The door was a green, wooden affair with gold trim and hardware. It appeared to be the outside of the door. Well, if it went to a house, the house might lead back to the "real" world, or at least some version similar to it.
I hesitated, then cautiously opened the door. Behind the door was a very ordinary looking entryway to a house: linoleum tile, a closet off to the right, and carpeting in need of vacuuming. A stale beer smell wafted out... Living in a college town and having been, however briefly, to college myself I quickly recognized the signs of house rented and abused by college students. College students seemed one of the more harmless things I could encounter. I stepped through.
"Hey! The pizza is here!" someone shouted.
Pizza?
I suddenly realized I held a stack of large pizzas in one hand. And was wearing the uniform of some pizza delivery outfit I had never heard of. And seemed to be some skinny teenager. With acne.
An athletic looking young man came up to me with a handful of cash. Apparently no one thought it unusual that a pizza delivery guy was just standing there and staring stupidly at what he held in his hands. Come to think of it, I seemed to smell the scent of weed on the air-- emanating from me. The fact that I was stoned suddenly registered with me. This just kept getting better.
"Uhm. Yeah. Here's your order," I stated thickly. It was what came to mind, and I couldn't seem to keep the cannabis out of my voice. I stepped forward to hand the guy the pizzas. The door shut behind me.
"Hey, Dean! You go first," shouted a short, squat guy with glasses sitting at a dinning room table crammed into one side of a small living room. Two women, one a drop dead gorgeous blond and another a slightly overweight redhead, and, finally, there was a guy who looked a bit like a young Bob Dylan, if Bob Dylan had light brown hair, also sat at the table.
"Someone else start! I gotta pay this man," the athlete shouted back. He counted out some bills. "Why doesn't Bob start? After all, he bought the game. Hey, how much was it, again?"
Stymied (hey! I hadn't even been a pizza delivery guy for five minutes!) I discovered a receipt taped to the top box and attempted to focus on the numbers.
"Uh...," I started. A grease stain was making reading difficult. I heard some dice clatter.
"Five-- WHAT?!" came a male voice. Both me and the athletic guy looked toward the table.
"What?" asked the guy trying to pay me.
"My piece just moved itself! And I can't get it up!"
Somehow the last statement passed without comment as the others began trying to pick up there pieces. All were stuck, and I had a sinking feeling that I wasn't back to my Earth.
"It says draw a card," observed the redhead. Glasses guy was reading a paper rulebook. Bob apparently was the Bob Dylan looking guy.
Bob reached out and grabbed a card.
"What's it say?" the redhead asked.
"It says 'People go through many changes in life, sometimes even sex,'" he read, sounding puzzled.
I was the only one unsurprised by what came next.
"Hey, whAt--" Bob's voice cracked. I hadn't really noticed his stubble, until the whiskers began retreating into his skin. His facial features softened as his lips became fuller, and covered with a light layer of expertly applied lipstick. He hadn't been exactly tall to begin with; however, he began shrinking even shorter, as he frame became lighter and perky breasts grew out of his chest, pushing his t-shirt out in just the right spot and just the right way. Either the weed and/or this body was making me horny watching the change. I lowered the pizza boxes to a more strategic height.
Bob jumped up from his, er, her chair, knocking over a can of store-brand pop whose contents added a new stain to the carpet.
"What the hell?!" she shouted in a cute, young woman's voice. Her shirt had shifted into a distinctly feminine, light purple top, with a bra outlined underneath. Her blue jeans were tight across her hips, accentuating her petite, pixy-like build. Apparently Bob had removed his shoes earlier, since his feet were bare, letting everyone see the green nail polish now decorating his toes.
"Guys, it says this game is magic," announced the short, squat guy, looking up from the rules. Now I was certain I recognized what was happening.
"Here, just take the money and keep the change," said Dean, shoving the cash at me. I grabbed it, set down the pizzas and turned to the door.
I might now be a stoned, teenaged, pizza delivery guy, but that was much more normal that what was going to happen to these folks! I was out of there!
Or not. I couldn't get the door to budge.
"It says the everyone present at the start of the game has to participate and that the game has to be played through to the end," continued the glasses wearing one, sounding as if were on autopilot. "At the end of the game, all changes are reversed. Or the winner gets a wish."
He set down the rulebook.
'Wait a minute!' I thought. I'd read "The Game"-- wasn't it supposed to be that the changes would be reversed AND the winner got a wish? Then again, the premise had been re-interpreted over and over again, so maybe I was on the wrong thread.
Short and squat seemed to notice I couldn't get the door open.
"I guess that means that the delivery kid is now a player," he added.
Kid? How old was I?
"Sorry, I guess you're with us now," added Dean, the athlete. "We'll explain it to your employer..., if we can."
"Hey, uh, you got a bathroom?" I asked, noticing that my voice did sound young. It was a long shot, but maybe I could crawl out the window...?
"Sure, end of the hall," Dean answered, vaguely pointing the way.
A few minutes later I had learned: 1) although the bathroom window was open, the screen was now invulnerable, 2) their toilet needed cleaning, 3) I was now sixteen years old, enrolled in Mooretown High, had acne which felt worse than it looked, and carried a condom in my wallet. Oh, and my name was "Bryce"-- which I was certain it hadn't been before stepping through the door. Not that I could recall what it had been before Bryce. Getting home had suddenly become even more difficult than before.
I discovered my baggy of (really high quality!) weed, a pipe, and a disposable lighter, and had a quick bowl to steady my nerves. Weird how it seemed so automatic.
When I returned to the living room, everyone was standing around with pizza, and it still seemed to be the second player's turn.
"Hey, could I get some of that weed I smell?" asked Bob. I barely heard what she said and couldn't tear my eyes away from her breasts. I tried to speak, then instead just handed her the pipe, baggy, and lighter. I didn't trust my now adolescent voice.
I got some pizza, was instructed I could have anything without alcohol to drink (*&&^ed responsible kids!), got some water, and sat down at the table with the others.
The short and squat guy was Steve, Bob was the now female first player, Sal was the redhead, Diane the blond, and the athletic guy Dean. I gave them what apparently now was my name. Not that I needed to, since right after introducing myself I realized it was embroidered on a patch on my shirt.
We sat a moment. The dice were in front of Sal, who stared at them as if they were poisonous. Smart woman.
She sighed and grabbed the dice, tossing them on the table, hesitated, and then looked at the number. A three. Her piece moved ahead..., and landed on a blank space. She sat back, visibly relieved.
Diane's turn. Frowning, she took the dice. 12. And a card.
"Low or high, you're now bi"? she questioned, looking around the table. Her eyes landed on Bob, and an odd look came over her face. "Oh my God!"
"What?" Bob looked confused, glanced around the table, then understanding dawned on her face.
"That's kind of-- ow!" Bob began. The pain seemed to come from the shin closest to Sal.
Diane sat back, trying not to look at anyone.
Oh crap! I'd sat next to Diane.
I practically dropped the dice. 3...and 5. 8. My piece, which had just appeared on the board when I sat down, moved itself forward eight spaces. YES! The space was bla-- HEY! That wasn't fair! The space suddenly had a "draw two cards" on it. TWO?!!
My body seemed confused, as I had a raging erection as I grabbed the cards.
"Skinny jeans, piercings and ink, you are now an emo, I think!" it read. I felt my skin itch, pinches at various places, hair flopped in front of my eyes-- my left more than right-- and my clothes tightened up. I felt my face. Snakebite studs, a ring in the middle of my lower lip, two in my upper lip, dimple studs at the corners of my mouth, two in the fold under the nose, a horseshoe through the septum, a ring in the right nostril, a bar through where the nose joined my face, and a ring on the outer edge of my left eyebrow. Oh, and medium flesh tunnels through my earlobes and some rings on the top of my ears. And some sort of tribal tattoo thing going on on my upper arms. I had the nagging suspicion I would find more if I took my clothes off.
"What's the second card?" asked Steve, shoving his glasses back up his nose. Obviously the nerd character. If this weren't real. Maybe I was in a coma somewhere...
"Uhm," I started. I had two studs in my tongue. Great. "It says '+9 inches'."
I briefly expect my cock to grow. That wasn't what happened. I felt myself being stretched. Like toffee. The table grew further away, while the other people got shorter. My probationary license had my height listed as 5'7". After this growth spurt I was now 6'4"... and really skinny. My growth had been all height. And, as a sixteen year old, I had already been pretty thin to start with. Now my ribs were visible, and my veins and stomach muscles. It was all lack of fat-- I was still far from muscular.
"Er, nice ink," Steve stated, blinking.
"You should go out for the basketball team," suggested Dean, muscles jumping under his skin as he took the dice. "You don't look like you're through growing yet."
I mumbled some sort of non-committal response. If I weren't so stoned... WAIT! I wasn't actually a stoner! It was just how I came... out... here...? Wasn't it? Or did I really have an American History paper due Monday I needed to finish and a pizza job I was probably going to lose since I couldn't leave here? I blinked and found myself trying to pull my pipe out from my skin tight jeans. Which were really cool, just like the tattoos and piercings. Damn it! It was getting difficult to remember who I was.
I got the pipe out, but my hands were shaking too much to fill it. To my surprise Bob took the pipe, filled it, and, without a word, handed it to me. As took a lungful and handed it back to her, Dean rolled the dice.
'I'M NOT A STONER!' I told myself, feeling a fuzzy, warm high lifting me up...
"Four," Dean announced, reading the spots on the dice. His piece moved ahead. Another card space. Frowning, he drew a card.
"Remember Disney? An ostrich you shall be," he read, sounding puzzled. "Disney...?"
He trailed off as his neck began to stretch.
"Oh! Fantasia!" announced Sal, as Dean's head began to shrink and hair fall out.
Dean's lips pursed, then hardened, shaping themselves into a beak. Suddenly, his body squashed, clothes flying off. Falling from his chair, Dean's legs shot into the air, stretched, thinned, and became a large pair of bird legs. A flightless bird's legs, designed for running. His small, large eyed head poked over the tabletop. Rising up, it was now obvious Dean was now an ostrich, dressed as a maid.
"Awk?" he asked. His beak went wide. "Awk?! AWK!"
"I don't think you can talk now," advised Sal. Dean just looked at her.
"How's he going to roll the dice?" asked Diane. She looked at Dean. "My boyfriend's now a bird, we need to finish the game to get him back to normal, he can't hold the dice, he can't talk-- how are we going to finish the game if he can't roll the dice?! GET YOUR HAND OFF ME!"
The last was directed at Sal, who had tried to lay a reassuring hand on her friend.
Sal withdrew her hand, looking hurt.
"Sorry. I'm sorry," Diane apologized, obviously forcing herself to relax. "This game has just got to my nerves. And that card's got my hormones..."
"That's okay," Sal replied as Diane trailed off.
Dean picked up each die separately in his beak and clumsily tossed them to Steve.
"Awk-- aw!" Dean tried to speak, looking very annoyed. And an ostrich is very good at looking annoyed.
Steve rolled the dice, and they came to rest next to a can of cheap beer.
"Thirteen-- I mean four!" Steve quickly corrected himself. One die had one spot and the other three. His piece moved four. Of course a card space...
"Do your friends know you're a plant?" he read in a monotone. "That doesn't rhyme!"
"What's with your skin?" asked Bob, raising one of her finely trimmed and shaped eyebrow. It was getting difficult to picture her as the male she'd been when I'd entered the house.
Tearing my eyes away from Bob, momentarily getting stuck on Diane when my eyes inadvertently found HER body, I finally got my eyes to Steve. Who was green, and getting greener.
Steve's hair was turning... leafy. Fine stems with tiny leaves sprouting alternately from each side of the stem. His nose twitched, and became some sort of knot-like protrusion from his face. His lips and teeth merged, making his mouth into that of a carved, green jack-o-lantern. His head was turning into a green, roughly egg-shaped gourd. A stem grew out of the very top of his head as his ears disappeared, leaving two holes in their stead. The whites of his eyes became green, although the irises remained brown. Briefly his glasses hung off the lump of his "nose," then fell to the table.
Steve's shoulders narrowed and his arms became vines, which split into five opposable finger length vines. The changes seemed to hesitate, then his body became a large gourd. I could not see what happened to his legs.
"I guess they don't got to rhyme...," I heard myself say, not realizing my abuse of the English language. I choked down a fit of giggles which attempted to break out-- whether it was nerves or weed I could not tell.
"This is...," Steve tried to explain, his voice sounding breathless.
Dean, his head moving in jerky, bird-like moves, turned to stare at Steve. I guessed he was wondering why a plant could talk and he could not. I felt a giggle escape, and everyone turned to look at me. A few more giggles escaped.
"Maybe you should cut back...," suggested Sal, quietly sliding the baggy of pot away from me.
Thankfully, Bob picked up the dice, refocusing the attention away from me.