Good Little boy
by Libra
At the end of a dirt road was a house, now slightly neglected and unnoticed by most passersby. Most of those with common sense, like the neighbors and the mailman even avoided the house whenever possible. The main reason why most people avoided this house was that its occupant, Paul Fitzgerald now lived in the house alone and recently became a violent drunk.
Since his divorce and subsequent absence of his wife and kids, Paul turned to the bottle. He never laid a finger on his kids, but he did yell at them over the littlest things. Paul's temper was one of the worst in the world, stubborn as ever he changed very little as a person. He merely gained a few more pounds and looked terrible. If wasn't for his inheritance, he'd be a drinking bum instead just a lazy man drinking in front of the TV for the thousandth time.
The slight smell of dirty dishes and forgotten clothes was the main scent inside the house. Letters lay open and slightly unfolded. "Child Support Payment Due" was the main headline.
In his La-Z-Boy, Paul was drifting off to sleep when suddenly sounds came from down the hallway. When Paul went to check his son and daughter's room, he found the high-pitched voices of children singing and music were playing out of a CD player
Both of them were quite young when they left the house. Most of their toys were left behind, abandoned and forgotten. Paul's ex-wife was still scared to come back for everything. However, this was going to change soon; according to a court order she was going to return with the cops to gather her things and the children's stuff. Their closets still had a few outfits left in them as well.
Paul looked around in full alert. "Someone had to have turned on the boom box," he thought, keeping his eyes peeled for anything out of its normal spot.
Carefully, he entered the room and turned off the CD player. He half-expected someone to leap out at him from a hiding spot he overlooked, but only dust and the musty smell of the room were all that greeted him.
Seeing and hearing nothing else out of the ordinary, Paul unplugged the boom box and left the room, closing the door behind him after switching off the light. An odd and very faint giggle came from the darkened room after the door was shut, but was unheard by Paul.
The next night, another strange event happened. Paul was asleep in his chair when someone called his name over and over.
"Paul, come and play," a distant and small voice said from children's room.
At first, Paul thought it was a dream. He jerked awake and listened hard for the voice.
"Paul, come and play," the voice called, sounding even more distant.
Paul jumped from his seat and grabbed a beer bottle that was nearly empty.
"Whoever you are, you'd better come out now!" Paul said in a menacing tone, just outside the doorway. He stood ready in the hallway, ready for a answer.
For a full minute, horrible silence followed. Paul turned the corner and charged into the room, thinking that this time he'd meet the person who had called out his name. But the room was empty as it was normally and nothing looked out of place.
"Must be going nuts," Paul thought.
Just then, the door to the room shut loudly. Paul jumped and looked back at the door. The door lock clicked and he knew the latch was on the other side. He had locked his our children in this room hundreds of times for hours on end.
"Damn! I am trapped in here and whoever was in here is now free to escape," Paul thought blinded with pure anger.
"He is too old!" a loud whisper came from the closet to Paul's left.
Paul turned to see who was talking. No one was there and doors were wide open, only his son's toys were there.
"We can change that," another voice came from his daughter's bed. This voice was more girlish.
"What the hell?" Paul said looking at the bed and then the dolls. Paul peered under the bed for a source of the voice.
"Paul, will you play with us?" the boyish voice said from the closet area.
"No, and you better come out now before I get really mad," Paul answered the question only out of anger. He was caught in thoughts of pure disgust. He stood up in a hurry still unsure if he was going insane or not.
"What idiot would dare to joke around with him like this?" Paul thought, walking closer to the closet.
"Play with me first," the girlish voice said when he approached the closet.
Paul spun around and look at the bed. It was a crazy idea, but he thought it was a doll that was the source of the voice. Furious, he picked up one and ripped its head off.
"Damn high-tech toys," Paul thought looking for any batteries or wires, but to his surprise there were none.
"This has to be a joke," Paul thought looking at the remains of the doll. Cotton stuffing and torn doll clothes littered the bed.
"What a bad boy, breaking toys," the boyish voice said in a mocking and menacing tone.
Paul said nothing and decided leave the room. The door was old wooden type with a simple lock. He knew it would give away if he rammed it hard enough.
"Tomorrow I think I will throw out all these toys," Paul said out loud, trying to sound like he was saying it to himself rather than the voices in the room.
Paul rammed the door and the lock gave away on the second hit. The wood splintered away and the now-open door banged hard against the wall.
"It's stress," Paul thought as he grabbed the last open beer from his six-pack.
"I am not hearing voices or doing anything else crazy tonight," Paul thought as he tried to recall when he opened this beer. Stale beer was a major problem when he tried to relax.
"Get rid of the toys and voices will go away too," Paul finally thought, drinking deeply.
Finishing his beer, he went for the garage to grab any extra boxes he could find. Intense pain hit him in the stomach. Paul fell to the ground, feeling like his body was on fire. Sweat was pouring off his face. The evening air outside was warm, but the garage was cool.
Paul stumbled back inside and made his way to the bathroom. After stripping off his clothes he took the coldest shower he could ever recall. His body was burning up; he could have sworn he was lighter than before.
"That's it. I'm sick from a fever and this is all just my imagination," Paul thought, now feeling the cold water.
Paul was exhausted from what he thought was a fever-induced symptom. Putting on his last clean boxers he fell into bed, hopeful that his fevered nightmare would be gone in the morning.
Minutes passed in a crawl.
Paul abruptly awoke from a dream he couldn't recall. Paul got up from his bed and took little notice that he had somehow left his boxers on the bed. In the darkness, he made his way to the half bath and took what seemed to be a very long piss.
Paul was feeling better then ever. He felt as if he was stronger and leaner than normal. Paul received a shock when he glanced at the mirror over the sink. His balding head of hair was now thick and looked full. A teenaged Paul stared back and had a very pale face, white with shock. Paul felt his face and noticed how smooth it was. He could have sworn he had stubble there just moments before.
"I must be really ill," Paul thought as he looked over his face. Paul turned on the cold water and splashed his face. The cold water felt real and when he thought he was fully awake he looked back at the mirror.
Paul looked even younger than before. From somewhere in his mind, he had concerns on his driving test that was coming up. Paul thought for a second on the exact date, but it seemed to be ages away than before.
Paul then was distracted by the sudden thought of a girl he was dating. Michelle and he had been going out for a year now.
"Michelle?" Paul thought, coming back to his senses "I haven't seen her in years." Paul was thinking how weird this illness was.
Paul flipped on the light and looked at his face. The sudden pain from the bright light served to convince him that he wasn't seeing things or dreaming it. It was all too real now and this was no dream.
Paul looked down at his body. A strange tickling sensation was causing him to rub different parts of his body. His hair was getting shorter and thinner as he watched. To his own personal horror, his dick was shrinking and he felt his balls retract upward now much closer to his body. Too busy watching his manhood, he didn't notice his limbs and body had gotten a lot smaller.
Paul looked back up at the mirror and saw only the top of his head was visible. The hair was now thin and short, like it was when he was a boy. Old memories of a pretty babysitter were drifting in and out of his train of thought.
Paul ran for his son and daughter's room. After initially failing to find the light switch, he was in a panic for a few brief seconds, as the darkness was scary for some odd reason to him. He finally stretched as far his arm would go and managed to flip the switch.
Light came on and room looked just as he left it. The damaged door hung on one hinge and the doll parts were still on the bed.
"You'd better change me back," Paul said to the room in general, hopeful for an answer. For half a second he thought the girlish voice was speaking at the same time he was. Then he realized it was his own voice.
Paul was sure that some strange supernatural force in this room had done this to him. Paul was busy looking, fighting a desire to play with the toys in the closet when he got an answer.
"He looks like a good little boy now," the girlish voice said just behind him from the pink bed.
"But, I am not a little boy," Paul said out loud.
"Just look at his little willy. He'll need diapers soon," the girlish voice said with almost a laugh.
Paul walked forward only after using one hand to cover himself. Paul noticed his skin was very pale and smooth now.
Paul picked up the doll's head and looked into the cotton. He looked with desperate hope that this was still all a hoax done with speakers and drugs.
Paul then threw down the doll's head and thought "Yuck!"
"Cooties?" Paul thought as he regressed down to kindergarten age.
The boyish voice laughed, and then said that he should play with boy's toys and not dolls.
Paul was kind of scared now. He felt small and alone, then thought where did his mommy go. The source of the voice was still unknown. Paul slid off the bed and went to the toy box.
Digging through the box he found an action figure of He-man. Paul played with the toy until he suddenly fell on his butt. He found he couldn't stand any more.
Soon after, Paul forgot how to crawl as well. After rolling on his backside he stared at the ceiling with a curious look at the world around him. Everything was so big and new to him, he wanted to touch everything around him.
"Look at him," said the girly voice just above Paul head.
Paul turned and saw the doll that was beside the one he destroyed earlier was standing on its own and other toys were now gathering around him. Action figures to toy cars were now all around him, staring and talking to each other.
"So nice to have someone to play with us again," one toy said without moving its lips.
"Yes," came several voices from various toys echoing their agreement.
Paul was a little frightened, but tried to show no fear. As he watched, he took his left foot and begun sucking on his toes to ease his fears.
"When the rest of the family returns, we shall have more friends to play with. There will be another girl to give us more attention. We shall no longer be forgotten," the doll said to the other dolls.
The dolls and other girl's toys all nodded.
"First we should get our first baby into a diaper," said one doll stepping forward and sticking a pacifier in his mouth. Then the doll lifted up her dress and took off her diaper.
All the humanoid toys stepped forward and helped diaper Paul. Paul suddenly found he enjoyed the attention, and he giggled and cooed as the plush toys tickled his skin.
After hours of playing, the baby once known as Paul fell asleep in a pile of soft stuffed animals and dolls. A lullaby tape played in the boom box and it seemed as if all the toys were asleep as well.
The End.