Turned Upside Down

Chapter 2

Evan woke the next morning feeling groggy, his thoughts hazy and disjointed. For a few seconds, he lay in bed staring at the ceiling, his mind slow to shake off the remnants of sleep. The memory of the previous night drifted in like the vague recollection of a strange dream. Images flickered in his mind—towering furniture, the cold, vast expanse of his living room floor stretching before him like a desert. He blinked, sat up, and shook his head. It didn't make sense; surely, he thought, it was a bad dream. Nothing like that could really happen. People didn't just... shrink.

Dismissing the memory as a product of stress, Evan got ready for work. He followed his normal routine, making coffee, showering, throwing on his work clothes and heading out the door. The city streets buzzed with the usual weekday energy, cars honking, people weaving through traffic and the crowded sidewalk as he walked to the office, each echoing sound and familiar sight steadying him, grounding him in the normalcy he craved.

The workday blurred by in a stream of emails, meetings, and quiet moments where he could barely remember that surreal night. But every now and then, he'd glance down at his hands, flexing his fingers, half-expecting to feel them start tingling. He'd laugh at himself in those moments, feeling foolish. It was just a weird nightmare, he reminded himself.

As the afternoon wore on, he felt something tugging at the edges of his awareness, an unsettled feeling he couldn't quite shake. There was a subtle pressure in his chest, a tightness that he'd only ever felt before in moments of extreme anxiety. It wasn't painful, but it was... odd, unfamiliar, like a weight just below his sternum. Occasionally, warmth would bloom there, spreading through his ribs and down his arms. He'd shake out his hands, trying to ignore the faint, persistent feeling of restlessness building inside him.

Finally, the workday ended, and Evan left the office with a sense of relief. It was Friday, and he was eager to see his friends, hoping their company would pull him out of his strange, uneasy headspace. They'd planned to meet at the usual spot, a dive bar tucked down a narrow side street, always crowded with regulars and buzzing with an easy, comfortable energy.

He arrived early, scanning the dimly lit bar for his friends. The familiar surroundings helped ground him a bit more, and he ordered a beer, sitting at their usual corner booth. A few minutes later, Jake and Sarah slid into the booth beside him, laughing as they teased him about bailing on drinks the night before.

"You missed a wild night," Jake said, clinking his beer against Evan's. "You wouldn't believe the stories."

"Yeah, like every Thursday night with you guys," Evan laughed, trying to push away the lingering sense of unease as he took a sip.

They fell into easy conversation, talking about everything from work to their plans for the weekend. Evan felt himself relaxing, settling back into the comfort of friendship. But every now and then, a wave of warmth surged in his chest, making him squirm a little in his seat. It wasn't as intense as last night, just a dull, uncomfortable sensation that felt out of place, creeping into the edges of his focus.

"Hey, are you okay?" Sarah asked, giving him a sidelong glance. "You look kind of... distracted."

"Oh, yeah, I'm fine," Evan replied quickly, shaking his head as if to clear away the strange feeling. "Just, you know... long day at work."

She nodded, but he could tell she was still watching him, her brows furrowed slightly. Jake, oblivious, continued telling a story, waving his hands animatedly as he described a mishap at work, and Evan forced a laugh, trying to join in.

But then, in the middle of Jake's story, the warmth in his chest pulsed sharply, like a tiny explosion of heat. He stopped mid-laugh, instinctively pressing a hand to his chest. The sensation wasn't painful exactly, but it was powerful enough to take his breath away for a moment. His fingers felt cold, a sharp contrast to the warmth spreading through his chest. He took a shallow breath, hoping it would pass.

"Evan?" Sarah's voice cut through the hum of the bar, her tone sharper now, concerned.

"Uh... yeah, I'm good," he managed, forcing a tight smile. "Just...It's probably just heartburn."

Jake chuckled, shrugging it off, but Sarah kept watching him, her eyes narrowing slightly.

Evan did his best to push through, keeping his smile fixed as the strange feeling slowly faded. He tried to convince himself that it was just some lingering anxiety from work or maybe a side effect of the stressful week. But every now and then, his thoughts would slip back to that moment in his apartment, to the terror he'd felt as he looked up at his couch towering above him. He could almost feel the carpeted floor beneath his tiny feet, the disorienting vastness of his own apartment.

After only a few minutes, the sensation faded into the background, leaving a dull, lingering ache in his chest. He joined in his friends' banter, laughing along, though part of him felt distant, his mind wandering back to the previous night.

As the night wound down and they said their goodbyes, Evan couldn't shake the feeling that he was walking on a knife's edge. He knew it was irrational—he'd gone the whole day without anything bizarre happening, and his size had stayed perfectly stable. But the memory of that strange, shrinking experience haunted him, lurking at the edge of his thoughts like a shadow he couldn't fully shake.

Evan made his way back home, feeling both exhausted and restless, the strange tightness returning in faint pulses as he climbed the stairs to his apartment. He unlocked the door and stepped inside, immediately hit by the silence of the room, a contrast to the lively noise of the bar.

He sank onto his couch, staring at the empty apartment around him. The quiet seemed oppressive, almost suffocating, as if the walls themselves were pressing in on him. He took a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves, telling himself once again that it was just a bad dream, a one-time thing.

But deep down, he knew something was wrong. He could feel it, an inexplicable certainty gnawing at the edges of his mind.