As the pain got worse, and not knowing which part of him was hurting was worse than the throbbing ache, Jubal got hungrier. The crackers had taken some of the edge off, but they weren’t enough. Fortunately, the pain wasn’t bad enough to stop him from moving around or thinking, that is, it wasn’t as bad as it had been before. He forced the rest of what he’d eaten into his stomach, foul as it was, bloating it uncomfortably, and introducing him to the unfortunate sensation of being simultaneously very hungry and absolutely stuffed.

Jubal’s stomach gave a rumble and cramped hard. For a moment, he thought that he would puke. Then, with a mighty heave, everything in his stomach shot to the left and down. His legs burned and twisted. His belly was on fire. He fell to his knees.

He burst out of his clothes with a ripping sound, and absently noticed that the pulsing ache of his body altering itself was now out and to the sides of where his skin had been, but was now clearly inside of him. His lower body had been replaced by a grayish, fleshy mass, spread out to the sides and in front and behind him. He was lower to the floor, as though his legs had melted into goop and lost all their bones.

His pajama pants were ruined, nothing but shreds. The bottom of his pajama top was in tatters. His mother was going to be so angry about the ruined clothing. She hated shopping for clothes.

Jubal tried to walk forward, and found that that didn’t work so well without any feet. He could sort of scoot forward slowly, undulating, but it was uncomfortable and exhausting. If this was an indication of whatever he had inherited instincts from, then it was no wonder he felt anxious at being left alone. He was too big to hide from anything, and too slow to run away! Just a huge, meaty target for anything that wanted to come and take a bite out of him, unless he had someone nearby to protect him.

Just thinking about it was enough to make the parts of him that still had sweat glands break out in a cold sweat.

Maybe he was like a poison dart frog now, and he was compelled to eat poisons so he could make himself toxic, so nothing would eat him. Maybe that was what the rotten food was for. That didn’t explain why he needed a separate organ for it, though, or why he was such a dull color instead of bright with warning.

He looked down at himself again and felt sick. He wasn’t even human shaped anymore. He was just a human torso attached to a grey, pulsating blob. The pain from changing was gone, as was everything in his stomach, which seemed to double as an intestine. He was strangely aware of everything inside his body, every organ, especially the ones he didn’t have before. He stretched his strange flesh and found that he could easily slide his torso around on it, from one end to the other, no different from waving his arm.

It was creepy. He could move his organs around, too.

Jubal tried to pull the extra mass in, and much to his delighted surprise, it worked. With a feeling like sucking in his gut, the disgusting gray lump snapped into a humanoid lower body, kneeling on the kitchen floor. He could feel it, somewhere else, and knew that he could change back any time he wanted. He didn’t want to. Not right now.

He was half naked, and still grayish pink from the waist down, but he’d take it. Some hybrids were covered in scales, or had tentacles with claws on them growing from their backs and always went shirtless because of it. Being gray in places that he could cover with a pair of pants wasn’t so bad,when you thought about it, and neither was the occasional urge to eat literal garbage. Nobody had to know about that one.

Jubal was still telling himself that when he half ran, half stumbled to his bedroom to find another pair of pants to put on. Also, tall socks, and shoes, and a baggy shirt to cover any discolored skin that might show over his pants, and a tight shirt to wear under the baggy shirt in. In case it rode up or he had to bend down or something. He quickly shucked his torn shirt and tossed it over his shoulder.Then, he dressed himself, and then he went back to the kitchen to wait for his mom. Finally he realized that he’d ruined more than just the tattered shirt sitting on his bed.

There were shredded rags that used to be pajama pants scattered across the kitchen floor. Jubal pulled out a broom and dust pan and set about sweeping them up. Then, because his mother wasn’t there and he was curious, he dumped the cloth bits out on the table, picked one up, and put it in his mouth. Surprisingly, it didn’t taste bad. It wasn’t exactly chewable, but then, he didn’t feel any urge to chew. It was easier to swallow everything whole, and the cotton cloth had a pleasant texture on his tongue, even if it was bland.

Impulsively, he swallowed “sideways”, to the left, and stored it with the spoiled food. He had a feeling that he could do something with it. He ate another piece and was surprised when he was able to comfortably swallow it to the right. Maybe he could digest the cloth? Well, it was made of plant fibers, so it was worth a shot, and it wasn’t as likely to make him sick as the other trash he’d eaten, so Jubal downed the rest of his ruined pajama pants, some to the left and some to the right; then went back to his bedroom to swallow the shredded shirt. Then he silently vowed not to say anything about it to his mother. She’d just get upset that he was eating non food items.

He was working on figuring out a way to move something from storage to stomach without first regurgitating it (which, while easy, was disgusting and messy) when he heard muffled cursing from the front door.

“Jubal!”

Oh, it sounded like Mom was home. And angry. He should probably let her in before she started kicking the door and annoying the neighbors.

Jubal got up, walked to the front door, and undid the chain (and the bolt, and the regular lock). Then he opened the door to let his mother into the apartment.

“Why did you chain the door?” Mom seemed tense. Her voice had that dangerous kind of quiet to it.

I get anxious with you gone, he typed. Locking up helped.

“Oh, Jubal, I told you to tell me if you weren’t comfortable with me leaving!” She leaned against him for a moment, and probably would have hugged him if her arms hadn’t been full of bags.

Jubal stepped aside to let her into the apartment. She headed straight for the kitchen, and he closed the door before following her, sliding the locks back into place before joining his mother.

I’m fine, Jubal typed. Nothing serious happened while you were gone, and we did need the groceries.

“Did something not serious happen, then?” Mom fixed him with a serious stare, and Jubal cracked near instantly.

He nodded. I look a little strange now, and I can shapeshift enough to break my clothing. Also, I need new pajamas.

“I think it’s time to call that hotline now.” Mom was looking a little stunned. Jubal handed her his phone, word document with the hotline copied to it open, and started putting away the groceries, leaving her to do whatever it was she thought she needed to.

“And Jubal?” She called from the next room. He poked his head out of the kitchen to look at her. “Clean up that slimy mess on the counter.”

Jubal gave his mother a thumbs up and got to work. He probably should have cleaned it up right after making it, but, well, he was more interested in figuring out what went wrong…