Short Eyes By Douglas Greene 10-2-00
douglas_greene@hotmail.com
Chapter One
He had to agree with the warden; it wasn’t much a choice. He could die tonight be lethal injection or be become some sort of a guinea pig for the state.
“You want to shrink me?” he asked, laughing. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Just how small do you want to make me?”
“Tom, this has nothing to do with what I want,” the warden snapped back. “If it were up to me, I’d strap you down to the gurney and put the needle in myself.”
Tom was used to that kind of talk by now. Everyone hates a child molester.
Convicted of kidnapping and molesting two little girls, he was slapped with a twenty-year prison sentence. Since people convicted of this type of crime don’t usually last very long in the slammer, Tom had to fight to stay alive. He killed a man in one of those fights that put him on death row, and tonight he was supposed to pay for that act of self-defense with his life.
“I’m not going to go into any of the details, Tom. You have to make a decision based on what I’ve told you.” The warden stared at him through the bars of his tiny cage. “What will it be?”
Tom shook his head, trying hard to understand exactly what he was offering. Despite his predilection for little girls, Tom was an intelligent man with a college degree. It simply wasn’t possible to shrink people. At least he didn’t think so. Then he thought about what was about to happen to him in twelve short hours. Guards were going to drag him down the hall and strap his body to a table. Someone would stick a needle in his arm, the poison would flow, and he would never see another sunrise.
“I don’t believe a word of what you’re telling me,” Tom mumbled. “I think you’re just ***** with my head,” The warden stood wordlessly in front of his cell. Tom sighed. “Go for it.” The warden shook his head up and down, smiled oddly, and walked away. Tom grabbed his mirror so he could hold it between the bars and watch him as he quietly conferred with a guard at the end of the corridor.
He was ashamed of his decision because he knew that he made it out of fear. He didn’t want to die. He wished that he were as courageous as Pete, his old friend. A huge, burly Hell’s Angel, Pete was on death row for six years before he walked that last mile. Had it been six months since they took him away? He went so quietly; one day he was just gone.
Joey, one of the guards, offered me two tiny pills in a small paper cup only ten minutes later. “Shrinking pills?” Tom joked nervously.
“Sleeping pills, Short Eyes,” he replied. “The shrinking part comes later.”
‘Short Eyes’ is prison slang for child molester. There were several people with that nickname inside these walls.
Tom pulled at the pant legs of his prison jump suit; the outfit always seemed to ride up pinching his groin. The clothing that they made him wear was just one of many things he hated about prison life.
“Joey, we’ve been together for a long time…” The guard looked at Tom, expressionless. “What do you know about this?”
“Swallow the pills,” he grunted, nodding to the paper cup Tom held in his hand. “You’ll find out soon enough.”
Joey didn’t like Tom either; he didn’t have many friends. Tom tilted his head back and swallowed the pills. Then Joey smiled at Tom in that same weird way that the warden did, and walked off. Tom wondered how long it would take for the pills to have an effect. The last thing that he remembered was sitting on the edge of his bunk reading an old issue of Conde Nast Traveler.
“I think he’s waking up doctor.” It was a female voice. Tom realized that it had been months since he’d heard a female voice, except on the radio or TV. He hadn’t had a visitor in years, and all of the guards in his unit were male.
The first thing he noticed was the smell. The filtered air was clean and cool, unlike the warm, fetid air in the prison. The walls were painted a bright white; the walls at the prison were all gray. The bedding was clean and fresh with starched sheets that were very different than the ones he had on his bunk. Standing over Tom was a young woman dressed in white. She was smiling broadly.
“How do you feel?” she asked.
“Hungover,” Tom joked. His voice was wrong; he coughed trying unsuccessfully to clear his throat. “Where am I?”
Suddenly the woman disappeared and was replaced by a middle-aged man with a stethoscope. He looked huge. “That’s not important Mr. Johnson, please answer the nurse’s question,” The man spoke sternly, as if Tom were an unruly child.
“I feel like hell. I have a terrible headache, and I’m sick at my stomach.” Tom replied matter-of-factly. Tom ran a hand across the top of his head. He was bald. “Jesus Christ, why did you shave off my hair?” Tom then stared in fascination at his hands. His fingernails were gone. “Damn, what did you do to my hands?”
“Now just calm down Mr. Johnson. Those are just some unimportant side effects. Let me listen to your heart.” He leaned over, placing the cold stethoscope against his chest.
The man suddenly filled Tom’s entire field of vision; a massive hairy hand descended holding the end of the stethoscope. The stainless steel funnel covered most of Tom’s chest.
It was at that moment that Tom knew that it WAS possible to shrink people.
Chapter Two
Tom listened intently as the huge man in the white lab coat continued explaining what they’d done to him. “Essentially, all we’ve done is remove excess matter. Your cells haven’t gotten any smaller; you simply have fewer of them.”
‘And, tell me again, how big am I?” To asked.
The man was beaming, obviously proud of his achievement. “You are just under 23 inches tall and weigh 13 pounds.”
“My hair and fingernails?”
“Gone for good,” he confirmed.
Tom looked again under the sheet. His body was completely hairless. His crotch hadn’t looked like that since he was 10. What was the reason for all of this? Why did they want to do this to him?
“Excuse me,” Tom stammered. “Doc, what did you say your name was again?”
“I’m not a medical doctor. You can call me Mr. Miller.”
“Alright, MISTER Miller,” Tom said sarcastically, “Fill me in. Why the ***** would anyone want to do this? I mean, what’s the point?”
“Well think about it Tom,” he replied condescendingly. “Why should the taxpayers shell out hundreds of millions to imprison people for years when science can provide us with a better option? Instead of putting people behind bars, what if we could just make them… harmless?”
‘Like me?”
“Precisely!” Mr. Miller chortled, folding his arms over his chest. “Look at yourself. Its not like you’re going to be getting in much mischief now, is it?”
Tom had to agree. He sat up on the edge of the bed, protecting his modesty with a corner of the sheet, his hairless legs dangled over the side. The floor was a long way down. He looked around; everything was out of proportion. The little examining room looked cavernous; Mr. Miller seemed like a giant.
“So what happens now? Are you just going to let me go?”
“Hardly, Tom. We’ve probably made you harmless enough, but at the same time, we made you quite helpless. You’d never be able to get along on your own now. Here, let me help you down.”
Mr. Miller reached toward Tom, placing his fingers around his torso. Tom’s eyes widened as he felt the monstrous fingers clamp down on his chest. Panicking, he struggled for an instant, trying to pry Mr. Miller’s hands off his body. He was lifted off the bed, and placed gently on the cool linoleum floor.
“Easy, little guy. Nobody is going to hurt you.” Mr. Miller let go, leaving Tom standing on his own, naked in the middle of the room.
“There’s a mirror on the door, go take a look at yourself.”
Tom first glanced up at Mr. Miller, then around at his surroundings. Tom walked slowly around a giant chair, taking tiny tentative steps like a small, frightened animal. To Tom, the chair looked like a bad prop from a science fiction movie; the seat was above his head. The bed and nightstand had taken on monstrous proportions.
Tom looked at his reflection in the glass. His eyes got huge and he staggered back a couple of steps. Mr. Miller stood directly behind Tom, watching him with great amusement. This was always his favorite part.
“You sick fuckers!” Tom squeaked. “Look what you’ve done to me! I’m a God damn freak!” The naked little man in the glass shook his head violently before throwing his arms up in despair.
“It’s not that bad,” Mr. Miller sympathized. “You’ll adjust, they all do.”
“You mean, you’ve done this to other people?” Tom asked incredulously, alternately staring at his reflection, then up at the giant who stood behind him.
“Not many, less than fifty,” he replied, “But there’s lots more to come.”
Mr. Miller watched as Tom pirouetted in front of the mirror, examining his new body from all angles. He laughed to himself; this part always reminded him of the ‘Dancing Baby’ computer animation. Without warning, he leaned over and pulled Tom in close from behind, and lifted him from the floor in the same manner one would lift a toddler.
“Let go of me!” Tom screamed. “You can’t do this to me! I have my rights!”
Mr. Miller held Tom out at arm’s length as his tiny legs kicked at the air. The miniature man pushed with all of his strength at the giant hands.
Mr. Miller dumped Tom unceremoniously on the bed “That’s exactly what we need to talk about Tom. Your rights.” Tom immediately scrambled to a corner of the bed, pulling a sheet over his little frame. The sheet shook as Tom trembled underneath. The room was suddenly quiet. Mr. Miller stood at the foot of the bed with his hand on his chin, deep in thought.
“You don’t have any rights, Tom. You gave them all up when you agreed to be a part of this program.” Mr. Miller sat on the edge of the bed; Tom cringed, flattening himself against the cold metal headboard. “Let me tell you how this works…”
“Our agency’s obligation is to render you harmless. We’ve begun meeting that obligation by adjusting your size. You have no rights, and your opinions are meaningless.” Mr. Miller tapped his chin with an index finger, carefully composing his thoughts. “You’ll stay here while we assess your abilities. We have to be absolutely sure that you’re incapable of causing any additional harm to society.”
“What more can you do to me?” Tom stammered. “You’ve turned me into a ***** midget!”
“Oh, trust me Tom, there’s lots we can do. We can make you smaller if we need to. We can make surgical adjustments…” His voice trailed off, and he smiled at his last remark.
“What do you mean by that?” Tom snapped.
“You must remember our primary directive, Tom. Before we release you, we must know with absolute certainty that you can no longer hurt anyone. For instance, right now, if you tried to run away, we might be forced slice a couple of tendons, or even amputate your feet.”
“You can’t do that!”
“Yes we can. We can do anything we want. Of course, we’d do it humanely, with as little pain as possible, but we WOULD do it. My suggestion to you would be to accept what’s happened. Your stay with us will be a lot more pleasant.”
The door suddenly swung open. Standing in the doorway was the woman Tom saw when he first opened his eyes. She was young and slim, and wore a cotton print dress and a white lab frock. She was holding something small in one of her hands.
“It’s time to get you dressed Tom,” she smiled. She unfurled the garment in her hand revealing a little, blue, footed infant sleeper. In her other hand, she held out impossibly tiny, sheer white panties that had elasticized leg and waist openings. “Standard issue!”
Mr. Miller grinned at Tom’s horrified expression. “I’ll leave you two alone. ” He turned and walked out of the room.
Chapter 3
“I’m not wearing that stuff,” Tom said defiantly, standing at the head of the bed. He was holding the sheet in front of him, and would have backed further away if there were any place to go.
“Now Tom, maybe we got off to a bad start.” The giantess carefully laid out the tiny sleeper, and the panties at the foot of the bed. “My name is Miss Debra.” She extended a hand to Tom; he cringed, refusing to shake her hand. Miss Debra lowered her hand to the bed, and in one sudden motion, pulled the sheet out of his hands and onto the floor. Tom stood in front of her as naked, and not much bigger, than the day he was born.
Miss Debra took a few steps toward Tom, and grabbed his wrist. Suddenly her massive hand was on his chest forcing him to the mattress. Lying on his back, he struggled and kicked as hard as he could. Finally, he raised his head up and sank his teeth into the warm flesh of her forearm.
“Ouch! Damn it, that wasn’t necessary!” She released Tom immediately, rubbing the painful wound with the palm of her hand. Tom’s bite had broken the skin, a tiny rivulet of blood flowed from the bite mark to her palm. He resumed his spot at the head of the bed, cowering behind a pillow that he stood on end.
Wordlessly, Miss Debra left the room. Less than three minutes later Mr. Miller walked through the door with a grim look of determination on his face. He was carrying a hypodermic syringe.
“Didn’t I go over the rules with you?” He lunged at Tom, grabbed one of his little legs and gave it a twist that forced him face first into the mattress. Tom felt the cool wipe of an alcohol swab on his upper thigh, then the stick of the needle. He lost consciousness immediately.
“Tom. It’s time to wake up.” Tom opened his eyes and attempted to raise a hand to his head. It took a moment for Mr. Miller’s face to come into focus. His arms seemed to be strapped down. His mouth hurt, and he could taste blood.
“You’re gonna hurt for a while little buddy!” Mr. Miller was smiling broadly and his eyes were twinkling. “We had to remove all of your teeth!”
Chapter 4
It took Tom nearly 10 days to heal. Initially, the pain was quite intense, and Tom found that arguing with Miss Debra about clothing was the last thing on his mind. He woke up after his operation dressed in that little blue footed infant sleeper that he’d refused to wear earlier. The cotton fabric had a pattern of tiny brown teddy bears. He immediately noted that the sleeper pinched his groin in precisely the same manner that his prison jump suit had.
On the first morning, still very woozy from the anesthetic, she snuggled him in the crook of her arm like a tiny baby.
“Here Tom, this will make you feel better.” Tom’s entire face was swollen and it was a struggle to even open his eyes. He could see a little a tiny green dab of gel on the end of a giant finger; she put the finger in his mouth, and gently traced his gum line. It did take the pain away, and Tom immediately drifted back to sleep. She continued to offer the gel on a regular basis; the anesthetic was so effective that Tom found himself greedily sucking on her fingertip whenever it was offered which always brought a smile to Miss Debra.
The first few days following his surgery passed by in a haze. Miss Debra dosed Tom every 4 hours with a liquid narcotic administered from an eyedropper. The medicine made him very sleepy. Several times a day, she fed Tom, ladling tiny spoonfuls of tasteless goo from little glass jars; he was far too tired to protest. It was several days before he realized that he was swallowing baby food.
She insisted that he drink lots of fluids; it was easier to drink than to argue with her. He drank fruit juice and water through tiny plastic straws.
Eventually Tom woke up in a different room. This space looked like a standard hospital room; it even had a television mounted in an upper corner. His new bed had steel bars around the perimeter and a cap over the top creating a small cage.
For three days he did not leave his bed; the top provided just enough clearance for him to stand. A variety of people would come into his room, and wordlessly observe him through the bars. A steady parade of men, women, and children, in small groups of 3 or 4, would quietly enter, observe, and leave. He felt like a zoo exhibit.
The only person to interact with Tom was Miss Debra. She supplied a small stainless steel bowl for his personal needs, and helped him use it the first couple of days. Speech was excruciatingly painful, and he wasn’t sure that he could make himself understood if he tried to talk, so Tom was silent.
The morning routine was always the same.
“How are we feeling today Tom?” She’d wait for a reply that Tom never provided. “Did you use your bowl?” If he had, she’d unlock the top of his cage and carefully remove it, placing it on a small table against the wall. She’d secure the top, and the ritual would continue.
She’d reach in through the bars and pull at the snaps of his sleeper. Her arms seemed long enough to reach him anywhere in the tiny enclosure. Effortlessly peeling the tiny suit off of his body, she’d pull off the little panties off in the same swoop leaving him completely nude. The size and power of those giant hands that stripped him so easily was terrifying, and he realized that resistance at this point was futile.
The hands would leave him alone for a moment, and then reappear holding a warm wet towel. She’d wipe him roughly all over, cleaning ever inch of his little body, leaving his skin pink and tingling.
On the fifth day, during the middle of his sponge bath, Tom saw a second pair of eyes peering into his cage, watching the process with great interest. It was Mr. Miller.
“I’m glad to see that you two are getting along,” Mr. Miller snickered. “If we let you out of there, are you going to behave yourself?”
Miss Debra interceded. “I think we can count on Tommy being a good boy,” She slid the underpants up over Tom’s legs. “Let’s get you dressed and take you out for a little while.” In minutes, Miss Debra had him dressed in a clean sleeper.
Mr. Miller held the top open, and Miss Debra reached in and picked up Tom. The feeling of being carried, of being possessed, made him sick at his stomach. The familiar way that she held him, with one of her monstrous hands between his legs, was humiliating. Tom realized that Debra was holding him was the way a mother would hold her baby.
In seconds, Tom found himself standing on the floor looking up at his bed. He noticed that it resembled a little baby’s crib with a cover, or perhaps a cage for a small animal like a cat or dog. He took a small step, and slipped, nearly falling to the floor.
“Easy little buddy! That little jump suit you’re in doesn’t give you much traction.” Tom turned toward the voice, and saw that Mr. Miller was leaning with his back against the far wall, smiling broadly.
The door opened and Miss Debra reappeared. Tom could not take his eyes off of what she was holding. “Tommy, I thought you should see what happens to BAD boys around here…”
Chapter 5
At first he thought that it had to be an animal, perhaps a tiny monkey. Pink and hairless, the little creature’s eyes darted from one person to the next. There was a narrow leather collar around his neck; the collar was attached to a short leash that dangled to the floor. Its skinny arms were wrapped tightly around Miss Debra’s neck. It looked very frightened.
“This is Petey. He’s been with us for about 6 months.” Petey was naked except for a disposable diaper that was much too big.
Miss Debra got down on her knees so that Tom could see. “Come and look, Tom. He won’t bite. Not anymore.”
Tom simply stared, and refused to budge, so Miss Debra slid forward on her knees until she was right in front of Tom. She had the little creature sitting in one of her hands, cradling his neck and tiny head in the other. Petey resembled a premature baby. His lips were sunken into his face; Tom suddenly realized that Petey had undergone the same procedure as he.
Miss Debra handled Petey very gently, as if he were extremely fragile. She carefully put him on the floor in front of Tom, gently laying him on his stomach, affectionately scratching the bare skin of his back like one would do for a favored pet.
“As you can see, little Petey has been through a lot.”
Petey rose just a bit and couched trembling on his elbows and knees, his little bottom sticking up in the air. Except for occasional whimpering noises, he was silent. His feet had been removed. His forearms ended neatly at the wrist. He looked up forlornly, with the saddest eyes Tom thought he’d ever seen.
“Oh, God, Pete…is that you?” Tom whispered, suddenly recognizing his old friend from prison. “Oh, Jesus Christ, what did they do to you?”
“It’s his own fault, really,” Miss Debra explained as she stroked his back. “He threatened a staff member with a sharp pencil. We can’t have that kind of thing, can we Petey?”
Miss Debra picked him up, and cuddled Petey against her chest, patting his back and bottom. “He can’t talk. We had to take that away from him too. That one’s a simple little procedure really; we didn’t even have to put him under. Snip a few neurons in the brain, and the ability to speak is pretty much gone forever.” She pulled at the leash, dropping the dangling end over her shoulder and down her back. “The technical term is mechanically induced aphasia. He can understand speech, but we can take that away too, if we have to.”
Petey buried his head in the nape of Miss Debra’s neck as she stroked the back of his bald head. “Petey was one of the first. As you can see, he’s sort of high-maintenance now, so we think we’re going to keep him right here. To be honest, after all we’ve been through, I’m kind of fond of the little guy.”
Miss Debra carefully rose to her feet. “Well, Petey, I think that’s quite enough excitement for you today. I’m sure that you could use a nap.” Miss Debra turned and walked out, carrying the hapless Petey with her.
Transfixed, Tom could only stare in absolute terror as the door as it closed. Was this HIS destiny? Was he doomed to become a pet, a plaything? He wished he’d had the courage to accept his prison death sentence.
Forgetting that Mr. Miller was still in the room, Tom shrieked when two hairy hands closed around him. He overcame his instinct to kick at Mr. Miller, to bat at the giant fingers that tightened around his torso like a vise. He forced himself to go limp. Mr. Miller returned Tom to his tiny prison and followed Miss Debra out of the room.
Miss Debra smiled as she remembered the horrified expression on Tom’s face. Petey always had that effect on ‘clients’. She was confident that, for the immediate future anyway, Tom would be extremely cooperative.
Petey’s home was a small wire cage on the floor behind the counter of the nurse’s station. She scratched the back of his head affectionately before closing the wire door to the cage. She heard Petey shuffle to the back corner of the enclosure.
“I don’t think that Tom will be giving us any trouble. Showing off our little Petey was a good idea Deb,” Mr. Miller laughed. He washed his hands at a sink behind the counter. Staff always washed their hands after handling clients.
“It does it every time Joel,” Debbie agreed, joining him at the sink. “Did you read that Tom’s history?”
“Yea, he’s a pedo, just like Petey. He deserves everything he’s gonna get.” He dried his hands with a paper towel. “You know, I hope he does act up. I have some big plans for him!”
Debbie shuddered. She knew that Joel Miller had a sadistic streak; that’s what made him so perfectly qualified for this job.
Debbie and Joel worked for a special branch of the Federal Department of Corrections. Their assigned mission statement was clear: they were to aggressively pursue alternative and experimental methods of punishment and incarceration. The offices and laboratories were maintained on two floors of a large metropolitan hospital.
The program had the public’s blessing. People were tired of the violence. People were tired of paying to keep criminals locked up for years; but most of all, people wanted vengeance.
Not counting poor little Pete, there were a dozen clients undergoing ‘treatment’ on the sixth floor. Tom was the most recent, and for some reason, Debbie’s favorite. Perhaps it was because of Tom’s history as a sex offender. Debbie herself was abused as a child; working with Tom probably clearly allowed helped her deal with some very old issues.
A group of strangers stood in the hall,
TO BE CONTINUED?