I woke all at once, with none of the customary hangover effects. That alone was puzzling, if welcome. The last thing I remembered, I had been visiting the last bar of the evening - my fifth. I had been celebrating getting my job as a legal aide to the firm Jenson, Jenson, and Jenson. Pretty good for a recent law school graduate, a middle rung firm, nothing like dealing in the big leagues, but solidly middle class clients. Small businesses, a few activist groups, and every once in awhile one of the few really sensational cases that hit Ohio like a meteor, with the same frequency.

Cataloguing effects, I realized immediately I wasn't at home. The bed was too soft, and somehow lumpy at the same time. As if the box springs had not been included. Feeling around, I started paying attention to what my eyes were telling me.

I was in an honest to gods four post bed; I didn't recognize the wood grain. I also didn't recognize the hand fondling the wood grain. Or the hand with which I reached out to that first hand, though both were my own. They were both small, delicate, hairless and a pale white.

Last night they were larger, callused, and a healthy nut brown color.

" ...Thefuck?"

my voice had also shrank, from a nice baritone to a light melodious saprano. I looked down but was unable to tell much, swaddled in thick quilts as I was. It actually required a fair amount of effort to pull them off, and I discovered....

"No no no no nonononono!"

I came back to myself in the bathroom, or what was left of it. The place was shocking. The shower was a clawed tub, made perhaps of brass. the counter and medicine cabinet were both made of wood, common cedar lacquered to a glow. there were at least three buckets, slatted wood banded by iron. There were no taps to be seen. There was no toilet. And the mirror....

It was a large piece of what had to be steel, polished somehow to a mirror finish;there were a few places that were a little warped, it was not perfect. Not silver backed glass at all. Mirrors like this hadn't been made for centuries, I was sure. And it was showing a small woman, petite and fine boned. Skin so pale she glowed in the light, hair dark as a ravens wing, and eyes of pale lavender. Young yes, but not a quite a little girl; the breasts were plainly tenting the elaborate dress she wore, and her hips flared outward with an appreciable curve.

She also had pointed ears. When I moved my hair back, I could see them. And of course that acknowledgement was what had set me off in the first place; the room wasn't some strange throwback, the entire house was. And I had pointed ears and breasts. Looking back out, I noticed the hall had no lights; I looked back into the bathroom; it had a candleabra hanging from the ceiling, a crude looking iron affair, all black with large uneven rivets.

The kitchen looked positively barbaric; something out of the 12th century. the counters were heavy oak, There were pots hanging from some sort of framework. The knife rack was far from the machined block I was used to, and the knives were larger. The oven was a large stone fireplace with some sort of iron contraption set off to the side, and a hook on a crude hinge. The fire was set, but not lit, and an absolutely huge cauldron was placed over it. Iron seemed to be the order of the day. The fridge was instead a huge chest...filled with ice, and what appeared to be mutton, cheese and butter.

Oh crap. I felt lighter than air as I ran back to my den. The heavy oaken door was only the start of what was wrong there. My desk was absolutely huge, a dark almost black wood with intricate scrollwork depicting forest scenes. A heavy, crude table held glass bottles, beakers, and tools which I vaguely recognized. the problem was I shouldn't recognize them at all, I
never did take chemistry.

And my pride and joy, my two thousand dollar computer... well if this was some how my house. It seemed to be since the layout was exactly the same, and my house was one of those odd sprawling ranch houses that had had additions. And if it was, my prize computer rig was a large wood bound book, complete with a what looked to be a brass locking plate. Unwillingly I found myself getting close. Yes it was a locking plate, shiny brass. It had a keyhole, inset in a circular plate which held a depression of a hand. The name of the book was "The various mysteries", written in beautiful caligraphy. The picture was of some sort of woman with four arms, holding the elements in each. It was not at all a victim of mass production.

There did not seem to be a single device made after the 16th century... unless it was made by the Amish.

Oh hell, what about outside?

The windows were just little wooden... doors? shutters? With a small bar locking them shut. I picked one in the kitchen to open. It was supposed to show a nice maple tree outside my front lawn, and my attached garage. Instead it showed the same maple tree, right down the the gnarled right hand branch I broke while Climbing it as a child, and some sort of unattached outbuilding. The breeze was welcome at least.

My house was still at the end of the street, as it always was. On the outskirts of town. A changed town, with thatched roof houses made of wood - crude wood planks or logs in some cases, chinked with some substance that thankfully was not mud. Or at least I didnt think it was, it was white. there were no street lights, or cars. No mailboxes, no perfectly manufactured fences. The grass wasn't cut.

The street wasn't even paved. It was beaten earth, a track leading directly from my house. My house was different though; it was cut stone, finely placed. At least if my kitchen wall was any judge. I eased the shutters back till they were almost closed, so I could look out hopefully unobserved.

There was no way this could be a dream; even if my imagination was this good (it wasn't) I'd never felt the texture of cut stone in a dream before. The cool stone block my hand was pressed to was just too... there to ignore. No motion save that caused by the wind outside. No people, no animals. Barely any sound. The sun was barely on it's way up. Had I really woken up so early? If I wasn't completely crazy (a big if) then I'd only slept about 2 hours, tops.

I felt rested enough, without even the hint of mental fog I should have. Or perhaps that was the secret; maybe I had been slipped a hallucinogen while in that last bar. Hmm... but if so, this was one of the best hallucinations I'd heard of. There were no out of place elements. No random BS to make you go "whoa, I be trippin'", it was all very mundane so far... if you were
living in the dark ages or something. Still, that might be the explanation. It would certainly explain why I wasn't hung over, and could feel things. Might even explain the damn dress. Less explainable of course, was how I filled said dress out, or why I could feel bounce on my chest when I moved.

It's a sad day when you have to hope that you've been given a psychodelic with long term drawbacks by unscrupulous persons. With nothing else to do, I decided on making tea. there was a tea kettle hanging from a hook near the unlit fire. It looked like I could just swing it in, to the side of the cauldron. I checked the cabinets; despite their new appareance (as old hand carved things of decent workmanship, showing a garden in bloom across their doors) the tea was exactly where I left it; the second cabinet to the right. In a rough hemp bag, as leaves.

I knew how to brew tea the old time honored way of course, so I took the flint and steel (also hanging on a small hook above the mantle) and struck, lighting the fire. Luckily enough, the kettle sloshed full. I tasted it with a finger. It was water, tasting slightly of metal from it's stay in copper. I had no idea where the water's source was. There was no source for it inside the house, but it stood to reason if I had somehow been whisked away to Amish-land, that there would be an outside well.

So I let the tea steep a bit while I pondered. Everything had it's place, and that place was where I would put it. Or to be more precise, where I had put it's counterpart in my house. The tea was where my tea had been, and while not being lipton it was tea. The icebox, filled with food that I would prefer (I was most thankfully not a vegetarian) was where my refridgerator
used to be. The bed was where my sleep comfort bed used to reside. Now unless someone had played the most elaborate prank in the history of the world, everything I owned had become some sort of dark ages or Medieval era counterpart.

Which does nothing to explain the pointy ears. Or the breasts. Or the unobstructed breeze between my legs. Or the size. Last I heard gender reassignment couldn't take a foot off your height, or give you bones about the same size as a birds. The dress even looked... well good. I could admit to myself that if I were really a chick like this in a strange bizarro Amish world, I would own a dress like this. Dark blue skirt attached to a short sleeved white top with light blue accents. It did not constrict much, and was made of light cotton. Hardly my first choice, but if that was the fashion I could do worse.

Movement pulled my eye. One of my neighbors was cautiously stepping out into the now bright summer morning. It was Phil. Phil was a middle aged accountant that worked for some H R block clone. He was prematurely graying, balding, and beginning to broaden a bit at the waist. Divorced with two kids he was paying for, he was a thoroughly beaten man.

At least, all that was true last night. This morning he was still prematurely gray, and still balding. But he appeared to have lost a good 50 pounds off his middle. He also had biceps bigger than my own had been - maybe bigger than my new thighs.

Pretty good exercise program for a single night.

At the same time, it was obviously Phil; it was still his face. He had come out of what would be Phil's house in bizarro world, even though it had gone from a neo-colonial to a wood planked single story house with a rush roof. Still a bit of a worry wart, he stepped out onto his now unkempt lawn, a large stick in his right hand. It had the look of a weapon.

Well not my first choice on who to see, but beggars can't choose, I suppose.

The door out was just past the living room, which was a room I had till this moment blown by, and I wasn't sure I had the time to catalogue it now, but.... Well the loom stopped me. An honest to the Gods loom, sitting there with bundles of thread and cloth under it. Hell. No. In the other corner was a guitar and dulcimer, the center of the room was taken up by a large
couch formed into a half circle. Of course my television and dvd player were missing. In their place was a fireplace, with some sort of iron box set near it. The box had holes and shapes cut into it.

Enough, no time to explore all this. There was a sword and dagger hanging on a peg next to the door. I left the sword but took the dagger. Opening the door got me immediate attention from a slightly shell shocked neighbor. I rushed out, realized I had forgotten shoes, and rushed back to find a pair of beautifully crafted but painfully small looking leather boots. Phil started walking towards me as I was shoving my feet in them (of course they fit), and so we met nearly in my yard. He towered over me by a good foot or more, and by weight alone could likely make 2 of me.

I struck first.

"Philip, is that you?"

What the... Philip? Where had that come from, I'd always called him Phil before.

"It is lady Muse, do you... ?"

He stopped dead, an almost comical look of confusion on his face. I'd have laughed if I was sure my face didn't mirror it. He tried again.

"Lady Muse?"

It was like he wanted to say my name, but his mouth was forming other words against his will. I gave it a shot.

"That is not my name."

He nodded.

"And yet it is."

He nodded again.

"Your name is Philip, and my name is... "

I led him on, hoping he could connect the dots. He tried.

"N N NN Ne-lady Muse."

He shot clear through confusion to outright alarm, and I was right on his heels.

"I've been your neighbor for years, right?"

He nodded.

"I didn't look like this yesterday?"

He shook his head and added his own two copper.

"Heck, I didn't look like this yesterday; and you... well, you were a guy!"

So if this was a hallucination, it was a shared one.

"You don't think someone spiked our food with shrooms or something, do you?"

He shook his head.

"Too persistent for a drug trip my lady, is everything in your house changed like mine?"

I refused to tell him about the stupid loom. I wasn't making clothes for anyone, screw that. though, he looked like he needed new ones, that homespun wool tunic and pants couldn't be comfy....

With a shake of my head I snapped otu of it.

"Yeah it's all changed, got fireplaces and copper pots and my computer's gone."

He nodded grimly.

"Same here, I wonder how far it spreads? I mean judging by all the houses whatever happened hit the entire street at the very least."

"No."

"No?"

"No... I hear no cars, no trucks, no engines or anything else. No sirens or anything else. Whatever it was hit the entire town. Let's take a walk."

"Um, sure."

I pointed to his stick.

"Expecting trouble?"

"Not sure, seemed like a good idea at the time. you were too I think."

He pointed to my dagger.

"Won't argue the point. I'm kinda hoping that everyone else isn't as big as you. I can already tell you I hate feeling tiny."

He laughed.

"You are pretty runty, but that's the way elves are, right?"

We stared at each other, the unwanted epiphany bonding us both in that moment.

"Well, at least I'm not a vulcan, that'd be just plain disturbing. Come on."

More people were beginning to come out now, hesitant and bewildered but following our example. There were numerous calls and I heard my new name more than once, spoken with at least a touch of awe. what that meant, I had no idea. Yesterday most of these people wouldn't do more than give me the polite brush off. One of my worst fears was realized.

Even the women were larger than I was. Heck, Laura miles, our resident bottle bleach blonde (who was no longer blonde, but instead a brown that could best be described as dirty diaper brown) stood a full head taller than me. She looked roughly the same, still very pretty, but dressed in gray wool like perhaps half the people present. I saw only one person in cotton, and
that was her father, the owner of the village bank. There was a rather disturbing amount of cured leather though; quite the BDSM crowd here.

And of course I was the only one who looked so... drastically unlike themselves.

Each neighbor that came out and joined our walk sank my hopes a little more. I had REALLY hoped I had somehow licked the wrong frog or something. But they all looked of a piece, they were not Amish (there was more than a little swearing) and the entire population of 2500 could not lick the same frog. It just couldn't happen. My mind switched almost unwillingly to something in the water... but I never drank water. Fish poo in water, it's just not safe!

We made our way through the next few streets, now spotting other groups like ours. Everywhere I looked I saw homespun wool, leather, and bewilderment. In many cases outright fear. More than on person, opening their door and spotting my group or another, simply shut it again.

the final streets, in the center of town, were paved with rough cobbled stone inset into the ground to make a roughly smooth surface. On main street, where our few businesses were located, there were even more spectacular changes. Our bed and breakfast, once a rather large rambling 2 story house that rented rooms to people lost enough to find us, was an inn.

It no longer looked like a house at all, being a large 2 story box made of logs. The sign out front depicted a sleeping ogre. There were no words. Next to it, and I mean right next to it, was a stable. It was a complete stable, with horses and mules, as well as a few oxen. The building shouldn't even be there. Yesterday it was... it was... hell, what was it yesterday? Ah, an ice cream shop!

I know I expected that business to fold in a matter of months, but this was kind of a spectacular way to fail.

Several paces beyond the stables was another building; it used to belong to Matt, who had taken over his fathers' repair shop and garage. Matt and his father Brian could always repair anything with a motor, and almost anything that ran on electricity. They never threw anything out, a stance which saw the city try to evict them more than once. Something about beautification and property values.

Their business had become a blacksmiths. Sign depicting an anvil, open barnlike half of the building with a great fire roaring inside, tools hung up along the walls. Three anvils of differing sizes placed next to multiple large buckets. And most importantly perhaps, Brain Lockland stoking the aforementioned fire with a long iron poker. I altered my course.

"Hey Brian!"

He turned to look and waved. Then went back to poking the fire. Finally I got close enough, running to outpace my entourage. I think I summed up the situation rather well.

"Brian, what the hell?!?"

"Good morning Muse. Thought I'd get an early start on the day, things are going to get hectic around here."

"But... but... what the hell?!?"

He got close, towering over me. Darn it, why is everyone so huge? He was already redolent with the smell of sweat, and made Philip look small.

"Simple math, my lady. Yesterday I knew how to repair carburators. Today I know how to shoe a horse or fix a wagon wheel. I do want to know exactly what happened, perhaps even as much as you want to know. But that is a mystery for wiser heads then mine to unravel. so for now, I stoke the fire and prepare the steel and iron."

He raised his voice, turning away from me and back to the fire.

"Don't hesitate to let me know if you find anything out."

"Um, sure."

He felt like the entire problem was too big for him, so he passed? I didn't get it. To be that passive was anethema to me. Perhaps he'd feel like I do if he woke up a shrimp of a woman. Perhaps when I was done trying to deal with this, I'd ask him.

"Does Matt feel the same way?"

he grabbed a chunk of metal and threw it in the fire.

"Matt is not awake; he said something earlier this morning about drinking with some buddy of his, celebrating a new job."

Oops. Of course Matt had been with me; but with my hangover cured. Why wasn't his? Or wasn't it? I felt rested, didn't he?

"I didn't feel like waking him Muse, he'll come to the world in his own time."

"Alright, got it. Try to keep sane, OK?"

"You too."

I moved on, head awhirl. The crowd was milling around behind me, muttering to each other in such a way that I could pick nothing useful out.

"When you lot figure it out, let me know, alright? Until then there is work to be done."

"Sure thing." I called, wondering what he saw that I didn't. I was pretty sure I was as lost as the rest of the people here, including him. The choice to just wake up, know smithing, and decide to live as a blacksmith seemed surreal.

And what did I know? How to play the dulcimer. How to weave cloth. How to cook, but I always knew a bit about that. No now I knew how to cook dark ages style, roasts on spits and similar things. Looking around I could see people as lost as I was... but it was easy to see them as farmers, or herders, or hunters. Heck the local dollar store had been converted to a general
store. But yesterday I knew law. I had studied years to gain knowledge of the law. And today I knew... what?

I didn't know, but I did know that my hard earned education was gone. Precedents, amendments, even tax law - it all drew a blank. Maybe that was one of the secrets of this thing. Brian could work as a smith because he had been given the knowledge; it had been popped into his head like it belonged there, and the rest of us didn't have that, perhaps?

Or maybe it was just that he, like me, thought that there was no way to make sense of this mess, and wanted to leave it to wiser heads? I could relate to that.

I snuck my way along the edge of the crowd, taking note of other changes. Beyond our new general store/market, was a two story home, made of rather handsome brick. A bit crude by the standards I was used to, but much better than anything else this morning, save perhaps my house. I knew Mayor adam Conratty lived there, and today he was up early (for him). He was one of the few that while bigger than I, would not tower over me like a giant.

Small, with sparse brown hair in a ridiculous comb over and rich clothes - a pair of cotton trousers, a silk shirt and dark red leather vest, he cut a rather ludicrous figure. His toupee was missing of course, but as if to replace it he had a sword buckled to his side. He was talking to Ed landrys, our village sheriff, in front of his house.

Ed was very different. Of medium height and build before, his weight had shifted from his middle to his arms. He looked a bit like a tank with legs. He also looked a bit younger than his 40 years. He had on leather pants, with a cotton shirt and ring mail over that. A very large sword hung from his back, and an axe from his belt. I did my best to sneak up.

" ...still, we have to find out just what all this is! The people will expect us to know!"

"I understand that mayor, but we've no phones, no computers, no electricity, hell there was a railroad line that cut through here yesterday, and it's gone. My car was a white horse this morning, no cb on that. We'll have to walk anywhere, and see if we can get to a big city, find out what they know."

"And that through what appears to be wilderness now. Oh, hello lady Muse. Interesting day, isn't it?"

Well since they saw me I edged closer. The look in the mayor's eye wasn't exactly filling me with confidence though. It was as if he were setting me up for something.

"Interesting is an understatment gentlemen. I see the same phenomenon hit here. It hit the entire town?"

Ed answered.

"It did, everything from your street to the rail line, which is now a tannery. The stench is... well it's bad."

"I can imagine."

I'd been to a tannery before. I wondered for a moment why these two were so chatty with me, since I was one of the citizenry they wouldn't want to panic, but shelved that in favor of voicing the fear we all had.

"So chances are, this isn't just some local thing. The train tracks disappearing and trees here suggest that this may have hit all over."

Yesterday, fields were pretty much all that were around this village for miles. Now today, while there were still a few fields, great old growth trees had sprang up over night, and to the east and west of us were actual forests.

"It might be. but it could be that just our stretch was hit by this... whatever it was. The tracks, and roads and such could start back up just a few miles down the road. We will need to find out."

"But which way?"

"Best direction would be north, but I checked. Our road north is gone. So whoever we send should probably go east, then try to head north. Best choice to go would be Toledo, bound to have some answers there."

I had to ask.

"Well can't we just go overland to the north? Even without a road it can't be that bad."

Ed looked at me grimly.

"Roads, even unpaved ones, denote civilization. Going just straight north sounds good, but we don't know what else is out there. It could be nothing is. but it could be something is. It could even be that whatever did this to us, is."

"I see your point. I think a town meeting needs to be called, and this plan needs to be worked out by everyone. See you two a bit later."

I'd spotted something else down the distance, in what could only be our new village green, in the center of town where the park once stood. An old fashioned well, with buckets and all. Some of the women were drawing water and talking next to it. I only recognized the mayors wife, Sylvia Conratty.

She was a gossip and a harpy.

When I was a child, before I put away childish things, I used to skate. One year my friends and I made a plywood half-pipe. having no where else to put it, we spent our own money to buy the materials and made it in the park. Thanks to my dad, we had the city's permission and everything.

It was only up a month before Sylvia petitioned to have the 'eyesore' demolished. She didn't stop until it was. It took a month, but she managed. A terrible end to a wonderful summer spent catching air. That was a decade ago. That decade had not been kind to her; she had lost much of her trophy wife looks. Her blonde hair was now the color of used dishwater, her face sagging.

You could say I was a bit bitter.

She was a study of contrasts this morning. On the one hand, she was obviously miserable to be doing any sort of work herself, let alone something so domestic as drawing water. As I approached she drank half of it and sent the bucket down again. On the other hand, she seemed to be in her gossipy element, holding court among her own neighbors.

" ...And I think that... oh, lady Muse. Good morning."

Well, this did not bode well.

"A good morning of sorts. If I may?"

I gestured at the well, and she moved back.

"Of course! Please, help yourself."

I took over, drawing the bucket up.

"So, you were saying?"

"Oh, we were just discussing how all this could be possible."

Finally the bucket reached the top and I used my hands to cup the water and drink. The good Sylvia, with poor grace, took the rest into her own bucket almost immediately. No doubt already plotting to boil it to remove my germs.

"By all means continue. You had a culprit in mind?"

"Well I would almost think that it would have to be...."

"AAAHHHHHHH HELP ME!"

I headed to the sound of the screams without further ado. whatever she thought was probably wrong, and stupid in ways I didn't want to contemplate. The scream had come from the north, on the outskirts of town. Kind of ironic, in a way.

I reached the end of the street just as ED passed me; with a long effortless stride he made it look easy. Vigo Iverson had always been a farmer, he owned and worked a good 500 acres yesterday. I was willing to bet that today he cultivated less. He ran past me in his underwear, not seeing me or anyone else. After taking a look toward the end of town, I didn't blame him at
all.

...was that a dinosaur?

Vigo's house had always been a lavish thing before, a three story rambling place just past the village limits. I couldn't really tell how well made it was anymore because of the two legged lizard currently sitting on it. Luckily Vigo was a widower whose children had long since moved away, so we could be reasonably sure no one had been hurt, yet.

And yet, dinosaur. Two legged, short stubby arms, a good 15 feet tall if it was an inch. and the teeth, big as knives of course. The name learned in childhood, when most kids learn them came swimming into focus: Tyrannosaurus Rex. The king of tyrants, or something. It was a brown that might have blended into the forest if it weren't so big, with a tough looking hide and large three toed feet tipped in claws as long as my arm.

And of course Ed goes ahead and charges the darn thing with a war cry. Takes a swipe at the toe and his sword bounces off. Amazingly, Ed dodges the lunge by that huge head, rolling just out of the way. I looked between this melee, and my dagger. Ed was alone. Everyone else who had come to gawk was behind me, or busy following Vigo. Distantly I heard doors slam.

I had to do something... but what could I do? The answer came from the mouths of idiots.

I spotted Melvin entering stage left. Now Melvin was a kid, years younger than I was. He was also a huge nerd. For some reason during my college years, when I was still frequenting the lone comic shop in our area (the Dragon's Hoard, next town over) he had bonded to me like a kicked puppy. For years he had engaged in a soft form of stalking, trying to get me involved
in his role playing groups and live action activities. Of course I said no, that crap gave me the hives.

So I knew when I saw him coming out in a rough brown woolen robe, rushing past me towards the possible dinosaur unarmed, that it would be good. Good in the most bad, awful way.

Melvin stopped 30 feet away from the death match, where a bloodied Ed had his blade up between him and the now confused lizard. He began making throwing motions with his right hand and screaming.

"Lightning bolt! Lightning bolt! Lightning bolt!"

Oh my gods... was he trying to live action the thing to death?

The dinosaur turned from him to Ed and back again, fixing them both with it's beady eyes. No doubt trying to decide who to eat first. Another look at Ed's sword decided it; obviously Ed was tougher to digest. With a bellow it started towards Melvin. And of course that's when it happened.

I could see the texture of the creature's skin, minute pebbles. I could see Melvin pale and scream louder, with more raw panic. The acidic stench of urine hit my nose like a flood.

And the lightning bolt formed in my mind, a structure somehow conforming to atmospheric dynamics and the laws of physics. Both things I only barely understood. But I knew... I KNEW that beyond a shadow of any doubt, that the lightning bolt in my mind was real and would strike the dinosaur.

That it would in fact kill the dinosaur.

For a millisecond or a year, that image held in my mind. Unspent potential digging like a splinter in my core. Then when I could stand it no longer, I released it.

And a real honest to gods lightning bolt flew from my outstretched hand and struck the dinosaur in the face. I slitted my sensitive eyes against the discharge, but managed to see the poor creatures eyes cross before it fell over like a cow receiving a bolt in the head at a slaughterhouse. Also like the cow, it did not move. Ed walked over and plunged his huge sword into a handy eye. The thing didn't even twitch.

"That was awesome! That was so amazing! And you're an elf hottie now, that's so cool! Teach me how to do that!"

Melvin danced around me, oblivious to his own close call. He had been a bit too close to the discharge - he now sported an afro that would do a 70's exploitation film proud. The sour stench of his urine completed the image, as he danced around in soiled robes.

I couldn't help myself. I laughed.

(tbc)