Darkness. I wonder what time it is. Time to stretch and roll over.

Hey! What gives? I can’t move.

I don’t feel anything around me like a blanket, but I can’t move.
Are my eyes open? BLINK. Yes, my eyes are open. Why can’t I see anything? It must be pitch black in here. Where is here? Where am I? Where should I be? Why can’t I remember?

Too many questions. Try to move again. I still can’t move. What’s wrong with me? Can I at least feel my body? Yes. Thank god, I’m not paralyzed, something is just holding me still, but what? Why can’t I feel it? It’s like I’m floating in the air. What can do that? A force field? Do they even exist? I thought they were just the rambling imaginations of science fiction writers. I guess not.

Who has force fields? The government? Nah. They’d never be able to keep something like a functional force field a secret. Someone would blab about it. Hell, they’d be lording it over other countries if they had one, not even trying to keep it a secret.

Who else has a force field? Another country? Nah. Same thing would apply. Aliens? Shit! Am I about to get anally probed or some other such crap? I hope not. Besides, what would aliens want with me. I have a job, a family, a wife and children. I would be missed. I’m not some backwoods hick of a hermit hiding away from people. It doesn’t make sense. It can’t be aliens. If they were going to take someone who would be missed, why not take someone important like the president or someone who they could use as a bargaining chip in negotiations?

Am I seeing lights? Yes. Pretty colors. I wonder what’s causing them?

“Help!”

I heard that. Good. I’m not dreaming–nightmare more likely. Hey, can I pinch myself? Come on hand move. Move. MOVE!

Damn! I can feel my hand trying to move, but something is stopping it from moving. Probably that force field thing again.

Is my heart beating? Yes.

Am I breathing? Yes.

I can talk too, but I can’t move anything. I wonder what happens when I need to eliminate. Am I going to urinate or defecate on myself? God, I hope not. Wait a minute. That might not be that bad. I’d be able to feel it I think. For that matter, it might get someone to come clean me up and I could ask them to tell me what’s going on.

Let’s try yelling some more.

 

 

Sore throat. Can’t talk. I guess I yelled too much before passing out although I wish I knew why I passed out. The last thing I remember is yelling to try to get someone to help me. Maybe that was the response, to feed me some laughing gas or something to put me out. Why won’t they talk to me?

Who are these people? Are they people? Enough! There be madness. Unless…

Could I be dead? Is this what the afterlife is, a void? But then why can’t I move? I can image an afterlife with no light and no other people–a hell of my own making, so to speak–but why can’t I move? If this was hell, it would make more sense to let me move around and confirm I’m alone. That would seem to be a much more depressing and terrifying situation.

How would I even know if I was dead? No one seems to know what the afterlife is like. Look at all the different opinions different religions have. Hah! If this is the afterlife, they’re all wrong. Boy would I love to be able to tell my pastor about this. It would drive him crazy.

Let’s try something functional. Can I move anything?

Hands? No.

Feet? No.

Torso? No. Wait a minute. I think I can actually twist a bit. I’m not sure. It could be my imagination. I think I can. I think I can. Woo. Woo.

Yeah, right. Now I’m going crazy. I’m turning into the little engine that could. But it does seem like something has changed around my waist. I’m not sure what. Maybe it’s….

That’s what’s changed. I can distend my belly a bit more. There’s maybe a half an inch of space between my skin and the force field or whatever it is. Does that mean it’s deteriorating, becoming weaker? I hope so. Then, maybe I can fight my way out of here. Struggling. Hum. Good idea.

Let’s try that. Maybe the field will wear out sooner and I can get loose.

 

 

They’ve got to be knocking me out. One second I was struggling to move and the next I was asleep. No one goes to sleep in the middle of struggling to do something. It’s not possible. Even folks with conditions like narcolepsy take a few minutes to wind down and fall asleep. Sheesh! You’d think I was some kind of lab rat or something.

So, do I holler again or do I struggle? Maybe I could play dead?

A quick clearing of my throat and then a warm-up scale. “Mee-mee-mee-mee-mee-mee-mee…” My throat isn’t sore, but my voice sounds different. I’m not sure how it’s different, just that it is. This is silly. I’m being silly. Maybe I should sing a song? That would certainly be the silly thing to do right now.

 

 

It was an old song. Who wrote it? Oh, yeah, the Doors. I wonder why I thought to sing that song of all the songs I know? Maybe because it fits my mood. What is my mood? Not happy or silly. Angry? Yes. Scared? Definitely. What the hell is going on here? Change the subject. Change the subject. No fear. No fear. Think. Be strong.

Wait. What was that? Flashing lights? Do I hear something or am I hearing things, just like I’ve been seeing flashing lights–spots–out damn spots? It sounds like…It sounds like…laughter? Is that really laughter? I can’t quite tell for sure, but it is a noise–I think.

“Who are you? What do you want? What are you doing to me?”

Nothing. Did I really hear laughter or was I imaging it? Do I hear anything? Anything? A hum? Nothing? I don’t know. What the hell is going on here? Is anything going on here? I guess it’s time to take inventory again.

Can I move anything?

Toes? YES! I can move them a bit. Not a lot, just enough to know that there is some give. What else?

Fingers? YES! Same as the toes, just enough to know there’s give. This is good. Things are changing. I can do this. What else?

Knees? No. Maybe next time.

Elbows? Also no.

This is like that song, “The Hip bone is connected to the thigh bone…” Stop that! Stay focused.
Hips? No. Wait a minute something is different, but not the way I want. It feels a bit tighter rather than looser–less space rather than more. That’s not good. Keep going. I want more good news.

Stomach? Yes. I can distend my stomach. I think it’s even a bit more than last time.

Chest? Hey that feels tighter too. No, that’s not right. It feels squishy. I can move a bit, but it feels like the skin is sliding around.

Head and neck? I can’t turn, but…but, I need a haircut. It feels like I’ve got hair tickling the back of my shoulder blades. Definitely not the crew cut I prefer. Geez! How long have I been in this mess? Time to struggle again. Ah, hell. Let’s be honest, time to panic.

 

 

Seems like whomever is in charge here doesn’t like it when I panic. I don’t know if it was the screaming, the struggling, or the combination of both, but I had barely begun and the put me to sleep again. Maybe I can use that to get them to deal with me. Yahoo! Panic time.

 

 

And again.

 

 

And again.

 

 

Once more? Why not?

 

 

Okay, I guess it’s safe to say that didn’t work. Let’s hold off on the next panic a moment and take inventory. Maybe all my struggling had some impact on whatever is holding me.

Toes? Yes, I can move them. Is it more than before? I’m not sure. Maybe. I think so.

Fingers? Yes. More? Like the toes, maybe.

Knees and Elbows? Nope.

Chest and Buttocks? They really feel squishier. Great, I’m growing breasts. I wonder what they’re pumping me full of when I’m asleep since I don’t remember being hungry while awake? Must be good stuff. Between the lack of activity–besides struggling that is–and whatever this is, I must be getting awfully fat.

But wait a minute. I was able to move more around the stomach area, not less. Yup. Still can. I feel like there’s almost enough space to do a belly dance. Too bad I don’t know how. Give all the fat I’m sporting, I could probably use the exercise. Although I wonder why whoever is doing this–I’m going to call them thingeroos from now on and figure out why I chose that word later–would allow me more space around the waist. I hope that’s not an indication of how fat I’m going to get.

OH, MY GOD! It’s like that short story by Damon Knight where the aliens come “to serve man.” They’re going to eat me. Time to panic again.

 

 

I give up, thingeroos. Do whatever you’re going to do. Nothing I do makes a difference. I might as well me dead. Do you breathe when you’re dead? Maybe I am dead. That’s it. I’m a zombie.

“Command me, Lord.”

Nothing. Good. Wrong movie anyway.

Socrates. Maybe he’s the answer. I can use Socratic logic to discern what’s going on and what to do. Was it Socrates who said, “When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.” That doesn’t sound right–not Socrates, Sherlock Holmes. Now he was good at solving puzzles. I wish he was here with me. I wish Julie were here with me. I wish anyone was here with me.

Oh, the heck with it. What do you know?

I’m breathing. My heart is beating. I can feel my body. I seem to be getting fat, at least in some areas. I can move, but not enough to accomplish anything. Whatever is holding me seems to be allowing more and more movement around the waist, but not really anywhere else. I can’t feel whatever is holding me seems to be able to do it without actually touching me, or at least without me being able to feel it touching me even though I seem to be able to feel everything else.

Wait. That’s it. I know how to force whoever is doing this to me to do something. I’m going to bite my tongue. If I do it right I might even choke on the blood. They’ll have to do something–or they’ll let me die. What the hell. Would death be that bad under the circumstances?

 

 

Well, that’s another fine mess you’ve gotten me into, brain. I remember the pain. Wow! Biting your tongue really hurts. It’s a good thing they put me out almost immediately. At least I know they want me alive and that they have good medical insurance–I wonder if it’s Blue Cross? Probably not. The only Blue Cross around here is the one next to the purple Happy Face staring at me from behind me.

Stop that! Stay on track. They obviously healed my tongue. I don’t feel any pain and I don’t even feel any indentations or roughness where I bit myself.

Well, if they want me alive, I guess that’s a good sign. They could have just let me die and eaten me as a snack, so I guess this isn’t the Twilight Zone, at least not that episode. So what episode is it?

Again, stop that. Stay focused. Do an inventory. Go back to Socrates. Yeah, that’s it; a toast to Socrates.

“Barkeep, a mug of your best hemlock please.

“What, you say you’re out of hemlock today? Off with your head, knave. Boy, you just can’t get any good help these days, can you Alice.”

Sigh. Back to the inventory.

“The hip bone’s connected to the…”

Stop that! Go crazy on your own time.

What’s that? Oh, you want to know what time it is? Why one moment and I’ll look at my watch. Oh, wait. I can’t look at my watch. I can’t move and anyway I’m not wearing it, or anything else, at the moment.

Time to panic again.

 

 

I’ve figure it out. The thingeroos. They’re not aliens. They’re not devils, demons, gods, etc. I’m not dead. I’m in a sensory deprivation chamber. Of course, that’s got to be it. It explains it all; the imaginary lights and sounds, the feeling like I’m floating, but can’t really move. The multiple waking and sleep states. The problems focusing my thoughts, even the problems telling time. It all makes sense. I don’t need to struggle. I just have to wait for them to finally let me out.

Oh, yeah. And next time. I’m gonna make sure I never volunteer for such a harebrained thing again. In fact, I think I’m going to kick myself when I get out, just to remind myself never, ever, ever to volunteer again–not for anything–ever.

Now I just need to wait for this to be over; soon, I hope.

 

 

I’m so bored. I wish they’d either put me out of my misery or just let me sleep until they’re ready to eat me or whatever. Even my hallucinations are boring; just lights and buzzes. Why can’t I hallucinate something good like me and my wife on a beach? Julie in her light blue flower pattern bikini and me–well, and me drooling over her.

Hey, that’s not a flashing light. That’s too bright and it’s betting brighter. It’s blinding me, even when I close my eyes, I can see the red glow through my lids.

This is new. This is different. This is good. Well, it could be bad, but it is an end. Something is happening. Maybe I’ll finally find out what. Why would be good too, but right now and end would be fantastic, a what would be great and a why would be…well, two out of three wouldn’t be bad.
Maybe I’ll get to see Julie again. God, I miss her. I sure hope that’s her behind the light.

Maybe she’ll have some clothes for me. Hee. Hee. Maybe she won’t. Better yet, I hope it’s her meeting me in that bikini. Now that would be good. I can imagine myself rising to the occasion.
Rising to the occasion. Wait a minute. I haven’t risen to the occasion once while I’ve been here. I haven’t risen to the occasion once because…

It’s gone. It’s not there. That means this isn’t any sensory deprivation chamber and I’ve really been changing. The fatty chest and buttocks. The missing penis. I’m not a man any more….

 

 

Operational Status Report
October 31, 1955

Subject: M-73

Result: Failure.

Recommendation: Dispose of comatose body. Postpone further trials pending further study.