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Will Byers’ arm hurt. He had been lying on it for, well, he didn’t know for how long. He wouldn’t move it, though. No, that would be close to suicide. The amount of noise the sheets and the leaves would make, and his breathing was already loud enough – no. Moving would be bad. Will could live with a little pain. He’d lived with less.
The breeze ruffled through the trees. It had shocked him at first; he didn’t realise this place had a breeze. Didn’t realise someplace like this could have a breeze. When he arrived, he was just glad he wasn’t where it was. The spike in adrenaline gave him more than enough energy to run. And boy did he run. It may have been the fastest he’d ever run in his entire life. If only Coach Black could see him now!
It hadn’t taken him long for somewhere else to hide. There was a tree with the trunk carved out that he’d used for hide and seek when he was a kid. He used it now. His breath short and his eyes squeezed shut, Will Byers did his best not to be seen. He felt his stomach constrict. He wanted to throw up. He might have done it if the, the thing didn’t slink right past.
It growled low and wet. It sounded like an animal. A rabid dog or bear or something. Will expected spit to be foaming at its mouth. There was none. He couldn’t really see it before. Its silhouette was enough to cut lines of panic and acute discomfort underneath his skin. Its speed and stalkerish abilities only added to the growing fear in the young boy’s heart. But its appearance was the part of it that solidified the horror that followed it.
Its skin was covered in shining slime and it looked like muscle under the skin. The arms and legs were far too long, and the torso was far too small. It didn’t look right. It didn’t look human. He thought it was human, back when he was on the road and then again at his house. It was more than obvious to see that he was wrong. He was so very wrong. Will wrapped his arms tighter around his legs and the leaves surrounding him rustled, just a little. The thing’s head (was it ahead? Did this thing have one?) shot to the side. Will barely bit back a whimper. He hadn’t seen its face before. He hadn’t seen much of it at all. He wished he didn’t see it.
The thing about this monster, this thing, was it didn’t have a face. No. it’s mouth opened up with 5 lips, displaying rows upon rows of teeth. It looked something out of a Stephen King book.
For the first time that night, Will thought he was asleep. Maybe he had gotten safely to bed. Maybe he had read a bit of his book before going to bed. Maybe the campaign had still been on his mind. It seemed entirely plausible. With that logic, Will would be able to stand up, curse the monster out for a bit, and when it had lunged at him and was just about to bite into his face, he would wake up in cold sweat. He would be terrified - and possibly traumatised - but he would be safe. However, Will had read enough comics, played enough campaigns, watched enough horror movies to know that’s what the main character would do. But he was smarter than that. Doing that would get him killed, nightmare or not. And Will Byers did have a horrible fear of dying.
The monster sniffed the air (was it sniffing, did it even have a nose?). It looked around a few more time and nudged the ground. It slinked away. Will let out the breath he was holding. It wasn’t here. He was safe.
He stayed there, just a few moments. To make sure it didn’t come back he told himself. That’s why he hadn’t moved. It wasn’t the stone-cold fear numbing his limbs. Or the tingles in his fingers from the leftover adrenaline. No, it was none of that. It couldn’t have been.
Will didn’t know how long it had been. At some point, the fear had faded and his ability to breathe came back. He had turned his sights to the branches in the meantime. There was a subtle beauty in them. Overgrown vines and red ashes falling like snow were a pleasurable sight. They were nice. It was nice. A little scary but, a fun kind of chilling. If the thing wasn’t trying to kill him, he would have enjoyed it here. But the thing was trying to kill him. It was stalking him, and that was somehow worse.
Will shifted, letting his arms drop to his sides. The rustle of leaves barely made a sound. He waited for a minute or so, just in case. He shifted slightly forward. His foot nudged some leaves and they rustled as they moved but nothing jumped out of the shadows. He was safe. For now.
Lifting himself as quietly as he could, which was quite quietly mind you, he grew up in his father’s house after all, he pushed out of the tree trunk. He could see more of the landscape than before. He was right, it was pretty. Jonathan would love to get a shot of it. He crossed his arms over his chest, the sleeves of his shirt bunched up in his hands. If he looked down, he’d see that his knuckles were turning white and that the tips of fingers were white too. But, Will was not the main character, Mike was. He always was. Will was, at best, a supporting character. He sometimes hoped he could be the love interest but something, many things including his father, told him otherwise. No, Will wasn’t paying much attention to his hands or the colour of them. He was keeping his gaze steady set in front of him. Watchful eyes are what kept his alive until he reached Castle Byers. It looked the same. It looked exactly the same. This couldn’t be real.
Will slowly let go of his shirt and untangled his arms. The sleeves were wrinkly now. He wasn’t too bothered by it, there were other things to focus on. Like his impending death. He lifted a hand to open the flap, but it stopped a few inches short. There was something about it, it didn’t seem real. Had he said that before?
He took a deep breath in. Just like Jonathan had taught him to. He counted to five. His ears were ringing. He let the deep breath out. His fingers grasped the loose sheet before he could really think about it. It did much to stop the memories from flooding back. Because they didn’t. At least, not until he was sitting on the soft, blue blanket looking at the sheet he just past.
“Ring a ding-ding! Anybody home?” A voice called out.
Will took a moment to reply, not looking up from his comic, “password?”
“Er, Rada? Tst- ah, Radaga, um Radagast?” The voice tried.
“Yes. You may enter,” Will said.
“Thank you, sir!” The flap opened and his mother walked in, a smile playing on her lips. She sat next to her son as he closed his book and put it aside. “So, guess what,” she didn’t wait for him to respond, “I got off early and tada! Poltergeist!” She brandished two tickets in Will’s face.
Will couldn’t fight the smile splitting his face. “I thought I wasn’t allowed to see it,” he said, not believing his mother.
“I changed my mind.” Joyce had a twinkle in her eye. “As long as you don’t have nightmares for a week-”
“No, I won’t,” Will interrupted. This was far too a good opportunity to waste with small, fickle things like nightmares. “I don’t get scared like that anymore.” His gaze dropped to the tickets still in her hand.
“Oh yeah,” his mother challenged, “not even of clowns?”
“No,” Will shook his head.
“What about, my witch,” she did a dumb, creaky voice as she pointed a finger in his face. He could vaguely remember when it scared the life out of him. Before he truly learnt what fear was. They were not fond memories.
“What, no, mom-”
“My Will Byers,” she continued ignoring his stops and began to tickle him. They laughed together through the desperate please of help.
The inside looked exactly the same. Same lamp. Same pillows. Same comics, same pictures. Same fucking everything. Except it was all covered in vines. If he focused on that then maybe he wouldn’t be too busy thinking about -
It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that he was trapped here. It wasn’t fair that he couldn’t run into his mother’s arms. It wasn’t fair that he wanted too. Why did it have to get him? Why did it have to find him? Chase him? Why was he here? Why did he go down that road? Why did he stay at Mike’s house that long? Why didn’t he regret it? It would be so much easier if he regretted it.
Will reached into the crate he used as a table. There was a spare walkie-talkie in there. If it was really the same, then there should be fresh batteries in the back. He popped the lid off, and much to his dismay, there were indeed fresh batteries. “Dammit,” Will swore under his breath. He sighed through his nose. He turned the dial angrily, tuning in for frequencies. There was nothing there. He sighed. He had a sneaking suspicion, but he had hoped…
He put the walkie-talkie next to him and lay down. The static buzzed in his ears. He should visit his house. Maybe, maybe there was a way to get back in there. Maybe he could get home. It would make him feel better. His stomach lurched at the sheer desperation coursing through his veins.
A shape moved past the structure. Will froze. He could guess what it was. Its too long limbs were a distinctive feature. His heart dropped into his stomach. He was too loud. He was being too loud. The static was too loud. There’s nothing else here, he was imagining the wind and he was too loud. The thing found him. The thing was going to kill him. He was going to die. He was going to die and he would never go home. All because he was too loud. The thing walked on.
Will stayed frozen. He was lying on side, facing the walkie talkie. His arm was tucked securely under his body, and his hands were playing with the blanket. He wanted to close his eyes. He couldn’t. he had to keep them open, just in case. He had to see. It would keep him safe. He wanted to close his eyes.
“Darling, you’ve got to let me know,” he sang under his breath. He couldn’t carry a tune at the best of times, but. “Should I stay or should I go?” This song reminded him of Jonathan. Jonathan was nice, Jonathan would keep him safe. He needed to get back to Jonathan. “If I go there will be trouble.” He wanted his mum. His mum was warm. He was cold. He wanted to bury himself beneath the blanket. “If I stay there will be double.” The static of the walkie talkie jumped. His eyes shot towards it. His eyes flickered the sheet. “So you got to let me know,” he sang. He would go to his house when the sun came up, if the sun came up.
“Should I stay or should I go?”