Monologue by Katherine Harrigan (was age 43, now age 1), telepathically recorded September 23, 2000:

"Hey! Quit staring at me! Leave me alone. What? You want to know who I am? I'm not sure myself. I've only been like this for about an hour.

"What happened? I'm not sure. I was in the Westside Mall when this girl ­ couldn't be older than 15 ­ runs into me, spilling some of my coffee. I glowered at her, but she was unrepentant. 'Aw, you're mad at me. Tough!' the girl sarcastically sneered. "Why don't you grow up," I scolded. "And why don't you grow down," the girl countered as she clutched her hand around a medallion with a nine-pointed star.

"I didn't feel anything except that things were not quite right. I had been a head taller than the girl, but suddenly, I was at her level. Then I was looking up at her. And my clothing had become unaccountably roomy. My jacket slid off. Becoming fearful, I turned to run. The girl grabbed the collar of my blouse, which pulled off when I ran. But my oversize shoes tripped me. The girl seized my hand and began to pull me through the mall, as I grasped my skirt and panties to maintain my dignity, and my bra flopped back and forth over my flattened chest as I moved. The girl yanked off the bra and deposited it in a waste container. 'You won't be needing that for a while,' she sneered.

She soon had me in the ladies' restroom, where I was shocked to see my head only up to her stomach. By then, I only had my panties, which fit like a blanket. A friend of the girl brought clothing and this baby buggy. 'They won't miss this stuff,' the friend chuckled as the girl lifted me onto the restroom's changing table. She put me in a diaper, then some baby clothes, before placing me in this buggy. 'Oh yes, you'll need a mommy,' the girl said, clutching the medallion and staring at one of the stalls. After the girl and her friend left, a woman emerged from the stall, washed her hands, and turned to me. 'Time to go home, Katy,' she said.

"Now she thinks I'm her daughter; and my brain is telling me that she really is my mother. I can't talk like an adult any more, but do me a favor. Tell people at the Westside Mall that, if they have a run-in with a certain mall rat, don't say anything. Otherwise, they too could become a grown-down.


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