The Return of Ruby Rubber

5: The Splits

Ruth lay her head on the pillow at the top of her bed. She took her shoes off and then threw them into the corner by the door. This was too weird. Her head was in the bedroom, her feet were on the landing half way up the stairs, and her arms were in the hallway disposing of her shoes. Yet it all seemed to make sense. 

‘Is everything OK up there?’ 

Stuart was still downstairs. A twitch of her arm and she could feel him, grasp his hand although he was yards away in another room. She lifted her head up and without thinking began to stretch her neck still further, exiting the bedroom, looping back on the extension of her body that led into it, and peering out over the banister at the top of the first floor. She could see the snake of her body coiling up the stairs, her extended limbs moving independently of one another, almost as if they were separate living things. 

‘Oh, yeah, everything’s just fine,’ yelled Ruth, a shake in her voice betraying her real thoughts on the subject. She wanted to rub the bridge of her nose, to relieve the pressure of an incipient headache that was forming there. A hand rocketed up on her from the hallway below causing her to jump with alarm before she recognised it as her own, swaying on the end of an apparently disembodied, impossibly long arm. She gazed at it ruefully, letting out a humourless laugh as it gave her a friendly wave at her bidding. 

She was all over the place, quite literally. Time to pull herself together.

Two feet on solid ground would be the best start. Her toes had been exploring the gaps in the carpeting on the stairs. Ruth told them to stop messing around and reformed her feet to their customary size. With one part of her body restored, she distorted another, lengthening her ankles until her feet found their way downstairs and planted themselves next to where she had felt Stuart stand a few minutes ago.

Now she withdrew her neck. Her head didn’t move as the boneless loop that went in and out of her bedroom tightened itself and flipped through the doorway. Simultaneously, she shortened her thighs, tensing the superpowerful muscles so that her torso was gently coaxed downstairs toward the solidifying base that was forming there. On the way down it passed Ruth’s hands as they raced upwards, her arms diminishing as they were willed back to their original proportions. The clothes that had hung loosely, inelastically, over her extended body began to hug her frame more fittingly as it returned to recognisably human dimensions. Soon, Ruth’s body was restored, fully clothed, in the centre of the living room across from Stuart. Only her head was missing, still elsewhere at the end of her telescopic neck. This soon appeared, slowly twisting through the air like a large ball being drawn in on a piece of elastic. The last part of Ruth’s body to reform only had a couple of feet to travel when it stopped and bobbed in mid-air.

‘This is pretty fantastic, isn’t it?’ Ruth admitted. Another stretch and her face was floating right in front of Stuart’s.

‘I told you,’ he replied. ‘You’re a miracle. There’s very few people in the world who can do this - less that even know that they can.’

Ruth revelled in the control she had over herself, keeping the rest of her body in its natural shape while she looked it over, shoulder to toe, with her extra-mobile head.

‘I didn’t realise my bum looked so big from the back. I’m seeing things in a whole new way today.’ She stretched up high, her scalp brushing the ceiling, a massive grin plastered on her face. ‘How long does this effect last? Do I have to keep massaging myself regularly?’

Stuart was fumbling through the interior pockets of his jacket, searching for something. ‘That neck technique usually lasts for a day or so - usually not more than 30 hours, so yes, you do have to top it up. But I know some deep massage techniques that can unlock all manner of reserves of strength. It’d leave you elastic for a week or more. Just the thing for longer missions.’

There was an audible snap as Ruth’s neck whipped back to its normal size, replacing her head on her shoulders.

‘Missions? What missions? What are you talking about?’

Stuart ceased his rummaging and looked up to see a clearly displeased Ruth glaring at him.

‘You know, superhero missions. Saving the world, putting wrongs to rights. Fighting terrible supervillains.’

‘I’m fighting no-one, I can assure you of that right now,’ barked Ruth.

The various bodies of Quinn Toople slowly advanced on Ruth, striking a variety of martial arts-type poses as they kept a tight watch on her every move.

‘You know, this isn’t at all necessary,’ explained Ruth. ‘I’d be quite happy to back off out of it and forget I’d seen anything.’ She closed her eyes. ‘Look, I’m forgetting about it already. I’m sorry, who did you say you were?’

‘Aren’t you going to get into your fighting gear?’ Ruth opened her eyes and realised she couldn’t tell which of her five opponents had spoken to her.

‘I’m sorry, what was that?’

‘We’ve got to do this properly, you know.’ This was the red-clothed Toople speaking. ‘I’ve called you out, now you’ve got to change into the appropriate togs.’

This wasn’t going at all well. It was enough that Ruth was about to receive the beating of her life, probably five times over. Any hope she’d had that she’d be able to retain some of her dignity while it was happening was rapidly disappearing.

‘Do I really have to do this?’ she asked.

‘Yes!’ came the reply, times five.

‘Oh God. If I ever lay my hands on that Stuart, I’m going to kill him.’

‘Not if we do it first,’ said the yellow Toople.

Grimacing, Ruth reached for the ring on the third finger of her right hand.

À SUIVRE...