Edition|Special Edition]]
*[[User:Posti/strapped|Strapped for Cash]]
*[[User:Posti/Substitution_penalty|Substitution Penalty]]
*[[User:Posti/Surrogate|Surrogate]]
*[[User:Posti/taken|Taken]]
*[[User:Posti/Team_Spirit|Team Spirit]]
*[[User:Posti/Totally_Pucked|Totally Pucked]]
*[[User:Posti/Unicorn_Dance|Unicorn Dance]]
*[[User:Posti/Wearin_of_the-Green|Wearin of the Green]]
*[[User:Posti/Where_Wolf|Where Wolf]]
*[[User:Posti/Whicker_Man|Whicker Man]]
*[[User:Posti/Xmas_Delivery|Xmas Delivery]]

{{author page|Bob Stein}}
{{DEFAULTSORT:Posti}}

Talk:Best of Shifti

2008-10-02T22:35:39Z

Posti:

No, no, NO! Not that one! ANYTHING but that one!

Yea, sure, you can use it.

--Michael Bard, Oct 1/2008

Yes. I give full permission to use my story 'Gaia's Rain' in your Anthology.

Felix Sagittarius

Aka James Wolf
10/1 2008

Thank you both! ^^

--[[User:Devin|Devin]] 17:51, 1 October 2008 (EDT)

Meh. Feel free, so long as the publication process doesn't screw up the formatting.
--[[User:Viqsi|Viqsi]] 20:47, 1 October 2008 (EDT)

Go for it. [[User:Cubist|Cubist]] 01:07, 2 October 2008 (EDT)

I hereby give permission to use my story in exchange for a contributor copy of the anthology.
--[[User:Xodiac|Xodiac]] 14:50, 2 October 2008 (PDT)

Hiya! I'd be happy to see Hoof Beat in print - for my part, since this is a fund raiser, a courtesy copy (or two, :grin:) of the book would be all the payment I would look for. Hope it works out! --[[User:Posti|Bob Stein]] 16:30, 2 October 2008 (EDT)

Talk:Best of Shifti

2008-10-02T22:33:57Z

Posti: /* Hoofbeat is OK to use */

No, no, NO! Not that one! ANYTHING but that one!

Yea, sure, you can use it.

--Michael Bard, Oct 1/2008

Yes. I give full permission to use my story 'Gaia's Rain' in your Anthology.

Felix Sagittarius

Aka James Wolf
10/1 2008

Thank you both! ^^

--[[User:Devin|Devin]] 17:51, 1 October 2008 (EDT)

Meh. Feel free, so long as the publication process doesn't screw up the formatting.
--[[User:Viqsi|Viqsi]] 20:47, 1 October 2008 (EDT)

Go for it. [[User:Cubist|Cubist]] 01:07, 2 October 2008 (EDT)

I hereby give permission to use my story in exchange for a contributor copy of the anthology.
--[[User:Xodiac|Xodiac]] 14:50, 2 October 2008 (PDT)

Hiya! I'd be happy to see it in print - for my part, since this is a fund raiser, a courtesy copy (or two, :grin:) of the book would be all the payment I would look for. Hope it works out!

Talk:Best of Shifti

2008-10-02T22:33:25Z

Posti: Hoofbeat is OK to use

No, no, NO! Not that one! ANYTHING but that one!

Yea, sure, you can use it.

--Michael Bard, Oct 1/2008

Yes. I give full permission to use my story 'Gaia's Rain' in your Anthology.

Felix Sagittarius

Aka James Wolf
10/1 2008

Thank you both! ^^

--[[User:Devin|Devin]] 17:51, 1 October 2008 (EDT)

Meh. Feel free, so long as the publication process doesn't screw up the formatting.
--[[User:Viqsi|Viqsi]] 20:47, 1 October 2008 (EDT)

Go for it. [[User:Cubist|Cubist]] 01:07, 2 October 2008 (EDT)

I hereby give permission to use my story in exchange for a contributor copy of the anthology.
--[[User:Xodiac|Xodiac]] 14:50, 2 October 2008 (PDT)

== Hoofbeat is OK to use ==

Hiya! I'd be happy to see it in print - for my part, since this is a fund raiser, a courtesy copy (or two, :grin:) of the book would be all the payment I would look for. Hope it works out!

User:Posti/Payback

2008-09-23T03:02:29Z

Posti:

[[Category:Story]] [[category:Bob Stein]] {{DEFAULTSORT:Payback}}
{{title|name=Payback|user=Posti|author=Bob Stein}}

(NOTE - this story goes with a great TF sequence by Kuma located on Transfur at: http://www.transfur.com/Gallery/ViewSequence.aspx?Sequence=7002)

God, it stinks in here. Wherever ‘here’ is. Piss, dead fish, diesel fumes, and dust – not the Waldorf, for sure, even if the twin gorillas who grabbed me tonight are wearing some fancy monkey suits. Heh. Gorillas in monkey suits. That would make a great punch line.

Speaking of punch lines, the bastard who punched me packs a good whallop. Not so much as a how-do you do – I had a fist in my gut before the door was all the way open. Still hurts like a son-of-a-bitch. I guess I knew what was going to happen anyway. If I’d made them bust the door down they’d have just been pissed off. Better to keep things strictly business, especially when you’re dealing with 7-foot-tall Neanderthals.

What was that? A fog horn? Dead fish and fog horns. Gotta be some sort of shipping or fishing operation close by. We did drive for a long time. Closest place with any kind of docks is Houston. Why move me so far from home? If they were planning to kill me I’d be lying in a pool of blood in my living room. These guys aren’t exactly known for finesse. Shit, I’m only into them for what? Twenty thousand? Well, maybe thirty, after today. Still, I know guys who owe more than that on credit cards and they aren’t even getting nasty phone calls.

Of course, it’s not so much what’s in my wallet, as who’s in it. After that big win at the track last week, I was sure my system couldn’t lose. So I max out credit with my bookie only to have the ‘sure thing’ I bet on get a cramp coming out of the starting gate. What kind of race horse gets cramps? The kind that gets guys like me bound and blindfolded in some stinking broom closet.

At least I think it’s a broom closet. Small enough that I can’t stretch out my legs, that’s for sure. None too clean, either. Mental note - make sure to at least throw on a bathrobe when I answer the door. Boxers and a sleeveless T-shirt don’t provide much protection from grit and other stuff I’d rather not think about.

Voices! Sounds like the gorillas again. Oh, crap. I’m happy in my broom closet, really. Just leave me…dammit! I’m jerked to my feet so hard I think my shoulder joint is going to pop out.

One of the gorillas talks. His voice is low and guttural, almost like grunting, but I can make it out. “Time to meet the boss, kid.” I wonder if it’s the one who punched me? Not that I could tell the difference between them even with the blindfold off. “Mind your manners, or we’ll have to mind ‘em for you.”

I wince as I am guided down a fairly long and vary dirty hallway or passage that is no cleaner than the closet. I just hope there isn’t any broken glass or other sharp stuff in the way. I don’t think these guys care much that I am barefoot. Then again, a few cuts is probably the best I can hope for. My gut clenches, but I hold on tight to the faint hope that I’m not gonna get hurt too bad. Maybe some humor will help. “Look, guys. I’m really not dressed to meet someone important. Why don’t you let me run home and change into something more appropriate?”

That at least gets a chuckle from the Ugly Twin on my right. “Not a worry, kid. In fact, I think you are overdressed for the occasion.”

Being in my underwear is overdressed? This is definitely getting weird, and not in a good way. So much for humor. I swallow hard to clear the lump in my throat. “Uh, am I going to be able to walk away from this meeting?”

This gets another laugh from both gorillas. I’m thinking that means ‘no’ until Ugly Twin number two pipes up. They sound the same, but he’s on my other side. “Oh, don’t worry, kid. You’ll be walking out of here fine. Just maybe not the way you’re used to.”

What the Hell does that mean? Before I can ask any more questions, I hear a creak of hinges ahead – sounds like they need oil. The rope around my wrists loosens and falls away, and then the blindfold is jerked off. Damn! My eyes burn at the sudden glare of bright light, but before I can raise a hand to shield them the gorillas grab my arms and drag me through some sort of big opening. As soon as we get inside, I’m hoisted up high and something stabs my butt.

“Hey!” Someone just jammed a hypodermic in my ass! I can’t see the bastard with the Ugly Twins holding me tight, and I’m not stupid enough to try struggling with a needle in me. Whoever it is slams the whole load into me in two seconds flat and jerks the hypo out. Then the bastards drop me, stepping back so I land on the spot that was just jabbed. “You assholes! What was that for?” The door thuds closed behind me.

“Something very special.” A new voice, coming through a speaker. Pretty mellow-sounding guy, especially after the two gorillas, but there’s something behind the words that makes the hair on the back of my neck prickle. As my eyes clear, prospects begin to look even bleaker. This is a big room, maybe 40 feet square, with concrete walls covered in peeling, institutional puke-green paint. The ceiling is a good 30 feet high, all open steel girders and flickering fluorescent lights. The only ways out look to be the door I was just dragged though and a big sliding panel opposite. Some new-looking mirrors are set about halfway up the wall on my left – probably one-way glass, like they use in police stations and stuff. I guess Mr. Mellow is behind them. He continues. “I assume you know why you are here?”

Swallowing hard, I look up at the glass. No point in playing dumb with this guy. “I missed a payment. Uh, two payments.” Whatever they shot me up with burns, and my side is already starting to swell. Some kind of poison?

“That’s part of it. I know times are tough, Tony. And I hear you’re a smart kid. That’s why I didn’t send the boys ‘round to remind you the first time. But then what happens? You win pretty big at the track , and instead of taking care of your financial responsibilities you blew it all on a fancy laptop computer. That was a real slap in the face, especially with you losing big again on my money today.”

Oh, shit. How did he know about the computer? I’m sweating like crazy and the burning is spreading. This is way bad. Yeah, guys like him do kill guys like me over thirty thousand. I was an idiot. But this can’t be the end of it, not over something so stupid as a new laptop. “Uh, sir? I know I messed up bad. I was so sure I had a winner! Look, I can cancel the order! That’s almost the two payments right there!”

“Almost.” Mr. Mellow sighs. “Do you know how many times I have heard that word, Tony? You agreed to certain terms and conditions when you accepted my money. An agreement that you have not honored. While I am not a vindictive man, I cannot allow my customers to take advantage of me.”

“Advantage!?” The word explodes out of me, but I don’t bother to check my anger. What’s the point? Whatever he’s injected me with is spreading fast – the slow burn is already working its way up my chest. I stand up, fists clenched, and glare at the mirrors. “You bastard! I got no warning, no nothing! You never even gave me a chance to make good! Just two goons who drag me here in the middle of the night to…” My throat tightens up and I can’t finish.

“To what?” Mr. Mellow actually chuckles. “To kill you? Certainly not! This is strictly business. A process that will convert you from a financial liability to a very marketable commodity. Enough to pay your original debts, plus all interest and penalties. A clean slate. There’s even a chance you’ll find the arrangements to your liking. Several of your predecessors have ended up quite happy in their new lives.”

Huh? I almost forget the burning at that. My brief flicker of hope turns into confusion. New lives? What the Hell is he talking about? Before I can ask, my whole body suddenly cramps up so badly I can only cringe and grunt in agony. My arms feel like they are being twisted out of their sockets, and an invisible vise clamps down on my skull.

It’s more than just pain. I can feel pulling in my muscles, and there’s a throbbing in my face and jaw. My underwear and shorts stretch tight and my belly is spilling over. What the Hell is this crap doing to me? I’ve heard of people reacting to bee stings like this, swelling up all over. And what’s with my hair? It’s hanging low, almost over my eyes. I haven’t had long hair since I was a little kid. Even weirder, there seems to be yellow-brown fuzz all over my body, with thicker patches on my arms.

So much is hitting m all at once it is hard to concentrate on anything. Every muscle is on fire, and I’d swear even my bones are throbbing. It has to be some sort of poison. All that talk about a clean slate must be his sick idea of a joke – build up hope and then watch me swell up and die. Or maybe end up crippled or deformed. Most people would start screaming and crying now, I guess. Me? I’m royally pissed.

“Asshole!” The word hisses out between clenched teeth. “It’s not enough just to kill me? You want to watch me suffer? Maybe beg for mercy? Well, fuck you! I’m not playin’ your…“ I gasp as a fresh wave of spasms rock my body, and grab at my head as the unseen vise closes a little tighter. As the haze of pain eases a little, I realize that there’s a lot more wrong with my head than just the pressure.

I have a beard. Not the faint chin stubble I’ve had since I was 16 – this is a real mountain-man thing, so thick and full I can barely feel my jaw. I try looking down but can’t see past my… oh, crap. Is that my nose? Broad, flat, and…hairy? What is happening to me? The mirrors are useless, set so high up that all I can see is the reflection of the ceiling.

“I have watched men die here, Tony. Some even younger than you. But that was never the intent.” Mr. Mellow sighs audibly. “The hazards of progress, I fear. Be happy that you are benefitting from their sacrifices.”

Another wave of white-hot pain burns bone and muscle so intensely that vision blurs and I think I might pass out. The bastard is still talking, but he might as well have been singing nursery rhymes for all I can understand through the haze of agony. Something about animals and genetics. Then the base of my spine decides to explode.
.
Whatever Mr. Mellow is saying is lost as I get the most bizarre wedgie ever – my boxers suddenly push away from my ass so violently I both hear and feel the fabric rip. At the same time I get hit by some really freaky sensations. Muscles pull in weird places and I can feel a new weight pulling and twisting behind me like some kind of snake grafted onto my butt.

I’m shaking so bad I can barely keep from falling over, but I’ll be damned if I’ll let this bastard break me. On the plus side, either I’m getting used to this torture or the pain is not so bad. That weird snake is hanging on, though, and as I slowly look down it clamps itself into my butt-crack and flicks up in front of my belly.

The ‘snake’ has golden fur and ends with a tuft of brown fur. And when I pick it up I can feel it. Not just what my fingers tell me, either. I can feel fingers touching me someplace I never had before. A tail. I have a tail? No. Fuckin’. Way. I sit down hard, something I immediately realize is a bad idea when you have something growing out of your spine.

As I stare at what seems to be a new addition to my body, I realize my hands look weird, too. Swollen up, with tawny hair cover the backs and dark, coarse-looking palms. There are patches of gold all over me, even my face. Poison doesn’t grow hair. Shit, nothing grows tails! And my body isn’t just swelling, it’s changing. At least, it looks and feels like it’s changing. But this can’t be real, so it has to be a hallucination. A really, really intense hallucination. “What did you do to me, you bastard? Shoot me up with Dope? You gonna screw up my mind with drugs?”

“You are not seeing things. Tony.” Mr. Mellow talks like he is chatting with me over beers. “You have a full beard and a nice coat of fur developing, and I’m afraid even your mother would not recognize your face. Not to mention the fact you are holding your own tail. It is quite fascinating to watch.”

Some of it he might guess, but the tail part catches my attention. At least what part of it can be pried away from growing fear that he is telling the truth. “But... that’s impossible!”

“Not impossible – just very expensive. You would be amazed at what it cost to come up with this process. However, I am sure you know my business is highly profitable. And like any good businessman, I try to invest some of my profits into new ways of making money.”

What’s..” My voice catches in my throat, a little raspy as if I had a cold or something. “What’s happening to me?”

“It should be obvious. You are becoming an animal.”

The covering of hair on my skin is thicker now; a golden tan covering that is starting to look like fur. Combined with the dark tuft of fur on the end of the... my tail, and the reddish-brown growth around my face, I make the connection. “You’re turning me into some kind of lion freak!”

“No. not a freak.” A cell phone rings. A friggin cell phone! “Excuse me a moment.” His voice is muffled as he talks to whoever it is, but I can make out his side of the conversation. “Yes, he is forming up well. You’ll be quite pleased. Lots of spirit.” I get a chill realizing they are talking about me. “No, you have to remember the process can’t add mass. Don’t worry. As long as you feed him up according to directions, he’ll hit 500 pounds by the end of the week.”

Me? A quarter-ton ? I’d be screaming ‘Bullshit’ if I didn’t have a firm grip on my tail. Even putting the fact this stuff exists aside, why would the Syndicate have it? Shouldn’t this be some Government thing, or at least a big research foundation or something? Except – what was that he said? They’d poured millions into developing it? And I bet they didn’t follow any legal drug testing process. Yeah, once you think about it, they’re the only ones who could pull it off. They have the cash and no Government controls. And no problem with the necessary ‘sacrifices.’

“Sorry for the interruption.” Mr. Mellow must have finished his phone call. “Your soon to be owner was anxious about your progress. We have had some… failures… in the past. Happily, you are proceeding perfectly.”

Owner? I’m going to be somebody’s property? Well, not yet. This guy says he has some new life all planned out for me, but I like what I got. Maybe there is still a chance. “Look, if I can pay back double, triple? Can you change me back? I swear I won’t ever tell anyone. Nobody would believe me anyway.”

“Sorry. It’s a one-way trip.” Mr. Mellow doesn’t sound sorry at all. “Not that they didn’t try – took several really messy failures before they figured out you could only rewrite the body once.”

“Then just leave me like this!” Even as I say it I know that’s not an option, so it’s no surprise when Mr. Mellow gives a short laugh.

“Come on, Tony! Look at yourself. Even if I could stop the process, which I can’t, you are currently what you quite accurately described as a ‘lion-freak.’ Would you really want to spend the rest of your life like this? I can assure you that you look considerably less human than the associates who collected you.”

“You mean that those guys…?” I don’t even finish my question. Like that should be a surprise.

“One of our side projects. Jobs for the homeless. Two abandoned kids who are no longer cold and hungry. I consider it a public service.”

The Ugly twins were kids? That explains a lot – they are probably part gorilla for real. So much for any chance of appealing to his better nature.

Oh, God. It’s all gone, isn’t it? Friends, family, my job, my apartment… sure, I screwed up some things, but for the most part ife has been pretty good. My throat gets tight, and my eyes burn. Shit! I am not gonna cry in front of this bastard! But I can’t even feel angry now. Just sick. He could have broken my arms, cut me up, done almost anything short of killing me, and I could have worked my way back. But this?

I clench my fist, fingers aching as I force them to fold. The joints are real stiff, and won’t bend all the way no matter how hard I try. But the pain helps me get angry again. This time at myself for getting into this spot to start with. I knew who I was dealing with when I made those bets. This is payback for being stupid. So what am I gonna do? Curl up in a ball and die? Fuck that. Whatever he does to me, I’m not about to throw in the towel. No matter how bad things get, I can find a…

Huh? My tail slips out of my grip suddenly and hits the floor with a dull thud. I stare at the empty hand a couple of seconds before the reason comes clear. The stuff is still working on me. My thumbs are shrinking. Hell, all of my fingers are shrinking, but the thumbs are going so fast I can actually see them move. Oh, shit! I was that things were almost done because I didn’t hurt as bad.

Mr. Mellow must be watching pretty close, because he jumps right in. “Looks like the secondary stage is kicking in. Won’t be long now.”

“Sehh…” I have to clear my throat twice before I can get words out, and even then it sounds more like I am grunting than talking. “Sheh-cun-dery? How muhh.. muuch am I gonna change.”

“All the way, of course. The only difference between you and a born lion will be whatever memories you keep. Even some of the instinctual stuff kicks in. Pretty amazing, really, how much is controlled by the genetic pattern.”

I work what is left of my fingers desperately, trying to deny what the bastard is telling me. They agree with him, though, and a glance down shows that my feet are also going along for the ride. My fingernails thicken and pull back into what used to be my fingertips. Pretty much paws now, broad and covered with yellow-brown fur, instead of hands and feet. Like the tail, they include some new muscles that extend dangerous-looking talons when I flex them. Great for ripping and shredding, but not so good for working a game controller. Weird thing is I am fascinated by the transformation almost as much as it terrifies me.

Mr. Mellow sounds rather pleased with himself. “That’s the beauty of Splicer. I can provide any animal someone desires – endangered species, animals you can’t import, even clones of pets and valuable domestic animals.”

“Do you remember the assistant DA who went missing a couple of months ago? He was investigating an associate of mine. The police didn’t find anything when they checked out my associate, but they did confiscate his new pet Boa Constrictor and take it to the zoo.” Mr. Mellow chuckles. “I love it. And the best part is it isn’t even illegal! In the very unlikely event we got caught, what could we be charged with? There is no law against transformation.”

A muscle spasm pulls at me again, and I have to catch myself with my hands… paws… to keep from doing a face-plant. My arms bend the wrong way. I guess it’s not the wrong way for animal forelegs. Shit. My humanity is fading faster with each heartbeat.

I force myself to stand, struggling against muscles and joints that don’t want to work that way anymore. Dammit, I’m not an animal! Not yet, anyway. I have to walk myself up the wall, and balance is wavering, but I finally manage to get myself mostly upright. It’s a strain on my neck and back, but I not going to give in.

My nose wrinkles at a growing odor. Sorta musky and warm, like when I go into the bathroom after I forgot to flush. Funny thing, that isn’t so bad. But there’s something a little rancid mixed in with the smell of piss and sweat. Then I realize it’s not so much the smell that is growing as my nose. Not to mention the rest of my face. Oh, damn! The worst root canal in history kicks in as my mouth pushes out. Vision blurs from the pain as my jaw reforms into an animal muzzle, expanding before my eyes to block more of the forward view.

The stink gets to be almost overwhelming. Problem is, the only thing in this room is me. What is all that? Body odor? Do lions sweat? The rancidness is probably fear – I’ve heard animals can smell that, even their own. My nostrils flare, drinking in the heavy musk. Was this what regular cats smell like? I’ve never been a cat person. I never had any pets. Too much work and responsibility. I have a crazy mental image of a giant litter box – it’s nice to know my sense of humor isn’t completely lost.

As the pain from the Splicer eases up, I start to become aware of other sensations. My clothes are stretched to the breaking point, the shirt riding high up on my chest and my shorts… well, let’s just say that they’ve gone from being loose boxers to ‘tighty whities.’ It’s pretty clear that my new lion’s equipment is substantially larger, especially the bulges that must be my testicles. I might even be happy about that if they weren’t being crushed into my crotch.

Looking down was a mistake. I can’t straighten up! Even worse, I can tell that my center of balance is shifting fast. Lifting my tail up behind me helps a little, but I won’t be on two legs much longer.

“You are doing quite nicely, Tony.” Mr. Mellow’s voice sounds a little different now, the electronic source slightly buzzy. My sense of hearing is changing, becoming more sensitive. “You are going to be a magnificent animal.”

Rage explodes and I spin and leap at the mirrors. “Bastarrrararrarrraaah!” My voice breaks into a creditable roar and I hit high enough that my claws scrape at the glass and leave gouges in the faded green paint. Dropping to the floor with a heavy thud, I stagger and fall back against the wall. My heart is pounding from the absolute need to rip Mr. Mellow into little pieces. Something I could do easily now, given the gouges I left in the concrete wall.

As satisfying as that thought is, it drives home the fact that I don’t have hands any more. Even the nubs of my fingers are gone. I can flex my paws, and the heavy claws extend and retract. That’s it. I can’t pick anything up, dial a phone, open a door. Shit, I can’t even touch someone, at least in any way they’d want to have contact.

“…surprised me, that’s all. Get this cleaned up.”

“Yes sir. Do you want another glass?”

The voices coming over the speaker are not directed at me, and I take a little satisfaction in realizing I must have scared Mr. Mellow with my attack. At least enough that he dropped whatever he was drinking. I mutter ‘Got you’ to myself – or try to. The sounds that come out of my muzzle are rumbles and growls - definitely not human. Crap. I try again, but the result is the same. I can’t talk any more.

No voice, no hands. No clothes, either. That sudden jump must have been too much for my T-shirt and boxers – they are just tatters of cloth hanging off my back and butt now. Not that I need clothing. The thick gold-brown pelt I can see on my arms… forelegs… and chest must be everywhere now. I can actually feel it if I think about it. That is some weird shit. Being aware of my skin, my whole body. I can move my ears – they are way higher on my head now.

I am leaning heavily against the concrete - too heavily. Lions are four-legged animals. Even knowing that, I twist around to face the wall and push myself away, trying to stand on my own one last time. It’s a useless effort. I flail at the air to stay upright, but fall forward, catching myself on what are now fully-formed forelegs. There’s no ‘catlike grace’ either. I hit with a jarring thud and nearly go sprawling as a violent shudder ripples though me from head to tail. The movement is enough to dislodge the remnants of my clothing, and I feel them slide off onto the floor. I drop my head, panting, lungs drawing in huge amounts of air.

The pain is gone. That’s the first good news I’ve come up with since the gorillas knocked on my door. God, I’m wiped, though. Exhausted doesn’t even come close. I feel like I’ve been buried in cement, and my legs tremble with the effort of just standing here.

“It looks like you are finished. Do you still understand me?”

I nod slowly, my head still hanging low.

“Excellent!” Mr. Mellow is very happy. I can hear it in his voice. “That’s why I chose you for this, Tony. I knew you could be something special. Not just a magnificent animal, but a predator of unique intelligence. My clients will be delighted.”

I don’t feel magnificent right now. In fact, I feel like shit. I take an experimental step and nearly fall. Shit. How do you walk on all fours? I’m a full grown lion who was never a cub. I guess it’s a little like crawling. That’s appropriate enough.

There’s a loud clunk, followed by scrapes and creaks as the sliding door rises up. “OK, Tony. There is a large container with food, water, and some padding on the other side of that door. You can either enter it on your own, or be shot with a tranquilizer and be dragged into it.”

If there was even the slightest chance I could get one of these bastards before they tranq’ed me I’d fight every step of the way. As it is, I’m not sure I can make it out of here without help. I stare at the opening. What do his clients want with an intelligent lion? Improve the breed? I’ve heard that lions are major sex machines. Even that doesn’t appeal to me right now, though it is way better than the more likely possibility that comes to mind.

I bet it’s pretty hard to find a place where you can still hunt a lion. Unless you stock your own. And the kind of sick bastard who’d pay to have a human transformed into an animal is likely to get an even bigger thrill when his prey knows it used to be human. How many of the other poor saps who’ve gone through this door before me ended up stuffed and mounted?

Fuck ‘em! Taking a deep breath, I fix the dark opening with a fierce glare and let loose with another roar. It’s the real thing this time, a thundering sound that rattles the mirrors and gives me the strength to stride in with my head held high. Whoever set this up might be getting a bit more of a challenge than expected. ‘Cause I’m not just prey - they made me a hunter, too. And payback’s a bitch.

The End

User:Posti/Payback

2008-09-23T02:58:52Z

Posti: New page: Category:Story category:Bob Stein {{DEFAULTSORT:Payback}} {{title|name=Payback|user=Posti|author=Bob Stein}} God, it stinks in here. Wherever ‘here’ is. Piss, dead fish, die...

[[Category:Story]] [[category:Bob Stein]] {{DEFAULTSORT:Payback}}
{{title|name=Payback|user=Posti|author=Bob Stein}}

God, it stinks in here. Wherever ‘here’ is. Piss, dead fish, diesel fumes, and dust – not the Waldorf, for sure, even if the twin gorillas who grabbed me tonight are wearing some fancy monkey suits. Heh. Gorillas in monkey suits. That would make a great punch line.

Speaking of punch lines, the bastard who punched me packs a good whallop. Not so much as a how-do you do – I had a fist in my gut before the door was all the way open. Still hurts like a son-of-a-bitch. I guess I knew what was going to happen anyway. If I’d made them bust the door down they’d have just been pissed off. Better to keep things strictly business, especially when you’re dealing with 7-foot-tall Neanderthals.

What was that? A fog horn? Dead fish and fog horns. Gotta be some sort of shipping or fishing operation close by. We did drive for a long time. Closest place with any kind of docks is Houston. Why move me so far from home? If they were planning to kill me I’d be lying in a pool of blood in my living room. These guys aren’t exactly known for finesse. Shit, I’m only into them for what? Twenty thousand? Well, maybe thirty, after today. Still, I know guys who owe more than that on credit cards and they aren’t even getting nasty phone calls.

Of course, it’s not so much what’s in my wallet, as who’s in it. After that big win at the track last week, I was sure my system couldn’t lose. So I max out credit with my bookie only to have the ‘sure thing’ I bet on get a cramp coming out of the starting gate. What kind of race horse gets cramps? The kind that gets guys like me bound and blindfolded in some stinking broom closet.

At least I think it’s a broom closet. Small enough that I can’t stretch out my legs, that’s for sure. None too clean, either. Mental note - make sure to at least throw on a bathrobe when I answer the door. Boxers and a sleeveless T-shirt don’t provide much protection from grit and other stuff I’d rather not think about.

Voices! Sounds like the gorillas again. Oh, crap. I’m happy in my broom closet, really. Just leave me…dammit! I’m jerked to my feet so hard I think my shoulder joint is going to pop out.

One of the gorillas talks. His voice is low and guttural, almost like grunting, but I can make it out. “Time to meet the boss, kid.” I wonder if it’s the one who punched me? Not that I could tell the difference between them even with the blindfold off. “Mind your manners, or we’ll have to mind ‘em for you.”

I wince as I am guided down a fairly long and vary dirty hallway or passage that is no cleaner than the closet. I just hope there isn’t any broken glass or other sharp stuff in the way. I don’t think these guys care much that I am barefoot. Then again, a few cuts is probably the best I can hope for. My gut clenches, but I hold on tight to the faint hope that I’m not gonna get hurt too bad. Maybe some humor will help. “Look, guys. I’m really not dressed to meet someone important. Why don’t you let me run home and change into something more appropriate?”

That at least gets a chuckle from the Ugly Twin on my right. “Not a worry, kid. In fact, I think you are overdressed for the occasion.”

Being in my underwear is overdressed? This is definitely getting weird, and not in a good way. So much for humor. I swallow hard to clear the lump in my throat. “Uh, am I going to be able to walk away from this meeting?”

This gets another laugh from both gorillas. I’m thinking that means ‘no’ until Ugly Twin number two pipes up. They sound the same, but he’s on my other side. “Oh, don’t worry, kid. You’ll be walking out of here fine. Just maybe not the way you’re used to.”

What the Hell does that mean? Before I can ask any more questions, I hear a creak of hinges ahead – sounds like they need oil. The rope around my wrists loosens and falls away, and then the blindfold is jerked off. Damn! My eyes burn at the sudden glare of bright light, but before I can raise a hand to shield them the gorillas grab my arms and drag me through some sort of big opening. As soon as we get inside, I’m hoisted up high and something stabs my butt.

“Hey!” Someone just jammed a hypodermic in my ass! I can’t see the bastard with the Ugly Twins holding me tight, and I’m not stupid enough to try struggling with a needle in me. Whoever it is slams the whole load into me in two seconds flat and jerks the hypo out. Then the bastards drop me, stepping back so I land on the spot that was just jabbed. “You assholes! What was that for?” The door thuds closed behind me.

“Something very special.” A new voice, coming through a speaker. Pretty mellow-sounding guy, especially after the two gorillas, but there’s something behind the words that makes the hair on the back of my neck prickle. As my eyes clear, prospects begin to look even bleaker. This is a big room, maybe 40 feet square, with concrete walls covered in peeling, institutional puke-green paint. The ceiling is a good 30 feet high, all open steel girders and flickering fluorescent lights. The only ways out look to be the door I was just dragged though and a big sliding panel opposite. Some new-looking mirrors are set about halfway up the wall on my left – probably one-way glass, like they use in police stations and stuff. I guess Mr. Mellow is behind them. He continues. “I assume you know why you are here?”

Swallowing hard, I look up at the glass. No point in playing dumb with this guy. “I missed a payment. Uh, two payments.” Whatever they shot me up with burns, and my side is already starting to swell. Some kind of poison?

“That’s part of it. I know times are tough, Tony. And I hear you’re a smart kid. That’s why I didn’t send the boys ‘round to remind you the first time. But then what happens? You win pretty big at the track , and instead of taking care of your financial responsibilities you blew it all on a fancy laptop computer. That was a real slap in the face, especially with you losing big again on my money today.”

Oh, shit. How did he know about the computer? I’m sweating like crazy and the burning is spreading. This is way bad. Yeah, guys like him do kill guys like me over thirty thousand. I was an idiot. But this can’t be the end of it, not over something so stupid as a new laptop. “Uh, sir? I know I messed up bad. I was so sure I had a winner! Look, I can cancel the order! That’s almost the two payments right there!”

“Almost.” Mr. Mellow sighs. “Do you know how many times I have heard that word, Tony? You agreed to certain terms and conditions when you accepted my money. An agreement that you have not honored. While I am not a vindictive man, I cannot allow my customers to take advantage of me.”

“Advantage!?” The word explodes out of me, but I don’t bother to check my anger. What’s the point? Whatever he’s injected me with is spreading fast – the slow burn is already working its way up my chest. I stand up, fists clenched, and glare at the mirrors. “You bastard! I got no warning, no nothing! You never even gave me a chance to make good! Just two goons who drag me here in the middle of the night to…” My throat tightens up and I can’t finish.

“To what?” Mr. Mellow actually chuckles. “To kill you? Certainly not! This is strictly business. A process that will convert you from a financial liability to a very marketable commodity. Enough to pay your original debts, plus all interest and penalties. A clean slate. There’s even a chance you’ll find the arrangements to your liking. Several of your predecessors have ended up quite happy in their new lives.”

Huh? I almost forget the burning at that. My brief flicker of hope turns into confusion. New lives? What the Hell is he talking about? Before I can ask, my whole body suddenly cramps up so badly I can only cringe and grunt in agony. My arms feel like they are being twisted out of their sockets, and an invisible vise clamps down on my skull.

It’s more than just pain. I can feel pulling in my muscles, and there’s a throbbing in my face and jaw. My underwear and shorts stretch tight and my belly is spilling over. What the Hell is this crap doing to me? I’ve heard of people reacting to bee stings like this, swelling up all over. And what’s with my hair? It’s hanging low, almost over my eyes. I haven’t had long hair since I was a little kid. Even weirder, there seems to be yellow-brown fuzz all over my body, with thicker patches on my arms.

So much is hitting m all at once it is hard to concentrate on anything. Every muscle is on fire, and I’d swear even my bones are throbbing. It has to be some sort of poison. All that talk about a clean slate must be his sick idea of a joke – build up hope and then watch me swell up and die. Or maybe end up crippled or deformed. Most people would start screaming and crying now, I guess. Me? I’m royally pissed.

“Asshole!” The word hisses out between clenched teeth. “It’s not enough just to kill me? You want to watch me suffer? Maybe beg for mercy? Well, fuck you! I’m not playin’ your…“ I gasp as a fresh wave of spasms rock my body, and grab at my head as the unseen vise closes a little tighter. As the haze of pain eases a little, I realize that there’s a lot more wrong with my head than just the pressure.

I have a beard. Not the faint chin stubble I’ve had since I was 16 – this is a real mountain-man thing, so thick and full I can barely feel my jaw. I try looking down but can’t see past my… oh, crap. Is that my nose? Broad, flat, and…hairy? What is happening to me? The mirrors are useless, set so high up that all I can see is the reflection of the ceiling.

“I have watched men die here, Tony. Some even younger than you. But that was never the intent.” Mr. Mellow sighs audibly. “The hazards of progress, I fear. Be happy that you are benefitting from their sacrifices.”

Another wave of white-hot pain burns bone and muscle so intensely that vision blurs and I think I might pass out. The bastard is still talking, but he might as well have been singing nursery rhymes for all I can understand through the haze of agony. Something about animals and genetics. Then the base of my spine decides to explode.
.
Whatever Mr. Mellow is saying is lost as I get the most bizarre wedgie ever – my boxers suddenly push away from my ass so violently I both hear and feel the fabric rip. At the same time I get hit by some really freaky sensations. Muscles pull in weird places and I can feel a new weight pulling and twisting behind me like some kind of snake grafted onto my butt.

I’m shaking so bad I can barely keep from falling over, but I’ll be damned if I’ll let this bastard break me. On the plus side, either I’m getting used to this torture or the pain is not so bad. That weird snake is hanging on, though, and as I slowly look down it clamps itself into my butt-crack and flicks up in front of my belly.

The ‘snake’ has golden fur and ends with a tuft of brown fur. And when I pick it up I can feel it. Not just what my fingers tell me, either. I can feel fingers touching me someplace I never had before. A tail. I have a tail? No. Fuckin’. Way. I sit down hard, something I immediately realize is a bad idea when you have something growing out of your spine.

As I stare at what seems to be a new addition to my body, I realize my hands look weird, too. Swollen up, with tawny hair cover the backs and dark, coarse-looking palms. There are patches of gold all over me, even my face. Poison doesn’t grow hair. Shit, nothing grows tails! And my body isn’t just swelling, it’s changing. At least, it looks and feels like it’s changing. But this can’t be real, so it has to be a hallucination. A really, really intense hallucination. “What did you do to me, you bastard? Shoot me up with Dope? You gonna screw up my mind with drugs?”

“You are not seeing things. Tony.” Mr. Mellow talks like he is chatting with me over beers. “You have a full beard and a nice coat of fur developing, and I’m afraid even your mother would not recognize your face. Not to mention the fact you are holding your own tail. It is quite fascinating to watch.”

Some of it he might guess, but the tail part catches my attention. At least what part of it can be pried away from growing fear that he is telling the truth. “But... that’s impossible!”

“Not impossible – just very expensive. You would be amazed at what it cost to come up with this process. However, I am sure you know my business is highly profitable. And like any good businessman, I try to invest some of my profits into new ways of making money.”

What’s..” My voice catches in my throat, a little raspy as if I had a cold or something. “What’s happening to me?”

“It should be obvious. You are becoming an animal.”

The covering of hair on my skin is thicker now; a golden tan covering that is starting to look like fur. Combined with the dark tuft of fur on the end of the... my tail, and the reddish-brown growth around my face, I make the connection. “You’re turning me into some kind of lion freak!”

“No. not a freak.” A cell phone rings. A friggin cell phone! “Excuse me a moment.” His voice is muffled as he talks to whoever it is, but I can make out his side of the conversation. “Yes, he is forming up well. You’ll be quite pleased. Lots of spirit.” I get a chill realizing they are talking about me. “No, you have to remember the process can’t add mass. Don’t worry. As long as you feed him up according to directions, he’ll hit 500 pounds by the end of the week.”

Me? A quarter-ton ? I’d be screaming ‘Bullshit’ if I didn’t have a firm grip on my tail. Even putting the fact this stuff exists aside, why would the Syndicate have it? Shouldn’t this be some Government thing, or at least a big research foundation or something? Except – what was that he said? They’d poured millions into developing it? And I bet they didn’t follow any legal drug testing process. Yeah, once you think about it, they’re the only ones who could pull it off. They have the cash and no Government controls. And no problem with the necessary ‘sacrifices.’

“Sorry for the interruption.” Mr. Mellow must have finished his phone call. “Your soon to be owner was anxious about your progress. We have had some… failures… in the past. Happily, you are proceeding perfectly.”

Owner? I’m going to be somebody’s property? Well, not yet. This guy says he has some new life all planned out for me, but I like what I got. Maybe there is still a chance. “Look, if I can pay back double, triple? Can you change me back? I swear I won’t ever tell anyone. Nobody would believe me anyway.”

“Sorry. It’s a one-way trip.” Mr. Mellow doesn’t sound sorry at all. “Not that they didn’t try – took several really messy failures before they figured out you could only rewrite the body once.”

“Then just leave me like this!” Even as I say it I know that’s not an option, so it’s no surprise when Mr. Mellow gives a short laugh.

“Come on, Tony! Look at yourself. Even if I could stop the process, which I can’t, you are currently what you quite accurately described as a ‘lion-freak.’ Would you really want to spend the rest of your life like this? I can assure you that you look considerably less human than the associates who collected you.”

“You mean that those guys…?” I don’t even finish my question. Like that should be a surprise.

“One of our side projects. Jobs for the homeless. Two abandoned kids who are no longer cold and hungry. I consider it a public service.”

The Ugly twins were kids? That explains a lot – they are probably part gorilla for real. So much for any chance of appealing to his better nature.

Oh, God. It’s all gone, isn’t it? Friends, family, my job, my apartment… sure, I screwed up some things, but for the most part ife has been pretty good. My throat gets tight, and my eyes burn. Shit! I am not gonna cry in front of this bastard! But I can’t even feel angry now. Just sick. He could have broken my arms, cut me up, done almost anything short of killing me, and I could have worked my way back. But this?

I clench my fist, fingers aching as I force them to fold. The joints are real stiff, and won’t bend all the way no matter how hard I try. But the pain helps me get angry again. This time at myself for getting into this spot to start with. I knew who I was dealing with when I made those bets. This is payback for being stupid. So what am I gonna do? Curl up in a ball and die? Fuck that. Whatever he does to me, I’m not about to throw in the towel. No matter how bad things get, I can find a…

Huh? My tail slips out of my grip suddenly and hits the floor with a dull thud. I stare at the empty hand a couple of seconds before the reason comes clear. The stuff is still working on me. My thumbs are shrinking. Hell, all of my fingers are shrinking, but the thumbs are going so fast I can actually see them move. Oh, shit! I was that things were almost done because I didn’t hurt as bad.

Mr. Mellow must be watching pretty close, because he jumps right in. “Looks like the secondary stage is kicking in. Won’t be long now.”

“Sehh…” I have to clear my throat twice before I can get words out, and even then it sounds more like I am grunting than talking. “Sheh-cun-dery? How muhh.. muuch am I gonna change.”

“All the way, of course. The only difference between you and a born lion will be whatever memories you keep. Even some of the instinctual stuff kicks in. Pretty amazing, really, how much is controlled by the genetic pattern.”

I work what is left of my fingers desperately, trying to deny what the bastard is telling me. They agree with him, though, and a glance down shows that my feet are also going along for the ride. My fingernails thicken and pull back into what used to be my fingertips. Pretty much paws now, broad and covered with yellow-brown fur, instead of hands and feet. Like the tail, they include some new muscles that extend dangerous-looking talons when I flex them. Great for ripping and shredding, but not so good for working a game controller. Weird thing is I am fascinated by the transformation almost as much as it terrifies me.

Mr. Mellow sounds rather pleased with himself. “That’s the beauty of Splicer. I can provide any animal someone desires – endangered species, animals you can’t import, even clones of pets and valuable domestic animals.”

“Do you remember the assistant DA who went missing a couple of months ago? He was investigating an associate of mine. The police didn’t find anything when they checked out my associate, but they did confiscate his new pet Boa Constrictor and take it to the zoo.” Mr. Mellow chuckles. “I love it. And the best part is it isn’t even illegal! In the very unlikely event we got caught, what could we be charged with? There is no law against transformation.”

A muscle spasm pulls at me again, and I have to catch myself with my hands… paws… to keep from doing a face-plant. My arms bend the wrong way. I guess it’s not the wrong way for animal forelegs. Shit. My humanity is fading faster with each heartbeat.

I force myself to stand, struggling against muscles and joints that don’t want to work that way anymore. Dammit, I’m not an animal! Not yet, anyway. I have to walk myself up the wall, and balance is wavering, but I finally manage to get myself mostly upright. It’s a strain on my neck and back, but I not going to give in.

My nose wrinkles at a growing odor. Sorta musky and warm, like when I go into the bathroom after I forgot to flush. Funny thing, that isn’t so bad. But there’s something a little rancid mixed in with the smell of piss and sweat. Then I realize it’s not so much the smell that is growing as my nose. Not to mention the rest of my face. Oh, damn! The worst root canal in history kicks in as my mouth pushes out. Vision blurs from the pain as my jaw reforms into an animal muzzle, expanding before my eyes to block more of the forward view.

The stink gets to be almost overwhelming. Problem is, the only thing in this room is me. What is all that? Body odor? Do lions sweat? The rancidness is probably fear – I’ve heard animals can smell that, even their own. My nostrils flare, drinking in the heavy musk. Was this what regular cats smell like? I’ve never been a cat person. I never had any pets. Too much work and responsibility. I have a crazy mental image of a giant litter box – it’s nice to know my sense of humor isn’t completely lost.

As the pain from the Splicer eases up, I start to become aware of other sensations. My clothes are stretched to the breaking point, the shirt riding high up on my chest and my shorts… well, let’s just say that they’ve gone from being loose boxers to ‘tighty whities.’ It’s pretty clear that my new lion’s equipment is substantially larger, especially the bulges that must be my testicles. I might even be happy about that if they weren’t being crushed into my crotch.

Looking down was a mistake. I can’t straighten up! Even worse, I can tell that my center of balance is shifting fast. Lifting my tail up behind me helps a little, but I won’t be on two legs much longer.

“You are doing quite nicely, Tony.” Mr. Mellow’s voice sounds a little different now, the electronic source slightly buzzy. My sense of hearing is changing, becoming more sensitive. “You are going to be a magnificent animal.”

Rage explodes and I spin and leap at the mirrors. “Bastarrrararrarrraaah!” My voice breaks into a creditable roar and I hit high enough that my claws scrape at the glass and leave gouges in the faded green paint. Dropping to the floor with a heavy thud, I stagger and fall back against the wall. My heart is pounding from the absolute need to rip Mr. Mellow into little pieces. Something I could do easily now, given the gouges I left in the concrete wall.

As satisfying as that thought is, it drives home the fact that I don’t have hands any more. Even the nubs of my fingers are gone. I can flex my paws, and the heavy claws extend and retract. That’s it. I can’t pick anything up, dial a phone, open a door. Shit, I can’t even touch someone, at least in any way they’d want to have contact.

“…surprised me, that’s all. Get this cleaned up.”

“Yes sir. Do you want another glass?”

The voices coming over the speaker are not directed at me, and I take a little satisfaction in realizing I must have scared Mr. Mellow with my attack. At least enough that he dropped whatever he was drinking. I mutter ‘Got you’ to myself – or try to. The sounds that come out of my muzzle are rumbles and growls - definitely not human. Crap. I try again, but the result is the same. I can’t talk any more.

No voice, no hands. No clothes, either. That sudden jump must have been too much for my T-shirt and boxers – they are just tatters of cloth hanging off my back and butt now. Not that I need clothing. The thick gold-brown pelt I can see on my arms… forelegs… and chest must be everywhere now. I can actually feel it if I think about it. That is some weird shit. Being aware of my skin, my whole body. I can move my ears – they are way higher on my head now.

I am leaning heavily against the concrete - too heavily. Lions are four-legged animals. Even knowing that, I twist around to face the wall and push myself away, trying to stand on my own one last time. It’s a useless effort. I flail at the air to stay upright, but fall forward, catching myself on what are now fully-formed forelegs. There’s no ‘catlike grace’ either. I hit with a jarring thud and nearly go sprawling as a violent shudder ripples though me from head to tail. The movement is enough to dislodge the remnants of my clothing, and I feel them slide off onto the floor. I drop my head, panting, lungs drawing in huge amounts of air.

The pain is gone. That’s the first good news I’ve come up with since the gorillas knocked on my door. God, I’m wiped, though. Exhausted doesn’t even come close. I feel like I’ve been buried in cement, and my legs tremble with the effort of just standing here.

“It looks like you are finished. Do you still understand me?”

I nod slowly, my head still hanging low.

“Excellent!” Mr. Mellow is very happy. I can hear it in his voice. “That’s why I chose you for this, Tony. I knew you could be something special. Not just a magnificent animal, but a predator of unique intelligence. My clients will be delighted.”

I don’t feel magnificent right now. In fact, I feel like shit. I take an experimental step and nearly fall. Shit. How do you walk on all fours? I’m a full grown lion who was never a cub. I guess it’s a little like crawling. That’s appropriate enough.

There’s a loud clunk, followed by scrapes and creaks as the sliding door rises up. “OK, Tony. There is a large container with food, water, and some padding on the other side of that door. You can either enter it on your own, or be shot with a tranquilizer and be dragged into it.”

If there was even the slightest chance I could get one of these bastards before they tranq’ed me I’d fight every step of the way. As it is, I’m not sure I can make it out of here without help. I stare at the opening. What do his clients want with an intelligent lion? Improve the breed? I’ve heard that lions are major sex machines. Even that doesn’t appeal to me right now, though it is way better than the more likely possibility that comes to mind.

I bet it’s pretty hard to find a place where you can still hunt a lion. Unless you stock your own. And the kind of sick bastard who’d pay to have a human transformed into an animal is likely to get an even bigger thrill when his prey knows it used to be human. How many of the other poor saps who’ve gone through this door before me ended up stuffed and mounted?

Fuck ‘em! Taking a deep breath, I fix the dark opening with a fierce glare and let loose with another roar. It’s the real thing this time, a thundering sound that rattles the mirrors and gives me the strength to stride in with my head held high. Whoever set this up might be getting a bit more of a challenge than expected. ‘Cause I’m not just prey - they made me a hunter, too. And payback’s a bitch.

The End

User:Posti/Following a Lead

2008-09-23T02:52:28Z

Posti:

[[Category:Story]] [[category:Bob Stein]] {{DEFAULTSORT:Following a Lead}}
{{title|name=Following a Lead|user=Posti|author=Bob Stein}}

I guess I should have stayed out of the investigation. Detectives don’t like beat officers horning in on their territory, especially when the officer in question shows them up. That’s how I ended up… oh, wait. I’d better start at the beginning.

Remember the Rodriguez disappearance? Really? You must not watch the news. Happened about a year ago. Miguel Rodriguez was one of the city’s least favorite sons – a major drug dealer whose lawyer knew every loophole in every law and court procedure. And when legal tricks didn’t work, key witnesses suddenly changed their stories, or just disappeared.

Anyway, they had the bastard cold on a Murder One charge thanks to a security video camera that caught the whole thing. For once, it looked like he was gonna lose – you can’t threaten or kill a videotape. Then his lawyer brings some guy in for a consultation, and Rodriguez vanishes in the middle of the session. I’m talking a maximum-security room in the middle of the city prison. No windows, and a guard outside the door. And guess who that guard was.

Right. Officer Jonathan Michael Sparks, also known as ‘Sparky.’ Except that after the incident with Rodriguez, my nickname changed to ‘Misfire.’ To think I used to hate ‘Sparky.’ The department screwed me over big-time. I mean, there was a video camera on the door, and it proved I didn’t leave my post for a second, and that no one came or went. But they had to have someone to blame, right?

The sleazebag lawyer and consultant both swore that Rodriguez had simply gotten up and walked out of the room. They got searched anyway, and questioned, but there was nothing to hold them on. Of course, the lawyer made a big stink in the media about how lousy police security was, and that particular ball of shit came rolling downhill all the way from the Mayor’s office and hit me square in the back.

Most guys would give up after something like that. I had pounded the streets for three years before finally working into the Response Squad – the first rung on the ladder to becoming a Detective. Then Rodriguez pulled a Houdini act and my police career was in the crapper. But I’ve always been stubborn, and it burned me to know that bastard Rodriguez had gotten away clean. So I stayed on the force and took the worst they could throw at me.

Damnation Alley - it’s the septic tank for the city, a place they send you when they want you to quit or get killed. Two out of every three murders in the city happen there – most of them don’t get more than a few sentences in the back of the local paper. So here I was, a blonde-haired, blue-eyed twenty-eight year-old in a police uniform, patrolling the heart of the drug and prostitution community. All I needed was a neon sign on my hat flashing ‘Shoot Me!’

If you go into a high-crime area all polished buttons and high ideals, you’ll be hearing ‘Amazing Grace’ from the wrong side of a coffin lid inside a week. However, I’m no rookie, and while I’m not corrupt, I have a very high survival instinct. Which means I know how to let the baddies know I am coming. If they’re dumb enough to keep dealing or pimping with me on the same the block, they’re too stupid to be in business anyway. Besides, the ringleaders know that a minor arrest here and there keeps the public satisfied. The police look like they are doing their jobs, and the drugs and prostitutes continue as usual.

You want Serpico? Rent a movie. Hell, when the pushers AND the prostitutes include kids who should be in grade school, you turn a blind eye. Besides, I had bigger fish to fry. Rodriguez ran one of the biggest operations in the city – no way he would walk away from it. I figured that if I was patient, made some contacts in the Alley, I’d hear something eventually. And helping catch Rodriguez just might restore my career.

So I walked the streets, doing my best to ignore the trash. There was an uneasy truce for a while. Then I caught a John beating up on a kid prostitute and broke his arm when he ‘resisted arrest.’ Saved the little girl’s life that night, though she ended up dead of an overdose a few weeks later. Anyway, after that, I was accepted as one of the family. Oh, they knew I’d still arrest them if they did stuff too openly, and I knew they’d shoot me in the back if I got too nosey. I didn’t say it was a –close- family.

Actually asking for information on Rodriguez would have been suicide, so I had to wait weeks before rumors finally started to reach me. Rodriguez was still running his operation. Rodriguez was back in town. Rodriguez wasn’t Rodriguez any more. That last one caught my attention fast. It had been three months since the disappearance, but his face was still on the Post Office wall. Maybe he had gotten some plastic surgery to change his features. It wouldn’t help him – with modern DNA testing and retinal scans, he could still be identified.

I tried working through the Precinct first. The Detectives weren’t interested in rumors. Truth be told, I think they had heard them already. In any case, I was told to bugger off and walk my beat – the case was under investigation by trained professionals. Naturally, I followed their wise advice - until I got out of the building. After all, it wasn’t –their- career on the ropes.

It took some dealings that I’m not proud of to dig down into Rodriguez’s world. Taking small bribes here and there that turned into bigger bribes. I never spent the money, honest. It’s all still in a safe deposit box, addressed to Internal Affairs. But I had to establish myself as a crooked cop to join the sludge of humanity surrounding Rodriguez.

One night, right at the end of my beat, a Latino kid pulls up in a junker lead-sled. You know, the beat-up old cars that have the chassis scraping the ground and a speaker system that makes the ground shake? Anyway, this Homeboy – who looks like a barely pubescent Ricky Martin – leans over and flashes a movie-star smile at me. “Say, Sparky! Got someone who wants to meet you. Could be some real bucks in it for you, if you ain’t as stupid as you look!”

I didn’t know this kid from Adam, and here he was calling me ‘Sparky.’ The comment about being stupid-looking wasn’t as true then as it is now, but getting into the car wasn’t my smartest choice. He could have been planning to blow my head off as part of a gang initiation. Still, a cop has to trust his instincts, and mine were telling me this was the chance I had been waiting for.

He rolled the moment I was inside, laying twin trails of rubber for half a block. The outside might look ratty, but there was some serious machinery under the hood. Once I relaxed my grip on the armrest and looked around, it was pretty obvious that Homeboy was into some major dealings. The sound system was worth more than my Taurus, and he was wearing what looked to be a real Rolex. That was the problem with drugs – how do you tell a sixteen year-old kid to flip hamburgers at McDonalds for minimum wage instead of raking in fifty grand a month dealing Crack?

There was no conversation. I was mildly surprised when we drove out of Damnation Alley, but didn’t start to worry until Homeboy took the interstate out of town. He would grin at me every now and then, as if he had some great joke in mind. By the time he took the off-ramp to the shipping terminals, I was truly afraid the punch line would be a .38 bullet in my brain.

He used a pass card to open a security gate, and pulled into one of the dozen or so storage yards surrounding the docks. Stacked shipping containers towered over us, rusty mountains that almost vanished as they reached up into the night sky. We wound between them, finally stopping by a sagging, rusty mobile home that might have served as an office a dozen years ago.

“Go on inside, Sparky.” Homeboy gestured at the trailer. “Don’t keep the Man waiting.” I could tell I’d struck pay dirt from the way that he said it. I got out and headed for the trailer door, half-expecting a slug in the back. However, the car rumbled slowly off behind me. The door was cracked open, and showed light that was not visible through the windows.

I felt like an idiot. OK, I was an idiot – coming here alone, no one even knowing where I was, much less having any kind of backup. All of a sudden, I could think of a lot of new careers I could try. But it was too late to back down. Forcing myself to at least look calm, I knocked.

“Come in, Officer Sparks.” The male voice sounded vaguely familiar, but it wasn’t Rodriguez. Another Drug Lord looking to buy me off?

Opening the door, I stepped in and did a double-take. The plushest lawyer’s office had nothing on the interior of that ancient mobile home. Polished wood paneling, thick green carpet, even a fireplace crackling away in the corner.

“Come in, Officer. Make yourself comfortable.” The speaker was sitting in an overstuffed leather chair, his face obscured by shadows that shouldn’t be there. “Would you like something to drink? Anything at all?”

“How about a cherry Coke?” I was trying to be funny, but the man simply pointed to a small counter near the fireplace. A soda fountain glass filled with dark, fizzy liquid was sitting there. I blinked and walked over to pick it up. The surface was still foaming, as if the drink had just been poured. I took a cautious sip – Cherry Coke. Not the canned stuff, but an honest-to-God soda fountain Cherry Coke, with real syrup and a maraschino cherry in the bottom of the glass.

Funny the things that can scare you. The moment I tasted that drink, I was absolutely terrified, and I didn’t know why. Except, maybe, that there was no way for this guy to know I’d ask for a Cherry Coke. Hell, I hadn’t had one since I was a kid. Had to be my subconscious at work – the drink must have been there all along, and I somehow picked up on it. Right?

There was another of the big leather chairs there and I sat down, still holding the Coke. Even from a different angle, the man’s face was in shadow. That was almost as creepy as the soda. The light was even everywhere else in the room, and there was nothing around him. I took another sip of the drink, then cleared my throat. “So, what can I do for you?”

The trailer door opened suddenly, and Homeboy came sauntering towards me. I tensed, but he walked past and grabbed a drink from the counter that hadn’t been there a moment before. Then he plopped down in the remaining chair and grinned at me. “So, Sparky. Whatcha’ think of my Man?” In the light, this kid was pretty stunning – perfect skin, perfect teeth, perfect hair. He was almost a parody of boy-band heartthrobs - and his tight jeans made it pretty obvious that puberty had been more than kind.

“We haven’t really had time to chat, Miguel.” The man in the corner tented his fingers. There was a touch of annoyance in his voice. “I thought you might want to handle things.”

I blinked. Miguel? But then, that was a common name in the Latino community. Odd coincidence, though.

“Yeah, right!” The kid leaned forward, staring at me intently. “Life’s gotten a little tough for you, hasn’t it? How do you like pounding pavement in Damnation Alley?”

The hair on the back of my neck began to prickle, but I tried to look casual. “I got screwed by the Commissioner. They know I didn’t let Rodriguez escape – but I was the one that got crucified.” I shrugged. “Shit happens.”

“Yeah.” Miguel giggled. “It sure does. So, you fixin’ to get even? Screw the police like they screwed you? I could use a cop on the inside. Someone to feed me information, maybe even liberate some evidence now and then. You interested?”

This kid was the Boss? I had a pair of dress shoes almost as old as he was. Alarm bells were going off in my brain. What the Hell was I mixed up in? Then I suddenly understood. The rumors, even his name made sense. Feeling confident again, I leaned back in the chair and gave Homeboy a smug look. “Maybe. Not for free, though. You’re Rodriguez’s son, right? Running things for the old man while he hides out?”

Homeboy laughed. It wasn’t a pleasant sound, and my smugness began to evaporate. “Hiding? Fuck, man. Your maximum-security room couldn’t hold me. Why should I worry about some piss-ant flatfoot who won’t follow orders?” He leaned forward with a cold smile. “You wouldn’t let it go, would you? They told you to forget me, but you’re too stubborn.”

“Rodriguez?” I stared at the boy, trying to find some trace of the hawk-faced, thirty-something drug lord. “Bullshit! There isn’t enough plastic surgery in the world, unless you also happened to find the Fountain of Youth.” Then something else he said struck home. The only people who knew I’d been tracking Rodriguez were the Detectives on the case. I hadn’t even told the Commander, afraid of an insider leak. Someone on the force had ratted me out. I was a dead man.

I jumped up suddenly, jerking out my gun and pointing it at the kid. He didn’t even flinch. “OK, Rodriguez, or whoever you are. I’m tired of this shit! We’re gonna take a little trip down to headquarters. This pistol has a hair trigger. Even if one of your buddies shoots me, I’ll still take you out.”

“A hair trigger?” The man in the shadows spoke up. “That’s a good idea.”

The cool, reassuring sensation of steel under my finger abruptly vanished, replaced by something very soft and flexible. Sure enough, I looked down to see a lock of blonde hair inside the trigger guard. My mouth fell open, and I’m ashamed to say I wet myself. Like I said, it’s weird the things that will scare you.

Miguel must have seen the spreading stain. “What’s the matter, Sparky? Don’t think it’s bullshit now, do you?”

I could see the truth in his eyes now - cold, hard eyes that I’d seen before. “But it’s impossible! I mean, you’re a kid!” Initial panic was fading into the sick realization that I wasn’t leaving here alive. Yet even that knowledge wasn’t enough to kill my curiosity. “How did you do it? How did you escape from the room? They searched everywhere! Even your lawyer and that… ” I suddenly remembered where I’d heard the shadow man’s voice before and spun to face him. “The consultant!”

“So nice to see you again, Officer Sparks.” The man rose from his dark corner and nodded cordially. Unlike the rejuvenated Rodriguez, there was nothing remarkable about him at all. Average height, brown hair and eyes, average build - he could be any one of a million store clerks and insurance salesmen. “Though I am afraid you are not quite so happy to see me.”

“You want to know how I got away?” Rodriguez sneered at me. “I think you should get a first-hand demonstration. Do him! Now!” When the shadow-man did not respond, he stood and glared at him. “I said now, Wizard!”

Wizard? As in abracadabra and hocus-pocus? The concept was impossible. Just like the teenage Rodriguez.

“I think not, Mr. Rodriguez. I find him interesting. Someone I can work with.” The Wizard regarded me a moment, then shifted his gaze to Miguel. “You, on the other hand, are not worth the trouble. I believe you wanted Officer Sparks to see how you escaped?”

The boy’s cold sneer was suddenly replaced with a look of pure terror. “No! I paid you! We had a deal!” He began backing away, and I took no small satisfaction in seeing a dark stain spreading on –his- pants.

I heard the Wizard say something. The sounds are still in my head, but I can’t figure out if they were foreign words or just nonsense. Then I jumped back as Rodriguez started to glow. I’m talking poker-in-the-fire glowing, as if someone had turned on a thousand-watt bulb inside him. That incredibly handsome face darkened and twisted into the stuff of nightmares – bulging eyes, pinchers, and long antennae that pushed out of his skull. I think he screamed – I know I did. Then the monstrosity collapsed into itself, leaving a pile of clothing that evaporated into a cloud of blue smoke. I stared down as the haze cleared, revealing a medium-sized cockroach that dashed for the wall – only to be crushed under the Wizard’s brown loafer.

“That takes care of Mr. Rodriguez.” He smiled easily at me, and raised one eyebrow. “Now, what shall we do with you?”

This is the point where the hero says something really witty, or suddenly pulls out that hidden second gun and blows the bad guy away, right? Wrong. Hell, if I had thought throwing myself at his feet and begging would have helped, believe me, I’d have groveled with the best of them. But I knew deep in my gut that whatever this guy was, compassion wasn’t part of the mix.

Very slowly, I lay the useless gun on the floor and raised my hands. “Look, mister. I don’t know who or what you are, and I don’t want to know. Nothing you’ve done so far is against the law.” That much was the truth - there were no laws on the books then about magical transformation. “Rodriguez was headed for the electric chair when he escaped, so I figure you saved the State some electricity. How ‘bout you let me walk out of here, and I promise not to tell anyone what I saw? No one would believe me anyway.”

“What? No heroics?” The Wizard gave that cold smile again. “And I thought I’d found myself a fierce warrior, a lion who was ready to wage war with the system. But you’re not a warrior, are you? Not too smart, either. Still, you have a stubborn streak that I find amusing, and surprising resourcefulness and patience. You would have probably made a very good Detective.”

His use of the past tense told me all I need to know - he did not plan for me to leave. Using peripheral vision and memory, I tried to come up with some method of escape while I tried to buy some time with more pelading. “With Rodriguez gone, my career is down the tubes anyway. There aren’t any ties for me here. I’ll move away, start over somewhere else.” God, I actually -was- begging!

“I am sure you’re a man of your word, Officer Sparks.” The Wizard sighed and shook his head. “However, I do not like loose ends. Which brings me back to my original question. What do I do with you?” The he smiled suddenly, and he began uttering those sounds again.

There were heavy drapes on the far wall, about the same area where I’d seen a cracked, dirty window from the outside. I launched myself towards the curtains, hoping I wouldn’t end up slamming into a solid wall. For the first time tonight, luck was with me. I sailed cleanly through the opening just as the entire trailer exploded. A ball of flame followed me out of the window, creating a blast of heat and pressure that seemed to pass through me.

The drapes protected me from the broken glass, and may be even the fire, but they also tangled up around my arms and legs. I hit the ground hard, knocking the air from my lungs and leaving me dazed. It took another moment or two to realize that the trailer was completely dark and silent.

Scrambling up, I moved over by the nearest stack of containers, half expecting the guy to come flying out on a broomstick. Yeah, it sounds stupid now. But when you have just seen a gun grow hair and a boy turn into an insect, broomsticks and black cats just seem to fit. If there had been more light shows, strange sounds, even a flicker of movement, I would have run like Satan himself was after me. For all I knew, that was exactly who the guy was.

But there was nothing. I could see into the trailer now, thanks to the shattered main window. The inside was dark, and I noticed that the front door was hanging partly open. Thee was no sign of smoke or fire, and despite the force of the explosion, the only visible damage was the broken window. Actually it was more than that. The whole place felt different. Abandoned.

I had to check it out. Yeah, I really was that stupid. But my hat was lying on the ground, and once I slipped close enough to pick that up, it was obvious that the trailer was empty. Nudging the door open with one foot, I crouched low and peered inside. I could just make out a ratty, broken recliner in the dim light filtering in from the pole lamp outside. The trailer was a dump, floor covered in trash, the ceiling and walls stained and sagging. The fireplace and leather chairs had vanished along with the Wizard.

I fumbled for my flashlight, pulling it out of the belt loop and turned it on. Some scrap paper slid across the floor, stirred by a breeze coming in through the broken window. No one had used this trailer as more than a garbage dump in years. Then the beam reflected off of something shiny on the other side of the recliner. My gun. I went inside and picked it up. The trigger was cold and hard, solid metal again.

God! Had I imagined the whole thing? Or been slipped some sort of drug? Actually, both possibilities were a huge relief compared to what I thought I had just witnessed. Very slowly, my heart began to drop to a normal rhythm as I holstered my gun. I’d call in sick, maybe even make an appointment with the department Shrink. And tell her what? That I saw Rodriguez as a teenager who turned into an insect? That would go over big.

Shaking my head, I turned to leave, only to freeze as something crunched under my shoe. A cockroach. My heart started pounding again, and I nearly fell over my own feet as I scrambled back out of that trailer. I didn’t stop running until I was pressed against a stack of containers on the other side of the lot. Only then did I realize how stupid I was being. Freaking out over a cockroach? There were probably thousands of them in that ancient mobile home.

Except that Homeboy’s lead sled was still parked next to the fence. I approached it cautiously. Empty of course, but just as I remembered it. The keys must have been in Rodriguez’s pocket when he turned into… I blocked out that nightmare, knowing what I thought I had seen was impossible. Even so, something had happened. Discounting everything else, I was still standing in the middle of a container storage yard about ten miles from my beat.

Getting back to Damnation Alley was harder than you might think. I couldn’t call in on the radio without having to do a lot of explaining. Luckily, there was a working payphone a few blocks away, and the cabby was smart enough not to ask questions. My shift sergeant wasn’t too happy when I finally checked in, but I wasn’t late enough to get more than slight snarl. Which left me free to go home and get quietly and completely drunk.

It’s surprising how much a hangover helps you cope with the impossible. When breathing hurts and your head spins every time you try to stand up, misfiling horrible memories under ‘Great hallucinations I have had’ comes as second nature. Less surprising was the rather brief mourning period caused by Rodriguez’s disappearance. There isn’t a lot of sentimentality in the drug and prostitution world – they were back to business as usual with someone else was running things in less than a week.

Of course, I was totally screwed. Though I continued to deny my memories of that night, I knew in my heart that Rodriguez was gone. Which meant I had no way to redeem myself with the Precinct. On the flip side, I was suddenly a lot more popular on the streetr. Whores and junkies were waving and smiling, even some of Rodriguez’s old people. It seemed that Homeboy had told a few of his friends how he was going to waste a nosy cop. So when I returned from the ride and Homeboy didn’t, they all figured that I had wasted him instead.

That kind of assumption can be really helpful in Damnation Alley. However, word also spread to the Precinct, probably through whoever had sold me out in the first place. Not officially, of course. Still, the few people I had trusted were suddenly ‘unavailable,’ and other doors now opened to me led to places I did not want to go.

If I really was a crooked cop, I’d actually have been in a good position. When the Precinct has someone who can survive the Alley, they don’t particularly care if that someone is taking a little extra on the side. Call it a Hazardous Duty bonus that the department doesn’t have to pay. Most of the officers working ‘shit details’ tend to have a little more spending cash than the regular Joes. Of course, their widows tended to collect benefits a little sooner that those of the regular Joes as well.

However, there wasn’t a Mrs. Sparks or Sparky Junior to complicate my situation. And tolerated or not, accepting bribes made me feel dirty. Problem was, I’d started to accept them to get close to Rodriguez, and you didn’t suddenly stop accepting ‘favors’ without raising fears. So that safe deposit box got heavier, and my soul got darker and dirtier.

I figured that was why I started having the nightmares. They began the night of that meeting with Homeboy - nothing really bad at first. Curious, really. The lead sled would pull up next to me, and when I looked in, there was that Ricky Martin face grinning from the top of a cockroach’s body. Or sometimes I’d be riding a giant bucking cockroach like a cowboy, while a very ordinary-looking man applauded from the side. Not exactly visions of sugarplums, but I only woke up in a sweat once or twice.

The second week, my subconscious upped the ante a bit. I’d be in that dump of a motor home, trying to find a way out while a huge shoe came down to crush me. Sometimes I’d dream I woke up as Homeboy, only to turn into a cockroach myself. And the Wizard was always in the background, sometimes nothing more than a reflection in the mirror or a shadow on the wall. He never seemed to do anything threatening - just watch me and applaud the end, no matter how horrible it might be.

I could have tried talking to the Department Shrink. Problem was, the truth behind my dreams was a lot scarier than the dreams themselves, and it was also a lot more likely to get me locked up in a padded cell. So I tried to cope. Cigarettes made me sick, and even when I forced myself to stick with them for a couple of days, they didn’t help with the nightmares. So I tried caffeine, chocolate, and yes, donuts. At least until I realized my uniform was getting tight real fast.

I was surprised how fast I bulked up. After all, I walked a good 20 miles or more every night. Maybe it was just age. Lots of guys start get heavier when they approach 30. And the sparse body hair I’d had since my late teens suddenly started to thicken all over. Again, a pretty common sight in the locker room. At least I wasn’t losing anything on top – if anything, my hairline actually seemed to be dropping.

Cutting back on sweets didn’t help at all. Neither did eliminating all sugar, even in my coffee. Then I tried eating a lot of salads and vegetables, cutting out meat and fats. Though I developed quite a taste for romaine lettuce and carrots, my waistline continued to migrate outward. Funny thing was, I didn’t feel heavy or awkward. Except for having tight clothes, I seemed to have more energy than ever. At least some of it was muscle. On one of my increasingly infrequent busts, I grabbed a dealer who was giving me some lip and pushed him back. He landed about thirty feet away. After that, I cut out the caffeine.

Despite all those problems, and nightmares that now left me wide-awake and shaking, I didn’t go to the doctor’s until my hands and feet started to get stiff. Extra weight and bad dreams were things I could deal with - arthritis at 28 I could not.

So I made an appointment with Stanley Pecksok, the doctor that performed my medical exam for the police academy application. We saw each other once a year for my regular checkup, with an occasional visit when I got a flu bug and once for a sprained ankle.

The first real indication of trouble came when the nurse asked me to step up on the scale. You know, those big digital ones where everyone within fifty feet can see the readout? Two hundred and eighteen pounds! I had never weighed more than one seventy-five in my life! The nurse clucked her tongue disapprovingly as she wrote down the reading. My first thought was that the scale had to be wrong, but I knew better. Even so, it was still a shock. That was more than a forty-pound gain in less than three months!

I followed her to the examination room, where she told me to strip to my skivvies and wait for the doctor. It was rather obvious she had no desire to see me in that condition, rapidly pulling the door closed before I started unbuttoning my shirt.

That was more than a little humiliating. Not that women ever threw themselves at my feet or anything, but I had always been passably good-looking package. Some of the prostitutes in the Alley would flirt with me every now and then – male and female. Thinking back, though, it had been a while since any of them had said anything.

The next signal was Pecsok’s reaction when he came in. Granted, I didn’t expect him to really remember my name without looking at the chart first, but this time he didn’t seem to recognize me at all.

“Jon?” He looked at the chart again, frowning. “Jon Sparks?”

The bewildered look in his eyes told me just how wrong things were. It probably sounds ridiculous now, but God’s honest truth, when I turned and looked in the examination room’s full-length mirror, it was the first time I really saw what had been happening to me.

All I had in the apartment was a small mirror over the bathroom sink, and the changes had been spread out over weeks. Even when my chest and arms started to go Neanderthol, I had never thought to check the rest of my body. Seeing everything all together was a real shock. My back was almost completely covered with an even heavier layer of straight brown hair that continued down my butt and thighs, with a thinner coat spread evenly over the rest of my body. The proportions looked weird, too, like my body was a little too long. Worse, my protruding belly looked more like I was pregnant than fat.

Taking a step closer, I looked hard at the face I had shaved just that morning and compared it to recent memory. God, How could I have not noticed before? My hair was darker all over, more dirty blonde than the near-white it had been most of my life, and had grown down the back of my neck to blend into the dense coat on my shoulders. And my ears looked weird – maybe it was the black fuzz that almost obscured the edges, but they seemed both larger and higher than they should be.

The examination itself was pretty routine. I remember mumbling answers as Pecsok went over the standard questions. Recent weight gain was obvious, and I told him about trying to diet. I don’t think he believed I was living off of salad. And it almost made me laugh when he asked if I had been under any unusual pressure at work.

You’d think that with all this weird stuff going on, my blood pressure would be sky-high, right? Wrong. Both readings were lower than normal, and my heart rate was down to about 58 beats per minute, as opposed to the normal 70. My temperature was up a bit, but not enough that the doctor showed any concern. In fact, he joked about recommending gaining weight to all his patients.

It took a good twenty minutes to get to the reason I had actually come. He looked at my fingers, moving them back and forth as he felt the joints and asked questions. No, it didn’t hurt. No, I wasn’t having trouble holding things, and my grip was as strong as ever. No, I didn’t use a computer much. The problem was both my hands and feet felt less flexible, almost like I was trying to move them through sand.

There was no obvious swelling of the joints, or any other indication of arthritis. Pecsok said the stiffness could be related to job functions, and recommended orthopedic shoes and gloves for colder nights. My hair growth was put off to age and genetics – a little unusual, but nothing to worry about. In the end, all I got was a photocopied page with calorie charts and recipes to help with the diet and orders to call him if any of problems got worse. Oh, he did set up a lab visit for blood workups. I didn’t bother to go. Something was very wrong with me, but I was pretty sure normal medicine wasn’t going to be any help.

It was obvious that the ball of fire that followed me out of the trailer window had done more than singe my clothes. What I thought had simply been an impression of heat passing through me must have been a spell of some sort. Yeah, it took me long enough to figure that out, but remember, most of the world still thought magic was all sleight of hand and trap doors.

Anyway, that left me with a couple of things to figure out. First of all, what was happening to me? The fur seemed to rule out joining Homeboy as a cockroach -–I was grateful for that much, anyway. Besides, I was getting larger, not smaller. Not just heavier, but taller, too. That was a strange bit – my pants legs actually started to bag a little, but my body got longer. Wonder what the Doctor would make of that? My shirts wouldn’t stay tucked in, and with the increasingly prominent belly, I started looking like a cartoon plumber in desperate need of a case of Nair.

The other big question was could I do anything about it? Some people would run and hide until whatever happened was done, or go screaming and wailing about their terrible misfortune. Screw that. As long as I could still think and move, I had a chance. And as for terrible misfortune? Well, I figured that Rodriguez would have blown me away himself if he hadn’t thought the Wizard would follow orders, so every minute after that meeting was a gift.

I decided to make use of those gifts to find the Wizard. Yeah, that’s right. I decided to go looking for him. What choice did I have? It’s not like there’s a “Spells R’ Us” on every corner. As far as I knew, he was the only person in the world, in the universe, maybe, who had the power to do whatever he had done to me. Which meant he was also the only person who could make it stop.

The logical first stop was Rodriguez’s lawyer. After all, he was the one who had gotten the Wizard inside the holding cell. Daniel Cohen was his name, a sharp, smooth-talking criminal lawyer that would cheerfully defend his own mother’s killer. By a rather strange coincidence, it turned out he had left on an ‘extended vacation’ just a few weeks after Rodriguez disappeared. No contact address or phone, of course. I wondered if the vacation was voluntary – or permanent. Not that I would shed any tears to find he was now a sewer rat, but it seemed that my search had hit a major dead end right before it started.

Of course, I checked out other possibilities just to be sure. Damnation Alley has a wealth of resources for the truly desperate. No, not the neighborhood dealers and hookers. I’m talking the really weird shit - Voodoo, occult, pagan cults. You know, the people who base their whole religion, their way of life, on the belief that things like what was happening to me were possible? Right. At least, until they actually come face to face with it.

Most of them thought it was a joke at first, though a few got nasty when they got the idea I was part of some Police sting operation. All I had to do was take off my shirt to get past that part. That was when the reactions got interesting. One old black lady who professed to be a witch screamed and ran into the back of her store. Madame Pomfrey, the card-reading mystic, actually touched my shoulder and then snatched her hand back as if the fur were hot. She ordered me out and closed up shop for the rest of the week. And I got laughed at by ‘Snake’ Simmons, the occult bookstore owner. He said that the whole idea of magic was total crap, and that I needed a good shrink and a can of shaving cream.

Then there were the opportunists who figured they could take advantage of my desperation. They offered magic ointments, special incense, sacred crystals, and guaranteed to combat the mysterious forces at work within my body/soul/karma/spirit/ whatever. All total horse shit, of course. No, that wasn’t a joke. How do I know? I tried them all. Every herbal salve, stinking aromatic, and hunk of quartz they offered ended up in my apartment.

Real help came in the unlikely form of a 17 year-old prostitute named Cindy. She was a newcomer to Damnation Alley, but supposedly had been turning tricks in another city since she was 11. Anyway, I was shuffling through my beat almost a week after my visit to the doctor when she saw me for the first time. By then, I was getting used to stares and whispered comments, but she practically had a nervous breakdown.

Granted, I was looking pretty rough, and my voice had developed a wheeze that wouldn’t go away. An asthmatic Neanderthal, if you will. So I did my best to ignore her as she huddled behind some of the older hookers. Patti, the redhead, shrugged. “Don’t take it personal, Sparks. She has some pretty strange ideas, anyway. Said her best friend turned into a cat woman last Halloween.”

“What?” That got my attention real fast. Like I said, this was before everything leaked out. I figured the Wizard was just a freak thing – I mean, if people started turning into animals and cockroaches, I’d have heard about it on the news, right?

Actually, I had. It took some work to get the kid to talk to me, but when she finally described what happened to her friend, it all came back to me. The Halloween party at a Chicago nightclub called the Raucous Chicken, where everyone had actually become whatever they were dressed as. There had been some wild news stories right afterwards, but then it all got pretty much written off as hallucinations or elaborate hoaxes. Remember, it was months before the Government cover-up got exposed.

You can’t blame them, really. How do you tell the public that thanks to a powerful magic user from another dimension, we have real witches, monsters, and superheroes wandering around? And Wizards who can turn drug dealers into cockroaches and police officers into jackasses. Yeah, I’d figured out what was happening by now. Well, in truth, I heard some little kid telling her mommy that I looked like Eeyore. That sad donkey from Winnie the Pooh?

Now I had a couple of answers – what and how. I still didn’t know why he had done this to me, or where he was. I figured if I could find him, I might get the why. Trouble was, the lawyer was my only solid connection. The Wizard had apparently covered his tracks pretty well, but I was determined to locate him at all costs. Hell, what did I have to lose? So I emptied what was left of my bank account, got every cash advance my credit cards would allow, and started talking to Rodriguez’s former flunkies.

Luckily, most of them thought I had whacked Homeboy and didn’t require too much of my limited resources to tell me they didn’t know anything. And I knew enough of the truth to discount the majority of bullshit. Even so, it took about half my cash to find out that Charlie, one of Rodriguez’s gay pimps had helped arrange his makeover. That same pimp had vanished about the time that Rodriguez did, but I checked out his place, anyway.

The young man who opened the door looked like he hadn’t slept in weeks. I knew the feeling. Early twenties, with that almost-pretty look so common among the male prostitutes. It was easy to understand his haggard appearance. A baby was screaming in the background, the kind of wails that either rip your heart out or make your head explode.

The guy stared at me when I asked about Charlie, and for a bit I didn’t think he actually listened to a word I had said. Finally, he motioned for me to follow, and walked into the back room. My heart leaped – maybe I was finally getting lucky! Then he stopped at a battered crib stuck in a corner of the filthy apartment. The room reeked of dirty diapers, so strong to my enlarged nostrils that my eyes watered. There was a tiny infant in the crib, maybe a month old, fists balled up and squirming as it shrieked.

I stared at the naked little boy, feeling a chill. “OK, you run a lousy daycare. What about Charlie?”

“You’re looking at him. We were in bed together about a month ago, and he started to shrink. Only took a few minutes to end up like this. Hasn’t stopped screaming since. Doesn’t eat or drink. Doesn’t sleep. Just screams and stinks. Don’t think he’s aged a day, either.” The young man smiled bitterly. “ I took up with him because I like older men. Pretty funny, huh?”

Up to that point, I’d figured Rodriguez had suffered the worst fate imaginable. Given the choice between being a dead cockroach and eternity as a helpless, terrified baby, the sole of the Wizard’s loafer suddenly didn’t look all that bad. I backed away, cold and shaking, and then spun and puked up a bag of carrots.

We went back to the living room, where I tried to apologize for the mess. He gave a short, hollow laugh. “Like I’d even notice?” Then he fell back into a chair. “So, you obviously got screwed by the Wizard.”

“You know about him?” I wiped my mouth off on my sleeve. “Do you know how Charlie got in touch with him?”

“Why? You aren’t stupid enough to be looking for him, are you?”

I nodded. “Unless you got some better idea, I don’t know any other way to stop this.”

His eyes flickered down to my crotch, and a faint smile formed. “Could be a lot worse. You seem to have your mind, and some of your change looks pretty interesting. I don’t suppose you’d be interested in…?”

“Don’t even go there.” I felt my ears shift slightly back as a flash of anger came and went. “If I turn into an animal, I might as well be dead. Maybe I can talk him into changing me back. But I got to find him, first.”

We both cringed as a particularly loud shriek split the air. He sagged suddenly. “All I know is, Charlie talked to a friend of his in Chicago. A female impersonator, does Marilyn Monroe at one of the big clubs downtown. His name is Wayne – don’t know the last name. That’s all I got.”

By now, the constant screaming had gotten to me so bad I would have probably left even if the guy did have more information. He got up when I nodded and followed me to the door. The hallway provided some relief, and I took time to ask a question that had nagged me since I first saw Charlie. “Why do you stay?”

The young man gave that hollow laugh again. “Because the fucking Wizard screwed me up, too! We are bonded somehow. I can’t get more than fifty feet away from Charlie without a major panic attack. If you happen to see him, tell him I think he’s a major shit. If I’m lucky, he’ll kill me.” Then he slammed the door in my face.

Baby Charlie joined the cast of my nightmares, still screaming as the Wizard pulled him out of a filthy crib and handed him to Marylyn Monroe. The dead starlet struck a motherly pose, then looked directly at me with a nasty leer. “Hey there, big boy! Wanna have some fun?” She twisted around as a blast of air sent her skirt flying up over her waist, presenting me with a naked and very female donkey’s hindquarters. I could feel myself changing more as I moved to her, screamed and cursed the Wizard as my arms stiffened and my face pushed out, knowing that I was losing myself and helpless to stop. A coarse braying joined the infant’s shrieks, and then I woke up in a cold sweat.

As bad as the dreams were, I still dragged my feet over going to Chicago. Oh, I told myself I was being cautious, checking out all the other leads before I did anything drastic. Truth was, I was afraid. At least, until I looked in the mirror a few days later and saw that the eyes staring back at me were brown instead of blue, with pupils that had a horizontal cast to them. You know the old saying about eyes being ‘windows to the soul’? Well, these windows belonged in a stable.

Even with that proverbial cattle prod to the balls, it took another day to actually make the trip. I had to kill my mother off, at least for the Duty Sergeant, in order to get emergency leave. There wasn’t much chance I would be returning, but there was no point in burning bridges. On the other hand, I didn’t want to leave a lot of loose ends, either. I gave my potted plants to a neighbor, unplugged everything in the apartment, and threw together a last will and testament with one of those do-it-yourself kits. It probably looked like I was planning to commit suicide. Maybe I was.

First class airfare cost about two weeks’ pay, but I probably wouldn’t have fit in one of the Coach seats anyway. Besides, if I had to blow my credit, I might as well go for the gold. If I survived, I’d find a way to pay it all back. If I didn’t, well, tough luck for MasterCard and Visa.

Finding a specific Marilyn Monroe impersonator in Chicago was a lot harder than I expected. Would you believe there were six appearing at different clubs? And not one of them was named Wayne. I was contemplating some serious bodily harm to Charlie’s babysitter when a stagehand volunteered – with the help of a C-note – the information that the Marilyn I wanted, one Wayne Bulger, was locked up in the Chicago General loony bin.

By then it was about four hours past normal visiting, so I treated myself to a room at the Omni Chicago hotel. You know, mint on the pillow, mini-bar, and a fruit basket? I had room service bring up a $21 Caesar salad at 3 a.m. – and fell asleep in the middle of eating it.

The dream was different that night. I was walking my beat in Damnation Alley, nodding to the regulars as I passed. They all smiled and waved, and the girl prostitute came running over to feed me a carrot. I felt a sting in my rump, and looked back to see the Wizard sitting on an ancient peddler’s cart. A cart I was pulling as a donkey. The Wizard flicked his whip at me again. “Come on Sparky. We have a lot more work to do.” And I could see that the space behind him was piled high with bodies.

Although it was disturbing, this new nightmare came and went without waking me up in the wee hours of the morning. I was still dead asleep when the maid knocked on the door at noon, and I actually felt rested for the first time in weeks. I absently noted greatly enlarged ears and more prominent teeth as I washed up. Maybe I was getting used to the changes, but even the discovery that a short tail had emerged overnight didn’t phase me. A hot shower, larger clothes, and a pullover cap did wonders to make me look presentable. Still no prizewinner, but as long as no one looked too closely at the details, my Police ID should pass muster.

Happily, the hospital administrator was in a good mood when I called with a plausible and only slightly falsified story - I was investigating the disappearance of a drug pusher, and Mr. Bulger was the only lead I had been able to track so far. He had no problem allowing me to talk with Bulger, though he did warn me that the man probably wouldn’t be much help. We met in the hospital’s lobby a few hours later, and after giving my badge a cursory glance, he escorted me up to the Psychiatric Ward.

“You might be in luck.” The Ward nurse met us at the elevator, showing only the slightest shudder at my appearance. “She’s been singing ‘Happy Birthday’ to President Kennedy this morning. That was a good day, if I remember right.” When she saw my bewildered expression, she shook her head. “I guess you already know Wayne was a Marilyn Monroe impersonator. About a month ago, his act suddenly got a little too realistic. He seems to be reliving her life, jumping around with no real order. The detail is pretty scary – I guess he is making things up in his head, but it all seems so damn real!”

I frowned, remembering Charlie. “What kind of details? Is he really her now? I mean, physically?” They both stopped and stared at me, and I had to regroup. “In his mind. Uh, does he act like he is a woman?”

The nurse snorted as she continued to the end of the hallway. “Does he ever! It’s not just that he’s effeminate. I’ve seen some of her old movies. He has the walk, the voice, and every little gesture down pat. Even details of her life that aren’t common knowledge. I made a bet with one of the other nurses that it was all made up, and did some digging. So far, almost every single reference has checked out. And I couldn’t disprove any of the rest.” She stopped at the last door on the right. “Here you go. He isn’t dangerous, except to himself.”

“Dangerous?”

“He was brought in here the day he relived one of her drug overdoses.”

“Oh.” Not knowing what else to say, I waited for her to knock and open the door. A familiar, breathy voice invited us in.

Wayne might have been having a good day, but he looked like Hell. About medium height and build, he had thick, tangled bleached blonde hair with a couple of inches of dark brown at the roots, and enough makeup to scare Tammy Faye Baker. Combined with a hospital gown hanging open in the back, he looked about as much like Marilyn Monroe as I did.

At least, until he saw us and sat primly on the bed. Now, the actress he was supposed to be imitating had died before I was born, and I might have seen her in a couple of old movies on the late show. But I knew I was in Her presence. Not an act. Not a delusion. This really was Marilyn Monroe.

She was very nice, actually. Excited from having just left the White House, her eyes were bright and she couldn’t stop smiling. I’m not sure how she saw us. A group of fans, perhaps, or reporters looking for tidbits.

Unfortunately, my questions about Rodriguez brought a blank stare. Of course, there was no way Marilyn would have known him. She did know a Charlie, but he was the prop man on her current film – Something’s Got to Give. Then she stood up, explaining that she had to catch a plane back to Los Angeles. She fished around in an imaginary pocketbook, and handed us each something – her agent’s card, it turned out. We could call or write, and she’d make sure we got autographed photos. Then she gave the Administrator a peck on the cheek, and turned to do the same for me.

As her lips brushed my hairy face, her fingers dug deep into my shoulders. That husky voice deepened, and Wayne Bulger whispered into my ear. “My place. Look for the Wizard with Dorothy.” He pulled back, and our eyes locked. For just a moment, I saw a desperate, tortured soul. Then he blinked in confusion, and Marilyn was back.

The others did not see the momentary lapse. I managed to smile and wave as Marilyn traipsed to her waiting limousine, thanked her driver, Fred, and settled back on the bed for the ride to the airport. The nurse herded us back out, smiling as she shut the door. “Well, if he has to be crazy, at least he is happy.”

Happy? I thought I might be sick again, but managed to retain lunch. Bulger must have been infatuated with Marilyn Monroe. Perhaps he had wanted to know what it was like to really be her. And Charlie had been an older man with a young lover. Had he wished for youth? I shivered suddenly. The Wizard had said I was interesting. Considering what I had seen of his work so far, the old Chinese curse ‘May you live in interesting times’ seemed very bad indeed.

Finding this monster suddenly wasn’t quite so appealing to me. Still, Bulger had tried to pass on something to me. Was the Wizard staying in his apartment? That seemed unlikely. And who was Dorothy? Every survival instinct was telling me to turn and run as far and as fast as I could. Except, I wouldn’t be running much longer, at least, on two legs. What else could the Wizard do to me? I shut that thought down quick.

It was pride that kept me going. I just couldn’t give up. I was close – I could feel it. Sort of like coming up to a really big accident on the highway. You can see all the lights and people, know that there is something ugly up ahead. And you still end up looking for the bodies and the blood, even though you tell yourself you don’t want to see them. Of course, in this case the body was likely to be my own.

I had to dig to locate the address listed in Bulger’s hospital file. Not surprisingly, it was in Chicago’s version of Damnation Alley. As far as John Q. Public is concerned, a professional female impersonator is as socially unacceptable as a whore or a drug dealer. That tends to make the misfits and miscreants become reluctant allies - the enemy of my enemy is my friend, and all that crap.

The cabby I finally managed to flag down wouldn’t go closer than five blocks away, so I had to walk through a criminal wonderland that didn’t know I was a cop. The WASP Poster Child I had been just a few weeks ago would have been beaten, robbed, and perhaps murdered long before he reached the crumbling brownstone that contained Bulger’s apartment. However, no one wanted to get close to the shaggy, ugly stranger shuffling through their midst. In a way, that hurt almost as much as a knife wound.

The building super, a withered old lady who might have been a hooker in her youth, wasn’t quite so quick as the hospital to cooperate with an out-of-state cop. She demanded to see a warrant, but eventually accepted a picture of Benjamin Franklin as a substitute. As I reached the top of his landing on the third floor, I discovered I had wasted my money.

Bulger’s door had been kicked in, and even in the dark it was obvious that his place had been ransacked. What furniture remained had been smashed apart, and the walls were spay-painted with a wide variety of colorful (no pun intended) messages. Even the bulbs had been removed from the ceiling fixtures.

I squinted in the dim light from the hall, trying to spot anything that might tie in with Bulger’s one whispered clue. The thieves and vandals hadn’t left much. Movie posters hung in tatters from the wall, with streamers of ruined VHS tapes tangled on the floor. Discouraged, I kicked idly at some old magazines. The trail was suddenly gone.

“Get the fuck outa here, you piece of shit!” I spun suddenly at a shrill, angry voice behind me, and saw someone in the doorway brandishing a large crowbar. “Isn’t it enough you assholes ruined almost everything he had?” With the light behind, the person’s face was lost in shadow, and neither the silhouette nor the voice identified gender. For just a moment, I felt a quick thrill of terror, remembering the Wizard’s similar dark mask. But this self-appointed guardian lacked the presence I had felt before, and I realized it must be either a neighbor or a friend. Perhaps both.

I raised my hands. “I’m a police officer! Mr. Bulger told me to look for something here.”

“Bullshit!” The crowbar lifted a bit higher. “Wayne is locked up in the mental ward! And the fuckin’ police didn’t even come out when his place was trashed.” The voice dropped a bit, and I decided it was male. “If you’re a cop, show me your badge!”

“OK. It’s in my jacket pocket.” I pulled it out very slowly, and opened it so he could see my shield. “Officer Jonathan Michael Sparks. I’m investigating the disappearance of a drug dealer.”

“Wayne never did drugs in his life!” Then the voice faltered. “Well, not until just before…” Then the guy stiffened and stepped back. “Move closer, into the light where I can see you.”

Sighing, I vary carefully stepped into the small rectangle of light from outside.

“Oh, fuck!” He spun suddenly and took off down the hall as if the hounds of Hell were at his heels.

I ran out into the hall just in time to see the door at the end of the hallway slam shut. Granted, by that time I was no beauty contest winner, but his reaction seemed pretty extreme. Still, considering the state of Bulger’s apartment, he was also the only hope I had of continuing.

Standing off to the side, I knocked three times. “Um, sir? Look, I really am a police officer, and I did speak to Mr. Bulger at the hospital tonight.”

“Go away!” There was no mistaking the fear in his voice. “I’m calling the police!”

“I –am- the police, mister.” This sudden switch from armed defender to quivering coward was more than a little bewildering.

“You’re one of THEM! What did you ask for? To be hung like a horse?” He gave a short, hysterical laugh. “Keep your fucking Genie! I don’t know anything! I don’t want anything! Except to be left the Hell alone!” He was pretty close to the edge – so scared that he might do something really harmful to himself or me if I handled this wrong.

“I didn’t ask for anything.” I paused a moment, and then plunged ahead. At this point, the truth was all I had. “Look, I am not lying about being a cop. I was chasing a drug dealer who escaped from a locked room at the police station. He turned up a couple of weeks ago, except he was a kid.” When there was no reaction, I continued. “He took me to meet someone. Really average looking guy, like an accountant or store clerk. That guy turned the drug dealer into a cockroach, and did something to me. Said he thought I was interesting.” I swallowed hard, trying to moisten a suddenly dry throat. “I’m trying to find the guy again. Wayne was involved in getting the two of them together. I don’t care about that. I just want to locate the Wizard. Maybe he will change me back.”

There was another short laugh. “Why? You that anxious to join the animal kingdom?”

A good question. It was pretty obvious that the Wizard liked to play games with people – the old ploy of granting your wishes in the worst way possible. His victims were either dead or wished they were, and I had no reason to believe he would help me in any way I wanted to be helped. So why was I trying to hook up with him again? Turning into a jackass wasn’t exactly my life’s ambition, but there were far worse fates out there. I had seen three of them.

Ironically, the memory of Homeboy the cockroach provided an answer – the Wizard wasn’t unlike a cockroach himself. No, I would never tell him that. But for all his incredible, terrifying power, the Wizard was trying to stay out of the light. Why? When you can change weapons into hair and people into anything from bugs to infants, why not flaunt it? Because he was vulnerable. I could have probably shot him if I had fired first and asked questions later. And I doubted he could protect himself from multiple attackers, or at least, from snipers he couldn’t see. I needed to expose him, turn on the lights and let the world see what he was before he could scurry back under whatever rock he usually hid under.

I guess I had been lying to myself all along, entertaining a silly notion that he would wave his hand and zap me back to good old Sparky, neighborhood cop. That hope suddenly evaporated. I was facing the equivalent of a terminal illness. Funny thing was, I felt better knowing that. Instead of wasting my time looking for a cure that didn’t exist, I had a real purpose with at least a slim chance of success.

Except that I seemed to be out of leads. “The bastard who did this to me has hurt a lot of other people. But he can’t stop a bullet. Or at least, a lot of bullets. If I can expose him, let people know what he is and what he does, maybe he can be stopped. But I have to find him first.”

“I don’t know anything! Wayne and I worked together, and I guess we were friends, sorta. But I never got involved with that fuckin’ Wizard. Never met him, never wanted to. I warned Wayne not to screw around with someone like that, but he seemed to think he had some kind of insurance. Next thing I know, he’s overdosing on pills because he’s depressed that Joe DiMaggio doesn’t love him anymore!”

I found out later that DiMaggio was Marylyn Monroe’s husband off and on towards the end of her life. Right then, however, I didn’t care. “Were you able to save anything from Wayne’s place before it got robbed? He broke free of Marylyn for just a few seconds tonight, right after I asked him about the Wizard. He told me to check his place. Did he have a girlfriend? He said to look for the Wizard with Dorothy.”

There was a long silence, and I was afraid that I had reached the end of the trail. “Stay there. Dammit, I shouldn’t have let him talk me into this. Shit! Shit! Shit!” His voice trailed off – moving away from the door. After a few minutes, locks clicked and the door opened to reveal a thin, haggard-looking young man with a page-boy haircut. The voice and the features were vaguely familiar, and his remark about working with Wayne suddenly brought it all into focus. “Judy Garland! You’re a female impersonator, too!”

He managed a wry smile. “Wayne called me Dorothy – he liked my Wizard of Oz outfit.” A small key on a plastic fob was suddenly thrust in front of my face. “Here. Take it. I’m probably fucked already just by your coming here, so I might as well do what I can to help.”

I took the key and looked at it carefully. The fob was from Nations Bank, and the key had a number on it. “A safe deposit box?”

‘Dorothy’ shook his head. “A locker in the YMCA over on Augustus Avenue. Wayne’s idea of being clever. He told me to give it to the police if anything happened to him. You’re the police, so I’ve done my part. Now get the Hell outa here and don’t ever come back!” The door slammed shut before I could even say thanks – a reaction I was getting used to.

It was late evening by then, and I had to walk even further before I could get a cab to stop. Augustus Avenue turned out to be on the other side of Chicago, and the driver insisted on payment in advance. Guess my appearance combined with the locale didn’t inspire confidence. My new tail felt like it had lengthened quite a bit during the day, and probably made a strange-looking bulge in the back of my pants. Worse, everything was a size or two small on me, making movement uncomfortable. I was steadily losing ground to the jackass – physically, I was already past the halfway point. How long did I have before I really was an animal?

Although the ride was ungodly expensive, it was uneventful and the cabby actually took me to the door. The YMCA itself was pretty seedy – probably built back in the early thirties, and last painted in the early seventies. I started absently humming the old song by the Village People, only to stop when the sounds I was making actually registered. I’d never been Frank Sinatra, but my voice had always been on key before. Yet no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t make musical notes.

Something very basic had changed in my voice. Not a big thing, I guess, but it bothered me more than anything else that had happened. It was a stupid reaction, considering the fact I now had a full-fledged tail uncomfortably squashed under my shorts and enough body hair to qualify as bona-fide fur. In fairness, I didn’t look at myself that much, so the physical changes were more uncomfortable than frightening. My voice had been the constant identifier, though, the link to my ‘real’ self. And now it was gone.

I stood outside the old building for a few minutes, feeling sorry for myself. What else had changed today? It was easy to see that my arms had lengthened, thicker hands hanging several inches further down from the sleeves than they should. How much longer would I be able to pass for a human? Finally, I decided that it didn’t really matter. All that mattered was getting the Wizard. It was a race now. Could I solve the puzzle before I changed too much to function?

The white-haired old man at the YMCA desk looked like he might be an original fixture, and he scowled at me as I approached the desk. “Twenty dollars a night, in advance.” Like the cabby, he had an obvious mistrust of Ugly. Especially Ugly dressed in obviously too-small clothes and stinking of a barnyard.

That posed a problem. I had a feeling that my badge wasn’t going to carry a lot of weight here. This fellow looked like he probably took his job seriously, which meant that I’d need a search warrant to look in Wayne’s locker - a search warrant that I wasn’t going to be able to get legally.

I did, however, have twenty dollars. So I checked in, got key 238, and went upstairs. The tiny room was barely big enough for a twin bed and nightstand, with a lovely view of the next building’s brick wall. It was a major fall from last night’s luxury, but the sheets were clean and there was a lock on the door. And I saved myself about $300, though the cost factor was unimportant.

After locking the door behind me, I took advantage of the cracked, spotty mirror hanging over the bedside table to take stock of my condition. There was more than idle curiosity at work when I stripped – my grossly over-stretched underpants were giving me a serious wedgie.

As much of a physical relief it was to remove the tight clothing, I almost wished I hadn’t. It was one thing to feel a tail curled inside your pants, but quite another to look back and see that tail twitch in response to your thoughts. Curiously, the tufted appendage looked quite at home over what had become jutting, furred buttocks. An ass’s ass, so to speak. I also had an ass’s torso, barreled out with no nipples or bellybutton. The bulge that interested Charlie’s boyfriend had filled out even more, gaining a dark animal sheath along with substantial size. No wonder my underpants hurt.

The only part of Jonathan Sparks that I could recognize was my face, somewhat distorted by oversized teeth and a broader nose, but still more human than donkey. On the other hand, my ears had migrated higher on my head, becoming elongated and furred in the process. I didn’t have another day. In truth, looking at the deformed animal in the mirror, I doubted I would survive a short nap. If I was going to solve this mystery, I had to do it now.

Leaving the outgrown briefs on the floor, I got dressed again, fumbling a bit with the various fasteners. Then I headed down to the basement. Lodging included full use of the YMCA facility, including the locker room. A swirl of odors filled my nostrils - ammonia, with touches of sweat, mildew, urine. Not really unpleasant, just stronger than I would have expected. Or was that due to a change in my sense of smell?

There were some kids over in a corner, looking like they were drying off from swimming class. A couple of obvious weight lifters were talking football. They all fell silent when I shuffled in, stared a moment, and then slowly resumed their conversations. I was vaguely insulted when the boys shifted around to the far side of the locker - did I look like a pervert?

The number on the key was 121. I found the one-hundred series lockers in the far corner. Several of the doors had been ripped off, and for a moment, I was afraid that Wayne’s locker might have suffered the same fate as his apartment. But no - locker 121 remained intact. I had to work to get the key in, and then wiggle it a little to turn the lock.

There was a single manila envelope inside. I pulled it out, surprised and a little disappointed in how light and thin it was. Still, I didn’t feel comfortable opening it there. One of the boys seemed to be staring at me a lot. And the black weightlifter kept glancing over my way. Curiosity? Or maybe one of them wasn’t what he appeared to be.

I slipped the envelope into my coat and headed back upstairs. Instead of going straight back to the room, however, I took a detour out the side door to a small Korean market I’d noticed on the same block. The YMCA didn’t have room service, and I was more than a little hungry. So I bought a head of lettuce, a loaf of bread, and some bottled water. As I pulled out my wallet to pay for them, I glanced out the window and saw the first police car pulling up outside the YMCA. An unmarked unit joined it, and a chill ran up my spine as I saw the detectives pull their guns as soon as they got out.

They were looking for me. There was no reason I could think of, but my instincts were screaming at my head to run and hide. Luckily, the Korean storekeeper had his back to the window, or he might have realized my sudden anxiety wasn’t over the price of his goods.

Normal procedure is to have one officer remain outside just in case the target of the raid slips past. These guys didn’t follow procedure - they had all the earmarks of a posse on the trail of a killer. Weapons out and ready, charging in like the U.S. Marines. I watched them go dashing inside, and made a timely exit from the store just as the last one disappeared inside.

So much for a quiet night at the YMCA. I hurried to the end of the block and turned left, looking for some place to hide. Just my luck it had to be a residential block - crumbling brownstones spotted here and there a few that had been recently refurbished. I was getting nervous. It wouldn’t take long for that posse to figure out I wasn’t home. And I wasn’t exactly inconspicuous.

One of the brownstones was still under construction - I realized that the doorframe was empty just as my oversized ears picked up the sound of engines roaring into life around the corner. There wasn’t time to think, or even check to see if anyone was watching. I vaulted over the sawhorse protecting freshly poured concrete steps and dove inside. One of the police cars roared past moments later - they had to have seen me. I was scared to move, to even breath.

I finally eased up to a sitting position and glanced cautiously out of the opening. A cab rolled past, and about a minute later, an old lady passed by walking her dog. The dog sniffed in my direction, but its owner was impatient and pulled it past before it could do more than give a puzzled woof at my strange scent.

Why had the police come after me? Had someone at the YMCA called them? The old man? One of the kids? How could anyone have known I was heading there? I hadn’t known myself until I got the key from Dorothy. Which reminded me of the envelope stuffed into my coat. There really wasn’t time to look at it - the police would be doing a house-to-house as soon as they could get backup. Still, I had to find out what all the fuss was about.

The envelope proved to be too much for my numb, thick fingers, and I had to tear it open with my teeth. It held a 4x6 color photograph and a business card. That was it. I shook it a couple of times, and peered inside just to make sure I hadn’t overlooked anything. The business card was for one Benjamin R. Drake, CPA - taxes prepared, business and personal accounting. Someone had scrawled ‘Magic User’ on the back in red ink. Then I looked at the picture. It was the Wizard. He was in a brown suit, carrying a battered leather briefcase. A dingy office was in the background, with a sign reading Carter, Lewis, and Parker - Accountants. The number by the door matched the address on the card - apparently, he worked there but didn’t rate his name on the marquee.

So, the Wizard had a name. And a profession. A glorified clerk with the power of a God. I wondered if he was still maintaining that boring life, a secret identity to protect his darker side. It was a good cover - if I hadn’t actually seen him in the trailer with homeboy, I’d never connect this dumpy-looking accountant with someone who could turn a man into an insect with a wave of his hand.

This was what Wayne Bulger had lost his mind over. And why Charlie was stuck forever as a screaming infant. The Wizard wanted to keep his real name a secret. He must have been testing out his abilities with Rodriguez - a big payoff and a customer half a continent away who was just as anxious to keep his transformation secret. Power had made him sloppy, and he’d allowed people to find out who he really was. Only a few, however, and now he was trying to clean up after himself.

What now? I knew his real name, but what good was that, really? The police would laugh at me if I went in to the station and tried to report his crimes. He turned a drug dealer into a kid, and then a cockroach. Changed a male prostitute into a baby. And screwed up the mind of a female impersonator. Oh, yes. He was also turning a police officer into a donkey.

That’s when it hit me - I was all the proof I needed! The change had already gone way beyond anything that could be explained by age or genetics. All I had to do was turn myself in, and we could nail Benjamin Drake, CPA, to the wall. Suddenly feeling confident, I stood up and took a step towards the door. But my balance was suddenly thrown off, and I pitched forward just as large chunks of plaster exploded from the wall behind me.

“Shit!” I flattened myself as best I could, fighting arms and legs that didn’t want to bend properly. My body had just lost bipedal status, but I was more concerned about the bullet holes. If I hadn’t fallen, they would have been in me, not the plaster. A sniper, maybe more than one, had tried to take me out. It seemed impossible – no warning, no chance to surrender. No police department worked that way, even with known murderers. What the Hell did they think I had done?

“Not very friendly, are they?”

My guts iced over as the Wizard’s voice came from the back corner, but I rolled over and grabbed for my revolver in a desperate attempt to shoot him. It was a wasted effort – my arm wouldn’t flex enough, and the solid lump that slammed painfully against my thigh was more hoof than hand.

Drake didn’t even flinch. There was just enough light to make out his face. No magical shadow blocked my view – he didn’t need to hide from me anymore. “If you had tried that back at the trailer, you just might have killed me. I was very careless then. Of course, I was just learning about my powers, and I thought I could do anything.”

“Why are you doing this to me?” I had trouble getting the words out, having to fight a mouth that had changed substantially in the past few minutes.

“I made some serious mistakes when I first discovered my powers – the unfortunate business with Mr. Rodriguez was the worst of them. It created a rather messy trail that I had to erase.” He smiled. “And you were just the person I needed. I suppose I should have been grateful to Miguel for bring you to me that night.”

“I’ll never help you! I…” My rough, wheezing voice trailed off as the truth came crashing down on me. I had followed the trail in ways that the Wizard could not, using contacts and experience to track down and talk to everyone involved, eventually digging up the one piece of evidence that identified Drake as the Wizard.

“That amusing stubborn streak of yours has served me well. I actually didn’t know about Wayne’s envelope at the YMCA – but I suspected there might be something somewhere. So I trusted my fate to your resourcefulness and patience. As I suspected, you made a very good Detective. Too bad your own police force did not recognize those qualities.”

My clothing had been getting painfully tight and most of it started to rip apart when I struggled to sit up. “Why this? Why did you have to turn me into a farm animal?” I knew I had lost, knew the end was coming fast. I was more donkey than man now – my thoughts would be fading soon. When Rodriguez had been crushed under the Wizard’s shoe, had he been aware of death as a man or simply died as a common roach?

He shrugged. “You had to be desperate enough to come after me and still be able to function. By the time you noticed getting younger, you’d have been a kid that no one took seriously. And a lion would be too hard to control. Besides, the form seemed to fit your personality rather well.”

Giving up on trying to assume a human sitting position, I pushed myself up on almost completed forelegs. Just as I prepared to shout back some clever retort, the Wizard suddenly jumped back and shouted, “Duck!”

I dropped to my side as another volley of bullets took out more of the wall, wheezing from a cloud of plaster dust that filled the room.

“You may want to stay low, Sparky. I’m afraid your fellow officers out there are rather determined to kill you.”

“Why? What did you do to them?” My heart was pounding – even faced with life as a dumb beast, I did not want to die.

“Nothing.” Drake shrugged again. “Well, nothing to them. However, I paid a follow-up visit to each of your contacts along the way. You’ll be happy to know that Charlie has stopped screaming. Now he lies in his crib all day and peacefully sucks on a pacifier that used to be his lover.” He chuckled. “Rather appropriate, don’t you think?”

What was it the young man had said? If he was lucky, the Wizard would kill him? I shivered, wondering what he had done to Wayne and ‘Dorothy’. “They couldn’t hurt you any more. Why did you have to kill them?”

“Oh, none of them are dead, exactly. Even the pacifier is aware. They were markers along the trail, landmarks that had to be removed. And I was able to use them for a clever bit of misdirection. Magic has always been linked to sleight of hand, Sparky. And I made sure that the audience kept its eyes on the rabbit – or in this case, the donkey.”

Suddenly it all came together in my head, and I stared up at him with a mixture of horror and admiration. “You bastard! They think it’s all been me all along!”

Drake smiled broadly. “I was hoping you’d figure it out. Rather clever, don’t you think? You were the one common link for everything, from Rodriguez all the way here. The Chicago police have been after me ever since the night of the party. I was rather overwhelmed by the sudden power, and transformed a few officers who tried to detain me. I understand they became valuable members of the K-9 Corps, but the law has been out to get me ever since. That squad of assassins out there has been waiting for the chance to kill me for months.”

All emotion drained out of me. I was beaten, utterly and completely destroyed. Instead of catching the bastard, I had been his best ally. The sniper’s bullet’s didn’t seem so terrifying. “And now I get to die in your place.”

“That was my original plan. However, I think you deserve a better reward than being ripped apart by a hail of bullets.” Drake raised an eyebrow. “In fact, I think I have a far better solution in mind. Another bit of showmanship. Always leave them wanting more.”

He leaned over and picked up the envelope where it had fallen out of my shredded coat. Pulling out the photo and business card, he smiled, and then showed them to me. The picture now showed me walking my beat in Damnation Alley, and the business card was one of my police contact cards. “It’s all in the details, you know.” Then he dropped the envelope back on the floor and waved his hand.

The floor seemed to open up suddenly, and I was falling, screaming. The next thing I knew, I was waking up here. Yep, this exact same pasture, though it was a lot emptier then. And I was exactly the way I am now. He’d left me enough of my face to be recognizable, even though I look mostly like a jackass from any distance. His safety, I suppose. If things ever get really dangerous, he can simply drop me back in Chicago, or anywhere else for that matter. You see, pretty much every police officer, soldier, and special agent in the country has standing orders to shoot Officer Jonathan Michael Sparks, also known as the Wizard, on sight.

Drake made one mistake, though. He didn’t do anything to my mind. In fact, he seems to think it’s amusing to keep me as a pet. I get trotted out whenever he has company to perform tricks – he set up a voice-controlled computer that understands this braying of mine, and has me answer questions and do math.

However, when he is gone, I can use the computer for other things. Like searching the Internet, and sending email. I constantly look for anyone who can help me expose him, tracking down every lead, every newspaper article and web site question. I know he is looking for them too, and I keep trying to find them and warn them. Like I tried to warn you. I was so close. If you had just gotten that email an hour or so sooner, you would have escaped him, instead of winding up here as a sheep. I still can’t figure out how he got to you so fast, but I will. I never stop as long as I can follow a lead.

The end.

User:Posti/Following a Lead

2008-09-23T02:50:46Z

Posti: Officer Sparks is going to track down his man, no matter what.

Following a Lead
By Bob Stein

I guess I should have stayed out of the investigation. Detectives don’t like beat officers horning in on their territory, especially when the officer in question shows them up. That’s how I ended up… oh, wait. I’d better start at the beginning.

Remember the Rodriguez disappearance? Really? You must not watch the news. Happened about a year ago. Miguel Rodriguez was one of the city’s least favorite sons – a major drug dealer whose lawyer knew every loophole in every law and court procedure. And when legal tricks didn’t work, key witnesses suddenly changed their stories, or just disappeared.

Anyway, they had the bastard cold on a Murder One charge thanks to a security video camera that caught the whole thing. For once, it looked like he was gonna lose – you can’t threaten or kill a videotape. Then his lawyer brings some guy in for a consultation, and Rodriguez vanishes in the middle of the session. I’m talking a maximum-security room in the middle of the city prison. No windows, and a guard outside the door. And guess who that guard was.

Right. Officer Jonathan Michael Sparks, also known as ‘Sparky.’ Except that after the incident with Rodriguez, my nickname changed to ‘Misfire.’ To think I used to hate ‘Sparky.’ The department screwed me over big-time. I mean, there was a video camera on the door, and it proved I didn’t leave my post for a second, and that no one came or went. But they had to have someone to blame, right?

The sleazebag lawyer and consultant both swore that Rodriguez had simply gotten up and walked out of the room. They got searched anyway, and questioned, but there was nothing to hold them on. Of course, the lawyer made a big stink in the media about how lousy police security was, and that particular ball of shit came rolling downhill all the way from the Mayor’s office and hit me square in the back.

Most guys would give up after something like that. I had pounded the streets for three years before finally working into the Response Squad – the first rung on the ladder to becoming a Detective. Then Rodriguez pulled a Houdini act and my police career was in the crapper. But I’ve always been stubborn, and it burned me to know that bastard Rodriguez had gotten away clean. So I stayed on the force and took the worst they could throw at me.

Damnation Alley - it’s the septic tank for the city, a place they send you when they want you to quit or get killed. Two out of every three murders in the city happen there – most of them don’t get more than a few sentences in the back of the local paper. So here I was, a blonde-haired, blue-eyed twenty-eight year-old in a police uniform, patrolling the heart of the drug and prostitution community. All I needed was a neon sign on my hat flashing ‘Shoot Me!’

If you go into a high-crime area all polished buttons and high ideals, you’ll be hearing ‘Amazing Grace’ from the wrong side of a coffin lid inside a week. However, I’m no rookie, and while I’m not corrupt, I have a very high survival instinct. Which means I know how to let the baddies know I am coming. If they’re dumb enough to keep dealing or pimping with me on the same the block, they’re too stupid to be in business anyway. Besides, the ringleaders know that a minor arrest here and there keeps the public satisfied. The police look like they are doing their jobs, and the drugs and prostitutes continue as usual.

You want Serpico? Rent a movie. Hell, when the pushers AND the prostitutes include kids who should be in grade school, you turn a blind eye. Besides, I had bigger fish to fry. Rodriguez ran one of the biggest operations in the city – no way he would walk away from it. I figured that if I was patient, made some contacts in the Alley, I’d hear something eventually. And helping catch Rodriguez just might restore my career.

So I walked the streets, doing my best to ignore the trash. There was an uneasy truce for a while. Then I caught a John beating up on a kid prostitute and broke his arm when he ‘resisted arrest.’ Saved the little girl’s life that night, though she ended up dead of an overdose a few weeks later. Anyway, after that, I was accepted as one of the family. Oh, they knew I’d still arrest them if they did stuff too openly, and I knew they’d shoot me in the back if I got too nosey. I didn’t say it was a –close- family.

Actually asking for information on Rodriguez would have been suicide, so I had to wait weeks before rumors finally started to reach me. Rodriguez was still running his operation. Rodriguez was back in town. Rodriguez wasn’t Rodriguez any more. That last one caught my attention fast. It had been three months since the disappearance, but his face was still on the Post Office wall. Maybe he had gotten some plastic surgery to change his features. It wouldn’t help him – with modern DNA testing and retinal scans, he could still be identified.

I tried working through the Precinct first. The Detectives weren’t interested in rumors. Truth be told, I think they had heard them already. In any case, I was told to bugger off and walk my beat – the case was under investigation by trained professionals. Naturally, I followed their wise advice - until I got out of the building. After all, it wasn’t –their- career on the ropes.

It took some dealings that I’m not proud of to dig down into Rodriguez’s world. Taking small bribes here and there that turned into bigger bribes. I never spent the money, honest. It’s all still in a safe deposit box, addressed to Internal Affairs. But I had to establish myself as a crooked cop to join the sludge of humanity surrounding Rodriguez.

One night, right at the end of my beat, a Latino kid pulls up in a junker lead-sled. You know, the beat-up old cars that have the chassis scraping the ground and a speaker system that makes the ground shake? Anyway, this Homeboy – who looks like a barely pubescent Ricky Martin – leans over and flashes a movie-star smile at me. “Say, Sparky! Got someone who wants to meet you. Could be some real bucks in it for you, if you ain’t as stupid as you look!”

I didn’t know this kid from Adam, and here he was calling me ‘Sparky.’ The comment about being stupid-looking wasn’t as true then as it is now, but getting into the car wasn’t my smartest choice. He could have been planning to blow my head off as part of a gang initiation. Still, a cop has to trust his instincts, and mine were telling me this was the chance I had been waiting for.

He rolled the moment I was inside, laying twin trails of rubber for half a block. The outside might look ratty, but there was some serious machinery under the hood. Once I relaxed my grip on the armrest and looked around, it was pretty obvious that Homeboy was into some major dealings. The sound system was worth more than my Taurus, and he was wearing what looked to be a real Rolex. That was the problem with drugs – how do you tell a sixteen year-old kid to flip hamburgers at McDonalds for minimum wage instead of raking in fifty grand a month dealing Crack?

There was no conversation. I was mildly surprised when we drove out of Damnation Alley, but didn’t start to worry until Homeboy took the interstate out of town. He would grin at me every now and then, as if he had some great joke in mind. By the time he took the off-ramp to the shipping terminals, I was truly afraid the punch line would be a .38 bullet in my brain.

He used a pass card to open a security gate, and pulled into one of the dozen or so storage yards surrounding the docks. Stacked shipping containers towered over us, rusty mountains that almost vanished as they reached up into the night sky. We wound between them, finally stopping by a sagging, rusty mobile home that might have served as an office a dozen years ago.

“Go on inside, Sparky.” Homeboy gestured at the trailer. “Don’t keep the Man waiting.” I could tell I’d struck pay dirt from the way that he said it. I got out and headed for the trailer door, half-expecting a slug in the back. However, the car rumbled slowly off behind me. The door was cracked open, and showed light that was not visible through the windows.

I felt like an idiot. OK, I was an idiot – coming here alone, no one even knowing where I was, much less having any kind of backup. All of a sudden, I could think of a lot of new careers I could try. But it was too late to back down. Forcing myself to at least look calm, I knocked.

“Come in, Officer Sparks.” The male voice sounded vaguely familiar, but it wasn’t Rodriguez. Another Drug Lord looking to buy me off?

Opening the door, I stepped in and did a double-take. The plushest lawyer’s office had nothing on the interior of that ancient mobile home. Polished wood paneling, thick green carpet, even a fireplace crackling away in the corner.

“Come in, Officer. Make yourself comfortable.” The speaker was sitting in an overstuffed leather chair, his face obscured by shadows that shouldn’t be there. “Would you like something to drink? Anything at all?”

“How about a cherry Coke?” I was trying to be funny, but the man simply pointed to a small counter near the fireplace. A soda fountain glass filled with dark, fizzy liquid was sitting there. I blinked and walked over to pick it up. The surface was still foaming, as if the drink had just been poured. I took a cautious sip – Cherry Coke. Not the canned stuff, but an honest-to-God soda fountain Cherry Coke, with real syrup and a maraschino cherry in the bottom of the glass.

Funny the things that can scare you. The moment I tasted that drink, I was absolutely terrified, and I didn’t know why. Except, maybe, that there was no way for this guy to know I’d ask for a Cherry Coke. Hell, I hadn’t had one since I was a kid. Had to be my subconscious at work – the drink must have been there all along, and I somehow picked up on it. Right?

There was another of the big leather chairs there and I sat down, still holding the Coke. Even from a different angle, the man’s face was in shadow. That was almost as creepy as the soda. The light was even everywhere else in the room, and there was nothing around him. I took another sip of the drink, then cleared my throat. “So, what can I do for you?”

The trailer door opened suddenly, and Homeboy came sauntering towards me. I tensed, but he walked past and grabbed a drink from the counter that hadn’t been there a moment before. Then he plopped down in the remaining chair and grinned at me. “So, Sparky. Whatcha’ think of my Man?” In the light, this kid was pretty stunning – perfect skin, perfect teeth, perfect hair. He was almost a parody of boy-band heartthrobs - and his tight jeans made it pretty obvious that puberty had been more than kind.

“We haven’t really had time to chat, Miguel.” The man in the corner tented his fingers. There was a touch of annoyance in his voice. “I thought you might want to handle things.”

I blinked. Miguel? But then, that was a common name in the Latino community. Odd coincidence, though.

“Yeah, right!” The kid leaned forward, staring at me intently. “Life’s gotten a little tough for you, hasn’t it? How do you like pounding pavement in Damnation Alley?”

The hair on the back of my neck began to prickle, but I tried to look casual. “I got screwed by the Commissioner. They know I didn’t let Rodriguez escape – but I was the one that got crucified.” I shrugged. “Shit happens.”

“Yeah.” Miguel giggled. “It sure does. So, you fixin’ to get even? Screw the police like they screwed you? I could use a cop on the inside. Someone to feed me information, maybe even liberate some evidence now and then. You interested?”

This kid was the Boss? I had a pair of dress shoes almost as old as he was. Alarm bells were going off in my brain. What the Hell was I mixed up in? Then I suddenly understood. The rumors, even his name made sense. Feeling confident again, I leaned back in the chair and gave Homeboy a smug look. “Maybe. Not for free, though. You’re Rodriguez’s son, right? Running things for the old man while he hides out?”

Homeboy laughed. It wasn’t a pleasant sound, and my smugness began to evaporate. “Hiding? Fuck, man. Your maximum-security room couldn’t hold me. Why should I worry about some piss-ant flatfoot who won’t follow orders?” He leaned forward with a cold smile. “You wouldn’t let it go, would you? They told you to forget me, but you’re too stubborn.”

“Rodriguez?” I stared at the boy, trying to find some trace of the hawk-faced, thirty-something drug lord. “Bullshit! There isn’t enough plastic surgery in the world, unless you also happened to find the Fountain of Youth.” Then something else he said struck home. The only people who knew I’d been tracking Rodriguez were the Detectives on the case. I hadn’t even told the Commander, afraid of an insider leak. Someone on the force had ratted me out. I was a dead man.

I jumped up suddenly, jerking out my gun and pointing it at the kid. He didn’t even flinch. “OK, Rodriguez, or whoever you are. I’m tired of this shit! We’re gonna take a little trip down to headquarters. This pistol has a hair trigger. Even if one of your buddies shoots me, I’ll still take you out.”

“A hair trigger?” The man in the shadows spoke up. “That’s a good idea.”

The cool, reassuring sensation of steel under my finger abruptly vanished, replaced by something very soft and flexible. Sure enough, I looked down to see a lock of blonde hair inside the trigger guard. My mouth fell open, and I’m ashamed to say I wet myself. Like I said, it’s weird the things that will scare you.

Miguel must have seen the spreading stain. “What’s the matter, Sparky? Don’t think it’s bullshit now, do you?”

I could see the truth in his eyes now - cold, hard eyes that I’d seen before. “But it’s impossible! I mean, you’re a kid!” Initial panic was fading into the sick realization that I wasn’t leaving here alive. Yet even that knowledge wasn’t enough to kill my curiosity. “How did you do it? How did you escape from the room? They searched everywhere! Even your lawyer and that… ” I suddenly remembered where I’d heard the shadow man’s voice before and spun to face him. “The consultant!”

“So nice to see you again, Officer Sparks.” The man rose from his dark corner and nodded cordially. Unlike the rejuvenated Rodriguez, there was nothing remarkable about him at all. Average height, brown hair and eyes, average build - he could be any one of a million store clerks and insurance salesmen. “Though I am afraid you are not quite so happy to see me.”

“You want to know how I got away?” Rodriguez sneered at me. “I think you should get a first-hand demonstration. Do him! Now!” When the shadow-man did not respond, he stood and glared at him. “I said now, Wizard!”

Wizard? As in abracadabra and hocus-pocus? The concept was impossible. Just like the teenage Rodriguez.

“I think not, Mr. Rodriguez. I find him interesting. Someone I can work with.” The Wizard regarded me a moment, then shifted his gaze to Miguel. “You, on the other hand, are not worth the trouble. I believe you wanted Officer Sparks to see how you escaped?”

The boy’s cold sneer was suddenly replaced with a look of pure terror. “No! I paid you! We had a deal!” He began backing away, and I took no small satisfaction in seeing a dark stain spreading on –his- pants.

I heard the Wizard say something. The sounds are still in my head, but I can’t figure out if they were foreign words or just nonsense. Then I jumped back as Rodriguez started to glow. I’m talking poker-in-the-fire glowing, as if someone had turned on a thousand-watt bulb inside him. That incredibly handsome face darkened and twisted into the stuff of nightmares – bulging eyes, pinchers, and long antennae that pushed out of his skull. I think he screamed – I know I did. Then the monstrosity collapsed into itself, leaving a pile of clothing that evaporated into a cloud of blue smoke. I stared down as the haze cleared, revealing a medium-sized cockroach that dashed for the wall – only to be crushed under the Wizard’s brown loafer.

“That takes care of Mr. Rodriguez.” He smiled easily at me, and raised one eyebrow. “Now, what shall we do with you?”

This is the point where the hero says something really witty, or suddenly pulls out that hidden second gun and blows the bad guy away, right? Wrong. Hell, if I had thought throwing myself at his feet and begging would have helped, believe me, I’d have groveled with the best of them. But I knew deep in my gut that whatever this guy was, compassion wasn’t part of the mix.

Very slowly, I lay the useless gun on the floor and raised my hands. “Look, mister. I don’t know who or what you are, and I don’t want to know. Nothing you’ve done so far is against the law.” That much was the truth - there were no laws on the books then about magical transformation. “Rodriguez was headed for the electric chair when he escaped, so I figure you saved the State some electricity. How ‘bout you let me walk out of here, and I promise not to tell anyone what I saw? No one would believe me anyway.”

“What? No heroics?” The Wizard gave that cold smile again. “And I thought I’d found myself a fierce warrior, a lion who was ready to wage war with the system. But you’re not a warrior, are you? Not too smart, either. Still, you have a stubborn streak that I find amusing, and surprising resourcefulness and patience. You would have probably made a very good Detective.”

His use of the past tense told me all I need to know - he did not plan for me to leave. Using peripheral vision and memory, I tried to come up with some method of escape while I tried to buy some time with more pelading. “With Rodriguez gone, my career is down the tubes anyway. There aren’t any ties for me here. I’ll move away, start over somewhere else.” God, I actually -was- begging!

“I am sure you’re a man of your word, Officer Sparks.” The Wizard sighed and shook his head. “However, I do not like loose ends. Which brings me back to my original question. What do I do with you?” The he smiled suddenly, and he began uttering those sounds again.

There were heavy drapes on the far wall, about the same area where I’d seen a cracked, dirty window from the outside. I launched myself towards the curtains, hoping I wouldn’t end up slamming into a solid wall. For the first time tonight, luck was with me. I sailed cleanly through the opening just as the entire trailer exploded. A ball of flame followed me out of the window, creating a blast of heat and pressure that seemed to pass through me.

The drapes protected me from the broken glass, and may be even the fire, but they also tangled up around my arms and legs. I hit the ground hard, knocking the air from my lungs and leaving me dazed. It took another moment or two to realize that the trailer was completely dark and silent.

Scrambling up, I moved over by the nearest stack of containers, half expecting the guy to come flying out on a broomstick. Yeah, it sounds stupid now. But when you have just seen a gun grow hair and a boy turn into an insect, broomsticks and black cats just seem to fit. If there had been more light shows, strange sounds, even a flicker of movement, I would have run like Satan himself was after me. For all I knew, that was exactly who the guy was.

But there was nothing. I could see into the trailer now, thanks to the shattered main window. The inside was dark, and I noticed that the front door was hanging partly open. Thee was no sign of smoke or fire, and despite the force of the explosion, the only visible damage was the broken window. Actually it was more than that. The whole place felt different. Abandoned.

I had to check it out. Yeah, I really was that stupid. But my hat was lying on the ground, and once I slipped close enough to pick that up, it was obvious that the trailer was empty. Nudging the door open with one foot, I crouched low and peered inside. I could just make out a ratty, broken recliner in the dim light filtering in from the pole lamp outside. The trailer was a dump, floor covered in trash, the ceiling and walls stained and sagging. The fireplace and leather chairs had vanished along with the Wizard.

I fumbled for my flashlight, pulling it out of the belt loop and turned it on. Some scrap paper slid across the floor, stirred by a breeze coming in through the broken window. No one had used this trailer as more than a garbage dump in years. Then the beam reflected off of something shiny on the other side of the recliner. My gun. I went inside and picked it up. The trigger was cold and hard, solid metal again.

God! Had I imagined the whole thing? Or been slipped some sort of drug? Actually, both possibilities were a huge relief compared to what I thought I had just witnessed. Very slowly, my heart began to drop to a normal rhythm as I holstered my gun. I’d call in sick, maybe even make an appointment with the department Shrink. And tell her what? That I saw Rodriguez as a teenager who turned into an insect? That would go over big.

Shaking my head, I turned to leave, only to freeze as something crunched under my shoe. A cockroach. My heart started pounding again, and I nearly fell over my own feet as I scrambled back out of that trailer. I didn’t stop running until I was pressed against a stack of containers on the other side of the lot. Only then did I realize how stupid I was being. Freaking out over a cockroach? There were probably thousands of them in that ancient mobile home.

Except that Homeboy’s lead sled was still parked next to the fence. I approached it cautiously. Empty of course, but just as I remembered it. The keys must have been in Rodriguez’s pocket when he turned into… I blocked out that nightmare, knowing what I thought I had seen was impossible. Even so, something had happened. Discounting everything else, I was still standing in the middle of a container storage yard about ten miles from my beat.

Getting back to Damnation Alley was harder than you might think. I couldn’t call in on the radio without having to do a lot of explaining. Luckily, there was a working payphone a few blocks away, and the cabby was smart enough not to ask questions. My shift sergeant wasn’t too happy when I finally checked in, but I wasn’t late enough to get more than slight snarl. Which left me free to go home and get quietly and completely drunk.

It’s surprising how much a hangover helps you cope with the impossible. When breathing hurts and your head spins every time you try to stand up, misfiling horrible memories under ‘Great hallucinations I have had’ comes as second nature. Less surprising was the rather brief mourning period caused by Rodriguez’s disappearance. There isn’t a lot of sentimentality in the drug and prostitution world – they were back to business as usual with someone else was running things in less than a week.

Of course, I was totally screwed. Though I continued to deny my memories of that night, I knew in my heart that Rodriguez was gone. Which meant I had no way to redeem myself with the Precinct. On the flip side, I was suddenly a lot more popular on the streetr. Whores and junkies were waving and smiling, even some of Rodriguez’s old people. It seemed that Homeboy had told a few of his friends how he was going to waste a nosy cop. So when I returned from the ride and Homeboy didn’t, they all figured that I had wasted him instead.

That kind of assumption can be really helpful in Damnation Alley. However, word also spread to the Precinct, probably through whoever had sold me out in the first place. Not officially, of course. Still, the few people I had trusted were suddenly ‘unavailable,’ and other doors now opened to me led to places I did not want to go.

If I really was a crooked cop, I’d actually have been in a good position. When the Precinct has someone who can survive the Alley, they don’t particularly care if that someone is taking a little extra on the side. Call it a Hazardous Duty bonus that the department doesn’t have to pay. Most of the officers working ‘shit details’ tend to have a little more spending cash than the regular Joes. Of course, their widows tended to collect benefits a little sooner that those of the regular Joes as well.

However, there wasn’t a Mrs. Sparks or Sparky Junior to complicate my situation. And tolerated or not, accepting bribes made me feel dirty. Problem was, I’d started to accept them to get close to Rodriguez, and you didn’t suddenly stop accepting ‘favors’ without raising fears. So that safe deposit box got heavier, and my soul got darker and dirtier.

I figured that was why I started having the nightmares. They began the night of that meeting with Homeboy - nothing really bad at first. Curious, really. The lead sled would pull up next to me, and when I looked in, there was that Ricky Martin face grinning from the top of a cockroach’s body. Or sometimes I’d be riding a giant bucking cockroach like a cowboy, while a very ordinary-looking man applauded from the side. Not exactly visions of sugarplums, but I only woke up in a sweat once or twice.

The second week, my subconscious upped the ante a bit. I’d be in that dump of a motor home, trying to find a way out while a huge shoe came down to crush me. Sometimes I’d dream I woke up as Homeboy, only to turn into a cockroach myself. And the Wizard was always in the background, sometimes nothing more than a reflection in the mirror or a shadow on the wall. He never seemed to do anything threatening - just watch me and applaud the end, no matter how horrible it might be.

I could have tried talking to the Department Shrink. Problem was, the truth behind my dreams was a lot scarier than the dreams themselves, and it was also a lot more likely to get me locked up in a padded cell. So I tried to cope. Cigarettes made me sick, and even when I forced myself to stick with them for a couple of days, they didn’t help with the nightmares. So I tried caffeine, chocolate, and yes, donuts. At least until I realized my uniform was getting tight real fast.

I was surprised how fast I bulked up. After all, I walked a good 20 miles or more every night. Maybe it was just age. Lots of guys start get heavier when they approach 30. And the sparse body hair I’d had since my late teens suddenly started to thicken all over. Again, a pretty common sight in the locker room. At least I wasn’t losing anything on top – if anything, my hairline actually seemed to be dropping.

Cutting back on sweets didn’t help at all. Neither did eliminating all sugar, even in my coffee. Then I tried eating a lot of salads and vegetables, cutting out meat and fats. Though I developed quite a taste for romaine lettuce and carrots, my waistline continued to migrate outward. Funny thing was, I didn’t feel heavy or awkward. Except for having tight clothes, I seemed to have more energy than ever. At least some of it was muscle. On one of my increasingly infrequent busts, I grabbed a dealer who was giving me some lip and pushed him back. He landed about thirty feet away. After that, I cut out the caffeine.

Despite all those problems, and nightmares that now left me wide-awake and shaking, I didn’t go to the doctor’s until my hands and feet started to get stiff. Extra weight and bad dreams were things I could deal with - arthritis at 28 I could not.

So I made an appointment with Stanley Pecksok, the doctor that performed my medical exam for the police academy application. We saw each other once a year for my regular checkup, with an occasional visit when I got a flu bug and once for a sprained ankle.

The first real indication of trouble came when the nurse asked me to step up on the scale. You know, those big digital ones where everyone within fifty feet can see the readout? Two hundred and eighteen pounds! I had never weighed more than one seventy-five in my life! The nurse clucked her tongue disapprovingly as she wrote down the reading. My first thought was that the scale had to be wrong, but I knew better. Even so, it was still a shock. That was more than a forty-pound gain in less than three months!

I followed her to the examination room, where she told me to strip to my skivvies and wait for the doctor. It was rather obvious she had no desire to see me in that condition, rapidly pulling the door closed before I started unbuttoning my shirt.

That was more than a little humiliating. Not that women ever threw themselves at my feet or anything, but I had always been passably good-looking package. Some of the prostitutes in the Alley would flirt with me every now and then – male and female. Thinking back, though, it had been a while since any of them had said anything.

The next signal was Pecsok’s reaction when he came in. Granted, I didn’t expect him to really remember my name without looking at the chart first, but this time he didn’t seem to recognize me at all.

“Jon?” He looked at the chart again, frowning. “Jon Sparks?”

The bewildered look in his eyes told me just how wrong things were. It probably sounds ridiculous now, but God’s honest truth, when I turned and looked in the examination room’s full-length mirror, it was the first time I really saw what had been happening to me.

All I had in the apartment was a small mirror over the bathroom sink, and the changes had been spread out over weeks. Even when my chest and arms started to go Neanderthol, I had never thought to check the rest of my body. Seeing everything all together was a real shock. My back was almost completely covered with an even heavier layer of straight brown hair that continued down my butt and thighs, with a thinner coat spread evenly over the rest of my body. The proportions looked weird, too, like my body was a little too long. Worse, my protruding belly looked more like I was pregnant than fat.

Taking a step closer, I looked hard at the face I had shaved just that morning and compared it to recent memory. God, How could I have not noticed before? My hair was darker all over, more dirty blonde than the near-white it had been most of my life, and had grown down the back of my neck to blend into the dense coat on my shoulders. And my ears looked weird – maybe it was the black fuzz that almost obscured the edges, but they seemed both larger and higher than they should be.

The examination itself was pretty routine. I remember mumbling answers as Pecsok went over the standard questions. Recent weight gain was obvious, and I told him about trying to diet. I don’t think he believed I was living off of salad. And it almost made me laugh when he asked if I had been under any unusual pressure at work.

You’d think that with all this weird stuff going on, my blood pressure would be sky-high, right? Wrong. Both readings were lower than normal, and my heart rate was down to about 58 beats per minute, as opposed to the normal 70. My temperature was up a bit, but not enough that the doctor showed any concern. In fact, he joked about recommending gaining weight to all his patients.

It took a good twenty minutes to get to the reason I had actually come. He looked at my fingers, moving them back and forth as he felt the joints and asked questions. No, it didn’t hurt. No, I wasn’t having trouble holding things, and my grip was as strong as ever. No, I didn’t use a computer much. The problem was both my hands and feet felt less flexible, almost like I was trying to move them through sand.

There was no obvious swelling of the joints, or any other indication of arthritis. Pecsok said the stiffness could be related to job functions, and recommended orthopedic shoes and gloves for colder nights. My hair growth was put off to age and genetics – a little unusual, but nothing to worry about. In the end, all I got was a photocopied page with calorie charts and recipes to help with the diet and orders to call him if any of problems got worse. Oh, he did set up a lab visit for blood workups. I didn’t bother to go. Something was very wrong with me, but I was pretty sure normal medicine wasn’t going to be any help.

It was obvious that the ball of fire that followed me out of the trailer window had done more than singe my clothes. What I thought had simply been an impression of heat passing through me must have been a spell of some sort. Yeah, it took me long enough to figure that out, but remember, most of the world still thought magic was all sleight of hand and trap doors.

Anyway, that left me with a couple of things to figure out. First of all, what was happening to me? The fur seemed to rule out joining Homeboy as a cockroach -–I was grateful for that much, anyway. Besides, I was getting larger, not smaller. Not just heavier, but taller, too. That was a strange bit – my pants legs actually started to bag a little, but my body got longer. Wonder what the Doctor would make of that? My shirts wouldn’t stay tucked in, and with the increasingly prominent belly, I started looking like a cartoon plumber in desperate need of a case of Nair.

The other big question was could I do anything about it? Some people would run and hide until whatever happened was done, or go screaming and wailing about their terrible misfortune. Screw that. As long as I could still think and move, I had a chance. And as for terrible misfortune? Well, I figured that Rodriguez would have blown me away himself if he hadn’t thought the Wizard would follow orders, so every minute after that meeting was a gift.

I decided to make use of those gifts to find the Wizard. Yeah, that’s right. I decided to go looking for him. What choice did I have? It’s not like there’s a “Spells R’ Us” on every corner. As far as I knew, he was the only person in the world, in the universe, maybe, who had the power to do whatever he had done to me. Which meant he was also the only person who could make it stop.

The logical first stop was Rodriguez’s lawyer. After all, he was the one who had gotten the Wizard inside the holding cell. Daniel Cohen was his name, a sharp, smooth-talking criminal lawyer that would cheerfully defend his own mother’s killer. By a rather strange coincidence, it turned out he had left on an ‘extended vacation’ just a few weeks after Rodriguez disappeared. No contact address or phone, of course. I wondered if the vacation was voluntary – or permanent. Not that I would shed any tears to find he was now a sewer rat, but it seemed that my search had hit a major dead end right before it started.

Of course, I checked out other possibilities just to be sure. Damnation Alley has a wealth of resources for the truly desperate. No, not the neighborhood dealers and hookers. I’m talking the really weird shit - Voodoo, occult, pagan cults. You know, the people who base their whole religion, their way of life, on the belief that things like what was happening to me were possible? Right. At least, until they actually come face to face with it.

Most of them thought it was a joke at first, though a few got nasty when they got the idea I was part of some Police sting operation. All I had to do was take off my shirt to get past that part. That was when the reactions got interesting. One old black lady who professed to be a witch screamed and ran into the back of her store. Madame Pomfrey, the card-reading mystic, actually touched my shoulder and then snatched her hand back as if the fur were hot. She ordered me out and closed up shop for the rest of the week. And I got laughed at by ‘Snake’ Simmons, the occult bookstore owner. He said that the whole idea of magic was total crap, and that I needed a good shrink and a can of shaving cream.

Then there were the opportunists who figured they could take advantage of my desperation. They offered magic ointments, special incense, sacred crystals, and guaranteed to combat the mysterious forces at work within my body/soul/karma/spirit/ whatever. All total horse shit, of course. No, that wasn’t a joke. How do I know? I tried them all. Every herbal salve, stinking aromatic, and hunk of quartz they offered ended up in my apartment.

Real help came in the unlikely form of a 17 year-old prostitute named Cindy. She was a newcomer to Damnation Alley, but supposedly had been turning tricks in another city since she was 11. Anyway, I was shuffling through my beat almost a week after my visit to the doctor when she saw me for the first time. By then, I was getting used to stares and whispered comments, but she practically had a nervous breakdown.

Granted, I was looking pretty rough, and my voice had developed a wheeze that wouldn’t go away. An asthmatic Neanderthal, if you will. So I did my best to ignore her as she huddled behind some of the older hookers. Patti, the redhead, shrugged. “Don’t take it personal, Sparks. She has some pretty strange ideas, anyway. Said her best friend turned into a cat woman last Halloween.”

“What?” That got my attention real fast. Like I said, this was before everything leaked out. I figured the Wizard was just a freak thing – I mean, if people started turning into animals and cockroaches, I’d have heard about it on the news, right?

Actually, I had. It took some work to get the kid to talk to me, but when she finally described what happened to her friend, it all came back to me. The Halloween party at a Chicago nightclub called the Raucous Chicken, where everyone had actually become whatever they were dressed as. There had been some wild news stories right afterwards, but then it all got pretty much written off as hallucinations or elaborate hoaxes. Remember, it was months before the Government cover-up got exposed.

You can’t blame them, really. How do you tell the public that thanks to a powerful magic user from another dimension, we have real witches, monsters, and superheroes wandering around? And Wizards who can turn drug dealers into cockroaches and police officers into jackasses. Yeah, I’d figured out what was happening by now. Well, in truth, I heard some little kid telling her mommy that I looked like Eeyore. That sad donkey from Winnie the Pooh?

Now I had a couple of answers – what and how. I still didn’t know why he had done this to me, or where he was. I figured if I could find him, I might get the why. Trouble was, the lawyer was my only solid connection. The Wizard had apparently covered his tracks pretty well, but I was determined to locate him at all costs. Hell, what did I have to lose? So I emptied what was left of my bank account, got every cash advance my credit cards would allow, and started talking to Rodriguez’s former flunkies.

Luckily, most of them thought I had whacked Homeboy and didn’t require too much of my limited resources to tell me they didn’t know anything. And I knew enough of the truth to discount the majority of bullshit. Even so, it took about half my cash to find out that Charlie, one of Rodriguez’s gay pimps had helped arrange his makeover. That same pimp had vanished about the time that Rodriguez did, but I checked out his place, anyway.

The young man who opened the door looked like he hadn’t slept in weeks. I knew the feeling. Early twenties, with that almost-pretty look so common among the male prostitutes. It was easy to understand his haggard appearance. A baby was screaming in the background, the kind of wails that either rip your heart out or make your head explode.

The guy stared at me when I asked about Charlie, and for a bit I didn’t think he actually listened to a word I had said. Finally, he motioned for me to follow, and walked into the back room. My heart leaped – maybe I was finally getting lucky! Then he stopped at a battered crib stuck in a corner of the filthy apartment. The room reeked of dirty diapers, so strong to my enlarged nostrils that my eyes watered. There was a tiny infant in the crib, maybe a month old, fists balled up and squirming as it shrieked.

I stared at the naked little boy, feeling a chill. “OK, you run a lousy daycare. What about Charlie?”

“You’re looking at him. We were in bed together about a month ago, and he started to shrink. Only took a few minutes to end up like this. Hasn’t stopped screaming since. Doesn’t eat or drink. Doesn’t sleep. Just screams and stinks. Don’t think he’s aged a day, either.” The young man smiled bitterly. “ I took up with him because I like older men. Pretty funny, huh?”

Up to that point, I’d figured Rodriguez had suffered the worst fate imaginable. Given the choice between being a dead cockroach and eternity as a helpless, terrified baby, the sole of the Wizard’s loafer suddenly didn’t look all that bad. I backed away, cold and shaking, and then spun and puked up a bag of carrots.

We went back to the living room, where I tried to apologize for the mess. He gave a short, hollow laugh. “Like I’d even notice?” Then he fell back into a chair. “So, you obviously got screwed by the Wizard.”

“You know about him?” I wiped my mouth off on my sleeve. “Do you know how Charlie got in touch with him?”

“Why? You aren’t stupid enough to be looking for him, are you?”

I nodded. “Unless you got some better idea, I don’t know any other way to stop this.”

His eyes flickered down to my crotch, and a faint smile formed. “Could be a lot worse. You seem to have your mind, and some of your change looks pretty interesting. I don’t suppose you’d be interested in…?”

“Don’t even go there.” I felt my ears shift slightly back as a flash of anger came and went. “If I turn into an animal, I might as well be dead. Maybe I can talk him into changing me back. But I got to find him, first.”

We both cringed as a particularly loud shriek split the air. He sagged suddenly. “All I know is, Charlie talked to a friend of his in Chicago. A female impersonator, does Marilyn Monroe at one of the big clubs downtown. His name is Wayne – don’t know the last name. That’s all I got.”

By now, the constant screaming had gotten to me so bad I would have probably left even if the guy did have more information. He got up when I nodded and followed me to the door. The hallway provided some relief, and I took time to ask a question that had nagged me since I first saw Charlie. “Why do you stay?”

The young man gave that hollow laugh again. “Because the fucking Wizard screwed me up, too! We are bonded somehow. I can’t get more than fifty feet away from Charlie without a major panic attack. If you happen to see him, tell him I think he’s a major shit. If I’m lucky, he’ll kill me.” Then he slammed the door in my face.

Baby Charlie joined the cast of my nightmares, still screaming as the Wizard pulled him out of a filthy crib and handed him to Marylyn Monroe. The dead starlet struck a motherly pose, then looked directly at me with a nasty leer. “Hey there, big boy! Wanna have some fun?” She twisted around as a blast of air sent her skirt flying up over her waist, presenting me with a naked and very female donkey’s hindquarters. I could feel myself changing more as I moved to her, screamed and cursed the Wizard as my arms stiffened and my face pushed out, knowing that I was losing myself and helpless to stop. A coarse braying joined the infant’s shrieks, and then I woke up in a cold sweat.

As bad as the dreams were, I still dragged my feet over going to Chicago. Oh, I told myself I was being cautious, checking out all the other leads before I did anything drastic. Truth was, I was afraid. At least, until I looked in the mirror a few days later and saw that the eyes staring back at me were brown instead of blue, with pupils that had a horizontal cast to them. You know the old saying about eyes being ‘windows to the soul’? Well, these windows belonged in a stable.

Even with that proverbial cattle prod to the balls, it took another day to actually make the trip. I had to kill my mother off, at least for the Duty Sergeant, in order to get emergency leave. There wasn’t much chance I would be returning, but there was no point in burning bridges. On the other hand, I didn’t want to leave a lot of loose ends, either. I gave my potted plants to a neighbor, unplugged everything in the apartment, and threw together a last will and testament with one of those do-it-yourself kits. It probably looked like I was planning to commit suicide. Maybe I was.

First class airfare cost about two weeks’ pay, but I probably wouldn’t have fit in one of the Coach seats anyway. Besides, if I had to blow my credit, I might as well go for the gold. If I survived, I’d find a way to pay it all back. If I didn’t, well, tough luck for MasterCard and Visa.

Finding a specific Marilyn Monroe impersonator in Chicago was a lot harder than I expected. Would you believe there were six appearing at different clubs? And not one of them was named Wayne. I was contemplating some serious bodily harm to Charlie’s babysitter when a stagehand volunteered – with the help of a C-note – the information that the Marilyn I wanted, one Wayne Bulger, was locked up in the Chicago General loony bin.

By then it was about four hours past normal visiting, so I treated myself to a room at the Omni Chicago hotel. You know, mint on the pillow, mini-bar, and a fruit basket? I had room service bring up a $21 Caesar salad at 3 a.m. – and fell asleep in the middle of eating it.

The dream was different that night. I was walking my beat in Damnation Alley, nodding to the regulars as I passed. They all smiled and waved, and the girl prostitute came running over to feed me a carrot. I felt a sting in my rump, and looked back to see the Wizard sitting on an ancient peddler’s cart. A cart I was pulling as a donkey. The Wizard flicked his whip at me again. “Come on Sparky. We have a lot more work to do.” And I could see that the space behind him was piled high with bodies.

Although it was disturbing, this new nightmare came and went without waking me up in the wee hours of the morning. I was still dead asleep when the maid knocked on the door at noon, and I actually felt rested for the first time in weeks. I absently noted greatly enlarged ears and more prominent teeth as I washed up. Maybe I was getting used to the changes, but even the discovery that a short tail had emerged overnight didn’t phase me. A hot shower, larger clothes, and a pullover cap did wonders to make me look presentable. Still no prizewinner, but as long as no one looked too closely at the details, my Police ID should pass muster.

Happily, the hospital administrator was in a good mood when I called with a plausible and only slightly falsified story - I was investigating the disappearance of a drug pusher, and Mr. Bulger was the only lead I had been able to track so far. He had no problem allowing me to talk with Bulger, though he did warn me that the man probably wouldn’t be much help. We met in the hospital’s lobby a few hours later, and after giving my badge a cursory glance, he escorted me up to the Psychiatric Ward.

“You might be in luck.” The Ward nurse met us at the elevator, showing only the slightest shudder at my appearance. “She’s been singing ‘Happy Birthday’ to President Kennedy this morning. That was a good day, if I remember right.” When she saw my bewildered expression, she shook her head. “I guess you already know Wayne was a Marilyn Monroe impersonator. About a month ago, his act suddenly got a little too realistic. He seems to be reliving her life, jumping around with no real order. The detail is pretty scary – I guess he is making things up in his head, but it all seems so damn real!”

I frowned, remembering Charlie. “What kind of details? Is he really her now? I mean, physically?” They both stopped and stared at me, and I had to regroup. “In his mind. Uh, does he act like he is a woman?”

The nurse snorted as she continued to the end of the hallway. “Does he ever! It’s not just that he’s effeminate. I’ve seen some of her old movies. He has the walk, the voice, and every little gesture down pat. Even details of her life that aren’t common knowledge. I made a bet with one of the other nurses that it was all made up, and did some digging. So far, almost every single reference has checked out. And I couldn’t disprove any of the rest.” She stopped at the last door on the right. “Here you go. He isn’t dangerous, except to himself.”

“Dangerous?”

“He was brought in here the day he relived one of her drug overdoses.”

“Oh.” Not knowing what else to say, I waited for her to knock and open the door. A familiar, breathy voice invited us in.

Wayne might have been having a good day, but he looked like Hell. About medium height and build, he had thick, tangled bleached blonde hair with a couple of inches of dark brown at the roots, and enough makeup to scare Tammy Faye Baker. Combined with a hospital gown hanging open in the back, he looked about as much like Marilyn Monroe as I did.

At least, until he saw us and sat primly on the bed. Now, the actress he was supposed to be imitating had died before I was born, and I might have seen her in a couple of old movies on the late show. But I knew I was in Her presence. Not an act. Not a delusion. This really was Marilyn Monroe.

She was very nice, actually. Excited from having just left the White House, her eyes were bright and she couldn’t stop smiling. I’m not sure how she saw us. A group of fans, perhaps, or reporters looking for tidbits.

Unfortunately, my questions about Rodriguez brought a blank stare. Of course, there was no way Marilyn would have known him. She did know a Charlie, but he was the prop man on her current film – Something’s Got to Give. Then she stood up, explaining that she had to catch a plane back to Los Angeles. She fished around in an imaginary pocketbook, and handed us each something – her agent’s card, it turned out. We could call or write, and she’d make sure we got autographed photos. Then she gave the Administrator a peck on the cheek, and turned to do the same for me.

As her lips brushed my hairy face, her fingers dug deep into my shoulders. That husky voice deepened, and Wayne Bulger whispered into my ear. “My place. Look for the Wizard with Dorothy.” He pulled back, and our eyes locked. For just a moment, I saw a desperate, tortured soul. Then he blinked in confusion, and Marilyn was back.

The others did not see the momentary lapse. I managed to smile and wave as Marilyn traipsed to her waiting limousine, thanked her driver, Fred, and settled back on the bed for the ride to the airport. The nurse herded us back out, smiling as she shut the door. “Well, if he has to be crazy, at least he is happy.”

Happy? I thought I might be sick again, but managed to retain lunch. Bulger must have been infatuated with Marilyn Monroe. Perhaps he had wanted to know what it was like to really be her. And Charlie had been an older man with a young lover. Had he wished for youth? I shivered suddenly. The Wizard had said I was interesting. Considering what I had seen of his work so far, the old Chinese curse ‘May you live in interesting times’ seemed very bad indeed.

Finding this monster suddenly wasn’t quite so appealing to me. Still, Bulger had tried to pass on something to me. Was the Wizard staying in his apartment? That seemed unlikely. And who was Dorothy? Every survival instinct was telling me to turn and run as far and as fast as I could. Except, I wouldn’t be running much longer, at least, on two legs. What else could the Wizard do to me? I shut that thought down quick.

It was pride that kept me going. I just couldn’t give up. I was close – I could feel it. Sort of like coming up to a really big accident on the highway. You can see all the lights and people, know that there is something ugly up ahead. And you still end up looking for the bodies and the blood, even though you tell yourself you don’t want to see them. Of course, in this case the body was likely to be my own.

I had to dig to locate the address listed in Bulger’s hospital file. Not surprisingly, it was in Chicago’s version of Damnation Alley. As far as John Q. Public is concerned, a professional female impersonator is as socially unacceptable as a whore or a drug dealer. That tends to make the misfits and miscreants become reluctant allies - the enemy of my enemy is my friend, and all that crap.

The cabby I finally managed to flag down wouldn’t go closer than five blocks away, so I had to walk through a criminal wonderland that didn’t know I was a cop. The WASP Poster Child I had been just a few weeks ago would have been beaten, robbed, and perhaps murdered long before he reached the crumbling brownstone that contained Bulger’s apartment. However, no one wanted to get close to the shaggy, ugly stranger shuffling through their midst. In a way, that hurt almost as much as a knife wound.

The building super, a withered old lady who might have been a hooker in her youth, wasn’t quite so quick as the hospital to cooperate with an out-of-state cop. She demanded to see a warrant, but eventually accepted a picture of Benjamin Franklin as a substitute. As I reached the top of his landing on the third floor, I discovered I had wasted my money.

Bulger’s door had been kicked in, and even in the dark it was obvious that his place had been ransacked. What furniture remained had been smashed apart, and the walls were spay-painted with a wide variety of colorful (no pun intended) messages. Even the bulbs had been removed from the ceiling fixtures.

I squinted in the dim light from the hall, trying to spot anything that might tie in with Bulger’s one whispered clue. The thieves and vandals hadn’t left much. Movie posters hung in tatters from the wall, with streamers of ruined VHS tapes tangled on the floor. Discouraged, I kicked idly at some old magazines. The trail was suddenly gone.

“Get the fuck outa here, you piece of shit!” I spun suddenly at a shrill, angry voice behind me, and saw someone in the doorway brandishing a large crowbar. “Isn’t it enough you assholes ruined almost everything he had?” With the light behind, the person’s face was lost in shadow, and neither the silhouette nor the voice identified gender. For just a moment, I felt a quick thrill of terror, remembering the Wizard’s similar dark mask. But this self-appointed guardian lacked the presence I had felt before, and I realized it must be either a neighbor or a friend. Perhaps both.

I raised my hands. “I’m a police officer! Mr. Bulger told me to look for something here.”

“Bullshit!” The crowbar lifted a bit higher. “Wayne is locked up in the mental ward! And the fuckin’ police didn’t even come out when his place was trashed.” The voice dropped a bit, and I decided it was male. “If you’re a cop, show me your badge!”

“OK. It’s in my jacket pocket.” I pulled it out very slowly, and opened it so he could see my shield. “Officer Jonathan Michael Sparks. I’m investigating the disappearance of a drug dealer.”

“Wayne never did drugs in his life!” Then the voice faltered. “Well, not until just before…” Then the guy stiffened and stepped back. “Move closer, into the light where I can see you.”

Sighing, I vary carefully stepped into the small rectangle of light from outside.

“Oh, fuck!” He spun suddenly and took off down the hall as if the hounds of Hell were at his heels.

I ran out into the hall just in time to see the door at the end of the hallway slam shut. Granted, by that time I was no beauty contest winner, but his reaction seemed pretty extreme. Still, considering the state of Bulger’s apartment, he was also the only hope I had of continuing.

Standing off to the side, I knocked three times. “Um, sir? Look, I really am a police officer, and I did speak to Mr. Bulger at the hospital tonight.”

“Go away!” There was no mistaking the fear in his voice. “I’m calling the police!”

“I –am- the police, mister.” This sudden switch from armed defender to quivering coward was more than a little bewildering.

“You’re one of THEM! What did you ask for? To be hung like a horse?” He gave a short, hysterical laugh. “Keep your fucking Genie! I don’t know anything! I don’t want anything! Except to be left the Hell alone!” He was pretty close to the edge – so scared that he might do something really harmful to himself or me if I handled this wrong.

“I didn’t ask for anything.” I paused a moment, and then plunged ahead. At this point, the truth was all I had. “Look, I am not lying about being a cop. I was chasing a drug dealer who escaped from a locked room at the police station. He turned up a couple of weeks ago, except he was a kid.” When there was no reaction, I continued. “He took me to meet someone. Really average looking guy, like an accountant or store clerk. That guy turned the drug dealer into a cockroach, and did something to me. Said he thought I was interesting.” I swallowed hard, trying to moisten a suddenly dry throat. “I’m trying to find the guy again. Wayne was involved in getting the two of them together. I don’t care about that. I just want to locate the Wizard. Maybe he will change me back.”

There was another short laugh. “Why? You that anxious to join the animal kingdom?”

A good question. It was pretty obvious that the Wizard liked to play games with people – the old ploy of granting your wishes in the worst way possible. His victims were either dead or wished they were, and I had no reason to believe he would help me in any way I wanted to be helped. So why was I trying to hook up with him again? Turning into a jackass wasn’t exactly my life’s ambition, but there were far worse fates out there. I had seen three of them.

Ironically, the memory of Homeboy the cockroach provided an answer – the Wizard wasn’t unlike a cockroach himself. No, I would never tell him that. But for all his incredible, terrifying power, the Wizard was trying to stay out of the light. Why? When you can change weapons into hair and people into anything from bugs to infants, why not flaunt it? Because he was vulnerable. I could have probably shot him if I had fired first and asked questions later. And I doubted he could protect himself from multiple attackers, or at least, from snipers he couldn’t see. I needed to expose him, turn on the lights and let the world see what he was before he could scurry back under whatever rock he usually hid under.

I guess I had been lying to myself all along, entertaining a silly notion that he would wave his hand and zap me back to good old Sparky, neighborhood cop. That hope suddenly evaporated. I was facing the equivalent of a terminal illness. Funny thing was, I felt better knowing that. Instead of wasting my time looking for a cure that didn’t exist, I had a real purpose with at least a slim chance of success.

Except that I seemed to be out of leads. “The bastard who did this to me has hurt a lot of other people. But he can’t stop a bullet. Or at least, a lot of bullets. If I can expose him, let people know what he is and what he does, maybe he can be stopped. But I have to find him first.”

“I don’t know anything! Wayne and I worked together, and I guess we were friends, sorta. But I never got involved with that fuckin’ Wizard. Never met him, never wanted to. I warned Wayne not to screw around with someone like that, but he seemed to think he had some kind of insurance. Next thing I know, he’s overdosing on pills because he’s depressed that Joe DiMaggio doesn’t love him anymore!”

I found out later that DiMaggio was Marylyn Monroe’s husband off and on towards the end of her life. Right then, however, I didn’t care. “Were you able to save anything from Wayne’s place before it got robbed? He broke free of Marylyn for just a few seconds tonight, right after I asked him about the Wizard. He told me to check his place. Did he have a girlfriend? He said to look for the Wizard with Dorothy.”

There was a long silence, and I was afraid that I had reached the end of the trail. “Stay there. Dammit, I shouldn’t have let him talk me into this. Shit! Shit! Shit!” His voice trailed off – moving away from the door. After a few minutes, locks clicked and the door opened to reveal a thin, haggard-looking young man with a page-boy haircut. The voice and the features were vaguely familiar, and his remark about working with Wayne suddenly brought it all into focus. “Judy Garland! You’re a female impersonator, too!”

He managed a wry smile. “Wayne called me Dorothy – he liked my Wizard of Oz outfit.” A small key on a plastic fob was suddenly thrust in front of my face. “Here. Take it. I’m probably fucked already just by your coming here, so I might as well do what I can to help.”

I took the key and looked at it carefully. The fob was from Nations Bank, and the key had a number on it. “A safe deposit box?”

‘Dorothy’ shook his head. “A locker in the YMCA over on Augustus Avenue. Wayne’s idea of being clever. He told me to give it to the police if anything happened to him. You’re the police, so I’ve done my part. Now get the Hell outa here and don’t ever come back!” The door slammed shut before I could even say thanks – a reaction I was getting used to.

It was late evening by then, and I had to walk even further before I could get a cab to stop. Augustus Avenue turned out to be on the other side of Chicago, and the driver insisted on payment in advance. Guess my appearance combined with the locale didn’t inspire confidence. My new tail felt like it had lengthened quite a bit during the day, and probably made a strange-looking bulge in the back of my pants. Worse, everything was a size or two small on me, making movement uncomfortable. I was steadily losing ground to the jackass – physically, I was already past the halfway point. How long did I have before I really was an animal?

Although the ride was ungodly expensive, it was uneventful and the cabby actually took me to the door. The YMCA itself was pretty seedy – probably built back in the early thirties, and last painted in the early seventies. I started absently humming the old song by the Village People, only to stop when the sounds I was making actually registered. I’d never been Frank Sinatra, but my voice had always been on key before. Yet no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t make musical notes.

Something very basic had changed in my voice. Not a big thing, I guess, but it bothered me more than anything else that had happened. It was a stupid reaction, considering the fact I now had a full-fledged tail uncomfortably squashed under my shorts and enough body hair to qualify as bona-fide fur. In fairness, I didn’t look at myself that much, so the physical changes were more uncomfortable than frightening. My voice had been the constant identifier, though, the link to my ‘real’ self. And now it was gone.

I stood outside the old building for a few minutes, feeling sorry for myself. What else had changed today? It was easy to see that my arms had lengthened, thicker hands hanging several inches further down from the sleeves than they should. How much longer would I be able to pass for a human? Finally, I decided that it didn’t really matter. All that mattered was getting the Wizard. It was a race now. Could I solve the puzzle before I changed too much to function?

The white-haired old man at the YMCA desk looked like he might be an original fixture, and he scowled at me as I approached the desk. “Twenty dollars a night, in advance.” Like the cabby, he had an obvious mistrust of Ugly. Especially Ugly dressed in obviously too-small clothes and stinking of a barnyard.

That posed a problem. I had a feeling that my badge wasn’t going to carry a lot of weight here. This fellow looked like he probably took his job seriously, which meant that I’d need a search warrant to look in Wayne’s locker - a search warrant that I wasn’t going to be able to get legally.

I did, however, have twenty dollars. So I checked in, got key 238, and went upstairs. The tiny room was barely big enough for a twin bed and nightstand, with a lovely view of the next building’s brick wall. It was a major fall from last night’s luxury, but the sheets were clean and there was a lock on the door. And I saved myself about $300, though the cost factor was unimportant.

After locking the door behind me, I took advantage of the cracked, spotty mirror hanging over the bedside table to take stock of my condition. There was more than idle curiosity at work when I stripped – my grossly over-stretched underpants were giving me a serious wedgie.

As much of a physical relief it was to remove the tight clothing, I almost wished I hadn’t. It was one thing to feel a tail curled inside your pants, but quite another to look back and see that tail twitch in response to your thoughts. Curiously, the tufted appendage looked quite at home over what had become jutting, furred buttocks. An ass’s ass, so to speak. I also had an ass’s torso, barreled out with no nipples or bellybutton. The bulge that interested Charlie’s boyfriend had filled out even more, gaining a dark animal sheath along with substantial size. No wonder my underpants hurt.

The only part of Jonathan Sparks that I could recognize was my face, somewhat distorted by oversized teeth and a broader nose, but still more human than donkey. On the other hand, my ears had migrated higher on my head, becoming elongated and furred in the process. I didn’t have another day. In truth, looking at the deformed animal in the mirror, I doubted I would survive a short nap. If I was going to solve this mystery, I had to do it now.

Leaving the outgrown briefs on the floor, I got dressed again, fumbling a bit with the various fasteners. Then I headed down to the basement. Lodging included full use of the YMCA facility, including the locker room. A swirl of odors filled my nostrils - ammonia, with touches of sweat, mildew, urine. Not really unpleasant, just stronger than I would have expected. Or was that due to a change in my sense of smell?

There were some kids over in a corner, looking like they were drying off from swimming class. A couple of obvious weight lifters were talking football. They all fell silent when I shuffled in, stared a moment, and then slowly resumed their conversations. I was vaguely insulted when the boys shifted around to the far side of the locker - did I look like a pervert?

The number on the key was 121. I found the one-hundred series lockers in the far corner. Several of the doors had been ripped off, and for a moment, I was afraid that Wayne’s locker might have suffered the same fate as his apartment. But no - locker 121 remained intact. I had to work to get the key in, and then wiggle it a little to turn the lock.

There was a single manila envelope inside. I pulled it out, surprised and a little disappointed in how light and thin it was. Still, I didn’t feel comfortable opening it there. One of the boys seemed to be staring at me a lot. And the black weightlifter kept glancing over my way. Curiosity? Or maybe one of them wasn’t what he appeared to be.

I slipped the envelope into my coat and headed back upstairs. Instead of going straight back to the room, however, I took a detour out the side door to a small Korean market I’d noticed on the same block. The YMCA didn’t have room service, and I was more than a little hungry. So I bought a head of lettuce, a loaf of bread, and some bottled water. As I pulled out my wallet to pay for them, I glanced out the window and saw the first police car pulling up outside the YMCA. An unmarked unit joined it, and a chill ran up my spine as I saw the detectives pull their guns as soon as they got out.

They were looking for me. There was no reason I could think of, but my instincts were screaming at my head to run and hide. Luckily, the Korean storekeeper had his back to the window, or he might have realized my sudden anxiety wasn’t over the price of his goods.

Normal procedure is to have one officer remain outside just in case the target of the raid slips past. These guys didn’t follow procedure - they had all the earmarks of a posse on the trail of a killer. Weapons out and ready, charging in like the U.S. Marines. I watched them go dashing inside, and made a timely exit from the store just as the last one disappeared inside.

So much for a quiet night at the YMCA. I hurried to the end of the block and turned left, looking for some place to hide. Just my luck it had to be a residential block - crumbling brownstones spotted here and there a few that had been recently refurbished. I was getting nervous. It wouldn’t take long for that posse to figure out I wasn’t home. And I wasn’t exactly inconspicuous.

One of the brownstones was still under construction - I realized that the doorframe was empty just as my oversized ears picked up the sound of engines roaring into life around the corner. There wasn’t time to think, or even check to see if anyone was watching. I vaulted over the sawhorse protecting freshly poured concrete steps and dove inside. One of the police cars roared past moments later - they had to have seen me. I was scared to move, to even breath.

I finally eased up to a sitting position and glanced cautiously out of the opening. A cab rolled past, and about a minute later, an old lady passed by walking her dog. The dog sniffed in my direction, but its owner was impatient and pulled it past before it could do more than give a puzzled woof at my strange scent.

Why had the police come after me? Had someone at the YMCA called them? The old man? One of the kids? How could anyone have known I was heading there? I hadn’t known myself until I got the key from Dorothy. Which reminded me of the envelope stuffed into my coat. There really wasn’t time to look at it - the police would be doing a house-to-house as soon as they could get backup. Still, I had to find out what all the fuss was about.

The envelope proved to be too much for my numb, thick fingers, and I had to tear it open with my teeth. It held a 4x6 color photograph and a business card. That was it. I shook it a couple of times, and peered inside just to make sure I hadn’t overlooked anything. The business card was for one Benjamin R. Drake, CPA - taxes prepared, business and personal accounting. Someone had scrawled ‘Magic User’ on the back in red ink. Then I looked at the picture. It was the Wizard. He was in a brown suit, carrying a battered leather briefcase. A dingy office was in the background, with a sign reading Carter, Lewis, and Parker - Accountants. The number by the door matched the address on the card - apparently, he worked there but didn’t rate his name on the marquee.

So, the Wizard had a name. And a profession. A glorified clerk with the power of a God. I wondered if he was still maintaining that boring life, a secret identity to protect his darker side. It was a good cover - if I hadn’t actually seen him in the trailer with homeboy, I’d never connect this dumpy-looking accountant with someone who could turn a man into an insect with a wave of his hand.

This was what Wayne Bulger had lost his mind over. And why Charlie was stuck forever as a screaming infant. The Wizard wanted to keep his real name a secret. He must have been testing out his abilities with Rodriguez - a big payoff and a customer half a continent away who was just as anxious to keep his transformation secret. Power had made him sloppy, and he’d allowed people to find out who he really was. Only a few, however, and now he was trying to clean up after himself.

What now? I knew his real name, but what good was that, really? The police would laugh at me if I went in to the station and tried to report his crimes. He turned a drug dealer into a kid, and then a cockroach. Changed a male prostitute into a baby. And screwed up the mind of a female impersonator. Oh, yes. He was also turning a police officer into a donkey.

That’s when it hit me - I was all the proof I needed! The change had already gone way beyond anything that could be explained by age or genetics. All I had to do was turn myself in, and we could nail Benjamin Drake, CPA, to the wall. Suddenly feeling confident, I stood up and took a step towards the door. But my balance was suddenly thrown off, and I pitched forward just as large chunks of plaster exploded from the wall behind me.

“Shit!” I flattened myself as best I could, fighting arms and legs that didn’t want to bend properly. My body had just lost bipedal status, but I was more concerned about the bullet holes. If I hadn’t fallen, they would have been in me, not the plaster. A sniper, maybe more than one, had tried to take me out. It seemed impossible – no warning, no chance to surrender. No police department worked that way, even with known murderers. What the Hell did they think I had done?

“Not very friendly, are they?”

My guts iced over as the Wizard’s voice came from the back corner, but I rolled over and grabbed for my revolver in a desperate attempt to shoot him. It was a wasted effort – my arm wouldn’t flex enough, and the solid lump that slammed painfully against my thigh was more hoof than hand.

Drake didn’t even flinch. There was just enough light to make out his face. No magical shadow blocked my view – he didn’t need to hide from me anymore. “If you had tried that back at the trailer, you just might have killed me. I was very careless then. Of course, I was just learning about my powers, and I thought I could do anything.”

“Why are you doing this to me?” I had trouble getting the words out, having to fight a mouth that had changed substantially in the past few minutes.

“I made some serious mistakes when I first discovered my powers – the unfortunate business with Mr. Rodriguez was the worst of them. It created a rather messy trail that I had to erase.” He smiled. “And you were just the person I needed. I suppose I should have been grateful to Miguel for bring you to me that night.”

“I’ll never help you! I…” My rough, wheezing voice trailed off as the truth came crashing down on me. I had followed the trail in ways that the Wizard could not, using contacts and experience to track down and talk to everyone involved, eventually digging up the one piece of evidence that identified Drake as the Wizard.

“That amusing stubborn streak of yours has served me well. I actually didn’t know about Wayne’s envelope at the YMCA – but I suspected there might be something somewhere. So I trusted my fate to your resourcefulness and patience. As I suspected, you made a very good Detective. Too bad your own police force did not recognize those qualities.”

My clothing had been getting painfully tight and most of it started to rip apart when I struggled to sit up. “Why this? Why did you have to turn me into a farm animal?” I knew I had lost, knew the end was coming fast. I was more donkey than man now – my thoughts would be fading soon. When Rodriguez had been crushed under the Wizard’s shoe, had he been aware of death as a man or simply died as a common roach?

He shrugged. “You had to be desperate enough to come after me and still be able to function. By the time you noticed getting younger, you’d have been a kid that no one took seriously. And a lion would be too hard to control. Besides, the form seemed to fit your personality rather well.”

Giving up on trying to assume a human sitting position, I pushed myself up on almost completed forelegs. Just as I prepared to shout back some clever retort, the Wizard suddenly jumped back and shouted, “Duck!”

I dropped to my side as another volley of bullets took out more of the wall, wheezing from a cloud of plaster dust that filled the room.

“You may want to stay low, Sparky. I’m afraid your fellow officers out there are rather determined to kill you.”

“Why? What did you do to them?” My heart was pounding – even faced with life as a dumb beast, I did not want to die.

“Nothing.” Drake shrugged again. “Well, nothing to them. However, I paid a follow-up visit to each of your contacts along the way. You’ll be happy to know that Charlie has stopped screaming. Now he lies in his crib all day and peacefully sucks on a pacifier that used to be his lover.” He chuckled. “Rather appropriate, don’t you think?”

What was it the young man had said? If he was lucky, the Wizard would kill him? I shivered, wondering what he had done to Wayne and ‘Dorothy’. “They couldn’t hurt you any more. Why did you have to kill them?”

“Oh, none of them are dead, exactly. Even the pacifier is aware. They were markers along the trail, landmarks that had to be removed. And I was able to use them for a clever bit of misdirection. Magic has always been linked to sleight of hand, Sparky. And I made sure that the audience kept its eyes on the rabbit – or in this case, the donkey.”

Suddenly it all came together in my head, and I stared up at him with a mixture of horror and admiration. “You bastard! They think it’s all been me all along!”

Drake smiled broadly. “I was hoping you’d figure it out. Rather clever, don’t you think? You were the one common link for everything, from Rodriguez all the way here. The Chicago police have been after me ever since the night of the party. I was rather overwhelmed by the sudden power, and transformed a few officers who tried to detain me. I understand they became valuable members of the K-9 Corps, but the law has been out to get me ever since. That squad of assassins out there has been waiting for the chance to kill me for months.”

All emotion drained out of me. I was beaten, utterly and completely destroyed. Instead of catching the bastard, I had been his best ally. The sniper’s bullet’s didn’t seem so terrifying. “And now I get to die in your place.”

“That was my original plan. However, I think you deserve a better reward than being ripped apart by a hail of bullets.” Drake raised an eyebrow. “In fact, I think I have a far better solution in mind. Another bit of showmanship. Always leave them wanting more.”

He leaned over and picked up the envelope where it had fallen out of my shredded coat. Pulling out the photo and business card, he smiled, and then showed them to me. The picture now showed me walking my beat in Damnation Alley, and the business card was one of my police contact cards. “It’s all in the details, you know.” Then he dropped the envelope back on the floor and waved his hand.

The floor seemed to open up suddenly, and I was falling, screaming. The next thing I knew, I was waking up here. Yep, this exact same pasture, though it was a lot emptier then. And I was exactly the way I am now. He’d left me enough of my face to be recognizable, even though I look mostly like a jackass from any distance. His safety, I suppose. If things ever get really dangerous, he can simply drop me back in Chicago, or anywhere else for that matter. You see, pretty much every police officer, soldier, and special agent in the country has standing orders to shoot Officer Jonathan Michael Sparks, also known as the Wizard, on sight.

Drake made one mistake, though. He didn’t do anything to my mind. In fact, he seems to think it’s amusing to keep me as a pet. I get trotted out whenever he has company to perform tricks – he set up a voice-controlled computer that understands this braying of mine, and has me answer questions and do math.

However, when he is gone, I can use the computer for other things. Like searching the Internet, and sending email. I constantly look for anyone who can help me expose him, tracking down every lead, every newspaper article and web site question. I know he is looking for them too, and I keep trying to find them and warn them. Like I tried to warn you. I was so close. If you had just gotten that email an hour or so sooner, you would have escaped him, instead of winding up here as a sheep. I still can’t figure out how he got to you so fast, but I will. I never stop as long as I can follow a lead.

The end.

User:Posti

2008-06-11T18:30:19Z

Posti:

==Stories==
*[[User:Posti/After_and_Before|After and Before]]
*[[User:Posti/Baylors_Rein|Baylor's Rein]]
*[[User:Posti/Bite_of_the_Apple|Bite of the Apple]]
*[[User:Posti/Blind_Man|Blind Man]]
*[[User:Posti/Bottom_Up|Bottom Up]]
*[[User:Posti/Broken_Hart|Broken Hart]]
*[[User:Posti/Business_Associate|Business Associate]]
*[[User:Posti/charlies_eyes|Charlie's Eyes]]
*[[User:Posti/Circe_com|Circe.com]]
*[[User:Posti/Cleaning_Up|Cleaning Up]]
*[[User:Posti/Clothes_horse|Clothes Horse]]
*[[User:Posti/Companion|Companion]]
*[[User:Posti/Gypsy_Gold|Gypsy Gold]]
*[[User:Posti/hangover|Hangover]]
*[[User:Posti/Hoof_Beat|Hoof Beat]]
*[[User:Posti/Jacked_into_the_System|Jacked into the System]]
*[[User:Posti/Joker|Joker]]
*[[User:Posti/Lasting_Impression|Lasting Impression]]
*[[User:Posti/Lost_in_Translation|Lost in Translation]]
*[[User:Posti/Midsummer|Midsummer Night's Unemployment]]
*[[User:Posti/Mortal_Danger|Mortal Danger]]
*[[User:Posti/No_Bull|No Bull]]
*[[User:Posti/One_Way_Ticket|One Way Ticket]]
*[[User:Posti/Outfoxed|Outfoxed]]
*[[User:Posti/paid_with_interest|Paid With Interest]]
*[[User:Posti/Quiet_Place|Quiet Place]]
*[[User:Posti/Peanut_Gallery|The Peanut Gallery]]
*[[User:Posti/rain_dance|Rain Dance]]
*[[User:Posti/real_time|Real Time]]
*[[User:Posti/Reenactment|Reenactment]]
*[[User:Posti/Reindeer_games|Reindeer Games]]
*[[User:Posti/Replacement_Cost|Replacement Cost]]
*[[User:Posti/Salvage|Salvage]]
*[[User:Posti/Simple_life|Simple Life]]
*[[User:Posti/Something_to_Remember|Something to Remember]]
*[[User:Posti/Special_Edition|Special Edition]]
*[[User:Posti/strapped|Strapped for Cash]]
*[[User:Posti/Substitution_penalty|Substitution Penalty]]
*[[User:Posti/Surrogate|Surrogate]]
*[[User:Posti/taken|Taken]]
*[[User:Posti/Team_Spirit|Team Spirit]]
*[[User:Posti/Totally_Pucked|Totally Pucked]]
*[[User:Posti/Unicorn_Dance|Unicorn Dance]]
*[[User:Posti/Wearin_of_the-Green|Wearin of the Green]]
*[[User:Posti/Where_Wolf|Where Wolf]]
*[[User:Posti/Whicker_Man|Whicker Man]]
*[[User:Posti/Xmas_Delivery|Xmas Delivery]]

[[Category:Author]]
{{DEFAULTSORT:Posti}}

User:Posti/Special Edition

2008-06-11T18:28:04Z

Posti:

{{my stories|category=Bob Stein|name=Bob Stein}}
[[Category:Story]] [[Category:Bob Stein]] [[Category:Equine]] [[Category:Animal]] [[Category:mythical]] {{DEFAULTSORT:Special Edition}}
{{title|name=Special Edition|user=Posti|author=Bob Stein}}

Waking up to a hard slap on the butt was something of a shock, given the fact that Lindsey lived alone. As his eyes popped open, a gruff male shouted “Rise and shine, my beasties!” The wall of dark, battered wooden planks in front of him didn’t belong to his bedroom. Neither did the strong sweat/urine stink that filled his nostrils, or the mix of groans, whinnies, and brays in his ears.

“Come on, Lind.” A younger voice came from directly behind, and he looked back to see a scruffy-looking young man with matted brown hair scowling at him from the far side of a large, black horse’s butt. The teenager was wearing a stained tunic tied at the waist with a piece of rope, and hefting a black leather work harness. “Market Day. Let’s get you hitched up.”

Market Day? Lindsey stared blankly at the kid, his mind still catching up to the barrage of strange input. Stall. Animal sounds. Horse’s butt. He stopped there, eyes widening as he realized the equine back end belonged to him. That realization was confirmed when he both felt and saw the boy give him another hard slap. “I ain’t got all morning, you lazy beast!”

Lindsey struggled to stay calm, thoughts in a whirl. He seemed to be on all fours – four legs, not hands and knees. And his head stuck out way too far from his body, swinging in a huge arc as he twisted around to look at his other side. Black hide, hooves, and a long tail that he could flick from side to side.

As he stared at the equine body, a gray horse walked past in the main stable. For a moment, it looked like a human head was floating alongside – then he realized that it was all one creature. The animal had human features instead of an equine muzzle. Though he’d never seen one before, Lindsey recognized it to be a facehorse. Problem was, the strange creature should not exist outside the pages of Mithril’s Quest, his friend Terry’s new fantasy novel.

The kid had called him Lind. That was the name of one of the minor characters in the novel, another facehorse who provided occasional comic relief in the form of bad puns and generally stupid actions. Hooves, hide, and the name all matched up with his memories of the character. He clenched his eyes shut. This had to be a really intense dream – or nightmare. Time to wake up.

A sharp crack and sudden pain made him jump and cry out. “Get your arse out here now, Lind!” A heavyset older man with enormous sideburns was coiling a whip that he had obviously just used.

“But…” Lindsey was shocked by the stinging welt – you couldn’t feel pain like that in a dream! He tried to think of something to say, searching for explanations. However seeing the man’s scowl, he decided to back out before another welt joined the first. “Sorry. Guess I was stall-ing for time.” He grinned, then blinked in astonishment. Where had that come from?

“Oh, please, Lind.” The boy started throwing on the harness. “Not first thing in the morning.”

“Why not? If he’s gonna use the whip, I can deal out some pun-ishment of my own.” The dopey smile returned before he could stop it, as if someone else were using his voice and face.

“Shut up, Lind.” The man was still scowling. “You’re trotting along a very fine line. More than one customer has said they’d rather hear you whinny. And you know what that means.”

“Yeah, I’m gonna talk myself horse.” The words were out before Lindsey could stop himself. Horrified, he clenched his eyes shut as he tried to shut out whatever had control of his mouth.

The stable master shook his head and sighed. “Maybe sooner than you think, you fool animal.” Then something caught his attention further down, and he strode off.

“What’s the matter with you?” The stable boy whispered fiercely as he pulled a bridle over Lindsey’s face. “You really want to end up as a normal animal? He means it! One gesture from a magic user and you won’t be talking or thinking no more!”

“Yeah, but I’ll gain a lot of horse scents.” Where was this crap coming from? The lack of control was even more terrifying than being a freak creature. It was more than just the puns - he had backed out of the stall and made all the right movements to take the bridle and harness.

“Real funny, Lind.” The boy shook his head. “See if you feel like laughing tonight. You’re at the end of the line. Go on.” He gave Lind’s butt a firm pat.

End of the line? Even as Lindsey wondered at that, he saw what the kid meant. There were a half-dozen other animals already standing lined up at the door. The last was a large brown facemule with badly scarred hide and a sour expression. He looked back at Lindsey with a sneer. “Bet you end up with the shit wagon. See if you can find something funny about that.”

“Guess I’ll be really pooped by the end of the day.” Lindsey felt helpless as his mouth worked on its own, ending with the same goofy smile. God, he was being forced to play the character. Granted, Lindsey liked a good pun, but not this constant barrage. It wasn’t so bad in the novel, since the facehorse didn’t show up often. Not surprising, since Terry hated puns himself. You’d think a writer would appreciate wordplay, but the fantasy author made no effort to hide his dislike of Lindsey’s efforts. No wonder Lind wasn’t a very sympathetic character.

Lindsey. Lind. He felt sudden resentment. The similarity of names hadn’t occurred to him before. Terry must have used him as a model for the annoying beast – perhaps as a form of revenge. Lindsey’s gut clenched at sudden memory. Revenge was right. In Mithril’s Quest, his character’s puns eventually get him turned into a normal animal.

But that was just words on paper, given substance only in the reader’s minds. How could he be here, not only in a fictional place, but as a fictional creature? Lindsey flicked his tail in annoyance, and blew through his nostrils. The flies weren’t so bad today, but he hated it when they got in his nose and... He shook his head suddenly, alarmed by vague memories of similar mornings, memories that belonged to a facehorse.

Lindsey blinked as he stepped into the morning sun, automatically following the facemule outside. Bung moved to a two-wheeled cart piled high with casks. Bung. That was the facemule’s name. The rest of his stable mates were already harnessed up and pulling a variety of battered, wooden-wheeled vehicles down the busy, deeply-rutted street.

It almost looked like a scene from a movie. The buildings were wood and plaster, many with thatched roofs. People wore medieval costumes, with small children running naked amid a scattering of chickens, goats, and other livestock. However, both his eyes and nose informed him that the general level of filth wasn’t part of any movie set.

Where was this coming from? There was a stable in Mithril’s Quest, but only as a vague backdrop for a few scenes. Granted, it had been a week or so since Lindsey had finished the book and some of the details were a little fuzzy. Still, he was sure Terry hadn’t provided anywhere near this level of background description.

“What the Hell is wrong with you, Lind?” The heavyset man was back, scowling at him from the side of a large, empty, and badly stained wagon. Mr. Daly, the owner of the stable. And more importantly, Lindsey’s owner. “Get in the traces, now! I don’t like using the whip, but if you keep giving me trouble I’ll make your hide match Bung’s.”

“You can’t do that, Mr. Daly! My fur is the wrong color.” The quip couldn’t be stopped, but thankfully, Lindsey backed into position at the same time.

Daley glared at him a moment, then sighed deeply and finished harnessing the wagon. As he yanked the last strap tight, the man patted his side. “OK, Lind. Get going. The route hasn’t changed since last time.”

Lindsey thought furiously as he began plodding down the street, easily pulling the empty wagon. It would be much more work later, piled high with reeking slops and waste collected as he worked his way up and down the streets.

While the buildings and people mostly matched up to what little he knew about medieval Europe, there were certainly no facehorses depicted in history books. And the locals sounded more like Los Angeles than Merry Olde England. This had to be the world of Mithril’s Quest. Either that or he’d suffered some sort of serious mental breakdown. At this point, he wasn’t quite sure which answer he preferred. Still, as long as he couldn’t tell hallucination from reality, it was safer to believe his eyes, nose, and ears.

That left an even bigger question – how the Hell had he gotten here? Not even quantum physics and time warps explained waking up in a fictional setting. The only logical connection, if logic could be applied at all, was that Terry had used him for the facehorse. Somehow, the story had come to life and pulled him into it.

If that was the case, there had to be others in the same situation. Most of the main characters were probably based on people Terry knew in the ‘real’ world. Though Lind was a ‘maned’ character, not major player. He winced, not sure if the play on words came from his own thoughts, or the increasingly complete facehorse.

It was no secret that Terry had written himself in as Duke Tarran Boldheart, the novel’s handsome and incredibly skilled hero. He’d even gotten the artist to use his face for the cover, though the rest of the muscle-bound fighter was pure imagination. Lindsey blinked. Of course! If he was here, maybe Terry was too! And the person who created all this had to be able to figure a way out!

Where were they in the story line? The stable appeared a few times in the book, but it was obvious that the city went on whether its creator was visiting or not. This could be months before the adventure began, or the last chapter. Lindsey struggled to recall the plot. Most of the action centered around an evil wizard named Nightshade plotting to take over Boldheart’s lands. Then there was the romance between Boldheart and Lady Melody Swann. And of course, the inept and comical facehorse.

The first time Lind appeared in the book was early on, where he provided comic annoyance as the hero tried to overhear critical plotting between two thugs working for Nightshade. Of course, Lind hadn’t known about any of that – he was just being friendly, trying to cheer the serious-looking human up with some light banter. Only to get the point of a sword at his throat and threats of gelding.

Lindsey’s gut constricted at the memory. Not that he had much opportunity to court mares, but it was nice to have the capability. He frowned, realizing that the incident was far too detailed in his mind to be just from reading. Damn! The first encounter must have already happened! Not too long ago, but then, the book didn’t cover a long period of time. What? A week overall?

He glanced up as he got near the Milliner’s Shop. Sure enough, the brats were hanging out the window, planning to hit him with the contents of the family bedpan. He maintained his pace until the last second, waiting until they actually dumped the toilet with shouts of glee.

Luckily, the wagon was still light enough that he was able to stop dead and shove back in the traces just enough to have the foul mess splatter all over the walk in front of him. The milliner came running out, then shook his fist at the horrified children and stalked back inside. Lindsey grinned up at his would-be attackers. “I’d say you’re in a shitload of trouble.” Rather pleased with himself, Lindsey resumed the route. He’d have to tell Bung – those rotten kids had scored hits on the facemule more than once.

The next street was an easy run, mostly storage buildings, and he was able to go back on automatic. OK. What was the next appearance? Tarran catches up with the henchmen, and defeats them with a dazzling show of swordsmanship. That’s when he finds out that Melody Swann is being held captive in the heart of the Wizard’s keep. He returns to town to enlist the aid of trusted Elven companion Arion Quicksilver, and chooses the stable as a meeting point.

Lindsey felt a touch of indignation. He’d only been trying to help. After all, it sounded like the whispering human and elf didn’t know the direct route to Nightshade’s fortress, and he’d delivered supplies there many times. So he’d stuck his head out and offered directions, having to shout over the din of the busy stable. How was he supposed to know they didn’t want anyone aware of their destination?

Oh, crap. Scratch encounter number two. So they were at least halfway through the novel! Lindsey made the turnaround absently and headed up the next street, remembering to swerve around the big pothole in front of Whitney’s Apothecary. The shops were busy today, but shoppers gave him a wide berth as he approached. Not surprising, considering what was being flung down into the wagon behind him.

What came next? Tarran and Arion fight through heightened security because the evil Wizard is expecting them, eventually defeating the entire force of the Count’s elite guards and a half-dozen magically-created monsters. Then…

His attention was drawn by a crowd of people directly ahead. They were gathered around a large, heavily loaded wagon that was angled sharply towards the right. Looked like a front wheel had broken.

“Might as well move skip around.” One of the spectators had seen him stop behind them, and shook his head in disgust. “Streets gonna be blocked for hours.”

Luckily, there was an alley between the two nearest buildings that he could just squeeze the wagon through. It would force him to cut through the Market Square, which wouldn’t make him too popular given his cargo, but he could work his way back to complete the pickup route.

What had he been thinking about? Oh, right. The novel. The Wizard escapes with Melody Swann as his hostage, and there’s a wild chase through the city streets, scattering people and carts in the Market Square. Just as Tarran is about to catch up to the fleeing Wizard, he gets cut off by....

Lindsey stopped just short of the Square, eyes wide and legs trembling. In the story, Lind appeared from a side street, pulling a cart full of wine casks, cutting off the heroes long enough for the Wizard to get away. And here he was, about to cut across market Square. But Bung was pulling the casks today. Lindsey’s late start had changed the order of things. Yeah. Maybe Bung was the one who would mess things up this time!

Then he heard the shouts and screams. Peeking out from the alley, Lindsey saw a monstrous black warhorse charging towards him, its rider scattering the shoppers with fireballs that seemed to shoot from his fingertips. A much smaller figure was sitting in front of him, held tightly by the rider’s free arm. It had to be Nightshade and Melody!

In the book, this scene was described from Tarran’s point of view, but there was no mistaking the action. Where was Bung? The evil Wizard would be through in seconds. Unless. Lindsey felt a rush of hope. The mule would pop out any second and ruin the chase, but only if Nightshade escaped. This was his chance to be a hero! He could change everything – if he stopped the Wizard here and saved the day, the story would be over!

He had to time it carefully – too soon and the Wizard would be able to swerve around him. The villain was close now, his blood-red cape flowing dramatically behind him, holding his helpless prisoner tight against his chest. Lindsey noted that the Wizard had chosen an interesting hand-hold.

Just a moment more. Now! Lindsey threw himself forward, but the wagon had gotten considerably heavier since that first street. The extra weight took time to get moving – just enough time for the Wizard to get in front of him. Lindsey’s face hit the black stallion’s hind end with a painful thud, but didn’t even cause the massive animal to break stride. Dazed, Lindsey stumbled further out, then heard a violent shout and heavy thuds as something struck the side of the wagon.

Twisting around, he saw a severe-looking elf with silver hair and ice-blue eyes on a lathered white horse and a riderless gray animal. The missing rider was easily located by a stream of painfully familiar profanity coming from the day’s collection of waste. As the figure pushed himself up, dripping with feces and garbage, someone in the crowd started to chuckle. In a moment, the entire Market Square was dissolving into laughter.

Duke Tarran Boldheart, hero and alter ego of the author, glared at the crowd, but only succeeded in looking even more ridiculous. He spun and squinted at Lindsey, his face contorted with rage. “YOU!” He yanked his sword from its scabbard, but the sudden movement was a mistake given his slippery footing and he went over backwards into the muck again.

The elf, who had to be Arion Quicksilver, jumped from his horse and ran to Lindsey’s side with his own sword high. Held fast by the harness, Lindsey screamed and shut his eyes, expecting a death blow. Only to feel the wagon’s traces fall away. Quicksilver shouted “Run! Before he gets up again. Run, you fool animal!”

Startled, Lindsey looked back to see the elf, whose mouth trembled with barely suppressed mirth. Then Tarran’s screamed curses spurred him to bolt free and gallop across the square as fast as he could move. The crowd parted for him, still finding the situation hilarious. It seemed that the only two not laughing were Lindsey and Tarran.

Oh, God! Trying to change things had accomplished nothing. Nightshade had escaped with Melody Swann, and Tarran… Lindsey grimaced, realizing that there had been changes. All for the worse. The one person he needed to get out of this nightmare had suffered horrible humiliation in front of the whole town!

Lindsey finally stopped in a narrow alley, sides heaving and hide flecked with foam. His facehorse body was obviously not built for speed. There was no sign of pursuit – the need for a bath must have outweighed the need for revenge.

He shuddered at the memory of Tarran’s rage and the glint of sunlight on the edge of his sword. That couldn’t have been Terry in control! Yet the violent reaction didn’t fit the character of the Duke, either. Did changing the story line change the people?

A facehorse standing alone would catch someone’s attention. He needed to get moving, go back to the stable… but he couldn’t go back! Tarran had recognized him, and knew where the facehorse belonged. Even if he was over his killing rage, the hero/author might have made arrangements to have him locked up to prevent further issues. Or worse, paid Mr. Daley to turn Lind into a real horse. The stable master had already spoken of the possibility, and today’s disaster was more than enough to justify the transformation.

He needed to go somewhere to hide and think things out. At least having the character’s memories proved helpful there. Lind usually traveled to contracted jobs on his own – facehorses had the ability to follow verbal directions. Edging out of the alley, he found himself on one of the high-end business streets. The crowds here were much thinner, allowing him ease of movement. A few gave him curious glances, but it was likely that none of these well-dressed aristocrats and merchants had witnessed the events a few streets over.

One marked difference between these shops and the ones in the lower class areas was the presence of large windows. In addition to giving the whole area a more modern look, they provided something that Lindsey hadn’t seen before here – a reflection. He shuffled over to one of the bigger panes, some sort of book store from the display, and got his first real look at Lind.

The broad, coarse-featured face peering back at him was more a caricature of Lindsey than an accurate likeness. His mouth was especially distorted, with thicker lips and the large, equine teeth needed for eating hay and grain. Still, there was no doubt it was supposed to be. Lindsey frowned, tilting his head slightly. Terry had given him had dull, oversized eyes and a drooping lower lip that made him look a little dimwitted. Lindsey’s eyes narrowed. He wasn’t quite so sorry about the wagon incident now.

A rich baritone voice spoke pleasantly beside him. “You won’t find ‘Mithril’s Quest’ in there.”

Startled, he twisted around and saw a handsome older man, dark haired with a manicured mustache and van dyke beard. He was dressed in solid black, with tasteful and expensive silver jewelry and clasps. Up close, it took a moment to recognize Nightshade. Lindsey gasped and started to back away, only to stop when the man smiled and raised a hand.

“You have no need to fear me, facehorse. Though we both know you are more than that.” He pulled out a small, leather-bound book and flipped to a page about three-quarters back. “After all, you were just pondering how all of this was too real.”

He glanced at what looked like handwritten text and read. “He shuddered at the memory of Tarran’s rage and the glint of sunlight on the edge of his sword. That couldn’t have been Terry in control! Yet the violent reaction didn’t fit the character of the Duke, either. Did changing the story line change the people?”

“An interesting question.” Nightshade snapped the book shut and smiled at Lindsey’s astonished expression. “My own copy of Mithril’s Quest – but not the one you are familiar with. Something of a special edition.”

“So my life is an open book to you?” Lindsey flinched as the pun forced itself out, but the Wizard’s smile only broadened.

“Ah! Humor in the face of adversary.” Nightshade raised an eyebrow. “Oh, come on. Adversary instead of adversity?” Then he sighed. “I suppose my character isn’t written to be funny.”

“You know you’re not…? I mean…” Flustered, Lindsey stared at the Wizard. “About all this just being a story?”

“I assure you that this world is just as real to me as your own is to you. Unfortunately, events here are being controlled by the same person who wrote you here.”

Lindsey frowned and looked around the Square. “This isn’t Mithril’s Quest?”

“It is, but also far more.” Nightshade pursed his lips. “We should continue this discussion elsewhere. Come with me. I have a safe place for you to rest, and we can exchange information.”

Nightshade headed across the street, where his own black charger was waiting patiently. Having little other choice, and more than a little curious, Lindsey shuffled along behind. The Wizard swung up into the saddle and trotted off without another look back.

Lindsey stared after the wizard, totally adrift. Whatever concepts of reality he might have had were shattered. There seemed nothing left for him to hold onto save the slender thread of reason this supposed villain was throwing out. He lunged forward suddenly, moving quickly to catch up.

If Tarran was an enemy, then perhaps Nightshade could be – what? A friend? Hardly. The man was a kidnapper, at least. Which reminded him – where was Melody Swann? Her absence was conspicuous. In the original story, Tarran had caught up with them on the outskirts of town. The girl had gotten free during the ensuing battle, which ended with Nightshade vanishing in a cloud of smoke.

Come to think of it, Nightshade was awfully calm for someone on the run from justice. He had certainly made no attempt to hide in town. Why wasn’t Tarran giving chase? Oh, right. The hero was probably busy cleaning up. Lindsey pondered that. What impact would that have on the rest of the story? Or were they really in a story at all? Sighing, he gave up trying to figure anything out for now.

They headed out of town on a wide dirt road that wound through hilly countryside. The scenery was picturesque, and thanks to Lind’s memories, curiously familiar. At least he wasn’t pulling a wagon - distances were a little more troublesome when you were using your own horsepower. Lindsey grinned to himself. One horsepower. One horse power. The silly word play amused him far longer than it should have, but there was little else to do. Nightshade seemed lost in thought, occasionally pulling out the book and flipping through a few pages before putting it away.

They finally turned off on the narrow, rutted path that led to the Wizard’s keep, winding. through thick forest. Dark shapes moved in the woods on either side, probably some of Nightshade’s forces on guard. Lindsey’s ears twitched, following the sounds nervously. Then he stopped dead as they emerged into a mass of men, minotaurs, and other creatures that parted to let the Wizard through.

This was the invading army! Lindsey hurried to catch up with Nightshade, staring at the different monsters. Some of them looked back with equal curiosity, and he realized a facehorse was probably even stranger than a satyr or centaur. Even so, it was interesting to see Terry’s interpretations of the ‘mythical’ creatures.

Centaurs were bigger than he expected, with human parts enlarged to be proportional to their horse bodies. Their features were much like Lindsey’s, broad and coarse, with the prominent teeth and jaws. In contrast, the goat-like Satyrs were short and stocky, with pointed faces and thick body hair that blended smoothly into the coarse fur covering their animal hindquarters.

He was a little surprised by the minotaurs. Usually depicted as fierce monsters, Terry’s versions looked more like humanoid buffalo. They were huge and covered in shaggy fur, with massive horns curling from their foreheads. Most were armed with swords and longbows, though a few had the more stereotypical clubs and axes.

As they passed through the Wizard’s army, Lindsey found his fear easing. While part of that was due to the knowledge he had safe passage as Nightshade’s guest, the soldiers themselves did not really look threatening. This wasn’t the snarling, cruel horde of an enemy – they were laughing and talking, a few even playing some sort of game with what might be crude dice.

Nightshade’s fortress had high stone walls and a deep, dry moat full of sharpened stakes. A mix of human and non-human guards were visible patrolling along the top, a pair of black minotaurs stood just outside the main entrance on the far side of the drawbridge. The bull-men stepped aside when the Wizard was halfway across to allow passage, then moved back as soon as Lindsey passed them.

Nightshade stopped just inside the courtyard. A young man came running out to take the stallion’s reins as the wizard dismounted, and a satyr emerged from what looked to be the main building. Nightshade exchanged a few words with the goat-man, then frowned slightly and turned to Lindsey. “Wait in the stable until I have time to talk. Eeon, get our guest cleaned up.” Then he walked off with the satyr.

Lindsey followed the young man he assumed was Eeon and Nightshade’s horse through a large set of open doors. The stable was a pleasant surprise after waking up at Daley’s, clean and well lit. Only a half dozen or so of the thirty-plus stalls were occupied, all with what looked like normal equines. Eeon stripped off the stallion’s tack and led him to a slightly larger stall near the back. After throwing in some fresh hay, the young man returned and started to remove Lindsey’s harness.

“Hey!” Lindsey felt a touch of alarm that he couldn’t explain, and twisted his head around. “That’s…uh, never mind. Go ahead.”

“Oh, thank you, your majesty!” The boy snorted and continued unbuckling straps. Probably wasn’t used to having his charges talk back. Not that the reeking filth on both harness and Lindsey’s back helped any.

Eeon frowned again as he looked Lindsey over, but led him directly to a stall close to the entrance with fresh fodder and a bucket of clean water. It was a vast improvement over his own cramped and dirty stall, even if he didn’t like having the gate shut and latched behind him.

Lindsey mulled over his situation as he ate, mildly surprised at the sweet taste of hay. Daley never got them the good stuff. The facehorse had one final appearance in the book – a scene that ended with his transformation into a dumb animal. Had he managed to change events enough to escape that fate? Being here was certainly not part of what Terry had written. But then, most of the facehorse’s life was ignored in the book. If Melody Swann had escaped the Wizard in town, then all of the major elements were still following the plot as he remembered it.

Which meant that Nightshade was about to attack Tarran’s castle with an army of mercenaries and monsters. Lindsey hadn’t been too interested in the mass mayhem, and skipped over However, although the battle was dramatic, the actual climax of the book was a fight between Nightshade and Tarran.

The stall gate opened, and Eeon came in with a bucket of soapy water and an open wooden box that he set down on the floor. He poured some of the cold suds over Lindsey’s rump, and then used a stiff brush to work out the ingrained filth. Afterwards, he scraped the excess water out with a stiff leather squeegee and finished up with a final grooming that put Lindsey in a blissful daze.

“A remarkable improvement!” Both of them were startled by Nightshade’s voice. “Eeon, why don’t you go out and help get the wagons loaded?”

The young man nodded. “Yes, sir.” He grabbed his box and scrambled out.

Nightshade remained outside the stall, leaning casually on the gate after Eeon shut it. “I trust you enjoyed the attention? Believe me, you are much easier on the nose as well as the eyes.”

A slight flush crept into Lindsey’s cheeks. “Uh, sorry about that. Yeah, it is really nice to be clean. Thank you.”

The Wizard chuckled. “I have to admit it was as much for me as for you. My eyes were watering back in town. So, have you given any thought about what you are going to do now?”

Lindsey sighed. “Not really. I don’t know anything about what is supposed to happen, except I end up as a neigh-sayer.” He winced and dropped his head. “Sorry. All I really want to wake up back in my apartment, and have this be some strange dream.”

“What makes you think there is a way back?”

That brought Lindsey up short. “Uh, I don’t know. I just sorta assumed…” His voice trailed off. “I was hoping I’m not the only one. Stuck in a character, I mean. If Terry is here as Tarran, maybe he can fix things.”

Nightshade shook his head. “I doubt you will get help from our esteemed Duke, especially after his baptism in the town waste wagon. No, it is time to think about whom your friends are in this world and do what you can to keep the story from playing out. You may be property as a facehorse, but you still have your mind. Unless I win, you lose even that. We both know how our fates are written.”

“How did you find out? About the story, about being a character?”

“Because I am not stupid!” The Wizard’s eyes darkened with sudden anger, though it did not seem directed at Lindsey. “And I found myself doing stupid things. The whole world was suddenly ridiculous.”

Nightshade leaned on the top of the gate. “There were little things at first, temper tantrums and acts of cruelty that believe it or not, were not part of my normal behavior. Kidnapping the Swann girl set off the alarm bell, though. I am powerful, wealthy, and of good visage – I hardly need to force women to my bed.”

“And then came the trouble with Duke Tarran Boldheart.” He sighed and regarded Lindsey with a look of disgust on his face. “Do you realize how ridiculous this whole situation is? I am a Wizard of no small power. Tarran is little more than a figurehead for the King, collecting taxes and making sure laws are enforced. His lands and so-called power are worthless to me.”

“So don’t attack.” Lindsey turned around to face the man fully. “If you don’t storm the castle, there’s no battle.”

That brought a bitter laugh. “You think I have a choice? I told you I have been doing stupid things. Saying stupid things. Somehow, your friend’s cursed book has connected to our world and made us all part of his personal puppet show. I can’t control myself at critical moments.”

Given the problems he’d had with the facehorse’s personality, Lindsey had no trouble understanding that. “But you get away! In the book, you disappear from your cell. So it all ends, and you are free again. Isn’t that what you want?”

Nightshade clenched his fists. “Yes. I get away. Think about it. Why would the so-called ‘villain,’ the single most powerful figure of the story, be allowed to escape?”

“Well, I guess so he can use you again.” Lindsey looked up at the Wizard with sudden comprehension. “Oh! A sequel! Terry is planning to make this a series.”

The Wizard nodded dully. “And once that starts, any chance of a real life ends for all of us. This author has managed to turn our world into his personal puppet show. That’s why I have to keep jumping back to the beginning of this charade. It’s the only way I can keep him from doing more damage.”

“Jumping back? You mean, like time travel? So that’s how you know!”

“This is my seventh run through this charade.” Nightshade scowled darkly at the book and set it down. “Right after I escaped the first time, I used a very difficult and powerful spell to reset events. I thought I could correct my mistakes and win. After two more failures, I realized something else was going on. That’s when I found the link to your world. And created this.” He reached down and pulled the Special Edition from his robes. “My connection to Mithril’s Quest. I used it to bring the bastard author.”

“Terry?” Lindsey stared at the Mage. “You pulled Terry into this world?”

“Like you, I figured that the man who wrote this could change things. But when I tried to explain what he was doing to us, the pompous fool laughed at me! It was a grand amusement for him – women, wine, and adventure. And the next time I reset events, he ended up reverting to the Tarran mindset completely. The same thing happened with both of the other central characters – Aslan turned out to be a low-ranking clerk and Melody Swann was some sort of servant called a waitress. This is a dream world for them.”

Lindsey blinked as realization hit. “Then you’re the one who brought –me- here!”

“Yes.” The Wizard raised an eyebrow. “I needed someone who would want to change things. And I found the link between you and Lind. A sad, silly character doomed to end up a mindless animal. You have every reason to want the story to end differently, and for the first time there is a real chance it may.”

“How?” Lindsey thought back over the major points. “Maybe Tarran didn’t chase you out of town, but Melody escaped anyway and it’s all just like before.”

Nightshade smiled grimly. “No, it isn’t. This time, I let the girl go on my own and met with you instead of running away like a pathetic coward. More importantly, I was able to meet with my commanders just now and address some problems that have never been solved before. Things are definitely different this time – thanks to you.”

“And this is my reward?” Lindsey’s ears pressed flat against his skull. “Stuck as Lind or transformed into a real horse?”

A flicker of annoyance passed across the Wizard’s face. “Those are not necessarily your only choices. Tarran wrote you into this book as a buffoon, an ugly fool that everyone is happy to see devolved to a common animal. Another author might be kinder.”

“Another author?”

“In this case, perhaps maybe more of an editor.” Nightshade regarded him a moment. “I could do many things for you, if I win. Are you quite sure you want to go back? This world obviously attracted you as a reader. I could improve your lot in life dramatically. Give you a finer body, perhaps make you a facehorse version of my stallion. You’d be sought after for breeding, perhaps even desired as a mount by nobles.”

“But still property!” Lindsey pawed at the ground angrily. “I want to be human again, not an animal.”

“That is beyond my ability. I can only enhance or expand what is already present. If I could transform others at will, I would simply turn Tarran and his friends into common animals and be done with them.”

“Then send me back! As long as I am here, I’m nothing more than a beast of burdern!”

“Yes, you are.” The Wizard smiled, but there was a coldness to the expression that made Lindsey uneasy. “Which is another reason you should consider staying. When you became Lind, your memories blended. That is what allowed you to change things here. Unfortunately, returning to your world won’t change the mix.”

Lindsey frowned. “So? It’s still me. I know a lot more about pulling wagons now, but that won’t hurt anything.”

“What is ten times ten?”

The question caught him off guard, but he opened his mouth to answer – and found that he couldn’t. Ten. That was a number. A mark. What did it look like? What did it mean? He jerked his head up and stared at Nightshade, who nodded.

“Facehorses can follow verbal commands, but have no comprehension of numbers of letters. Your brains just don’t work the right way. Blame your friend Tarran for that.” The Wizard tilted his head slightly. “Even if I could send you back, which I can’t until the story concludes, you would arrive totally illiterate.”

Lindsey paled. Searching his mind desperately, he discovered that Nightshade spoke the truth. He remembered what writing was, but the actual meanings of the funny marks and how they could possibly be used to convey information no longer resided in his mind. “You’ve screwed me! No matter what happens, I either end up a stupid animal here or an illiterate human back in my own world!”

Nightshade straightened, anger clouding his face. “I did what I had to do! And you should remember I am the only person in this world who can do anything to help you now!”

“Help?!” Lindsey glared at the man, overcome by hopeless rage. “You’re the one who put me on four hooves!”

“Terry made you a facehorse, not me. Now I see why. You were typecast!”

“I wanted to play the conniving, evil bastard, but that part was already filled!” Lindsey regretted the bitter sarcasm even as he shouted, but it was too late.

Nightshade’s face contorted in rage and he yelled something, thrusting a hand out. Searing agony ripped though Lindsey’s body. Screaming, he staggered back, only dimly aware that the stall was expanding around him.

“Ungrateful fool!” The Wizard clutched at the top of the gate, breathing heavily. “You don’t like your character? Fine! Let someone else play Lind!” After a moment, he stood unsteadily and stalked out of the stable.

The pain faded slowly, leaving Lindsey drained and shaking. He leaned against the wall, afraid he might fall over. Thoughts were confused, and dull aches remained after the transformation was over. Let someone else play Lind? But HE was the facehorse! Lindsey shook his head, trying to clear it, and froze. His ears flopped back and forth with exaggerated movements. A rush of fear helped clear his mind, and he twisted around to see what Nightshade had done to him.

His draft horse body had been replaced by a more compact form covered with scarred, matted brown hide. Fresh horror gripped Lindsey’s heart, and he made his way over to the water bucket and stared at the surface. Bung’s face looked back at him.

No! The abused facemule wasn’t even mentioned in the book. How could Nightshade turn him into a creature that didn’t exist?

Because Bung –was- real here. Perhaps his existence had no impact on the story, but he lived, breathed… and would die here. The facemule’s short and miserable life would now be Lindsey’s when and if the novel came to a final ending. He didn’t even have the dubious hope of returning home illiterate – Bung was just a sad shadow in the background with no link to Lindsey’s world.

“Please, come back!” He cried out, the facemule’s voice alien in his elongated ears. Who cared what happened in this place? Lindsey wanted to get out of this nightmare. “I’ll do anything! Please!” Tears streamed down his face. Part of him was sick with shame, but this was more than he could bear. He dropped his head, face nearly touching the straw. “Don’t leave me here.”

A rattle from the gate made him look up with sudden hope that evaporated when he saw Eeon. The stable hand looked at him curiously. “What are you so worked up about? You’ll be on your way as soon as they finish loading the empties.”

Lindsey laid his ears back sullenly. “Are you blind? Look at me!”

“Look at what?” Eeon looked puzzled, but opened the gate and entered with a clay pot in one hand and his box of grooming equipment in the other. “I told you I’d do what I can. This will help.” He scooped out a handful of greenish-brown paste and smeared it over Lindsey’s scarred back. Though the stuff had a bitter metallic stink, it immediately began to soothe his welts and scars.

The boy’s casual acceptance of his new appearance was bewildering. As was the healing salve. There had been no time for the Wizard to explain what had happened, even if he’d wanted to. So Eeon shouldn’t have known about the transformation, much less the condition of Lindsey’s back. Unless the facemule had been here all along.

Alarmed, Lindsey tried recalling the day’s events. Everything seemed clear and unchanged. The meeting with Nightshade, Tarran’s rage, lugging the cart full of wine casks – he blinked. Wine casks? He’d been pulling the shit wagon – how could he have started off hauling casks? Bung had gotten that job this morning! Yet Lindsey could clearly remember being hooked up to the cart, and sneering at the wisecracking facehorse.

The recasting must be retroactive to the point that Lindsey appeared. For now, memories were clear enough to keep track of what he knew to be the truth. But his thoughts were already being invaded by Bung’s character. Even if Nightshade didn’t reset events, Lindsey would probably end up taken over by the facemule’s identity.

Eeon gave him a cursory brushing and then pulled the harness off the wall. Though it should have been expected, Lindsey was mildly surprised that the straps fit his new body perfectly. The boy made short work of getting the harness buckled up, and opened the stall door. “OK. Head on out to the courtyard and we’ll get you on your way.”

Lindsey started shuffling out glumly, only to stop dead as he spotted a familiar black rectangle on a hay bale just outside the stall. He stared in amazement. The Special Edition! Nightshade must have forgotten it in his rage.

“Go on!” Eeon gave him an annoyed swat. There was no way to take the book without the stable hand seeing as soon as he came out. Unless – Lindsey grabbed the Special Edition with his mouth and bolted out of the stall.

Stupid! He realized there was no hope of escape even before he got out of the stable. Eeon was close behind, and the minotaur guards would make sure he did not escape the keep. As he emerged in the courtyard, Lindsay was startled to see the two-wheeled cart just outside, piled high with kegs. Hoping desperately that none of the guards noticed the book in his mouth, Lindsey stuck his face over the edge and let the Special Edition fall.

“You’re awfully anxious to get back.” Eeon came out of the stable right behind him. “Got a hot Jenny waiting for you back in town?”

Lindsey turned and quickly moved in front of the cart. His heart was pounding, and every instinct was telling him to run. “Sorry. Uh, if I’m late, some of the others will steal my grain.” That seemed to satisfy the boy, who nodded and buckled him into the traces.

As Eeon finished up, a figure dressed in black armor emerged from the main building and walked towards them. Nightshade! A minotaur and centaur followed, also dressed for battle. His gut clenched as the Wizard smiled coldly at him, showing no sign of his earlier fatigue. Lindsey trembled helplessly. Even if the gate was open, there was no way to get past the various guards.

“Enjoy your new life, fool. I hope I don’t have to reset things again, so you will always remember that you had a better choice.” Nightshade turned back to the minotaur and centaur, waving one hand in a dismissive gesture. “Get this stinking creature out of here.”

Was the Wizard actually letting him go? Lindsey hesitated as the gate creaked up, then leaned into the traces and headed out. His ears were laid back tight to his neck, eyes wide and frightened. He expected a sword to strike any moment, or a spell to engulf him in fire. His hooves echoed hollowly on the drawbridge, followed by the rumble of wooden cart wheels. The minotaurs stood silently on either side, watching him with impassive, liquid-brown eyes.

He was surprised to find the area in front of the keep almost deserted – perhaps a half dozen soldiers were gathering weapons in the now-empty field. Nightshade’s army must have already started for Tarran’s castle. A few of stragglers watched him plod by with the cart, though none drew a weapon. Even so, every movement made Lindsey tense and the fear of attack didn’t ease until Lindsey reached the main road.

Why had Nightshade spared him? Some lingering gratitude for Lindsey’s unwitting help earlier? More likely because there was nothing Lindsey could do. The sun was already on its way down, and it would be nearly dark before he could make his way back to town. Adding another hour back, plus more time getting to Tarran’s castle, any possible help would arrive too late.

The Wizard had every angle covered. Even if he lost, all he had to do was trigger his reset spell and start over. Unless – Lindsey realized there was one possibility that Nightshade hadn’t considered. Terry! Although the author was immersed in Tarran’s character, there might be a way to make him remember who he was. But how? Even if he could find Terry in time, who was going to listen to a facemule’s wild stories in the midst of battle?

Lindsey stopped dead, twisting his head to look back at the cart. The Special Edition! It was useless to him, but Tarran should be able to read. Nightshade’s own words were probably recorded there, quite possibly his plans for the attack. That might be enough to restore Terry’s memories. And as the author, Terry should be able to save Lindsey from spending the rest of his life as a facemule.

Getting free of the cart was a challenge, but he got enough buckles opened with his teeth to twist free. Only to discover that the book wasn’t in the cart. Had Nightshade removed it somehow? Then he spotted a dark object on the road about fifty feet back. The book must have bounced out of the cart just seconds before he stopped.

Such phenomenal luck seemed unlikely. Then again, having Nightshade leave the Special Edition behind was even more improbable. Had it been intentional? Lindsey stared at the book a moment. This version of the Special Edition apparently focused on Lind. Now that Lindsey was the facemule, it might useless to the Wizard. However, it was still dangerous to him in the hands of his enemies. Why leave it behind?

Then he remembered something Nightshade had said about being a puppet. He couldn’t control himself at critical moments. Hopefully, this was one of those times. Whatever risk there might be, Lindsey needed to get the book to Tarran/Terry if he wanted to change his own dismal future. And he had little time to do it – Nightshade was already preparing for the attack, and Lindsey needed to get ahead of the Wizard’s forces.

He picked up the book with his teeth, wrinkling his nose at the taste of grit. Tarran’s castle was South of the town - he had been there in both faceanimal forms. Actually, if the plot of Mithril’s Quest was still intact, Lind would be at the castle now delivering supplies. As usual, the facehorse’s mouth gets the better of him, and some stupid joke about being a spy for Nightshade gets him silenced permanently as a security measure.

But that was Lind. He was Bung now, independent of Terry’s control. Or was he? Hundreds of unnamed men and monsters would be engaged in battle soon – perhaps the facemule was supposed to be there. But not with the Special Edition. As long as he had the book, he was operating outside Terry’s plot. Lindsey found strength in that. He got his bearings, and began heading cross-country towards Tarran’s castle at a brisk trot. Perhaps he was rushing to his own death, but one way or the other, Bung was going to become a memorable character.

Nightshade’s army would mount a surprise attack just after sunset, charging out of thick forest that bordered the river. That detail, combined with Bung’s and Lind’s knowledge of the area, was enough for him to reach Tarran’s lands without encountering any of the Wizard’s forces. However, Tarran’s defenses almost proved to be his undoing.

As he approached the castle from a side road, an arrow thudded into a tree inches from his head. “Hold, beast!” A large, older centaur stepped out from the woods with a crossbow aimed at Lindsey’s forehead. “State your business!”

Startled, Lindsey spit the book out onto the ground, but had to work his aching jaw a moment before he could speak. “I have to deliver this to Tarran. Directly. It will help him against Nightshade!”

A grizzled looking human appeared in the road behind Lindsey, hefting a huge sword. He scowled at the book. “Who sent this, facemule?”

“I… “ Lindsey looked back and forth between the two fighters, trying to come up with a plausible story. All that came to mind was the truth. “I stole it. From the Wizard.”

There was a short silence as the human and centaur stared at him incredulously. Then the man laughed. “What do you think of that, Yuli? A facemule who is a good enough thief to steal something important from Nightshade himself, and is also on a first name basis with the Duke!”

Yuli reached down and picked the Special Edition up, keeping the crossbow aimed the whole time. “This?” The centaur flipped it open and glanced at the pages. “What’s it supposed to be? Some sort of journal?”

“No! It’s a magic book that writes out what is happening right now. Like a story, but what people are really doing and thinking! I took it from Nightshade. Barely an hour ago. He’s on his way to attack right now!”

That got both fighters’ attention. “What!?”

Lindsey nodded enthusiastically. “From the woods by the river! He was getting ready for battle when I left his keep!”

The point of the human’s sword was suddenly at Lindsey’s throat. “You expect us to believe Nightshade let you escape? Alive and with a voice to tell what you know?”

“Hold your blade, Kal.” The centaur slung his crossbow and flipped through the pages of the Special Edition, stopping every now and then to read. As he got close to the back, he blinked and looked closer. “By the Gods…” He looked at Lindsey, then back at the pages. “There was a short silence as the human and centaur stared at him incredulously. Then the man laughed. What do you think of that, Yuli? A facemule who is a good enough thief to steal something important from Nightshade himself…”

Kal’s sword lowered slightly. “That’s in there? But I just said that!”

“Everything we’ve said is in this.” Yuli flipped further back. “It’s just like he told us. It’s writing out what we are doing and saying… right … now.” He stared at the Special Edition as more writing appeared, then snapped the book closed and scowled at Lindsey. “I’ll take you to Quicksilver. He’ll decide if we should take you to Duke Braveheart, or simple gut you and give your carcass to the cooks.”

Lindsey felt a surge of hope. Arion Quicksilver had saved him in the Market Square - though that incident involved Lind, not Bung. He was also another trapped reader, if Nightshade could be believed.

“What if he’s lying?” Kal scowled, his sword still dangerously close to Lindsey’s neck. “Nightshade could be setting us up.”

Yuli nodded. “That’s why I am taking him myself. We can make better time, and he can’t outrun me or my sword. I’ll have someone else sent to back you up.” Then the centaur spun and charged for the distant castle, looking back to make sure Lindsey followed.

Tarran’s defenses were not as impressive as the Wizard’s. Everything matched up – well-armed men, centaurs and even an occasional satyr or minotaur stood guard around the castle. However, there were no massive ranks of soldiers here. The fighters were in small groups spread evenly around the castle, some barely visible in the fading light.

It did not take long to realize this was a more effective layout. They were challenged as soon as they reached the first group, even though it was obvious that Yuli was well known. As the centaur spoke with the leader, Lindsey looked around and saw that nearby squads had crossbows out and aimed at them both. The weapons were lowered only after some hand signals that apparently cleared them for passage.

One of the soldiers ran back the way they had come, apparently Yuli’s replacement. Two others took off in different directions to pass on the warning of Nightshade’s impending attack. The leader, a lean older man with a scarred face and white hair, came over to glare at Lindsey. “Be warned. The Duke has no patience for your kind right now – if this is trickery, you will suffer long and painfully.”

Just then, there was a shout from below. Two figures came running out of the trees waving their arms – one stumbled and hit the ground face-first with an arrow in his back. Then more shapes appeared, shooting toward Tarran’s forces. The attack had begun!

“Go!” The leader gestured at the castle, then grabbed up his helmet and ran to join the fight. Nodding wordlessly, Yuli charged up the hill with the Special Edition. Lindsey hesitated, staring at the violent clash. He could hear monstrous roars and bellows, human shouts and screams, and the metallic clang of swords.

Lindsey felt a thrill of excitement. He’d succeeded in becoming an important character! He couldn’t help but grin. That moron facehorse might have been written in, but Lind was just an animal now, while Bung was finally getting the attention he deserved. For the first time since he’d woken up in Mithril’s Quest, Lindsey was a real part of the story. Then a soldier running past was suddenly knocked backwards by an arrow.

The sudden death jolted Lindsey from his reverie, and he galloped after the centaur in a blind panic. More arrows rained down, some hissing close enough that he flinched. As other fighters fell, cold fear clutched at his gut. Just being outside the castle didn’t change anything! Until he actually interacted with Tarran, he and the book were still part of the unwritten back story. All it took to keep Terry’s plot intact was to add another centaur and a facemule to the list of unnamed casualties.

He just barely managed to keep from slamming into Yuli’s hind end when the centaur stopped abruptly at the drawbridge. Soldiers were running out of the castle to join the battle, weapons drawn. As they passed, Lindsey spotted a familiar face. “Quicksilver!”

The elf halted, looking first to Yuli before realizing who had spoken. He scowled at Lindsey. “I have no time for banter with facemules!”

“Sir!” Yuli held up the Special Edition. “He says he stole this book from Nightshade. It records things that are happening, what people say and think. I’ve seen it work!”

Quicksilver took a step toward the centaur, fierce anger in his eyes. “You brought a tool of magic here?”

“No, I did!” Lindsey almost regretted the outburst, which brought the elf’s blade an inch from his face. “Wait! Please! There’s more going on than just this attack! Nightshade is trying to change things, change what is supposed to happen!”

The elf lowered his sword, frowning. “Change what is supposed to happen? What are you talking about?”

“You and Tarran are supposed to win, and he gets caught. But Nightshade is going back in time and repeating this battle over and over, trying to find a way to beat you. And he’s brought some of us into this world from outside. I’m not really a facemule! And he brought you and Tarran and Melody into the story, too!”

The centaur stared at him. “What nonsense is this? Sir, he didn’t say anything about this before!”

“It’s all in the Special Edition!” Lindsey saw the centaur’s hand drop to the hilt of his sword. “I know it sounds crazy! But I’m from a world where all of this is just a fantasy story, and all of you are just characters. Terry – he’s stuck here as Tarran, now – wrote the story. And Nightshade found a way to capture us, make us into our characters!”

Quicksilver looked uncertain, but held his hand out to Yuli. “Give me the book.” After the centaur complied, he read from the first page. “Lind?” He frowned and flipped further back. “Why is this about that idiot facehorse?”

“Because I’m Lind! Well, I was.” Lindsey saw the elf’s expression harden. “Nightshade switched me with Bung – that’s who I am now! And now Lind is a horse and I’m stuck as a facemule!”

“What did you say about Lind?” Quicksilver’s eyes widened.

“You guys turned him into a horse because he made jokes about spying for Nightshade! Anyway, Tarran was probably still mad about the other times he screwed things up.”

The elf stared at him a long moment. “No one outside of the castle could know about the facehorse being turned into a horse – it just happened. You say Duke Boldheart is the author if this fantasy of yours? Perhaps you can explain it to him.” He turned to Yuli. “You did well to bring him here. Report back to your post.”

Lindsey followed Quicksilver into the castle. His hooves echoed loudly down the long stone passage, alerting a pair of human guards flanking heavy wood doors. They put hands to weapons and looked at the elf curiously “Sir?”

“It is OK, for now.” The elf paused in front of the doors, then looked back at Lindsey. “However, until you here otherwise from me or the Duke, kill him if he makes any attempt to leave.”

Quicksilver knocked once and then opened the doors into a large, windowless room lit by a fireplace and some flickering lanterns. As Lindsey entered, he saw Tarran looking at maps spread over a huge wooden table. The man glanced towards the door, then did a double-take, his eyes narrowing. “Another facebeast? Get it out of here now, before I add a mule to the stable.” The hero was as charming as ever, it seemed.

“You need to look at this.” Quicksilver held the Special Edition out, already opened to a point near the middle. “This facemule claims he stole this from Nightshade.”

“Oh, really?” Tarran snorted in disgust. “A beat-up pack beast managed to outsmart a full-blown Wizard?”

The elf shook his head. “He also claims he isn’t really a facemule. And that we are all characters in the middle of a fantasy story that you wrote.”

“What?!” Tarran glanced at the book, then shook his head incredulously. “This is absurd! Nightshade is attacking us, and you bring me an animal claiming this is all some silly folk tale?”

“Read the page!” Quicksilver thrust the Special Edition in front of the man’s face again. “The conversation written here was between you and me. There were no witnesses. Yet it even describes the wine we were drinking.”

Tarran grabbed the book in obvious annoyance – only to drop it with a curse. “The bloody thing stung me!”

Before anyone else could react, there was a blinding flash and a sudden pressure wave that staggered Lindsey and knocked both Tarran and Quicksilver backwards. Lindsey was the first to recover, blinking as vision cleared to reveal a too-familiar figure standing next to the Special Edition. Nightshade.

Lindsey backed away, eyes wide and heart pounding. Nightshade shouldn’t be here – he never got inside the castle in Mithril’s Quest! The attack failed, and Tarran tracked the Wizard back to his own keep for a final confrontation.

Twisting around, Nightshade made a quick gesture towards the doors, then grinned and winked at Lindsey as the two fighters scrambled up with swords drawn. There were shouts and muffling pounding from outside as the guard tried to get in. “I thought I’d ensure a little privacy.”

“Bastard!” Tarran glared at the Wizard, sidestepping warily with his weapon out. “Do you think we need help to beat the likes of you? You will never claim this Dukedom.”

“I couldn’t care less about a foolish title.” Nightshade chuckled. “You’ll be pleased to know I am here to surrender. In fact, my forces should be retreating even as we speak. There’s no point in spilling any more blood when victory is already mine.”

“What?” Tarran’s blinked in bewilderment. “You’re surrendering. And you still claim victory? How?”

“I’m here.” Nightshade turned to face Lindsey. “Thanks to my friend here.”

Lindsey shook his head. “No! I tried to stop you! I brought the book, so they’d know.”

“Yes.” The Wizard bent down and picked up the Special Edition. “The book I conveniently ‘forgot.’ You handled that much better than I expected. Though I did have a bad turn when it fell out of the back of the cart.”

“You saw that?” Lindsey felt sick, though he still didn’t understand how it had made any difference.

“My only real goal this whole time has been to get this here.” Nightshade smiled as he hefted the book. “Entertaining to read, but not really all that useful. It’s real purpose was serving as a teleportation key. It activated as soon as Tarran touched it. And finally, after seven tries, I can cut myself free from this cursed puppet show.”

“You expect us to believe that we are characters in some fairy tale?” Tarran glared at the Wizard. “I don’t know what game it is you are playing, but a plea of madness won’t save you from my sword.”

“Believe what you will.” Nightshade shrugged. “The fairy tale is almost over. I only have one minor edit to make before I turn the last page.” He turned to Lindsey, still smiling, and thrust a hand out as he shouted a spell.

Lindsey cringed back as the magic hit, expecting to end up a full animal. But there was no pain this time, and when the heat passed he still seemed to be a facehorse. More importantly, his mind was clear of the confusion that had plagued him earlier. However, that was not the extent of Nightshade’s transformation. Bung’s scarred body had been transformed into the sleek and powerful form of a white Arabian stallion.

“A mount fit for a king.” The Wizard nodded in approval. “I am genuinely sorry that you are stuck in this world, but I think you’ll find that life as a facehorse can be quite pleasant. I owe you that much, at least.”

“I don’t understand!” Lindsey blinked in confusion. “What good was all this? If you are surrendering, that means Tarran wins! The story ends up the same way as it did before!”

“Not quite. I needed to be here at the moment of victory. Which is now.” Nightshade tossed the Special Edition at Tarran’s feet. “I surrender to you, Duke Braveheart.” Then he smiled. “And so the story ends.”

Quicksilver stared around the room, then down at himself. “What the shit? Where the hell am I?”

“In Mithril’s Quest!” Tarran backed against the wall, eyes wide. It was much easier to recognize Terry with the hero’s confidence stripped away. “We’re in my book!”

“It’s not your book any more.” The Wizard thrust his hand out suddenly with an unintelligible shout. Tarran gasped and staggered back, but the Nightshade seemed hit even harder. The Wizard screamed and collapsed to his hands and knees, then stared at Tarran. “Oh, crap! What did you do?”

“I’m leaving you to your fantasies.” Tarran knelt down by the the Special Edition and yanked a dagger from his belt. “Or more accurately, to mine.” Then he drove his blade deep into the pages. There was a brilliant flare of reddish light, and the Special Edition vanished.

At that moment, the doors burst open and a half-dozen of Tarran’s soldiers spilled into the room. Lindsey backed away as they quickly surrounded Nightshade, who cringed back from their blades. The Wizard’s arms were yanked forcefully behind his back and bound securely.

One of the men saluted Tarran. “Sir! The enemy has retreated! They just stopped fighting and ran off.”

Quicksilver scowled. “At least he was telling the truth about that. Lock him in the Dungeon. Unless you want to kill him and be done with it.”

Tarran stared at his dagger in puzzlement, then scrambled up and regarded the captive. “It’s tempting. A dead Wizard is no threat at all.” Lindsey realized that this was the hero again, not the author.

“No!” Nightshade looked paniced. “I’m not the wizard! He did something, changed places with me!”

“Oh, really?” Quicksilver gave him a scornful look. “Just who are you supposed to be?”

“Him!” The Wizard turned his face towards Tarran. “But not really him. I mean, I’m a writer, and this was all a book I wrote called Mith-“ His panicked explanation came to an abrupt halt at Quicksilver’s knife pressed against his throat.

Lindsey stared, suddenly remembering the terrible pain of being recast as Bung. No doubt the facemule had felt the same agony. Everything fell into place now – the Wizard hadn’t been after anything in this world after all. He’d switched places with Terry and gone back in his place! Which meant that the former author was now stuck in Nightshade’s body with no knowledge of magic.

“Forget your silly tricks.” Quicksilver scowled down at his prisoner, and for a moment, Lindsey thought he was going to go ahead and cut the former author’s throat. “It’s obvious you aren’t going to say anything useful, so don’t say anything at all.”

“What about you?” Tarran walked over to Lindsey. “Seems a waste to send you back to the city stable like that. I’m not a king, but I would be happy to have you as a mount. It could be dangerous sometimes, but I promise the best food and treatment available. And mares.”

Lindsey blinked, surprised to have a choice. It seemed that the ‘real’ Tarran was a better man than Terry had made him. “Uh, I’d like that, sir. Have some adventures, see the world.”

He grinned suddenly as Tarran smiled and nodded. Mithril’s Quest had turned into a kind of Cinderella story – from pulling the shit wagon, he’d risen to become the hero’s steed. It seemed that he might even live happily ever after.

But he wouldn’t know for sure until Nightshade wrote the sequel.

User:Posti/Special Edition

2008-06-11T18:26:31Z

Posti:

{{my stories|category=Bob Stein|name=Bob Stein}}
[[Category:Story]] [[Category:Bob Stein]] [[Category:Equine]] [[Category:Animal]] [[Category:mythical]] {{DEFAULTSORT:Special Edition}}
{{title|name=Special Edition|user=Posti|author=Bob Stein}}

Waking up to a hard slap on the butt was something of a shock, given the fact that Lindsey lived alone. As his eyes popped open, a gruff male shouted “Rise and shine, my beasties!” The wall of dark, battered wooden planks in front of him didn’t belong to his bedroom. Neither did the strong sweat/urine stink that filled his nostrils, or the mix of groans, whinnies, and brays in his ears.
“Come on, Lind.” A younger voice came from directly behind, and he looked back to see a scruffy-looking young man with matted brown hair scowling at him from the far side of a large, black horse’s butt. The teenager was wearing a stained tunic tied at the waist with a piece of rope, and hefting a black leather work harness. “Market Day. Let’s get you hitched up.”
Market Day? Lindsey stared blankly at the kid, his mind still catching up to the barrage of strange input. Stall. Animal sounds. Horse’s butt. He stopped there, eyes widening as he realized the equine back end belonged to him. That realization was confirmed when he both felt and saw the boy give him another hard slap. “I ain’t got all morning, you lazy beast!”
Lindsey struggled to stay calm, thoughts in a whirl. He seemed to be on all fours – four legs, not hands and knees. And his head stuck out way too far from his body, swinging in a huge arc as he twisted around to look at his other side. Black hide, hooves, and a long tail that he could flick from side to side.
As he stared at the equine body, a gray horse walked past in the main stable. For a moment, it looked like a human head was floating alongside – then he realized that it was all one creature. The animal had human features instead of an equine muzzle. Though he’d never seen one before, Lindsey recognized it to be a facehorse. Problem was, the strange creature should not exist outside the pages of Mithril’s Quest, his friend Terry’s new fantasy novel.
The kid had called him Lind. That was the name of one of the minor characters in the novel, another facehorse who provided occasional comic relief in the form of bad puns and generally stupid actions. Hooves, hide, and the name all matched up with his memories of the character. He clenched his eyes shut. This had to be a really intense dream – or nightmare. Time to wake up.
A sharp crack and sudden pain made him jump and cry out. “Get your arse out here now, Lind!” A heavyset older man with enormous sideburns was coiling a whip that he had obviously just used.
“But…” Lindsey was shocked by the stinging welt – you couldn’t feel pain like that in a dream! He tried to think of something to say, searching for explanations. However seeing the man’s scowl, he decided to back out before another welt joined the first. “Sorry. Guess I was stall-ing for time.” He grinned, then blinked in astonishment. Where had that come from?
“Oh, please, Lind.” The boy started throwing on the harness. “Not first thing in the morning.”
“Why not? If he’s gonna use the whip, I can deal out some pun-ishment of my own.” The dopey smile returned before he could stop it, as if someone else were using his voice and face.
“Shut up, Lind.” The man was still scowling. “You’re trotting along a very fine line. More than one customer has said they’d rather hear you whinny. And you know what that means.”
“Yeah, I’m gonna talk myself horse.” The words were out before Lindsey could stop himself. Horrified, he clenched his eyes shut as he tried to shut out whatever had control of his mouth.
The stable master shook his head and sighed. “Maybe sooner than you think, you fool animal.” Then something caught his attention further down, and he strode off.
“What’s the matter with you?” The stable boy whispered fiercely as he pulled a bridle over Lindsey’s face. “You really want to end up as a normal animal? He means it! One gesture from a magic user and you won’t be talking or thinking no more!”
“Yeah, but I’ll gain a lot of horse scents.” Where was this crap coming from? The lack of control was even more terrifying than being a freak creature. It was more than just the puns - he had backed out of the stall and made all the right movements to take the bridle and harness.
“Real funny, Lind.” The boy shook his head. “See if you feel like laughing tonight. You’re at the end of the line. Go on.” He gave Lind’s butt a firm pat.
End of the line? Even as Lindsey wondered at that, he saw what the kid meant. There were a half-dozen other animals already standing lined up at the door. The last was a large brown facemule with badly scarred hide and a sour expression. He looked back at Lindsey with a sneer. “Bet you end up with the shit wagon. See if you can find something funny about that.”
“Guess I’ll be really pooped by the end of the day.” Lindsey felt helpless as his mouth worked on its own, ending with the same goofy smile. God, he was being forced to play the character. Granted, Lindsey liked a good pun, but not this constant barrage. It wasn’t so bad in the novel, since the facehorse didn’t show up often. Not surprising, since Terry hated puns himself. You’d think a writer would appreciate wordplay, but the fantasy author made no effort to hide his dislike of Lindsey’s efforts. No wonder Lind wasn’t a very sympathetic character.
Lindsey. Lind. He felt sudden resentment. The similarity of names hadn’t occurred to him before. Terry must have used him as a model for the annoying beast – perhaps as a form of revenge. Lindsey’s gut clenched at sudden memory. Revenge was right. In Mithril’s Quest, his character’s puns eventually get him turned into a normal animal.
But that was just words on paper, given substance only in the reader’s minds. How could he be here, not only in a fictional place, but as a fictional creature? Lindsey flicked his tail in annoyance, and blew through his nostrils. The flies weren’t so bad today, but he hated it when they got in his nose and... He shook his head suddenly, alarmed by vague memories of similar mornings, memories that belonged to a facehorse.
Lindsey blinked as he stepped into the morning sun, automatically following the facemule outside. Bung moved to a two-wheeled cart piled high with casks. Bung. That was the facemule’s name. The rest of his stable mates were already harnessed up and pulling a variety of battered, wooden-wheeled vehicles down the busy, deeply-rutted street.
It almost looked like a scene from a movie. The buildings were wood and plaster, many with thatched roofs. People wore medieval costumes, with small children running naked amid a scattering of chickens, goats, and other livestock. However, both his eyes and nose informed him that the general level of filth wasn’t part of any movie set.
Where was this coming from? There was a stable in Mithril’s Quest, but only as a vague backdrop for a few scenes. Granted, it had been a week or so since Lindsey had finished the book and some of the details were a little fuzzy. Still, he was sure Terry hadn’t provided anywhere near this level of background description.
“What the Hell is wrong with you, Lind?” The heavyset man was back, scowling at him from the side of a large, empty, and badly stained wagon. Mr. Daly, the owner of the stable. And more importantly, Lindsey’s owner. “Get in the traces, now! I don’t like using the whip, but if you keep giving me trouble I’ll make your hide match Bung’s.”
“You can’t do that, Mr. Daly! My fur is the wrong color.” The quip couldn’t be stopped, but thankfully, Lindsey backed into position at the same time.
Daley glared at him a moment, then sighed deeply and finished harnessing the wagon. As he yanked the last strap tight, the man patted his side. “OK, Lind. Get going. The route hasn’t changed since last time.”
Lindsey thought furiously as he began plodding down the street, easily pulling the empty wagon. It would be much more work later, piled high with reeking slops and waste collected as he worked his way up and down the streets.
While the buildings and people mostly matched up to what little he knew about medieval Europe, there were certainly no facehorses depicted in history books. And the locals sounded more like Los Angeles than Merry Olde England. This had to be the world of Mithril’s Quest. Either that or he’d suffered some sort of serious mental breakdown. At this point, he wasn’t quite sure which answer he preferred. Still, as long as he couldn’t tell hallucination from reality, it was safer to believe his eyes, nose, and ears.
That left an even bigger question – how the Hell had he gotten here? Not even quantum physics and time warps explained waking up in a fictional setting. The only logical connection, if logic could be applied at all, was that Terry had used him for the facehorse. Somehow, the story had come to life and pulled him into it.
If that was the case, there had to be others in the same situation. Most of the main characters were probably based on people Terry knew in the ‘real’ world. Though Lind was a ‘maned’ character, not major player. He winced, not sure if the play on words came from his own thoughts, or the increasingly complete facehorse.
It was no secret that Terry had written himself in as Duke Tarran Boldheart, the novel’s handsome and incredibly skilled hero. He’d even gotten the artist to use his face for the cover, though the rest of the muscle-bound fighter was pure imagination. Lindsey blinked. Of course! If he was here, maybe Terry was too! And the person who created all this had to be able to figure a way out!
Where were they in the story line? The stable appeared a few times in the book, but it was obvious that the city went on whether its creator was visiting or not. This could be months before the adventure began, or the last chapter. Lindsey struggled to recall the plot. Most of the action centered around an evil wizard named Nightshade plotting to take over Boldheart’s lands. Then there was the romance between Boldheart and Lady Melody Swann. And of course, the inept and comical facehorse.
The first time Lind appeared in the book was early on, where he provided comic annoyance as the hero tried to overhear critical plotting between two thugs working for Nightshade. Of course, Lind hadn’t known about any of that – he was just being friendly, trying to cheer the serious-looking human up with some light banter. Only to get the point of a sword at his throat and threats of gelding.
Lindsey’s gut constricted at the memory. Not that he had much opportunity to court mares, but it was nice to have the capability. He frowned, realizing that the incident was far too detailed in his mind to be just from reading. Damn! The first encounter must have already happened! Not too long ago, but then, the book didn’t cover a long period of time. What? A week overall?
He glanced up as he got near the Milliner’s Shop. Sure enough, the brats were hanging out the window, planning to hit him with the contents of the family bedpan. He maintained his pace until the last second, waiting until they actually dumped the toilet with shouts of glee.
Luckily, the wagon was still light enough that he was able to stop dead and shove back in the traces just enough to have the foul mess splatter all over the walk in front of him. The milliner came running out, then shook his fist at the horrified children and stalked back inside. Lindsey grinned up at his would-be attackers. “I’d say you’re in a shitload of trouble.” Rather pleased with himself, Lindsey resumed the route. He’d have to tell Bung – those rotten kids had scored hits on the facemule more than once.
The next street was an easy run, mostly storage buildings, and he was able to go back on automatic. OK. What was the next appearance? Tarran catches up with the henchmen, and defeats them with a dazzling show of swordsmanship. That’s when he finds out that Melody Swann is being held captive in the heart of the Wizard’s keep. He returns to town to enlist the aid of trusted Elven companion Arion Quicksilver, and chooses the stable as a meeting point.
Lindsey felt a touch of indignation. He’d only been trying to help. After all, it sounded like the whispering human and elf didn’t know the direct route to Nightshade’s fortress, and he’d delivered supplies there many times. So he’d stuck his head out and offered directions, having to shout over the din of the busy stable. How was he supposed to know they didn’t want anyone aware of their destination?
Oh, crap. Scratch encounter number two. So they were at least halfway through the novel! Lindsey made the turnaround absently and headed up the next street, remembering to swerve around the big pothole in front of Whitney’s Apothecary. The shops were busy today, but shoppers gave him a wide berth as he approached. Not surprising, considering what was being flung down into the wagon behind him.
What came next? Tarran and Arion fight through heightened security because the evil Wizard is expecting them, eventually defeating the entire force of the Count’s elite guards and a half-dozen magically-created monsters. Then…
His attention was drawn by a crowd of people directly ahead. They were gathered around a large, heavily loaded wagon that was angled sharply towards the right. Looked like a front wheel had broken.
“Might as well move skip around.” One of the spectators had seen him stop behind them, and shook his head in disgust. “Streets gonna be blocked for hours.”
Luckily, there was an alley between the two nearest buildings that he could just squeeze the wagon through. It would force him to cut through the Market Square, which wouldn’t make him too popular given his cargo, but he could work his way back to complete the pickup route.
What had he been thinking about? Oh, right. The novel. The Wizard escapes with Melody Swann as his hostage, and there’s a wild chase through the city streets, scattering people and carts in the Market Square. Just as Tarran is about to catch up to the fleeing Wizard, he gets cut off by....
Lindsey stopped just short of the Square, eyes wide and legs trembling. In the story, Lind appeared from a side street, pulling a cart full of wine casks, cutting off the heroes long enough for the Wizard to get away. And here he was, about to cut across market Square. But Bung was pulling the casks today. Lindsey’s late start had changed the order of things. Yeah. Maybe Bung was the one who would mess things up this time!
Then he heard the shouts and screams. Peeking out from the alley, Lindsey saw a monstrous black warhorse charging towards him, its rider scattering the shoppers with fireballs that seemed to shoot from his fingertips. A much smaller figure was sitting in front of him, held tightly by the rider’s free arm. It had to be Nightshade and Melody!
In the book, this scene was described from Tarran’s point of view, but there was no mistaking the action. Where was Bung? The evil Wizard would be through in seconds. Unless. Lindsey felt a rush of hope. The mule would pop out any second and ruin the chase, but only if Nightshade escaped. This was his chance to be a hero! He could change everything – if he stopped the Wizard here and saved the day, the story would be over!
He had to time it carefully – too soon and the Wizard would be able to swerve around him. The villain was close now, his blood-red cape flowing dramatically behind him, holding his helpless prisoner tight against his chest. Lindsey noted that the Wizard had chosen an interesting hand-hold.
Just a moment more. Now! Lindsey threw himself forward, but the wagon had gotten considerably heavier since that first street. The extra weight took time to get moving – just enough time for the Wizard to get in front of him. Lindsey’s face hit the black stallion’s hind end with a painful thud, but didn’t even cause the massive animal to break stride. Dazed, Lindsey stumbled further out, then heard a violent shout and heavy thuds as something struck the side of the wagon.
Twisting around, he saw a severe-looking elf with silver hair and ice-blue eyes on a lathered white horse and a riderless gray animal. The missing rider was easily located by a stream of painfully familiar profanity coming from the day’s collection of waste. As the figure pushed himself up, dripping with feces and garbage, someone in the crowd started to chuckle. In a moment, the entire Market Square was dissolving into laughter.
Duke Tarran Boldheart, hero and alter ego of the author, glared at the crowd, but only succeeded in looking even more ridiculous. He spun and squinted at Lindsey, his face contorted with rage. “YOU!” He yanked his sword from its scabbard, but the sudden movement was a mistake given his slippery footing and he went over backwards into the muck again.
The elf, who had to be Arion Quicksilver, jumped from his horse and ran to Lindsey’s side with his own sword high. Held fast by the harness, Lindsey screamed and shut his eyes, expecting a death blow. Only to feel the wagon’s traces fall away. Quicksilver shouted “Run! Before he gets up again. Run, you fool animal!”
Startled, Lindsey looked back to see the elf, whose mouth trembled with barely suppressed mirth. Then Tarran’s screamed curses spurred him to bolt free and gallop across the square as fast as he could move. The crowd parted for him, still finding the situation hilarious. It seemed that the only two not laughing were Lindsey and Tarran.
Oh, God! Trying to change things had accomplished nothing. Nightshade had escaped with Melody Swann, and Tarran… Lindsey grimaced, realizing that there had been changes. All for the worse. The one person he needed to get out of this nightmare had suffered horrible humiliation in front of the whole town!
Lindsey finally stopped in a narrow alley, sides heaving and hide flecked with foam. His facehorse body was obviously not built for speed. There was no sign of pursuit – the need for a bath must have outweighed the need for revenge.
He shuddered at the memory of Tarran’s rage and the glint of sunlight on the edge of his sword. That couldn’t have been Terry in control! Yet the violent reaction didn’t fit the character of the Duke, either. Did changing the story line change the people?
A facehorse standing alone would catch someone’s attention. He needed to get moving, go back to the stable… but he couldn’t go back! Tarran had recognized him, and knew where the facehorse belonged. Even if he was over his killing rage, the hero/author might have made arrangements to have him locked up to prevent further issues. Or worse, paid Mr. Daley to turn Lind into a real horse. The stable master had already spoken of the possibility, and today’s disaster was more than enough to justify the transformation.
He needed to go somewhere to hide and think things out. At least having the character’s memories proved helpful there. Lind usually traveled to contracted jobs on his own – facehorses had the ability to follow verbal directions. Edging out of the alley, he found himself on one of the high-end business streets. The crowds here were much thinner, allowing him ease of movement. A few gave him curious glances, but it was likely that none of these well-dressed aristocrats and merchants had witnessed the events a few streets over.
One marked difference between these shops and the ones in the lower class areas was the presence of large windows. In addition to giving the whole area a more modern look, they provided something that Lindsey hadn’t seen before here – a reflection. He shuffled over to one of the bigger panes, some sort of book store from the display, and got his first real look at Lind.
The broad, coarse-featured face peering back at him was more a caricature of Lindsey than an accurate likeness. His mouth was especially distorted, with thicker lips and the large, equine teeth needed for eating hay and grain. Still, there was no doubt it was supposed to be. Lindsey frowned, tilting his head slightly. Terry had given him had dull, oversized eyes and a drooping lower lip that made him look a little dimwitted. Lindsey’s eyes narrowed. He wasn’t quite so sorry about the wagon incident now.
A rich baritone voice spoke pleasantly beside him. “You won’t find ‘Mithril’s Quest’ in there.”
Startled, he twisted around and saw a handsome older man, dark haired with a manicured mustache and van dyke beard. He was dressed in solid black, with tasteful and expensive silver jewelry and clasps. Up close, it took a moment to recognize Nightshade. Lindsey gasped and started to back away, only to stop when the man smiled and raised a hand.
“You have no need to fear me, facehorse. Though we both know you are more than that.” He pulled out a small, leather-bound book and flipped to a page about three-quarters back. “After all, you were just pondering how all of this was too real.”
He glanced at what looked like handwritten text and read. “He shuddered at the memory of Tarran’s rage and the glint of sunlight on the edge of his sword. That couldn’t have been Terry in control! Yet the violent reaction didn’t fit the character of the Duke, either. Did changing the story line change the people?”
“An interesting question.” Nightshade snapped the book shut and smiled at Lindsey’s astonished expression. “My own copy of Mithril’s Quest – but not the one you are familiar with. Something of a special edition.”

“So my life is an open book to you?” Lindsey flinched as the pun forced itself out, but the Wizard’s smile only broadened.
“Ah! Humor in the face of adversary.” Nightshade raised an eyebrow. “Oh, come on. Adversary instead of adversity?” Then he sighed. “I suppose my character isn’t written to be funny.”
“You know you’re not…? I mean…” Flustered, Lindsey stared at the Wizard. “About all this just being a story?”
“I assure you that this world is just as real to me as your own is to you. Unfortunately, events here are being controlled by the same person who wrote you here.”
Lindsey frowned and looked around the Square. “This isn’t Mithril’s Quest?”
“It is, but also far more.” Nightshade pursed his lips. “We should continue this discussion elsewhere. Come with me. I have a safe place for you to rest, and we can exchange information.”
Nightshade headed across the street, where his own black charger was waiting patiently. Having little other choice, and more than a little curious, Lindsey shuffled along behind. The Wizard swung up into the saddle and trotted off without another look back.
Lindsey stared after the wizard, totally adrift. Whatever concepts of reality he might have had were shattered. There seemed nothing left for him to hold onto save the slender thread of reason this supposed villain was throwing out. He lunged forward suddenly, moving quickly to catch up.
If Tarran was an enemy, then perhaps Nightshade could be – what? A friend? Hardly. The man was a kidnapper, at least. Which reminded him – where was Melody Swann? Her absence was conspicuous. In the original story, Tarran had caught up with them on the outskirts of town. The girl had gotten free during the ensuing battle, which ended with Nightshade vanishing in a cloud of smoke.
Come to think of it, Nightshade was awfully calm for someone on the run from justice. He had certainly made no attempt to hide in town. Why wasn’t Tarran giving chase? Oh, right. The hero was probably busy cleaning up. Lindsey pondered that. What impact would that have on the rest of the story? Or were they really in a story at all? Sighing, he gave up trying to figure anything out for now.
They headed out of town on a wide dirt road that wound through hilly countryside. The scenery was picturesque, and thanks to Lind’s memories, curiously familiar. At least he wasn’t pulling a wagon - distances were a little more troublesome when you were using your own horsepower. Lindsey grinned to himself. One horsepower. One horse power. The silly word play amused him far longer than it should have, but there was little else to do. Nightshade seemed lost in thought, occasionally pulling out the book and flipping through a few pages before putting it away.
They finally turned off on the narrow, rutted path that led to the Wizard’s keep, winding. through thick forest. Dark shapes moved in the woods on either side, probably some of Nightshade’s forces on guard. Lindsey’s ears twitched, following the sounds nervously. Then he stopped dead as they emerged into a mass of men, minotaurs, and other creatures that parted to let the Wizard through.
This was the invading army! Lindsey hurried to catch up with Nightshade, staring at the different monsters. Some of them looked back with equal curiosity, and he realized a facehorse was probably even stranger than a satyr or centaur. Even so, it was interesting to see Terry’s interpretations of the ‘mythical’ creatures.
Centaurs were bigger than he expected, with human parts enlarged to be proportional to their horse bodies. Their features were much like Lindsey’s, broad and coarse, with the prominent teeth and jaws. In contrast, the goat-like Satyrs were short and stocky, with pointed faces and thick body hair that blended smoothly into the coarse fur covering their animal hindquarters.
He was a little surprised by the minotaurs. Usually depicted as fierce monsters, Terry’s versions looked more like humanoid buffalo. They were huge and covered in shaggy fur, with massive horns curling from their foreheads. Most were armed with swords and longbows, though a few had the more stereotypical clubs and axes.
As they passed through the Wizard’s army, Lindsey found his fear easing. While part of that was due to the knowledge he had safe passage as Nightshade’s guest, the soldiers themselves did not really look threatening. This wasn’t the snarling, cruel horde of an enemy – they were laughing and talking, a few even playing some sort of game with what might be crude dice.
Nightshade’s fortress had high stone walls and a deep, dry moat full of sharpened stakes. A mix of human and non-human guards were visible patrolling along the top, a pair of black minotaurs stood just outside the main entrance on the far side of the drawbridge. The bull-men stepped aside when the Wizard was halfway across to allow passage, then moved back as soon as Lindsey passed them.
Nightshade stopped just inside the courtyard. A young man came running out to take the stallion’s reins as the wizard dismounted, and a satyr emerged from what looked to be the main building. Nightshade exchanged a few words with the goat-man, then frowned slightly and turned to Lindsey. “Wait in the stable until I have time to talk. Eeon, get our guest cleaned up.” Then he walked off with the satyr.
Lindsey followed the young man he assumed was Eeon and Nightshade’s horse through a large set of open doors. The stable was a pleasant surprise after waking up at Daley’s, clean and well lit. Only a half dozen or so of the thirty-plus stalls were occupied, all with what looked like normal equines. Eeon stripped off the stallion’s tack and led him to a slightly larger stall near the back. After throwing in some fresh hay, the young man returned and started to remove Lindsey’s harness.
“Hey!” Lindsey felt a touch of alarm that he couldn’t explain, and twisted his head around. “That’s…uh, never mind. Go ahead.”
“Oh, thank you, your majesty!” The boy snorted and continued unbuckling straps. Probably wasn’t used to having his charges talk back. Not that the reeking filth on both harness and Lindsey’s back helped any.
Eeon frowned again as he looked Lindsey over, but led him directly to a stall close to the entrance with fresh fodder and a bucket of clean water. It was a vast improvement over his own cramped and dirty stall, even if he didn’t like having the gate shut and latched behind him.
Lindsey mulled over his situation as he ate, mildly surprised at the sweet taste of hay. Daley never got them the good stuff. The facehorse had one final appearance in the book – a scene that ended with his transformation into a dumb animal. Had he managed to change events enough to escape that fate? Being here was certainly not part of what Terry had written. But then, most of the facehorse’s life was ignored in the book. If Melody Swann had escaped the Wizard in town, then all of the major elements were still following the plot as he remembered it.
Which meant that Nightshade was about to attack Tarran’s castle with an army of mercenaries and monsters. Lindsey hadn’t been too interested in the mass mayhem, and skipped over However, although the battle was dramatic, the actual climax of the book was a fight between Nightshade and Tarran.
The stall gate opened, and Eeon came in with a bucket of soapy water and an open wooden box that he set down on the floor. He poured some of the cold suds over Lindsey’s rump, and then used a stiff brush to work out the ingrained filth. Afterwards, he scraped the excess water out with a stiff leather squeegee and finished up with a final grooming that put Lindsey in a blissful daze.
“A remarkable improvement!” Both of them were startled by Nightshade’s voice. “Eeon, why don’t you go out and help get the wagons loaded?”
The young man nodded. “Yes, sir.” He grabbed his box and scrambled out.
Nightshade remained outside the stall, leaning casually on the gate after Eeon shut it. “I trust you enjoyed the attention? Believe me, you are much easier on the nose as well as the eyes.”
A slight flush crept into Lindsey’s cheeks. “Uh, sorry about that. Yeah, it is really nice to be clean. Thank you.”
The Wizard chuckled. “I have to admit it was as much for me as for you. My eyes were watering back in town. So, have you given any thought about what you are going to do now?”
Lindsey sighed. “Not really. I don’t know anything about what is supposed to happen, except I end up as a neigh-sayer.” He winced and dropped his head. “Sorry. All I really want to wake up back in my apartment, and have this be some strange dream.”
“What makes you think there is a way back?”
That brought Lindsey up short. “Uh, I don’t know. I just sorta assumed…” His voice trailed off. “I was hoping I’m not the only one. Stuck in a character, I mean. If Terry is here as Tarran, maybe he can fix things.”
Nightshade shook his head. “I doubt you will get help from our esteemed Duke, especially after his baptism in the town waste wagon. No, it is time to think about whom your friends are in this world and do what you can to keep the story from playing out. You may be property as a facehorse, but you still have your mind. Unless I win, you lose even that. We both know how our fates are written.”
“How did you find out? About the story, about being a character?”
“Because I am not stupid!” The Wizard’s eyes darkened with sudden anger, though it did not seem directed at Lindsey. “And I found myself doing stupid things. The whole world was suddenly ridiculous.”
Nightshade leaned on the top of the gate. “There were little things at first, temper tantrums and acts of cruelty that believe it or not, were not part of my normal behavior. Kidnapping the Swann girl set off the alarm bell, though. I am powerful, wealthy, and of good visage – I hardly need to force women to my bed.”
“And then came the trouble with Duke Tarran Boldheart.” He sighed and regarded Lindsey with a look of disgust on his face. “Do you realize how ridiculous this whole situation is? I am a Wizard of no small power. Tarran is little more than a figurehead for the King, collecting taxes and making sure laws are enforced. His lands and so-called power are worthless to me.”
“So don’t attack.” Lindsey turned around to face the man fully. “If you don’t storm the castle, there’s no battle.”
That brought a bitter laugh. “You think I have a choice? I told you I have been doing stupid things. Saying stupid things. Somehow, your friend’s cursed book has connected to our world and made us all part of his personal puppet show. I can’t control myself at critical moments.”
Given the problems he’d had with the facehorse’s personality, Lindsey had no trouble understanding that. “But you get away! In the book, you disappear from your cell. So it all ends, and you are free again. Isn’t that what you want?”
Nightshade clenched his fists. “Yes. I get away. Think about it. Why would the so-called ‘villain,’ the single most powerful figure of the story, be allowed to escape?”
“Well, I guess so he can use you again.” Lindsey looked up at the Wizard with sudden comprehension. “Oh! A sequel! Terry is planning to make this a series.”
The Wizard nodded dully. “And once that starts, any chance of a real life ends for all of us. This author has managed to turn our world into his personal puppet show. That’s why I have to keep jumping back to the beginning of this charade. It’s the only way I can keep him from doing more damage.”
“Jumping back? You mean, like time travel? So that’s how you know!”
“This is my seventh run through this charade.” Nightshade scowled darkly at the book and set it down. “Right after I escaped the first time, I used a very difficult and powerful spell to reset events. I thought I could correct my mistakes and win. After two more failures, I realized something else was going on. That’s when I found the link to your world. And created this.” He reached down and pulled the Special Edition from his robes. “My connection to Mithril’s Quest. I used it to bring the bastard author.”
“Terry?” Lindsey stared at the Mage. “You pulled Terry into this world?”
“Like you, I figured that the man who wrote this could change things. But when I tried to explain what he was doing to us, the pompous fool laughed at me! It was a grand amusement for him – women, wine, and adventure. And the next time I reset events, he ended up reverting to the Tarran mindset completely. The same thing happened with both of the other central characters – Aslan turned out to be a low-ranking clerk and Melody Swann was some sort of servant called a waitress. This is a dream world for them.”
Lindsey blinked as realization hit. “Then you’re the one who brought –me- here!”
“Yes.” The Wizard raised an eyebrow. “I needed someone who would want to change things. And I found the link between you and Lind. A sad, silly character doomed to end up a mindless animal. You have every reason to want the story to end differently, and for the first time there is a real chance it may.”
“How?” Lindsey thought back over the major points. “Maybe Tarran didn’t chase you out of town, but Melody escaped anyway and it’s all just like before.”
Nightshade smiled grimly. “No, it isn’t. This time, I let the girl go on my own and met with you instead of running away like a pathetic coward. More importantly, I was able to meet with my commanders just now and address some problems that have never been solved before. Things are definitely different this time – thanks to you.”
“And this is my reward?” Lindsey’s ears pressed flat against his skull. “Stuck as Lind or transformed into a real horse?”
A flicker of annoyance passed across the Wizard’s face. “Those are not necessarily your only choices. Tarran wrote you into this book as a buffoon, an ugly fool that everyone is happy to see devolved to a common animal. Another author might be kinder.”
“Another author?”
“In this case, perhaps maybe more of an editor.” Nightshade regarded him a moment. “I could do many things for you, if I win. Are you quite sure you want to go back? This world obviously attracted you as a reader. I could improve your lot in life dramatically. Give you a finer body, perhaps make you a facehorse version of my stallion. You’d be sought after for breeding, perhaps even desired as a mount by nobles.”
“But still property!” Lindsey pawed at the ground angrily. “I want to be human again, not an animal.”
“That is beyond my ability. I can only enhance or expand what is already present. If I could transform others at will, I would simply turn Tarran and his friends into common animals and be done with them.”
“Then send me back! As long as I am here, I’m nothing more than a beast of burdern!”
“Yes, you are.” The Wizard smiled, but there was a coldness to the expression that made Lindsey uneasy. “Which is another reason you should consider staying. When you became Lind, your memories blended. That is what allowed you to change things here. Unfortunately, returning to your world won’t change the mix.”
Lindsey frowned. “So? It’s still me. I know a lot more about pulling wagons now, but that won’t hurt anything.”
“What is ten times ten?”
The question caught him off guard, but he opened his mouth to answer – and found that he couldn’t. Ten. That was a number. A mark. What did it look like? What did it mean? He jerked his head up and stared at Nightshade, who nodded.
“Facehorses can follow verbal commands, but have no comprehension of numbers of letters. Your brains just don’t work the right way. Blame your friend Tarran for that.” The Wizard tilted his head slightly. “Even if I could send you back, which I can’t until the story concludes, you would arrive totally illiterate.”
Lindsey paled. Searching his mind desperately, he discovered that Nightshade spoke the truth. He remembered what writing was, but the actual meanings of the funny marks and how they could possibly be used to convey information no longer resided in his mind. “You’ve screwed me! No matter what happens, I either end up a stupid animal here or an illiterate human back in my own world!”
Nightshade straightened, anger clouding his face. “I did what I had to do! And you should remember I am the only person in this world who can do anything to help you now!”
“Help?!” Lindsey glared at the man, overcome by hopeless rage. “You’re the one who put me on four hooves!”
“Terry made you a facehorse, not me. Now I see why. You were typecast!”
“I wanted to play the conniving, evil bastard, but that part was already filled!” Lindsey regretted the bitter sarcasm even as he shouted, but it was too late.
Nightshade’s face contorted in rage and he yelled something, thrusting a hand out. Searing agony ripped though Lindsey’s body. Screaming, he staggered back, only dimly aware that the stall was expanding around him.
“Ungrateful fool!” The Wizard clutched at the top of the gate, breathing heavily. “You don’t like your character? Fine! Let someone else play Lind!” After a moment, he stood unsteadily and stalked out of the stable.
The pain faded slowly, leaving Lindsey drained and shaking. He leaned against the wall, afraid he might fall over. Thoughts were confused, and dull aches remained after the transformation was over. Let someone else play Lind? But HE was the facehorse! Lindsey shook his head, trying to clear it, and froze. His ears flopped back and forth with exaggerated movements. A rush of fear helped clear his mind, and he twisted around to see what Nightshade had done to him.
His draft horse body had been replaced by a more compact form covered with scarred, matted brown hide. Fresh horror gripped Lindsey’s heart, and he made his way over to the water bucket and stared at the surface. Bung’s face looked back at him.
No! The abused facemule wasn’t even mentioned in the book. How could Nightshade turn him into a creature that didn’t exist?
Because Bung –was- real here. Perhaps his existence had no impact on the story, but he lived, breathed… and would die here. The facemule’s short and miserable life would now be Lindsey’s when and if the novel came to a final ending. He didn’t even have the dubious hope of returning home illiterate – Bung was just a sad shadow in the background with no link to Lindsey’s world.
“Please, come back!” He cried out, the facemule’s voice alien in his elongated ears. Who cared what happened in this place? Lindsey wanted to get out of this nightmare. “I’ll do anything! Please!” Tears streamed down his face. Part of him was sick with shame, but this was more than he could bear. He dropped his head, face nearly touching the straw. “Don’t leave me here.”
A rattle from the gate made him look up with sudden hope that evaporated when he saw Eeon. The stable hand looked at him curiously. “What are you so worked up about? You’ll be on your way as soon as they finish loading the empties.”
Lindsey laid his ears back sullenly. “Are you blind? Look at me!”
“Look at what?” Eeon looked puzzled, but opened the gate and entered with a clay pot in one hand and his box of grooming equipment in the other. “I told you I’d do what I can. This will help.” He scooped out a handful of greenish-brown paste and smeared it over Lindsey’s scarred back. Though the stuff had a bitter metallic stink, it immediately began to soothe his welts and scars.
The boy’s casual acceptance of his new appearance was bewildering. As was the healing salve. There had been no time for the Wizard to explain what had happened, even if he’d wanted to. So Eeon shouldn’t have known about the transformation, much less the condition of Lindsey’s back. Unless the facemule had been here all along.
Alarmed, Lindsey tried recalling the day’s events. Everything seemed clear and unchanged. The meeting with Nightshade, Tarran’s rage, lugging the cart full of wine casks – he blinked. Wine casks? He’d been pulling the shit wagon – how could he have started off hauling casks? Bung had gotten that job this morning! Yet Lindsey could clearly remember being hooked up to the cart, and sneering at the wisecracking facehorse.
The recasting must be retroactive to the point that Lindsey appeared. For now, memories were clear enough to keep track of what he knew to be the truth. But his thoughts were already being invaded by Bung’s character. Even if Nightshade didn’t reset events, Lindsey would probably end up taken over by the facemule’s identity.
Eeon gave him a cursory brushing and then pulled the harness off the wall. Though it should have been expected, Lindsey was mildly surprised that the straps fit his new body perfectly. The boy made short work of getting the harness buckled up, and opened the stall door. “OK. Head on out to the courtyard and we’ll get you on your way.”
Lindsey started shuffling out glumly, only to stop dead as he spotted a familiar black rectangle on a hay bale just outside the stall. He stared in amazement. The Special Edition! Nightshade must have forgotten it in his rage.
“Go on!” Eeon gave him an annoyed swat. There was no way to take the book without the stable hand seeing as soon as he came out. Unless – Lindsey grabbed the Special Edition with his mouth and bolted out of the stall.
Stupid! He realized there was no hope of escape even before he got out of the stable. Eeon was close behind, and the minotaur guards would make sure he did not escape the keep. As he emerged in the courtyard, Lindsay was startled to see the two-wheeled cart just outside, piled high with kegs. Hoping desperately that none of the guards noticed the book in his mouth, Lindsey stuck his face over the edge and let the Special Edition fall.
“You’re awfully anxious to get back.” Eeon came out of the stable right behind him. “Got a hot Jenny waiting for you back in town?”
Lindsey turned and quickly moved in front of the cart. His heart was pounding, and every instinct was telling him to run. “Sorry. Uh, if I’m late, some of the others will steal my grain.” That seemed to satisfy the boy, who nodded and buckled him into the traces.
As Eeon finished up, a figure dressed in black armor emerged from the main building and walked towards them. Nightshade! A minotaur and centaur followed, also dressed for battle. His gut clenched as the Wizard smiled coldly at him, showing no sign of his earlier fatigue. Lindsey trembled helplessly. Even if the gate was open, there was no way to get past the various guards.
“Enjoy your new life, fool. I hope I don’t have to reset things again, so you will always remember that you had a better choice.” Nightshade turned back to the minotaur and centaur, waving one hand in a dismissive gesture. “Get this stinking creature out of here.”
Was the Wizard actually letting him go? Lindsey hesitated as the gate creaked up, then leaned into the traces and headed out. His ears were laid back tight to his neck, eyes wide and frightened. He expected a sword to strike any moment, or a spell to engulf him in fire. His hooves echoed hollowly on the drawbridge, followed by the rumble of wooden cart wheels. The minotaurs stood silently on either side, watching him with impassive, liquid-brown eyes.
He was surprised to find the area in front of the keep almost deserted – perhaps a half dozen soldiers were gathering weapons in the now-empty field. Nightshade’s army must have already started for Tarran’s castle. A few of stragglers watched him plod by with the cart, though none drew a weapon. Even so, every movement made Lindsey tense and the fear of attack didn’t ease until Lindsey reached the main road.
Why had Nightshade spared him? Some lingering gratitude for Lindsey’s unwitting help earlier? More likely because there was nothing Lindsey could do. The sun was already on its way down, and it would be nearly dark before he could make his way back to town. Adding another hour back, plus more time getting to Tarran’s castle, any possible help would arrive too late.
The Wizard had every angle covered. Even if he lost, all he had to do was trigger his reset spell and start over. Unless – Lindsey realized there was one possibility that Nightshade hadn’t considered. Terry! Although the author was immersed in Tarran’s character, there might be a way to make him remember who he was. But how? Even if he could find Terry in time, who was going to listen to a facemule’s wild stories in the midst of battle?
Lindsey stopped dead, twisting his head to look back at the cart. The Special Edition! It was useless to him, but Tarran should be able to read. Nightshade’s own words were probably recorded there, quite possibly his plans for the attack. That might be enough to restore Terry’s memories. And as the author, Terry should be able to save Lindsey from spending the rest of his life as a facemule.
Getting free of the cart was a challenge, but he got enough buckles opened with his teeth to twist free. Only to discover that the book wasn’t in the cart. Had Nightshade removed it somehow? Then he spotted a dark object on the road about fifty feet back. The book must have bounced out of the cart just seconds before he stopped.
Such phenomenal luck seemed unlikely. Then again, having Nightshade leave the Special Edition behind was even more improbable. Had it been intentional? Lindsey stared at the book a moment. This version of the Special Edition apparently focused on Lind. Now that Lindsey was the facemule, it might useless to the Wizard. However, it was still dangerous to him in the hands of his enemies. Why leave it behind?
Then he remembered something Nightshade had said about being a puppet. He couldn’t control himself at critical moments. Hopefully, this was one of those times. Whatever risk there might be, Lindsey needed to get the book to Tarran/Terry if he wanted to change his own dismal future. And he had little time to do it – Nightshade was already preparing for the attack, and Lindsey needed to get ahead of the Wizard’s forces.
He picked up the book with his teeth, wrinkling his nose at the taste of grit. Tarran’s castle was South of the town - he had been there in both faceanimal forms. Actually, if the plot of Mithril’s Quest was still intact, Lind would be at the castle now delivering supplies. As usual, the facehorse’s mouth gets the better of him, and some stupid joke about being a spy for Nightshade gets him silenced permanently as a security measure.
But that was Lind. He was Bung now, independent of Terry’s control. Or was he? Hundreds of unnamed men and monsters would be engaged in battle soon – perhaps the facemule was supposed to be there. But not with the Special Edition. As long as he had the book, he was operating outside Terry’s plot. Lindsey found strength in that. He got his bearings, and began heading cross-country towards Tarran’s castle at a brisk trot. Perhaps he was rushing to his own death, but one way or the other, Bung was going to become a memorable character.
Nightshade’s army would mount a surprise attack just after sunset, charging out of thick forest that bordered the river. That detail, combined with Bung’s and Lind’s knowledge of the area, was enough for him to reach Tarran’s lands without encountering any of the Wizard’s forces. However, Tarran’s defenses almost proved to be his undoing.
As he approached the castle from a side road, an arrow thudded into a tree inches from his head. “Hold, beast!” A large, older centaur stepped out from the woods with a crossbow aimed at Lindsey’s forehead. “State your business!”
Startled, Lindsey spit the book out onto the ground, but had to work his aching jaw a moment before he could speak. “I have to deliver this to Tarran. Directly. It will help him against Nightshade!”
A grizzled looking human appeared in the road behind Lindsey, hefting a huge sword. He scowled at the book. “Who sent this, facemule?”
“I… “ Lindsey looked back and forth between the two fighters, trying to come up with a plausible story. All that came to mind was the truth. “I stole it. From the Wizard.”
There was a short silence as the human and centaur stared at him incredulously. Then the man laughed. “What do you think of that, Yuli? A facemule who is a good enough thief to steal something important from Nightshade himself, and is also on a first name basis with the Duke!”
Yuli reached down and picked the Special Edition up, keeping the crossbow aimed the whole time. “This?” The centaur flipped it open and glanced at the pages. “What’s it supposed to be? Some sort of journal?”
“No! It’s a magic book that writes out what is happening right now. Like a story, but what people are really doing and thinking! I took it from Nightshade. Barely an hour ago. He’s on his way to attack right now!”
That got both fighters’ attention. “What!?”
Lindsey nodded enthusiastically. “From the woods by the river! He was getting ready for battle when I left his keep!”
The point of the human’s sword was suddenly at Lindsey’s throat. “You expect us to believe Nightshade let you escape? Alive and with a voice to tell what you know?”
“Hold your blade, Kal.” The centaur slung his crossbow and flipped through the pages of the Special Edition, stopping every now and then to read. As he got close to the back, he blinked and looked closer. “By the Gods…” He looked at Lindsey, then back at the pages. “There was a short silence as the human and centaur stared at him incredulously. Then the man laughed. What do you think of that, Yuli? A facemule who is a good enough thief to steal something important from Nightshade himself…”
Kal’s sword lowered slightly. “That’s in there? But I just said that!”
“Everything we’ve said is in this.” Yuli flipped further back. “It’s just like he told us. It’s writing out what we are doing and saying… right … now.” He stared at the Special Edition as more writing appeared, then snapped the book closed and scowled at Lindsey. “I’ll take you to Quicksilver. He’ll decide if we should take you to Duke Braveheart, or simple gut you and give your carcass to the cooks.”
Lindsey felt a surge of hope. Arion Quicksilver had saved him in the Market Square - though that incident involved Lind, not Bung. He was also another trapped reader, if Nightshade could be believed.
“What if he’s lying?” Kal scowled, his sword still dangerously close to Lindsey’s neck. “Nightshade could be setting us up.”
Yuli nodded. “That’s why I am taking him myself. We can make better time, and he can’t outrun me or my sword. I’ll have someone else sent to back you up.” Then the centaur spun and charged for the distant castle, looking back to make sure Lindsey followed.
Tarran’s defenses were not as impressive as the Wizard’s. Everything matched up – well-armed men, centaurs and even an occasional satyr or minotaur stood guard around the castle. However, there were no massive ranks of soldiers here. The fighters were in small groups spread evenly around the castle, some barely visible in the fading light.
It did not take long to realize this was a more effective layout. They were challenged as soon as they reached the first group, even though it was obvious that Yuli was well known. As the centaur spoke with the leader, Lindsey looked around and saw that nearby squads had crossbows out and aimed at them both. The weapons were lowered only after some hand signals that apparently cleared them for passage.
One of the soldiers ran back the way they had come, apparently Yuli’s replacement. Two others took off in different directions to pass on the warning of Nightshade’s impending attack. The leader, a lean older man with a scarred face and white hair, came over to glare at Lindsey. “Be warned. The Duke has no patience for your kind right now – if this is trickery, you will suffer long and painfully.”
Just then, there was a shout from below. Two figures came running out of the trees waving their arms – one stumbled and hit the ground face-first with an arrow in his back. Then more shapes appeared, shooting toward Tarran’s forces. The attack had begun!
“Go!” The leader gestured at the castle, then grabbed up his helmet and ran to join the fight. Nodding wordlessly, Yuli charged up the hill with the Special Edition. Lindsey hesitated, staring at the violent clash. He could hear monstrous roars and bellows, human shouts and screams, and the metallic clang of swords.
Lindsey felt a thrill of excitement. He’d succeeded in becoming an important character! He couldn’t help but grin. That moron facehorse might have been written in, but Lind was just an animal now, while Bung was finally getting the attention he deserved. For the first time since he’d woken up in Mithril’s Quest, Lindsey was a real part of the story. Then a soldier running past was suddenly knocked backwards by an arrow.
The sudden death jolted Lindsey from his reverie, and he galloped after the centaur in a blind panic. More arrows rained down, some hissing close enough that he flinched. As other fighters fell, cold fear clutched at his gut. Just being outside the castle didn’t change anything! Until he actually interacted with Tarran, he and the book were still part of the unwritten back story. All it took to keep Terry’s plot intact was to add another centaur and a facemule to the list of unnamed casualties.
He just barely managed to keep from slamming into Yuli’s hind end when the centaur stopped abruptly at the drawbridge. Soldiers were running out of the castle to join the battle, weapons drawn. As they passed, Lindsey spotted a familiar face. “Quicksilver!”
The elf halted, looking first to Yuli before realizing who had spoken. He scowled at Lindsey. “I have no time for banter with facemules!”
“Sir!” Yuli held up the Special Edition. “He says he stole this book from Nightshade. It records things that are happening, what people say and think. I’ve seen it work!”
Quicksilver took a step toward the centaur, fierce anger in his eyes. “You brought a tool of magic here?”
“No, I did!” Lindsey almost regretted the outburst, which brought the elf’s blade an inch from his face. “Wait! Please! There’s more going on than just this attack! Nightshade is trying to change things, change what is supposed to happen!”
The elf lowered his sword, frowning. “Change what is supposed to happen? What are you talking about?”
“You and Tarran are supposed to win, and he gets caught. But Nightshade is going back in time and repeating this battle over and over, trying to find a way to beat you. And he’s brought some of us into this world from outside. I’m not really a facemule! And he brought you and Tarran and Melody into the story, too!”
The centaur stared at him. “What nonsense is this? Sir, he didn’t say anything about this before!”
“It’s all in the Special Edition!” Lindsey saw the centaur’s hand drop to the hilt of his sword. “I know it sounds crazy! But I’m from a world where all of this is just a fantasy story, and all of you are just characters. Terry – he’s stuck here as Tarran, now – wrote the story. And Nightshade found a way to capture us, make us into our characters!”
Quicksilver looked uncertain, but held his hand out to Yuli. “Give me the book.” After the centaur complied, he read from the first page. “Lind?” He frowned and flipped further back. “Why is this about that idiot facehorse?”
“Because I’m Lind! Well, I was.” Lindsey saw the elf’s expression harden. “Nightshade switched me with Bung – that’s who I am now! And now Lind is a horse and I’m stuck as a facemule!”
“What did you say about Lind?” Quicksilver’s eyes widened.
“You guys turned him into a horse because he made jokes about spying for Nightshade! Anyway, Tarran was probably still mad about the other times he screwed things up.”
The elf stared at him a long moment. “No one outside of the castle could know about the facehorse being turned into a horse – it just happened. You say Duke Boldheart is the author if this fantasy of yours? Perhaps you can explain it to him.” He turned to Yuli. “You did well to bring him here. Report back to your post.”
Lindsey followed Quicksilver into the castle. His hooves echoed loudly down the long stone passage, alerting a pair of human guards flanking heavy wood doors. They put hands to weapons and looked at the elf curiously “Sir?”
“It is OK, for now.” The elf paused in front of the doors, then looked back at Lindsey. “However, until you here otherwise from me or the Duke, kill him if he makes any attempt to leave.”
Quicksilver knocked once and then opened the doors into a large, windowless room lit by a fireplace and some flickering lanterns. As Lindsey entered, he saw Tarran looking at maps spread over a huge wooden table. The man glanced towards the door, then did a double-take, his eyes narrowing. “Another facebeast? Get it out of here now, before I add a mule to the stable.” The hero was as charming as ever, it seemed.
“You need to look at this.” Quicksilver held the Special Edition out, already opened to a point near the middle. “This facemule claims he stole this from Nightshade.”
“Oh, really?” Tarran snorted in disgust. “A beat-up pack beast managed to outsmart a full-blown Wizard?”
The elf shook his head. “He also claims he isn’t really a facemule. And that we are all characters in the middle of a fantasy story that you wrote.”
“What?!” Tarran glanced at the book, then shook his head incredulously. “This is absurd! Nightshade is attacking us, and you bring me an animal claiming this is all some silly folk tale?”
“Read the page!” Quicksilver thrust the Special Edition in front of the man’s face again. “The conversation written here was between you and me. There were no witnesses. Yet it even describes the wine we were drinking.”
Tarran grabbed the book in obvious annoyance – only to drop it with a curse. “The bloody thing stung me!”
Before anyone else could react, there was a blinding flash and a sudden pressure wave that staggered Lindsey and knocked both Tarran and Quicksilver backwards. Lindsey was the first to recover, blinking as vision cleared to reveal a too-familiar figure standing next to the Special Edition. Nightshade.
Lindsey backed away, eyes wide and heart pounding. Nightshade shouldn’t be here – he never got inside the castle in Mithril’s Quest! The attack failed, and Tarran tracked the Wizard back to his own keep for a final confrontation.
Twisting around, Nightshade made a quick gesture towards the doors, then grinned and winked at Lindsey as the two fighters scrambled up with swords drawn. There were shouts and muffling pounding from outside as the guard tried to get in. “I thought I’d ensure a little privacy.”
“Bastard!” Tarran glared at the Wizard, sidestepping warily with his weapon out. “Do you think we need help to beat the likes of you? You will never claim this Dukedom.”
“I couldn’t care less about a foolish title.” Nightshade chuckled. “You’ll be pleased to know I am here to surrender. In fact, my forces should be retreating even as we speak. There’s no point in spilling any more blood when victory is already mine.”
“What?” Tarran’s blinked in bewilderment. “You’re surrendering. And you still claim victory? How?”
“I’m here.” Nightshade turned to face Lindsey. “Thanks to my friend here.”
Lindsey shook his head. “No! I tried to stop you! I brought the book, so they’d know.”
“Yes.” The Wizard bent down and picked up the Special Edition. “The book I conveniently ‘forgot.’ You handled that much better than I expected. Though I did have a bad turn when it fell out of the back of the cart.”
“You saw that?” Lindsey felt sick, though he still didn’t understand how it had made any difference.
“My only real goal this whole time has been to get this here.” Nightshade smiled as he hefted the book. “Entertaining to read, but not really all that useful. It’s real purpose was serving as a teleportation key. It activated as soon as Tarran touched it. And finally, after seven tries, I can cut myself free from this cursed puppet show.”
“You expect us to believe that we are characters in some fairy tale?” Tarran glared at the Wizard. “I don’t know what game it is you are playing, but a plea of madness won’t save you from my sword.”
“Believe what you will.” Nightshade shrugged. “The fairy tale is almost over. I only have one minor edit to make before I turn the last page.” He turned to Lindsey, still smiling, and thrust a hand out as he shouted a spell.
Lindsey cringed back as the magic hit, expecting to end up a full animal. But there was no pain this time, and when the heat passed he still seemed to be a facehorse. More importantly, his mind was clear of the confusion that had plagued him earlier. However, that was not the extent of Nightshade’s transformation. Bung’s scarred body had been transformed into the sleek and powerful form of a white Arabian stallion.
“A mount fit for a king.” The Wizard nodded in approval. “I am genuinely sorry that you are stuck in this world, but I think you’ll find that life as a facehorse can be quite pleasant. I owe you that much, at least.”
“I don’t understand!” Lindsey blinked in confusion. “What good was all this? If you are surrendering, that means Tarran wins! The story ends up the same way as it did before!”
“Not quite. I needed to be here at the moment of victory. Which is now.” Nightshade tossed the Special Edition at Tarran’s feet. “I surrender to you, Duke Braveheart.” Then he smiled. “And so the story ends.”
Quicksilver stared around the room, then down at himself. “What the shit? Where the hell am I?”
“In Mithril’s Quest!” Tarran backed against the wall, eyes wide. It was much easier to recognize Terry with the hero’s confidence stripped away. “We’re in my book!”
“It’s not your book any more.” The Wizard thrust his hand out suddenly with an unintelligible shout. Tarran gasped and staggered back, but the Nightshade seemed hit even harder. The Wizard screamed and collapsed to his hands and knees, then stared at Tarran. “Oh, crap! What did you do?”
“I’m leaving you to your fantasies.” Tarran knelt down by the the Special Edition and yanked a dagger from his belt. “Or more accurately, to mine.” Then he drove his blade deep into the pages. There was a brilliant flare of reddish light, and the Special Edition vanished.
At that moment, the doors burst open and a half-dozen of Tarran’s soldiers spilled into the room. Lindsey backed away as they quickly surrounded Nightshade, who cringed back from their blades. The Wizard’s arms were yanked forcefully behind his back and bound securely.
One of the men saluted Tarran. “Sir! The enemy has retreated! They just stopped fighting and ran off.”
Quicksilver scowled. “At least he was telling the truth about that. Lock him in the Dungeon. Unless you want to kill him and be done with it.”
Tarran stared at his dagger in puzzlement, then scrambled up and regarded the captive. “It’s tempting. A dead Wizard is no threat at all.” Lindsey realized that this was the hero again, not the author.
“No!” Nightshade looked paniced. “I’m not the wizard! He did something, changed places with me!”
“Oh, really?” Quicksilver gave him a scornful look. “Just who are you supposed to be?”
“Him!” The Wizard turned his face towards Tarran. “But not really him. I mean, I’m a writer, and this was all a book I wrote called Mith-“ His panicked explanation came to an abrupt halt at Quicksilver’s knife pressed against his throat.
Lindsey stared, suddenly remembering the terrible pain of being recast as Bung. No doubt the facemule had felt the same agony. Everything fell into place now – the Wizard hadn’t been after anything in this world after all. He’d switched places with Terry and gone back in his place! Which meant that the former author was now stuck in Nightshade’s body with no knowledge of magic.
“Forget your silly tricks.” Quicksilver scowled down at his prisoner, and for a moment, Lindsey thought he was going to go ahead and cut the former author’s throat. “It’s obvious you aren’t going to say anything useful, so don’t say anything at all.”
“What about you?” Tarran walked over to Lindsey. “Seems a waste to send you back to the city stable like that. I’m not a king, but I would be happy to have you as a mount. It could be dangerous sometimes, but I promise the best food and treatment available. And mares.”
Lindsey blinked, surprised to have a choice. It seemed that the ‘real’ Tarran was a better man than Terry had made him. “Uh, I’d like that, sir. Have some adventures, see the world.”
He grinned suddenly as Tarran smiled and nodded. Mithril’s Quest had turned into a kind of Cinderella story – from pulling the shit wagon, he’d risen to become the hero’s steed. It seemed that he might even live happily ever after.
But he wouldn’t know for sure until Nightshade wrote the sequel.

The End.

User:Posti/Special Edition

2008-06-11T18:24:43Z

Posti: Lindsey is flattered to be used as a charcater in a friend's new book - until he wakes up AS the character.

Robert A. Stein Fantasy
7500 Pennington Rd. Approx. 11000 words
Norfolk, VA 23505
(804) 588-6200

Special Edition
By Bob Stein

Waking up to a hard slap on the butt was something of a shock, given the fact that Lindsey lived alone. As his eyes popped open, a gruff male shouted “Rise and shine, my beasties!” The wall of dark, battered wooden planks in front of him didn’t belong to his bedroom. Neither did the strong sweat/urine stink that filled his nostrils, or the mix of groans, whinnies, and brays in his ears.
“Come on, Lind.” A younger voice came from directly behind, and he looked back to see a scruffy-looking young man with matted brown hair scowling at him from the far side of a large, black horse’s butt. The teenager was wearing a stained tunic tied at the waist with a piece of rope, and hefting a black leather work harness. “Market Day. Let’s get you hitched up.”
Market Day? Lindsey stared blankly at the kid, his mind still catching up to the barrage of strange input. Stall. Animal sounds. Horse’s butt. He stopped there, eyes widening as he realized the equine back end belonged to him. That realization was confirmed when he both felt and saw the boy give him another hard slap. “I ain’t got all morning, you lazy beast!”
Lindsey struggled to stay calm, thoughts in a whirl. He seemed to be on all fours – four legs, not hands and knees. And his head stuck out way too far from his body, swinging in a huge arc as he twisted around to look at his other side. Black hide, hooves, and a long tail that he could flick from side to side.
As he stared at the equine body, a gray horse walked past in the main stable. For a moment, it looked like a human head was floating alongside – then he realized that it was all one creature. The animal had human features instead of an equine muzzle. Though he’d never seen one before, Lindsey recognized it to be a facehorse. Problem was, the strange creature should not exist outside the pages of Mithril’s Quest, his friend Terry’s new fantasy novel.
The kid had called him Lind. That was the name of one of the minor characters in the novel, another facehorse who provided occasional comic relief in the form of bad puns and generally stupid actions. Hooves, hide, and the name all matched up with his memories of the character. He clenched his eyes shut. This had to be a really intense dream – or nightmare. Time to wake up.
A sharp crack and sudden pain made him jump and cry out. “Get your arse out here now, Lind!” A heavyset older man with enormous sideburns was coiling a whip that he had obviously just used.
“But…” Lindsey was shocked by the stinging welt – you couldn’t feel pain like that in a dream! He tried to think of something to say, searching for explanations. However seeing the man’s scowl, he decided to back out before another welt joined the first. “Sorry. Guess I was stall-ing for time.” He grinned, then blinked in astonishment. Where had that come from?
“Oh, please, Lind.” The boy started throwing on the harness. “Not first thing in the morning.”
“Why not? If he’s gonna use the whip, I can deal out some pun-ishment of my own.” The dopey smile returned before he could stop it, as if someone else were using his voice and face.
“Shut up, Lind.” The man was still scowling. “You’re trotting along a very fine line. More than one customer has said they’d rather hear you whinny. And you know what that means.”
“Yeah, I’m gonna talk myself horse.” The words were out before Lindsey could stop himself. Horrified, he clenched his eyes shut as he tried to shut out whatever had control of his mouth.
The stable master shook his head and sighed. “Maybe sooner than you think, you fool animal.” Then something caught his attention further down, and he strode off.
“What’s the matter with you?” The stable boy whispered fiercely as he pulled a bridle over Lindsey’s face. “You really want to end up as a normal animal? He means it! One gesture from a magic user and you won’t be talking or thinking no more!”
“Yeah, but I’ll gain a lot of horse scents.” Where was this crap coming from? The lack of control was even more terrifying than being a freak creature. It was more than just the puns - he had backed out of the stall and made all the right movements to take the bridle and harness.
“Real funny, Lind.” The boy shook his head. “See if you feel like laughing tonight. You’re at the end of the line. Go on.” He gave Lind’s butt a firm pat.
End of the line? Even as Lindsey wondered at that, he saw what the kid meant. There were a half-dozen other animals already standing lined up at the door. The last was a large brown facemule with badly scarred hide and a sour expression. He looked back at Lindsey with a sneer. “Bet you end up with the shit wagon. See if you can find something funny about that.”
“Guess I’ll be really pooped by the end of the day.” Lindsey felt helpless as his mouth worked on its own, ending with the same goofy smile. God, he was being forced to play the character. Granted, Lindsey liked a good pun, but not this constant barrage. It wasn’t so bad in the novel, since the facehorse didn’t show up often. Not surprising, since Terry hated puns himself. You’d think a writer would appreciate wordplay, but the fantasy author made no effort to hide his dislike of Lindsey’s efforts. No wonder Lind wasn’t a very sympathetic character.
Lindsey. Lind. He felt sudden resentment. The similarity of names hadn’t occurred to him before. Terry must have used him as a model for the annoying beast – perhaps as a form of revenge. Lindsey’s gut clenched at sudden memory. Revenge was right. In Mithril’s Quest, his character’s puns eventually get him turned into a normal animal.
But that was just words on paper, given substance only in the reader’s minds. How could he be here, not only in a fictional place, but as a fictional creature? Lindsey flicked his tail in annoyance, and blew through his nostrils. The flies weren’t so bad today, but he hated it when they got in his nose and... He shook his head suddenly, alarmed by vague memories of similar mornings, memories that belonged to a facehorse.
Lindsey blinked as he stepped into the morning sun, automatically following the facemule outside. Bung moved to a two-wheeled cart piled high with casks. Bung. That was the facemule’s name. The rest of his stable mates were already harnessed up and pulling a variety of battered, wooden-wheeled vehicles down the busy, deeply-rutted street.
It almost looked like a scene from a movie. The buildings were wood and plaster, many with thatched roofs. People wore medieval costumes, with small children running naked amid a scattering of chickens, goats, and other livestock. However, both his eyes and nose informed him that the general level of filth wasn’t part of any movie set.
Where was this coming from? There was a stable in Mithril’s Quest, but only as a vague backdrop for a few scenes. Granted, it had been a week or so since Lindsey had finished the book and some of the details were a little fuzzy. Still, he was sure Terry hadn’t provided anywhere near this level of background description.
“What the Hell is wrong with you, Lind?” The heavyset man was back, scowling at him from the side of a large, empty, and badly stained wagon. Mr. Daly, the owner of the stable. And more importantly, Lindsey’s owner. “Get in the traces, now! I don’t like using the whip, but if you keep giving me trouble I’ll make your hide match Bung’s.”
“You can’t do that, Mr. Daly! My fur is the wrong color.” The quip couldn’t be stopped, but thankfully, Lindsey backed into position at the same time.
Daley glared at him a moment, then sighed deeply and finished harnessing the wagon. As he yanked the last strap tight, the man patted his side. “OK, Lind. Get going. The route hasn’t changed since last time.”
Lindsey thought furiously as he began plodding down the street, easily pulling the empty wagon. It would be much more work later, piled high with reeking slops and waste collected as he worked his way up and down the streets.
While the buildings and people mostly matched up to what little he knew about medieval Europe, there were certainly no facehorses depicted in history books. And the locals sounded more like Los Angeles than Merry Olde England. This had to be the world of Mithril’s Quest. Either that or he’d suffered some sort of serious mental breakdown. At this point, he wasn’t quite sure which answer he preferred. Still, as long as he couldn’t tell hallucination from reality, it was safer to believe his eyes, nose, and ears.
That left an even bigger question – how the Hell had he gotten here? Not even quantum physics and time warps explained waking up in a fictional setting. The only logical connection, if logic could be applied at all, was that Terry had used him for the facehorse. Somehow, the story had come to life and pulled him into it.
If that was the case, there had to be others in the same situation. Most of the main characters were probably based on people Terry knew in the ‘real’ world. Though Lind was a ‘maned’ character, not major player. He winced, not sure if the play on words came from his own thoughts, or the increasingly complete facehorse.
It was no secret that Terry had written himself in as Duke Tarran Boldheart, the novel’s handsome and incredibly skilled hero. He’d even gotten the artist to use his face for the cover, though the rest of the muscle-bound fighter was pure imagination. Lindsey blinked. Of course! If he was here, maybe Terry was too! And the person who created all this had to be able to figure a way out!
Where were they in the story line? The stable appeared a few times in the book, but it was obvious that the city went on whether its creator was visiting or not. This could be months before the adventure began, or the last chapter. Lindsey struggled to recall the plot. Most of the action centered around an evil wizard named Nightshade plotting to take over Boldheart’s lands. Then there was the romance between Boldheart and Lady Melody Swann. And of course, the inept and comical facehorse.
The first time Lind appeared in the book was early on, where he provided comic annoyance as the hero tried to overhear critical plotting between two thugs working for Nightshade. Of course, Lind hadn’t known about any of that – he was just being friendly, trying to cheer the serious-looking human up with some light banter. Only to get the point of a sword at his throat and threats of gelding.
Lindsey’s gut constricted at the memory. Not that he had much opportunity to court mares, but it was nice to have the capability. He frowned, realizing that the incident was far too detailed in his mind to be just from reading. Damn! The first encounter must have already happened! Not too long ago, but then, the book didn’t cover a long period of time. What? A week overall?
He glanced up as he got near the Milliner’s Shop. Sure enough, the brats were hanging out the window, planning to hit him with the contents of the family bedpan. He maintained his pace until the last second, waiting until they actually dumped the toilet with shouts of glee.
Luckily, the wagon was still light enough that he was able to stop dead and shove back in the traces just enough to have the foul mess splatter all over the walk in front of him. The milliner came running out, then shook his fist at the horrified children and stalked back inside. Lindsey grinned up at his would-be attackers. “I’d say you’re in a shitload of trouble.” Rather pleased with himself, Lindsey resumed the route. He’d have to tell Bung – those rotten kids had scored hits on the facemule more than once.
The next street was an easy run, mostly storage buildings, and he was able to go back on automatic. OK. What was the next appearance? Tarran catches up with the henchmen, and defeats them with a dazzling show of swordsmanship. That’s when he finds out that Melody Swann is being held captive in the heart of the Wizard’s keep. He returns to town to enlist the aid of trusted Elven companion Arion Quicksilver, and chooses the stable as a meeting point.
Lindsey felt a touch of indignation. He’d only been trying to help. After all, it sounded like the whispering human and elf didn’t know the direct route to Nightshade’s fortress, and he’d delivered supplies there many times. So he’d stuck his head out and offered directions, having to shout over the din of the busy stable. How was he supposed to know they didn’t want anyone aware of their destination?
Oh, crap. Scratch encounter number two. So they were at least halfway through the novel! Lindsey made the turnaround absently and headed up the next street, remembering to swerve around the big pothole in front of Whitney’s Apothecary. The shops were busy today, but shoppers gave him a wide berth as he approached. Not surprising, considering what was being flung down into the wagon behind him.
What came next? Tarran and Arion fight through heightened security because the evil Wizard is expecting them, eventually defeating the entire force of the Count’s elite guards and a half-dozen magically-created monsters. Then…
His attention was drawn by a crowd of people directly ahead. They were gathered around a large, heavily loaded wagon that was angled sharply towards the right. Looked like a front wheel had broken.
“Might as well move skip around.” One of the spectators had seen him stop behind them, and shook his head in disgust. “Streets gonna be blocked for hours.”
Luckily, there was an alley between the two nearest buildings that he could just squeeze the wagon through. It would force him to cut through the Market Square, which wouldn’t make him too popular given his cargo, but he could work his way back to complete the pickup route.
What had he been thinking about? Oh, right. The novel. The Wizard escapes with Melody Swann as his hostage, and there’s a wild chase through the city streets, scattering people and carts in the Market Square. Just as Tarran is about to catch up to the fleeing Wizard, he gets cut off by....
Lindsey stopped just short of the Square, eyes wide and legs trembling. In the story, Lind appeared from a side street, pulling a cart full of wine casks, cutting off the heroes long enough for the Wizard to get away. And here he was, about to cut across market Square. But Bung was pulling the casks today. Lindsey’s late start had changed the order of things. Yeah. Maybe Bung was the one who would mess things up this time!
Then he heard the shouts and screams. Peeking out from the alley, Lindsey saw a monstrous black warhorse charging towards him, its rider scattering the shoppers with fireballs that seemed to shoot from his fingertips. A much smaller figure was sitting in front of him, held tightly by the rider’s free arm. It had to be Nightshade and Melody!
In the book, this scene was described from Tarran’s point of view, but there was no mistaking the action. Where was Bung? The evil Wizard would be through in seconds. Unless. Lindsey felt a rush of hope. The mule would pop out any second and ruin the chase, but only if Nightshade escaped. This was his chance to be a hero! He could change everything – if he stopped the Wizard here and saved the day, the story would be over!
He had to time it carefully – too soon and the Wizard would be able to swerve around him. The villain was close now, his blood-red cape flowing dramatically behind him, holding his helpless prisoner tight against his chest. Lindsey noted that the Wizard had chosen an interesting hand-hold.
Just a moment more. Now! Lindsey threw himself forward, but the wagon had gotten considerably heavier since that first street. The extra weight took time to get moving – just enough time for the Wizard to get in front of him. Lindsey’s face hit the black stallion’s hind end with a painful thud, but didn’t even cause the massive animal to break stride. Dazed, Lindsey stumbled further out, then heard a violent shout and heavy thuds as something struck the side of the wagon.
Twisting around, he saw a severe-looking elf with silver hair and ice-blue eyes on a lathered white horse and a riderless gray animal. The missing rider was easily located by a stream of painfully familiar profanity coming from the day’s collection of waste. As the figure pushed himself up, dripping with feces and garbage, someone in the crowd started to chuckle. In a moment, the entire Market Square was dissolving into laughter.
Duke Tarran Boldheart, hero and alter ego of the author, glared at the crowd, but only succeeded in looking even more ridiculous. He spun and squinted at Lindsey, his face contorted with rage. “YOU!” He yanked his sword from its scabbard, but the sudden movement was a mistake given his slippery footing and he went over backwards into the muck again.
The elf, who had to be Arion Quicksilver, jumped from his horse and ran to Lindsey’s side with his own sword high. Held fast by the harness, Lindsey screamed and shut his eyes, expecting a death blow. Only to feel the wagon’s traces fall away. Quicksilver shouted “Run! Before he gets up again. Run, you fool animal!”
Startled, Lindsey looked back to see the elf, whose mouth trembled with barely suppressed mirth. Then Tarran’s screamed curses spurred him to bolt free and gallop across the square as fast as he could move. The crowd parted for him, still finding the situation hilarious. It seemed that the only two not laughing were Lindsey and Tarran.
Oh, God! Trying to change things had accomplished nothing. Nightshade had escaped with Melody Swann, and Tarran… Lindsey grimaced, realizing that there had been changes. All for the worse. The one person he needed to get out of this nightmare had suffered horrible humiliation in front of the whole town!
Lindsey finally stopped in a narrow alley, sides heaving and hide flecked with foam. His facehorse body was obviously not built for speed. There was no sign of pursuit – the need for a bath must have outweighed the need for revenge.
He shuddered at the memory of Tarran’s rage and the glint of sunlight on the edge of his sword. That couldn’t have been Terry in control! Yet the violent reaction didn’t fit the character of the Duke, either. Did changing the story line change the people?
A facehorse standing alone would catch someone’s attention. He needed to get moving, go back to the stable… but he couldn’t go back! Tarran had recognized him, and knew where the facehorse belonged. Even if he was over his killing rage, the hero/author might have made arrangements to have him locked up to prevent further issues. Or worse, paid Mr. Daley to turn Lind into a real horse. The stable master had already spoken of the possibility, and today’s disaster was more than enough to justify the transformation.
He needed to go somewhere to hide and think things out. At least having the character’s memories proved helpful there. Lind usually traveled to contracted jobs on his own – facehorses had the ability to follow verbal directions. Edging out of the alley, he found himself on one of the high-end business streets. The crowds here were much thinner, allowing him ease of movement. A few gave him curious glances, but it was likely that none of these well-dressed aristocrats and merchants had witnessed the events a few streets over.
One marked difference between these shops and the ones in the lower class areas was the presence of large windows. In addition to giving the whole area a more modern look, they provided something that Lindsey hadn’t seen before here – a reflection. He shuffled over to one of the bigger panes, some sort of book store from the display, and got his first real look at Lind.
The broad, coarse-featured face peering back at him was more a caricature of Lindsey than an accurate likeness. His mouth was especially distorted, with thicker lips and the large, equine teeth needed for eating hay and grain. Still, there was no doubt it was supposed to be. Lindsey frowned, tilting his head slightly. Terry had given him had dull, oversized eyes and a drooping lower lip that made him look a little dimwitted. Lindsey’s eyes narrowed. He wasn’t quite so sorry about the wagon incident now.
A rich baritone voice spoke pleasantly beside him. “You won’t find ‘Mithril’s Quest’ in there.”
Startled, he twisted around and saw a handsome older man, dark haired with a manicured mustache and van dyke beard. He was dressed in solid black, with tasteful and expensive silver jewelry and clasps. Up close, it took a moment to recognize Nightshade. Lindsey gasped and started to back away, only to stop when the man smiled and raised a hand.
“You have no need to fear me, facehorse. Though we both know you are more than that.” He pulled out a small, leather-bound book and flipped to a page about three-quarters back. “After all, you were just pondering how all of this was too real.”
He glanced at what looked like handwritten text and read. “He shuddered at the memory of Tarran’s rage and the glint of sunlight on the edge of his sword. That couldn’t have been Terry in control! Yet the violent reaction didn’t fit the character of the Duke, either. Did changing the story line change the people?”
“An interesting question.” Nightshade snapped the book shut and smiled at Lindsey’s astonished expression. “My own copy of Mithril’s Quest – but not the one you are familiar with. Something of a special edition.”

“So my life is an open book to you?” Lindsey flinched as the pun forced itself out, but the Wizard’s smile only broadened.
“Ah! Humor in the face of adversary.” Nightshade raised an eyebrow. “Oh, come on. Adversary instead of adversity?” Then he sighed. “I suppose my character isn’t written to be funny.”
“You know you’re not…? I mean…” Flustered, Lindsey stared at the Wizard. “About all this just being a story?”
“I assure you that this world is just as real to me as your own is to you. Unfortunately, events here are being controlled by the same person who wrote you here.”
Lindsey frowned and looked around the Square. “This isn’t Mithril’s Quest?”
“It is, but also far more.” Nightshade pursed his lips. “We should continue this discussion elsewhere. Come with me. I have a safe place for you to rest, and we can exchange information.”
Nightshade headed across the street, where his own black charger was waiting patiently. Having little other choice, and more than a little curious, Lindsey shuffled along behind. The Wizard swung up into the saddle and trotted off without another look back.
Lindsey stared after the wizard, totally adrift. Whatever concepts of reality he might have had were shattered. There seemed nothing left for him to hold onto save the slender thread of reason this supposed villain was throwing out. He lunged forward suddenly, moving quickly to catch up.
If Tarran was an enemy, then perhaps Nightshade could be – what? A friend? Hardly. The man was a kidnapper, at least. Which reminded him – where was Melody Swann? Her absence was conspicuous. In the original story, Tarran had caught up with them on the outskirts of town. The girl had gotten free during the ensuing battle, which ended with Nightshade vanishing in a cloud of smoke.
Come to think of it, Nightshade was awfully calm for someone on the run from justice. He had certainly made no attempt to hide in town. Why wasn’t Tarran giving chase? Oh, right. The hero was probably busy cleaning up. Lindsey pondered that. What impact would that have on the rest of the story? Or were they really in a story at all? Sighing, he gave up trying to figure anything out for now.
They headed out of town on a wide dirt road that wound through hilly countryside. The scenery was picturesque, and thanks to Lind’s memories, curiously familiar. At least he wasn’t pulling a wagon - distances were a little more troublesome when you were using your own horsepower. Lindsey grinned to himself. One horsepower. One horse power. The silly word play amused him far longer than it should have, but there was little else to do. Nightshade seemed lost in thought, occasionally pulling out the book and flipping through a few pages before putting it away.
They finally turned off on the narrow, rutted path that led to the Wizard’s keep, winding. through thick forest. Dark shapes moved in the woods on either side, probably some of Nightshade’s forces on guard. Lindsey’s ears twitched, following the sounds nervously. Then he stopped dead as they emerged into a mass of men, minotaurs, and other creatures that parted to let the Wizard through.
This was the invading army! Lindsey hurried to catch up with Nightshade, staring at the different monsters. Some of them looked back with equal curiosity, and he realized a facehorse was probably even stranger than a satyr or centaur. Even so, it was interesting to see Terry’s interpretations of the ‘mythical’ creatures.
Centaurs were bigger than he expected, with human parts enlarged to be proportional to their horse bodies. Their features were much like Lindsey’s, broad and coarse, with the prominent teeth and jaws. In contrast, the goat-like Satyrs were short and stocky, with pointed faces and thick body hair that blended smoothly into the coarse fur covering their animal hindquarters.
He was a little surprised by the minotaurs. Usually depicted as fierce monsters, Terry’s versions looked more like humanoid buffalo. They were huge and covered in shaggy fur, with massive horns curling from their foreheads. Most were armed with swords and longbows, though a few had the more stereotypical clubs and axes.
As they passed through the Wizard’s army, Lindsey found his fear easing. While part of that was due to the knowledge he had safe passage as Nightshade’s guest, the soldiers themselves did not really look threatening. This wasn’t the snarling, cruel horde of an enemy – they were laughing and talking, a few even playing some sort of game with what might be crude dice.
Nightshade’s fortress had high stone walls and a deep, dry moat full of sharpened stakes. A mix of human and non-human guards were visible patrolling along the top, a pair of black minotaurs stood just outside the main entrance on the far side of the drawbridge. The bull-men stepped aside when the Wizard was halfway across to allow passage, then moved back as soon as Lindsey passed them.
Nightshade stopped just inside the courtyard. A young man came running out to take the stallion’s reins as the wizard dismounted, and a satyr emerged from what looked to be the main building. Nightshade exchanged a few words with the goat-man, then frowned slightly and turned to Lindsey. “Wait in the stable until I have time to talk. Eeon, get our guest cleaned up.” Then he walked off with the satyr.
Lindsey followed the young man he assumed was Eeon and Nightshade’s horse through a large set of open doors. The stable was a pleasant surprise after waking up at Daley’s, clean and well lit. Only a half dozen or so of the thirty-plus stalls were occupied, all with what looked like normal equines. Eeon stripped off the stallion’s tack and led him to a slightly larger stall near the back. After throwing in some fresh hay, the young man returned and started to remove Lindsey’s harness.
“Hey!” Lindsey felt a touch of alarm that he couldn’t explain, and twisted his head around. “That’s…uh, never mind. Go ahead.”
“Oh, thank you, your majesty!” The boy snorted and continued unbuckling straps. Probably wasn’t used to having his charges talk back. Not that the reeking filth on both harness and Lindsey’s back helped any.
Eeon frowned again as he looked Lindsey over, but led him directly to a stall close to the entrance with fresh fodder and a bucket of clean water. It was a vast improvement over his own cramped and dirty stall, even if he didn’t like having the gate shut and latched behind him.
Lindsey mulled over his situation as he ate, mildly surprised at the sweet taste of hay. Daley never got them the good stuff. The facehorse had one final appearance in the book – a scene that ended with his transformation into a dumb animal. Had he managed to change events enough to escape that fate? Being here was certainly not part of what Terry had written. But then, most of the facehorse’s life was ignored in the book. If Melody Swann had escaped the Wizard in town, then all of the major elements were still following the plot as he remembered it.
Which meant that Nightshade was about to attack Tarran’s castle with an army of mercenaries and monsters. Lindsey hadn’t been too interested in the mass mayhem, and skipped over However, although the battle was dramatic, the actual climax of the book was a fight between Nightshade and Tarran.
The stall gate opened, and Eeon came in with a bucket of soapy water and an open wooden box that he set down on the floor. He poured some of the cold suds over Lindsey’s rump, and then used a stiff brush to work out the ingrained filth. Afterwards, he scraped the excess water out with a stiff leather squeegee and finished up with a final grooming that put Lindsey in a blissful daze.
“A remarkable improvement!” Both of them were startled by Nightshade’s voice. “Eeon, why don’t you go out and help get the wagons loaded?”
The young man nodded. “Yes, sir.” He grabbed his box and scrambled out.
Nightshade remained outside the stall, leaning casually on the gate after Eeon shut it. “I trust you enjoyed the attention? Believe me, you are much easier on the nose as well as the eyes.”
A slight flush crept into Lindsey’s cheeks. “Uh, sorry about that. Yeah, it is really nice to be clean. Thank you.”
The Wizard chuckled. “I have to admit it was as much for me as for you. My eyes were watering back in town. So, have you given any thought about what you are going to do now?”
Lindsey sighed. “Not really. I don’t know anything about what is supposed to happen, except I end up as a neigh-sayer.” He winced and dropped his head. “Sorry. All I really want to wake up back in my apartment, and have this be some strange dream.”
“What makes you think there is a way back?”
That brought Lindsey up short. “Uh, I don’t know. I just sorta assumed…” His voice trailed off. “I was hoping I’m not the only one. Stuck in a character, I mean. If Terry is here as Tarran, maybe he can fix things.”
Nightshade shook his head. “I doubt you will get help from our esteemed Duke, especially after his baptism in the town waste wagon. No, it is time to think about whom your friends are in this world and do what you can to keep the story from playing out. You may be property as a facehorse, but you still have your mind. Unless I win, you lose even that. We both know how our fates are written.”
“How did you find out? About the story, about being a character?”
“Because I am not stupid!” The Wizard’s eyes darkened with sudden anger, though it did not seem directed at Lindsey. “And I found myself doing stupid things. The whole world was suddenly ridiculous.”
Nightshade leaned on the top of the gate. “There were little things at first, temper tantrums and acts of cruelty that believe it or not, were not part of my normal behavior. Kidnapping the Swann girl set off the alarm bell, though. I am powerful, wealthy, and of good visage – I hardly need to force women to my bed.”
“And then came the trouble with Duke Tarran Boldheart.” He sighed and regarded Lindsey with a look of disgust on his face. “Do you realize how ridiculous this whole situation is? I am a Wizard of no small power. Tarran is little more than a figurehead for the King, collecting taxes and making sure laws are enforced. His lands and so-called power are worthless to me.”
“So don’t attack.” Lindsey turned around to face the man fully. “If you don’t storm the castle, there’s no battle.”
That brought a bitter laugh. “You think I have a choice? I told you I have been doing stupid things. Saying stupid things. Somehow, your friend’s cursed book has connected to our world and made us all part of his personal puppet show. I can’t control myself at critical moments.”
Given the problems he’d had with the facehorse’s personality, Lindsey had no trouble understanding that. “But you get away! In the book, you disappear from your cell. So it all ends, and you are free again. Isn’t that what you want?”
Nightshade clenched his fists. “Yes. I get away. Think about it. Why would the so-called ‘villain,’ the single most powerful figure of the story, be allowed to escape?”
“Well, I guess so he can use you again.” Lindsey looked up at the Wizard with sudden comprehension. “Oh! A sequel! Terry is planning to make this a series.”
The Wizard nodded dully. “And once that starts, any chance of a real life ends for all of us. This author has managed to turn our world into his personal puppet show. That’s why I have to keep jumping back to the beginning of this charade. It’s the only way I can keep him from doing more damage.”
“Jumping back? You mean, like time travel? So that’s how you know!”
“This is my seventh run through this charade.” Nightshade scowled darkly at the book and set it down. “Right after I escaped the first time, I used a very difficult and powerful spell to reset events. I thought I could correct my mistakes and win. After two more failures, I realized something else was going on. That’s when I found the link to your world. And created this.” He reached down and pulled the Special Edition from his robes. “My connection to Mithril’s Quest. I used it to bring the bastard author.”
“Terry?” Lindsey stared at the Mage. “You pulled Terry into this world?”
“Like you, I figured that the man who wrote this could change things. But when I tried to explain what he was doing to us, the pompous fool laughed at me! It was a grand amusement for him – women, wine, and adventure. And the next time I reset events, he ended up reverting to the Tarran mindset completely. The same thing happened with both of the other central characters – Aslan turned out to be a low-ranking clerk and Melody Swann was some sort of servant called a waitress. This is a dream world for them.”
Lindsey blinked as realization hit. “Then you’re the one who brought –me- here!”
“Yes.” The Wizard raised an eyebrow. “I needed someone who would want to change things. And I found the link between you and Lind. A sad, silly character doomed to end up a mindless animal. You have every reason to want the story to end differently, and for the first time there is a real chance it may.”
“How?” Lindsey thought back over the major points. “Maybe Tarran didn’t chase you out of town, but Melody escaped anyway and it’s all just like before.”
Nightshade smiled grimly. “No, it isn’t. This time, I let the girl go on my own and met with you instead of running away like a pathetic coward. More importantly, I was able to meet with my commanders just now and address some problems that have never been solved before. Things are definitely different this time – thanks to you.”
“And this is my reward?” Lindsey’s ears pressed flat against his skull. “Stuck as Lind or transformed into a real horse?”
A flicker of annoyance passed across the Wizard’s face. “Those are not necessarily your only choices. Tarran wrote you into this book as a buffoon, an ugly fool that everyone is happy to see devolved to a common animal. Another author might be kinder.”
“Another author?”
“In this case, perhaps maybe more of an editor.” Nightshade regarded him a moment. “I could do many things for you, if I win. Are you quite sure you want to go back? This world obviously attracted you as a reader. I could improve your lot in life dramatically. Give you a finer body, perhaps make you a facehorse version of my stallion. You’d be sought after for breeding, perhaps even desired as a mount by nobles.”
“But still property!” Lindsey pawed at the ground angrily. “I want to be human again, not an animal.”
“That is beyond my ability. I can only enhance or expand what is already present. If I could transform others at will, I would simply turn Tarran and his friends into common animals and be done with them.”
“Then send me back! As long as I am here, I’m nothing more than a beast of burdern!”
“Yes, you are.” The Wizard smiled, but there was a coldness to the expression that made Lindsey uneasy. “Which is another reason you should consider staying. When you became Lind, your memories blended. That is what allowed you to change things here. Unfortunately, returning to your world won’t change the mix.”
Lindsey frowned. “So? It’s still me. I know a lot more about pulling wagons now, but that won’t hurt anything.”
“What is ten times ten?”
The question caught him off guard, but he opened his mouth to answer – and found that he couldn’t. Ten. That was a number. A mark. What did it look like? What did it mean? He jerked his head up and stared at Nightshade, who nodded.
“Facehorses can follow verbal commands, but have no comprehension of numbers of letters. Your brains just don’t work the right way. Blame your friend Tarran for that.” The Wizard tilted his head slightly. “Even if I could send you back, which I can’t until the story concludes, you would arrive totally illiterate.”
Lindsey paled. Searching his mind desperately, he discovered that Nightshade spoke the truth. He remembered what writing was, but the actual meanings of the funny marks and how they could possibly be used to convey information no longer resided in his mind. “You’ve screwed me! No matter what happens, I either end up a stupid animal here or an illiterate human back in my own world!”
Nightshade straightened, anger clouding his face. “I did what I had to do! And you should remember I am the only person in this world who can do anything to help you now!”
“Help?!” Lindsey glared at the man, overcome by hopeless rage. “You’re the one who put me on four hooves!”
“Terry made you a facehorse, not me. Now I see why. You were typecast!”
“I wanted to play the conniving, evil bastard, but that part was already filled!” Lindsey regretted the bitter sarcasm even as he shouted, but it was too late.
Nightshade’s face contorted in rage and he yelled something, thrusting a hand out. Searing agony ripped though Lindsey’s body. Screaming, he staggered back, only dimly aware that the stall was expanding around him.
“Ungrateful fool!” The Wizard clutched at the top of the gate, breathing heavily. “You don’t like your character? Fine! Let someone else play Lind!” After a moment, he stood unsteadily and stalked out of the stable.
The pain faded slowly, leaving Lindsey drained and shaking. He leaned against the wall, afraid he might fall over. Thoughts were confused, and dull aches remained after the transformation was over. Let someone else play Lind? But HE was the facehorse! Lindsey shook his head, trying to clear it, and froze. His ears flopped back and forth with exaggerated movements. A rush of fear helped clear his mind, and he twisted around to see what Nightshade had done to him.
His draft horse body had been replaced by a more compact form covered with scarred, matted brown hide. Fresh horror gripped Lindsey’s heart, and he made his way over to the water bucket and stared at the surface. Bung’s face looked back at him.
No! The abused facemule wasn’t even mentioned in the book. How could Nightshade turn him into a creature that didn’t exist?
Because Bung –was- real here. Perhaps his existence had no impact on the story, but he lived, breathed… and would die here. The facemule’s short and miserable life would now be Lindsey’s when and if the novel came to a final ending. He didn’t even have the dubious hope of returning home illiterate – Bung was just a sad shadow in the background with no link to Lindsey’s world.
“Please, come back!” He cried out, the facemule’s voice alien in his elongated ears. Who cared what happened in this place? Lindsey wanted to get out of this nightmare. “I’ll do anything! Please!” Tears streamed down his face. Part of him was sick with shame, but this was more than he could bear. He dropped his head, face nearly touching the straw. “Don’t leave me here.”
A rattle from the gate made him look up with sudden hope that evaporated when he saw Eeon. The stable hand looked at him curiously. “What are you so worked up about? You’ll be on your way as soon as they finish loading the empties.”
Lindsey laid his ears back sullenly. “Are you blind? Look at me!”
“Look at what?” Eeon looked puzzled, but opened the gate and entered with a clay pot in one hand and his box of grooming equipment in the other. “I told you I’d do what I can. This will help.” He scooped out a handful of greenish-brown paste and smeared it over Lindsey’s scarred back. Though the stuff had a bitter metallic stink, it immediately began to soothe his welts and scars.
The boy’s casual acceptance of his new appearance was bewildering. As was the healing salve. There had been no time for the Wizard to explain what had happened, even if he’d wanted to. So Eeon shouldn’t have known about the transformation, much less the condition of Lindsey’s back. Unless the facemule had been here all along.
Alarmed, Lindsey tried recalling the day’s events. Everything seemed clear and unchanged. The meeting with Nightshade, Tarran’s rage, lugging the cart full of wine casks – he blinked. Wine casks? He’d been pulling the shit wagon – how could he have started off hauling casks? Bung had gotten that job this morning! Yet Lindsey could clearly remember being hooked up to the cart, and sneering at the wisecracking facehorse.
The recasting must be retroactive to the point that Lindsey appeared. For now, memories were clear enough to keep track of what he knew to be the truth. But his thoughts were already being invaded by Bung’s character. Even if Nightshade didn’t reset events, Lindsey would probably end up taken over by the facemule’s identity.
Eeon gave him a cursory brushing and then pulled the harness off the wall. Though it should have been expected, Lindsey was mildly surprised that the straps fit his new body perfectly. The boy made short work of getting the harness buckled up, and opened the stall door. “OK. Head on out to the courtyard and we’ll get you on your way.”
Lindsey started shuffling out glumly, only to stop dead as he spotted a familiar black rectangle on a hay bale just outside the stall. He stared in amazement. The Special Edition! Nightshade must have forgotten it in his rage.
“Go on!” Eeon gave him an annoyed swat. There was no way to take the book without the stable hand seeing as soon as he came out. Unless – Lindsey grabbed the Special Edition with his mouth and bolted out of the stall.
Stupid! He realized there was no hope of escape even before he got out of the stable. Eeon was close behind, and the minotaur guards would make sure he did not escape the keep. As he emerged in the courtyard, Lindsay was startled to see the two-wheeled cart just outside, piled high with kegs. Hoping desperately that none of the guards noticed the book in his mouth, Lindsey stuck his face over the edge and let the Special Edition fall.
“You’re awfully anxious to get back.” Eeon came out of the stable right behind him. “Got a hot Jenny waiting for you back in town?”
Lindsey turned and quickly moved in front of the cart. His heart was pounding, and every instinct was telling him to run. “Sorry. Uh, if I’m late, some of the others will steal my grain.” That seemed to satisfy the boy, who nodded and buckled him into the traces.
As Eeon finished up, a figure dressed in black armor emerged from the main building and walked towards them. Nightshade! A minotaur and centaur followed, also dressed for battle. His gut clenched as the Wizard smiled coldly at him, showing no sign of his earlier fatigue. Lindsey trembled helplessly. Even if the gate was open, there was no way to get past the various guards.
“Enjoy your new life, fool. I hope I don’t have to reset things again, so you will always remember that you had a better choice.” Nightshade turned back to the minotaur and centaur, waving one hand in a dismissive gesture. “Get this stinking creature out of here.”
Was the Wizard actually letting him go? Lindsey hesitated as the gate creaked up, then leaned into the traces and headed out. His ears were laid back tight to his neck, eyes wide and frightened. He expected a sword to strike any moment, or a spell to engulf him in fire. His hooves echoed hollowly on the drawbridge, followed by the rumble of wooden cart wheels. The minotaurs stood silently on either side, watching him with impassive, liquid-brown eyes.
He was surprised to find the area in front of the keep almost deserted – perhaps a half dozen soldiers were gathering weapons in the now-empty field. Nightshade’s army must have already started for Tarran’s castle. A few of stragglers watched him plod by with the cart, though none drew a weapon. Even so, every movement made Lindsey tense and the fear of attack didn’t ease until Lindsey reached the main road.
Why had Nightshade spared him? Some lingering gratitude for Lindsey’s unwitting help earlier? More likely because there was nothing Lindsey could do. The sun was already on its way down, and it would be nearly dark before he could make his way back to town. Adding another hour back, plus more time getting to Tarran’s castle, any possible help would arrive too late.
The Wizard had every angle covered. Even if he lost, all he had to do was trigger his reset spell and start over. Unless – Lindsey realized there was one possibility that Nightshade hadn’t considered. Terry! Although the author was immersed in Tarran’s character, there might be a way to make him remember who he was. But how? Even if he could find Terry in time, who was going to listen to a facemule’s wild stories in the midst of battle?
Lindsey stopped dead, twisting his head to look back at the cart. The Special Edition! It was useless to him, but Tarran should be able to read. Nightshade’s own words were probably recorded there, quite possibly his plans for the attack. That might be enough to restore Terry’s memories. And as the author, Terry should be able to save Lindsey from spending the rest of his life as a facemule.
Getting free of the cart was a challenge, but he got enough buckles opened with his teeth to twist free. Only to discover that the book wasn’t in the cart. Had Nightshade removed it somehow? Then he spotted a dark object on the road about fifty feet back. The book must have bounced out of the cart just seconds before he stopped.
Such phenomenal luck seemed unlikely. Then again, having Nightshade leave the Special Edition behind was even more improbable. Had it been intentional? Lindsey stared at the book a moment. This version of the Special Edition apparently focused on Lind. Now that Lindsey was the facemule, it might useless to the Wizard. However, it was still dangerous to him in the hands of his enemies. Why leave it behind?
Then he remembered something Nightshade had said about being a puppet. He couldn’t control himself at critical moments. Hopefully, this was one of those times. Whatever risk there might be, Lindsey needed to get the book to Tarran/Terry if he wanted to change his own dismal future. And he had little time to do it – Nightshade was already preparing for the attack, and Lindsey needed to get ahead of the Wizard’s forces.
He picked up the book with his teeth, wrinkling his nose at the taste of grit. Tarran’s castle was South of the town - he had been there in both faceanimal forms. Actually, if the plot of Mithril’s Quest was still intact, Lind would be at the castle now delivering supplies. As usual, the facehorse’s mouth gets the better of him, and some stupid joke about being a spy for Nightshade gets him silenced permanently as a security measure.
But that was Lind. He was Bung now, independent of Terry’s control. Or was he? Hundreds of unnamed men and monsters would be engaged in battle soon – perhaps the facemule was supposed to be there. But not with the Special Edition. As long as he had the book, he was operating outside Terry’s plot. Lindsey found strength in that. He got his bearings, and began heading cross-country towards Tarran’s castle at a brisk trot. Perhaps he was rushing to his own death, but one way or the other, Bung was going to become a memorable character.
Nightshade’s army would mount a surprise attack just after sunset, charging out of thick forest that bordered the river. That detail, combined with Bung’s and Lind’s knowledge of the area, was enough for him to reach Tarran’s lands without encountering any of the Wizard’s forces. However, Tarran’s defenses almost proved to be his undoing.
As he approached the castle from a side road, an arrow thudded into a tree inches from his head. “Hold, beast!” A large, older centaur stepped out from the woods with a crossbow aimed at Lindsey’s forehead. “State your business!”
Startled, Lindsey spit the book out onto the ground, but had to work his aching jaw a moment before he could speak. “I have to deliver this to Tarran. Directly. It will help him against Nightshade!”
A grizzled looking human appeared in the road behind Lindsey, hefting a huge sword. He scowled at the book. “Who sent this, facemule?”
“I… “ Lindsey looked back and forth between the two fighters, trying to come up with a plausible story. All that came to mind was the truth. “I stole it. From the Wizard.”
There was a short silence as the human and centaur stared at him incredulously. Then the man laughed. “What do you think of that, Yuli? A facemule who is a good enough thief to steal something important from Nightshade himself, and is also on a first name basis with the Duke!”
Yuli reached down and picked the Special Edition up, keeping the crossbow aimed the whole time. “This?” The centaur flipped it open and glanced at the pages. “What’s it supposed to be? Some sort of journal?”
“No! It’s a magic book that writes out what is happening right now. Like a story, but what people are really doing and thinking! I took it from Nightshade. Barely an hour ago. He’s on his way to attack right now!”
That got both fighters’ attention. “What!?”
Lindsey nodded enthusiastically. “From the woods by the river! He was getting ready for battle when I left his keep!”
The point of the human’s sword was suddenly at Lindsey’s throat. “You expect us to believe Nightshade let you escape? Alive and with a voice to tell what you know?”
“Hold your blade, Kal.” The centaur slung his crossbow and flipped through the pages of the Special Edition, stopping every now and then to read. As he got close to the back, he blinked and looked closer. “By the Gods…” He looked at Lindsey, then back at the pages. “There was a short silence as the human and centaur stared at him incredulously. Then the man laughed. What do you think of that, Yuli? A facemule who is a good enough thief to steal something important from Nightshade himself…”
Kal’s sword lowered slightly. “That’s in there? But I just said that!”
“Everything we’ve said is in this.” Yuli flipped further back. “It’s just like he told us. It’s writing out what we are doing and saying… right … now.” He stared at the Special Edition as more writing appeared, then snapped the book closed and scowled at Lindsey. “I’ll take you to Quicksilver. He’ll decide if we should take you to Duke Braveheart, or simple gut you and give your carcass to the cooks.”
Lindsey felt a surge of hope. Arion Quicksilver had saved him in the Market Square - though that incident involved Lind, not Bung. He was also another trapped reader, if Nightshade could be believed.
“What if he’s lying?” Kal scowled, his sword still dangerously close to Lindsey’s neck. “Nightshade could be setting us up.”
Yuli nodded. “That’s why I am taking him myself. We can make better time, and he can’t outrun me or my sword. I’ll have someone else sent to back you up.” Then the centaur spun and charged for the distant castle, looking back to make sure Lindsey followed.
Tarran’s defenses were not as impressive as the Wizard’s. Everything matched up – well-armed men, centaurs and even an occasional satyr or minotaur stood guard around the castle. However, there were no massive ranks of soldiers here. The fighters were in small groups spread evenly around the castle, some barely visible in the fading light.
It did not take long to realize this was a more effective layout. They were challenged as soon as they reached the first group, even though it was obvious that Yuli was well known. As the centaur spoke with the leader, Lindsey looked around and saw that nearby squads had crossbows out and aimed at them both. The weapons were lowered only after some hand signals that apparently cleared them for passage.
One of the soldiers ran back the way they had come, apparently Yuli’s replacement. Two others took off in different directions to pass on the warning of Nightshade’s impending attack. The leader, a lean older man with a scarred face and white hair, came over to glare at Lindsey. “Be warned. The Duke has no patience for your kind right now – if this is trickery, you will suffer long and painfully.”
Just then, there was a shout from below. Two figures came running out of the trees waving their arms – one stumbled and hit the ground face-first with an arrow in his back. Then more shapes appeared, shooting toward Tarran’s forces. The attack had begun!
“Go!” The leader gestured at the castle, then grabbed up his helmet and ran to join the fight. Nodding wordlessly, Yuli charged up the hill with the Special Edition. Lindsey hesitated, staring at the violent clash. He could hear monstrous roars and bellows, human shouts and screams, and the metallic clang of swords.
Lindsey felt a thrill of excitement. He’d succeeded in becoming an important character! He couldn’t help but grin. That moron facehorse might have been written in, but Lind was just an animal now, while Bung was finally getting the attention he deserved. For the first time since he’d woken up in Mithril’s Quest, Lindsey was a real part of the story. Then a soldier running past was suddenly knocked backwards by an arrow.
The sudden death jolted Lindsey from his reverie, and he galloped after the centaur in a blind panic. More arrows rained down, some hissing close enough that he flinched. As other fighters fell, cold fear clutched at his gut. Just being outside the castle didn’t change anything! Until he actually interacted with Tarran, he and the book were still part of the unwritten back story. All it took to keep Terry’s plot intact was to add another centaur and a facemule to the list of unnamed casualties.
He just barely managed to keep from slamming into Yuli’s hind end when the centaur stopped abruptly at the drawbridge. Soldiers were running out of the castle to join the battle, weapons drawn. As they passed, Lindsey spotted a familiar face. “Quicksilver!”
The elf halted, looking first to Yuli before realizing who had spoken. He scowled at Lindsey. “I have no time for banter with facemules!”
“Sir!” Yuli held up the Special Edition. “He says he stole this book from Nightshade. It records things that are happening, what people say and think. I’ve seen it work!”
Quicksilver took a step toward the centaur, fierce anger in his eyes. “You brought a tool of magic here?”
“No, I did!” Lindsey almost regretted the outburst, which brought the elf’s blade an inch from his face. “Wait! Please! There’s more going on than just this attack! Nightshade is trying to change things, change what is supposed to happen!”
The elf lowered his sword, frowning. “Change what is supposed to happen? What are you talking about?”
“You and Tarran are supposed to win, and he gets caught. But Nightshade is going back in time and repeating this battle over and over, trying to find a way to beat you. And he’s brought some of us into this world from outside. I’m not really a facemule! And he brought you and Tarran and Melody into the story, too!”
The centaur stared at him. “What nonsense is this? Sir, he didn’t say anything about this before!”
“It’s all in the Special Edition!” Lindsey saw the centaur’s hand drop to the hilt of his sword. “I know it sounds crazy! But I’m from a world where all of this is just a fantasy story, and all of you are just characters. Terry – he’s stuck here as Tarran, now – wrote the story. And Nightshade found a way to capture us, make us into our characters!”
Quicksilver looked uncertain, but held his hand out to Yuli. “Give me the book.” After the centaur complied, he read from the first page. “Lind?” He frowned and flipped further back. “Why is this about that idiot facehorse?”
“Because I’m Lind! Well, I was.” Lindsey saw the elf’s expression harden. “Nightshade switched me with Bung – that’s who I am now! And now Lind is a horse and I’m stuck as a facemule!”
“What did you say about Lind?” Quicksilver’s eyes widened.
“You guys turned him into a horse because he made jokes about spying for Nightshade! Anyway, Tarran was probably still mad about the other times he screwed things up.”
The elf stared at him a long moment. “No one outside of the castle could know about the facehorse being turned into a horse – it just happened. You say Duke Boldheart is the author if this fantasy of yours? Perhaps you can explain it to him.” He turned to Yuli. “You did well to bring him here. Report back to your post.”
Lindsey followed Quicksilver into the castle. His hooves echoed loudly down the long stone passage, alerting a pair of human guards flanking heavy wood doors. They put hands to weapons and looked at the elf curiously “Sir?”
“It is OK, for now.” The elf paused in front of the doors, then looked back at Lindsey. “However, until you here otherwise from me or the Duke, kill him if he makes any attempt to leave.”
Quicksilver knocked once and then opened the doors into a large, windowless room lit by a fireplace and some flickering lanterns. As Lindsey entered, he saw Tarran looking at maps spread over a huge wooden table. The man glanced towards the door, then did a double-take, his eyes narrowing. “Another facebeast? Get it out of here now, before I add a mule to the stable.” The hero was as charming as ever, it seemed.
“You need to look at this.” Quicksilver held the Special Edition out, already opened to a point near the middle. “This facemule claims he stole this from Nightshade.”
“Oh, really?” Tarran snorted in disgust. “A beat-up pack beast managed to outsmart a full-blown Wizard?”
The elf shook his head. “He also claims he isn’t really a facemule. And that we are all characters in the middle of a fantasy story that you wrote.”
“What?!” Tarran glanced at the book, then shook his head incredulously. “This is absurd! Nightshade is attacking us, and you bring me an animal claiming this is all some silly folk tale?”
“Read the page!” Quicksilver thrust the Special Edition in front of the man’s face again. “The conversation written here was between you and me. There were no witnesses. Yet it even describes the wine we were drinking.”
Tarran grabbed the book in obvious annoyance – only to drop it with a curse. “The bloody thing stung me!”
Before anyone else could react, there was a blinding flash and a sudden pressure wave that staggered Lindsey and knocked both Tarran and Quicksilver backwards. Lindsey was the first to recover, blinking as vision cleared to reveal a too-familiar figure standing next to the Special Edition. Nightshade.
Lindsey backed away, eyes wide and heart pounding. Nightshade shouldn’t be here – he never got inside the castle in Mithril’s Quest! The attack failed, and Tarran tracked the Wizard back to his own keep for a final confrontation.
Twisting around, Nightshade made a quick gesture towards the doors, then grinned and winked at Lindsey as the two fighters scrambled up with swords drawn. There were shouts and muffling pounding from outside as the guard tried to get in. “I thought I’d ensure a little privacy.”
“Bastard!” Tarran glared at the Wizard, sidestepping warily with his weapon out. “Do you think we need help to beat the likes of you? You will never claim this Dukedom.”
“I couldn’t care less about a foolish title.” Nightshade chuckled. “You’ll be pleased to know I am here to surrender. In fact, my forces should be retreating even as we speak. There’s no point in spilling any more blood when victory is already mine.”
“What?” Tarran’s blinked in bewilderment. “You’re surrendering. And you still claim victory? How?”
“I’m here.” Nightshade turned to face Lindsey. “Thanks to my friend here.”
Lindsey shook his head. “No! I tried to stop you! I brought the book, so they’d know.”
“Yes.” The Wizard bent down and picked up the Special Edition. “The book I conveniently ‘forgot.’ You handled that much better than I expected. Though I did have a bad turn when it fell out of the back of the cart.”
“You saw that?” Lindsey felt sick, though he still didn’t understand how it had made any difference.
“My only real goal this whole time has been to get this here.” Nightshade smiled as he hefted the book. “Entertaining to read, but not really all that useful. It’s real purpose was serving as a teleportation key. It activated as soon as Tarran touched it. And finally, after seven tries, I can cut myself free from this cursed puppet show.”
“You expect us to believe that we are characters in some fairy tale?” Tarran glared at the Wizard. “I don’t know what game it is you are playing, but a plea of madness won’t save you from my sword.”
“Believe what you will.” Nightshade shrugged. “The fairy tale is almost over. I only have one minor edit to make before I turn the last page.” He turned to Lindsey, still smiling, and thrust a hand out as he shouted a spell.
Lindsey cringed back as the magic hit, expecting to end up a full animal. But there was no pain this time, and when the heat passed he still seemed to be a facehorse. More importantly, his mind was clear of the confusion that had plagued him earlier. However, that was not the extent of Nightshade’s transformation. Bung’s scarred body had been transformed into the sleek and powerful form of a white Arabian stallion.
“A mount fit for a king.” The Wizard nodded in approval. “I am genuinely sorry that you are stuck in this world, but I think you’ll find that life as a facehorse can be quite pleasant. I owe you that much, at least.”
“I don’t understand!” Lindsey blinked in confusion. “What good was all this? If you are surrendering, that means Tarran wins! The story ends up the same way as it did before!”
“Not quite. I needed to be here at the moment of victory. Which is now.” Nightshade tossed the Special Edition at Tarran’s feet. “I surrender to you, Duke Braveheart.” Then he smiled. “And so the story ends.”
Quicksilver stared around the room, then down at himself. “What the shit? Where the hell am I?”
“In Mithril’s Quest!” Tarran backed against the wall, eyes wide. It was much easier to recognize Terry with the hero’s confidence stripped away. “We’re in my book!”
“It’s not your book any more.” The Wizard thrust his hand out suddenly with an unintelligible shout. Tarran gasped and staggered back, but the Nightshade seemed hit even harder. The Wizard screamed and collapsed to his hands and knees, then stared at Tarran. “Oh, crap! What did you do?”
“I’m leaving you to your fantasies.” Tarran knelt down by the the Special Edition and yanked a dagger from his belt. “Or more accurately, to mine.” Then he drove his blade deep into the pages. There was a brilliant flare of reddish light, and the Special Edition vanished.
At that moment, the doors burst open and a half-dozen of Tarran’s soldiers spilled into the room. Lindsey backed away as they quickly surrounded Nightshade, who cringed back from their blades. The Wizard’s arms were yanked forcefully behind his back and bound securely.
One of the men saluted Tarran. “Sir! The enemy has retreated! They just stopped fighting and ran off.”
Quicksilver scowled. “At least he was telling the truth about that. Lock him in the Dungeon. Unless you want to kill him and be done with it.”
Tarran stared at his dagger in puzzlement, then scrambled up and regarded the captive. “It’s tempting. A dead Wizard is no threat at all.” Lindsey realized that this was the hero again, not the author.
“No!” Nightshade looked paniced. “I’m not the wizard! He did something, changed places with me!”
“Oh, really?” Quicksilver gave him a scornful look. “Just who are you supposed to be?”
“Him!” The Wizard turned his face towards Tarran. “But not really him. I mean, I’m a writer, and this was all a book I wrote called Mith-“ His panicked explanation came to an abrupt halt at Quicksilver’s knife pressed against his throat.
Lindsey stared, suddenly remembering the terrible pain of being recast as Bung. No doubt the facemule had felt the same agony. Everything fell into place now – the Wizard hadn’t been after anything in this world after all. He’d switched places with Terry and gone back in his place! Which meant that the former author was now stuck in Nightshade’s body with no knowledge of magic.
“Forget your silly tricks.” Quicksilver scowled down at his prisoner, and for a moment, Lindsey thought he was going to go ahead and cut the former author’s throat. “It’s obvious you aren’t going to say anything useful, so don’t say anything at all.”
“What about you?” Tarran walked over to Lindsey. “Seems a waste to send you back to the city stable like that. I’m not a king, but I would be happy to have you as a mount. It could be dangerous sometimes, but I promise the best food and treatment available. And mares.”
Lindsey blinked, surprised to have a choice. It seemed that the ‘real’ Tarran was a better man than Terry had made him. “Uh, I’d like that, sir. Have some adventures, see the world.”
He grinned suddenly as Tarran smiled and nodded. Mithril’s Quest had turned into a kind of Cinderella story – from pulling the shit wagon, he’d risen to become the hero’s steed. It seemed that he might even live happily ever after.
But he wouldn’t know for sure until Nightshade wrote the sequel.

The End.

User:Posti

2008-06-11T18:16:41Z

Posti:

==Stories==
*[[User:Posti/After_and_Before|After and Before]]
*[[User:Posti/Baylors_Rein|Baylor's Rein]]
*[[User:Posti/Bite_of_the_Apple|Bite of the Apple]]
*[[User:Posti/Blind_Man|Blind Man]]
*[[User:Posti/Bottom_Up|Bottom Up]]
*[[User:Posti/Broken_Hart|Broken Hart]]
*[[User:Posti/Business_Associate|Business Associate]]
*[[User:Posti/charlies_eyes|Charlie's Eyes]]
*[[User:Posti/Circe_com|Circe.com]]
*[[User:Posti/Cleaning_Up|Cleaning Up]]
*[[User:Posti/Clothes_horse|Clothes Horse]]
*[[User:Posti/Companion|Companion]]
*[[User:Posti/Gypsy_Gold|Gypsy Gold]]
*[[User:Posti/hangover|Hangover]]
*[[User:Posti/Hoof_Beat|Hoof Beat]]
*[[User:Posti/Jacked_into_the_System|Jacked into the System]]
*[[User:Posti/Joker|Joker]]
*[[User:Posti/Lasting_Impression|Lasting Impression]]
*[[User:Posti/Lost_in_Translation|Lost in Translation]]
*[[User:Posti/Midsummer|Midsummer Night's Unemployment]]
*[[User:Posti/Mortal_Danger|Mortal Danger]]
*[[User:Posti/No_Bull|No Bull]]
*[[User:Posti/One_Way_Ticket|One Way Ticket]]
*[[User:Posti/Outfoxed|Outfoxed]]
*[[User:Posti/paid_with_interest|Paid With Interest]]
*[[User:Posti/Quiet_Place|Quiet Place]]
*[[User:Posti/Peanut_Gallery|The Peanut Gallery]]
*[[User:Posti/rain_dance|Rain Dance]]
*[[User:Posti/real_time|Real Time]]
*[[User:Posti/Reenactment|Reenactment]]
*[[User:Posti/Reindeer_games|Reindeer Games]]
*[[User:Posti/Replacement_Cost|Replacement Cost]]
*[[User:Posti/Salvage|Salvage]]
*[[User:Posti/Simple_life|Simple Life]]
*[[User:Posti/Something_to_Remember|Something to Remember]]
*[[User:Posti/strapped|Strapped for Cash]]
*[[User:Posti/Substitution_penalty|Substitution Penalty]]
*[[User:Posti/Surrogate|Surrogate]]
*[[User:Posti/taken|Taken]]
*[[User:Posti/Team_Spirit|Team Spirit]]
*[[User:Posti/Totally_Pucked|Totally Pucked]]
*[[User:Posti/Unicorn_Dance|Unicorn Dance]]
*[[User:Posti/Wearin_of_the-Green|Wearin of the Green]]
*[[User:Posti/Where_Wolf|Where Wolf]]
*[[User:Posti/Whicker_Man|Whicker Man]]
*[[User:Posti/Xmas_Delivery|Xmas Delivery]]

[[Category:Author]]
{{DEFAULTSORT:Posti}}

User:Posti

2008-06-11T18:16:16Z

Posti:

==Stories==
*[[User:Posti/After_and_Before|After and Before]]
*[[User:Posti/Baylors_Rein|Baylor's Rein]]
*[[User:Posti/Bite_of_the_Apple|Bite of the Apple]]
*[[User:Posti/Blind_Man|Blind Man]]
*[[User:Posti/Bottom_Up|Bottom Up]]
*[[User:Posti/Broken_Hart|Broken Hart]]
*[[User:Posti/Business_Associate|Business Associate]]
*[[User:Posti/charlies_eyes|Charlie's Eyes]]
*[[User:Posti/Circe_com|Circe.com]]
*[[User:Posti/Cleaning_Up|Cleaning Up]]
*[[User:Posti/Clothes_horse|Clothes Horse]]
*[[User:Posti/Companion|Companion]]
*[[User:Posti/Gypsy_Gold|Gypsy Gold]]
*[[User:Posti/hangover|Hangover]]
*[[User:Posti/Hoof_Beat|Hoof Beat]]
*[[User:Posti/Jacked_into_the_System|Jacked into the System]]
*[[User:Posti/Joker|Joker]]
*[[User:Posti/Lasting_Impression|Lasting Impression]]
*[[User:Posti/Lost_in_Translation|Lost in Translation]]
*[[User:Posti/Midsummer|Midsummer Night's Unemployment]]
*[[User:Posti/Mortal_Danger|Mortal Danger]]
*[[User:Posti/No_Bull|No Bull]]
*[[User:Posti/One_Way_Ticket|One Way Ticket]]
*[[User:Posti/Outfoxed|Outfoxed]]
*[[User:Posti/paid_with_interest|Paid With Interest]]
*[[User:Posti/Quiet_Place|Quiet Place]]
*[[User:Posti/Peanut_Gallery|The Peanut Gallery]]
*[[User:Posti/rain_dance|Rain Dance]]
*[[User:Posti/real_time|Real Time]]
*[[User:Posti/Reenactment|Reenactment]]
*[[User:Posti/Reindeer_games|Reindeer Games]]
*[[User:Posti/Replacement_Cost|Replacement Cost]]
*[[User:Posti/Salvage|Salvage]]
*[[User:Posti/Simple_life|Simple Life]]
*[[User:Posti/Something_to_Remember|Something to Remember]]
*[[User:Posti/strapped|Strapped for Cash]]
*[[User:Posti/Substitution_penalty|Substitution Penalty]]
*[[User:Posti/Surrogate|Surrogate]]
*[[User:Posti/taken|Taken]]
*[[User:Posti/Team_Spirit|Team Spirit]]
*[[User:Posti/Totally_Pucked|Totally Pucked]]
*[[User:Posti/Unicorn_Dance|Unicorn Dance]]
*[[User:Posti/Wearin_of_the-Green|Wearin of the Green]]
*[[User:Posti/Where_Wolf|Where Wolf]]
*[[User:Posti/Whicker_Man|Whicker Man]]
*[[User:Posti/Xmas_DeliveryMan|Xmas Delivery]]

[[Category:Author]]
{{DEFAULTSORT:Posti}}

User:Posti/Xmas Delivery

2008-06-11T18:15:19Z

Posti:

{{my stories|category=Bob Stein|name=Bob Stein}}
[[Category:Story]] [[Category:Bob Stein]] [[Category:Aquatic]] [[Category:Animal]] {{DEFAULTSORT:Xmas Delivery}}
{{title|name=Xmas Delivery|user=Posti|author=Bob Stein}}

The courier was little more than a kid, a bit scruffy and looking bored as he held out a clipboard for Eala to sign. As soon as he had the signature, a small box seemed to materialize in his hand. “Merry Christmas.” He handed it to Eala and strode off.

Eala stared at the package. It was no more than a half-meter in any dimension, and unmarked except for a rather crudely scrawled ‘Eala’ across the top. How had the guy known where to deliver this? More curiously, the cardboard was damp despite a decidedly uncommon dry spell throughout Ireland. No wonder the guy had beat feet so quickly. He must have spilled something on it.

Almost as soon as he was inside, the box started dripping. He hurried over to the sink. Whatever had soaked the box must be coming from inside, not outside. Just great. A broken, anonymous Christmas gift. There was a distinctive odor to the liquid, one that he recognized immediately as saltwater. That got him increasingly worried as he pulled at the now-sodden cardboard. What would be delivered in brine? Live fish? He knew there were salt water aquariums, but he didn’t have such a thing.

The sink was half full by the time he tore the flaps apart and saw what was inside. Seaweed? He frowned and poked cautiously at the dark green and purple kelp. If there was something inside, he couldn’t make it out through the swirl of water. Eala blinked, realizing the sink would be overflowing soon if he didn’t get the drain opened. But where was it all coming from?

Pushing the box aside, he felt down around the drain but couldn’t find the stopper. Because it was sitting on the counter. Could part of the box have clogged the drain? He reached down with both hands and lifted the mess up. Water poured from the seaweed, and as he gaped in bewilderment, began spilling over onto the floor. A moment later, the seaweed squirmed in his hands and he dropped the mass with a yelp.

Stumbling back, Eala found that the kelp had left a sticky brown residue on his hands, and he wiped the quickly on his pants in alarm. Though he left a considerable amount on the fabric, his hands remained covered. More wiped off on his shirt, yet his hands remained covered. They felt a bit warm now, as if he had pulled on mittens. It wasn’t a bad sensation, but obviously meant he was having some sort of reaction. In fact, he realized he had the same warmth spreading around his legs and belly where he’d wiped his hands, and also on his feet.

His feet? Holding his hands out from his body, Eala discovered that he was standing barefoot in water up to his ankles. He was so stunned that it took a moment before two very important messages registered in his brain. First of all, his apartment was being flooded by a piece of seaweed. Second of all, whatever was flooding his apartment had dissolved away his shoes and socks. Spinning, he made a run for the door. Only to have his feet give out from under him.

Eala sprawled face-first into the rising water, sending up a swirl of sand where he hit bottom. Sand? He pushed up, finding the formerly solid floor had more resilience than it should. His head broke the surface, and he gasped to see the contents of his apartment crumbling away into what was rapidly becoming an indoor swimming pool. What was happening? How could all this be coming from a lump of seaweed? He tried to stand up, but his legs seemed to be stuck together. Twisting back, he saw that he was totally covered in the same chocolate-brown residue that had gotten on his hands. And that his pants and most of his shirt had already gone the way of his shoes.

There was a pale mound about where his old sofa hand been, and he struggled over to it, having to pull himself with his hands. It turned out to be more sand, a small island rising above the otherwise unbroken expanse of brine. He dragged himself up, confused and more than a little scared, though not as terrified as he probably should be. Whatever was happening, he wasn’t in any pain. The sensations were actually pleasant, like soaking in the ocean on a hot summer day.

Eala blinked as his nose twitched, then started to create more of a division between his eyes. He was swelling up! Idiot! Some sort of allergic reaction to whatever toxic waste had poured from the kelp. And he was just sitting here… on a sand bar in his water-filled apartment. OK. None of this should be happening. He needed to try to get a grip and figure out what, if anything was real.

Unable to stand, he tried rolling on his side. It was hard to move his neck, and he reached up to feel thick folds of flesh that seemed to extend outward to his shoulders. A check further down confirmed that the flesh of his legs had merged into a single limb. For a panicked moment he thought his groin had also melted away, but felt the organ nestled in an orifice in his thickening skin.

Nothing was working right. Muscles pulled against each other, and it felt like someone was kneading his guts like bread dough. Even so, Eala was feeling more curiosity than fear now, along with a growing excitement. He recognized most of the external clues, and impossible as it had to be, he was willing to go along with what appeared to be a transformation he had long wished for. Sure, it was more likely that he was having a very intense hallucination, but crazy or not he was going to enjoy it.

A shudder started in his head and worked down his long, and now sleek, body. Hands feet flattened out into flippers, and his skin erupted in sleek dark brown fur. Whiskers pushed out on either side of his protruding muzzle, and his ears and nostrils became smooth orifices with closable flaps. Imagination or not, he felt wonderful. Full of energy, alive in ways he had never experienced before. Rolling back on his belly, he lunged into the water. Though the space was confined and the water not really high enough for much, he shot around the room, catching and eating a couple of fish that tasted wonderful. Fish? Before he could figure that development out, something even stranger happened. The doorbell rang.

Eala shook his head, then looked around in astonishment that turned to disappointment. The apartment was perfectly dry, the sandbar was a sofa again, and he was lying on the floor. Whoever had intruded on his wonderful dream rang the bell again, and Eala sighed and yelled “Coming!” Except that what came from his mouth was a familiar-sounding bark.

It seemed he had not quite woken from the dream. Eala realized he was still fully transformed. A large part of him rejoiced, though he also knew that he either had a huge problem with sanity, or an equally huge issue with location.

“Ah! I thought I heard you bark.”

Eala blinked. The door that he’d sworn he’d locked was now open, and the courier was smiling down at him.

“Looks like a good job, too.” The young man pulled out the clipboard and peered at it. “Male vitulina richardsi. Now, just one last step.” He scribbled something on the clipboard.

His mind still whirling, Eala gaped as the world stated to close in around him. There was pressure all around him, pushing, squeezing, and then he was suddenly back in warm water again. This time, however, there was a huge presence with him, a female that he instantly imprinted and joyfully followed into his new life.

Back in the now-empty apartment, the scruffy-looking young man smiled and made a final check mark on his clipboard. “Christmas present for Eala Duhb. Signed. Sealed. And delivered.”

-end-

User:Posti/Xmas Delivery

2008-06-11T18:13:26Z

Posti: A Christmas delivery IS the gift.

Xmas Delivery (For Eala Dubh, and inspired by Kuma’s artwork on Transfur)
By Bob Stein

The courier was little more than a kid, a bit scruffy and looking bored as he held out a clipboard for Eala to sign. As soon as he had the signature, a small box seemed to materialize in his hand. “Merry Christmas.” He handed it to Eala and strode off.

Eala stared at the package. It was no more than a half-meter in any dimension, and unmarked except for a rather crudely scrawled ‘Eala’ across the top. How had the guy known where to deliver this? More curiously, the cardboard was damp despite a decidedly uncommon dry spell throughout Ireland. No wonder the guy had beat feet so quickly. He must have spilled something on it.

Almost as soon as he was inside, the box started dripping. He hurried over to the sink. Whatever had soaked the box must be coming from inside, not outside. Just great. A broken, anonymous Christmas gift. There was a distinctive odor to the liquid, one that he recognized immediately as saltwater. That got him increasingly worried as he pulled at the now-sodden cardboard. What would be delivered in brine? Live fish? He knew there were salt water aquariums, but he didn’t have such a thing.

The sink was half full by the time he tore the flaps apart and saw what was inside. Seaweed? He frowned and poked cautiously at the dark green and purple kelp. If there was something inside, he couldn’t make it out through the swirl of water. Eala blinked, realizing the sink would be overflowing soon if he didn’t get the drain opened. But where was it all coming from?

Pushing the box aside, he felt down around the drain but couldn’t find the stopper. Because it was sitting on the counter. Could part of the box have clogged the drain? He reached down with both hands and lifted the mess up. Water poured from the seaweed, and as he gaped in bewilderment, began spilling over onto the floor. A moment later, the seaweed squirmed in his hands and he dropped the mass with a yelp.

Stumbling back, Eala found that the kelp had left a sticky brown residue on his hands, and he wiped the quickly on his pants in alarm. Though he left a considerable amount on the fabric, his hands remained covered. More wiped off on his shirt, yet his hands remained covered. They felt a bit warm now, as if he had pulled on mittens. It wasn’t a bad sensation, but obviously meant he was having some sort of reaction. In fact, he realized he had the same warmth spreading around his legs and belly where he’d wiped his hands, and also on his feet.

His feet? Holding his hands out from his body, Eala discovered that he was standing barefoot in water up to his ankles. He was so stunned that it took a moment before two very important messages registered in his brain. First of all, his apartment was being flooded by a piece of seaweed. Second of all, whatever was flooding his apartment had dissolved away his shoes and socks. Spinning, he made a run for the door. Only to have his feet give out from under him.

Eala sprawled face-first into the rising water, sending up a swirl of sand where he hit bottom. Sand? He pushed up, finding the formerly solid floor had more resilience than it should. His head broke the surface, and he gasped to see the contents of his apartment crumbling away into what was rapidly becoming an indoor swimming pool. What was happening? How could all this be coming from a lump of seaweed? He tried to stand up, but his legs seemed to be stuck together. Twisting back, he saw that he was totally covered in the same chocolate-brown residue that had gotten on his hands. And that his pants and most of his shirt had already gone the way of his shoes.

There was a pale mound about where his old sofa hand been, and he struggled over to it, having to pull himself with his hands. It turned out to be more sand, a small island rising above the otherwise unbroken expanse of brine. He dragged himself up, confused and more than a little scared, though not as terrified as he probably should be. Whatever was happening, he wasn’t in any pain. The sensations were actually pleasant, like soaking in the ocean on a hot summer day.

Eala blinked as his nose twitched, then started to create more of a division between his eyes. He was swelling up! Idiot! Some sort of allergic reaction to whatever toxic waste had poured from the kelp. And he was just sitting here… on a sand bar in his water-filled apartment. OK. None of this should be happening. He needed to try to get a grip and figure out what, if anything was real.

Unable to stand, he tried rolling on his side. It was hard to move his neck, and he reached up to feel thick folds of flesh that seemed to extend outward to his shoulders. A check further down confirmed that the flesh of his legs had merged into a single limb. For a panicked moment he thought his groin had also melted away, but felt the organ nestled in an orifice in his thickening skin.

Nothing was working right. Muscles pulled against each other, and it felt like someone was kneading his guts like bread dough. Even so, Eala was feeling more curiosity than fear now, along with a growing excitement. He recognized most of the external clues, and impossible as it had to be, he was willing to go along with what appeared to be a transformation he had long wished for. Sure, it was more likely that he was having a very intense hallucination, but crazy or not he was going to enjoy it.

A shudder started in his head and worked down his long, and now sleek, body. Hands feet flattened out into flippers, and his skin erupted in sleek dark brown fur. Whiskers pushed out on either side of his protruding muzzle, and his ears and nostrils became smooth orifices with closable flaps. Imagination or not, he felt wonderful. Full of energy, alive in ways he had never experienced before. Rolling back on his belly, he lunged into the water. Though the space was confined and the water not really high enough for much, he shot around the room, catching and eating a couple of fish that tasted wonderful. Fish? Before he could figure that development out, something even stranger happened. The doorbell rang.

Eala shook his head, then looked around in astonishment that turned to disappointment. The apartment was perfectly dry, the sandbar was a sofa again, and he was lying on the floor. Whoever had intruded on his wonderful dream rang the bell again, and Eala sighed and yelled “Coming!” Except that what came from his mouth was a familiar-sounding bark.

It seemed he had not quite woken from the dream. Eala realized he was still fully transformed. A large part of him rejoiced, though he also knew that he either had a huge problem with sanity, or an equally huge issue with location.

“Ah! I thought I heard you bark.”

Eala blinked. The door that he’d sworn he’d locked was now open, and the courier was smiling down at him.

“Looks like a good job, too.” The young man pulled out the clipboard and peered at it. “Male vitulina richardsi. Now, just one last step.” He scribbled something on the clipboard.

His mind still whirling, Eala gaped as the world stated to close in around him. There was pressure all around him, pushing, squeezing, and then he was suddenly back in warm water again. This time, however, there was a huge presence with him, a female that he instantly imprinted and joyfully followed into his new life.

Back in the now-empty apartment, the scruffy-looking young man smiled and made a final check mark on his clipboard. “Christmas present for Eala Duhb. Signed. Sealed. And delivered.”

-end-

User:Posti

2008-06-11T18:10:31Z

Posti:

==Stories==
*[[User:Posti/After_and_Before|After and Before]]
*[[User:Posti/Baylors_Rein|Baylor's Rein]]
*[[User:Posti/Bite_of_the_Apple|Bite of the Apple]]
*[[User:Posti/Blind_Man|Blind Man]]
*[[User:Posti/Bottom_Up|Bottom Up]]
*[[User:Posti/Broken_Hart|Broken Hart]]
*[[User:Posti/Business_Associate|Business Associate]]
*[[User:Posti/charlies_eyes|Charlie's Eyes]]
*[[User:Posti/Circe_com|Circe.com]]
*[[User:Posti/Cleaning_Up|Cleaning Up]]
*[[User:Posti/Clothes_horse|Clothes Horse]]
*[[User:Posti/Companion|Companion]]
*[[User:Posti/Gypsy_Gold|Gypsy Gold]]
*[[User:Posti/hangover|Hangover]]
*[[User:Posti/Hoof_Beat|Hoof Beat]]
*[[User:Posti/Jacked_into_the_System|Jacked into the System]]
*[[User:Posti/Joker|Joker]]
*[[User:Posti/Lasting_Impression|Lasting Impression]]
*[[User:Posti/Lost_in_Translation|Lost in Translation]]
*[[User:Posti/Midsummer|Midsummer Night's Unemployment]]
*[[User:Posti/Mortal_Danger|Mortal Danger]]
*[[User:Posti/No_Bull|No Bull]]
*[[User:Posti/One_Way_Ticket|One Way Ticket]]
*[[User:Posti/Outfoxed|Outfoxed]]
*[[User:Posti/paid_with_interest|Paid With Interest]]
*[[User:Posti/Quiet_Place|Quiet Place]]
*[[User:Posti/Peanut_Gallery|The Peanut Gallery]]
*[[User:Posti/rain_dance|Rain Dance]]
*[[User:Posti/real_time|Real Time]]
*[[User:Posti/Reenactment|Reenactment]]
*[[User:Posti/Reindeer_games|Reindeer Games]]
*[[User:Posti/Replacement_Cost|Replacement Cost]]
*[[User:Posti/Salvage|Salvage]]
*[[User:Posti/Simple_life|Simple Life]]
*[[User:Posti/Something_to_Remember|Something to Remember]]
*[[User:Posti/strapped|Strapped for Cash]]
*[[User:Posti/Substitution_penalty|Substitution Penalty]]
*[[User:Posti/Surrogate|Surrogate]]
*[[User:Posti/taken|Taken]]
*[[User:Posti/Team_Spirit|Team Spirit]]
*[[User:Posti/Totally_Pucked|Totally Pucked]]
*[[User:Posti/Unicorn_Dance|Unicorn Dance]]
*[[User:Posti/Wearin_of_the-Green|Wearin of the Green]]
*[[User:Posti/Where_Wolf|Where Wolf]]
*[[User:Posti/Whicker_Man|Whicker Man]]

[[Category:Author]]
{{DEFAULTSORT:Posti}}

User:Posti/Surrogate

2008-06-11T18:09:13Z

Posti:

{{my stories|category=Bob Stein|name=Bob Stein}}
[[Category:Story]] [[Category:Bob Stein]] [[Category:Cervine]] [[Category:Animal]] {{DEFAULTSORT:Surrogate}}
{{title|name=Surrogate|user=Posti|author=Bob Stein}}

The service road was rough enough that Devin didn’t feel anything unusual in the old 4x4’s steering until a sudden metallic squeal and snap came from the front end. He jammed on the brakes instinctively, only to have the right front slam and catch on the ground, causing the borrowed pickup to flip neatly over the edge and tumble end-over-end down the mountainside. He screamed as the world did somersaults around him, throwing up his arms as the windshield exploded. The truck closed in around him, each impact crushing the cab down a little more. He threw himself sideways across the bench seat just before a final, bone-jarring thud sent him spinning into darkness.

Something was grunting close to Devin’s ear. He struggled awake, trying to make sense of confused memories and strange surroundings. As eyes focused, he found himself staring at a dark blue plastic panel with a chromed nameplate proclaiming ‘Cheyenne.’ Right. Andy’s truck. Oh, shit. He’d gone off the road! It was hard to move, but he did a quick test of limbs and was relieved to find everything seemingly operational. Was he bleeding? In shock? And what the hell was grunting? He twisted his head back to look for the source, and then screamed as something soft and rubbery pulled at his face.

Squirming back in a panic, he discovered the driver’s door was either open or gone. He had to fumble with the old seatbelt latch a moment to get free, and slid out of the cab onto mossy, damp ground. Taking a deep, shuddery breath, Devin gaped at the crumpled vehicle. Unrecognizable except for the color, the old Chevy was less than half its original size. The roof was crushed down to the level of the dashboard, and both the camper shell and cargo bed were missing. After staring a moment, he threw up violently on the ground.

Oddly, he felt better afterwards. Maybe because there was no blood in the bile. In fact, he seemed to be mostly unhurt except for some dull aches that promised impressive bruising later on. He brushed bits of glass from his blond hair and shoulders, then stood up shakily. The camper shell was dangling from tree branches about a hundred feet up the steep slope, with the road probably another couple of hundred feet above that. It would be a tough climb, but he was lean, fit and young.

He’d almost forgotten about the strange contact when he heard a louder, deeper grunt from the other side of the wreckage. The noise was vaguely familiar, not quite the sound of a pig, but close. As he moved around the front for a look, something large and dark thrashed violently on the ground. “Shit!” He jumped back, heart pounding. A large caribou was caught under the front of the truck. From the short antlers, it was probably a female. It was also dying.

The animal flailed its forelegs weakly, blowing bloody froth from its mouth with each panting breath. Its hindquarters were pinned under the wreckage, apparently crushed by the impact. Devin clenched his fists, hating to see her suffer. Caribou were beautiful animals. They were common throughout Alberta, and popular targets for hunters. However, this one should have been safe, for they were in the fringes of Jasper National Park. Safe from bullets, but not falling trucks. Just when he thought he couldn’t feel any worse, another, much smaller shape stumbled awkwardly into view.
A calf, newborn or hours old, with remnants of the umbilical dangling from its belly.

“Aw, crap.” Devin felt his eyes burn and tear up as his gut tightened. The calf must have been lipping him before. It stared up at him, obviously confused, and grunted plaintively. Then it dropped its head to sniff and then nosed its mother’s side. She lifted her head a few inches, eyes showing white, and then fell back. Scratch two caribou, for the calf didn’t have a prayer out here on its own.

Did the Park have any kind of rescue service? If he could get the calf someplace it could be bottle fed… that thought died as he remembered where he was. Dammit! Just getting himself out of this ravine would be difficult enough. And he was miles from anywhere. The Service Road had seemed like a good idea, since it cut directly over from 16 to 103. Andy had told him about the shortcut when he’d handed over keys to his truck. “Nobody uses it this time of year, and you’ll save an hour getting through Jasper.”

Just how far was he from any kind of help? At least 30 miles from Jasper. And he’d been on this service road a good ten or fifteen miles. Naturally, the truck had picked the halfway point to break. Devin looked back up the rugged mountainside and frowned. He was in good shape, but trying to scale that and also hike long distance without proper gear was going to a problem. And it would be dark soon. Just perfect.

Another soft grunt drew his attention back to the calf, who was snuffling the mother’s belly where it disappeared under the mangled metal. Unable to comprehend what had happened, it was trying to reach the teats that it knew meant food. Devin moved cautiously around the mother. She was barely breathing now, but might still manage to snap or kick at him to protect her young. The calf twisted around and sniffed at him, and then resumed trying to reach the elusive udder.

“Hello, little guy.” Devin spoke softly, and reached out to gently stroke the soft fur on the baby’s flank. It flinched a little, but did not even look up from its quest. It must have already decided he was no threat. Devin squatted down and peered under the wreckage. The female’s odor was strong and acrid, her hide mated with sweat. Her udder was swollen with milk, but it was too far back for the struggling calf’s lips to reach. An experimental push against the truck failed to budge it. The calf grunted and snuffled at him, then nosed his chest.

Tears ran down Devin’s cheeks. Dammit, this was all so unfair! The mother should have been safe down here in the ravine, her baby should have had a life that could measured in years, not hours. Now it would starve to death with the food it needed just inches away. There had to be something he could do. He placed a trembling hand on the mother’s side. “I’m so sorry. I know you’re scared and hurting. And me being here is probably making it worse. But I want to try to help your baby here, even if it’s just for a little while.” He spoke soothingly, stroking the dense fur a little longer before pulling the calf away form the gap. “Let me try something, little guy.”

Lying on his belly, Devin had no problem reaching the teats. How did these things work? Famers milked cows. He struggled to remember old TV shows or biology textbooks. The first touch of his hand caused the mother to quiver, and he jerked it away. “I’m trying to help your baby.” He whispered more to himself than anything, building up the courage to try again. This time he wrapped fingers around a teat and pulled down. A squirt of liquid hit the ground.

After a few more tries, Devin manages to fill one cupped palm with milk and slid out carefully. The calf sniffed and almost instantly had licked up the still-warm nourishment. By the time the mother’s udder was empty, Devin’s hand and arms were screaming in agony. However, the calf appeared to be satisfied for now, and contented itself with snuffling and nuzzling him.

The mother gave a wheezing grunt. Her eyes no longer showed white, but that could be due to impending death. Still, he slid up and gently lifted her head into his lap. Her nostrils quivered, probably catching a mix of her own milk-scent and the calf, who came over to touch its nose to hers. It was enough to get Devin’s tears flowing again. “It’s all I can do. I’m sorry.”

He could see himself reflected in her liquid brown orb. There were impressions of curiosity, confusion, sadness, concern for the baby. Devin blinked, feeling a little confused himself. Where was that coming from? Yet the longer he stared at her, the stronger those feelings got. The calf lipping at his neck seemed more important, both creating and filling a need that had never existed before.

Devin blinked. The calf was laying down beside him, sleeping. How had it moved so quickly? He must have dozed off. A glance down told him that the caribou mother was dead. He slid out from under her and gently lowered her head to the ground. Nature would not be so kind – predators would rip her carcass to shreds. His gut clenched suddenly. Damn! Predators! Here he was with a newborn calf and a dead adult, both prime targets for wolves, bears, and whatever other carnivores might be wandering the woods. He looked around, alert for sounds or movement. He needed to get away fro here, to get the calf someplace safe.

The calf struggled up as soon as Devin stood, and stayed close as he moved around the wreckage to make a quick search. Here was nothing useful he could see – everything loose must have been scattered down the side of the mountain. The smart thing to do was to climb back up to the road. Someone was bound to come along. But that meant abandoning the calf. He couldn’t do that. It took a moment before he realized it was more than just lingering guilt. The thought of leaving the calf was as abhorrent as chewing off his own arm. If a pack of wolves attacked right now, he was quite certain he would die to protect it.

Although he was disturbed by that, Devin focused on getting out of here. He needed to find a path back to the road that the calf could follow. The service road had dipped down a few miles back. There would be less to climb, anyway. He sighed, then started walking in what he hoped was the right direction. The calf grunted and scampered to follow. It might have been Devin’s imagination, but as the wreckage was lost from view he thought he could see dark shapes already slinking towards it.

Night fell quickly, and after being unable to find any sign of the road above, Devin decided to stop and rest. The calf butted against his leg and nosed his belly, grunting insistently. “Sorry, little guy. I don’t have anything for you.” There was no shelter around, and he silently cursed himself for not at least trying to find his jacket. Even mid-May, it still got cool at night. He’d be pretty chilly. And hungry. Devin looked at the calf sadly. It was already hungry. How far could they get before lack of nourishment made it too weak to follow?

Scouting around, Devin located a hollow filled with decaying leaves. It would make a good place to rest. The strong odor of the natural mulch would help hide their scents from predators, and he had a clear view of the area. How did he know that? He shrugged to himself. Well, it made sense, anyway. Though it wouldn’t be much help if they did get attacked, he also located a stout length of an old branch to use as a club. Then he settled into the leaves with the calf huddled next to him, and tried to rest.

He came awake sometime during the night. Although it was uncomfortably cool, what had disturbed his sleep was prodding and licking on his stomach. The calf had pulled up his shirt and was searching for dinner. “Wish I could help, little guy.” He tried to push his shirt back into his pants, but the calf pulled it out and resumed nosing. Sighing, Devin decided to let the calf satisfy itself that nothing was there. He lay back in the leaves, staring up at the dark silhouettes of branches over head.

It seemed less cold when he opened his eyes again, though it was still dark. The calf hadn’t given up, or was trying again. He felt the lips tug and pull, and then a strange sensation almost like urinating. Huh? Pushing up to his elbows, Devin stared groggily down at his stomach. The calf was busy lipping and pulling at dark protrusions that seemed to be attached to Devin’s belly. The odd urinating sensation came back, pulsing in time with the calf’s efforts. There was something wrong with that, but the activity relieved pressure in his gut and also satisfied a curious need that he couldn’t quite identify. Fatigue won out over curiosity, and after detecting no threat, he lay back and slept again.

The reddish glow of sunrise was visible through the trees when he woke next. .He felt surprisingly comfortable. The leaves must have made a good blanket, and the calf was pressed against him. He sniffed at it, finding comfort in the familiar scent, then stood up and shook himself. Still not quite awake, he realized he really needed to take a piss. Moving away from the still-sleeping calf, he undid his jeans and faced one of the pine trees. Then yelped as hot liquid sprayed down into the seat of his pants.

Bewildered, he stumbled back from the tree, yanking his soaked jeans and underpants down. The organ he expected to see was no longer protruding from his crotch. Instead, there were two protrusions from a dark swelling a bit higher up. An udder and teats. Just like the ones on the mother caribou. As his head cleared, Devin remembered some strange dreams during the night. The calf lipping and pulling, nursing. Reaching back, he slid his fingers over his buttocks. There were several things wrong.. He felt dense hair covering the skin, and after identifying the one familiar opening, discovered a new one below. He was a she.

Devin grunted out a laugh. Oh, right. He was a female. A female caribou, if the udder was any indication. At least this was a really interesting dream. There was movement behind as the calf lurched up and stumbled over. It found the imaginary teats and began nursing hungrily. Devin grunted again at the curious feelings, pressure and release. He felt relaxed, satisfied. Nice dream. Her nostrils quivered, and she flicked her ears.

Huh? She shook her head, then reached up to feel her face. Her mouth and nose were pushed out, not quite a muzzle, but not far from it. Ears had migrated higher on her had, and when she checked her forehead she discovered large bumps that grew out noticeably as she stood there in shock. Grunting in fear, she pulled away form the calf, who protested and tried to find her teat again.

What was going on here? Devin stared at herself. Thick brown fur was spreading up her chest, which had barreled slightly. Her hands throbbed, and the four fingers on each slowly merged into two digits that became dark and hard. Something in-between hooves and hands. The weight of her antlers increased,, as did the intensity of her senses. That included her awareness of the calf, who had resumed nursing, and of the presence of... others.

Blinking, Devin stared as a dozen caribou emerged from the trees. Part of a larger herd, no doubt, perhaps investigating the scent of the calf. A magnificent stag ambled close and sniffed at the calf, then at her. Devin remained still as he inspected her, afraid and excited. If she was going to save the calf, she had to be accepted, be part of a herd. She tried to resist that mindset, but the calf’s needs were dominant.

Teeth closed on the fabric of her shirt, and the male yanked hard enough to make her stagger. The garment ripped free with surprising ease, leaving her naked. Devin trembled, her mind whirling. This couldn’t be real. The male plodded around her, snuffling and licking her sex, then continuing around and facing her again. He grunted loudly, then nosed her muzzle. His breath, his scent filled her nostrils, and she felt yet another connection reach out and bind her.

When the male turned and ambled into the woods, Devin followed with the other females. She could see more of the herd now, with young calves scampering nearby. Other animals snuffled and lipped at her in greeting, reinforcing the sense of belonging. And thought Devin was sacred out of her mind, she was also fascinated by the possibilities. She wasn’t an animal – she still had hands of a sort and walked on two legs. And despite the strong instincts that were still growing, she had not lost any of herself.

Her calf trotted alongside, stopping occasionally to sniff at some leaves or a strange plant. Devin knew that it truly was her calf now, her responsibility. Somehow, she’d become a surrogate mother. But for how long? Once the calf was weaned, she might change back. Assuming she didn’t follow any of the other urges that had surged when the male was near her. She flicked her ears, finding those urges more interesting as she thought about them.

There was no point in bemoaning her fate, or worrying about the future. For now, Devin decided to accept her lot and enjoy the maternal pleasures granted her by whatever power had reshaped her. Somehow, she had the feeling that the outcome would be up to her. Movement and grunting alerted her, and she nosed the calf away from its investigations. Her herd was on the move.

-end-

User:Posti/Surrogate

2008-06-11T18:07:59Z

Posti: A rural short cut ends up becoming an unsuaul detour for a young man's life.

Surrogate

The service road was rough enough that Devin didn’t feel anything unusual in the old 4x4’s steering until a sudden metallic squeal and snap came from the front end. He jammed on the brakes instinctively, only to have the right front slam and catch on the ground, causing the borrowed pickup to flip neatly over the edge and tumble end-over-end down the mountainside. He screamed as the world did somersaults around him, throwing up his arms as the windshield exploded. The truck closed in around him, each impact crushing the cab down a little more. He threw himself sideways across the bench seat just before a final, bone-jarring thud sent him spinning into darkness.

Something was grunting close to Devin’s ear. He struggled awake, trying to make sense of confused memories and strange surroundings. As eyes focused, he found himself staring at a dark blue plastic panel with a chromed nameplate proclaiming ‘Cheyenne.’ Right. Andy’s truck. Oh, shit. He’d gone off the road! It was hard to move, but he did a quick test of limbs and was relieved to find everything seemingly operational. Was he bleeding? In shock? And what the hell was grunting? He twisted his head back to look for the source, and then screamed as something soft and rubbery pulled at his face.

Squirming back in a panic, he discovered the driver’s door was either open or gone. He had to fumble with the old seatbelt latch a moment to get free, and slid out of the cab onto mossy, damp ground. Taking a deep, shuddery breath, Devin gaped at the crumpled vehicle. Unrecognizable except for the color, the old Chevy was less than half its original size. The roof was crushed down to the level of the dashboard, and both the camper shell and cargo bed were missing. After staring a moment, he threw up violently on the ground.

Oddly, he felt better afterwards. Maybe because there was no blood in the bile. In fact, he seemed to be mostly unhurt except for some dull aches that promised impressive bruising later on. He brushed bits of glass from his blond hair and shoulders, then stood up shakily. The camper shell was dangling from tree branches about a hundred feet up the steep slope, with the road probably another couple of hundred feet above that. It would be a tough climb, but he was lean, fit and young.

He’d almost forgotten about the strange contact when he heard a louder, deeper grunt from the other side of the wreckage. The noise was vaguely familiar, not quite the sound of a pig, but close. As he moved around the front for a look, something large and dark thrashed violently on the ground. “Shit!” He jumped back, heart pounding. A large caribou was caught under the front of the truck. From the short antlers, it was probably a female. It was also dying.

The animal flailed its forelegs weakly, blowing bloody froth from its mouth with each panting breath. Its hindquarters were pinned under the wreckage, apparently crushed by the impact. Devin clenched his fists, hating to see her suffer. Caribou were beautiful animals. They were common throughout Alberta, and popular targets for hunters. However, this one should have been safe, for they were in the fringes of Jasper National Park. Safe from bullets, but not falling trucks. Just when he thought he couldn’t feel any worse, another, much smaller shape stumbled awkwardly into view.
A calf, newborn or hours old, with remnants of the umbilical dangling from its belly.

“Aw, crap.” Devin felt his eyes burn and tear up as his gut tightened. The calf must have been lipping him before. It stared up at him, obviously confused, and grunted plaintively. Then it dropped its head to sniff and then nosed its mother’s side. She lifted her head a few inches, eyes showing white, and then fell back. Scratch two caribou, for the calf didn’t have a prayer out here on its own.

Did the Park have any kind of rescue service? If he could get the calf someplace it could be bottle fed… that thought died as he remembered where he was. Dammit! Just getting himself out of this ravine would be difficult enough. And he was miles from anywhere. The Service Road had seemed like a good idea, since it cut directly over from 16 to 103. Andy had told him about the shortcut when he’d handed over keys to his truck. “Nobody uses it this time of year, and you’ll save an hour getting through Jasper.”

Just how far was he from any kind of help? At least 30 miles from Jasper. And he’d been on this service road a good ten or fifteen miles. Naturally, the truck had picked the halfway point to break. Devin looked back up the rugged mountainside and frowned. He was in good shape, but trying to scale that and also hike long distance without proper gear was going to a problem. And it would be dark soon. Just perfect.

Another soft grunt drew his attention back to the calf, who was snuffling the mother’s belly where it disappeared under the mangled metal. Unable to comprehend what had happened, it was trying to reach the teats that it knew meant food. Devin moved cautiously around the mother. She was barely breathing now, but might still manage to snap or kick at him to protect her young. The calf twisted around and sniffed at him, and then resumed trying to reach the elusive udder.

“Hello, little guy.” Devin spoke softly, and reached out to gently stroke the soft fur on the baby’s flank. It flinched a little, but did not even look up from its quest. It must have already decided he was no threat. Devin squatted down and peered under the wreckage. The female’s odor was strong and acrid, her hide mated with sweat. Her udder was swollen with milk, but it was too far back for the struggling calf’s lips to reach. An experimental push against the truck failed to budge it. The calf grunted and snuffled at him, then nosed his chest.

Tears ran down Devin’s cheeks. Dammit, this was all so unfair! The mother should have been safe down here in the ravine, her baby should have had a life that could measured in years, not hours. Now it would starve to death with the food it needed just inches away. There had to be something he could do. He placed a trembling hand on the mother’s side. “I’m so sorry. I know you’re scared and hurting. And me being here is probably making it worse. But I want to try to help your baby here, even if it’s just for a little while.” He spoke soothingly, stroking the dense fur a little longer before pulling the calf away form the gap. “Let me try something, little guy.”

Lying on his belly, Devin had no problem reaching the teats. How did these things work? Famers milked cows. He struggled to remember old TV shows or biology textbooks. The first touch of his hand caused the mother to quiver, and he jerked it away. “I’m trying to help your baby.” He whispered more to himself than anything, building up the courage to try again. This time he wrapped fingers around a teat and pulled down. A squirt of liquid hit the ground.

After a few more tries, Devin manages to fill one cupped palm with milk and slid out carefully. The calf sniffed and almost instantly had licked up the still-warm nourishment. By the time the mother’s udder was empty, Devin’s hand and arms were screaming in agony. However, the calf appeared to be satisfied for now, and contented itself with snuffling and nuzzling him.

The mother gave a wheezing grunt. Her eyes no longer showed white, but that could be due to impending death. Still, he slid up and gently lifted her head into his lap. Her nostrils quivered, probably catching a mix of her own milk-scent and the calf, who came over to touch its nose to hers. It was enough to get Devin’s tears flowing again. “It’s all I can do. I’m sorry.”

He could see himself reflected in her liquid brown orb. There were impressions of curiosity, confusion, sadness, concern for the baby. Devin blinked, feeling a little confused himself. Where was that coming from? Yet the longer he stared at her, the stronger those feelings got. The calf lipping at his neck seemed more important, both creating and filling a need that had never existed before.

Devin blinked. The calf was laying down beside him, sleeping. How had it moved so quickly? He must have dozed off. A glance down told him that the caribou mother was dead. He slid out from under her and gently lowered her head to the ground. Nature would not be so kind – predators would rip her carcass to shreds. His gut clenched suddenly. Damn! Predators! Here he was with a newborn calf and a dead adult, both prime targets for wolves, bears, and whatever other carnivores might be wandering the woods. He looked around, alert for sounds or movement. He needed to get away fro here, to get the calf someplace safe.

The calf struggled up as soon as Devin stood, and stayed close as he moved around the wreckage to make a quick search. Here was nothing useful he could see – everything loose must have been scattered down the side of the mountain. The smart thing to do was to climb back up to the road. Someone was bound to come along. But that meant abandoning the calf. He couldn’t do that. It took a moment before he realized it was more than just lingering guilt. The thought of leaving the calf was as abhorrent as chewing off his own arm. If a pack of wolves attacked right now, he was quite certain he would die to protect it.

Although he was disturbed by that, Devin focused on getting out of here. He needed to find a path back to the road that the calf could follow. The service road had dipped down a few miles back. There would be less to climb, anyway. He sighed, then started walking in what he hoped was the right direction. The calf grunted and scampered to follow. It might have been Devin’s imagination, but as the wreckage was lost from view he thought he could see dark shapes already slinking towards it.

Night fell quickly, and after being unable to find any sign of the road above, Devin decided to stop and rest. The calf butted against his leg and nosed his belly, grunting insistently. “Sorry, little guy. I don’t have anything for you.” There was no shelter around, and he silently cursed himself for not at least trying to find his jacket. Even mid-May, it still got cool at night. He’d be pretty chilly. And hungry. Devin looked at the calf sadly. It was already hungry. How far could they get before lack of nourishment made it too weak to follow?

Scouting around, Devin located a hollow filled with decaying leaves. It would make a good place to rest. The strong odor of the natural mulch would help hide their scents from predators, and he had a clear view of the area. How did he know that? He shrugged to himself. Well, it made sense, anyway. Though it wouldn’t be much help if they did get attacked, he also located a stout length of an old branch to use as a club. Then he settled into the leaves with the calf huddled next to him, and tried to rest.

He came awake sometime during the night. Although it was uncomfortably cool, what had disturbed his sleep was prodding and licking on his stomach. The calf had pulled up his shirt and was searching for dinner. “Wish I could help, little guy.” He tried to push his shirt back into his pants, but the calf pulled it out and resumed nosing. Sighing, Devin decided to let the calf satisfy itself that nothing was there. He lay back in the leaves, staring up at the dark silhouettes of branches over head.

It seemed less cold when he opened his eyes again, though it was still dark. The calf hadn’t given up, or was trying again. He felt the lips tug and pull, and then a strange sensation almost like urinating. Huh? Pushing up to his elbows, Devin stared groggily down at his stomach. The calf was busy lipping and pulling at dark protrusions that seemed to be attached to Devin’s belly. The odd urinating sensation came back, pulsing in time with the calf’s efforts. There was something wrong with that, but the activity relieved pressure in his gut and also satisfied a curious need that he couldn’t quite identify. Fatigue won out over curiosity, and after detecting no threat, he lay back and slept again.

The reddish glow of sunrise was visible through the trees when he woke next. .He felt surprisingly comfortable. The leaves must have made a good blanket, and the calf was pressed against him. He sniffed at it, finding comfort in the familiar scent, then stood up and shook himself. Still not quite awake, he realized he really needed to take a piss. Moving away from the still-sleeping calf, he undid his jeans and faced one of the pine trees. Then yelped as hot liquid sprayed down into the seat of his pants.

Bewildered, he stumbled back from the tree, yanking his soaked jeans and underpants down. The organ he expected to see was no longer protruding from his crotch. Instead, there were two protrusions from a dark swelling a bit higher up. An udder and teats. Just like the ones on the mother caribou. As his head cleared, Devin remembered some strange dreams during the night. The calf lipping and pulling, nursing. Reaching back, he slid his fingers over his buttocks. There were several things wrong.. He felt dense hair covering the skin, and after identifying the one familiar opening, discovered a new one below. He was a she.

Devin grunted out a laugh. Oh, right. He was a female. A female caribou, if the udder was any indication. At least this was a really interesting dream. There was movement behind as the calf lurched up and stumbled over. It found the imaginary teats and began nursing hungrily. Devin grunted again at the curious feelings, pressure and release. He felt relaxed, satisfied. Nice dream. Her nostrils quivered, and she flicked her ears.

Huh? She shook her head, then reached up to feel her face. Her mouth and nose were pushed out, not quite a muzzle, but not far from it. Ears had migrated higher on her had, and when she checked her forehead she discovered large bumps that grew out noticeably as she stood there in shock. Grunting in fear, she pulled away form the calf, who protested and tried to find her teat again.

What was going on here? Devin stared at herself. Thick brown fur was spreading up her chest, which had barreled slightly. Her hands throbbed, and the four fingers on each slowly merged into two digits that became dark and hard. Something in-between hooves and hands. The weight of her antlers increased,, as did the intensity of her senses. That included her awareness of the calf, who had resumed nursing, and of the presence of... others.

Blinking, Devin stared as a dozen caribou emerged from the trees. Part of a larger herd, no doubt, perhaps investigating the scent of the calf. A magnificent stag ambled close and sniffed at the calf, then at her. Devin remained still as he inspected her, afraid and excited. If she was going to save the calf, she had to be accepted, be part of a herd. She tried to resist that mindset, but the calf’s needs were dominant.

Teeth closed on the fabric of her shirt, and the male yanked hard enough to make her stagger. The garment ripped free with surprising ease, leaving her naked. Devin trembled, her mind whirling. This couldn’t be real. The male plodded around her, snuffling and licking her sex, then continuing around and facing her again. He grunted loudly, then nosed her muzzle. His breath, his scent filled her nostrils, and she felt yet another connection reach out and bind her.

When the male turned and ambled into the woods, Devin followed with the other females. She could see more of the herd now, with young calves scampering nearby. Other animals snuffled and lipped at her in greeting, reinforcing the sense of belonging. And thought Devin was sacred out of her mind, she was also fascinated by the possibilities. She wasn’t an animal – she still had hands of a sort and walked on two legs. And despite the strong instincts that were still growing, she had not lost any of herself.

Her calf trotted alongside, stopping occasionally to sniff at some leaves or a strange plant. Devin knew that it truly was her calf now, her responsibility. Somehow, she’d become a surrogate mother. But for how long? Once the calf was weaned, she might change back. Assuming she didn’t follow any of the other urges that had surged when the male was near her. She flicked her ears, finding those urges more interesting as she thought about them.

There was no point in bemoaning her fate, or worrying about the future. For now, Devin decided to accept her lot and enjoy the maternal pleasures granted her by whatever power had reshaped her. Somehow, she had the feeling that the outcome would be up to her. Movement and grunting alerted her, and she nosed the calf away from its investigations. Her herd was on the move.

-end-

User:Posti

2008-06-11T18:03:33Z

Posti:

==Stories==
*[[User:Posti/After_and_Before|After and Before]]
*[[User:Posti/Baylors_Rein|Baylor's Rein]]
*[[User:Posti/Bite_of_the_Apple|Bite of the Apple]]
*[[User:Posti/Blind_Man|Blind Man]]
*[[User:Posti/Bottom_Up|Bottom Up]]
*[[User:Posti/Broken_Hart|Broken Hart]]
*[[User:Posti/Business_Associate|Business Associate]]
*[[User:Posti/charlies_eyes|Charlie's Eyes]]
*[[User:Posti/Circe_com|Circe.com]]
*[[User:Posti/Cleaning_Up|Cleaning Up]]
*[[User:Posti/Clothes_horse|Clothes Horse]]
*[[User:Posti/Companion|Companion]]
*[[User:Posti/Gypsy_Gold|Gypsy Gold]]
*[[User:Posti/hangover|Hangover]]
*[[User:Posti/Hoof_Beat|Hoof Beat]]
*[[User:Posti/Jacked_into_the_System|Jacked into the System]]
*[[User:Posti/Joker|Joker]]
*[[User:Posti/Lasting_Impression|Lasting Impression]]
*[[User:Posti/Lost_in_Translation|Lost in Translation]]
*[[User:Posti/Midsummer|Midsummer Night's Unemployment]]
*[[User:Posti/Mortal_Danger|Mortal Danger]]
*[[User:Posti/No_Bull|No Bull]]
*[[User:Posti/One_Way_Ticket|One Way Ticket]]
*[[User:Posti/Outfoxed|Outfoxed]]
*[[User:Posti/paid_with_interest|Paid With Interest]]
*[[User:Posti/Quiet_Place|Quiet Place]]
*[[User:Posti/Peanut_Gallery|The Peanut Gallery]]
*[[User:Posti/rain_dance|Rain Dance]]
*[[User:Posti/real_time|Real Time]]
*[[User:Posti/Reenactment|Reenactment]]
*[[User:Posti/Reindeer_games|Reindeer Games]]
*[[User:Posti/Replacement_Cost|Replacement Cost]]
*[[User:Posti/Salvage|Salvage]]
*[[User:Posti/Simple_life|Simple Life]]
*[[User:Posti/Something_to_Remember|Something to Remember]]
*[[User:Posti/strapped|Strapped for Cash]]
*[[User:Posti/Substitution_penalty|Substitution Penalty]]
*[[User:Posti/taken|Taken]]
*[[User:Posti/Team_Spirit|Team Spirit]]
*[[User:Posti/Totally_Pucked|Totally Pucked]]
*[[User:Posti/Unicorn_Dance|Unicorn Dance]]
*[[User:Posti/Wearin_of_the-Green|Wearin of the Green]]
*[[User:Posti/Where_Wolf|Where Wolf]]
*[[User:Posti/Whicker_Man|Whicker Man]]

[[Category:Author]]
{{DEFAULTSORT:Posti}}

User:Posti/Totally Pucked

2008-06-11T17:56:00Z

Posti:

[[Category:Story]] [[category:Bob Stein]] {{DEFAULTSORT:Totally Pucked}}
{{title|name=Totally Pucked|user=Posti|author=Bob Stein}}

“Now that is one choice piece of ass!” Billy leered at the classy broad who was frowning at bottles further down the Beer and Wine section. Definitely not one of Piggly Wiggly’s regular customers. Tall, blonde, and hot looking, she had on a fancy white long gown that sparkled in the fluorescent lights.

The woman didn’t react at first, then straightened suddenly and gave him a cold look. “I hope you are not talking to me.” There was authority behind her voice – a sense of warning that Billy took as a challenge.

“Ain’t nobody else on the aisle, is there?” He looked her up and down very deliberately, enjoying the rich bitch’s obvious anger. “Chill, toots. It’s a compliment.”

“Oh, really?” The woman raised an eyebrow. “A compliment? What do you think, Robin?”

There was a giggle directly behind Billy, and he spun to see a scruffy-looking little kid grinning up at him. While the boy’s clothing looked expensive, it was wrinkled and out of place, and his blonde hair was a wild tangle.

“I bet he thinks it is!” Robin’s emerald green eyes twinkled. “Yeah, someone as ugly as him would think an ass is beautiful.”

Billy scowled and leaned down in a threatening manner. “Watch your mouth, kid. Around here, we take a belt to brats who don’t respect their elders.”

A look of astonishment crossed the boy’s face, then he exploded into laughter. “Oh, did you hear what he said? I wish Obie was here!”

The unexpected reaction threw Billy off long enough for the brat to scamper back to Mama. Probably just as well – backhanding someone else’s kid could get you in real trouble. He grabbed a couple of six-packs and looked back at them with a sneer. The kid was whispering something to his mother as he grinned back at Billy, probably something insulting given her smile and nod. Billy very deliberately held up one of the six packs and extended the middle finger of the hand holding it. That wiped the smirk off the bitch’s face.

Feeling triumphant, Billy turned to leave – then yelped and jumped sideways as the shelves next to him suddenly exploded! He fell against the freezer case on the other side of the aisle, dropping the six packs to protect his face with his arms. The entire area was drenched with warm beer, and it felt like a thousand BBs had been thrown at him.

“Shit!” He lowered his arms and stared at the mess. Every bottle and can of beer on the top row was blown apart, their contents splattered all over the area. It was a good thing he’d covered his face – his jacket and pants were covered with tiny shards of glass, and a few were sticking out of the backs of his hands. He looked towards the end of the aisle to see if the woman and kid had been hurt. They were gone. Then a pimple-faced clerk came running, followed by most of the other customers. Billy realized a golden opportunity when he saw it, and held up his hands. “I’m all cut up!”

{{separator}}

An hour later, he was heading home bearing the fruits of his performance. The paramedics had plucked out a half-dozen glass splinters and daubed them with disinfectant, but only one was deep enough to warrant a Band-Aid. Even so, he had a trunk full of free groceries courtesy of the store manager. Not to mention four cases of beer – premium stuff, not the cheap brew he usually bought. Things were going just…

The car suddenly started slowing, and red lights popped on in front of him. “What the Hell?” The engine had cut off. Frowning, he glanced at the gas gauge – it showed half-full. He shifted into neutral to coast and tried starting the engine again. It cranked over twice, then even the lights went out.

“Dammit!” Billy steered the old Chevy off the road and stopped. Another try confirmed that the battery was stone dead. He pounded the dash with his fist, then threw the door open and climbed out. Just great. It was close to ten – even during the day he’d have a hard time getting a ride. Nobody was gonna stop for him in this dark, wooded stretch of the road.

He needed to find a phone – Mike would be up, or maybe Carter. The Piggly Wiggly was about two miles back, but it had been closing when he left. One of those 24-hour convenience stores was about the same distance the other way.

Slamming the door shut, he thrust his hands in his pockets and started trudging along the side of the road. Piece o’ shit Chevy! Maybe he could torch it and claim insurance. Nah, he didn’t have that kind of coverage. He was still contemplating dire fates for the car when he saw light through the trees. It was too far away to make out the source, but glimmers of red and blue indicated some sort of business sign rather than a house.

What would be out this way? Billy hadn’t realized there was anything behind the trees but open fields. The light didn’t look very far away, and the convenience store was still out of sight. It was worth checking – he might save a couple of miles walking. Anyway, he needed to take piss.

Billy unzipped as soon as he was inside the woods and let fly – only to stop abruptly as he felt the warm liquid splash back on his hands and pants. Startled, he cursed and turned away from whatever he was hitting, only to have the same thing happen. Squinting in the darkness, he couldn’t make out anything in front of him. Backing away, he swept the ground with one foot to make the area was clear. A cautious release seemed OK this time, and he relaxed as this afternoon’s beer made room for the new brew in his car.

However, when he was done, his pants wouldn’t close back up. Billy yanked the stubborn zipper hard, only to have the pull come off in his hand. To make matters worse, his jeans were a bit small and the fly gaped open. He pulled his shirt out and let it hang out under his jacket, but that didn’t cover enough. Grumbling, he took off his jacket and tied it around his waist like an apron. That took care of the problem, though it looked pretty silly.

Disgusted, he headed for the colorful glow. Whatever the place was, he’d misjudged the distance. After a good five minutes of walking, it didn’t look any closer. Maybe he’d be better off going back to the road and finding the convenience store. At least he knew that was… where? Looking back, Billy realized he couldn’t see anything but trees. Which way had he come from? He tried listening for the sound of cars, but heard only crickets. Then he caught the faint rustle of leaves as something moved. Something close.

Billy looked towards the noise, but couldn’t make out anything. He backed away cautiously, then headed for the light again at a faster pace. Something dark flickered in the corner of his eye, but when he turned to look it seemed to melt into the shadows. There wasn’t supposed to be any kind of predators around here – the only large animals he knew of were deer. But a deer wouldn’t be stalking him. He started a quick jog, glancing back nervously. Could it be a dog? He’d never heard of -

Something grabbed at Billy’s right foot, throwing him forward. He stumbled and fell, twisting awkwardly to catch himself. Luckily, the ground was covered with damp, soft leaves and he missed hitting a tree. Scrambling up, he spun, expecting some sort of attack. And saw his tennis shoe caught up in some roots. At the same time, he became aware of less pressure and more air on his backside. His jeans had split wide open when he fell. A fresh stream of profanity was interrupted by the clear sound of a twig snapping. He jerked his head towards the source, and this time saw a large, dark shape that wasn’t part of the shadows.

Billy ran, stumbling over more roots, bouncing painfully off of trees. Low branches caught at his hair and slapped his face and arms. It wasn’t until he burst into a small clearing that he looked back. His gut clenched as he saw the dark shape approaching slowly. Looking around wildly, he spotted a fairly large branch on the ground and seized it. He raised it up over his head like a club as his pursuer moved out of the shadows – and giggled.

It was a kid. Billy stared, more shocked than if it had been a mountain lion. Not just any kid, either. It was the brat from Piggly Wiggly, though he’d traded his prep-school clothes for some sort of furry pajama bottoms. The boy grinned at him from the edge of the clearing, and held up a familiar shoe. “Lose something?”

Bewilderment turned quickly to outrage as Billy realized he’d been had. His pants were split, he’d actually lost both shoes and his jacket, and his arms and face were stinging from small cuts and bruises. His face twisted into a snarl. “You little ass! I’m gonna make you wish you’d never been born!”

The boy looked amused. “I wasn’t born. So that seems like a pretty silly wish, doesn’t it?” He tossed the sneaker off to the side, then regarded Billy with a grin. “You have a real preoccupation with asses, don’t you? Pretty unusual, since you obviously don’t have the slightest idea of what one really looks like.”

“Why don’t you educate him, Robin?” Another familiar voice came from behind Billy, and he turned to see Rich Bitch step into the clearing. She smiled coldly. “If such a brute can be taught anything at all. Just what are you planning to do with that branch?”

Billy realized he was still brandishing his makeshift weapon, and flushed as he dropped it. Then he remembered his state of near undress, and reddened even more before his anger returned. “Shit, lady! He’s lucky I didn’t kill him in the dark! What kind of mother are you, lettin’ a kid run half-naked through trees chasing strangers?”

There was sudden laughter, not only from the woman and boy, but what sounded like dozens of soft, high-pitched voices in the surrounding woods. Billy looked around in confusion, starting to get scared again. What the Hell kind of game were these sickoes up to?

Rich Bitch shook her head, still chuckling. “And what makes you think I am Robin’s mother? Or that he is only –half- naked?”

“See?” The kid seemed to hop into the clearing. “I told you it would be more fun this way. Besides, you know how much it upsets Obie when you kill a mortal.”

Billy felt his gut constrict. Robin wasn’t wearing pajama bottoms after all. No human limbs could bend that way, no matter how good the costume. From the waist down, Robin was some sort of sheep or goat. Billy’s mouth fell open, and he sat down suddenly as his legs gave out.

“As if I care about Oberon’s likes or dislikes? However, I must admit this is quite amusing.” The woman clapped her hands. “Come, my court! Let us observe as our wise and willful Puck educates this crude lout.”

Pinpoints of light suddenly appeared all around the clearing, flickering with color. Billy stared incredulously as the glow he’d been trying to find floated in from the woods. One of the lights drifted close enough for him to make out a vaguely human shape with wings as the source. His mind searched for explanations, and finding none, shifted into a kind of muddy neutral between bewilderment and terror.

Puck, or Robin, or whatever he was, stooped to gather a handful of dandelions, then pranced over to stand in front of Billy. Up close, it was even more obvious there was no costume involved, no trickery. From his vantage point, Billy had a straight-on view of bestial male parts nestled between flat, deep thighs. He flushed and averted his eyes downward to the cloven hooves that seemed too tiny to balance on.

Even the boyish appearance of Puck’s upper body and face was misleading. His eyes had no visible pupils – they were bright, swirling pools of blue flecked with gold. Small horns were just visible through the tangled blonde hair covering his forehead, and the tips of what must be pointed ears poked up on either side.

“Now for your education on the ass.” Puck grinned, revealing teeth that were more shark-like than human. “I saw this in a movie once.” Then he held up the wildflowers and blew their fluff into Billy’s face with a puff of grass-scented breath.

Jerking back instinctively, Billy blinked in confusion. The fluff made his skin itch, and he brushed absently at it with his hand. More high-pitched laughter came from the audience. What was so funny? A flicker of resentment made it through his bewildered fear. He was being humiliated in front of … well, whatever they were. The more he thought on that, the stronger his anger grew. This little bastard had him cringing like a whipped dog. Well, screw that!

Glaring at Puck, he pushed himself up and stood with fists clenched at his sides. To his great satisfaction, the audience fell silent, though Puck actually looked pleased. A small corner of Billy’s mind noted that he was hanging out in front and back, but he did his best to ignore that. Hell, these weird creatures were probably all coming from the bottom of a bottle that he didn’t yet remember drinking.

“This oaf actually has a trace of spirit!” Rich Bitch clapped her hands together in obvious delight. “How surprising.”

Billy spun around, his face twisted in anger, to shout out just what she could do with her ‘spirit’. “Haaaaaaaaaaaaw.”

He clasped both hands over his mouth, eyes wide, as fresh laughter broke out. It took a moment to realize that they wer laughing at more than just the noise. His mouth and nose felt swollen, and strangely fuzzy. Remembering the dandelions, he pulled at the fluff and found that it had somehow adhered to his skin.

“Lesson one, mortal.” Puck cocked his head slightly, grinning. “That’s the sound an ass makes. Speak again, so we know you have it down right.”

“Haaaawwww-HEE-haawwww.” Billy tried clearing his throat. “Haw-heeee-haw-hee-haw.” What had happened to his voice?

Puck grinned and nodded. “That’s correct. Now, Lesson Two. What are the long, furry things on the top of an ass’s head?” He pantomimed stretching the pointed tops of his ears up with exaggerated motions.

A moment later, Billy’s ears began to feel heavy, creating a curious bending sensation that migrated slowly up the sides of his skull. He grabbed at them, his fingers reporting thick, pliable flesh that flared up and out. Muscles pulled in his temples where none had been before, while sounds increased in volume and detail. When the sensation stopped, Billy still held the tops in his fingers, but his arms were fully outstretched. He pulled them down slowly, until gray-brown, furry tips came into view.

“I told you he’d be a good student, Titania.” Puck gestured elaborately with one hand, and what looked like a large blob of mercury appeared in the air. It flattened out vertically in front of Billy to become a perfect mirror. “See? You knew the answer right off the top of your head.”

Billy let go of the impossible growths and turned his head slightly from side to side as he looked at his reflection. His hair had filled in where human ears should be, and his skull seemed to have adjusted in shape slightly, making the new donkey ears appear almost natural. Leaning closer, he also saw that his face had developed a light coat of hair, white on his nose and mouth, and gray-brown to match the ears elsewhere. Even his eyes looked different, bigger and further apart.

“Oh, you’ve already guessed Lesson Three, haven’t you?” Puck leaned forward, this time moving his hands outward from his face. “What do you call an ass’s nose and mouth?”

No! Billy recoiled from the mirror, but it was already too late. He could see and feel the lower half of his face push outward, forming a broad, blurred protrusion between and below his eyes. His mouth stretched open as jawbones thickened and teeth shifted, deepening the long ‘haaaaaaaaw’ of despair that emerged from dark, thick lips. Scents became stronger, Puck’s slightly acrid animal scent mixing with earth, grass, and a stronger sweat-urine smell that he realized was his own smell.

He stumbled back, fingers probing a mouth far too deep and wide to be human. Nostrils flared, even the air tasting different on a broader, longer tongue. How could this be real? Billy looked around the clearing with wild eyes. The woman, Titania, was watching him intently with a slight smile, while Puck stood with hands on hips, grinning broadly. He should run, escape this madness. But then, the madness was right there on his face – how could he run from that?

The mirror still hovered in midair. As frightened as he was to look into it, Billy found himself drawn to the silvery disk. The image reflected back wasn’t quite a donkey – the eyes were wrong, the forehead too high. He reached up to trace the edge of a protruding eye socket, staring at the animal features with morbid fascination. Nothing recognizable remained. Yet instead of boosting his fear, Billy found it easier to accept whatever happened. This wasn’t him any more.

“Quite right, mortal.” Puck moved next to him, looking up with a thoughtful expression. “You have the answer, but it needs just a bit of embellishment for full credit. A little less here…” He made a downward motion with one hand. “and a tweak there.”

Billy’s skull deflated behind the jutting eye sockets, sculpted by invisible fingers that pressed and pushed until his head looked like that of a normal animal. Only his eyes remained partly human, though greatly enlarged and set in much more rounded sockets. He explored the changes with his hands. The gray-brown fur was surprisingly soft and thick, contrasting the coarse mane that ran back from his huge ears to end between his shoulders, and the bristly hair on his chin and lips.

The reflected image was somehow familiar – maybe something in a picture he’d seen once, maybe back in school. Or a political cartoon – one of Democrats. Billy wrinkled his nostrils in distaste at that thought, though there was a vague relief that he didn’t have an elephant’s head. Maybe it should be a pink elephant’s head, seeing as he was obviously bombed. That he couldn’t remember drinking anything was a nagging detail that he forced to the back of his mind.

“That’s the answer I was looking for!” Puck made a sweeping bow to the woman. “What say you, my Queen? Does our guest not have a fine ass’s head?”

“I suppose so.” Rich Bitch tilted her head critically, looking a bit bored. “It will at least be an interesting decoration for my wall.” She started to raise a hand.

“Wait, milady!” Puck leapt between them, striking a comical pose. “It would be sad indeed for this foolish mortal to meet his end still ignorant of his own nature. And there is great sport to be had in the telling of his tale.” He reached back and grabbed the stubby appendage that protruded over his furry butt and yanked with an exaggerated hop.

Billy jumped and brayed in surprise as something erupted from his own backside. More new muscles worked, these controlling a whip-like tail that emerged from the split seat of his pants. His reaction brought renewed laughter from the watchers, but Billy was more concerned with the exchange between Puck and Rich Bitch. A decoration for her wall? Meet his end? A cold chill of fear returned, though it no longer had anything to do with his current appearance. Rich Bitch was planning to kill him! And dream, drunk, or real, Billy had no desire to die.

She raised an eyebrow, then folded her arms. “By all means, Master Puck. Enlighten the fool. Though think not that you fool me.”

“I would never be so foolish as to try fooling the Queen over a fool!” Puck did a backflip, twisting in midair to land facing Billy. For just a moment, his broad grin became a harsh glare, and the swirling eyes conveyed a sense of threat, or perhaps warning. Then he hopped aside and spun to address the audience of lights. “What shall the next lesson be? Shall we teach him how an ass goes into hiding?”

Something Billy wished he could do right now. Except that part of him understood Puck was talking about something else. Hiding. How did that tie in with a donkey? It wasn’t until the itching started that he realized the answer. Hide. As in furred skin to match that already covering his face.

“Clever human! He provides the answer even before the question is asked!” Puck shook his head and ‘tsked’ with a mock frown. “But he might lose points for poor presentation. After all, we all want to see that he gets it right.” He turned to Billy with an expectant look.

What did he…? Oh! The little bastard wanted him to strip! Billy had to fight the flare of resentment – Hell, he was already hanging open in front and back. Besides, he had a strong feeling that his survival depended on cooperating. Grabbing his shirt front with both hands, Billy yanked hard enough to rip the buttons off. His chest was already showing patches of off-white fur, and the cloth dragged over new growth on his arms and back as he slid the garment off.

The dramatic action seemed to please the watching crowd, for they laughed again. He flung the shirt away, and undid his belt so he could shove the ruined jeans down to his knees. Stepping out with one leg, he used the other to sling the pants high into the air. Only to see them dissolve into silvery particles of dust before they hit the ground. Had Puck or the Rich Bitch done that? Did it matter? Swallowing, Billy hopped on each foot long enough to tug off the opposite sock and let them fall to the ground.

He was completely naked now, though the term didn’t mean quite the same thing as it might have before. Dense white fur covered his chest and belly, turning the same gray-brown as his head elsewhere. Only his fingers, toes, and genitals were spared, though the skin there was much darker.

“Very good.” Puck nodded in approval. “Now let’s try some audience participation. For his next question, our student will have to get someone else to answer for him. Tell me, mortal. What does an ass walk on?”

Billy blinked. That was easy. But how did he get someone else… ? His gut clenched. A donkey walked on four hooves. Not feet – or hands. He stared at his fingers, flexing the digits, then saw Puck give a slight nod and look towards the woman.

Oh, shit. Steeling himself, Billy turned and walked slowly towards Rich Bitch. She frowned as he approached, tightening the clamp around his gut. Puck had called her a queen. Billy made a clumsy attempt at a bow, then knelt before her like someone about to be knighted in an old movie. It took real effort to raise his arms up, presenting his hands for her inspection. However, he could not control the trembling.

She regarded him with slight smirk. “So, fool. At least you are wise enough to be afraid. Do you finally realize the magnitude of your insults? You should have been shredded by glass and metal, but Puck protected you. To give me sport, he claims, but his weakness for human fools is well known.” She reached out and took Billy’s hands in her own with surprising gentleness. “I believe you want me to answer for you?”

Billy’s fingers were suddenly crushed as her delicate-looking hands squeezed like a steel vise. He jerked back without thinking, but it was like he’d been riveted to a stone wall. The pain took his breath, overwhelmed thought. He worked his mouth in silent agony as searing heat melted the splintered bones and split flesh into solid lumps that took a long time to cool into numbness. When she let go, his arms flopped down, unable to support the weight of his new hooves.

She smiled down at him with obvious amusement. “Ah, but that is only half an answer, isn’t it? Turn around so I may give you full credit.”

Oh, God. Billy stared up, trying to find some trace of compassion in her deep hazel eyes, but found only the cold, dead stare of a shark. If he didn’t obey, he’d be dead. Not that there was any guarantee that he’d survive any of this anyway. More importantly, he was so drained he wasn’t sure he had the strength to move at all. It was tempting to put everything he had into a final gesture of defiance, to show her he was a man!

But he- wasn’t- a man any more. And to his shame, Billy found that he was more interested in living than any semblance of dignity. Moving slowly, he shifted unsteadily on forehooves and knees so that he faced away from her. He heard her crouch, then felt the deceptive touch of her fingers as they closed around his toes. Clenching his eyes tight, he braced himself as best he could. The clearing had fallen silent, even the insects ceasing their noise.

A sense of warmth started in his feet, then flowed up his legs and into his body. He blinked as strength returned, the gentle heat rejuvenating him and soothing the residual aches in his arms and shoulders. At the same time, his hips and knees pulled oddly, forcing him to back slightly as arms stiffens and seemed to push against the ground. Confused, he swung his head around to look just as Titania stood. His nostrils flared, drawing in the animal scent that was now pure donkey to match his body. She had completed his transformation!

“Your student does indeed learn quickly.” Titania stood, then moved to stand in front of Billy. “Remember this lesson well, beast. Obedience and service bring rewards. Anything else… ?” She smiled and let the threat hang in the air. “And now, Master Puck, might I suggest that the final lesson be administered by one of the other graduates of your unique schooling.”

Puck looked startled, then flushed. “I was not aware that the Queen had taken an interest in my… collection.”

“You mean you thought you had kept it a secret.” Titania smiled again, this time showing a trace of warmth. “Oberon might be a blind fool, but I know of every former mortal that now walks your woods on paws and hooves.”

Billy stared at the boyish creature he had thought was his only friend here, and felt his heart sink when he saw Puck’s grin.

“Did you have a topic in mind, my Queen?”

Titania smiled and nodded. “As well as the tutor. I believe that silly actor you tricked me with in England is still a healthy jackass? Summon him here now.”

Puck nodded, looking at Billy in puzzlement a moment before grinning broadly. “Ah! I had not noticed. My queen has a fine sense of humor to match her benevolent justice.”

What the Hell were they talking about? And what could a jackass teach… ? Billy’s eyes widened and he suddenly shook his hindquarters to find that he…no, she, was missing several expected parts.

“I believe the beast is ready for her final lesson.” Titania’s smile broadened. “She will demonstrate to us all how to be a ‘choice piece of ass.’

End

User:Posti/Trespassers

2008-06-11T16:14:13Z

Posti:

{{my stories|category=Bob Stein|name=Bob Stein}}
[[Category:Story]] [[Category:Bob Stein]] [[Category:Equine]] [[Category:Animal]] {{DEFAULTSORT:Trespassers}}
{{title|name=Trespassers|user=Posti|author=Bob Stein}}

The mare wasn’t watching for Mark today. He was a little disappointed, since the normally friendly black Percheron was the highlight of his morning walks. Even though she was dirty and usually covered in flies, he enjoyed the scritches that left his hands dark and smelly as much as she did.

Of course, she was probably more interested in the apple he pilfered from the hotel breakfast bar every morning. It had become part of his morning ritual, standing by the fence and biting off chunks that the mare would delicately lip from his hand. Jeannie, his horse-crazy daughter, had been insanely jealous ever since he mentioned the animal on one of their nightly phone calls. Which reminded him – the seminar ended in two days, and he had promised to get a picture of the mare. He’d have to bring his camera tomorrow.

As he got closer to the split-beam fence that enclosed the mare’s pasture, he saw her in the shadows of her open shelter. She was obviously busy with a bale of hay or straw. Mark had to grin – the expanse of her hind end was evidence of her appetite. He probably shouldn’t be feeding her the apples, but the only sign around was a whimsical hand-carved plank that read ‘Trespassers will be eaten.’

The view was beautiful. It was hard to believe that busy highways and business districts were only a mile away in either direction. According to some literature he’d found in the hotel, the state had imported authentic buildings from Germany, Scotland, and Ireland to create this 1800s farm. The mare was window dressing, like the two cows in the field next to hers. No people, though. In the past week and a half, Mark hadn’t even seen a guard on his dawn hikes.

At least until now. A hard reflection caught his eye as he walked around the last curve. There was a vehicle parked next to the fence at the other end of the pasture. Mark felt a touch of guilt – he had never actually asked if it was OK to walk through the park. What was the saying? It’s easier to ask forgiveness than to get permission? Still, even if it was security, all they could do was make him leave. This access road had no gates or warning signs on the end that came out behind his hotel.

It definately wasn’t security. A gaudy metallic purple Japanese sedan was stuck between the fence and pavement, the uneven ground being too much for the ‘Rice Rocket’s’ two-inch ground clearance. Glancing in the open window, he saw keys dangling from the ignition. Whoever had left it here was either very trusting. Or very drunk. He wrinkled his nose at the stink of booze. Beer bottles littered the floor and back seat.

As he stepped back from the car, he heard a faint whimpering sound. Spinning, he moved to the fence and listened carefully. It seemed to be coming from the shelter. Something crunched under his shoe, and he glanced down to see shards of glass. There was more of it visible in the pasture, now that he was looking for it. Damn! Could the drunk have thrown bottles at her? That would explain why she hadn’t come out to get her apple. What if her face or forelegs had been cut?

Now he wished there was a guard around. The park didn’t officially open for another three hours. He could call the police when he got back to the motel, but even that would take a while. Anyway, he didn’t know if she was injured or not. There was only one way to find out. Feeling a bit self-conscious, he climbed over the fence and walked cautiously towards the building.

He was within twenty feet when the mare finally heard him. She lifted her head up and gave a short squeal, then trotted out intercept him. It was a bit alarming to have a ton of horseflesh approach with no fence between them, and he pressed up against the side of the shelter. The big Percheron seemed agitated, even when he offered her the apple. Her ears were back, and used her snout to try shoving him out into pasture. At least she did not seem injured.
Just as he was contemplating making a dash for the fence, he heard the soft moaning again. It clearly came from inside the shelter, yet the mare was in front of him, still trying to herd him away. Was there another animal? Or - Mark hadn’t considered this possibility before – perhaps the drunk had staggered inside. Even if he had simply passed out, the mare could inflict serious injuries just by stepping on him.

Although the black horse squealed again and pawed at the ground when he started sliding towards the stall opening, she didn’t actually do anything to harm him. And when he finally got inside, still facing her, she blew air through her lips in a long raspberry, and took the apple he was still holding out as a peace offering.

Feeling a bit safer, he edged into the shelter and looked around. “Hello? Is anyone in here?” The mare shuffled behind him, snuffling the dirt floor, but gave no further signs of aggression. There was something here in the back. He squinted in the dark shadows. It looked like…

“Shit!” Mark leapt backwards, nearly colliding with the huge Percheron. Then he got a better view of what he had just been scared by and felt stupid. A scarecrow. It was sprawled on the floor, dressed in jeans and a T-shirt and jacket from the local university. The mare must have gotten hold of the straw-stuffed clothing somehow, and had been busy chewing on its right leg. Too bad, really. Someone had done a good job. Except for where the pants were torn up, the figure had been artfully done. The head was amazing, tight-packed hay shaped to give a good impression of a young man’s face and hair. He grinned and kicked at the figure idly, annoyed with his reaction. And froze when the scarecrow opened dusty eyes and moaned.

It took a moment for Mark’s terror to ease up enough to think. The missing driver. He must have been lying here all night and gotten covered with dirt and straw. But what happened to his leg? There was no sign of blood. Before he could investigate further, the mare pushed past him and snuffled a clump of hay that seemed to be embedded in the young man’s thigh.

“No!” Mark tried to push the animal away, but it was like trying to move a building. She shifted over, trapping him in the corner as she pulled a clump of the fodder into her mouth. The young man made another soft whimper. Sliding along the wall, Mark was able to get down beside him. “Look, I’ll get you out of here. What happened?”

The kid’s eyes turned towards him, wide and frightened, and so full of dust that they looked the same color as the straw. Mark tried brushing some of the debris away, then jerked his hand back as a chunk of the young man’s forehead flaked off to reveal more straw underneath.

He stared, bewildered and terrified. Then the mare nosed him aside as she snuffled the guy’s chest and face. The solid yellow-green eyes shifted to look at her approaching muzzle, and there was a final, soft sigh. As her lips pulled gently at his chin, the young man’s features blurred into a tied-off bundle of fresh hay.

Pressed against the wall in horror, Mark heard the sound of distant, high-pitched laughter as the horse yanked free a mouthful of what now was nothing more than a scarecrow. This couldn’t be happening, he told himself. It was all an illusion of shadows and his imagination. He’d been taken in by an cleverly-made straw dummy. Except that even the clothing was falling apart as he watched.

‘Intruder.” He heard the word clearly, even though no voice had spoken it. Like the laughter, this thin, croaking voice seemed to come from far away. “Trespasser.” More laughter, all around him. Laughter that was cold and evil, and promised death.

Panicking, he tried to push past the huge Percheron, only to get knocked aside as she swung her body around. He fell backwards over the remains of the scarecrow, and landed on his back. That’s when he saw them. There were about a dozen small figures looking down at him from the rough-hewn timbers of the shelter. They were about the size of small birds, dark and wrinkled, with large eyes that were solid black and dead like a shark’s. A couple of them moved, leering down at him as they actually sank into the wood and emerged in a different spot.

What were they? Probably the basis for pixies and fairies, though there was nothing beautiful or playful about them. He sensed their power, felt it strip his will and ability to move. They were full of malicious hate. Centuries old, perhaps? Taken from their world when the shelter was sold and shipped to another country. Had they come from Germany? Scotland? It didn’t matter. He was about to join the hapless drunk as more fodder for the mare.

The creatures moved down closer, oozing in and out of the beams and planks like a school of piranha swarming towards their prey. He wanted to scream, to cry out, but his body was already becoming numb. The closest were starting to reach out for him when the mare shook the ground with a stomp of her hoof.
Bristled lips that had so recently plucked an apple from his fingers now brushed his forehead, and then pulled lightly at his nose and mouth. She stomped again, then squealed loud enough to hurt his ears. However, the noise also caused the things creeping towards him to stop, even draw back. Mark felt unreasoning hope. Was she helping him get away?

Then he saw her eyes, glowing blood red in the dim light of the stall, and knew that the swarm of creatures around him had not come to this country alone. She reached into his mind, pushing into every cell of his body with a presence that threatened to obliterate awareness. His soul was enveloped and penetrated by a million tendrils of power that found his place in the cosmos, the purpose of his being. There was a flicker of emotion – amusement? And then the mare yanked.

Waking up was a surprise. He was lying on the floor of the stall, with warm afternoon sunlight streaming in. It was hard to clear his head, especially with the flies swarming around him. Struggling up, he shook himself, and shuffled outside in hopes of escaping the annoying insects.

The mare was on the far side of the pasture, cropping grass. He looked over towards the fence and saw that the car was gone. Had it ever been there? It was a struggle to think. The image of the young man crumbling away into straw was still clear in his mind, yet the details around it were already getting vague. There had been other creatures, things in the wood. And the mare had done something…

He caught her scent wafting in the hot breeze and felt his loins stir. That puzzled him. So did other thoughts in his head. He shouldn’t be in this pasture. He should be in a large dark space watching pictures on a wall. But why would he want to leave the pasture? Leave the female who was moving closer?

The flies swarmed around him again, and he kicked idly with a hind hoof and shook his head. It was a mild annoyance, one he was long used to and yet new. He twisted his head around, taking in the broad, dark expanse of dark hide in a field of vision that was much wider than it should be. His body was familiar, both in feel and appearance, almost a match for that of the inviting female. What was the odd, pink shape in the back of his head? Many such creatures stood outside the fence every day. This one had a sound attached to it, though. Mark. A name. His name?

The mare rubbed her chin along his back, and he whuffled deep in his throat. She had done this to him. Turned him into a stallion, a companion and mate. Why? In gratitude for a few apples and some scratches? More likely, she was bored and had chosen him as a diversion. It was hard to attach any emotion to the knowledge he had been transformed into an animal. She had done more than change his shape – reality had been twisted, his place in the universe redefined. As far as the world was concerned, he was now, and always had been, a horse.

Perhaps if he were to dwell on it, this change of station might bring him sorrow. If he did not exist, neither did Jeannie. Everything he had accomplished in 36 years of life had been erased. But the mare was offering herself now, her scent calling to his body with a promise of pleasure that outweighed grief for a life that never was.

The stallion snorted and snuffled the mare’s rump. All that mattered was the female. And when that was done, he would join her grazing on the clover, and hoping for an occasional trespasser.

end

User:Posti/Trespassers

2008-06-11T16:12:18Z

Posti:

{{my stories|category=Bob Stein|name=Bob Stein}}
[[Category:Story]] [[Category:Bob Stein]] [[Category:Equine]] [[Category:Animal]] {{DEFAULTSORT:Trespassers}}
{{title|name=Trespassers|user=Posti|author=Bob Stein}}

The mare wasn’t watching for Mark today. He was a little disappointed, since the normally friendly black Percheron was the highlight of his morning walks. Even though she was dirty and usually covered in flies, he enjoyed the scritches that left his hands dark and smelly as much as she did.

Of course, she was probably more interested in the apple he pilfered from the hotel breakfast bar every morning. It had become part of his morning ritual, standing by the fence and biting off chunks that the mare would delicately lip from his hand. Jeannie, his horse-crazy daughter, had been insanely jealous ever since he mentioned the animal on one of their nightly phone calls. Which reminded him – the seminar ended in two days, and he had promised to get a picture of the mare. He’d have to bring his camera tomorrow.

As he got closer to the split-beam fence that enclosed the mare’s pasture, he saw her in the shadows of her open shelter. She was obviously busy with a bale of hay or straw. Mark had to grin – the expanse of her hind end was evidence of her appetite. He probably shouldn’t be feeding her the apples, but the only sign around was a whimsical hand-carved plank that read ‘Trespassers will be eaten.’

The view was beautiful. It was hard to believe that busy highways and business districts were only a mile away in either direction. According to some literature he’d found in the hotel, the state had imported authentic buildings from Germany, Scotland, and Ireland to create this 1800s farm. The mare was window dressing, like the two cows in the field next to hers. No people, though. In the past week and a half, Mark hadn’t even seen a guard on his dawn hikes.
At least until now. A hard reflection caught his eye as he walked around the last curve. There was a vehicle parked next to the fence at the other end of the pasture. Mark felt a touch of guilt – he had never actually asked if it was OK to walk through the park. What was the saying? It’s easier to ask forgiveness than to get permission? Still, even if it was security, all they could do was make him leave. This access road had no gates or warning signs on the end that came out behind his hotel.

It defiantly wasn’t security. A gaudy metallic purple Japanese sedan was stuck between the fence and pavement, the uneven ground being too much for the ‘Rice Rocket’s’ two-inch ground clearance. Glancing in the open window, he saw keys dangling from the ignition. Whoever had left it here was either very trusting. Or very drunk. He wrinkled his nose at the stink of booze. Beer bottles littered the floor and back seat.

As he stepped back from the car, he heard a faint whimpering sound. Spinning, he moved to the fence and listened carefully. It seemed to be coming from the shelter. Something crunched under his shoe, and he glanced down to see shards of glass. There was more of it visible in the pasture, now that he was looking for it. Damn! Could the drunk have thrown bottles at her? That would explain why she hadn’t come out to get her apple. What if her face or forelegs had been cut?

Now he wished there was a guard around. The park didn’t officially open for another three hours. He could call the police when he got back to the motel, but even that would take a while. Anyway, he didn’t know if she was injured or not. There was only one way to find out. Feeling a bit self-conscious, he climbed over the fence and walked cautiously towards the building.

He was within twenty feet when the mare finally heard him. She lifted her head up and gave a short squeal, then trotted out intercept him. It was a bit alarming to have a ton of horseflesh approach with no fence between them, and he pressed up against the side of the shelter. The big Percheron seemed agitated, even when he offered her the apple. Her ears were back, and used her snout to try shoving him out into pasture. At least she did not seem injured.
Just as he was contemplating making a dash for the fence, he heard the soft moaning again. It clearly came from inside the shelter, yet the mare was in front of him, still trying to herd him away. Was there another animal? Or - Mark hadn’t considered this possibility before – perhaps the drunk had staggered inside. Even if he had simply passed out, the mare could inflict serious injuries just by stepping on him.

Although the black horse squealed again and pawed at the ground when he started sliding towards the stall opening, she didn’t actually do anything to harm him. And when he finally got inside, still facing her, she blew air through her lips in a long raspberry, and took the apple he was still holding out as a peace offering.

Feeling a bit safer, he edged into the shelter and looked around. “Hello? Is anyone in here?” The mare shuffled behind him, snuffling the dirt floor, but gave no further signs of aggression. There was something here in the back. He squinted in the dark shadows. It looked like…

“Shit!” Mark leapt backwards, nearly colliding with the huge Percheron. Then he got a better view of what he had just been scared by and felt stupid. A scarecrow. It was sprawled on the floor, dressed in jeans and a T-shirt and jacket from the local university. The mare must have gotten hold of the straw-stuffed clothing somehow, and had been busy chewing on its right leg. Too bad, really. Someone had done a good job. Except for where the pants were torn up, the figure had been artfully done. The head was amazing, tight-packed hay shaped to give a good impression of a young man’s face and hair. He grinned and kicked at the figure idly, annoyed with his reaction. And froze when the scarecrow opened dusty eyes and moaned.

It took a moment for Mark’s terror to ease up enough to think. The missing driver. He must have been lying here all night and gotten covered with dirt and straw. But what happened to his leg? There was no sign of blood. Before he could investigate further, the mare pushed past him and snuffled a clump of hay that seemed to be embedded in the young man’s thigh.

“No!” Mark tried to push the animal away, but it was like trying to move a building. She shifted over, trapping him in the corner as she pulled a clump of the fodder into her mouth. The young man made another soft whimper. Sliding along the wall, Mark was able to get down beside him. “Look, I’ll get you out of here. What happened?”

The kid’s eyes turned towards him, wide and frightened, and so full of dust that they looked the same color as the straw. Mark tried brushing some of the debris away, then jerked his hand back as a chunk of the young man’s forehead flaked off to reveal more straw underneath.

He stared, bewildered and terrified. Then the mare nosed him aside as she snuffled the guy’s chest and face. The solid yellow-green eyes shifted to look at her approaching muzzle, and there was a final, soft sigh. As her lips pulled gently at his chin, the young man’s features blurred into a tied-off bundle of fresh hay.

Pressed against the wall in horror, Mark heard the sound of distant, high-pitched laughter as the horse yanked free a mouthful of what now was nothing more than a scarecrow. This couldn’t be happening, he told himself. It was all an illusion of shadows and his imagination. He’d been taken in by an cleverly-made straw dummy. Except that even the clothing was falling apart as he watched.

‘Intruder.” He heard the word clearly, even though no voice had spoken it. Like the laughter, this thin, croaking voice seemed to come from far away. “Trespasser.” More laughter, all around him. Laughter that was cold and evil, and promised death.

Panicking, he tried to push past the huge Percheron, only to get knocked aside as she swung her body around. He fell backwards over the remains of the scarecrow, and landed on his back. That’s when he saw them. There were about a dozen small figures looking down at him from the rough-hewn timbers of the shelter. They were about the size of small birds, dark and wrinkled, with large eyes that were solid black and dead like a shark’s. A couple of them moved, leering down at him as they actually sank into the wood and emerged in a different spot.

What were they? Probably the basis for pixies and fairies, though there was nothing beautiful or playful about them. He sensed their power, felt it strip his will and ability to move. They were full of malicious hate. Centuries old, perhaps? Taken from their world when the shelter was sold and shipped to another country. Had they come from Germany? Scotland? It didn’t matter. He was about to join the hapless drunk as more fodder for the mare.

The creatures moved down closer, oozing in and out of the beams and planks like a school of piranha swarming towards their prey. He wanted to scream, to cry out, but his body was already becoming numb. The closest were starting to reach out for him when the mare shook the ground with a stomp of her hoof.
Bristled lips that had so recently plucked an apple from his fingers now brushed his forehead, and then pulled lightly at his nose and mouth. She stomped again, then squealed loud enough to hurt his ears. However, the noise also caused the things creeping towards him to stop, even draw back. Mark felt unreasoning hope. Was she helping him get away?

Then he saw her eyes, glowing blood red in the dim light of the stall, and knew that the swarm of creatures around him had not come to this country alone. She reached into his mind, pushing into every cell of his body with a presence that threatened to obliterate awareness. His soul was enveloped and penetrated by a million tendrils of power that found his place in the cosmos, the purpose of his being. There was a flicker of emotion – amusement? And then the mare yanked.

Waking up was a surprise. He was lying on the floor of the stall, with warm afternoon sunlight streaming in. It was hard to clear his head, especially with the flies swarming around him. Struggling up, he shook himself, and shuffled outside in hopes of escaping the annoying insects.

The mare was on the far side of the pasture, cropping grass. He looked over towards the fence and saw that the car was gone. Had it ever been there? It was a struggle to think. The image of the young man crumbling away into straw was still clear in his mind, yet the details around it were already getting vague. There had been other creatures, things in the wood. And the mare had done something…

He caught her scent wafting in the hot breeze and felt his loins stir. That puzzled him. So did other thoughts in his head. He shouldn’t be in this pasture. He should be in a large dark space watching pictures on a wall. But why would he want to leave the pasture? Leave the female who was moving closer?

The flies swarmed around him again, and he kicked idly with a hind hoof and shook his head. It was a mild annoyance, one he was long used to and yet new. He twisted his head around, taking in the broad, dark expanse of dark hide in a field of vision that was much wider than it should be. His body was familiar, both in feel and appearance, almost a match for that of the inviting female. What was the odd, pink shape in the back of his head? Many such creatures stood outside the fence every day. This one had a sound attached to it, though. Mark. A name. His name?

The mare rubbed her chin along his back, and he whuffled deep in his throat. She had done this to him. Turned him into a stallion, a companion and mate. Why? In gratitude for a few apples and some scratches? More likely, she was bored and had chosen him as a diversion. It was hard to attach any emotion to the knowledge he had been transformed into an animal. She had done more than change his shape – reality had been twisted, his place in the universe redefined. As far as the world was concerned, he was now, and always had been, a horse.

Perhaps if he were to dwell on it, this change of station might bring him sorrow. If he did not exist, neither did Jeannie. Everything he had accomplished in 36 years of life had been erased. But the mare was offering herself now, her scent calling to his body with a promise of pleasure that outweighed grief for a life that never was.

The stallion snorted and snuffled the mare’s rump. All that mattered was the female. And when that was done, he would join her grazing on the clover, and hoping for an occasional trespasser.

end

User:Posti/Trespassers

2008-06-11T16:10:56Z

Posti: The sign read 'Trespassers will be eaten.' A joke, right?

Trespassers
By Bob Stein

The mare wasn’t watching for Mark today. He was a little disappointed, since the normally friendly black Percheron was the highlight of his morning walks. Even though she was dirty and usually covered in flies, he enjoyed the scritches that left his hands dark and smelly as much as she did.

Of course, she was probably more interested in the apple he pilfered from the hotel breakfast bar every morning. It had become part of his morning ritual, standing by the fence and biting off chunks that the mare would delicately lip from his hand. Jeannie, his horse-crazy daughter, had been insanely jealous ever since he mentioned the animal on one of their nightly phone calls. Which reminded him – the seminar ended in two days, and he had promised to get a picture of the mare. He’d have to bring his camera tomorrow.

As he got closer to the split-beam fence that enclosed the mare’s pasture, he saw her in the shadows of her open shelter. She was obviously busy with a bale of hay or straw. Mark had to grin – the expanse of her hind end was evidence of her appetite. He probably shouldn’t be feeding her the apples, but the only sign around was a whimsical hand-carved plank that read ‘Trespassers will be eaten.’

The view was beautiful. It was hard to believe that busy highways and business districts were only a mile away in either direction. According to some literature he’d found in the hotel, the state had imported authentic buildings from Germany, Scotland, and Ireland to create this 1800s farm. The mare was window dressing, like the two cows in the field next to hers. No people, though. In the past week and a half, Mark hadn’t even seen a guard on his dawn hikes.
At least until now. A hard reflection caught his eye as he walked around the last curve. There was a vehicle parked next to the fence at the other end of the pasture. Mark felt a touch of guilt – he had never actually asked if it was OK to walk through the park. What was the saying? It’s easier to ask forgiveness than to get permission? Still, even if it was security, all they could do was make him leave. This access road had no gates or warning signs on the end that came out behind his hotel.

It defiantly wasn’t security. A gaudy metallic purple Japanese sedan was stuck between the fence and pavement, the uneven ground being too much for the ‘Rice Rocket’s’ two-inch ground clearance. Glancing in the open window, he saw keys dangling from the ignition. Whoever had left it here was either very trusting. Or very drunk. He wrinkled his nose at the stink of booze. Beer bottles littered the floor and back seat.

As he stepped back from the car, he heard a faint whimpering sound. Spinning, he moved to the fence and listened carefully. It seemed to be coming from the shelter. Something crunched under his shoe, and he glanced down to see shards of glass. There was more of it visible in the pasture, now that he was looking for it. Damn! Could the drunk have thrown bottles at her? That would explain why she hadn’t come out to get her apple. What if her face or forelegs had been cut?

Now he wished there was a guard around. The park didn’t officially open for another three hours. He could call the police when he got back to the motel, but even that would take a while. Anyway, he didn’t know if she was injured or not. There was only one way to find out. Feeling a bit self-conscious, he climbed over the fence and walked cautiously towards the building.

He was within twenty feet when the mare finally heard him. She lifted her head up and gave a short squeal, then trotted out intercept him. It was a bit alarming to have a ton of horseflesh approach with no fence between them, and he pressed up against the side of the shelter. The big Percheron seemed agitated, even when he offered her the apple. Her ears were back, and used her snout to try shoving him out into pasture. At least she did not seem injured.
Just as he was contemplating making a dash for the fence, he heard the soft moaning again. It clearly came from inside the shelter, yet the mare was in front of him, still trying to herd him away. Was there another animal? Or - Mark hadn’t considered this possibility before – perhaps the drunk had staggered inside. Even if he had simply passed out, the mare could inflict serious injuries just by stepping on him.

Although the black horse squealed again and pawed at the ground when he started sliding towards the stall opening, she didn’t actually do anything to harm him. And when he finally got inside, still facing her, she blew air through her lips in a long raspberry, and took the apple he was still holding out as a peace offering.

Feeling a bit safer, he edged into the shelter and looked around. “Hello? Is anyone in here?” The mare shuffled behind him, snuffling the dirt floor, but gave no further signs of aggression. There was something here in the back. He squinted in the dark shadows. It looked like…

“Shit!” Mark leapt backwards, nearly colliding with the huge Percheron. Then he got a better view of what he had just been scared by and felt stupid. A scarecrow. It was sprawled on the floor, dressed in jeans and a T-shirt and jacket from the local university. The mare must have gotten hold of the straw-stuffed clothing somehow, and had been busy chewing on its right leg. Too bad, really. Someone had done a good job. Except for where the pants were torn up, the figure had been artfully done. The head was amazing, tight-packed hay shaped to give a good impression of a young man’s face and hair. He grinned and kicked at the figure idly, annoyed with his reaction. And froze when the scarecrow opened dusty eyes and moaned.

It took a moment for Mark’s terror to ease up enough to think. The missing driver. He must have been lying here all night and gotten covered with dirt and straw. But what happened to his leg? There was no sign of blood. Before he could investigate further, the mare pushed past him and snuffled a clump of hay that seemed to be embedded in the young man’s thigh.

“No!” Mark tried to push the animal away, but it was like trying to move a building. She shifted over, trapping him in the corner as she pulled a clump of the fodder into her mouth. The young man made another soft whimper. Sliding along the wall, Mark was able to get down beside him. “Look, I’ll get you out of here. What happened?”

The kid’s eyes turned towards him, wide and frightened, and so full of dust that they looked the same color as the straw. Mark tried brushing some of the debris away, then jerked his hand back as a chunk of the young man’s forehead flaked off to reveal more straw underneath.

He stared, bewildered and terrified. Then the mare nosed him aside as she snuffled the guy’s chest and face. The solid yellow-green eyes shifted to look at her approaching muzzle, and there was a final, soft sigh. As her lips pulled gently at his chin, the young man’s features blurred into a tied-off bundle of fresh hay.

Pressed against the wall in horror, Mark heard the sound of distant, high-pitched laughter as the horse yanked free a mouthful of what now was nothing more than a scarecrow. This couldn’t be happening, he told himself. It was all an illusion of shadows and his imagination. He’d been taken in by an cleverly-made straw dummy. Except that even the clothing was falling apart as he watched.

‘Intruder.” He heard the word clearly, even though no voice had spoken it. Like the laughter, this thin, croaking voice seemed to come from far away. “Trespasser.” More laughter, all around him. Laughter that was cold and evil, and promised death.

Panicking, he tried to push past the huge Percheron, only to get knocked aside as she swung her body around. He fell backwards over the remains of the scarecrow, and landed on his back. That’s when he saw them. There were about a dozen small figures looking down at him from the rough-hewn timbers of the shelter. They were about the size of small birds, dark and wrinkled, with large eyes that were solid black and dead like a shark’s. A couple of them moved, leering down at him as they actually sank into the wood and emerged in a different spot.

What were they? Probably the basis for pixies and fairies, though there was nothing beautiful or playful about them. He sensed their power, felt it strip his will and ability to move. They were full of malicious hate. Centuries old, perhaps? Taken from their world when the shelter was sold and shipped to another country. Had they come from Germany? Scotland? It didn’t matter. He was about to join the hapless drunk as more fodder for the mare.

The creatures moved down closer, oozing in and out of the beams and planks like a school of piranha swarming towards their prey. He wanted to scream, to cry out, but his body was already becoming numb. The closest were starting to reach out for him when the mare shook the ground with a stomp of her hoof.
Bristled lips that had so recently plucked an apple from his fingers now brushed his forehead, and then pulled lightly at his nose and mouth. She stomped again, then squealed loud enough to hurt his ears. However, the noise also caused the things creeping towards him to stop, even draw back. Mark felt unreasoning hope. Was she helping him get away?

Then he saw her eyes, glowing blood red in the dim light of the stall, and knew that the swarm of creatures around him had not come to this country alone. She reached into his mind, pushing into every cell of his body with a presence that threatened to obliterate awareness. His soul was enveloped and penetrated by a million tendrils of power that found his place in the cosmos, the purpose of his being. There was a flicker of emotion – amusement? And then the mare yanked.

Waking up was a surprise. He was lying on the floor of the stall, with warm afternoon sunlight streaming in. It was hard to clear his head, especially with the flies swarming around him. Struggling up, he shook himself, and shuffled outside in hopes of escaping the annoying insects.

The mare was on the far side of the pasture, cropping grass. He looked over towards the fence and saw that the car was gone. Had it ever been there? It was a struggle to think. The image of the young man crumbling away into straw was still clear in his mind, yet the details around it were already getting vague. There had been other creatures, things in the wood. And the mare had done something…

He caught her scent wafting in the hot breeze and felt his loins stir. That puzzled him. So did other thoughts in his head. He shouldn’t be in this pasture. He should be in a large dark space watching pictures on a wall. But why would he want to leave the pasture? Leave the female who was moving closer?

The flies swarmed around him again, and he kicked idly with a hind hoof and shook his head. It was a mild annoyance, one he was long used to and yet new. He twisted his head around, taking in the broad, dark expanse of dark hide in a field of vision that was much wider than it should be. His body was familiar, both in feel and appearance, almost a match for that of the inviting female. What was the odd, pink shape in the back of his head? Many such creatures stood outside the fence every day. This one had a sound attached to it, though. Mark. A name. His name?

The mare rubbed her chin along his back, and he whuffled deep in his throat. She had done this to him. Turned him into a stallion, a companion and mate. Why? In gratitude for a few apples and some scratches? More likely, she was bored and had chosen him as a diversion. It was hard to attach any emotion to the knowledge he had been transformed into an animal. She had done more than change his shape – reality had been twisted, his place in the universe redefined. As far as the world was concerned, he was now, and always had been, a horse.

Perhaps if he were to dwell on it, this change of station might bring him sorrow. If he did not exist, neither did Jeannie. Everything he had accomplished in 36 years of life had been erased. But the mare was offering herself now, her scent calling to his body with a promise of pleasure that outweighed grief for a life that never was.

The stallion snorted and snuffled the mare’s rump. All that mattered was the female. And when that was done, he would join her grazing on the clover, and hoping for an occasional trespasser.

end

User:Posti

2008-06-11T16:04:35Z

Posti:

==Stories==
*[[User:Posti/After_and_Before|After and Before]]
*[[User:Posti/Baylors_Rein|Baylor's Rein]]
*[[User:Posti/Bite_of_the_Apple|Bite of the Apple]]
*[[User:Posti/Blind_Man|Blind Man]]
*[[User:Posti/Bottom_Up|Bottom Up]]
*[[User:Posti/Broken_Hart|Broken Hart]]
*[[User:Posti/Business_Associate|Business Associate]]
*[[User:Posti/charlies_eyes|Charlie's Eyes]]
*[[User:Posti/Circe_com|Circe.com]]
*[[User:Posti/Cleaning_Up|Cleaning Up]]
*[[User:Posti/Clothes_horse|Clothes Horse]]
*[[User:Posti/Companion|Companion]]
*[[User:Posti/Gypsy_Gold|Gypsy Gold]]
*[[User:Posti/hangover|Hangover]]
*[[User:Posti/Hoof_Beat|Hoof Beat]]
*[[User:Posti/Jacked_into_the_System|Jacked into the System]]
*[[User:Posti/Joker|Joker]]
*[[User:Posti/Lasting_Impression|Lasting Impression]]
*[[User:Posti/Lost_in_Translation|Lost in Translation]]
*[[User:Posti/Midsummer|Midsummer Night's Unemployment]]
*[[User:Posti/Mortal_Danger|Mortal Danger]]
*[[User:Posti/No_Bull|No Bull]]
*[[User:Posti/One_Way_Ticket|One Way Ticket]]
*[[User:Posti/Outfoxed|Outfoxed]]
*[[User:Posti/paid_with_interest|Paid With Interest]]
*[[User:Posti/Quiet_Place|Quiet Place]]
*[[User:Posti/rain_dance|Rain Dance]]
*[[User:Posti/real_time|Real Time]]
*[[User:Posti/Reenactment|Reenactment]]
*[[User:Posti/Reindeer_games|Reindeer Games]]
*[[User:Posti/Replacement_Cost|Replacement Cost]]
*[[User:Posti/Salvage|Salvage]]
*[[User:Posti/Simple_life|Simple Life]]
*[[User:Posti/Something_to_Remember|Something to Remember]]
*[[User:Posti/strapped|Strapped for Cash]]
*[[User:Posti/Substitution_penalty|Substitution Penalty]]
*[[User:Posti/taken|Taken]]
*[[User:Posti/Team_Spirit|Team Spirit]]
*[[User:Posti/Totally_Pucked|Totally Pucked]]
*[[User:Posti/Unicorn_Dance|Unicorn Dance]]
*[[User:Posti/Wearin_of_the-Green|Wearin of the Green]]
*[[User:Posti/Where_Wolf|Where Wolf]]
*[[User:Posti/Whicker_Man|Whicker Man]]

[[Category:Author]]
{{DEFAULTSORT:Posti}}