After throwing so much liquid of dubious quality out of his body, Chinko noticed that his torso shriveled significantly. It was now less than one-fifth of its original length and was completely covered in flaps of loose skin that warped him like a soft, warm blanket.

He felt safe inside it, and thought to himself:

“I want for just a Moment here linger, it so fair is!”

However, the darkness of the corridor called to him, and so, he reluctantly moved forward.

After all, he was not yet at the point where he’d be so resigned as to truly cease all struggle, and be dragged by some devil to that peaceful and unchanging hell of despair.

Moreover, he noticed that in his new form he can move much faster. His body shrunk not just in volume, but also in mass.

Thus he was no longer crawling, but sprinting on all fours along the length of a corridor he wasn’t so sure he recognized.

“Since when gives it so many Doors along the Walls? And what is with these Paintings?”

Indeed, there were countless Baroque-esque pictures hanging to his left, to his right, and even on the ceiling. They were cast in expensive silver and golden framed, and portrayed middle-aged men and women adorned in the most ridiculous clothes that the 16th century had ever produced.

Their eyes were dark, so dark, and there seemed to be some black lines extending from their pupils, and running down their cheeks. Were they tears? Were they cracks?

And why were they moving?

To these questions, he had no answer. He also didn’t quite understand how was he able to see what exactly was painted on them with such clarity, while everything else was shrouded by a mysterious fog, that reminded him of old TV static.

He looked back at the door of his room, and his heart skipped a beat—they were now gone, obstructed by even more white noise.

“Now it is settled. It is a Dream.”

If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

This realization gave him some much-needed confidence, and not thinking anymore about what he left behind, he continued his journey.

Finally, after a lengthy voyage, he reached what seemed to be the end of the tunnel. A split second of relief was quickly replaced by dread—for he was now on top of a steep Victorian staircase, the same kind that killed so many careless maids and butlers in the age that ended long before he was born.

Chinko always had fear of heights, and no amount of therapy or medication was able to fix it.

And now, unable to even stand upright like a proper human should, he was somehow supposed to go down this dreadful flight?

“What for a Joke! When I just down look, makes me dizzy!”

Yet, there didn’t seem to be any other way to proceed but to take that risk.

All the doors positioned along the corridor were locked, and he didn’t quite look forward to another session of headbanging. He was afraid that if he continued needlessly vomiting, he would keep shrinking until his body was no more.

Besides, there was no one left to open them for him anyway.

And thus, he decided to put his life on the line, and go down the killer stairs.

Walking backwards, slowly but steadily, he descended step by step. Just as it appeared that everything would go smoothly, his foot slipped, and he rolled all the way down to the bottom.

The pain was real. This was, after all, not a Dream.

“Shite! Why is my Body so slimy!?”

While his chest and head were covered in loose flaps of rather rough and dry skin-like fabric, his rather sizeable abdomen was a different beast altogether. Its skin was unnaturally smooth, and it was additionally covered in some kind of sticky, liquid-like substance of unknown consistency and origin.

It was disgusting. And it was the reason why he slipped and experienced so much pain now.

Thus, in a fit of rage, he tried to wipe it off, caressing, stroking, and scratching his lower half. Alas, it was a pointless endeavor. No matter how hard he tried, as soon as he took but a short rest, the fluid returned, and he had to start his pointless struggle anew.

"It is, as if I Sisyphus am!"

Soon, to his terror, he realized that it was actually some kind of lubricant, produced by his own body.

“Mine God, what for terrible Creature I became have!”

He wanted to cry, but he had no eyes.