Check Out (2024)

The hotel room was a chaotic mix of half-unpacked bags, the TV blaring some forgettable music, and the lingering musk of sweat and exhaustion. After a grueling day of hauling furniture and lugging heavy boxes, Walden had finally earned himself a long, scalding shower. He owed Matt big time for helping him with the move—his best friend had dropped everything to make the trip, and tonight was supposed to be a celebration before Matt headed home.

The hot water pounded over his broad, sweat-slicked frame, washing away the grime of the day. Steam coiled around him, thick and stifling, as he exhaled a deep, satisfied sigh. His shoulders rolled under the heat, tension slowly unraveling. A rare moment of peace.

Meanwhile, in the other room, his friend—his now tiny friend—was living an entirely different nightmare.

It happened in a blink. One second, Matt was sprawled on the bed, mindlessly scrolling through his phone. The next, nausea hit like a punch to the gut. His vision swam, skin clammy, and then—vertigo. The world didn’t just shift; it exploded outward. He staggered, but the attempt to stand was a mistake. The sensation of falling came swift and brutal, and the impact was even worse.

He hit the coarse carpet like a bug.

The shock stole his breath. Disoriented, his heart slammed against his ribs as he forced himself onto his hands and knees. The fibres of the carpet towered like tangled underbrush, a suffocating forest of synthetic strands.

Panic clawed up his throat.

“Oh, my God! WALDEN!!” Matt’s scream tore from his throat, raw with panic, but the sheer vastness of the room devoured his voice. The bed loomed high above, a monolithic shadow against the dim light, and the carpet—once soft and forgettable—was now an impassable terrain, each fiber rising past his ankles like a suffocating jungle. Every step was a battle, but his real nightmare was only beginning.

The bathroom door groaned open.

The ground trembled.

Steam billowed into the room as Walden stepped out, clad only in loose pajama pants, his broad chest bare and glistening from the heat of the shower. Each footfall sent quakes rippling through the earth, every casual shift of his weight sending unseen shockwaves through the minuscule world below.

“MATT…?”

His name rolled through the air, deafening. The sheer power of Walden’s voice rattled Matt’s bones, forcing him to clamp his hands over his ears.

This was life or death.

If he didn’t get Walden’s attention—if he stayed down here, unseen, unnoticed—this would end in disaster.

He sprinted forward, arms flailing, screaming with everything he had. But Walden was tired, his mind already halfway to sleep. His focus was on the bed, on his phone, on unwinding after an exhausting day.

He didn’t see the speck at his feet.

The tiny man gasped, his throat burning with the effort of a scream too small to be heard. His arms trembled as he staggered backward, his body frozen in the sheer terror of what loomed above him. Walden’s massive foot, calloused and damp from the residual heat of his shower, hovered in the air, blocking out the dim light of the hotel room. The giant above him was completely unaware, his gaze absent, lost in thought as he took a casual step forward.

Matt tried to run. He truly did. His legs pumped, his tiny feet scrambled against the rough fibres of the carpet, but it was useless. The surface beneath him was like a dense jungle, trapping him in place. Each individual strand of carpet rose around him like thick ropes, snaring his movement, slowing him down. The humid air, still clinging with traces of steam, made his tiny body slick with sweat, his breaths ragged and fast.

And then—there was no time left.

The foot came down.

A wall of flesh, warm and rippling with unfathomable power, crashed against him, sending his body sprawling into the carpet. He barely managed a strangled cry before he was pressed flat, the heavy weight of Walden’s sole smothering him effortlessly. Heat. Pressure. The overpowering, musky scent of clean but well-worn skin. His tiny fingers clawed uselessly at the vast, unyielding expanse of his friend’s foot, feeling the dampness, the give of the soft sole before everything multiplied—harder, heavier, tighter.

The pain was immediate, all-consuming. His ribs gave in first, a sickening pop lost in the dense fabric beneath him. His spine followed, folding unnaturally as his body compressed beneath the massive, uncaring weight. His vision darkened as his skull—his entire existence—was consumed by that crushing, indifferent pressure.

And then—

Nothing.

A faint, barely perceptible crunch, no different than the subtle creak of the floor beneath Walden’s shifting stance. A shift of weight, the smallest roll of a heel.

Walden didn’t even pause.

He felt nothing.

The tiny body, insignificant as it was, was completely absorbed by the soft flesh of his foot, compacted into the fibres of the carpet with an unconscious step. There was no sensation, no reason for him to even glance down. Just another footfall, another stride toward the bed.

He sat heavily onto the mattress, rubbing the towel through his damp hair, his muscles still aching from the move. His phone buzzed, and he frowned, opening his messaging app.

Hey, where’d you go? he typed, confused that his friend wasn’t still in the room. Maybe he’d gone out for snacks?

He stretched, flexing his toes absently in the open air, feeling nothing unusual.

His tiny friend, reduced to nothing but a faint smear against his sole, was gone. And Walden was none the wiser.

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Huge thank you to former coiledfist member Tinymannn for the edit of this photo.