“I’m going
to call Ash,” Will said.
Ashley, his girlfriend. Not the first person you would have called upon, but you didn't argue.
He stepped
onto the giant college guy’s giant-sized phone screen, and used his body to work the interface, bringing
up the call option. You walked over and
also got onto the screen, to help him. Will said her phone number aloud and the
two of you worked to push on the screen where the numbers came up. Each key on
the phone’s virtual pad was the size of an A3 piece of paper to you. Just to
dial up one number was a surprisingly physical feat. The two of you had to walk
around on the phone’s screen, sometimes using your hands and sometimes your
feet. Then Will pressed dial and the phone rang.
You were
both silent, your tiny forms illuminated by the phone’s screen, creating an
island of light like a spotlight from below, amidst the dim room. You both
waited for the sound of Ash’s annoying vocal fry, probably going to ask what you were doing bothering her this late.
A woman’s
voice did reply, but it wasn’t Ash. She gave an automated message that the
number was not in service. You both stared, nonplussed at each other.
“Wrong
number?” you said.
Will scanned
the number that showed large along the top of the screen. He double checked each
digit and then shook his head.
“No,” he
said. “That’s it. She must have turned off her phone. Fuck.”
You stared
around the dreamily dark dorm room, lost in thought. The room’s occupant, a
young college age man, lay in bed, snoring with resonation that rattled your
bones. Despite his colossal size, he was probably a couple of years younger
than you.
Of course
Ash’s phone could be off; it was very
late, probably after midnight. But something didn’t make sense. Ash and Will
were staying together, and since Will had obviously not gone home, Ash should
be trying to contact him, no matter how late it was. Of all times, her phone
should not be off now.
Only then
you checked the time in the corner of the phone screen. And stared.
It said: 02:15 am, Friday 08-26-33
Will had not
indicated it at all. He had not seen it.
You turned
away from Will, and, feeling slightly dizzy, you wandered over to the very edge
of the desk, facing the bed. The enormous shape of the man lying there was
still. You stared at the back of his head, trying to determine how likely it
was he was in on some big prank. But how could this be a prank—
Before you
could react, the man rolled over and sleepily shifted closer to the bedside
closest to the desk. Unluckily, you happened to be standing right on the edge
at that moment and in an instant, a powerful wave of beer breath swamped you
that stole all the air in your lungs. Your vision went black for a couple of seconds
and you almost passed out. At the last second you managed to stagger away and
get a mouthful of fresh air. The world swam back into focus.
Will was
huddled over the phone.
“Okay. Gotta
call the Justice of the Court, I guess,” Will said, walking back and forth over
the phone screen to start inputting numbers. He had two nicknames for his
sister, that and the Court Jester, depending whether he was in a good mood with
her or not.
“Will,
look,” you said, pointing to the date on the screen. He ignored you.
“Help me
out with this—”
It had to
be an error you decided. You crawled around the phone again, helping him input Courtney’s
phone number. Then dialled.
Dialling…still
dialling…
“I’m sorry, the number you have reached has
been disconnected or is no longer in service, please—”
The same
automated message again.
Will ended
the call.
“What’s the
deal?” he groaned.
“Are you
sure that’s her number?” you said.
“Fuzz,” he
ran a hand over his head, and gave you an exasperated look. “I know my own
sister’s phone number, okay? I’m not punching these numbers in at random.”
“Okay,” you
said, a little defensively. “But…they’re both
out of service.”
“I see that.
And the phone is the problem,” he said, kicking the phone edge like he was
inspecting a used car. “Maybe it’s not on a plan. Or the reception is like Swiss
cheese in this room.”
“Will,” you
said slowly. He straightened and looked at you. “It’s been hours. Where is
everyone? Is anyone looking for us?”
“It can’t be
that late,” Will shrugged. “So they
haven’t even realized we’re gone.”
You glanced
again at the time and date that read on the phone. The time had to be correct,
even if the date wasn’t. You said firmly:
“It’s been
hours since we woke up. And you know it.”
It had been
there for a fractional moment, like a gut feeling, when you had first woken. A
feeling of difference, unidentifiable change. A nanosecond of panic; the
feeling a sleepwalker must have after waking up in a new location, with no
memory of bedding there. The feeling that time had passed. Not just minutes.
Enough time that things – not just your size – had changed. Nothing was
familiar. Nothing.
For an
instant, Will looked confused, and you knew he had felt it too. Then he calmed.
“I don’t
know about that,” he said.
You
strained your brain searching for anything you had missed. Maybe you had put in the numbers wrong. The two of
you were very anxious by now, your thoughts were racing, and it was highly possible
you slipped up a number somewhere.
“The date’s
screwed up,” Will said, glancing at the corner of the phone screen. He went on
casually, “That happened to me once. There was a broken app that caused my phone date to reset to 2008 every
time I used it.”
You nodded,
reassured that he wasn’t panicking. There were actually rational explanations
for everything.
Yes, it
couldn’t be Wednesday in the future. It was Saturday in the now – maybe Sunday already – and you had
last texted Jake Thursday; maybe he had changed his phone number since then.
Was that so unlikely? There were rational explanations for almost everything.
You crawled
across the phone screen, slowly inputting a website domain name in the search
bar. Then up
came the White Pages. Will stood back, watching with blank interest as you
carefully typed in Courtney Rugger.
Rugger was
an unusual surname, so it wasn’t surprising that so few entries came back. What
was surprising was that there were no
entries. Not even one.
Will said:
“That’s
weird.”
He didn’t
even sound that surprised anymore.
Undeterred,
you typed in ‘Jacob Luxford’, and hit search. This returned several entries,
but there was only one single ‘Jacob C. Luxford’, though the white pages
wouldn’t you let you view his phone number or address unless you paid $10 or
bought a subscription. Without hesitation, you went to wire a Paypal payment—
Declined.
“Wow,” said
Will, putting his hands up, “is anything
not broken today?”
Concerned,
you next tried to log into your bank account. An error message came up.
Unable to verify any account with these
details. Please ensure you have entered the correct account number and password
and try again.
You tried
again, twice. Then you were locked out for 24 hours.
You stared,
reading the message three times with non-understanding. This was ridiculous.
“Guess
not,” you said.
This was getting
unbelievably strange. The error message said there was no account with your
details. Your details were not incorrect, they were non-existent. You silently wondered if the mugger who beat you up
stole your bank card and tried to use it. Somehow hacked into your bank account
and changed your password. Maybe the bank was on notice for fraud and they were
forced to lock your account.
You didn’t
know what even made sense anymore.
“Let me try
it,” Will said, clambering over the phone to bring up his bank’s site and input
his log in details. You were both met by another error message, stating Will’s
account was unverifiable as well.
“This is
insane,” you said, beset with conspiracy-grade confusion. “Right?”
“Okay,
let’s do something else,” he said, flipping onto another website. It turned out
Will had a crypto account with some spare funds in it, and it wasn’t locked up
or non-existent.
“Crypto
wallets never have this problem,” he explained. “They basically never go down.
Like, ever.”
He then created
a Paypal account and wired himself the funds from his crypto account. Then he
paid $10 through PayPal to White Pages and finally brought up Jake’s listing.
You sighed in relief that something, somehow worked.
But there
were more surprises.
The listing
under ‘Jacob C. Luxford’ not only had a new phone number, but also a new
address.
“I didn’t
know Jake moved,” you said.
Will’s eyes
narrowed as he read out Jake’s new address.
“What is it
with that place?” he exclaimed, once he got to the suburb. “Everyone wants to move there.”
“I don’t
know. What do you mean?” you asked.
He didn’t
explain. There was a concerted look on his face as if remembering something.
Then, seeing some empty envelopes on the corner of the desk, Will suddenly had
an idea. He explained: The two of you were small enough to fit inside an
envelope, so you could try to trick the man into mailing you to Jake. Then,
once you arrived, you could get Jake to tell Courtney where you were. And then—
“What?” you
asked, after Will went silent.
“I don’t
know,” he said. “I’m hoping one of them can tell us what happened.”
That was
unlikely, you thought. But finding Courtney would be helpful.
At least,
to Will. You weren’t sure how you felt about seeing Courtney as tiny as you
were. Wouldn’t she be as huge as the college guy? The thought flashed through your
mind again:
She’s waiting.
You had to
meet her. You had to let her know, somehow, you were still coming. And what other
option did you have? Still…the post? Crazy.
For a long
moment, you were silent, staring at Will to figure out if he was joking.
Finally, you managed to say:
“That’s
impossible. We can’t get mailed, Will.
We could die.”
“Think
about it, Fuzz,” Will said, pacing over the table to pull at a corner of one of
the envelopes, bigger than a bedsheet, and drag it over to you, “we should be cold. We should be hungry and thirsty. But I’m not. Are you?”
“No,” you
admitted slowly. You had made the same observation when you awoke; you should
have been uncomfortably cold, but you weren’t. Last time you checked, it was
August, but still, you were naked and it was nighttime.
“So,” Will
went on, “I say it’s related to us being shrunk, and made squishy like this. That
guy stepped on us. We should be toast by now. But we can’t get hurt like
normal. And we don’t need to eat or drink like normal, either. We’re more soft
but more…tough.”
“What if
you’re wrong?” you said.
“It’ll take
a couple of days for mail to get to Jake. Not going to starve in two days.”
Will had a
very tempered voice and normally level head. This made him very difficult to
argue with.
Still, you
gestured at the sleeping man:
“You don’t think
we should just try him tomorrow morning, to see if he’ll ask Jake to come over
here, so we don’t have to go over there?”
“I don’t
know this guy,” Will frowned. “And I don’t want to think he’ll decide to keep
us for the fun of it.”
You thought
about this, and then nodded. Will raised a good point; this man did not
recognize you. He hadn’t realized you were human earlier. He might not
tomorrow, either, even with the two of you trying to persuade him. The fact
was, you didn’t look very human right now, and neither of you could explain how
you even got like this.
But Jake
would recognize you. So would Courtney.
Together
you lifted a pen and stood it upside down. Then the two of you carefully dragged
the pen tip over the paper, scrawling Jake’s address. This was made harder
since the bedroom light was off, so you had to use the illumination from the
phone screen, which kept blinking off. So you had to jump on the phone screen
until it came back on again.
Then you
stood back to check what you wrote. It was messy but legible. Meanwhile Will
had another crazy idea. With his guidance, you helped him write on a separate
piece of paper:
URGENT: Wrong address; please send to correct
person!
You hoped
the man would just obey the note and not overthink who wrote it. If you were
lucky he’d think he wrote it and forgot, or someone else in the dorm left it
for him as an errand. He was drunk; you could tell from his breath, so he could
even mistakenly believe he wrote it for himself, and didn’t remember.
Although your
body clock had malfunctioned a while ago, you intuited it had to be pretty
late. Though it was still dark, some light was starting to come through the
chink in the curtains.
You were
both growing tired, so Will and you crawled into the envelope, to curl and go
to sleep.
***
You were
awoken by great pressure pinning you to the table. It was now morning and the
man had gotten up. While Will and you slept, he moved some things on his desk,
which included placing one of his study books on top of the envelope, without
realizing. You and Will were immediately pressed flat, as flat as the envelope
you were inside.
Frozen in
place, you pondered how long you would have to spend waiting beneath the book.
You couldn’t hear or feel the vibrations of his movement, which meant he had to
be in a different room. You guessed he was showering or eating breakfast.
It felt
like a long time, but after what was actually probably fifteen minutes, the weight
was lifted off you, letting you breathe deeply and begin to reform your size. Will
sighed in relief.
Then it
seemed the envelope was caught up in a vise and you were pinched flat and
lifted off the table. It felt like you were stuck between two firm hard objects.
The man must have picked up the letter and his grip held you like you were a
piece of paper. To him, you practically were.
You
couldn’t move an inch, and were forced to feel yourself flying through the air,
swinging back and forth at the man’s side, though you couldn’t see anything.
Luckily,
the college guy had been drinking last night –at least, he smelled like beer –
and when he saw the letter, he assumed he must have written the note and had
forgotten it by next morning.
He left the
dorm and stepped outside. From inside the envelope, you heard the front door
open and shut and then the sound of his footsteps clap over sidewalk, the hum
of traffic and birds singing. At the end of the block, the man came to a post
office box and slotted the letter in.
Suddenly
you were falling through the air, like you were on a plunging rollercoaster.
Beside you, Will screamed. It was dark and neither of you could see anything,
or what direction you were falling in. After a surprisingly soft landing atop a
pile of letters, everything was quiet and still. Bird tweets echoed faintly
inside the big letterbox, and traffic revved down the road.
You
couldn’t see Will in the dark, but had a feeling he was thinking the same
incredulous thing as you.
His voice
shimmered with excitement:
“I can’t
believe it worked.” He was obviously grateful not to be in the giant man’s
possession anymore.
“We still
have to get to the right place,” you reminded him.
Voices of
chatting people passing by wavered in and out of earshot, echoing faintly as
they bounced around inside the letterbox. These wavered away again. After
several moments of calm, you started to drift asleep…
Suddenly
your surroundings were alive with motion. You were being squashed from one side
and then flipped around and being squashed from the other side. Boulder-sized weight
was shifting around, with you getting packed between.
“What’s
happening?” you yelled out.
Will
responded:
“Mail
process! We’re in the system!”
As the mail
was sorted it was flipped and ended up pressed up between big volumes of other
mail. It was dark inside the envelope, and difficult to tell which way you were
facing. You were pressed one way, and then flipped and pressed another way.
This caused your shape to steadily squeeze and become rounded. After a few
hours of this, you had been pressed completely round. Your arms and legs were
pinned against your body and you couldn’t move them, or your neck or head. The
only thing still in shape was your penis and balls. So you were basically turned
into a fleshy ball with a face and genitals.
Even
despite this, nothing could shake your relief that you and Will finally had a
plan in motion. Very soon, you might be able to locate someone you trusted, who
could help you figure out what happened. You were willing to tolerate these
indignities and discomforts if it resulted in telling someone where you were.
After the
mail was processed, everything went dark and quiet for some time.
After all
the exertion and panic, your body needed rest, so you drifted off to sleep. But
you recalled every so often waking up to check where you were, to find nothing
had changed. On the edge of wakefulness, you were aware of traffic sounds, a
truck engine, vibrations.
You called
out to check Will was still there, and once he hollered back, you calmed down a
little, or went back to sleep. The time flew by in the dark. Sometimes you
chatted with Will, but mostly the two of you were silent. It wasn’t so
different from a plane ride. For at least a couple of days, you spent blocks of
time asleep, since there wasn’t anything else to do, except play word games
with Will – the type you play during a long car ride.
“A
celebrity?” you asked.
“Warmer,”
said Will.
“Are they alive?”
“Colder,”
he said.
“Have you
met them?”
“Warmer,”
he said.
“Do they
live in this country?”
“Really
cold. Really, really cold,” he said.
“That can’t
be right,” you said. You stared around in the dark, and remembered.
It was really
cold.
It was like
time had stopped. The calm breezy night had turned cold and quiet. Even the
frogs had stopped calling.
When you
threw a look back over your shoulder, you saw something following you.
That can't be right!
A big black
tentacle the size of an anaconda was sliding over the ground. It rose up off
the ground like a cobra, exposing a long transparent needle pistoning out of
the end and pointing at you. There was a pneumatic whoosh like an air
compressor going off, then liquid ice speared into your back, down your veins.
You went numb and fell down.
*
It was
really, really cold. There was a sound like strong wind from outside, and a shake of turbulence.
There were
pulsing sounds, or vibrations echoing through a cavern, repeated mechanical
groans, and a sound like rain, which wasn’t actually rain, and made you think
of a sewing machine going really fast.
Some giant construction with metal arms had just been shooting you with lasers, although it didn't hurt. The machine made a steamy hiss and stopped, silent
Your
eyelids twitched. You were lying on your back, on a hard surface, in semi-dark.
Machines buzzed and trilled around you. Your vision slowly adjusted but your
night vision didn’t kick in. It wasn’t that the room was unlit; but the walls
were black. Giant shapes surrounded you in the dark, outside some kind of glass
panel that curved around you like a dome, and separated you from everything else.
Your arms
and legs wouldn’t move, but you were oddly calm, forgetful. Your breathing and
heart rate refused to increase, as if you were sedated. Your thoughts refused
to race, even though you were confused, you were not alarmed.
Then a voice:
u4;w2;Ԡʉb4;v4;(5;(7;ǀǁǂȾxœƍ(4;Ԡx4;z1;y7;
(Understand this sound?)
It wasn’t a human voice. It was like white noise and ringing
tones had been mashed-up in an editing program to approximate speech. There was
no one in sight. Your skin was crawling at the sound; practically walking off
your body.
“I think so,” you said weakly.
(4;(5;ԠɀȹԠӶǷɷɸʉǀǁǂȾɀȹɁʅӶǷt1;Ԡx6;y3;b4;v4;x6;y3;ɸʉb4;v4;x6;ɷɸʉb4;v4;t1;y2;Ξj5;p0;ɷԠȾɀȹt1;ɁʅԠԠǷɷɸʉԠt1;őœƍ(4;ԠȹɁʅӶw30;őp8;ԠǁǂȾɀȹɁǷɷ
Ⱦx6;ӶǷɷɸʉb4;v4; (The sound is not us
but we use it)
You remembered the black tentacle and realized it wasn’t
alive; it was a cord or tube, or entwined cords.
“Who are you? Where am I?”
x6;y3;y2;Ξj5;p0;p8;p4;o9;k6;q2;y3;y2;Ξj5;p0;p8;p4;o9;k6;y3;y2;Ξj5;p0;j5;t1;s4;u4;w2;p0;p8;p4;o9;k6;q2;q4;r2;q0;t0; (We are inside a moving space machine)
You stared around, trying to work around the sedation. The
blankness was infuriating. Almost worse than panic, only because it was so
inappropriate. You just wanted to know if you should be panicking, even if you couldn’t.
“What do you want?”
There were tiny red and blue dots out there, blinking and
changing. You wondered what they were attached to. The dark was bad enough, but
these pinpricks of light were more unnerving. You hoped they were machine
lights, and not eyes.
The machine voice answered:
Ƿȹp8;ĦĽIJ¥w30;őԠɀȹԠӶǷq2;q4;r2;q0;t0;őœƍ(4;(5;(7;y2;t1;Ξj5;p0;p8;ԠǁǂȾɀȹɁʅӶǷɷɸj5;r2;q0;t0;x2;xʉb4;v4;
ȾɀȹɁʅӶǷɷɸʉb4;v4;w30;őœƍ(4;(5;(7;ǀɀȹɁq2;y3;y2;Ξj5;p0;p8;p4;o9;k6;y3;y2;Ξj5;p0;j5;t1;s4;u4;w2;p0;p8;p4;o9;k6;q2;q4;r2;q0;t0;ɷɸʉœƍ(4; ȹɁʅӶw30;őp8;ɁʅӶ— (the experiment has proceeded in three stages
is now in termination the total time of suspended animation equals 1.3 *******—)
The last word was nearly unintelligible but it had sounded
like ‘tergons.’
“What’s that mean?”
The staticky, polyphonic voice had carried on:
¥(4;(5;(7;ǀq4;r2;q0;t0;p0;p8;x4;z1;y7;ӜԈǁǂȾɀȹɁ (—the contact must die)
“Please let
me go!”
j5;n pq0;ԠsԠnt0;
beenr2; aq0;Ԡ q0;et0;r2;q0;nԠd t0;or2;q0; Ԡt0; sr2;q0;facԠԠ r2;q0; j5;nd (you have been spatially reconditioned you must be reconditioned again for
successful return to your kind)
“Yes, let
me go back!”
The eerie tones vanished, replaced by an instantaneous pulse
of comprehension, so clear that you couldn’t be certain it hadn’t originated as
a thought in your own head:
ȹ(4;(5;ȾɀɁʅӶǷœƍɷɸʉb4;v4;w30;ő(7;
(Experiment terminated)
*
“So, what
about you, Fuzz?”
Will
sounded serious. You had been asleep, and now opened your eyes, yawned, blinked
and looked around. Of course it was dark; the smell of paper was everywhere. You
were still in the envelope.
“Yes?” you
said.
“I said,”
came Will’s voice, “when was the last time you had to go? – use the bathroom?”
“Uh, what?”
You thought. “Before the race. I don’t remember.”
“So if we
don’t eat,” he reasoned aloud, “we don’t need to go.”
“Sure,” you
said, feeling uncertain.
A minute or
so passed. Then Will said:
“You and my
sister. Why didn’t you tell me?”
He sounded
calm, and a little curious.
“What? I
don’t know,” you said automatically. “It’s nothing.” That was technically true.
Nothing happened.
He
contemplated this for a second. It was hard to tell whether he seemed angry or
puzzled, since you were both in the dark. You couldn’t see him.
“Okay. Good
talk,” he said brusquely, with sarcasm. “I’m serious though. Courtney said
after she dropped you off at your place, she was going to stay over.”
“She never
told me that.”
He didn’t
believe you.
“It’s not a
big deal, Fuzz, if you just said so.”
“It was her
idea.”
“Yesterday,”
he went on, “– or whichever day the race was –she wanted to know if you were
going to be there. She texted me just to ask.”
“Why?”
“I thought
she told you. She’s starting at your college and she doesn’t know anyone else
there. You heard, right? Someone’s got to warn you; she’s going to be knocking
at your dorm, trying to drag you to these weird weekend bohemian markets and
things.”
He sounded
amused, maybe the thought of you and Courtney dating didn’t really perturb him
as much as you feared. It was still slightly awkward for you though; even if
you liked Courtney, it was still weird to be talking about her with her
brother, and your best friend. If they weren’t twins would it be less weird?
Maybe, maybe not.
“Yeah, I
guess I’ll see her around,” you said casually.
Will
sighed.
“Fuzz, get
real with me. Yesterday wasn’t the first time she’s asked me about you. This is
a thing that’s going on now.”
“Okay,” you
said. If so, you weren’t sure when this ‘thing’ actually started. Seemed like
it started even before anyone told you.
“If you
like her back,” Will went on, conversationally, “just get it off your chest. Don’t
make it weird.”
“It’s not
weird?”
“We’ve been
miniaturized almost into quantum space and now we’re being sent by mail.
Everything is normal compared to that.”
“Will,” you
said suddenly, wanting to get off the topic, “you really think Jake –or
Courtney—could help us return to normal size? They don’t know what happened.”
“Not even
close,” he conceded, “but neither does anyone.”
It was
true. Even if you were abduct—er— mugged, probably no one saw. And it didn’t seem like
anyone even knew you were missing, which gave you a tiny sliver of hope not
much time had passed.
“I’ve never
been to this neighbourhood,” you said. “You said you’ve heard of it?”
“No,”
answered Will, “I mean, sure I’ve heard of it. I’ve never gone there. Never
lived there, I mean.”
“Oh,” you
said. “So we could be anywhere right now. I thought you must have been there
before. Like you said.”
“The only
reason I know this place even exists,” he explained, “is because one time Courtney
mentioned it. Just so happens,” he went on slowly, “she dreamed of moving here
one day. So I was just going with my gut on this. But, no, I really have no
idea where we are.”
“I guess
Jake must like the same neighborhood,” you said.
“Yeah,
small world,” Will said uncertainly. “But not for us.”
Truck
engines rumbled as you were conveyed to each mail processing facility,
gradually getting closer and closer to Jake’s new front yard. You spent much of
the time napping, and experienced the inside of the envelope in blocks of
displaced time.
Finally,
one morning a couple of days later, you were awoken to the grumbling sound of a
motorbike. Your envelope had made it onto the mail carrier delivering Jake’s
mail. At least, you hoped it was going to Jake. You considered in the back of
your mind, that the White Pages had printed a mistake. So many other little
things had been going wrong, it wouldn’t surprise you.
At some
point a stack of mail was dropped over your envelope. Although light, you were
so small this created intolerable pressure, and then everything went white as
you passed out.