Phil woke up in a cold sweat and with a splitting headache. It was a pain that he had become all too familiar with. He needed aspirin, so he got out of bed, and went to the bathroom sink. It was then he realized that he was shorter than when he passed out. He glanced at his license. 4’10”. His weight stayed the same. He wanted to scream. He didn’t know why, or what was causing him to shrink. But unless he could figure out a way to stop it, he was afraid that it would continue until he was no more.

He had to grab a chair from the kitchen table and stand on it to reach the aspirin. He took 3 pills from the bottle. Once they were down, it was then that he remembered what his FBI friend told him about Veronica. It was impossible. It should have been impossible, but the way the case was unfolding, he shouldn’t have been surprised.

Phil knew he needed to do something. He couldn’t stand around and do nothing while he continued to shrink. He called his friend Freddy, and asked to meet him at Clancy’s. If he could somehow convince Freddy that something was happening to him, it might help him figure out who or what was responsible. Freddy said he would meet him at 7.

At 6:30, Phil got into his car. Even with the seat as far forward as it could be, he could just about reach the pedals on the floor, and he could just about see over the steering wheel. He got annoyed when his friends said he should never have bought the used 1978 Ford LTD, saying it was not only old, but too big a car. Now he wished that he had bought the Nissan compact he was also looking at.

Phil reached Clancy’s. Parking down the street, he walked up to the entrance. There were plenty of women outside smoking and talking to their friends. But they all towered over him, which made him feel extremely awkward. A couple of the ladies who had been drinking remarked how cute and adorable he looked. Some even offered to carry him into the bar, joking that he didn’t meet the height requirement for entry. Phil fumed at the taunts, but he needed to see his friend.

He saw Freddy in the back. He also saw the bar was packed with drunk women, and they all looked down at him as he tried to navigate through the mass of feminine bodies. Some pinched his ass, some stuck their tits in his face, and a fat chick cupped his dick. He felt total humiliation, but he needed to talk to his friend.

Reaching Freddy’s table, he sat down. Freddy looked at Phil, and reminded him that this was why he should never go to a bar. The taller women would harass him because of his size. Phil told him that he wasn’t always that small, that he was as tall as his friend. Freddy looked at him like he was joking. He told Phil that he was the same size as when they were in college, and he was always protecting him from drunk cheerleaders trying to take advantage of his stature. This made Phil mad.

Phil started to yell, telling Freddy what his FBI friend had told him about Veronica Cartwright, and how her fingerprints said that she should be dead. But she was very much alive. He didn’t know what to believe. He needed his friend’s help.

Freddy laughed. Phil yelled even louder, telling his friend that 5 days ago he was 6’2”, and for some unexplained reason, he was 4’10”. Freddy thought Phil was pulling his leg and laughed louder. He wasn’t the only one, as all the ladies in the bar also laughed. One of them even asked loudly if his mommy knew he was out in a bar. Even more laughter, as Phil turned beet red. He just got up and made his way towards the exit, trying to dodge groping hands. 

He eventually made his way to his car. He drove off, but instead of going back to his apartment, he just drove around, trying to clear his head. He never expected Freddy to act the way he did, but he couldn’t understand how people that he knew for a long time hadn’t noticed his height loss. 

He eventually returned to his apartment. He just wanted to lay in bed and never get up. Something was happening that was starting to scare him. He felt himself at the mercy of some unseen force, and he had no idea of what to do, or how to combat it. 

He got a glass out. The bottle of bourbon was three quarters filled. And he poured himself a glass. He just kept thinking about what had happened. Nothing made sense. It was supposed to be a simple missing person case. Instead, it was proving anything but. 

He didn’t know where to go or who to trust. He poured himself another glass, then another, then another. Soon the bottle of bourbon was empty. Phil couldn’t see straight. His diminished size made the effects of the alcohol on his body more pronounced. He barely made it to the toilet. It continued on and off for what seemed like hours. Eventually, he passed out sitting with his face hanging over the porcelain bowl. 

He woke up sometime during the night, extremely disoriented. He stumbled into the kitchen, opening the fridge, and looking for food. He felt like crap. He found a container that had something in it. Phil didn’t know if it was good or bad. He just ate the contents. And he made his way to his bed. 

Laying down, he noticed that the room was spinning ever so slightly, but without the accompanying headache. He hoped that when he woke up, he was the same height as he was that morning. He started to drift off when the image of Veronica crept into his head. The always beautiful, always sexy Veronica, with the most beautiful tits in the world.. As he fell asleep, it was to the thought of him fondling her breasts. Her big beautiful rack. And then he was off to never never land.