The Dark Room By Tom Thumb  Copyright 1993 Revised in 1998      Chapter I  I cannot tell you who I am and nobody should try to find

The Dark Room By Tom Thumb  Copyright 1993 Revised in 1998      Chapter I  I cannot tell you who I am and nobody should try to find

The Dark Room

By Tom Thumb

Copyright 1993

Revised in 1998

Chapter I

I cannot tell you who I am and nobody should try to find out. I live your

fantasy every day, but if the world was to discover what I know, I fear that it

would be changed irreparably. Fourteen years ago my late wife and I met and got

married. We worked hard to create a successful business together, the nature of

which I cannot reveal, other than it was scientific and legal. We amassed a

reasonable fortune, becoming millionaires in five years, and we soon owned

things we thought would never be within our reach. Our biggest prize was a

modest medieval style castle, set back on ten acres of beautiful wooded land,

impenetrably private, and a dream come true. We enjoyed the good life, partying

with friends, meeting the great intelligentsia, we were living the dream of

millions, and we knew it. I always used to tell my wife about the bad luck in my

life, and how I believed I was cursed until I met her, and how I hoped that one

day my bad luck would not drag her down. But we had reached a point where bad

luck seemed a distant memory. When my wife began to get headaches and feel

dizzy, I thought that it was just a 28th day thing. She always complained about

it and the symptoms were always the same. Her illness carried on however, and

when she began to throw up, she went to see the doctor. The immediate diagnosis

that she had a virus and all would be well soon. Things did not go well soon

however, and her next trip was to the hospital where a long battery of tests

revealed several cancerous tumors. When all was clear to the specialists, she

was given radiation treatment and we were told the outlook was not very bright.

The tumors were shrunken - some were even destroyed - but soon the dreaded

disease would take its course. I began to go mad. The thought that my young

wife's life could be snuffed out at such an early age had me raging at God. I

would find a solution I vowed, I would do what was necessary. There were no laws

and no boundaries for me now. I was in a fight to the death with the accursed

demon that brought me bad luck and I had to win.

I gathered my wealth and bought the best scientists I could find. Only a few

took me up on my offer of unlimited funds, and the most secret of places to do

their work. A place with an abundant population of ignorant people, naive and in

need - read: easily exploited. I searched the world to find the scientists I

needed and then I took them to Paraguay. Near a small town at the edge of the

jungle I had scientists set up a lab that could only be compared to something

found in an H.G. Wells novel. I left South America, bidding the assembly of

brilliant madmen good luck, and returned to my wife. I could not make contact

with the scientists so I was going to return in nine months, at which point the

project would either have something for me to bring back to my wife, or it would

be terminated. It is difficult to describe the feeling you get when you have to

watch the one you love deteriorate before your eyes. Soon my wife was in a

chronic care hospital, too ill to stay home. Every time I went into the castle I

hated it. Each picture on the wall, each piece of furniture reminded me of times

that were gone forever. Then there was the silence. The home that was filled

with joy and happiness, party after party, and endless good times was deathly

silent. The lack of the sounds I knew so well drove me into a downward spiral of

despair bordering on rage and even madness. I was the man who had it all - all

for nothing. It was time to return to the lab. I left my wife telling her of my

hope, that I was bringing back a cure for her, perhaps. What I found when I got

there excited me. They had found a way, or at least they thought, to save my

wife's life. My excitement turned to fear however, when I learned the price in

lives it took to reach a possible treatment. I was exposed to gross

disfigurations of humans - all dead. But the development of a technology called

"flash electrolyte transfer" was my best hope, according to the head scientist.

She would be transferred, atom by atom, to the other side of a basin filled with

conductive fluid, leaving the cancer behind. I rushed to get the equipment back

to my home, where I put it in a dark room so that nobody could find it. I knew

it would work. It had to work. It was only going to take two days to get things

ready, but as the scientists were putting the finishing touches on the

equipment, the phone rang with the worst news possible. My wife had gone into a

coma, and before I could make it to her bedside she slipped away. There was so

much I wanted to say to her, but I did not even get to say goodbye.

Three months after the funeral, I entered the dark room. The transfer machine

was still there, ready to be used. Would it have worked? I wondered. The

question nagged at me for weeks. Then I decided to try it myself. I would remove

a small mole on my arm to see what would happen. I would live or die by the

result, I did not care. The parameters were there for the computer; activation

would be easy. I set everything up so that nobody would disturb me. With the

computer timed for five minutes, I got into the tank. I can't remember the

transformation, but in minutes I was on the other side of the tank. Gasping for

air, I tried to reach the edge to climb out, but I couldn't. I grabbed a wire

and managed to save myself. The water felt thick, like soup, and in a moment I

knew why. There, on the other side of the tank lay the remains of what was the

rest of me. I was a mere eight inches tall, with no way to get back to normal. I

did not dare tell anybody what had happened. If the world found out about this

process, then there would be infinite abuses.

Nobody knows of my existence, not even you, reading this from your distant

locations across the Internet. I am writing to let you know what it truly is

like to live your fantasy. If you choose not to believe, I am glad, because then

you will not try to find me. For those who know reality when you read it, please

understand that for the sake of humanity I can't let your dream go beyond the

walls of my home. The reward for me here is simply being able to communicate

with other human beings.

I live within this small castle where nobody bothers me. Everyone thinks I'm a

hermit who went crazy after his wife died. I have my supplies delivered via a

galley elevator that opens to the outside. The phone has long since stopped

ringing. I sold the business long ago, before I shrank. I do what I can with

this old computer, and I have a friend.

About a month after I transformed, a group of young people were having a bush

party not far from my home. I heard them drinking and carrying on the way kids

do - the way I used to. There was loud music into the wee hours of the morning,

and it made me feel young again just to hear people having fun. I watched

however, just in case something happened. At five in the morning I heard a

window break, and I quickly took cover. Nothing happened. I slept under the bed,

and when dawn broke, I went gingerly through the house to see what had been

taken. One of the windows was broken, but nothing was gone. When I went to the

TV room, there she was, about 24 years, and in a slumber on the couch. I

couldn't do anything until she left, so I lay out of sight. Then I made a big

mistake. I fell asleep myself because I had barely slept the night, and when I

awoke, I realized that even at my tiny size I still snored. There standing

before me was the woman, a giantess compared to me who wasn't sure she could

believe her eyes. My first reaction was to panic. I had to get away, but before

I could a pair of fingers got hold of my arm. "Hey, wait!" she said. "Is there

anyone else here?"

I just stood there looking at her. It was the first time I had been in the

presence of another human being since my transformation. I was in awe. She was a

pretty girl. Not pretty like a Parisian model. She had, quite frankly, a heck of

a voluptuous body. "No. I'm alone." I answered. It was like Goldilocks and the

Three Bears. Except there were no bears, there was only me.

"Well who are you? Why are you so small?"

"Jim." I answered, even though that really wasn't my name. "Jim MacMaster. What

are you doing in my house?" I countered.

"I - I was wasted." She blurted out. "I got lost, or they took off on me, I

don't know. I think I fell. See, I cut myself..." she said showing me a slight

gash on her left arm. Space case, I thought to myself. Fate throwing me another

curve. I had to be assertive.

"Where are your friends? Why aren't they looking after you? They sure as hell

better not show up here!"

"They've gone. They must have. I know that Jack was wrecked - he's my boyfriend.

They probably think I went home. I told them I would, er, go home..."

"You have to leave. You can't let anyone know you were here, and most

importantly, you can't let anyone know that you saw me. Absolutely nobody can

know, do you understand kid?" Kid? I thought to myself. That's pretty hilarious

considering the size of me compared to her. "If you tell anyone, you're busted

for a B&E. You got it? Now clear the hell out, and don't say a word about what

you saw." She looked at me for a minute, pupils dilated, like a kid who just got

reamed by her father. Then she got up, pausing before she headed toward the rear

door. She walked slowly. Two steps.

Then she turned around with a smirk of mischievous delight. She looked straight

at me. "Nobody knows you're here do they?" Shit! That's it. I'm done. I've gotta

think fast!

"Yes they do. You don't think something this miraculous could have happened

without government involvement do you? If they find out you're here they'll come

after you. This is top secret, and nobody is supposed to know about it. You

might just disappear, and nobody will know the difference, because they are

professionals. Do you understand? I'm trying to save you from your own bad luck.

Now get moving!"

She left. I watched her through the window, disappearing into the forest. I was

trembling. She could have called my bluff, but I scared her. Still, I drew some

satisfaction out of knowing that someone else in the world knew my secret.

Chapter II

Taps

I saw walls around me that were transparent. The floor was a plate of thick

sheet metal, shiny and gleaming from the light above. Through the walls I could

see thousands of laborers working on a production line. They were all around me.

The sound of punch presses deafened my ears, like thundering footsteps. I felt I

had been here before. Like a scene out of that movie 'Metropolis' or a book I

had once read called 'The Industrial Wasteland.'

The ground shook beneath me. There seemed to be a sense of urgency to the way

people were working. An aura of acute anxiety began to fill the air, and the

ground shook more. Fear engulfed me. I looked up and there was no roof, but

there were shadows, like dark clouds. The floor heaved, and I fell down.

Something massive covered the sky above, the size of three skyscrapers side by

side. My heart thrashed in my chest as I discerned a face, beautiful,

monolithic, expressing cold indifference. I could see now, the factory in the

palm of her right hand. She spoke.

"Why aren't they finished? The voice vibrated through my rib cage.

"They aren't working when we're not here," was the reply from a male voice,

distant, but loud.

"You aren't working hard enough," she said. "Get working! Faster!" The giant

face contorted into a grin. A large finger pressed a button and an intense bolt

of electricity shot through the floor. I fell down in excruciating pain, screams

of agony around me made my blood run cold. There was ear splitting laughter

above. Blind horror ruled my emotions... I had no control. The pain was so

intense.

I saw red through my eyelids, and then I fought to see the windows of my

bedroom. I was drenched in cold sweat, my heart pumped blood so fast I could see

my ribs moving up and down. My stomach felt like intense butterflies - almost

like I had just been winded - and my jaws were sore from being clenched tight. I

felt a strange eros.

Nightmare, I thought. I must never let anyone know.

I sat, drinking a hard won cup of coffee. Everything at my size is an effort. I

looked out the window to the lawn and across to the deep green forest. It was

the beginning of July - a month since I saw the girl. Across the distance I

heard the banshee-like wail of motocross bikes in the forest, the weapons of the

free spirited. I put my hand up against the sunroom window. It was warm from the

hot muggy air outside.

I turned around, and through the hallway, I looked at the larger than life size

portrait of my wife, towering over me. I walked toward it, my eyes fixed on

hers. They followed me, until I stood at the bottom of the stairs, looking up,

the toes of her high heels in front of me. I imagined her looking down. What

would she say?

I broke out in laughter as the answer quickly came to me. "Darling," I heard her

voice, "you didn't have to do all that for me! Look at you!"

"It's too late now," I imagined my reply.

"Well, you're no good to me now," her shoe raising forth. Splat.

I loved her sense of humor. She always said she would only divorce me if I went

bald. Man, would she be laughing now. Some piddle little snot for a husband.

Wait a minute, who am I kidding? She might be reveling in the power of it all.

Maybe not, I just don't know. It has been too long.

I had to shake my train of thought. I was eating myself with her memory. I went

out for a walk, careful to be sure nobody could see me. At my size, I am

vulnerable, I could be cat food in seconds.

The lawn was uncut and messy. I walked by the swimming pool, which is enclosed

by a high fence. It smelled like a swamp. I walked past the garage, where I keep

a handful of my favourite cars. The heat was stifling making it impossible for

me to stay out for much longer.

The dirt driveway ahead of me looked like a desert. The music from Lawrence of

Arabia played in the back of my head as I...

A loud snap echoing off the stone walls of the house interrupted my stream of

thought. It confused and startled me, I couldn't tell where it came from. I was

halfway between the garage and the house. I had broken my cardinal rule and

moved out into the open.

I looked around and there was nothing there; at least I couldn't see anything. I

ran, making it to the patio through some bushes and along the side of the castle

to the broken window, where I climbed inside. What was it? Did a tree lose a

branch? I didn't know, but I couldn't go outside anymore, at least in broad

daylight. That little adventure was just too tense for me.

The great effort required to get the fridge open at my size led to a "just add

water" lifestyle. Dehydrated cup-a-soups, puddings in plastic lunch-size

containers, and breakfast cereals were my foods of choice because I was too

small to do much better. Besides, I've always been a lousy cook. The result was

a thin, becoming thinner and soon to be emaciated body. I had lunch, hating

every bite.

Sitting in the TV room I mused about finding the scientists who created the

transforming equipment. If I could get hold of them, maybe they could do

something for me. I have thought like this over and over again. I remember the

foreboding words of one of them however, saying that material removed form the

body had to be kept "in suspension" within the fluid, or it would no longer be

useable. I wish I had thought of that before I transformed, but I didn't expect

such a catastrophe.

I wonder if they are aware of the power of their invention. Their thoughts were

fixed on cell removal as a substitute for surgery, but an oversight of the

further applications of this science would be ridiculous. Perhaps they are

currently involved in other, presumably more profitable research. My money is no

longer there for them, therefore they have lost interest until other monies

become available.

I cannot afford another research project unfortunately. I am afraid I am doomed

to stay at this size forever.

The sun went down at nine o'clock that night. Through the trees I could see the

flames of a campfire, an indication that there was to be another bush party. I

could hear the whine of four wheel drive vehicles on the distant terrain, coming

closer they stopped near the fire. There was the muddled roar of boom-box music,

and as time wore on, the odd hoot and scream.

This time I would leave some lights on, to ward off those who might think the

house was abandoned. I grew tired and lied down in front of the TV, which on

sleep setting shut itself off. The lights in the livingroom were on. The TV

room, which had sliding glass doors facing the rear of the house was dark. Only

the glow of the television made things discernible.

I woke, not knowing what time it was, only that it was still pitch black, and

with the reflective light of the livingroom, my surroundings had a bizarre aura

to them. I sat up and looked sideways, deciding to move up to my bedroom. As I

pushed a blanket off of me and got ready to climb off the couch, there was a tap

on the sliding glass doors. It raised the hair on my spine. I did not dare move.

Next time there were three taps, like someone was using a coin to tap on the

window. There was silence. I heard a ghostly voice.

"You hooo. Little maaan."

Silence. I heard movement, shuffling; tapping again.

She was wasted. "Hey, come and talk to me. I wanna see you."

I heard an unfamiliar girl's voice from behind in a loud whisper "Patty, what

are you doing? Don't do that, there might be someone there who will call the

police!"

"I want to see the little man," she replied. There was an outbreak of giggling

behind her.

"Forget about the little man, there's space aliens out in the field - c'mon!"

Came a male voice.

"Noooo! He's here! I saw him! He's so small, like a doll!"

Her reply was met with more laughter.

"You're nuts. You've had too much. C'mon, let's go."

There was a pause. "C'mon Patty." Another pause. "C'mon!"

Silence. Movement.

"Aww for cryin' out loud, would you c'mon? Shit!"

I heard a loud slap.

"Bitch!"

"Asshole! Keep your f---in' hands off of me!"

"Shut up! Someone is going to call the cops!"

"I don't care. You're an asshole."

"I'll kick your..."

There was some struggling, then two voices trailed away, arguing as they to

moved into the distance. It was true love I thought - the type only found in a

beer bottle on a Friday night.

When I was sure they were gone I was finally able to relax. I went to bed.

The following evening was quiet. There were no bonfires, no parties. Just

another warm sticky night. Through the window I could see the stars flickering

in the sky. I looked closer and saw what looked like the northern lights, so I

walked outside to get a better look at the strange phenomenon. The fresh muggy

air was tinted with the fragrance of wildflowers from the distant fields. I

walked to the edge of the balcony and marveled at the beauty of the incredible

aurora borealis giving an eerie glow to the stratosphere. Loneliness is a

terrible thing.

I decided to make a drink, and sip it on the balcony. I wanted to let my

imagination run wild. I went back inside to the kitchen and made sangria with a

wine bottle I was able to knock over and burn the cork out of. By rocking the

bottle, I was able to splash the wine into a small vial I had found. It was

perfect.

I climbed down the toy fire-engine ladder my mother had kept for me since I was

a boy. It is amazing how handy some things become over the years. Things you

would normally throw away. I walked back toward the patio door.

Something was wrong. I tried to push the door, but it wouldn't move. Funny, I

thought. I took great care to make sure the door was slightly open. Maybe a

slight breeze had blown it shut. That had to be it. I would just have to climb

up the screen and pull the handle down again. What a pain in the ass.

I climbed, getting my footing on some of the larger quarter inch holes in the

screen. The lamp on the other side of the room told the tale for the next thirty

seconds, as gigantic shadows behind me began to move. On the wall I could see

the image of a giant woman squatting down, and my tiny shadow before her.

I stopped and held on.

"Need some help little man?"

I dropped down quickly. By her shadow I could see that she wanted to handle me,

to feel the wonder of a small human life in the palms of her hands. I didn't

feel comfortable with that prospect. She was a stranger, and I didn't know how

she would behave. I found it humiliating to be dwarfed by a woman who was one

hundred times the size of me. I had no idea what it would be like to be picked

up like a ragdoll, so I was scared. Then I tried to scare her again.

"What are you doing here? Don't you know that they'll be here tomorrow and if

they find any trace of you you'll be in serious trouble?"

"What kind of trouble?" she answered softly.

"You'll have to be eliminated. You will know what..."

I wasn't able to finish before she flipped her head back and dissolved into

laughter. She looked down at me, then drew her sandy brown hair back behind her

shoulders. She crinkled her nose and let out another laugh, sitting herself down

in front of me in Indian squat, hands on each of her knees.

"Go on, tell me about your friends who are going to make me disappear," she said

grinning.

"You don't understand, they'll..."

She began to laugh uncontrollably again. Then she bent over, each hand resting

loosely on either side of me, roughly six inches from my body. I felt

intimidated by the way she surrounded me. Her shadow made the place where I

stood dark. She was literally looking straight down at me over her large

breasts, which seemed to bounce with every burst of laughter. It was no use, I

had to surrender.

She had been watching the castle off and on over the last month and saw no one

come except for a window repairman and grocery truck. There was no other tire

marks on the driveway, no footprints - nothing. She was enchanted by what she

had already seen, and she couldn't get me out of her head.

She, Patty, was honest enough with me, telling me about her fascination with

small things, fairy tales like Rumplestilskin, elves, pixies, the enchanted

world of J.R. Tolkein, and of course, Gulliver's Travels. I thought she was just

being diplomatic at first, but I remembered other women I knew who had similar

fascinations with the idea of miniature people, and who used to be attracted to

men with foot fetishes.

Patty had an uncontrolled curiosity that concerned me.

"How did you get so small?"

"I can't tell you. You have to understand. I am the only one like this, and

there shouldn't be any others. I am an aberration, a mistake. I was not intended

to become like this, and it is doubtful that the process could be duplicated.

I'm glad about that, but just in case, I have to remain hidden, because the

capacity for abuse of this process, its ability to create physical gods, is

infinite."

My God, she's a good-looking woman, I thought as I spoke to her. I'm not sure if

she knew it or not, but that loose nylon windbreaker was revealing her

ever-hardening nipples, which were pointing revealingly through that thin shiny

navy blue material. What was she getting off on? Talking to a smaller man it was

anatomically impossible for her to...this is nuts.

I could tell the answer I gave her was not the one she wanted to hear. Like most

women, she wanted to share an inner circle. She wanted to know - that is all.

She wanted to be my friend, but I had to maintain my distance; keep my walls up

and my defenses sharp. We sat and talked for a couple of hours, and it became

painfully obvious to me that she was a wonderful young woman, gentle and warm,

but with a very strong will that was driven by curiosity and backed by a sultry

young body that was a hundred times my strength.

Put simply, she could do what she wanted and find out what she wanted, all the

while finding my futile attempts to resist her a source of endless amusement.

Sooner or later I was going to have to make her aware of my fears, before they

merely became sporting entertainment.

"Why did you tell you friends about me last night?"

"I don't know. I knew they wouldn't believe me. I was high, and I was a little

loose. They wouldn't hurt you, they're all nice people."

"I don't think you understand. If the authorities find out about this all hell

will break loose. Please don't tell anyone. I know you have friends you think

you can trust, but life's experience will eventually teach you otherwise."

"I won't tell anybody," she answered dutifully. "What do you do for sex?" she

said, in a quick turn of subject.

I was taken aback by the frankness of her question. I could tell she was ready

to laugh at me, and I was embarrassed. "I think its kind of obvious that you're

the first woman I've had contact with since I transformed. The rest I'll leave

to your imagination," I answered.

"I have a good imagination," she said. "Right now I imagine I better go. I

ignored Jack's phone calls tonight. He's probably wondering where I went, or

whom I went out with. He has a bad temper. I thought I'd teach him a lesson."

I knew there was a little more to her relationship with Jack than she was

letting on. Lesson my ass. She was scared of him.

"You're really nice," she said "I'll come back again in a short time," she

snickered, "I mean, a few days. You can't like living here all alone like this.

Well, anyway, goodbye."

She was so bold. I was always the shy introverted type. I admired her almost

precocious nature. She walked in here, violated my space, intimidated me with

her size, confronted me with personal questions, then walked out just as quickly

behaving as though she was my good friend who would soon bless me with her

presence again - not to worry. She is one of the characters God put on this

earth to entertain the rest of us almost normal people. As the days wore on, I

began to look forward to her return.

Gentle indeed. More later.

Chapter 3

G.I. Jimmy

Two weeks went by before Patty showed up again. It was three in the afternoon

when she rapped on the sliding glass doors, and came in when I appeared. A look

of disbelief always came over her when she saw me.

"Hello Jimmy, how are ya?" she said with an ear to ear smile.

"I'm just fine thank - you." I was happy to see her. After staying in this

infernal house for so long by myself a break in the boredom was welcome.

Sometimes it felt like I was in solitary confinement.

She plunked a large box down on the floor next to me. "Here, I bought you

something to make you look a little less ridiculous. There's some clothes in

there."

"Ridiculous? I thought I was doing a pretty good job myself," I replied. She was

referring to the makeshift clothes I had to create for myself. My pants were cut

out of an old pair of white gardening gloves. They were crude but effective. My

shirt was made from an old pair of toe socks my wife had lying around her

drawers.

I climbed on top of the box but I couldn't get it open. Patty obliged me. Inside

was a pile of old G.I. Joe dolls with dozens of accessories. I hadn't seen this

stuff since I was a kid. She pulled out a camouflaged uniform and handed it to

me.

"Here, put this on."

"Where did you get this stuff?"

"I went to a flea market. There was a woman there with lots of dolls that used

to belong to her children. Ten bucks."

"It's gotta be worth more than that," I said.

"Put it on."

"Okay. Man, there's even underwear. Let me just…" I went under the couch and

changed. When I came out I looked like G.I. Joe with 'life-like beard,' except

the uniform was a little baggy.

"Let me see," said Patty, fingering the back of my pants and shirt to test the

looseness. She pulled the pants so tight she lifted me off the ground for a

split second. She withdrew with astonishment.

"Are you ever light! You can't be more than a pound!"

"I don't know how much I weigh. I do know that you just gave me a wedgie. It

must be tempting to see what it's like to handle a person as small as I am.

You're the only person who has ever touched me at this size."

"Yes…yes, I guess you're right," she said sounding a little confused. Then she

drew a gleeful smile, "In fact, I'm probably the first person ever in the world

to have touched a person so small!"

"I know you're right. I'm smaller than anyone Guinness has ever published

anything about."

She held out her hand in front of me. "Here, I want to see again."

I looked at her as if to say: "What do you mean," because that is exactly what I

was thinking.

"Get on my hand," she said, "I want to see how heavy you are."

I stepped toward her palm. She lowered it so I could climb on. I sat down on the

edge beside her baby finger. I wish I had recorded with a video camera what

happened next. The look of exhilaration that came over Patty when she picked me

up and held her forearm at ninety degrees to her body was something that I will

never forget. A smile of wonder, a rush of excitement, and a realization of

incredible power - at least I think that is what I saw. She told me later of

that moment that she couldn't get over the starkness me sitting in her hand. It

couldn't be real - but it was because she could feel my tiny weight, and the

warmth of me on her palm.

The experience was as strange for me as it was for her. The motion of her body

was like that of a medium-sized ship on the ocean. Everything around me was

moving, but I wasn't. I'm naturally afraid of heights, so I found myself moving

toward the center of her palm, away from the edges. The most memorable and

perhaps unnerving part of the experience though, was the sense that I was

completely at the mercy of another person and I had forgot about my vertigo.

Whenever she spoke, Patty would move her arm, causing me to drop my hands down

quickly for balance. I felt I could fall at anytime. The longer she held me, the

more comfortable she was doing so, I could tell by the enthusiastic smile on her

face. Suddenly she was a bundle of words, becoming more boisterous with each new

sentence, causing me to become more and more worried at the sometimes jerky

movements of her arm. I almost thought she was getting a kick out of watching me

hanging on for dear life. I cut her off mid-sentence.

"Hey wait a minute will ya! I'm losing my balance here don't go getting carried

away!"

"Youp…" She began to laugh. Then I realized the stupid irony of my sentence.

She put both of her hands around my chest and sat down on the leather

chesterfield behind her, placing me on her thigh. "Now then Jimmy-boy, whose

getting carried away here?"

I was red-faced. There is nothing more humbling than having a pair of giant

fingers push under your arms and holding you fast. "I…I'm scared of heights," I

blurted out, "I was afraid with the way you were moving I was going to fall."

"Oh, I'm sorry," she replied, the smile shrinking from her face. "I thought I

was being careful, I guess I was just so amazed I didn't notice what I was

doing."

"I guess," I answered. "Can you let me go now? Your hands are really hot wrapped

around me like this."

Her grip loosened and I sat there facing her chest. Don't think she didn't

notice. She straightened her back and looked down, body angled slightly toward

me with a grin on her face. She knew what she was doing.

"My dear, you are definitely someone to look up to," I said smiling admirably.

She picked me up and stood me on the arm of the couch beside her. Then she

looked even closer. "Look at that," she said with a wide-eyed smile. Even at a

vintage 1975 G.I. Joe's pants were made out of cheap, thin Taiwanese cotton.

Glancing down I could see that there was no way they were going to let me keep a

secret.

"That's quite the little compliment Mr."

"He has a mind of his own. I have two personalities, the other one lives down

there. He's called Fearless Freddie."

"Does Freddie have a thing for sitting on giantess' laps?"

"I didn't know it before, but I guess he does. Freddie worships women. When gets

close to them he goes up and down like a Muslim."

Patty dissolved in laughter. A few seconds later, after she recovered, she bent

over me and talked to Freddie. "Well now, maybe next time we'll have to let him

do some serious worshipping. It looks like it's been a long time since he's been

to the shrine."

My heart bounced into my throat. I couldn't believe she said that. She's really

having fun with me, I thought. She got up and walked into the kitchen.

"Oh, how do you live like this!" she said from behind the wall. I got down to

follow after her. "No wonder you're so skinny."

"What am I supposed to do," I answered, standing at the door. She was referring

to the open cups of pudding and other miscellaneous items strewn across the

counter. She immediately did me the service of sending them crashing into the

garbage bin. Then she found a dish cloth and wiped up the rest of the gooey

mess.

She opened the fridge and threw out everything, what little there was. The smell

was so bad she had to turn on the kitchen fan and retreat.

"You can't stay alive eating that garbage. You're a rake."

She ordered me a pizza, then spent a few minutes cleaning up the kitchen. I told

her I would have had a maid service, but I had nobody to let them in. I asked

her if perhaps she would come by sometime so I could have them clean the house.

She agreed enthusiastically.

"Do you like cars, Patty?"

"I can't afford one."

"Do you have a driver's license?"

"I got it years ago. No car though."

"Doesn't your father…"

"He died when I was fourteen. My mom doesn't drive. She doesn't go out much, but

when she does, her friends drive."

"But how did you get here?"

She stuck out her thumb. "Hitched."

"That's dangerous. Don't you read the papers? Do you have any idea how many

nutbars there are out there with sick fantasies?"

"You mean I'm not the only one?" She replied putting down a pizza crust.

I gagged on some pepperoni trying not to laugh. "It's not funny. Come with me."

I took her to the den and pointed to a black locking cabinet attached to the

wall.

"There's a key underneath in a magnetic box, open the cabinet."

Inside were ten sets of keys. Two sets for each car in the garage. "Take the

rectangular ones," I said. "Let's go."

Halfway to the barn she got tired of waiting for me. My short steps were

bothersome for her. She swept me up and held me against her shoulder, her deep

strides shaking me. I got her to key in the entry code, and saw my cars for the

first time in months. She was impressed.

"You have such nice cars! I wish I…"

I pointed to a baby blue Firebird 400 convertible. "Yours. Let's go."

She hopped in and put me on the dash. It took a little convincing, but the beast

finally started. Back went the top, and in seconds we were blasting along the

quiet country roads - stars, fresh air, and the roar of a well-tuned V8. I sat

on the dash under the windshield most of the way. It was beautiful.

An hour later we pulled back into the driveway. She took me inside; the smile on

her face was a mile wide. It was an exhilarating experience for her. Like she

was living a dream, I could see it all over her. She had her own rich little man

- her secret to do whatever she wanted with.

"Take the car home kiddo. Use it whenever you come to see me," I said.

She picked me up and held me in front of her face. With one finger she split the

front of my G.I. Joe top apart at the front. She stuck out her tongue and ran it

from my stomach to the top of my head.

"I could just eat you. See you soon G.I. Jimmy-boy."

The rear door closed, and the car roared off, its narrow taillights disappearing

into the night.

This being a true story, the story of my life, you must surely realize, my

friends, that the plot thickens.

Chapter V

There's a little bit of Jack in all of us

When nobody had seen Jack for a few days, the police were around looking for

answers. They found his Ram in his apartment parking lot, right where it should

have been, and there was no sign of a struggle anywhere. The last person to see

him alive was Patty. But she had last seen him on Sunday morning when he dropped

her off after breakfast. People in the restaurant all hear Jack say that he was

going to bring her home.

Constable Wilkins, a long-time investigator of disappearances found Patty's

responses sometimes shaky, and he had a cop's savvy at telling when people are

lieing. He knew there was something about Patty that just didn't fit, so he

probed a little deeper.

Forensic experts could find nothing in her house. She had some bruises on her,

but those were explained before, even Jack's best friends vouched for the fact

that Patty had fallen down some stairs. That was old news. Jack told them so.

Patty's fingerprints were all over the four-by-four. Everywhere but the steering

wheel and the control instruments.

Amazing. He had disappeared without any trace. Wilkins was sure that Patty knew

something about what happened to Jack. He took her for a lie detector test,

which she failed. He knew something was wrong. But he couldn't prove it, and a

polygraph is simply not reliable enough evidence to press charges on.

The investigation went on for four months before it tapered off. It was

suggested later that Jack had skipped town, afraid that after police searched

his apartment and found a stash of personal drugs: coke, hash, and some magic

mushrooms, that he would never get back into his respectable stature in research

at the university.

Rumors swirled around, but nobody ever solved the mystery. Life went on, Patty

went on.

I didn't see Patty for five months after she left my home that terrible Sunday.

She bandaged me up, even reading one of my old medical books to find out how to

set a broken leg. Man, was that ever painful. I will never be the same. My leg

never really set perfectly, so I walk with a slight limp. But that's okay,

because my option was probably death anyway.

When she finally came back to see me, Patty was looking better than ever. She

was a much more mature looking woman now, the tests of life giving her that look

of well, knowledge. She had turned twenty-six - ten years my junior. We weren't

together long though, before the girl I first knew began to appear. Her fantasy

had never died, in fact it was stronger than ever and now she was totally free

to explore it.

I was wearing a Six Million-Dollar Man outfit. She told me it looked good on me

as she reached out and sat me on her knee, holding me steady with her giant

hands. We talked about the last five months, how she wanted to see me but didn't

want the police to come snooping around. They were investigating everywhere,

leaving virtually no stone unturned. Wilkins was convinced she had done away

with Jack, but he couldn't prove how, where, or even why.

I told her that life was a constant battle for me. I couldn't stand my diet, so

I maintained a constant state of malnutrition. Gradually the conversation became

more lighthearted. We had a drink, which had an immediate effect on both of us.

She began to do funny things, like leaning over to pull up her socks - while I

was still on her knee. Then we played slide on her leg, and I slid into her

crotch where she eventually trapped me with her legs.

A couple of drinks later and we ordered Chinese food. Then we did the Nine and a

Half Weeks thing with sweet and sour pork, chicken balls, and extra long egg

rolls with plum sauce. We became each other's dinner plates. She took off her

top, and pants, and then she took off my jump suit, rubbing plum sauce all over

me, and then licking me off. I tried to do the same with her, but there was just

too much real estate. She was more interested in toying with my body than she

was in having me play with hers. She liked having me in her hand, sucking and

massaging her breasts, rubbing me against her pussy. Freddie worshipped her

immensely, and she drew particular satisfaction out of manipulating him.

I couldn't help but be reminded of the sheer scale, the power she had as she

held me in her palm and rubbed me against herself. We went to the shower, where

she washed me off, then wrapped me in a face cloth lathered with soap, and

rubbed me all over her, the foam washing over her smooth shiny skin. We filled

the whirlpool, and soon the hypnotic fragrance of exotic bath oil misted the

air. I couldn't hang on to her body and kept sliding off into the thick water.

She laughed at me, and held my slithery oiled body in her hands.

We wore ourselves out and collapsed in bed. At eight inches, I was the perfect

fit, and the leftover bath oil made me all the more comfortable for the ol' down

under. It was a frothy experience to be sure. I didn't really know how I was

going to be able to satisfy her, but she apparently had that all figured out.

She was pretty scientific about it too. Feet first, face down, but only when she

wanted to hit the spot, and I could do that in spades. She is the most sensual

and romantic of all lovers.

The next morning was filled with brilliant spring sunshine - the kind of

powerful late February sun that makes the soul transparent. I felt like my soul

had a rebirth, I think I could say the same for Patty, since she had that

shining smile that only comes to a woman's face the morning after several hours

of gratuitous sex and love making.

We ate breakfast. Long sizzling link sausages with pancakes, whipped cream and

maple syrup. We watched TV, and then we went into the dark room.

"In suspension," said Patty.

"What?"

"That's what it says on the screen."

I looked, and sure enough, that is what it said. I looked at the fluid. The

remainders of Jack's atoms were in a state of suspended teleportation. That

meant that I could use his atoms and possibly regain my normal size. A shot of

excitement streaked though me. I told Patty. I told her I had to try it. I

climbed up to check the settings of the computers when all of a sudden she

picked me off the stool, preventing me from going any further.

Holding me in front of her face, she quickly got to the point.

"Wait a minute. Do you think I've come this far, and gone through all that I

have to see my lifelong sexual fantasy disappear?"

"I want to be normal again Pat. I want my life back. My normal life. Any way you

look at it, you're going to be a part of it. A big part of it. We can still play

with our sizes, as long as the equipment works. You can even make me smaller

than I am now. You can be bigger - nine feet if you want."

"Oh really? Show me. I want to do that first," she said with a hint of

skepticism.

"Do what first?"

"First we'll shrink you, to say, one inch. Then we'll make me as high as the

ceiling," she grinned with an air of superiority.

She had so much power over me, and I had to do as she said. So I did, and I

spent the rest of the day either being blown across the palm of her hand for her

amusement, or worn as a necklace charm. Then she got smarter and dangled me

between her cleavage, finding this particularly amusing and ticklish too.

I finally got her to allow me to become a normal size again, although not as big

as my natural height, and never anywhere near her size. She liked the power too

much. But that is okay, because I love this girl. I have been shrunken to the

size of a pearl, and worn as a charm on breast nipple rings, and I have been the

size of a large midget. I like being her toy.

As I write to all of you, across the Internet, you know why you can never find

me out. But if I can share our life together with you, and bring you some

satisfaction, then I feel better about the evil science I helped create to save

my wife's life. The evil that remains controlled, and locked in the dark room

forever.

She's here again. Hope you enjoyed. The end.

The Dark Room By Tom Thumb  Copyright 1993 Revised in 1998      Chapter I  I cannot tell you who I am and nobody should try to find

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MORE ABOUT The Dark Room By Tom Thumb  Copyright 1993 Revised in 1998      Chapter I  I cannot tell you who I am and nobody should try to find

The Dark Room By Tom Thumb  Copyright 1993 Revised in 1998      Chapter I  I cannot tell you who I am and nobody should try to find