(COM) Mommy Maggie's Haunted Manor

The old Silver house had been built in what used to be the centre of town. Though, a more accurate way to describe it would be that the Silver’s built their house on a hill overlooking an aspen forest one hundred years ago and a town sprouted around it like flowers of necessity. Over the course of generations the forest receded like a middle-aged man’s hairline until the bald dome became the grounds of the Silver’s manor. The iron-barred fence set in stone foundation that encircled it at the base had claimed countless children’s balls and Frisbees and kites over the years. It felt especially cruel because the nature of the slope meant that any of those lost pieces of childhood inevitably ended up at the edge of the stone foundation, just a little bit out of reach of any would-be rescuers.

Roger had not been one of those rescuers for a few years. Though he, like everyone else who had grown up in town, had lost something behind that fence and failed at retrieving it. Maybe while he was in there he could poke around and try to find his old soccer ball. It wasn’t like anyone could stop him now. The house was at the centre of town, like two hundred years ago. But every passing year and stolen a little more relevance from the Silver family, until just over three years ago to the day their last living member, Maggie Silver, dropped dead of a heart attack while on an afternoon walk. No one could get to her to administer first-aid until much too late. Roger remembered seeing Maggie while he was a kid. He remembered that despite her age, she always looked younger than their parents. She looked kind and welcoming, but never so much as spoke to anyone. At least not that he saw.

His old soccer ball was not the reason for his visit today, though. The sixteen year old rested his face against the cold iron of the bars as he looked up at the house. Was he seriously considering doing this? Breaking into the creepy old house on the hill was something children dared each other to do to prove their bravery in stories from the 1940s. He was old enough to learn how to drive, and was already considering Colleges to apply to after high school. What if he was caught? An arrest for breaking and entering could would definitely complicate things for his future, to say nothing of what his parents would say. But deep down Roger knew he had already made up his mind. Ever since he was young, when he first heard the rumours about Maggie Silver, he needed to see for himself.

Tonight the entire town was off at a festival celebrating her entire family and their contributions to town. Food was free, so even the typical hoodlums like Jared Price and his goons were there, and the police were stretched thin providing security. Roger had scoped out the house last year and had not seen a single other soul the whole time. But he chickened out. He had been too scared. So tonight he had to prove it to himself.

Roger gripped one bar in each hand and quickly scaled the fence. What had been a daunting 8 foot tall obstacle to him once wasn’t even a challenge now. He hefted himself over the points and landed in a gymnast’s squat. He started up the hill at a relaxed jog, ducking through the unkempt shrubbery that had reclaimed the hillside. Eventually it became dense enough that he had to slow down to avoid errant thorns pulling at his sweater. Roger thought about what could happen if he left a fiber behind. The police could find it, and use their forensics lab to trace it directly to him, and they would come to his school during class and take him out and ask what he was doing at the Silver house on the night of the festival and—

Stop. The local police didn’t have those resources, and they didn’t care either. He was going to be fine. Roger slunk through the brambles and up to the house’s palatial front doors. It was larger than he ever imagined after a lifetime of seeing it from so far away. Would he even be able to find what he was looking for?

Hesitantly, Roger reached for the ornate door handle and gave it a gentle twist. To his surprise the latch slid open as if it had been oiled earlier that day. The door slid in, as if beckoning him to enter. It wasn’t locked. Why wasn’t it locked? Roger puzzled over this as he padded into the house’s entrance hall. A breeze tickled the hairs on the back of his neck—

Ker-RASH!

Roger nearly jumped out of his skin. He spun around to see that the door had closed behind him. After taking a moment to steady his heartbeat he had a thought: the door opened in, so how did the wind blow it closed? Maybe the change in air pressure just created a vacuum. Yeah. That was probably it. Lights drew his attention back into the depths of the house. Gas lamps that lined the purple-wallpapered walls clicked on, from the entrance hall where he stood and leading up the main stairwell and off down a left hallway. The corresponding lamps on the right hand side of the wall remained extinguished. Okay. Weird.

Every lick of common sense that Roger possessed screamed for him to turn around and leave the Silver house and never think about this again. But he ignored it. He did the opposite of what his instincts begged for him to do and started up the stairs, following the trail the formed by the lit lamps on a feeling. He needed to see if the rumours about Maggie Silver were true. If he could just find a piece of evidence then he would be content to leave the Silver manor as a closed case in the files of his mind. He reached the second floor and turned down the hallway. The lamps plotted a course down the hall and to the left and he followed it. Left, right, left, left, with each new hallway feeling at least as long as the one that came before and with half a dozen other unmarked routes. Roger could spend weeks exploring the house and never find what he was looking for, but something in the back of his mind urged him on. He knew it had to be true. The lights were like a mini-map in a video game, leading him to the end of his quest.

The lamps led him to a door painted white in contrast with the surrounding purple, with delicately drawn vines of blue forget-me-nots decorating it. This had to be it. This had to be it. He reached for the handle and once again the door slid open at a touch. He could see the lights in the room ignite as it did. Roger stepped forward into a beautifully maintained Victorian nursery. But the wardrobe, the crib, the changing table, the playpen, and several pieces of furniture that Roger didn’t recognize were all scaled up as if they were intended to be used by a grown person. His heart was beating so hard he thought it might burst out of his chest. It was all true. Maggie Silver was an adult baby.

Roger took in every aspect of the room, letting it burn into his mind. Then once he was reasonably sure he had sufficiently committed it to memory he began walking around each piece of furniture to examine them more closely. The changing table had straps in each corner to restrain a fussy baby, as well as enormous cloth diapers carefully folded and stored on the shelves beneath; one of the mystery items turned out to be an elaborate bouncer that could be suspended from the ceiling; the crib had an extra panel that could slide into place over top of it to trap anyone sleeping in it; it was all so well designed, better than any story of drawing he had seen online in all of the searching he had done. It was all real.

Roger reached the wardrobe. He wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans, then with trembling fingers reached out for the knobs. Carefully, he pulled them open, holding his breath as he did. Inside were dozens of soft pink outfits. They were lovingly hung, organized from cute adult-side dresses trimmed in frills, to equally frilly rompers, to impossibly cozy one-piece pajamas. Roger could barely contain his excitement.

With his hands still shaking he stripped out of his clothes, placing his jeans, sweater, socks, and underwear in a messy pile next to the wardrobe. He then went to the changing table to retrieve one of the cloth diapers and two oversized safety pins. While he had never done this in person, he had spent so long learning about the theory that after just a little fumbling he had secured the impossibly large white cloth around his hips. Next he returned to the wardrobe. Roger had all night to try on each of the outfits, but he wanted to start with the one he had fantasized about the most: he picked out one of the frilly pink rompers and slid into it. The playsuit perfectly hugged his body, right down to the way the plush-like fabric stretched to fit around his enormous diaper. He fumbled again with doing the buttons at his back up, and couldn’t quite reach the last three. Roger wasn’t going to let that ruin his perfect night, though.

He went to the floor-length mirror next to the wardrobe and couldn’t help but blush when he saw himself in it. He looked even better than he had ever hoped.

“Aren’t you just a perfect little sissy,” a woman’s voice whispered in his ear.

Roger screamed. He whipped around, searching for the source of the voice. But no one was in the room. At some point the door to the hallway had closed too, so it wasn’t like someone had just come in. He was completely alone.

“Don’t be scared, sweetie, it’s just Mommy Silver.”

There it was. Was it coming from inside his head?

“The clever baby has figured it out! What a good girl,” the voice said. The top three buttons of the romper suddenly cinched shut of their own accord and Roger yelped. He tried to move, to grab his clothes and run to the door and back down the hall and away from all of this. But he couldn’t. The romper didn’t let him.

Instead, it walked him over to the changing table and made him sit down on it. The straps in each corner came to life and flew to his limbs, wrapping around his wrists and ankles and pulling him down against it. He heard a drawer beneath him open and from within it floated out a pacifier with a ribbon attached to it and a bottle of an opaque white liquid. More draws opened and from out of these floated a set of stockings, and a matching set of thick plush booties and mittens. Roger started to scream again, but the noise was cut off as the pacifier flew into his mouth and the ribbon tied itself behind his head. Next the soft pink stockings worked their way up his legs, sliding beneath the straps that held his ankles. These were capped off by the mittens and booties; the mittens were so tight that they forced his hands into useless little fists.

Next the bottle floated towards the pacifier and screwed itself into place. The rubber nipple of the pacifier forced his tongue down so that the liquid began to flow. It tasted like formula, but with a strange aftertaste. Roger tried to fight back, but every aspect of his outfit and the room itself seemed determined to keep him trapped here.

When he had finished the bottle, it unscrewed itself and returned to the drawer. The straps on the table released his limbs and the romper made him stand up. As his feet his the floor he fell forward onto his hands and knees; the booties were so thick that it was like standing on half-deflated exercise balls. The romper made him crawl towards the bouncer, which itself floated into the air moved to fit itself around his waist and torso. Twin straps cinched themselves around either thigh, forcing his legs even further apart than they had been. The bouncer then lifted him into the air and attached itself to the ceiling. Once secure it released him and let gravity bounce him up and down.

Roger couldn’t help moaning into his gag. Something inside of him grumbled loudly. What had been in that milk?

“Be a good baby and wet your diaper for me. Be my sissy baby forever. Come on, be a good girl.” Maggie’s voice left a taste of honey on his tongue, it made him want to make her happy despite the voice inside of him that screamed for him to fight back, to do anything to get away.
But he wanted to be a good baby. Against his better judgement, Roger let go. He felt his bladder swiftly empty into the cloth diaper. As he did he sighed, but his voice sounded different. Higher-pitched. He felt his body shifting, but not painfully. As his diaper became heavier so too did the breasts forming on his chest. His short dark hair did too, growing to halfway down his back.

“Yes, yes. That’s it. There’s my perfect little sissy baby. I’ve been waiting so long for you to come to me. And now that you’re here I’m going to keep you forever.”