Story #85: Hush Little Baby (Part 2)

Story #85: Hush Little Baby (Part 2) (A sequel to 'Story #61: Hush Little Baby') (Content Tags: Mental regression, adult looks like a toddler, abduction, attempted escape, messy diaper, bleak ending) The days flew by, but I remained a prisoner in my own body; a prisoner in my own mind. There was no way of discerning just how long had passed in the time that I've become her captive, and time was getting shorter to where I'd have any ability to count the days at all. She kept me here, jailed inside the home that she'd chosen for us; I hadn't been outside these walls, except into the backyard, since my arrival. My theory was that she didn't want to risk me causing any problems, at least until she could guarantee that I wouldn't be a liability to her. Would it matter even if I was? How much attention would the average passersby pay to a 'toddler' causing a scene? Who would readily believe that I was actually a grown adult who was being kept against his will? To anyone who saw me, especially in the outfits that she liked to dress me in, I would be nothing more than a cranky baby with an overactive imagination. She may also fear that I would run, which to be fair, was absolutely true. If the opportunity was to arise, then I'd toddle as fast as these Huggies would let me, and I wouldn't stop until I was far away from her. From what I could gather, her continued brainwashing of me was to eliminate either of those little problems. She yearned to transform me completely, to where I may as well have never been an adult in the first place. As much as I didn't want to admit it, she was succeeding. Whatever control I'd once had over my bladder or bowels was long gone, and my motor skills were faltering too. I spent so much time either immobilized in the crib and bouncer, or hindered by the plush mittens and booties that she'd put me in. Without the rigorous activity of grown life, my already puny muscles were atrophying and my tummy had gotten pudgy. Verbal skills were slipping too, both inside and out. I had a pacifier in my mouth most of the time, and nobody but my stuffed animals to talk to; even my inner monologue had begun to degrade into a more childish vocabulary. And it was all tied together by that damned music box, and the tune that it would play. She had me well trained by it, and any time that I heard that song, my resistance would melt completely. It made my situation feel impossible to take control of, and it made me fear for the inevitability that I would eventually be too broken to even remember everything that she'd taken from me. I needed to escape, and it needed to happen soon, while I still had the wherewithal to know how messed up things were. My planning started weeks before my attempt. The first hurdle to climb was the most dangerous to my escape: overcoming the music box. Whenever she left to run errands, she would play the music box before she went, to keep me pacified while she was gone. It'd be like she was here one moment, and then the next moment I would remember would be hours later, after she had returned and begun to attend to my heavily soiled Pampers. There wouldn't be any escape if I went all baby-brained and catatonic. So I needed something to plug my ears. The stuffed animals in my crib looked like the only suitable source of a solution, and so I slowly began to gnaw a hole in one of them. It was harder than I expected, and whenever I was about to get caught, I'd have to act like I was mentally regressed to an orally fixated state of development. Acting actually became a lot more important overall. I needed my captor to believe I was degrading faster than anticipated, so that she'd lower her guard and make mistakes. The more mistakes she made, the easier it might be when it came time to escape. So I played my part; more drool, more baby babble, more dumb laughter. After some dedicated time to chewing open a hole in the stuffed animal, I began to fashion myself some ear plugs out of the fluff within. Now when the time was right, I'd have a defense against the music box, and I'd be free with my mental faculties to facilitate my own escape. The next problem to deal with was getting out of the crib. I'd become so weak since my stay had started, so I couldn't just climb over the bars with my own strength. I needed something that would give me a little extra help. With the resources afforded to me, I decided that I'd need to use my blanket as a rope, with the heaviest stuffed animal in the crib as an anchor to go over the side. None of this would matter if she locked the nursery on her way out. There wasn't any window in the room, and there was no way I had the strength to bust open the door, even before all of this had started. That was the primary mistake I needed her to make, anything beyond that door, and I could wing it. It took a while for her to forget the lock. Weeks passed by, and I had nearly given up hope that it'd happen at all. Every time she left, I initiated the plan to plug my ears, so that the music box wouldn't affect me, and then I'd look at the doorknob to determine if she was locking it on her way out. The day that she forgot, was the day that my attempt would begin. I could hardly believe it when it happened, and after waiting a few minutes for her to actually leave the house, I sprung into action. I tied my blanket to a large plush bear and heaved it over the side of the crib, then with all the strength I could muster, I climbed up over the side and dropped to the floor below. I got up, shakily, and made my way to the door. I had to get on my tippy-toes to get a good handle on the knob, but I was able to grip it and turn it. Now I had access to the rest of the house, but the only part I cared about was the front door. Toddling that way, I took the cotton out of my ears, since I felt at a safe distance from the music box. The front door was locked, and there was no key in sight. I could have spent time looking around for a key, but time was very limited. So I started to look around the living room for something to possibly break a window with instead; that wasn't really the option I wanted to go with, since it would be a lot more dangerous for me, and I couldn't afford any injuries in this escape. I noticed the distinct lack of any landline phones, and the only computer was locked with a password. That'd been my secondary plan, to somehow communicate with the outside world about my capture, but it wasn't looking like a viable option. During my search for something to move forward with, I came across something unexpected. The door to the backyard had a doggy door installed; at first, I thought this was strange, and since I'd only been carried out into the back, I'd never taken notice of it until now. It was likely something that she'd yet to remove since buying the house, and the lazy duct-tape job over it gave credence to that theory. Adaptability was the name of the game; I found some scissors in the nearby study and swiftly headed back to start unobstructing the little exit. Once the duct tape was off, I crawled through the doggy door, my puffy rear wiggling behind me, and found myself on the other side. Alright, so I was in the backyard now. What was the plan? I'd easily already burned twenty minutes to get this far, and I was arguably no closer to escape. I didn't have time to dig an escape, and the fence would be too tall for me to scale, unless I could finesse something to use as a ladder... My eyes scanned the entirety of the backyard: sandbox shaped like a turtle, wacky sprinkler, scattered toys, and...A playhouse! I calculated it out in my head, and from what it looked like, I should have been able to get on top of the plastic playhouse and then I could vault myself over the fence! That'd only put me in someone else's yard though. If I was able to move the playhouse, then I could angle it somewhere better, but I quickly realized that it was just far too heavy for my puny muscles to handle. The exertion didn't just make my arms sore either; as I strained and pushed, I was apparently pushing something else out, as I soon found out by the warm, heavy feeling in the back of my diaper. Great, now I had to escape while hauling a steamer in the trunk, as if things hadn't been difficult enough already. Alright, my new plan was to go ahead and get on the fence from the playhouse, and then I'd have to carefully scoot down the perimeter until I got to a spot that would lead into the front yard. It was a tribulation for the ages, and I told myself that once I escaped, I'd actually get on some kind of fitness routine, because it was pathetic how much trouble this was giving me. Finally, I reached the corner of the fence, and after taking a moment to breathe, I vaulted myself over and fell on my butt on the other side. As expected, I feel the pantload squish in all directions underneath me, but I didn't have the luxury of being disgusted by it. I was in the home stretch now! I made a break for it, feeling the grass between my toes while I headed right for the street. Maybe if I flagged someone down, or maybe I should go try knocking on someone's door... Or maybe neither would be necessary. I could see someone walking down the street! I was saved! I began to wave my arms wildly, while waddling toward what I assumed was a neighbor. "Help! Help!" Then, before I realized what was happening, I was getting picked up from behind. "What a naughty little baby that you've been...How did you get out?" I'd been so happy to see freedom, that I hadn't taken a look to see if my captor's car had shown back up in the driveway. If I'd just been a little more cautious, then she might not have seen me running off; there was still the neighbor though, there was still something I could do! Except I started to hear that lullaby again, quietly humming against my ear, and my grown-up thoughts started to drain away, leaving a drooly, stupefied look in their place. The last thing I heard before completely succumbing to it, was first the gassy sound of my own total evacuation, and then my kidnapper explaining to the neighbor that I'd gotten out and really just needed 'help' with a fresh diaper. I'd blown my only chance for escape, and there wouldn't be another one. 'Mama' would make sure of that.