Morph Malfunction

The morning was like any other morning in Pulleytown. The town was moving and people were working on cleaning up after the huge mess the festival had caused. On this fine morning, Rico was invited to join his new crew while they got ready to leave.

Inside their rented inn room, Rico was already hard at work dismantling something that looked suspiciously like a hairdryer fused with a teapot. “Damn thing,” he muttered, sparks flying. “It’s being a little disobedient today.”

Bart, still in his robe, looked up from his coffee. “That will never work, duck man."

"Zip it, cheddarhead." Rico shot back.

“You sure you’re qualified to mess with electricity indoors?” Gus added, halfway through a cinnamon roll.

“Electricity doesn’t hurt people, it just gets excited.” Rico said.

A loud crash echoed from the next room.

Everyone froze.

A long pause. Then, a shrill scream rang out.

Bart slowly lowered his mug. “That sounded like Willow.”

Rico didn’t look up. “Does she normally do that?"

“I've never heard her do that, we should check on her.” Joren said, already heading for the door.

The four of them gathered outside her room, clearly worried for their friend.

"Willow, are you ok in there?" Joren asked.

There was no answer. Only a faint shuffling sound, followed by a thud.

Bart frowned. “That’s not a good sign.”

Joren knocked again, firmer this time. “Willow? We’re coming in.”

A muffled voice came through the door. “No! Don’t!”

Bart blinked. “See, that’s the kind of tone people use when something really bad just happened.”

Rico sighed and reached for the lock with some contraption. “Alright, stand back.”

The mechanism clicked and the door creaked open with the slow groan.

Willow was nowhere to be found. Nothing clearly was out of place, nor was there signs of anything that happened.

Bart stepped inside first, scanning the room. “Well, she’s definitely not here.”

Joren frowned. “That doesn’t make sense. We heard her.”

Rico crouched, inspecting the floor. “No signs of struggle or items left behind, couldn't have been kidnapped in the last few seconds."

Bart repeated. “What are you, a crime scene analyst?”

Rico looked up from his kneeling position. "What, you aren't?"

Gus leaned against the wall. “So… she just vanished? Like poof?”

Rico stood up, dusting off his hands. “Unless she’s suddenly mastered invisibility, there’s nothing to go off of.”

"I'm right here, guys." Willow's voice cut through the investigating idiots.

Everyone turned.

Willow was, still, nowhere to be found.

"By the gods, you were right, Rico." Bart nearly yelled with shock.

Rico frowned. “Is that part of her ability or something? I don't remember her saying she could yesterday."

“I’m serious!” Willow’s voice echoed again, sharper this time. “Over here!”

The four of them turned toward the sound, but only furniture stood in that area. On closer inspection, one of the dressers did seem out of the ordinary, though.

The dresser trembled slightly, one drawer opening halfway before snapping shut again.

"Willow?" They all said in unison.

"Yeah..." Willow responded in disappointment.

Bart blinked twice. “You turned yourself into furniture?”

Just then, a face of sorts appeared on the front of the dresser right between the drawers. "I was just practicing, but now I can't morph back to my regular form!"

Bart stumbled back a step. “Yikes, that’s horrifying.”

“Do not call me horrifying!” Willow barked, her carved mouth moving stiffly. “I’m already having a big problem, you don't need to add more to it."

Gus crouched beside her, tilting his head. “You actually blinked just now. How do you even have eyelids?”

“I don’t know, Gus!” She yelled.

Rico circled the dresser, analyzing. “Fascinating. The stability of your morph must’ve altered your physiology to think this is the baseline form.”

Joren turned to him. “So in plain terms, she’s stuck.”

“Yes,” Rico said. “Quite beautifully so.”

Willow’s carved eyes narrowed. “I don't need the false compliments, Rico."

Bart crossed his arms. “Alright, don’t panic, I've seen this before. Lucky for you, I’m an expert in reverse metamorphosis.”

Rico looked at him, deadpan. “You are not.”

Bart ignored him, now reaching for the handles. “All we need is leverage, heat, and maybe a good knock to loosen the morphed cells."

Willow nearly screamed now. "BART! Don't you dare touch my handles. You never touch a girls handles without permission."

Bart froze mid-reach. “Oops, sorry. I forgot that the whole thing is your body."

Willow’s carved eyes narrowed. “You what? How do you forget that I’m literally a person right now?”

Bart shrugged. “In my defense, you don't usually turn into dressers. It wouldn't have crossed my mind..."

“Do you want to die, Bart?”

Rico cleared his throat, stepping in between them. “Alright, enough fighting. Let's try to fix this."

After two hours, the room looked worse than when they started. Screws, tools, and half-crumpled papers littered the floor. Willow hadn’t moved an inch.

“Well,” Rico said at last, brushing dust off his jumpsuit, “I believe we’ve achieved nothing short of failure.”

“Wonderful,” Willow muttered. “I’ve always wanted to spend my golden years as furniture.”

Joren leaned against the doorframe. “We should probably stop before someone dies.”

“Preferably not me.” Willow pleaded.

Bart sat on the floor beside her, staring at the drawers like they might open just as Coral's cabinet did. “You know, if you stay like this long enough, we could install you on a wagon so you can come with."

"Oh isn't that lovely, at least I can hold your socks, huh." Willow snapped back. She at least appreciated the sentiment of keeping her around after becoming furniture, though she wouldn't let them know that.

Rico crouched beside the dresser again, still inspecting her seams like a stubborn puzzle. “You’re sure you didn’t feel anything weird before the transformation?"

"I don't think so, just the usual." Willow said flatly.

Gus sat cross-legged nearby, idly poking at a loose screw with a fork. “So, what happens if she stays like this forever? Do we have to feed her?”

Bart leaned toward him. “I think we just polish her.”

Willow groaned. “I'm not letting any of you rub anything on me." She thought for a moment. "Though, it is a good point, I wonder if I get hungry."

The hours dragged on, and things did not improve. Gus had fallen asleep sitting up and Rico was still scribbling notes even though he clearly had no more grand ideas. Joren watched in silence, unsure what else to do while Bart prattled on about nonsense to Willow. She clearly was not thrilled with her scenario.

Her voice sounded disgruntled out of nowhere. “I feel... awful.”

Rico perked up instantly from his notes. “Really? Describe it.”

She considered for a moment at the absurdity, then spoke. "It's like... I don't know. My body feels like it's inside the dresser and yet not really. And my head hurts, too."

Rico frowned. “Weird, has that ever happened before?"

"Not that I can recall. I've never morphed into objects for this long, though." She groaned.

Bart scratched his face under his beard, a little squeak sounding out between his coughing. “Maybe you’re allergic to yourself.”

“Thank you, Bart,” Willow muttered, “truly insightful.”

Rico leaned closer to her surface, squinting like he might find a solution hiding in plain sight. “You’re probably overheating. Happens to machines all the time.”

“I’m not a machine, Rico.” She said annoyingly.

“Yeah, she's actually a turnip." Bart added.

Joren decided to speak up. "Bart, Rico, knock it off. Be for real, she's having problems now."

The dresser gave a low creak, the kind that didn’t sound reassuring at all. Bart leaned back slightly. “Uh, is that supposed to happen?”

“No…” Willow said weakly. “I think I’m—”

The creaking deepened. It wasn’t a casual groan this time, but a slow, cracking complaint that filled the whole room. The dresser’s drawers trembled like teeth in the cold.

Joren took a cautious step back. “Okay, that’s new.”

“Maybe she’s, uh… buffering?” Rico suggested, holding up a wrench as if it might help.

“Rico, I swear to to any god above,” Willow hissed, “if you hit me with that thing, I’ll make sure your next haircut starts at your neck.”

Rico froze, then carefully lowered the wrench. “Copy that...”

Joren crouched beside her, steady and calm. “Hey Willow, just focus on breathing or… whatever the morphing version of breathing is. You can feel it, right?”

She paused, focusing. “Yeah. I just feel terrible right now. Feels like my body is rejecting itself or something."

The wood shuddered again, the sound echoing through the floorboards.

Bart’s voice came out a little too high-pitched. “That’s not normal, right? That’s not a normal dresser thing?”

“No,” Willow managed, her voice warping slightly through the frame. “That’s definitely not—"

The rest came out as a strangled sound as the cracks widened, the shape of her form struggling to maintain itself.

“Gus, do something!” Joren barked.

Gus just woke up, so he was of no help.

The dresser convulsed one last time before the whole structure caved inward, collapsing in a sharp burst of light and splintered wood. The shockwave knocked Bart off his feet and sent a puff of sawdust through the air.

When it finally cleared, the only thing left in the center of the wreckage was Willow, though her hair was as unkempt and spikey as Gus's. This was one bad hair day, or maybe, hair evening?

Joren rushed forward. “Willow! You okay?”

She coughed once, blinking at the ceiling. “Woah, what the hell."

Bart stumbled upright, covered in dust. “You… exploded.”

Willow propped herself up on her elbows, blinking. “Yeah. I noticed.”

She took in the moment, then came to a sudden realization. "Wait, all of you get out of my room!"

Everyone froze.

Bart blinked. “Now hold on, Willow—”

“Out!” she barked, pointing toward the door with the ferocity of someone reclaiming her dignity one splinter at a time.

Rico raised an eyebrow. “Technically, this room’s unsafe after a small explosion.”

Willow’s voice sharpened. “Rico, door.”

Joren sighed, motioning to the others. “You heard her.”

Bart muttered something about “gratitude being dead these days” as he shuffled out, brushing more dust off his coat. Gus followed, still chewing on half a pretzel like nothing happened.

Rico was the last to leave, adjusting his curly mustache. “You know, for the record, that was scientifically beautiful.”

“Out!” She screamed and slammed the door behind them.

The hallway fell quiet. Outside chatter drifted lazily through the air, reminding them that the world was still going on around them.

Bart crossed his arms. “You know, I think she overreacted.”

Gus smirked. “She turned into a dresser and had to deal with you all day. I'd call that a just reaction."

Joren just shook his head and started walking. “Come on. Let her cool off before she turns the next one of us into furniture.”

They moved down the hall, their footsteps fading under the hum of the inn’s lights. It was about time they packed up and took off.