Jacob, an 18-year-old teenager, was obsessed with feet. His dream was to shrink to the size of a bug and crawl into the shoes of his classmate Grace. One day, while surfing the internet, he noticed someone on eBay selling a pill that supposedly shrinks you to the size of a bug. Jacob was excited and didn't think twice about it, so he ordered it. Once he received the pill, he wanted to carry out his plan, but he couldn't just walk up to Grace and ask her to put him in her shoe and then go about her day, because Grace was sweet and kind. she wouldn't hurt even a worm, even when she saw a spider, she didn't step on it, but took a jar and released it outside. To carry out his plan, he called his friend Lucas, who was supposed to put it in the locker room when Grace was putting on her shoes.
“Lucas, I need your help. It's important. Very important.” Jacob's voice was tense as he called his best, perhaps only true friend. They met in the park, away from prying ears. Jacob showed him the silver capsule. He told him about the dream. About Grace. About the shoes. Lucas listened in shock, his face paltering with every word.
“You're absolutely crazy, Jacob! It could be deadly dangerous! It could be poison! And even if it works... what if it crushes you? What if I can't find you? What if...?”
“I know the risks, Luc.” Jacob interrupted him, looking him straight in the eye with the strange calmness of a fanatic. “But I have to do it. It's my only chance. I just need you to throw me in. Into her shoe. In the locker room. When she's changing her shoes. I'll take care of the rest myself. I promise you'll get me out after school. Only you can help me.”
The struggle on Lucas's face was visible: loyalty to his friend versus fear and common sense. Finally, with a heavy sigh, he nodded. “All right. But, Jacob... if something goes wrong...”
“It won't. Trust me,” Jacob replied, though deep down he was shaking like a leaf. They agreed on the details.
They waited in a dark corner of the locker room, huddled behind a row of lockers. Jacob, microscopic, huddled against Lucas's giant thumb, felt every trembling breath of his friend. Finally, they heard her laughter. Grace. She entered, radiant as always, carrying her everyday sneakers. She placed her backpack on the bench with a careless plop. Then, with her usual grace, she kicked off the shoes she had come in and placed them under the bench. Their scent, warm and sweet-sour, reached even Jacob's microcosm. Grace looked around, stretched, and... walked away toward the bathroom. It was the moment.
“Now, Jacob...” Lucas whispered, his voice sounding like thunder from the sky. His fingers, delicate as ever, but still terrifyingly powerful, lifted Jacob's microscopic body. He walked over to the bench. Above the opening of one of Grace's sneakers—a dark, fragrant abyss that was about to become his world—he hesitated for a split second. A last spark of human fear flashed in Jacob's eyes, but it was overwhelmed by a wave of perverse excitement. Lucas let him go.
Jacob felt a brief downward flight, like falling into a well. He landed softly on the rubber insert. The smell hit him with double force—the sweetness of balm, the bitterness of sweat, the mustiness of worn-out shoes. He was inside. Trapped.
“Hold on,” he heard Lucas' muffled, powerful voice from above. “I'll get you out after the bell. Wait for me. Be... careful.” The opening of the shoe, his only source of light and hope, disappeared as Lucas walked away. He was alone. In absolute darkness. In the suffocating smell.
Constant, suffocating darkness. That was the first thing Jacob registered when he awoke in the depths of Grace's shoe. The smell hit him with brutal force. It wasn't just a stench—it was a physical, sticky wave that slipped into his microscopic lungs. The sweet, sickly scent of the strawberry lotion Grace used on her feet was mixed with something much more powerful, more primitive. The sour, sharp smell of vinegar, transitioning into the rotten sweetness of old cheese and musty dampness. It was sweat. Grace's sweat, concentrated, fermenting in the closed plastic and rubber coffin of her favorite sneakers. Jacob felt the smell settle on his skin, invade his mouth, stinging his tongue with a salty, metallic aftertaste. He tried to breathe shallowly, but every breath was torture.
He raised his head, fighting the growing terror. Above him, in the dim light coming through the still-open tongue of the shoe, giant outlines loomed. Five huge black imprints, clearly stamped on the white rubber insole. They were like craters on an alien planet—places where Grace's foot, warm, moist, weighed down by her entire body, had pressed into the ground every day. Each imprint was deep, which now, from a worm's perspective, looked like monstrous, cracked canyons. Jacob felt nauseous. Was this supposed to be paradise? It was hell.
Suddenly, the light went out. A huge shadow blocked the opening. Jacob froze. He heard the soft rustle of cotton—it was Grace's sock, white but darkened in places by the gray shadow of sweat around the toes and heel, gliding straight toward him. He felt the hot air she pushed in front of her. The smell intensified a thousandfold, becoming an almost tangible, suffocating liquid. The foot slipped inside with a soft plop, filling the space, occupying every millimeter. The toes, each the size of his entire body, slid over the imprints, exactly into their places. He felt the hot, moist skin of the heel rubbing against the rubber just above him. The temperature rose immediately. The cool darkness turned into a tropical, humid bath, which in seconds became an oven. Forty-five degrees? Fifty? More? The air was thick, saturated with water vapor and acids, almost impossible to breathe.
“Oh, these shoes are so comfortable today,” he heard Grace's muffled voice coming from outside like thunder from the sky. Her words caused vibrations that rolled through the rubber, shaking Jacob. Then there was silence, interrupted only by the powerful, rhythmic boom-boom of her footsteps. Each step was an earthquake. Jacob was tossed around like a ball in an exercise machine. He hit the hard rubber of the sole, the damp skin of his foot, the fabric of his sock.
“Grace, can you stop waving your leg? You're distracting me,” came the teacher's voice.
“I'm sorry, sir!” Grace laughed softly. And then all hell broke loose.
Jacob felt the whole world tilt. Grace's foot lifted, and her shoe began to swing in the air. Waving. Then a sudden jerk upward—a kick. Jacob was thrown upward with tremendous force, toward the tongue of the shoe. The overload squeezed his chest, depriving him of the last of his oxygen. Before he could react, he fell back, hitting his head on the wet, sticky insole just below Grace's heel. He heard a terrifying crunch in his skull, followed by excruciating pain in his nose. Blood, warm and salty, poured into his mouth, mixing with the horrible taste of sweat that was already there. He had broken his nose. He lay on his back, blinded by pain, choking on his own blood and that terrible, suffocating mixture of smells. He felt Grace's sweat, thick and greasy, soak into his clothes, burning the small wounds on his skin. He was completely helpless, trapped under a mountain of warm flesh and bone, in darkness, in a stuffy, red-hot coffin. Fear turned to panic. Traces of blood remained on the inner walls of her shoe.
Hunger and thirst became physical pain. In desperation, he pressed his lips to the damp insole, to the pool of salty liquid that had gathered under Grace's toes. The liquid was hot as lava, burning his tongue and throat. It tasted like concentrated vinegar mixed with salt and something rotten. He vomited. He heard the muffled voices of the class, Grace's laughter, her light whistling. Her complete unawareness, her normality, in contrast to his hell, was the most terrifying thing. She was simply living, and he was dying under her foot.
Lucas watched Grace like a hawk. His palms were sweaty, his heart pounding. He saw her playing with her shoe during history class—a gentle rocking motion, then a sudden, energetic kick that made Lucas's heart stop. What is he feeling right now? he thought with growing dread, imagining Jacob's small body bouncing off the rubber walls with the force of a fired bullet. When Grace left for a moment before the last class and didn't come back, his anxiety turned into icy panic. He called her, but she didn't answer. His thoughts raced. Maybe she went to the nurse's office? Maybe to the bathroom? But the last class was over, and Grace was nowhere to be found. Lucas felt the ground shifting beneath his feet. The plan had fallen apart.
The next morning at school, Lucas stormed into the classroom. And there he saw her. Grace, calm as ever, was sitting at her desk. And she was playing with her shoe.
She gently moved her foot forward, revealing the inside of her sneaker for a split second. Lucas looked. And froze. Deep inside, on the white insole, already darkened by gray and yellowish stains, lay a small, dark silhouette. It was Jacob. But it was no longer the boy Lucas knew. It was a broken doll. Jacob's body was covered with deep purple and yellow bruises, his face was one big swelling. His eyes, barely visible under the swelling, were ringed with black circles, as if he hadn't slept in weeks. His lips were blue and cut, and a dried, black trickle of blood oozed from one nostril. He looked like someone who had survived a disaster. For a moment, his swollen eyes met Lucas's terrified gaze. In those eyes, Lucas saw all the inexpressible horror, all the pleading. Jacob raised his trembling hand, reaching for the edge of his shoe.
“No!” Lucas wanted to shout, but his throat was tight.
Grace, humming a carefree song, suddenly slid her foot back in. The giant sole of her foot covered Jacob like a steamroller. Lucas clearly saw the small figure disappear under the weight, crushed against the insole. Then Grace, still humming, began to tap the tip of her shoe energetically on the floor. Tap. Tap. Tap. Each blow echoed in Lucas's skull. He imagined his friend's body being flattened and crushed, pushed deeper into the sticky, smelly rubber.
“GRACE!” Lucas whispered quietly, flicking her on the back. “GRACE... turn around.” He grabbed her arm, tugging.
“Lucas Miller!” The physics teacher's voice cut through the air like a whip. “What's going on here?! Stop tormenting Grace immediately and get out of here! To the principal's office! Now!”
Lucas wanted to protest, to beg, but all he saw in the teacher's eyes was anger and zero tolerance. He was forcibly removed from the classroom, casting one last desperate glance at Grace's shoe, which was still gently swaying to the rhythm of her hummed melody.
The conversation with the principal was a slow-motion nightmare. Accusations of disrupting class, disturbing a classmate, absurd stories. Lucas mumbled about Jacob, about the pill, about the shoe, but he sounded like a madman. The principal looked at him with pity and growing irritation. Minutes turned into hours. When Lucas finally left the office, contrite and broken for show, he rushed to Grace's classroom. It was empty. “Where's Grace?” he asked a bewildered classmate. "PE, I think... But she didn't come back later. Probably skipping school." Lucas's heart raced. Her house. I have to go to her house.
Lucas stood outside Grace's house for a moment, gathering his courage. He knocked. Grace opened the door, looking a little surprised. “Lucas? What's wrong? You look terrible.”
“Grace... we need to talk. It's about... the biology project. Insects. You have to help me,” Lucas slipped inside, his voice trembling. “I heard... you found something in your shoe?”
Grace's face clouded over. “Oh, yes! My favorite sneakers!” she sighed with genuine sadness. "They were so comfortable. And today, when I put them on after gym class... there was something in them. Inside. Some kind of... figurine? A silhouette?“ She shook her head, as if dismissing a silly thought. ”It looked strangely familiar, like... well, like someone from class. But that's impossible, right? People don't shrink like bugs." She laughed softly, nervously. "It must have been just some big, ugly bug. But it made a stain on my new white sock! I gave my shoes to my mom, she always deals with these things. She said she'd take care of it.
Lucas felt the blood drain from his face. “Take care of it? W-Where is the... bug now? Could I... see it? For a project. Rare specimens.”
Grace shrugged. “Mom took the shoes. She said she'd take care of the ‘insect’. It should be inside, I think.” She went to the closet in the hallway and took out the sneakers. Lucas, with his heart in his mouth, looked inside. The interior was warm, permeated with the same, albeit slightly musty, horrible smell. On the white insole, just below where the heel usually rested, there was a large, irregular, brick-red stain. Dried up. Brownish around the edges. Nothing else. No silhouette. No Jacob.
“No... he's not here,” Lucas whispered, his voice breaking.
“Oh,” Grace seemed disappointed. “Well, Mom must have taken him. I told you she'd take care of the problem.” Her tone was light, as if she were talking about repairing a belt.
Lucas leaned against the wall, fighting nausea and growing panic. “Is... is your mom coming back soon? I need... I need to see that bug. It's very important. For the project.”
Grace looked at him strangely, but after a moment she nodded. “Okay. She'll probably be back soon. But this is really weird, Lucas.” She made tea. Lucas sat on the couch, staring into space, hearing only the loud sound of his heart.
After three endless hours, the door opened. The smell of the street, exhaust fumes, and... intense, ripe sweat came in. Monica, Grace's mother, was a woman with hard features and tired eyes. She started complaining from the doorway, taking off her coat.
"God, what a day! My feet hurt like hell. These ballet flats are like a sauna! No more leather shoes on a hot day, my feet sweat so much in them. I'm sweating like a pig. It's so hot!“ Her voice was hoarse, tired, but also firm. She looked at Lucas. ”Oh, Grace's friend? Hi."
Lucas jumped up. He was trembling all over. “Ms. Monica! That... that bug! From Grace's shoe! Where is it? Please, I need to see it!”
Monica stopped, looked at him with slight surprise, and then... smiled. It wasn't a nice smile. It was a grimace full of sinister satisfaction. “The bug? Oh, that little intruder from Grace's sneakers?” She waved her hand. “Relax, boy. There's probably nothing left of the ‘bug’.”
Lucas felt an icy finger touch his spine. “W... what did you do?”
Monica sat down heavily in her chair, sighing with relief as she began to take off her red canvas ballet flats. The smell that emanated from them was different from that of Grace's sneakers. Older, deeper, more animalistic. A sharp, pungent smell of rotten cheese mixed with acid and musty dampness, with a hint of something sweet and repulsive, like spoiled milk. “What did I do? I gave him... a new life,” she replied with ironic sweetness. “I put him in my ballet flats. I wore them all day while shopping.” Taking off the second shoe, she revealed a veiny foot, almost black with sweat and dirt. The skin of her foot looked moist and reddened.
“It was really hot,” "I was walking around the mall, had coffee with a friend, she even drove me home, you understand that her car's air conditioning broke down in the summer? It's awful.... God... I feel like I have my shoes in a swamp," Monica continued, looking straight at Lucas as if she were telling an interesting anecdote. “My feet are like two little volcanoes. And this little one... was restless. It was fidgeting. Especially between my toes.” She made a slight movement with her toes, and Lucas imagined Jacob being crushed in that dark, damp crevice. “I think he even tried to bite. Here, on the sole.” She pointed to the middle of her foot. "But it was itchy there, so it was actually... quite nice. The poor thing must have been suffocating, because my feet were as hot as an oven, but I don't feel sorry for him, that's life for bugs, right? They die in strange places." She smiled again, and there was no trace of compassion in her eyes, only a dark, perverse joy in telling the story. “But after about an hour... silence. I couldn't feel anything anymore. He must have gotten tired. Or suffocated. In shoes like that, it's no wonder.” She shrugged her shoulders as if she were saying something completely ordinary.
Lucas felt like he was about to vomit. “Please... please show it to me. It's for a project. I have to... I have to describe it. For a grade.”
Monica looked at him for a moment, her gaze impenetrable. Then she shrugged. “All right, biologist. Take a look.” Without hesitation, without a trace of embarrassment, she reached for the ballet shoe lying on the floor. It was still warm, almost hot. She picked it up and handed it to Lucas. “Just be careful, it stinks like hell. All day in hell.”
Lucas, in a reflex he later regretted, picked up the shoe. The heat penetrated the material, burning his hands. But it wasn't the heat that was the worst part. It was the smell. A powerful, physical wave that hit him in the face as soon as he brought the shoe closer. Rotten cheese, vinegar, stale sweat, old leather—all concentrated, intensified by hours of confinement. It was the smell of decay, the smell of entrails. Lucas choked, tears welling up in his eyes. He hesitated, but he had to know. Overcoming his gag reflex, he looked inside.
The heat hit his face like an open oven. The air was thick, saturated with that horrible smell. The interior was even more terrifying than Grace's sneakers. The insole, theoretically light in color, was a uniform, dark brown, sticky mass soaked in sweat, grease, and dead skin. The walls were damp, covered with a greasy film. And then, in the back, just below where Monica's instep would normally be, Lucas saw something. Something small, dark, flat. Stuck to the insole. He leaned over, holding his breath. It was a body. Jacob's body. But it was no longer a human body. It was a macabre bas-relief.
It was completely flattened, as if run over by a steamroller. The bones must have been crushed to dust. The skin, where visible, was purple-black and cracked. The face was unrecognizable—only the outline of swollen eyelids and a blue, gaping jaw in an eternal, silent scream. His eyes had popped out of their sockets; he had no eyes at all. Probably there was so much pressure in the shoe when Monica walked or stomped her foot in it that Jacob's eyes exploded at some point. It must have been excruciating pain, especially when you constantly smell the horrible sour smell of a mature woman's feet. A large, dark red, dried bloodstain mixed with greasy sweat spread around him. There was no doubt about it. Jacob had been crushed, roasted, and sucked into that shoe. By Monica's foot.
Lucas jumped back. He stood there, panting heavily, looking at the tiny piece of human remains stuck in the abyss of stinking rubber.
Monica watched him with cold curiosity. “Well? Satisfied, biologist? A big specimen?” Her tone was indifferent, almost mocking.
Lucas couldn't get a word out. He just nodded spasmodically.
Monica sighed. “All right, then.” She walked over, picked up the ballet flat. Without any fuss, without any sign of disgust, she slipped her foot back inside. The damp, dirty foot disappeared into the depths, once again crushing the place where Lucas's remains lay. Then she adjusted the fabric with her toes and tapped the shoe on the floor a few times until it lay perfectly. "Well, see you later, Lucas. Take care. I hope my shoe helped you improve your grade." She turned and walked deeper into the house, her ballet flats tapping quietly on the floor, her sweaty feet rubbing against the leather of her shoes, carrying with them the microscopic remains of her friend Lucas.
from DeviantArt: Popular https://ift.tt/xfOFjQM
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