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That first day of Kindergarten would stay bright in Will’s memories. The day William Byers’ life officially started. Everything after it felt duller.
It began with him, wrapped up in a sweater, trying to start the swing he sat on. The chain left a metallic smell on his skin, but Will pushed on. His feet just touched the grass, shoes skidding across the blades.
Sticking out his tongue in deep concentration, Will gave a kick and pumped his feet to get moving. Or tried to, at least. He had a good start, but quickly slowed down when he couldn’t gain momentum.
He tried again, making sure his legs were in sync. The cold chain bit into his palms, but Will gripped it harder. Whenever they went to the park, Jonathan always pushed him and did underdog when Will asked, so he was still trying to get the rhythm himself.
He had just started getting the hang of it when another boy perched on the swing next to his. The boy had fluffy black hair and a big smile.
“Hi!” He chirped. “You wanna be friends?”
Will nodded his head, simple as that.
His first friend, Michael Wheeler. They were inseparable after that, spending hours of every day with each other. That only grew when Mike got his first D&D set, and he and Will were taken by it instantly. They spent more hours than they could count plotting campaigns and doodling concept art, arguing whose was better, making sure everything was perfect before starting a new adventure.
Some people whispered, shot side glances that Will couldn’t help but feel. Something about unbecoming behaviour. Lonnie was the loudest of them all. Snide comments about queers and fags slipping into conversations. Will never asked what those words meant. He’d learned early on that asking questions always led to Lonnie looking at him like he’d proven something. When he came home from school, he checked the driveway for his car.
Between kindergarten and second grade, Will started letting go of Mike’s hand first. It made something acidic roil in his stomach. Mike tried to reach out once or twice after that, but Will shoved his hands in his pockets before Mike could. He looked confused. After that, Mike stopped reaching for his hand.
It continued like this for a while, Will pulling back ever so slightly whenever Lonnie would glare at the pair for too long when Mike was over. Will hated those cold stares, so obviously filled with contemptuous disgust. But what he hated worst was that stare being aimed at Mike.
So Will began spending more time at Mike’s when they had play dates than the other way around. Mike was all for this idea, because that allowed Will to have more sleepovers where they could spend hours reading comics under the covers with a flashlight. At Will’s, they had to worry about His mom catching them and sending them to bed for rest.
But it didn’t help the comments. The raised voices. In fact, spending more time at Mike’s almost made it worse.
He remembers shivering under his covers one night, the bedroom door cracked but too scared to get up to shut it. Sharp voices came from the living room, talking about Will and the sleepover he had the previous night.
“You think letting Will spend all his time at the Wheelers’ house is a good idea, Joyce? Look at him!”
“There is nothing wrong with Will spending time with Mike! They’re only five, for God’s sake!”
Will pulled the blanket up over his head. It didn’t stop him from hearing everything clearly.
It would go on like this for a while. Hours, sometimes. Another reason to find a comfortable corner in Mike’s basement and make himself at home. Even after Lonnie left, his words left hooks in him.
When they entered fourth grade, it only got worse. The comments were barbed wire instead of a few thrown pebbles. Will tried his hardest not to let them get to him, but they burrowed under his skin like a splinter a few layers of skin too deep.
They continued playing D&D with Lucas, and Dustin joined the Party a few months into the school year. They were a good group of misfits, and watched each other’s backs. But there was something on Will. No one ever pointed it out, but they always seemed to know it was there.
He tried not to think about it. Sure, he was shy and liked art and music, but that didn’t mean he was very different from anyone else. At least, that’s what he told himself when he couldn’t fall asleep at night.
Until it was eight o’clock on November 6th, 1983.
Before he biked off, Will told Mike what number he rolled, suffocating the voice that kept insisting Mike’s eyelashes were pretty. He pushed down that voice as he raced Dustin, then began the routine route home.
When he first saw the figure, standing in the middle of the road, too abnormal to be human, he’d startled and crashed off the road. Turning, it was gone. Will didn’t think; he just picked himself up and ran as fast as he could. Back through the woods, ducking under branches and leaping over roots.
Behind him, he could hear footsteps.
Bursting through the front door, Will locked it behind him. Peeked through the curtain. Now it was standing at the edge of the driveway. Will’s heart dropped to the bottom of his stomach.
When the phone didn’t work and the doorknob started rattling, Will ran. Out to the shed, where he knew Lonnie kept the shotgun. For a brief, flashing moment, he was glad his father taught him how to handle a gun.
Skittering into the shed, he unhooked the shotgun from where it lay and started loading it with bullets. Whatever this thing was, Will wasn’t going to go down without a fight. Hefting it against his shoulder, he stood, feet wide, gun ready.
It didn’t matter in the end. The lightbulb flickered, went out, and all was plunged into darkness.
Will was taken before he could get a shot in.
Now, Will didn’t believe in a higher power in the world. Sure, there could be something out there, but if there was a God, why didn’t he step in all those times Lonnie pushed Jonathan and Will around a little too hard? His mom never made them go to church, so all his knowledge came from Mr. Wheeler or television.
The monster dragged him into a place that looked like Hawkins. But it was wrong. Dark and dead and cold. Hell was supposed to be hot. Wasn’t it?
Mr. Wheeler said that thieves, liars, and homosexuals burned in hell. That implied it would be hot, right? So why was it cold here?
Somehow, he struggled out of the demon's hold and was able to run away, as far as he could go. He went past his house, past Castle Byers, deep into the woods. Except, they weren’t really trees, and they weren’t really any woods. He tripped over more vines than he could count, and was covered in wet dirt by the end. His fingers turned red in the cold.
His breath came out in bursts of clouds when he finally slowed. Lungs burning, he looked back to make sure nothing was following him. He was safe for now.
Demons didn’t drag good people into hell. Was it because he thought Mike’s eyelashes were pretty? He wished he hadn’t noticed how—
They sat on the floor of Mike's basement, giggling as they worked on their respective art pieces. Mike had bet that Will wouldn’t be able to draw him, so they turned it into a competition. Will was feeling a bit confident, stealing glances at Mike before inspecting his paper.
It looked like Mike. It had his messy hair and freckles.
“Okay,” Will said. “I think I’m done.”
Mike bent his head closer to his paper, scribbling furiously. “Give me a sec, almost got it.” He laid his pencil down, scooped the paper and held it close to his chest, and raised his eyebrows.
“You first.”
Will wrinkled his nose. “No, you go first.”
“Fine,” Mike sighed, flipping over his paper.
He had to keep a very straight face as Will looked at his portrait. His eyes were too far apart, the nose had been neglected entirely, and his hair looked like a solid plastic dome.
“Wow Mike, that's—” A giggle escaped. “That looks just like me.”
Mike slapped his paper down on the floor, and his eyebrows furrowed. “Show me yours.” He demanded.
Sliding Mike his, Will moved his knees until his chin rested on top. He watched Mike’s eyes trace over every pencil line.
“That’s not fair,” Mike whined. “Of course you’d win.”
“I win?” Will asked, sitting up a little straighter. “I mean, of course I’d win. Your hair looks like a hat.”
“No, it doesn’t!” Mike cried, but Will could tell there was lightness beneath the tone.
Will shook his head. “Sorry, Mike. I’m just a better drawer.”
“Here,” Mike slid Will his drawing and took Will’s own. Then began drawing on top of it. He lifted it up. Now drawing Mike had a monocle and lopsided top hat. “Who’s a good drawer now?”
Will took his own and added a mustache and goatee. Then added sunglasses—he couldn’t handle looking at the eyes anymore. Put an arrow that said “best artist: Will.” He showed it with a grin.
When Mike started laughing, Will’s smile only grew larger until the two boys were laughing hysterically. They would reach over every so often and add another doodle to the profiles, and the laughter would only get louder. The basement echoed with it, and Will could’ve sworn he’d never been so happy.
No.
That couldn’t be it.
But then, why else?
A sharp inhale led to a coughing fit. The air down here was wrong. Expected in a place like this.
It wasn’t like he’d done anything. He hadn’t told anyone. Hadn’t acted on his thoughts. Hadn’t wanted to think about them in the first place. Or, he tried not to. Was he here because he was bad? Because he kept wanting the wrong things?
He scrubbed furiously at the mud on his sleeves. It didn’t come off.
He swallowed, throat tight.
It wasn’t surprising. Not really. Mr. Wheeler was right. Lonnie was right. Somehow, grown-ups always knew.
Moving among the trees, Will wandered for a bit, unsure of where to go. There were no other monsters around, so Will carefully, quietly, made his way back to his home. Or, well, hell’s version of his home.
If this was where boys like him belonged—well, it looked enough like home.