The journey back to my brother's home was like a bad dream come to life. Butch was in the back of the car, rapidly changing into a new man, while I was driving him away from the source of the problem like nothing was wrong. It wasn't hard to see why it felt so dream-like. I wasn't acting paranoid or skittish about the ordeal! I would never usually be so docile in the face of supernatural goings-on. I should be frantically screaming about Butch's unnatural changes, trying to get him to take off his boots, even turning back to Funko's and demanding the old man fix him. All of those feelings were buried inside me, yearning to be released, yet it just wouldn't show on the outside. I was abnormally calm and aloof, ignoring how deep his voice had become, how much excess space he took up, and even the squeak of his boots as his legs lengthened across the flattened seat he rested them on. The boots... They had to have some kind of perception filter that affected those within a close radius to the wearer, to make them compliant and allow the changes to continue. I must have always been just outside of this ignorance dome as I was always well aware of the weirdness that flowed through town. And now I was feeling its full force... I think Butch could tell something was wrong too. You know, aside from the fact he was rapidly growing up. He could sense that we weren't acting rationally. He was getting restless, shaking his legs in frustration. He would groan and tut whenever the lights turned red, or we reached a stop sign. It was nothing like the calm, patient child I used to know.
10 minutes later, and an exasperated "Finally!" bellowing from behind me, I pulled up outside of my brother's home. It was a small, raggedy house on the outskirts of town that had seen better days. It had suffered a bit of damage from the storm that blew straight through town a couple months ago. Cardboard covered broken windows and a black tarp covered part of the roof. I shook my head in pity, Chad had told me about the damages but he wouldn't let me help him with repairs. He's far too stubborn to accept help, far too prideful to ask for it too. But nothing I could do about that now. I got out of the car and opened the door for Butch, who grunted a small thanks as he climbed out of the tiny vehicle. All I saw of him in the car were the occasional glimpses and odd glances. So this was the first time I got to see him, really take in the extent of his changes, since leaving the shoe store. I was gobsmacked to say the least.
He was tall, almost as tall as I was and I'm pretty tall! The kicker was how he huddled into himself to appear shorter, almost like he was afraid to show his true height. He'd gained some muscle and hair on his arms, nothing major but noticeably bigger and hairier than the smooth noodles he used to have. Butch kept yanking down on the rim of his T-shirt, which was now more of a crop top that showed a few inches of skin and hugged his torso like it were made of spandex instead of cotton. There were a surprising amount of dark hairs surrounding his exposed belly button, trailing a path down to areas thankfully left unseen. Not that things weren't awkwardly, obviously, uhm, visible in the crotch area. The buttons had burst off the front of his short shorts and exposed his very tightly packed underwear that fortunately kept everything in. However, this only slightly relieved him as the waistband still dug into his hips. The seams of each short leg had shredded yet the fabric still stubbornly clung to his furry thighs. His boots were as dirty and tatty as ever, yet Butch no longer looked unsteady wearing them. His calves had swelled up and almost fit the boots perfectly, and I suspect his feet had probably followed suit.
I studied Butch's face, saddened to see that his young, boyish features had almost disappeared. His brow had gotten heavier, while his lips had thinned and sunk at the corners, giving him an intense, almost permanent scowl. His jawline had sharpened considerately, now dusted with sparse patches of scruffy stubble, and he'd finally developed the infamous Castillo Chin; a prominent, triangular block of raw power that jutted out from his lower face. A small cleft dented the tip, further hardening his visage and making him quite handsome to boot. I must have been staring at Butch too long as he pulled an embarrassed face and snapped me out of my stupor. Instead of reacting how I wanted, screaming and yelling, I smiled and said in a convincingly calm voice "Sorry, I just forget how big you're getting. You'll be taller than I am at this rate!". I sounded condescending and chummy, which Butch didn't really appreciate. He just grunted and turned to walk up to his house.
I stayed back to mess with the car seat. But as the distance between us grew, I found my old demeanour returning. My paranoia and fear of what was happening to my nephew. I paused for a moment to let the familiar characteristics wash over me, letting myself actually react to the situation. It was wild. He looked like he was ready to go to college, if not already a college student! I thought I would be somewhat prepared for whatever changes happened to him, but I wasn't. It was maddening! At least with the other customers, I only ever saw them after the changes had occurred, if at all. That was easier to handle. But this... I set the seat back upright and locked the car. Butch had already knocked on the door. He was nervous, glancing around to see if anyone could see him, understandable given his current "Hashtag Throwback Thursday" look. I hurried to join him on the off-chance Chad wouldn't recognise his own son. But as I got closer to him, my mind dulled over again and I almost forgot what I was worrying about.
The door opened and my brother stood in the doorway. He initially had a sour expression on his face upon seeing Butch, eyeing him up and down. Then he erupted into a big grin and threw his arms out, pulling Butch into a bear hug. "Butch m'boy! Y'got the boots on already? They look good on ya mate!"
Butch broke free of his dad's grip, mumbled something unintelligible, and immediately ran upstairs and straight to his bedroom, slamming the door. I couldn't blame him, it must be tough going through such an ordeal without seemingly anyone to talk to about it. The greeting my brother gave me was less enthused. A good, solid handshake and a heavy handed whack on the back, which I returned with gusto. We hadn't really interacted face-to-face since the last family Thanksgiving reunion several months ago. Yet he hadn't changed a bit. Still as brutish and rotund as ever. His short stubble was stained grey on his chin, while his shaved head had a faint shine to it in the fading sunlight. He was still in his work clothes, a grease stained, blue jumpsuit that clung to his ample beer belly. Speaking of beer... "Think I can grab that brew you promised? It's been a weird day"