When Matthew and I reached the opposite corner of the room from the fallen giant Doug, we knew that we?d have to work fast if we were to use this opportunity to escape.
"Let's take a look at this thing," I whispered to Matthew.
"Better also keep an eye on him," Matthew cautioned, nodding in the direction of Doug.
Still muttering obscenities, Doug continued trying to free himself from the tangle of his dropped pants and briefs. But he was obviously having a very difficult time: Every time he tried to use his hands and arms to prop himself up, he winced from the pain in his right wrist -- which was in all probability seriously sprained. Likewise, he swore and grimaced in agony whenever he moved his right leg and his exquisitely tender right knee, which he'd also pounded and bruised in his fall.
Although I took no pleasure in seeing Doug in such agony, I dared to hope that he was at least momentarily incapacitated.
"KEEP YOUR HANDS OFF MY DEVICE!" Doug boomed, with as much menace as he could muster. But -- unless my ears deceived me -- I detected a hint of pleading in his voice. Was he afraid that we'd use the device and turn the tables on him?
Despite our predicament, I couldn't help but smile at the idea of reversing the current situation. What would it be like if Matthew and I grew back to our normal sizes, and the 50-foot-plus Doug shrunk down to hand-sized?...that lovely muscular butt of his -- now two impressive hillocks -- reduced to the size of tiny hemispheres, each no wider than a quarter.
"DON'T GET ANY IDEAS!" Doug barked, seemingly in direct response to my thoughts. I looked up from the device to see him glaring at Matthew and me from across the room. He'd abruptly stopped struggling -- and his mood also seemed to have suddenly, subtly shifted, though I couldn't quite name how -- or why. He was still obviously in physical pain, as well as enraged and embarrassed by his momentary helplessness and loss of control, but the note of pleading, and at least some of the fear, seemed to have vanished from his voice.
Then, he shocked Matthew and me by actually smiling -- a toothy, insane grin -- for the first time since his painful fall. Could he have also hit his head during his tumble? Was he dazed, delirious? Had his mind finally snapped? Certainly there couldn't be anything for him to be smiling about.
"Go ahead, try it," Doug grunted. "You were always so smug, so smart, Danny," Doug continued. "You thought you were always a step, or two -- or 20 -- ahead of me....And dear old Matthew -- the guy who replaced me -- so smart, so handsome, so much nicer than me..."
No -- he hadn't gone insane, unless you call Doug's trademark envy, jealousy, and resentment insane. There they were, plain as day, blown up 10-fold in every dimension. When I was 5-10, those black-hearted feelings had scared me, but at 8 inches, they were positively terrifying.
But now there was no time to be scared.
"So smart guys -- smart LITTLE guys..." Doug laughed again. "...Go ahead. Take your best shot. Make yourselves big again....Or, better yet, make me small..."
It sounded like a genuine challenge, a dare.
Was Doug testing our intelligence?
Was he bluffing?
Or did he have some sort of death wish?
Could he really want us to turn the tables -- or, at the very least, even the game -- by cutting him down to our size?
"Or maybe you can make me even smaller than you?" Doug continued laughing, taunting. "I doubt you two pea brains have the smarts -- or the balls -- to try!"
It was now or never. We had to act.
All this time, Matthew and I had been staring at the device. It was definitely a modified Palm Pilot -- which I have some experience using. But Doug had pasted small -- though at our scale sizeable -- labels over a few of the buttons. The labels read "size - cm," "% change," "direction +," "direction -," and "rate - secs."
I pushed the "On" button, and the device's display lit up. It read: "Enter change:"
"What do you think?" Matthew asked.
"I'm not sure how it works, but if it's anything like a regular Palm Pilot or calculator, I think we enter a value and then hit a function key."
"So what do you think?" Matthew repeated. "Should we try it on him or us?" Matthew seemed content to put our collective fate in my little hands.
"Let's test it on him first," I whispered.
Doug was smiling, strangely silent. Had he given up, surrendering, like Matthew, to whatever "fate" I'd decide? That would be completely uncharacteristic...
"Let's start with a fairly small change -- and if it works -- then go all the way," I said softly to Matthew.
I punched out the digits "25" on the device followed by the "% change" key.
The display then read: "Direction?" I punched the key labeled "direction -" assuming that this would mean a 25% reduction.
Next, the display prompted: "Rate?" I thought for an instant, and then punched the digit "5" followed by the "rate - secs" key.
The display now prompted: "Clothes, Y/N?" I paused again, a little longer this time. Presumably this was asking whether we wanted Doug's clothes to shrink along with him. After a moment's hesitation I struck the "Y" key for yes. If Doug shrank, I wanted to make sure he'd still be entangled in his clothes, at least at first. Shrinking him out of his clothes might free him and allow him to catch Matthew and me more easily.
If my reasoning was correct, the machine was now set for a 25% reduction over a 5 second period, enough to reduce Doug from his apparent size of 50-plus-feet to 40 feet or a bit less. In "real" size, he'd shrink from 5 feet 10 to about 4 feet 4. And if this reduction worked as planned, I'd immediately follow it with a second, radical round of shrinkage for him and then a major size increase for us. That would set things straight!
I smiled, very satisfied with my work, and then whispered to Matthew: "OK, let's aim this thing right at him." We slid the device so that the top was aimed squarely at Doug.
Through all this, even the aiming of the device, Doug remained strangely still, watching us silently, intently, with a puzzling -- and obviously malevolent -- smile. What could he be thinking?
I pressed the "enter" key, fully expecting to see Doug shrink 25% right before my eyes. But nothing happened. Instead, the display prompted: "Enter Command Code:"
"Command Code?! What the hell is the command code?!" I asked Michael, and we both scanned the oversized keyboard for some clue, but none was to be found.
Doug evidently overheard me, and smiled more broadly at our obvious puzzlement. But he remained silent.
With nothing to go on, I thought for a few seconds and then typed out "D-O-U-G-L-A-S" followed by the enter key. But the command line then read: "Invalid code. Try again."
So this time I typed simply "D-O-U-G."
At that moment, as I prepared to press the "enter" key again, Doug bellowed, like a huge Clint Eastwood: "GO AHEAD. MAKE MY DAY!!"
Confused, and not knowing what else to do, I again hit the enter key. This time the device display read: "Actuating change" and then began a count-down:" 5 - 4 - 3 - 2 - 1 - 0." The device display panel flashed a dim red light. Matthew and I hugged each other as we watched the malevolent giant closely, anticipating the change.
And the change happened! But to our shock and dismay, Doug appeared to GROW, not shrink, before our eyes.
The leering behemoth rumbled a deep belly laugh as he watched us. It was not he who was growing but we who were shrinking! Over a 5-second period, our size diminished 25% from 8 inches to 6 inches!