The Crystal Talisman Volume IV

The Crystal Talisman Volume IV

The Crystal Talisman

Volume IV:

Job

by Dr. Music

 

Part 1: Meredith makes a new friend

Meredith was nauseous. The story Jesse had just related to her made her both

sick and afraid of herself. Meredith's experience had been fun and exhilarating

as well, yes, but when she had discovered that it wasn't reversible, that she

couldn't have all her wishes granted, then she had become utterly disgusted with

herself and wanted to die. Meredith saw in Jesse the side of her that had

enjoyed all that. Enjoyed it, though it disgusted her to thing about it, even

after she found out it was all real. It was this thought that made her sick to

her stomach rather than the gruesome tale Jesse had imparted.

"Are you alright?"

The voice startled Meredith, and she stood up quickly from where she had been

bent over, nearly vomiting. Before her stood a young man, perhaps nineteen at

the most. He was tall, about six feet, with sandy-blond hair and a pimply face.

Absently she felt sorry for him for still having acne. She herself had been the

same way, not developing serious acne till well past her formative years.

The boy was gawky and gangly, dressed in loose jeans and a Donald Duck

tee-shirt. As he stood there, staring at Meredith, he produced a yellow inhaler

from his pocket and took a puff from it.

"That was some story she told, huh?" he said, after letting out a deep breath of

air. He smiled awkwardly at her.

Meredith looked back to where she had left Jesse, and saw with some disgust that

she a small group of men, and a couple of women, had gathered around her

adoringly. She shook her head.

"I'm with you, though," the boy continued, as if Meredith had answered him, "it

was pretty sick and twisted. I'm Job Walker." He extended his hand out to her.

After a moment, she took it.

His grip was clammy, the palm sweaty. But, it was strong which Meredith liked.

She was already feeling a strange kinship to him.

"That's Job without an e. I hate it when people spell it with an e. It should be

J-o-b, like in the bible. I'm not religious though. Agnostic, I guess. I believe

in God, but not religion. I guess that's agnostic, but I've never been too sure.

Never thought about it much, I guess." He paused then, waiting for some kind of

reaction from her.

Meredith shook her head suddenly. "I'm sorry. I suppose that after I tried to

make friends with Jesse and she told me that story, I'm a little shy about

making new friends here." She took his hand again. "I'm Meredith Danforth."

Job smiled as he shook her hand, then blushed. Meredith resisted the urge to

smile herself. She could tell the beginnings of a crush when she saw it. After a

moment of consideration, she decided to take a chance again. "So, Job...without

an e...what brings you here?"

Job blushed again. "I...I don't know if I want to talk about it all that much.

It's kinda personal. Why don't we start with you? Why are you here?"

Meredith wasn't sure if she wanted to divulge her story, but she decided that it

was only fair if she wanted to hear his. But did she really want to hear it? It

frightened her that she was eager to, even after what happened with Jesse. Was

she that much of a sadist? The temptation was too great, though, so she launched

into her story about how she had met Sheila and what they had done together.

The story took a while to tell, and once she was done, she saw that Job was

flushed, and sitting awkwardly on the white with his knees drawn up to his

chest. He shifted his legs uncomfortably, and again Meredith resisted a smile.

She knew she had turned him on with her tale, and she sort of liked it. Again

she had cause for alarm. All those lives she had snuffed out, and she was

enjoying the fact that a teenager got his rocks off from it. What was she? To

dispel the thoughts from her mind, she said, "So, your turn. What's your little

ditty?"

Job grew even redder and stammered, "Well...well, it's embarrassing to talk

about."

Meredith tried the soothing approach. "C'mon, Job. I told you my fantasies, it's

only fair that you tell me yours. Besides, I get the feeling they aren't all

that different from mine."

Job seemed to relax at her words, and after a moment, he nodded. "Okay." He

shifted his position as if to get more comfortable, but Meredith didn't even

feel as if she were sitting on anything. It was all very strange.

"Well," he began, "It all started when I went to this small curio shop near my

high school. I'm a senior, graduating this fall ahead of my class." He stopped

at this, as if realizing where he was. Then continued. "This old lady looked me

over pretty good when I walked in. After I browsed around a little, she came up

to me and said, 'I know what you want,' and wanted me to go into the back with

her. For some reason I couldn't keep myself from going."

Job shifted again. Clearly he was uncomfortable relating this story. "We went

through those hanging beads you see all the time in doorways, and into this

small room in the back. The room was set up like something out of a movie about

witches: tables with shrouds on them, lamps with red cloth covering the shades,

and even bottles of bubbling water. And on the wall was an altar or something

with a stand on it. And on the stand hung a necklace with a marble or something.

I was drawn to it. I expected the old woman to want me to pay for it somehow, or

give her a finger or something." He chuckled at this, and continued, "But

suddenly she was gone. I called out, but she didn't answer.

"The marble, crystal, whatever it was, seemed to call to me. I wasn't able to

resist the urge to touch it. But before I did, all these strange lights started

coming out if it and flying all around me. I guess I blacked out, because when I

came to, I was lying in the palm of the most beautiful woman I had ever seen."

* * * *

"My name is Sheila, Job," the lovely, honey-haired giantess said in a sultry

voice, "and I see you're happy to see me." She pointed a well-manicured finger

at a sudden bulge in Job's pants.

Job swallowed hard and nearly fainted. He had to be dreaming. This was a dream

come true. He new that any minute now he would wake up and be staring into the

face of that old hag, and so he yelped in surprise when Sheila began to stroke

his member through his pants with her long, blood-red fingernail.

"Oh no, this is for real, love. And I'm here to make all your dreams come true."

Job still couldn't speak.

"That's alright. I can read your thoughts. And yes, every wish you ever had is

about to come true. Believe me when I say that there will be a price to pay when

you're done, but I assure you, it's one that you won't mind paying. Still at a

loss for words? Well then, let's just get started, shall we? Whenever you want

me, just ask, and I'll be there."

With her other hand, Sheila pressed her fingers to her luscious lips and blew

him a kiss. As her sweet, warm breath surrounded Job, the world began to swirl

and fade.

Part 2: the High School

Job opened his eyes and looked around him. Sheila was gone, and he was lying on

a cold, hard floor in some wide open area, though very well lit. Slowly, he

climbed to his feet, pushing himself up with his hands. He noticed that there

were several small, irregularly shaped pieces of what looked like dirt clods

lying around. It was all very confusing.

Job began to wonder if he had been dreaming about Sheila. Maybe the old woman

had drugged him somehow, taken his wallet, and dumped him off in some warehouse.

He felt his back pocket, and found his wallet still there. Opening it, he saw

that his money, all five dollars of it, was still there. He was about to close

the wallet again when he noticed a picture in the insert.

It was a picture of Sheila.

Job nearly fell to the floor. And he screamed and almost dropped his wallet when

the picture suddenly came to life, Sheila's face becoming animated.

"Yes, dear, it was all real. And now you have your wish. Better look out,

though. Class is almost out." With these last words, Sheila winked at him and

her picture faded."

Job was more confused than ever. What did she mean class was almost out?

Suddenly there was a horrendous sound like all the bells in the world ringing at

once, from the tiniest Christmas bells to the largest church bell. This time,

Job did drop his wallet as he clasped his hands over his ears in pain. Then the

sound was gone, but replaced with a deep rumbling.

The rumble seemed to come from everywhere. For the first time, Job looked around

his surroundings and was astonished by what he saw. He seemed to be in an

enormous, cavernous hallway lined with towering green lockers. The hard floor he

was standing on was made up of miles and miles of green and white tiling, each

tile nearly as big as a house. The dirt clods he saw where actually dirt

particles. He was so small even dust seemed big.

The rumbling grew louder, and with an ear-splitting crack and creak, a gigantic

door several hundred feet away swung open with a torrential whoosh. And out

stepped something straight from Job's best wet dreams: a giant teenage girl.

The girl was about seventeen, by Job's guess, and then he wondered why he was

guessing how old she was. She was huge! Maybe 400 feet tall! That same part of

his brain that guessed her age now guessed that that made him less than an inch

tall! These new thoughts and sights gave him an instant erection, but also

struck immense terror in his heart.

The girl was wearing flare-bottom blue jeans, a white baby tee, and had her

blond hair done in 2 braids. On her feet were a pare of the meanest looking Dr.

Martins Job had ever seen. They thundered toward him with sickening speed, and

he felt each footstep as an explosion in the earth. And yet, he didn't move. His

heart pounded to beat the booming the girl caused, but he couldn't move his

legs. The towering girl drew nearer until Job had to look straight up to see her

face over her ample bosom. She looked taller than any mountain he could think

of.

At the last moment, Job's trance was broken, and he through himself to the side

as the girl's giant foot landed with a deafening thud where he had been. She

walked on, her footsteps receding in the distance, and Job lay where he was,

staring at the ceiling. Then he tried to get up, and found that only his left

leg worked. Wondering why, he looked down at his left, and nearly screamed at

what he saw.

His left leg was pressed completely flat! Just below the knee, the leg was

thinner than paper. Job was scared and felt like crying in utter fear, but then

he noticed something else. There was no blood. And what was even more

surprising, no pain. Curious, he poked at the flattened leg, and felt it yield

like soft dough. In fact, his finger left an impression in it complete with

fingerprint. And then, suddenly and with a slight pop, his leg burst back into

its original shape.

With dawning understanding, Job laughed with glee. This was one of his

fantasies. He was made of dough, including his clothes. He couldn't be hurt. And

when everything was over with, he could reshape himself back to normal. This was

great. He wondered what other aspects of the fantasy were there, and became

aware of thundering footsteps all around him.

Job looked up to see the towering forms of dozens of young titanesses. Yes! He

was in an all-girls high school! He was less than an inch tall, made of

indestructible dough, and surrounded by teenage girls. He began to cheer, but

was cut off quickly by the plummeting, sandal clad foot of one of the girls

smashing into his body.

The weight was immense but pleasurable. He felt it pressing down from above like

an unstoppable avalanche, pushing into his soft form and spreading it out around

him. He felt the most excruciatingly sweet pleasure in his groin as it was

squashed with the rest of his body. All was dark for a split second, and then he

watched as the foot lifted off of him and moved away somewhere above and behind

his head.

He wished he had seen the owner of that foot more closely, but he was soon

treated by the lovely vision of another goddess, this one in black jeans, a red

sweater to match her hair, and wingtip loafers smash the toe of her foot down

over the lower half of his body. Again he experienced the most wonderful feeling

he could ever hope for as all her weight squished his pelvis even flatter.

Again, he wished it would last, but many more alluring vixens pleasured him with

the soles of their shoes as he lay there, drinking it all in. Before it was

done, he estimated that he had been stepped on fully by at least ten different

girls, and partially by about fifteen. And then, sadly, the last bell rang and

he was all alone once again.

Job lay where he was for a long while, flattened and dirty from the grit on the

soles of the girls shoes. He felt it embedded in his skin, but didn't care. It

felt good. He wanted it to stay there forever. But he thought that would be

impractical, so he inflated himself and all the dirt popped out.

He couldn't believe this was happening to him. His greatest fantasy come true.

And Sheila had said he could have as many wishes as he wanted. He wondered what

he would do next. After a moment's deliberation, he climbed to his feet and

began a long trek for the nearest classroom door. Beyond it, he could hear the

booming voice of a female teacher. That voice sounded so sexy, Job could barely

contain his excitement.

Part 3: Clarice in the classroom

Job found just enough room beneath the classroom door to squeeze his body.

Chuckling to himself, he realized that with his dough-isity, he could squeeze

into pretty much anything. Then he chortled at the thought that with infinite

wishes, anything at all was possible. He wondered what he would do if the

teacher he was so eager to see turned out to be not at all attractive. He could

wish her to be so. Hell, he could wish her to be wearing sexy lingerie and do a

gigantic lap dance for him if he wanted. For some reason, this thought bothered

him. It kind of took some of the fun and excitement out of it. He decided to

play with his chances and see what happened.

To his luck, the teacher wasn't at all unattractive. She was no super model, but

then again, he hated supermodels. The woman was tall (duh) and a brunette, and

she wore a sharp, navy business suit (he wondered why she did since she was a

teacher, but decided that she was just very professional) with navy pumps. The

heels of the pumps were a couple of inches tall, about 12 feet to Job. His mouth

watered as he stared at those pumps.

From the pumps rose her slender, sexy legs which were clothed in white

stockings. Oh, white stockings! Job didn't know why this turned him on so much,

but decided it had something to do with a childhood experience that had warped

him and started this whole fetish in the first place, and dismissed the

thoughts.

The navy skirt she wore began about 2/3rds of the way up her calf, pleated at

the waist. She wore a white, long-sleeved blouse, which was revealed fully as

she removed her suit jacket. The teacher's dark hair was pulled back in a bun

(he didn't realize women still wore those) and black-rimmed glasses sat perched

on her tiny nose. Looking at her, Job was reminded of Wonder Woman's alter-ego

on the old television show which aired now on the Sci-Fi Channel. His mind

wondered briefly of what she would look like in the super woman's tights, but

then he got back to the task of looking at her.

As Job watched, the object of his affection unbuttoned each of her sleeves in

turn and rolled them up to her elbows. Her arms weren't too thin, nor were they

too plump. They seemed to Job to be just right. He loved arms. He loved every

inch of a woman's body, and took great lengths (in his mind, being a virgin) to

devote equal attention to each part during his fantasies. He wasn't a breast man

or a butt man, he was a body man.

As she spoke, the teacher walked around the corner of her desk with footfalls

that shook Job's world. When she reached the front of the desk, she leaned

against it, placing her hands behind her for support. Then she bent her left

knee, the one closest to Job, and began dangling her pump from her toes. Job

watched this in utter fascination. He longed to be in that shoe, watching the

sole of her stockinged foot come closer, then rise away, closer again, and

farther again.

Lost in these thoughts, Job was startled by a loud coughing. Looking around, he

became aware for the first time that the room was filled with giant desks. And

within these giant desks sat giant teenage girls. Job's knees became weak and he

had to steady himself against the door to keep from collapsing. One of his

fantasies was to wander willy-nilly among the feet of schoolgirls, all unaware

of his presence as they concentrated on what the teacher was saying.

Job himself listened for a moment to the teacher, letting her low, sexy voice

wash over his body.

"Now, as for the reading you were supposed to do last night," she was saying, "I

hope you all are growing in your appreciation for the writings of Grildrig."

There were some murmurs of consent. "'Amy Zonn'. This is a story filled with

jewels of refreshing character development. Too often do authors fall short in

their attempts to do this, but Grildrig never leaves us hanging. I give you the

scene where Amy, now a towering giantess, holds her foot above a frightened

crowd of tiny people simply to tease them with her sole before stepping down.

This is a classic example of...."

Ah, a class on feminism, Job thought. He stopped listening - reminding himself

that he needed to read more - because his senses were already overloaded with

what was happening. Now his sights were set on a girl seated in the front row of

desks.

This girl was obviously considered the one, shall we say, voted most likely to

wind up in a cult. She wore a black leather mini skirt, and a white mini-tee

that showed off her midriff (something Job was sure was against dress code). Her

hair was earlobe length and straight, jet-black with a bright red streak in the

bangs. Her makeup was done in black and white: black, Cleopatra style

eye-shadow, and black lipstick, her face powder-white. In both ears she wore

upside-down crucifixes. My type of woman, Job thought. He bet she had a

navel ring, also, but the way she was sitting prevented him from telling.

The girl's legs were bare with a tattoo of a serpent around her right ankle. On

her feet was a pair of black stiletto heels. Job was in love. He knew he wanted

to start with this girl.

Looking up, Job saw that all the girls' attentions were centered on their

teacher. He hoped he wouldn't be noticed as part of his current fantasy was for

them all to be completely unaware of him. Cautiously, he edged closer to the

feet of his sweet angel of death.

The girl was slowly tapping the toe of her right foot. Each time the sole met

the hard floor, a cracking boom rang out into the room - which Job knew was in

actuality an unnoticeable tap to the ears of the giantesses around him - and a

slight vibration raced through the floor and beneath Job's feet. His eyes

followed the toe of her shoe as it rose, then fell to the floor again as he

edged closer. He was now within twenty feet of her foot, and the shockwave from

the tapping traveled up his legs and into his pelvis: a not unwelcome sensation.

It tickled.

He got closer, and closer still, until he was a mere foot away from the rising

and falling shoe. The wind created by it ruffled Job's hair, and sent a waft of

sweet odor, not quite sour, into his nostrils. She wore no makeup. Good. Just

the scent of her essence.

As the foot banged down again, Job saw up and over it to where the cleavage of

her toes peeked out from the rim of her shoe. He loved toe cleavage, and

imagined himself wedged tight in between her big and second toe. Not now,

though. First things first.

Nervously, even though he had been squashed bodily beneath giant trampling feet

only a few minutes before, Job edged his foot experimentally beneath the girl's

huge shoe. When it came down again, nothing happened. Job was puzzled, and got

down on his stomach to see what had happened. There he saw that the toe of her

shoe never quite met the floor when she dropped it. The shoe curved upward as it

came forward from the ball of her foot.

As Job stared under the ped, there was a loud scraping noise and he was suddenly

thrown into darkness as the girl's foot slid over his body while lifted. Then

she tapped it down again and squished him against the floor. This was an

unexpected, though not unpleasant surprise. When it rose again, he found himself

stuck to the sole, his legs dangling beneath him as they had not been crushed.

He watched as his legs touched the floor and bent at an unnatural angle as her

foot descended again, folding him in half and smashing his knees into his eye

sockets. He was scrunched together and stuck that way, for she did not lift her

foot again. He felt the foot shuffle as if the girl was bending down. Then there

was the lifting sensation again, and he felt giant fingers squeezing his sides

and tugging at his body. She must have felt his soft, yielding body instead of

the hard floor when she tapped her foot and decided to investigate.

Job was pulled from the bottom of the girl's shoe like used bubble gum, and his

knees left his eyes. He watched the foot fall away beneath him as he was lifted

into the air. Then he was looking into the Egyptian-like eyes of the girl. She

examined him with only the slightest surprise. He wondered what he looked like

to her: possibly a flat miniature boy, but did he look like a real person or did

he look like a clay figure? Just to see what would happen, he puffed his body

back out to regular thickness.

She arched an eyebrow, but looked less than startled. To Job's surprise,

however, she placed a thumb, the nail decorated in black polish, on his chest

and an index finger against his back and squeezed. His back and chest met as she

pressed and then released the grip, still holding on to him with her other hand.

Job made his chest expand again. She repeated the process and so did he. Then he

smiled and waved at her.

This got her attention. She sucked in a quick gasp of air, went wide-eyed, and

dropped him onto her desk top.

"Is something wrong, Clarice?" the teacher asked.

The girl looked up and above Job and addressed her. "Uh...no, Miss Stinger." Her

right hand fell over Job, plunging him into a moist darkness and partially

squashing him. Then he heard her stutter. "Um, actually, may I be excused to go

to the rest room."

After a moment, Job heard Miss Stinger's voice. "Well, you do look a little

paler than usual. Yes, you may go."

Clarice again: "Thanks."

Then Job felt her fingers wrap under his body, squeezing him into what he

assessed as a tube. She must not know her own strength, he thought. Then

he was rising into the air again, and swinging, presumably at Clarice's side. He

heard the door to the classroom open, and Clarice's stilettos clicking loudly on

the tile floor of the hall. After a few moments, there was the creak of another

door, and then light again.

Job looked up to see Clarice staring with wonder at him. All he could think of

was that her eyes were a delightful shade of pale gray.

"Hi," he said.

Clarice stared. After a moment, she managed a weak "Hi" in return.

Job puffed out his body, stood up in her palm, and extended an arm. "My name's

Job."

Clarice smiled, showing perfectly white teeth, and took his hand between the

thumb and forefinger of her left hand. "Clarice."

She squeezed too hard, and when she released her grip, Job's hand stuck to her

thumb. Before she realized this, Clarice had already started pulling her own

hand away, and his arm stretched out to the length of ten feet (to him, that

is.)

"Wow!" Clarice said with a huge smile. "You're like Play-doh, or something!" She

began to roll Job's tiny hand between her fingers, and then started twisting his

lengthened arm around her index finger. "This is so cool!"

Job wasn't sure what to make of what was going on. In part, he was afraid that

she'd pull it from his body and he would spend the rest of his life without his

right arm. This was absurd, of course. For one thing, it seemed that he had

incredible elasticity and his arm was only going to stretch and not break off.

Secondly, he had all the wishes in the universe at his command. He could simply

wish a new arm back.

"Are you a person or what?" Clarice asked him.

Job looked up at her and said, "Yeah. I'm just a normal kid who has all these

wishes available to him."

Clarice looked puzzled. "Huh?"

"Well," Job began, "I met this girl Sheila who granted me infinite wishes, and

well, here I am, in the long and short of it. No pun intended."

"Any wishes?" Clarice asked, a wicked smile playing on her lips.

"Well, yeah," Job replied. He wasn't sure he liked where this was going, but it

excited him nonetheless.

"Wait, why did you wish for this?" she asked him.

Job said: "I didn't really. It's really just a product of my deepest desires, I

guess."

Clarice cocked an eyebrow at him. "Your deepest desire is to be Gumby?"

Job felt embarrassed. "Uh, yeah."

"Weird," was all she said further on the subject. Then she smiled innocently at

him. "So you can have any wish you want, huh?"

Job nodded, that uneasy feeling creeping back into him.

"Well," Clarice said seductively, "how 'bout I make you a deal. You make some

wishes for me, and I'll help you live out your deepest desires."

This interested Job, but a thought then occurred to him. "Why would I need your

help if I have infinite wishes?"

Clarice frowned at this, angry that he realized the obvious. Then she started

and looked above and behind Job. Job turned to see what she saw, and there stood

Sheila, in all her beauty and glory.

"An interesting plot twist is about to develop here," Sheila dripped sweetly,

her sentence playing out like that of some strange narrator. She extended a hand

to Clarice. "I'm Sheila."

Clarice took her hand with the same one that held Job, who hmmphed as he was

smashed between the two women's palms. "Clarice."

Sheila laughed as their hands parted and pointed to Job, who was flattened with

the imprint of her palm to Clarice's. "You've, uh, got something on your hand."

Clarice looked down at Job and laughed herself. "Wow, I forgot."

"Yeah," Sheila said, "I have that effect on people." Then she looked back at Job

and said matter-of-factly, "There's been a change of plans. Clarice here has

given me a good idea, and since I have the ultimate power over everything that

goes on here - and everywhere else, for that matter - I'm going to alter our

deal."

That feeling wouldn't leave Job, but it was being increasingly spiked with

excitement. He felt like a toy to these giantesses, and he liked it.

Sheila continued: "From now on, the only way you are to be able to make more

wishes is if you first grant a wish to Clarice."

"What?!" Job shouted in dismay, but the excitement was still there.

Sheila smiled, and Clarice laughed with glee.

"Yes," Sheila said. "You can't wish that this be undone, because I won't allow

it. And be careful. If you wish to be away from Clarice, then you won't be able

to make any more wishes unless she finds you or you go back to her. Because, of

course, you can't make wishes unless you grant some for her."

"This isn't fair!" Job shouted, then jumped as Sheila bent her colossal and

beautiful form down so that her head was in front of Clarice's hand, Sheila's

eyes piercing Job with an icy stare.

"Isn't fair?" The words trickled from Sheila's tongue like tendrils of frost. "I

gave you this power as a gift, and you say I'm not being fair?"

Job actually cowered away from the goddess. "I - I'm sorry, Sheila. I don't know

what came over me." Then he brightened. "Actually, I kinda like it."

Sheila straightened with a bouncy smile. "I know. You're submissive. Most men

are, they just don't realize it." Then she looked at Clarice. "Okay, then. Enjoy

your new toy, Clarice." With that, she disappeared.

Job stared into the space Sheila had been, then craned his neck around to look

up at Clarice.

Clarice was looking down at him with evil mischief in her eyes, and that wicked

smile was back on her lips, playing there like a dark secret.

In spite of himself, Job gulped.

"Oh the fun we're going to have," Clarice said in an ominous whisper. "But

first, I'm going back to class."

Job was surprised by this. "Why? You can have whatever you want right now, and

you want to go back to class?"

Clarice nodded. "Yeah." Then she said, "I know what you're thinking. I don't

look like the type that enjoys school. But I do want an education."

Job shook his head. "But you could wish for one? Why go back to class?"

Clarice rolled her eyes. "I need some challenges in my life now that I can have

anything I want without any effort."

Job accepted this response, though it seemed a little strange to him.

"Now let's see," Clarice said, staring off into nowhere, "where should I keep

you until school's out? I don't have any pockets and I don't carry a purse." She

thought for a moment. "I know." She pinched Job between her thumb and

forefinger, caving his sides inward.

Job watched as she opened her mouth and lifted him toward it. "You don't

mean..."

Clarice stopped and said, "Yup. You're going to spend the rest of the day as my

gum."

Job shrugged. This was one of his fantasies also, so he was cool with it. He

decided to sit back and enjoy the ride.

Clarice's mouth loomed large before him like the opening of a deep, dark, dank

cavern. Her perfect teeth rose from the floor of it and hung from the ceiling

like stalagmites and stalactites. Her large, pink tongue glistened just beyond

the entrance, and there was a hiss and gurgle as her salivation glands squirted

in anticipation of Job's arrival. He looked up and saw that her eyes were

closed. She was enjoying this.

Her nose, longer than he was tall, passed overhead and he slid beneath and

between her lips. Her breath, which enveloped his body every other second like a

moist cloud, was only slightly sour, so he could tolerate it just fine. After he

was inside, Clarice closed her lips around her fingers, plunging Job into a wet

darkness. He heard her moan, and felt her fingers release him and slide from her

mouth with a deep slurping noise. Now he sat on the undulating form of her

tongue, leaning back against the smooth, hard surface of her teeth. The air was

hot and very humid, coating his skin with a layer of condensation.

Clarice's tongue lurched beneath Job, and he was thrust to the roof of her mouth

where his head banged against it, compacting his neck into his shoulders. His

body doubled over and again his knees met his eyes. Then her tongue moved to the

side, pushing him across the top of her mouth and down the back of her gums. He

felt her teeth slide over his body as they lifted, and he was placed on top of

her lower set. The bumps and ridges of her teeth pressed up against his body as

his weight settled down, then he felt them push upward as the traveled to meet

her top set.

Clarice's top teeth pressed down on Job's back hard, sinking into his soft,

clay-like body. They sank deep and forcefully, until they met the bottom teeth,

and then the bottom teeth fell away, leaving him stuck to the top. Her tongue

moved in and pushed him to a new position, then the teeth rose again to bite,

and pinched him bodily again.

Clarice began to chew at a medium pace, pressing Job's body into several new and

interesting shapes. He was rolled into a ball, flattened, rolled again, and

flattened again. He passed from one side of her mouth to the other. It was

impossible for him to tell which direction was which with the combination of

darkness and the speed with which her tongue pushed him around. Not to mention

the fact that he didn't think his head was even on the top part of his body

anymore. He was nothing more than a shapeless blob of...well, chewing gum at

that point.

Job was then pressed by the tip of her tongue against her front teeth (he

thought). Then he was thinned out and pressed against the backs of her lips. Her

lips parted and she began to blow air against him. Job's body inflated as he was

pushed outside her mouth. She was blowing a bubble with him. He saw her upper

lip move away as he passed back beneath her nose. Her face took on a curved

look, as he was sure his body was curved into the surface of the bubble. He

inflated larger and larger until there was a loud pop, and his thinned body

slapped against Clarice's cheek and lips, and even onto the tip of her nose.

Giggling, Clarice used her fingers to peel Job from her face. She then wadded

him up and stuck him back in her mouth and proceeded to chew once again.

Job, enjoying all this immensely, decided that it was definitely going to be an

interesting life from now on.

Part 4: Stinger

Job felt Clarice walking, and knew that she was returning to class. Meanwhile,

he was continually pushed and prodded by her tongue, and shoved beneath her

molars for more grinding sessions than he could count. And he was enjoying the

entire experience immensely.

Clarice had managed to twist his misshapen body around her tongue and was

chewing on his head when he heard the muffled voice of Miss Stinger say,

"Clarice, is that gum you're chewing?"

Clarice immediately stopped chewing on him and answered in a voice that

reverberated throughout the cavern of her mouth and shook Job to the bone, had

he had any bones, "No, Miss Stinger."

Then he heard the teacher say, "Please address me as Ms. Stinger, and don't lie.

I've been watching you chew it since you came back from the restroom." Her voice

got closer. "Now, spit it out."

Job felt himself pushed to the back of Clarice's mouth and started to slide down

into her throat. He freaked out. "No!" he shouted as loud as he could.

He didn't know if Clarice had heard him or had simply experienced second

thoughts, but she stopped trying to swallow him, and pushed him to the front of

her mouth, instead. Light peeked in as she pursed her lips. Through the opening

in her mouth, Job saw the outstretched and enormous hand of Ms. Stinger. Then

with a loud "Ptooie!", Job was sent flying where he landed with a smack in the

teacher's palm.

The class groaned in disgust as they looked at him. He imagined he looked very

much like a wad of used chewing gum. Then he was moving again as Ms. Stinger

carried him away. He wasn't sure where she was taking him, but he guessed it was

the waste basket. Fear filled him again as he realized that he might not be able

to escape for the trash can, especially since he was away from Clarice and

therefore couldn't make any wishes. In desperation, he inflated his body and

popped himself back into shape. There he lay staring up at the gigantic, yet

beautiful face of Ms. Stinger. She looked down at him, confused about what she

was holding. So he did the same thing he had to Clarice, and waved at her.

Ms. Stinger let out a little yelp of surprise, and dropped him. Job's world was

spinning as he fell through the air. Then he landed with a rustling thump amid

the wadded up papers in a silo-like waste-basket. From where he lay, Job looked

up to see the staring face of the teacher. She was visible from the knee up, and

looked extremely tall. On her face she wore an expression of mixed fear and

apprehension. As he watched, she slowly backed away out of his view. He waited

then, hearing the class get restless as they were undoubtedly wondering what

exactly about the gum had frightened their teacher. After what seemed like an

eternity, Ms. Stinger resumed her lecture like nothing had ever happened.

From time to time throughout the class, Job caught glimpses of Ms. Stinger as

she passed the waste basket either en route to her blackboard or to her chair.

She never once looked down at him, though. Job had a lot of time to himself to

thing. He dared not move, because when he did, the papers around him would

rustle. For some reason, he feared what might happen if he attracted attention.

Without the ability to make any wishes, he might find himself in a dumpster

outside. Or worse, in an incinerator.

Finally, the class bell rang. Job heard the sounds of students getting up to

leave, and even saw a few pass overhead. Not one looked into the waste basket,

though they must have been curious as to what Ms. Stinger had seen to scare her

like that. Perhaps they had forgotten the incident, as it seemed the teacher

had.

Job had a growing sense of fear that Clarice was going to leave him there. He

began to will her to approach the trash can. With a great sense of relief, he

saw her face from high above peek over the rim of the can at him. He gave her a

little wave, and she smiled. Then Ms. Stinger appeared.

"Clarice," she said to the girl, "Please stay for a bit." Then she looked down

at him and just stood there. Job waited. Ms. Stinger waited. Clarice waited. He

looking up at their towering forms and they looking down at his diminutive one.

Then, when all the sounds of the leaving girls had subsided, and the room was

silent, Ms. Stinger said to Clarice without looking away from him, "Close the

door, dear. And lock it."

Clarice looked at the teacher, then disappeared. There was the sound of the

great door being shut, and the click of the lock sliding into place. Then her

heels were clicking back toward Job and she appeared again. They stood there

again, looking down on him, and he grew nervous. Apparently Clarice was growing

impatient, as well, because she said, "Ms. Stinger, is there something you

wanted?"

Ms. Stinger looked at her. "Call me Leslie, dear. You and I are going to get to

know each other better." With that, she bent down and reached a hand toward Job.

Job froze as he saw the huge hand descending upon him, darkening as it passed

from the light of the room into the gloom of the waste basket. The hand stopped

when it came to within a foot of him, but then came crashing down. Her fingers,

decorated with long, blood-red nails, closed around his small form with the

strength of anacondas. The nails sunk into him, and the tips pressed

indentations into his body. Then he was lifted with sickening speed from the

sanctuary of the can, and brought before the lovely gaze of Ms. Stinger.

Her eyebrows were plucked and thinned, and one arched up as she looked at him.

Behind the rim of her glasses, Job noticed a tiny, flat mole above her left eye

just below the brow. Her eyes were sharply blue and rimmed with black eyeliner.

Her lips were done in the same deep red as her nails, but other than these

things, she wore no makeup. Up close, she really did look like Wonder Woman from

the old series. Those blue eyes regarded him with a little humor and a sense of

something else. Something darker. Job gulped in spite of himself.

"What have you got here, Clarice?" she said with a slight smile. "A little Mr.

Bill to play with?"

Clarice said, "Really, Ms. Stinger, I don't know what you're talking about. May

I have my toy so I can leave?"

"Leslie," Ms. Stinger said, "and it's more than a toy, isn't it?"

"No, it's just a toy," Clarice insisted. "It's like a chew toy or something. I

was just chewing on it to relax. It's what I do."

"It waved at me, Clarice," Leslie said, and Clarice didn't say anything. Then

she looked back at Job and smiled. "Are you some sort of little man?"

Job wasn't sure what to do. He was afraid that Clarice would just leave him

there if he said anything, not that that would be such a bad prospect, but he

needed to be able to wish himself back to normal eventually. On the other hand,

Clarice wanted her wishes as badly as he wanted his, so he spoke up.

"Yes, ma'am. My name's Job."

Leslie's face lit up with delight and she let a squeal escape from her lips. "It

really is a little man! How cuuute!!"

Clarice was upset at this point. "Job, god dammit! Ms. Stinger, I really have to

take him and leave! Please!"

Leslie began poking Job's body with a fingernail. "But you're so doughy! You

can't be a person! You're so small!"

Job was giggling in spite of himself, and in spite of seeing her fingernail

press into him up to the quick. She was taking a lot of liberties with him, but

he found himself enjoying it.

"Clarice, where did you find him?" Leslie said in a little girl's voice of

wonder.

Clarice smiled, getting into the fact that she was showing off a new toy. "Well,

he just appeared earlier in class. Stuck to the bottom of my shoe. Actually,

that's why I excused myself."

Leslie looked up at her. "Stuck to the bottom of your shoe?" Then she seemed to

realize for the first time that she had been shredding his body with her nails.

"Oh, I see. He's like a clay man. How did you become this way, uh, Job, is it?"

Job smiled up at her and made his wounds heal miraculously, to which Leslie

cooed in excitement. "It's a long story. The important thing is that I am like

this. I can be squashed and bent into any shape possible. Wanna try?" He was

really getting into this.

Leslie gave him an innocent, unsure look. "Is it alright?"

Job's smile broadened. "Of course. I like it!" He wondered if that was going to

far, but then she began working on him.

Leslie picked his tiny hand up between the thumb and forefinger of her right

hand while gripping him in the fist of her left. Experimentally, she squeezed,

and was delighted to feel the hand mush between her fingers like clay. She let

his hand drop, and looked at it with a bit of fear in her eyes.

Job looked down at his flattened hand, and said, "Don't worry, watch."

Concentrating, he made his hand puff back out.

Leslie giggled and bounced. She had lost all appearance of being a stern school

teacher, and the little girl in her was coming out.

"I can take anything," Job assured her. "Seriously. Give me your best shot!"

Leslie grinned, arched an eyebrow, stuck her tongue in her cheek, and squeezed

her fist closed on him hard.

Job felt exquisite pleasure as his body was squashed in the giant woman's grip.

He felt his lower body being compacted as his upper body was forced upward. He

let go with a huge sigh that made Leslie chuckle seductively.

"Oh you like that, don't you little guy," she asked in a sultry voice.

If Job's manhood hadn't been squeezed into a pancake at the moment, that voice

and the question it asked alone would have made him hard. But Leslie kept him

squeezed in her iron grip, and he felt her squeeze even harder, to the point

that her hand started shaking with effort. Then he heard Clarice clear her

throat. They both looked at her.

Clarice was standing with a slight smile on her lips and her hands on her hips,

tapping her foot and glaring at both of them. She was amused, but not happy. "If

you're both quite finished, I would like to take Job home with me so that we may

start with the wishing." As soon a she had said it, Clarice looked surprised at

her own words and clapped both hands over her mouth.

"What did you say?" Leslie asked her, her mouth hanging open. "Wishes? You have

wishes? Is that how he got this...is that how you got this way?" She said this

last looking down at Job.

Job was extremely enjoying this. Here he had two giant women who wanted him for

themselves to squish, twist, chew, step on, and God knew what else, and things

were about to get spicier. He waited, not answering her, for Sheila to appear

and give Leslie the ability to wish, but it didn't happen. Leslie shook him a

little then, and tightened her grip, which had relaxed a bit.

"Uh, actually, yes, sort of," Job said. "But Sheila changed her mind, and now I

can't make any wishes until I grant one for Clarice, and...."

Leslie cut him off. "Sheila? Who's Sheila?"

"Never mind," Clarice said, reaching up and wrapping her hand around Job's upper

torso. Job was thrown into darkness as her fingers closed over his head, and

then he was squeezed and pulled. He barely heard Clarice say, "We really have to

go now," but was suddenly aware that though she was taking his upper body with

her, his lower body was very much in the possession of the dear Ms. Leslie

Stinger. He felt his waist stretch to a great length, then hear both women gasp.

There was light again and fresh air as Clarice opened her hand and looked at

him.

"Oops," was all she said, and smiled at him.

Job looked down to see his body stretched from Clarice's open hand to Leslie's

closed fist. The teacher still hadn't let him go, and it seemed she didn't plan

to.

"You know, Clarice," Leslie said, slyly, "If you lone Job here to me for some

time, I could be very generous with...say, your grades?"

Clarice looked at her mentor, and shook her head. "No way, Ms. Stinger. I was

just telling Job in the bathroom that I want to work hard to get my own grades.

Now, please give me the rest of him.

Leslie decided a different approach. "Well, then. You'll be graduating this

spring, and I know you want to go to the University. Your grades are good

enough, but it will still be unnecessarily tough for you to get in. I know the

Dean of Admissions there. I could give you a good recommendation."

Clarice shot back at her, "You said you were going to anyway!"

Leslie smiled wickedly. "I know. But, suddenly I'm remembering some little

incidences that might not look good in your recommendation."

Clarice stared at her. Then smiled. "I like that. You're good, Ms.

Stinger...Leslie. Of course you know I could wish for a good recommendation from

you. But then again, I did say I wanted to get my education honestly." She

thought for a moment. "It's a deal then. But, I want him to myself for a little

while. I'll bring him to class tomorrow and you can have him for a night. We can

switch off."

Leslie was a little girl again, and nearly clapped her hands in glee before she

realized she was still holding Job's lower half. Then, smiling, she took up the

stretched slack in his waist, and pressed his lower body into his upper,

squeezing them together into Clarice's hand, and closed the girls fingers over

him, giving the hand a squeeze that compacted Job into a tiny ball. Then Job

could tell that she leaned close to Clarice's fist, because he heard her whisper

near him, "I'll be waiting for you, Little One. We'll have such fun together."

Then he felt movement as Clarice carried him out of the room.

Part 5: Clarice's house

Job looked around the area he was in. Clarice had taken him home with her, and

he was now sitting cross-legged on the bare-wood floor, which was dented with

high-heel pock marks, next to her bed. As far as he could tell from his vantage

point, her room was done up in shades of black and more black. The only thing

non-black about her room was the brown wooden floor, which clashed strikingly

with the motif.

"So, what are you, some sort of Goth?" Job asked, and cringed when Clarice

glared down at his reflection in the mirror she was currently using to adjust

her makeup.

"Don't label me. I don't believe in labels or conforming to a group." She went

back to applying more eye shadow. "I hate it that people consider themselves

outsiders and not part of a group, but you see everyone trying to be that and

dressing the same. I dress, act, and like what I feel."

"Sorry," Job said, and looked at the posters on the walls. They were mainly of

the Cure and Nine Inch Nails, with a Depeche Mode "Violator", as well as others

he didn't recognize.

"I'm an old fashioned girl," Clarice said, noticing his interest in her posters.

"Fuck Marilyn Manson. That stuff's for conformists."

Job took the opportunity. "You realize of course that your very act of being a

non-conformist makes you a conformist, don't you?"

She glared at him again.

He shut up, though he wasn't sure what he was afraid of. He was made of clay,

what could she do to him? Well for starters, he thought, she could

swallow me whole, and I'm not sure I would like that. She could use one of her

wishes to make me into real flesh and bone again, and then what? She could bite

my head off and keep it away from my body forever. She could. . . . He

stopped himself. He was getting the heebie-jeebies.

After a moment more of preening herself, Clarice looked at him through the

mirror and smiled that smile he had come to recognize as a signal that she was

about to have some fun. "Now," she said in nearly a whisper, "let's begin."

A chill ran through Job's doughy spine.

Clarice turned from the mirror and went to the other side of the room, where she

pulled the thick black curtains shut, plunging the room into utter darkness.

Job waited, his breath growing heavier with each passing second. He then heard

Clarice coming toward him, her spike heels resounding off the wood floor with

ominous thunder. He thought he could tell that she was rounding the foot of the

bed, only a few normal feet away from him. The sound grew louder, and his breath

quicker. Suddenly, a heavy object fell upon his chest, caving it in and piercing

it through. The object stopped falling, then lifted, carrying him with it. Job's

body, impaled on the object, rammed back to earth with force enough to nearly

jar his limbs loose. Then he was lifted again, and fell again. This time, all

remained still.

There was a loud scratch followed by a hiss and a glare of light. Job looked up,

and saw that Clarice had struck a match.

The object which had impaled him was, of course, one of Clarice's spike heels.

Job looked up its shaft to her shoe, then up her towering leg, passed the hem of

her skirt, up her body to where she was lighting a candle. After lighting the

first - a black candle - she lit a blood red one next to it. Then she crossed

the room, carrying Job's poor body with her. With every other step she took, Job

was actually forced higher up her spike until he was halfway up.

Clarice rounded the room, lighting a total of eight candles situated on shelves

throughout. Then she returned to the side of the bed where Job had originally

been. He watched from her spike as she scanned the floor, growing confused.

"Job?" she said to the room. "Job, where are you?" She crossed her arms, growing

annoyed. She started tapping her foot, vibrating Job to the point of falling

apart. "This is annoying, Job. Come back out here before I decide to get the

vacuum."

Job couldn't speak. He had a spike heel shoved through his chest, after all. He

couldn't wish anything, either, since he hadn't granted Clarice a wish yet.

Then Clarice decided to look under her feet, in case she had stepped on him and

he was there. She finally found his tiny body stuck to her left spike. She

laughed, and lifted her foot to pry him off.

"Oh, that's where you went. Now I thought you weren't supposed to be able to

wish anything unless I made one first," she quipped.

Grabbing Job's body in her fist, she squeezed him into a ball and pulled him off

the spike. Then she opened her hand and watched as he formed himself back to

regular shape. Then her face grew thoughtful.

"Let's see," she breathed over Job, "what should I wish for first?"

Job held his breath, afraid of what she would come up with despite himself. He

knew that it was absurd to think that she would kill him in some way. She needed

him for her wishes. But she could hurt and terribly maim him if she wanted. He

nearly flinched when he saw her eyes light up and she grinned down at him.

"I know," Clarice said. "I've always wanted an entourage of men to control. Give

me men!"

Job sat in her palm, staring up at her. Nothing happened.

Clarice stared at him, and grew angry. "Well? Where are my men?"

Job shrugged. "I don't know. What am I supposed to do, anyway? Cross my arms and

blink? Wiggle my nose? What?"

Clarice growled in anger, and lifted her fist over his puny body. Bringing the

fist down with the force of a falling boulder, she smashed Job against her palm

with a loud, wet smack. When she took her fist away, he was flattened into the

lines of the other hand and between her fingers.

Job popped himself back out. "Hey! This isn't my fault! Maybe Sheila lied to

us." Despite the frightening aspects of his predicament, Job had actually liked

what Clarice had done. Then he realized that she had made a wish, so it was

possible that he might be able to make one now. He knew just what he wanted to

wish for. He closed his eyes and wished that whatever Clarice wished for was a

product of his deepest desires. He heard Clarice gasp, and opened his

eyes.

Around them stood eight half-naked men. Each of them wore nothing but leather

g-strings and a collar. Job nearly fainted. Surely this wasn't one of his

deepest desires! Then he collected himself and realized that he had simply made

Clarice's wish come true.

But this wouldn't do at all! They were giant men to him. This went against his

very being! He had to fix this some way, so he closed his eyes again, and heard

Clarice say, "Goddammit!"

When he opened his eyes, the men were gone.

Clarice glared at him. "What the hell do you think you're doing? Look what

you've done to them!" She closed her fist around him and held him so that he

could look at the floor.

There on the floor, kneeling and worshiping in front of Clarice's shoes, were

the eight men, now only one inch tall each.

"They're no use to me now!" She lifted a shiny shoe and brought it down on two

of the men, who screamed in fear as their lives were cruelly snuffed out. The

two men crunched loudly as she stepped onto them. She stopped then, resting her

shoe on them, lost in thought. When she picked her foot back up, there was a

puddle of blood where the men had been, their bodies barely discernable as

flattened rags of flesh wearing leather g-strings.

"Hey," Clarice said quietly. "That was kinda neat." She brought her other foot

down on one of the other men, who worshiped her to the very end. The crunch he

emitted wasn't as loud, but it served its purpose. Clarice smiled. "That feels

nice. I like that."

She then proceeded to stomp the remaining five men one by one. The last tried to

run away from her, but she brought her foot down on him, abruptly ending his

escape. When she had finished, Clarice heaved a great sigh of pleasure.

"That was nice! That was very nice!" she said, then looked at Job. "I want more!

The way they crunch excites me! Give me more!"

Job smiled back at her. He was enjoying the show immensely. "How many?"

"A hundred!" Clarice exclaimed. "No wait, a thousand! No! Enough to cover my

entire floor!"

Job grinned broadly, his clay member springing upright in anticipation. "You

wish is my command, mistress." He made the wish.

Clarice squealed with delight. Everywhere they looked, the floor was suddenly

writhing with tiny men. She took a step forward onto them, her foot audibly

squelching into their screaming forms. She moaned softly, as did Job as he

watched from her loosely closed hand. He watched as each foot, one after

another, noisily sank into the sea of screaming men, all scrambling over each

other in an effort to flee the towering beauty.

Suddenly, Job realized he had a wish to make. He thought that he should make it

a practical one - try in some way to get away from Clarice and retain his

wishing capability - but his other brain took over, and he closed his eyes.

Job was dizzied by the abrupt new vantage points that swarmed over him. It was

if he could see from the thousands of eyes that looked up in terror at the

gigantic Clarice. One second, he was between her feet, staring up her titanic

form at her gleaming eyes and wicked smile, watching her blood-soaked sole

crashing down on him and feeling a wave of pleasure as his body crunched,

powdering his bones in orgasmic, ecstatic bliss. The next second, looking up the

length of her leg from beside her shoe, his lower half crushed beneath her foot,

pinning him in ecstasy. And in the next minute, he watched as her huge feet

crushed first the men next to him on the right, then the ones on the left, and

then him.

It went on like this for what seemed like hours. Job guessed he had seen through

the eyes of most of the men on Clarice's floor. Finally, they both collapsed

onto her bed, heaving in deep breaths of air. They were exhausted.

After a few minutes, Clarice lifted Job up to her face in her sweaty palm.

"I guess that was as good for you as it was for me?" she coyly asked him.

Job nodded his weak head.

"And now for my next wish," she said, that smile at her lips again.

Job groaned.

"I wish. . . " she started, but was interrupted by a call from the other room.

"Clarice, honey! Dinner!" It was a female voice, followed by singing. Most

likely her mom singing to herself while setting the table.

Clarice smiled again. "I wish for my mom, dad, and two brothers to be shrunk

down to a quarter of an inch tall wherever they are right now."

Job wasn't sure about that one. "You have a problem with them or something? I

don't want to kill any real person."

Clarice shrugged. "No. When we're done, I'll wish them back to normal. I just

want to have some fun with them." She saw Job's unsure look. "Not that I care or

anything, but you can do whatever it is you did before that let you enjoy it so

much."

Job began to smile. Then nodded his head. Closing his eyes, he concentrated. The

singing abruptly ended.

Part 6: All in the family

Clarice sauntered from her room, swaying her hips provocatively behind her. As

she turned out of the doorway, she gave him a wink and a smile over her

shoulder.

Job decided that he didn't want to experience what he did before as Clarice

squashed the room full of tiny men. He was a bit spent by that experience.

Instead, he wished only to be a spectator. But he wasn't sure how. He was tired,

but he wanted to follow Clarice around her house to see what she was up to. Oh

well, to hell with being tired. He closed hid eyes and made the wish.

Abruptly, Job found himself in the hallway, not one foot behind Clarice as she

strode along. He was aware of his legs moving, moving faster than they possibly

could have in order to keep up with the girl's great strides, but felt no ill

effects from it. In fact, he was invigorated. Though he thought he could

experience no more ecstasy after the crowd stomp, he was excited and eagerly

looking forward to what may come next. A part of him did pity Clarice's family,

but that part was way in the back of him, a tiny voice just barely ringing

through. He ignored it completely.

Soon they arrived in the dining room, and there they stopped. Job noticed that

he stopped immediately with Clarice, though he didn't tell himself to. He

expected to be cemented to where he stood, since he seemed to be tied somehow to

her movements, but found that he could move about freely.

"Mother," Clarice called in a sing-song voice. A smile played on her lips. She

must've seen Job move out of the corner of her eye, because she spun around

quickly.

"Oh, it's you," she seemed a bit disappointed. Then a quizzical look passed her

face. "How did you get here so fast?"

Job winked at her.

She smiled and nodded. "Never mind." Then she turned back and faced the dining

room table. "Mother," she called again, impishly. She looked around a bit,

walking around the table, and then got down on her hands and knees and looked

under it. Job could see from his vantage that her mother was nowhere to be seen.

"Hmm," Clarice muttered. "Where could she be? Mother?" Then she stood up. "She

must be in the kitchen." She began walking around the table to the doorway.

"Come

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