Harry stood on the front steps, waving energetically as the family car pulled out of the driveway. His father leaned out the window one last time, finger wagging sternly.
"Remember what I said, Harry! Stay out of the lab. It's dangerous."
Harry nodded obediently, though he muttered under his breath once the car disappeared down the street, "Yeah, yeah… I know."
The silence that followed was both comforting and strange. With no parents bustling about, the house felt larger, emptier. Harry turned back toward the garden, deciding to spend his morning exploring outside.
The heat of the tropical sun had intensified, pouring down onto the lush backyard. Birds fluttered between branches, trilling cheerful songs. Their feathers caught flashes of light as they zipped through the air, like animated brushstrokes against the blue canvas of the sky.
Harry wandered to the Golden Penda tree near the old log. Its pale yellow flowers burst like fireworks against the deep green leaves, releasing a sweet scent that clung to the air. A cluster of bees buzzed busily from blossom to blossom, their legs dusted thick with pollen. Harry grinned, crouching to get a closer look.
Among them, he noticed something different—smaller, sleeker, their bodies darker than the honeybees he knew so well. A flicker of memory stirred in his mind. He had once seen them in one of his mother's biology books, the ones she was always carrying around the house. Stingless bees, he recalled faintly. Tiny pollinators, harmless to humans, yet just as hardworking as their stinging cousins.
Harry's chest swelled with a peculiar pride at recognizing them. "So you're stingless bees, huh?" he whispered. "You guys are amazing."
As he watched the little insects working diligently, motion overhead caught his eye. A squirrel scurried along the power line from a nearby pole, its bushy tail bobbing like a banner. It leapt with agile confidence onto a tree branch, then paused to pluck a ripe fruit. The squirrel nibbled hungrily, juice staining its whiskers.
Harry chuckled. "You look like you're having the best breakfast."
But his amusement froze when the squirrel, having finished its snack, scampered higher—and directly through the open window of his father's lab on the third floor.
Harry gasped. His stomach tightened. Oh no. Dad's lab!
Without thinking, he dashed inside, his footsteps pounding against the wooden floorboards as he sprinted up the staircase. By the time he reached the third floor, his breath came in shallow bursts. He pushed the lab door wider and crept in cautiously.
The sight inside was chaotic but strangely beautiful. Tools and half-built devices littered every surface, and the giant machine loomed in the center like some slumbering beast. In the corner, curled into a furry ball, was the intruder—the squirrel. Its belly round from its fruit feast, the creature had already drifted into a nap.
Harry exhaled in relief. No harm done.
He turned, ready to leave, but his eyes snagged on the machine. The shrinking ray. Its polished tubes gleamed under the sunlight spilling through the open window. His father's warnings echoed in his head, sharp and stern.
Stay out of the lab. Don't touch anything.
But curiosity itched at him, insistent and impossible to ignore. What harm could there be in just… looking closer?
Step by step, Harry approached the machine. His gaze fell on a bright red lever, practically begging to be pulled. It didn't look like much—just a power switch. His hand hesitated, trembling slightly, then he tugged it downward.
The machine hummed to life with a low vibration that rattled the floorboards. Lights blinked along its sides, glowing brighter with each passing second.
The squirrel jolted awake, eyes wide with alarm. It darted across the lab, scrambling toward the open window. But in its panicked leap, it brushed against a small panel—its paw slapping directly onto a blinking button.
A sharp click, followed by a blinding flash.
Harry had only a heartbeat to gasp before the beam struck him. White light swallowed his vision, every nerve in his body buzzing as though he were dissolving. He cried out, but the sound was swallowed into nothing.
When the light dimmed, Harry staggered, clutching at the ground beneath him. The lab loomed impossibly vast. The chair legs beside him soared upward like steel towers, their shadows stretching into infinity. The once-soft rug was a forest of fibers, each strand thicker than his arm. A speck of dust drifted down and landed beside him with the weight of a stone.
Harry's breath came in quick, shallow bursts. The "skyscrapers" around him sharpened into familiar shapes—the edge of the workbench, the corner of the cabinet. Recognition hit him with crushing clarity.
He hadn't been transported to another world. He was still in his father's lab.
Only now, he was no bigger than an ant.