Everyone else was initially speechless. Then, Toray finally regained the sound of his voice.
"What manner of sorcery...?"
"Not sorcery, old friend," replied Willek: "I've been reading young Mr. Saxon's thoughts. It seems that his father's pharmaceutical company has been trying to develop a drug to suppress the obesity gene. Unfortunately, their best prospect to date had the unforeseen side-effect of reducing height, not weight!"
"Young Mr. Saxon, here, decided to take advantage of that by shrinking all of us. Using tranquilizer darts filled with that drug! Martin, Lucille, and myself would have been crushed to a bloody pulp beneath his shoes. His personal harem of cheerleaders would have received Michael as a mascot-slash-pet. And, you, my dear would have become his personal love slave!"
"WHAT???"
Sandy looked at Wes in both shock and fury.
"I've changed my mind, Michael. I think you'd look very handsome in a necktie."
The latter grinned and his shook his head.
"I've a better idea."
Whereupon, he knocked Wes out with the knobby end of the club-knife. Following which, he stood up, retrieved the tranquilizer rifle,... and fired it point-blank into Wesley's chest.
When he regained consciousness, several minutes later (courtesy of a mouthful of water expectorated by Sandy), he sat up and looked around him. Completely disoriented. Then, he remembered what he had been intending to do. And, more frighteningly, what had Michael had _threatened_ to do!
So, he felt for his manhood and was intially glad to realize it was still intact. Then, it dawned on him.
"Hey! Where the frig are my clothes??!"
"Watch your mouth, young man! Or, I'll cut out your worthless tongue."
Wes spun about (difficult to do, when one is fetally crouching, stark naked, in a futile attempt to preserve one's diminished dignity), and saw Lucille "Vara" Smith standing behind him. Clad in a white handkerchief that had been altered to resemble a Greek toga.
She was also armed with a safety pin that had bent outward to resemble a saber.
* * * * *
While Sandy had been taking care of Vara's diminished dignity, Michael and the others had been boarding up not only the front and back doors of the gatehouse. But, all the first-floor windows, too. A chore made slightly difficult as the first floor was inevitably split in two by the driveway! Living room, kitchen, and garage on one side. Laundry room and guest rooms on the other.
To get from one side to the other, internally, one had to traverse via the second floor, which was comprised of the "Smith" family's bedrooms and master bathroom. The cellar was equally divided between a general work area and a sound-proofed "recreation room" (where Martin had tutored Michael in the art of combat swordsmanship, every day, five hours a day, for the last twelve years).
The only other entrance to the cellar, besides the one in the kitchen, was an outer bulwark. The hatch to which had already been bolted from the inside. With the bolt additionally secured in place by a padlock and chain.
Sandy looked at all these preparations, nervously.
"It looks like you're preparing for a siege," she remarked to the shrunken Vara (who was still guarding Little Wesley on the fireplace mantle).
The latter nodded: "If Landor's father really is dead, we can no longer afford to remain on your world, hiding our collective light under a bushel. We'll have to take Landor back to our world, to lead our forces against Ashrog's."
"Is that why he's been acting so...blood-thirsty...since we got back from the drive-in?"
"Yes! And, it's also why we've been home-schooling him in social studies and political science, for the most part. I know how fond of each other you are. But, I don't see that relationship working out. Unless, of course, you decide to accompany us back to our world?"
Sandy half-smiled: "I can just see Daddy's face if and when I tell him that. He blames Grandpa Doug for Grandma Jenny's death! All that archeological globe-trotting they used to do. To Third World countries with little or no hospitalization as we know it."
Vara was about to reply when, suddenly, all the lights in the house began to strangely flicker.
"W-W-What's going on?" stuttered Sandy.
* * * * *
GATEHOUSE EXTERIOR, FIVE MINUTES EARLIER
The Osiri shaman opened his eyes.
"The Parentian sibling knows we are here."
"It matters not," replied Malagor: "Golar's misbegotten whelp dies here. Tonight! Along with all the rest. Seal them in."
The shaman stood up in his saddle, and began twirling his skull-topped staff in a clockwise circle over his head. And, each circle seemed to be accompanied by a white starburst of light. It was this ritual that made the lights in the gatehouse begin to flicker.
* * * * *
"W-W-What's going on?"
"It's the Osiri," replied Willek: "Their shaman has formed a psychokinetic bubble around the whole school. Including the bit of roadway passing in front of the gatehouse!"
"English translation?" asked Vara (mostly for Sandy's sake).
"Nobody from town will be getting in. And, nobody within the school is getting out."
tbc
Giantess World
Author's Chapter Notes:
GOODSON ACADEMY, GOODSON, CONNECTICUT
OCTOBER 24, 2009 (11:35 P.M./EST)
OCTOBER 24, 2009 (11:35 P.M./EST)