Billy's trek through the neighborhood brought him to the front door at the Randall home. He moved the hand holding the Chronivac behind his back as he knocked on the door with the other hand.
Dan Parr wasn't in the best of moods when he opened the door at least an hour before dusk to find Billy Blaylocke standing on his porch.
“If you’re trick-or-treating, come back after six,” Dan told the teenager. The remark swooped over Billy’s head.
“Hello, Mr. Parr,” Billy countered. “Is your son home?”
“Which son?” Dan asked, although he knew he must mean Greg, who had started college in August. He didn’t think he’d meant Adam, his six-year-old upstairs in his room doing homework at the moment. When Billy stared blankly, Dan reminded, “I have two sons. Greg and Adam.”
Billy looked disappointed, but the mood lifted and he smiled. “Maybe you will do instead.”
“Instead of what?” Dan found himself losing patience.
Billy raised the plastic gun. “As a subject for testing my new Chronivac.”
“Your Chroni-what?” Dan managed to get out before an odd falling sensation overcame him. He fell, heavily, onto a hard surface. When he tried to stand he found his legs unwilling to cooperate.
From a lofty vantage point, Billy watched the futile squirming of Greg’s now bug-sized dad trapped amid a rapidly emptied pile of clothes on the concrete porch. “The user's guide said it can take some time for your muscles to recover,” Billy pronounced from on high. “Let me help.”
Dan screamed when he heard the giant version of Billy speak in booming words with strange and thunderous overtones. He screamed again when he saw a hand coming toward him. The hand’s fingers looked as big as the oaks in Candler Park.
Billy plucked the shrunken man from his own underwear that was piled with his other clothing on the concrete surface of the porch and stepped through the still open door into Dan’s home. Dan attempted to scream questions at the giant, but the pressure of being held between two enormous fingertips squeezed all the air from his lungs and threatened to crush his ribcage.
Billy scanned the room. His gaze lingered over the bowl of festively-wrapped chocolate treats. He moved his fingers apart and let the tiny man fall onto one of the plastic-enclosed treats contained within the crystal bowl.
His face leaned over the bowl. His Rushmorian lips opened and closed. “You be sure to tell Greg this could be him if he doesn’t apologize,” Billy said.
Dan, feeling bruised and exhausted, sprawled on the plastic wrapper. When he inhaled he smelled the rich scent of chocolate as strong and overwhelming as a pungent cologne. "Apologize?" Dan asked in a daze.
The enormous young man continued to stare down at Greg's tiny, naked father, but then he turned back and retrieved the clothes from the porch. He looked around for a place to dispose of them. Feeling rushed, he settled on stuffing Dan's clothing beneath the living room couch.
“Wait!” Dan shouted as he watched Billy's actions through the thick, distorting glass of the bowl. He tried to stand, but his feet slipped on the slick plastic and he slid deep into a fold in the wrapper. “Help me! You can’t leave me here!”
Billy’s hand reached down again, but instead of rescuing the tiny man he removed one of the neatly packaged treats. “These look yummy,” he said. “Thanks, Mr. Parr.”
The process of removing the neighboring treat had shifted the one closest to it. As a result, the speck-sized man had slid deeper into the imperfectly folded plastic. He sank into chocolate semi-melted by the room temperature conditions of a thermostat slightly cranked up to ward off an October chill.
Billy exited the front door and closed it behind him, leaving the bug-sized father of his hated rival inside the bowl of homemade treats.
“Fucking mess,” Dan cursed as he continued to sink past his knees into the chocolate. Dan heard the loud sounds of something huge approaching. He could have, with some effort, freed himself. The bizarre reality of finding himself reduced to the size of an insect caused him to panic. Fate intervened.