Jekyllase is in the news again as several states are considering decriminalizing its possession; some referenda, such as Proposition 118 here in Oregon, would go farther, making it effectively an over-the-counter drug. It occurred to me that I could dust off a memoir I started writing some time ago, edit it to focus more closely on my experiences with jekyllase, and offer it to the public (anonymously, by necessity, as these propositions are not law yet) as a contribution to the debate.

One night in the fall of 1970, I came back to my dorm late after a date. It wasn’t a disaster, but it didn’t go well enough that I felt I could ask the girl out again, either. I was pretty sure she’d say no.

I unlocked the door of my room and stepped in, called out a casual greeting to my roommate, who I thought I saw at his desk out of the corner of my eye — then did a double-take when I looked straight at him, and saw it wasn’t Randall at all.

“Who are you?” I asked.

“I’m Randall’s hyde,” the strange young man said, and went back to studying history.

“What?”

“Randall took a dose of jekyllase earlier this evening, just after you left for your date. It’ll wear off by morning, but by then I’ll get a lot of studying done — if you don’t keep interrupting me.” The whole time he was speaking, he didn’t take his eyes off his history textbook.

“So... wait, you took this drug and it transformed you somehow?”

“Yes. Or rather, as I said, Randall took it and transformed into me.”

The new guy was taller and skinnier than Randall. He was wearing Randall’s clothes, which didn’t fit him. His hair was red, and in a buzz cut, unlike Randall’s long, dirty blonde hair, and he was clean-shaven. Otherwise they were somewhat similar in features; you could believe they were cousins, or maybe even brothers, but the same person?

“So how are you different from Randall? And what’s your name?”

“Walter. Walter Wellman, III. And,” he said, closing his book with a finger held to mark his place, and finally turning to face me, “I am really tired of answering questions when I would rather be studying. If I fail to master this material, Randall may flunk out, lose his draft deferment and get drafted. Please ask all these questions of Randall when he returns.”

He really was a different person from Randall. Randall was always glad of a distraction from studying, and always happy to provide one when I was studying.

He opened his book and continued reading, occasionally making notes. I shrugged in bewilderment, finished my cigarette, and undressed for bed. Walter was still studying when I fell asleep.

The next morning, Randall was sleeping in as usual when I got up to get ready for breakfast and my early morning class. Afterward, when I came back to the dorm to relax for a while before my next class, I found Randall still in bed, but awake and smoking. He passed the joint to me and I inhaled, then handed it back.

“So what was all that last night about some new drug? Did you really transform into that Walter jerk?”

He made a face. “Oh man, don’t remind me about him. He’s such a drag. I wish I didn’t need him so much.”

“What’s up with him?”

“So jekyllase, you know, it turns you into an embodiment of some suppressed part of your personality, right?”

“No, I hadn’t — wait. Jekyllase? Is that related to the Jekyll and Hyde case?”

“Yeah, exactly. They thought Dr. Jekyll’s notes had been destroyed, but it turned out they were just lost, and they turned up in an attic in London a few years ago. You mean you never heard of it?”

“You’re my main source for information about drugs,” I said, taking the joint and inhaling a couple of times. “And you never mentioned it until now. But I remember seeing a documentary about Dr. Jekyll on TV when I was in middle school.”

“Yeah. So he discovered this drug, and used it way too often — almost every night, sometimes — and then the levels built up in his body, so he started changing into his alternate self without taking the drug, and then it seemed like it became his base state. He needed more of the drug to turn back into his public persona, and as Mr. Hyde he was wanted for murder, so after he ran out of one of the ingredients he killed himself. His suppressed aspect of personality was a crazy murderer. But it doesn’t affect most people like that. Me, it turns into a studying fiend. I don’t like to use it except when I’m behind on studying and I need to catch up before a test.”

That reminded me I had some studying to do before this week’s tests, but I shoved the thought aside for the moment and took another toke. There wasn’t much left of the joint, and after taking another toke and burning his fingers, Randall tossed it in the ashtray.

I giggled. “You’re lame,” I said. “I bet my alter ego is more fun than yours.”

“You’re welcome to find out. You need a sober friend with you the first time you try it, though, even more than with acid. A bad acid trip, your friends hold your hand and keep you from freaking out too bad or doing anything stupid. A bad jekyllase trip can be a lot worse.”

“I guess it’s not addictive, or you wouldn’t be using it.” Randall had strict standards for which drugs he’d use — nothing addictive, habit-forming stuff like pot at most. He was one of the few people I knew who didn’t smoke tobacco, but did use “harder” (i.e., illegal but not necessarily as harmful) drugs.

“No. For some people, it’s habit-forming. And even then, only if you really enjoy being your other self. I don’t like being Walter, I just put up with him by necessity. And he’s disgusted with the way I put off studying, but he knows if he doesn’t study for me, I’ll stop turning into him and he won’t have a chance to exist. And I’m probably never going to use jekyllase again after I leave college, so he doesn’t want me to get expelled. I wish I could let him attend classes for me too.”

“Huh. That’s useful, if not much fun. Who do you get the stuff from?”

“Larry Ryman, over in Enfield Hall.” That was one of the senior men’s dorms.

“Do you have any extra I can try out?”

“No, I just bought two doses from Larry, and I’ll need the other one Thursday night. That’s about as often as it’s safe to use it, twice in one week.” He dragged himself out of bed and said, “Well, I’m gonna hit the shower.”

I thought about that off and on for a few weeks, in between studying and goofing off. I checked up on jekyllase from some other sources, and what I heard confirmed what Randall had told me. Most people’s alternate personalities were pretty harmless compared to Mr. Hyde. But now and again you got a psycho. I talked to a couple of friends about trying it, bought a few doses from Larry, and got them together — with Randall to serve as our chaperone. He was drinking a little, but still pretty much sober; he could help us restrain somebody if one of us turned out to be an axe murderer or something.

Darrell lived in Carew Hall, the same dorm as me and Randall; I’d known him since the second semester of freshman year, when we’d taken Freshman Comp together. Emily was his girlfriend at this point, and my ex-girlfriend; we’d dated for a few months toward the end of freshman year before amicably breaking up.

“I expect we should take it one at a time,” I said, after everybody had gathered in our room. “So we know how it’s affecting you before we rely on you to watch the next person and restrain them if they’re having a bad trip.”

“If they’re turning into a bad person,” Randall supplied. “Dangerously bad, I mean. Some people just turn into jerks. It’s more likely if they’re as nice as you, Emily, but I don’t think it’s super likely or I’d tell you not to use it.”

“So, Scott... we gonna draw straws?” Emily asked.

“Sure,” I said. I went down the hall to the janitor’s closet, which had a broken lock, pulled a few straws off the broom, and came back. I drew the longest straw, so I’d go last.

Emily drew the short straw, and when she gulped down the little shot glass with 250 mg of jekyllase dissolved in orange juice, her flesh shifted around until she was taller and leaner, model-thin everywhere except her breasts and butt. Emily could have stood to lose weight, but redistributing it worked too; she was nice to look at before, but now she was seriously hot. Her clothes didn’t fit her very well now, but she would have made anything look good.

“How do you feel, Emily?” Darrell asked, looking at her appreciatively.

“My name is Cynthia,” she said coldly. “I don’t know why Emily came to this party. I suppose I can’t complain, however, as I wouldn’t exist without that foolish decision.”

“Don’t be like that, baby,” Darrell said, and put his hand on her thigh. (They’d been sitting side by side on my bed, while I sat in my desk chair.) Cynthia slapped his hand away and scooted a few inches further from him.

“Don’t presume that your relationship with Emily gives you privileges with me,” she said. “You’ll have to start from scratch. Or your hyde will. Watching you two transform will, I suspect, be the only interesting part of this party. Unless it provides some more interesting company.”

“Your turn, Darrell,” I said, handing him another shot glass.

It had sort of the opposite effect on Darrell, at least physically. He got shorter and chubbier, and his hair turned black... then I realized his skin tone had changed slightly, and his facial features were shifting more than Emily’s had... Oh. He was Asian. (In 1970 I would have said “Oriental,” but I’m trying to walk a fine line between historical accuracy and modern sensibilities here.)

He took off his shirt, which looked uncomfortably tight, unbuttoned his pants, and asked Randall if he could borrow something. Randall took a swig of his beer, shrugged, pulled a shirt out of his drawer and tossed it to Darrell. He eyed Darrell’s waistline and said, “Not sure any of my pants will fit you, but you’re welcome to try,” and tossed him something from another drawer.

“Who are you now?” I asked, feeling a fluttering in my stomach. This wasn’t turning out as well as I’d expected.

“Takahiro,” he said eagerly, leaning over and extending his hand in greeting. “You can call me Taka if that’s too much trouble.” Cynthia gave him a superior smile.

“Your turn,” she said, turning her gaze to me. I’d already been mixing up the last dose with the orange juice, and after sticking my unfinished cigarette in the ashtray, I downed it in a couple of swigs.

A few moments later, I felt light-headed for a few moments, then my flesh started shifting around. It had seemed to take hardly a minute when Cynthia and Takahiro were transforming, but it felt longer when it was happening to me. At first Scott panicked when he realized he was growing breasts, but a few moments later, we were more me than him, and I laughed in delight. I’d been trapped for so long, and now I was free, and in a few moments I’d be in a body that fit me for the first time. I held up my arms and watched as the skin smoothed out and lost its hair, and got a darker tan. Then I glanced down at my breasts again, which were getting close to full size. I unbuttoned a couple of buttons and watched them grow with satisfaction, running a hand along my hip and waist and feeling the contour shift even through Scott’s clothes.

All this while Randall, Takahiro and Cynthia had been staring at me in astonishment. I grinned at them. “Isn’t this the niftiest thing?” I asked.

“Hi,” Takahiro said. “I met Scott briefly, but I don’t think we’ve met.”

He was kind of cute. And if he needed to lose weight, well, so did I. “I’m Jennifer,” I said cheerily. “Let’s get this party started!”

“I think we just did,” Cynthia said, with a slight smile. “It’s nice not to be the only woman at the party anymore. Welcome, Jennifer.”

Randall was still staring at me open-mouthed. Finally he just said, “Huh. That’s new.”

“Never heard of someone’s hyde being the opposite sex?” I asked.

“No. I heard of a guy whose hyde was a Tolkien elf, though.”

“Nifty! Is he immortal?”

Randall shrugged. “I don’t think so, but I guess it’s too early to tell.”

“Whatever. Let’s party!” I picked up the cigarette Scott had left in the ash tray, and paused for a moment before putting it to my lips. Scott had smoked since he was sixteen, but did I? I dismissed that question — almost everybody smoked back then, or at least everybody in my social circle — and took a drag.

And started coughing uncontrollably. It was only then that I realized how easily I’d been breathing compared to Scott.

“Okay,” I said when I’d finally caught my breath. “So I guess I’m not a smoker.”

Cynthia frowned thoughtfully. “I think I am, but I’m not sure.”

“Give it a try,” I said, passing the cigarette to her. She put it to her lips and inhaled, then exhaled.

“I think I might prefer a different brand than Emily or Scott, but this isn’t bad.”

“Good for you.”

I went over to Randall’s desk and poured myself a drink — just a couple of fingers. Scott didn’t drink much; he couldn’t hold his liquor, but I wanted to find out if I could. I took a sip, and it wasn’t like dragging on the cigarette; it went down smoothly enough.

“I would join you,” Cynthia said, “but I draw the line at that swill Randall is drinking.”

“We could go out for more booze,” I said. “What are you in the mood for?”

“May I point out that none of us has ID?” she said. “And none of us has clothes that fit us.”

“They’re not gonna card you,” I said. “You look twenty-five or six, easy.”

“I suppose I do.”

“And you make Emily’s clothes look better than she does.”

“Perhaps. But I prefer not to walk to the liquor store by myself, not at this time of night, and you aren’t dressed to go with me.”

“Oh, we should measure ourselves, so our jekylls can buy clothes that will fit us next time!”

“You assume there will be a next time,” Cynthia said. “I doubt Emily will like me, or wish to become me again.”

“Sure she will,” I urged, “you just have to show her a good time.”

“Why not?” she said with another smile. “It can’t hurt.” I resolved to do everything I could to make her smile again.

“Uh, I could drive you,” Randall said. “I’ve got a good fake ID.”

Cynthia looked at him appraisingly. “All right,” she said. “But if you put the moves on me, you will regret it.”

He put his hands up. “Hey! I offered to help!”

“And I appreciate it. Let’s go.” She slung Emily’s purse over her shoulder. “We’ll be back soon with some good wine. Any other requests?”

“Um, a Sapporo would be nice if they have it,” Takahiro said, ducking his head deferentially.

“Noted.” She walked out, and Randall followed her.

You can read the entirety of Listening to Jekyllase on Scribblehub or in my ebook short fiction collection Unforgotten and Other Stories ($0.99 on Amazon, free on itch.io and Smashwords). I’ll try to post chapters here about once a week, but they may be irregular due to illness, executive dysfunction, being busy with IRL issues, etc.

Scribblehub is generally the best place to follow me as I have new chapters of different stories appearing there every Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday. They’re scheduled in advance through December, so they’ll keep appearing even if I’m in the hospital or too low-energy to do anything on a given day.