The Other Side

This is an ANCIENT story of mine that I've dug out, dusted off, cleaned up a bit... and ENDED at last! 

I hope you enjoy it and please give feedback by commenting below. It would be really appreciated. 

I

"Magic doesn't exist," snapped Margaret, scowling down at Patsy, daring her to answer back.

"Yes it does!"

"Don't talk back to me young lady!"

"But it does!!"

Margaret raised her finger, demanding silence. "I won't hear another word." She put her hands on her hips. "Now you get in bed."

Patsy didn't move.

"I won't tell you again...."

"I can prove it to you," blurted Patsy suddenly. Her eyes were wide open and a little crazy.

"Don't be stupid."

"But Mum...."

"Bed!"

Patsy got up off the carpet. Margaret frowned at the creases that were lined into her daughter's dress. Patsy was only six and her clothes frequently ended up looking like she’d been dragged through a hedge backwards.

"If you're so sure magic doesn't work, why don't you let me make a fool out of myself trying to prove it does."

"I said bed."

"I'll never say it works again if I can't prove it right now," said Patsy, "I promise!"

Margaret was getting angry. "Alright then. Prove it."

Patsy grinned and ran over to her wardrobe. The floor was littered with dolls and all their little outfits. She had to be careful as she moved. Then she took something from inside the wardrobe and brought it across to her mother.

"Take this in your hand," said Patsy.

“What is it?”

“A man gave it to me in the playground yesterday.”

“What man? I’ve told you not to talk to strange men!”

“Just hold it for a second,” demanded the little girl.

Margaret sighed and did so. It was a small round stone, almost black, and it was covered in engravings that Margaret couldn't identify in the light coming from Patsy's bedside lamp.

Patsy was still grinning. "Now say that you wish you were me."

"Don't be ridiculous child."

"Come on Mom, you promised you'd let me prove it."

"Why do I have to say that?"

"It has to be something quite big," said Patsy, shaking her hands for emphasis, "if it works you'll change right back."

"It's not going to work."

"So say it!"

Margaret looked at the stone in her palm. Then she closed her fingers over it and looked at Patsy. She raised one eyebrow to say how ridiculous it was and then she said, "I wish I were Patsy."

Patsy clapped her hands and burst out laughing.

Margaret scowled. "There," she said, "I told you it wouldn't.... work." She stopped speaking and put her hand to her throat.

That hadn't been her voice. It had been higher pitched, like a little girl’s. It had been… Patsy's voice.

"Patsy? What's going on?" Her voice was all wrong. It sounded exactly like her daughter’s. She didn't feel so good. Then she looked down and she almost screamed. She was still tall, far taller than Patsy, but she wasn't wearing her skirt and blouse anymore, she was wearing Patsy's blue dress, cut short at the sleeves, far too small for her and barely reaching her mid thigh. Patsy was curling up with laughter. Margaret stared at her, horrified. "Patsy!! Stop it! Stop what you're doing!"

"You're going to be me Mum! You're going to be a little girl!"

"No! I don't want to be a girl again! No!" She ran across to the mirror. In the reflection she had Patsy's hair, yellow and curly, spilling down her back. Then she did scream because in a second she changed again and she was looking up at a mirror twice as tall as she was, gazing, panic-stricken at the image of a six year old girl, at the image of her daughter's face that she now wore. "No!"

Patsy carried on laughing as she approached from behind.

"I'll take that thank you," she said and snatched the stone.

"Give it back!"

"I don't think so Patsy'."

"Don't call me that!"

"That's your name now," said Patsy, pushing her backwards onto the bed. "You're just little Patsy'!"

"No!" She stared down at her fleshy arms and legs bound up in the blue fabric of her dress. Then she glared at Patsy and grabbed forward. Patsy leapt back and then they were all over each other. Margaret grabbed hold of Patsy's dress and they hit the door, knocking it closed and crashed to the floor. They rolled, one girl scratching the other, over and over until one of them grabbed hold of the stone where it had fallen and pulled herself to her feet.

The other one stood up. "Now no-one can tell which of us is which," she said, "who's to say you aren't the real Patsy now?"

"I'm not."

"Neither am I. I'm Margaret." The original Patsy smirked at her joke.

"No you aren't!" She brandished the stone. "This is only a nightmare but it's over now. I wish I were Margaret again!"

Nothing happened. Patsy started laughing. "Only one wish per person," she said.

"Then you wish me back to normal." She thrust out the stone. "Right now young lady!"

Patsy laughed and took the stone. She turned round and walked slowly over to the window. Margaret watched her, eyes wide and frightened. The orange light from the street light outside illuminated Patsy's cheek. Then she seemed to smile to herself and without turning round, she said, "What if I were to wish for something else and not change you back...."

"You wouldn't dare! Change me back now!"

"What if I were to wish I were the mother instead."

"No! You can’t!!" She screamed the words out. Everything seemed so big and out of control.

"Yes I can. And I’m going to. There’s nothing you can do to stop me." She lifted the stone.

"NO!"

"I wish I were Margaret," said Patsy and she turned, looked back and smiled. As she did so her hair darkened and seemed to wither until it was only a bob, smooth, dark and silky, dropping down to just below her ears.

Margaret was going to start crying.

Patsy’s hair was only the beginning. Her little dress grew and extended, stretching down below her knees. The sleeves dropped down over her elbows. In a second it wasn't a dress anymore, but a blouse and skirt. Margaret's blouse and skirt. She laughed, but it sounded horrible, far deeper than it should have been. It sounded like a grown woman's laugh; like Margaret's laugh.

And then in a quiet rush she shot up, growing until she was nearly twice as tall as Patsy. Her face changed as she grew, becoming narrower, the cheek bones pushing out until her face became long and oval, until she had become Margaret entirely.

She continued to laugh, looking down at herself, testing her weight and balance on her high heels. Her laughter slowly died then she looked at the new “Patsy” and it came back. She staggered backwards, one hand pointing straight at the little girl in front of her, the other rested on the base of her neck in a gesture the old Margaret had often used.

"I don't know what you're staring at young lady," she snapped suddenly.

"What have you done!?!" screamed “Patsy,” staring, petrified at the woman in front of her. "How could you do this?"

"Don't question me young lady," said “Margaret” with a smirk, "or you'll get a smack."

The new Patsy ran over to the woman who had been her daughter only minutes earlier, tears starting to rise to the sides of her eyes. "Change me back! Please!! I'm sorry about everything I've done to you. I'll never smack you or send you to bed early again!"

"I know you won't," sneered Margaret, "it's you who'll get smacks now and you're coming dangerously close to one now."

"No!" All reality was crashing down around Patsy's ears.

This couldn’t be true – none of it could be. But it was.

She had really become her daughter and it looked like she was going to be stuck in this nightmare for the rest of her life!

II

‘Patsy’ walked into the bathroom, frightened tears quaking at the edges of her eyes.

She wasn’t trying to walk slowly but there was something wrong with her legs. They were too short now. She wasn’t making the progress she was expecting and it infuriated her. She burst into several steps of running but slowed again to a walk because if anything, running in this body emphasised what had happened to her.

The bathroom doorway towered over her. Everything did. She’d seen the world like this before but as she’d grown up, her perceptions had changed, subtly overlaying her memories so that now, seeing it again from this perspective was obscenely jarring. The sink, the bath, the walls: it was all different. The same, but different.

She stopped in front of the sink. From her new perspective, she couldn’t see into the sink anymore. She put her hands on the smooth ceramic edge but almost let the tears flow when she saw the soft forearms and pudgy fingers emerging from the short blue sleeves of her dress. She lifted them again, backs of her hands facing her and just stared at them. Then she turned them over and looked at her palms.

She’d seen these hands a million times before but never from this side. They had never been hers. Now they were.

She put them together, touched the fingers of one with the fingers of the other. Then she looked into the mirror over the sink.

She was Patsy.

She knew it was true. She knew when she saw herself in her daughter’s dressing table mirror during the change, that it was true, but the shock was gone now. She still felt shaken, everything had a surreal quality – but seeing herself as she now was – no longer mingled with disbelief and surprise – was something else.

Her head barely showed at the foot of the mirror. There were bottles of hand lotion and vertical free-standing tubes of toothpaste blocking her view. She strained to reach across the girth of the sink to push them away but she couldn’t do it and retain control of them. Several items clattered down into the sink. She cursed but shut her lips over the last syllable. She didn’t want to hear her words come out in that voice.

The mirror was clear now and she looked at herself. Only the upper half of her head was visible. The hair was yellow and curly, an Alice band keeping her forehead clear. The eyes were big and frightened. She stood on tiptoe and the rest of her face came into view. Round cheeks, huge moist eyes, quivering lips.

It was her daughter’s face. It was Patsy’s. But now, undeniably, horrifyingly, it was hers.

She looked down at hers fingers again and then brought them up to touch her cheek, meeting her eyes in the mirror. She was Patsy.

The tears finally broke free of her eyes and rolled down her cheeks. She couldn’t make a sound, she didn’t want to, but the sounds started to come. A tight whimper grew in her throat. It turned into a cough and then broke out into a full blown sobbing.

Patsy turned away from the mirror and ran to the doorway. The landing was in darkness. She crashed against the doorway, holding onto it for support and cried and cried.

None of this was possible. She couldn’t change places with her daughter.

But she had.

She had.

And there was no going back.

III

“She’s crying again,” said the man who would be known to her now only as Frank. He didn’t look up from the TV Times. “Are you going to check on her or shall I?”

‘Margaret’ stood in the doorway of the lounge, her arms folded, legs crossed at the ankle. She smiled sardonically, raising her eyebrow. “I think you’d better go,” she said, “I think it was me that upset her.”

Frank stood and started to lumber toward the door. He didn’t make eye contact and she watched him move. This wasn’t her father anymore. It was her husband.

He was bulky but he wasn’t taller than her. She had always idolised him, but now she wasn’t a child anymore, she saw him in a different light: his stocky body, his bald head, his bushy moustache. This was the man she was going to spend the rest of her days with as an equal.

She took his wrist in her hand as he started to pass and brought him closer, then kissed him on the lips, feeling strange stirrings that nevertheless seemed familiar in this body. It felt so good to feel his big masculine hands wrap round her slim body to feel both protected, honoured and seen as a sexual creature.

That was when she realised how complete the transformation had been. She hadn’t wished that she looked like her mother. She had wished to be her mother. She had become Margaret completely in both body and mind. A quick mental inventory confirmed it. She knew things she couldn’t have done as a little girl. She knew how to do her job; how to drive; how to cook and clean and read and write perfectly… how to pleasure her husband.

It made her smile lasciviously and she whispered, “Hurry up and put Patsy to bed then get back down here. I want to feel that big cock of yours. I want to take it in my mouth and make my man happy.”

Frank grinned. “With an offer like that, she better not give me any trouble or she’ll get some back.”

The new Margaret watched him go with her arms folded under her new breasts, grinning to herself. She wondered if her new daughter had realised yet that she’d lost her adult mind; that she was trapped entirely in the life of a little bitty girl.

IV

The new Patsy heard the heavy footfalls of her former husband as he came up the stairs and felt both relief and panic.

Relief because surely he would help her now but panic because she knew how angry he could get if his “daughter” stayed up past her bedtime.

She ran from the bathroom as fast as her stunted legs could carry her but she wasn’t fast enough. He caught her at the top of the stairs and swung her up off her feet, completely out of her control. She squealed, frightened as he carried her back to what was now her room.

“I’ve told you about this before, haven’t I Patsy!?”

“Wait! Stop!”

“Get in there!” He threw her down on the bed where her tiny form bounced. “What the hell are you doing up and out of bed?! Eh?”

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry but I need to talk to you!”

“Talk to me? You can talk to my hand!”

He snatched her up and ripped down her little panties, throwing her dress up and out of the way. She knew exactly what was coming but she couldn’t quite believe it. Then his hand struck as he walloped her as hard as he could. Over and over he struck her bottom , smacking her until she was weeping uncontrollably. Then he lifted her again and threw her back down where she crumpled to the floor, sobbing.

“There. Happy now? Or do you want to stay up even later?”

As she wept, her little hands up to cover her face, Patsy kept her mouth shut, terrified to say anything. Frank had been a loving husband but he was a brutally strict father and always had been. The beating she’d just received was nothing compared to what he was capable of.

Then she spotted something on the dressing table that made her heart rekindle suddenly.

“Please wait,” she said, hating the sound of her little girl voice. “Listen to me.”

“Listen to what? Hurry it up. Your mother’s got something waiting for me downstairs.”

“Just pick up that stone on the dresser,” said Patsy desperately.

“What, this?” He took it in his hand.

“Yes.” She nodded threw her tears, hating her tiny whimpering childish voice. “Now please believe me when I tell you something. Please just listen. Frank. I’m not Patsy. I’m your wife, Margaret.”

“Margaret?”

“Please just listen.” She went on. “Patsy did this to me. With that stone. She tricked me into wishing to be her then made a wish that she could be me.” She whimpered again, tears running down her round cheeks. It only works once for each person but you could wish us back. You could put it all right. Please. Believe me and just say that you wished Patsy and Margaret were back in their real bodies.”

Frank looked at, his face blank. Then he said, “I’ll make a wish for you.” He sneered. “I wish you’d keep your mouth shut about swapping bodies and put your effort into just being a good little girl for a change.”

Patsy’s eyes gaped open with panic as she heard the words and for a split second she saw the stone glow in her new father’s big hand. Then he walked to the doorway and held it up. “This is going in the trash. I don’t want to hear another peep from you tonight. And don’t come downstairs. Your mother and I are going to be… busy.”

He went out, slamming the door and Patsy climbed onto the bed, still weeping.

That was it. There was no way out of it and with his careless wish she couldn’t now ever even tell anyone what had happened. She was compelled to go on acting like the little girl she’d become!

She got into her tiny cotton nightie and crawled under the covers, only now realizing that her mind was becoming more and more childish. She couldn’t remember how to do her job anymore or how to drive a car but looking at the dollies on the floor she realised she knew all their names.

This was her life now. She was trapped in it.

She was going to be Patsy until the end of her days.

Oh how she wished she had never picked up that stone!

But she had. And now her life was ruined! 

She had always been terribly strict on her daughter, taking her own frustrations out on her and now that was going to come back on her in spades!