The stone patio of the Robinson’s backyard neighbors’ house lay distinctly silent and dead, despite evidence that it should be anything but. A grill, still steaming with charred hamburgers, stood idly on the side. Lawn chairs scattered every which way next to half-filled lemonade cups. A few piles of clothes draped over chair backs and on the ground. To any passerby who might’ve chanced a glance across the field of grass, it was a cookout attended by multiple neighborhood couples which had suddenly been abandoned without reason. Possibly for some kind of orgy, judging by the clothes.

            Of course, this was not the case. Down on the gritty brickwork of the patio, underneath the towering wire frames of the lawn chairs, was a tiny cluster of life. Six naked individuals, to be precise, who all stood somewhere in the pathetic range of half an inch in height. Rather than tittering with the sounds of fellow insects, though, the creatures down below were speaking human tongues.

            Six shrunken neighbors, unaware victims of the police tampering with Walter’s sensitive equipment, huddled together in absolute terror.

            “What the fuck? What the FUCK?” Mr. Dutton repeated for the umpteenth time, clutching his equally naked wife Mrs. Dutton. His jaws hadn’t stopped flapping in the fifteen minutes since the cookout was interrupted by the six of them all shrinking down. “WHAT THE FUCK?”

            “I don’t think your screaming is solving anything,” Mrs. Brown said. Mr. Brown gave his wife a supporting pat on the back. He clutched his hand subconsciously over his and his wife’s bare genitals, so his neighbors and friends couldn’t sneak a peek. “All we wanted to do was have all of you over for a nice evening, and then this happened.”

            “What do you suggest we do, then?” Mr. Foster demanded, hands on his hips. “Because I don’t see how we’re all going to get through this without becoming feed for a goddamn bird!”

            His wife Mrs. Foster nodded approvingly.

            “Let’s just try to remain calm,” Mrs. Dutton blurted. She shifted her glance from one horrified, angry face of her neighbors to the next. “We just have to get moving together, and find some help. If we stay low, out of sight, nothing can… fly by to get us, and we’ll find someone in no time. See, the Robinsons’ house is just across the way!”

            “ALL that way?” Mrs. Foster choked, squinting over what was now the equivalent of a miles-long trek just to cross Mr. and Mrs. Brown’s yard and then transition into Michelle and Greg Robinson’s. It looked like a herculean labor, especially for six middle-aged individuals, without clothes and without the athletic shape of their youth.

            “If you’ve got a better idea, we’re ready to hear it,” Mr. Brown said defensively. “I’ve mowed this lawn thousands of times. I’m sure I can guide us to-”

            “Oh, right, like cutting the grass makes you fucking Indiana Jones,” Mr. Dutton snarled.

            “This isn’t getting us anywhere,” Mrs. Brown said, jumping between the growling men. “The longer we argue, the longer it will take to find help. We have to start moving, right now. I agree. The Robinsons’ house is our best bet. I know Greg, and especially Michelle. They’re very observant, kind people and they’ll find us! Now SHUT UP, stop acting like little boys, and let’s move!”

            The three shrunken married couples shared a collective gulp as they gazed out over the jungle of grass which stood between them and salvation. Taking the initiative, then, Mr. and Mrs. Brown jumped off the stone ledge of the patio and into the dirt of the yard, quickly followed by their guests.

***

            Thomas Robinson laid on his bedroom floor, controller in hand, eyes glued to the TV screen as his digital character roamed the polygonal environment. It felt like he’d been playing video games for the entire day now, but after his mother yelled up the stairs to him that she was going with a police officer to the station for possible information on Alex, he supposed he ought to keep going. The young boy had discovered the longer he went this week without an activity to keep busy, the more frightened he felt for his big brother.

            His big brother, who’d always looked out for him, playing jokes and making fun but never truly treating him poorly. Thomas had plenty of friends whose older siblings were scarier than the bullies who occupied his grade school. Not him, though. Alex was much more of a friend, and really a role model.

            Thomas’s eye itched. He hadn’t cried yet, but he’d told himself he wouldn’t, because he wasn’t a baby. Only babies cried. He didn’t need that weighing on him, too. Instead, he kept busy, as he had to.

            The boy watched his video game character accidentally fall down a pit on the screen. He set his controller down, sighed, and prepared to try again, when he felt something under his skin. Cold, more potent than anything he’d ever felt in his life, stronger even than when he went out in biting winter air without gloves on. The boy shivered, wondering if he’d left a window open.

            Before he could ponder any further, the space of his room, already situated above him while he lay on the floor, was spinning higher into the air. Dizzy for just an instant, Thomas watched his room disappear as he sunk down, seemingly into the floor. His clothes billowed around him like parachutes as he fell flat on his face in the hills of soft cotton T-shirt, bewildered and chilly due to his newfound nakedness.

            The boy hadn’t realized he’d shrunk yet. Instead he simply remained on his stomach, yelling for help in the empty house.

            “Mom? Dad?” Thomas peeped fearfully. “S-S-Someone?”

            Off in the distance, as though heard across a yawning canyon, the telephone rang.

***

            “Thomas isn’t answering,” Michelle said. Her fingers struggled to punch the numbers in her cell. She listened, crestfallen, as the dial tone went to the answering machine. “Thomas, sweetie, this is Mom. If you can hear me, just stay exactly where you are in your room, okay? Don’t come answer the phone and don’t walk around. There’s no need to be scared. Just wait for us to come back.”

            “Try again,” Greg said as he turned the wheel. The car arced sharply onto residential streets. “Honey, are you trying again?”

            “Yes, yes, I am!” Michelle fired back. She dialed and waited. “Thomas, I know this is strange, but if you can hear me, you need to stay still, wherever you are. Your dad and I are coming.”

            The couple’s car roared down the last block, coming to a screeching halt in front of their house. Beyond the trees and down the road, several police sirens called out as they followed toward Walter Andrews’ house.

            “Do you suppose he just didn’t hear the phone?” Michelle asked anxiously, jumping from the car as soon as it stopped. “Surely he’d come listen to the message after the second one?”

            “You know how he is with that video game. He’s just focused, that’s all,” Greg reassured, knowing exactly his wife’s newfound fear. “We’ll give him another ring, then go around to his bedroom window and see if we can get him to come see us.”

            “Don’t go in the house, Greg. We can’t go in the house. Not until that… that maniac gets his goddamn machines fixed, and we can walk through, without stepping on-”

            “I won’t, Michelle, I swear. I won’t go in the house. We’ll get Thomas out, and then this will all be sorted out somehow.” Despite the calmness of his words, the man sounded on the verge at his wife’s mention of the possibility of crushing their sons.

            “Come on, Greg,” Michelle said, taking her husband by the hand and guiding him at a jog toward their backyard. “We’ve got to get his attention. Oh, my baby. I hope he’s all right in there!”