Long Story #6: Spooky Tales for Twisted Tykes (IX. Please Read the Bylaws)

IX. Please Read the Bylaws (Content Tags: Supernatural elements, bureaucracy, regression, wetting, messing, diapers, surrealism) "We're a very exclusive neighborhood, Tom. We like to make sure that all our residents are a good...Fit. Have you had a chance to read the bylaws?" The chestnut-haired man tilted his head back, arms loaded down with boxes. His glasses slid down on his face, "Huh? Oh, the book? Thing is like the Iliad! I'll have more time to look at it when I'm done moving in." The stiff looking fellow behind him made no attempt to hide his frown, "Yes. Make sure that you do. This is your first time moving into a real house, isn't it? A real neighborhood? A real community?" "Well, I mean...I don't know if I'd say that. My last place was a duplex, and I got along with all my neighbors. This is definitely the nicest place I've moved into, though. Has a gate and everything." Tom explained, moving forward to place the box at the threshold of his front door. "Yes, a gated community with an HOA. You'll want to make sure you remember all the rules; you don't want to incur any penalties, I assure you." Tom raised an eyebrow, "Uh, right. Thanks. What was your name again?" The tall man stuck out a hand, "Jonathan Nesbitt. I'm on the board for the HOA here. If you have questions, then you can find me down the street, though I'm sure anyone else in the neighborhood would be more than willing to give you answers." The two shook hands, and Tom forced a smile. "Thanks! I'll, uh, definitely do that." Tom watched as the man sauntered off, his steps as measured as his tone, and he shook his head at the whole uncomfortable interaction. "What an uptight wad..." Finding this place hadn't been easy, and from what he'd heard, it was extraordinarily rare for new spots to even open up, so it'd been a lucky catch to stake a claim on this house. The gated community was rated one of the top in the state, with residential reviews claiming that the pristine infrastructure and welcoming atmosphere was top-notch; it was apparently an ideal place to raise a family, and to build a sense of community. The houses were very nice, but whoever had developed the area didn't have much in the way of creativity, as apparent by the fact that all the homes had the exact same look. White-picket fences, two-story structures, all-American aesthetic; it felt like he'd walked onto the set for 'Leave it to Beaver', and the tone that Jonathan had set, hadn't exactly helped. He hadn't had an opportunity to tour the house before buying it; he'd left his old duplex to move somewhere that would be more conducive to his job as a freelance programmer, and due to his own procrastination, he'd fumbled on picking a new place before it was time to renew his old contract. The last place had a terrible internet connection, and the neighborhood was too noisy for the remote work he did, so this place had seemed perfect. Since he was moving up in the world, having more disposable income, it'd made sense to pick a place that was more befitting of the checks he was cashing. Now all he needed was to enter the dating scene and get himself a wife, and then he could really feel like an adult. His first few days were all about settling in. There were dozens of boxes to go through, and while he wanted to get to know his neighbors as soon as possible, it seemed more important that he get his house set up first. Some people did stop by, all friendly faces who brought him welcoming baskets, and who each reminded him about reading up on the community guidelines. He was polite to each and everyone, but it started to rub him the wrong way about how obsessed they all seemed with these silly rules; he was all for keeping things looking nice, but it felt more than a little ridiculous to take it to such a stodgy level. It was after his first ‘strike’, that he finally decided to crack open the book that he’d been given. He’d gotten a stern knock on the door about his porch-light being on past eight, and Jonathan had very clearly explained the strike system, and how steep the price became afterwards. Tom wasn’t impressed by how much Jonathan talked down to him in that encounter, like a parent scolding a child, but he held his tongue, as to not incur any more wrath. He hadn’t been there a week yet, so he couldn’t go making enemies so early on, especially not with someone as ‘powerful’ as part of the HOA. The book of bylaws was expansive, to such an absurd degree that Tom thought there must be a joke going on. It was hundreds of pages of rules, each one with specific parameters and carved out exceptions; the community was over fifty years old, so Tom assumed that the rule-book must have started out a lot smaller, and then just been built on top of over time. Be that as it may, it was silly that there hadn’t been any effort put into slimming the thing down as the years went by; how was someone supposed to enjoy living here, if they had to walk on eggshells over this thing? His second strike came a couple of days later, after he’d apparently been practicing his drums too loudly. He’d never been professional or anything, but banging on the drums had long been a way for him to relieve himself of stress after a long day of coding. The person who came ringing his doorbell after that session was someone else, an older lady with a dour look and a short bob. “Tommy—” “Its just Tom, actually.” That deepened her frown. “You can’t be making such a loud racket after six. We have strict noise rules here; grown-ups are trying to settle down, eat dinner, and they can’t relax with all that horrible noise. I’m afraid this is your second strike. You really need to read the bylaws; neither me nor Jonathan want to issue a punishment.” He couldn’t resist rolling his eyes at her, but he mumbled an apology and promised to finish reading all the rules for the neighborhood. After he shut the door, he was left feeling more irritable than ever, and a part of him was mischievously curious about what kind of fine he might have to pay upon his third strike. He didn’t think he’d get kicked out of the community, but he couldn’t know that sure, at least not without asking. So he did ask, casually, to his immediate neighbor. It was the nice couple that had brought him a fruit basket, with their well-mannered little boy. Nina, Rory, and Ralph. He was pretty sure Ralph was adopted, since he looked so different from his parents, but he obviously wasn’t about to pry about that. “So, the three strikes thing… That doesn’t end in expulsion, right? They won’t try to kick me out, just because I break a few rules, right?” Rory gave him a frown, “Well, no… You’ll still be allowed to stay, but the punishment is pretty steep.” Nina nodded, “You should really read the bylaws, Tom. A third strike would be no good.” Even Ralph, the tyke in the sandbox, looked nervous for him, but he didn’t contribute to the conversation at all. Later that evening, after giving up on memorizing hundreds of pages of petty bullshit, Tom’s curiosity would get the better of him. He was sick of walking on eggshells, sick of the restrictions, and he just wanted to know how much he’d have to pay to live the way he wanted. He opened up the book and looked around for a rule to break, something easy and silly. ‘All adult residents must always wear a shirt outside, unless at the pool.’ Perfect. His grass needed to be mowed, and it was particularly warm out, so ditching his shirt would be just the thing to move the dial. The next day he’d go outside, start the mower up and get half the lawn done, and then he’d grin as he removed his shirt and tossed it onto the steps of his porch. He got some dirty looks from some of his neighbors, but he didn’t care; he hadn’t moved into this expensive of a house, just so he could live with his life completely dictated by a bunch of old fogies with sticks up their asses. He spent the rest of the afternoon waiting for the third strike to come, for Jonathan or that other hag to knock on his door, but they never did. Maybe nobody had tattled on him? Maybe they were letting him off the hook? Either way, he would eventually head off to bed without any strife. “Wake up, Tommy. It’s time to get up.” The man’s eyes darted open at the voice in his room and he shot up in bed with a strange crinkle. Tom saw both Jonathan and the old woman standing there over his bed, looking like they were disappointed in him. “How the hell did you get in my—” He stopped mid-sentence, his voice was several octaves higher than it should have been. “—W-what’s wrong with my voice?!” “Well, little one. The HOA reserves the right to enter any of the homes in the neighborhood, if we have reason.” Jonathan explained. “And you gave up more than enough reason, Tommy. This is a place for grown-ups to live in peace and quiet, and you already got three strikes in your first week here! I’m afraid you gave us no other choice.” The old woman added, shaking her head and clicking her tongue. Tom looked down at his hands in horror, and saw that they were tiny, like a child’s hands would be. He ripped the blanket off of him and saw his legs were much shorter, and instead of the boxers he’d fallen asleep in, his feet were now encased in a footed sleeper with rocket ships all over it. “I-I’m...You made me a baby!” “Well, not exactly a baby. I’d say closer to five or six...Like a very large toddler.” Jonathan corrected, giving him a pat on the cowlick that’d now returned. The old lady wrinkled her nose, “...A very big toddler, I think we might have messed up the process a little. I thought he was only supposed to be wetting the bed?” “Oh, that’s probably my fault. I forgot to wear my glasses last night, whenever I was metering out the powder… That’s okay, I’d say he’s earned it. Haven’t you, little stinkbug?” Stinkbug? Tom’s own nose wrinkled as he suddenly caught a whiff of something foul… Was that poop? It definitely smelled like poop! But where was it coming from? He shifted slightly on the bed, and to his horror, he suddenly felt something warm smooshing underneath his rump. His hand shot down to the front of the sleeper and squeezed; there was a hot, squishy bulk underneath the pajamas. It was a diaper, and it wasn’t just wet, but it was very dirty too. “I told you to read the bylaws, young man. This is a place with rules, a place for grown-ups. I can’t believe we’ll have to put this house back on the market so fast… Maybe we’ll wait a little while this time, and really find a good fit.” “And speaking of good fit, I was thinking the couple across the street? They originally wanted Ralph, but I think Tommy would be a good little boy for them. He’ll probably be a handful, but I think they’ll whip him into shape nicely.” The woman picked him up from underneath his armpits and gave his bottom another whiff, “...Hope the lack of pottytraining won’t be an issue. I don’t know if that can be easily fixed.” As Tom was carried out of his house, a hand gently patting at his squishy backside, all he could think about was how this could have all been avoided. If he’d acted a little more maturely, if he hadn’t gotten such a devious streak inside of him. These people were clearly insane, sure, but he’d intentionally provoked this punishment, just to be an impish brat, and now he was quite literally a little brat. He should have just read the bylaws.