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The electricity seemed to rush faster down my arms than anywhere
else it had touched, quickly consuming the remains of my shirt.
As it went down, I could sense that my arms were getting much
longer than they had been, and would probably hang well down to
my knees or more when I stood up. When the change reached my hands,
I held them out, stiff-fingered, to watch. They were shaking like
leaves. With a cry of despair, I saw my fingernails all begin
to turn black. I always had written that I would have deep black
very shiny hooves, so I supposed that this was the beginning of
my becoming a full-bodied horse. As I watched, my mind in anguish,
my ring and little fingers lengthened and merged into one thick
but jointed digit. Then my middle and index fingers did the same
thing. The nails on each joined together in a continuous chitinous
covering, and my thumb widened and lengthened until I had three
digits on each hand, all the same length of about 4 inches. And
there it stopped. I sobbed when I realized it was over, and I
held my hands up to look closely at them.
They did not look like I had written at all. I still had opposable thumbs, as it were, but I now had only two thick, and very strong looking, powerful fingers on each hand. The fact that all three digits were the same length imparted an alien looking symmetry to both hands. My arms were still plantigrade in form, although they looked much too long to fit the rest of me. There must be further changes in structure coming. I began to cry to think how close I had become to being trapped in my own living nightmare.
It took a while, staring at my hands, to realize that I had seen them before. Another friend on the Equine list had sent me a drawing of his perfect horse. He didn't want to be one, preferring to be a fox instead. But his steed was anthro, and equine when he needed him to be. He could go about on all fours, pulling carts and doing the large labors that horses can do, but he could also stand upright and his forehooves were really very strong fingers with heavy, almost hoof-like, nails for use against the ground. I remembered admiring the ingenuity of his design, and had decided that I liked it better than my own of having completely human hands. Much more logical and evolutionarily correct. Evidently that one thought had changed my self-image enough for the change to cause it to become my own structure. I bowed my head in relief and wondered what other change I may have wrought but didn't recall at that time, for there was no denying now that I was changing to become my own idea of the ideal me.
Emotionally wrung out, I sat on the floor and leaned back against the desk drawers to rest. I thought about my writings on the subject of head and hoof transformations. I envisioned the changes to my head and neck to happen when I was unconscious, so I didn't have a guess as to what to expect. But my lower legs and hooves on the other hand, had always been crampy and difficult to endure. Perhaps my change would only follow the order, and not the sensations I had described. All I could do was wait.
I sat there for a long time, quite exhausted in mind and body. Nothing happened for a while, and I glanced at my watch. It was 2pm. Only one hour or so had passed, but my body said that I needed day's worth of sleep to recover. With a yawn, I decided to do a meditation to try to remain calm and focused. Counting breaths is my current favorite method, a simple technique taught to me by my Master and it consists of counting each breath silently, until I either lose count, or 'zone out' as I call it, a state of thought-less existence. I remember reaching 54, and the next thing I remember is opening my eyes to a terribly disoriented world. I think I must have fallen asleep since I didn't have the familiar unknown-passage-of-time feeling that a 'zone out' left me with. I couldn't see properly. Most of my stereoscopic vision was gone, giving everything a flat and distant look. Blinking my eyes to try to clear them, I looked down to try to focus on my legs, and discovered an enormous long something in my way. I didn't realize what it was, was completely confused by what I was seeing, and it wasn't until I shook my head and saw that thick thing swing about with my shaking head that I realized that I had missed the latest change. My neck and head had completed the change, and what I was experiencing was the vision characteristics of a horse's eye. My only stereoscopic vision field was directly in front of me and about 20 degrees to each side of my very long and broad muzzle. By directing my attention there, I could judge distance well enough. But anything in my peripheral vision, which covered a huge area of space around me, was flat looking. I didn't have any trouble with color or contrast, though, and that was a relief.
I raised my hands to touch my face and missed it completely. I didn't reach up far enough. My neck was much longer than before, and that was an effect that I had never considered. Reaching up further, I was able to feel the warm moist air pouring from my lungs. My nostrils flared as great breaths of air seemed to flow in and out effortlessly. It occurred to me then that my interior organs had changed to match the needs of my external body. I wondered at the time how much of my body was still human, percentage-wise, besides my upright stance. If the inside conformed to my imagination also, and I had to assume that it did, my gastrointestinal tract would be a combination of human and equine, allowing me a wider choice of foods and drinks. But I had no idea about the rest of me, and hoped that whatever had changed me had thought through all the details that I had not. All I needed was to gain my change and lose my life because I never considered that a human heart would not survive long under the stresses of a large equine circulatory system.
I used my long fingers to explore the size and shape of my head, from the flexible lips and typical equine teeth, up to the expressive ears at the top of my head. I cleared my throat with a cough and experimentally tried to speak. "A, B, C, D, E, F, G, H" I tried to speak each letter clearly and correctly. My voice sounded very raspy, and I had great difficulty with C, D, and F. I hoped that with practice I would recover all my powers of speech. Then I tried to sing. Happily, I could sound several octaves of notes clearly and with good quality, despite my vocal coarseness, but the timbre of the notes was much lower. I wondered what the guys at the chorus would think when they found they had a horse who used to sing tenor, and now sang both baritone and bass. Again, I hoped that with practice, I would get back to my favorite hobby soon, but I could just imagine the Mr. Ed jokes I would surely collect, if they could even get over the change to begin with.
And for the first time, I began to consider what all this might mean to the rest of the world. As if I didn't have enough to worry about already, now all the questions I had ever speculated about, such as what my place in society would be, how I would be treated, and the question of human rights if I changed, came rushing back. It's easy to write yourself to an island somewhere, safe and isolated and removed from realistic concerns. But I knew with a sinking feeling that I would soon know the answers to all my questions, for it was certain that I could not stay in my office, alone, for the rest of my life. Unless it was very short; which remained a possibility, since I was not done changing as yet, or at least I hoped I wasn't. My still human lower legs looked ludicrous under my larger and pretty much horsed out upper body. What a freaky look that would be. The fact that I still had my cowboy boots and white socks on didn't help the image either. I thought then that I would rather be all horse than left like I was right then, but I needn't have worried, for the final stage of my change began at that moment in exactly the way I had imagined it would, with a severe and debilitating cramp in the arches of my feet that ran right up into my calves.
I hissed in a breath and grabbed at my feet. I wasn't very coordinated with my fingers yet, and I had some trouble trying to rub the cramping muscles. The best I could do was to just hold on and grit through it.
As I rocked back and forth on the floor, I heard the distinct click of the automatic security latch being relaxed, and the outer office door being pulled open. There were only 5 badges that could access that door successfully. I had one, Ken and Rahim, both in Europe teaching, had one each. That left Janice and Betty. "Cody?" I heard the distinct breathy sound of Betty's voice from the distant foyer. With a resolute sigh, I decided that there was no use hiding. I couldn't get away easily in my current condition. "Betty, I'm in my office," I called out slowly, surprised at the deepness of my voice and carefully trying to pronounce each word clearly. She came sweeping around the second corner with a worried look on her face. Betty is a slender and pretty blonde 40-something divorcee, given to tall hairstyles and colorful stylish clothes. Her pattern of speaking is reminiscent of that soft unobtrusiveness made iconic by Marilyn Monroe, as though she might have been a former screen idol now abandoned by Hollywood in their eternal search for the source of youth and money. Every sentence is delivered with an implied, though non-specific, undertone of sensuality, which makes every man and woman she meets for the first time leap to uncorroborated and opposing conclusions about her basic motivations. As you get to know her better, you realize that what you hear in her voice is simply her own distinctive delivery, and that your prejudiced ear should infer nothing more. She stopped six feet short of me when she caught sight of my appearance. Her eyes, unnaturally enlarged by her glasses to begin with, grew as round and broad as the unspoken O that her mouth tried but failed to speak. Even though I was sitting on the floor, my longer torso and neck brought my eyes nearly level with hers. I tried to smile and look non-threatening, not at all sure how my muzzled face would register in her minds eye. "It's me. It's Cody."
She looked me over, her face so unchanged that I could not guess what her thoughts were. "Betty? It's really me, Cody," I repeated with a small smile.
"They said you were sick," she breathed out softly.
I looked down at myself. "Well, sort of I guess. I feel better than I did a while ago, but as you can see, I'm not quite myself at the moment, " I said trying to lighten the overwhelming atmosphere a bit.
"Oh, Cody," she said, somehow expressing sorrow tinted with disapproval. "What happened?"
With a shake of my head I answered, "I don't know. It started right after lunch, but I don't know why it is happening. I think I'm turning into a horse, at least in part." I didn't feel like sharing my certainties with her. My life as a devotee of transformation stories and art, and my deepest desire to see myself change, were secrets that few people around me knew. I decided to keep my suspicions unvoiced. I looked across to her again to find her face registering deep concern, but I could sense somehow that she was terrified. She kept her terror from overcoming her, but she couldn't bring herself to come any closer. Somehow I needed to reassure her and calm her fear.
"I'm OK though. Really, I am. I've got a cramp in both feet and I don't think I can walk right now, but otherwise I feel as good as I ever have in my life," I said and finished with an embarrassing gravelly cough. "I'm Ok. Just a little hoarse, that's all." I tried to grin at her, wondering if my exposed teeth would make her think I was going to bite her instead.
Betty stood there without comment. My attempt at humor had failed to make her smile; however, the more I talked I could see that she was relaxing her tense body language.
"Thanks for coming over to find me. I was really scared for a while, and I felt that I needed privacy, but now I wish someone had been here with me," I said as I returned to rubbing my aching feet. Already I could tell from my touch that the soles were lengthening, while my toes were broadening and feeling tougher. We slipped into silence for a while. There was a sudden sharp pull at the back of my heel that bent my foot to an odd looking angle. I gritted my teeth in a grimace and grunted a pained objection. Betty jumped slightly. "What! What is it?" she shouted in a whisper.
"My feet are changing. I think they're turning into horses hooves, and it hurts," I spoke through my clenched teeth.
"I think you better to go to the hospital," she offered with tightly controlled calm. The hospital. Somehow that idea made my stomach lurch and feel sick again. There was no way that I was ready to contact officialdom, regardless of how humanitarian it might normally be considered. I have had what I consider a healthy skepticism of the benevolence of much of our government as well as private institutions. Our original Jeffersonian democratic ideals of 'government of the people, by the people, and for the people' too often seem to have been warped into 'of the people, by the aristocracy, for the government'. At that moment I was very worried about the reactions of the first, and the decisions of the second as they considered my possible impact on the third. I felt certain that few would see me as a harmless mystery, which I felt like, and many would perceive me as anything from a national security catastrophe to a financial, political, or nationalistic goldmine.
"No. I don't think I need a hospital. Besides, it would have to be a veterinary one anyway," I added with a rueful smile. "I need to get my spare keys from my other office so I can get home. Could you help me get to the other building?" I suggested hopefully.
Betty paled a bit, but too her credit, she asked "What could I possibly do to help you there? You're too heavy to carry."
I nodded sadly. "True. I think all I need is a little extra balance control. My eyesight has changed, and my legs are untried, and they're still changing, but if you would just take my elbow and walk with me slowly for a little extra balance, I think we could make it," I said hopefully, trying not to let the pain in my legs show on my face. I decided that I needed to get away from the office and into my home where I could wait out the changes and see what would happen next.
At that moment, I heard the wailing warble of a siren pulling into the lot below my window. I looked over at Betty with a worried expression. "Cody, I already called emergency services before I came over. Pam said you were really sick and needed an ambulance. That's probably it now," she said softly.
Damn, was all I could think. "Betty, I don't want to see these people. Not here. Not yet. Help me get to my car, please?" I said, trying to look worried. At least that was what I wanted to look like, but I was not at all certain what a worried expression on a horse's face actually looked like. Before she could decide what to do, the security door clicked again. Right away I heard the recognizable tinny sound of a 2 way radio. Rattling around the corner came a police officer moving at a rapid pace. At least he was until he saw me. His round face didn't register anything of his inner thoughts. He stopped, glanced from me to Betty and then back at me, and pulled his handgun from its holster, pointing it in my direction.
"Ma'am, can you quietly back away from it? Do you need medical assistance?"
Betty looked over her shoulder. "Officer, you don't need a gun. He isn't dangerous," she said quietly.
"Ma'am, please stand and quietly move towards me," he ordered.
"What do you think I am going to do? Stampede or something?" I asked with a hint of sarcastic disgust. The officer gave no indication that he had even heard me and continued to stare levelly and seriously into my face.
"Ma'am, I will say this only once more. Please stand and quietly move towards me," he ordered in a slightly louder voice.
I shook my head in resolution. Now all the trouble begins, I thought. "Betty, you should just do what he says," I said and looked out the window. She stood up and turned to stand by the officer. I could see a helicopter flying north from the Love Field airport area. At first I thought it was going to land at the Lincoln Doubletree hotel, but instead it took up a hovering position over LBJ Freeway right in front of the building. My vision wasn't too good yet, but I didn't think it bore any logos or markings. It was just a white helicopter, like so many that I have seen flying in test patterns around Bell Textron helicopter assembly in Fort Worth. I felt that, somehow, its presence out my window was not a simple coincidence.
The officer spoke into his shoulder mic. "The area is secure, and the subject is isolated. Send up the hazmat paramedics." To Betty he said, "Ma'am, I'm afraid that you'll have to stay here with me until the medics give you a clean bill of health. In fact, I can't leave either until they are certain that there are no medical issues from our exposure."
Her wide eyes looked worried. "Exposure to what?" she breathed.
"To me. He thinks I'm contagious," I snorted in disgust.
The officer didn't actually frown. Some men can show their emotions without the twitch of a muscle. His body screamed frowning disapproval into my face.
The security lock cliked again. This time our party grew by 7. They were all dressed in plastic environmental isolation suits, and looked like flimsy pseudo-astronauts. In spite of my usual optimism, and my current feeling of well being (disregarding the ache in my feet), a flush of cold fear washed from my nose to the tip of my tail when I saw that they were wheeling in a stretcher-like table on which there was a large clear plastic isolation tank. There was no doubt in my mind as to whom they meant to put inside it.
The leader carried a silver briefcase, which he placed on the floor in front of the officer and from which he removed a clipboard and stylus. With no preamble, he began reading questions and making notations.
He spoke calmly enough, but there was an undercurrent of urgency in his manner. "Have either of you come into direct contact with it?" he asked.
Three faces registered disgust. Two faces looked disgusted by the concept of touching 'it' and 'it' was disgusted by the question. "No sir," the officer answered too emphatically. Betty just shook her head. A check mark was made. I shook my head too, and cleared my throat to speak, but the sound that came out was a whicker of distress. This surprised me very much and I wondered briefly about how other human expressions and reactions would translate in Equuish.
"Has there been, and have you contacted any of its, liquid or solid bodily secretions?" he continued immediately.
They both shook their heads at that, but Betty added, "He threw up in the room down the hall. Classroom B." The polltaker pointed to the first two suits behind him and wordlessly gestured them towards the door. They grabbed a box off the cart and strode purposefully into the hallway.
"Have you at any time come within a 4 foot radius of it?" he asked next. They looked like a pair of guilty children waving their heads back and forth in response to a parent. My initial shock at having been relegated to object status was wearing off, and I began to get angry. I whuffle-snorted my disgust and said loudly "If it's OK with you, I have a name. Have had a name since before I was born. It's Cody. Cody Alan Haller. And you might have some small amount of concern for my somewhat unusual condition! Or do you prefer to subscribe to the hypocritical rather than Hippocratic oath?" My words ended with an angry sounding whinny! In spite of my irritation I felt a smile form on my lips at that sound, although I wasn't too sure what it would look like to them. Judging by the looks on their faces, they didn't see a smile. The officer's hand hovered close to his sidearm, and Betty just looked forlorn. The polltaker simply returned to his list without comment.
The pain in both my legs interrupted his reading of the next question, and I whinnied again, but this time the sound contained a distinct note of anguish rather than anger. Lord of the Prairie Skies Above did they hurt! My own transformed characters always suffered this 'agony of de feet' as their final transformation began. Now here I was in the same state. I suspected before that what was happening to me was directly and specifically connected to the fondest and most longingly felt wish of my life: to be physically transformed and rectified to my mentally deep-seated image and identity. What I was feeling was exactly what I had visited on my creations and I was discovering that paybacks, indeed, were hell.
Now, the concept of having hooves instead of feet is one of my most precious sexual fetishes and always has been. If I had to choose to change only one part of my body it would be to have digitigrade legs ending in large heavy fetlocked hooves. (Was that one or more than one part?) I wished it to the point that I have a pair of hoof boots, complete with heavy steel horseshoes, that I acquired on a business trip to Brisbane Australia from a website there called www.kaysers.com. With the addition of a pair of equine sport splint boots to my shins, and just a little imagination, I often transformed my legs visually. When I have my hooves on, my mind goes immediately into pony-space. There is no finer alternate reality than pony-space. But why oh why had I imagined that it would hurt to have my wish come true? Perhaps out of some perverted idea of cost versus gain, and that there would have to be a price someone would have to pay for the fulfillment of a wish. On the other hand, I have discovered over the last few years that I am more of a masochist than I originally thought, and have come to enjoy certain kinds of pain when it is the result of serving Master's needs or wishes. Whatever the psychology behind it, my body was beyond last minute rationalization and deeply into its final change.
I gritted my teeth and stretched my legs out straight in front of me seeking relief from the cramp-like grip I was in. From the knee down I was still quite human looking, apart from the fact that the soles of my feet had slowly stretched until my toes and my heel were now about 16 inches apart. My shoe size would probably have been 19EEEEEEEEE. With a groan I futilely massaged my throbbing knees. Polltaker pulled 3 cameras from his box; a small video, a tiny 35mm, and a Polaroid. They began to document the final freeing of my inner self, and I was actually happy that they were doing it. It seemed to me a good idea to have some proof of who and what I had once been.
Equally on each leg, the change could be seen moving from my lower thighs down to my knees. The skin, muscles and bones changed at the same time, with the fur trailing along about 2 inches behind the advancing modification line. It was quite silent, except for my own stentorian breathing and clicking teeth. There was no additional absorption of material. Apparently my meaty and muscular calves, one of my best human features, were providing all the needed raw material. As the change reached my heel, my legs snapped into the shape I had most admired; that distinctive reversed-S-shaped, many jointed look that a horse's legs sport. My heel was being altered to take its position as the point of hock bone. As the change proceeded, the elongated bones of my feet fused into slender splints. It felt exactly as if someone was forcefully sliding my foot and leg into a very tight costume of a shape that didn't match my leg very well. There was an overwhelming sense of pressure, which would be followed by short electrical sensations, and then familiarity and naturalness would become apparent to my mind.
I stared with fascination as the change approached my ten pink and wiggly toes. For some reason, I flexed and wiggled them one last time, for old time sake I guess. The prospect of my imminent hooving cut right through my pain and went to my brain, which showed its pleasure by giving me an erection. That in itself was a wonderful event, but I would be able to see that many more times in the future so I never took my eyes of my legs. From there on down, my human metacarpals and phalanges produced the long and short pasterns, and finally the digits began to fuse into a coffin bone. Simultaneously the nails of each vanishing toe thickened and blackened, growing protectively about my foot to shield it from the ground and cushion my steps-to-be.
The forming of my hooves and the growth of my very long and silky fetlocks came to an end at about the same moment, and I sat there in a state of physical ecstasy at what I had just witnessed. So turned on by the process was I that with the sudden cessation of the pain when my hoof tipped legs became complete, there was a rushing sound in my ears and with a great groan of passion I had an orgasm. Stallions produce large quantities of semen in comparison to men, and it appeared that my virgin orgasm was living up to my new nature. The stream squirted out of my penis with shocking force. I was totally unprepared for the power and volume of it, having only seen stallions' cuming while they were deeply imbedded in their mares. The stream flew into the air above my head and fell back down to hit my on my muzzle, chest and legs. So lost in the rapture was I that I simply closed my eyes and tried to catch my breath. Betty nearly jumped backwards 3 feet, and her face turned beet red. I had always believed that a stallion's orgasm would be a massive gratification, and how right I had been. They are one of a handful of non-human males who practice masturbation just for the fun of it, and now I knew why.
I lay where I was and caught my breath. One of the suits came forward with a clear tube, obviously with the intent of collecting my seminal fluid. With a sigh I let him do his collecting. The other suits began to work with the isolation box, opening up the latches and sighing seals and preparing the portable electrical system. The polltaker motioned to two other suits and they started in my direction also. Here it comes, I thought to myself. They want to take me away somewhere. Well, I resolved that I would not be leaving quietly. So far, no one except Betty had even addressed me directly, and even now as they came towards me no one spoke to me. I decided to see if I could change that.
"Alright now, I want to know who you people are and what you have in mind with that box," I said as I began to stand up slowly from where I had been sitting on the floor, pungent horse semen dripping from my fur and still exposed cock.
They all stopped what they were doing to watch with surprise as I unfolded and stood up on my newly minted hind legs. It was a strange feeling. Actually, there were many strange feelings. For one, my large equine testicles dropped off my lap and bounced to rest against my thighs. That startled me. And then my stiff rod seemed to telescope down on itself and it disappeared inside me as if it had never been anywhere else. For another, my vision swam and swung around like a drunken cameraman at sea. My stomach lurched at that thought. And, I was certainly not prepared for how much taller I had become.
As a man, I had been only 5'6" plus a little. I had often wondered what it would be like to be taller, and when I was young and size equated to masculinity, I had railed against the injustice of being the shortest kid on the block. Those days were behind me now. In maturity I realized that being short was perfect, for in my favorite Domination and submission games, when I had thought that I was a Dominant I wanted my 'boys' to be much bigger and stronger than me. Yet when I discovered that I was actually a better submissive, I wanted my Master to be the same: bigger and stronger than me. Good things cum -- er, mean come <G> in small packages!
As I brought myself upright, I felt like Alice in the Court of the Queen of Hearts, rising and growing to tower above everyone else nearby. From my perspective it was as though they were all shrinking before my eyes, because I didn't 'feel' any different that I ever had. I ended up at about 17.2 hands tall at the 'withers', or shoulders in my case. That's roughly 6 feet, less a little, and then when I added my long neck and high ears, which tacked on another 2 feet plus, well by the time I was standing my ears were twitching against the ceiling tiles. I am actually longer than that when I lie down and stretch out my hind legs straight, but due to their digitigrade structure, and their tendency to bend at the joints when standing, I am not as tall upright.
Regardless, I found it humorous to see them all standing there, a few mouths agape, staring up at my frowning face. I almost chuckled, but decided to keep it all very serious, and tried to fold my arms to keep the body language pertinent. As I mentioned, my arms had made some most interesting changes. While the joints were still based on human physiology and I retained rotational abilities at my shoulder and elbow, my humerus, ulna, and radius bones had lengthened a great deal for reasons that I did not understand at the time. Left to dangle, my three fingered hands hung down to my knees. Lifting them and crossing them before me lent me, I suspect, a far larger and more aggressive aspect than I really intended. However, at least I had engaged their full attention at last.
The police officer was sweating heavily, his khaki shirt turning dark damp tan under his arms and around his neck despite the overly cool air conditioning. He actually took a step backwards, drew his revolver and took a firing stance as he watched me with a grimace. Polltaker blinked at me, turned and judged the box, and turned back to me. "Well, that's not going to be of any use, now is it," he commented dryly. It was obvious that I would not be fitting into that box. Not in one piece at any rate, I thought morbidly. With a wave of his hand they packed up the box and wheeled it away. Returning his attention to me, his eyes scrutinized me guardedly. "Officer," he said loudly while still watching me. "Put your weapon away immediately. There is no need of force here."
Then to me he said "My orders are to remove you from this building and escort you to a place of safety. To be honest with you, the safety that I am referring to is not only yours, which I am charged with preserving, but also with the safety of the general public as well. I am empowered to use whatever means I determine to be necessary to carry out my orders. I believe that you will find that I am a reasonable man within the limits of my responsibilities. Do you have any other questions?" he asked straightforwardly.
"You haven't answered my first one yet. Who are you people?" I asked again.
"We are a special services unit of the CDC, currently attached to the Parkland Hospital viral immunology research laboratory. I am Dr. McKinney from Atlanta Georgia. These people are my research staff," he answered and then stopped to wait.
"Ok. So then how did you know about me so fast?" I asked curiously.
He looked at the clock behind my head. It read 2:10pm. "We got the first call from the police, describing a call from your office shortly after 1. The description of what was happening to you seemed," he searched for a word, "unusual enough to warrant an investigation. It's been over an hour since we got that call and the hospital is only 6 miles away by air. Aside from simple curiosity, we had already been alerted that you are neither the first nor the only instrumentality transformation. There have been a number of others around the country, although you are the only one we know of in Texas."
My slack jaw probably revealed my overwhelming surprise. I was not alone! Others were changing as well! Oh, Master, I thought. No wonder You didn't answer the phone. Hooves can't push tiny buttons, and by now You are probably a horse as You always dreamed You would be. Dear Lord, what if He is trapped in the apartment? Or in His car! What if He is non-verbal? What if He is totally horse-ified!! I've got to get in contact with Him! I thought in agitation.
"Do you have any report of a horse transformation in Atlanta? Perhaps like myself, or a complete conversion?" I said quickly.
"No. But there has been a reported total transformation of a man to a colt on the east coast. Why? Do you expect that there will be? What makes you think that might be the case? Do you understand what is happening to you?" he threw at me rapidly.
"Not exactly, but I have observed a few clues during my own change. Do you people know how this has happened to us?" I asked him suspiciously.
"Let me be candid, Mr. Haller. This event is not only extraordinary, but it is physically unprecedented in medical history, and most of my colleagues will deny its possibility even in the face of your obvious reality. No, we do not know what is happening. For that reason, the vast lack of knowledge about this phenomenon, I'm asking you to cooperate with us voluntarily until we know more about your condition and its wider implications. In fact, I must ask you two also to cooperate. It's possible that this is some unknown contagious pathogen, perhaps viral by nature," he continued, addressing Betty and the officer.
Betty asked worriedly "What about his students? When all this happened he was teaching a class. They have all left for their hotels now." It was the doctor's turn to look worried.
"How many students were there?" he asked.
"Eleven" I answered. "Only one of them actually touched me. I sent them away within minutes of my initial change."
"We must contact them immediately. Do you know where they are staying?" he asked urgently.
"No, The students make their own hotel arrangements in most cases. We usually recommend the Homewood Suites on Beltline, but they don't always take our advice," Betty offered. "What exactly are you afraid of anyway?" she asked.
"There is a slight chance that the causative agent in Mr. Haller's modifications may be transmittable. I am concerned that any one he has been in close contact with may suffer the same way that he has," he said looking up at me curiously.
Betty looked at me with her sad eyes and turned paler.
"You don't mean that I might end up looking like that do you?" the officer asked anxiously, his voice crescendoed to a shout. His face, slick with fear, curled inward towards his nose as though he had smelled something repulsive, and he took an unconscious step backwards towards the hall.
"Calm down, officer. Control yourself --" the doctor was saying, but the policeman began to hyperventilate.
"Shit yeah, calm down. You can talk inside your fucking body rubber! This is bullshit! If you knew all this before why didn't you tell me before I came in here? Huh! Why!!" The officer was backing further towards the hall door while he shouted out his horror.
"Officer," I raised my hands and took a catch step in his direction trying to catch my balance as my arms changed my center of gravity suddenly. "I don't think you need to worry because I think I know the reason why this happened to me and why it wont happen --" I said loudly but calmly. But he interrupted me in mid sentence.
In a smooth movement he flipped open his holster guard, drew his firearm again, and pointed it towards me. "Shut up! Just shut the fuck up, you -- you freak!" he shouted.
"Officer Cooke, put your gun away," the doctor ordered in a strong commanding voice that sounded as though he was used to being obeyed.
Cooke looked at the others for support. "What if we just kill it? It can't infect us then, right?" He sounded nearly hysterical.
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