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Mice It was easy to understand why no one recommended this place to John without first grimacing and looking away. The neighborhood was abandoned with the exception of the few squatters lighting fires to keep warm in the derelict lots in between the urban ruins. It was hard to believe the city was just a mile to the north, full of businesses and people. This was in a slum, one of the few remaining shantytowns in the United States. The walls were damaged from water, as were the area rugs- laid out over the wood floors. A few darkened paintings were on the walls; scenes of cottages, flowers, elementary landscapes copied by some starving artist and stolen from hotels years ago. The rooms were large and yellowed from dust and age. The only light was from the large windows, half-draped in dark red curtains, giving the room an eerie feeling. The front door had been unlocked, and while there were almost definitely homeless in the buildings surrounding this one, here there were none. All the buildings here looked more or less the same, but this one was not boarded up. All the numbers on the doors had been torn off years ago by some clever drunk trying to use them as bottle openers, but the front door on this building had read "82." It was this building John was told to visit, number 82. Inside building 82 was a man who would loan money, incredible amounts of money, to anyone, regardless of credit history or criminal affiliation. Amazingly, he was never robbed, nor had any body guards or security system as far as John could tell. He figured the interest would be horrific, and by the fear expressed by his friends, this was a man you pay if you owe. John had perceived that he must have been a very intimidating loan shark with a credible reputation. John crept up three flights of stairs, expecting some hungry unfortunate to jump out and rob him. At the top of the stairs, a long hall way with a single door at the end welcomed him, knowing there were no more corners for which to prepare. John walked confidently towards the door, and knocked softly. "One moment." said a muffled voice from somewhere behind the door. John heard footsteps approach followed by the familiar, city-sound of a long series of locks being navigated. Chains, bolts, latches, etc... 'This man isn't insane after all.' thought John. Locks were indeed necessary for men of every reputation. The door opened a bit, before stopping on a chain. "How can I help you?" said the man quickly. "I was told you loan money." John replied politely. "Yes, one moment." John's first impression of the man speaking through this cracked door was surprising. This was a short, older man, around 50 or 60 with a two day old beard scratching his face. He was hardly the intimidating figure he expected, nor did he appear to be wealthy or powerful. The door closed, then opened the rest of the way. "Come in, please sit down." greeted the man. He had a very light accent of German or Romanian. John couldn't place it. The apartment was white and clean, a stark contrast to the mess outside. It had nice furniture but not overtly upper-class. A cherry wood dresser graced the side wall; a small aquarium with a lizard or something was lit up on top. A couple mirrors, an old looking wooden chest with various antiques displayed - very tasteful. The man hovered over an open fridge door. "Beer?" "Uhh, yeah. That'd be great." The man took out two bottles and handed one to John. He slowly sat down in a chair opposite the couch and appeared to be sizing up John. John thought for a moment the wisdom of such obvious comparison, John was 6'1" and an easy 180 lbs. This man walked with the pain of arthritis and didn't appear to have a gun. John could easily take this man down if he had to. "I apologize," said the man. "You see, it is a dangerous business in which we participate." "I understand." said John. "Now how much money do you need?" This was a question John wasn't prepared to ask. "$50,000." replied John after a short hesitation. "$50,000? Are you buying a car? Down-payment on a house?" asked the man, looking into John's eyes inquisitively. John waited a moment before answering. "Does it matter?" "As you know, sir. I am not a bank. I don't mean to be impolite or pry into your personal life but please humor me. On what exactly will you be purchasing with this money?" John looked at him and realized he wasn't kidding. He had to think for a moment. "I have to get out of here for a while; I was going to take a vacation. Bali, Indonesia." "I see." The man stood up and walked over to the aquarium. He took the lamp off the top, turned it off and removed the top. He turned to John. "You are lying to me, sir." John smirked a little and tried to dispute but the man cut him off. "It doesn't matter, I don't care if you lie to me or on what you spend the money, I don't care. What is important is that you know that I understand you are lying to me. You need to truly understand before I give you anything that I know a great deal more than you think I do, sir." John sat back uncomfortably. "Such as?" "Very well, I know your name is Jonathan Sinclair, you live in Boston and you are in this city for business." John sat confidently, undeterred. He could have found that out from any of the people who recommended this man to him. They all knew him well enough for something like that. "Yes, that's true." "Skeptical? I also know your wife's name is Caroline, and that her mother recently passed. I know you have a son named Christopher, who at this moment is at a Soccer Camp for young boys in a town just outside Hartford, Connecticut." This made John uneasy. He had dealt with loan-sharks in the past and hated when they brought his family into any transaction. It was a scare tactic and he knew it. "Don't worry, John. Your family has nothing to do with anything we agree with today. You are taking out the loan, not them. I only wish to reveal that I know certain things." John sat quietly. "I also know that you intend to gamble with this money. I do not know how that will play out, we shall see - but know that it is a very foolish thing to borrow this much money, which you most likely lose, from someone such as myself." "I don't know what you mean." The man reached into the aquarium and pulled out a small snake. It looked like the kind John had seen in his backyard when he visited his aunt in the country. "Is that poisonous?" asked John. "No, he's harmless," said the man, petting the snake. "It's a common snake to the woods of this area. It feeds on insects, it can't hurt you." The man pet the snake's back as the snake moved around his hand, tasting the air around it. "I use this little snake to-" he paused. "No. No I think I will not need to demonstrate this to you. I think you know if you owe me a balance of money, you will pay. Am I correct?" John nodded that he did. "Very good." He put the snake back in the aquarium and put the lamp back on top of the wire cover. "Now. How much did you say you need?" "$50,000." "Fine." The man walked over to the wooden chest on the far wall. He removed the antiques displayed on top and placed them gently on the floor. The took a small key from his pocket and unlocked the chest. John couldn't see what was inside. The man reached in and pulled out a cloth bag. He began putting something inside, counting as he went. When he was finished, he closed the bag with a draw string and put it aside. He then reached inside again to pull out a sheet of paper. He grabbed the bag and the paper and set them in front of John. "Please read and sign this." John read the sheet of paper. I agree to pay back the amount of $50,000 plus 30% in interest on the principal within two weeks of the date of the signature of this contract. I agree that failure to meet this deadline will result in an increase of the interest, additional fees for the delinquent payment, or any punishment deemed appropriate by the lender. Signature Date Purpose "Two weeks?" exclaimed John. "That sort of defeats the purpose for getting a loan in the first place." "John, you and I both know what your going to spend that money on. I need to cover my expenses as well. If you are as lucky as you think you are this shouldn't be a problem." John reluctantly agreed. "What about this 'any punishment deemed appropriate' shit?" "Yes, it is a little vague I'm afraid. But notice is says 'or' not 'and'. You can choose the punishment I decide OR the additional fees." John was still quiet. He was deciding if a week at the casinos was particularly that appealing anymore. "What are we even talking about this for, anyway? I think you will pay without any problems, don't you agree?" "Yes. I'll be able to pay." "Where it says 'purpose' please write 'gambling' if that's what you intend to do with the money. You can lie to me but do not lie to this contract. Again, I do not care if that's what you plan to do." John scribbled his name, the date and 'gambling' on the contract and handed it back to the man. The man took the paper but John did not let go. "I will pay this back." said John. "Good." said the man. John grabbed the cotton bag and left quickly. He wanted to get out of this neighborhood with a bag full of cash. "Caroline, listen, I have to stay in town for another couple weeks. ...yeah. ...yeah, I know sweetie but this is what they're telling me. Alright. Alright, I'll call you with the new flight information when I get it so you pick me up. I love you, too. Bye." John hung up the phone in the hotel and looked down at the bag lying on his bed. He picked the phone back up. "Hello, yes this is Mr. Sinclair in room 471. I'd like a taxi out front please. Actually - Wait actually can you get a limo out front? How long? Good." He put on his coat and went down to the lobby. The limo was already waiting for him. The driver requested their first stop. "This bank please." said John, handing the man a business card. He didn't feel like carrying around all this cash. He deposited $30,000 and kept the rest in the many pockets in his coat. The balance slip the teller gave him said his bank balance was $55,784. If he won back enough he would have more than he needed to pay the man back, if he didn't choose to just go home and never pay him, which crossed his mind as well. After arriving at the casino, he checked in at the counter so he wouldn't have to go back and forth from the city to the strip. He went immediately to the black-jack tables - minimum bet $1,000. There were bigger tables in this casino, but he decided to play it safe. He cashed in all $20,000 for chips and got started. A thin, beautiful woman with long hair sat down next to him, sipping on a drink. John put down 2 grand. The man to his left put down 5. The woman did not put down any chips. "Players only, miss." said the dealer. "If you'd like to watch you can stand behind the gentlemen." The dealer had recognized her and did not want her bothering the players. "Leave her alone, I'll pay for her hand." scolded John, as he handed the woman a $1,000 chip. "Thanks." she said. John smiled at her. He knew what she was but what did he care. The hand played out. He lost. The man next to him lost. She won. "How about a drink, then? Share your winnings?" the woman asked John. John really wanted to keep playing, but an evening with this woman was attracting his deepest habit. He didn't need to spend too much, or anything at all for that matter. She was high-end sure, but she was still only a whore. What could she possibly charge? They worked their way through John's $20,000 very quickly. He cashed a check at the front desk for $30,000. He went through 10 grand on the craps table with this woman cheering him on. He liked her company. She at least sounded sincere when she was by him. She was a fine actress. She was going to be worth whatever it was he was going to pay her tonight. The problem froze his mind, though. We would need the remaining 20,000 dollars to work his way back up to the amount he owed the man. Whenever she smiled at John, he had to fake one in return, for he knew that know matter what she did for him tonight, he wouldn't give her a dime. "More gambling? How about drinks?" she asked. "No, I need something else tonight." he said. "Well get your room key. Don't be shy." She was fantastic. She didn't make him feel guilty or embarrassed. Perhaps it would have been better if she had. They went up to his room. She got undressed, laying her clothes carefully on the chair by his bed until she wore only her underwear. He removed his coat, his shirt and tie, and after a quick thought his watch and his ring. She didn't ask about that. He thanked her silently for it. There would be nothing more awkward than thinking about your infidelity while committing it. This woman knew what not to say. He led her over to the bed and assisted in removing the rest of her clothes. She did the same. They held each other on top of the sheets, kissing and fondling. She grabbed him and rubbed slowly, assisting him inside. He was large enough to pleasure her for most of the evening. It lasted for hours. It was fantastic. He woke up the next afternoon. It was hot in the room and the covers smelled of her. He lingered in the scent for a bit and then stretched out. She was not there. He didn't panic. Girls like this stick around to get overtime. He sat up. She wasn't in the shower. Her things were gone. His coat was gone. He jumped out of bed immediately and found his pants. A $100 bill was taped to a note was on the nightstand. Last night was wonderful. Seek me out next time you want to do "business." Here is money for a cab. Charlotte "Fuck!" he screamed. He threw the lamp into the wall and grabbed his shirt. "Stupid Bitch! I needed that money!!" He ran down stairs into the lobby and asked for a cab. "Airport." he said, still fuming. Inside the cab, he stared out the window. The gravity of the situation was slowly coming to him. His anger turned to fear. Questions came into his head. Why was the lender such a feared man? What would he do if he boycotted the payment? What would happen if he got on a plane now and went back to Boston? This man had known details about him, he could surely find him, sue him, hire people to hurt him, something... Hey, actually - no. Take me into the city. 82 Brighton Rd." The driver looked back at him like he just told him to take him to the center of the sun. He shook his head and turned around at the exit in the highway, north, into the slums. The driver took him to the front door, took his fare, locked the doors and sped away quickly. "Okay, if I just explain to him what happened maybe he will extend the deadline. That was his money too, maybe he knows someone in the casinos who can track that little bitch down and fucking kill her." He mumbled to himself as he went up the stairs. "What if I just fucking kill that man, there would be no debt at all." He quickly rejected that idea. He wasn't a murderer. It was last resort but it's better than going back home to tell Carol they needed to sell the house. He came to the top of the stairs. At the end of the long hall, the door was open. A soft light came from one of the lamps inside the apartment and stretched a beam into the hall. 'Maybe someone else already killed him.' John thought. He stepped softly down the hallway. And knocked on the open door. "Hello?" "Come in, it's open already." said the man. "Hello, John! Back already? Good, it's good that you want to get your debt taken care of early." John looked at him. The man knew, he was just waiting for John to say it. "I can't pay it back." The man looked down for a moment and sighed as he rose. "Come in John, sit down." "Look, this is what-" "I said sit down." the man said sharply. "You have come to tell me a sob story of how you lost your money on gambling and how you need a break and well, sir; you can spare me, I've heard it before." "It wasn't gambling." "Speak up." "I said it wasn't gambling. I didn't lose all the money gambling." "Sit." John did as he was told. "Now. How did you lose it?" John told him what happened with a decent degree of honesty, thinking for some reason this man could tell every time he would lie. "John, are you an idiot? You signed a contract." He opened up a file cabinet and threw the piece of paper on to the table. "You signed and dated this document just a couple days ago, did you not?" John didn't need to look at it. "Yes." "And look - look John where it says 'purpose' you wrote 'gambling' didn't you?" "Yes." "And now you tell me that you spent money on a hooker so you need an extension?" John stood up. "She stole that money! And my coat! With that I could have paid you back!" "No. She took what was owed to her. There was no contract, but it was the same. She provided you with a service, you paid for that service. If you expect me to sit here and say yes, Johnny you are a very good boy for coming back to the bad man and being honest then you will be very disappointed, sir." "I have been nothing but honest." "To who, to me? I don't think so. What about your wife John? Does Caroline think you're honest? "Leave her the fuck out of this." "If you want me to cut you a break then sit down and keep you goddamn mouth shut." John did. He looked down at the table, at the contract he signed, not looking up at the man. "We can work something out." the man stated as he went to the aquarium. He moved the top over a bit and took out the snake. John looked uneasy. "Watch, Mr. Sinclair. I want you to watch this very closely." He put the snake on the table and sat down. He waved his hand over the snake very slowly, concentrating. His hand, which shook earlier in his anger was now like a stone. He went back and forth a few times and then pulled his hand away. "Watch." he said, but John was already watching, not knowing what to anticipate. The snake shrank and moved, changed and contorted very quickly. John was transfixed. What had been a tired looking snake a few moments ago was now a mouse; small, gray and scurrying around the table. The man guided it with his hand and grabbed its tail. The mouse instinctively squirmed and chirped softly. He put it in the aquarium and closed the lid. John was silent. "It happens very quickly, you see. A slow change would put the snake into shock. One would think it would be the other way around, wouldn't they?" John said nothing. He was thinking about how quickly he could get to the door. "This snake will learn to be a mouse in time. It might even like being a mouse." The man walked slowly over to the front door. "The question for you now, Mr. Sinclair," he said, locking each one of the mechanisms on his door. "Is whether or not you think you could learn to enjoy being a mouse." John stood up, ready to attack. "What the fuck are you?" "Your lender, John. And you will repay me." "Like hell I will you fucking witch!" "John, if I can do that, do you really think you could just 'beat me up?'" He smiled at John. "Sit back down; I'm not going to turn you into a mouse." John was terrified. He sat back down on the edge of the couch, fascinated and horrified at the same time. His eyes began to tear. "John. Will you repay me?" John looked up at his eyes, one green, one brown. Very subtle. He wondered how he didn't catch it before. He was waiting for the man to snap. "Yes. I will repay you - just don't do anything." "I think that's fair." John was frozen with fear. "John, if you repay me, nothing will happen to you." He walked over to John and held his hand over his head. John jerked out of the way and stood again. "What did I just say? Sit DOWN. If you repay me nothing will happen to you." "I don't trust you." "I certainly don't trust you, John. Now if we won't do it this way we can just jump to the punishment then, perhaps you would like to be my mouse's partner? I could get a bigger aquarium." "...No." "Then sit down." He approached again. John was shaking. He clutched his legs with his hands as the man put his hand over his head. John felt incredible energy push slowly through his body. The man waved slowly, focused on John. The energy built wildly and then stopped abruptly. John slumped over on the couch. The man backed away and sat down in his chair. John jumped for a moment, and looked down at his body. He felt his skin and his legs - no change. "What did you do to me?" "Nothing, I told you. Nothing will happen to you if you pay me. If you do not pay me then something will happen, yes." John was a little dizzy from the experience. He felt slightly drugged. "That will wear off after a couple of hours, don't worry. Use the restroom, it helps." John got up slowly and walked over to the bathroom. He shut the door and urinated. He sat back down on the couch and waited. The man finally spoke. "John, you have broken your contract. You lied to me and you are unable to pay me, or so you say. The assets of your home and possessions most likely will give me what you owe, which by the way, has changed." John looked up. "$100,000. And that is going easy on you. Your house is probably worth $400,000 by itself, it's not so bad. You will have enough money to start again in a ranch home! Think about it John, you really didn't borrow that much." John understood. "Fine. Fine, what do I have to do?" "Tell your wife and son exactly what happened. That you borrowed a great deal of money from a crazy person able to change snakes into mice and blew it on gambling and hookers and now you need to sell the house by Friday to repay him or else he will change you into something else." "Jesus." John knew that was impossible. His wife cared for him enough where she would send him to the best psychiatric hospital in New England, but no one would believe him. "They love that house! Look is there any other way?" The man smiled. "Yes, yes there is." John almost sighed with relief but was hesitant with any celebration. "What?" "As you know everyone pays me what they owe. Everyone but two. You, but you are going to pay me so that really doesn't count, does it. One man, named Robert Fischer, borrowed a little bit of money from me a few years ago. Unlike you, he lost it because he was robbed, and not by a beautiful woman, but instead by a gang outside this building. I felt sorry for him so I gave him an extension with no penalties." John listened. "If you can get Mr. Fischer to pay me, then nothing will happen to you." "How much does he owe?" "$1 Million. Don't be discouraged, though. He has enough to pay it back, I know he does. Nothing will ever happen to him, you understand. If he doesn't pay, that's fine because he never had it. He is the head of a major firm downtown, away from the slums. If he shows me the same compassion I showed him, then you go free without anything happening to you." "And what if he doesn't?" The man stood up and went into the kitchen. He took a single beer from the refrigerator and sat back down. "I didn't have to think very much about your punishment. It kind of suites your situation." He smiled. "If, in two days Mr. Fischer does not pay me, or if you do not pay me, then you shall transform into a girl." "What?" "How old do you think that hooker was you slept with was? 24, 25 maybe? Despite her 'talent' she was 18. I feel it would be justice indeed if you became an 18 year old girl." "Oh Jesus. You can't do this." "It's done! What do you think I was doing before? The only difference is it's not instantaneous. Two days. After that it's permanent I'm afraid." John collapsed onto the couch. "Just think, John, after two days you will never have to worry about peeing standing up like you did in my bathroom." John couldn't speak. He knew this was real. He felt the energy go through him, it was just waiting to change him. "Come on, you're a big guy. You can get Mr. Fischer to pay easily! Here's the address." He handed John a business card. "Hurry John, you don't have that long, do you?" John, understanding, ran out the door and down the stairs. There were no taxis in this neighborhood, he would have to run. He ran down six blocks before his breath caught up with him. He leaned against a building as he half walked - half jogged further north. A few teenagers loitering outside a drug store saw this exhausted man in a shirt and tie, obviously not from around here. They crossed the street and blocked his path. "Where the fuck you going, man?" "Yeah, what's the hurry?" "Your wallet. Now Asshole." John thought about giving them the wallet, but remembered he would need money for a hotel and a taxi once he got far enough into the city to reach Mr. Fischer in time. "No!" he said slamming his fist into one of the punk's face. As the kid stumbled backwards he pushed another's head into the wall, breaking his nose. The boy was screaming as blood poured down his face. The third ran into the pharmacy. John kicked the boy on the ground to make sure he didn't have the strength to take out a knife. He took all of the anger of the loan, and the woman, and the man out on this piece of shit thug that tried to take his wallet. Each kick was more powerful than the last. The drug store manager ran outside aiming a shotgun at John. "Stop! Stop now!" John, tired but still alert back into the wall with his hands up. "You don't understand, I have to leave..." "I've already called the police, keep your fucking hands up!" "I can't stay!" The manager cocked the gun. John fell to the ground and waited for the police. "Sir what were you doing in that neighborhood?" asked the cop standing over him. "I got lost." said John, frustrated at his own answer. "No one takes a wrong turn into that place; you can see it from a mile away. You're lucky that kid isn't in the hospital, it could have been a lot worse." "Can I go, then?" "I think you're going to want to speak with a lawyer, you might be here a while." "Fuck... you don't understand, I have to get out of here." "What's your lawyer's name?" John thought quickly. "Robert Fischer." The cop reached for a phone. "When your lawyer gets here he will explain everything to you." He dialed a number and spoke quietly. "I have a Mr. Sinclair here, he's one of Fischer's, contact him for me please." He hung up the phone. "We're going to take you into a room downstairs now; Mr. Fischer will meet with you there." John sat in an interrogation room alone for almost two hours. It was a large room with a table and several chairs in the center and a large two way mirror on the left wall. He knew this man would never believe his story, if he would even come. He had no idea how he was going to initiate this conversation. He was already starting to question it himself. He wasn't sure if what he saw was real. It might have been an illusion, or drugs. Perhaps the man slipped him something while he wasn't thinking clearly. The door of the interrogation room opened. A stately looking man walked in smiling. He spoke to someone standing outside the door before closing it. "Good evening, Mr. Sinclair. I understand you've had a rough night." "Are you Robert Fischer?" asked John. "Yes, I'm here to help you get out of here today." "Mr. Fischer, do you remember borrowing a sum of money from a man on 82 Brighton Rd. and then being robbed?" r. Fischer pulled a chair away from the table and sat down, all the while looking curiously at John. "Who gave you this... information?" "The man who gave you the money." "I've never been to the Brighton Road Slum nor would I ever borrow money from someone who is insane enough to live there." "Look. He says he loaned a million dollars to you and you were jumped on the way out of the building." "I think I would remember that if it happened. What does this have to do with your-" "I was running on my way to see you when those kids tried robbing me." "Why you? Why doesn't he just come himself?" "Because if I don't... look he will do something horrible to me if you don't pay him." Robert Fischer stood up, angry. "Okay. On doing a search on your records we found that a hotel casino not to far from here found your luggage. Apparently you left it there. The kids you beat the shit out of today have admitted to trying to take your wallet so you are free to go. You are registered to stay at the Marriott downtown. Your bags are waiting for you there." He got closer to John, motioning to the two way mirror. "And you tell this to your Brighton Road entrepreneur, he told me everything was fine, that I didn't owe anything. This is bullshit. That was years ago when I was starting my firm. I never got any money and he felt sorry for me, for that I am grateful - but I will not be bullied. Good day to you sir." With that, he left. John sat in stunned silence. John walked slowly to the hotel. He passed a department store with a window display. He stood watching the female manikin wearing a silk dress. This display felt alive. He got closer to the window and peered up at the plastic figure. As John stood transfixed, the manikin moved and bent toward him in the window. A feminine voice came from behind the glass. "Soon, John. Soon you will be able to fit into this dress." John bolted down the road and into the hotel. He checked in at the front counter. "Oh, sir-" said the receptionist. "This bag was shipped to us, I believe it's yours." He took it and went up to his room. He threw the bag down beside the bed and collapsed onto the closed door. He latched both locks and fell into the chair. He flicked on the lights in the room. A card and some roses were on the pillow of the made bed. On the cover of the card there was a cartoon mouse wearing a dress with a caption: Soon my little snake... On the inside of the card were only the words: You will learn to enjoy being a mouse. Twelve Hours written in pink ink. He threw the card and pushed the roses off the bed. He turned the lights on in the bathroom. He had not changed. His mirror image was staring back at him just as it always had. He held his face with his hands and felt the stubble on his cheeks and chin. "He's just fucking with your head, just ignore it. You can talk to Mr. Fischer tomorrow morning, everything will be okay. He just fucking with you..." He said over and over again under his breath. "Just act normal, everything is normal, nothing is wrong." He took the contents from his bag and put them in the drawers. His toiletries bag had his razor and shampoo, a shower and a shave would help him relax, help him sleep. He took off his ring and watch and put them on the nightstand. He unzipped the bag. He pulled out a small blue box. He recognized it immediately from being married. It was a box of tampons. Scribbled in black marker on the front was the note: You are going to need these soon. He threw the box into the trash. Also inside his bag was a selection of lipstick, cosmetics, and a few brushes. He screamed in anger and pushed everything off the sink. He sat in the bathtub naked with the water running from the showerhead. He closed the shower doors and stared at his body. This was insane. Nothing was going to change twelve hours from now. He was going crazy, he knew it. He laid back in the bathtub and stared up at the cascading water. He could feel it splashing on his face. This was no dream. The water slowed and then came to a trickle. He reached up to grab the knob but stopped suddenly. Words had been drawn in the fogged shower door. Some mysterious, invisible finger was drawing under the words Nice Equipment, John. The picture was a crude cartoon drawing of a penis and balls. The image and words faded and a new message read. You won't need that as a girl. He pushed the door out of the way and ran through the bathroom. His wet feet slipped on the floor and he fell backwards, head hitting the tub. He blacked out. When he awoke, he leapt up to his feet, almost falling again. The mirror was fogged over. He wiped it clean, relieved that his reflection was still himself. He walked naked over to the dresser. The clock read 9:35am. He had one hour. It was still plenty of time to get Mr. Fischer to get the money and take a cab back to Brighton Rd... He grabbed the ring on the dresser and absent-mindedly tried to squeeze it on his finger, but it looked different. It was tiny with a small, delicate diamond on the center. He opened up the first drawer. It was full of bras and panties and pantyhose. He slammed it shut and tried the next one, full of blouses and 'baby-doll' tops. The third was all skirts and one pair of pink stretch pants. His clothes were nowhere in the room. He couldn't leave naked and he couldn't go to Mr. Fischer's office wearing women's clothes. There was no way they would even let him in the building. He dialed information of the telephone and asked for Mr. Fischer's office. Thankfully it was listed. "Good morning, Fischer and Howell, how may I direct your call?" "Mr. Fischer's office, please, it's an emergency." "Yes sir, hold please..." He paced the room naked holding the phone, listening to the horrible hold music as though its pause meant salvation. After five minutes, he realized the drapes were open, He quickly went to the window and looked down to see if anyone had seen him; no one had. He closed the drapes. He felt strange walking back and forth with his penis flapping around at each panicked step. He pulled the stretch pants out of the drawer, along with a plain white blouse, feeling these were the most gender non-specific clothes he had at the time. Awkwardly holding the phone and trying to jump into the stretch pants, he finally got both legs in the stirrup part of the pants. He pulled up too quickly, and the small pants ripped down the back. "Shit!" he said under his breath. "It's okay, maybe this will cover it..." He unbuttoned the blouse and put his right arm into the sleeve. The sleeve was too thin for it to go farther than his forearm. "This isn't going to work." He sat uncomfortable and nude waiting for an answer on the phone for an additional 15 minutes. "Afternoon, Mr. Fischer's office this is Julianne, what's your message?" "No message, I need to speak with Mr. Fischer." "I'm sorry, sir he left this morning for his vacation." "This is an emergency!" "Have you tried his mobile?" "I don't have that number." She gave him the number and then he hung up quickly, not wanting to have to explain himself further. He dialed it very quickly, screwing it up. He cursed himself and tried again. It rang a few times before finally, "Hello?" "Mr. Fischer! This is John Sinclair, we spoke yesterday." "I have nothing to say to you, John. My office will bill you accordingly." "This isn't about that, this is about the money you owe the man from Brighton Rd." The other end was silent for a moment, making John nervous. "When do you need it?" sighed the man. John was gasping for air. He was actually going to pay. Everything was okay. "In about 35 minutes is his deadline." "That's impossible. Even I would pay him I couldn't get that kind of money together that quickly. If he has threatened you then go to a police station and wait for the deadline to pass, that's the only advice I can give you. I'm turning my phone off now, Mr. Sinclair. Please do not call me again today." The phone clicked twice and a dial tone pierced into John's ear. All was lost. He could call Caroline and tell her he was in trouble, but the man told him he had to be honest. It wouldn't work. She'd think he was stoned or something worse. He had to try. He had 30 minutes. He felt a chill run over his body as he dialed the number. With each ring he wanted to slam the phone down. This was impossible. At the same time, however, each ring put fear into him. Perhaps she went shopping, maybe she wasn't home. She did not have a mobile he could use to reach her. What if this was his last chance... "Hello?" "Caroline! Listen, I borrowed some money, I need help, I need you to sell everything, we're in trouble-" she cut him off. "Who is this?" "What?" "Who is this, is this Susan? Look I can't help you out anymore until college." "Sweetie, what?" "Goodbye." She had called him Susan. Susan was their niece. How could she have mistaken his voice for Susan's? He took a few breathes and then said, "My name is John Sinclair." Jesus. He sounded like a girl. A teenage girl. His voice had already changed. "This isn't happening!" he said aloud, terrified at the sound his vocal chords had produced. He ran into the bathroom to look at himself. He looked the same. Only the voice. He breathed slow breathes, trying to calm himself down. He sat on the bed and stared at the clock. 10:33am. Two minutes. He did nothing. He was frozen in that spot, not knowing how to feel. All he felt was fear, as though death were approaching. 10:34am. He thought he would be crying right now, but he felt no emotion, no change, only anticipation. He breathed quickly, trying to keep track of the seconds. He lost track a few times. The clock turned off. He blinked. Suddenly the image from last night popped into his head. Nice equipment, John. His whole body felt warmer, hotter like he was in a sauna. A piece of lipstick from his bag floated in the air in front of him. It flew to the wall and began to write. Good morning, my little mouse. When the meaning of these words registered in his head, the feeling hit him. A feeling all around his body as though it was being pulled on from all directions. His head shot down to see. All his body hair was on the bed around him. His legs, chest, arms, genitals, face, were all smooth. The hair on the bed made his skin itch. He moved a little and it all disappeared. A voice filled the room. "You won't need that, John. You should feel lucky. Most girls have to shave it off. I'll make that permanent..." "Oh my God." Said John, shaking. His legs felt like they were being jammed upward as he sat. His spine contorted and twisted, his ribs shrank, pinching him inside a bit. "Yes, John. A full six feet is quite an accomplishment for a young man. You are now around five foot four, I'm afraid." He flew back onto the bed. Laying flat he realized the full depth of this change. His head was on the pillow, but his feet did not go over the end as they usually did. He felt himself get weaker by the moment. His arms shot up in front of him. "Thin arms, tiny hands..." Said the voice, as though it were remembering a list. John watched his hands become effeminate and small. His fingers shortened and narrowed. The worst part was that John was aware of the changes as they occurred. The nails glowed and rested with a deep red finish. "That will come off you need to change the color, my dear." "Fuck You!!" John screamed in a weak voice. "Speaking of which..." John's hands slammed down to his sides and he felt them clasp onto his penis. His hands were so small as they caressed his hairless balls and erect cock it made his genitals feel even larger. "I'll let you enjoy that for now. Now for the feet, legs, hips..." John didn't know why his member was erect. As he masturbated himself, the familiar feelings arose from inside. He felt an orgasm growing but it was forced. He was not thinking of sex, now. He was aware that his hair now was long enough to lay into when he turned his head and that his chest felt heavy and full. He regained control of his hands and reached up to his breasts. He had breasts. They were not huge but they were breasts. As he touched them and rubbed them he screamed. "What are you doing to me?" "You are learning to be a mouse." His hips grew outwards and his feet were noticeably smaller as they writhed with his feminine legs on the sheets of the bed. His breasts were so incredibly sensitive. He continued to touch them. Just then, a shudder encased his body. Something had happened between his legs. His hands shot down to his penis, but it was not there. His balls, his cock, were gone. He felt an emptiness there with a sensitive center. He imagined this is what an amputee must feel for the first time. "Eyes, face, nose, teeth... you are coming along quite lovely." His shoulders pulled inwards as his organs inside his throat and body turned and repositioned. He felt everything. His legs bent over to protect the place his penis once was, instinctively covering the area like a wound. He screamed, and then passed out. She awoke in a hospital of some kind. She was able to move freely in the bed. With eyes closed, she moved her arm a little. She then felt every piece of her body again in agonizing detail. It was all real. She reached down to her thigh and slowly ran her finger over the new contours of her body. She had a vagina, she had breasts. She was a girl. Once a snake, now a mouse.