This is not a ghost story and it has nothing to do with The Phantom comic. Think phantom limbs and you'll be much closer to the gist of this story.

Follow one boy's journey of self-discovery and witness the healing of a very serious condition.

All comments are gratefully received. :)

Phantom Boobs
by Terry Volkirch

Part 1 of 3

When I was 13, something strange happened just after school started. I'll never forget. My chest began to torture me, itching one minute and aching the next, but my shirtless image in the mirror showed no rash. I saw nothing but healthy skin. Was my condition normal for a teenage boy? I doubted it.

After rubbing and staring at my nipples for several minutes, I threw my tee shirt back on before Sarah caught me. Sharing a bathroom with a little sister could be embarrassing, even though we got along very well. She was always been nice and fairly quiet, but like most younger siblings, she found it hard to pass up an opportunity to tease her older brother. It didn't matter though. I didn't have time to examine myself. I had to get ready for school.

School was another kind of torture. Nelson Middle School sits on the edge of a hill, surrounded by high chain link fencing. The buildings and fields are an organized set of dull gray and green rectangles. I hated it.

My school overflowed with bullies and being the third smallest boy in my class made me a popular target. School was my prison and I had no chance of parole or early release. I had to carry out my two year sentence there and then move on to a low security high school the next year.

I sat on my bed, daydreaming about home schooling when a voice interrupted.

"Alan! Sarah! Hurry or you'll be late for school," my mother called from the kitchen.

Sarah and I raced to the kitchen to grab our lunches and then ran outside, Sarah to catch up with her friends and me to begin my long solitary walk. I had a few neighbor friends but they went to a private school. I was on my own.

As I walked, I absently scratched my chest and lost myself in thought. None of the other boys in class mentioned any similar problems. Perhaps, like me, they were too embarrassed, or perhaps they were too proud to admit their discomfort. I wouldn't dream of talking to any of them, and I didn't even think to ask my younger sister or parents, so I turned to the Internet.

What I found disturbed me. Boys can develop breasts, though for most of them, the breasts are temporary. The more extreme cases require surgery to remove the excess tissue, but nothing is said about how long the affected boys have to wait. The longer the wait, the greater the embarrassment. I said nothing to anyone and waited with dread for any signs of swelling.

***

Months crept by and still my chest appeared to be that of a normal male teenager, even after the itching and pain gave way to an unmistakable jiggling sensation. The jiggling became uncomfortable when I ran fast or jumped up and down, and I couldn't stop it. I pressed my hands to my chest while jumping and still felt bouncing flesh. There was only one explanation. I had invisible, intangible breasts!

By the time I got to high school, I was desperate for relief. I would've gladly wore a bra if it would help, but a bra couldn't hold my breasts. Nothing could. If only the odd sensations I had matched what I saw and felt with my hands. I would've rather have developed real breasts and dealt with the consequences. I thought I was going crazy.

After weeks of fruitless research, I withdrew, avoiding any activity that reminded me of my ghostly breasts. When I had to go somewhere, I walked slowly and carefully. Reading sci-fi and fantasy stories and playing computer games took up most of my free time. I wasn't a happy person.

My few friends soon gave up on me, and my mother worked part time so she didn't see me enough to realize what I was going through. Only my little sister seemed to care. We slept in adjacent bedrooms so I'm sure she heard me cry myself to sleep. She hugged me often and gave me some amount of comfort.

In spite of my impossible situation, I refused to give up hope. I continued to surf the Internet, watching for someone with the same problem, and I discovered something interesting. Something called phantom limb syndrome caused people to feel limbs that had been amputated. It sometimes happened with other body parts too, and something like it could even happen to people who'd been born without limbs. I thought it might apply to me and hoped it would help lead me to a solution to my problem. At least it gave me a name for my condition. I had phantom breasts.

Although I found it difficult to accept them, my breasts developed gradually enough that I got used to the idea, if not the sensation. They weren't so shocking that I couldn't function. It wasn't until a few months later that I realized my condition was more serious than I thought. I was in for a real shock.

When I did my research, I didn't think to check on something else that had been bothering me, something that I should've known was related to my odd breast development. It took a random encounter before I figured it out. There was no way I would've guessed.

"Is it that time of the month?" I heard one girl ask another, with the other girl wincing in pain and holding her stomach.

As soon as I heard that, I understood. I learned it all in Health class. I'd been having monthly abdominal pains for over a year so not only did I have phantom boobs, I had a phantom uterus! The revelation hit me hard, and the next thing I knew, I found myself lying on the ground, looking up into several concerned faces. I'd fainted.

***

Like middle school, I had a long, lonely walk to high school, and it took me longer than it should've because I had to walk slowly to keep my jiggling to a minimum. As far as I was concerned, there was only one nice difference between middle and high school. My new school didn't look like a prison. It had a modern style that blended in with the landscape. I quite liked it from the outside.

Inside was a different story. My Physical Education classes put me through hell. Boys in high school took sports even more seriously than they did in middle school, and you either did well or they tortured you. Without any overt physical cause, I couldn't get out of class so I had to suffer. My unrestrained boobs and monthly cramps made me an awkward, clumsy boy and verbal abuse followed me everywhere. They called me the Amazing Clod Boy, and much, much worse. School traumatized me regularly enough that the days became a mind numbing blur, and I think that actually helped. I stumbled through life, somewhat insulated from emotional pain, and I survived.

Two years into high school my development continued to lag behind my male classmates. I was still short and petite. Only my phantom boobs continued to grow. They were larger than ever, and I still couldn't figure out what to do about it.

When I started my junior year, Sarah managed to brighten my life as she entered her first year of high school. She sat and talked with me during lunch when no one else would. It meant a lot to me but I couldn't let it continue. My unpopular reputation would likely rub off on her if she stayed with me. I wouldn't let her ruin her social life for me so I had to do something.

I whined enough to my mom to get her to make several doctor appointments, being careful to be vague about my problem. Nothing came of it, though I did learn a new word I didn't like. The doctors labeled my pain and discomfort as being psychosomatic. In other words, they thought I imagined it. Modern medical devices couldn't detect phantom body parts so I felt I had no alternative. I had to go beyond science and enter the world of the occult.

Delving into the occult conjured some scary images for me, and my very active and vivid imagination kept me on edge every night. Even after I drifted off to sleep, my fears found me and tainted my dreams.

After suffering so long with my phantom femininity, I truly believed nearly anything was possible. I knew enough not to trust everything I read of course. What scared me the most was not knowing how to separate fact from fiction, and the Internet, my best source of information, didn't label its questionable content.

The word "intuition" popped up quite frequently in my online searches, and that slowly led me to witchcraft. My own intuition screamed at me to find a witch, and with nothing else to go on, I listened to myself.

***

"I'm not sure about this," Sarah said after I asked her to cover for me one night. "It's a bit late to go out. Mom and Dad won't like it."

"It shouldn't take more than a couple hours," I told her. "I really need help with my ... condition."

"Yeah? Just what is your condition? You've never really given me a good answer. I've seen you hunching over. If I didn't know better, I'd say you were having a period."

I laughed nervously at that and had to grit my teeth to stop myself from getting hysterical.

"Look," I said. "I've tried doctors and they can't find anything wrong. My intuition tells me this witches coven can help. It's my only hope. Please say you'll help me."

Sarah's eyes widened slightly when she heard me say the word "intuition", and when I finished my plea, she gave me a probing look for several seconds before finally shaking her head. I worried that she'd refuse to help, but she surprised me.

"Okay. I'll think of something to tell mom and dad when they get home from their night out. So go on. Get out of here."

I hugged her tightly and whispered my thanks. Then I took off into the night to see the witches.

A strong, cold breeze scattered leaves on the dry pavement ahead of me. It blew right threw my light jacket, chilling me to the bone. I knew enough to wear a warmer coat in early October but I wanted an excuse to walk fast. A brisk pace would keep me warm and get me to my destination that much faster. It didn't matter that my ghostly breasts bounced so much because I was very anxious to get some answers.

Following the map directions I got from the Internet, I ended up about three miles from home in a ritzy residential area where the witches held their coven meetings. The house where they met looked so normal that I forgot about all of my fears. I just saw a very large house a full three stories high and thought that whoever owned it must be rich. I hoped that didn't mean they charged a lot for their services. I got only a small allowance and didn't have much money.

I slowly crept up to the porch and could hear laughing inside. That didn't give me a good feeling. I didn't think anything having to do with magic was a laughing matter. Still, what did I know. They might not have started yet. So I gathered my courage and knocked on the heavy wood door.

After waiting what I considered a reasonable length of time for someone to answer the door, I knocked again ... and waited. I still didn't get a response. I thought they might not have heard me but then I realized I didn't hear any laughing. I heard nothing but the wind rustling my hair and rushing by my ears. It was eerie.

On impulse, I rang the door bell and waited again. Then I pushed the door bell several times in a row. I could hear it working but the lack of a response started getting to me.

"Hello?" I called. "Is anyone there? Can anyone hear me?"

A rich alto voice suddenly punctured the silence, startling me. The sound came from above and I looked up to see several faces looking down at me from two open windows on the second floor.

"Oh, we hear you, Dearie. We were just wondering why you're here. Are you lost?"

"Uh ... no ma'am. I'm not lost. I assure you, I'm not lost."

"Well then, why are you here?"

"I need your help."

Like my sister had done less than an hour ago, several women gave me an appraising look, and they too shook their heads until one of them spoke.

"He's right," a black haired woman said to the rest of her group. "He does need help. Look at his aura. It's unnatural."

The rest of the ladies nodded agreement and pulled their heads inside. They shut the windows and rushed downstairs to let me in.

Before I could think to ask any questions, several women pushed and pulled me to the center of a large red pentacle that had been painted on the polished black marble floor of the living room. Five women met that night and each one of them stood at one point of the pentacle holding a burning candle. They warned me not to move from where I stood and began to chant.

The witches chanted for what seemed like only a few minutes but turned out to be almost an hour. Time moved at its own pace in that house. When they finished, they ignored me for awhile and grouped together in the entry way to discuss their findings. I didn't know if I should move yet so I stubbornly stayed put and strained to hear their urgent whispers.

The longer I waited, the stranger I felt. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end and I felt like I had enough energy to run a marathon. I imagined the witches creating a magical sports bra that could contain my phantom boobs so I could run home without excessive bouncing.

After some indeterminate time, the women ended their huddle and came back to talk to me. The black haired woman seemed to be their leader and she immediately gave me the strangest look and opened her mouth to speak. I felt doomed.

"Why are you still standing in the pentacle? You silly boy! Move away from there at once and sit down in that chair." She pointed to a padded chair with a wooden back and I practically ran to it to sit down. The sudden movement quickly reminded me of my condition and my hands flew to my chest without thinking. I settled on the chair and when I looked up, I saw all of the women staring at me.

"Did you see that, Clarissa?" the oldest looking, gray-haired woman asked of the young blonde standing next to her. "I told you I saw feminine energy."

"Yes, I know. But it doesn't make sense," the blonde replied.

"Hush now," their apparent leader said. "Can't you see he's quite agitated? And where are our manners? We haven't even been properly introduced."

The ladies all sat down and with introductions out of the way, Vivian, the one I thought of as the leader, explained what they saw. Bernice, the older woman, was right. My body held an unusually high amount of feminine energy. It confused them because my physical body showed no outward signs of being feminine. I was underdeveloped for my age but my body was definitely male.

After their short talk, it was my turn. I told them what I'd been going through. That raised some eyebrows on a few of the women, but I noticed Bernice nodding. Perhaps there was hope for me yet.

"So? Can you help me?" I asked.

The women turned to look at each other and Vivian turned back to face me, sadly shaking her head.

I slumped down in the chair and cried.

The five witches jumped up from their seats and tried to comfort me but I had no hope left. My body would continue driving me crazy for the rest of my life, however long or short a period of time that would be.

"This is stupid," Bernice suddenly said. "There's still that hedge witch we could consult. What's her name again?"

"Liz," Clarissa said. "Her name is Liz Mason."

That got a surprisingly angry response from Vivian. "What?! Her?! That woman is crazy!"

Bernice raised her voice, refusing to back down. "She might have different ideas but she has the gift. She's stronger than any of us!"

"She's a hermit and a loon," Vivian spat. "She lives alone in her hovel and good riddance I say."

The two women glared at each other for an alarmingly long time before Bernice turned away.

"Come with me, Alan," Bernice said. "I'll take you home. It's getting late."

I got up to follow her and turned back to see Vivian still glaring at Bernice's back.

"Thanks for trying," I said, thinking I might defuse the situation. "What do I owe you?"

Vivian looked surprised but recovered nicely and managed a weak smile. "You don't owe us a thing, Dearie. I just wished we could've helped you. Now get yourself home. Bernice is right. It is getting late."

I shrugged and went outside with Bernice. We got into her small car and drove away.

During the short ride home, my emotions tore at my insides. My inner conflict must have shown on my face too because Bernice started the conversation that I couldn't. I didn't have the courage.

"Vivian means well but she can be a little opinionated sometimes," she said. "Liz used to be in our coven. She disagreed with our methods and motives one too many times so she was banned. But I really meant what I said. I think she can help you."

"Really?" I said in a small voice. After having my hopes dashed so many times, I didn't think I could handle having it happen again.

"Yes, really. It might take awhile but I'll contact her and see if she'll agree to see you."

Bernice smiled and I smiled too. Something about her made me trust her.

"Don't worry," she added. "Liz is a very nice young woman. After hearing about you, I'm sure she'll want to help."

We got back to my house and parked out front. It was Friday night and I was out long past my curfew but I didn't even think about my parents. I was too excited. I exchanged phone numbers with Bernice and rushed inside to find my mom waiting for me.

"Hi Mom."

"Hi yourself young man. Where were you?"

"Didn't Sarah tell you?" I bluffed.

"She said you went over to a friend's house. But she didn't know who it was and she didn't say you'd be home so late."

"Yeah, well it's a new friend and I lost track of time. Sorry."

Those weren't exactly lies. I hoped I could count on Bernice to be a friend and I truly did lose track of time with all of the chanting and serious discussions.

My mom answered me starting with a disapproving look.

"Well you had me worried," she said.

"I know. I know. I needed to get out. I don't know if you've noticed but I haven't been very social and ... I haven't been very happy about it."

"I noticed," she said quietly. "But you should've at least called."

I could tell she still wasn't satisfied but I sensed weakness so I went on the offensive.

"Look, Mom. I'm 16. I'm not a kid any more. I can take care of myself. Okay?"

A faint smile tugged at the corners of her mouth and she finally gave in.

"Okay," she said, and I returned her smile.

"You can talk to me anytime you know," she added.

"I know, Mom. Thanks, but I'm not ready yet." What I really meant was that I didn't think she was ready to hear it.

"I have a feeling things will change for the better soon. Then we'll talk ... and you'll probably get tired of listening to me."

"Never," she said, moving to hug me.

I got lucky and got some quality time with my mother. Things were looking up. All I had to do was wait for Bernice to get me in contact with Liz and I was sure I'd be on my way to a happy life.

*** to be continued ***

 © 2008 by Terry Volkirch. This work may not be replicated in whole or in part by any means electronic or otherwise without the express consent of the Author (copyright holder). All Rights Reserved. This is a work of Fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional and any resemblance to real people or incidents past, present or future is purely coincidental.