The Katy Nightmare - Part 2 free porn video

It had been a great weekend. Friday night had been great, with all of the expected friends showing up at my house, while on Saturday I'd headed to the local pub for a sociable drink with some of the regulars that I'd got to know there. It was a typical end to a mostly typical week for me nowadays, and indeed for all of my other friends, all of us having outgrown the lifestyle we'd had a few years before. I could remember the average week back then well. It'd start on a Monday morning at about half-past seven, being woken up by my alarm clock to get ready for another tedious day of school. There'd be no choice in what to wear, and the lessons would drag on, teacher after teacher letting us all know that what we were being taught was going to be very important one day. I'd never once since leaving school needed to calculate the outer angles of a pentagon or stick magnesium in a bowl of water, and I'd forgotten most of it, but it was all promoted as a big deal at the time. We had exams to pass and colleges to get in to, after all. School would have a social element twice a day, in the playground during the morning break, and in the dinner hall at dinnertime. It'd usually involve messing about and playing football with the lads, while the girls talked or something around the fringes of it all. There was walking home too, the only time of day where it seemed there wasn't an authority figure around. When the weekend did come, it wasn't an opportunity to go out and get drunk. Instead, we'd go and see a movie or hang around on the streets. Sometimes I'd just plain stay in and do nothing, waiting for another week of school to come around. There was the odd occasion where drinking was involved, like at New Year, or when a kid's parents or older brother or sister had a party and we tagged along to it. It was cool at the time, but looking back it just seemed juvenile. After all, it usually invariably ended up with somebody throwing up, and a 'responsible adult' telling us we'd had too much and that it'd be time to go home. Eventually we did get old enough to start going out, identifying pubs and bars that were less strict on us having to be 18, and telling each other in advance to 'dress older' to try and get ourselves in. We all managed to get through school, almost all of us heading to college, uniform requirements and overbearing teachers not intact. So, at least those days were behind me, right? ------------------------------------------------------------------------ As I stepped out of the shower, the radio rang in my ears, the presenter telling me that it had just turned half-past ten on Thursday morning over the end of a forgettable Rihanna track that I'd have switched off if I wasn't occupied with my morning routine. "Plenty of time, sorted" I said, drying myself off. I didn't have to be at University until midday, giving me a while to travel there from my house. I could take my time this morning. Completing my dry-off and putting on my plain back underwear and socks for the day, I swaggered up to my bedroom, grabbing some deodorant and spraying it generously over myself, before turning my attentions to my wardrobe. 'Mayswell get dressed,' I thought. Skimming through my wardrobe for clothes, I settled on a branded polo shirt and a pair of jeans, making the most of the ability to wear anything I like while being educated nowadays. With the selection made, I tossed them over to my bed. My bed was a good-sized double, which I'd received for my 17th birthday, being told y my mother that it was time I had a 'more adult' bed for myself. At the time I felt it wasn't the most brilliant present that I'd ever had, but I'd outgrown the old one now, and it'd come in handy with girls to have more space. I decided to perch myself on the end of the bed to put my jeans on. I had a full view of the wardrobe, my line of sight at its middle, and as I buttoned up my fly, I noticed something that I'd completely forgot was there. I hadn't really thought about the two-minute encounter on my doorstep the previous Friday since it had happened, as I'd been pre-occupied with going out and University work, the bizarre incident not high on my list of priorities. Sitting from my vantage point opposite now, however, I noticed the slightly elevated pile of clothing that I'd used to cover the bags up, and remembered what I had placed underneath. 'Right, they've been there for five days now, and that girl hasn't been back,' I thought to myself. I was still completely confused by the situation, of course. I'd taken them without question, as if I were somehow supposed to, despite the contents being of absolutely no use to a 21-year-old girl, let alone a 21-year-old guy. 'I dunno if I should give her longer to collect them, really.' There was no rational reason for me keeping the bags, if she wasn't going to come back for them. She wasn't my responsibility - I only knew her name and presumed her school - So it would be up to her to chase up any mistake, not me. I stood up and walked over to the wardrobe, shifting the clothes covering the bags up to one side, getting an actual view of them for the first time since Friday, seeing the navy material of a skirt in the bag placed on top. I unusually let out a yawn despite having only recently got up, making a decision about what to do with them. 'Well, it's Monday, and it's term-time, so she would've needed it today anyway.' I'd probably never solve the mystery of why I'd been given the bags, or the mystery of the rest of the conversation. How did she know my name? Or my former school? What use was any of this to me? 'Yeah, mayswell bin it, it's not my fault if she comes back for it,' I figured. 'Shouldn't have left it here.' It wasn't a mystery that I really cared to solve. I could just write her off as an insane teenager, or something like that, and with the extra time I had this morning, it seemed like a good time to dispose of the potentially awkward questions should anyone ever see the bags. I yawned again. I was feeling quite tired now. There was a growing stinging feeling of sleepiness in my eyes, as if I'd been awake for a whole day and desperately needed a nap of some description. Fighting off the growing tiredness, I began to lift the bags out of my wardrobe one at a time, placing them on the floor. 'Probably best to put these all in a black bin bag, in case anyone looks through the bin.' I had nothing to hide about the items, but I could see how it'd be hard to explain why they were in the bin if either of my parents were to see them while putting out other rubbish. I doubted they'd buy an explanation of 'a random girl gave them to me' without asking why, a question I couldn't even answer myself. During all of this, I was feeling increasingly lethargic. I was really quite tired now, barely able to keep my eyes open. As the last of the bags were out of the wardrobe, I stood up straight, feeling jelly-legged a little, as if I could nod off at any time. 'Uh, yeah, erm, I was getting bin bags then,' I thought to myself, lack the energy to think straight. I turned toward my bedroom door and left my room with my eyes closing on me, barely able to see where I was going. I was falling asleep. Why was I suddenly so tired? There was no reason for it, but a few steps more toward the stairs were all I managed before my body defeated me. I fell asleep. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ I woke up about an hour later, lying on the ground at the top of the staircase, presumably where I'd finally succumbed to my bodily instincts. With my parents both out, I'd been left alone to just lie there. Looking around from my position on the floor, I physically scratched my head, wondering why I'd so suddenly fell asleep. I was wide awake beforehand, and felt so again. I headed downstairs quickly to the kitchen, and saw the time - Twenty- five to eleven. "Shit, I'm gonna be late," I said, turning to rush back to my room. The hour of sleep had lost me my time buffer for the morning. Falling asleep had been weird, but I hadn't linked it to what I was doing at the time. I figured I'd just not got as much sleep as I'd needed the night before, and that I'd caught up with me suddenly. Getting back to my room, however, there was a significantly stranger change at hand. I didn't notice it at first, as I re-applied deodorant to myself at the other side of the room, but after I turned I noticed a big change to the fundamental piece of bedroom furniture. My bed. Or at least, a bed. It wasn't the same one that'd been there an hour before. "What the... fuck?" I said, looking it disbelief at it. Sitting in the place of my double bed was a small, single-sized bed, much like the one I'd had until I was in my late teens. Furthermore, instead of being covered in a plain black bed sheet, it had a light pink cover, with a matching pillow, a much more feminine colour than I would have chosen myself. "Has somebody been in here or something?" was all I could ask, hoping somebody would jump out and say 'Gotcha,' or 'You should have seen your face.' Nobody did. My polo shirt was positioned exactly where it had been on the other bed, and a quick glance around the room gave me no other cause for alarm. That didn't change how creeped out I was feeling, though. I noticed my wardrobe doors still open, the bags I'd been meaning to bin sitting on the floor where I'd left them. I cast my mind back to what I'd been doing before all of this, remembering I was about to dispose of them. I had written it off as an oddity before, but now I was thinking about how easily I'd accepted the bags in the first place, without any attempt to question the girl that had given me them. Was this all to do with that? While I was sure that a light pink bed would be ideal for some guys, it seemed to tie in with the being giving girl's school uniform. "I don't know what's going on, but this is fucking weird," I said out loud. I knelt down next to the bags, deciding to finger around in one of them. I'm not sure why, but it was probably a search for answers more than anything. My fingertips sensed a material that I knew as nylon, meaning I was presumably interacting with the bag that I vaguely recalled her saying contained 'other stuff.' 'Why does she want me to have any of this?' was my immediate thought, assuming for now that the items were meant for me. Feeling around some more, I could feel a variety of familiar material types, although wasn't looking to identify the specific items in there. I could recall her point about putting her shoes at the bottom to not get anything dirty, something I'd done myself with overnight bags when heading on trips, and true to her word, a pair of somewhat plastic- feeling shoes were at the bottom of the bag. Then, I came across something which made me withdraw my hand from the bag instantly. "What the hell," I said as my hand came out, an instinctive response. "She's put underwear in there?" I'd stumbled across a bra strap, which was enough for me to stop what I was doing. I quickly realised realised why she'd been giggling about 'other stuff' on the doorstep when she handed me it. I stood up straight and stretched out, looking down at the bags at my feet. I was linking the weird happenings and the clothes below, even if there was no concrete evidence. Was falling asleep to stop me from binning them? It seemed possible, or at least possible enough to be a concern. A quick glance back at the light pink bed was enough to decide to re- consider getting rid of the bags. After a few moments, I came to the only conclusion I felt I was allowed to, that I should just hold on to them. "It's only wardrobe space, I'll keep the shit if I have to," I mumbled to myself agitatedly. I quickly grabbed the bags, throwing them back in the wardrobe in roughly their original location, and covering them again before shutting the door. I hadn't put them away tidily, but I didn't really care. "It's not like I have to deal with them if they're just hidden away." Earlier on I'd thought that I wouldn't have to deal with any of these weird happenings again, that because she'd not been back, I could write her off as an insane teenager. Now, though, I couldn't write anything off at all. 'I've got to get to the bottom of this,' I declared to myself, having no idea how I'd do so, but wanting an end to the weird happenings. The normal way to find out what was going on would be to simply confront the girl. Of course, I had no idea how to reach her. I could search for her online, but I only knew her first name, and it wasn't exactly an uncommon one. It would be pot luck to come across her. I briefly pondered the idea of calling her school, before realising how that would sound. A 21-year-old guy asking to speak to a girl, presumably aged around 14, that he's not at all related to? It was nowhere near to being an option. Seemingly stuck with not knowing, I hoped that just leaving the bags alone would maintain normality. After all, I wasn't too stuck for cash right now, so I could buy a new bed, and the covers were easily changed. Now, though, I was running quite late for University, so I put my top on, picking it up off my new bed, and headed out of my room for the day ahead. ----------------------------------------------------------------------- I'd have been better off not going to University for the day. I'd not taken anything in, consumed with a continuous loop of analysis of thethe morning's in my head, and wondering if I'd get back to any more weird changes, or if I was just being paranoid and it was all some sort of cruel practical joke. Luckily, when I got back and headed straight to my room, everything looked as it was when I had left. That was a relief at least. Content that nothing untoward was happening for now, I got on to the task of catching up with the University work I'd missed. Although I usually worked in my bedroom, the light pink sight in my room had acted to make me want to spend as little time there as possible for now, so the front room with my parents was the next best option. My parents were alright, although I'd not always got along with them. My mother worked as an assistant manager in a clothing store, having held a variety of jobs over the years, bringing in a valuable household income. She'd been pretty in her younger years from photos and my vaguest early memories, and still had some of that now, despite being a smoker in in her late forties. She'd looked out for me when I was younger, often giving me the money to go out with friends when there hadn't been much of it around, and reducing punishments I'd been given by my much stricter father, reasoning with his authoritative stance. He was a little older than my mother, but a well presented man nonetheless, who could grow hair but kept his head completely free of it. He often travelled away due to work, which proved to be the best times of my teenage years, as I'd despised him and his interference in my life back then. His parenting style could only be described as autocratic. He'd been strict with me throughout my teenage years, and I'd remembered constantly feeling that I was being treated unfairly by him as a result. At the age of 16, as I understood it, my mother had argued for him to allow me the freedoms of 'adulthood' once I'd left school, and after he obliged we'd got along a lot better. I looked up from my University work to the scene in front of me, my two parents watching television. He eventually got up to get ready for work and left the room, but it was a good feeling to be able to sit and do as I liked as an adult, not feeling under their authority or jurisdiction. I wouldn't have wanted to share a room with them at times in the past. My father out of the room, I figured that I could confront my mother about the bed, asking if she'd noticed anything. I guess my hope was that it was something she'd done, as unplausible as that seemed. I was surprisingly unconcerned about any weird reaction to the bed from them, even though they'd surely be as confused as me about it. "Did you notice the change in my room today?" I asked. My mother had been watching the news, and sort of glanced to me, paying a level of attention to both me and the television set. "What's that? Sorry, I wasn't listening," she said. "My bed, it's different." "Oh," she said. "I didn't notice anything, did you move it or something?" How could she have not noticed anything? "You've been up there today, haven't you?" "Yes, dear, erm, it looks the same as it has for years," she replied. "Er, never mind then." I decided to let the conversation end there. Was all of this affecting their perceptions? Why hadn't my mother noticed anything? I didn't want to be creeped out any more, so I decided not to ask. I'd finished doing my work, and decided to head upstairs and browse the internet on my laptop, to check what had been happening in my absence during the day. I loaded up various websites in my browser tabs - A sports news site, a music site, and of course, the staple of my online time, Facebook. Normally I'd come in to a barrage of notifications and messages on Facebook, commenting on my photos and statuses, especially if the status was about what was happening at the weekend. Then I would log on to the chat service and talk to friends, normally wasting a few hours making small talk about nothing much at all. That was no different today, but the rare novelty was the presence of a third number, in the form of the number one in the "Friend Requests" section of the site's heading bar. I'd occasionally get friend requests from new people I'd meet around University, my friend count ballooning up in to the hundreds in my time there. There'd also be the odd spam request, of course, but I often ignored them. This request, however, was neither of those. It came from the person I'd thought I'd never track down, the person I'd intrinsically linked to all of the goings on today. 'Katy Campbell 1 mutual friend' I didn't know her surname, but it was pretty apparent that it would be her. My immediate reaction deep down was a sort of skipping feeling in my heart, before I contemplated the benefits of being able to set things straight. The mutual friend was predictable - It was my cousin. I didn't know my cousin well, but she'd requested to add me about four times until I gave in, although luckily hadn't tried to speak to me thereafter. My guess that they'd be the same age was apparently correct. I opted to try to view Katy's profile before I accepted the add, hoping that it might give me answers without needing to speak to her. Sadly, perhaps due to her young age, it wasn't available for me to view, save for her profile photo. I decided to peer at the profile photo for answers, not knowing what I was looking for, but hoping for something regardless. It was a group shot of five girls lying on a bed. I guessed it was a sleepover or something. I could just about tell that Katy was on the far left, wearing a dressing gown and pulling a strange face. That was no help, then. My only option was to accept the add, which I promptly did. I'd have to send her a message detailing all of this, demanding that she stop if she were responsible for it. Before I could, she messaged me herself. "hi tony" I quickly pondered how to approach the conversation. I didn't know whether to be scared of this girl, and therefore cautious to not upset her, or angry for what had been going on earlier in the day. I decided to proceed with caution. I could bite her head off later on if I wanted. "Hi, erm, I think you dropped some stuff off at mine last week?" "hehe, yep" "Do you want it back? I figured it was a mistake or something?" By now, of course, I didn't think it was a mistake. Too many weird things had went on, with the whole bed incident and my mother's disregard for it at the top of the list. I was sitting on the bed now, a reminder that the chances of a mistake being the reason were minimal. "noooo (: theyre yours" The smiley in the style that had seemingly become popular with teenagers made me feel a bit uncomfortable, almost as much as the fact that she'd just told me that the items were mine. "What do you mean? I was going to bin them today. I don't know why you gave them to me, I don't know you" I was trying to get to the point, but her reply almost mocked my intentions. "well thatd be silly wouldnt it (:" "Look. What's going on?" "do you really wanna no?" I didn't know if the girl was far enough through school to know what a rhetorical question was, but she'd done a good job of asking one. It was enough to get the rise out of me that, who knows, maybe she wanted. "Of course I want to fucking know. There's been some weird stuff going on and, whatever's going on, I want it to stop" She left things in silence for a while, making me feel a little guilty for swearing at a teenager. I'd not been particularly foul-mouthed at the time, but I'd gained the vocabulary over the years through new friends and a lack of fear of repercussions. Eventually, she replied, "Ok ok (: no need to be nasty. meet me round the corner from urs at 8 xx" Before I could type a response asking her to just tell me online, she disappeared offline. I re-read the conversation a couple of times, noticing no answers at all, except that she evidently meant to give me the things, and that she evidently typed like an idiot. I could spell, and I'd began to use not being able to as a sign of immaturity. It felt odd to almost be bossed around by a girl so much younger than me, being told to meet her before she disappeared off. She'd left without answers last Friday too. It was almost like this was all part of some plan. It wasn't that long a wait until 8, time I spent reading the various other websites I'd opened, knowing I'd not get any answers before then and so shouldn't dwell on it too much. As it got to a few minutes before the hour, I headed downstairs and toward the door, when my mother spoke just before I could leave. "Where are you going?" she asked. "Just out, I won't be long." "Alright darling, don't be out too late though," she replied. There was something odd about being told to not come in too late, given I obviously had no curfew or bedtime now. Probably just motherly concern, but after how today had went so far, it could be anything. Heading out of the house and around the corner to meet her, it crossed my mind that this was exactly what I'd do when I was younger, especially when meeting friends that my parents didn't approve of. One of my best friends was a bit of a trouble maker, and they wouldn't let him in the house, or allow me to go out until a certain age if they knew I was with him. Fooling my parents wasn't too hard, but it was nice to be able to choose my own company now. As I got around the corner, I noticed that she was already there. I'd been hoping to show up first, seeing it as some sort of higher ground and an advantage. I could only see her back, as she was facing the other way ,looking down at her phone. There was a small spitting of rain, and it was dark again, and she'd evidently dressed for the conditions, wearing a cream coloured, padded coat of the style that girls usually grew out of around her age, along with jeans and a pair of white trainers adorned with pink branding. As I got close to her, she turned to me and smiled. I noticed now that she had a wide white headband on, which acted to make her look a bit younger. Whereas I'd had her down as a safe 14, she could've been younger from current appearances. That filled me, if anything, with less confidence. "Heyyyy, I was about to ring you," was her first line. It was as if she was greeting a friend. "You don't have my number," was my first line. My intention was to try to kill the personal tone, and re-establish that she was a stranger. Unfortunately, she instantly began to click around on the phone, still in her left hand, again adorned on the wrist with a pink bobble. "Yes I do, sillt," she said, holding her phone up to my face. My number was in her phone with the name Tony, and while she hadn't set any other information, I was clueless as to where she'd have got it from. My cousin didn't have it, and it wasn't on Facebook. It was yet another bit of personal information she'd gleaned from an unknown source. "So nuhhhhh," she teased, waving it around in front of me before lowering it and sticking out her tongue at me a little. I wasn't really in the mood for her teenage antics, which had completely killed the air of authority I was hoping to have, and so I just got straight to the point. "Look, what's going on Katy," I said sternly. It seemed like this girl didn't like confrontation, or perhaps me using her name, as her expression became a lot more serious, and she put her phone in to the front pocket of her jeans. "Boring," she said. For some reason, I didn't like her calling me boring. "Alright though, well, basically, I turned 14 recently." "Yes, and?" "Well, before my birthday, mum and dad had said that I wouldn't have to have a bedtime anymore, and that they'd let me do whatever I wanted," she explained. She continued to go on with some sort of 'life is unfair' routine, that I managed to phase out during due to a lack of interest. Realising she could be talking for some time, I decided to interrupt her. "Look, I'm sorry your parents don't think you're old enough to do all that yet, but what's it got to do with me?" She smiled a little and twanged the bobble on her wrist, evidently looking forward to the next bit of her story. It felt like answers might be forthcoming. "Well, eventually they said I won't truly be able to do whatever I like until I'm like 21 or something, which is when I decided that I hate being so young," she said. I was getting a bit worried now, but wasn't too concerned. This all sounded like teenage angst to me, and I'd been through it all myself, the whole 'parents are evil' thing. That was in the past for me now. "Then I realised over time that boys have it so much easier, and more fun, and figured I wanted to be able to do all of that too. So I wished for a change in my life, and, well, that's where you come in," she said. "Erm, what? I can't help you with any of that," I replied. I still wasn't putting two and two together here, but I'd have probably guessed she was just wanting me to speak to her parents or something. Why, I don't know, but it seemed the only explanation. "Well, basically, I don't want to be me, so I've decided that you can be instead." That was the pipe bomb that I was waiting for. "So I gave you my school stuff early so you could get used to it or whatever, I dunno, I didn't need it anymore," she added. How the hell could I, in any reality, be her? "What do you mean 'you can be instead'?" She giggled a little. "Well, I think it's fair swap." I just looked at her, taking in what she was saying, but struggling to believe any of it, no matter what had happened so far. Sure, it was hard to rationally explain all of the previous events, but it wasn't impossible. "I think you need help or something, like, you're sounding really creepy," I said. It only caused her to giggle, as if I was the one being odd. "I already like your bed. It's pretty comfortable. I like black too," she added. I could feel a shiver creeping down my spine. She knew about what had happened in the morning. She was clearly involved in some way. "How the fuck do you know about that?" "No need to swear, Tony, it's not a nice thing for a future young lady to do." She'd called me a young lady, but that wasn't really the story now. At least, I opted to completely ignore it. She liked my bed, so that had to mean that I now had hers. Sure, it was quite plain, but by her age I guessed that she wouldn't have a childish bed cover. I could actually believe that this girl might be able to do what she was saying. I could only really stare at her and allow the thought of being her creep me out continually. She allowed me to, as if she'd got her message across. Mission accomplished was the general look on her face, as she fiddled with the bobble on her wrist again. She proceeded to unzip her her coat half way down, taking out an A5- sized book that she had concealed inside. I could see that she had light blue strappy top on now, but my focus was on what she had taken out. The book turned out to be a notepad, in a shiny, silver sort of colour. It looked a bit worn, with scuffed edges and bits where seemingly pages had been torn out. There were remnants of old stickers on the front cover, that seemingly had been torn off, as if they were no longer relevant to the contents. I'd have not noticed so much detail normally, but as I was fearing this was another 'gift,' I spent the few moments of silence analysing it as much as I could. "So Tony, seeing as you'll eventually be me, you should probably get to know me a bit." She offered me the notepad. I had taken her previous offer of the clothing last week up because of some sort of compelling feeling to do so that I couldn't stop, but now I was in control of my own actions. I decided not to take it from her. "I don't want it," I replied. "It's the only way you'll really learn about your life thoughhhh," she explained, dragging the last word out. She started to sway a little, still holding the notepad out to me. "What is it? I already know about my life, and I have no need to know about yours." "It's my diary, duh." I didn't know why I hadn't just turned around and gone in to the house, locking this girl out of my life, removing her from Facebook and getting rid of what I already had by whichever means I could. I could set the clothes on fire, or throw them out of my window. There'd be a way somehow. I suppose I did know why that hadn't happened, though. The changes so far were enough for me to believe that this girl might, somehow, actually be able to force something where we ended up as each other. That potential power or ability scared me way too much to walk away. "Last chance," she said, waving the diary around a little. Annoyed, but fearing her, I snatched it out of her hand. She rubbed her hand a little after I had, meaning I must have used enough force to hurt her. She squinted at me a bit, giving me an eyeballing look to indicate that it wasn't a very nice way to take it, before asking me another stupid question. "So you know what's happening now, right?" I had absolutely no idea. "I think I know what you're saying, but it's not even possible, I can't be you and you can't be me so I don't know why you're giving me stuff that I have no usee for," I explained. "Well, suit yourself and doubt it then, you'll regret it when you know nothing about me on Monday morning." Monday morning? What was happening on Monday morning? "Anyway, mum told me to not be too late and I said I wouldn't be long, so I'm off. See ya." She gave me a half-hearted wave and zipped her coat back up fully, turning to go before I could ask her what her last line had meant. I tried to ask as she walked away, but evidently she didn't hear. As I headed back to the house, clutching a silver book she'd called her diary, I hadn't got the answers I wanted or got rid of her. All that had happened, in fact, is I'd been told that I'd be swapping with her because she doesn't like being 14. This was a lot weirder than even the bed incident. As I re-entered my house, I even considered how she said goodbye. I'd told my mother I wouldn't be long, in fact, I'd used those exact words. She'd also told me to not be too late. Was I just being paranoid, or was that deliberate? I went up to my room, and considered the diary in my hand. I decided to have a look inside briefly, flicking to a random page and starting to read. The handwriting was very smart and cleanly put, clearly put to the paper with care, unlike my own, untidy handwriting. 'Hate hate hate double Science, Mrs Horsley threatened to send me out if I didn't stop laughing at jokes, sooo unfair' Well, it read like the diary of a school girl. There was a date for the section I'd just looked at, which was about nine months ago, so the school year before. She'd said she was 14, so I'd figured that meant Year 9. If that was going to be me, great. Just what I needed. Two more years of school, and as a girl at that. I was lucky that it hadn't quite sunk in and that I was still hoping she was just insane, else I'd have been panicking uncontrollably. I closed the diary and dumped it in to a desk drawer, not wanting to see it. I then sat on my bed, or her bed, or whoever the bed belonged to, and tried to shake it all off as a bad dream. Eventually I fell asleep, fully clothed, worried about what was going to happen to me next. ----------------------------------------------------------------------- I must have been tired, because I slept right through until the next morning, still wearing Thursday's polo shirt and jeans. The clock in my room read 8AM. I did all of my getting ready as usual, and headed off to University, again not taking much in despite my best efforts, with friends in my lectures asking why I was so distracted, or if I was feeling ill. I even passed up the opportunity to go out on the night, a rarity for me on a Friday. My aim was to maintain normality and hope that the whole situation just disappeared, and by not seeing anything untoward happen all the way through Friday afternoon that seemed to be possible, at least for now. As I got home in the early evening, however, it seemed that was going to be a difficult task. Nothing had changed physically, my room exactly as it was before. Thankfully, I was the same too, and I'd even checked in the mirror to make sure my face was still my face. Probably paranoia again, but something I'd felt the need to do. 'She can say whatever she likes, but until something happens to me myself, this is just all crap' was the stance I'd decided to take on it all. Once settled in at home for the night, I sat down on my bed with my laptop and loaded Facebook, with just the one notification waiting for me. Worse than suddenly feeling that I had no friends, it turned out that the notification was a photo tag. A photo tag from Katy. I clicked through to the photo, and instantly checked how public it was. I didn't want my friends seeing tags from her, after all. I was relieved, then, to see that she'd set me as the only person who could see the photo. The relief was short-lived, however, when I looked at the photo. I probably wished that I hadn't. It was a photo of her timestamped to September, standing with a friend pulling faces. That wouldn't be a big deal on its own. The big deal was that the photo was clearly taken at school, and she was clearly wearing her uniform. I looked down to the tags, noting she'd not tagged her friend. I could figure out what she'd done, deducting that this was probably some attempt to get in to my head and make it clear that what she said last night was going to happen. To make sure I was right, I checked anyway and confirmed my suspicions. She'd tagged her face as me. Although I quickly hit untag, if this was an attempt to mess with my head, it was definitely working. It wasn't any sort of impossible thing that she'd done - She'd just posted a photo of her and said it was me on the system - Yet it was enough to get at me. There was a morbid curiousity on my part, though, to look at the photo properly. She looked exactly as she had when I first met her, with no headband, and a fringe. For her age, she was sort of pretty, not the girl everyone would talk about, but far from ugly. Her hair looked a light brown, lighter than I had thought it was, but possibly as the photo was in daylight and I'd met her in the dark. Again, her make-up was minimal. I wasn't surprised by that, as I'd known girls be told to wash theirs off in my school days if they'd put too much on. It was her clothes that really caught my eye, though. They mostly matched my expectations, unsurprising given my attendance at the same school, yet still the first time I'd seen her in them. She had the school jumper on, with the school tie loose underneath and the usual light blue coloured blouse, all required parts of the uniform. The photo was cut off half way down her leg, so I couldn't see her feet. It dawned on me that I'd touched the shoes that she probably had on yesterday, though, which wasn't a pleasant thought. Her legs were adorned in opaque black tights and of a fairly average build, not the legs of a model, but not fat either. Her navy blue skirt was the only surprise. It was inches above the knee, although that wasn't unusual, as it only tended to be geeky girls that wore it to the knee. The surprise, however, was how tight it was. It was tight right to her skin. Many girls wore a looser style, and some had started to wear pleated skirts since I'd left, presumably feeling less exposed. Looking at this photo of a teenage girl dressed for school brought back all of the conversation from the previous night that I had tried to block out. The realisation that all of the items I could see were sitting in my wardrobe was bizarre. Her friend was wearing loose, navy trousers, completely acceptable at the school, and that only acted to enhance her femininity. I closed the tab with the photo in, wishing to never see it again, and lay back on my bed, laptop perched on my thighs, to contemplate the situation. Was I going to have to wear those things? Would I be at that school again one day? Could she really practically steal my body and leave me with hers? The thought of it was scaring me, but a knock at my bedroom door acted as a welcome interruption to the fear. "Tony? It's dad," came the voice through the door. It was quite unusual for him to come to my room, but I was sure there would be a good reason, even if it was just to ask if I was going out at the weekend for a drink with him, something I probably needed right now. Despite our frosty relationship in my teenage years, we'd started to do that fairly regularly now. "Ok, come in," I said. I sat up, the home page of Facebook on the screen in front of me. He stood over my bed, with no indication that he'd noticed anything unusual in it not being light pink and smaller in size. "I just came up to check that you'd done your homework." Homework? It was unusual for him to check up on my University work, as I never discussed it with him. "Erm, what homework?" "You know what homework. You haven't done it yet?" "I don't have any work to do, dad," I replied, figuring he'd leave it at that. I could notice his facial expression was one of slight disappointment, but also one that was preparing to complain to me. It wasn't something I saw often nowadays. "Look, Tony," he said, looking at my laptop screen from over me. "We bought you that laptop for work, not to mess around on the internet." "What? I bought it myself." It was true. I'd paid for my laptop out of student finance, as they wouldn't have had enough disposal income to spend ?750 on it. My parents weren't loaded with money, and so we were quite poor, although not in a scruffy sense. "You absolutely did not," he pointed out aggressively. He had raised his voice now, and I was feeling distinctly talked down to. This was the first time I'd seen him like this in years, save for the odd argument with him, and was the tone he'd took a lot back in the day. He continued his dressing down while I looked at him in amazement. "Now, unless you want myself and your mother to take that laptop off you for the rest of the weekend, you'll do your homework now." "But I don-" "That decision is final, Tony," he asserted. "I'll get it for you." He disappeared out of the room, while I froze from the shock. It was clear that this was the latest development in this whole Katy debacle. After all, it's not usually called homework after school level, and he'd just gone to get it, whereas he'd have no idea where my University work was. He returned after a few moments, passing me a couple of A4 worksheets, and a blue pen. There was no doubt that I had 'homework' now. "I'll be checking up on you later," he said, as he left my room and closed the door, slamming it slightly. There was no doubting that I'd just been parented, and threatened with repercussions like a child would be. It was exactly what he'd do before I was 16, making me do my homework. It probably helped me get the grades to go on to college and University, but I hated the lack of being able to go by my own schedule. I looked at the sheet of paper in front of me. The title was "Year 9 French - GBC P12." I had no idea what the letters at the end meant, but I noticed instantly the Year 9 bit, as well as the French bit. 'Fuck, I never did French,' I thought. My school was split in to thirds in languages, with one third doing French and the others doing Spanish or German. The Year 9 bit resonated with me. If this was reflective of Katy's age, she was younger than I had thought. She must've recently turned 14, which would allow her to be one of the older students in Year 9. That put me off any sort of 'swap' even more, which I didn't think possible. Over the next several hours, I got on with the work, my dad checking twice to see if I had finished. Evidently from his checks I had took much longer than it must have been supposed to take, having to put practically everything through an online translator due to my never having studied any of it. Eventually, at 11PM, I finished it. I'd been up since early in the morning, and so decided to call it a night shortly thereafter. As I lay in bed, a bed I still wasn't used to at all and that I was proving too tall for, I considered what had happened to me earlier on. It had arguably been the weirdest happening so far. I had been told to do school work by my own parents, work which was clearly not my own, and being threatened with a punishment if I didn't do it. That meant that my parents were somehow affected by this, seeing me differently. I was still me, and they were still calling me by my name, but it was almost as if I were a teenage me again, with all of the treatment that entails. As I drifted off to sleep, I remember thinking that this whole thing was the stuff of nightmares. Little did I know that the Katy nightmare was just beginning.