Extremely quiet and shy, Lindsay was a pretty little girl. Her mother and I had been seeing each other for several months, so it came as no surprise when she asked me to tag along on a weekend visit to see her mother in Biloxi.

"Are you excited to see your Grandmother?" I asked, as I drove north on the interstate. I looked in the rearview mirror and could see Lindsay scowling. "What's the matter kiddo, don't tell me you don't like your Grandma?" Lindsay didn't answer and continued sitting quietly, her hands folded in her lap.

"My mother can be a little heavy handed," Marilyn volunteered. "She isn't used to being around kids." She casually placed her hand on my knee and caressed my leg, grinning flirtatiously. Marilyn was a beautiful woman, and very proud of her African heritage. It always surprised me that she preferred to date white men. Lindsay was the result of a long-term relationship with a white guy from Chicago, a Yankee who, according to Marilyn, inexplicably disappeared right after her birth. "Michael, there's probably a few things you should know about my Mom; I don't want you to be surprised."

Marilyn's mother, Annie, was 80 years of age. She'd lived in New Orleans for most of her life before moving ninety miles north about ten years ago to live with her sister. Annie, like Marilyn, had been a single mother, raising her daughter alone after her husband abandoned her in the early 60's. She made her living in the French Quarter reading palms and telling fortunes. According to Marilyn, her mother became a bit of a legend over the years, with a loyal following of customers convinced that she had the 'gift'. No doubt, Annie's unusual appearance gave her some added credibility. Annie was an albino.

"She's always been extremely nearsighted. Now she's nearly blind." Marilyn explained.
"It's been hard for her since Aunt Edna died, and we may need to think about moving her to a home,"

It wasn't a long drive, and we arrived at the house late in the morning. The place had seen better days; the paint was peeling and a few of the windows were broken out and replaced with plywood. As we walked up the steps that led to the porch, I was worried that one of my feet would go right through the rotten wood. Marilyn opened the screen door; Lindsay and I shuffled inside.

"Mother, it's me! You have company!" Marilyn called out.

The house was extremely dark, and smelled like an attic, dry and dusty. In the corner of the living room, sitting in a chair next to the window, was the old woman.

"You didn't bring another white boy with you I hope," she cackled.

Frankly, she was one of the strangest looking people I've ever seen in my life. She had stark white skin and white curly hair, but the most startling aspect of her appearance was her bright pink eyes. Now I understood why Lindsay didn't particularly enjoy visiting her Grandmother.

"Now mother, don't start that," Marilyn sighed, bending to kiss her cheek.

Introductions were made. Annie reluctantly shook my hand, but her disgust in her daughter's choice of friends was very obvious. Lindsay and I sat in that dark living room for over an hour listening to her mother and grandmother make small talk. Suddenly she directed Marilyn to a tattered cardboard box on the kitchen table.

"Those are the clothes that I was talking to you about," she said, pointing to the box from her chair. "Most of 'em are too small for the girl, but some of the other stuff might come in handy." She smiled; her teeth were yellow and black. It surprised and irritated me to hear the old crone refer to her granddaughter as 'the girl'. It certainly was no way for a loving Grandmother to behave. Marilyn started pulling the children's clothing out of the box.

"Michael, come here and look. Some of these things look brand new."

She was right; many of the outfits still had the store tags. All of it looked like baby clothes.

"Isn't this just adorable?" Marilyn squealed, holding up pair of tiny, blue bib overalls.

"Yea, that's just great, " I mumbled, anxious to get back into my car to drive home.

"Which one is your favorite, Michael?" she pressed, displaying outfit after outfit "Tell me, if you were a little baby, what would you want to wear?"

I decided to simply ignore such an odd question.

"Seriously, Michael!" Marilyn pressed. "Which is your favorite?"

"That one I suppose," I replied, pointing to the tiny set of blue bibs.

Suddenly I looked over at Lindsay, who stood waiting at the door in anticipation of our departure. She was looking directly into my eyes and her bottom lip was trembling. I felt that she desperately wanted to tell me something, but was afraid.

"Come here child!" Annie croaked. Lindsay looked up at her mother only briefly before scurrying over to her Grandmother's side. The old woman embraced Lindsay, drawing her close, and whispered something into her ear. The little girl suddenly turned nearly as white as her Grandmother, before bolting across the room to her mother's side, wrapping her little arms around one of Marilyn's legs.

"Really, mother!" Marilyn said, exasperated. "And you wonder why she doesn't like you!"

"No matter," Annie replied, pulling her old frame out of the chair. "Don't leave so soon; you must have some tea before you go."

I desperately wanted to get away; this woman and her house definitely gave me the creeps. If a quick cup of tea was my ticket to an early departure, I was more than happy to comply. We sat at the kitchen table while Annie boiled the water. Her poor eyesight didn't seem to be much of a handicap, it seemed that she knew exactly where everything was and moved about the room with great confidence.

"You'll like this blend," she croaked, addressing me for the very first time. "It will make you feel years younger!" She looked at Marilyn and laughed after her comment, while she filled large cups with the dark brew. We sat at a small wooden table in the kitchen, both Annie, Marilyn, and even little Lindsay watched, waiting patiently for me to take my first sip.

It wasn't as hot as I expected and for that I was grateful. It meant that we could finish quickly, and be on our way home. Marilyn and her mother smiled to each other as I took two big swallows.

"Well, that's done then!" Annie announced gleefully, slapping her thighs with the flat of her palms.

"I'd like him to know before it starts," Marilyn replied.

"Tell him then. He won't believe you anyway. Not now."

"What are you two talking about?" I asked, extremely weary of the game these two were playing.

Marilyn motioned to Lindsay who stood across the room. Lindsay walked to her mother, who pulled the little girl up into her lap. "Lindsay, tell Michael how old you are."

"I'm four," she mumbled, holding up four fingers.

"That's how old you are now," Marilyn replied. "How old were you last year, when we came here for Thanksgiving?"

Lindsay looked up at her mother, as if needing additional permission to speak. Marilyn nodded up and down.

"I was forty-two years old," the child whispered, just barely loud enough for me to hear.

"And what was your name?" Marilyn prodded.

"Daniel. My name was Daniel Hale."

"I've had about as much of this nonsense as I'm going to take," I said evenly as I started to get up from the table. "I'm going home; are you coming with me?"

"We'll be heading home soon enough Michael," Marilyn reproved, motioning for me to sit back into my chair. "I think you'd better listen."

There was something about the tone of her voice that made me shiver. Annie was leaning back in her chair, her pink eyes focused on me, an odd smile on her face.

"Daniel was my boyfriend. Mother used her powers to turn her into my little girl."

"That's absurd," I answered.

"It's true Michael," Lindsay said softly. "I used to be big. I used to be a man."

I pride myself on being analytical and pragmatic. Intellectually, I understood that it was quite impossible to turn men into little girls. The entire idea was silly. Still, the manner in which little Lindsay spoke to me, and the way that Annie grinned at me, staring with those bright pink eyes, made me sick to my stomach.

"Lindsay needs a little brother, Michael," Marilyn said, almost sympathetically. "She's lonely, and needs someone she can talk to."

Lindsay, still sitting on Marilyn's lap, looked across the table at me. "I'm so sorry," she whispered.

Suddenly, with absolutely no warning, the room started spinning. I rose to my feet, only to immediately stumble to the hard wood floor. Annie, Marilyn, and Lindsay stood around me as I struggled to get to my feet. The room spun faster and faster, until I could no longer differentiate between the faces that stared down upon me. I could, however, still see Annie's eyes orbiting around me, forming a thin, pink neon line.

"I don't think that he's quite awake yet," I heard Marilyn say. "Honey" I felt something large and coarse brush the side of my face. "Wake up, Michael." Her voice was friendly and playful.

I opened my eyes, anxious to prove to myself that I'd just experienced an incredibly realistic nightmare or hallucination. Marilyn's face loomed down at me. "See, I dressed you in that outfit that you picked out. It fits perfectly." I instantly realized that someone's arms were around me, holding me in place, so I twisted my head. It was Lindsay. Her thin, little arms easily circled my waist.

"It isn't so bad." she said softly "You'll see."

"Trying to scream, I seemed to be unable to make a sound. I did hear a little baby crying. The source of the noise was very, very close.


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