(Finished) The Odd Fellows Home A Cold and Wet Halloween Story -- (Author) dogboy

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Author: dogboy
Timestamp: Oct 30, 2024 at 3:37 PM
Content: The Odd Fellows Home: A Cold and Wet Halloween Story

Chapter 1: It’s Always the Dame
It was late October, the worst time of year if you live in the city. The fall wind pushes through the alleyways like the subway mob at rush hour, bringing with it the damp and cold and not only that; the smell of yesterday’s garbage hanging in the air as a reminder of a dying past, a diseased city long past its prime. I should know. I’m a detective and I deal with the misdeeds made by our lesser citizens; all the sins from their past, one on top of another until they collapse like a game of Jenga, their past little lies and mistakes piling on top of one another until they go too far: way too far.

It was ten at night when I got the phone call. She seemed desperate and had to see me, not tomorrow like I suggested, but now, so I told her to meet me at my office. I’d have to put on some respectable clothes and hail a cab. The wind and the cold hit me in the face as I left my brownstone. I felt like I had just gone a round with one of the has been palookas down at Vic’s Gym, guys who could never make it in the ring but kept getting their brains beat into mashed potatoes just to earn a buck. I know that feeling except for me, it’s that next case, the kind that puts a guy in danger and yet he keeps plugging away just to pay the bills. That stuff can scramble your brains too.

The cab driver was one of those chatty types, telling me about his wife and kids and at this late hour, it was the last thing I wanted to hear. I wondered what my life would have been had I married my high school sweetheart, maybe a boy and a girl in the bun warmer and me hitting the nine to five. Yeah, I’m kidding myself. That’s not me.

I got there before the dame which gave me some time to throw my London Fog on the tree stand along with my rain hat. Still, my clothes were soaked from the pelting insufferable rain. I know this is going to sound corny or cliché, but damn it: it was a dark and stormy night. The kind of storm where the rain penetrates your bones like you were the Gorton fisherman out in a winter squall, hoping there would be anything resembling fish in your net but instead, there’s only the freezing salt water and an emptiness that bores into the darkest part of your soul. I had just enough time to fish the bottle of bourbon out of my desk drawer and pour a short one when there was a knock on the door, the door with the frosted glass panel, the stenciled letters that announced, Thomas Garrett: Private Eye.

She wasn’t at all what I expected. Her voice was raspy over the phone; a voice that sounded weathered from too much whiskey and too much living, but a cheap speaker and some wires ain’t a dame and this one was young and blond, not at all Ma Bell.

“How can I help you,” I said but I must admit, my thoughts at the moment weren’t that chivalrous. She was the kind of gal that was like a long cold drink on a hot day at the Jersey Shore, her legs just as long and enticing as the Seaside rollercoaster.

“Oh Mr. Garrett. I don’t know what to do,” her voice as smooth and enticing as the Maker’s Mark in my tumbler.

‘What to do’, she said, and I had a few ideas of my own but the better part of me felt sorry for her. It was plain she had been crying, and if grief was an ocean, it had crashed on her like a storm, her long blond hair as wet and tangled as the seaweed that washes up on the shore after a nor ‘eastern.

“Let me hang your coat up,” I offered, her mink now next to mine, as if they were a couple.

Her dress, soaked from the rain, clung to her like a lost toddler who had just found their mother. She had those pleading puppy dog eyes and right now, she looked like a mongrel from the pound that needed a warm home and someone who cared.

“He’s gone, lost. I don’t know,” she said. It’s like he’s just disappeared.”

“I think you better start from the beginning,” I said, and I opened my desk drawer, fumbled for the second tumbler and poured her a tall one. “You look like you could use this.”

“Thanks,” she said in a voice that told me she hadn’t slept in several days. She threw the whiskey down in one swallow like it wasn’t her first trip to alcohol alley.

“It’s my fiancé. It’s Mattie, I mean Matthew and he’s missing…”

“Slow down miss,” I said. “What’s your name, sweetheart?”

“Oh, of course Mr. Garrett, I’m Clara. Clara Alcott.”

I knew that name. Almost everyone knows the Alcott name, especially if they rub elbows with the rich and famous. Her dad made it big in high rise real-estate. Because of him, his daughter was able to launch her own line of very expensive clothing and here she was, sitting in my rundown office, her twenty thousand dollar couture dress dripping water onto my three hundred dollar carpet. The carpet didn’t mind.

“This fiancé or yours; what makes you think he’s missing,” I asked.

“Well,” and she hesitated, like she didn’t know where to begin.” “It’s a complicated story.”

“Miss, I’ve got all the time in the world,” and it was true. Though it was late, I’d only be home watching someone get what’s coming to them on Netflix or some late night, off channel mystery. Me and sleep don’t get along well.

“It started several months ago,” she said. “Mattie, I mean Matthew and I had met through mutual family friends and one thing led to another. We’ve been dating for over a year and everything was going swell. He was so attentive to me, bringing me gifts, taking me out; you know, that sort of thing.”

“So you two were, in love?”

“Oh yes,” she answered. “He’s the kindest person I know. But then things began to change.”

“How so?” I asked.

“One of his friends got him interested in The Odd Fellows home.”

I interrupted her. “The Odd Fellows home? Isn’t that a place for older gentlemen who can’t take care of themselves? Don’t they live in a room and get some help with meals, dressing or whatever?”

“That’s what I thought,” she said, “So I did some research. Well actually I had a staff member research it. She’s good at digging into corporations, competitors; that sort of thing.”

“Go on,” I said, pouring a second whisky. It seemed like it was going to be a long night after all.

“Well, the organization has a storied past, starting in the 12th century, some sort of English gentlemen’s club. Anyway, it moved to the Americas in the 1800’s and was established to not just help the elderly, but also the indigent and youth.”

“So what’s that got to do with your fiancé?” I asked.

“His friend found this place in New Jersey, somewhere on a remote part of the beach. It’s along the ocean, in Briarcliff.”

I knew Briarcliff. It was one of those wealthy secluded ocean sanctuaries for the very rich; very posh and they didn’t like strangers, old money having built their mansions during the robber baron era.

“There aren’t any other houses near it as there are restrictions,” she continued. It was built in the 1870’s. At least that’s what my researcher said. She also said it was put up for auction, having fallen on bad times and purchased a couple of years ago. Apparently there were extensive renovations before it recently opened.”

“So it is an Odd Fellows home?” I asked. “I mean, it functions the same way as odd fellow organizations have for the last two hundred years?”

“Well that’s what I first thought when Mattie….oh damn, I did it again; when Matthew said he wanted to check it out. I thought, why would you be going there? You’re young and in perfect health. Nothing about this made any sense.”

“So he started going; going with his friend?” I asked, though my mind was wandering like a New York City alley cat. They always find their rat and in this case, I’m thinking it’s a high price whorehouse.

“I know what you’re thinking Mr. Garrett and I was thinking the same, that it was a house of ill repute, but I’m sure it’s not that. It’s not that at all. Maybe I could live with that. I don’t know. I mean, he came back from that first visit and I’ve never seen him happier. He seemed so excited. I said I’d like to see the place but he was insistent that I wouldn’t like it and that it had nothing I’d want, so I asked him, what’s there that you want? He said he just needed to get away from the rat race. He has a very demanding job Mr. Garrett and he’s under constant stress.”

“What does your fiancé do,” I asked.

“He’s first chair cello for the New York Philharmonic.”

“Cello?” I asked. “So you two aren’t in the same financial….uh, how shall I put this? You two don’t share the same social groups and friends.”

“We do actually. His family is old New York money, but Matthew is very successful as a composer. He has two very popular recordings of experimental cello music. People say it puts them into a different space, whatever that means. He’s sold a lot of them.”

“Have you listened to the recordings?”

“I tried but it made me feel queasy. It’s not my kind of music.”

“It all sounds a little fishy to me Miss Alcott but go on.”

“So over time I noticed some changes in his personality.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, at first it was subtle.”

“Like he wasn’t as affectionate toward you?” It was the politest way I could think of saying, so he’s not interest in having sex because he’s getting it somewhere else, but Clara was a knockout. Who would risk losing this babe and not only that, she was rich and she came from a wealthy family. Then I thought, yeah, but she ain’t a guy. Maybe that’s what he wants or needs; maybe with this friend of his.”

“So how did he change?” I asked again.

“Well, and this is embarrassing.”

“I don’t judge.”

“Well, he started to act childish.”

“Childish? In what way?”

“At first it was little things, being giddy like a…” and she paused.

“Like what?” I asked.

“Like a little kid. You know, like a toddler.

“Well, boys will be boys I suppose,” but I certainly never acted like that or even felt like that, at least not since I was six or seven.

“He kept going back again and again. We used to go out to dinner parties, the theater but that all stopped. He said he needed time to decompress and he could only do that at “The Shelter”.

“The Shelter?” I asked.

“That’s what the new owners named it. There was a big painted metal sign on the iron entrance gate to the estate.”

“So you’ve seen this place? You’ve actually been there?”

“Oh no, I haven’t. I sent one of my staff members. Look, here’s a picture.”

She handed me the photo and I was impressed. It was a large estate alright, the building looking like a stone castle. On either end were high parapets, the building having three stories and sure enough over the gate was an ornate curved iron sign with the name painted, The Shelter. I wondered if this was what Dylan meant with his song, “Shelter From the Storm”.

“So your fiancé was acting different?”

“Yes and things got worse.”

“Worse? How so?”

“He started acting, how shall I say this: childish. At one point he said that instead of eating on our lovely china, maybe we could buy some little plates: little plates and little forks and spoons. He said, maybe the cook staff could serve our dinner on children’s plates! I asked him why would he want that and he said it would make him feel more relaxed. I said, wouldn’t it be embarrassing, the staff serving us on little kid plates and he said, and you won’t believe this.”

“What did he say Miss Alcott?”

“He said maybe they could cut up the food and feed us. I said what, like a baby and he said never mind. You wouldn’t understand.”

“What’s happening with you Matt,” I said and do you know what he said?”

“No, Miss Alcott.”

“He said, I want you to call me Mattie, and the damndest thing is that he insisted I call him Mattie and I did until that last night.”

“Last night, Miss Alcott?”

“Yes. I found out he was skipping rehearsals. First it was a Monday here and a Monday there. Then it became Mondays and Tuesdays and all the while he was acting more childish.”

“What do you mean by childish?”

“Just that. He was cancelling our dinner engagements, a time when we could enjoy each other’s company. We always ate dinner together unless he had an evening rehearsal or concert, but now he was constantly calling me and cancelling, saying he had to work late, working on a new composition for cello. There was always some excuse so I called the Philharmonic manager and he said he was let go: terminated for not showing up.”

She was crying so I opened the other desk drawer and pulled out a box of Kleenex. That ocean I was talking about; it engulfed her and she was drowning. But something was gnawing at my insides. Call it a gut feeling.

“I think there’s something you’re not telling me, Miss Alcott.” She dried her eyes and looked down at her shoes. Yeah, there was something gnawing at her too.

“Alcott’s and Squire’s have reputations to protect Mr. Garret.”

“You can rely on my confidentiality Miss Alcott.” She paused for a moment and then breathed like it was her last.

“So I called and asked him, what happened to your job? I need to talk to you. Will you please come and at least talk to me. I had to leave a message.”

“And did he respond?”

“Yes. I arranged a nice dinner. I even got my head staff person to buy some toddler plates and cups and toddler dinner wear. I honestly didn’t know what was happening to him or to either of us. I just wanted him back and if that would make him happy, I was willing to try.”

“What did your staff think?”

“They didn’t say anything to me, but I could hear them talking in the kitchen and they were discussing The Shelter. They said there were rumors about that place. One of the cooks said it was haunted, that it was originally built by Horace Ainslie, you know, that famous architect who built the New York City mansions for people like the Rockefellers, Carnegies and Vanderbilt’s.”

I knew of Horace Ainslie. Everyone did who lived in the city as he was a legend, but not in a good way: not like Babe Ruth. No this guy was a legend that hell bragged about. The story is that he built his own mansion and named it Briarcliff, a name that would stick to the small seaside hamlet that was home to the wealthy, Ainslie having been the architect to those summer estates as well, making him a large fortune. The building seemed to suit his purposes and neighbors say they could hear him playing his cello late at night, a rare Guarnerius, the sound drifting across the sand and marshes, drifting downward from the highest story of the left tower. They said it gave them the chills. Some say it made them sick.

But Ainslie wouldn’t be enjoying the fruits of his labor for very long. His neighbors noticed a number of men and boys coming and going in and out of the estate, at least for a while and then they didn’t. Those neighbors had connections and Briarcliff was raided by the cops. There are several different stories that surfaced regarding that place. They surface like a bloated drowned corpse that pops up after the chains and cinderblocks drop off the rotted legs.

Yeah, there was rot on the estate and it was found in the basement under the stone foundation slabs; skeleton after skeleton. There were a number of adult men, a few that were female, but the most sickening part was that some of them appeared to be the bones of infants. The coroner would later say that they appeared to be those of newly born babies. When the cops hauled Ainslie out of there, he was dressed like a baby, diaper and all. He was the talk of the town for the next year until he got overwritten by the next sensational tabloid murder. The craziest part is this, as if the other part isn’t crazy enough. Ainslie insisted that the smallest of the bones weren’t as the appeared. He insisted he found a way to turn people younger; even into babies if that’s what they wanted. He escaped the gallows on an insanity plea, clever guy. And as for his mansion, the wealthy residents of Briarcliff turned it into an Odd Fellows home, hoping to do some good and purge the evil that had taken place behind those stone walls.

“So what happened next,” I said.

“Well, this is the part you can never tell another soul.”

“My lips are sealed,” I promised.

“Well, one of my servers said it was being run as a baby place.”

“A baby place?” I asked.

“I didn’t know what he was talking about unless it was a nursery, but that wouldn’t make any sense. Why would my Mattie be going to a baby nursery?”

“So what happened when Mattie, I mean Matthew showed up for dinner?”

“I thought I’d wait until we were seated down and eating. That way I’d have his full attention. The serving people came out and served us dinner, both of us now having little toddler baby plates with forks, knives and spoons, our food cut into tiny pieces. I thought Mattie would be shocked but it was just the opposite, and you’ll never believe what he said.”

“What did he say,” Miss Alcott.

“He said, ‘thank you mommy’. Thank you mommy. Can you believe that?

“I’m beginning to think I can believe almost anything, but go on.”

“So I confronted him about his absences, both from us seeing each other and also about losing his job.”

“How did he take that?”

“You’re not going to believe this either. Instead of being mad, he stated to cry. He said I was spying on him. He said mommy shouldn’t do that and he stood up, throwing his little baby fork down on his plate and it was then that I noticed his pants. They were all puffy and he crinkled when he stood up, like he was wearing a diaper.”

“And was he?”

“So yes, I said, are you wearing a diaper? And he said, so what if am. I like wearing a diaper and I like being a baby and that’s when he ran out. That’s when he ran out and left me, and I haven’t seen him since.

“So you don’t know if he’s at Briarcliff or not?”

“No,” she answered. “I need you to find out.”

My curiosity was peaked so I said, “I’ll take the case.”

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Author: dogboy
Timestamp: Oct 30, 2024 at 3:40 PM
Content: Chapter 2: Planning

I have friends in the city zoning and building commission so I paid them a visit. I tipped my contact a Benjamin and that gave me access to the basement where they keep the old building plans. It’s like seeing New York City’s past and I was fascinated. I walked over to the section marked 1870s and started to rummage through scrolls of building plans until I found what I was looking for. Sure enough it was marked, Briarcliff.

I laid the plans out on one of the many oak tables and yes, it had a coat of dust and debris on it that was almost as old as the plans. No one ever comes down here and quite frankly, the place gave me the creeps, what with the flickering light fixtures that also looked like they came from the turn of the twentieth century.

On the surface, the plans looked like any old building. There was the entranceway along with a large foyer, an area bigger than my apartment. I suppose that’s where they checked in the residents after it was turned into an Odd Fellows home. There was a large formal stairway that led to the upper floors and there were enclosed side stairways, I assumed for maintenance workers, food staff. But as I looked at the following sheets of blue prints, there were things that didn’t add up. There were dotted white lines on the blue sheets, and they were coming off several hallways. There were dotted lines coming from the backs of closets and behind alcoves. Many of them led down into what must be the basement and some seemed to lead nowhere; just ending into vacant, mysterious spaces.

I flipped over to the last sheet because now I wondered why the basement was so important. It was divided into a number of rooms as the overall dimensions of Briarcliff were impressive. But there were a number of blank areas, as if the architect was interrupted and never finished and I wondered. What did Horace Ainslie do in those blank spaces so long ago. I was ready to leave, rolling up the plans and then it struck me. There were no drawings of the two towers. Why was that? What was it that Horace Ainslie wanted no one to see?

I had to come up with my own plans if I was to get inside. I had a hunch that’s where Mr. Squire was, holed up with his friend for whatever reason and for that one thing that lured them to Briarcliff. Yes, I know it’s now The Shelter but something told me the spirit of Briarcliff was alive and well even if Horace Ainslie wasn’t. Fortunately this was the twenty-first century and I could see if they had a presence on the net.

The internet has changed so many things and it has given someone like me the ability to look into the cracks and crevices of people’s lives and in this case, an organization like The Odd Fellows Home, if that’s what this place was pretending to be.

Their web page was professional, describing its elaborate décor, its fine dining, recreational facilities and the mini apartments where the members could forget all their cares and worries. I realized Miss Alcott’s suspicions were correct when I read their mission statement, if that’s what it was.

“Become a part of The Shelter and shed your years of adulthood. Embrace your inner child and let The Shelter return you to a life that was simpler and innocent.”

I read the small print at the bottom that membership was one hundred thousand clams and a yearly cost of living fee and I knew this was no Odd Fellows Home. Fortunately, Miss Alcott would be footing the bill. I scrolled down looking for the form that would let me make an account but it said, “Phone to make an appointment”. I knew I’d have to do some creative fabrication. Fortunately, Miss Alcott had filled me in on Matthew and what it was he either wanted or was becoming.

The thought of acting like Matthew didn’t settle well with last night’s dinner and I wondered if I could pull this off. I certainly had no desires to act like a toddler and I definitely wasn’t going to be wearing a diaper. Still, there was nothing on their web page that suggested I should. Maybe each person was just looking for some sort of escape that was unique to them and becoming a baby was Matthew’s fantasy? I’d learn more by picking up the phone and dialing the number. The funny thing is; I’ve been nervous going into murder cases, especially when it involved some rough characters who liked to off gumshoes like me, but I think I was more nervous about this one. At least, that’s what my stomach was saying.

I rang the number, hoping I could set up my membership. All I had to do was get into the joint, look around and if Matthew was there, I’d find him. If they had fine dining, I was sure they had an even finer dining room. Miss Alcott had given me a photo of Matthew so this should be easy. Of course convincing him to leave might be a lot harder but at least Miss Alcott would know he wasn’t missing and I would be making in a day or two what usually took a year grinding my ass in all the bars and alleyways of New York.

Everyone has hopes and dreams and mine at the moment was walking into the joint and out again but the receptionist at The Shelter had other plans. I had to come in person and be interviewed. I guess that made sense if you look at the membership price tag. Yeah, they didn’t let people like me into something this high class. I sought out Miss Alcott and we went to the local haberdashery where I could get the right kind of clothes. She suggested I get some saddle shoes that looked like a school kid and a tie that had animals on it. She even put the cost of admission into my checking account so our plan couldn’t be traced back to her. If Matthew was there, who knows what he told them. I had a funny feeling about this place but I wouldn’t be staying very long. At least that’s what I thought.

Chapter 3: The Interview
I got an Uber to drive me to New Jersey and Briarcliff and I was glad Miss Alcott paid for that as well. There was a box at the gate and I pushed the red button. A voice answered and damned if it did didn’t say, “Good afternoon Mr. Garrett. We’ve been expecting you with great anticipation.”

Great anticipation I thought. Who is this guy anyway? He sounded like a child and then I thought, maybe it was a dame. I wondered what I was walking into. I wondered if I’d be met by someone who clearly had found peace and contentment and especially their inner child like Matthew, but it was a young woman who opened the door and damned if she wasn’t dressed like a serving maid.

“Come in Mr. Garrett and have a seat. Miss Monroe our director will be with you in a few minutes.”

As I was being led to a large, overstuffed chair, I couldn’t help but notice how ornate this joint was. The furniture had to be that expensive stuff you see in the downtown Manhattan windows, those places you have to have an appointment just to buy a damn sofa. For a moment I felt like I was in an elevator because there was music playing somewhere, I guess from speakers in the ceiling though I didn’t see any. And yeah, that elevator feeling went along with the music, like the music had motion and I was feeling sort of weird or queasy and I remembered what Miss Alcott said about Mattie’s recording.

I’m not sure how long I was sitting there when the maid, little girl or whatever she was, said Miss Monroe would see me.

“I’m Shelly by the way. Please follow me down this hall.”

To call it a hall was an understatement. It was as wide as the ceiling was tall and we walked a long way towards Miss Monroe’s office, transversing several intersecting hallways that must have led to the east and west wings. I couldn’t help but notice how ornate it was and there were a number of alcoves, alcoves with tables and busts of young men who didn’t look historical, if you know what I mean.

We finally arrived and I was shown in and asked to be seated by a very imposing looking woman, business suit, tie and all that goes with that kind of superior mystique. I know people and Miss Monroe was the type of woman who liked to be in charge. I’d seen a few dames like that and I’ve seen them break down and cry when they were charged with murder. But I didn’t think this dame was the breaking down type: maybe the breaking bones type.

“I see you’re interested in being part of our community, Mr. Garrett. Perhaps you could tell me something about yourself and why you are interested in becoming a member?”

Since Miss Alcott had her father put me into his employee database, I’m sure someone at The Shelter did a search on me just as I had on them.

“Yes,” Miss Monroe I said. “I’m a real-estate negotiator for a large corporation in the city.”

“What exactly is it that you do,” she countered. I say counter because this felt like a game of chess and it was obvious she was the queen. I was going to have to be the knight, zigging across the board. I was good at giving misdirection, answers that left a lot of doors open and questions unanswered. I should have been a city politician.

“I negotiate with other companies that own buildings in the city. The company I work for acquires older buildings and properties that are run down but in opportunistic locations.”

“So you pressure owners who are in financial difficulties to sell cheap so your company can tear down those buildings and build new high rise office buildings.” She said this not as a question but as a condemnation. If that had actually been my job, I would have zigged but I was enjoying the game so I took a step forward like a pawn.

“That’s about right Miss Monroe. I’ve been doing this for several years and it’s getting to me.”

“How so?” and again she countered.

“I’m having trouble living with it. As you might have guessed, I don’t like ruining people’s lives.”

“You mean the poor souls who so desperately wanted to hang on to their buildings; their livelihood?”

“Yeah, something like that,” and it was then that I noticed the music that had been playing out in the reception area was now playing in her office. I also noticed that Miss Monroe’s earrings extended into her ears, not just dangling from them.

“Wouldn’t you like to leave all that behind you Mr. Garret? Wouldn’t you like to get a good nights’ sleep for a change instead of worrying and regretting the things you may have done? Wouldn’t you like to let all of that wash away; to let it wash off you, the gentle waters of forgiveness that can absolve your misgivings? I think you do or you wouldn’t be here; you wouldn’t have found us. Isn’t that correct Mr. Garrett?”

I was having trouble concentrating. I could hear her words and there was a part of it that made sense. I wanted a care free life, like a child’s, maybe out in the country by a stream, and I could hear that stream, the motion of the water running over the stones and I felt like a kid again. It felt like I was a kid visiting my uncle and aunt who lived by the shore and their house was next to a creek and I was a kid again fishing and watching the water gently flow by, playing with the bobber and fishing line. Oh how I yearned for that.

“We can make that happen for you Mr. Garrett, here at The Shelter. Think of a time long ago, when you were a young child: a toddler. Think how simple everything was. You didn’t have to make decisions because your parents did that for you. You didn’t have to worry about what was for dinner. You didn’t have to worry about work and paying bills. You didn’t have to worry about anything because everything was done for you.”

I heard her words drift in like the water from my imaginary stream, but they weren’t words. I wasn’t hearing words or if I was, they weren’t making sense. They were feelings, the kind of feelings you get from a very vivid dream and when you wake up, you feel like the dream was real and your life was the lie.

“Wouldn’t you like to be so very young and content, like when you were a toddler? You are a toddler Mr. Garrett, but here at The Shelter you aren’t Mr. Garrett any more. No, you’re little Tommy and you like that. You like that you can be so carefree that you want to play with your toys on the floor, like in your parents house, playing and feeling so free, dressed in your cute little toddler overalls or maybe a onesie, a onesie and a diaper. We can make that happen Tommy. Would you like that Tommy?”

I later found out that I said something that resembled “yes”, along with some other things I’m not going to tell here but I suspect that will all come out eventually.

I was in my own world when Miss Monroe said, “Does that sound agreeable to you?”

“Agreeable?” I asked. I must have blanked out for a minute. Maybe it was a low blood sugar thing. I felt disoriented and hoped I didn’t do anything that would give me away. When my mind began to clear, I noticed that there was no music.

“The contract Mr. Garrett. Does the contract sound agreeable to you?”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I must have drifted off,” I apologized.

“Well if you recall, I read a number of the rules and regulations in our contract as you were signing it.” She sounded annoyed and who could blame her I guess.

“The first several weeks you will be a probationer, getting used to our routine here at The Shelter. It’s to help you adjust and feel comfortable. We want all our members to get as much from our program as possible. This method has helped so many members find inner peace and happiness. Everyone wants that, don’t you agree?”

“Oh, of course,” I said and I suppose it’s true. It felt like it was.

“So you’ll be staying here with us. Consider this your new home.”

“What about my job,” I countered. “I have to show up and work.” I assumed I’d be staying just on the weekends where I could unwind and recharge my batteries.”

“Oh, you’ll be able to do that eventually, just like everyone else, but for now, you’ll have to give your boss some notice that you’re taking an extended leave. We can make that phone call for you Mr. Garrett and explain it’s a health issue. We also have medical credentials and a doctor in residence.”

That sure wasn’t in their website but I needed to get in so I said yes, but I did have a counter.

“I guess that’s okay, but I’ll need to return to my apartment and pack my clothes, get my laptop and few other things.” What I needed to do was inform Miss Alcott that my plan was getting railroaded by a very persistent Miss Monroe. I wanted someone to know where I was if things took a bad turn, but then she said this.

“Oh that won’t be necessary. For those first few weeks, we supply everything that you would need: clothes, toiletries and food of course. I think you’ll be very pleased with your special accommodations. Of course if that’s not possible, then I’m afraid you aren’t that special person The Shelter can help. We have a very select clientele.”

What choice did I have so I said, “I’m sure my employer will understand.” I just hoped that my real employer would keep sending her staff member to keep her eyes on The Shelter. I really had no idea what I was getting myself into and since I was here to find Matthew, I couldn’t help but remember what Matthew or should I say, little Mattie had become.

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Author: dogboy
Timestamp: Oct 30, 2024 at 3:42 PM
Content: Chapter 4: New Accommodations
Miss Monroe pushed a button on the desk phone. “Oh Shelly, be a dear and show Mr. Garrett his suite. It looks like he’ll be staying with us for awhile.

“Well Mr. Garret. It appears you shall become one of us; one of the very fortunate ones who will find a better life. One more thing: here is a more complete list of our rules which you must follow. To break any of these rules could lead to your dismissal though we understand that this is a new venture for you and sometimes small rules get broken. Then we will deal with those infractions in an appropriate manner, almost like a loving parent. We want you to shed your stress and worries, not acquire new ones.”

“Okay, I said. That sounds fair enough,” but as I looked at the pamphlet, I realized it was going to make my job a lot more difficult.

Shelly came in and took my hand. She actually took my hand in hers’ and said, “Come with me Tom and I’ll show you your new accommodations. I think you’ll like them. We don’t hold on formality here so if you don’t mind, I’ll call you Tom and you can call me Shelly.”

“Okay….uh, Shelly,” I said and she led me back down the hall to where we had passed one of the adjoining halls and as we turned right I realized that she was not just holding my hand, but leading me like I was a little child. I thought, “So it begins,” and I couldn’t have been more uncomfortable. So much for feeling stress free!

We passed several doors and I wondered if there were residents just like me behind those closed doors. I wondered, did they want to be here or were they the curious, wanting to just have a break from the workweek, finding this place on the net, and getting something for which they were completely unprepared. That certainly was me at the moment.

“Here it is: room 12,” and when she opened the door, I was like a kid whose parents suddenly make it big time and buy that beautiful house that others dream about but could never own, sort of like moving from the Bronx to Long Island. There appeared to be three rooms, not just one. We entered a sitting room dominated by a wide screen TV, a plush couch and several expensive looking chairs. There was a kitchen/dining area and down a short hall, what I imagined was my bedroom and bath.

“Do you have any questions Tom,” Shelly asked?

“Well several. Is there a time we gather to eat and where is the dining area? The website said there was find cuisine and I thought maybe we gathered in a sort of dining room?”

“There is,” she answered, “but that comes later when you’ve gone through the training.”

“The training,” I asked? I didn’t like the sound of that, not after what Miss Alcott told me about her fiancé, if he still was her fiancé.

“Yes. You’re in the probationary stage. We try to group the new arrivals as we find our new members feel a little more comfortable, learning new things with others.”

“What new things,” I asked?

“Learning how to de-stress. That’s why you came here, isn’t it? De-stressing and learning a new way of life doesn’t happen by itself. We have a trained staff who will start you on an entirely new life style; one that will greatly improve your health and life expectancy. You want to live a long time, don’t you Tom?”

“Well yeah, I guess so,” I answered but I had a strange feeling where this might go. I couldn’t help but think about the past this building has and the urban legend it had acquired, like a shroud that hangs on a corpse, hiding the grizzly reality that we die all too soon unless we find some way to cheat death and we know that never happens.

“Yes,” she said. “We all want to be young forever. It’s stress and worry that ages us prematurely, but once you discover the secret, ‘the way’, you can slow that down.”

“I wish that were true,” I said but she was quick with her spiel; well rehearsed I thought.

“But it’s true,” she said. “We have a psychiatrist and you’ll be expected to meet with him. You’ll attend training groups. This is why it would have been better if you were with a larger group, learning to let go, but there are two others who will be joining you, or should I say, you’ll be joining them as they’ve been here two weeks.”

“When do I get to meet them,” I asked. I had a lot of questions, the kind of questions and answers I wouldn’t get from the staff and if they’ve been here for two weeks, I could learn what was actually going on in those sessions and get the hell out if I had to.

“Their apartments are rooms 15 and 14 and you’ll meet them tomorrow in therapy. I see no problem with you starting in the middle, so to speak because much of it is repetitive. The program uses repeated statements which condition your mind into purging those things which we have no use for as we take on a new way of living.”

To be honest, that idea was starting to bother me. Whatever they were going to do, I knew I’d have to keep my head clear. I’ve been in some very dangerous situations and I’ve learned how to discipline myself under fire, so I knew I could handle whatever nonsense they threw at me. Besides, I wasn’t here to find a new life and I certainly wasn’t looking for the life that Mattie found. I could just let their brainwashing go in one ear and out the other.

Again Shelly took hold of my hand and led me into the kitchen area.

“Your refrigerator and pantry is well stocked and you’ll notice that most of the food has been pre-prepared. All you have to do is put it in the oven or the microwave. When you’re a full member, you’ll be living on the third floor and eating in the dining room with the others. Until then, I think you’ll enjoy and appreciate how healthy and well balanced these meals are.”

Inwardly I had to laugh as I’m the kind of guy who hits the greasy spoon joints and wolfs down a hamburger and a beer. That’s definitely my idea of healthy.

She led me into the bedroom and that’s when I got, not the biggest shock in my life because I’ve seen dead bodies in allies and deplorable apartments, but still; I wasn’t expecting this. My bed was a single and it had wooden sides which looked like they could be raised. It wasn’t a crib for god’s sake, but it could function like one.

“What’s with the bed,” I asked?

“That’s what we call our comforting module. So many people are afraid to go to sleep at night, the fear of ever approaching age and death. We fine that if a person sleeps in a bed that surrounds them, they feel safe.”

“Like a little kid,” I interjected.

“Sort of like that, and if you read your pamphlet, you’ll notice that the side rails will automatically come up at ten p.m. when you’re ready for night-nights.”

I couldn’t believe she said night-nights, but I had to ask, “And what if I’m not ready to go to sleep when the rails come up?”

“If you look on your pamphlet, you would be breaking rule number five and as part of the program, you would receive some sort of punishment.”

“What sort of punishment,” I asked?

“You’ll find out in your first session,” and here she laughed. “You’ll be saying the rules over and over again and when you’re done, I guarantee you’ll like them.”

I ignored that statement as well, knowing I was going to find Mattie and I would be out the door, their rules be damned.

“We will be doing your laundry at no extra charge, just like your meals.”

“Yeah, I was going to ask you about that. Miss Monroe said all my clothes would be supplied and that I shouldn’t bring any of my own. Is there some kind of uniform everyone wears? The woman who greeted me at the door sure seemed to be wearing one.”

“No; no uniforms and the woman who greeted you, that’s Sheila. She’s one of our long term residents. She loved our program and wanted to stay on so we made her an employee as well as a resident. You may want to stay here too Tom. This place is made for the young and innocent,” she laughed.

“So may I see what I’ll be wearing?”

“Of course,” she said “and we’d like you to change out of your clothes which I will take, along with your cell phone and any personal belongings. They will be returned to you of course, when you’re ready to leave.”

“I see,” I said. “And where might my clothes be?”

“Well, in the bureau drawers silly,” and she pulled one open and yeah, that was my big surprise.

“Those look like little kid clothes,” I said and unfortunately, I was showing my true self, my temper rising to the indignity of all this nonsense. Yeah, I was playing their game but I have my limits. I’ve put bad guys in the hospital and right now, I was thinking how grand The Shelter would look after a few well placed sticks of dynamite brought it and Matthew to the ground and to hell with the big paycheck.

“Now Tommy, it’s not as bad as it sounds; not at all, and judging by your little outburst, I think you can see how much you need this. All the probationers wear these as it helps them release all the burdens of adult life and more importantly, all the harm being an adult has done to them. Being an adult in a dog eat dog world is damaging both to the body and to the soul. Don’t you agree Tommy?”

I realized I had given a part of myself away and I couldn’t let that happen if I was to find Mattie; damn it, I mean Matthew, and collect my money.

“I suppose,” I answered. “I guess you should wait out in the other room while I change?”

“Of course, Tommy. We want only what’s best for you.”

She walked back to the living area giving me time to choose whatever might seem the most adult, but as I was sorting through my new childish attire, I swear I could hear her giggling.

From the living room I heard her say, “And that includes underwear, socks and shoes: everything!”

Of course it does, I thought, and then I was in for another big surprise. There were no pairs of adult underwear or socks, nothing any man would typically wear. What was passing for underpants looked like toddler training pants, thick cotton with little animal prints and when I looked closer, the animals appeared to be baby animals. I swear some of them were drinking from baby bottles for god’s sake. The biggest shock came when I pulled up the training pants. For whatever reason, I loved the way they felt and more so, I loved how they made me feel. Somehow, the world felt a little better, but not by much because dressing in little boys’ clothes felt degrading. I was glad none of my cohorts would ever see me in this ridiculous get up.

When I finally walked back into the living area, I was wearing bib overalls, a red and blue pullover shirt, blue socks also with animal prints and blue and yellow Velcro strap sneakers. I felt like an idiot and these were the most adult looking clothes I could find.

“Oh don’t you look cute,” she said. “Enjoy your dinner. You’ll find everything you need. There are some healthy snacks and of course there’s juice when you get thirsty.”

“Is there any beer?” I asked and she laughed.

“Oh Tommy, you are the funny one! This is all to make you shed the damage done to you from the adult world so you can heal. Remember, this is what you wanted or you wouldn’t have spent one hundred thousand of your hard earned money. And there’s one more thing. You’ll hear some light ambient music to help you sleep, but you might hear one of the The Shelter owners playing his cello late at night. Please don’t be alarmed as he’s a very fine cellist and a lot of our clients find it very comforting.”

I knew who that had to be and this was my big chance to find Matthew. “The Shelter has two owners, don’t they,” I asked? “I’d love to know who I’m giving my hard earned money to.”

“I’m afraid they wish to remain anonymous being the benevolent soles that they are,” and as she left and walked down the hall, I was sure she was laughing.

Chapter 5: First Night
For the first time since I arrived, I felt good, almost giddy knowing that it had to be Matthew or Mattie, however he now identifies, and all I had to do was wait until night and follow the sound of the cello. Of course I might be breaking a few of their precious rules so I thought I better read through the entire pamphlet. I was most curious about punishment if the rules were broken because I was going to break more than just one, starting tonight.

Opening the pamphlet I saw rule # 1: “There shall be no leaving of one’s room unless escorted by one of the staff. Breaking this rule will result in a punishment befitting one’s age and maturity.

“What the hell is ‘one’s age and maturity’” I thought. What kind of loony place is this? There were also rules about not wondering the halls during the day, staying in bed from ten at night until seven in the morning. There were no phone calls to be made or received though not having a cell phone; I didn’t see how that could happen. There were dietary rules, regulating the number of snacks I could have and following the meals menu, preparing only the meals on the days for which they were marked. It was getting late and this was Saturday, so I found the meal labeled Saturday in the fridge and followed the mini cookbook. It was simple enough and the food was good. I was allowed two cookies for dessert and those tasted very bland, though there was an aftertaste I couldn’t quite identify.

I was thinking about rooms 14 and 15 and I wondered who would answer if I snuck out of my room and lightly knocked on one of those doors. I needed to find out as much as I could about this place and I was especially curious as to what the punishments were since I’d be breaking rule # 1 and I guess because it was the first rule, it was the most important. I also guessed that they didn’t want the probationers comparing notes, especially if they didn’t like what was happening to them.

I waited until nine o’clock which I thought was late enough when the staff members would be in their own rooms unless someone needed them. I was watching some television, anticipating that big screen but I shouldn’t have been surprised that the channels were very limited and as I feared, they were all children’s shows. When I clicked the remote, Disney Jr. came on along with Mickey’s Fun House. Every time I changed the channel, there would be another kids’ show. When I hit the menu button, all it revealed was what I had mostly discovered: kids’ shows and little kid’s shows, even something called BabyFirst. It looked like someone had a thing for diapers judging by that show.

It was nine o’clock and I turned off the set and stood up quickly and that’s when it hit me. I don’t know if I was tired or if there was something in the food, but I felt lightheaded and disoriented. I had trouble remembering why I stood up or what it was I wanted to do. I took a deep breath and then I recalled, I was going to knock on one of those doors. I needed to find some answers.

There was a mirror in my sitting room and I saw myself for the first time as I was getting up. For the strangest reason I liked what I saw. All I could think of was baby Tommy. “Baby Tommy needs to knock on the door,” was what I was thinking and instead of being cautious, I opened my door with a bang, walked across the hall and knocked on the first door I saw which turned out to be suite # 15. No one answered so I knocked again. I knocked again and again when the door suddenly opened and a man, at least I guess he was a man seeing how he was dressed, peered out from the crack and said, “’Who ah you mistah?”

“Hi. I’m Tommy. Can I come in?” I vaguely remembered saying that. Everything was so fuzzy.

“You can’t be here. It against dah rules,” he answered. “We get in trouble and I dun want to get punished.”

“But I jus’ wanna ask what session like?”

“You see tomorrow and you probably get punished. They do that in session,” and he closed the door. I could hear it lock.

Even in my present state, I didn’t like the idea of being punished, so I went back to my room. I turned on the TV and for the first time, enjoyed watching Spidey and his amazing friends. “Go Spidey,” I was thinking when I was startled by a voice coming out of the ceiling. “Time to get ready for beddy-bye little ones. Don’t forget to brush your teeth and be sure to put on your jammies. You don’t want to be late.”

What I did remember was that I had to be in bed before ten otherwise I’d get punished. Can I get punished twice, I wondered?

After brushing my teeth, which for some reason seemed difficult, I opened several bureau drawers looking for my night ware which turned out to be footed jammies. They had baby animals on them as well and they made me smile. I had some difficulty getting into this strange looking bed as the rails were several inches taller than the mattress, a mattress that held another surprise. As I lay down, there was a crinkling sound coming from beneath the sheet. I vaguely remember being told about the sides coming up at ten, but it startled me. I felt like I was trapped and I began to panic but then the music started playing, that beautiful music that sounded like the ocean and in the middle of the ocean was someone playing the cello. I thought, wasn’t I supposed to do something if I heard a cello, but I was so sleepy.

I was a very young child and I was with my parents. It was a summer weekend and we were at the beach. I was playing with a sand toy, the one where you take your little plastic shovel and put the sand in at the top and it goes down through twisting plastic shoots and spins a little plastic wheel and I loved that toy. I think I was dreaming but somewhere on the boardwalk there was this soothing music and I was maybe three years old playing with my toy. The tide was coming in and we had to move our beach blanket further back but it was too late and the blanket and I got wet and I started crying. My mom said it was just water and it couldn’t hurt me and I just let the water flow as I played and as I slept. That’s when I was jarred awake, the damned speakers announcing it was seven in the morning and time to get up. And there was something else. The sheets were wet. I was wet and then the great realization hit me. I had wet the bed. I couldn’t believe I wet the bed and I wondered, how am I going to hide this but that concern became irrelevant when I heard, “Coming in,” and it was Shelly. At least there was no rule about wetting the bed and that omission from the pamphlet was more concerning than the rules that were there.

“Did we have a good night’s sleep; uh oh, what do we have here? Have you wet the bed?”

She couldn’t have said, it looks like you wet the bed but she asked it as a question and now I had to answer, yes. I wet the bed which somehow seemed much more humiliating.

“Don’t worry,” she said. “It’s just water,” and wasn’t that part of my dream? I couldn’t remember.

“Well fortunately the mattress is protected. It seems like we have a lot of bed wetters who come here, but just as the mattress is protected, you’re going to need some protection,” and she giggled.

“I’m not going to wear a diaper,” I quickly said.

“Let’s talk about this after you first session. I’m sure you’re okay during the day. You’re not a daytime wetter are you?” and I was so angry but I had to keep that under control.

“No,” I said.

“I’m sure you’ve read in your pamphlet that you have plenty of time to shower, do the necessaries and eat breakfast. I’ll come and get you for your session at nine sharp. But because you had your, um, little accident, I’ll be choosing your clothes.”

“Is that really necessary?” I said. “It won’t happen again.”

“Did you read the appendices in your pamphlet?”

“What appendices,” I almost shouted. “I didn’t see any appendices!”

“Now don’t get excited. Everyone has a little accident now and then.”

“Well I don’t,” and I was still raising my voice. I wanted to choke the life out of her but I reminded myself I was here to do a job: find Mattie.

“At the very end of you pamphlet, on the back, it says wetting the bed will be addressed, the caregiver choosing the clothing of the day,” and she walked over to another bureau, pulling open a drawer, revealing an assortment of clothes only a three year old toddler might wear.

“I think you’re going to look very cute in these blue shortalls along with this bright blue shirt.”

“That shirt has a bear on it,” I protested.

“It’s not a bear, silly. It’s a teddy bear.”

I knew what they were trying to do to me, something I told myself I wouldn’t allow, but if I wanted to complete the assignment, I’d have to find Mattie; Matthew damn it, and then I could escape this madness. I wondered what would be next. Diapers? I knew I’d never allow that.

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Author: dogboy
Timestamp: Oct 30, 2024 at 3:44 PM
Content: Chapter 6: The Session
The hot shower felt good on my back, and as I enjoyed the warmth of the water and the reality of having to wash off the pee, I heard the faint sound of music, the same music I had heard earlier. This time, it seemed like it was coming from everywhere. I wondered if it was traveling through hundreds of wires to hundreds of speakers throughout dead Horace Ainslie’s mansion. If this place wasn’t haunted, the effects of the cello would make one think otherwise. As I was drying off, I had the most curious thought. Wouldn’t it be odd if there were no speakers and this place was haunted, as one of Miss Alcott’s staff had suggested?

I shook my head. I’m the kind of guy who doesn’t believe in ghosts or anything my two eyes can’t see or my hands touch. There are too many empty headed morons who’ll believe anything but at the moment, I felt like one of them. I felt so receptive to anything, like a child. They believe in ghosts and monsters so why wouldn’t I?

My new clothes were laid out on my bed. Besides the shortalls and shirt were little white socks with ruffles, and my underpants looked thicker than yesterday’s. They were blue, green and yellow and for some reason, I liked them, making me remember when I was that appropriate age. There was a sense of peace as I dressed and my first thought was, “I don’t like my hairy legs.”

Precisely at nine o’clock the music stopped and there was a knock at my door. I was slowly feeling like myself and I began to realize how ridiculous I looked. The last thing I wanted was to answer that door so I just stood still, hoping whoever it was would go away. You know how you put things off, like calling for a dentist appointment, that’s how I felt, I could just stay here in my room and do nothing, when the door opened and it was the girl or woman I had seen in the maid’s uniform. Today she was wearing what looked like a little girl’s dress, even with the white tights and the little girl patent leather shoes. I was quickly getting a better picture of this place and it was no Odd Fellows Home except for the residential part maybe, because we had passed odd and gone right into fucking strange.

“Hi Tommy,” she said. “I’m Sheila. Are you ready for your first session?”

I was still a little dizzy from what I guessed was the effects of the music and I felt disoriented but I was able to say, “No.” To be honest, I felt like a little kid on the first day of kindergarten except I didn’t have a mommy to cling to.

“That’s okay sweetie,” she answered. “You’ll do just find. There’s nothing to be afraid of and as cute as you look, I’m sure everyone will love you.”

I was beginning to gain some clarity so I said, “Isn’t there just two others?”

“That’s right. You’ll get to meet Daphnie and Martin but he prefers to be called Marty and don’t worry, they’ll be dressed just as cute as you.”

That little declaration didn’t make me feel any better and then she said: “It will be a great opportunity to bond with your little friends. Playtime is so much more fun when there are more than two.”

Oh good god, I thought. I hope to hell she’s not talking about the kind of play time a toddler does but I had a gut feeling that was exactly what she was hinting. Well, I simply could refuse. Maybe if I acted like a spoiled child who didn’t want to play, that would make them think they were getting their way and I wondered once more, just what is it that they want from us? They can’t possibly think they can turn grown adults into babies if they didn’t come here for that?

“Come on Tommy; times a wasting,” and darn if she didn’t take my hand and lead me out into the hall where I joined Martin or I guess I should say, Marty and Daphnie. By now I wasn’t surprised by their clothes, little boy for Marty and little girl for Daphnie. As we walked down the hall, I couldn’t help notice that Daphnie was wearing a diaper. It was all too easy to see as her skirt bowed outward, like a little girl’s party dress and it was extremely short. I had seen those diaper adds for women on TV, thin, white, trying to be invisible, but Daphnie’s diaper wasn’t that at all. It looked thick and obtrusive and had pictures of baby bottles and pacifiers on what appeared to be a plastic outer shell. All I could think was, to each their own.

We crossed the main hallway and continued into what must be the other side of Ainslie’s mansion. As we passed a number of doors, I wondered what all these rooms contained. Were they more suites like mine or did other things take place here at The Shelter? Marty walked up alongside me and he looked like he wanted to say something. I whispered, “Hi Marty,” hoping he’d respond and in his own way, he did.

“Put tissue paper in ear. Eat less. Drink water not juice. Music. Food…no good.”

“Marty! Come walk with me,” Sheila looking back and grabbing his hand. “We’re here,” and she knocked on the door, a small embossed sign on the door saying ‘therapy’.

“Come in.” It was a man’s voice and when we walked in, I noticed the framed degrees on the wall, two in psychiatry and one in behavioral sciences, all from universities I never heard off.

“Please have a seat.” Marty and I chose chairs but Daphnie ran and threw herself down on the couch, leaning back on a coach pillow and spread her legs, her diaper now on full display.

“A little more ladylike, shall we miss Daphnie? We have a new member.”

“Yeth Dr. Freeman,” Daphnie now sitting up and sulking.

“Would you tell the group a little about yourself, Tommy?”

It was apparent I was going to be Tommy from now on so I began with my concocted story, the same one I told Miss Monroe but as I was nearing the end I heard the music, something we all did but I noticed that Dr. Freeman kept pushing his finger into his ear. I should have been able to figure out that he had earplugs but something was happening to me. It had to be the music, that same damn music that I’m sure Mattie composed and recorded. My last rational thoughts were, how many people have bought the recording, and was it streaming? Was it everywhere was my last thought because Doctor Freeman was saying something and we were repeating it; told to repeat it over and over.

“I give away my worries and problems to The Shelter. I give away my past life as an adult. I give away what it is to be an adult, the competition, the greed and avarice, bad thoughts and deeds. I give away my self, my old self. I embrace my new self. I am young again and getting younger and younger. I say good-bye to the years that made me old. Bye-bye to suits and ties or business dresses and high heels. I embrace my new body. I give all my control to The Shelter. I give myself to The Shelter. The Shelter is my mother. The Shelter is my mommy. I want mommy. I want mommy to dress me. I want mommy to feed me. I want mommy to take care of me. I want mommy to diaper me. I want to be a baby.”

When I returned to my room, I struggled to remember where I had been or what I had done. Thomas Garrett did not return to room 12. Tommy did and Tommy was maybe four or five. It was Tommy who turned on the big TV and watched Disney Jr., enjoying every moment. I have no idea how long this lasted, but when I came out of it, when Tom was back, he had wet his shortalls. How am I going to explain this, I wondered? Maybe I could wash them in the shower and hang them to dry. Maybe I could… but I was interrupted by the knock on the door; the knock that knows what I did; the kind of knock that had eyes and ears and would further manipulate me. I felt defeated which was damn unusual for me.

It was Shelly and she looked perturbed: eyebrows raised.

“Did we have another accident baby,” and I would have attacked her accusation knowing full well that they did something to me, that they were changing me somehow, but the music was playing; the damn music and there was nothing I could do. Months later, the tapes would show me everything, reveal their incredible plan. I would learn and appreciate the power of The Shelter and their expensive little program, but this was the here and now so I said, “I had an accident mommy,” and Shelly said, “That’s okay baby. You’ll be a lot happier in a diaper,” and when I eventually came out of the fog, when the music stopped, Shelly was gone and I was wearing a diaper and a onesie. What the fuck, was all I could think.

I could have easily ripped off the diaper. I could have found something else to wear, but I didn’t. For some damn reason I couldn’t and worse, I didn’t want to. They had done something to me and I couldn’t change that. It was noon and time for lunch. I was able to make my way into the kitchen, still feeling uneasy, almost walking like a toddler. I can’t explain why my diaper felt so good but it did. I didn’t mind that Shelly had left my baby socks on my feet or that my onesie had pictures of baby bottles and diapers. None of that mattered. Lunch today was peanut butter and jelly and I was happy with that. It was my favorite school lunch when I was a kid. In the refrigerator was a bottle of juice and I reached for that, but somewhere in the back of my mind was the thought that I should drink water and so I did. Clarity would come.

Chapter 7: Psychiatry
I couldn’t remember what had happened at my first session, if you want to call it that, but I remembered what Marty told me. It may have been cryptic as his mind seemed to have been infantilized, but it made sense to me. They’ve put something in the food and the fruit drinks and of course, the music. Matthew’s music is what played in my mind. I wondered; is Matthew the genius behind this or did someone, perhaps the new owners, find an opportunity to use his recordings to their advantage? And what might that be?

Right now the bigger question, at least for me was, what has happened to Matthew because I was convinced he’s here somewhere and they have probably done to him what they’re doing to me. Tonight I will have to leave my room and find out. The dotted lines on the architectural plans might be hidden passageways. There’s an infamous Chicago story about Dr. Henry Howard Holmes and his “Murder Hotel”. He had his hotel built with hidden hallways, passageways and rooms where he could abduct, torture and kill the unwary guests. Was Horace Ainslie of similar mind? It wouldn’t surprise me. If I could connect those dotted lines, they might lead me to Mattie and perhaps others caught in the same trap. I would have to go without dinner if I wanted to think like an adult.

My thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door. It was Shelly.

“I hope you had a nice time at your session, Tommy. It’s time for your private session with Dr. Freeman. Do you need help with putting your shoes on?”

“No,” I answered rather indignantly. “And I’d like to wear something other than this, what do you call it, a onsie? And maybe we could ditch the diaper? I’m not the baby you’d like me to be!”

“But don’t you feel better, Tommy? After all; you spent a lot of money for our unique program and don’t you feel well rested? Don’t you feel like you’ve shed a lot of anxiety? Anxiety can age you and shorten your life and besides: being diapered and treated like a baby is just one of the steps to help you release your anxieties and find a new way to cope with all the things life throws at an adult.”

I wanted to ask her if there were different steps that didn’t involve diapers but the music started playing and I knew I was slipping; slipping away from Tom Garret and becoming Tommy. “Okay,” is all I said and she led me by the hand.

“That’s right, sweetheart. You’ll like what Dr. Freeman has to say. You can be yourself there. You don’t have to be the big man that all men are forced to be. You can be baby Tommy and I have to tell you, you look so cute in your diaper and onsie. Here, let me help you with your baby shoes.”

All I could think was yes, I need my baby shoes so I can talk to Dr. Freeman, and with that, we left. She led me down the hall and just like before, we arrived at his office door, and like before, I had a sense of trepidation as I passed through that door to talk to Dr. Freeman. I’m not sure I ever did much talking. It’s hard to remember.

He asked me if I had any questions and as my head began to clear, I asked, who was the owner of The Shelter? He gave no reply. I asked, “Where is everyone? Aren’t there other residents and he assured me there were and that I’d be joining them as soon as I was ready. He said I was making good progress and I would be ready for the second floor where I would meet many others just like me, whatever that meant.

“You joined in midsession Tommy, so we need to push you forward a little faster than we would normally like.”

I asked, “Who’s we?” but that’s when the music started and I slipped into some vast ocean of bliss. I could hear his words but they weren’t words. They were objects like grass and trees. The words became parks with swings and slides. They pictured pre-schools with little toddlers playing with big wooden blocks. There were pictures to color and put on the refrigerator. His words created worlds I could touch and feel. I was finally free. Here there were no cares or worries. Everything was taken care of and I was happy. I was genuinely happy and it didn’t matter I was wetting my diaper. I love my diapers and right now I was home playing with a big red metal dump truck that I was pretending to load with a yellow front end loader. I had to pee and I did just that. I peed into my diaper sitting on the carpeted floor of my mommy and daddy’s house: my home and I couldn’t have been happier.

I was taken back to my room by a pretty lady. She looked familiar and I felt safe being with her. She took me to my bedroom and put me in my crib. The sides came up and I was safe and I thought, “I love my diaper,” like I had heard it a hundred times and me saying, “I love my diaper. I love being a baby,” over and over. She gave me a teddy bear and I fell asleep. Was I ever awake?

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Author: dogboy
Timestamp: Oct 30, 2024 at 3:47 PM
Content: Chapter 8: Roller Coaster
Shelly’s cell phone buzzed. Miss Monroe wanted to see her and it didn’t take Shelly long to get there. The Shelter, though quiet and peaceful on its surface, was run by fear.

“How’s our little boy doing,” Miss Monroe asked?

“He’s coming along well. After his visit with Dr. Freeman, it won’t be long before he’s ready for the second floor.”

“Good,” was all Miss Monroe said.

“Are we going to keep him on the roller coaster,” Shelly asked, “with all those moments of clarity?”

“That’s the plan, Shelly,” and Miss Monroe was showing her agitation. “He and the ones who might follow need to be made into an example. Could he possible think we didn’t know Clara Alcott sent him? I’m afraid Mr. Squire shared a little too much with you know who.”

“You mean baby Mattie?” and they both laughed.

“It’s been fun watching baby Tommy stress over wearing diapers and toddler clothes. Little does he know, the party’s just getting started. Ask the orderlies to increase the drugs. I want him to eventually become a helpless baby, wetting and messing his diapers and crying for his mommy,” and again they laughed. “Tomorrow, take him to the playroom with the others.”

“That’s another thing I need to ask you,” Shelly said. “It’s Marty. He doesn’t seem to be taking to the program; not like Daphnie.”

“Well Shelly, you know as well as I that Daphnie knew what she wanted and what we have to offer. She’s you typical adult baby and we certainly cater to that, but poor Marty. That was all his wife’s idea. She wanted to divorce him but Marty was the one with all the money and there was the prenuptial. I’m afraid when Marty is ready to go home, he’ll be filling his diapers while his wife is out shopping.” Again, they laughed.

“So playtime it is for what will soon be Baby Tommy and make sure he gets the full treatment.” Shelly was glad Miss Monroe was in a good mood and pleased with Tommy’s progress. Punishment at The Shelter was more than just a word on a pamphlet.

The music was no longer playing and I was awake, sitting in this ridiculous crib. I had put a lot of guys in the slammer but I felt like a kindred spirit, only my jail cell was made out of wood, not steel. I could climb out but I wondered what the consequences would be. Fortunately, I didn’t have to think for very long because the door opened. I heard her sickening voice, something I would like to silence, my foot plunging through that big mouth of her’s and down her neck but I had to play their game if I was to find Mattie.

“Did baby get a nice nap?” her voice as sweet as the honey I’d put in my bourbon when I had a cold. “I think someone needs a diaper change.”

The world was coming back to me and I was aware of what was going on so I said, “Is there any way I can do that,” but I had a bad feeling as I knew what the answer was going to be.

“Oh sweetheart, babies can’t change their own diapers.”

“Well sweetheart,” I said. I ain’t no baby and I’m sure as hell not your baby.” I thought that should settle her hash until I saw her tap her cell phone. “Security” was all she said.

“Wait a minute, sister,” but I was interrupted with the sound of the door banging open and my eyes got a little bigger when I saw two large men enter the bedroom, each wearing white jackets and white pants. I thought of the movie, One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest.

“Let’s talk about this,” I started to say when one of the men grabbed my feet and the other my arms, the two of them throwing me unceremoniously on what I’m sure was an adult sized diaper changing table. I hit hard, the wind knocked out of me. Goon number one, the one standing by my head, unsnapped the straps on my shortalls while Goon number two slid them off me in one easy motion while his left hand raised my legs. Just like changing a baby I thought, trying to make light of the situation because at the moment, I was feeling a combination of rage and humiliation.

I wondered how I had gotten myself into this situation and how it could get any worse when Goon number two reached for some baby wipes.

“Oh no,” I said. “You ain’t getting anywhere near my,” and that’s when it was too late and quite pointless. I never had any interest in any man but this guy seemed interested in me judging by the treatment I was getting. “We don’t want baby getting a diaper rash,” he said and it was clear all three of them were enjoying themselves at my expense.

After I was diapered, Shelly said, “I think our baby needs something new to wear.” I closed my eyes. I didn’t want to see what was coming.

“Here,” she said, pulling something out of a drawer. When I opened my eyes, I could tell it was another shortall but it was a little different. This one was made of corduroy and it was lavender colored. The shirt she chose was the same color but it had a picture of a baby bottle on it.

“I don’t think baby Tommy has been drinking his juice. Bruno, could you give baby Tommy his bottle?”

I was about to protest but Goon number two grabbed me and threw me into Goon number one, Bruno I’m assuming, Bruno sitting down and me sitting awkwardly on his lap. Bruno was holding a large baby bottle and it was filled with what looked like milk, but I suspected it had additives: just what baby needs.

“I believe our baby has been skipping meals,” said Shelly and we know that’s not good for a baby. I’m afraid Mr. Garret has been breaking some of the rules and he knows if we’re to help him, he might have to be punished. Consider yourself lucky baby Tommy because there are far worse things for disobedient children.”

I was about to resist, clamping my mouth shut but Bruno squeezed my nose rather hard and when I opened my mouth, he shoved the nipple between my teeth. I thought about grabbing Bruno and shoving the entire bottle down his throat, but the music; the damn music began to play. It was like when I was with Dr. Freeman because the music was more powerful. I saw myself as a baby. I was a baby and I was hungry. The nipple felt so good between my lips and when I sucked on the nipple, it was revelation. It tasted different, baby formula maybe?

Do we still keep those memories of when we were a baby? Are they still locked in our brain, hidden somewhere in our subconscious? Before the Odd Fellows Home, I would have said no, but not now. I was a baby. I was baby Tommy and all I knew was that my mother was feeding me my bottle and that was all I wanted. The Shelter was right. What I wanted, what we all want is that unobtainable feeling of innocent peace, that sublime peace we experienced when we were so very young. Why aren’t adults seeking this? Why do we see nothing but violence on TV? Why do nations go to war and kill thousands or millions of people? Don’t they want the quiet peace that is somewhere, locked in all of our past memories? I realized; The Shelter can give that.

I think I was put back into my crib and I was happy to be in the safe confines that surrounded me. I had a lot to drink and I could feel its pressure. I could feel it coming and I let it flood my diaper and it felt so good. I liked being a baby and I fell asleep.

Chapter 9: Wait For the Midnight Hour
I was awake and the sides to my strange little bed were down. I guessed I was supposed to get up. I was groggy, the effects of whatever they gave me, wearing off. There was no music and I assumed they wanted me to get something to eat. The clock said it was six, so I made my way out to the kitchen. I felt uncomfortable and realized my diaper was sagging. Good lord, I thought. Is it really my diaper? The weirder part was that I wanted to be changed, but not by Bruno. I thought I’d be a nicer to Shelly when she came to check on me, something I knew she’d do.

Something was nagging at me. There was something I was supposed to do but I couldn’t remember. I drank some tap water, hoping to clear the drugs out of my system and then I remembered: find Mattie. I was going to go on a midnight crawl, so to speak. I also remembered what Marty said, so I rolled up two small pieces of paper towel and shoved them deep in my ears, hoping they didn’t show. I also rinsed off my food in the sink though I knew it wouldn’t be completely effective. I suspected that they were watching what went out of the refrigerator and into the trash, so I would have to eat something if I didn’t want to be bottle fed by Bruno.

At nine, Shelly came in to check on her baby. Yeah, I’m beginning to accept my roll. “That’s a very wet diaper, baby,” she said. In a short period of time I’ve gone from Tom, to Tommy and now, baby. They don’t waste any time around here, I thought.

“Do you want to hop on the diaper changing table for me?” she asked and I was more than happy to oblige her. I didn’t want a repeat of the last time and besides, I had late night plans.

“Has baby made a poopie,” she asked? I couldn’t believe we were going there. I said I had shortly before I was diapered.

“Well, diapers are baby’s potty now so don’t be shy. You know, we’ll know if you’ve taken your diaper off and used the potty.” I couldn’t believe we were having this conversation, nor could I believe what the future was holding for what now seems to be, baby Tommy.

“If you’re a good baby,” she said, “you’ll get to meet some others in our play room. Won’t that be fun?” and I would have liked to tell her what I thought would really be fun but I said, “I guess so.”

“You can watch some TV tonight but be sure you’re in bed by ten. Tomorrows a big day, so nighty-night.”

As soon as she left, the music started playing. I could hear part of it, but not all of it and I wondered which frequencies alter electrical brain wave patterns? There had to be a rational explanation for the effect caused by Mattie’s music. Had he stumbled upon a combination of frequencies that could alter brain waves and how one thinks?

At ten o’clock I watched the sides of my crib rise and yes, I was thinking of it as my crib now, just as I was thinking of my diaper as mine. I hated what they were doing to me. I couldn’t watch TV as they’d hear the sound or see the light flicker, so I just sat, bored and biding my time. Eventually I felt it was late enough, that everyone should be fast asleep and it was my time to be the predator and go on the hunt. As I entered the hall, I could hear the great clock in the reception area bong out its twelve warnings. At least that’s how it felt because if I were caught, I couldn’t imagine what that punishment would be.

The hall seemed quiet enough until I heard footsteps. I ducked into one of the many alcoves, hoping not to be seen. I was relying on the darkness to conceal me but the lighted emergency exits signs cast a reddish glow, creating eerie shadows which only added to The Odd Fellow’s Home mystic and I couldn’t help but wonder if it was really haunted?

I had seen much of this hall walking to Dr. Freeman’s office and of course, the hall that led to Miss Monroe’s office, so I decided to go in the opposite direction, not knowing where I was going or what there was to find. I wanted to get up to the second floor and beyond but I knew I couldn’t take the big central stairway because even at this late hour, I could hear footsteps and those feet must belong to a part of the staff that stays awake, making sure the residents don’t go wandering.

Even in the dim light, I was impressed by how well this building was restored. The two owners had spent a lot of money making this a five star hotel that catered to those who had a lot of money, but were tired of their present existence. I was glad the carpeting was thick and soft since the only shoes I had were my ridiculous baby shoes and I would have been heard if the hall had been tiled. The strangest thing though, was that being dressed as a baby in my soft lavender shortall and diaper, I felt like a little child who had snuck out of his crib to play while his parents were asleep.

I had come to the end of the hall and I guessed I was standing at the extreme left end of the building. The left tower should be upwards but where were the stairs that I saw in the plans; stairs that could take me to the second floor, a floor that housed my next level of peace and tranquility? I have one of those minds that remembers details like they were a photograph and right now, I was seeing those white lines. It was almost pitch black here at the extreme end of the hall and as I turned around, I bumped into something. There was another alcove with a table and bust, and as I bumped into it, I heard something rumble. I couldn’t see it in the darkness, but a wall panel was sliding, revealing a stairway. I ventured in only to have the door close behind me, trapping me in complete darkness. I began to panic.

Logically, there should be a light switch, so I ran my hands along the wall and yes, there it was. I wondered what I would see with the lights on and worse, was there someone who would see me? It was a chance I would have to take because at the moment, I was trapped and going nowhere.

When I flipped the switch on, I was in for a shock. What I was seeing was the original Odd Fellows Home; the real Odd Fellows Home as it must have been those many years ago. There were steps leading downward, the plaster walls flaking away from ancient water damage and the steps worn through the years by the many who may have worked here or lived in the small rooms for the poor and destitute. You could smell the decay from abandonment and years of neglect.

I had a problem. No, I had two problems. Though I got in, how was I going to get out? There were no alcoves and busts on this small landing nor could I find a switch or lever; anything that would activate the door panel. I had a choice and it was to go down those stairs which led to the basement. Personally, I hate old basements in old buildings because my past experience with them was that basements hid past secrets and I was sure there were a lot of secrets to hide in Mr. Ainslie’s murder mansion.

I got half way down the stairs and I noticed that the music, the hypnotic cello music was louder. It seemed to be filling the space, like it was travelling up and down the stairway and radiating through the building itself. I was glad I had the paper in my ears but here, where I felt closer to the source, the music or frequencies had a greater effect on me. To make matters worse, I had to use the bathroom but as Shelly said, babies wear their potties and at the moment, trapped in the darkness, the smell of rot and decay, the dark resonant frequencies of that exquisite cello; were taking me to baby land. I thought; maybe if I go downstairs, into the basement, I’d be further from the effects of Mattie’s music, so downward I walked but I wasn’t happy about it.

There was a door at the bottom of the stairs and I pushed it open. I felt like a small child who was poking into his parents’ bedroom when he knew he was supposed to be asleep in his bed. The room was pitch black, but moving my hand against the wall, I found another switch. There was an old blackened light fixture and one of the bulbs awakened after years of sleep, or so I surmised. I stared into the shadows, trying to understand what I was seeing. The room smelled of dust and mold and there was a work bench with what appeared to be some very outdated electrical equipment. It looked like a mad inventor’s workshop from the early part of the twentieth century.

I remembered sneaking into my parents’ living room late one night when they were asleep. I was maybe four or five. I turned on the TV and the original Frankenstein movie was playing. I was so scared that I wet my pajamas and in the morning, I had to lie to my parents saying I wet the bed in my sleep. That was happening to me right now. I never felt it coming. I simply wet my diaper and I could feel the warmth fill the front of my diaper, and as the music played from everywhere, I felt like a child after playing hard all day, now to find that gentle sleep. I didn’t want it to stop. I just wanted to wet my diaper and see the old Frankenstein movie, just like so many years ago.

The music stopped and I had clarity once more. I wondered, is someone playing the cello for real and do they need a break? I pushed on, finding another door which lead to another room. There were several chairs and what appeared to be a movie screen. On the opposite side was an old projector. The chairs once upholstered, were now rotted and torn, the screen a dingy white with brown streaks running from top to bottom. There was another door at the far side of the room, but it was locked. Standing there, I noticed a stone that slightly stuck out from the other foundation blocks and as I pushed it, an entire section of the wall pivoted revealing another set of stairs. I left the light on so I could see into the dark stairway as I climbed upward.

Judging by the number of steps, I knew I was passing the first floor. I hoped I would be able to find a way out of this labyrinth, now having almost forgotten about Mattie. I arrived at another landing; a small area that looked like the other, green institutional paint chips on the floor and the smell of mold that seemed to be part and parcel to old buildings. There was barely enough light to see my hand much less something that would gain me access to my freedom but there was a small round carved piece of wood, stained and varnished and attached to the left wall, a wall that was otherwise devoid of any ornamentation. I tried moving it to the left and the right, but when I pushed it up, a panel slid open and I was greeted by the second floor hallway. The smell of fresh air was exhilarating but there was something else in the air. It smelled like a nursing home and then I thought: a baby nursery.

I had to walk carefully and slowly as there was no carpet here, only what appeared to be very old tile. Though the walls looked like they were recently painted, there was no ornate wood paneling, no Tiffany light fixtures. Everything was plain and I guessed that the expensive part of the restoration ended at the first floor, the part that applicants and probationers would see. Why weren’t these wealthy members upset by their second tier accommodations? I’d soon get my answer.

I quietly walked up to the first door and was surprised to see that it wasn’t closed. At least sneaking in wouldn’t be a problem as long as I wasn’t discovered. At this point I shouldn’t have been surprised, but here the suites weren’t suites at all but rather, a one room apartment. In fact, they seemed to be just a bedroom and one that was designed for infants: very big infants, apparently.

The object that dominated the room was a real crib. Where my sleeping accommodation looked like a modified bed, this was a baby crib, only adult sized and in the crib was what I guess was a man. It was a little difficult to tell in the dark, that and the fact he was dressed like a baby. I couldn’t see his lower half as he was covered in a blanket, though the blanket wasn’t something you’d buy from Penny’s unless you were in the baby department, and this blanket was adult sized. What it wasn’t was an adult’s blanket as it had yellow ducky prints, yellow little duckies on a pastel blue blanket.

I couldn’t help but stare until he began to rouse and say something in his sleep. At least I hope he was sleeping.

“Mommy diaper me. I wike it when mommy diaper me,” was what he said and that was my cue to get the hell on out.

As I was leaving, I heard talking and footsteps. They were whispering and were difficult to hear, the squeak of their sneakers on the cold tile overshadowing their voices. Though I didn’t want to be caught, I’d have to get closer so I leaned against the doorframe, hoping the dark would conceal me. I saw two young women dressed in white, something that resembled nurses’ uniforms and they were talking about one of the residents. I wished it was Mattie but no such luck.

“Dickie was a little grumpy today,” and the other said, “You mean resistant, don’t you?

“Yeah, that he was.”

“Well you know what to do,” and they both said, “increase the dosage,” as they quietly laughed.

“His wife gave us permission to send him to the doctor.”

“She must be a beast,” the other said.

“That gives me the shivers. Suppose someone from up top was unhappy with one of us?”

“Well, they don’t take very many to the basement. Most of them are readjusted to their new lifestyle, more drugs and the tower,” and they both laughed, not as quietly this time nor as convincing. “Yeah, you don’t want to go to the left wing or the tower,” the other said.

Once they left and since I was here, I had to look into some of the other rooms. For some reason, I didn’t think Mattie would be here and from what I heard, I hoped he wasn’t sent to the doctor, if there was a real MD.

Each room was the same. There seemed to be more guys than girls, but they all looked, and what is the word I’m looking for: infantilized. Infantalized! I think I saw something about that on YouTube, and if I remember correctly, it may have come about the same time Miss Alcott told me about Mattie’s recordings.

It was getting late, or I assumed it was since I didn’t have my watch or cell phone, but I knew I had pushed my luck. I had no idea where or if there was a hidden stairway to the first floor so I would have to take the main stairway. Fortunately there were the same number of alcoves here on the second floor as there was on the first and I was sure they were original to the building designed by Horace Ainslie. I was careful to make sure no one was in the hall as I approached the main stairway and that’s when the music started. It seemed so much closer and I could almost pinpoint it to the left side of the building and I suddenly knew. It was coming from the left tower, a place I desperately wanted to explore.

The music seemed bigger, if such a thing is possible. The music seemed big and encompassing and right now, it was smothering me. I was in the music, the sea of big beautiful music and I could feel myself wetting my diaper again and I didn’t have a care in the world when two days of supper went into my diaper. I was a baby and I curled up at the bottom of the stairs and went to sleep. That’s where they found me in the morning.

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Author: dogboy
Timestamp: Oct 30, 2024 at 3:49 PM
Content: Chapter 10: Play Time
I woke up in my bed or I guess I should say, my crib. I had no memory of being moved, much like a child who falls asleep late at night in the back seat of their parents’ car and is quietly carried to their bed. I was that small child and I didn’t have a care in the world except that something felt funny. It was my diaper and what was in my diaper? I had gotten used to the feel of a wet diaper, and over the last two days, I sort of enjoyed it, but this was new and then I recalled walking down the grand stairway and how I felt. It was the last thing I remembered but the feel and smell of my diaper brought it all back and I wasn’t happy. I wasn’t happy at all.

“Hey! Can someone help me?” I called out. “Get me out of this crib,” I yelled, getting more and more agitated but I realized, they were going to let me lie here. Maybe this is what they wanted or were waiting for. I remember them saying, “Diapers are your potty,” and that sure was the case. I heard the seven a.m. announcement but my crib rails didn’t go down. The punishment begins, I thought.

It wasn’t until eight o’clock that I heard the door open. It was Shelly and instead of looking mad, she seemed happy if not overjoyed.

“Looks like we have a wet and messy little boy,” she said. Did someone make a stinky?”

I was mortified; more mortified than angry which was odd. I felt like a small child who just failed potty training. I remembered a perp on a case where I helped the cops, and when I brought him in, he was so scared he crapped his pants. Worse, I remember we all laughed at him, one of the cops calling him a baby and did he need his diapers changed.

“Does baby need his poopy diaper changed?”

“Could you please help me here?” I didn’t know what else to say.

“I think you need to ask me to change your diaper. You know how to use your words, don’t you baby? Can you say, mommy; will you change my diapee?”

I couldn’t believe she was doing this to me but what choice did I have. And there was something else. The music; the damned music was changing me and I continued to feel different, like I was feeling the effects of what I’m sure were the drugs they put in the food. Before coming to The Shelter, I would have spit in her eye but not now. I didn’t feel defensive or hostile. I felt like a small child who had an accident and needed mommy to say, that’s okay baby. Everyone has an accident now and then.

So I said, “Yes mommy. Can you change my diaper,” and she said no, now showing her displeasure.

“You were a very naughty baby last night, leaving your crib and going where babies aren’t allowed. Did you like what you saw?” she shouted; no longer being the loving mommy. Would you like to join them?”

“But you said we would eventually go to the second floor,” I answered, more like a young child than a hardened detective.

“I’m afraid you got a little ahead of yourself and saw some things little babies shouldn’t see because it might frighten them. Isn’t that right baby!”

“I guess,” I answered sheepishly.

“So here’s what we’re going to do. If you remember, today is playtime when you and some others can play with your toys in the baby room. But we don’t want you to frighten the other children. Oh no baby. That would never do because they need to go to the second floor just like you, but not until they’re ready. They’ve paid a lot of money for the full experience so we’ll make sure you don’t tell them.”

I wondered how they were going to pull that off because I was going to warn Marty and anyone else who was there. I was sure there were a number of people on this floor because old man Ainslie’s mansion is a big estate and the building is deep and wide. I had only scratched the surface last night.

“We have an hour to get you fed and dressed so that you can play and be with the others on time,” and she poked her phone. It wasn’t long before Bruno and his friend entered the room.

“Oh, baby’s made a stinky.” Bruno and his friend were laughing. “Help me Walter as we lower the railing,” Walter tapped his phone lowering the rails, and the two unceremoniously yanked me off the mattress and shoved me toward the kitchen.

As they pushed me through the bedroom doorway and out into the hall, I was in for another big surprise. Gone were the expensive kitchen chairs and in their place was a very large highchair. Walter picked me up and let me drop into the chair, Bruno pulling the tray over my head and Walter strapping me in. Let’s just say that whatever was in my diaper was squishing out into unwanted places.

“Baby’s going to eat his baby food,” and Bruno presented a large glass bottle that looked like a baby food bottle, but was large enough to contain enough warm oatmeal for two people.

“Eat up baby,” and Bruno did the whole here come the airplane and shoved the spoon into my mouth. I had no other choice but to swallow. The oatmeal had a medicinal taste and I knew what was happening. I was being sedated and in addition, I was starting to hallucinate. I swear I could see another baby sitting at the other end of the table and it sure wasn’t Walter, who at the moment, looked more like Luther from The Umbrella Academy.

Bruno kept feeding me and I kept swallowing and with each bite, I was less myself and more like someone else. I may have been in my adult body, but at a much earlier stage in my life. I was ready to burst from eating so much oatmeal, but they weren’t done. Walter got a large baby bottle from the fridge and Bruno made sure I drank all of it. I actually burped.

When they were finished, they took me back to the bedroom. I actually needed help walking, probably from the sedatives so Bruno guided me, holding me up by my shoulders.

I couldn’t wait to get my diaper changed but that didn’t happen. Instead, they put a pair of plastic baby pants over my diaper and damned if they didn’t have some sort of ruffles.

Walter said, “Oh look at the little sissy baby with her rumba panties,” and then they put a t-shirt on me. I have no idea what picture was on the shirt but I heard one of them laugh and say, “There you go, little stinker,” and I guessed it must have said something like that. They didn’t bother to put socks or shoes on me and when they were finished, someone else came into the room. In my drugged condition, it was hard for me to tell who it was, but it looked like Sheila and she was pushing something with wheels that looked like a baby stroller, only bigger.

“Let’s go little baby. Everyone’s waiting for you.”

By now I could hardly walk though I shouldn’t have worried as Bruno lifted me into the stroller and pulled the straps around my chest and torso.

“You’re going to get to ride on the elevator. Won’t that be exciting for our dirty little baby.”

I was about to explore new places, places I would have liked to have found last night, but places I would not be able to remember. I was aware that we were making a number of left and right turns, having passed Dr. Freeman’s office. My eyes wandered from left to right and up and down and I was entertained by the beauty of carved wood crisscrossing the ceiling, and the kaleidoscope of colored light coming from the ceiling chandeliers.

We came to a dead end, the end of the hall which made no sense to me but I did see the woman tilt one of the light sconces to the side and much to my amazement, the wall slid over and there was an elevator.

“Elabator,” I said and the pretty woman pushed me inside. There was music playing, like many of the elevators in the city. I couldn’t remember actually being an adult, going to work, entering and leaving buildings and at the moment, not remembering concerned me. The elevator ride upset my stomach but it didn’t last long. The doors soon opened and the same music was playing out here as well. They rolled me down a long hall. We turned right through some double doors and I was amazed. There were a lot of babies, talking and yelling, crawling on the floor and playing.

The woman said, “Okay baby. Go play and make some new friends. You’re going to be here for awhile and when we’re done, will show you your new home.”

I had to crawl because I didn’t have the strength or coordination to walk. That much I would remember. I looked at the babies and realized they’re big like me: big babies like me.

I crawled up to several but one said, “Oooo, he made a poopy diaper. They all turned and looked at me and they moved further away, returning to their friends. There were some big blocks in the far corner so I crawled in that direction, wanting to build a house.

I had been in the playroom for what seemed like a long time and I was getting bored with my blocks. No one bothered me because they didn’t want to get close and who could blame them. Even though the music was playing, the drugs were wearing off and I began to achieve some clarity, perhaps that of a five year old. That’s when I saw Marty. I knew there was something I had to tell him but I couldn’t think what it was. I was able to walk now. At least I think I could but I crawled because it was easier. It seemed like the right thing to do.

The music kept drilling into my head and I wanted it to stop. It made me feel like a baby. Later I would remember to block it but now it just confused me.

“Marty,” I said. I’m sure I was using my outdoor voice but so were most of the toddlers here. “Marty. There’s somethin’ I haffa tell you,” I tried to say.

He looked at me and said, “Oh Tommy! What have they done to you?” I looked at Marty and for the first time, I realized he was fully dressed; like a boy baby but he had on a shirt, shortall, socks and shoes, and I was wearing just a baby shirt and a very dirty diaper. It was then that I remembered who I was. Marty called me Tommy and whatever I was on, I was able to redirect my mind to Thomas Garrett.

“Marty,” I said. Dun let’m send you to duh the theccon floor.

He looked confused and said, “But Tommy. We are on the second floor,” and I said, yeah, but we not in dah udder part.” I had trouble putting my thoughts and words together.

“They make babies out of us on dah udder part,” I was able to get out.

“I know,” he said and he seemed resigned to his fate. “Maybe it’s not so bad being a baby,” he said, but I wasn’t going to let that happen to me.

Eventually a bell rang and a number of staff members appeared. They were all wearing white jackets and pants or slacks. I now could recognize Sheila.

“Let’s go baby, she said and I willingly hopped into my baby stroller and I thought, I called it mine again. Damn it.

Chapter 11: New Accommodations
As Sheila wheeled me through the hall; I noticed we passed where the elevator was, or should be even though it was hidden.

“We need to go down, Sheila,” I said but she kept on pushing my stroller. We zigged through the maze of halls and I surmised we were back where we started, except on the second floor, not the first.

She pushed me toward a door whose cheap plastic name plate said room 12 B.

“This isn’t right, Sheila,” my adult mind beginning to return.

“Oh but it is baby. You wanted to see the second floor. You wanted to see what goes on here and now you can be a part of it.”

She opened the door and pushed me through and I was in for another surprise. Sitting in a worn wooden chair was Miss Monroe and she didn’t look happy.

“Well Mr. Garrett; we meet again.” She was wearing wire rimmed reading glasses and she was holding the damn pamphlet, as if she didn’t know it my heart and had to actually read it. I assumed it was for affect, the bitch.

“It appears you have broken a number of the rules and as you know, there will be punishments. You asked, what were the punishments, and now you’ll get to experience them. We know who you are Mr. Garrett and we know who sent you. We may not be able to deal with Miss Alcott but we certainly can handle you, especially since you’re well on your way to becoming a little baby. Isn’t that right Mr. Garret?”

“You can’t get away with this,” I yelled, trying to get out of the stroller. “Sooner or later my client will become suspicious if I don’t report back to her.”

“She may, but you signed a contract, if you recall. All of our clients signed a contract. You want to be here, according to your contract. You want the carefree life of a baby who doesn’t care about the consequences.”

“Is that what happened to Marty? I hear his wife signed him in and what about Matthew? Miss Alcott will keep looking for him and sooner or later, she’ll send someone after me, and then another and another until she finds her fiancé.”

“But what if Matthew doesn’t want to be found? What if Matthew wants to be baby Mattie, diapers, baby bottles and all,” and she laughed one of the most evil laughs I’ve ever heard come from a lady. Scratch that. She’s definitely no lady unless Satin has a daughter.

But she gave something away. Matthew is here. Maybe he wants this life but maybe he discovered the same thing Marty did, that things can go way too far.

“Enough of this chit chat. Adults don’t listen to babies. Here is your situation following the rules from the pamphlet. You should have read it a little more carefully baby Tommy but I guess you didn’t have time or maybe you weren’t old enough to read,” and again she laughed. For all of her pretend elegance, I noticed she was missing several teeth.

“You will be pushed to the next level. Normally this takes weeks but you’re our special case. We can’t send you home saying bad things about us, can we baby? If you think the drugs you received this morning were mind blowing, wait ‘tll you see what’s coming,” and even Sheila laughed, though she looked like maybe she shouldn’t. Was it fear that I saw in her eyes?

“Did you know,” she said, “that there are two albums to that wonderful music; you know: Mattie’s music?”

“If it’s so wonderful, why are you and the staff wearing ear plugs,” I interjected.

“You noticed that, did you? Clever baby. We never play the second set of compositions except for the rare exceptions and baby; you’re the biggest exception of them all. Of Course you’ll continue to wear diapers because that’s what babies need. You will be treated like a baby, taken care of like a baby, and the best part is that you’ll have the mind of a baby. You won’t know who you once were or what’s happened to you. All you’ll want is to be fed and have your diapers changed. We’ll take care of you for a long, long time and when it’s over, there will be nothing left of Thomas Garrett.”

“Won’t you be pissed when a year’s up and there’s nothing left of me to pay your satanic blood money?” I’ve always cracked jokes when I’ve found myself in dangerous situations. It frees my mind and I’ve always gotten out of situations like this; at least until now.

“Enough of this bullshit,” she said and I knew something. She was just like all the rest of us working slobs. She was not part of the money that built this hell hole. She was just another employee and not as bright as she would have others think. There were still two people out there somewhere who created this, and I had to find them. Right now, it was more important than finding Mattie, who I was sure, had become baby Mattie.

Miss Monroe got up from her chair, smoothed her butch looking business suit and said in passing, and if you found the basement, then you found our little theater. Imagine seeing special movies all while Mattie’s music is playing. You will regress and regress and when we’re done with you, we will leave you in the parking lot of a mental institution. You will be a mystery to them and they will try to find out what happened, why your healthy young body has the brain of an infant. By the time they have the answer, it will be too late. It will be too late for everyone.” She slammed the door behind her.

I was left with Sheila and she was on her phone. I had to think fast so I started sneezing.

“I need a tissue,” I yelled, just like a four year old. I need a tissue, I need a tissue I need a tissue,” until she said alright and texted Walter. When he came into the room, I reached from my stroller and grabbed the box. As I blew my nose, I tore off two pieces of tissue, rolled them up as hard as I could, ducked my head down with another fake sneeze, and shoved the paper as far and deep as I possibly could into my ears. It would have to work.

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Author: dogboy
Timestamp: Oct 30, 2024 at 3:51 PM
Content: Chapter 12: Baby Land
“You’re not going to give me any trouble, are you baby, because Bruno and the other staff members will see that you behave yourself.“

“No,” I answered in a somewhat childish voice, hoping they’d think I was still under the effects of the drugs.

“No baby. No trouble at all and in a minute, you won’t be giving anyone trouble because Nurse Ida is coming and she has a shot for baby. Think of it as your first baby vaccine only this one will keep you from getting that horrible disease called adulthood.”

“No,” I yelled and I jumped out of my stroller. I had released the straps when they were distracted and was going to make a break for the door but Bruno grabbed me and threw me onto my crib mattress, knocking the wind out of me. Both he and Walter held me down and Sheila grabbed my arm. I had just enough time to look up and what I saw I didn’t like at all. Matronly Nurse Ida was holding what looked like a very large syringe and she was tapping the side, sending little bubbles of god only knows what through the needle.

“This won’t hurt a bit,” she said. “This is going to send you to baby land.”

I could feel the needle go into my vein and there was nothing I could do. I couldn’t imagine that anything existed that could make a person think they were a real baby, but I was wrong. There was a rushing sound in my head and I felt like I was going to pass out. I could hear voices around me. I think Nurse Ida and the goons left leaving me alone with Sheila which on the surface would seem really stupid since all I wanted to do was get the hell out of this mad house and I would do anything to accomplish that, but my fight or flight feeling left along with the rushing sensation. It was replaced with a new sensation.

“Dah dah,” I said, as the only thoughts I had in my head were simple ones. I was thirsty and I think I heard myself cry.

Somewhere in the distance I heard Sheila, or was it mommy? I couldn’t tell, but I heard her say, “That’s okay baby. Mommy’s here to make everything better. Let’s get you out of that terrible dirty diaper. You’ve made a big mess in your diaper,” and all I could think was, I want my diaper changed.

Then I had a new sensation. I could smell something ancient; something I hadn’t smelled in a long time. What was it? I tried to remember. The baby part of me knew immediately: diaper cream and baby powder and I loved it. The smell was strong and somehow, my long ago sense of smell had been awakened. I was that little child who struggled to understand the world around them and these incredible aromas were unlocking my mind and all those forgotten and neglected past memories that had lain dormant for one quarter of a century became my new reality.

“No baby! Don’t pee until I get your clean diaper on,” I heard her say. I guess I had lost all control but it wasn’t something I thought about. It just happened and it felt good. I felt her put something on me. She put something over my head and helped get my arms through the sleeves. I heard a snapping sound: snap, snap, snap as she secured my onesie.

“I think baby’s thirsty. Come on baby and walk with me to the chair.”

I didn’t feel like I could walk so I crawled behind her. There was a refrigerator in the room and she stopped to get something from it. She guided me over to the chair and sat down.

“Come on baby. Stand up so you can sit in my lap.”

There was still enough of me left to understand what she was saying so I did just that. She held me at an angle and I saw what she was holding. She had taken a baby bottle from the refrigerator and at the moment, it was the one thing I wanted. When she placed the nipple by my mouth, I greedily started sucking. The experience was electrifying. I can’t say I remember experiencing anything like it and so I latched on and sucked. Whatever was in it looked and tasted like milk, only a little different. I experienced a warm peacefulness, something I hoped would never end.

“Come on baby; give me a hug.”

I turned around to hug mommy and that’s when she patted my back and I burped.

“That’s a good baby. Let’s go back to your crib because it’s nap time,” and she took my hand just as she took control over what I had become, a reliant one year old. I climbed in and she raised the rails and as she did, the music started playing, the wonderful soothing music that I now loved. It wasn’t very loud and sounded distant, but it was there somewhere outside of me. As I was falling asleep I relaxed completely wetting my diaper. It felt so good.

“Night-night baby,” was the last thing I heard. She left the door open, just like all the other doors on the second floor. We were safe and secure, some of us more than others.

My parents didn’t live in the city nor did they live in New York. They lived near the Jersey Pine Barrens along the bay, and when I was a very young child, sleeping in the summer, my mom and dad would keep the windows open because we didn’t have air conditioning. No one did in our remote little community and I would listen to the whip-poor-wills chilling call as they hunted late at night. It would be hot and I would sleep with only a sheet over me, not nearly enough covers to hide beneath when I was scared because there was a dark stranger who would come into my room when the house was quiet and my parents were asleep. I would know when he entered, little me suddenly awake. He was the shadow man, and he would stand at the foot of my bed. He would stand there and then he would grab my foot. That’s when I would scream and my mom would come running. Night terrors, is what they called it.

I was asleep and somewhere in the distance was the music. It started from above, like it was drifting downward through a tunnel and it kept drifting like fog, downward and downward until it reached me. It kept moving and I felt like I was moving with it. I woke up terrified. I looked toward the foot of my bed only to realize that I wasn’t in my bed but rather, I was in a crib. I was afraid, clutching my baby blanket and holding it up to my face as if to hide from whatever had entered my room.

In kindergarten, if a child had an accident, the other children would point and laugh and say, look at the baby: little baby wet their diaper and I think that’s exactly what I was doing. I had that horrible feeling and there was someone else in the room; someone else to see what I had done and that’s when I looked over the hem of my blankie and beyond the crib railing. Standing at the foot of my crib, looking at me through the wooden slats was a dark little man, but it wasn’t a man. It was child sized and it was pointing at me, pointing and laughing with a child’s voice. It was completely dark, its shape, a void of blackness where no light could enter and now it was saying, “baby, baby,” over and over and if that wasn’t bad enough, another one appeared.

Again I pulled my blanket, my small thin baby blanket up to my face, trying to hide but I had to look. I had to see what was standing near my feet and I had to see what it might do. That’s when another one appeared and another and another.

They were all pointing and saying in one solitary voice, “baby-baby-diaper-baby, baby-baby-diaper-baby,” but then they said something else; something terrifying.

“Take the baby to baby land. Take the baby to baby land,” and I felt the crib move. It was moving a lot. It was rolling through my open door and I knew that door should have been closed. I knew all the doors should be closed because late at night, anything can walk through that open portal. Why did mommy do that to me, I wondered and I tried to scream. I wanted so badly to scream but I couldn’t. I couldn’t get anything to come out of my mouth and somehow I knew that wherever they were taking me, it was going to be horrible. It was going to be horrible and I would never be able to leave.

I was a passenger on the baby boat to hell and the shadows were its pilot. “Baby Land,” they said, “where baby can lie in his own pee and mess,” and they guided my crib down the hall. Here there were no dimmed hall lights. There were no exit signs or what should have been The Shelter’s staff. The hall had gone back a century and a half. There were twists and turns that did not reside in the twenty-first century, at least not to anyone living in The Shelter. And I was changing. I was wearing something that looked like a dress, a white frilly nightgown and my diaper was different. My diaper was cloth and pinned in the corners. My diaper was soaking wet as I seemed to be continually wetting and I felt like I was lying in my own filth, something they kept repeating over and over.

“Look and see,” said the first and was repeated by the others. “Look and see what he has done.”

We traveled though halls that were not meant to be seen except for one person and one person only. We came to a wall, a wall with stained and peeling flowery wallpaper, a wall that was diseased and smelled like death. A panel slid open and we were in an elevator, not like the one I rode in earlier but a much older device. I could hear rusted chains run through iron gears and we were going up and up: up into the tower. I was immediately overcome with a feeling of dread.

“Come with us diaper baby,” and I was out of my crib and standing upright. I wanted to run, run far away but I couldn’t. I had to follow them and with each step, I became more afraid. We walked up a narrow stairway which led to a room and I found myself standing in its center and in that center was darkness: overwhelming darkness. We were in the top tower room: the west tower and it appeared to be a music room. There were bookshelves piled with yellowed music, a grand piano, and in the center was an old, worn armless wooden chair. In front of that was a cello stand supporting a very old cello and to see the cello, to be near the cello, was terrifying.

“Come,” they said and we walked to the far end of the room, to the wood carved bookshelf and I watched as the specter pushed one of the carved flowers, causing the bookshelf to swing open. There was a dark cavern behind it and going through the darkness was the one thing I didn’t want to do, but I was in that darkness and the only thing I could do was walk forward because to stay was worse. We came to another hidden stairway that only led down.

“Is this what you wanted to see,” the first said and we were on the third floor, standing in a grand ballroom. The room was lavish, reminding me of a past gone era of millionaires and robber barons and it was decorated for Halloween. As I tried to understand what I was seeing, men and women began to appear. It was a party, a gathering of some very unique guests and they were swaying to the music as they talked to one another. Champagne was being served, waiters passing from one guest to another. I saw a large ornate dining table adorned with jack o’ lanterns and it was set for dinner, but the plates were baby plates along with baby spoons and knives. There were sippy cups and baby bottles instead of coffee cups and water glasses. In the distance was the sound of a bow crossing its strings. It was a cello.

The guests were changing. They began to talk like toddlers and I gradually became aware that the men were no longer wearing tuxedos nor were the women in expensive party dresses but rather, they were dressed like very young children donning childlike Halloween costumes. There was an announcement that dinner would be served and those who had been holding cocktail glasses, were putting them on the waiters’ trays as they were being seated. They had traded their adult drinks for those of a baby just as they had traded their adult clothes for Halloween baby apparel and diapers.

“Come,” said the dark entity, and the ballroom faded away. I was back in my crib, traveling from one dark hall to the next, the crib going faster and faster and when it stopped, we were at the other end of the building, still on the third floor. But this part of the building wasn’t new like The Shelter. There were gas lights on the wall giving off some flickering illumination. One of the shadows tilted the fixture and the wall opened up, revealing another stairway. I was outside my crib, climbing up and with each step, the dread I was feeling increased. We came to a landing and there was a door. When the shadow pushed it open, I was assaulted by something horrible. Death was here. I was being pulled, pulled toward something I wished I could escape. The room was dark and there was an emptiness that made me want to cry, like I had been separated from anyone or anything that was dear to me. If there was a God, He was not allowed here.

There was an institutional looking bed. Its metal rails were rusted where the white paint had chipped but it was the mattress that stood out. There was a dark stain and it smelled of blood and something else. I could not take my eyes off of it. Something terrible happened here.

Beside the bed was an IV stand alongside a rusted metal cabinet. There were several machines with dials, voltage meters; something out of a horror movie. I saw a metal table with medical tools, the kind one would see in a hospital or a morgue, the kind used for cutting and sawing. I desperately wanted to leave.

They found another stairway and we climbed to the top room and when we got there, I was confused by what I saw. A long metal apparatus was standing horizontally and it stretched from ceiling downward through the floor. Above it was a skylight, one with hinges and a chain.

“See us,” one of them said and I was looking at a young child. They were changing, one by one; those dark voids that terrified me, the part that defied light, drifting away, being absorbed by the steel cylinder, the darkness being absorbed and drifting down its long shaft. I wondered, did it connect to hell itself.

“He created us and he destroyed us just like he’ll do to you, Tommy.”

They know my name, I thought. Oh dear God; they know my name.

“You must see,” and another door opened all by itself.

They surrounded me, pushed me toward the stairs and clung to me as we walked down, forever downward, their ice cold bodies surrounding me and it seemed like it would never end; a never ending stairway that ended in hell and in a way it did because we were in a different part of the basement, a morbid recess that was not a part of The Shelter but was very much part of Briarwood, Horace Ainslie’s murder mansion.

That metal shaft that looked like it came from the original Frankenstein movie; it terminated here in the cellar, hanging from the basement rafters. This was the apex. This is where it started so long ago. The spirits or whatever they were, appeared younger, as if they were physically regressing. I could see them clearly now, dressed in their toddler clothes. Some wore diapers and baby shirts while others were dressed in onsies or bloomers and for the first time, I felt sorry for them until they showed their true selves.

“Come join us,” one of them said. “Soon you’ll be one of us so join us now. You know you’re a baby. You know you want to be a baby.”

The others joined in, taunting me, having fun at my expense and there was nothing I could do. I was a prisoner trapped in their world, one that was created more than a century and a half ago.

“You’ll soon be like us so why not now,” Look around you. Look at the chair, the chair we were strapped into. See the shaft of enlightenment terminating above the chair, the same shaft that reaches to the clouds through the east tower. Do you not see more black electrical boxes with dials and gauges, devices only Satin himself could conjure, here and in the tower room? He made this just as he made Briarcliff. He was obsessed, living in his baby world and you can join him. You can join all of us and that was when I fell onto the filthy cellar floor clutching my stomach. I was no longer the big strong detective that had enrolled in a program that would bring peace and happiness. Thomas Garrett was gone and would never return. I was baby Tommy and when I realized that, I grew smaller and smaller, just like my shadowy friends.

“Your diaper is your potty,” one of them said and I was sure it was something that was as much a part of the walls and foundation of Briarwood as were the stones and mortar, something even the new owners and staff couldn’t escape. I wondered, what affect would it have on someone who overstayed their welcome at The Shelter?

I wanted to scream to the heavens. I wanted to say no and suddenly I did. I could talk but what I said was, “Why did you bring me here?”

“We wanted you to see us. I was Robert a long time ago but I’m baby Robbie. He changed me. He changed all of us just like he’s going to change you. There is no escape. This place is diseased. Come look with me”, and he grabbed my hand, just like a little boy. He grabbed my hand and jerked me up and forward, pulling me to the center of this dark and dank cellar. We passed an old coal furnace and its coal bin.

“This is the epicenter,” said the ghostly child. “This is what you must see,” and the stone floor beneath us began to crack. There was a deafening sound, stone scraping against stone and we stepped back as the cellar floor itself began to part, much like the red sea, but this sea was brown, a dirty putrid smelling brown and I knew what it was.

There was an underground waterway that ran beneath Briarwood. It had probably been there for hundreds of thousands of year, carved by the ancient sea, only to be abandoned when the oceans receded. But this stream, like Briarwood, was diseased. Over the years as people built their mansions and dug their septic systems, it all had to go somewhere just as the lies and cheating that made them wealthy also had to go somewhere and here it was, the sewer from hell.

“It’s time to join us, to be one of us,” said Bobby. They will never let you leave this place so join us. It feels so good to be a baby, Tommy. We wanted to be young and live forever so look at us,” and I was relieved to divert my eyes from that putrid sewer and appreciate their cute and innocent faces. Oh to be a child again, I thought and there was something else that I had so far resisted. I wanted to be diapered. I wanted a mommy who would change my diapers, dress me like a baby and take care of me and that’s when Bobby said, “Save us,” and he pushed me into the sewer.

I started to scream “No,” but I was too late, falling forward into the foul waste from hell and I knew where it was taking me. I knew what it would do to me. I rushed downward into the dark; downward into the depravity that was not only my prison but my fondest, hidden secret. The contents of this discharge would be my new home. It would encompass my thoughts with my desires and those desires would be to wear diapers and use them like a baby, to be connected to that which would give me eternal pleasure.

There was another part of me that also knew where I was going, and that part was my worst nightmare. I would be in hell, a hell that was a continuing dream of being in diapers surrounded by those who weren’t. They would see me and call me a baby. I would be a school boy in diapers, wearing them in class and I would be bullied. I would be called names. I would be hit and punched and abandoned, and when I wanted to go home, when I wanted my mommy, there would be no one waiting at a house that didn’t exist and it would repeat again and again, and that’s when I screamed.

Chapter 13 A Return to Routine
I thought I was home. I thought I was that child with the terrible nightmares, the night terrors, and I screamed in the night for my mommy.

“Oh, what’s the matter baby? Did you have a bad dream?” It was one of the night staff. I didn’t recognize her but I was glad she was here.

“I see the problem,” she said. “Baby has a wet and messy diaper.” “Oh my! How did you get all this on you,” she said. “Don’t worry. I’ll change your diaper, clean your up and then you can go back to sleep.

This was almost as bad as the dream. Apparently, I’ve lost control. I’ve lost control of my bowl and bladder and I realized; I need diapers. What else has happened to my body, I wondered, and where has it been?”

This may sound strange, but I was glad, if not relieved, to feel her hands touch my skin. I was glad when she removed my soiled diaper and cleaned me off with what must have been a dozen adult sized baby wipes. It felt good when she rubbed the diaper lotion on me and I felt a sense of well being when I smelled the baby powder. The best part was when I felt the new diaper, the tabs pulled around my waist and secured. The music was playing quietly, or it seemed that way since I had been putting any kind of paper that I could find, into my ears. At this point, it had become a habit, something I thought I should be doing, just like a toddler who does weird, unexplainable things.

When she was done she said, “Night night baby,” and she left, leaving the door open, one of the rules for the second floor. We never left their sight. They were everywhere and at night, there always were several of these young women, walking the halls and checking to make sure their babies were where they were supposed to be: safely tucked in their cribs and not exploring. I of course, was one of the curious who might leave their room late at night.

I was wide awake and after what I just experienced, I didn’t want to go back to sleep. I didn’t want another visit from my dead friends, so I lay in my crib, as if I had any choice, and tried to hear what my caretaker was saying to another surrogate mommy, out in the hall. It was late into the night, almost early morning and the drugs they gave me had mostly worn off. I remembered that I had made some crude earplugs and if I was going to learn what they were saying, I would have to pull one out.

There was the music, Mattie’s music and I had a good idea what he may have become. My dream was so real. I was convinced it was real; real in some sense of the word because after tonight, reality had changed significantly.

“Is your Bluetooth working? Can you hear me Stacy?”

“Yeah,” she said.

I would see all these young women walking up and down the halls and they looked like candy stripers except their uniforms didn’t have stripes. They had pictures of baby animals, or diapers and baby bottles: pacifiers; that sort of thing, all the things that pushed us further into baby land.

“That’s good,” she said. “That music creeps me out and lately, I feel like one of them.”

“What do you mean?” Stacy asked.

“Don’t tell anyone, but I’m wearing a diaper,” and she giggled. “It’s that fucking music. Thank god they gave us the noise cancelling ear buds today so we can actually talk to each other without screaming.”

“Yup, the ear monitors, but I think it’s more than that. Have you seen them? You know; when you’re just doing your work and then you see a shadow peek out from some place in the hall; some place where there’s no door or room or anything like that. They always said this place is haunted.”

“Shhh. We’re not supposed to talk about that. Miss Monroe said….”

“Fuck her. I’d like to know who I’m working for.”

“Don’t tell anyone, but I’m thinking about leaving. Getting the hell on out.”

“Why/”

“I heard Monroe and Shelly talking. They have big plans for baby Tommy.”

“Oh. He’s so cute.”

“Well don’t get attached to him. He’s not what you think. Apparently he’s some sort of plant. I heard Monroe say the owners were going to deal with him and that no one would have to worry about him.”

“What do you think that means?”

“Don’t you get it? This place has a reputation for people disappearing. You know the story; all these people disappearing like the roach motel. You go in but you don’t go out.”

“More like Hotel California.”

“Well, I’m going to make him happy until whatever happens. They’ve really turned him into a baby. Maybe they won’t have to do anything. Dr. Freeman’s going to come in at night and do some sort of hypnotism thing while he sleeps. That damn music should do the rest and then he won’t be able to say anything other than, goo-goo, gah-gah” and they both laughed.

I was going to have to do something. I never imagined they murdered people here, but erasing one’s mind was almost as bad. I didn’t think that was possible but I remembered the shot nurse Ida had given me. Would continuous doses do that? I jammed what was left of my paper earplug deep into my ear canal. It would have to do.

Over the days, I was attended by the staff just like a baby. I ate all of my meals in the second floor cafeteria, seated as a toddler in my highchair. The others sat in adult sized booster seats. I have no idea how long I had been living at the shelter. Between the drugs in our food and the constant music, I was regressing more and more. My paper earplugs helped, but there was no controlling the drugs, much of what I guessed were depressants and hallucinogens.

I was able to notice that some of the guests stopped coming to the cafeteria. I heard one of the night workers say Daphnie was on the third floor. Another night, Stacy said Marty went home to his wife. I thought: all that money and he’s going to be his wife’s baby, pissing and messing himself in his diaper, being changed and fed by a hired nurse while his wife spends his money. It’s not so bad being a baby, he told me.

For several nights, Dr. Freeman would come into my room. I’d always wake up. I have this sixth sense for self preservation. Maybe it was because of the dreams I had when I was a little kid, the shadow man entering my room. I’d always wake up when he appeared just as I’d wake up when Dr. Freeman would come. I wondered which was worse.

I wanted to laugh at his attempt to infantilize me. Yes the drugs were present, but they grew weaker as the hours passed. It was difficult to hear what he was saying and I was glad for that because he kept repeating I was a baby; I wanted to be a baby. He’d repeat his practiced lines over and over, that I wanted diapers. I wanted to be diapered and taken care of. I am a baby. I am a baby, always a baby and through the many nights, I began to believe it. Not only did I believe it, but I felt it deep down in my soul.

His voice was a soft monotone; a low, never changing pitch and it would put me to sleep. Two weeks of this and I no longer cared. It wasn’t so bad to be a baby. Where had I heard that before?

Shelia spent a lot of time with me during the day. She’d take me to the playroom and sit with me as I made towers from blocks, or played with some Tonka toys. There were other babies who would walk over and ask if I wanted to play, but when I had trouble talking, more dah dahing or, “I wanna pway wiff truh,” than real words, they’d leave and it was just me and Shelia. She always understood me.

On better days, probably days when I wasn’t very hungry, I was more engaged with a few of the others. There were two boys I’d play trucks with and we’d talk. But over time, I wouldn’t see them and there’d be someone new.

On day Sheila said, “Would you like to see where some of your friends are? When you were a big boy, you asked about the third floor. Would you like to see that?”

“Yes mommy,” I said though I couldn’t remember wanting to see it. I’m not sure I knew there was a third floor. I couldn’t remember.

She put me in my stroller and pushed me through the halls. I remembered the elevator because it had taken me to my room but we were going to someplace new and I was a little anxious.

The doors opened and there was revelation. The same ornate halls and fixtures, the beautiful wood paneling, the alcoves and tables; it was just like the first floor and that opened the floodgates of my memories. I was being led to Miss Monroe’s office. I was signing the contract and taken to my suite. It all came back but there was more. There was so much more.

“Look,” said Sheila. “Look. They’ve decorated the hall for the big Halloween party, and look. Some of your friends are here.“

“They passed the probationary period and they’ve achieved what they wanted,” and she said to herself, “and spent all that money just so they could feel good about wearing diapers and baby clothes.”

I recognized Daphnie. She was wearing a beautiful little girl’s dress and I could see her diaper. In fact, everyone was dressed like a little boy or a little girl. With my heightened sense of smell I knew they all enjoyed using their diapers but then, so did I, so why wasn’t I here? Maybe it was because they were more adult than baby and I wasn’t. Maybe it was because they were moving on and I was stuck.

“See your friends, baby? After awhile, they’ll go back to their lives, working and playing as adults, but they’ll also be babies. They’ll regress to where they’ll feel like babies. They’ll wet in their sleep like babies. Maybe a spouse will change their diaper and maybe they’ll both be in diapers changing each other. It’s the new world Tommy, but I don’t think you’ll be part of it I’m afraid,” and she wheeled me back to the elevator and took me to room 12 B where I would remain a baby. But something came alive in me. Though I had never been to the ball room on the third floor, it was exactly what I had seen on my midnight ghostly journey with the lost children and I guessed those children belonged to the bones that were discovered all those years ago in Horace Ainslie’s mansion. “Save us,” they said. I would be roaming tonight.

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Author: dogboy
Timestamp: Oct 30, 2024 at 3:52 PM
Content: Chapter 14: It Was a Dark and Stormy Night
I heard them talking out in the hall. There was a storm coming. The Jersey Shore could whip up some nasty storms, especially if it was a hurricane. This one was hurricane Edith and they were complaining that they would be working their butts off because some of their wealthy residents would be frightened like little children.

I heard Stacey again, talking to the same girl. “Shit,” she said. “I hate when stuff like this happens. If you can believe the weather report, there’s going to be a lot of lightning and thunder. And then there’s the wind. A hundred and thirty mile an hour gusts.”

“Oh who believes what they say. It’s probably fake news. I wouldn’t worry about it,” the other said.

“Well just get ready for a shit storm.”

“Yeah, I’ve changed enough shit storms to last a lifetime,” laughing as they walked off.

This was my chance. If I was going to find Mattie and get out of here, this would probably be my only chance. Of course, there would be a lot of personnel out in the hall and that would present problems, but if there was a lot of crying and carrying on, I might be able to slip out. If my dream wasn’t a dream; if those forgotten halls were real, they were out there somewhere. That analytical mind of mine that doesn’t ever forget; it still remembered those right and left turns. The only problem was that our journey began at the end of the hall just like my first journey on the first floor. I wondered what I would find here on the second floor.

It was nine o’ clock and Stacy had me dressed in a onesie with diapered animal prints and of course, my diaper. There was no doubt in my mind that I needed diapers so I wasn’t complaining. Besides, I felt comfortable in diapers, like they somehow belonged on me, or I belonged in them. I think it was the latter. Even though my room was windowless, I could hear the wind howling. Everyone could and the diapered residents were getting restless. I was hoping they’d get very restless because I needed them as cover.

There was more chatter out in the halls and I struggled to hear what they were saying, but I didn’t want to risk hearing too much because that damn cello music seemed louder. It also had a greater affect on me. I suddenly wanted to go back into my crib, kick my feet and enjoy what I was: a baby. More than that, I wanted to enjoy my diaper which at the moment, felt so incredibly good. As I thought about it, I realized, Mattie must be playing from his second series of compositions, the ones that will really rock your cradle. Maybe the higher ups were controlling him and thereby, controlling us. It would make sense.

I tried to focus. I couldn’t lose this opportunity and that’s when the first big clap of lightning and thunder hit. There was a crack that sounded like it was right on top of us and if all the infantilized residents were asleep in their cribs here on the second floor, they sure as hell weren’t now. The hall windows magnified the brilliance of the lightening. Each lightning strike created an eerie ambiance of strobing light and shadows which found its way into each and every open door. The pamphlet was clear on open doors and at the moment, that was bringing not just crying, but a lot of shrieking and screaming from all those rooms which contained the wealthy adults who wanted to feel like a baby and they were getting the full experience even if was unwanted.

There was another great crack and another and another and it became apparent to me that Briarcliff was one big lightning rod and then I thought of the east tower. If anything in my strange dream was true, I had a good idea what that metal cylindrical rod could do, starting from the roof and terminating at the cesspool of the world.

I was barefoot, just like a baby so I didn’t make any noise when I peeked around my doorsill. What I saw was chaos as a dozen candy strippers; I’ve been calling them that for awhile just to amuse myself, and men, rushed into the rooms trying to calm the strange population that was The Shelter. But those members, probably none of them regressed to the extreme that I was, weren’t putting up with it. Some had run out into the hall demanding to see the owners. They couldn’t be treated this way, or so they shouted and they were met with the kind of violence they thought they were protected from, living in their gated communities and financing the local police forces.

They were being “Walter’d” back to their rooms and unceremoniously locked behind their doors and when the next big strike of lightning shook the very foundation of Briarwood, I took off running, turned left into a narrower hall and ran into the darkness just as all the lights went out. Somewhere deep in the bowls of Ainslie’s murder mansion, I heard an old gas generator start, but it supplied no electricity to The Shelter. That generator; the only generator, serviced the east basement: the epicenter of everything that was depraved and unholy.

I was at the end of the hall, just like the one on the first floor. That was weeks ago and it occurred to me, today is Halloween. The third floor should be having their party and now they could have it in the dark. I wondered where the spirit children were, especially since there was no light or electricity and those children who weren’t children at all, were darkness itself. But I was here in the dark as well and all I had to look at was a green institutional wall.

I remembered where Bobby turned as they pushed my crib, and it was right through this wall, a right turn into the original halls but there was no door, only a dead end and then I had an idea. I waited for the next crash of thunder and I punched my hand into the wall and through the plaster and lath that I was sure was put in place when old man Ainslie’s murder house was turned into The Odd Fellows Home, plaster and lath concealing the secret passages that led to terrible places. The plaster crumbled creating a hole large, enough for me to see a door handle; an old glass and brass door handle. I continued to punch again and again being careful to time my ‘this old house’ demolition with the thunder.

Down at the end of the hall where it joined the main hall, I could see staff member after staff member running up the main stairway toward the ball room. Yes, something was happening at the Halloween party and in the distance, I could hear the screaming from above just as I could hear that damn cello getting louder and louder as it echoed down a passageway that hadn’t been used since Horace Ainslie’s arrest, bless his rotting soul.

If I had shoes, I would have kicked in the rest of the plaster but that didn’t seem like a good idea since I wasn’t wearing shoes, so I kept punching until I had a hole large enough to squeeze through. There was a small space between the newer hall and the old and I was able to grab the door handle and turn. When the door opened, I was almost knocked backward by the music; Mattie’s music but by now, it had become a part of me. I let it wash through me and I enjoyed the sensation of slipping back all those years to when I was held by my mother. I could see why all those wealthy people wanted this feeling, the peace of regression into a simpler and innocent time.

I bit my wrist and pulled myself out of whatever hold it had on me. Pain was my companion now, but so was the darkness. When I journeyed with my little friends, there were the old gas lights and of course they were burning, right on cue, but now there was only the darkness and something else: dread. The last person to tread here was a mass murderer and who knows what crimes were committed between the secret halls and rooms. I had seen the blood stains and bowl discharge on one of the mattresses in the hidden part of murder mansion and I didn’t want to run into anything like that here.

I was hesitant to walk on the floor not knowing what lay here and in my despair, I said for no rational reason, “Help me,” and right on cue, there was a small flame coming from the nearest light fixture. Then there was another one and another and the flames and light intensified. Now I followed the path that was in my head and on the lighted walls, the path that I felt we took together, the ghost children and me. And I suddenly realized something; I was following the dotted lines that I had seen in those early plans. Imagine my surprise when I came to the end of the hall and here was the peeling flowery wall paper. What did Bobby do and then I remembered. I could see a black spot on the wall. It was so black it was absorbing the light from the gaslights and I pushed it with my finger. It felt so cold but I held my finger there, pushed until the wall slid into a recess revealing the old elevator. The doors opened on their own, beckoning me inside. There was a crank which I turned, a tarnished brass handle with an arrow pointing at the number three. Again I heard the sound of rusted chains running through disused gears, and as the elevator rose, the music of the cello intensified and without warning, I was peeing my diaper.

“Oh god,” I said.

The elevator door opened and in front of me was the same ancient stairway I had ascended with my shadowy friends and there was the same feeling of dread. The music was louder here, intensified by the stairway corridor, a narrow passageway that resonated and amplified those four strings on Mattie’s instrument of regression. It was easy to understand how the unique structure of Briarcliff was like the body of a giant stringed instrument. Given the right placement, a single vibration could have an overwhelming affect on anyone living inside that giant instrument that was also Briarcliff. I had to hurry before I had no will power left and return to an infantilized state, possibly forever.

There weren’t the details in my dream as there was here, entering Horace Ainslie’s music room. It was a space blackened by his depraved thoughts by an energy that pushed him to defile and murder, an energy that came from far below. Here it was amplified in the music room. It found its home in the old cello made by the hands of Giuseppe Guarneri and as beautiful as that old cello was, it was matched by the hands that built this room. The walls were wood paneled and intricately carved though upon closer inspection, those carvings depicted various people who looked like they were refugees from a Hieronymus Bosch painting, the souls of the damned, tortured in hell. The carvings adorned the numerous arches that ran from the floor to the vaulted ceiling, a ceiling whose wooden exterior resembled the interior of a giant stringed instrument. No wonder the music was felt throughout the mansion.

“Mattie,” I yelled. “Mattie! Stop playing.”

He hadn’t seen me enter the room and if he did, it didn’t register on him, a grown man wearing a onesie and a diaper, a diaper that was now quite obvious as it was sagging. I was still under the spell of The Shelter just as Mattie and probably everyone who lived here.

“Mattie,” I said in a softer voice. “It’s time to go home. Miss Alcott misses you. You remember Clara, don’t you?”

He looked up at me with the sadist eyes I think I’ve ever seen. “Crawah,” he said. “I can’t see Crawah. I all baby now,” and he continued to pull the bow across the strings; the only thing he was capable of understanding.

I slowly walked up to him and put my hand on his bow arm, causing him to stop. I knew the ball room was below us and I could faintly hear the commotion of chairs and tables being overturned, its occupants running, trying to escape from something so terrible their regressed minds couldn’t comprehend, and I could hear the yelling of the staff over the ever continuing storm.

I began to gently pull Mattie up and away from his chair when I was lifted off my feet and it was anything but gentle. There were two very large men in white coats. One held my hands behind me while the other secured my wrists with zip ties.

“Don’t do that,” Mattie cried but there was another voice in the room; another presence and it said, “Shut up Matthew, my little partner in crime. Shut up for god’s sake. That’s right baby Mattie, my silent partner,” and the stranger walked out from the shadows of the far corner and addressed me.

“We haven’t met or I should say, you haven’t met me but I’ve seen plenty of you in the computer room.”

The computer room, I thought. Of course; they have security cameras everywhere just as they had the in ear monitor system. This place is probably wired to the hilt and they must record everything. What a great blackmail scheme that would be if that’s what they’re doing but I suspected something far more sinister.

“You’re the one who introduced Matthew to the Odd Fellows Home,” I said. “You’re the one who got him to invest in this property, so who the hell are you?”

“Can’t you guess? Come on Mr. Detective. Who would have an interest in this dump? No one except me and when I befriended Mattie; Mattie with all his money, all that old family money, I could continue the work of Briarwood.

“You can’t be,” I said. You can’t be a descendent. You’re not an Ainslie?”

“Bingo. Right on the money or should I say: old money.

“But why this? Why a baby factory?”

“Oh, I like that: baby factory. Why would I turn this place into the world’s biggest playpen for the wealthy? Because it’s what my great, great grandfather did. You know that story, don’t you?”

“All of us New Yorkers know that story but I don’t think we knew how depraved you’re sick fuck of an ancestor was,” and he slapped me across the face.

“Don’t say that about my grandfather! Don’t you dare say that about him. He had a vision. He has a vision and you’re going to become a part of that vision just as all our little ones have, here at Briarcliff. You’re going to go on a little trip. I knew of your excursion in to the basement, the west side of the basement, but you haven’t seen the east side. You haven’t seen any of the east end. No one’s seen it because I’d have to tear out a lot of walls and restore that rotting part of the mansion and as you can see, Mattie wanted so much to be a baby that after indulging in what The Shelter has to offer, he just regressed and regressed until his tiny little baby brain couldn’t understand how to withdraw more money from his generous accounts. His parents had cut him off so the east wing remains in darkness and mystery and I’d love to know what’s there. I’d love to know what my grandfather accomplished in those hidden spaces so we could push his project beyond what it is.”

“Well I think you’re a hundred and fifty years too late.”

“You’re about to think otherwise. You’re actually going to get to see what my grandfather did down in his little hideaway. Help our friend Freddy. Hold him tight so he doesn’t get lost because he’s going to have trouble walking,” and before I realized what was happening, I felt a needle being jabbed into my neck. It was that damn nurse again and this syringe was bigger. I tried to break free but my struggle was coming to an end. I was drifting into baby land and I thought; this is where I belong.

“Let’s go while the storm’s peaking, Freddy.

You’re coming with us too baby Mattie and bring the cello. He’ll need it.”

Freddy and his friend supported me as we left the music room because I was literally toddling. We passed through a door in the back and were soon on the main stairway, but that didn’t mean much to me in my present state. What did have an impact on my regressed mind was the terror I saw in the faces of all the residents who were now running out of the ball room, from their suites or single rooms; running, not walking down the main stairway. As bad and frightening as the storm was, they were headed for the main doors, trying to get out. Whatever they had seen terrorized them more than a category three hurricane and I knew what it was because I saw them even if Thurgood and his goons didn’t.

The guests and staff weren’t happy when they found the doors locked, something that happened automatically if there was no electricity and there was none to be found on the west side of The Shelter. There was no light except that which flashed through the main windows. With each crack of lightning came brief moments of light and then pitch black but there was something else. There were the shadows that dwelled between those moments and that’s what they saw. That’s what I saw and Thurgood couldn’t.

We headed toward Miss Monroe’s office and I said, “Hey, dis innent da wight way,” but they just ignored me. I knew where the secret passageways were and they didn’t. Doesn’t that just beat everything.

I’m afraid Thurgood Ainslie was in for a big surprise because when we entered Miss Monroe’s office, she was there alright, not having bolted with the rest of the staff. She was sitting in her office chair and a large glass baby bottle had been shoved deep into her throat.

“Mumwoe wook funny,” I said.

“We’ll take care of that later, Freddy,” and Thurgood opened the office closet door and there was another door; a door behind a door with another hidden stairway and down we went, me, Thurgood Ainslie, the two goons and little Mattie being careful to carry his cello like it was his favorite teddy bear.

We walked past all the clutter that was discarded here a century and a half ago. Old stuff would give me the creeps when I was working a job. I’d break into an abandoned building, investigating a cheating husband or a drug gang, and I’d see the clutter from the past lives that left part of themselves behind, things thrown out because of wear or disuse and over time, those same lives would be thrown out for the same reasons, only that clutter would find itself in a damp and lonely grave. That’s what this place felt like and when I saw old institutional beds and wheel chairs, things from an abandoned hospital or asylum, and because they had regressed me with that damn injection, I began to shriek, just like a toddler.

“Freddy, shut diaper boy up,” but before he could hit me, which I was sure he would, Mattie stepped in front of me; Mattie with his cello and Thurgood yelled, “Don’t hurt dad’s cello. Mattie had saved me even if he didn’t know it and I was grateful in the way a toddler is grateful when his daddy said there were no monsters under the bed, but where we were going, a real monster was waiting.

I could hear a gas engine and it made me remember what I had heard when the lights went out. My infantilized mind was able to think: generator, as a few of the forgotten pieces were returning. There was no power for the main part of the house. The one ancient generator was saved for the east cellar and I remembered what resided above us in the east tower. I saw the iron rail beds and I remembered what haunted those unseen rooms.

I wanted to cry, freighted of the monsters but Mattie said, “Don’t cwy Tommy. Someone’s coming. I call them. The boys tell me and I call. Mommy was mad.”

I could almost see them. They threw me in the sewer and it infuriated me but the sewer wasn’t real. Wasn’t it just a dream? It was so hard to think and reason and I had trouble grasping or understanding words, yet the words were still there, somewhere in the darkness that clung to me like the dampness from a heavy fog. I would have continued to struggle with my fleeting thoughts but we entered a large space. I knew I had been here before and I remembered the vile hidden river. Though there was no sight of the underground watery passage, the chair was here, the torture chair front and center and I was overcome with dread, the same dread you feel when you wake up in the middle of the night and realize you’re alone and death is real and that you’ll have to face your own death and you’ll be all alone while doing it. I tried to speak out. I tried to yell or scream but the words wouldn’t come. The fear that hung in this room, a room that was life draining, a room that was made sick by one person; that room was a hidden stairway as well only this room with its secrets, led directly to hell.

“Strap him in the chair and make sure he’s secure. Don’t forget to put the wire harness on his head. We’ll only have one chance. I think the eye of the hurricane has passed and we should get the worst of the storm, lightening and all. Oh Tommy! What we’re going to do to you and this time, you will truly know what it is to be a baby.”

They wheeled an old rusted table alongside the chair. It contained an assortment of electrical boxes with wires, dials and meters. As a child I loved the old horror movies and in that child’s mind I said, “Fwankenstein. We pwaying Fwankenstein?”

“That’s right baby Tommy, and tonight you’ll get to be recreated: changed into a genuine baby by the real Dr. Frankenstein.”

“No. That pwetend,” I said but I was interrupted by several loud crashes of thunder, so severe that dust and dirt rained down from the rafters above us. As I looked up, my eyes hurting from the debris and that damned wire harness digging into my scalp, I saw something familiar. It was the large shaft I had seen in my dream; the one shown to me by the ghost children, and it came to some sort of a point, a conical shape with a metal ball at the tip.

It scared me and I struggled to get out of my restraints, but as I squirmed, and in between the many crashes of thunder, I heard something. It was a small squeaking sound and it was coming towards us. It was coming from a distant corner, hidden in darkness and all that was present was a continuous squeak, squeak, squeak until it appeared from out of the shadows. I could see him now and he looked like the crypt keeper from the TV show, Tales From the Crypt. He couldn’t have weighed more than ninety pounds and his skin, what was left of it, was hanging from his bones like one of those dogs, a Shar-Pei I think. There were a few strands of hair sticking wildly out between the many scabs on his head. But the damndest thing was that he was wearing a diaper: a diaper and a onesie and not only that. The onesie had Beatrice Potter prints, like Peter Rabbit and his baby friends.

“May I introduce you to my father? Say hello to Horace Ainslie.” And if I had any more piss left in me, it would have been running out my diaper and down my leg.

“Fuck me,” I said. This thing had scared me back to reality; that and the gallon of adrenaline I’m sure my body was making out of pure freight.

“That not your father,” I said, trying unsuccessfully to sound like an adult. He in prison. He dead,” and that’s when the thing in the wheelchair spoke.

“I’m afraid the reports of my death are greatly exaggerated.” His voice sounded like dry leather, just as dry as the old straps that held me securely in the chair from hell.

“All the prosecutors and judges, all the cops and busybody neighbors; they were too stupid and incompetent to know what I could do; what Briarwood could do. When I found this land, building the neighbor’s giant stone memorials to themselves, I came upon this lower land and I could feel it as I stood in the weeds and sand. I could feel the pull of lay lines and something else. This was some sort of portal; some sort of doorway to possibilities. Whatever was beneath the sand was moving.”

“A doorway to hell,” I interrupted but I was shoved back onto the cracked and moldy leather of the chair that looked and smelled like it was made from Horace Ainslie’s skin.

“Thank you Frank. We don’t want our special guest to get excited. He needs to be calm and at peace, just like a sleeping baby and soon Tommy; soon you will take your nap, courtesy of Nurse Ida and something I discovered a long time ago in my lab in the east tower. How I loved to walk up those steps and check in on a guest, a guest chained to one of my metal beds. How I loved being able to do anything I wanted to them whether it was a young man or a beautiful woman. But as you can see, I haven’t been able to walk for quite awhile. I’m afraid my son Thurggie must do everything for me now, but then he found Mattie. He found someone who shared the same dreams and desires as me and Thurggie. Isn’t that right my baby son?”

“Yes daddy. We like being little.”

I was petrified. I tried to think of a way out of here but with everything they had done to me, I was half adult and half baby. I turned my head hoping I’d see one of the guests, maybe someone who got lost and found their way down here and they’d say hey, what are you doing, but I saw no one except Nurse Ida and she was holding another syringe.

“You see,” he continued. I was trying to find some decent well water and the first water I came upon was too close to the surface. It was salty and that wouldn’t do. All the residents knew you had to dig a lot deeper to find fresh usable water. After I built Briarwood, I was intrigued by that water because it was brown and I assumed it was brackish, but when I drank a little, it tasted like shit and I would have spit it out, but it did something to me. I felt this amazing peace and more than that. I had similar feelings from when I was a toddler with not a care in the world and what’s more, it brought forth all of those buried memories from when I was a baby. The never ending contracts from the wealthy, all wanting their mansions built immediately; I needed some escape. Others might try morphine as that was all the rage, but I kept going back to the little well I had dug and I drank that foul water in the evenings when I could just relax and get away from it all, here in my summer beach home. Somehow, it was reawakening the neural pathways in my brain that had remained dormant for most of my years. Before long, I was wearing diapers. I would hire a seamstress to make my baby clothes and if she was pretty, well I’d have fun with her up in the east tower. That’s how I got my real baby: baby Thurgood.

“That’s right daddy and tonight we’re going to make you young again, first you and twenty years later, it will be my turn, back and forth throughout eternity.

“But how did you get out of Jail?”

“Simple enough. They thought I had died from old age. People didn’t live long back then. I looked dead and I should have been dead, but I had just slowed down. When I discovered the water, I also found it had other properties and that’s when I did some experiments. I put some of that water in a cylindrical beaker and ran an electric current through it and I saw what looked like small lightning bolts branching off into a Y. There was a rat scurrying on the floor. I hate rats and I threw a book at him but it was only stunned. So I ran another electrical charge and placed the rat where I knew it would get fried but it didn’t die. I put it in a cage and over the next few weeks, it got younger and younger.”

“I continued with my experiments, building a larger collector, one with a metal conductor at the base affixed to a stand and a metal plate at the bottom. I collected more rats and then I thought, but what about the other streak that Y’d out, so I put a rat under that one and ran the experiment. Weeks later, rat A got younger and smaller but rat B looked healthier. Over a period of time, the A cage had nothing but dead rat fetuses but the B cage had healthy rats and I wondered, what if I tried it with people? There were so many homeless and forgotten people and it wasn’t hard to get them as laborers. I built the great apparatus you see here, magnifying the effect from rat size to human and I achieved immortality. I didn’t have to do it often, only when I looked older and eventually, I wanted to look like a young boy who still needed diapers.”

“So what happened to you? No offense, but you look like shit.”

“Shut up! You can’t say that to my dad.”

“That’s okay Thurggie. Soon he won’t be saying anything, just like all the others.”

“You mean the others who are buried beneath us,” I yelled.

“They were meaningless. They had nothing to contribute to the world. Not like me. My son and I continued the dance of eternity, hiding here in our home, my mansion that was taken from me and turned into The Odd Fellows Home. We continued to do all the things that gave us pleasure, and no one knew we were here or what we were doing because my nosy, do good neighbors had walled off the east wing, a place that smelled of death. We were able to snatch the odd tenant and continue the ritual until The Odd Fellows Home was shut down and boarded up. There were no more homeless. There were no more residents of the forgotten, men who had no families, no friends and no outside life. No one cared and so they were never missed, but now the house was empty.

I noticed there was a stirring, a presence in all the dark corners. They were waiting in the shadows. They were the same presence that had been terrorizing the guests of The Shelter and now they were here.

“Push my wheelchair, won’t you Thurggie, where the electrical discharge will split, one half for our friend who for a while, will become a real baby. I’m afraid Tommy I’ll be taking your life force from you and we’ll have to pull up another stone slab and bury you with the others but before you turn into a fetus, you’ll enjoy being a teenager, a ten year old; all those wonderful stages passing you by in months instead of years and then you’ll be a real baby, enjoying your diapers and baby bottles, and then you won’t exist at all. You will have disappeared like the many residents of The Odd Fellow’s Home.”

“Nurse Ida will give you the last of three shots which will open those neural passages permanently. Thurgee, throw the switch and wait for the next big strike of lightening. I can’t wait to be young again. Mattie, play my cello, just as I showed you. You see baby Tommy, like the water, there was another component and that is sound vibrations. My cello is a Guarnerius but not just any priceless Guarnerius because this one isn’t priceless at all, at least not to a gifted musician. Giuseppe Guarnerius discarded this one because it was flawed. It couldn’t be properly tuned as it gave a strange discordant vibration, something that would never please the perfectionist master, but it pleases me greatly.”

“When I’d have my drink of baby juice; that’s what I called the well water, playing my cello, strange things began to happen. He would appear; a shadow of a man. He was the opposite of light; the opposite of all that is holy and he would enter my body and tell me things. He told me the rats were my friends. He told me people were meaningless and to be used and discarded. He showed me the melodies to play on my cello and how those who heard it would do my bidding. They would fall into the world I was creating where everyone would feel like me. They would want to be young again, ever so young. They would want to wear diapers just as I enjoy wearing diapers and drinking from baby bottles and for once, feel some semblance of innocence because after I put the first young man in my machine, I would never be innocent again.”

“Mattie! Play the damn cello and let’s get this over. Time for your injection, baby Tommy,” but as Nurse Ida began to approach me, something intervened. Those black energies were materializing. One by one I could see them and so could Horace, judging by the look on his face. They were coming from every direction of the cellar. Old beds and chairs, rusted lab tables; they were all being tossed around the room like they were the toys of a spoiled child having a tantrum.

The bottom hem of Nurse Ida’s dress was suddenly pulled up over her face revealing that she too was wearing a diaper. No one could escape what was Briarwood. She was trying to balance herself on her toes when she shot up like a bottle rocket, her head hitting the wooden four by six inch beams. I heard her skull split into a number of pieces as her head exploded raining blood, bits of bone fragments and brain matter, some of it falling on me.

“Play the damn music Mattie,” Horace screamed but his precious Thurggie was next. It seems Thurggie was baby Thurggie and his diaper seemed to be emitting some sort of gas. I could smell the ammonia and I had to laugh as I thought about all the residents of The Shelter who wore diapers, most of them wanting to wet and mess their diapers but who also didn’t want diaper rashes caused by the ammonia that pee and poop can make and here was baby Thurggie with the worst case of diaper rash as the ammonia in his diaper intensified and intensified, his diaper burning through his nether regions. I watched his bowl burst through his skin, tearing his pants and diaper off as bowel and blood and diaper pooled on the slab stone floor of the east wing cellar, pooled and spread from under his face down body.

The rest of the staff took off running which left just Horace Ainslie and myself. The lightning and thunder was increasing and I could see the metal rod begin to glow. The shaft had an electrostatic charge which seemed to be running up and down its length creating a pulsating, humming sound. The gauges in the metal boxes were wildly vacillating from left to right making a tick, tick ticking sound that got faster and faster. I seriously expected Horace to say, “It’s alive! It’s alive,” but he seemed preoccupied with his new guests, guests that had been shadows but now were becoming visible. The kids were home.

There was another strike of lightning and I could feel it this time. I could feel something course through me and it felt like raw energy.

“A little help here, guys. I could use a little help,” but they didn’t notice me. I’m not sure the spectral toddlers or Horace were in the same century. Everything had changed including the cellar which somehow looked new, eighteen seventy new that is.

“What did you do to us, old man? Where you happy living this long? Where you happy aging in that body, thinking you were one of us, forever a baby? It’s time to pay, Horace. It’s time to make amends.”

It the thunder was loud, and it was, the next thing I heard was a lot louder and I knew what it was. The stone floor; the carved stone slabs which made up the basement floor were jutting up like an earthquake. The entire building was shaking. Mortis was chipping out from between the stones and yet the upheaval continued.

“Get away from me! Get away from me you bastards,” I heard him say, but his wheelchair was starting to role to a place I had been before. Beyond my chair, a fissure was forming. The stones were coming up, jutting up at angles and then there was a noise that sounded like a rock quarry being blasted by demolitionists. The stones pushed up and parted and there it was: the river of refuge.

“Oh my god, what is this?” was the last thing Horace would ever say. Bobby was standing behind him, his now visible hands gripping the wheelchair.

“Do you see what you created? Does this make you happy? Do you like being a baby? We hope so. All of us hope so,” and there was a moaning that went up from the very bowels of Briarwood, rising up and up until it made contact with the giant lightning rod that reached through the skylight, touching heaven and descending into hell.

“We hope you’re happy because you’re going to get your wish. You’re going to live for all eternity as a baby, only you’ll spend eternity in hell,” and Bobby pushed Horace and his chair into the churning sludge that also was Briarwood.

Horace’s scream was cut short by the gurgling sound he made as all that was foul, entered his mouth and lungs. The stench that rose from that hell almost made me faint and then it was gone. The stone slabs were moving as they resumed their original place in the cellar, their eternal resting place. In the distance I could hear police sirens.

The storm was passing, the lightning less frequent but I was still stuck in this chair. “Guys? A little help here?”

It was Bobby who stood before me. “Help us,” he said, just like before. Free us so we can be at peace,” and one by one, they all disappeared.

It was Mattie who led the police down into the basement. Though my hair was singed, I was free.

“Thank you, Mattie,” I sad.

“I told you, boys tell me to phone Cwawah.” I wondered what Thurgood did to him. I guessed it was the third injection.

When the police got me away from that horrible place, Clara was waiting for both Mattie and me. She drove us to her estate and I was never so happy to sleep in a normal bed.

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Author: dogboy
Timestamp: Oct 30, 2024 at 3:53 PM
Content: Chapter 15: Baby Boutique
The cops were able to round up most of the staff. As for the residents, they found rides taking them back to their opulent estates. Some were met by grateful spouses and others called Ubers or taxies once the police retrieved their cell phones.

The next day I was called downtown to make a statement. They all knew me at the station as I had helped them out with some of the more difficult cases. I also had made some enemies when I outsmarted them on a case to which they were assigned. The life of a detective is not an easy one.

The police had The Shelter tapes though they were digital recordings. That evidence would be essential for the D.A. but my collaboration would seal it so I had to sit through several hours of watching myself being turned into a baby. The guys who were with me in the room were getting a big laugh out of this, seeing me in my suite and then the room on the second floor.

“Oh look,” one of them said. “Baby Tommy seems to like his diaper,” and then another said, “Oh my god! That’s one hell of a poopy diaper baby!”

To be honest, I was shocked at what I saw. I had no idea I was clutching a teddy bear each night, or that I was sucking on a pacifier even though I was perfectly free to spit it out. The Shelter had done its job turning me into a baby.

The boys laughed hysterically when they saw Stacy feeding me my baby bottle. One of the guys said, “Does Tommy like his yummy milkie,” and they laughed again. “Does Tommy need his diapee changed?” and while they were laughing I realized; yeah. I’ve been in this stinking room a damn long time and my diaper’s wet, but I didn’t tell them that though I think my face was turning red.

When we were done and the guys were exiting the room, I turned to a cop friend of mine and asked him a question.

“Hey John. The Ainslie mansion?”

“Yeah,” he answered. “We used to scare each other with the story around Halloween time.”

“Well I was wondering. There were bones that were dug up when the mansion was shut down and Ainslie put in jail. Whatever happened to those bones?”

“They’d be in the archived evidence room assuming they’re still there.”

“This is very important, John. The case of Briarwood, The Odd Fellows Home; the Shelter: it’s done and over. Could you ask them to find the bones and see that they’re buried in the old Briarwood cemetery? Not on The Shelter property for god’s sake, but the old town cemetery.”

“Sure Tommy. Oh shit. I mean Thomas.”

“That’s okay John, I’m good with Tommy.”

“Suit yourself, and I can do that but may I ask you: why?” Why do you care especially after what you’ve gone through.”

“It’s a favor I owe to some people; something that happened to them a long time ago.”

“You can’t mean the ones who belong to those bones, can you?”

“Hey, it’s Halloween and sometimes we get visited by those who’ve passed.”

“My god, Tommy! What did happen to you at that damned place?”

“John, I saw hell and while I was there, I met some friends who don’t want to spend eternity there, so be sure it’s done, okay.”

“It’s done, John.

I returned home, or I should say, I returned to Clara’s estate. I live there along with Stacy. Yeah, that’s right. Clara married Mattie, if you can believe that and I married Stacy. We all have a lot in common.

Clara added a line to her boutique clothing business. In fact, she added a big line of clothes all suited for adult babies. She’s a billionaire now and it’s all because of Mattie. Though his CDs and record albums have been banned throughout the world, you can’t ban the internet. By now, everyone has heard it. The nut bags were posting it on Tic Tok. It was on You Tube and before they could take it down, it was too late. I suspect that even the executives at Google are wearing diapers and baby clothes.

When Stacy and I walk down the city streets, there are diaper receptacles on the sidewalk. Public bathrooms have more changing stations than toilets.

As for The Shelter, it didn’t burn down in some ball of electrical fire like you’d see in a horror movie. The sole owner is baby Mattie and he and I run what is now called, Baby Land. It seemed like a fitting title since we both will live in baby land for the rest of our lives, but that’s okay. After his CD release, everyone is, and Baby Land has a long waiting list of people who want to be able to be their real selves with others who have the same desire.

People go to work and they come home. At work, their diapers are concealed under their clothes and at home, they chase their fantasies of being a baby. The world has changed and for that, I’m glad. Who would have guessed that a place as evil as Briarwood would turn around and become a place where people could be treated like a baby, even if it was just for a weekend.

Stacy and I enjoy spending time in our personal third floor suites just like Clara and Mattie. We’re high rollers now. Stacy and I will snuggle in our queen sized crib, me hugging my teddy bear when I’m not hugging her.

And Clara and Mattie? I hear the beautiful music that fills up Baby Land. It rings from all the old wooden beams. It vibrates in the long ago quarried stones that is Briarwood. The east wing is still walled up. It is quiet and deserted but for one sole who can never rest because that sole resides in the foul discharge that pools beneath the east cellar floor.

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Author: dogboy
Timestamp: Nov 2, 2024 at 10:19 PM
Content:

kerry said:

Excellent piece!

[End of quote]

O thanks Kerry. When I saw the email, I thought maybe I broke one of the rules of the site, because of the ghost children but they were actually adults. I am sensitive to the rules though and I really don't want to break them.....haha.

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Author: dogboy
Timestamp: Dec 5, 2024 at 2:30 AM
Content:

Growler0128 said:

A VERY WILD story. Thank you for writing it.

[End of quote]

Thanks. I enjoyed the challenge as there was a lot to cover for my poor little protagonist. He's very happy now.