Stranger Magic (Micro Fiction)

[PeculiarChangeling]

“Ugh,” Jean slammed, ‘Go’ on her keyboard, skipping to the next person.

Omegle really was scraping the bottom of the barrel that night. Dick pic, troll, dick pic, boring conversation, and another dick pic. At this point, she was almost getting so bored that she’d go do a puzzle rather than continue.

Still… she’d stick it out a little longer. The next guy at least had an interesting schtick. He held up a ticking timepiece, and said, “Let’s play a game, okay?”

Jean sat forward. “Sure. What’s the game?”

“I’m going to make three true statements about you,” he said. “For each statement that is true, you will sink deeper into a trance, and when I am done, you will listen to my words without hearing, obey without knowing, believe without understanding. Do you agree?”

She smirked. This was, at least, novel. “Sure. Let me guess, you’re going to tell me where I got my shoes?”

He shook his head. “Your name is Jean Grayson,” he said, looking her right in the eyes.

She blinked. How did he know that?

Staring at the timepiece, she nodded. It was a good trick–she wondered what he’d say next.

“When you were a child, you stole a necklace from your sister. She believed she lost it at the fair, and you never told her the truth, but you kept the necklace. You still have it.”

Jean’s heart skipped a beat. Okay, that was a secret nobody else in the world knew–she’d never told a soul. How could…

It didn’t…

What was he going to say next?

“One more true statement,” he said. “You will obey my next commands, perfectly.”

Jean blinked.

Her computer window had closed, and the clock was wrong. It said it was almost midnight–there was no way an hour had passed in an eyeblink.

She sat forward, and then looked down.

Squelch.

Her skirt was wet, the white material stained…yellow.

Her office chair seat was wet, too. Heck, her shag carpet was wet, the off-cream office floor turned a similar pale yellow that squelched when she rolled her seat back.

She swallowed.

What just happened?

Taking out her phone, she checked the time, but it was wrong there too–almost midnight.

And she had a notification. ‘Your order has been confirmed’.

She tapped it, pulling up the email.

She’d…subscribed to a diaper delivery service. For a year’s supply of adult diapers.

Jean staggered. The…the guy on Omegle. He couldn’t have done this, could he?

She tried to pull up the tab, but Omegle had no way to find old contacts. He was gone, and she couldn’t find him ever again.

Standing up, she felt a little trickle run down her legs. She was actively peeing–dribbling, really–without any control or even the knowledge that she’d needed to go.

And she’d ordered diapers for a year.

She took a breath.

This is okay, she thought. You’re fine. You’ll figure this out, it’s not that… bad.

Her phone chimed again. She checked it.

Six more order notifications, all from different stores.

“Oh…” she said, finger hovering over the first. “Oh no.”

...

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