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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