After a long stretch, Paul emerged through the grate in the front parlor across the hall from the living room where he’d shrunk. Nobody to be seen, at least not yet, although there were an awful lot of giant family members charging around in search of his shrimpy body to mulch into paste. He was bound to find yet another sooner or later.

            The boy ran again across the floor, bypassing the expansive bookshelves which stretched into oblivion above, and slid under the flaps overhanging the base. Less coverage than the glassware cabinet, but the best he’d have in this room.

            When next Paul heard the shuffle of pounding feet and stifled laughter, this time, it wasn’t accompanied by pestering voices. No jokes or loud strategies being planned. There were people in the room, but no thumping of knees dropping to the carpet to search for their half-inch prize. No eyes filling the gaps between the couch legs.

            Maybe, just maybe, he was finally winning?

            That was when a stack of almanacs came crashing down on the far side of the couch, shoved hard against the surface, entirely blotting out that escape route. Then another on the opposite side, and still more musty tomes in tactical succession, narrowing the exits on the broad side of the furniture. In almost no time, Paul was blocked into the stuffy space beneath the couch. The laughter had returned in gale force.

            Where once he’d found sanctuary here, now Paul realized he’d built himself a prison as a result of his family’s quick teamwork. Stealthily, he turned, backing toward the wall, where he spied a smaller ventilation opening: his last remaining play.

            A thick coffee table book slid down the back wall, blocking off the vent. Giant fingers drummed possessively against the cover as the hand reached down from above on the cushions, extinguishing Paul’s chance.

            “Uh-uh-UH! No cheating a third time,” Nettie scolded with a wagging finger. She continued shoveling books inside, blocking her puny younger brother in ever-closer to the last remaining opening in his embankment. With a sinking heart, Paul realized there was no getting out of here except the way which was now crowded by every gorgeous amazonian attendee of the family luncheon.

            “Well, what now?” Aunt Kathleen questioned from above.

            “I do believe the end of the game is nigh,” Aunt Debra snickered. “And somebody just might lose a head.”

            “Who’s gonna do it?” one of the cousins piped excitedly, clomping her shoe on the floor in anticipation.

            “I think since Elise thought up this whole game once we stumbled on poor little Paul’s silly fantasies, she deserves the final honors,” Patricia said with pride only a mother could have for her daughter.

            The aunts and great aunts nodded, and even Nettie, deflated of gusto that she might be the lucky winner, shook her head. There was some mumbled dissent from the cousins, who were clearly itching to get stomping. However, everyone present seemed at least content to witness the entertainment up close. All of them stooped, fluffing petticoats out from under blooms of skirts. The towering women crouched with hands on knees, wide-eyed and eager for the spectacle.

            “Oh, don’t mind if I do!” Elise announced regally. “But first, let’s get you out of there, you funny little perv.”

            She crouched, fingers pinched around her left mary-jane buckle, and unlatched it. Her foot tugged from the shoe, and then came her white stocking, achingly unpeeled along the full length of her leg. When at last she plucked the mealy fabric from the ends of her toes, even from this distance, Paul had an idea where her intentions lay. His stomach gurgled.

            The odor arrived like a punch to the face, and for someone of Paul’s size, it was a considerable wallop. Her foot’s scent, pungent leaking from between her writhing toes, was strong from outside the couch-prison, but then it was getting closer. The air soured almost instantly. Paul coughed, wiping his brow, and tried to ignore both his erection and the grip of terror as he watched his sister’s giant limb approaching.

            Much like the oblivious White Rabbit, Paul watched the miniature doorway filling up with an enormous foot. He drank in the sight, dumbly, only for an instant, before he was absorbed into its ramming force.

            Elise’s newly freed bare foot, sticky and slick from summer heat, surged forth with Paul’s helpless naked body adhered to her sole. When Elise had stretched her leg as far under the couch as she could, her heel came to rest on the carpet, and Paul crumpled against his sister’s rank, toejam-smeared heel, still in one piece, but dizzy from the fumes.

            “Wow, I can actually feel his creepy little prick standing up!” Elise erupted with laughter. Her relatives joined her in the commiserating cackles at Paul’s inexplicable hard-on, even as his end rapidly approached. “How embarrassing. Seriously, though, this must feel like the best birthday party ever for you, huh, Paul? All the pretty giant ladies and skirts and petticoats and big ol’ stomping FEET you could ever want. And it’s all about you.”

            “Too bad it’s not his real birthday,” a cousin giggled.

            “At least it’s his UN-birthday!” her sister shrieked.

            “Hey, you got the right storybook this time!”

            Paul hacked for oxygen. Their trap had worked all too well. No fresh air could seep inside; all he was breathing now was the vile, vinegary essence which steamed by the gallon from Elise’s greasy foot flesh. Her toes flicked and crossed together. They popped from the lubricant of sweat, releasing fresh bursts of flavor into the air.

            The half-inch boy was on the verge of passing out. He could feel his lungs caving, his stomach rotating end-over-end. Even as he tried to crawl in the dark away from his big sister’s nuclear warhead of a naked foot, he somehow accidentally just moved back toward it in his delirium. At least, that’s what he told himself with what little coherence remained. Odds were, his subconscious was acting as a foolish compass now in the absence of logic, and he was coming back toward her because, in all the worst ways possible, this game, right now, was the greatest thing that had ever happened to Paul.

            He huffed and puffed, nearly depleted as his sister continued gassing him out by mere proximity to this foot, which had spent most of the day cooking in stockings and mary-janes: the very outfit, in fact, he’d spent so many days and mostly nights fantasizing over. Though it was a tough call in the blackness, he was pretty sure more of his family members were following Elise’s example. Nyloned toes and bare soles, all freshly marinated in tight shoes, were being wedged between the stacks of books for an all-out assault on his olfactory senses.

            Maybe, Paul decided, with his half-melted brain, it made all the sense in the world now to have just one more peek at the full ensemble. One last chance to take in the curious sights of a dozen gigantic women simultaneously indulging his madness and punishing him for it.

            After all, they were all clearly just a little bit mad at this party.

            Paul lumbered lazily out from beneath the opening, hand to the squishy wall of his sister’s tall foot, using it as a guide while she helpfully dragged him toward doom. Even as he emerged back into the blaring parlor glow and a chorus of family applause, he was solely focused on his sister now.

            The life and color of Elise’s billowing blue dress, her unblemished apron, the lacy delicacy of her petticoats tantalizingly dripping from beneath. Her graceful hands, her precious bow, the strength and power of those slender legs rising higher and higher into the air, beyond imagining: like Alice, fresh off an EAT ME cake. She was more beautiful than anything he’d seen in his life. Paul’s mind raced hotly with the unwholesome promise of it all. Goose bumps rising, cock begging for climax, the boy let himself be transported down the rabbit hole, into the fantasy his gorgeous Alice and the rest of the family had devised, just for him.

            He could see her now. Alice, or was it Elise? It didn’t matter now. Her body was framed by the Wonderland sunlight behind. A girl who could rip through the sturdiest cottage with finger and foot, stamp an entire living garden into nonexistence, stand up to a crazed Queen in her own dominion to threaten her with an unhappy end. The plucky Englishwoman in the simplest armor of bow and blue dress who would make all of his dreams come true by growing one last time. He took hold of his member.

            One last look now. Drunk on hazy air, skin flushed, body aquiver with perfect fear, and pathetic erection at full mast.

            Paul felt himself smile. So did his Alice, in answer.

            Elise’s upheld none of the mercy of Patricia nor the theatricality of Nettie. She, Paul’s personal Alice, was already late for the end of this game. And she was sick of bringing involuntary elation to her sick insect of a sibling. Her mary-jane shoe crashed down to earth with the promised aplomb. The boom of her foot echoed through the house.

            She dug her heel into the ground, twisting and turning, just for good measure. Then Elise lifted her foot again and smashed it back to the carpet with the same enthusiasm and muscular coordination. Another house-rattling crash. The sole rammed to and fro with tap-dancing ferocity. Figure-eights were scraped into the floor with Paul’s mushy remains. The sound of the liquid squish was soft, almost too insignificant hear. The boy’s body had burst humbly on impact with his sister’s shoe, then smeared from one end to the other from her efforts.

            Even so, the entire family heard the finish, and broke into the requisite cheers and laughter again for the success of the game. When the blue-clad young lady sunk with a sigh back into the nearest armchair, she gave her black bow a little twirl, then cast it aside as she propped her shoe over her knee.

            A crimson smudge painted across her sole was the only memento of Paul now. The younger cousins and Nettie all gathered around to poke curious fingers at the remains, simultaneously giggling and grossing themselves out.

            “Oh, my,” Elise sighed. “It’s so nice for something to make sense for a change!”