TF (man to sheep)

Ron walked out of the courthouse with a smirk on his face. As he’d expected, all he’d got was a slap on the wrist. A six-month suspension from selling financial advice! Hell, he’d been planning on taking a vacation longer than that.

MIlling around outside were a group of oldies who’d been watching his case. Some of them he recognised as former clients. Greedy bastards. When they saw him they began muttering angrily. They hadn’t objected to his methods when they thought they were going to make money, had they? Hypocrites. Oh, he was going to enjoy spending the fees he’d carved out of their contributions.

As he walked past them, one elderly woman stepped right into his path.

“You fleeced us!” she said. “You fleeced us … and one day … someone’s gonna fleece YOU!”

She locked eyes with Ron, and for just a second a wave of dizziness passed over him.

Just for a second, though. “Get out of my way, bitch!” he snarled, stepping past her. Crazy old coot! She looked about a hundred. Hell, taking her money was the kind thing to do. She’d be dead soon, he expected. No sense her keeping it under the bed.

He turned into the underground car park and made for his Porsche. It was leased, of course. But when he got back from Tahiti, maybe he’d splurge … or maybe buy an Alfa …

Ron was almost to his car when the dizziness hit again. This time the wave of nausea didn’t go away.

Oh God, he thought, steadying himself against a nearby vehicle. What’s wrong with me? Is this a heart attack? I swear if those bastards have given me a heart attack I’ll sue every former client of mine …

Which is when his mouth began to change.

His lower face began to push outwards, extending horribly. His teeth grew larger, filling the space. He could feel his jawbone crack as it reformed. Worse, his nose was being pulled along with the rest of his face, flattening as it went.

There was a crawling feeling on the sides of his head. He grabbed his ears, only to find them no longer where they should be. They were moving up to the top of his skull. And they were changing too, twisting themselves up and folding.

Ron felt the rest of his skull compressing, pushing his eyes to the sides. His field of vision skewed. And his eyes were growing … larger.

He was terrified now. But the worst was still to come.

A rippling pain went through his hands. As he watched, his fingers began to mould together, growing harder. And his arms were shrinking. They grew stiff, then his forearms narrowed and began to turn white.

His neck grew longer, pushing forward from his body. He was struck dumb with terror. Until he realised he was shrinking.

His pants fell to the ground, and he kicked off his shoes. Frantically he tore off his shirt. He felt like he was drowning in it.

A sharp pain in his tailbone, then something began to burst out of his body. Something long and unnatural. Something like … a tail?

Ron fell to all fours as the pain wracked his body. He opened his mouth to scream. “Help me!”

But even to his ears, what came out of his throat was a strangled “BAAAAAA!!!”

His body grew rounded, and his long legs shortened. His feet shrank, hardening like his hands, into … hooves?

And then his torso erupted with short hair … no, not hair, fur … not even fur, but … wool?

What the hell is happening to me? Make it stop! Please, make it stop!

Someone walking towards him. Thank God. Help! Help me!

But when the woman saw him, she gasped, eyes wide, and ran away.

No! Wait! He ran after her, desperate to explain.

She was talking to a man at the car wash section. As Ron came to a screeching halt, he heard the man talking on the intercom. “No, this is not a joke. It’s a sheep! In the car park! Call security! Hell, I don’t know, call animal services!”

Animal services? He didn’t like the sound of that. He turned tail and ran.

Where was the damned exit here? It was easy enough to find when you were in a car! And what did they mean … sheep?

And then Ron realised he was running on all fours.

*

They shot him.

The bastards actually shot him.

Some man with a rifle took aim and shot him.

A damned tranquiliser dart. Weren’t they only used in movies and TV?

They grabbed him by his legs and took him to a van, throwing him in the back, like he was some drunk being nabbed by the cops.

And as they drove off, before sleep overtook him, he swore he caught sight of the bitch who’d cursed him.

Grinning.

Laughing at him.

*

He woke up at a farm. With a bunch of other sheep. Hell, hundreds of other sheep.

Ron ran up to the first human he saw and began to explain. “Help! I’m not a sheep, I’m a man! Someone must have cursed me …”

The frustration that hit him when all he could manage were bleats was overwhelming.

What could he do? He tried writing words in the dirt with his hooves, but they never came out right, and who would pay attention to what a sheep was scratching anyway?

He tried to impress upon the other sheep his predicament. Fat chance. They were just goddamned sheep, after all. For a second he thought he might be able to talk to them, but no chance. They were dumb as doorknobs.

No one even paid him the slightest notice. He was just another sheep out of hundreds.

Well, no one except the big ram.

Which is when Ron discovered he wasn’t just a sheep.

He was a ewe.

*

At first Ron was terrified, all the time. But the weeks passed. His hopes of changing back into a man faded.

And after a while he became used to being a sheep. Hell, he began to enjoy it.

It was peaceful. Quiet. Not like being a financial adviser. Let alone a crooked financial adviser. And this farm, well, it wasn’t Tahiti, that’s for sure. But the grass was tasty and plentiful, and the sun on his back felt good.

Even the attentions of the big ram were welcome.

*

One day Ron saw the farmhands come in to herd the sheep. Curiously, he watched as they rounded some of the flock up, heading them towards a shed at the edge of the field.

“Oh, and that big one there. She’s overdue for shearing.”

That big one? Him?

He tried to duck away, but they caught him. Other sheep milled stupidly around him. He found himself being pressed forward. There was no escape.

Fear rose up in him. And then he was in the shed itself.

Men he’d never seen were wielding clippers, sharp clippers.

He tried to back away.

“That one next, Steve. She looks like she’s never been sheared. But watch it, she’s skittish.”

Ron was grabbed by the legs and flung on his back. He screamed.

“Baaaa!”

The clippers nipped at his flesh. They tore his wool off.

It was shameful. He’d been a man, a man, for christ sake’s! Now he wasn’t even a sheep. He was just an object to this guy, just another job to get through.

“There! You’re done.”

And oh God, now he was naked, naked …

Ron was back in the field before the realisation hit him.

He’d been fleeced, all right.