“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.