Chapter Text
november 6th , 1983
hawkins , indiana
Eleven woke up startled. Painting.
Her head – previously lightened by the saltwater – now felt too heavy to lift itself from the ground. Her skull throbbed with a heaviness that hadn't yet descended on its own, searching for a warm embrace.
And for countless minutes, she remained there. No one came to save her. Not even Papa.
But as gently as she could, her weakened legs lifted herself from the ground – one of her last remaining stores of energy, clamoring from within. The trembling of the past shock causing her to succumb by the cold floor beneath her feet.
Standing unfazed, her somber gaze fell directly onto her hands. They were wet, as was her body – shetted by the swimsuit. The cold from the chilly November night already looming from behind her.
At the mention of its frigid air, she turned around, her frail body slowly being overtaken by the freezing breeze: she was staring at the large wound sat by the room's wall. With reluctant steps out of what had once been a deprivation tank – now shattered into thousands of pieces of glass, exposed by the cold linoleum floor – her gaze didn’t wavered from the fracture before her.
And… it pulsed with enormous ferocity: it seemed to have a life of its own, understanding that its tissue – now departed in two – had been corrupted, leaving only a vast fissure. The fissure began on the floor, where the tiles laid broken into tiny fragments that seemed too small to be collected, and extended until it almost touched the high ceiling of the room, where the hanging lights trembled – still taken by the stress of the crack.
However, what caught the girl's attention wasn’t its innards, which were increasingly making room for itself in that place. No. It was the way in which, even after such a vast wound, the tissue of that immense organism, seemingly alive before her, was already working to close it.
A layer of transparent mucus already orchestrated a slightly thin gate. A gate that could be opened or closed at the will of whoever controlled it. It seemed to have a life of its own.
Though, her thoughts were interrupted by a loud roar, floors away from her reach – her breath stuck by her throat. She turned her back to it. Took a deep breath.
Eleven remembered Papa's lessons, from a time when things didn't seem as grim as they did now: she needed to focus on what was most important. She needed to escape.
Slowly, her steps followed the trail of blood – still fresh, warm – left behind by the Creature, until the stairs to the control room came into view. The metal, stained a dark shade, was cold beneath her bare feet.
In a few seconds, she reached the upper floor.
The place smelled of carnage. Its extensive panel of buttons, which she had no idea how to operate, was covered in more blood; bodies were scattered around her, thrown to the floor or pushed against the walls covered by the newly installed wooden panels – a detail Papa hadn't forgotten to mention to her a few months ago.
In the midst of the massacre, his body laid unconscious on the floor – a large cut across his face, blood dripping down his cheeks. A puddle of blood already surrounding him. For how long had she been unconscious? Her eyebrows knitted together, worry spreading across her semblance.
She couldn't leave him there, could she?
She swallowed hard, lowering her gaze to the floor. Her fingertips dared not to touch any of the surface there. She kept walking on.
The door laid before her, long and heavy – the copper handle dripping a dark liquid unlikely to be identified, it could be blood. She used her body to push it open. And the corridor, now visible on the horizon, also bore the same signs as before – the Creature had passed through there.
But she dragged herself in the opposite direction. Nothing but pure determination to escape that prison propelled her outward. She knew she couldn't return, much less remain unharmed, after that night.
She needed to escape. There was no other way.
Her body carried her until flashing warning lights indicated 'emergency stairs' ahead. Her pace quickened, her body leaving only the trail of salty water droplets behind, a possible clue for those who decided to follow her. The heavy metal door was opened with a thud that reverberated through the – up to now – empty aisle. The long, metal crossroads of stairs materializing before her.
Voraciously, her feet climbed the steps until the signs – which until then only indicated the levels below ground she was on – became ascending numbers before her eyes. At that moment, the water was no longer dripping from her.
When the numbers reached the clear '1', a voice already clamouring out for freedom for so long seemed to want to rise up until it the tip of her cold lips and regurgitate all the sobs of emancipation she had never before heard.
A weak smile broke down from her face, as she reached the exit. She was finally free.
The door was open when she passed through it, and only a few meters and some more confusing aisles remained before the exit was near.
With a deep breath, she dragged her tired body until the labyrinth of corridors, covered in nothing but the same wooden panels as those in the control room, came to an end. Her feet were blessed for the carpet that embraced them, much more welcoming than the cold floor of the Lab on the lower levels.
With no sign of warm, living bodies near her, the door seemed like a vision that not even her wildest dreams could provide.
The Creature had escaped her radar. She was free.
In a few seconds, which felt like hours due to her immense desire to escape that hellplace, her body made contact with the glass door and – moments later – with the frigid air of the upcoming November winter. But the snow had not yet fallen down on the concrete floor of the Lab's enclosed yard.
The lights flickered one last time before her eyes, and she escaped.
・୨ ୧・
Will took a deep breath.
After saying goodbye to his friend, solitarily he made his way back home – and it would be a long journey.
Unlike his group of friends, who all lived in central areas of the small town they shared lives, he resided in one of the more distant neighborhoods. But, precisely for that reason, the return home was always an adventure. He laughed, remembering the time he encountered a small squirrel, with its abundant caramel-colored fur, that had followed him along the roadside almost to his doorstep.
But on the day after that, none of his friends had believed him – only Mike. But that was obvious. He smiled.
His bicycle sped along the holed, dimly lit streets near the tiny town center. It offered only the bare minimum shopping in that area. The cool November air brushing against his hair.
On a sharp turn, his bike's speed exponentially increased as it met the downhill slope of CornWallis Av. He was closer to home now, he could feel it. The wind hit against his face, happy with the lingering memory of the affectionate animal that had once followed him home.
But suddenly, a trembling rustle of leaves from the woods on his right side snapped him out of his trance. He froze for a few minutes, slowing his speed and becoming increasingly alert to any unrest that could occur. Nothing came.
But this was common after a certain hour, especially the further away he was from the lights and noises coming from the houses in the heart of the city. He continued his way – but the anxiousness didn’t let go of him.
It was only when, seconds later, the lights that shone through his bike, and the lamppost a few meters away, began to flicker on their own. He stopped completely.
Will was… scared, to say the least – this had never happened before. Not like that.
And when for a fraction of a second, his gaze wandered through his surroundings, searching for something he wasn’t quite sure of and quickly returning to his north, that he saw it.
A tall, animalistic figure before him.
It was crawling towards him.
The fright made him lose control of his bike, letting it fall along with him, onto the right side of the road, covered only by the dry leaves that it precariously provided.
In a swift movement, still enveloped by the stubborn grass that clung to the heavy fabric of his pants, he abandoned his, up to now, vehicle and ran towards the dense woods. Only the backpack strapped to his back accompanied him as he plunged into the thicket, filled by the tall trees that whispered threats back at him – this was MirkWood.
With quick steps, he merged into the darkness: the irregular and dense line of bushes and small roots led him to the heart, and then, to the other side of the edge of that… forest. The dirt road that served as an alternate route to his house gleamed before him.
He didn't dare look back the entire way home. His breathing hitched. His father wouldn’t be proud of this.
Instants later, the rusted front door was before him. His trembling hands fumbled his pants pockets until his keys appeared. The door opened with a loud bang.
Repeating the procedure, he locked it from the inside. And as slowly as he could, he crawled away from the door. His dog barked at it. He sprinted towards the hallway that led to the bedrooms. No one home.
Once again, he was alone. And the door lock was starting to open itself very slowly.
His body was still trembling, consequences from the fright and the shock of his racing back home. He needed to do something. Anything. His gaze swept the rooms: keys, table, chairs, couch, bags… But nothing in the living room, much less the dining room, seemed useful enough against whatever was about to get him.
That was when the shed, long forgotten by the backyard, flashed into his mind. He pushed past both rooms and the kitchen, his body used to push open the back door. The icy air ricocheted off his face, but he didn't look as cheerful as he once had.
With little effort, he reached the shed: using his trembling arm to push open the door and, upon entering, pulling the metal string which flickered in the wind, to turn on the light. The door was sealed without much force.
His eyes searched for something he had long feared, but which was now his only hope. His father's hunting rifle sat leaning against the abandoned carpentry table. The ammunition in small, dusty boxes on top of it.
In a swift motion, the weapon was loaded and positioned by his hands toward the closed door – it sat heavily in his lap. Anguish bubbled from his throat, mouth preventing it from manifesting.
Because, at least once in his life, he needed to be strong.
His neck shivered. The Creature approached.
He prepared to fire, his unsteady hands raising the rifle until the sight reached his right eye. He was ready.
And for a brief moment, nothing happened – not even a growl through the door. Then the lights flickered once more, enveloping him in darkness. It was close.
An icy breath whispered by his exposed neck, chills running down his spine. He slowly pivoted his body towards it.
He had found it.
He couldn't see it, but he had found it. Though, when the lights flickered again – and the power was restored – nothing but an empty ammunition box remained in that dusty cabin. The string that lit the light on swayed against a nonexistent wind.
Will had vanished.