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[Story] Trick or Grow (Halloween Stories 1/7)
🕑 Added 2024-10-29 04:33:01 +0000 UTCHi Hi ✨
Today's spooky story features a mom who finds herself growing bigger and bigger! 👻 For T3 and T4 supporters, you'll find some extra images for this one in your folders.
And exciting news! Starting today, I'll be posting a halloween themed story every day (on top of our regular content) of this week! I have 3 stories ready, but I need more ideas - so if you have any spooky size stories in mind, drop them in the comments or send me a message!
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Trick or Grow
"Fred! Can you come help me with the trick-or-treaters?" Cindy called out from the bottom of the stairs, adjusting her white witch hat as she peered up towards her son's room.
The only response was the muffled sound of gunfire and explosions from his video games, punctuated by his voice talking to his online friends through his headset.
Cindy sighed and climbed the stairs, her witch costume rustling with each step. The black dress with its flowing sleeves swished against her legs, the belt cinching it at her waist. The plastic shopping bags full of candy crinkled as she made her way to Fred's door. She knocked firmly.
"Fred, I know you can hear me!"
"Busy, mom! In the middle of a match!" came the irritated response.
Cindy pushed open the door, finding her 17-year-old son hunched in his gaming chair, headset firmly in place, fingers flying over his keyboard. At 5'10", he towered over her 5'4" frame, something he never failed to lord over her when they argued.
"It's Halloween, Fred. I bought all this candy, and I could really use your help giving it out. It would be good for you to participate in the community a bit, you know? Help you grow as a person."
Fred didn't even look away from his screen. "Mom, I'm literally in the middle of a tournament with my friends. We've been planning this for weeks. I can't just quit."
"You spend all your time in here gaming. Would it kill you to help out for one night?"
"Yes, actually, it would," Fred said with teenage certainty. "Look, you bought the candy, you give it out. I'm busy."
Cindy stood there for a moment, studying her son's profile illuminated by his RGB keyboard and multiple monitors. When had he become so dismissive of her? She remembered when he used to get excited about Halloween, helping her decorate the house and pick out candy.
"Fine," she said finally. "I'll do it myself. But you're missing out on more than you realize."
"Whatever," Fred muttered, already focused back on his game. "Guys, sorry about that. My mom was trying to make me hand out candy like I'm still ten or something..."
Cindy closed the door perhaps a bit harder than necessary and headed back downstairs. She adjusted her costume - smoothing down the black dress, checking that her stockings weren't bunching up at the ankles - and grabbed one of the bags of candy just as the doorbell rang.
"Here we go," she muttered, plastering on a smile as she opened the door to find a group of young trick-or-treaters.
"Trick or treat!" they chorused.
As Cindy dropped candy into each of their bags, she felt an odd tingling sensation throughout her body. She brushed it off as a shiver from the cool night air. But after she closed the door, she noticed her dress felt ever so slightly tighter around her shoulders and chest.
She glanced down at herself, then up at the hall mirror. Was she standing straighter? Her arms looked... different somehow. More defined. And was she imagining it, or was she seeing the world from just a tiny bit higher up?
The doorbell rang again before she could ponder it further. As she reached for more candy, she could have sworn her dress was definitely feeling snugger than when she'd first put it on.
Several groups of trick-or-treaters later, Cindy found herself tugging at her stockings uncomfortably. They felt increasingly tight around her calves, which seemed to be growing more defined by the minute. The sleeves of her dress were also beginning to feel constrictive around her arms.
"Trick or treat!" called out a group of superheroes - three small boys dressed as Spider-Man, Iron Man, and Thor.
"My, what brave heroes we have here," Cindy said, reaching down to offer the candy bowl. She didn't register that she was having to bend down further than usual.
The boy in the Iron Man costume tilted his head. "You're a really tall witch," he observed innocently.
"Kevin!" his mother scolded from behind him. "But... he's not wrong, Cindy. Have you been hitting the gym? You look different."
Cindy laughed it off. "Oh, just the magic of Halloween," she joked, noticing her sleeves riding up her arms slightly. After closing the door, she made a decision and removed the increasingly uncomfortable stockings, which had begun to run from the strain of her expanding legs.
More trick-or-treaters came and went. A teenage girl dressed as Wednesday Addams did a double-take. "Cool costume! The built-in muscle padding looks so realistic."
"Muscle padding?" Cindy murmured to herself after closing the door. She glanced at the hall mirror and froze. The dress now strained across her shoulders, which had definitely broadened. Her arms, still confined by the sleeves, showed visible muscle definition. With a slight grunt of effort, she tore off the constricting sleeves entirely, freeing her increasingly muscular arms.
The doorbell rang again before she could process this. This time it was a father with his young daughter.
"Trick or treat!" the little girl chirped, then gaped up at Cindy. "Daddy, look! She's even taller than you!"
The father, who couldn't have been shorter than 6'2", had to tilt his head back significantly to meet Cindy's eyes, as she now stood nearly a foot taller than him. He seemed startled. "That's quite a... presence you've got there. Must be some costume."
Cindy felt her face flush as she handed out the candy. She was definitely looking down at people now, her perspective shifting higher with each group of trick-or-treaters.
Two mothers she knew from the neighborhood came by with their kids shortly after.
"Cindy? Is that you?" Sarah asked, craning her neck to look up at her. "Good lord, what's your secret? You look like you could bench press my car!"
"Have you been working out with those new supplements everyone's talking about?" Lisa chimed in, openly staring at Cindy's increasingly athletic frame.
"Just... trying to stay active," Cindy managed, suddenly very aware of how her dress strained against her expanding muscles. The belt around her waist groaned under the pressure of her widening back and thickening waist.
As the night wore on, the changes became harder to ignore. Her witch hat kept sliding back as she grew taller. The dress that had once fallen to her knees now rode up several inches above them, her muscular thighs threatening to split the seams.
"Look, mom, it's the Hulk's sister!" one child exclaimed, earning an embarrassed "Thomas!" from his mother.
A group of teenage boys did a comedic triple-take as she handed out candy. "Whoa," one whispered to his friends. "That's the most committed She-Hulk costume I've ever seen."
Then came the moment she could no longer deny something strange was happening. Heading to answer another ring of the doorbell, she walked straight into the top of the doorframe with a solid thunk.
"Ow!" she yelped, stumbling back. She stared at the doorframe in disbelief. She'd never had to duck to go through doors before. Just how tall had she become?
The last few trick-or-treaters of the night found themselves greeted by an amazonian witch who had to bend nearly double to offer them candy. Her dress, now more like a mini-dress, strained to contain her muscular frame. Only her white witch hat remained unchanged, perched somewhat comically on top of her head.
After the flow of children finally stopped, Cindy collapsed onto the living room couch, her now massive frame making the furniture creak ominously. The belt of her dress had long since given up, and the black fabric clung to her enhanced physique like a second skin. Exhaustion washed over her like a wave.
"Just a quick nap," she mumbled, having to curl up significantly just to fit on the couch. Her feet dangled well over the armrest.
She dozed off almost immediately, but a few hours later, her eyes snapped open to the sound of her stomach growling ferociously. The hunger was unlike anything she'd ever experienced - a deep, primal need for sustenance.
Cindy lumbered to her feet, ducking low to avoid the ceiling. The house felt like a dollhouse now, everything too small, too delicate. She made her way to the kitchen, having to turn sideways to fit through the doorway, her shoulders nearly as wide as the frame.
She yanked open the fridge door, the handle feeling like a tiny toy in her massive hand. Her eyes locked onto yesterday's roast chicken. Without even bothering to heat it up, she grabbed the entire bird and began devouring it, her enhanced frame demanding protein.
The sound of a door opening upstairs made her pause mid-bite. Shuffling footsteps and a sleepy yawn told her Fred had finally finished his gaming marathon.
"Man, I'm starving," she heard him mutter as he started down the stairs. "Hope mom left some of that chicken..."
Fred rounded the corner into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes groggily. He was still wearing his gaming headset around his neck, his hair mussed from hours of wear. When he looked up, his jaw dropped.
There, hunched over to avoid the ceiling, stood his mother. She had to be over eight feet tall, her massive frame dominating the kitchen. Her witch costume, now little more than a very short, very tight black dress and a precariously perched white hat, barely contained her muscular physique. In one giant hand, she held what remained of the chicken, caught in mid-bite like a guilty teenager.
"M-mom?" Fred squeaked, suddenly feeling very small as he stared up... and up... at his transformed mother. His 5'10" frame, which had once towered over her, now seemed positively tiny in comparison.
Cindy slowly lowered the chicken, a mix of embarrassment and amusement crossing her face as she looked down at her dumbfounded son. "Oh... hi, Fred. Done gaming?"
"I... you... what..." Fred stammered, still frozen in the kitchen doorway. His mother's head nearly brushed the ceiling even while hunching, her broad shoulders blocking most of the dim light from the fridge.
"Close your mouth, dear. You'll catch flies," Cindy said casually, popping the last piece of chicken into her mouth. She straightened up slightly, making the ceiling light fixture wobble. "Could you grab me the leftover lasagna? I'm still starving."
Fred didn't move, his eyes fixed on his mother's massive frame. Every slight movement caused her muscles to ripple under what remained of her costume.
"Today, Fred," she said, flexing her arm as she reached past him to open a cabinet, her bicep swelling to the size of his head. The cabinet handle snapped off in her hand. "Oops."
"H-how did this..." Fred started, then jumped as his mother's enormous hand landed on his shoulder, easily spinning him around and guiding him towards the fridge.
"Remember what I said about growing as a person?" Cindy chuckled, her voice resonating from high above. She reached over his head effortlessly, grabbing the lasagna container herself when Fred continued to stand there gawking. "Well, seems like I did all the growing for both of us."
The kitchen felt impossibly cramped with her new size. Fred found himself pressed against the counter as his mother's vast frame moved past him. The counter that had once been at his mother's chest level now sat at her mid-thigh.
"By the way," Cindy said between bites of cold lasagna, "since you were too busy to help tonight, you'll be delivering the leftover candy to the community centre tomorrow."
It wasn't a request.
"But mom, I have another tournament tomorrow-"
Cindy set down the empty container and crossed her arms, her muscles bulging impressively. She took a step forward, forcing Fred to crane his neck back to maintain eye contact. "I'm sorry, what was that?"
Fred swallowed hard, suddenly very aware of just how small he felt. His mother, who he'd been dismissing all evening, now literally overshadowed him. "I... I mean... what time does the community centre close?"
"That's what I thought," Cindy smirked, patting his head like a small child - which, from her new perspective, he practically was. "They close at 5. Don't be late."
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