The Strange Tale of Stanley Russ

This time, I didn't run to my apartment. Instead, I walked briskly all the way there.

I guess what calmed my nerves was the fact that people didn't seem to have vanished into thin air.

As I made my way into the apartment, the feeling of being watched slowly subsided, and I let out a sigh of relief.

But as I moved away from the door, someone began knocking.

"Oh, who could that be?" I grumbled. "Maybe Wendy came back," I said, feeling a renewed sense of energy.

I walked back to the door and flung it open. Standing before me was May.

My breath caught in my throat, my hands began to tremble, and a stabbing pain shot through my chest.

I must've looked shocked because she said, "Please don't be alarmed, Stanley. I just want to talk."

Her tone was soft and gentle—a first for me. Maybe it had to do with the fight. Maybe I had hurt her feelings? After all, it was the first time I'd ever blown up at her like that.

I let her in, and she walked over to the couch, taking a seat.

I stood in front of her, arms crossed, looking at her in fear.

"I'd like to apologize for my behavior—not just today, but throughout our relationship. You've always been so good to me, and I've always been…" She choked on her words, tears welling in her eyes.

I immediately dropped my suspicion and sat down next to her.

"Hey, hey, don't cry. It's all right. I'm okay."

"No…" she gasped. "I've been a terrible girlfriend!"

"No, don't say that," I leaned in and hugged her. "Look, I'm sorry too for what I said. We can make amends. It doesn't have to end here."

She looked up at me, wiping her eyes. "You promise?"

"I promise. We'll be okay."

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After that, we had sex, and she left.

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The next morning, I decided to get to work on my blog. After finishing a post about one of my favorite pieces of art, Christ in the Desert, I went to brush my teeth and wash my face.

As I went through these mundane tasks, my mind kept drifting back to that painting. Whether one believes in the claims of Christianity or not, it's a bittersweet tale of a perfect God coming down and suffering immense pain and hardship just so we could have the chance at salvation, eternal bliss, and peace.

That particular painting captures Christ's humanity. As he sits there, starved and alone, for us—for me. It's enough to bring tears to my eyes.

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Later, I was eating cereal while watching TV when my phone rang. It was Wendy.

I picked up.

"Hey, hey, hey, good Moooooorning!"

"Could you not yell in my ear at nine in the morning?"

"I wanted to come over again. Is that okay? Can I come over?"

"Well…"

"Well? What is it, can I or can I not?"

"I'm sorry, it's probably best if…"

Then there was a knock at the door.

"Too late," she said and hung up.

What was the point of even asking if she was just going to come anyway?

I sighed and went to the door. There she was.

She wore a pink sweater and tight-fitting blue jeans.

"Yo, Mr. Pinball."

"Hey."

"Want to hang at the arcade today?"

"That's fine by me," I said.

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I checked my watch on my phone—it was getting close to closing time at the arcade. They closed at six, and it was 5:40 p.m. Wendy and I had been playing pinball and chilling there all day.

I told Wendy it was time to go, and we left. As we walked back to my apartment, she asked me a question.

"What would you think if you saw a purple dog?"

"A purple dog? Why?"

"Answer the question. What would you think?"

"I'd think maybe somebody painted the dog… or spray-painted it, I suppose."

"What if it was a natural purple dog, with glowing purple eyes?"

"Impossible. Such a thing doesn't exist."

"It's not supposed to. That's correct."

"Huh?" Something about that felt oddly familiar. Something that wasn't supposed to exist.

"I'll leave you with that for now, Mr. Pinball. I'll be going home."

"Wait—"

But she took off running. She was surprisingly fast.

With her gone, an overwhelming sense of loneliness flooded back in.

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As I continued walking, the feeling of being watched returned.

This time, I closed my eyes and counted to three steadily, controlling my breathing. Then, I slowly opened my eyes. Standing before me was The Faceless Girl.

I wanted to scream, but my mouth wouldn't open. I wanted to turn and run, but my body wouldn't move. I had become paralyzed, not out of fear, but because it felt as though some invisible force was holding me in place. Then, I noticed that the people who had been walking about, the cars driving by, had all disappeared.

I looked at the girl in fear. "Is she going to kill me?" I thought.

Then she started making movements with her hands.

Sign language?

But I couldn't read sign language.

Then, as if she had read my mind, she stopped, dropped her shoulders, and walked up to me, placing the palm of her hand on my forehead. She was small, so she stood on her tiptoes. The sight of it calmed my nerves for a moment.

She began making hand motions again, and this time, I could read them.

[How are you?]

"I'm scared."

[Don't be. I'm not here to hurt you.]

"Why should I trust you?"

[Be not afraid.]

"You have no face."

[I am here to protect you.]

"Just what are you?"

[I am an angel.]

And then she disappeared.

And just like that, as if a server was loading, the people who had been walking about began to reappear. I regained the ability to move again.

I crouched down, panting heavily, sweat dripping from my brow.

Someone came up to me and asked if I was okay, but I ignored them and began muttering to myself, "I feel sick."