The Strange Tale of Stanley Russ

October

When I opened my eyes, I found myself inside an elevator.

A low hum resonated around me, possibly the sound of the elevator's ascent.

I was slumped against the elevator wall, and as I stood up, an overwhelming wave of nausea overtook me. My head spun.

I was confused, scared. My palms were clammy, and I felt like I might throw up.

Thoughts of who I was—my past, my identity—failed me. I didn't even know my own name.

I noticed there were no buttons on the elevator and no display to indicate which floor I was headed to.

For a while, I just stood there. I didn't do anything. I wasn't even sure if I was breathing.

Suddenly, the elevator stopped. Its doors slid open with a mechanical hum.

Before me stretched an all-white space. It wasn't quite a room—more like a boundless void.

The horizon extended endlessly, filled with nothing but whiteness. It was an eerie, suffocating nothingness.

I hesitated, then peeked my head out. The air felt slightly cold.

Cautiously, I stepped forward, but when my foot touched the ground, it felt as if I had stepped onto nothing—like the floor itself was hollow. My foot seemed to float.

I stepped forward with my other foot and felt the same sensation.

So, I stepped completely out of the elevator, and the moment I did, the doors closed behind me. When I turned around, the elevator was gone.

I stood there, surrounded by whiteness, then began to walk. My footsteps made no sound. It was as though I was walking on absolute nothingness.

The vast void offered nothing to see—just the endless expanse of white. Then, as I squinted toward the distance, I spotted something: a door.

It appeared to be an ordinary white door, standing upright without any hinges or frame.

I approached it slowly at first, but impatience got the better of me, and I broke into a run.

As I got closer, my suspicions were confirmed—it was indeed a door, perfectly ordinary in appearance but inexplicably standing on its own.

I gulped, reached out, and twisted the knob. With a push, the door swung open.

Inside, the space was entirely pink.

A queen-sized bed, covered in pink bedding, stood against the wall. The room was enormous, adorned in shades of pink. At its center was a small table set with toy tea kettles and cups.

It looked like a little girl's room.

The door behind me closed. When I turned to look, it had disappeared.

Then I heard a young girl's voice.

"It seems you've found me."

I spun around. Sitting at the tiny tea table was a young girl, perhaps ten or eleven years old.

She had long white hair that shimmered faintly, almost glowing, and her eyes were a luminous gold. She wore a white sleeping gown that reached her ankles, and her hair, tied in a ponytail, cascaded down her back.

"Please, take a seat," she said, gesturing to the empty chair in front of her.

Nervously, I obeyed.

Her eyes were closed, and in front of her was a small, empty toy teacup.

As I watched, the cup began to fill with tea. She opened her eyes, lifted the cup delicately, her pinky finger extended, and took a sip.

Everything about her—the graceful way she held the cup, her ethereal beauty—stunned me. I felt awestruck.

The fear and unease I had carried vanished entirely.

"So," she said, setting her cup down, "how are you feeling?"

"Better," I replied.

"That's good."

She reached for another tiny teacup and placed it in front of me.

I glanced into it. It was empty at first, but then it began to fill with tea.

"There, take a sip," she said.

I reached for the cup but hesitated when she spoke again.

"Ah, wait!"

"W-what is it?"

"You have to stick your pinky out, silly."

"Oh, right."

I extended my pinky awkwardly and gave her a nervous smile.

"There. Now sip."

I obeyed.

The tea was unlike anything I had ever tasted—sweet and cool, with a soothing quality that defied words.

"So, what do you think?" she asked.

"It's amazing! I've never had tea like this before!"

She smiled. "I'm glad you're in a good mood. But now, I have some news to share—important information about what you must do."

"Ah, okay," I said, still savoring the tea.

"First, you'll need to form your party. You'll be the leader, and there will be three others. I won't tell you who they are—let's keep it a surprise." She giggled softly. "Once your party is assembled, the four of you will face five abnormalities that I've named The Abnormals."

"The Abnormals?"

"Yes. Their very existence endangers the world. They're like computer bugs or glitches—things that shouldn't exist. Your task is to defeat them."

"Why me?"

"Because, in a sense, you're special. At least, you are to me."

Her words struck a chord deep within me. Though I couldn't remember anything about myself, I felt certain I'd never been important to anyone before. Her words filled me with a strange warmth.

"What's your name? Can you tell me, please?" I asked.

She smiled, locking her glowing golden eyes with mine.

"Call me Karisa."

And then I awoke.