Finished The Un-training of Stanley kaminski

dogboy

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For the past several years, I have written my annual Halloween story, this past year having been the exception as I was finishing my novel. I want to thank Moo for keeping the story forum in tact. Deleting the vast amount of past stories was my suggestion, so I have no complaints. As promised, I am re-posting some of my past contributions, starting with this one.

I had fun writing this story, and there is a lighthearted spirit running throughout. At the time of its composition, the discussion of CD/MP3 hypnosis recordings was big on the site. I've always tried to include who we are on ADISC into the stories I've posted, and this story was no exception. I realize my style is different than most diaper related stories, as they are more narrative, like most novels. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it.

The Un-training of Stanley Kaminski

They had been rushed to the hospital, the two of them in twin emergency vehicles, Stanley and his wife Maureen. Both were confined in strait jackets, but even in their confinements, it was obvious to everyone in the emergency room that they were dressed peculiarly, to say the least. Beyond the bulk of the oversized white jackets, their long sleeves with straps and buckles, one could easily see that the two must have taken Halloween a bit too far. It was the only rational explanation.

The lead EMT barked out, “Fifth floor, now!” and everyone in the emergency room knew what that meant. A few minutes later, Stanley and his wife were rushing headlong upward, the emergency elevator wasting no time, taking the two toward their final destination. Down the long corridor, past security doors which locked tightly, patiently waited white sterile tables which displayed syringes filled with an assortment of mind altering drugs, collections of depressants, stimulants, mood enhancers; whatever was called for, but beyond that and further down was the last and final door, and beyond that door would wait both Stanley’s and Maureen’s fate.

To every strange event there is a back story, a series of smaller events which contribute to some bigger if not grander mystery which begs for explanation. In the center of each and every mystery, the predictability of everyday living, are real people, the kind that live next door to us, who barely make a dent on our lives, who seem from every reasonable perspective, normal. Like us, they get up in the morning, readying themselves for work, leave with their coffee mugs, and return at the end of the day. They may cut their lawns on Saturday, grill out, and we may see them in the grocery store. Stanley and Maureen were these very people, ordinary in their appearance, in their language. One says hello to their neighbor and it is returned, all parties going about their business. Stanley and Maureen were as plain as every other person, and that is what may be the most disturbing. All the mysteries of the mundane world, all the explanations of odd behavior, dysfunctional behavior, even self destruction, remains behind closed doors, often, forever. Stanley’s door, the one in the basement, also remained closed, and behind that door were secrets.

“I need some wrapping paper from the basement,” Maureen would yell over the noise, her husband running his favorite saw, making God only knows what. He was always working in the basement, every weeknight, and on the weekends. She could hear the wood being cut, drills whining, and even some hammering, but she never saw the fruits of his labor.

“I need that paper now,” she yelled, and she would have gone down to get it herself, but he had warned her about the spiders. A spider infestation, he had said. Maureen hated spiders. She had always hated them, and her husband knew that. He said he had sprayed, but it did no good. No, it was better if she stayed out of the basement. Besides, he could get whatever she needed.

Stanley was not afraid of spiders, though it was his only manly quality that Maureen could see. Her husband was quiet and soft-spoken. It was something she liked in him when they were first dating. He wasn’t pushy like her other dates, trying to make advances that seemed inappropriate the first or second time out. She thought he was a good catch, but things changed over a period of time. He wasn’t very ambitious, and soon Maureen was making twice as much money as her husband. She got a number of promotions, and she was on the road a lot. Her husband seemed happy to stay home and putter in his workshop. He enjoyed the solitude, and something else.

II​

Nothing is ever as it seems, and it certainly wasn’t for Stanley, for under that plain wrapper of dark suits, or khaki shorts, white shirts and tie, or t-shirts, was someone entirely different. For his entire life, he successfully kept his exterior persona intact, a quiet facade which he shared with the world, but it was not at all what lay hidden beneath. Concealed was something that had only been discovered by his mother when he was a teenager, and it brought him misery and embarrassment, enough so, that he tried all the harder to not expose his real self, his hidden desires to anyone; not even to his wife Maureen. She chose success over having children, and though he would have liked to have had a family, Maureen wore the pants in the family. In fact, she wore the pants for both of them without even realizing it. If she had not been afraid of spiders, if she had ventured down into her husband’s retreat, she would have had the shock of her life. She would have discovered that her quiet, soft spoken husband preferred something over pants. He preferred diapers.

The basement was divided into a larger and smaller section, the latter being partitioned by a wall, and that smaller annex containing the hot water heater, the furnace and the air conditioning unit, but it also contained something else. Whereas the main part of the basement stored the many boxes and junk which couples collect, along with Stanley’s shop tools, the other smaller room was home to his wooden creations. He had told his wife that the furnace room was home to many spiders as they liked the warmth and dark. He felt he was safe when he put a pad lock on the door, again explaining he wanted to protect Maureen.

Maureen worked as a rep for a pharmaceutical company, and she had to travel to doctor’s offices as well as the occasional hospitals and clinics. Sometimes she would stay overnight if she had an early morning commitment in a nearby town. But she also had to do endless reports, and take the occasional on-line test to keep her certification up to date. This sometimes created some tension as there was the one computer in the family room. She couldn’t imagine why her husband spent so much time on it. His dead end job certainly didn’t demand it. When he came home at night, he was through for the evening. Not her, however, and one eventful night would change her life forever; would change both of their lives in ways that neither could ever imagine.

She had arrived late and she still had to make dinner. She was annoyed when she found her husband on the computer.

“Did you think to make us anything to eat,” she yelled. He sheepishly replied no, and she was beginning to regret her marriage more and more. Working with doctors and other successful people was giving her ideas, such as leaving.

“Well, you’re going to have to help me. I can’t do everything in this house,” and to some extent, she was right. She did the vacuuming and the laundry, though Stanley always helped with the clothes, the washer and dryer being in the larger part of the basement. She had asked about the lock on the door, and he told her it was to keep the spiders from getting out. She of course began to have her doubts. What was behind that door?

She asked her husband to cut up some onions, and he begrudgingly obliged, first looking in the kitchen drawer for his apron, which to Maureen, looked more like a bib, as the apron was somewhat small. Stanley didn’t seem to mind at all, nor the childish print that adorned it. As he cut the onion, tears started to roll down his cheeks, and even though it was from the onions, Maureen had to laugh at his childish demeanor. Ideas raced through her head as she was angry at him, but she quickly put them aside. She had to make her weekly report, and she simply was in no mood.

Dinner was unusually quiet, with Stanley picking at his food, eating like a fussy child. Maureen asked him to clean up as she had to work. She was not expecting any reaction from her soft spoken husband, so when he complained, she became even more annoyed.

“Unless you can do my report, the least you can do is clean up this mess,” is what she barked, turning on her heel.

The computer came alive with the first movement of the mouse, and the background shone brightly, Medco Pharmaceuticals, along with the many applications and program shortcuts. Maureen was quite competent with technology as she had bought the computer and set it up. Her lazy husband simply enjoyed the fruits of her labor, and as she moved to click on the report app, she noticed a blinking minimized window on the lower tool bar.

“That’s odd,” she thought, and she clicked on it.

She clicked on it, it filling the screen,……it coming to life in all its Stanley Kaminski glory, IT filling the screen with a picture,……IT shocking any sensible thought she ever had about her husband, because it was a young man, standing in a bedroom, and wearing nothing but a diaper, the domain announcing it was Dillydideediapers.com., and it had a home page and forums. Maureen couldn’t believe what she was seeing, though she wasn’t a naive internet traveler either. There was a forum for diapers, for baby apparel, for acting like a baby, and even a baby mommy/daddy dating service. She saw that there was a place for members to log on to, and she tried typing in BabyStanley, just out of curiosity, and she wasn’t really surprised when the entire site opened up to her.

“You never had an original thought in that stupid brain of yours, did you,” she said to herself, becoming more annoyed.

She saw a blinking green bar at the top of the page, and it appeared that BabyStanley had a message. She clicked on it, opening a new screen.

Hi BabyStanley. How’s my little baby? Has he wet his diapers? LOL…

Just got my new shipment of M4’s and can’t wait to play baby tonight.

Maybe we can chat later when your battleaxe goes to sleep. Your diaper baby buddy.

“What the hell has this idiot gotten himself into,” and as she fumed, she x’d out and clicked on “Options” and then, “History”.

“Oh baby hasn’t been very good at erasing his history,” she thought to herself, and clicked on one site after another.

Up popped various diaper sites for adults, adults wearing diapers and adults talking about diapers. Then she saw a pharmaceutical store and she recognized it at once. They were an on-line provider of incontinence supplies as well as prescription medicines for incontinence. She found “your order history” and was immediately treated to yet another surprise, for there was a lengthy order for several different brands of disposable diapers, as well as cloth and plastic pants.

“What else can I find, you little weasel,” and she looked further down the all telling history. Her eyes fell on one more site, one site to make the other sites look small and insignificant by comparison, for there, staring at her was, “Big Baby Clothes for Little Babies at Heart”, Her mouse glided across the mouse pad which proudly proclaimed Medco Pharmaceuticals, just as the pointer proudly glided and clicked on Big Baby Clothes, opening up a world from another universe, a world of grown adults dressed in onsies, baby pants and shortalls, all bulging from the diapers which nestled beneath the soft cotton, snaps and cute baby prints. There were grown male models wearing little girl dresses, and diapers with pink plastic panties showing beneath the ruffles of the dress. Maureen had seen enough.

She had to finish her report, working into the night, and as she filled in her sales account, she became angrier and angrier. She was slowly coming to a decision, and more than a decision. A plan of revenge was beginning to formulate in her head. She knew she was going to have to investigate this adult baby thing, and then she wondered what her husband was doing night after night, weekends all spent in the basement. She was committed now, anger slowly becoming rage. She felt betrayed, her time and energy spent on earning a good living through hard work while her husband was more than content to work his dead end job just so he could have a lot of spare time. She was barraged by so many thoughts, and a larger, more obvious one came into her mind. What was that man doing when she was gone over night? She thought she knew, and it made her all the madder.

She typed in the last entry and clicked off the Medco Pharmaceutical site, done for the night, but as she stared at the computer, she thought, no, not done. She walked back to the kitchen. She would confront that no good husband of hers, confront him and ask him, point blank, how he liked being a baby. Yes, she couldn’t wait to see his stupid expression when she hit him with that bomb shell, but Stanley wasn’t in the kitchen. He had finished, and Maureen knew where he was. The basement. She opened the door and yelled down to her husband.

“Stanley! Will you come up please,” but there was no answer.

“Stanley?” she asked again, and there was only silence. She would have to go downstairs, down into the basement where the spiders lived.

She hesitated for a moment, but her anger was finding a permanent resting place in herself, anger overcoming fear, and she took the first step downward, one step followed by the next until she could see into the expanse of concrete and boxes, saws and planer, and yet, no Stanley.

“Could he have gone out?” she thought, and she took two more steps, coming to the bottom of the concrete floor. Stanley had told her how spiders love cement and concrete; cold, moist concrete. Perfect for breeding, he had said. It suddenly made her all the more angry. Hesitantly she took several steps, willing herself to overcome her fear, pushing herself to the locked door, only this time it wasn’t locked. It was slightly ajar and from behind the door shone a dim light.

“Stanley,” she yelled and she could hear some scuffling.

“Maureen,” she heard from behind the door,” you mustn’t come in here. I’m a…fumigating. I saw a lot of spiders,” was what her husband said, and she could hear in his voice, panic.

“What are you doing?” she persisted, and she took two more steps toward the door.

“Don’t come in,” came the answer. “I’ve discovered a whole nest of spiders, a mother and her babies,” and as her husband continued with this nonsense, she could hear the sound of a zipper.

“So this is his game,” she thought, and it came to her that two could play at this. She knew she had to see what was behind the closed door, the door which had remained locked for their entire marriage.

“Oh Stanley,” she said, now softening her voice. “I’m so sorry to bother you, but we need milk for breakfast. Could you be a dear and run out to the store?”

There was a long pause and then she thought she heard her husband sigh. She quietly laughed to herself.

“I guess if we absolutely need it,” came the answer, and she felt a wave of excitement as she replied, “Oh yes honey. I hope it won’t be too much of an inconvenience,” and the word inconvenience got stuck in her throat, like she was about to choke on it. She would have liked to choke him for all the times he had inconvenienced her when she did all the work in the house, and he was down in his basement, killing spiders and playing with his tools, and then her thoughts stopped. What was he building? She never saw anything come up from the basement. Wood, paint and varnish went downstairs. Where did it go? Her body spasmed in what she almost thought was some sort of sexual climax, the mystery of the locked room soon to be revealed.

She walked up the stairs, the high heels of her shoes making its predictable noise, but once back in the kitchen, she slipped the shoes she wore to work, off, and quietly descended once again, trying to not be noticed. She heard her husband push the lock shut, as this she knew he would do, but there had to be a key, and she would need that if she was to ever know what lie on the other side of the portal. She saw her husband approach his workbench, or rather; she saw part of him, as he was partially obscured by the overhang of the ceiling. She was frustrated that she couldn’t take two more steps down, but then her husband would have been able to see her. She could see his hand reach over the workbench, reach out to something, and she heard the lid of a box open and close. This gave her some satisfaction, her husband having given away something very private. She hurriedly walked up to the landing and into the kitchen, less her husband suspect anything was wrong. Her heart was pounding in her chest, her breathing becoming rapid and shallow.

“Are you all right?” Stanley asked.

She had to get a hold of herself, she thought. Mustn’t show that anything’s wrong.

“Oh yes,” she replied. “I’m just tired, that’s all,” and she wasn’t lying about that. She was tired, both from her job and of her husband, but suddenly she felt invigorated, like she had just come alive. She was nervous, and she fidgeted while her husband looked for the car keys.

“Are you sure there’s nothing wrong?” Again her husband asked her, and now she was beginning to fear that she might be giving herself away. Did he suspect, she wondered?

Finally he left, and Maureen waited to hear the car door open and close. She waited, listening for the engine to start, and for the tell tale sign of the car vanishing into the night, the sound of motor and tires disappearing into the dark road, its destination the store, and Maureen’s, the basement. The excitement made her fidget, the anticipation, and she realized she had to pee. That can wait, she thought, and pushing the need aside, she went over to the door and turned on the light. The stairs and basement were illuminated by the one bulb. It cast a dim glow into the main part of the cellar, the safe part where stood the big table saw and other wood working tools, along with the washer and dryer at the other end. Maureen carefully took two steps downward, and two more, looking on the side walls and the ceiling, and even though she now knew that her husband must have been lying about the spiders, one could never be too careful.

She got to the bottom and put her right foot down onto the concrete. This was the first time she had been down into the basement without her husband. For a brief moment, she imagined a movie she had seen with her husband on Syfy. He liked to watch those stupid shows, though she couldn’t imagine why. Now, she wondered if he had deliberately turned on to a particular show, had deliberately tried to scare her as the movie was “Spider Island”. What kind of web had he been constructing all these years, she wondered?

She cautiously approached the work bench, her husband’s domain. She wasn’t surprised to find it a mess, tools carelessly thrown about, cans of varnish and paint, along with a big bottle of wood glue. Nestled among the debris, along the back was a metal box, and a strip of masking tape was on the lid, an inky message written upon it. It read, “Caution….Spider Eggs.”

How ridiculous she thought, but as she reached for it, she hesitated. What if her husband was telling the truth? What if his computer history was some big mistake, and what if he did spend his time killing spiders, because,” and here she paused a moment. She searched her mind for the worst possibilities.

“What if there was an uncontrolled spider infestation in the house?”

Ridiculous, she thought, and she reached for the box. She hesitated for a moment, looked all around it, and then picked it up. There were no spiders, and she let out a sigh of relief. Carefully she opened the lid, ever so slowly, ready to slam it should there be hatching spiders, but there was only one thing inside, one small shiny object, and that was a key.

“Gotcha’ she said,” and taking the key, turned and walked to the door with the lock. She paused for a moment, contemplating, savoring the anticipation, and then, put the key in the pad lock and turned. Click, and it opened. Her heart was pounding as she removed the steel keeper of secrets and slowly opened the door. Its hinges screeched just a little; nothing especially loud, but it seemed very loud in the quiet of the house, just Maureen and the door, the door and the room she had never entered, until now.

Carefully, she reached her hand around the door frame and felt for a light switch.

“Where is it,” she thought, and then, there it was, cold reality. She opened the door wider and pushed the switch up, and with a click came more than just light. With the snap of the switch came revelation, for there in full view were the missing parts to the puzzle, wood, screws, paint and varnish, now all neatly cut and assembled, creating something entirely new and unexpected. In the far corner of the room was the hot water heater and the furnace, just like her husband had said, but there was more, oh so much more, because the furnace room looked like a small child’s nursery. In fact, it looked like a baby nursery, the cement walls adorned with baby animal pictures, all carefully hung. There was a little nursery rhyme print carpet on the floor, and the smell of baby powder hung in the air. But that wasn’t what caught Maureen’s attention. The room was filled with furniture, the product of her husband’s labor, but not just any furniture. In the center, toward the back was a very large crib, large enough to hold an adult. There was a night stand next to the crib, with a baby motif clown lamp, and to the one side of the crib was a beautifully made chest of drawers, painted white, like the crib, and on the left, a changing table, painted white with stained and varnished trim. The furniture was actually quite beautiful, and looked like a craftsman had made them. The images of baby animals had been hand painted on the sides of the furniture, and Maureen marveled at how well rendered they were. For a moment she forgot her anger. She had walked into another world, a world that was foreign to the one she knew and understood. This world was completely alien.

Maureen walked further into the room, touching the furniture. She looked into the crib and couldn’t help but notice the animal prints on the white sheets, and then she noticed something else. The mattress sheet was stained yellow, and as she looked closer, the smell of pee assaulted her.

“Oh for God’s sake, Stanley!” She was startled to hear her own voice, shattering the silence and sanctity of the nursery.

“What else do you have down here,” she now thought quietly.

She pushed on, walked behind the furniture and saw the stacks and stacks of boxes, boxes marked with the nondescript logo from the medical supply store. She nudged the lid on one which had been opened and inside were diapers, dozens of white disposable diapers with a cute baby print. She took one out and held it up, assuring herself and her suspicions when it was obvious that it was large enough to fit an adult, one just like her husband.

“You bastard,” she said to herself and then, “no. You little baby. You are a little baby aren’t you,” and she marveled at this idea.

She thought she had seen everything, everything and anything imaginable, but there was one more piece of furniture, white with wood varnished trim. It stood about four feet tall and had a little cabinet compartment on the bottom, and CD’s/DVD’s on the top. She opened the cabinet door and saw a CD player and an Ipod. Her eyes drifted to the CD wracks and she pulled one of the cases out and read the title.

“Regression Hypnosis Series, Volume One” it said. She turned it over and read the back, read something that startled her, and something which would change both her husband’s and her life forever.

“Learn to become a bed wetter while diapered. Use key command words and you will wet the bed while you sleep just like a little baby.”

“She picked up the next case and read it.

“Learn to lose all control, wetting and pooping your diapers while you sleep. Be the little baby you always wanted to be.

The next one proudly proclaimed, “Coded key words will turn you into a completely incontinent baby, wetting and pooping both day and night, under all circumstances. They went on and on, one turning the user into a bigger baby than the next. Her curiosity peeking, Maureen opened the cabinet door and took out the Ipod. How much of this had her husband been listening to, she wondered. The first track opened to a soft and melodic female voice.

“Everything is all right, baby. You are a little baby. You are my little baby. Your eyes are heavy,” and as the voice went on, soft music played in the background. It sounded familiar to Maureen, like music she had heard when she was very little.

“When you hear the words ‘baby wet-wet’, you will relax, relax all you muscles and just let go.

The music played a soft nursery song, a small music box tinkling an old nursery rhyme song.

“Just relax and wet your diaper. You are a little baby and all is safe. Mommy is here baby. Just let go…..

Suddenly Maureen was jolted from where ever it was she had drifted to, jolted by the hot pee which was running down her leg.

“Damn it Stanley, I’ll get you for this,” and she was just about ready to run upstairs and change when something caught her eye. It was the last CD in the rack, the one she hadn’t yet looked at, as if something about it had kept her from reaching for it, and now she knew why, for on its cover was the picture of a big, hairy spider. She forced herself to pick it out of the rack; forced herself to turn it over and read the back. It was another hypnosis recording, but this one was very different. This one said gag hypnosis.

“Scare your spouse and hypnotize her into believing that spiders are living and breeding in your house. Make the little woman fear spiders and get a big laugh.

“You son of a bitch! I will have my revenge. You’ll see,” and with that, Maureen ran out of the room, slammed the door shut, snapped the lock and put away the key. She climbed the stairs and entered the kitchen, fuming. For a moment she didn’t know what to do. She was so furious that she forgot about something, but suddenly that something made itself known as she felt the wetness between her legs. For the slightest moment she liked it, felt at peace, like a little baby, and then suddenly, she became all the more mad, mad at her idiot husband, and even more angry with herself for having been easily affected by the hypnosis CD, and that’s when she had her plan. It all came together, and for the second time that night, she was excited.

III​

“There’s something not right,” and Stanley was correct, his thoughts rambling in several directions, and even though it was unlike Maureen to send him out for milk at night, that wasn’t his biggest concern.

“Why was she suddenly being nice to me?”

There had been a lot of tension in his marriage, and he guessed that he had been the cause. They had slowly drifted apart, and he surmised that it had started in the bedroom. He felt guilty, and wished that he hadn’t loved diapers more than his wife, but it had come to that. Their marriage hadn’t started that way. He found Maureen attractive, and being with her made his heart race. That had been when they were dating, but after they were married, he began to see another side of her. Maybe it was her job, and he entertained the idea, that maybe it was him, but for whatever reason, she had become distant and cold.

Diapers and wanting to wear them had always been a part of his life. He didn’t understand it, and didn’t understand why he wanted them, but the desire had been there since he could remember. He had been caught a number of times by his mother, and had been punished. After a while it didn’t matter, and as he grew older, he began to understand more. He realized it wasn’t just the diapers that excited him, but the feelings that came with them. He started to feel like a baby, especially when he would wet them. He would lie in his bed late at night; wet his diaper and dah dah like a little child. He bought a teddy bear and would hold him tightly as he enjoyed the feelings of infancy.

When he married Maureen, he thought he could put it all aside; forget it like it had never happened. After all, he was a man now, a provider. He even fantasized about being a father. His children would wear diapers; not him. But Maureen was in love with her job, soon to love work more than him or so it seemed, and it was then that he could no longer resist his urge to wear diapers. He needed something to fill his time, and the void that requited love had made. He bought his tools, saws, jointer and planer, with the excited anticipation of making a crib, and other items of baby furniture. With a little planning and Maureen’s trips, he could build an entire nursery, creating the baby world of which he had always dreamed. There was just one problem. How could he do all of this under his wife’s nose, and how could he possibly hide it?

His mind played with him, tossing out thoughts when suddenly, he was at the store. He always walked down the baby diaper isle when he shopped alone, pausing a moment to touch a package of Pampers. They felt so amazingly soft, and the smell was intoxicating, springing to life ancient memories from when he was little. He continued, bought the milk and left. Once in the car, his mind returned to the same haunting thoughts, because he instinctively knew something was not right at home, and the one terrible thing he had done was hiding in the shadows of his cerebral cortex, but it would burst forth as he got closer to home. It was an ugly thought, a horrid thought, and he tried to keep it in the shadows, but he had to review it, mix it with all the other thoughts.

He had completed the crib first, the first piece of his infantile fantasy. It was the kingpin of pieces from which all the other elements would revolve around. In this fantasy, he would become the baby he always dreamed about, a baby in his crib along with a chest of drawers which would hold his diapers and plastic pants, and with it, baby powder, pacies; all the things a baby would need. There would be a changing table and of course, he would need baby clothes. He would become the ultimate baby, but there was another problem. There was no store that he knew of, that sold adult sized baby clothes, and he couldn’t sew. The obvious solution was waiting for him on the internet, and that’s when he discovered something else, the ultimate final piece to his final fantasy. Hypnosis tapes.

They made such incredible claims. “Regress to that of a baby, wetting your diaper while you sleep”.

Stanley had become excited just reading the descriptions.

“Use keywords to think and act like a real baby. Let specific triggers regress you while diapered, night or day.”

Then there was the ultimate, the finale, deepest level. “Become a complete baby, wetting and pooping your diaper, only able to crawl, and losing all language skills and coordination. You will become a real baby.”

He didn’t know if he wanted to go that far, but, and here his mind rehashed it all over again. If Maureen was gone on one of her weekend trips, could he regress for just the weekend? The advertisement said he could, so he decided to buy all the CD’s. He could convert them and load them into his Ipod, and since Maureen had retracted any trace of romance, he thought he could get away with wearing diapers to bed, his ear buds in his ears, and the Ipod doing all the rest. The thought excited him beyond imagination, and it was at that moment, of total bliss that he clicked the mouse, a spasmodic impulse to self stimulation, and the screen changed to an entire different set of hypnosis recordings, and this new mind controlling innovation was filling his screen and his mind with an evil thought, an idea that no rational person would do.

“Fool your wife into seeing spiders. She will not only be irrationally afraid of spiders, but she will begin to imagine they are everywhere!”

He knew he shouldn’t, shouldn’t do that to anyone, much less the one person he loved, or had loved at one time. But here was his solution, his ticket to privacy and independence. The basement would become his domain, an imaginary place crawling with spiders, big, hairy poisonous spiders, and with that final thought, clicked, “buy”.

Pulling into the driveway with the milk, he went through all these thoughts, memories which now seemed to hang from the inside of his skull like bats, just waiting to take flight and make his life miserable. Maureen had treated him with something that resembled kindness or caring, and it didn’t seem normal, not at all for Maureen. Perhaps the bats had come home to roost, and they would be waiting for him in the secret room. He tried to shake these thoughts as he entered the house. His wife was waiting for him, standing in the kitchen, and it was the first in a long time, that he had seen her smile.

VI​

“Oh thank you for getting the milk,” she said. “You’ve been such a good little boy to do that for me,” and Maureen took delight in watching her husband’s expression change from his usual tired, worn out look to that of concern.

“Now you can have some milkie.” She enjoyed this last bit of digging into her husband’s psyche, enjoyed his blank look changing into concern, and now, a sense of panic.

She smiled all the more, turned toward the stairs and added, “I’m going to bed. Isn’t my boy a little tired too?” She stood there, not moving, waiting for an answer. She suddenly felt excited, anticipating his reaction.

Stanley didn’t know what to say. If he questioned this new attitude, he might give himself away, and as he thought about that, he was reminded of the basement, and his sacred and secret world.

“I’ll be up in a minute,” he stammered. “There’s just something I need to check.”

“Well, don’t be too long. You know how you need your sleep.” She deliberately didn’t say something like, you know how little boys need their sleep. She guessed she had pushed this as far as she dare, having opened the door a crack. Opening it further could end the game and more importantly, her carefully laid out plans. She knew she would have to play this to perfection, and the more she could stretch it out, the better. She thought, if he wanted to be a baby, by God she was going to grant him his wish. She was going to do just that, and when she was through, he would forever regret not just wanting to be a baby, but everything, his marriage and how he had treated her, the spider hypnosis, his entire miserable life.

Stanley put the milk in the refrigerator and wasted some time, enough to see his wife depart toward the upstairs bedroom, and then fled down the steps and into the basement. He turned on several light switches and made a careful search of his workbench. The box which contained the key seemed like it was where he had left it. He took the key and opened the lock. He tried to be quiet, not wanting to arouse suspicion. Again the door made that high pitch screech of cheap hinges, and he wished he could shut it up. His heart was racing, a feeling of panic overtaking him. He hit the light switch, his chest thumping, blood racing through his veins, afraid he was going to see her presence, some trace of her intrusion into his sanctuary, but nothing was out of place. It was all as he had left it. He looked into the crib and the yellow stain stood out. He felt little again, but he was also reminded that he would have to sneak it into the laundry. He sighed, letting the pent up breath out of him, wishing he hadn’t created something that carried as much anxiety with it as pleasure.

“Come to bed, baby,” he heard from upstairs, and he knew he would have to hurry if he was to not arouse suspicion.

He quietly walked up the basement stairs and yelled from the kitchen, “I’m coming. I’ll be up shortly,” and hoped that would give him a little time.

He was annoyed because he had planned to have a little baby time in bed. As had been his recent custom, he was going to put on a thick, babyish disposable diaper, some soft plastic pants, and listen to his regression trac. He had been drinking a lot of water, and he felt certain that this was the night he would finally wet in his sleep. He had been excited about it all day at work, but now he just didn’t know. His wife had never acted like this, but maybe it was nothing to be worried about. His desire for diapers was once again outweighing his need for caution. He quickly took off his pants and underwear, and put on his diaper. The baby powder made him feel little, and he liked it.

Once upstairs he waited until his wife went into the bathroom, readying herself for sleep. He slipped his clothes off, and briefly, touched his diaper. He felt so little. Hurriedly, he put on his flannel pajamas and got under the covers. He said goodnight to his wife through the closed bathroom door and reached for the ear buds which would carry the soothing hypnotic words, taking him to a different world of nursery tunes, feeling little and relaxed.

Maureen walked softly from the bathroom to the bed, quietly slipped into the bed, trying to make as little commotion as possible, letting her husband feel safe and secure.

“Goodnight baby,” and with that, patted the covers where his butt should be. She could feel the diaper, and hear the soft crinkle. She chuckled to herself.

“You little baby,” she thought to herself.

Panic! Stanley was jolted into the real world; one that did not look kindly on adult babies.

“Oh my God,” he thought. She hadn’t done that in several years and he wondered what was going on.

“Goodnight,” he softly stammered.

He heard, “That’s a good baby. Be a good baby. You are a baby.”

He started to sit straight up in bed. Maureen couldn’t be saying that, could she, and then he realized she wasn’t saying anything. It was the stupid recording. He felt slightly relieved, but he couldn’t escape what had just happened. He hoped the comforter had concealed his unique choice of underwear. It must have, he thought, otherwise she would have shrieked at him. No, she seemed to be in a really good mood. That satisfied him, and he tried to go to sleep, letting that which would become a subliminal message turn him, for just a few hours, into a bed wetting baby. He hoped it would work this time, as his bladder needed some relief.

Maureen felt like the cat that had just swallowed the canary. Saying goodnight baby and patting his butt reminded her of Sylvester puddy tat, coughing up bird feathers after he had just swallowed Tweety. After she had discovered her husband’s alter ego, his infant sanctuary, and hypnosis recordings, she had made a hasty retreat. She was mad at herself for peeing her panties, more so for easily falling prey to some cheesy hypnosis devise that shouldn’t have worked that easily, especially on her. She was better than that. That’s what she told herself, and in her rage, the idea came to her. She would add something to his Ipod, something to fulfill all his wishes, and hopefully, at very inconvenient times.

She had gone down into the basement, and took CD III, the one that would turn the listener into a baby, peeing and pooping not only his diaper, but anything, anytime anywhere, should the right words be spoken. The word was “Oh Baby”. She had to chuckle, because in the South, it was an often used word. She wondered how that would work for him at work? She couldn’t wait. She didn’t have much time, and she had to work quickly at the computer, loading and transferring. She had just come downstairs having put his Ipod back when her husband walked through the door. She had made it, quickly and secretly. Now all she had to do was wait. Her plan was simple. She loaded it in, following CD I, the night time, diapered regression trac that Stanley had loaded. She even thought he was a wuss for not going further. After all, if you’re going to wet your diaper like a baby, why not become a baby. He acted like one anyway, and she smiled as she imagined him in baby clothes, eating baby food and messing his diaper. Just wait, she thought, and she slipped into a deep and restful sleep.

The Ipod did its job, playing the soothing words of being baby. You are a sweet little baby, innocent baby. Baby’s wet their diapers. Relax and let go. Let it all go, little baby. You are a little baby. When you hear the words “wet-wet”, you will relax. You will relax and let it all go. Wet your diaper. Wet-wet your diaper, and Stanly was a little baby. He felt so at peace. Something or someone was reassuring him that everything was alright. Maureen never did that. His subconscious tried to put that out of his mind. Better thoughts were replacing the unhappy memories of his wife. “Wet-wet baby” it said, and he relaxed and let go. Warm pee flooded his diaper, filling it and puffing it out. Though he was asleep, he could sense it getting bigger, its bulk between his thighs. It was warm and wet, and he was little, finally. The recording went on and on, reassuring him that this was alright, that he could be a baby every night, wetting his diaper.

There was a pause, a slight space in time, followed by another voice. This one was more forceful, and not as nice. It made demands between the reassurances. There were other messages playing backwards, subliminal with their own messages. This was followed by white noise, and living beneath the snow, came another voice, a voice that would be obeyed. It too said, you are a baby, a little baby who has no control. You will wet and poop your diaper, day or night. You will use your diaper day or night under all circumstances. You will wet or poop yourself when you hear the word “Oh Baby“, no matter when or wear. You are so little, you have no control. You are a baby, a complete baby.

And then the stronger voice said, “Oh Baby”, and Stanley let it all loose, and with that, a specific and annoying smell filled the bedroom. Maureen rolled over in her sleep, strangely disturbed.

V​

Morning arrived softly, sunshine streaming through the bedroom windows. It was going to be a beautiful day, fresh warm air fulfilling the promises of a Saturday, but one couldn’t say the same thing about the interior of the Kaminski’s bedroom, because there was a different air insulting the senses of anyone inhabiting that singular closed space.

“My God, what’s that smell,” and though Maureen was disgusted at what had happened during the night, she was overjoyed. Her plan had worked better than she could have imagined. She knew she had to play this just right, give her idiot husband an out, so the game could continue, because there would be so much more to come. She sat in bed chuckling, and she had to put her hand over her mouth, and her nose.

On the other side of the bed was panic. Stanley bolted upright, wondering just what the hell had happened. He reached down and it didn’t take long to figure it out. He was glad he was wearing plastic pants, but that wouldn’t help the sudden plight he was in. He had to think quickly. He only had one weak, lame excuse.

“Damn,” he said. “A squirrel must have crawled into the dryer vent and died. I better take care of it now,” and he bolted out of bed and ran down the stairs.

Maureen couldn’t help but laugh, seeing the drooping bottom of his flannel pajamas as the weight of his wet and messy diaper pulled it downward. The smell was horrible, and she waved her hand in front of her face. She sat for a moment and then began to laugh uncontrollably.

“My God. What the hell happened,” Stanley thought as he headed for the downstairs bathroom. His diaper was soaking wet, and worse, extremely messy. It took him a long time to clean up, and he realized he was going to need a plastic bag.

He heard Maureen yell from the bedroom, “Can I help?” but what he didn’t hear was her laughter, for that she concealed.

“No. I’ve got it,” he yelled, and he hoped desperately she wouldn’t come down until he got everything taken care of. It looked like the garbage can was going to get assaulted by the vestiges of Stanley Kaminski. He was glad he took his shower in the morning. At least that wouldn’t arouse more suspicions.

Saturday breakfast was a tradition at the Kaminski household, Maureen usually making eggs, with either pancakes or waffles. In the past year or two, it seemed more like a labor or task rather than something enjoyable. This time, morning breakfast would be different. For once, Maureen was happy; ecstatically happy, and she was going to enjoy cooking. She had two griddles going, one for the eggs over easy, the way Stanley liked them, and the other for pancakes. She could hear faintly, the cursing coming from the bathroom, followed by the shower, and she took deep satisfaction knowing her plan was actually working.

Stanley walked into the kitchen rather sheepishly, or so it seemed to Maureen.

“I hope you had a nice relaxing warm shower to make you feel better. You were in there a long time. What were you doing?” And her last statement sounded a little accusatory. She enjoyed watching her husband squirm.

“Uh…..I had to use the bathroom,” was all he could squeak out.

Maureen blurted a slight laugh, blurted and then covered it with her hand. She had to be cool. The pancakes and eggs finished together, and she secretly prided herself over her cooking skills, something her stupid husband couldn’t do. Turning her back to Stanley, she cut his pancakes in a crossing pattern, turning the round flapjacks into little edible, bite size pieces, fitting for a toddler.
“Here you are baby. Eat up and enjoy,” and with one sweeping movement, turned, glided over to the table and put the plate before her much surprised husband.

For a moment, Stanley stopped breathing, almost as if life itself had stopped.

“You cut them up?” he asked, though his voice was now showing the concern he had felt when she patted his bottom at bedtime.

“I wanted to be nice to my little man,” and she had to turn around again, turn and cover her mouth.

She gained her composure, put the remaining eggs and pancakes on her plate and joined her husband.

“But your pancakes aren’t cut up?”

“Oh but they will be. See?” and Maureen began to make cuts into her pancakes, but she deliberately didn’t cut them all up, but rather, a single piece, one piece each time she took a bite. Her husband let out a long sigh, the significance not escaping him.

As soon as breakfast was over, Stanley excused himself for the basement, leaving his wife with the cleanup. Maureen’s mood quickly changed from the unexpected joy she had been receiving, to the usual Maureen, the one who was constantly exasperated with her husband’s careless attitude, one that seldom thought of her.

Once in the basement, Stanley opened the metal box which contained the key. He stared down at it, thinking more than reacting. He knew something was wrong, but he couldn’t connect the dots because most of the dots were missing. His key was where it should be, but what about the locked room, he thought? He grabbed for the key, plunged it into the padlock and threw the lock off, yanking the door wide open and ran in, flipping light switches frantically. His thoughts ran through his head, and now he was pacing through his domain, looking at every object, as if they could talk, tell him if they had been intruded upon. They stood there mutely in the silence, keeping all the many secrets to themselves.

Absently, he wandered to the rack which held the CD’s. He admired his handiwork, painted wood and shining varnish revealing his craftsmanship. He idly looked at the CD’s, lost in his thoughts and suspicions, when something hit him. It’s as if it leapt out at him, and the image was of a spider. The spider phobia CD should have been at the bottom of the stack, because it had been awhile since he had softly played it through the bedroom sound system. He had cleverly programmed the DVD player to play at three in the morning, and he had turned the volume down low. He knew Maureen would be asleep by then, he would have his ear buds in, listening to the first baby hypnosis CD, and she…..and he shuddered. He hated doing this to her, but it looked like he would have to play it again tonight, just to make sure she wasn’t poking around where she didn’t belong. On his way back to the kitchen, he stepped on another spider. It was the second one he had killed this morning, and he couldn’t help but sense some sense of irony.

Night found its usual routine, except that Stanley had chosen a cloth backed disposable, and he would have to chance not wearing plastic pants. As he had surmised, his wife patted his butt as she said, goodnight baby. She seemed a little disappointed, her tone shifting from her unprecedented happiness, to something much less. It was Stanley’s turn to snicker, and he took some pleasure turning his Ipod on, knowing he would be drifted to sleep with the soft comforting words, be a good baby and go to sleep, wet your diaper, and little realizing what else would follow.

Unfortunately, Maureen’s sleep would not be so nurturing. In addition to fearing spiders, the CD would spin a story, something that would sound like it came from a horror movie. It would paint a scenario of a house, her house, overrun by spiders, thousand of hairy, poisonous spiders, prowling, creeping and biting their careless victim, sending their venom into the veins of its hapless prey. The bite would render one completely incapacitated, unable to move as hundreds of spiders descended from the ceiling, sucking the paralyzed dry, but not before they experienced agonizing pain, the body bloated and oozing.

Stanley tossed and turned in his sleep, and though there had been comforting words, they were now replaced by the other voice, and it was in control. The DVD player was saying 3:30 a.m. and Maureen was tossing and twitching along with her husband. Stanley gave another lunge and one of his ear buds fell from his ear, now opening a canal for receiving the message which floated through the room, and it carried bad news about arachnids. Coming out of Stanley’s exposed ear bud was the harsh voice, insisting that one mess and wet their diaper should anyone dare to mention the fateful word, “Oh Baby!” Together the messages intertwined through the dark corridors of night, preying on sleeping, receptive brains, twisting their purposes. Infant nightmares were birthed from the depraved tracs, babies in distress, terrified, wetting and messing, and a horde of spiders, big, poisonous, and baby spiders, some wearing diapers.

The morning alarm clock went off, blaring like an air raid siren, its harsh beeping signaling a bigger calamity, for upon waking Stanley was aware he had wet and messed his diaper, its contents leaking out the sides, unprotected from the lack of plastic pants, and the greater shock of his wife who was starkly realizing she had wet the bed. They turned and looked at each other for the briefest moment, and then took off running to their respective bathrooms. In short time, both showers were running full force, and if one had been a visitor, they would have heard swearing coming from both rooms.

VI​

Sunday breakfast was consumed in silence. Maureen knew she would have to strip the bed, and there was nothing she could say about it, because she had been a contributor of last night’s antics. This would become even more uncomfortable as she would be in the basement with Stanley, and he would be asking if he could help. She would just have to jam them into the washer before the spoils of war were obvious. Bleach would be in order, and the thought of cleaning up after her husband repulsed her.

Another thought came to her, and it made her cringe. There would be spiders, and then she experienced the most curious thought. She kept envisioning baby spiders wearing diapers. It was disturbing and she tried to shake it from her mind. She wondered where that idea came from, and if it wasn’t some sort of divine punishment for what she had done. The images were so real, and for one slight moment, she questioned her sanity, and in addition to that, came another feeling, and this one was alien to her. She felt like a little child, felt like time had slipped backwards, and she was crawling on the kitchen floor, her mother making breakfast, she a two year old who needed to be changed. Stranger yet, she liked the feeling.

Normally, Sundays were spent doing a few household chores, interrupted by an afternoon nap, but this Sunday was different. Both Stanley and his wife were on edge. It didn’t take Stanley long to visit his secret room. He put on a nice thick diaper, and a onsie. He felt compelled to fill a baby bottle and get into his crib. He played and kicked, saying, “Dah dah,” enjoying the moment. He knew he had to get out of there, put on his clothes and join his wife, but something else was playing in the back of his mind, telling him it was alright to be little.

Maureen pushed the vacuum across the living room carpet, but her mind wasn’t in it. Something was telling her to be a baby. It was okay to wear a diaper and wet it. For some unexplained reason she heard herself say, “wet-wet,” and suddenly she had to pee. She didn’t quite make it to the bathroom and she swore, just for a moment, but then another feeling swept across her. She felt at peace. It had been a long time since she felt like there was nothing to worry about, as adults always have worries. This was so different, and she sat down on the bathroom floor, felt the wetness of her panties. She softly said, “Dah, dah,” and she had a strange desire to drink from a baby’s bottle. She remembered the items she had bought for her husband, her plan of humiliation, and she thought it wouldn’t matter if she tried the bottle, just this once.

Stanley knew he better go back upstairs and help his wife clean, but he couldn’t give up his diaper and onsie. He put his pants and shirt on over his baby clothes and reluctantly climbed the basement stairs and entered the kitchen. Standing in front of the sink was his wife drinking what appeared to be orange juice, which normally wouldn’t be unusual except she was drinking from a baby bottle.

“What the hell? Are you a baby,” and as soon as he said the word baby, something triggered in his subconscious, and he wet his diaper. He could feel the warmth saturate his disposable, and more so, he could feel himself slipping away.

He grabbed the bottle away from his wife saying, “My ba ba,” and he sucked on the nipple. The cold orange juice tasted good, and he plopped down on the floor. His wife suddenly gained some clarity, recognized the situation for what it was, and ran from the room. She would need a change, and though her plan had worked on her husband, she couldn’t understand what was happening to her.

Given some encouragement, she thought she ought to go to the next stage, and that was CD IV. She wondered if it was too soon, or if there weren’t other unperceived complications. Look what had happened, she thought. She needed time to assess this new game. She didn’t like the idea that she had become an unwilling participant. Logic told her it would pass, and then she could proceed.

Stanley had spent his post dinner time in his secret room, feeling more and more infantile. Normally he could turn it off at will, but some unexplainable change was taking place. He was losing control, and not just control of his bladder. He was losing himself, who he was as an adult. Time was slipping away from him as he played with his toys, sitting on the nursery print carpet and stacking plastic toy blocks.

“Dah, dah,” he vaguely heard himself say, and understanding anything more complicated than that seemed like an impossibility. Through the fog he remembered his wife Maureen, and he knew he must do something, but he couldn’t recall, no matter how hard he tried. He was playing CD II, and it pulsed through the speakers ever so quietly, yet ever so strong in its influence. It insisted that he become a baby, not only acting like a baby, but feeling the vacuous void of the infant mind. He had been doing this for several weeks, and at first, it had little effect. He continued with it because he liked the soothing baby music that seemed to rock his every day cares and worries to sleep. Running backwards was an altogether different kind of music, backwards and imperceptible. It had dark and sinister intentions, placed there by someone unknown, even to the company which was selling them.

How long this would have continued is unfathomable, but it was abruptly halted by the shrill yelling of his wife.

“Stanley! Are you coming to bed? We’ve both got work tomorrow, for God’s sake.”

She was about to go down there, but she thought through that, because she knew exactly where her husband was, and what he was doing. She didn’t want to spoil her plan, and she opened the kitchen cabinet door that was up high and hard to reach. She admired the baby bottles she had purchased, and she opened the drawer and rummaged through the junk, placing her hand on the packaged pacifiers. For the slightest moment she had the strangest desire to take one out, take it and suck on it. Wouldn’t that be nice, she thought, and then was startled at what she was thinking?

“What the hell’s wrong with me,” and she went upstairs to bed.

Stanley stood in his room, surrounded by his creations, and he was having trouble thinking. His wife had yelled at him, startled him, and he was supposed to respond, but with what? Finally it came to him, get dressed for bed, but in his case, that would mean a night time diaper, and considering what had happened the night before, plastic pants would be in order. The idea of a cloth diaper popped into his head, soft and thick, and babyish plastic pants. He began to slip away as he powdered himself, followed by pinning his diaper.

“I’m a baby,” roamed the empty halls of his brain, over and over, and he felt like one. He made himself leave, slip on the lock, and go upstairs, but a whole new feeling was taking over. Maureen was waiting, and getting angry because he was late. She would have a busy day at work, and she needed some sleep. In fact, she felt tired in an odd way, like a child who has played hard all day. Where was that man, she thought, when he walked into the bedroom. She had to stifle a laugh, because he hadn’t done a very good job getting dressed. His pants were half undone, and his baby printed plastic pants clearly showed. What’s more, he began to change into his pajamas with her in the room, as if he had no idea that she was there, or as to what he was doing. She stared in disbelief, trying to keep from laughing. She actually liked the animal prints on the plastic pants, and she wondered why.

The night was to be anything but normal, because Stanley had done something to his Ipod. In addition to its pre-recorded message, he had set it to wake him at 3:00 a.m. He also had changed the programming on the DVD player, now set to play the spider CD at 2:00 instead of 3:00. A new plan was in full motion. In the background, his Ipod reassured him that he was a good little baby, and that he could wet into his night diaper. But at 3:00, the alarm went off, and he reached into his night table drawer for something which he had brought with him from the basement. It was CD II, and he quietly got out of bed and slipped it into the DVD player. He didn’t know why he did this, but something which had run backwards through his mind, told him to do it. It wasn’t long and both he and his wife were sleeping to the soft reassuring voice that told them it would be good to wear diapers both day and night, to use them like a baby, and to think babyish thoughts. It ran and ran, and when it was over, the sheets would be wet.

VII​

It was Monday and little time for pancakes and eggs. There was a tight schedule to be followed, one which allowed little time for dalliances. Maureen felt depressed as she turned off the alarm, knowing she had a busy day and one which included some travel. She started to get out of bed and then she felt it. Her whole side of the bed was wet, and she knew it wasn’t from her idiot husband because she had seen his diapers from the night before. “Oh my God” raced through her head. There was no way she could conceal this from her husband, but it didn’t look like she would have to. Stanley was out of bed and watching TV, and to her amusement, he had turned on cartoons.

“Oh Stanley,” she said, and then she caught herself. She had almost said oh baby, and she didn’t want to reveal that, not now nor in their bedroom. That would happen somewhere else and later.

She hastily stripped the bed, and as she ran down the stairs she yelled at her husband to snap out of it and get ready for work. She ran to the basement door, but then hesitated.

“Damn it,” she cursed. She would have to face her fears if she were to get rid of the evidence. Cautiously she walked down the stairs taking one step at a time, and on each step, looked on the walls, the overhanging ceiling, everywhere for spiders. The coast seemed clear and she got to the bottom, and it was there that her bare foot hit the cold clammy cement floor and she remembered her husband’s warning. Spiders love cold dark moist places, and she cringed. She quickly ran to the washer and jammed the fitted sheet and the top sheet into the machine, poured in too much detergent and set it to cotton.

She breathed a sigh of relief and began to go back when she saw it, sitting squarely in front of her, and it was huge, maybe the size of a small dog, hairy, bulbous, and blocking her way to the steps. She started to scream, and she put her hand to her mouth. Her husband couldn’t hear her, not here, but she screamed loud and long.

Upstairs Stanley could hear something. Was it his wife, he thought, and he returned his attention to the cartoon. Baby Bugs Bunny was in a diaper and he felt so little. He heard it again, his wife screaming and he came back to his senses. He realized there was something he had to do. The screaming stopped and then he knew what it was. He had to get ready for work. Again his diaper was wet and messy, but this time he didn’t mind. He toddled downstairs to his bathroom and changed out, putting his cloth diaper in the shower with him.

“Goo goo,” he said as he turned on the warm water. He liked his shower, and he thought he ought to wash his hair. He looked for the Johnson’s baby shampoo and then it hit him.

“Oh my God. What am I doing?” and he suddenly remembered who he was. “I’ll be late for work,” and he hurried to finish. He gave little thought to Maureen, as he gulped down breakfast, found the car keys and simply left.

Maureen was still in the basement hugging herself, holding herself like a little child and saying, “Oh God, make it go away. Make it go away.” She looked down again, forcing herself to look because it must have moved, must have come closer, and then what would she do? What would happen when it bit her and buried its venom into her flesh, her blood? What would she do when she felt the horrible poison course through her veins like burning fire. She looked down expecting the spider to now be lunging at her, its bloated hairy body pouncing on her bare feet, but to her surprise, there was no spider. Where could it have gone, she thought. And then she ran.

It didn’t surprise her that her husband had left, and not just left, but left her to fend for herself.

“Oh Stanley, you bastard. I will have my revenge,” and with that, she hurried to get herself ready for work, knowing she would now be late. The thought made her angrier, and though she had wondered if she should go through with this part of her plan, there was no questioning the wisdom of it now. In the bathroom taking her shower, in her bedroom, the kitchen, everywhere she went, she looked for spiders. She looked on the walls, the floor, the corners, in the shadows, and the ceiling where they could come silently down upon the unsuspecting, slipping downward on a single gossamer strand. She was glad to get in her car and out on the road. There was one thing she would have to do before she reached her first client, one thing that she had questioned because it would have consequences. But now she didn’t care. She would get even with that idiot husband, and who cared what happened to him.

She knew his secretary and she knew she would be there to answer the phone. She was a good secretary, and she would want to do something nice for Stanley. Maureen punched the numbers into her smart phone, and she waited.

“Hello Barbara? Yes, this is Maureen. It’s Stanley’s and my anniversary, and I forgot to wish him a happy anniversary. I wonder if you would be a dear and surprise him, if you could just say, ‘Oh baby’, happy anniversary. He’ll know it’s from me. Remember it’s got to be ‘oh baby’, because that’s what I call him.”

She heard Barbara giggle when she said “it’s what I call him”, and it made her feel somewhat excited. She hadn’t anticipated that feeling, but she liked it, and oddly, it made her feel a little naughty, like a naughty little girl. Unexpectedly she felt like she had to pee, and she was forced to turn into a gas station to use their bathroom. She hated using gas station restrooms, and she wished she was home, safe and secure in bed, which suddenly, she thought, was unlike her.

Stanley parked his car in the company parking lot, and as he was walking through the double glass doors it occurred to him that he hadn’t said good bye to Maureen. In fact, he hadn’t even seen her, and then it seemed to him, that he had lost a whole section of time. He couldn’t remember what he had been doing early in the morning.

“What the hell’s happening to me,” he thought, and he walked by his secretary’s desk.

“Oh hi Stanley, happy anni….and then she remember, that’s not right. “

She tried again, somewhat stilted, “Oh baby, happy anniversary,” and she was about to explain that the salutation was from his wife, but she was interrupted by something unexpected. She heard this horrible rumbling coming from Stanley’s stomach. She saw him bend over in pain, and then grab the front of his trousers. He looked so handsome, she had once thought, in his suit, white shirt and tie, but what was about to happen would dispel that thought forever.

In the briefest moment, Stanley had no idea what was coming over him. A few seconds ago he was walking into work, saying hello to his secretary. She had said something, but he couldn’t recall it. Now, baby thoughts were flooding his mind. He felt like a baby, and worse yet, he could feel a rumbling in his lower bowls that spelled doom. He had lost all control and he felt helpless. He felt the rush of pee, uncontrolled wetness filling the front of his nicely pressed pants and now it was running down his leg and into his shoes. Worse, his bowls were letting loose, and he was filling the back of his pants. He was overcome by the smell, but that wasn’t the worst of it. No, that was nothing compared to the looks on the faces of everyone in the office.

“Oh baby, what have you done to yourself? Are you sick?” was the last thing he heard his secretary say as he ran out of the office and back to his car. He had no choice but to sit in it and drive home. What was he going to say? What explanation would he give, and then he remembered his secretary’s final words. Yes, he would tell them he was sick, and he thought he must be sick, but what kind of sickness would cause this, and then he remembered the CD’s. He had been playing CD II down in his baby sanctuary, but he had only done that a couple of times, and there was nothing about crapping yourself. How had this happened, and then he wondered, could Maureen know? Had she done something, and he remembered the misplaced Spider CD. That must be it. She must have discovered his secret, his terrible, terrible secret. He felt guilty, and for the briefest moment, hated himself. Why did he want to be a baby? Stupid, stupid, he thought, but then something else spoke to him, spoke in the dark crevices of his brain, speaking backwards, masked in white noise.

It said, “Everyone wants to be a baby. Play the trac. Play the trac. You are a baby. You live in a baby world. Play the track. Play the trac,” and tonight, he would do just that. He would set the DVD player to do its thing, and instead of spiders, it would take both of them to the safe world of baby. If Maureen had done this to him, and now he was sure she had, by God, he would do it to her; see how she liked being a baby in front of everyone.

The hidden track played again and again in his subconscious, wiping out any sense of responsibility and worse, consequences.

VIII​

Maureen was annoyed that she was late for her first appointment, but the rest of the day went as it should. Normally she would be tired and irritated, making dinner for the two of them, but there was a sense of elation replacing the old feelings. She couldn’t wait to see her husband. She found him sitting in the kitchen, holding his head in his hands, wearing jeans and a T-shirt. He looked beat, and for once, she was beaming.

“Well baby, how was your day,” and she couldn’t wait for his answer.

Stanley looked up at her, no longer suspicious, or repentant, or wanting to avoid an argument. He felt he knew; knew what she must have done.

“What kind of day do you think I had?” he said accusatorily.

“What do you mean, Stanley?” Maureen pretended to be annoyed, playing the game she had so carefully conceived, sensing that it was coming full circle.

“You know perfectly well,” he answered his wife. “You made me crap my pants in front of everyone,” and as soon as he said it, he wished he hadn’t, because the cat was now out of the bag.

“Crap your pants? Stanley! What in heaven’s name did you do? You didn’t act like a little baby in front of all your co-workers?” and Maureen burst into uncontrollable laughter. She laughed and couldn’t stop, which only made Stanley all the more angry.

“You were in my room, weren’t you,” and Stanley just didn’t care that he said it, he was so angry.

“Your room, little baby? You mean the room where you go “wet-wet”, and she took great delight in this last barb. She didn’t have long to wait, because Stanley immediately began to wet his second pair of pants.

“Damn it, Maureen. Don’t you see what you’ve done? How can I go back to work there with everyone thinking I’m some pants wetting, crapping freak!”

Again Maureen laughed, and she said wet-wet again, but something else happened. She began to wet uncontrollably, pee running down her legs and making a large wet puddle on the kitchen floor.

“Well, it looks like you’re getting a little of your own medicine, because I put the CD in the DVD player last night. Yes, the CD that makes you wet your diaper, and in your case, your panties. Hah! What do you think of that smarty pants, or should I say, wet baby pants!” and now it was Stanley’s turn to feel smug.

“Don’t think you’ve gotten the last word, because I knew exactly what you were up to, and I put CD III in your Ipod you stupid idiot,” and with that, Maureen yelled, “Oh baby! Oh baby!” saying it over and over, taking maniacal pleasure.

Stanley tried to fight it, tried oh so hard, but he couldn’t. He could feel himself slipping away.

“Dah dah,” he said. “Goobba, glabba dah dah.”

“And here’s your bottle, you little baby,” and Maureen reached for the top kitchen cabinet, taking down the bottle which she had once been drawn to, and filled it with juice. She barely held it in front of her husband when he grabbed for it, and he plopped down onto the wet kitchen floor, sipping and slurping, all the while with Maureen standing over him, looking at her little baby, and laughing. At last, she felt good. She had her vengeance having reduced her ridiculous husband to the baby he always wanted to be. But somehow, she didn’t feel the complete satisfaction she was hoping for. It was over, his embarrassing secret revealed, so now what, and she thought she knew. There still was CD IV.

Stanley slowly got up from the floor. Lucidity had returned and he realized his secret life had been revealed. There was nothing he could do, nothing at all but be the constant victim and slave to his wife, but there was one unturned page. He remembered the spider CD. He had only played CD I, but it was a double CD set. He wondered what was on that second CD, and he knew for certain, that Maureen would find out tonight. How fitting he thought since the next day would be Halloween.

That night, two alarm clocks were set for two different times, and two plots were about to unfold, and somewhere the sun was crossing the meridian, bringing with it, Halloween.

At two in the morning, Stanley’s alarm sounded through his ear buds. He put the spider CD into the player. In his half awake state, he slipped back into bed, forgetting to put his ear buds back in place. The subliminal voice droned on, another worldly voice, one that was very reassuring, and one that demanded to be listened to. Running counter to it was another voice and it was laying the ground work for something far more sinister.

Hypnosis for Fun and Pleasure had out sourced their tracs to a small startup in Eastern Europe. They were pleased with the work, though they really didn’t give their own product much attention. They had tracs for everything, not just infantilism and gag tracs like the spider CD. Everyone knew hypnosis tapes didn’t work. Almost everyone, except the unwary, and it was from that small group of misguided souls they would make a profit. Had they been a little more cautious, had done a little investigating, they would have been surprised to learn that the small startup company was not a company, but a coven. There were rituals said around a fire in the dark of night, and their big office party didn’t take place during Christmas. Theirs was Samhain, or as the rest of us know it, Halloween.

Just as Stanley’s alarm had sounded at two, Maureen’s was set for three, and she wondered if she should play CD IV, because she did need her husband. He was a constant provider, always reliable, and she had enjoyed his company when they were first married. But she didn’t like his deceit, and more so, acting like a baby. Just who had she married, she wondered, and then there was the spider CD. He knew she hated spiders, as she had reacted in fear every time she saw one. What kind of person would make someone petrified of them, irrationally scared to their wits end? No, she was furious with him and he would pay. CD IV it was, and she wondered what it would do? Well, nothing’s permanent, she told herself, and she went back to bed, the hypnotic trac now playing in their bedroom. She thought she should put in ear plugs, but she was tired, so she pulled the pillow over her head and went to sleep.

The voice melted into the dark of their bedroom, reassuring them both that it was better to be a baby than an adult. The adult world was evil, but the world of the infant was innocent. The voices filled the dark, and somewhere else, far away, the voices performed their ritual, for the time had come. The world would be transformed.

The town would soon come to life, and all the houses with carved pumpkins would be costuming their children to be all sorts of things, from fairy princesses, to goblins and monsters. The Twillow family was such participants, and the twins, Tyler and Twyla were eager to be someone else for one night. It was Tyler who wanted to be a fairy princess and Twyla, the girl who wanted to be a monster. Tara, their mother was a little concerned over the gender swapping, and their father, Tommy would not have it, so the parents had decided the twins would have twin costumes, something cute and non gender. Later in the coming evening, Tara would make the final adjustments, causing the extra appendages to flop and move, sewing some hidden fish lines connecting the limbs together, so that when the upper arms moved, the others would move with them. She was pleased with the realism of the costume. She knew her kids would be excited.

IX​

Both CD’s had played in the dark of night, weaving a web of deception, creating a world that came from some other plain. All the CD’s which had been spread throughout the world, to all the households of those who were practicing something which they shouldn’t be doing, knowing they were straying from the norm, all these CD’s would now trigger in full force, this new key word somewhat different. It wasn’t baby, or diaper, or spider, or anything related to the many vices and fantasies of the unsuspecting. It simply was “Trick or Treat”, and it waited to be unleashed.

Things were not going well at the Kaminski household. Both woke up to a wet bed, and at this point, there was no need for secrecy. Stanley had a full diaper, and Maureen couldn’t understand why she had wet the bed, but there it was. She swore, and then stripped the bed. She would have to go into the basement, but that stupid husband could go down with her. She wasn’t going to face some oversized spider by herself. She thought spider, and she shivered. For some reason, she was more afraid of the possibility that spiders could be anywhere, lurking behind closed doors, in the kitchen or the bathroom. Ugh, the bathroom she thought, being completely naked and attacked by spiders. Wouldn’t that be horrible?

“Help me with this bedding, would you,” she barked at her husband.

“What! Wet the bed again,” and he scowled as he said it, which only made Maureen all the more angry.

“Well, you’re the one who wants to be a baby, with your baby crib and diapers,” and she pulled her husband’s flannel pajamas down, revealing a wet and soiled cloth diaper, only protected by his baby printed plastic pants.

“There’s the baby, little baby go wet-wet,” and she took some pleasure watching her husband’s expression change to distress as he wet uncontrollably, unable to stop the flow into an already soaked diaper.

“Better run off and change, little baby,” and as her husband ran to the downstairs bathroom, she followed with the wet sheets. Since he was downstairs, he could help her with washing them. It’s the least he could do for being so ridiculous, she thought.


With all of the morning nonsense, both of them were late for work. Stanley apologized for his unfortunate accident, using sickness as his rehearsed excuse. Everyone wished he felt better, but from his cubicle, he could hear whispering, and often the hushed asides were followed by muted laughter. It was going to be a long day. The day wasn’t much easier for Maureen. Several times while driving, she thought she saw spiders in the car. She’d think about them, reiterating her hatred for spiders, and as soon as she thought it, something dark would be crawling in the corner of the dashboard, or on the floor carper. One time she stomped her left foot with her right, feeling something creeping slowly across the top where the leather left off, and skin began.

Stanley said good-bye to his secretary, and she wished him well, and perhaps too well when she said, “Happy Halloween baby.”

He guessed the baby part wasn’t unusual, but given the unusual circumstances of the previous day, he had his suspicions, wondering if she too wasn’t enjoying the moment.

Stanley was surprised to see his wife home ahead of him, but he remembered that it was Halloween and he guessed she was getting the house ready for the evening. He wasn’t too far off, but he hadn’t been correct in guessing the motif, for Maureen had decorated the living room. There were some plushies, stuffed animals sitting on the furniture, and where they had some quality first run lithographs, they were now replaced with posters of Beatrix Potter’s Peter Rabbit, and A. A. Milne’s Winnie the Pooh.

“All right, this has gone too far,” but before he could get out another word, Maureen stuck a pacifier in his mouth and said, “Oh baby, that’s better, isn’t it?”

Stanley plopped down on the floor and began to suck feverishly. He could vaguely feel his pants getting wet.

“You stay here and play while mommy get’s your dinner ready,” and Maureen walked into the kitchen, her second and final plan in motion. She had made a nice dinner for herself and something entirely different for her husband.

When everything was prepared, there was one more thing to do, and she returned to the living room.

“Let’s go upstairs baby. Mommy has a surprise for her little baby,” and she helped her husband up the steps and into their bedroom.

She had retrieved the thickest diapers he owned, and with them, a pair of pink plastic pants, with the carnival animal prints. She gently laid him on the bed, pushing him backwards, and carefully took his clothes off.

“There there baby. Won’t this be nice? Let mommy take care of her little baby.”

Stanley looked up at her with a vacant expression. Slowly, he began to smile as she pushed his legs apart, lifting him and pushing the diaper under him. She powered him with his own baby powder, and pulled the diaper around him, taping the sides.

“There there, aren’t you a good little baby.”

She then produced the most girly looking onsie she could find, and put that on him. The last touch was a little baby bonnet that she had ordered online.

“There, won’t you look ridiculous for all the Halloween children who come and knock on our door, and they’ll just think that’s your costume, and they’ll wonder as to what kind of man you are,” and Maureen began to laugh again, laughed hysterically a sickening sound that sounded like it came from a horror movie.

She helped her husband down the steps, encouraging him to walk and take a few steps, as he tried to negotiate the stairway, feeling more like a toddler than an adult. He was vaguely aware that he was diapered and wearing his favorite onsie. He liked the feeling, and it made him feel all the more little. Through the fog of infancy he found himself in the kitchen, and his wife was singing.

“Here’s a little supper for a little baby,” Maureen sang, and she put the spoon into a jar of Gerber baby food and began to feed it to her husband. She took a bite of her roasted chicken, and then she would give her baby Stanley a bite of his Gerber peaches and rice.

When supper was over she wiped her husband’s face off and took him back to the living room. She turned on the TV and found the Cartoon Network, finding a Halloween cartoon special. Cleaning up from supper she could hear the cartoon from the living room. It seemed that very naughty children were going from house to house, yelling what children yell. There were bats, and ghouls, monsters, demons, and also Halloween spiders. All this came drifting into the kitchen as she finished loading the dishwasher. She was feeling very uncomfortable and on edge, and she thought she saw a spider. Then she saw another, and yet another. Meanwhile, the cartoon blared on, children running from house to house, running from some silly ridiculous monster. Some were yelling ‘Trick or Treat’ and though she was only slightly hearing this over the noise of the dishwasher, it was having its effect.

In the living room, Stanley was now becoming completely transformed, because he was hearing what was coming from the television, and he was regressing deeper and deeper with each ‘Trick or Treat’. The subliminal elements of the CD’s were playing somewhere deep in his subconscious, and more so, coursing and coinciding with the spiritual energy which was his soul. The night time voices were speaking, and they would now be heard for it was Halloween. They regressed him, erasing the years of his adult life. Twenty was gone, nineteen, eighteen, all the way past three and now he was two. He played on the floor barely understanding what was blaring on the TV. But there was more, because there were the other voices, and they warned those who should have not played with spiders. Now they were revealing the black crawling menace, hundreds of spiders emerging from every crevice and corner, from the dark places that existed on another plain, and they were coming.

Maureen saw them; saw them clearly now. They were on the counter top, the floor, and they were crawling on her feet, across her feet. The dishwasher started to make a noise, a screeching grinding noise of metal gears against gears, grinding and tearing, and then, hundreds and hundreds of spider began to pour forth from the top of the door, crawling out of the dishwasher, plopping down onto the floor and they were headed straight toward Maureen. For the slightest moment, Maureen could do nothing. She was frozen, unable to move, her worst fear materializing in front of her eyes, black spiders, brown, tan, and even albino white. It was then that she screamed, and ran into the living room, shouting, “Oh Stanley, save me,” but that was impossible, because Stanley was no longer her husband.

She ran to him, pleading with him, and in her panic, she grabbed him and shook him.

“Come out of it you idiot and for once be a man. For God’s sake Stanley, help me,” and she shook him so hard, his baby bonnet which had been tightly secured, shifted on his head, and was half cocked, obscured to the left.

She looked up from her husband and that was her undoing, because now it was just she and her infantile husband, alone in the expanse of their living room, and that room was overrun with spiders. The far corners were beginning to turn black from the many dark shelled arachnids, the now black corners growing and spreading, the cream color carpet being replaced by the growing tide of black, and the black color was moving, spreading.

Suddenly Maureen was shocked back to her senses when she felt something on her shoulder. She absently brushed it, at it, only to have “it” now crawling on her hand, its mandibles biting into her soft skin. She screamed and swatted at it, hitting at it and sending it flying. It was quickly replaced by another and in her terror she looked up, something she really shouldn’t have done, because what she saw would haunt her memories forever. There were hundreds and hundreds of spiders descending downward on their carefully spun silken threads, hundreds of tiny little lines of silk like arachnoid bungee jumpers, all silently slipping down from the ceiling, and their base was Maureen.

Maureen probably would have passed out, allowing herself to become a meal for whatever depraved demonic power that had invaded the once comfortable house and now was consuming her sanity, when the door bell rang. The door bell rang and it was the one thing in the house that was actually real and not imagined. It was tangible in an otherwise contrived world of suggestion and spells. It brought Maureen to her senses. The spiders were suddenly gone, and there was only her husband, now a baby, playing helplessly on the floor. She could see that he had wet his diaper, and he was sucking on his pacifier. She looked into his eyes and she saw distress, as if he had seen the same thing as her, and for the slightest moment, she wondered if it was something else, if something in his world of baby had spoken to his imagination, and it had been just as terrifying.

The bell rang again and Maureen opened the door, wanting to welcome the cold fresh air, wanting to embrace the outside world where everything was real, and safe, but that’s not what happened. Directly in front of her stood the Twillow twins and their mother’s impressive creation, costumes looking perfectly lifelike, if not larger than their real counterpart. Tyler and Twyla were Black Widow Spiders, with two black hairy legs to stand on, and six other appendages, two which were their real arms, and four other appendages which moved more randomly as they were connected to their real arms with the transparent nylon fishing line.
“Trick or Treat,” they yelled, eagerly expecting candy, but that’s not what they got.


When NASA designed the Martian rover, “Curiosity” they had equipped it with one extra sensor, something they never told the public. There were a few scientists who believed that Mars once held life, intelligent life. It was believed that if this life spoke, it must have been accomplished with very high pitched squeals or shrieks due to the very thin atmosphere, and so they had installed sensitive audio listening devices, programmed to redirect its microphone in the direction of any extremely loud and alien high frequency. It was at this very moment when Maureen opened her front door that Curiosity did an abrupt one hundred and eighty degree turn and re-aimed its microphone to point back at Earth in the direction of the south east coast of the United States.

Maureen screamed, peed herself, and collapsed unconscious to the floor. The twins stood in shocked silence, hugging each other, the twelve hairy appendages intertwined.

When the police finally arrived, they found Maureen babbling incoherently about spiders, and her husband Stanley quietly cooing and having the mind of a one year old. More curious was his garb, that of an infant, and even Maureen, his wife, was wearing a diaper and a dress a little girl would wear, something she would later deny, having no memory of ever having ordered it, much less, putting it on.

X​

The EMT personal had taken them to the hospital and it was quickly surmised that they both had experienced complete psychotic breaks. Experimenting with several drugs, time and counseling, Maureen eventually recovered, but her husband was not as fortunate. When nothing worked, neither drug therapy nor analysis, it was decided to try electro shock therapy. This proved to be a mistake as the electrical shocks erased his adult brain, leaving only the infantile brain. Eventually Maureen was well enough to take her husband home. She had to leave her job as her infant husband would demand full time care. She put their life savings into a fund which between interest and Medicare from the government, allowed Maureen to become Stanley’s full time caretaker, and under these strange circumstances, his mommy. She found that he was most happy when in his room, surrounded by the furniture which he so lovingly had made. On the walls were the pictures of Peter Rabbit and Pooh, as well as other nursery themes. He played on the nursery printed carpet, with Maureen by his side.

Maureen spent the time reading and playing music through the sound system that once played the hypnosis CD’s. She wished she had never entered her husband’s little sanctuary, and more so, finding the cabinet which held the hypnosis tracs. She wistfully thought of better times, and as she watched her husband play with his plastic toy blocks, she walked over to the cabinet and picked through the CD’s which had brought them so much trouble.

There they all were, CD’s I through V, and she thought, five? That’s right, she now remembered, there had been one more CD. She wondered what that did to a person, and she looked at her baby husband. He would need changed soon, a chore which gave her mixed feelings, some residual emotions still rattling around in her subconscious. Again she mused over the fifth CD, and almost absently, put it into the CD player.

“What harm could it do,” she thought. The room was suddenly filled with the most wonderful soothing music.
 

TeddyBearCowboy

A real-life, genuine teddy bear cowboy...
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Dogboy,

Thank you for sharing this. I highly enjoyed it. It is very well written and fun to read.

:hugs:

TeddyBearCowboy
 

dogboy

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I suspect I'll be putting doodooballs into my next ridiculous story. You're right TeddyBear. I tried to get a little humor into the story. It was fun to write and thanks for your comments.
 

Andromeda

Andromeda
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Thank you for sharing your story, as it was excellent and well written. I enjoyed reading it and look forward to reading more of your work!

Andromeda
 

dogboy

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will you be revealing CD V sometime soon like a final chapter.?

Haha....probably not. It's fun and perhaps traditional to leave scary stories open ended. I remember old B horror movies from the '50s that actually ended with a question mark up on the screen. I did entertain the idea of revisiting Stanley and bringing his mind slowly back. Thanks for reading my story and I'm glad you enjoyed it. It was fun to write.
 
Last edited:

littlemoosey

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Haha....probably not. It's fun and perhaps traditional to leave scary stories open ended. I remember old B horror movies from the '50s that actually ended with a question mark up on the screen. I did entertain the idea of revisiting Stanley and bringing his mind slowly back. Thanks for reading my story and I'm glad you enjoyed it. It was fun to write.


Now dogboy... that would be cool, slowly bring Stanley back, in and out. You have figured a way to make it interesting. Now all you gotta do is put pen to paper. What else you gotta do? Its not like there is a pandemic keeping everybody inside.
 
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