Your heart races as you see Ashley's skin deflate, but you feel a chilling sensation behind your back. You spin around, noticing no one - yet, the sunlight is still strong, and while you observe most of Ashley's neighbors have their curtains closed tight, you're never sure if Mr. Ferrell is looking. Maybe he was, and is hiding?
Better to check up inside, you reckon, and catch the keys that "Ashley" was fumbling with. You try them one by one until the door opens (fifth try; lucky you!) and take the deflated skin inside while keeping a good view of your surroundings. You're not exactly a weightlifter, but you're not a noodly teen either, and yet you had to take a good breath and put your abdomen to work.
As you close the door and move towards one of the bedrooms - arguably Ashley's - you study the mass before you. Ashley Wright lies deflated, her mouth gaping open in an unnatural way, her eye sockets wide open as if someone had carved out the eyelids. Yet, you notice - as you grab her face - that something seems to scurry down from within, and you drop it in shock. Grabbing it again (this time from her armpits), you notice the lower body is now heavier, with her belly bulking up a bit. Her breasts are still soft and firm, however, if drooping down - and inwards, from what you can see.
As you turn it back, you notice a line running from the top of her neck all the way to the crack between her round butt cheeks. Your stomach churls as you notice the skin seems perfectly ripped open, yet glued with the thinnest film of adhesive keeping it bound. And you notice because, as you run your finger through it, the film seems to disappear, leaving a hole and a sticky, slimy feel on your fingertip.
There, you notice why Ashley's skin was so heavy. There's another, owing by the unkempt bundle of hair sprouting from it, already peppered with gray streaks. You pull it out, drawing something you half-expected - the body of the man leering at her, the one who used the same pen you just used and threatened to take over her life.
Ashley's perfume was suddenly overwhelmed by the rank musk coming from within, emanating from the fully naked skin of the creep, deflated but for its shriveled balls and as lifeless as Ashley's skin was. You peel it off completely from her skin, then drop it on the floor before moving in to wash your hands on her bathroom.
You're still wary that someone followed you, so you keep the door open, looking if anyone got in. To your fortune, the coast is clear, and once you're finished, you step away and lock the bedroom door in precaution.
Despite being your neighbor, you really don't know much about Ashley. She lives a couple houses on the block opposite yours - a ten-minute walk if it weren't because the creep took so long to wear her (the pervert...!), then dress up as her. (You even had to draw your phone and feign you were looking at it, just to avoid Claire asking you - then again, whatever she was talking took most of her time.) You know she moved about a year and a half ago - a couple months after Mrs. Gertrude's children moved her away after her husband died and her dementia grew even worse, and rented the house away.
As you check her purse, you notice she lacks a driver's license, having only a state ID, but she also has a card from the same place your dad works. You're unsure if they've met; her card says "secretary" and your dad works at HR, but she could be anyone's secretary. A couple cards - one debit, one credit - and some loose cash leads you to think she lives a pretty good life, if not the latest-model iPhone she carries. (Again, it's a mystery how someone who can afford an iPhone can't afford a car of her own.)
You wonder what that creep had for her. He claimed he'd live her life, owing to some event that apparently ruined her life. You check her ID, figuring it was twelve to fifteen years ago; you were a kid, most likely in preschool, so you barely heard about it. The guy's face isn't familiar, and you don't recall hearing about a sex offender near you (or else, you'd hear your Mom warning Tina and Claire about it), so you figure he must be from outside.
He's not just a creep. He's a stalker - and though his attention was focused on her, he could've shifted his attention easily to someone else. Tina, maybe, given her looks. Or maybe your mom. Or... what if he put his grubby mitts on Jessica?
You kick the guy's deflated skin in anger, recoiling from disgust. What kind of creep spends his entire life plotting to take over the life of a woman?
And yet, the answer slowly flows through you, as you see the beauty on the bed, back towards you, her breasts pushed inward, inviting you to fill her in. You're not too sold on the short hair, but thinking about her curves stirs your own genitals awake. You know, for a fact, that if you slide in, there will be nothing that suggests you're David Anderson.
You were bored to death at your house, and you asked your mom if she didn't mind you spent time with your friends, so you have an excuse. (As long as you remember to call Trish or Jimmy and ask them to cover you up; all you need is another excuse so they don't bother you up.) You could spend a couple hours as Ashley, playing as her.
But what then? You suspect pointing the pen at her deflated skin may bring her back - it's the only idea that runs through your mind - but what if it doesn't work? What if this is a one-time event, and now Ashley's gone and there's no one to replace her? The creep is also deflated, so you can't blame him - or maybe you can, and claim that you were trying to help Ashley (which isn't entirely false), but then there'd be the question of what you're doing with the pen.
And then there's the matter of disposing of the guy. In case he wakes up.
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