General Fiction posted July 24, 2017


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A man waits for his ineveitable transformation

The visit


The dress bit into Mike's neck as he pulled it tight, little mounds of fat pushing through between the buttons. She had been smaller than him. The one he usually wore on these occasions was more adapted to his size but just this time he really wanted to feel close to her.

Smoke curled up, and the flames lapped at the dry bark of the logs. The tick of the old clock filled the room. How many times had they sat here together, fingers touching, watching the big hand drag itself towards twelve?

His eyes settled on the urn above the fireplace. Her name was etched almost as deep in the metal as it was in his heart. One month since she had turned cold beside him in bed. And this was his first time facing this alone. His nails bit into his palms, and he swung his head towards the clock again. Two minutes left. The windows rattled in the wind, and the small hand swept on.

His head spun round as a knock came from the front door. Who could be knocking at midnight on a Tuesday? Pulling himself up off the chair, he made his way over to the door. A bearded face stared back at him through the peephole.

"Who's there?"

"My name is Jim. We need to talk."

"It's midnight, can't you come back at a decent time?"

The ding dong of the grandfather clock drowned out the reply. His eyes shut and his mouth twisted as the burning began in his chest. Long, chestnut hair sprouted from his scalp as his fingers clutched at his head. His knees crashed into the ground as his groin boiled and throbbed, his body shrinking and stretching. His lips split and a low manly growl transformed into a high feminine scream.

The pain faded and his eyes opened. The dress was now full with heavy breasts. His fingers wrapped around the door handle and he pulled himself up. Through the peephole, a blond-haired women in man's clothing stared back at him.

"You see, we really do need to talk."

The lock twisted in Mike's fingers, and he pulled open the door. Jim's large breasts pushed out the thin fabric of his jacket.

"How, how did you find me?"

"It's cold out here. Can I come in?"

"Of course."

Jim made his way into the lounge, and Mike pushed the door shut.

"Mike, your wife asked me to come."

Mike's long hair bounced against his shoulders as he spun round.

"That's impossible, my wife died a month ago."

"Before she died, she contacted me. She was worried you wouldn't be able to cope by yourself. It is a difficult affliction, I should know."

"Lucy contacted you before she died? Then why did you turn up now, just at the time I was transforming, instead of coming earlier?"

"You wouldn't have believed me if you hadn't seen me change in front of you."

"That's true."

"Can we sit?"

"Of course, be my guest."

Jim's long fingers wrapped around Mike's hand.

"It doesn't matter how Lucy found me, but she did. And I want you to know, I know what it's like to go through this alone. Maybe we can share a bit of the pain by going through it together?"

Mike took in the beautiful blue eyes, the long blond hair and the tender smile of the woman sitting opposite him.

"Sure. Why not? Can I offer you a drink?"

"Yeah, that'd be great. Do you have any whiskey?"

"Yeah, just a minute, I'll grab it."

Mike's hands trembled as he took the whiskey bottle down from the shelf above stove. Was it really possible there was someone else like him?

Whiskey splashed into two glasses, and a lump grew in his throat as he made his way back towards the lounge.

"How long have you been changing like this, Mike?" Jim asked, taking the offered glass.

"Since I was twenty four. It just came out of nowhere. What about you?"

"The same. Twenty four. Do you have any theories on where it came from?"

The glass dropped onto the table next to Mike's chair.

"Not really. My wife used to joke it was a curse from one of the women I slept with and dumped. I was quite a womanizer before I started to change. I don't believe in that kind of nonsense but then again it's no more crazy than anything else I've come up with."

"How long do you stay in this condition, usually? A couple of hours?"

"Yeah, two or three. Sometimes more, sometimes less."

"I'm the same."

Mike felt his body relax as the whiskey flowed through it. Time passed as they discussed their various experiences, and shared anecdotes about close-calls with friends and relatives. More whiskey was poured, and as Mike spoke, he began to realize just how lonely he had let himself become.

As the clock struck two, Mike felt the familiar burning in his chest. He slipped of the chair, pain throbbing through his body. As his eyes opened, something bright burst in front of him.

"I got the photo, let's go."

Through blurry tears, Mike watched as the original Jim and the female version dashed towards the front door.

"Sorry, Mike, it's nothing personal, it's just this is going to make a great story."

The lights of the car disappeared down the road as Mike shut the door. His hairy fingers tore at the dress, and it fell away as he walked back into the house.

"Why can't I turn into a werewolf like normal freaks? At least then I could have eaten those bastard journalists."





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