The Changeling Baby

It was Saturday and he was free to do whatever he wanted after breakfast. He thought about going upstairs to see Nissa. He did not stop by her place very often, if for no other reason than to avoid her father's sad, disturbing eyes, but he wanted to see if she remembered their encounter from the previous night. But of course, he was afraid to also. Instead he decided to go to the library. It was partly an excuse to get out of the house, but he also had a particular book in mind that he wanted to look up, one that, if it was still there after all these years, might confirm whether or not the things he was seeing lately were real.

He told his parents he was going out and his mother stopped to kiss him on the cheek. She had only ever kissed him on the cheek. His father told him to be home before it was dark, but that was all. He took the bus to the Western Addition branch and, feeling a bit sheepish about it, went to the children's section. He was lucky enough to find the book he wanted, the book he'd liked so much as a child, and he sat down with it in a quiet corner with it. Inside were vivid illustrations of fairy tale creatures: wizened gnomes, shy, knowing fairies, shadowy dwarfs, and one image that had particularly frightened his as a child of a huge, lantern-jawed ogre, roasting meat over a fire. He paused at the ogre illustration. It was similar, but not quite what he was looking for.

On the next page, he found it: a painting of a beautiful woman sitting on a tree stump, surrounded by huge, shaggy creatures with long faces and enormous noses. Three of them seemed to be men and the fourth was a stooped, old-woman monster. It was called, "The Princess and the Trolls", and the caption read:

"Look at them, Troll Mother said, look at my sons! You won't find more beautiful trolls on this side of the moon."

Troll. He turned the word over and over in his mind. It seemed right, somehow. The illustration certainly looked like the monsters from the previous day. They were almost identical, in fact. But were there really such things as trolls in this day and age? He turned the page and there was another troll illustration, this one of a woodcutter who seemed to have just freed a troll from under a fallen tree. The caption said:

"And in return the trolls promised not to trouble his family evermore, and to take no changeling from his descendants."

The word "changeling" rang a faint remembrance in William's mind. He put the picture book back in the kids' section, then browsed the other shelves until he found a book on Celtic folk stories. Looking up "changeling" in the index, he found the relevant page:

"There is particularly pronounced belief among the laboring classes that children are vulnerable to abduction by fairies. Supposedly the sidhe creatures will steal a child out of its crib and replace it with one of their own, and this substitute is what they know as a 'changeling.' The fairy will pose as the stolen child for some time before seeming to die (but in fact simply returning back to its own fairy family), sometimes causing mischief before it departs."

William pondered what he'd read. The trolls had said they wanted his help getting their son back. Were they talking about the Menskr baby? The changeling book was about fairies, but maybe trolls and fairies were the same thing. Had the trolls stolen the real Menskr baby and left a changeling in its place? Why would they come to William for help getting it back? Because the baby spoke to him, of course. But why him in the first place?

William returned the books and took the bus home. His reading made him feel better, somehow. At least now he had a name for what was happening, and some information that almost made sense. He was now more confident that the creatures (trolls?) were real, though what they wanted was still a mystery. He considered going for a walk in the park and seeing if he encountered them again, but decided there was no need. They knew where to find him, after all. All he had to do was wait.

***

They came back that night. William went to the window and even opened it, confident that if they wanted to hurt him they'd had plenty of opportunities already. The fog was hovering low tonight and it drifted, cold and wet, into his room. "I won't help you," he said.

The creatures assumed pained expressions. "You don't understand," said the troll father. "Our son is—"

"Downstairs in the Menskrs' apartment. And you need me to do something so you can go and get him back. But what about the Menskrs' real son? Why did you take him?"

"It's the way of things," said the troll father. "It's how we get by. There are so few of us left anymore, and it's so hard for us to have children of our own."

"It's so easy for humans," said the troll mother. Bitterness tinted her voice. "They could just have another baby without even trying. Not like us."

"We can't leave my son here. You're young, but can't you imagine what it's like?"

William crossed his arms. "I guess," he said. "But I won't do anything to help you unless you bring the real baby back."

"That's impossible," said the troll father. "You don't even know how impossible that is."

William thought about what it would be like growing up among monsters, always knowing that you're different but never knowing where you come from or what happened to you, never knowing that somewhere out there were people who loved you and never forgot about you. His heart hardened. "Yeah?" he said. "Well, neither do you."

And he turned his back on them. When he turned around again a moment later they were gone. He shivered and rubbed his bare arms, then went to close the window. Just before he did, he heard it: the sound of a creaky window frame sliding shut and latching right over his head. Was that Nissa? Her bedroom was right above his; had her window been open? Had she heard everything? William bit his lip. He wanted to run upstairs, pound on her door, and ask her everything right then and there, but he forced himself to lie down. He would have to wait until morning.

His heart did little jumps at the thought of her. That was normal, but now there was an even more special reason: If Nissa had been eavesdropping, William would finally, completely know that the trolls were real. He stared at the ceiling again and imagined Nissa lying in bed right over him. He turned to his side and scooted over, leaving one half of the bed empty. He imagined she might be lying on the other side of her own bed right over him, so that it would almost be like they were sleeping side by side. In the night, in his sleep, one of his hands dangled off the bed, and the other reached out for her, even though she was never really there.

***

It was Sunday. His parents had church on Sundays, though for reasons he was never entirely clear on they'd never brought him along or even suggested he accompany them. William didn't mind. He figured there might as well be some upside to their disinterest in him.

He watched his mother smooth the fabric of her one and only good dress that still fit. His father kissed her and then turned to William, apparently about to say something, but his words faltered. He ended up just patting William on the shoulder and giving him half a smile. William knew what it meant: Have a good day. We'll be back soon.

He waited for them to leave the building, then slapped on his shoes, fumbled his keys in the lock, and vaulted up the stairs two at a time. It was a lucky break that they'd left him alone. He neither wanted to lie to them nor tell him where he was going. He hesitated before Nissa's apartment, staring into the faded grain and peeling paint on the old door before knocking twice. He was afraid her father might answer, but instead Nissa herself came. She was obviously surprised to see him but not, he noted with some satisfaction, displeased. "Hey," he said, and they paused for a moment, both unsure of what to do. Then he said, "Can I come in?" and she opened the door for him.

It was abnormally dark inside, as he remembered it always was the few other times he'd been here. He heard the sounds of a TV farther in, but they were faint. Nissa locked the door and took William by the hand. He got a little lightheaded. Down boy, he thought. "Come on," she said, pulling him down the hall. "Let's talk in my room."

William tripped. "What will your dad say?"

"He's not here," Nissa said. "He took the kids out for the day."

"Huh?" said William. He couldn't remember Nissa's dad ever stepping foot outside the house—or even the living room.

"I know, right?" Nissa said, rolling her eyes. "It surprised me too. He said he felt bad about how I had to do all the work around here. I mean, he says that all the time, and I'm sure he even really means it, but this is the first time he's ever done anything. He said I should just relax while everyone is out. I don't think I even know how!"

When they got to her room she flopped down on the bed while William stood half-in and half-out of the doorway, hands in his pockets. He had never seen Nissa's room (or any girl's room) before. It was curiously bare, with little furniture and virtually no decoration. He guessed she didn't really spend much time in here. Half the walls were a different color, suggesting a painting project that had been abandoned. The window was open, and it jogged his memory about why he was here. He realized Nissa was talking, and had been talking the whole time, but that he had no idea what she was saying:

"...which was SO amazing, but of course I could only be there for half of it because I had to be home to make dinner for Taylor and Kevin and then drive Colin to soccer practice and—"

William cleared his throat and tried to talk but all that came out was a croak. He blushed, but she didn't laugh at him, instead quieting and waiting for him to speak. He swallowed hard and tried again. "I wanted to talk to you because...some weird things have been happening to me lately."

Her face became more serious.

"I've been seeing things, and hearing things, and...look, last night, did you have your window open?"

She nodded and paled noticeably.

"Did you..." he looked at a corner of the room for no reason, "Hear anything? Anything strange? Anything from, ya know...my room?"

When he looked back he was shocked to see tears in Nissa's eyes. She put a hand over her mouth and nodded, and then she said, "I've seen them too. They come to my window at night. Oh God, I thought I was losing my mind!"

She began sobbing into her hands. Without thinking, William put an arm around her. She leaned into him and cried on his shirt for a while. When she could talk again she looked up at him, red-eyed. "I thought I was alone," she said. "

"Me too," said William. Taking a deep breath, he told her everything that'd happened since the Menskr's apartment. Her eyes got wider and wider as he talked.

"I had no idea about the Menskr's baby," Nissa said. "I just knew they kept asking me to help them with their son. I can't believe they'd really do something like that. I mean, they seemed...nice, in a way."

"They're monsters," said William.

"They're a family," said Nissa. "I mean, they scare me, and I don't want to help them, but have you seen the way the father looks when he talks about his son? Have you heard the mother cry?"

William's heart hardened again. "All the more reason they shouldn't be hurting other people's families," he said.

Nissa nodded. "Of course you're right," she said. "I just don't know what to do. I've been so scared."

William was suddenly very aware that her body was pressed against his. He felt the curved side of her right breast through her shirt. His heart almost stopped. "At least we're together now," he said. "I mean, we're in this together."

Nissa smiled. "You and me?" she said. William nodded. "I like that idea," she said. And then she kissed him.

William had a heart attack. He was sure he must be having a heart attack. What else could this feeling be? Oh God, he thought, please don't faint. It was a second before his head cleared enough to realize he was kissing her back. As far as he could tell he had not died and she was not reacting with horror, revulsion, or any kind of homicidal urge. So far this was exceeding his wildest expectations.

So he kissed her again, and again, and again, and he didn't stop her when she went to close the door. He shut his eyes and ran his hands over the sheets on the bed (Nissa's bed!), trying to record all the little details of the moment, as if this experience might have to last him for a lifetime. Which, for all he knew, it would.

She sat on his lap. He jumped and was not quite sure how to sit. She turned his face up to hers and kissed him one more time, which helped him relax a bit. Then she said, "I like you, William." His mouth went too dry to talk. "You're a nice boy. You know that, right?" William blushed. Then Nissa leaned in and whispered in his ear: "But I don't want you to be nice right now. It's okay to be bad. I want you to. You have my permission. Understand?"

He froze. What the hell do you say to a thing like that? Then she bit his ear, hard. Without thinking, he grabbed her by the hair and kissed her neck, his teeth brushing her bare skin. And he couldn't believe it: she moaned! She actually moaned, for real. So he did it again, and she moaned again, and soon he felt the pressure down below. Nissa rearranged herself on his lap to accommodate the growing obstruction.

Somehow or another (and he never was able to recall precisely when this happened), her shirt came off. William had never been anywhere in proximity to naked female breasts in his entire life (his mother often made a point of the fact that he was a bottle-fed baby, though he was not really sure why it ever came up...). He felt like he'd suddenly stumbled onto an actual pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. Initially he froze, but when he remembered what Nissa said at the beginning he snapped out of it. Though his fingers trembled he wrapped his hands around them and squeezed. Tthey did not feel at all like he expected. Nissa winced. "Too hard!" she said. William panicked and almost let go, but at the last second he simply eased off. Nissa purred. "That's better," she said. He licked one and she began rocking back and forth against him. She felt hot all over. So did he.

The minutes that followed were characterized by a kind of blind, tentative, chaotic exploration. Sights and sounds and scents overlapped each other, blurring, mixing and overflowing. For a while one particular thing would swim to the forefront, like the taste of hot skin under his lips or the embarrassed but comfortable laughter when a garment got caught on something in the process of being removed. There was a period of time (he couldn't tell how long) when he only watched the pupils of Nissa's eyes as they expanded and retracted in response to some stimulation, and another when he was rapt by the soft pliability of her lips as they opened, closed, twitched, smiled, and formed themselves perfectly, sensually, to each letter of each word. And sometimes it was just the words themselves:

"That feels good. Oh God, that feels good. William. William. Oh God, William...oh God, William...oh God!"

Now that he was certain this was really going to happen, he had to think. Was this her first time too? It didn't seem like it, but he was hardly qualified to tell. If it was her first time, he knew there would probably be a little blood. The thought made him queasy. He was not really sure what the...barrier in question looked like. He preferred to hope someone else had already taken care of it. He tried to think of a polite way to ask, but— Oh my God, he thought, her mouth is on my—!

At one point he somehow found himself standing behind her as she bent over the bed, grabbing the headboard and pushing back against him. His -ahem- was pressed between the cheeks of her ass, and she seemed to like when he rubbed it up and down. He watched the side of one cheek quiver; it was almost hypnotic. Would she like it if he spanked her? He had no idea. She might get angry...but then, she might not. How could he tell? He guessed he could just ask, but what do you say to a thing like that? Then Nissa reached down between her own legs, circling her fingers around his testicles and glancing against his erection, which she guided down...

Wait, he thought, do I have a condom? He usually carried one in his wallet out of a sense of blind, stupid, doomed optimism, but he'd forgotten his wallet at home. Now what? Again he tried to speak and again it seemed he could not, but Nissa seemed to know what he was thinking anyway and she handed him one from her nearby purse. The idea that she'd always had one with her every time he saw her made him more excited. His fingers shook as he handled it. He was afraid he might rip the damn thing, but finally he got it on. Reminding himself for the hundredth time that this was really happening, he squared his shoulders, took a deep breath, checked his resolve, and then...

"No, that's not quite it," Nissa said. William blushed.

"Sorry," he said. "It's hard to tell with the, you know, on..."

"Hang on, I'll help."

"That's not quite—"

"There, try it there," she said.

"Are you sure?" Then felt something warm and wet. He tensed up and then, one inch at a time, untensed, as a wave of relief washed over him. He tested the feeling with one or two tentative movements, then dared to make a hard and heavy one, all the way in. He worried he might hurt her somehow, but it didn't seem to be a problem. In fact, he felt her go even wetter around him, the dampness evident even through the barrier of the latex.

"Ohhh God..." Nissa said.

"Mmmm," was all William could say. But that was okay. She was eloquent enough for both of them.

After, Nissa lay in bed, sheets tangled up around her, dozing a little. William watched her. It really happened, he thought. He wasn't sure how and he wasn't sure why, but it had definitely happened. He didn't feel any different...but maybe that was a good thing.

He was suddenly very aware of his nakedness again. How long had they been at it? Were his parents back? Was her father? Another heart attack seemed to be coming on. "I should go," he said. She put a hand on his arm.

"Please stay a while," she said.

"Your father could come back."

"Not for hours," Nissa said.

"If you're sure?"

"I am."

He didn't understand why she was so confident, given how long her family had already been gone and how rarely her father ever left the house for even 20 minutes, but at the same time he did not really want to leave any more than she wanted him to go. So he stayed. She was asleep again soon, and he watched her. She had a ponderous expression while she dreamed. It reminded him of the Menskr baby, in an odd way.

Eventually he needed to use the bathroom. He put on his pants (they had landed on the desk across the room) and went through the apartment as quietly as he could, even though no one was around (a habit from home). Nissa's apartment was the same layout as his, so he went down the hall and hung a left. The floorboards creaked. Returning, William glanced into the living room, and then nearly fell over: Nissa's father was sitting in his easy chair!

"Oh! God, um, Mister..." He hesitated; what the hell was Nissa's family's name? "Spenser!" Was that right?

He'd never even actually spoken to Nissa's father before, just inched around that one chair he always sat in the few other times he'd been in the apartment. He tried again. "Uh, hi sir. I'm sorry, I was just..." Just what, he thought, walking around your apartment half-naked? I'm a dead man.

But Mr. Spenser did not reply. He sat in his usual chair, beer in hand, staring at the window, now and then, raising his beer to his lips but otherwise doing nothing. When the can was empty he crushed it and tossed it on the floor, then pulled another one from the warm 12-pack nearby. He acted as if William did not exist at all.