Stuck Too

Chapter 1
Stuck Too

Stuck Too

by Emma Finn

1

It was an odd looking pebble; odd enough to cause Abigail to pause as she led her four year old son Sammie by the hand across the play park. Someone had left it on a picnic table at the centre of the little park and she found herself detouring slightly to get a better look.

It had odd carvings on it and in the dark grooves something glistened that seemed almost like liquid. Abigail frowned, looking round to see if the owner was close at hand. She didn’t notice the intense gaze of the pretty girl at the edge of the playground, staring at her. It was a particularly pretty ornamental piece. She flipped it over, looking at the way the sigils worked round the outside of the stone. She had a thing for items like this. There was a stall in the Narrows that produced similar pieces and she’d often considered buying something from there. She wondered if she should slip it into her handbag, but before she could, Sammie pulled on her hand.

“I wanna go on the slide mummy,” he said. “Can I?”

She walked on with him, forgetting about the pebble. “Of course you can sweetheart. You can go on whatever you want. You’ve been a good boy this morning.”

She released his hand and watched as he scampered off, folding her arms and smiling. Sammie was such a sweet child and he looked adorable in his little denim dungarees. He could be wilful at times but he was a sucker for chocolate and could be made to do just about anything for the promise of that. He climbed fearlessly up onto the climbing frame that was built like a house on stilts and ran along the platform toward the top of the slide. Abigail kept one eye on him and found a bench near the edge of the park where she could see what he was doing. The wind was up and part of her wished she’d brought a cardigan. The blouse and skirt she’d worn for work were perfect for the office but the weather wasn’t yet quite warm enough for them to be enough outdoors. It was okay for Sammie. He could run around to keep warm.

She glanced back at the pebble she’d seen – it was still there – but she was immediately distracted by a commotion going on at the road at side of the play park. An overdressed little girl was crying and screaming while a middle-aged woman, presumably her mother, wrestled with her. Abigail couldn’t hear exactly what was being said but the girl was desperate to get free. She was no match for the woman though and she got bundled into a car that was waiting.

Abigail watched the exchange blandly, ruminating on the fact that for all she knew, the woman wasn’t the girl’s mother at all. She gave an invisible mental shrug and put it out of her mind as soon as the car pulled away and disappeared. She was sure the girl would be alright and it was nothing to do with her.

Sammie was still playing happily. He was on a little rocking horse now that was shaped like a ladybird. Abigail looked back at the pebble on the central table. Nobody had claimed it. Nobody was even nearby. She decided to go and take a closer look.

When she picked it up the stone felt oddly warm. She turned it over and over in her palm, conscious of the fact that nobody in her peripheral vision seemed interested. No one was rushing over to lay claim to it.

Feeling mildly guilty, she closed it into her hand and sauntered back to her little bench, sat down and fiddled with it, still keeping one eye on Sammie. She decided to keep it. It really was a pretty piece. She had a nice spot on her dressing table where she thought she might keep it. It could bring her luck.

Sammie was off the rocker now. He charged over to the roundabout and leapt on. Abigail chuckled to herself. She had always been so fearful as a little girl. She didn’t know where he got it from. Her husband Ted wasn’t exactly the physical type. He worked in marketing. Abigail herself had never been athletic and working part time in the admin office at Nockton Marsh high school hadn’t changed things there. She managed to keep slim though and she still looked pretty good – at least Ted seemed to think so.

She admired Sammie for his energy. He seemed to think himself immortal. He threw himself into his pint-sized adventures with such incredible verve that he—

Abigail lost her train of thought and looked down. She’d put the pebble out of her mind but the heat she’d felt in it earlier had spiked much higher. It was almost too hot to hold.

She frowned, starting to bring it closer to her face to look at – her glasses were about two years past the time they should have been upgraded – but stopped when an intense wind suddenly swept up her body.

Abigail made a sharp and strangled intake of breath as her clothes and hair flapped wildly. The heat in the pebble swept up her arm and dove into her heart, making her gasp. Then no more than two seconds after she’d registered it, the wind vanished and she was left trying to catch her breath and staring down at herself as she realised that something unbelievable and startling had occurred.

She wasn’t herself anymore. She wasn’t a woman.

Somehow, impossibly, the pebble had changed her.

She was suddenly a small child. She was a little boy. And as she recognised the dungarees and stripy t-shirt she was wearing she had a barely credible realisation of who she had turned into.

2

Abigail did a double take down at her diminutive body.

She had become her son. She had become Sammie.

There was a long moment of utter disbelief and panic and then it subsided completely, to be replaced instead with a profound curiosity. She’d actually turned into a little boy – into her own son!

Realising something, she looked across to where she’d seen him last, wondering if he had somehow changed into her, but no; he was still playing happily. She checked herself again, feeling her chubby little arms and her dumpy body through the perfect replica of her son’s clothes. Working her way by touch across her round face and into her tousled hair flabbergasted her but it showed the reality of what had happened and brought her attention back to the cooling pebble in her hand.

She stared at it – almost a glare of accusation. The certainty of its power was like granite, overlarge though the understanding was to fit inside her brain.

Was it the runes on its surface that made it magical? Was it the stone itself? She recalled the market stall of similar items in the Narrows. Were all the pieces there enchanted? Did they all do the same thing? Did the person running the stall know about it?

Surely not.

No one else in the park seemed to have noticed her transformation. There wasn’t anybody close and there weren’t that many people at all, but even so, she would have thought that someone would. No one paid her any mind. All they saw was a little boy sitting on a bench.

“God...” she whispered.

Sammie was on the roundabout now. He hadn’t noticed her. What if he did? What would he think? And was she stuck this way? Would she ever be a woman again?

She started to hyperventilate, her little chest pumping in and out rapidly. In a panic she gripped the pebble with both hands and drilled her eyes into it. If a casual thought about envying her son’s verve and energy had changed her in the first place. Maybe wishing herself back to normal would reverse it.

She pictured her correct body and tried to put into thought forms the virtues of her proper life. She was happy as a woman. She didn’t want to be a little boy. She pictured her slim body and slender arms, her shapely legs, her open almost peculiarly innocent-looking face behind her librarian glasses, and almost immediately she felt a shudder run through her, accompanied by relief. It was going to work again. It was going to change her back.

The wind came along with the heat and a wrenching squeeze of her head and chest. Her clothes and hair caught the wind and then in something that was less flash and more ripple, she was standing there as herself again, panting as though she’d run to the far side of the playground and back, even though she hadn’t gone more than a step.

To say she was relieved barely came close to the intensity of her feelings.

It had been incredible to change into her son, even as briefly as that, but she didn’t want to be stuck that way. God, just to imagine that... Two Sammies and no Abigail to look after them. She smirked, despite the surreality of the situation. She didn’t want to be a boy and a little boy: no way! Having to go all the way through school again: imagine! She shuddered and found herself laughing, out of relief mostly. The tension she’d felt when she’d thought herself trapped now made her giddy.

She sat back down and examined the pebble and realised straight away how abnormal life had suddenly become. Three minutes ago she had just been an average woman at the play park with her son. Now, only that brief time later, she’d discovered the flooring impact that magic really worked – that she had the power to change into a child and back whenever she wanted. She’d actually done it!

What on earth was she supposed to do next? What should she do with the stone?

Sell it? Tell the authorities? Put it back where she’d found it?

Or...

She smiled a mischievous smile and looked back across at Sammie.

“No.”

No. That was a stupid idea. What if something went wrong? What if she got stuck like it? What if she dropped and lost the pebble while she was a little boy? It was ridiculous and irresponsible. She was here to look after Sammie. She couldn’t risk anything else.

But it was tempting.

Her smile became a grin. What if she did do it? Just became Sammie again for half an hour? Played with him on the climbing frame and had a whale of a time? It would be hilarious and it might bring them closer together. She’d certainly understand him better than she ever had before.

But then, what if she did get stuck?

That would truly be awful – for her and for little Sammie. He needed his mother more than he needed an identical twin brother.

Abigail set the pebble down on the bench next to her.

No. Better not to risk it. That was the safer option.

She looked back at Sammie. He was laughing with one of the other little boys and throwing his head back as the roundabout span faster. He looked so happy.

She picked up the pebble and closed it into her palm.

Turn me into Sammie again pebble, she thought, directing her intention at the stone in her hand. I want to be a little boy.

3

The transformation came quicker and easier this time but as she passed the point of no return; as her toes tingled in her shoes and the ends of her hair started to rise; Abigail felt one last stab of dread: that this was an awful mistake; that she would never be a woman again; that she had just turned her back on her husband and her life forever.

And then there was no longer any room for those bleak thoughts because the magic took her and squeezed her and hurled her onto her hands and knees in the body of a little boy.

She remained there for several moments, catching up with her breath, then she grinned with excitement and scrambled up; ran several steps toward where Sammie was playing; stopped; looked behind her to where she had dropped the pebble in her exuberance.

It was lying there, discarded, and she realised how easy it would be to lose contact with it and really, truly be stuck like this. Shaking her head and feeling just one last quiver of that dread, she went back, retrieved the stone and slipped it into the front pocket of her cute little dark red dungarees.

Then she did run across the playground, little legs pumping with a remarkable burst of ready energy. She’d observed her son. She knew the theory that small children had more energy than adults was a myth – they tired out completely after relatively little exercise – but there was no denying they had energy explosions ready to go at a moment’s notice. Adult energy was slow burn and could sustain action for long periods. Child energy was all and then nothing. And it was a surprising delight to experience that now. She had no real memory of it first hand from her own childhood – that close memory had long since been dulled. Running across the soft play surface in this light body was like having super powers!

Abigail spotted Sammie climbing off the roundabout with a single lurching stagger of dizziness and altered her path to intersect him, coming to a stop right in front of him.

He stared at her, dazed by what he was seeing and she stared back. Never had she seen her son from this reduced perspective; from such equal footing. It was mind-altering.

“Hi,” she said, and for the first time heard her new voice – a little piping thing that sounded, with some subtle alteration, almost exactly like Sammie’s.

“Who are you?” he asked.

She grinned. “It’s me: Mummy. I used magic to make myself look like you.”

Sammie’s eyes widened and tightened into a frown at the same time and with a shimmer of delight, Abigail realised how easy this was going to be, simply because children wanted to believe in magic. At four, Sammie was on the verge of making the disappointing realisation that there was no real enchantment in the world but he wasn’t there yet. He believed her. Why wouldn’t he? He could see the evidence of magic in her duplication of his features.

“Really? Mummy?”

She nodded.

“Wow! Awesome!” He took her hand. “Come and go down the slide with me!”

And it was as easy as that; as brief and simple; and she was suddenly running along behind him, laughing, trying to keep up.

They clambered up onto the climbing frame and ran along the walkway toward the top of the slide. Abigail was frightened – it seemed awfully high to her tiny new body – but Sammie had her hand again and he didn’t have a shred of fear in him. At the head of the slide (which looked perilously steep and smooth), Sammie dropped onto his bum and looked back up at her. “Come on!”

Abigail hesitated and then mentally shrugged and sat down next to him. In for a penny; in for a pound! Sammie clenched her hand and down they went, Abigail giving a shriek of fear and delight. At the bottom they shot off the metal and tumbled onto the wood chippings, laughing and hugging one another. A woman nearby turned to her friend and said, “Ah, look at those cute little twins. Aren’t they adorable?”

Abigail had to smile.

Then she was getting dragged back toward the climbing frame steps except this time she was pushing to be the first up. Now she’d done the slide once she had an overpowering impulse to do it again; to relive the intensity of the fun. She and Sammie ran along the walkway, giggling. This time Sammie got down on his knees to go head first. Again, Abigail paused, fearful, then she gave another mental shrug and did the same thing. If Sammie could do it then she could too.

They whizzed down with another cry of joy and tumbled onto the wood chippings. Abigail didn’t remember ever having so much fun. She scrambled up and Sammie cried, “Let’s go on the roundabout!” He ran off and Abigail looked after him, smiling. She was so glad she’d done this. It was lovely to be able to share this pleasure with her son in a way she had never been able to before; so lovely. She was amazingly lucky that she’d found the pebble.

She checked the outside of her dungaree pocket to check it was still there then sprinted after Sammie, laughing jubilantly.

4

The two little boys played like that for another hour and Abigail enjoyed herself as never before. It was so wonderful to meet Sammie on his own terms and it was an awful lot of fun cutting loose as a child again.

She didn’t feel self-conscious in the least that she had become a little boy. On the contrary, the longer she stayed like that the more normal it felt. She was only pretending to be a child but she didn’t have any problem in doing so. She laughed and ran just like a child would and shouted without restraint if she felt like it. It was marvellous.

But she didn’t lose sight of her own concerns entirely. As time pushed on she started to feel that they’d tarried long enough and she needed to start thinking about getting them back. It was a concern but not a strong impulse and she didn’t hurry to change back and move them on.

She and Sammie ended up sitting on the edge of the stationary roundabout, resting, and Abigail just enjoyed the moment of quiet and reflection.

“Are you really my mummy?” asked Sammie after a moment.

“Uh huh.” She nodded.

“How come you changed into me?”

Abigail wondered how much to tell him but decided it would be fine for him to hear a little bit about it and she was dying to share what had happened with somebody. “I found a magic pebble,” she said, “and I just sort of wished to be you.”

“Lemme see it.”

She frowned. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

“I don’t believe there is a pebble,” said Sammie.

“There is too,” she replied, affronted that he didn’t believe her.

“Prove it.”

Determined suddenly to do so, she pulled it out and showed it him on her open palm. “Here.”

“Let’s see.” Sammie snatched it off her.

Abigail’s eyes went wide with alarm and she reached after it. “Give it back!”

Sammie squirmed, keeping it out of her reach. “I’m only looking at it.”

As they were the same size she couldn’t just force him to give it her and Abigail realised that she had to allow him to look at it for a minute or two. He could be very stubborn if she pushed him into a corner. The last thing she wanted was for him to run off with it or to throw it into the bushes because she pressed the point. He was only sitting there. It was perfectly safe. Or so she told herself.

Sammie examined the pebble in his little stunted hands for a minute then he said, “I want to try being the mummy.”

“No,” replied Abigail. “Absolutely not.”

“Just for a minute. I won’t stay like that.”

“No,” she said again, trying to be firm. “Give me the pebble back.”

“I’m looking at it,” he snapped.

Abigail sighed. She’d let him play too long. She could see him getting fractious. When he got this way he could be very difficult to handle. She wasn’t sure the best way to play this. The minute she got the pebble back she could wish herself into her normal body but as long as he had it she had to tread very, very carefully.

“Sammie... You’ve been a very good boy today but I’d really like it if you gave me the pebble back now please. Okay?”

“No. I want to try being mummy.”

“You can’t.”

“Pleeeeease. Just for a minute.”

Abigail sighed and rubbed the centre of her forehead. Sammie was fully in stubborn mode now. He needed a sleep and he needed some food, then he would be reasonable again. Unfortunately she couldn’t organise either of those in her current predicament.

“I’ll give you some chocolate if you give me back the pebble,” she tried.

“Gimme the chocolate first.”

She sighed heavily and snapped, “Just give me the pebble young man; now!”

“No!” cried Sammie. “I want to be Mummy!”

And as he said that, jumping to his feet in petulant anger, the wind came, ripping at his little clothes and whipping his hair.

“Oh God,” muttered Abigail, as Sammie span round, getting taller and taller, his diminutive body doubling in height as his dungarees transformed into a white blouse and knee-length skirt; as his hair grew long and swung free and his body became slim and feminine. Abigail was still a little boy and suddenly she was looking up at herself with both wonder and a slow constricting horror.

Sammie looked down at himself, examining his hands and arms, front and back, touching the different shape of his extended trunk and chest. “Wow,” he said. “I’ve really turned into you Mummy!”

“Uh, yeah. Yeah you have Sammie. That’s, er... That’s amazing.” She eyed the stone closed in his womanly hand. “Can I have the stone back now?” Sammie’s hand clenched tighter. “Just for a minute, to look at?”

“I’m looking at it,” replied Sammie stubbornly then he took several steps. He was wearing heels but he didn’t stumble in them as much as she would have expected him to. He grinned at her. “I’m the mummy! Look at me! You’re the little boy. You’re Sammie!”

Abigail gave a weak smile. “Yes. That’s right. You’re pretending to be Mummy.” She was well aware of how precipitous her situation was but more than ever, she couldn’t push too hard. The only option she could see with potential was to humour him for a little while and then guide him to changing back. “What’s it like being so tall?” she said. “Is it nice?”

“Yeah. I’m much bigger than you now. You’re tiny!”

Abigail chuckled. She couldn’t really be angry with him. He was just enjoying himself. He didn’t have any kind of body stealing agenda. He was just being a four year old.

“I’m all grown up now,” said Sammie.

“You certainly are. That’s amazing.” Abigail went on eyeing what glimpses she could of the concealed pebble as Sammie ignored her, walking up and down, pretending to be her and making an uncannily accurate job of it. The disguise, as it were, was creepily complete. It wasn’t a costume in any way. Sammie really had become a grown woman; had become her; from the skirt and shoes to the hairstyle and glasses; even her handbag. She let him enjoy the experience, then as the scratch of impatience overcame her she said, “Okay Sammie. It’s time to change back now; there’s a good boy.”

He pouted. “I don’t wanna change back yet. I like pretending to be Mummy.”

“I know sweetheart, but we need to get home to Daddy and have tea, don’t we? You can’t stay like that on the way home. Maybe if you’re a good boy I’ll let you have another turn at being Mummy later or another day.”

“But I want to be Mummy now!” he whined, in an odd mixture of childishness and adulthood.

“I know you do Sammie but you can’t. You aren’t allowed.”

“I want to stay Mummy longer!” Sammie folded his arms crossly, his brow furled.

“Sammie, for God’s sake, stop being silly!” snapped Abigail. “You’ll do as I say right now! Give me that pebble!”

“No!” Sammie thrust it into the top of the handbag. “It’s mine! I’m not finished!”

Abigail gaped at the handbag then up at her son, feeling powerless and frustrated. Normally she could always have just forced him to give up the pebble but there was no chance of that now and she was terrified that if she tried that Sammie would realise how little power she did have. At the moment he still saw her as his mother and recognised her authority, even if he was stubbornly ignoring her right now. If he got too good an idea how much stronger he was than her now then literally anything could happen. He could wander out into traffic or get into any other kind of trouble. She sighed heavily, disconcerted by how much she sounded like a stroppy child herself. She had to keep control of her emotions and play this very carefully.

“Okay, look Sammie. I’ll tell you what. You can stay Mummy for a little while but only if you give me the pebble.”

“No. I want to keep it.”

“Okay, okay. You can keep hold of it and you can stay Mummy for five more minutes.”

“Until we get home.”

“What? No.” It was a ten minute walk back to the house with more than one road that needed crossing.

“Yes,” snapped Sammie, folding his arms again.

Abigail rubbed her aching forehead again. This was untenable but she knew her son and how he was likely to react in any circumstance. Without the usual physical advantage, her best hope was to go along with him and coax him.

“Okay,” she said. “Until we get home. But only if you promise to hold my hand when we cross the road and only cross when I tell you to. Okay?”

“Yes Mummy,” replied Sammie sweetly, his sing-song woman’s voice sounding extra sweet. He grinned, excited to be getting his way. “I promise.”

“And when we get home we’ll swap straight back, okay?”

“Yes, I promise.”

“Good boy.” She fretted for a moment then said, “And if you do as you’re told I’ll give you some chocolate, alright?”

“Yes Mummy.”

“Good boy. Now hold my hand and let’s go.”

Sammie stepped closer and took hold of her hand. They started toward the edge of the playground but Sammie’s stride was longer and almost immediately Abigail had to hurry to keep up.

The action chilled her to the bone because she realised how much it felt like she was a little boy being led home by the hand by her mother. She felt very much the child in this situation; as though Sammie were the adult.

5

The walk home was a profoundly disturbing experience.

Abigail tried to walk normally beside her gigantic female son but her little legs couldn’t manage it and she had to run every few steps to keep up. Sammie’s stride meanwhile was sure and regular, heels tapping on the pavement one after the other, after the other.

Still hand in hand, Abigail looked up at her son worriedly. The woman above her was smiling gaily, looking about. He had no conception of how distorted their situation was; he was simply enjoying it.

Abigail knew. She felt utterly helpless and horrified by her predicament. She was so scared that something would happen and they’d lose track of the pebble before she managed to get it back. How awful would it be to be trapped in her son’s body for the rest of her life; to actually become him? And how could he ever cope trapped as an adult woman? He was four years old. He couldn’t drive or do her job or interact with other adults on equal terms. It would ruin them both.

They came to one of the road crossings. An old couple were waiting ready to cross. The lady looked down at Abigail as she held Sammie’s hand and smiled. “What a cute little boy,” she said. “How old is he?”

“His name’s Sammie and he’s four and a half years old,” said Sammie and giggled.

Abigail’s face fell. She just wanted to get home quickly and make everything right. It had been so irresponsible to get in this position when she was meant to be in charge.

They walked on with Abigail struggling to keep up and becoming increasingly weary. She had played for so long and her little body didn’t have the strength to keep going. The stress of the situation wasn’t helping, nor was the crackling emotions of her little body. She felt tearful but she didn’t want to cry. She was afraid that if she did she would sound just like a child. Instead she ended up giving little grizzling moans, whimpering and muttering about her predicament.

Sammie stopped walking and looked down at her. “What’s the matter Mummy?”

“I’m just tired she said. I want to get home and change back. Please can we change back now?”

“I don’t want to change back yet,” said Sammie, “and you said we could wait until we got home; but if you’re tired I bet I could carry you like you carry me.”

Abigail’s shoulders sagged at the very thought of it but the road stretched on so far and she felt like she was about to drop. She didn’t want to act like a child or be seen as one but she was so exhausted.

Without any conscious thought her arms slowly rose, pointing up, and Sammie smiled down at her, lifting her up and putting her on his hip. “There. Is that better?”

She nodded, wiping her eye.

“Come on then,” said Sammie, and on they walked.

Abigail felt humiliated as they passed people walking, but the gentle undulation was pleasant, as was the feel of the strong hands holding her in place and the warm soft body she was pressed up against. As they went on she relaxed, telling herself that everything was going to be fine. It was okay to enjoy this. And she found herself snuggling up against Sammie’s body, closing her eyes and smiling to herself.

6

When they reached the house, Abigail opened her mouth to tell Sammie to find the front door keys in her handbag but he was already reaching in there for them. She was so relieved that they’d made it back without incident. Inside the house the environment was so much more limited. A lot less could go wrong.

“Put me down now,” she said.

Sammie did so, the feeling of weightlessness and powerlessness again creeping her out. “Here you go,” he said and Abigail shuddered. That was what she often said when she popped him down somewhere. It was uncanny how similar to her he sounded when he said it.

“Now give me the pebble,” she said. “We need to change back.”

Sammie went into the kitchen and put the handbag down on the side. Disgruntled at being ignored, Abigail followed him through, feeling awed by her new perspective on the familiar family home. She was so tiny now; everything looked huge. She tried to reach up to the handbag but it was too far back on the counter to reach.

“Sammie, give me the pebble back,” she said, feeling increasingly frustrated.

Sammie said nothing, opening the fridge and pouring himself a tall glass of orange juice. Abigail glowered at the glass as it filled up. That was her juice. Sammie wasn’t allowed to drink it. He certainly wasn’t allowed anywhere near that much. She considered chastising him for it but she was terrified he might react badly and really, what authority did she reasonably have now? Again, if she tried to exert her power and he rejected it he might realise exactly how much more superior his position was. Sammie wasn’t a bad boy but he had the mind of a little child and could be quite unintentionally selfish.

“Sammie,” said Abigail firmly, choosing to ignore the juice infraction, “you’ve had a really good long go pretending to be Mummy but now it’s time to change back. Alright? You promised. Didn’t you?”

He looked guiltily down at her but his jaw was set. She could tell he didn’t want to do it. “I just want a little bit longer. I like being tall and being allowed to drink juice.”

“I know pumpkin, but you did promise, didn’t you? It’s not good to break a promise. You want to be a good boy, don’t you?”

He pouted, an odd expression on her grown-up features, then his face suddenly broke into a grin. “I’m not a boy at the moment. I’m a girl!” He laughed. “You’re a little boy!”

Abigail’s face flushed. She tried a chuckle too, to humour him. “That’s right. I’m a little boy.”

“I’m the mummy. You’re the baby.”

She forced a smile. “Yes. At the moment.”

“You’re Sammie,” he said, giggling. “That’s what I should call you.”

Abigail’s face turned sour. “Sammie, do as I say and pass me the pebble.”

“You have to call me Mummy.”

She sighed. “I’m not going to call you Mummy.”

“You have to Sammie. Call me Mummy.”

“Sammie, I’m not going to call you Mummy. Give me the pebble... now.”

“Not until you call me Mummy,” he said, and his glare bore down on her with the petulant anger of a four year old with the strength of an adult.

Abigail hung her head in exasperation. “Alright; Mummy; please can you hand me the pebble so we can change back.”

“No,” said Sammie, giggling. I want to stay the mummy for longer. Just until teatime.”

“Sammie, no. You can’t!”

“Call me Mummy. You’re Sammie.”

“Alright! Mummy! Give me the pebble right now! I want to change back!”

“No! You can’t tell me what to do. You’re the little boy. I’m the mummy. I get to decide.”

“Okay, okay,” she said, trying to coax him, fearful again. “Just calm down Sa— Mummy, please.”

“I’m going to stay the mummy until teatime,” he said, folding his arms. “You have to pretend to be me.”

Abigail felt like screaming hysterically but she controlled herself. “Alright Mummy,” she said, hating the sound of her little boy voice forming those terrible words. “Just until teatime and then you promise to change back. Agreed?”

Sammie opened the cupboard, ignoring her.

“Do you promise?” said Abigail.

“Go and play with your toys Sammie,” he said, reaching the chocolate down and breaking off a chunk. He popped it in his mouth – another gross misdemeanour – then offered her a chunk. “Here. Have a bit of chocolate for being a good boy,” he said; another one of her sayings.

Abigail looked at it. She didn’t like the idea of accepting it on those terms – she wanted to demand that he do what she said – but it was clear how little power she now had. She had to go on playing this carefully.

She took the chocolate and put it in her mouth, loving the sensation even more than usual. In fact the taste was incredible; far nicer than it normally was. She turned to go.

“What do you say young man?” asked Sammie.

She froze.

“Hmmm?”

This was an established routine for them but it was reversed now and Abigail found herself giving the prescribed reply, “Thank you Mummy.”

“That’s a good boy. Now run along and play. And be sure you do. If I come up and find that you haven’t been pretending properly then I might not give you the pebble. Alright?”

Abigail walked out the room and started climbing the stairs feeling hopeless and lost and afraid.

7

In her son’s bedroom, Abigail stood looking unhappily down at the toys strewn over the floor.

She felt intensely frustrated that Sammie had put her in this position but was also acutely aware of how mercurial he was being. Had the change altered him somehow? The sense of power must have been affecting him but it was possible the different physiology was as well. She felt very different as a child and a boy. As a suddenly grown woman, he was bound to as well.

He had told her to play with his toys and he had sounded like he meant it. If he came upstairs and found her not doing it, would he really extend their exchange? She had a bad feeling he would.

She gritted her teeth. He was going to be in so much trouble when they changed back. His feet wouldn’t touch!

She plopped down on the carpet. There was a play mat down with streets and buildings laid out on it. Sammie was really into toy cars of all kinds. She dejectedly reached for a yellow digger and put it on one of the streets, pushing it along. Embarrassed, she glanced at the open door to see if anyone was watching. No one was and so she made an engine noise, her tongue resting between her lips, cheeks vibrating. There was a part of the mat that was drawn as a park. She moved the digger into that, imagining there was work needing doing there; a new building to be built.

She lowered the shovel, making another suitable noise and scooped up an imaginary shovelful of earth then backed up the digger and moved it to another part of the park. A sense of peace came over her as she went back for another shovelful with the digger, making all the right noises as she did so. She had played with cars a couple of times as a girl but had mostly been into dolls and teddies. This was surprisingly fun. It was actually kind of nice to “have to” play like a child. It was relaxing.

It occurred to her to switch to playing with some of Sammie’s more gender-neutral teddies, but when she glanced over at them she had no particular impetus. She was happy where she was.

She played with the digger for a while, digging up most of the park, imagining the workmen doing jobs. There were some Playmobil figures on the floor and she used these for the workmen, mumbling their different voices as the foreman gave orders to his men. Soon she forgot that she was being forced to do this and was just playing happily. She didn’t give it any deep thought, nor did she notice that the engine noises she used were identical to those that Sammie normally did. In fact to any observer she played exactly as her son did, favouring the same toys and continuing the building operation he had done the day before.

When she got tired of doing the building in the park she reached for a long green bus and started driving round the streets, moving round the mat on her hands and knees as she did so, picking up and dropping off passengers. She chirped away, doing the voices of the people saying hellos and thank yous to the driver and made a particularly deep sound for the bus engine. She got a truck involved, driving that round too with a suitably thunderous engine noise and then enacted a car wreck as bus and truck ran into one another, creating an imagined explosion. It was great.

Abigail didn’t even notice when Sammie climbed the stairs and stood on the landing watching her, smiling in approval. Nor did she notice when he popped into the bathroom and emerged carrying an armful of washing that needed doing.

8

Abigail lost all track of time playing upstairs and was in the middle of a car chase between some robbers and a police car when she heard the front door go and her husband come home.

“Hello! Anybody in?”

She leapt to her feet and ran toward her bedroom door. ”Daddy!”

At the doorway she stopped dead, realising what she’d said; how she’d felt when she heard his arrival.

She covered her mouth with her hand.

“Oh God.” What was happening to her?

She looked down at the play mat; the cars, the bus, the digger, the truck; at the top of the stairwell.

It was her husband, Ted, who had returned home from work, but for the second or two it took her to get from the mat to the door, she had really thought of him as her father. For the last hour or so she’d been playing exactly as Sammie would; just like a little boy.

She had to get that pebble right away! She was afraid how much worse this could get.

Abigail went cautiously to the top of the stairs and looked down. There was no one in the hall. Feeling humiliated that Ted was going to see her like this she followed the stairs down and went looking for him. He would support her. He would make sure she got to change back. She was sure of that. Just as soon as she explained what had happened.

There was a pleasant scent in the air that she couldn’t identify but it made her tummy rumble and there was a murmur of voices up ahead. She went round the corner into the kitchen and stopped short, gaping up at the two figures in front of her: Sammie, looking exactly like she normally did, and Ted; both of them kissing passionately.

She couldn’t believe it. She couldn’t absorb it really at all. How could this be happening? How could her little Sammie even comprehend that action, let alone be compelled to do it?

But then she remembered the toys upstairs and getting lost in it. She remembered how she had thought of Ted at that first instinctive level.

Ted and Sammie pulled apart and both of them were smiling saucily. There was nothing of the child in Sammie’s expression. This was an adult interaction she was seeing without doubt.

Sammie saw her and then so did Ted. There was a moment of embarrassment on Sammie’s features and then Ted stepped in front of him, blocking the view. “Hey Squirt! How’s my little man?” He came forward and whipped Abigail off her feet up into his strong arms and a bright giggle came from her lips. “Have you been a good boy for Mummy today?”

Abigail looked over Ted’s shoulder at Sammie’s tense face. She wanted to tell him what had really happened but how could she now? How would Ted feel to know that he’d just snogged his four year old son? How could he understand the mental changes that had come over them both? She was so confused and more than anything she wanted to just snuggle up against his big body and be comforted.

“Hmmm?” said Ted. “Have you been a good boy?”

Not knowing what else to do, Abigail nodded her head and said, “Yes Daddy.”

She hadn’t meant to call him that – it had just come out on its own – but that was undeniably how she saw him now suddenly, no matter how much she tried to resist. He wasn’t Ted anymore. He was her dad. Her brain was such a welter of conflicting impressions. She could barely control her thinking. She wanted to cry and she hugged up closer to him.

“Are you alright Squirt?” he asked. She sniffled and he pressed her tighter against his chest. “It’s alright Sammie. Daddy’s home now. Everything’s going to be alright.”

Her sniffles became a cry and she started to weep quietly against him.

Ted and Sammie exchanged a look.

“What’s the matter son?” asked Ted. “What’s wrong?”

Abigail’s voice was doused in phlegm. “I want my pebble back,” she moaned, her voice thin and tremulous.

“What pebble?”

“My magic pebble,” she said.

“Well who’s got your pebble?” asked Ted.

“I have,” said Sammie, stepping forward. “It’s in my handbag. I confiscated it.” He paused. “Sammie’s been very naughty today.”

Abigail stared at him, her vision almost entirely blurred by the tears.

“Naughty in what way?” asked Ted.

“He’s been telling tales; making up stories about being able to change shape. It’s really got out of hand. I had to send him to his room.”

“Oh dear,” said Ted, his voice becoming darker and more threatening.

Abigail shook her head, fear coursing through her little body.

“Oh dearie me,” said Ted, setting her down. “Have you been lying Sammie?” he asked. Lying was something that Ted had a thing about. He could be as easy going as anything on other matters but always came down hard on that.

Abigail looked up at him, unsure. What could she say? If she told him that she was really the mummy then he would never believe her now. He might punish her or even smack her. But if she didn’t say anything she might stay stuck like this and with the way hers and Sammie’s minds were being altered it might not be long before she forgot who she was supposed to be.

“Tell me the truth young man,” said Ted, his arms folded menacingly. “Have you been telling lies?”

Abigail glanced at Sammie then back at him. “I’m sorry Daddy,” she whimpered. “I shouldn’t have done it.”

“What did you lie about?”

Abigail chewed her lip. She didn’t want to say it. She’s already admitted to lying. If she told him about the transformation now he would never believe her at a later date.

“He said that he used to be me of all things,” said Sammie, stepping forward again.

Ted glanced at her and chuckled. She chuckled too, raising her eyebrows.

“Is that true?” asked Ted, his voice darkening again.

Abigail nodded. “I’m sorry Daddy.”

What else could she say? She couldn’t believe that Sammie had put her in this position – that he was forcing this on her. Did he not care about her at all, or had he somehow managed to justify this to himself?

Ted pointed to the door. “Go to your room,” he said. “Now. And if I calm down enough then I may let you have some supper.”

Abigail lowered her head, desperate to appeal to him but terrified to do so. He was implacable and was in no mood to listen to such a preposterous story.

She recognised the scent in the air now. It was a moussaka cooking. Sammie had somehow managed to whip it up while she had been playing – just more evidence of the mental changes – more proof to Ted, if it came to that, that he really was who he looked like.

There was no hope; at least for now.

Head hung low, Abigail trudged out of the room and climbed the stairs to her bedroom. She sat on the edge of the bed and reached for the closest teddy, hugging it to her chest and putting her thumb in her mouth.

How could her Sammie treat her like this? How could Sammie and Daddy punish her so unjustly? It wasn’t fair.

9

Half an hour later Abigail was summoned to dinner by a very angry-sounding Daddy. Full of trepidation, she went downstairs and saw that Sammie and Daddy were already seated in their normal chairs. At one level she knew that Sammie shouldn’t be at the end of the table but at another it felt completely natural to climb awkwardly up into the middle seat where Sammie always sat. She was, after all, him now.

“I hope you’ve been thinking about how wrong it is to lie young man,” said Daddy.

Abigail stared down at her plate.

“Hmmm? Speak up?”

“Yes Daddy,” she mumbled.

“Good boy. Eat up then.”

She picked up her knife and fork clumsily and started on the food. Moussaka was one of the more challenging meals she had cooked as a woman but this was made to perfection. The former Sammie had been able to complete it without any trouble and she started to wonder if maybe he could do everything she could now. Could he drive a car? Could he do her job?

And did that mean she couldn’t do those things anymore?

She tried to recall the recipe for moussaka but it was nothing but a blur. She tried to remember what happened at her job but she couldn’t even picture the inside of her work. She couldn’t... No. She wasn’t exactly sure what she did anymore. Something at the school. Was she a teacher? Maybe. Or not? She couldn’t remember.

Did she have her education anymore? Did she have her adult general knowledge? Had she retained her language skills? Or was she really just a little boy now and nothing more?

She tuned into the conversation. Sammie and Daddy were discussing issues at his work and Sammie was fully engaged; asking questions; passing comments. He was talking like a grown-up. He was a grown-up now.

The conversation seemed so dull. It was boring with them droning on about complicated humdrum things. She wished they would talk about something interesting, like cartoons. She thought about the game she’d been playing upstairs and wished she could just go back up to that. She felt much more comfortable doing that than spending time with these two… adults.

Abigail looked at the woman sitting in her place and then to the man who she knew was meant to be her husband. Her train of thought became clear to her and she reflected on it. She really couldn’t follow what they were talking about anymore and she didn’t want to. All she wanted were her childish things. They were adults. She wasn’t an adult anymore. She was a child.

I’m not a woman, she realised. I used to be one but I’m not anymore. I used to be Abigail but now I’m not. I’m a little boy. I’m Sammie.

The fact of that came into her brain as a bloated and festering thought, squeezing every other thought out of its way, crushing any sense she had of wrongness under its impossible weight.

She wasn’t Ted’s wife... Daddy’s wife. She wasn’t Sammie’s mother. She was Sammie now.

He… was Sammie.

The little boy let go of his knife and fork and looked down at his pudgy little hands. He looked at the feminine hands of the woman to his left then slowly up her slender arms to her shoulders and then to her face.

She’s my mummy, he thought to himself. I’m her son. I’m four and a half years old. My birthday’s in August. I’ve asked Daddy to get me a big fire engine with working sirens and he says he will. He grinned to imagine how great it was going to be.

“Eat up Sammie,” said Mummy. “It’s an early night for you tonight.”

“Yes Mummy,” he replied, but he toyed with his food, reluctant to eat the circular vegetables that looked like cucumber. He hated cucumber. He picked out the meat and the cheese, making a pile of the yucky stuff.

“All of it please Sammie,” she said, frowning.

Sammie pouted and tried one of the vegetables, wincing. He didn’t want to get into any more trouble than he already was.

He thought about the pebble in Mummy’s handbag. There was an odd detachment to it now, like the urgency he had previously felt to retrieve it was gone. He knew he wasn’t allowed to go into Mummy’s handbag and he knew she didn’t want him to have the pebble. He remembered what it could do, but though he liked the idea of seeing what it would be like to turn into Mummy it seemed a bit odd. Would he still be allowed to go to the park and go on the climbing frame?

They ate the rest of their evening meal and then Daddy carried Sammie upstairs and ran a bath. Sammie played with his digger again while he waited, making all the noises. He groaned in displeasure when Daddy called him through. He hated baths. Why did he have to have them anyway?

Daddy helped him get undressed and lifted him in and he immediately started having fun, playing with his bath toys. He had a set of cups that fit into one another and he delighted in pouring water from one cup to the next, splashing and giggling.

After a while Daddy came in and made him wash himself and helped with his hair. Sammie whined and spluttered as his face got sponged and behind his ears then Daddy lifted him out and got him dry and into his jim-jams. Daddy did his teeth and carried him through to bed.

All of this seemed natural now; just part of his nightly routine. He obeyed his daddy and respected his authority; craved his love and attention.

Sammie gave his daddy a hug and then got tucked into bed. He settled down and looked up at the man he had once been married to. There was no sense of romantic connection at all there anymore. This man was just his daddy; nothing more.

“I don’t want to hear anymore about you lying son; is that clear?” he said.

“Yes Daddy,” replied Sammie.

“Good boy.” He kissed him good night and then withdrew.

Sammie lay there in the dim glow from his night light, thinking. He knew he used to be the mummy and he knew he had wanted to change back but now he felt very confused. He didn’t know anymore how he felt about it.

Then he heard a sound and looked up and saw that Mummy was right there in the doorway; come to kiss him goodnight.

10

“Hello Sammie,” she said, coming in and sitting on the side of his bed.

He hesitated then said, “Hello Mummy.”

She smiled a delighted and pretty smile to hear him call her that when no one else was present and stroked his hair with the backs of her fingers. “You’ve been a good boy for Mummy today Sammie,” she said. “A very good boy. You were right not to tell Daddy about what happened.”

Sammie said nothing.

“I had no idea how it would feel to become a woman,” she said, “but it feels wonderful to be a wife and a mother. It feels right. And I know the magic has altered our thinking – that’s clear – but I don’t want anything else but to go on like this; to stay the way I am now.”

Sammie frowned. Some of the words she had used were words he didn’t understand.

“I appreciate that that has an impact on you,” she said, “but you seemed so happy when you were playing with your toys and I heard you having fun in the bath. You did have fun. Didn’t you?”

Sammie nodded. He loved having baths. He hated it when he had to get out.

Mummy opened her hand. The pebble was in her palm. She placed it on the bed next to him.

Beside it she laid a big unopened chocolate bar.

“It wouldn’t feel right taking your life without giving you the choice to have it back,” she said. “It was wrong of me to be so stubborn about it earlier. I do love you and I understand that you didn’t mean for us to remain stuck this way when you originally changed. If you want to, you can take up the pebble now and swap back.”

Sammie reached for the pebble.

“But...”

He stopped.

“If you do turn back then you won’t be able to play with your toys anymore. You won’t be able to go to the play park and play on the swings and the climbing frame. You won’t have me and Daddy to look after you anymore.”

Sammie looked up at his mummy with soulful eyes and a pouting mouth. He wanted those things more than anything.

Mummy smiled at him and curled a lock of hair behind his ear. “I’ll tell you what,” she said. “I’ll make you a deal. Okay?”

Sammie nodded tentatively.

“If you decide to stay as you are and be a good little boy then I promise I will take you to the park as often as I can. Not only that but to prove how grateful I am I’ll give you a chocolate bar like this every day for a whole month.”

Sammie grinned, eyes shining at the prospect of that.

“What do you think?” asked Mummy.

Sammie eyed the pebble and its glistening runes. He eyed the chocolate bar and looked to his play mat on the floor; at his cars and the digger. He thought about the fire engine Daddy had promised to get him on his fifth birthday.

He looked up at his mother. She was smiling down at him with such love and concern.

“Please can I have the chocolate and toys?” he said.

Mummy’s smile broke into a grin. She stroked his cheek and kissed him on the forehead. “Of course you can Sammie. That’s a good boy. You can have all the chocolate you want for a whole month.”

He grinned. “Please can I open this now?”

She nodded and he tore at the wrapper eagerly as she picked up the pebble and put it away.

“You’re going to be happy Sammie; I promise,” she said.

“Thank you Mummy,” he said, enjoying the tight cuddle she gave him and the taste of the chocolate melting in his mouth.

A part of him felt it was a mistake to stay like this but he loved chocolate so much. He couldn’t get enough of it. He’d do just about anything to get more. And he really was looking forward to going to the park next day and playing with his cars.

“Night night sweetie,” said the former Sammie as she stood and went to the door. “Sleep tight tonight.”

“Night night Mummy,” the little boy replied. “I love you.”

If you liked this then check out my site. I post new story episodes every couple of days.

http://transformation-stories.blogspot.co.uk/

 

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