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It was happening again.
Will felt the tingle behind his neck, and now, he’d heard it, the grandfather clock—ticking away somewhere in the background. One second, he was standing with his friends, watching Hell’s Gate opening in the middle of Hawkins, the next he was alone in the field.
The sky was a deep, turbulent crimson, the particles floating in a perpetual storm, ravaging the familiar hellscape, and Will’s pulse went up.
No. It was happening again. Not again…
Long forgotten memories, dreams, and insomniac nights floated to the surface, flashing back to the dark week he had been lost to those around him, the times lost, forgotten, and possessed by another alien entity. Except now, it wasn’t a dream.
Will ran.
Hawkins was deserted, just like the Upside Down, and no matter how far Will ran the ticking followed him. It came to a point he couldn’t distinguish what was around him, before him, anywhere. He had no destination, the scenery flashing past in a confusing blur that assaulted his senses.
Yet, still, Will ran.
And ran.
Away from the spidery shadow that was surely chasing him, all-too-eager to sink its tendrils into him again—
Until the scenery changed, and he was no longer outside.
Will ran into a wall—not a brick wall like those on the outside of houses, but one covered in smooth wallpaper with varnished wainscotting, sounding a dull thud. Will fell down, groaning, confused.
The grandfather clock still ticked, louder this time, and more… present. It sounded like it was right here, with him.
Will waited for his pounding head to calm. He raised his head and surveyed the old-timey interior of the house he mysteriously found himself in. Warm lighting illuminated the living room, and an old song, at least twenty years old, playing in the next room.
Then, the clock chimed in the hallway, and Will jumped.
Suddenly, the lights started flashing, from warm orange to an eerie blue and back. Will swallowed, pushing himself off the floor.
The clock struck eleven o’clock before the lights went out altogether, bathing the house in pitch darkness.
Will’s breathing became the only thing audible in the dark beside the ticking clock. Then, there was a thudding noise hitting the ceiling, somewhere from the attic.
“Hello?” Will called, cautious.
He started feeling for the stairs, taking slow and steady steps. Everything was haunted in the dark, where one’s every nightmare lurked, sneaking out of hiding to taunt and frighten. But Will braved it, finding the handle to the stairs, starting to climb.
He took cautious steps, one at a time. The old stairway creaked under his feet, and the ticking followed him.
Then, suddenly, Will felt a presence. Something slimy, long, and squirming crept up to him until it brushed past his ankle. Will jerked, panicking, and started sprinting up the stairs.
He half-tripped, but his fight-or-flight instinct kept him running two flights of stairs until he was on the top floor where the attic was.
A warm, orange light greeted him there. Will’s hand closed on the handle, heaving, shaking as if he just escaped yet another narrow encounter with death.
Will surveyed the attic, bracing himself for the horrors he might find. But the place was cozy. It had low rafters and a wooden floor. In the middle of the room, a boy sat with his charcoal and paper, sketching.
The scene looked almost familiar. Will knew of another boy who used to do the same thing, huddled in his little hideout, living in the fantasy world he dreamed up, drawing the knights and villains from his mind’s epic tales.
“Who are you? How did you get in here?”
Will jumped at the question.
The boy put down his piece of charcoal and blew on his drawing until it was free of dust. Gently, he placed the drawing on the table and turned back to face Will.
He was a few years younger than Will. The boy had a neat hairstyle, slicked back and trimmed to perfection. It looked old-fashioned, as if from a different era altogether. He had a slim face, no warm expressions or a friendly welcome—cold. Cold face, icy eyes. Eyes so blue they reminded Will of unending winters.
Will found himself mesmerized until the boy stood up to face him fully. His clothing looked like it was from a different era, too—suit with shorts, complete with preppy leather shoes and socks. The type of clothing you’d only expect to see on private school kids or in old movies.
“How did you get here?”
Will shook his head. His throat felt dry. He didn’t know how to respond.
“I-I don’t know.”
“You aren’t supposed to be here. This is my place.”
“I don’t know how I got here.”
But Will understood how he was unwelcome. He was the same. The hideout was where one kept one’s deepest secrets, and being intruded on was akin to ripping up one’s skin to display one’s heart to the world.
Before Will could answer, an invisible force caught him.
It seized him by the throat and tossed him back until Will’s back hit the wall. The force pinned him there like unseen tendrils, not enough to cut off air or circulation, but firm enough so he couldn’t escape.
Will’s eyes went wide, recognition danced in his eyes.
But… but he was still a child. A child like El had been when she escaped the lab. Like Will himself, when he was first taken by the Upside Down.
The boy—Henry Creel—was approaching, his hand raised, his blue eyes fixing on Will with that same intensity Will often saw in Eleven when she used her powers.
“You should’ve run when you could.”
Will saw Henry approach, and realized he was bleeding. Will couldn’t tell where the blood came from, and there was no visible wound on Henry’s body, but it simply wouldn’t stop. Thick, red liquid dripped until it covered the boy (Vecna) from head to toe.
“Look. Do you fear me now?”
Will shut his eyes. He knew the trick.
“It’s not real,” he answered. “You make people see things that don’t exist. You don’t scare me.”
There was silence. Will held his breath and braced himself, heart pounding in his chest. Maybe this was just it. He didn’t know how he got here, didn’t know how he was with a younger version of the entity haunting Hawkins from the day of his kidnapping back in 1983. But at that moment, Will was sure he was done for, that Henry would finish him.
Then, to Will’s shock, the invisible tendrils lifted, dropping him to the floor.
Will let out a loud, confused gasp.
Wasn’t Vecna… planning to kill him?
Baffled, Will looked up with wide eyes, only to see Henry staring down, mirroring Will’s expression. Now, the blood was nowhere to be seen. He was still as neat as Will had first seen him.
“How are you not afraid of me?”
Now, that was a question Will wasn’t expecting.
He quickly pushed himself off of the floor, facing Vecna’s younger self, surprised at how young and… innocent, he still looked. Despite all the horrible things he had probably done, all the horrible things he would still do.
Suddenly, Will felt nervous, but before he could retreat, Henry reached out and grabbed his arm.
“Who are you?” the boy demanded.
Will swallowed, despite how dry his throat was.
“Will Byers,” he said, for some reason didn’t want to lie. Then, nervously, he added, “I have to go.”
But the look on Henry’s face hurt him. Why? Was it because Will saw so much of himself in Henry?
Will made a little struggle, feeling too unsure for it to appear genuine. He opened his mouth to tell Henry to let go, perhaps to ask what he wanted with him—
—only to have Henry lean in until he was unusually close. He stood on his toes—being shorter than Will—until he was at the right height to go for a kiss.
It was a quick peck, barely on the lips. Henry was inexperienced, much like Will was, and almost missed his target. It was a bewildered little kiss, something done on instinct rather than planned. And, almost as quickly, Henry pulled back, looking embarrassed, yet relieved that Will didn’t pull away to regard him with disgust.
Will was just standing there, dumbfounded. It had never happened before. Not once.
Henry’s face was flushing, and he had his face down-tilted, looking up at Will through his lashes as if he feared he might have offended. It wasn’t like the Vecna Will knew of—this was before his darkness fully corrupted him.
It wasn’t long before Will was blushing just as Henry was.
The silence was awkward, and briefly, Will contemplated what would come next. How he would explain this to Eleven if she ever found out through his mind.
“I—” Will started, but he found his words sounding far and dull.
He was fading… no; it was everything else that was fading. The room dimmed and fluttered, struggling to hang on as the warped time-space pulled Will back to his own time.
Henry was looking alarmed. He reached out, trying to grab Will and stop him from going, but his hand went through his arm.
“I will find you!” Henry called from the void. “I will find you one day, Will Byers!”
He had become a shadow, moving against a screen of colors. Then, only the echoes of his voice remained.
The world faded out until reality faded in.
Suddenly, Will found himself kneeling on blackened grass, falling rigid as his friends shouted his name in front of his face.
Hawkins was as it had been—the boiling sky, the dying plants, the burning gateway to hell.
And now, more than ever, Will felt His presence, hurting but alive, biding his time to come back and take over.
Waiting to fulfill the promise he uttered all those years ago when they first saw each other in that haunted attic.