Patron Exclusive – The Department of Magical Corrections

There’s a new suggested story up for patrons to enjoy, based off some suggestions I received in the box and on discord from the last month. This one is a bit supersized, but it was a lot of fun to write–I might end up toying with a longer version of it at some point, but we’ll see. Here’s a sample for everyone who isn’t a patron–if you want to read the whole thing, you can find it here.


“Now serving number 351.”

Aiden looked down at the ticket in his hand–367–getting closer at least, this place was worse than the damn DMV. He heaved a sigh and adjusted himself on the squeaky metal chair he’d perched himself on in the waiting room. The temp in here wasn’t that hot, but he was still sweating all over, as was the norm for him now, and he adjusted some of the rolls of fat hanging off him, trying to get comfortable, but the fact was, he hadn’t been comfortable once in weeks now, ever since Jerry had cast that dang spell on him.

Jerry, having been born with no real affinity for magic what-so-ever, and no friends or family with much talent aside from a minor prestidigitation or two had never really given it much thought. Then, after college, he’d moved states for a new job, and ended up living in an apartment complex next to Damon. Damon and Jerry had hit it off, and Damon had taken to boasting about his magical ability, showing off a few spells around his place, and that was when Jerry’s wheels had starter turning.

See, Jerry had never been very happy with his body. He was rail thin and tall, and had never been able to put on much muscle. Damon, one night, talked about how he’d taken a course in transformation magic in school and aced it, showing up for the final as a buff muscle stud, and so Jerry had asked him to cast it on him. Damon had balked, and made some excuses at first–that it wasn’t exactly illegal but highly frowned upon, and that it had only been one course. Jerry had pressed the issue though, and offered him a good chunk of cash, and so Damon had relented–but the spell hadn’t quite gone as Jerry had hoped.

“Now serving number 356.”

He’d gotten bigger sure–but all of it had been fat, and there had been some other unfortunate side effects to go with it. He was so hairy now that he couldn’t even see his skin in the places where it was most thick–across his chest, down his back and in his ass crack. His beard and hair would grow almost an inch a day, forcing him to shear them off nightly, and by morning he’d have a solid bread again no matter what he did. He’d freaked out, of course, and Damon had promised to fix him, but it would take a couple of days to figure out. So Jerry was resigned to wait–until two days later, when some guys had knocked on Damon’s door and arrested him for using magic without a licence! He’d never even gone to school for any of it, apparently–he was a fraud. Jerry had followed after them, huffing and wheezing, knees aching under almost 400 pounds of flab, and asked the wizards arresting him what to do. All they’d done at first was laugh at him, Jerry dressed in some tight boxers since none of his clothes fit him, and nothing he’d ordered had shown up yet, standing in the apartment parking lot looking like a hairy beach ball. In the end, they’d told him it would probably wear off in a few weeks–but if it didn’t, he’d have to come here, to the department of magical corrections, where bad spells got sorted out by professionals.

“Now serving number 363.”

He scratched his hairy pit again, and tried to reposition himself on the metal chair. The clothes he’d bought online had ended up still being too small for him, but he’d refused to buy more, since he’d held out hope he’d be back to normal soon enough. But he hadn’t gone back to normal. He’d begged off work for a week, telling the office he was sick, but was too ashamed to tell them what was really happening. A coworker had come by to check on him, found him there, looking like a hairy, fat stranger, and freaked out–he’d gotten a call from his boss the next day that he was fired. So now he was also unemployed. Walking anywhere was exhausting, sweaty, and hurt his knees and back–and the stares. He hated the way people stared at him the most, like he was some sort of freak. The hunger too–he was hungry all the time, and while he tried to resist it the best he could, he was eating more these days than a small family–he’d weighed himself the other day and discovered he was even fatter. It wasn’t going away on its own–and so, he was here. Waiting, and hoping, someone would fix him.

“Now serving number 367.”

That was him. Jerry hauled his ass up and went to see if someone could get him out of this mess.


Want to read the whole story? Support my writing and become a patron today. You’ll get access to this story, and many, many more over the last few years, along with other exclusive content.

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