“Julian has a weird petticoat fetish!” Molly yelled.

Julian's eyes went wide at the accusation. He stared at the group of women gathered before him, his mother, seated at the front, his overbearing sister Molly, standing next to their mother, and several aunts and cousins, sitting behind. They were now murmuring to one another, casting glances between Julian, their laps, and each other. Julian had been called down to the living room, only to walk in on some sort of intervention starring every member of his family. He was the only boy present.

“Julian?” his mother, Michelle, said, tapping her finger on her chin, “This is a serious accusation your sister has brought to us.” Julian’s gut sank heavily as his mother’s concerned, yet demanding, eyes leered at him. “Now, Molly,” Michelle turned to her daughter, “tell the girls why you would make such a claim.” 

Molly had already told her mother everything, but now that Michelle had called the family up, she wanted to make sure they were informed.

“Because he went into my closet and ruffled all my bottoms up!” Molly said.

“W-what?” Julian winced, remembering the event in question. He had gone into his sister's closet, looking for the family's handheld vacuum. Her underskirts, exceptionally clean, were hanging neatly, and he may have, for a moment, run his hands over the soft, bunching cotton.

“See? Look at how guilty he looks!” Molly pointed at her brother, pulling his attention back into reality.

“Julian? Were you in your sister's closet?” Michelle asked, casting a cool glance at her son.

“Um, well, yeah, but I was just looking for the vacuum, not her...uh...” Julian stuttered, looking down at his mother's cream colored, plaid dress, trying not to stare at the white fabric which barely poked out from underneath the flared bottom.

“See? He can't even say it, he's obviously lying.” Molly folded her arms and sat heavily, causing the pale blue petticoat under her white skirt to collect in soft piles to either side of her thighs.

“You know...I didn't think about it much at the time, but I remember one time where I caught Julian staring at by backside. Could he have really been staring at my skirt?” Marilyn, Michelle's sister, said, casting a glance at her deep green outfit.

“Aunt Marilyn, that wasn't what-” Julian attempted to interject.

“I've definitely seen him watch closely when I sit down.” Mallory, a cousin, said, placing her hands on the hips of her polka-dotted dress, “Were you just trying to get a look at my ruffles?”

“Mal, no, I-”

“He does seem a bit more tense whenever I adjust my dress.” Madison, another cousin, piped up, mimicking the action over her pink skirt.

“Maddy, c'mon-”

“I've noticed that too.” Aunt Marcella agreed, running a finger along the bright flower pattern on her dress.

“Aunt Marcy-”

“Look, he's turning red! I knew it!” Molly pointed at her brother, “Just admit it, you're obsessed with our petticoats!”

“Ah!” Julian clenched his hands and averted his eyes.

“You can't even hear the word without getting excited. Petticoat!” Molly shouted.

“No!” Julian protested.

“Petticoat!”

“No!”

“Petticoat!”

“Okay!” Michelle finally broke in, having heard enough badgering, “That's enough, I think we all get it.”

“Th-thanks, Mom, I-” Julian started.

“Don’t thank me yet, sweetie. You’re still in serious trouble here.” Michelle said.

“Wh-what?!” Julian was completely confounded. The evidence was all circumstantial, at best, he thought. Sure, he may have thought his family's clothes were pretty, but that didn't mean he had some sort of sick fetish. Sure, he would occasionally stare at the collecting underskirt folds as one of his cousins sat, or watch intently as an aunt straightened her hem, or even imagine rubbing his nose into the soft cotton of his sister's petticoat, veritably buried in the plush, overwhelming fabric, but was that really so weird? Julian thought about it for moment longer, wryly wondering how much more mileage he could get out of his denial.

“Of all things, he's gaga over this?” Aunt Marcella pinched the edge of her skirt and fiddled with it, bouncing her multi-layered underskirt side-to-side.

“I know, it seems so silly, honestly.” Aunt Marilyn said.

“True, but we clearly must do something about it.” Michelle interjected.

“I don't get why this had to be a family meeting...” Monica, a cousin who had been quiet up until this point, said, driving her hands into her black dress, exposing for a moment the red petticoat hiding below.

“Because!” Molly said angrily, “Because we've all been feeding his gross little kink without knowing about it. He didn't tell us, so that means he used us!”

“Oh, ew, I didn't think of it that way.” Monica said.

“How appalling. I've never felt so taken advantage of.” Aunt Marilyn said.

“Ugh, what a creep.” Madison sneered.

“Your sister brings up a good point, Julian. You must see our dilemma, don’t you?” Michelle asked her son like the answer was clear as day, "We all wear dresses, sweetie. We can’t have you staring at the swaying of our skirts, and I don’t think any of us are willing to do away with them just to contend with your silliness."

A hush fell over the room as each woman waited for Michelle to continue. Julian, still aghast at the escalation his sister had so perfectly manipulated, stood silent as well.

“Now, Molly and I had talked this over before the meeting, and we think we may have come up with a solution that will please everyone.”  Michelle started, leaving her son expectantly waiting, like a convicted felon hearing his sentence doled out by the judge, "We decided, and again, this is just a thought we had, that you should be squished.” 

“What?!” Julian's eyes nearly popped from their sockets.

“Of course you’d be shrunken first, sweetie.” Michelle said “We would shrink you down to the size of a bug and we’d all step on you and crush you.”

“Now there's a fine idea.” Aunt Marcella said.

“I've always wanted to be at a shrinking!” Mallory said excitedly.

“What do you think, Julian? That seems fair enough right?” Michelle looked back at her son, her eyes bright from playing the family arbitrator.

“What? No way! How could that possibly be fair?” Julian protested.

“It sounds fair to me...” Monica said, under her breath.

“Oh dear, I was afraid you'd say that... This isn't really an easy issue to compromise on...” Michelle raised her hands, palms up, to mimic a scale, “Tell you what? How about we put it to a vote? That would be more than fair, right?”

“I don't-” Julian tried to interject.

“Perfect then. All those in favor of exterminating Julian, hands up.” Michelle said. Every hand in the room, except one, shot towards the ceiling, “Hands down. All those opposed?”

Julian stared blankly at his family.  They all sat there, hands folded neatly, as though they were in the execution chamber's witness room, waiting for the inevitable to occur to the only boy in the family.

“Julian, are you abstaining from your vote?” His mother asked tentatively.

Slowly, he raised his shaking hand.

“Well, the ayes have it.” Michelle declared, to the cheers of the rest of the women. “I’m sorry, sweetie, but we have to squish you.” 

“You can't be serious...” Julian muttered.

“I'll go get the powder. What should I mix it in?” Molly said, grinning widely.

“Julian, what would you like the shrinking powder to be mixed with?” Michelle sweetly asked.

“Uh...orange juice, I guess...” Julian said, unable to bare looking at his triumphant sister.

“OJ it is! Be right back.” Molly sauntered towards the kitchen.

Julian looked up from the floor, quickly meeting the hungry, playful eyes of his family before looking away again. This was a nightmare.

Molly returned with a small mason jar filled with a nondescript powder, a glass of orange juice, and a spoon. She placed them on a small, folding table, directly in front of Julian, and began slowly, methodically, adding small amounts of the powder to the juice, stirring the entire time. Julian watched the powder disappear into the swirling liquid before finally looking up at Molly. She smiled knowingly at him, before pursing her lips outward. Aware that the family, situated behind her, couldn't see her mixing, she quickly and quietly spit a gob of saliva into the cup, never breaking eye contact with her brother.

“M-Molly, why-” Julian started.

“And done!” Molly drowned out her brother's voice, stepping to the side “Drink up, Julian. Hope you enjoy the taste.”

Julian looked at his eager family, and then back to the juice, before wrapping his fingers around the cold glass.

“Do...do I really have to?” He said, trying one final time to negotiate.

“We all voted Julian, you already had your chance to change things.” Michelle said, crossing her arms and tapping her foot, “It's only what's fair.”

Sighing deeply, Julian raised the glass and drank it quickly. The world immediately began to blur and shift. Julian watched the image of his family swim and shake, before taking a wobbly, errant step and crashing to the floor.

In a moment the dizzying effects of the concoction had ceased, and Julian lay, insect sized, on the hard wood. He watched helplessly as the standing legs of his towering family rose towards the ceiling and whirled around him in a hurricane of bustling skirts, smooth legs, and clicking heels, surrounding his shivering, vulnerable body.

“Wow, I didn't think it would happen that fast!” Mallory knelt down to inspect Julian, extending a finger to poke at his diminished form.

“Careful now, Mal, you don't want to squish him just yet.” Aunt Marilyn said, gently pulling on the arm of her daughter.

“Yeah, I think Molly should get the first step, don't you?” Michelle said.

“Makes sense. We all get a turn though, right?” Madison asked.

“Duh, kiddo.” Molly smirked.

“Molly, don't be mean to your cousin. Apologize, please.” Michelle said.

“Sorry Maddie, didn't mean it like that.” Molly shrugged.

“Hey, should we get brunch after this? I know this great place.” Aunt Marcella suggested.

Julian stared incredulously at his titanic family. They didn't have a care in the world; he was about to be flattened by his own sister and they couldn't care less. However, as he looked around, he noticed how perfect their skirts looked from his angle, like giant cakes blotting out the sky with their fluffy, bunching layers, gently loping curves, and soft edges. A perfect storm of shaking, swaying, rainbow petticoats floated above him, and for a moment he found something resembling peace of mind.

“Now remember Molly, you'll want to twist and grind your foot once you’ve stepped on him. Think you can do that?”  Michelle said.

“No problem, Mom. Hey Julian, look at me.” Molly commanded. Julian looked up at his beaming sister, “I want you to get a real close look at my petticoat. This is what you wanted to see so badly, right?”

Molly grabbed the hem of her skirt and pulled it forward, expanding the folded layers of her underskirt outward like a blooming flower. Julian might have smiled, but the shadow of her foot suddenly began to intrude on his vision, like a black snake winding over him.

“I want you too get a good look at the bottom of my shoe, too. Ready to get squished, Jules?” Molly ran her tongue over her lips.

Julian considered for a moment that his sister hadn't called him by that nickname since they were kids, as he watched the dusty sole of his sister's heel descend upon him, blocking out his view of the skirt filled sky.

The cacophonous explosion of Molly's shoe striking the floor and twisting side-to-side filled every aspect of Julian's senses.

Molly's shoe rose, revealing an injured, but not yet dead, speck of a man. However, Julian had only a moment to perceive his continued existence before the heels and loafers of his mother, aunts, and cousins began to rise over him too. For a moment he heard joking and laughing as he looked up once more at the spinning, dimming vision of petticoats, before the shadows of his relatives blocked out everything.

The meteoric feet of his family crashed down upon his body over and over again, each foot hungry to get at him.  In the gaps between thunderous footfalls, as his final breaths came, Julian could just barely hear the sounds of casual conversation, as his demise barely made an impression on any of his former family.  Finally, the stomping shoes and scraping soles ceased, having left no stain, no blood spot, no trace at all on the floor.

It was as though a boy named Julian had never existed at all.