When I was eight years old and still living at SPECTRUM, Louise read this book to me called The Borrowers, about a family of tiny people who lived under the floorboards of the house. I remember being enthralled with the thought of a race of tiny people living secretly in this world of giants, stealing (or "borrowing") what they needed to survive.
Well, all I can say is that, once again, reality pales miserably next to fantasy.
It's been days, and I'm hardly the formidable warrior I always fantasized about being. I am armed with a safety pin that I pulled from one of Kim's dirty shirts on the floor (it was there in place of a missing button). It's not the poisoned needle I used to dream about, but at least it offers me a little protection.
I've also fashioned a toga of sorts out of Kleenex, mainly because I was tired of running around with my tackle flapping and my bare ass showing. It really serves no purpose, and it probably looks pretty stupid, but at least I'm not running around naked anymore.
Food and water are the hardest parts. I was so thirsty this morning, I couldn't stand it. So I made my way into Cheryl's bathroom and waited for her to finish her bath. Then I stood there, crouching between the wall and the toilet, watching her towel off and primp in the mirror. Finally, she finished and left, snapping off the light. I ran over to where she had been standing and lapped greedily at the puddles of water that had formed at her feet.
Mary Norton never wrote about anything like that.
As for food... well, there was a little bit of chocolate in that candy wrapper, but I polished it off. I also finished the Oreo crumbs on the carpet, and none too soon. Cheryl moved her search to Kim's bedroom right after. I managed to slip out the door while she was vacuuming under the bed...
Nicole hasn't come by and, as far as I know, hasn't even called. I still blame her for my predicament, but I can't help feeling sorry for her. On some level she cares what happens to me, and Kim has been mashing that button mercilessly for the past couple of days.
I keep waiting for a visitor, just somebody who might be sympathetic to my plight. At this point, I'd even throw myself on Naomi's mercy and accept whatever punishment she felt like dealing out. But Cheryl always goes over there instead.
I've watched the front door meticulously, just waiting for an opportunity to dash out. But Cheryl and Kim both seem aware of my plan, and they never give me a chance. They've moved the potted plant, the only thing that might have given me cover there. And every time they enter or exit, they painstakingly watch the floor, ready to crush me if they see me making a move.
There's a back door, locked and latched, leading to an unkempt back yard. It hasn't been opened once since I got here, and I'm not holding my breath on that as an escape route. Nor the garage, which is only accessible from the outside.
I can't stay in any one place too long, as Cheryl or Kim are constantly searching. Still, I've got a few spots that seem safe enough. Of course, there's the tiny wooden ledge under the couch. That's where I usually sleep, with my safety pin stuck into the wood to keep me from rolling off. There's also the tight space under the china cabinet. It's too small for the vacuum hose to fit, and it's too heavy to be moved easily. But it's dark and filthy down there, and littered with dead bugs.
Finally, there's a hole in the back of the entertainment center through which all the cables and wires run. It's a tight squeeze, but I can usually wriggle past the cords and into the warm, narrow space behind the VCR and cable box. I don't like this spot as much because it's difficult to get in and out of, which makes it a bad place to get caught. Plus, I have to take off my toga since the tight squeeze through the tiny wooden hole would tear it to shreds.
I think it's Wednesday, but I'm no longer sure. I can't remember how long I've been running for my life. I can't remember the last time I felt safe, or happy, or anything other than despair and the driving need to survive.
Anyway, I'm crouched behind the VCR, peering over the edge and watching Cheryl as she tears the cushions off the couch. She no longer calls to me, no longer pretends she'll have mercy on me. In some ways, this is something of a relief. When she was promising leniency, there was always a part of me that longed to surrender and end this horrible existence, even if it meant going back to being her goddamned toy.
But now, that's no longer an option and, therefore, no longer a temptation. She's the hunter, I'm the prey. It's a much simpler relationship.
Kim comes in the front door, and Cheryl drops the couch cushion and turns to regard her daughter. She looks guilty, like she's been caught in the act.
"Where have you been?" Cheryl asks.
Kim walks over and glances at the stripped couch. The cushions lie in a pile at Cheryl's feet.
"Just next door with Nicole," Kim says sweetly. "She's really worried about Ray, and I figured she'd want to talk."
Cheryl sighs. "Kim? I'm going to ask you something, and I want you to level with me, okay?"
Kim tenses, her fists clenching. "What is it, Mom? I've been taking my meds."
"No, it's not about that. Listen..." Cheryl wearily rubs the bridge of her nose with her pink fingernails. "I know you and Nicole took Ray, okay?"
"What?" Kim manages to sound very outraged. "Did Nicole say something, coz she's a liar!"
Cheryl shakes her head. "No, Nicole didn't say anything. And don't worry, sweetheart. You're not in any trouble."
"I don't know anything about this," Kim says, turning to leave. She glances in my direction and I hold my breath and press against the inside of the entertainment center.
"Look, I said you're not in any trouble," Cheryl says, coming after her and grabbing her arm. "I know you and Nicole took Ray, and I know he got away from you, and I know he's in this house somewhere."
Kim turns to look at her, but says nothing.
"I know you've been looking for him, and you didn't want me to know what you were doing. And I've been looking for him, too."
"Really?" Kim asks. "How come?"
Cheryl smiles. "Here's what I'm thinking. The two of us looking together might have better luck. It would make it easier if we didn't have to hide what we were doing. So we'll keep looking and, when we find Ray, we'll share him."
"Share him?" Kim asks, dubiously.
"Yeah, share him," Cheryl answers, laughing. "Take turns playing with him."
"So, you want to keep him?" Kim asks, a grin slowly creeping on her face.
"Of course, sweetie. But we have to keep it a secret, okay? If we find him, you can't tell anybody. Not even Nicole."
"Nicole thinks I've still got him," Kim says with a giggle. "I told her I'd squish him if she told anybody."
Cheryl sighs. "I wish you hadn't done that. It's better if she thinks he's gone for good."
"But she was gonna tell," Kim protests.
"Let her," Cheryl says. "It'll be her word against yours." She grins and takes Kim's chin affectionately in her hand, tilting her face up to her own. "And we both know what a good liar you are, sweetheart."
More water, this time licked from a drinking glass left on the coffee table. I'm on edge the entire time, all too aware of my vulnerable position. My stomach grumbles angrily, but I don't know what I'm going to do for food. I pray it doesn't come down to eating the dead bugs under the china cabinet. Of course, after drinking Cheryl's bath water the other day, eating bugs is pretty much a lateral move.
Kim's next door, no doubt tormenting poor Nicole to keep her in line. Cheryl has dragged the vacuum cleaner into Kim's bathroom and is searching for me there. I remember what a dump that place is, so hopefully she'll be occupied a while longer.
Because I've got an idea. And it's so obvious, I can't believe I didn't think of it earlier.
The phone sits on the coffee table, face down, on the pile of magazines. I take my safety pin from my shoulder and set it on the glass table. Then I climb up the magazines and lie down on my back. I slide underneath the phone like a mechanic and shove up on the Talk button with both hands. The dial tone comes on. I press 9, then crawl over to the 1 and press it twice. The line rings once, and a woman's voice says, "Nine-one-one, what is your emergency please?"
I slide out from under the phone and run. I grab my safety pin and slide it up over my shoulder, then run and fling myself off the edge of the coffee table. I fly through the air and land on the edge of the couch, my hands and feet scrambling for a purchase. Then I run awkwardly to the other end of the couch, bouncing and stumbling across the soft cushions.
A throw pillow lies on the floor, still there from Cheryl's search yesterday. I dive off of the couch and plummet into the pillow, bouncing twice, then coming to rest.
I don't know how long it'll be, but somebody's bound to come knocking at the door. And I intend to be ready for them.
I crouch at the edge of the china cabinet, waiting anxiously. It's been ten minutes, and the phone is making its angry off-the-hook sound. Cheryl is still knocking around in Kim's bathroom, oblivious.
My plan is simple, which is why it's also so damned dangerous. I've got my safety pin open and ready. Any minute now, the police will come by to investigate the 911 call. When they get here, Cheryl will answer the door and I will rush towards them. And if Cheryl tries to step on me or grab me, I'm going to stab her. Which will hopefully serve to draw attention to me and lead to my rescue.
Finally, the knock comes at the door and my heart pounds so hard I think it's going to explode. This is it, the moment of truth. In another minute, I'll either be free or dead. But at least, one way or the other, this fucking nightmare will be over.
I hear the familiar slap of Cheryl's flip-flops as she comes to answer the door, and I suddenly realize I've made a grave miscalculation. She's wearing shoes, for Christ's sake!
She comes running into the living room and stops when she hears the phone buzzing. She glances towards it, then around the room. "What the hell did you do, you little shit?" she whispers, running over and grabbing the phone. She hangs it up, then starts looking around angrily.
Another knock at the door, and she walks over to it and opens it a crack. She stands behind the door, peering around it at the policeman standing outside.
"Um, Cheryl Morgan?" he asks, checking his printout. God, so close. But Cheryl's looking for me and would crush me before I even got the guy's attention. It's not a risky plan, it's suicide. And I'm not that desperate yet.
"What is it, officer?" she asks, keeping the door barely opened, preventing him from seeing inside.
"We received a 911 call from this address," he says. "And whoever called left the phone off the hook, so we couldn't call back."
"Really?" Cheryl says, shaking her head. "You know, I just found the phone lying on the floor." She snaps her fingers. "Ah, you know what probably happened? I probably left it sitting on the couch, and it fell off and hit the speed dial."
"Well," the officer says, "I really should come in and have a look."
"Of course, officer," Cheryl says. "Can you give me a couple of minutes to make myself decent?"
The officer sighs. "Tell you what. We'll just forget it this time. But I'd suggest you take the 911 off of your speed dial. We get a lot of calls from people with kids or pets that accidentally push the button."
"I will, officer," Cheryl says. "Thank you."
"Have a good day, Ms. Morgan," the officer says. Cheryl shuts the door, then turns to address the living room.
"Nice try, you little prick," she says, walking over to the coffee table and poking under it with her foot. "But now I know where you are." She drops to her knees and begins searching under the table, then moves on to the couch. I remain hidden under the cabinet, watching her futile search.
God, I'm so hungry! Kim sits on the couch, eating Oreos and watching TV. She's supposed to be searching for me, but Cheryl went to have a bath and Kim decided to take a little break.
I've been sitting on the wooden ledge under the couch, trying to ignore the frantic moaning of my belly. But finally, I can no longer stand it. I swear, even the bugs under the china cabinet are starting to sound good.
I leap down to the floor and look out from under the couch. Kim's bare foot dangles down, her toes playing with the brass leg of the coffee table. And on the carpet, just under her foot, are Oreo crumbs! And God help me, my mouth is watering maniacally.
Maybe just one or two, I tell myself, inching out into the open, watching her foot carefully. Maybe I can snag just enough to stop the gnawing hunger. God, they're so close and what are the odds that she's looking down at just this moment?
"Any luck," Cheryl calls from the hallway. Kim leaps to her feet and drops to her knees. I almost scream at the sudden nearness of her. All she has to do is turn her head, and I'm spotted. And I've got nowhere to run.
Cheryl walks into the room in her bathrobe, barefoot. I'm scared to move, afraid that any motion on my part will draw Kim's attention. She's so close to spotting me...
"He's not down here," Kim says, standing up. She didn't even look! She just didn't want her mom to know she was loafing. Trembling with relief, I scramble back up to the safety of the little wooden lip.
Cheryl sighs. "Where the hell is that little prick hiding?" she asks wearily. "I swear, I'm going to make him pay for putting us through this."
"Me too," Kim giggles.
"Okay, keep looking," Cheryl says. "I'll be back to help in a few minutes."
After another hour or so, I hear Kim let out a frustrated sigh. The couch shakes around me and I know she's just collapsed on it.
"What's the matter?" Cheryl asks, from over by the china cabinet. I think they might be onto that particular hiding place because she's been prodding under it with the yardstick for the past fifteen minutes. I think she's probably cleaned out most of the dead bugs and knocked down a few of the cobwebs.
"I'm sick of this," Kim whines. "I'm sick of looking for Ray all the time."
Cheryl sighs and climbs to her feet. I hear her approach, and the couch groans as she takes a seat next to Kim. "I know, sweetie. It's frustrating. But he's around here somewhere, and just think of all the fun we'll have with him when we catch him."
"If we catch him," Kim says. "What if he's dead?"
"He's not," Cheryl says. "He made a phone call this afternoon, so we know he's still in the house. I'm pretty sure he's somewhere here in the living room."
"But we've looked everywhere," Kim keeps whining.
Cheryl says nothing for a few seconds. Then finally, "I think we need a break. How about we just forget about Ray for tonight and watch a movie or something?"
"Okay," Kim says, without much enthusiasm.
"I'll make a deal with you," Cheryl says, standing up. "You look for another thirty minutes, and I'll go grab us some dinner and rent a movie from Blockbuster. Then we can just kick back and relax for the rest of the night."
"Can we have Chinese?" Kim asks.
"Sure, sweetheart. Anything you want."
It's sometime in the middle of the night. Kim's gone to bed, and Cheryl is lying on the couch above me, snoring.
All I wanted were some damn cookie crumbs. But now, Kim and Cheryl have trodden over them so many times they're probably ground into Oreo dust. But, there is the Chinese food. Sesame chicken and fried rice, sitting in half-full cardboard containers up on the coffee table. The smell has been tormenting me all night long. Hell, the scent is so tantalizing it almost makes me drunk.
Speaking of drunk, I think Cheryl made it through a bottle by herself tonight. Kim tried to wake her when the movie (Ocean's Eleven, in case it matters) was over, but Cheryl just mumbled and refused to budge. So for the past couple of hours, I've been sitting here under the couch, listening to Cheryl snore and smelling Chinese food and slowly going out of my mind. I'm trying to work up the nerve to run out there and get something to eat.
She's drunk, I tell myself. She's passed out drunk, and nothing's going to wake her up.
I poke my head out and look around cautiously. Cheryl is sprawled on the couch. Her arm hangs limply off the edge above me, and an empty wine glass lies overturned on the floor where she dropped it. I walk along the edge of the couch, looking for a way up to the top of the coffee table. Last time, I scaled the couch and jumped over to the table, but I'm really reluctant to try that this time with Cheryl snoozing up there.
Unfortunately, there doesn't seem to be any other way. The legs of the table are brass and smooth, and while I can probably slide down them, I'll never be able to climb up that way.
So I leap up and catch hold of the fabric of the couch and slowly pull myself up the front. I listen intently for any change in Cheryl's snoring, ready to abandon my plan at the first sign of her awakening. Fortunately, she's like a freaking log at the moment.
God, it's such slow going. I could probably move a lot faster, but I haven't eaten a decent meal since Cheryl fed me breakfast days ago. I ate that entire meal wedged between her big and second toe, accepting table scraps from between her fingers as she slid them to me under the table. No reason for it - just one of Cheryl's little games. She has a lot of them.
I reach the edge of the couch, and have to fight down the terror of being so close to her. She's lying on her back, a massive, snoring form. Her t-shirt, damp with sweat stains, adheres to her chest, moving up and down with each rattling breath. I make my way down the length of her body, breathing along with her as I pass her waist and walk alongside her leg.
Her feet, resting on the end of the couch, are bare, of course, a sight that never fails to instill terror and awe in me. How many times have I been pinned beneath her feet, grasped between her toes, fondled and stroked and brought to reluctant orgasm?
I shake my head and force myself to concentrate on the task at hand, namely getting over to the coffee table. It takes a few seconds to steel my nerve. I take a couple of steps backwards, coming dangerously close to Cheryl. Three deep breaths, then I run and leap.
I land on the brass rim of the table and tumble, head over feet, onto the glass. I sit up and hold my breath, making sure Cheryl is still snoring before proceeding.
God, my mouth is watering so hard that my chin is wet. The glands in my cheeks are actually hurting as I approach the tall, white cardboard container. It stands almost twice my height, and is decorated with a generic red Chinese dragon. The flaps on top are opened, and the smell of broccoli chicken is downright maddening.
Kim and Cheryl's paper plates are stacked on the table next to the food. The plates are empty, except for the odd grain of rice, which doesn't seem quite so appetizing now that the broccoli chicken is within reach. I find a wooden chopstick on the top of the stack, smeared red on the end by Cheryl's lipstick. I grab the stick and pull it over to the container. Then, I raise the end of the chopstick over my head and slowly work my way down the length of it, raising it higher and higher until it stands on its end. Then I let it drop and it lands against the carton.
Cheryl stirs and mumbles at this moment, and every hair on my body stands at attention. I hold my breath and push up against the container, praying it provides enough cover. I watch Cheryl intently as she scratches under her nose. Then her hand falls limp again and she resumes snoring.
Once my heart starts back up again, I climb the stick and peer down into the container. Broccoli, carrots, chestnuts, and big chunks of chicken swimming in a brown sauce. My stomach rumbles so loud it almost knocks me down. I remove my toga and let it fall down to the table surface. I then slide the safety pin from my shoulder and drop it carefully, letting it land softly on top of the toga. Then, unable to control myself any longer, I step onto the edge of the container and jump in.
I'm standing up to my chest in lukewarm sauce, surrounded by mounds of vegetables and chicken. Greedily, crazily, I tear into the food, falling into a frenzy as I frantically stuff handful after handful into my mouth. I swallow hard, barely chewing. My stomach struggles at first, but finally realizes I have its own best interests at heart. In ten minutes, I'm stuffed and suddenly very, very sleepy. The warm sauce, the full belly - I could easily sink down and go to sleep right now, but I know I don't dare. Wearily, I climb on top of the remaining vegetables and make my way to the top of the carton. I sling my leg over the edge, grab the chopstick, and climb back down.
I'm covered up to my neck with the warm, sticky sauce. I dab at myself with a used napkin, also stained with red lipstick, and manage to clean myself off to some degree.
Cheryl is no longer snoring when I don my toga and grab my safety pin. She stirs slightly and smacks her lips. I don't want to get caught on top of the table, so I run to the corner and peer over the edge. The table leg, brass and slick, extends down to the floor. It's too thick to get my arms around, but I'm still a little sticky from the sauce. That gives me enough friction to climb over the edge and make my way down.
"Ray," Cheryl mumbles sleepily as I reach the ground. I glance up and nearly throw up my hard-earned dinner when I see her looking right at me. Before I can even bolt for the couch, her bare foot comes down on top of me, knocking me to the floor.
"Now I got you, you little shit," she slurs, giggling as I struggle crazily. She clumsily works her toes around me, grasping me around the waist. I squirm, frantic and blind with fear, as she lifts me with her toes. "You ready to get yourself some foot?" she says. Well, actually, it's more like "R'you re'y gechursef suh foot?" She's really, really drunk.
Not that it helps me much. Her toes grasp me tightly, viciously, and she begins to wiggle them slowly. "Been looking for you," she says, giggling. "Gotta go tell Kim. She'll wanna play with you too."
I continue to struggle as she grinds me between her toes, squeezing the air from my lungs. With fumbling hands, I try to ready my safety pin. She pinches her toes together hard, making me scream, and the pin tumbles to the carpet below.
"You are going to be so sorry," she mumbles. "God, I'm gonna do things to you..."
Then suddenly, somehow, miraculously, I slip from her grip! I fall to the floor with a heavy thud. Her toes still clutch my toga, wadding it up and tearing it to shreds. Naked, I scramble over to grab my safety pin, then bolt under the couch.
"Oops," Cheryl says, with another drunk giggle. "I squashed him!" She brings her bare foot back down to the carpet and wipes it back and forth. The toga, sticky and wet with brown sauce, clings to the bottom of her foot for few seconds before it is finally, mercilessly, scraped free.
"Little... shit..." she says thickly. A few seconds later, she's snoring again.
For almost ten minutes, I can't move. "Fucking bitch," I mutter over and over, clutching my safety pin and staring at her enormous foot. God, I just want to run out there and drive this pin into her goddamned arch.
Finally, the adrenaline fades and the horror and frustration subside somewhat. My belly's full, and I survived another day. Exhausted, I climb up to the little wooden ledge and lie down. I'm asleep almost immediately.
I'm standing in Cheryl's palm, but she's also my size, kneeling in front of me. She's holding out her hand. I go over to see what she's got, and I see a tiny version of her and me in her palm. The tiny version of her is holding an even tinier version of her and me.
Terrified, I look up and see Cheryl's enormous face peering down at me. There's someone else standing next to her, and it's me. And I'm looking up into an even more enormous face of Cheryl, and so on, ad infinitum.
I wake up to Cheryl's cursing. I hear her drop to her knees and she calls to me under the couch. "I didn't dream that, you little shit," she says in a voice raspier than usual. "I almost got you, didn't I?" Her hand gropes blindly, her fingernails digging into the carpet. Then, suddenly, her hand jerks away. I hear frantic, pounding footsteps moving away. And then, in the distance, the sound of Cheryl throwing up.
Kim's heart just isn't in the search anymore. But Cheryl is encouraged by my close call last night. "The little prick is starving," she tells Kim. "Why else would he risk his life for some Chinese food?"
"I dunno," Kim says, disinterested. I'm standing behind the VCR, wondering if this could be the beginning of a break for me. If Kim doesn't care, chances are she'll make some stupid mistake and I'll be able to get out that front door.
"This is perfect," Cheryl says. "All we have to do is set out some food for him, and we can grab him when he tries to steal it."
"Whatever," Kim says, standing up and walking to the front door. "I'm gonna go see Nicole."
Cheryl sighs. "You shouldn't keep tormenting her, Kim. She hasn't told anybody, has she?"
Kim giggles. "I told her Ray was sick because I made him sleep in the freezer the other night, and she started crying."
"There's no call for that, Kim," Cheryl says sternly. "Just leave Nicole alone."
"Whatever," Kim repeats, heading out the front door.
Cheryl stares after her, and mutters, "Little bitch." She walks over to the coffee table and starts gathering the trash from last night's dinner. "Hope you liked the chicken, Ray," she calls, stacking the plates and the cartons. "It's the last food you're gonna see for a long time."
Then she stops in front of the couch and reaches down with her toes to pick up my shredded toga. I watch, transfixed by the sight, unable to look away. She smiles cruelly as she ravages the tissue between her toes.
"You like that, you bad little boy?" she asks the Kleenex as it falls to bits. "Is that what you want, huh?" She begins stomping on the tissue, slamming her bare foot down on it again and again. "I said, is that what you want? Huh? Is it?"
Finally, she tires of the game and bends down to pick up the tattered remains of my toga. She sets it on top of the paper plates and carries the stack into the kitchen.
While she's gone, I slip through the hole in the back of the entertainment center and drop to the floor. After last night, I suspect she's going be searching all over the living room today. So I'm going to hole up in Kim's room and wait for things to blow over somewhat.
I'm running across that dangerous open space in the living room, heading towards the hallway, when somebody comes knocking at the door. I run to the china cabinet and dive under just as I hear Cheryl's approaching footsteps. Hidden in the shadows, I watch her bare feet as she passes by.
She gets to the door, and mutters, "Oh, shit." She opens the door a crack and says, "What is it, Suzy?"
Then, the most beautiful voice I've ever heard in my entire life answers, "Ms. Morgan? I've come about Ray."
Suzy! She's here!
Giantess World
Homunculus by Cayce