Three Weeks Earlier: Meanwhile, Interlude

He stirred, his natural clock ticking morning, his dreams fading back into the aether. A smile reminiscent of the Mona Lisa adorned his lips. His eyes swung open like a bunker door, and he was awake. He looked over to the back of his wife’s head, nearly grinning in satisfaction. Her dark hair draped down, revealing her red cheek. I should let her sleep.

Wait, he thought, Red? He shot up out of bed with concern, throwing his legs over the side and standing up, his eyes glued on his wife. He looked at her fearfully. Is she alright?

He power-walked around the foot of the bed, trying to get a better understanding of her condition. It was clear that she had some kind of skin irritation, but it wasn’t clear to what extent.

He nearly took a step back in fear. The woman in front of him was not his wife, she was an impostor. The only feature remotely similar to his wife was her black hair. The crow’s feet that had just begun to form at the corners of her eyes were nowhere to be found; her skin was smooth as silk. The sleeping woman’s nose was smaller than his wife’s, her eyes were closer together, and her forehead was larger. Not to mention the maroon skin and the shiny white horns atop her head.

It was upon examining this mysterious woman’s face that he finally caught a glimpse of his own hand. It was a lighter shade than the woman’s, and he started to search his entire body for the source of the rash. It was then that he discovered just how much he had changed. Every inch was the same flat, red tone, and to make matters worse he found two mounds on his chest. He ran the tips of his fingers over his abdomen and pushed up on the lumps. Boobs, he concluded in utter disbelief.

He heard a yelp from the bed and looked back over to the bed. He found the woman sitting up, facing him, clutching the comforter. “Who are you?” she shrieked.

“No, who are you!?” he pointed aggressively, his voice an octave higher than usual.

The strange, newly awoken woman noticed something peculiar, and squinted in confusion. From her perspective, the—other—strange, painted woman pointing at her was wearing the same clothes her husband had worn to bed. She feared the worst. “What did you do with him?” she asked slowly, her heartbeat nearly audible.

The man looked puzzled. “Him? I didn’t do anything! You’re the psycho who snuck into my house and did something with my wife!” he accused.

“You’re in my house! You’re the psycho!”

They were shaken. Simultaneously, they came to the same conclusion. “Liz?” the man-woman asked.

“How do you..?” the bedded one muttered, already knowing the answer. “John?”

“What happened?” the standing one, apparently named John, asked.

“You don’t know either?”

“No… otherwise, I wouldn’t have called you a psycho. Sorry about that.”

“It’s okay. I just…” Liz paused, looking down to the ruffled sheets. “What are we going to do? How are we going to explain this?”

John looked at the beige carpet, furrowing his brow, “What even are we?”

“I don’t know...” Liz started, “Are you a woman?”

John patted his groin, wincing. “I guess so…” he trailed off.

Liz stared wide-eyed at the crumpled up linens, not making eye contact, her cheeks growing a slightly deeper shade of crimson.

“You have horns,” John said flatly.

Liz shot her gaze toward John, visible surprise adorning her face. “What?” she said, reaching up to her new extremities. A shiver zipped down her spine as she caressed the protruding bone.

John, becoming self-aware, decided to do the same. He could feel the same, bony spikes poking through his scalp and parting his hair. It rattled him, nearly making him gasp for air, but he tried to remain stoic. “This is so weird... What the…?” John started, a dread eating away at his heart.

“I don’t get it either...” his wife struggled; then one last piece of the transformation caught her eye. “John, you have a tail,” she said in utter disbelief, eye’s threatening to pop out of their sockets. As she spoke, an entirely new form of discomfort greeted her own rear-end. She frowned as she became aware of what had to be her own tail.

John’s own eyes followed suit. He slowly turned his upper body to look behind him, and what he found was a long, skinny addition to his backside that ended in a cheeky barb. He took a deep breath, trying to practice the technique the counselor taught him. “I think I need a drink,” he said slowly.

Liz frowned. “You can’t,” she said, disappointed in him.

“I know, I’m just kidding…” he said, still breathing uneasily.

“So how are we going to tell Noel?” Liz finally asked, wanting to get to the urgent matters.

“We’ll scare him for sure if we just show up like this.”

“I know. But how do we make sure he doesn’t call the police?”

“We need to convince him we’re his parents somehow before we show ourselves.”

“He should be up soon. Let’s text him to come to our door when he gets up. Then we can talk to him.”

John sighed for the umpteenth time. “Alright. I don’t have a better plan.”

Liz, still sitting up in bed, grabbed her phone and went to work setting up the metaphorical board. John went back to his side of the mattress and sat down, consciously-unconsciously flicking his tail to the side. He looked over Liz’s shoulder at her phone. “Noel come to our door. Me and your father have something to tell you but you can’t see us.” Liz sneered, not finding the text reassuring enough. She restarted, typing instead, “Honey we need you to come to our door your father and I and feeling sick and we need to ask you something.” It was all technically true, if the definition of “true” was stretched slightly.

“So what now?” John asked.

“I don’t know,” Liz sighed, falling onto the headboard, hunched over.

They sat there, the silence of the morning eating at them.

“Do you think Jamie is going to freak out?” Liz said, turning to her husband.

John wore a distant expression. He fiddled with his petite, stained fingers as he considered the question, before giving a straightforward answer. “She won’t recognize us, but she’s young. She’ll get used to it quickly.”

“I hope so,” Liz said, before realizing his deeper implication. “You think this is going to be permanent?”

“I don’t know. But… I guess it would be good to prepare if it is. I mean, if it’s not, then no harm done, but if it is…” he trailed off.

“We should get started early,” Liz finished, grimacing, eyes drifting toward her phone in anticipation of Noel’s reply.

John nodded, and the two sat in silence for what felt like an eternity to Liz. Her mind raced with every single thing she’d need to do to sort out her predicament. New drivers license, new passport, convincing everyone she was who she said. Not to mention learning how to live with a tail.

John’s mind, on the other hand, was almost blank. The change was too drastic to comprehend. His wife’s situation was reminiscent of plastic surgery, but his transformation was so thorough that it defied any conventional means. He had no idea how he would even begin to explain it to his boss—his coworkers—his son.

Anxiety finally got the best of John, however. “He’s taking a lot longer than usual,” he said.

“I know, but we can’t approach him out of the blue.”

“Well, maybe something happened to him? If it happened to the both of us, then why not him too?”

“I don’t know, I’m just worried that we might be jumping the gun,” Liz worried, setting her hand on John’s shoulder.

John squinted in discontent. “No. He’s going to find out some way or another. I’m getting too nervous. I’m going.”

“Wait,” Liz caved, “I’ll come. Let me talk, since my voice is more… normal.”

John agreed, and the two proceeded out into the hallway. They walked past the bathroom and to Noel’s open door; but when they failed to find him, they easily deduced where he was.

It took a few tense moments for Liz to build up her courage. “Noel,” she called with clear angst, her lips wavering.