When It Rains, It Pours

Chapter 2
Part II (The Job)

Like I said earlier, I do a lot of different part time jobs. I don’t usually keep them for very long, because my curse will often mess things up for me. That’s how it was with this one job.

The job was with one of those summer camps, the ones that collect large sums of money from rich parents who want to send their kids into the wilderness for a few days. One of my least favorite tasks was filling up the water tubs. You see, these camps out there are so primitive that they don’t have plumbing, not even a well. They just fill up these giant tanks of water and haul them on trucks. Normally, this isn’t that dangerous a task, because we just have to stuff a hose into the tank and let it fill. However, that day the hose was broken. The only hose they had, broken. They could have gotten another one, but the tubs just had to be filled right then.

Sorry, it just makes me a little mad, considering the consequences. The best method my boss proposed was to fill up some smaller (but still very large) tubs with water and haul them to the trucks. Naturally, I objected. But actions speak louder than words, especially when those words are “do it, or I’ll fire you.”

I had no choice but to go along with it. These tubs were very large, about five or so feet in diameter. They’re also round, and unwieldy. Once filled with water, they were also very heavy, but not heavy enough that it would take two people to carry them. I was in the kitchen, filling up this container in the sink, trying very hard not to get wet. For the most part, I succeeded, and silently congratulated myself. However, I still had to carry this thing all the way outside, to the truck.

With a careful heave, I lifted the tub and battled with its inertia. It tilted and swayed, and the water threatened to slosh over the sides. I eventually got a firm hold on it. I breathed a sigh of relief, and tentatively walked forward. I staggered onward, carefully planting each step slowly to avoid any mishaps. All was going well until my left foot pressed down on something firm but kind of rubbery. I hesitated for a second, then took a step back. However, this motion upset my already precarious balance and I stumbled backward a bit. I froze, and watched the liquid in the tub violently swirl back and forth. Fortunately, it didn’t spill over, and I relaxed. Looking down, I silently cursed the discarded shoe.

After taking a deep breath, I continued on. My journey was almost half over, the main obstacle that remained was the short staircase descending into the garage. I slowly approached the staircase, growing more optimistic with each slow step. Just as my hope for an accident-free day climbed, I heard the distressing sounds of a pair of feet hurriedly pounding on the ground toward me. Fearing the worst, I turned and saw another employee, Jake, rushing toward me. My eyes widened and I tried to say “stop”, but my mouth only moved.

“Move it, Dameon!” He shouted, brushing past me. My blood ran cold, and I gripped the tub as steady as I could manage. It wobbled, tilted, and swayed to and fro, the contents thrashing about like a seastorm. For the most part, the water stayed in the tub - except for a small bit that splashed out and soaked into my shoe.

“Christ, Jake! What’s the hurry?” I shouted, quite irate. He didn’t respond and kept dashing down the hall. I just shook my head and steeled myself for the staircase. I peered down it and made sure that no one would threaten to come up and pull a Jake on me.

Like some sort of movie spy, I tensely crept down the stairs, watching the balance of the deadly (to me) fluid in the tub. Miraculously, I made it down the staircase without screwing myself over. I relaxed and casually started off toward the water truck. Then, I felt it: the unique tingling that accompanied each and every regression this condition has given me. I stopped, and looked at the tub wide-eyed. A leak? No. I felt the moisture in my right foot, so I quickly peered down there and saw that it was from earlier, when Jake assaulted me. I smiled in relief, then saw that the water in the bucket had become heavily unbalanced in my distraction.

“Shit!” I shouted, struggling to correct the balance. But I overcorrected, and a few gallons of water poured from the tub’s side and onto my leg. Instinctually, I moved my leg away, causing more water to slip from the container. It poured down the sides, soaking my hands. I could already feel the tingling setting in, several times stronger than before. In panic, I tried to salvage what dryness I had left and attempted to toss the bucket away. My hands were wet, though, and was not thrown, it was merely dropped. The remaining water cascaded from the tub and splashed down my front, drenching me.

The rational thing to do would have been to hide somewhere and wait. But at the time, I was kind of in shock. I numbly sat down in the puddle that had formed in the garage’s floor, dimly aware that I had just become so moist that I would regress to infancy.

Already I was a teenager; my three-day stubble (my shaving habits mirror my bathing habits) was gone. My muscles were softening and diminishing, while my skin was becoming smooth again. A little tickle indicated that my leg hairs had started to depopulate. Then I started to get shorter: I felt a sensation not unlike sitting down or kneeling slowly, but without actually moving. The fabric of my clothes seemed to expand on my body. I was a wimpy fourteen-year-old, my soaked clothes (a long-sleeved shirt and a pair of work jeans) felt appreciably heavy to me. I felt my leg hairs vanish completely, and my underarm and pubic hairs were becoming a thing of the past as well.

As my shirt sleeves crept down my smooth, delicate hands, my genitals were taking on a more juvenile constitution. The rest of my body hair vanished completely when I was about twelve and a half. With most of the accomplishments of puberty robbed from me, I was left a skinny, hairless-bodied kid sitting in a puddle with sopping clothes overshadowing my slight frame. The process wasn’t about to end, either.

My feet shrunk right out of my shoes and were retreating up the legs of my pants. My shirt, already huge in comparison to my body, was reaching tent-like proportions. I continued to slip backwards into the folds of boyhood, becoming smaller and more childish. The modest two-car garage, normally cramped-looking to me, suddenly seemed awfully roomy.

My pants became so roomy for my dwindling size that it felt like I was naked. I tried to hold up a hand so that I could guess how old I had become, but my dripping sleeve completely covered it. I rolled up the substantial sleeve and saw my soft, stubby hand. I guessed I was maybe seven now. Understanding that I was about to become too young to walk, I stood up to find somewhere to hide. I slithered out of my pants and underwear with ease; my waist was ludicrously undersized compared to that of my pants.

I started to stand, but slipped on the puddle at my feet. I landed hard on my ass, with only my shirt to cushion the blow. It hurt, but I steeled myself and tried to get up again. My shirt reached to my knees, and was heading down to my feet as I shrunk. I noticed with some horror that baby fat was beginning to appear on my person, and my sense of balance was starting to go. I struggled to my feet, hampered by the sodden weight of my shirt.

I looked around the cavernous room for somewhere to hide. I saw a tool cabinet that had some space behind it, and pattered toward it. Normally it would have taken me a few strides to reach it, but in a five-year-old and shrinking body it was quite a trek. I pushed my pudgy little legs as fast as they would go, but my gait deteriorated into an unsure wobble as I got younger. As I neared my chosen hiding place, I got too short for my dress-like shirt, and tripped on the hem of it. I fell to the ground with a gentle crash, but didn’t lose sight of my goal. I kept crawling forward, dragging the garment with me.

I crawled as I reached four years, three and a half, three, two and a half, until I just didn’t have the physical strength to pull the shirt along any more. I attempted to extricate myself from the moist expanse of my shirt, weakly pawing away folds of cloth with my reduced limbs. Eventually, I tumbled out of that wet prison and tried to stand. I got up on my two feet, but quickly found that I lacked the necessary proportions to walk. The tool cabinet was very close, so I again started to crawl toward it. I made it to what I deemed a satisfactory hiding place and managed myself into a sitting position.

A few moments later the regression process stopped. I was left an infant at barely one year old. This marks the first time I’ve ever been so young. Everything looked positively gigantic to me! The garage seemed like an auditorium, while the toolshed was a mountainous structure that towered over me. I was extremely cold, sitting naked on a concrete floor, still wet, no less. Another problem I had: I had to pee. Like I said earlier, I retain all mental functions when I’m regressed, so I still knew how to keep it in. However, my bladder was quite a bit smaller than it was, so it was painfully full now. I didn’t want to just go right there, fearing that someone might notice. Thinking back, that was a rather silly thought, considering that there was already a huge puddle of water, not to mention my discarded clothing. I also didn’t want to wet myself because the smell would be awful, however. I damned that second cup of coffee and clenched my legs together.

I thought I could wait there until I grew to a size that allowed me to get to a better hiding place, but I was wrong. About five minutes later, I heard someone stomping down the stairs to the garage. I watched from my hiding position and saw that it was Jake again, no doubt sent to see what had taken me so long.

Damn! I thought to myself. Of course someone would go down into the garage. I can’t ever get a break. Jake looked around the garage, then spotted the wet pair of shoes and pants that sat in the puddle.

“What the-“ he said, looking at them. He spied my shirt lying a few feet away, near me. He scooped up my pants and shoes and started toward the shirt. Bending down to pick it up, he paused. My heart beat quickened, hoping that he hadn’t seen me. Jake walked closer to me, looking around like he knew something was amiss. Then he spotted me. A peculiar look of shock came over his face, then one of confusion. He didn’t seem to know what to do for a moment.

“Wha- a baby?” He said intelligently, reaching over to pick me up. I squirmed, not wanting to be handled in such a humiliating manner. His massive (to me) hands clamped around my naked sides and he easily and quickly lifted me into the air. I felt a breeze hit all of my naked, wet body and shivered. Jake brought me level to his face, and I tried not to look down. I was always afraid of heights.

I fidgeted some more, hoping he’d let me down. I wasn’t sure how long I could keep my reservoir of urine contained. Jake just ignored me, and looked to the pile of clothes he had dropped at his feet. He seemed to be trying to figure something out, trying to put two and two together.

But then, I couldn’t take it anymore. I began urinating, projecting a healthy stream of fluid toward Jake’s chest. It seemed to shock him, and I was afraid he was going to drop me. He scrambled around, looking for a place to set me. He settled on plopping me down on my clothes, but I had almost finished peeing by then.

“Ugh, sick,” he said, gingerly brushing his shirt. He then ran off, presumably to clean his shirt. Jerk. I was glad I got him messy. Besides that, my pissing on Jake was a blessing. With him gone, I had some time to find another hiding spot. I had grown a little by then, and was over two again. I slowly got to my feet and toddled around the room, searching for a better spot. I saw a towel hanging from a hook, and I walked under it. It was a little high off the ground, so I had to make feeble little jumps at it. I managed to pull it down, and it fell on me, enveloping me. I decided this was an adequate method of hiding. I waited like that for a while, enjoying the warmth and dryness the towel afforded me.

Soon I heard Jake coming back in. I heard him thud down the stairs, quickly walk over to where I was, shout “what? Where is he?”, then I heard him worriedly stepping around, looking. Fortunately, Jake isn’t very bright and he didn’t catch on to my hiding spot. A few minutes later I heard him head back up the stairs.

It was then that I decided to make a break for my truck. I had grown to almost five years old already, so I was able to walk at a decent pace. Wrapping the towel around my nude form like a cloak, I got up and headed to the door. With some effort, I reached up, turned the handle, and pushed the door open. I made sure the coast was clear, and darted to my truck. I climbed in and retreated to the back seat, and got down on the floor, where no one could see me. I waited there for almost an hour while I grew back up.

It’s always a strange feeling, let me tell you. It’s like you’re in a world that’s shrinking. It’s almost a claustrophobic feeling. And that’s just the growing part. Going through puberty in twenty minutes cannot be described.

After I had matured to a respectable seventeen, I found the keys I had hidden for just such an emergency and drove away from there. I had to quit that job, of course. But I did hear that Jake got fired after that whole incident. The mysteriously vanishing baby story apparently got around, and for a few months afterward I was seeing missing persons posters about it. I guess some people were pretty shaken up over the thing, even though nobody came forward and said they lost their baby.

It’s almost enough to make me feel guilty, but then I remember that a world that gave me this curse deserves what it gets.