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Will couldn't tell if he was awake or asleep, but he knew the desecrated walls of what had once been his home. He knew the wallpaper, now torn and dirty. He knew the squeeky floorboard in the den, in the same spot it had always been. And he knew the voice that echoed around him.
It was his brother, Jonathon, who he had always looked up to, always admired and idolized. But his voice was quiet and cracked, as though he was crying, and so far away.
"I should've been there for him."
Will's heart leapt into his throat.
"Jonathon? Jonathon!!" Will screamed, louder than he ever had in his life, but the next voice that spoke wasn't Jonathon; it was his mom, distant and echoeing, but definitely her. And she was crying too.
"no, no, you can't do that to yourself. This was not your fault. Do you hear me? He is...close. I know it, I- I feel it, in my heart. You just have to...you have to trust me on this, okay?"
And Will was screaming out again, even more desperately, "mom, mom I'm here!" His voice choked out in a strangled sob, heart pounding in desperation. Why couldn't they hear him?
"Mom!!" He looked around desperately. How could he make them hear? His eyes darted from the couch to the wallpaper, and landed on the phone hanging from the wall.
The phone! Of course, that would work, it had to!
He darted over to it, tripping on a vine and hearing a distant, screeching scream. He paused only for a moment. Should he run? But his mother's voice was still echoing around him, gentle and so, so close. She was still there. He picked up the phone shakily, praying hard.
And It rang. He nearly cried when it rang, and then she was there, his mom, sounding even more distant than she had before.
"hello?" A pause, then again, "hello? Lonnie?"
Will wanted to scream to her for help, but suddenly there was a creak behind him. He turned slowly, heart racing, his breath ragged and shaky. his mother's voice was closer than it had ever been in this place, but still so far away.
His breath hitched as a hand, clawlike and inhuman, wrapped menacingly around the door frame. He stopped breathing altogether, scared to make any sound at all. It was here, it had found him again. There was no hope now, they would never find him in time.
He dropped the receiver and dashed from the room, out the back door and across the baren wasteland that looked like Hawkins, but wasn't.
What good was it to hope anymore? Why was he still running, still fighting when all he wanted to do was lay down and sleep?
He didn't know. But now that he had heard his mom and Jonathon, he couldn't give up. He had to keep fighting for as long as he could if there was any possibility he might see them again.
The thought sent silent tears streaming down his cheeks, but he didn't bother to wipe them away. The bullies who used to tease him for being a baby, who had seemed like the worst evil he would ever face, weren't here now. He was all alone.
And he was tired of running. He was tired of being cold and hungry, tired of screaming for help and knowing no one would hear; no one but the monster that was always stalking its prey.
Its prey, aka him.
All he could do was run and hide, even before this hellish place. He never thought he would miss the name-calling or the beatings, but now... at least at school there was some modicum of protection in the shape of his teachers and his friends
Time was different here. There was no day or night, and it was always cold, so, so cold. Not like the frigid winters in Hawkins; it was a still, threatening, ever-present thing, creeping inside him with every breath and stealing away his sense of self.
It was a monster in an of itself, but not like the screeching creature that chased him. It was slow and steady, never tiring, always advancing, consuming. Hope-stealer. Corpse-maker.
The only thing that made it tolerable were thoughts, of all things. It would diminish ever so slightly every time he called up the memory of his mother's face, of Jonathon and his stereo, of Mike and his friends playing DnD. But it was getting harder and harder to bring the things he loved to the forefront of his mind the longer he spent in this hellish place. It was stealing his memories, his hope, his music. Deep down he knew, in time, it would steal him too.