It was his six-year-old sister, Caitlin, running into his room excitedly.
"Hey, watch it shrimp!" shouted Dylan.
"You're taking me, right, Dylan? Mommy said you were," she said.
"Yea, I'm taking you, so be ready to go in twenty-minutes."
Hastily, she nodded and grabbed hold of his waste in a deep, loving embrace. Thinking nothing of the necklace being in his hand, Dylan gently hugged her back. Suddenly, he felt a sharp jolt and staggered backward.
"Now get out of my room before I change my mind."
That night, while Dylan took Caitlin around trick-or-treating he started to feel unwell; and by the time they returned home, Dylan found it nearly impossible to hold up his pants.
"What's wrong with you?" asked Dylan's mother when she saw him walk-in the door behind Caitlin.
"I don't know, but I don't..." Dylan's voice cracked as the transformation was starting to take place even quicker, his mother screamed. "Well," said Dylan as his hand shot to cover his mouth in shock.
Dylan was now standing, swamped in his clothes, while his head was the only thing visible.