Wacky Baccy
“Hey Curtis! We’ve got some real good stuff for tonight. You must try some.” said Tim, holding up a bag of green, shredded leaves.
“Not again.” replied Curtis, “You know I don’t touch that stuff.”
“Ah, but this is different.” chortled Tim, “This stuff is direct from Tibet. It is herbal. Good for you. The Buddhist monks swear by it!”
“I’m sure they do. How did you get hold of it.” sighed Curtis.
“My usual place. What of it?” interjected Roland, somewhat abruptly.
“Oh leave him.” said Jon. “He just can’t handle having fun.”
“There’s more to fun than stuffing your brain full of harmful fumes!” sneered Curtis, his patience weakening. “Anyway, can’t you smoke that somewhere else? It stinks the place out, and I don’t particularly want to get arrested if you get caught.”
“For heaven’s sake!” screamed Roland. “Are you deliberately trying to become my mother?”
“Shut up Roland” retorted Curtis. “You are always harping on about human rights and people’s free choice – so why don’t you ever respect my free choice?”
“I was talking about ‘human’ rights, not freaks like you.... Curty-wurty” smirked Roland, obviously pleased with his own wit. Curtis refused to lose his temper, and skulked off to his room, cursing under his breath.
“Awww, Roland. We were suppose to get him to join us.” moaned Tim. “We’re never gonna get him high with that attitude.”
“He’s the one with the attitude problem.” grumbled Roland.
It was not long before the downstairs was again full of pungent smoke, and dazed students – spouting a whole raft of half-baked, extreme left-wing philosophies. Meanwhile, Curtis sat at his computer, flicking across his various files, listening the voices downstairs, secretly wishing that he too could join in with them and to hell with responsibilities.
He could actually smell their new herbs, the faint wisps of which were filtering under his bedroom door. They didn’t smell too bad – being rather fruity in fact. The smoke, however, was tinged green – which made Curtis uneasy. He got up from his chair, and wedged a blanket along the threshold of his door – hoping that it would at least block out some of the fumes.
Fighting the growing numbness in his limbs, he plonked his body back in front of his computer. He remembered that he had not yet read Bryan’s pending e-mail digest from the fantasy writers. It was the usual stuff. Comparison of group member’s werewolf stories, alerts about up-and-coming scenes in network shows in the USA, a few in-house jokes between the friendly subscribers – nothing out of the ordinary.
“Oh well.” sighed Curtis, scratching his head. “I’ll submit something when I get a chance to write it.”
It was at this point that the voices downstairs went very quiet. This grabbed Curtis’s attention. He knew from past experience that after a while, any sensible conversation between his doped friends petered out after an hour or so, but it was usually followed by sniggering and stupid animal noises. Not total silence. Switching off his PC, Curtis strained his ears to hear anything. Still nothing!
“Good, peace at last.” thought Curtis, flopping onto his bed.
Curtis rubbed the sleep from his eyes. The Sun was already half way up the skyline, and the outside noise of traffic and pedestrians reverberated around the room. The alarm clock had once again failed in its one and only duty of the morning.
“Thank god it’s Saturday.” murmured Curtis, falling out of bed and crawling to the door on his knees. He reached up, pulling his dressing gown down off its hook – which only resulted in it falling on top of him. “Drats!”
There was no sign of Roland in his room, which Curtis found odd. Curtis himself was not especially an early starter in the mornings – but Roland never usually surfaced before the afternoon. Curtis did, however, find Roland sprawled out on the living room floor – grinning, and fast asleep. Curtis turned back into the kitchen; and with the last of the milk, poured himself a large bowl of cereal. Returning to the living room, Curtis collapsed into a chair. His stomach felt like it was doing cartwheels, and the addition of milk and shredded wheat did little to placate it.
“Wake up fatso!” called Curtis, prodding Roland in the ribs with his foot.
“Leave me alone......” grumbled Roland, not opening his eyes.
“Suit yourself....” came the reply, and Curtis looked around for the television remote control. He saw it a few feet away from his chair, poking out under a pile of shredded paper. Being too lazy to get up, Curtis tried to reach it with his feet – eventually getting a grip with two toes, and pulled it back towards his chair. In the process of doing this, he accidentally switched the television on. Much to Curtis’s delight, it was the time for the children’s cartoons.
“Coooool!” said Curtis, snuggling back into the padded armchair.
The day dragged on. Roland took himself to bed, to sleep off the after-effects of having slept all day. Curtis meanwhile, had got dressed and begun tidying up Roland’s mess. He was amazed at how three blokes could have created so much chaos in one evening. Furniture had been knocked over, newspaper torn to pieces and food tipped liberally all over the floor.
“I should’ve kept an eye on them.” thought Curtis.
“Hey! Leave that alone!” shouted Roland’s voice from the hall. Curtis spun around to Roland glaring at him through the doorway. He was clad, rather unceremoniously, only in his boxer shorts – but he had such a vicious stare on his face that any comedy value was soon lost.
“W-what’s the problem?” asked Curtis, “I was only clearing up.”
“Just stop treating me like a bloody kid!” snarled Roland, his face even more contorted in rage.
“Okay then... but I do live here too.” snapped Curtis, pushing past Roland.
“Pity!” said Roland unkindly. Curtis just sneered back, and went back to his room. Roland waited until Curtis was shut his door, before walking into the living room – and squatting atop the pile of cushions and newspaper, his eyes fixed in a steely glare at the door.
Curtis fired up his computer, his only real outlet at times of stress. Roland’s attitude had not only annoyed Curtis, but had also slightly unsettled him as well. Roland could be a pain – but he was never really that aggressive before. Curtis decided that it would be wisest to steer well clear of his housemate for the rest of the day. Curtis hadn’t seen Roland all day. The mess in the living room, remained. In fact, it had grown. Shreds of cloth now adorned the pile, as well as the contents of some foam cushions.
“Geez. This is getting ridiculous!” bemoaned Curtis, getting a plastic sack, and started filling it with the rubbish. Just at that point, Roland, Tim and Jon piled in through the front door, laughing and snorting.
“Hmmmm. Shit – this is great yeah!” said Tim, taking another puff of his cigarette. Jon’s bloodshot eyes belied his growing state of intoxication. Roland wobbled about on his unsteady legs.
“Evening.” said Curtis quietly. All three stopped in their tracks, glaring into the living room at Curtis, filling the bag with the rubbish.
“Leave that alone!” shouted Roland, and he lunged at Curtis.
“Hey, cut it out.” said Curtis as Roland grabbed him by the shoulder.
“You are gonna pay for that.” shouted Roland, trying to snatch the bag away from Curtis. Tim and Jon just stood in the doorway, smirking and smoking. Finally Roland managed to wrestle the bag from Curtis, and empty its contents back onto the floor.
“Hell Roland, what’s the matter with you?” asked Curtis.
“You are!” shouted Roland, “You are always bloody interfering with my life. Always spoiling everything. Always being the good boy scout.”
“I was never a scout.” said Curtis, “And beside – I’m aloud to do what I like. I am paying half the rent here remember.”
Roland said nothing, but stormed back into the hallway. Tim and Jon joined him in the kitchen, whilst the green smoke wafted around.
“Hey... you are not smoking that crap again?” roared Curtis as the pungent odour reached his nose.
“What of it?” replied Roland aggressively.
“I’ll tell you what!” shouted Curtis as he stormed into the kitchen, snatching the spliff out of Roland’s mouth, “It is illegal, it is unhealthy – an it makes me feel sick.”
“You make me sick!” retorted Roland, causing Tim and Jon to laugh girlishly.
“You are going to be sorry.” said Curtis harshly, and he turned to go to his room. Roland blew a puff of green smoke behind Curtis. The strange fumes danced around Curtis’s head, and he stumbled.
“Oh, stay down here Curty-wurty.” sneered Roland, “Smoke with us – and you’ll have a wild time.” Curtis staggered to his feet, waves of nausea flowing over him.
“Leave me alone......” cried Curtis, and he ran to his room.
The next morning, Curtis ventured back downstairs. He stared at Roland, fast asleep atop his nest of cloth, paper and cushions – and sporting a large plume of feathers from the top of his head.
“A fine practical joke.” thought Curtis. He walked over to Roland, who was snoring painfully loudly. As Curtis watched, Roland rolled over onto his side – revealing a huge tear in the back of his t-shirt. On closer inspection, Curtis could see that Roland had two distinct lumps on his shoulder blades, all blistered and red.
“That’s not right?” thought Curtis.
“Time to get up Roland!” he shouted. Roland opened one eye, and grinned.
“It was a good night last night. You should’ve stayed” he whispered, and sat up.
“What were you doing? Look at you.” said Curtis.
“Look at me what?” replied Roland, raising a downy eyebrow to his housemate.
“Look at you - I said! You look like a bloody bird!”
“That’s funny.” said Roland lazily. “I was dreaming about getting inside Julia when you woke me up.”
“Not girls. A real bird.” interrupted Curtis. Roland slowly got to his feet and wandered into the kitchen – to take a look at himself in the mirror.
“OOOHHHHHHH SHHHIIIIIIIITTTTT!” came the cry.
“See what I mean” called Curtis.
“Oh my god! This is a joke right?” gabbled Roland, clutching his face – feeling his teeth slowly push down onto his bottom lip – getting longer and wider.
“You tell me – party animal?” retorted Curtis.
“Hey man. Help me!” squawked Roland, the bulges in his back expanding with sickening cracks and crunches.
“It’s not my fault.” replied Curtis, “Must have been something you smoked.”
Jon and Tim lay slumped on their hall floor, where they had managed to stumble to the night before. As if on cue, they both awoke together.
“Wooooo.... I need a drink” stammered Tim, getting up and pushing past Jon for the front door.
“You can’t go out!” called Jon after him. “looking like that!”
“That’s good coming from you.... yeti boy!” laughed Tim.
“What?” asked Jon, putting his hands up to his face. To his horror, he saw tufts of thick white and brown hair on his wrists. On touching his face, he found that he now had bushy sideburns that now reached his chin.
“What’s happened to us? It’s that bloody muck we were smoking last night.” roared Jon.
“Can’t be! What makes you think that? It was only some Tibetan grass. Ask Roland. He bought it.” said Tim, grabbing his jacket from the rack. His clothes, however, hung very loose over his hunched body. The cuffs of his trousers were already dragging on the floor.
“Don’t leave me.” called Jon, but Tim stormed out – slamming the door behind him.
Jon wandered into the bathroom, and lifted up his shirt. The strange fur was now covering his stomach and chest now. It pricked and tickled his skin, and made him uncomfortably hot. Replacing the shirt, Jon pulled down his jeans, and saw to his dismay that his legs too were covered in the same matted brown blanket. He was also getting bigger. His shirt was being pulled snugly over his back and chest. Quickly stripping naked, Jon turned around to see what the reflection of his back looked like. Not only was it covered in fur to the same extent as the rest of him – it also was developing a noticeable arch, pushing him forwards as he watched.
“Oh shit!” he yelped. “I must get some help now. Blast you Tim!”
Jon pulled up his jeans, and with great difficulty fastened them around his swelling butt. Limping back to his room, he put on some shoes and a loose shirt. His shoes were uncomfortably tight, and getting tighter even as he put them on. Taking one last look in the mirror, he saw his nose widen – and his ears grow tufts of hair at the tips.
Jon staggered downstairs, grasping the banister for support. Walking was becoming difficult – but he made it to the front door. Where now? Roland’s?
Jon walked along the street, feeling his clothes begin to constrain him. There was definitely something growing in the seat of his jeans, and it tickled like hell. There was no sign of Tim anywhere. In fact, the road was pretty deserted. Jon started off towards Roland’s place – which was only about a quarter of an hour away.
Jon winced and limped his way along the pavement as the bones in his feet crunched and shifted. However, he could only walk about another ten yards before he was forced to sit on a low wall, and tug off his trainers. His feet seemed to be all knotted under his socks, with the outline of his toes becoming indistinct even as he tried to wiggle them. Anything past the ball of his foot was now numb. Slowly, Jon replaced his shoes and carried on, but left them laced loosely.
It was a bright sunny day – and Jon was wondering how Tim had managed to be so quick in getting away. Sure, Tim had left about five minutes before him, but the long, straight road to Roland’s house stretched a good ten minute walk in front of him – and Tim was no where to be seen. Jon was convinced that this hairy problem had something to do with the ‘wacky baccy’ he and his friends had smoked the night before – but from his limited knowledge of biology he knew nothing could cause an effect like this. Perhaps he was hallucinating everything? No, the growing pain in his butt was proof against that.
On reaching the park gate a few hundred yards up the street, Jon felt his heels shift up his leg – slipping out of the back of his shoes. He fell forwards, grabbing onto the lamppost for support. Then......... SCHLUEKKK!!! Jon’s shoes and socks suddenly burst open with a sickening rip – revealing a pair of impressive black hooves, which clattered on the concrete path. Jon was actually relieved for at least some of the pressure on his body to have eased.
“Oh bloody hell!” moaned Jon, “Roland and Tim are gonna pay for this.”
The fur over his body was getting thicker – causing terrible itching; made all the more worse by him trying to scratch it through his clothing. Jon winced as his lower spine extended into the seat of his already stuffed jeans. His tail, for that is what it was, was folding over on itself in layers of long bristly hair and cartilage. It felt like having a rather hairy cushion pushed down his pants. Jon’s attention, however, was more attracted by the swelling of his joy department in the front of his jeans. The feeling of arousal was like nothing he had experienced before – not even the first time he had had sex was as good as this. Looking down, Jon saw what looked like an erotic football gradually bulking up behind his zipper.
Jon clopped along the pavement, hoping that passers by would assume he was wearing a pair of ski boots – albeit in spring. The tingling in his spine continued, as his silky tail gradually pushed its way down the left leg of his jeans. Fur was now started to spurt out of his collar, and onto his hands – which were now also becoming numb at the fingertips. Jon continued to try and scratch the itching over his changing frame – with little success.
He looked up to see a nearby bus stop. Perhaps he could get a ride to Roland’s – before he changed completely. He tried to pull his wallet out of his back pocket, but he could not squeeze his hand in to grab it. The pressure of his tightening clothes was now becoming unbearable. Jon’s front door keys in his jeans’ pocket were now digging into his leg like small claws. His shoulders swelled – cramming the sleeves of his shirt to form powerful forelegs. His belly forced itself outwards with each breath, pushing his shirt out of the waistband of his jeans and straining the buttons.
“I must get these bloody clothes off!” cried Jon, stumbling down a side alley as another wave of growth struck him. Now on his knees, he frantically pulled at the taut fabric - trying to find a loose fastening somewhere, but his hands had already begun to fuse at the knuckles. The cuffs of his jeans wouldn’t fit over his hooves in any case now. Tugging at his leather belt, Jon realised that it was now far too tight to be unbuckled. The zip too, had been engorged rigid by his monstrous manhood, which continued to bulge more and more. Jon felt that the tip of his tail was now almost down to his ankles. Finally there was a small popping of seams, and the top of his tail forced its way out of the back of his jeans, and swished around in the cool air.
“Oh sod it, how am I gonna hide that now?” thought Jon, pulling himself upright with the help of a dustbin, “I knew I should have stayed in bed today......”
Jon recovered his composure as the sudden wave of change eased. He tried to push the end of his tail into the waistband of his jeans – but there was no spare room in them at all, so he was forced to let it swish behind him and hoped no one would notice. By glancing at this swollen frame, Jon was sure he must have put on nearly a hundred pounds in weight in the last five minutes. If only he could make it to Roland’s place before he was all horse; not that Roland could do much for him.
Jon clopped along the path, trying to look inconspicuous as his head grew longer and thinner. People stared at him, some pointed – but no one said anything. Fortunately, it was not unusual to see students dressed in furry animal costumes walking about – usually for charity or something similar. It seemed like an eternity – but eventually Jon made it to Roland’s front door. He thumped on the wood with his front hooves, braying at the top of his new voice. Curtis opened the door, and smiled at the equine Jon.
“Ah ha, it’s Jon.” said Curtis, turning to look back into the room. Jon strained his warped neck to follow Curtis’s view. He saw a huge, black bird – like a mutant raven, shifting around in the living room.
“Hey Jon, why the long face?” chortled Curtis, taking his horsy friend by the hoof and pulling him into the house.
“As you can see, Roland’s is a pretty impressive crow now. Too bad he can’t fly. As for you, you are looking a bit horse.” Curtis was loving this. His dope-smoking friends were paying the price for their taunting. “And where is young Timothy?” continued Curtis.
“Heeeeee’s nooooooot heeeeeeere alllredddy?” brayed Jon.
“Nope. Just us.” replied Curtis.
“Awwwww. I woooonderrrrr whatsssss haaaaaappened toooooo him?”
Curtis walked away from Jon and Roland, and sat back in his armchair.
“This is a fine pickle you’ve landed me in.” said Curtis. “You can’t stay here. Roland’s gonna start moulting soon, and you Jon – need a stable.”
Roland said nothing, but Jon piped up “Heeeeeey! Aren’t yoooooooou wooooondeeeering hooow thissss hhhhappppennnned? I am!”
“No, not really old boy. I assume it’s one of three things. I’m dreaming. You’re dreaming, or Roland’s dreaming.” explained Curtis.
“I’m nooooot dreeaming!” said Jon, giving Curtis a look of disdain on his bizarre equine face.
“Are you sure?” asked Curtis. “Did you ever hear about the man who dreamt his was frog. When he awoke, he didn’t know whether he was a man who had just dreamt of being a frog, or a frog who was dreaming he was now a man.”
Suddenly, Jon screwed his face up as he began to change again. His head grew outwards, his hair sprouting into an impressive mane along his elongated neck. His buttocks and thighs then pumped up like balloons – stretching his jeans further until they exploded off in shreds. His torso followed suit – first popping off the buttons on his shirt, and then splitting the back and sleeves. Jon then fell forward onto all fours, and a few seconds later looked just like a normal, young stallion.
“There now. Isn’t that better?” said Curtis calmly, “Fancy some carrots?”
The horse just looked back blankly.
“Go on Jon.... you don’t know what you’re missing until you’ve tried it” sneered Curtis.
The horse became agitated, and reared its head back. Curtis followed its gaze, to see Roland the Raven shrinking fast, and squawking as he went. Within seconds he was the size of a normal bird – and fluttering around the room in panic. Fortunately, the windows were all shut. Curtis looked around. Jon the Horse was nibbling a cushion, whilst Roland the Raven was defecating uncontrollably all over the carpet.
“Hmmmm, nothing new there then.” giggled Curtis.
There was a loud thumping on the sitting room window, and Curtis glanced up – to see an excited spaniel with a mop of curly hair pounding on the glass.
“Ah, Tim’s turned up.” declared Curtis, who wandered over to the window and opened it. Tim scrambled into the room, wagging his tail.
“Tim, are you still in there?” asked Curtis calmly. The spaniel just panted, and stuck its tongue out.
“Well, looks like I’m the only one left standing – as usual.” sighed Curtis.
