Immediately recognizing that something was horribly
wrong, Rick realized that he was going to need help.
Shucking the encumbering clothes as fast as he could,
he bolted across the room and stumbled up the steps,
reaching the door just in the nick of time. In another
moment, he would have been too small to turn the
knob. As it was, he had trouble getting the door open.
By the time he did, he was two feet tall.
By the time he crossed the kitchen floor, he was one
foot and still shrinking.
"What am I doing?" he asked himself, trying to stop the
panic. His furniture, the items of his everyday life, were
impossibly large. He didn't know how he was going to
be able to face a regular-sized person or what he would
tell them.
Who could help him, anyway? Who could he turn to?
But then Limp Bizkit gave way to the Red Hot Chili
Peppers, and as Rick stopped shrinking at eight
inches, he knew he had no choice. Tabitha was out of
town on business, and Brendon was the only one
home.