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Alakazam - Trick or Treat

Aside from the red stripe cutting across the paintwork of Hank's Chevrolet Chevelle, the car was as black as a panther. Its engine suitably growled at the traffic hobbling its smooth journey, as though the beast had become wounded and was limping out of one of the many nameless - as far as Hank was concerned, anyway - backwater villages that clustered around haemorrhoids around London's prolapsed sphincter.

Hank bounced in his seat as the road dipped. Both windows were down, filling the car with the unseasonably warm October day's air; he'd opened them down to help him clear out the unpleasant, metallic-tasting air that lingered throughout the city, and that you only became aware of once you were free from its oppressive fist, its many metal and grass tentacles trying to grab and keep you there, like some madman's replica of some unknowable undersea horror.

Not long now, Hank my man.

Bursting past that last of the hellish Matryoshka doll he had been trapped in, the ring of small towns and villages that tried to cling to their own identity as the bloated metropolis feasted on those trapped inside, London and all of Hank's problems seemed finally to be behind him. For the first time in ages, he felt genuinely free.

Maybe we should go celebrating, hm? Keep driving until we get to some country pub and -

Hank squirmed in his jeans. The sides of his unbuttoned shirt flapped over his labour-hardened body, still wrapped in one of the black singlets he'd taken to wearing. He licked his lips, wondering exactly how long it had been since he'd had anything to drink. Even water would have helped to sate those needs, but he didn't want to stop at any of the dinky little stores he had passed. He wanted out.

• find some nice country lass to spend the evening with. Kind of like old times, huh?

Hank frowned at his thoughts.

No? Probably right there. Women are all bitches, and they're nothing but poison.

For the last few days his mind had been on nothing but women, but not in the usual way that made his cock harden. Now, though, his slowly-relaxing mind, like some wary stray dog that had just been taken in, began to work through all the pent-up feelings his body had been collecting up for the right time to come out again. The whole thing had been rotten, a heavy weight on head and on his balls. His cock had thickened off, showing off that bulge that had always attracted a lot of the right attention from women. Usually, anyway.

Don't worry, we'll find some fun for you soon now that we're as safe as houses.

It occurred to Hank that his mind seemed to be in a strange place now that it was all over. The old saying had just popped unbidden into his head. He wondered if he'd read it in a book when he was at school, or if it was something his grandparents had said so many years ago, that his mind - giddy on no longer being forced to pump out stress hormones - latched onto to help buck up his spirits. Whatever it was, it worked: a relieved smile slowly grew out of the stern scowl that had chiselled its own way on to his prematurely-aged features. The smile helped to drop the years; now he looked closer to his twenty-five than the thirty-five going on seventy that he had been feeling.

Trying to figure out where that phrase had come from blew away, just as easily as the crinkled red-brown autumn leaves that swirled around on the road as he drove by a tree. Looked to be something like a maple tree; he imagined his car's wheels tearing them apart, the panther digging its claws in, and he felt himself chuckling.

Hank's good mood didn't last; grabbing the wheel, he swore noisily and blasted his horn at three young teenage boys, pedalling idly up the road to a rest stop that was just a little bit out of town. The bright sign of McDonald's flashed by as he turned his head. He was pretty sure they had no business being out on the road.

Shouldn't your mum have taught you not to play in the road, you dumb shits? Hope you get run over, you fucking turds!

Starting to laugh again, this time unpleasantly as he imagined a huge car smacking into the three boys, their young lives cut short as their bodies became twisted around the front grill of some demonic truck. It only seemed fair: those fucking kids were getting in the way of him getting away. Whatever they were up to couldn't be more important than Hank putting in as many miles as possible between him, that whore and her fucking whore friends who'd stuck up for her as she tried to ruin his life.

Bet you wish you could have remembered someone from that night, huh? Someone that could have made defending yourself a whole lot easier than it was. Too bad you were as drunk as a fucking skunk that night, eh?

Hank had done his best to shake the whole thing from his head, now that he was done with it, but it had refused to. It had stuck to his mind, like gum caught on the bottom of one of his big sneakers. Wriggling the toes resting on the brake pedal, he breathed in deep, the speed-cooled air filling him up as the world continued to roar past his head.

Everyone else should have just chilled the fuck down. That would have been best for you, Hank my man. If they had, you wouldn't have had your whole life turned upside down.

Now clearly out in the countryside, his panther of a car could really be let loose. Flinging his right arm through the window, one meaty, scarred middle finger rising to flip off the villages and towns and cities and all the other people in his rear view mirror, he pushed hard on the accelerator. Whatever the people in them might have thought, the villages and towns and cities certainly didn't care about Hank flipping them off, or about his problems. He wasn't about to stick around to find out one way or the other. His panther raced down the road, the engine purring as everything seemed to suddenly go his way: traffic started turning into a trickle, and the road straightened out, welcoming him to continue to ride along in the car he'd worked so hard to restore.

Hank's face turned back into a grin again, his teeth showing through his slightly-too-dry lips. His heart pounded in his chest. One hand rested easily on the wheel, the other tapped on the warm side of his car, soaking up the rays from the big red sun beaming down on top of him. He breathed in, his lungs enjoying the ability to suck it all in after so long having other people squeeze the life out of him.

After one final old farm truck shuddered past him like a drunk old donkey, dragging a heavy cart to the marketplace, Hank seemed to have the road to himself. The farms around him gave way, a large forest - probably some national park or wildlife preserve, he thought - loomed before him on both sides of the road. His car thrust into the woods, not slowing down as the trees closed around it. Leaves scattered all about him, flying behind him before catching the swirling eddies and twirling back down to the ground. The engines car had become a satisfied purr; Hank wondered why it was that he hardly ever left London on the weekends.

This baby does so much better on the open road, out here in the middle of nowhere where there's no bitches to give you problems.

For a few moments, it seemed as though anything was possible for Hank right then. He stuck his head out through the window, hooting happily as the wind rushed through his thick, dark hair. He could be loud, but he could barely hear his voice over the sound of fast air rushing past his head. When he pulled his head back in like some reluctant turtle, his smile had turned into a full-on beaming grin, saliva making his slightly-yellowed teeth gleam.

The big red sun was the only slightly unsettling thing to Hank's mind; but even that seemed to be slowly going away as afternoon claimed its prize and the sun slowly sunk down towards the horizon. He eased up on the engine, slowing his precious car down enough to safely take the corner that was waiting for him up ahead.

Hank licked his lips, a strange taste to the dust or air or whatever was on them. He'd been busy with other things that news had washed right through his consciousness, but some other parts of his brain managed to dredge up some idea of a pretty bad storm having blown a bunch of sand or dust in. That, he guessed, was what had turned the sky hazy and had made the sun resemble a baleful, judgemental eye. He gave it a quick glance, as its red surface was cut by a thick, dark cloud.

Guess a storm really might be coming in.

The weather had been good for the last few days, annoyingly cheery while Hank had been stuck in his own personal thunderstorm.

That was a storm in a teacup, wouldn't you say?

There was his brain again, grabbing onto some stupid old saying. Hank breathed out, his eyes catching sight of a passageway cut through the trees, a big clear stripe eating its way through the forest and, most importantly, across the road. Warning lights flashed up, and a loud jangle started as barriers slowly descended. The railway crossing had appeared as suddenly as a mirage. A horn blasted from just out of sight to Hank's right; moments later, as he brought his car to a full stop in front of the barriers, the engine car of a freight train rushed past.

Something about it felt a little off to Hank: most of the rail crossings he'd come across nowadays had been overpasses or underpasses. He guessed here you probably didn't get much of a choice, and the road didn't get enough traffic to warrant making a change, but he still felt annoyed at having the big galumphingtrain interrupt the progress he was making in putting as much space as possible between himself and London.

Things became worse: a groan of low patience draining away burst out of Hank's mouth as the train's rapid speed seemed to vanish. It seemed to be tugging the whole nation's supply of freight cars behind it: the first few had followed the engine across the rail crossing in a blur of colour, but now he was able to pick up the logos spray-painted neatly onto their sides, see the scuff marks where they banged up against something else at some point, and spots where the rain had gotten in and started to corrode the thick metal underneath. It all seemed crystal clear, each detail leaping out at him.

This fucking train's slowing down.

"Fuck this!" he snarled, his hand flying down to the stick. Hank's good mood had once again disappeared, and his dark brown eyes narrowed as he shifted the car into reverse. The tires protested, squealing against the road as he sped backwards. In front of him, the train barely seemed to be moving, the cars sliding forward idly. Feeling vindication pumping around his body, he pulled out, following the road back outwards. Had Hank given more than a cursory glance to his rear-view mirror, he might have been puzzled that neither the train, nor the rail crossing, seemed to exist in the reflection. But he was more interested in finding an alternate way forwards.

The forest around him seemed to grow, as though it was stubbornly refusing to let him leave. Clouds had moved in overhead, stubbornly sticking around and making the ominous red sun wink at him. A dull roar of distant thunder seemed to laugh at him as his knuckles whitened and the flesh of his hands dug into the leather covering the steering wheel.

Finally, he managed to shake himself loose of the forest. Hank smiled, but it wasn't the same giddy relief he felt earlier; this one was a far more predatory smile, one where the muscles in his face twisting his handsome features into an ugly grimace.

We've got to get you outta here, Hank the man.

His eyes glanced along the edges of the road; he'd not paid attention to the branching paths before, and just like the fact that he had not passed a turn-off for quite some time, the fact that at least one loomed up on the corner only set the smallest of subconscious alarm bells off in his head.

Hank's mind was busy trying to recall the names of the towns marked on the signpost. He couldn't quite remember how long he'd been driving, and out here he wasn't getting any signal to check on a map. His fingers tapped a staccato beat on the driving wheel as he continued to study the sign.

Does it matter where you go? All you want to do is get away, remember? Maybe even go somewhere you don't have to come back from...

The turn-off looked promising to Hank. If his maths was correct, the country road should take him along the edge of the forest, right past the train.The engine, having sat idling for a few moments, roared back into life as his foot slowly descended on the accelerator. He took the turn sharply, but having driven it around London, he'd gotten accustomed to worse. The tyres screeched once again.

It didn't take long for him to travel down this new route before Hank guessed at what had happened; punctuated when the first pothole caught him unawares, sending him bouncing in his seat. It had probably been at some point very distant in the past, a major connection, probably between some market town or other. The road had been there, and the government had, therefore, used it and kept it up, but it probably was nothing than a drain on the public purse: he passed by no villages, just what looked like the same handful of farmhouses time and time again, having to slow down or swerve to avoid the next pothole.

Whatever storm seemed to be threatening to settle in seemed to decide against it, and the red eye in the sky returned. Still grumpy, Hank did find himself relaxing a bit, but not quite enough. He was starting to feel a little unsettled. He knew he was used to London's nose-to-arse traffic, but he really should have seen someone along the road at some point. The only living things he had seen were the animals busily chewing up the unending supply of grass that seemed to be in these fields.

Now what's that up ahead?

Hank had almost missed them; he'd been distracted by scratching at the back of his neck with his right hand. His shoulders had shuddered, as though there'd been something unnatural in the chill of the wind that had blown in through the open windows. It had only lasted a moment, but it made him pay attention to the blur of colour. He shifted his weight from the accelerator to the brake, as his mind offered up the suggestion, directly from what had been on the TV he had on lately in the background as he tried to go to sleep,that it was a father taking his son or daughter out trick or treating.

Way out here, in the middle of nowhere? To what, pull candy out of those donkey's assholes? Guess again.

Whoever they were, they were definitely wearing costumes. It really couldn't be anything else: nothing in Hank's life suggested that anything else could have explained it. He might have been wrong about it being a guy and his kid; the smaller of the two figures certainly looked like a child compared to the other one, but as Hank drew closer he could see it was simply because the larger one was so impossibly tall and wide that even he probably looked like an awkward teenager if they were standing side-to-side. The guy in the bunny suit under a tuxedo or some other suit - Hank wondered for a moment why you'd wear those nice clothes while walking through grass and mud on the side of the road - was definitely a little on the short side, but his body was filled out just enough to tell he was an adult.

The huge man - and he had to be a man going by size alone, let alone the shape of the huge, thick muscles underneath - accompanying him was wearing something a bit more appropriate: blue jean overalls held up with suspenders, and a straw hat covering the head of his costume. Two red eyes stared out of the grey, wrinkled mask as Hank zoomed passed.

Was that a grin on his face?

Hank hadn't slowed down enough to get a proper look, but the costumes looked damned good to him as he blurred past them. He'd expected to see a smile on the white rabbit

Shouldn't that have been dirty?

and so hadn't really paid very much attention to him. But the freak of a guy next to him - he'd made a fucking good choice of costume in Hank's opinion - had not been smiling. His mask hadn't, anyway; the guy might have been some fucking moron grinning appropriately underneath, but the mask hadn't been. Hank had never been so convinced about anything in his life, other than the fact he'd seen those thick grey lips curl up into a pleased smile as he'd driven past.

Hank quickly glanced around. An idea had struck him: the only thing that made sense of the fact two people in the middle of nowhere had that level of elaborate costume on, with apparently no regard for how much dirt was going to get on them. He wanted to chuckle, really wanted, when he'd see the lights and some red-faced director would start shouting at him for having somehow bypassed the film crew that had been hidden behind the hedge rows and fences and why had he decided then to drive right through their shot?Pushing down on the accelerator, he sped up. He didn't want to see those two ever again.

Makes it easier to pretend it didn't happen, huh? You've gotten pretty used to that, haven't you?

"I was drunk," Hank told nobody in particular.

After a slight turn in the road, he spotted a farmhouse on the corner. Pulling over as much as he could, he stopped the car. He glanced around, checking the odometer and the time on his phone. He'd been driving for a good several hours now. Unless he'd somehow avoided every major population centre and had sped all the way to the remotest parts of Wales or Scotland, he should have passed within spitting distance of this or that village. But nope, nothing. He had somehow gotten lost on a fucking more or less straight road. "What the fuck is going on?" he muttered.

Then Hank's stomach fell out of his body, and right through the floor of his muscle car; that's at least what it felt like when the two figures walked up along the road. "That's impossible!" he yelled, fingers fumbling for the keys. His mind had been busy trying to put the rabbit and the rhinoceros into the back with the other imaginary friends and impossible creatures he'd dreamed up during his adventurous dreams - aided by drugs or not - but here they were, walking up to him just as easy as you please, like he'd been driving in one big circle this entire time.

Maybe you have, Hank my man, maybe you have...

"No!" Hank screamed. His car - his precious car - suddenly refused to start. The engine didn't even so much as cough. His precious panther had just up and died on him. "No!" he yelled again, crawling out of the car just before the rabbit and the rhino could catch up to him. They were walking, as though out for a pleasant Sunday stroll, but Hank wasn't going to take any risks.

Since he was convinced that, beyond all logic, he'd been travelling in some forgotten hell-loop of highway, Hank ran up and vaulted over the fence. His jeans caught on the wire which, for some reason, he hadn't noticed was barbed. The barbs thankfully missed his skin, but they did tear a giant rip in his jeans, the fabric separating like paper. His butt splattered into the ground with a wet splat, mud splashing all over him.

The farmhouse seem to be the safest bet. Even if it belonged to those two... things behind him - a quick frightened glance over his shoulder suggested that,although they were prepared to take their sweet time doing so, they were still going to come after him. The rhino had lifted the rabbit off the ground, easily plopping him on the other side of the fence.

Hank stumbled again. This time, it claimed his shirt: branches buried deep in the ground clawed at his singlet, tearing as his hands pushed into the ground. His front, caked in mud, gleamed under the light of the evil sun that Hank was somehow convinced part of this.

You've been under a lot of stress, Hank. No wonder your mind's going to pieces. Maybe you just crashed your car, and you don't even remember it, and this is all one big hallucination?

Hank's feet stumbled in the mud, his shoes seeming to twist awkwardly around on his feet. He wanted to take them off, but he didn't have the time. It didn't matter how the huge fucking rhino guy had done it, but he had gone over the fence, and was now only a few steps behind the rabbit, who seemed to be quickly gaining ground on him.

Breath rattled in his lungs: Hank was in good shape - physical labour and a lucky selection of genetics had kept him from gaining the pounds his friends tended to put on - but somehow that didn't matter. Cold, ghostly fingers had clenched around his heart and lungs, and he was having trouble breathing.

No, I'm afraid that's not the case, Hank my man. This is all very, very real for you. You can feel it: the little scrapes, the aching of your feet in your shoes, and a few other strange twinges and bodily groans that you can't quite place yet, but you will. You know your mind can't fabricate all this shit up while you lie dying off the side of the road.

Hank dragged himself along, suddenly very hot. Sweat trickled down, mixing into the mud as he pumped his legs and his arms as fast as they could manage. It still seemed not to be enough: the rabbit and the rhinoceros were relentless pursuers. He could somehow feel their breath on the back of his neck, even though they weren't that close; no matter how close they were, though, it was too close. Subconsciously, he licked his lips.

Your mind's definitely going to pieces, old boy. Don't you remember? Drink's the thing that helped land you in this situation.

"Shut up!" Hank warned his brain, his head seeming to start poundingaggressively for no reason. He stumbled again, letting out a pitiful wail that was cut short as the air was knocked out of his lungs.

Maybe it's about time you called it quits, hm?

"No!" Hank insisted, calling out as he pushed himself off the ground again. He could almost feel them sticking their arms out: the big grey ones with the rough skin, and the more slender ones covered with white fur.His body seemed to give him one last shot, and although he was hobbling awkwardly, and constantly stumbling on the uneven ground, he seemed to be making fast progress away from them and towards the farmhouse.

There was too much going on for Hank to pay attention to the strange twists and aches in his body; adrenalin had forced them from his head, to be chalked up later as injuries accrued during one of his many face-first visits to the surprisingly soft, wet ground. He didn't notice that his muddy chest seemed far more weighty than usual, handfuls of fat jiggling up and down on his once-lanky frame. Nor did the fact that the itchy skin sandwiched between the mud and the fat was becoming rougher, pinker and bristling with coarse, white hairs.

Rasping raggedly, Hank almost collapsed when he reached the farmhouse. It was simple: a small place of only a couple of rooms, filled with the modest possessions of some poor farming family. He hoped someone was home, or at least that the door was unlocked as he took a step up and barged through the front door.

Hank had been travelling so fast that it took him several steps to come to a screeching halt. Before him, where he should have been standing on a firm, straight floor, maybe of wood or tiles or stone or brick, was instead mud. Around him should have been the walls of the house he'd just entered, but instead he was facing in the direction he had just come in: the rabbit and the rhino were starting to quickly close the distance. Hank could see his own muddy footprints - and a shoe he hadn't noticed he'd lost - from his crazed dash upwards. "No!" he screamed, turning back around.

The house was there; he could see it through the open door, but the sweat and mud dripping down Hank's face kept making him blink, and as soon as he did the inside of the house was behind him, and he was standing as though he just went out. Tremors shook his body; faced with the impossibility, he reached up to claw at his face.

The next "No" almost died on his lips, coming out in a weak, defeated wail. Something had happened to his hands: the flesh of his fingers had started to clump together, the fingers growing and fusing together. Large bulges stuck out from his knuckles; his nails had darkened and lengthened out of the very pink rims around his fingernails. It reminded him of something.

Like pig's trotters.

Hank started to babble, looking from hand to hand as the transformation spread across each hand as he watched it. His hands pressed up against his face, suddenly panicked over how far this thing had gone. It didn't seem to have done too much to his face just yet, but it was certainly noticeable. The ends of his fusing fingernails clacked against the two heavy, sharp teeth that had pushed out between his lips, which had themselves grown thick, with scragglywhite hairs poking out of his chin. That was jutting out, from what he could tell from the way his face pushed out; all the way up from the bristly bottom to the top. He felt his nostrils, pulling forward as he started to see their widening edge creep over the edge of his vision.

Keeping his hands moving, Hank traced them over is plumping cheeks, over to the side of his head. He brushed the two fat fingers that were on each side over the side of his head, his thick hair falling out as though they had been held to his head with the finest gossamer thread. That was shocking enough, but his fingers jerked passed them, touching his ears.

Breathing heavily as the panic rose within him, and with tears streaming down the pink-blotched cheeks, he looked down at the rest of his body. His rounded stomach hung out over his pants a little, the firm, shapely, attractive muscles disappearing under a sleek layer of fat.

Have you gotten taller, Hank my man? I don't think so. No. That's your chest pulling out while your legs get shorter. And what's that that you can see from that shoe that just fell off? That ain't a human foot!

Hank had forgotten all about the two strange things that had been chasing him, until the big, muscular rhinoceros, a couple of steps behind the still impossibly clean white rabbit, opened his mouth.Big yellow teeth and along, saliva-coated tongue that moved around between those grey lipsdemonstratively showed off that whatever it was that this half-man, half-animal thing was, he was definitely flesh and blood.His deep voice rumbled, the question directed at the rabbit-thing filled with an angry tinge that Hank could tell wasn't directed at the person he was asking. "What do you want to do with him, Al?"

It seemed like a question he'd have expected from the rabbit: Hank always took bigger guys to be the leader of the group, but here he must have been wrong. He knew when someone was being deferential. He also knew people in control could afford to wait to answer, and when the rabbit - this "Al", he supposed - it meant they were people that maybe shouldn't be fucked with.

Hank shuddered as the rabbit reached out to towards him. As he stared into the rabbit's ominously glowing red eyes, he felt a heavy weight tug at his shoulders. The rabbitcontinued to notspeak, at least not out loud. Al's red eyes seemed busy just wandering up and down Hank's body. He quivered, his body now acutely aware of all the shifting going on with his flesh, as his body seemed to slowly restructure

Here piggy piggy piggy!

into the body of aboar. Hank considered that perhaps they were trying to make another like them.

Oh no, Hank my man, I think they might have caught you out. Your chickens are coming home to roost. Well, your pigs anyway.

"I'm innocent," Hank blurted out. Nobody had asked a question that required that as an answer. "I don't remember doing it!"

Except you do, Hank. You weren't that drunk that night, were you? Not on any of the other nights either, where you got away with it because you made all those pretty girls you liked the look of too afraid to dob you in. Only you fucked up the last time and picked on a woman with some backbone and took you for what you were worth.

"No, I..." Hank groaned.The weight on his shoulders seemed more insistent, and he slowly realised what it was.His arms, as though they had their own choice in the matter,wanted to move forward, to sink down into the dirt, but although part of him just wanted to do it, the rest of him felt revolted by it. That seemed like it would be a Bad Thing To Do.

Psh! Like you've ever stopped doing something because it was bad!

Al curled one of his white, fur-covered fingers into a loop, and Hank felta strange prickling in his nostrils. Something cold and hard penetratedthrough the soft flesh of his nose. He screamed, trying to look downat what was happening, as the cold thing threaded its way around, resting against his porcine nose, which seemed to pull out further as Al lowered his hand back to his side. Hank reached up, feeling the hard clink of metal pressed up against his face. Hank had never thought of getting a piercing before, but he had dated enough girls who had had them.

Hank stepped back, watching as Al's fingers curled about, slowly clenching into fists. He felt the same strange electricity brush over his skin that he'd felt, just before the ring had appeared through his nose. He decided that he wasn't going to stick around: he ran back quickly, heading away from the farmhouse.

You can't get away! You know you can't!

Although Hank ran, it was slower and methodical. The ground was calling to him, just waiting for him to stumble again. He was under the distinct impression that if he should fall, he would never become upright again. It was hard enough staying upright at the moment: his fat jiggled about as he panted and sweated, feeling hair after hair fall off his head and onto his shoulders.

Hearing a tell, Hank yelped; only to realise that it wasn't his flesh that was being torn apart, but his clothing. His shirt tumbled down his shortened arms: his hands had completely succumbed, and his feet seemed to be changing quicker underneath. His singlet, beginning to stretch up his chestas whatever had cursed him had made him put on weight, was next, quickly followed by the tattered remains of his jeans. His remaining shoe exploded, and he yelled again as his new feet slipped on the damp ground, making him fall into the ground, his mind shrieking at him as he felt the rabbit's magic rip through his pants. Mud soaked into his skin, splattering over his body.

"Naww!" Hank squealed, the noise rattling out of his throat as he felt his body twitch and spasm on the ground, his four legs

Your four legs!

wriggling for traction on the ground. He got up, as far as he was going to manage and dug his trotters into the ground his voice breaking into a panicked squeal as he tried to dash as fast as his increasingly fat body would take him. Despite that, and not being used to his body, he seemed to be able to move quite fast.

Maybe that's because you've always, really, been just a big fat pig?

As the changes started to round him off, his body almost entirely porcine, his movement coming faster as he adapted to his new shape. For a moment, he thought he was finally free, the sun cooking off the rest of his human hair off of his fat pig head.

Then the sun opened up like a giant eye - a giant rabbit eye - and he froze in terror.

Hank was barely aware he had immediately started to piss, and only realised that two large hands had grabbed his hind legs. "Wee!" he squealed, thrashing from side to side, kicking his legs as he was forced onto his back. He flailed about feebly, the cold of the mud soaking into his back. He couldn't see the rest of himself, but he was suddenly intently aware that his genitals had been left alone. At least until now: he now felt warmth spread over them, as he started to get hard.

This is all you really wanted, isn't it piggy piggy piggy?

He let out another squeal: his cock suddenly felt very hard as invisible hands started to stroke it. His legs twitched about, although a lot more feebly. The warmth around his shaft had started to take a lot of the bite from the panic he'd been feeling. Al came upwards, and as he turned to look into the rabbit's face, he suddenly noticed the rabbit was reaching out to pet him.

The invisiblehands pulling on his shaft seemed to be growing his cock. It felt longer, harder as its hot flesh bounced off his chest. His balls were growing too; he felt them bulge out against the skin of his sack, shifting to bulge out between his legs. The magical force stroking him off seemed to be able to reach into his flesh, pulling in and out, changing the very last human parts of him into their boarish equivalents.

Al's hand reached out and touched his head.

Normally I don't go after criminals, but you lied and weaselled your way out of it.

He tried to scream mentally, physically he grunted, thrusting his animal cock into the invisible hands milking it. He could feel the flesh beginning to twist, fluids starting to trickle out as his balls continued to grow to fill in the new scrotum that the magical hands had stretched out for him. He shuddered, grunting. The inner voice had not been his: he suddenly realised he'd been in the rabbit's trap the whole time. The last of his sanity broke.

I try not to get mad: it makes me act rashly. But sometimes, some people push things a little too far. I let people try to get better, but as for you...

The rabbit reached away from his head, but he barely noticed. The big creature let him go, too. He grunted, thrusting his hips into the air, feeling and seeing and smelling another living creature that wasn't actually there. But he felt it, and that's all that mattered. His balls churned and throbbed, jiggling between his thick legs. Magic didn't disturb him now, so barely noticed when the rope materialised around his neck.

All that mattered was that he got some release. He didn't want the stuff in his balls to be in him any more.

With a loud grunt, he thrust forward. The boar was surprised when he landed on the ground,the scent of his mate disappearing as he sniffed about. He wasn't too worried though. Cum gushed out of him, his trotters stretching out wide as his body continued to orgasm.

"You know," Alakazam replied finally, "boars can orgasm for several minutes. There's not going to be anything left of the human by the time he's done. I think I'll make roast pork tonight."