Shethulhu: Return of the Elder Goddess (Previously published) (Patreon)

I hear someone calling..... I can't resist... I must.... NO! NOOOOOO!!!!

Charles Ward Dexter tossed and turned, his sweat soaked sheets twisted around his body like ravenous pythons. He clawed at the sheets, moaning, crying out, "No. Never! No!" He rolled and rolled across the mattress in his cramped loft, the moon full and bright outside the small, triangular window. Then, he flung himself off his bed, striking his head against the window sill, then crashing to the wooden floor, eyes popping open.

He scrambled to his feet, fumbling as he grabbed a pen from his night table, then his journal, and sitting on the edge of his bed, oblivious to the blood pouring down forehead, matting his hair. Already, the memory of the dream shattered and faded, but he sketched what he could recall, a stone archway, a cracked door, and woman's face peeking from behind the door. "Who are you? Where are you?" He whispered. Just then, a drop of blood dripped into his eye. He closed his eyes, reaching up, his fingers coming back sticky and black. Blood, he realized, but he kept staring at the picture, trying to cling to the memory of his dream, idly sticking his fingers in his mouth and licking the iron thick blood. Under the picture he wrote the word Chthonic.

He got up and went into the bathroom, washing off the blood, searching through the medicine cabinet until he found a yellowed box of bandages, pulled one out and slapped it to his forehead. Back in his room, he crawled back onto his damp, smelly bed, and lay on his back, staring at the full moon outside his window. As he did so, he felt a thump inside his belly and put a hand on his tummy, grimacing. He didn't want to sleep. Didn't dare, really, and so he just lay there, staring at the moon and waiting for the dawn.

In his dream he'd been a woman, again, and that memory disturbed him. He'd always been a dude, a bro, a man's man, and he didn't know what it meant that in his dreams now, which came every night, he always found himself in a woman's body, helpless and afraid.

"You look terrible," his secretary, Asenath said as soon as he walked in the door.

"Yeah," he said. "I know." He rubbed his hand across the stubble on his chin.

"What happened to your head?" She said, spotting the bandage.

"Fell on it. Any calls? Emails?"

"Sorry, boss," she said.

"Telegrams? Mysterious notes slipped under the door?"

"Something will come along," she said, a laugh in her voice. She wore a sweater stretched tight across the full, firm breasts of hers. He wondered what kind of bra she wore to get that lift, his thoughts drifting to his dreams. He had breasts as big as hers, and always found himself strapped into some kind of push-up bra that did wonders for his cleavage, but really didn't offer that much support and let his boobs sway and bounce all over the place when he ran. If only he could dream of a bra with better support, it would make life--.

He cursed himself for his ridiculous thoughts, thinking about her bra and comparing Asenath's boobs to his when all he should have thought about was how much he would love to have her torpedoes in his hands. Walking away, he felt phantom breasts swaying on his chest, and looked down to make sure he didn't have them for real. Damn, he thought. It was like his dreams had started bleeding into his reality.

Sitting behind his desk, he set the journal down and opened it, looking at the picture, wondering what It meant, if anything. It was just a dream, right? Pent up subconscious fears or something?

The office filled with the warm, earthy smell of coffee brewing, and he opened up his old Dell laptop, tapping at the yellowed keyboard as he waited for it to rattle to life. Chthonic. Chthonic. Ward wondered what the word meant, why he dreamt of it. Asenath came along with steaming cup of black coffee and set it down on his desk even as Windows finally loaded. She stood behind him, looking over his shoulder. "What's this?" She said as her perfume swirled around him.

"Just a thing," he said, not wanting to reveal his dream to her. "I'm trying to find out what this word means."

"Underworld," Asenath said. "It refers to gods or goddesses of the underworld."

Ward glanced back at her. "Why the hell would you know that?"

"I don't know," she said. "I'm probably wrong anyway."

He typed the word into Google and up came the results. The very first entry was a dictionary definition that read "concerning, belonging to, or inhabiting the underworld. A chthonic deity."

"What's a deity?" He asked.

"It's another word for god," she answered.

His fingers drifted toward my keyboard.

"It means god," she repeated.

"Just let me make sure," he said, typing it in and hitting enter.

"Told you," Asenath said as he skimmed over the results.

"Lucky guess, college girl," he said sourly, wishing he'd hired a girl who was a little dumber than him instead of--book smarter. He was the street smartest guy around, though, and that's what really counted.

"That picture is creepy," Asenath said, reaching for the journal.

Ward closed his journal and pushed it away from her grasping hand, noticing that today she had gold stickers of an octopus on her red painted nails. Millennials, he thought. Always something goofy.

"Underworld god?" He murmured. "Strange."

"What's this all about?" She asked.

"Yeah, maybe go and post some stuff on Craigslist, and see if you can use your social media skills to drum up some business," he said. "If we don' get some clients soon I won't be able to pay you to tell me what all these fancy words mean."

"Okay, boss," she said, letting it go.

Ward enjoyed the view as she walked away, letting his eyes drift over her perfect behind, swelling out so nicely above her tiny little waist. Damn did she ever look good. He wondered, and not for the first time, if he and she might--but no. She was too young for a middle-aged guy whose life was on the skids.

The old-fashioned clock on the wall ticked away the morning. Ward skimmed over the online news, looking for possible leads. Drank more coffee, picked at the bandage on his forehead. The radiator in the old, musty building where he had my office groaned and burped. Finally, when the hands on the clock read 11:58, he stood up, legs and butt aching, and headed toward the door. "Gonna get some lunch," I said. "You want me to bring something back for you?"

Asenath looked up from her phone, a single strand of hair falling across her eyes. "I'm good," she said.

It looked so hot. He turned away, glad that he didn't have long hair getting in his eyes all the time when he was awake. In his dreams he had long, thick, wavy hair that came down halfway down his back, constantly getting in his eyes. Guys have no idea what girls had to--

Again, he stopped myself. He took the stairs and soon found myself huddling as he pushed against frigid, gusting winds, making his way down to The Flame diner, where he grabbed a stool, blowing on his hands, shivering. "The usual?" Flo said, pulling the pencil out of her bleach blonde beehive.

"Yeah," he said. "You got a paper back there?"

She grabbed the NY Daily News from under the counter and tossed it to him. "Thanks," he said, paging through, looking for my ad, finding it, then paging through, skimming over the mayhem, shaking my head. Flo came back, slapping a Caesar salad with grilled chicken and a cup of green tea down in front of Ward. He kept reading, nibbling on his salad, and it wasn't until he was halfway through that he realized he was eating a salad and sipping green tea. "What the hell is this?" He said, waving a piece of chicken skewered on his fork.

"Something wrong?" Flo said.

"Yeah. I asked for the usual."

"I know. Chicken Caesar. Just like always. What's the problem?"

He always ordered chili and coffee, black, but he didn't want to say anything because she'd served him something that, to his mind, a woman would order, and it made him think about his dreams, and he even thought he may have remembered dreaming once about eating a Caesar salad, laughing with some other women as they chatted about The Kardashians. So, he shrugged and said, "Never mind."

Picking up the mug of green tea to take a sip, he hissed as a chip in the mug's rim cut his lip. "Ow," he said, rubbing his finger across his lip, pulling it away to see his fingertip dripping with deep red, thick blood. A droplet formed, dangling there at the end of his finger, and then it dropped off, falling onto a white strip of chicken, spreading across the surface and oozing onto the lettuce. He felt a thump against his belly again, and then he felt nauseous and got up running to the bathroom, dropping to his knees in front of the filthy toilet and puking chunks of salad and chicken into the bowl. He retched again, and again, then finally climbed to his feet, flushing the toilet and walking back out into the diner, sweat pouring down his face.

"You okay?" Flo said, barely looking up from the paper she was reading.

"Yeah," he said, tossing a 20 on the counter. "Never better."

"Good," she said absently. "Have a nice day."

He made my way back to the office only to be greeted by the grinning face of Asenath. "I think I found something," she said, obviously proud of herself.

"A lead? Good. What is it?"

"Not about work, but about Chthonic."

"I didn't ask you to work on that."

"Look," she said, ignoring me, turning her laptop around to face him.

He wiped the sweat from his brow, squinting at the screen. "Chthonic College?"

"Yeah. It's a college in Coventry, Massachusetts. Amazing, right?"

"Why would anyone name a college after underworld gods?"

"They didn't!" Asenath said, bouncing in her seat like a little kid. "The founder of the school was Mildred Chthonic, and it's named after her. This must have something to do with your picture."

"Probably just a coincidence," he said, shaking his head.

"Wait," Asenath said, clicking her mouse, and the college's front page vanished, replaced by a picture of a stone archway, and a partially opened door. He felt a thump in his belly again, and his knees went weak, forcing him to brace himself against the edge of Asenath's desk. His vision blurred: It was the door from his dream, the archway, and the world spun as he sank into blackness.

Ward awoke to the feeling of a cool cloth on his forehead, and opening his eyes he looked up to see--his ex-wife? "Asteria?" he said, pushing her hand away from his face, feeling his stomach burble with acid at the sight of her. "What are you doing here?"

"You're welcome," she said in a cold, flat voice.

"She's your emergency contact," Asenath said, standing next to her desk. "I didn't know who else to call."

"Drink this," his wife said, handing him an orange bottle that read Bundle Organics.

Ward groaned, pushing himself to a sitting position. "Some fru-fru hippie crap?"

"You're... dehydrated. It's like Gatorade."

"Hmmmpf." He sniffed the open bottle. It smelled like pumpkin pie, so he drank some. "Doesn't suck too much."

"You should see a doctor," Asteria said.

"No. I'm fine."

"You fainted," she answered. "You were out for almost an hour."

"I'm fine," he repeated. "I just have some kind of bug."

Asteria glanced at Asenath, then shrugged. "Suit yourself. But you need to hydrate and get some food in you."

"Thanks. Bye!"

Throwing up her hands, Asteria turned and headed toward the door, but Ward noticed as she walked out she reached out and touched Asenath on the arm. He thought for sure they exchanged a little smile, and as soon as the door closed behind Asteria he said, "what was that about?"

"Let me help you up," Asenath said, walking over to him.

"I can do it myself," he snapped, bracing himself against the wall, shakily rising to his feet. Asenath grabbed his elbow and started to lead him back to his desk, but he shook her off, wobbling weakly back to the desk and collapsing into his desk chair.

Asenath watched Ward, her face concerned. He finished the drink, and she took the bottle, then went to her desk, fished a couple pills out of her purse, then came back with a glass of water. "Take these," she said.

"What is it?" He answered.

"Tylenol," she said. "And you need the water, too."

"Yeah, I do," he said, popping the pills in his mouth and swallowing them down with a slug of water. "I'm sorry I snapped at you," he said. "It's just-- my ex brings out the worse in me."

"I understand," Asenath said. "Drink up now."

He drank down the rest of the water, and immediately started to feel better.

"Maybe you should go up to Chthonic College?" Asenath said off-handedly as she walked back to her desk.

"I don't know," Ward said. "It's nothing, really, and I don't even know what I would do there."

"Find the doorway in that picture?" She started tapping away at her keyboard, adapting an air of nonchalance.

"Find the doorway," Ward mumbled, feeling that same thumping in his belly as he mumbled the words. The thought of finding that door, of walking through that archway, it terrified him. So much. He shivered, wrapping his arms around himself. "I don't know. "

"Well, at least start eating better, and do you take a vitamin?"

"Nah."

"Uh! I'll bring some in for you tomorrow. You need iron, calcium, fiber."

"How can you tell?"

"Because your skin. I just can."

Ward started feeling better, and by the time he headed home, pushing through the cold winds on the dark streets, he actually felt good, his spirits rising. Sitting down in his tattered, cloth easy chair, a strip of duct tape across the torn seat cushion, he picked up the remote and clicked on the television. Sports Center. The hosts argued about whether Tom Brady should retire, and Ward found himself bored to death, clicking the channel to a re-run of a show called Once, where a bunch of fairy tale characters found themselves living in the modern world. Soon fascinated, he drifted off to sleep and began to dream.

The wind tossed his long black hair, and he shivered, wrapping his arms around himself. The man walking next to him slipped an arm around his waist and pulled Ward close. Ward smiled up at the man, who looked down into Ward's eyes and said, "You cold?"

"I'm freezing," Ward said, shivering again. He wore a tight little black dress that left his slender arms bare, and the skin goose-bumped.

The man slipped his coat off, and placed it gently over Ward's shoulders, just as Ward had hoped. Ward's heart fluttered at the protective gesture, and he smiled brightly, his voice slipping into a slightly higher octave as he said, "thanks," and smiled again, pulling the coat close to his body, loving how it made him feel so small and pretty and--girly.

The man's hand went to Ward's hip, and Ward snuggled close. They walked together without speaking, just enjoying the feeling of being together, walking along, a couple in love. Finally, they came to the stoop of Ward's building and the man walked Ward right up to the door. He felt himself trembling slightly as he turned and looked up at the man's face, enjoying the look of his strong chin, his warm, brown eyes, the way his hair moved in the wind. The man took Ward's soft little hands into his own, and pulled him close. "I really like you," the man said. "You're an amazing woman."

Ward heard himself giggle. He knew the man was about to kiss him, and it would be their first kiss, and he was a silly, romantic girl, and he loved the first kiss, he lived for the first kiss, and he tilted his head back, and parted his lips, his vision getting fuzzy as the man leaned down, closer, closer so close Ward could feel the hot breath on his smooth cheek, and he lifted his leg and then, just as their lips were about to meet, he turned away and said, "No!"

He let go of the man's hands and put them on his hard chest, pushing, trying to get away, but the man grabbed his waist and held him close. "Please," Ward said. "I'm not a woman. I'm a--I mean, you have to understand..."

One arm snaked around Ward's waist and grew tight, pulling Ward's soft body against him, and then the other came to his cheek, turning Ward's face, making him look once more into the handsome man's face. "You are a gorgeous girl," the man said.

"I'm not," Ward said, as tears began to pool in his eyes. "I can't be."

The man rubbed his thumb across Ward's cheek, wiping his years away, and then he said, "Chthonic."

Ward felt a trembling in his body, a tingling pleasure, and he gasped as the man kissed him, pulling him close, and he grabbed at the man and pulled back, wanting to kiss him, to love him, to be his woman. When the kiss ended, he felt weak, wobbling on his heels, almost falling only to be caught in the man's strong arms, and looking up once more, just a silly girl in love, and he saw the man was--"Asteria?"

*******

He sat up with a start, stumbling, falling, crashing to the worn wood floor. Another one of those weird dreams, he thought, sitting up, feeling the phantom hair tumbling down over his shoulders, feeling the weight of his large breasts swaying, settling into the cups of his bra, pulling the straps hard against his shoulders. He brushed at the imaginary hair, put his hands to his flat chest, but felt large, soft round breasts, stiff lace cups.

"What's wrong with me?" He hissed. "What's happening?" He struggled to stand, making his way to the bathroom, pulling down his pants and sitting to pee. It felt like he had a vagina, and he bit his lip, struggling against the need to cry, the feeling of shame and frustration that overcame him. Tossing his imaginary hair over his shoulder, he splashed cold water in his face, then got undressed and climbed into bed. He started face down, but the feeling of his big, firm breasts crushed against the mattress made it hard to breath, so he curled up on his side, conscious of the feeling that he wore panties and a negligee over a curvy, soft body.

His dreams were filled with confusing images-- his wedding, only now he walked down the aisle wearing an elaborate white dress, looking lovingly at Asteria standing at the alar in a tux, their honeymoon, he dressed once more in white--this time a bra and panties, touching up his mascara and lipstick, wanting to look perfect for his husband on their first night as man and wife... Asteria carrying him into their first house, and he, on his back, crying out as she slammed into him, so strong and virile...

He woke feeling his stomach turn, nausea overwhelming his body, and he rolled out of bed and raced to the bathroom, falling to his knees and puking into the toilet. Once he got done throwing up, he felt a little better, but the thought of eating made his stomach turn, and he put his hand gingerly to his belly, which felt tender and tight. Hell, he thought, brushing the imaginary bangs away from his eyes. I'm losing my mind. But, if I go see a shrink, what will happen? Will I end up in some kind of looney bin? Besides, I have no money.

He got dressed, squirming at the feeling of the panties and bra on his body, tugging at his panty line, which felt so wrong and so uncomfortable. The fact they weren't real, didn't exist, didn't matter. Or maybe made it even worse.

As soon as he walked in, Asenath looked up and smiled. "Made some breakfast for you, boss."

"I don't feel well," Ward said, feeling self-conscious, like somehow Asenath could see his imaginary female shape. He walked to his desk, trying to keep from his wide, round hips swaying. He sat, and Asenath walked over with a plate covered by a silver cover, like room service. "This is amazing."

Asenath removed the cover, and steam rose from an omelet bursting with spinach and cheese, as well a couple pieces of whole grain toast. "Iron, calcium, and everything you need right now," she said. "Plus, fiber!"

"It smells amazing," Ward said, "but I don't know if I can eat. I feel sick."

"Try," Asenath said. "It's really important in your condition. You need to get your strength up. Okay, sweetie?"

Ward nodded, and cutting off a lump of the steamy eggs and cheese, he slipped it into his mouth, chewing and swallowing. As the food settled the nausea seemed to pass, and his stomach rumbled. "Wow. Okay. That's good, and I am starving!"

Asenath brought him a steaming cup of green tea. "Better for your tummy," she said, and he shrugged, gulping it all down and soon sitting back, patting his tummy, feeling better than he's felt in days. "You deserve a raise," he said to Asenath, who sat, watching him, a pleased look on her face.

"I'm gonna hold you to that," she said, "and I haven't even given you the best news."

"Oh?"

"We have a client!"

"Yes!" Ward said, pumping his fist. He felt his imaginary hair swirling around his face, and hooked it behind his ear, immediately freezing, flushing, worried that Asenath would have noticed the strange gesture, but she seemed oblivious as she walked over to her desk, calling, "She'll be here any minute."

Ward fought the urge to go to the bathroom and check his makeup, fix his hair. He glanced at Asenath. He wished he could tell her, explain what was happening. He wanted to tell someone, needed to tell someone, and she'd been so sweet, taking such good care of him. But, no. How could he explain to her that he was imagining he was a woman, had a woman's body? She would lose all respect for him, wouldn't she?

His thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door. Three sharp raps. Asenath got up, went to the door, and opened it. Ward almost gasped as he looked to see a glorious goddess of a woman standing there perched on glittering silver stiletto heels, her tall, curvaceous body wrapped in a skin tight black leather dress, a white fur draped across her pale, white shoulders. She stood over six feet tall, with inky black hair that tumbled down over her shoulders and to her waist. Ward's eyes sparkled as he looked at her--she was so amazing--and then positively flared as he took in the classic Halston bag dangling from her slender arm, its gold clasp sparkling. "May I come in?" She said in a voice as smooth as silk.

Asenath glanced at Ward, who felt compelled to stand. "Y-yes," he said, his voice cracking. "Please come in."

The woman smiled, showing her big, sparkling white teeth against her blood red lips, then put a hand to her hip and strutted into her room, heels clicking imperiously. She walked right up to Ward and offered her hand.

Ward took her hand and kissed it, and then not even sure what he was doing or why, he curtsied. Asenath watched it all from her desk. The woman sat, crossing her legs. "You may sit," she said to Ward, gesturing him toward his chair.

"Oh!" Ward said, his voice cracking again. "Thanks! I'm Ward! Okay?" He sat clumsily, crossing his legs just like she did, awkwardly trying to mirror her body language.

"I am The Baroness," the woman said, plucking at a strand of her long hair.

"You're royalty?" Giggling, Ward plucked at a strand of his imaginary hair, a smile on his face. It felt so amazing to be held in this woman's gaze, to be in her radiant presence. "How can I serve you, Baroness?"

"I need you to find something." She plucked a picture from her purse and lay it on Ward's desk.

"May I?" Ward said.

"Of course, dear."

Ward picked up the picture. It showed am ancient, leather bound book with what looked like a slit down the center of the cover, all surrounded by strange symbols he didn't recognize. "What is it?"

"A rare and ancient book from my private collection," The Baroness said. "The Femnomicon."

Ward felt a charge of energy pass through him at the word "Femnomicon," the hair on his arm standing.

"The book was stolen, and I want you to get it back."

Ward nodded. "What can you tell me?"

"The man who stole this book was named Harry Getz. A lowlife thug. This is his last known address." She plucked a piece of paper from her purse and slid it over to him.

"How do you know he took the book?" Ward said, his voice cracking, squeaky. He swallowed and rubbed his throat.

"He contacted me demanding a ransom."

"Why not call the police?"

"I do not have to explain myself to you!" The Baroness shouted.

Ward pulled back, almost cringing in his seat. "Sorry! Sorry!"

"I attempted to pay this man, but he never arrived at the drop off point. Find my book, dearie. Find my book, and I will pay you well."

"Okay. Okay," Ward said. "I'm so sorry. Really." He didn't know why, but he badly wanted to please this woman, to get her to like him.

The Baroness pulled a fat, grey envelope from her purse and tossed it on the desk. Hundred-dollar bills poured out, fanning across the desk top. "This should get you started. Now, I must be going." She stood, and Ward stood as well, embarrassed as how clumsily he moved compared to the elegant woman before him. He held out his hand, but the Baroness tsked. "Come, darling," she said, opening her arms. "You're mine now."

Ward felt himself flush and awkwardly stepped forward, accepting The Baroness' hug, feeling his entire body tingle as her perfume swirled around him, and he felt his soft, phantom breasts press against her ribs. She kept one hand on his shoulder after the hug, and he stood there, spellbound by her radiance as she rubbed her other palm over his tummy. "Delightful," she said, smiling. "Ta! Ta!"

And with that, she spun on her heels and sashayed out the door.

"Oh, my god!" Ward said, his voice still squeaking and cracking. "Did that really just happen? Have I actually understood?"

"She was so amazing!" Asenath said, rushing up to Ward and giving him another hug. "You did it! You got the job!" Like The Baroness, she rubbed her hand on Ward's tummy. "I can't believe that just happened!"

"So much money," Ward said, still flush with excitement, but then his knees went together. "Um, one sec. I need to pee."

Asenath watched her boss hurrying off to the bathroom, one arm out to the side, swinging, and she smiled, picking up the money that had spilled from the envelope and smelling it as she heard the sound of the toilet seat being put down, and then her boss peeing in fits and starts. She pictured him in there sitting on the toilet, knees together, feet apart, and she went back to her desk and picked up the phone to make a call.

When Ward came out of the bathroom, tucking his shirt into his pants, he found Asenath pecking away at her computer. "Got a map to that address and sent it to your phone, boss," she said.

Ward went to his desk, found his phone, tapped at it, huffing in frustration. Asenath got up from her desk, took the phone from him, tapped a couple times then held it to him, showing him the address. "The Bronx," he said. "Gonna need Betsy."

"Maybe I should come with?" Asenath said. "You haven't been feeling so well."

"The Bronx is no place for a pretty girl," he said as he got the worn, leather shoulder holster from his desk drawer. He slipped it under his arm. It felt strange pushing up and under his imaginary breast, and the butt of his gun hurt the way it crushed the soft flesh, but he ignored it, squirming, pulling on his blazer.

"I grew up in Harlem," Asenath said. "Before white people ruined it."

"You stay here," Ward said, touching her protectively on the arm. "I'll be up and back in no time."

Asenath peeled a hundred-dollar bill from The Baroness wad, and handed it to Ward. "Be safe, okay?"

"Yeah."

Then she kissed him on the cheek.

Ward's business had always brought him to the seediest parts of New York, and he was used to walking in the sketchy neighborhoods, dealing with thugs. The process had always been helped by the fact that he looked like a cop, and as he walked down the street in some of the scuzzier neighborhoods he would often hear kids shouting, "5-0! 5-0!" Thinking he was a poor excuse for an undercover cop, people scattered.

But the people he was after, he was after, and things sometimes got tough, and that was fine with him. He was feeling better, and the cold air woke him up and brightened him up. He had money, a client, and even an address. Life suddenly seemed a lot brighter, and he was just a short subway ride away from St Paul Avenue in the lovely Bronx, where he would find Mr. Getz and get the book the little pig had stolen. Yes, he thought as he made his way down the concrete subway steps beneath the orange B and D signs, then pushed his way through the turnstile with a swipe of his MTA card. Things are looking up!

Two hours later as he stood pushed into the corner of a cramped D train that had been sitting on the dark tracks, he didn't feel so great. Some kid was playing games on his phone, a constant rat-tat-tat of gunfire and explosions rattling Ward's nerves, and a baby wailed somewhere in the middle of the train, the mother ignoring it as she tapped away on her own phone.

Ward's heart went out to the baby, and he wished he could go over there and hold her, rock her, sooth her. How could a mom ignore her own child like that? He wondered. Meanwhile, he once again needed to pee, and badly. He found himself leaning against the wall, his knees together, straining to hold it in as once more the muffled, robot voice of the MTA stupidly stated the obvious: "We are experiencing delays. Thank you for your patience."

Ward groaned, looking up at the ceiling. He was on an old train, and the tan covered ceiling was covered with what looked like rust stains. A poster on the wall behind the strap hangers advertised Thinx, leak proof panties, and as he squeezed his legs together Ward mumbled, "I wish I had a pair of those right now."

"I know, right?" The woman next to him said, then looking at him, she made a face.

Ward blushed and looked away, taking a deep breath, feeling his phantom boobs rise and fall. Though they weren't real, and he had to keep looking down to prove to himself he didn't have breasts, their weight and the pressure of his bra made his ribs ache, and he found it a little hard to breath. All that made it more of a struggle to be crushed into this overpacked car, and he looked at the people sitting and wished for a moment a guy could ask for a seat. It was all unbearable, and he felt sure he would end up pissing himself, but just then the train lurched into motion, everyone wobbling and cheering at the sudden movement.

At the next stop, Ward hurried through the doors along with a dozen other people, and straining with all his might, he hurried up the steps, looked around and spotted a Starbucks, and with one hand gingerly on his tummy he scurried over, feeling a few droplets of pee tinkle out and run down his leg. Heart racing, desperate not to further embarrass himself, he raced to the counter, rudely pushed in front of an elderly woman and said, "What's the code?"

"The bathroom is for customers..."

"I'm going to pee myself!" Ward shrieked, standing there with his knees crushed together and one hand over his groin. "Give me the code!"

The clerk rattled off the code, and Ward hurried awkwardly to the bathroom, tapping it in, gasping with relief as he put the seat down, pulled down his pants and squatted, sighing as he let free and peed in squirts. Thank god, he thought, feeling a rush of pleasure at the relief that swept over him. When he finished, he wiped himself, then pulled up his pants. It had become habit, but he paused as he washed his hands. Something felt wrong. Something wasn't right. He never had this much trouble controlling his need to pee; he never needed to pee this much before. Was that a prostate thing? Did he maybe need to see a doctor?

Could it somehow be related to the phantom body he now seemed to feel all the time?

He'd have to worry about that later. Tossing his phantom hair, he turned and made his way back out into the Starbucks, getting in line. When he got to the barista, he smiled sheepishly. "Um, I'm totally so sorry?" He said. "I just really had to, you know."

The girl smiled. "You gotta go when you gotta go. You don't have to buy something, though. I get it."

"Since I'm here," Ward said with a little shrug. "How about a green tea?"

"Sure thing," the barista said with a smile.

Ward pushed the door open, fighting against the icy breeze, sipping his warm green tea. Looking around, then checking the map Asenath had loaded onto his phone, he saw he'd only gotten off one stop before his actual stop, so he decided to just walk, making his way carefully along the cracked, uneven sidewalks. It was obvious gentrification had not reached this part of the Bronx yet--the broken, neglected sidewalks, the beat up municipal trash cans overflowing with trash, the glut of barber shops and liquor stores along with store front churches and ethnic restaurants--not the cheesy plastic fake ethnic restaurants you could find in a suburb, but the kind started by immigrants right off the boat, who brought their distinctive dishes and passions right with them and set up real restaurants that served real that smelled so amazing it made Ward's tummy rumble.

This, he thought, was real New York, and it was going away one yuppie turd at a time.

He came to St. Paul Avenue, tossed his empty cup onto the top of a garbage mound that buried a forgotten trash can, and walked down the narrow, tree lined street until he came to a small, A line house of brown and red, with a metal fence and a sign that read "Beware of Dog." The small yard behind was smothered in brown and red leaves, neglected. The house looked dark and quiet, and Ward couldn't tell if anyone was even home.

He unlatched the gate and walked into the yard, climbing the cinder block steps. As soon as he stepped onto the narrow porch, the floor creaked, and he heard the yelping of some kind of poodle like creature, snickering at the irony that the sign was so much more threatening than the reality. He went to the door and rung the bell, which chimed an old fashioned six tone chime. The dog yapped, and he could hear its paws scratching at the door. He rang the bell again, then took a few steps back, craning his neck to look at the upstairs window just in time to see a curtain flutter.

He rang the door again, then called out, "I'm here from Publisher's Clearing House. Is Mr Getz home?"

He heard creaking floorboards and smiled. He'd never met a criminal yet who could resist the urge or free money. This time he knocked. "Is Mr. Getz home?"

"Get away from there," he heard a girl say, and then he heard the deadbolt clicking, and then the door creaked open. A pretty, very pretty, young woman with big, blue eyes opened the door and peered up at him. "Oh!" She said, eying Ward. "You're not a--I thought you were..."

Ward pushed the door open and entered the house. "Mind if I come in?" He said. The house smelled like a florist's, reeking heavily of flowers and--decay.

"I didn't... um.... " The girl backed away. She wore an oversized, man's flannel shirt and baggy jeans, but Ward could still see she had a gorgeous figure under all those clothes.

"Is Mr. Getz here?" Ward said, pushing the front door closed and then walking into the living room, looking around. "I need to ask him some questions."

"You're not from Publisher's Clearing House," the girl said, her face falling.

"No," Ward said, pulling out his wallet and showing her his PI license. The girl seemed nervous, afraid, and he felt like he could be direct with her. "Private Investigator. Harry Getz took something that didn't belong to him, and I am here to get it back."

"The book," the girl said. "You want that stupid book."

"You know about it?"

"Yeah, do I ever."

"Look, just get it for me. I'll be on my way."

"I can't!" She answered, stomping her foot.

"If you're scared of Harry, don't be. I can handle him."

The girl snickered. "I'm not scared of Harry," she said. "I, well, you may find this hard to believe, but I am Harry. Or, I was."

I didn't want to get into this girl's world of crazy, but started babbling, her story just pouring out of her, like she'd been just waiting for someone to come here, just dying for someone to talk to. She told me that she'd been Harry Getz, a sometimes carpenter and small-time crook. She'd been approached by a woman who'd asked her to steal the book, and been warned that under no circumstances should she open it or even touch it. She'd been given linen gloves and a linen sack to put it in. The break in had been simple, she'd found the book and then brought it home, but then she'd gotten the idea to look it up on the Internet.

They were sitting on the couch now, the girl cross-legged. "I go on the net, see? And his book, this Femnomicon is some kind of rare--like put it in a museum rare--and it supposedly had magic powers. This broad who hired me, well, she only offered me a thousand dollars for the book, so I figure this chick I stole it from? She'll pay top dollar to get it back, which she would."

"So, what happened?"

"My curiosity got the best of me, and I just had to look at it, read it. I took it out of the bag and I opened it with my bare hands--the cover tingled as I touched it, and I thought I saw sparks fly from the pages, but by this time I could stop. I heard--- a song. A woman's voice, calling to me, and smelled something like--flowers, or perfume, and I found myself turning the pages, looking at them, not really reading them but staring into them like they were a mirror, and then I saw--HER."

As she said the word HER, the girl's whole body trembled, and she hugged herself, her eyes growing distant and glassy with fear.

"Who?" I said. "Who did you see?"

"Shethulhu," the girl said. She was the most beautiful and terrible thing, and I screamed and my mind went blank. I couldn't-- it was like I had looked at something impossible, something too great for my mind to ever imagine or understand, and I--I fainted."

"And when you woke up you were a woman?" I said, guessing at the obvious end to her insane story.

"No. Not yet. I woke to find myself smooth--all the hair from my body gone accept for my head and eyebrows, and my skin seemed incredible soft, but I was still a man on the outside, at least. I still, somehow, I knew I was becoming a woman, that I was already no longer a man, that Shethulhu had given me a woman's soul. So, I called the woman who'd originally hired me, and I took the book to her."

"Why?"

"I thought she might be able to help me. To make me a man again. By the time I got the book to her, I had changed a lot. I was short, like I am now, and I had these breasts, and this voice. She laughed when she saw me, and laughed even louder when I begged her to turn me back into a man. The goddess gifts you with the superior sex, and you want me to take it away? Never! Enjoy your new life, little miss, and be thankful the goddess took mercy on you."

"Some kind of feminist bullshit," I said.

"Yeah," the girl answered, holding up her skinny little arms. "Like this is an improvement."

"What's her name? Who has the book?"

"I'll tell you," the girl said. "But you have to do something for me first. The thing is, I am scared to leave the house, and I need something."

Twenty minutes later, Ward stood at the counter of the local drugstore paying for a package of tampons, plus some milk and cereal. "It's for a friend," he said, feeling embarrassed.

The girl at the counter just shrugged. When Ward returned with the supplies, the girl hugged him and thanked him, then excused herself, bounding down the stairs looking very happy a little later. "How about that name and address?"

"Can I ask one more thing?" The girl said, biting her lip.

"You can ask," Ward said.

"Can you help me get back to being a man? Take the book? Bring it to me? Maybe I can find some way?"

"I don't know," Ward said.

"Just promise me you'll try."

"I can promise you that much," Ward said, feeling awkward.

"Omigod, thank you so much," the girl answered, once more hugging Ward, crushing her soft breasts against his, and the surprising him by giving him a quick kiss on the lips. "I'm sorry," she said, stepping away. "I don't know why I did that."

"I gotta go," Ward said, his own body feeling weird and off, his nipples getting hard, a hot, wetness between his legs.

"Please hurry," the girl said. "I'm so scared all the time now. I don't feel safe leaving the house, I don't feel safe being even in my house. If some of my old buddies saw me like this? I just--please hurry."

"You should get yourself a real dog," Ward said, pausing to scratch the white poodle under the chin.

"She was a Pitbull named Butch when I read that damn book," the girl said. "We both got turned into girls."

Ward let himself out, then paused on the sidewalk outside the house to look at the name and address. Professor Wilma Hecate, Coventry, Massachusetts. Coventry, again, and probably a professor at that same damn school. The memory of his dreams came back to him, the door, that dark, mysterious door, and he shivered, thinking of what the girl had said, "I had a girl's soul." He thought about his body, the one he felt but didn't see, and wondered. Could the same thing be happening to him?

But it all sounded like superstitious nonsense. Magic books. Shethulhu? It was all just crazy, right? But then, in the midst of his own denial, he slipped a thumb into his shirt and adjusted a bra strap, feeling the weight of his full, firm breasts tight inside his bra, straining against his shirt. He heard a tapping on glass, and looked back to see the girl who had been Harry Getz looking at him, her eyes wide as she mouthed, HURRY.

Ward nodded, turned, and hurried off into the cold, blustery day, the wind tossing the long hair he didn't have. By the time he got back to the office, he found Asenath closing up. "Omigod," she said as he walked in, trembling, blowing on his hands. "What took you so long? Why haven't you been answering my calls?"

"Calls?" Ward said. "I didn't get any calls."

"Did you find Harry Getz? What about the book?"

"Calm down!" Ward said, chuckling, amused at her excitement. "I need to get off these aching feet. I feel like my ankles are swollen."

Asenath hid her smile and took Ward's elbow, walking him to his desk and helping him sit. He didn't fight her, but sank into his seat, sighing. "Okay. So, I did not find Harry Getz."

"Oh. Darn. Was it a fake address?"

"No. Yes. Maybe. I don't know," Ward said, fishing in his pockets and pulling out the paper with the name the girl had given him.

"Wait, what does that mean?"

"I don't know, but I did get a name. Some girl, maybe his daughter or some ex, told me he stole the book for this women's studies wacko."

"Women's Studies is a serious discipline," Asenath said, looking at the name.

"Whatever," Ward said. "I guess I should have a PHD, then, given the amount of time I spent studying women."

"Oh, you," Asenath tsked, heading back to her computer. "Let me run this." She tapped away, then gasped.

"What is it?" Ward asked.

'It's just, well, weird. She works at that college, the one in your--in your dream."

"I saw it was the same town," Ward said, feeling unnerved.

"This can't just be a coincidence," Asenath said. "You were meant to go there, to find that door! Your dream was a prophecy!"

"I don't believe in that kind of stuff," Ward said, annoyed, but not sure what he believed anymore.

"You can find that door! See what's inside!"

"The only thing I want to find it that book," Ward said. "Better get a good night's sleep. We leave first thing in the morning."

"Okay, I--we?" Asenath perked up. "I actually get to come with you this time?"

"Yes. Rent a car, and be ready to roll by 7am."

"Thank you, thank you, thank you!" Asenath said, jumping to her feet, running to Ward, throwing her arms around him and kissing him on the cheek.

"Okay. Calm down before I change my mind," Ward said. "Yeesh. You know these college egghead types. I may actually need you."

"Like you don't need me every single day."

"Okay. Don't get too full of yourself. Get that car rented."

That night, Ward tossed and turned, squealing and crying out. He was a woman, nearly naked, dressed like some kind of slave girl from an old movie. He found himself climbing down a narrow, crooked stair, deep and deeper into the Earth, the air getting hotter, wetter, until he came to a great chamber, and in the center of the chamber he found a massive crevice opening within the earthen floor. The ground pulsated, rumbled, and hot lava burbled with the crevice, glowing in the slit in the earth. Ward trembled in fear at the sight if it, so wet and hot and--- it called to him, and he found himself licking his lips, his body throbbing in time to the throbbing of the earth.

He climbed down the stairs, then came to the bottom, stepping onto the soft, sandy soil, and his whole body was sparkling with sweat that beaded on his smooth, soft skin. There was a rumbling, the earth shook, he fell to his knees, and looking up, tossing back his long hair, he saw the room fill with smoke and soot, and then through the smoke and steam he saw a shape, a woman, a towering woman, and his mind seemed to shatter and split. He saw her slender waist, the flaring of her hips, and her back, so beautiful and strong, her shoulder blades, her slender neck.

There on his hands and knees, Ward stared in awe, and he cried out to her, to this goddess, and her longed to worship her, to bow before her feminine glory even as he felt it burning him, melting him, reshaping him. Slender female shapes danced in the smoke and steam, leaping and twirling, laughing and giggling. Ward felt himself urinating, felt his nipples harden, tighten, and he put a finger in his mouth, wrapping his lip around it, sucking, licking, while his hair fell into his face and he started to laugh, to giggle.

The goddess started to turn her head, and Ward felt himself seized with terror. He needed to turn away, his mind reeling in horror, but his slender little body would not move, his sweet, gentle limbs remained rooted to the earth, and the goddess glanced back over her shoulder, revealing just a sliver of her face, the merest glimpse of her dark, crystal eye, and Ward screamed as the world swirled and he sank fully into feminine madness and divine ecstasy, and what he screamed in his little girl's voice was, "Shethulhu!"

Ward woke screaming, clutching his pillow over his mouth, trying to muffle his screams. He needed to pee, and climbing out of bed and hurried to the bathroom, sitting down on the cold toilet seat, and seeing that he was--he had a-- no. It couldn't be. He closed his eyes. Opened them only to see breasts pushing out the front of his t-shirt. He saw them now, and when he finished peeing, he wadded up a piece of toilet paper, and he wiped himself, and he had--

"No," he said, getting up and going to the bathroom mirror. A woman looked back at him, long, dark hair framing her pretty face, full, womanly breasts swelling from her chest. "No!" He shrieked again, picking up the mug where he kept his tooth brush and smashing the mirror. He ran from the bathroom, throwing himself on his bed, curling up into a ball, hugging his knees to his chest. "No... no... no..." he whispered to himself in his little girl's voice. "Please, no!"

"Really, I need to drive," Asenath said. "You've been having fainting spells, remember? You're in no condition to drive, sweetie."

"I'm fine," Ward said, keys in hand. He'd woken back in his male body, though his chest felt very sensitive, and his nipples were swollen. The dreams, the image of Shethulhu, flickered in his brain, and he had to fight to keep from giggling in terror as he pushed them away, pushed it all away.

Asenath held out her hand, tapping her foot. "I am not getting in that car with you behind the wheel."

Ward did not like the idea of letting someone else drive, especially not a young woman. Sexist? Maybe, but it was just who he was, and yet, in this case, she did have a point. He hadn't slept well, his dreams a blur of him living as a woman, romancing as a woman, and he was tired, bleary, and as much as he hated to admit it, prone to fainting. "Fine," he finally said. "But don't make me regret this."

"Ha!" Asenath said, catching the keys he tossed to her. "I've been wanting to drive one of these, like, forever."

Ward climbed into the Mini-cooper, bright yellow, and rolled his eyes. Of course, she would rent a girly car. Maybe it was better she drove as he wouldn't want any to see him behind the wheel of a car people described as "cute." He should've told her to get something with balls, but whatever. He was getting paid a fortune to go retrieve a stupid book. They made their way out of the city and got on the freeway, heading North to Coventry. After an hour, Ward stopped fighting his body and said, "I need to pee."

"Okay," Asenath said, patting him on the knee. They stopped, and Ward hurried to the bathroom. When he came out, Asenath waited by the car. "Ready?"

"Um, let me get something to munch on."

"Didn't you eat breakfast?" Asenath said, trying to sound surprised.

"Felt sick this morning," Ward said. Inside, Ward's tummy rumbled, and he found himself craving, and he really couldn't stop himself from buying what he needed, what his crazy body demanded.

When he came out, they climbed in the car. Asenath pulled out, and watched out of the corner of her eye as Ward pulled out Pumpkin Flavored Pop Tarts, a can of sardines, peanut butter and marshmallow spread, and then began to build a sandwich of it all.

"That's an interesting breakfast," Asenath said as Ward took a bite of the sandwich he'd made.

"Omigod," Ward said as he swallowed. "I don't know what's got into me. I just--I don't know. I was just craving all this so bad!" He took another bite, his whole body signing with pleasure.

"You're crazy!" Asenath said.

"Don't call me crazy!" Ward snapped, wiping his mouth.

"Sorry," Asenath said. "I didn't mean it."

"Um, wow," Ward said, shocked at the sudden mood swing. "I don't even know where that came from." He took out a quart of milk from the bag and took a swig, washing down his awesome gross sandwich. "Sorry."

"it's okay, sweetie," Asenath said, patting him on the knee again. "Eat up. You're hungry!"

"Yeah, I am," Ward said, munching down the last of his Pop-tart and sardine sandwich, then building another. "This is sooooo good! You should try a bite."

"Yeah, um, no," Asenath said. "I can barely watch you eat it without getting sick!"

Ward giggled, the giggle coming out as a school girl squeak. He covered his mouth, but Asenath didn't seem to notice, so he went back to eating, satisfying his strange new craving.

Not an hour later, he sheepishly told Asenath he needed to pee again.

It took longer to get to Coventry than they expected, largely due to Ward's bladder issues. He kept apologizing, but Asenath told him she didn't mind. They got off the freeway and finally came to an old, covered bridge, and as they passed over the shaky wooden blanks, Ward saw a sign that read, "Welcome to Coventry, established 1643. Beneath that there was a symbol--a long, narrow diamond shape with eight squiggly lines emanating from each face and point. At the sight of it, Ward felt the thumping in his stomach, harder than ever and repeatedly. He hissed, putting a hand over his tummy.

"You okay?" Asenath said, slowing down.

"Yeah," Ward said. "Some kind of muscle spasms. More uncomfortable than painful."

"You really should see a doctor."

"Maybe I can swing it now. When we get back. I keep thinking it's going to go away."

They drove into Coventry. The outskirts seemed like any town with generic looking apartments and houses, some office buildings, chain stores and a Starbucks. But as they made their way to the downtown, the car rumbling over the old-fashioned, brick streets, the found themselves looking around at stone houses and buildings with gables and chimneys, most of which were releasing fragrant trails of wood smoke into the chill, morning air. "It's so cute!" Asenath said.

"I guess," Ward said, but he secretly agreed. It was adorable. The perfect place for a romantic getaway.

The town had grown up around the college, which had been built on a series of three hills, grey stone buildings rising from the sides of the hills, lead glass windows, spires and iron gates, like something from the middle ages. The college had been constructed long before the advent of cars, so Asenath parked in a lot outside the gates, and the two of them walked to campus, where an old man waited in a small guard booth.

Ward had always felt uncomfortable around college folks, and he felt more so walking onto this old-time campus. He felt self-conscious, like everyone could smell the high-school drop out on him. Like he knew they would all think they were so much better than him, smarter and prettier. So, he just looked around as Asenath went and talked to the guard, coming back to him smiling. "Come on!"

She took Ward's arm and led him onto the campus. It was a cold day, and class was in session, so they didn't see too many people out and about, but glancing in the windows Ward saw young women sitting in rows, taking notes as a professor lectured, or sitting at tables, studying. "God. They think they're so much better than everyone," Ward muttered. He felt like he had a woman's body again, could feel his breasts bouncing in his bra cups as they walked, felt long hair whipping in the wind.

"Now, now," Asenath said. "I'm sure some of them are very nice."

"Let's just find this nutty professor," Ward said, hugging himself.

They made their way to the top of the hill and to a very old looking building. The sign outside read "Dexter Hall." As Ward looked at the sign, the world seemed to tilt, and his vision narrowed, turning black. He almost fainted, but fell into Asenath, who caught. "What is it?" She said.

Ward pointed at the sign, his hand shaking. "Dexter Hall. Just like--that's my last name."

"Yeah. Just a coincidence, though."

"I don't know. I feel like I've been here before. When I saw that sign, I had a vision, I saw HER. Again." He shivered at the thought of HER, the blurry vision of her flashing through his mind.

"Her? Who?"

Ward shook his head. "Nothing. Never mind."

"You're shaking!"

"I'm just..." Ward couldn't tell her about his dream, his vision, HER, so he just said, "I need to pee again."

"You're worse than a woman!" Asenath said.

The comment irked Ward, but he just wanted to get going, to get Asenath off HER, and so he grabbed the door and yanked it open, a feeling of dread filling him as he stepped into Dexter Hall, but he patted the gun under his breast--- his arm, and said, "Let's get this stupid ass book already."

They wandered the maze-like halls for a time, then Ward finally saw a couple coeds walking along, each one wearing a tweed jacket, pants and a vest, like some kind of old time professor, though they both looked all of 19 years old. "Um, excuse me?" Ward said.

"Yes?" One of them answered.

"Can you tell me where to find Professor Hecate?"

The girl nodded. "Most assuredly I can young lady. Take the next left, then the next right. Third door at the top of the stair." As she spoke, Ward suddenly saw her morph into a hunch backed old man with a beard, and he stepped back, putting his fingers to his lips.

But then she was just a 19- year-old girl again, walking away. "See you girls later."

"I can't believe she just called me a young lady," Ward said, patting his gun.

"Oh, did she?" Asenath said, taking him by the elbow and leading him down the hallway past rows of old oaken doors.

"Yeah. Didn't you hear that?"

"It's down here," Asenath said. "We're almost there."

The hallway seemed to get darker and more narrow, the floor crooked, uneven. The sense of dread in Ward grew, the terror, and he had to clench his jaw shut to keep his teeth from chattering. They came to the narrow stair, and Asenath started to lead Ward up toward the door, a heavy, black wooden door, under which he could see candle light flickering and dancing against the stone floor. "I can't," Ward whispered. "Please. Let's just leave. Get out of here."

"We have to get the book," Asenath said. "You know that.'

"No," Ward said. "Something's wrong. It's all been too easy. This is some kind of trap. I can't go in there. If I do, I'll never come out."

"It's going to be fine," Asenath said, letting go of Ward's arm. "I'll go in for you. I'll talk to her. I'll get the book." She took a step up the stairs.

"SHE'LL get you," Ward hissed, his voice cracking. "No! Please!" He put his hands to his cheeks.

"Give me your gun," Asenath said, holding out her hand.

Ward shook his head.

"Give me your gun," Asenath said again, her voice calm but firm. "I'll protect you."

Ward shook his head again, shrinking back against the wall, his eyes filling with tears. He hated how he was acting, how he felt. He was supposed to be a man, brave, tough, but here he was crying, whimpering, terrified, feeling like a woman, acting like a woman. He wanted it to end. Needed it to end.

"I need you to trust me, sweetie. Now, give me the gun."

Ward nodded. He pulled the gun from the holster, handing it over to Asenath. As she took it from him, he felt a deep sense of loss, like he was being hallowed out, but there was relief, too, a feeling that he didn't need to be strong anymore, that he could let Asenath take care of him, that all he had to do was trust her. It was all wrong, but it was.

"Stay right here, 'kay babe?"

"Yes," Ward said softly, nodding, smiling.

Asenath walked up the steps. Just as she was about to knock on the door Ward said, "Asenath?"

"Yes?"

"I'm-- I'm so sorry."

"It's okay, honey. You're hormonal."

Asenath pounded on the door, a deep, metallic sound echoing down the corridor. Ward heard footsteps on the stone floor above, and then the door swung open, the hinges creaking. He cowered back further into the dark as a tall, slender woman's shadow appeared, flickering along the stairwell, and then Asenath stepped through the door and disappeared.

Chapter 7.

Ward waited, staring at the half open doorway, the lurid red candlelight dancing. He smelled something--like dead flowers, and then he heard voices, the voices of girls and women, chanting in some unknown tongue, a tongue moist and full of round, feminine sounds, and then he felt them calling to him, pulling them towards them, and his feet began to step up the stairs. He willed them to stop, but they moved of their own accord, and he planted his small, soft hands against the walls, trying to stop himself, willing his dainty little feet to stop climbing up the steps, but even digging his long finger nails into the stone walls did nothing, and he could even scream as he climbed and climbed, his long hair in his eyes, his breasts bursting out the front of his shirt, and he came to the top of the stairs, his vision blurred as he looked through his bangs and saw a circle of women in long, black robes, and they were chanting, while one of them waved burning herbs in the air.

In the center of the chanting circle of females, drawn on the floor in chalk, he saw the symbol once more--a narrow diamond, the squiggly lines, and now he did scream in terror even as two of the girls broke from the circle, grabbed his arms and dragged him to the center of the circle, throwing him down on the symbol, which sent a freezing chill through his body. He rolled onto his back, looking up at the faces of the women, who leered down at him, and he saw them all--his ex-wife, Asenath, The Baroness.

The Baroness held a book in her hands, the Femnomicon, with that terrible slit on the cover, and she said, "Behold the sacred crevice, sign of the ancient goddess, who dwells in the void, who birthed this universe, who mothered the first gods! Shethulhu who is all!" The girls kept chanting, and the world swam.

"No," Ward whimpered as he felt the girls grab his legs and arms, binding his wrists and ankles to the floor.

"Shethulhu is before time. Shethulhu is after time. Shethulhu dwells inside time!"

Ward's ex-wife stood between his feet, and she raised a long, narrow, curved blade that flashed red in the flickering light.

"You, Charlene Ward Dexter, last living heir of Francine Ward, direct descendant of the goddess Lilith, have been chosen. You will bare the Incarnate, the First Feminine, the goddess child!"

"I'm not a woman," Ward said weakly, looking into Asteria's eyes. "Don't do this."

A tight-lipped smile spread across Asteria's lips, gleeful wrinkles at the corners or eyes that glittered with joy. "I already did it," Asteria said, leaning placing the cold blade against the inside of Ward's thigh. He whimpered in his small voice, struggling to get away, terrified at what she planned. "The goddess exists before time, after time, inside time. I did it a thousand years ago, tomorrow, and a thousand years hence!"

"Please," Ward said. "Asenath! Stop her!"

But Asenath was chanting along with the other girls, a far- away look in her eyes, swaying on her feet. Ward felt the blade slice into his scrotum, and he screamed and screamed, weeping openly as his Asteria sliced away his manhood.

The Baroness began to read from the Femnomicon, the words burning Ward's ears, sending agony into his brain that matched and then surpassed the pain coming the bleeding space between his legs, and the voices of the woman rose, and there was a rush of darkness, and the last thing Ward remembered was someone shouting, Shethulhu!

Ward woke on a narrow cot in small cell. He held a slender hand up, brushed strands of long hair from his face, then put his palms on his full, firm, womanly breasts, feeling his plump nipples tighten against his soft palms. He sat up and looked at his round, feminine legs. He wore a black, silk gown with a slit dress that had fluttered open. Pulling up the hem of the gown he wore, he saw that he now had a vagina, and he pulled the hem down as he felt the sudden need to vomit, stumbling to the bucket that waited in the corner of his cell, dropping to his knees and retching, though all that came out was fluid.

Betrayed. Lied to. Led to--this? He felt the heavy weight of his breasts on his chest, the hair tumbling over his shoulders.

I'm a woman, he thought, though his mind rebelled against the idea. It couldn't be true, wasn't possible. He was a man? Despite the reality of his body?

Have I gone mad? He put his hands on his breasts again. Lifted them. Shook his head. Why? Why had they done this to him?

He remembered them saying something. Something about him being the--what had it been? Last descendant? And about him bearing a child. He put his hands over his tummy, the thought of being pregnant, having a baby growing inside him? It terrified him. Sickened him. He never thought he would have to think about it, to worry about being with child. But was he already pregnant? He thought about his cravings, the morning sickness.

Is there a baby inside me? He wondered. The thought sickened him, disgusted him. He was a man, and he couldn't have something growing in him, some little baby. It was humiliating to even think about, even more impossible than being a woman. What the hell am I supposed to do? He wondered. He looked around the room. It looked like a cell--was he in a mental institution? Maybe he had gone insane. Part of him hoped he had. He would rather believe he was only imaging he was a woman, that he'd been castrated, that he'd been such a fool, that he'd seen-- HER.

He covered his face, trembling at the flickering memory of HER, the glimpse, but far more terrible that feeling had had on that night in the circle that Shethulhu had come and she had touched him. Changed him. He turned, the skirt of his dress swirling around his legs, his heels clicking on the stone floor. Dressed as a woman and with a woman's body, he remembered the stern, unforgiving face of his father as the old man belched at him, his breath stinking of whiskey. "You little pussy! Stop crying like a little girl!" And then his fists smashing into Ward's head, slamming him against the wall. "Toughen up!"

His mother begging him to get married and give her some grandchildren. Well, now maybe he would, but not as a man, not ever as a man.

A full- length mirror stood in the corner, beckoning. Ward walked to it, terrified at what he was about to see, the weak, shameful thing he'd become. But he had to see, had to look, and so he stepped in front of the mirror and made a small, high-pitched scream as he looked on a vision of feminine beauty. Her hair had been arranged in a high pile of curls and ribbons, with red rose buds woven among her shining locks. Dark, wet lashes and big, alluring eyes ringed with eyeliner and shadowed with purple and silver, and her full, soft lips shone with deep red lipstick that matched the roses in her hair. Blush had been dusted along her cheeks, emphasizing her haughty cheekbones, and black pearls glittered in her delicate little ears, the whole thing making her look some kind of goth princess. Ward's eyes drifted down to her long, swanlike neck, the rise of her breasts, the slender waist and wide, round hips. He felt himself getting hard, a phantom member stiffening at the sight of his perfect female specimen; her glowing skin, sparkling eyes, and round hips promised a fertile womb, a girl ripe for childbearing, and one that any man would eagerly make love to and--

I'm her, Ward thought, his world reeling. I’m my own perfect girl. He turned away from the mirror, whispering no no no but every movement reminded him he was her, a woman, that he had utterly failed at everything in his worthless life as a man, and now had not even been able to cling to his manhood.

He went to the door of his cell. There was no handle, of course, but it actually--was it cracked open? He pushed, the door swung open, revealing a narrow hall lit by flickering lights. His dress swirled around his legs, cool air tingling his soft skin. It had no sleeves and a plunging neckline, flaunting his slender little arms, his soft breasts. He hated how exposed he felt, and then he took a dainty, nervous step into the hall. On one end he saw a stairway going up, on the other end--

He gasped. His knees went weak and he fell against the wall, struggling to stay conscious, to fight off another fainting spell. There, at the other end, was the door. The door from his dreams! The terror returned, the dread, but at the same time he longed to pass through that archway. He could feel it there--the Femnomicon! It tugged at him, and he felt a sudden surge of hope. Yes! He would find the book, and he would restore himself to manhood! All he had to do was find the courage to walk through that door, to descend those stairs!

He took a deep breath, threw back his shoulders and walked forward, his heels clicking, clicking, clicking. As he came to the door, he heard voice, sibilant voices, whispering in his mind. The voice of his father, calling him a pussy, the voice of Asenath, whispering come on sweetie, come on... The Baroness laughing, calling him mommy, and little woman.... His ex-wife, Asteria, murmuring I cut off your balls and made you my bitch... Click click click... he kept moving forward, putting his little hands to his ears. Shut up! He cried out in his little girl voice, but the voices just got louder as walked through the archway and began to make his way down the crooked, winding stair, deeper and deeper into the hot, moist belly of Witches' Tower.

The world swirled, and time seemed to fragment, the voices blending with visions of him--striking out as a Pony League baseball player, his team mates looking at him with disgust... losing control and popping off too early the first time he tried to make love to his future ex-wife... taking out his gun and bashing a guy in the face who offered to buy him a drink... and then HER, Shethulhu... the goddess, and all the love and fear he had for this ancient and incomprehensible force of WOMAN.

His vision cleared. He saw Asenath wearing a tuxedo, standing at an altar beneath a statue of HER. The Baroness stood there as well, and all the rest of them, even, he though, the ghost of his mother. Someone handed him a bouquet of black roses. His pretty mouth fell open as he realized what they had planned for him, and he stepped back, his heart racing, but then he felt hands on his elbows and at the small of his back, and he couldn't resist the urge to move forward, toward the altar, toward his fate, his doom, and the girls began to sing in voices both joyful and mournful, and Ward found himself standing at the altar in his wedding dress, clutching his bridal flowers, looking at the handsome, smiling face of Asenath, who looked at him with wet, hungry eyes, like he already belonged to her.

Ward swallowed, overcome with shame. I'm not just a woman, he realized. I am going to be another woman's wife. My own secretary will be my husband.

"Do you, Asenath Waite, promise to protect this woman, the chosen maiden form of the goddess, to stand in her defense even unto death?"

"I do," Ward trembled at the words. The priestess turned to him. "Do you, Charlene Dexter, promise to obey this man, to accept his mastery, to be his dutiful, loving, and devoted wife?"

Ward shook his head no, but he heard himself whisper, "I do! I always did!"

"You may now kiss the bride."

Asenath stepped forward, cupping Ward's smooth cheek, tilting his head back, and then kissing him on his soft lips. Ward's eyes rolled into the back of his head, and as he fainted into her strong, protective arms, he heard his ex-wife, Asteria mutter, "Congratulations! You are now Mrs. Asenath Waite!"

Charlene found himself living in a 300-year-old house just outside the Chthonic Campus. The months passed, and the baby inside him grew. Asenath went to work, earned money, provided for the two of them. Charlene found he felt safe with her, longed to please her. He wore only dresses, and got up early each morning to do his make-up and hair, to make himself pretty for his husband, so she would still love him and cherish him as her woman. As the baby inside him began to kick, Ward found himself filled with horror at what he was about to birth, the child of this ancient and terrifying force of female divinity.

A suicide attempt failed, and then when Asenath ordered him to take care of himself and their baby, to be the best mother he could possibly be, he found he had to obey, and he spent his hours reading everything he could about pregnancy, and eating and sleeping and living to be a mommy, knitting hats and botties and blankets for his baby, for his little goddess. The labor pains came. Asenath was there, so brave and in control; she really was a great husband. She led him to The Priestess, and they prepared him to give birth to the goddess, surrounded by the glowing faces of all the girls and women, the Cult of Shethulhu, the woman who had brought him to this. "I'm scared," he said, squeezing Asenath's hand. "Will it hurt?"

"Not anymore," Asenath said. "The Elder Goddess returns, and the suffering inflicted on woman by the gods of men passes."

Charlene felt the baby slide from between his legs, and he cried, ugly cried, as his husband cut the umbilical cord, and then the baby, cleaned and perfect, was handed to him, and he held the tiny, squirming little baby in his arms, ashamed that he was a mother, that he'd given birth to this goddess who would spell the end of all men, and yet as he looked at her his heart filled with love, and he held her tight, because this was the best thing he had ever done, and he would live now and forever to serve this little goddess, and to be her mother.

His little goddess pawed at Charlene's breast. He smiled, glancing shyly at all the women gathered around him; Asenath, The Baroness, Asteria, and then he pulled down the top of his gown, exposing his white, round, milk swollen breast, and he lifted his baby girl and she took his nipple into her mouth and began to suckle. He felt a small pain, and then a loving warmth and a calm spread through him, and as he stared at his goddess, suckling at his breast, she opened her eyes, and he looked into them and began to tremble and cry, because flickering in those pretty eyes he saw Shethulhu, and at long last the madness overcame him, and his mind broke, and she was a wife, a woman, and a mother, and was scared, insecure, sensitive, delicate and indecisive, and she would always need others to protect her, to think for her, to tell her what to do and how to feel.

"Shethulhu," she could be heard muttering as she nursed her little goddess. "Shethulhu is all."

Her baby just smiled, laughter in her eyes.

The End