Chapter Text
THE HAWKINS POST
Sunday, December 22, 1985
FOURTEEN-YEAR-OLD GIRL REPORTED MISSING ON FRIDAY
By Matt Galad
The Hawkins Police Department advised The Post on Saturday evening that the parents of fourteen-year-old Jennifer Hayes have reported her missing, stating she never arrived home from school. She was last seen on Friday, December 20th at Hawkins High School. Friends of the young girl claim she stayed behind in the music classroom for piano practice after school let out for winter vacation, however, music teacher David Miller denied seeing her, claiming no students had lingered in his classroom after 2:45 pm.
Chief Callahan will be forming search parties this afternoon, urging anyone who wishes to volunteer to meet at the town center at 12:00 pm sharp and if anyone has any information regarding the whereabouts of Jennifer Hayes, please call the Hawkins Police Department as soon as possible.
RADIO FREQUENCIES AND POWER UNDER THREAT SAYS NASA
By Bruce Lowe
NASA reports claim solar energy output may cause disturbances with radio frequencies and power grids over the next week. Potential for power outages remain at an extreme high and if emergency services are required, these disturbances may interfere with reaching 911 operators for assistance. Forecasted winter storms may also cause added strain during these times.
Sunday, December 22, 1985 7:34 pm
“Can you sense it? Something’s watching you—it knows you’re here…” Mike whispers, glancing between Will, Lucas, and Dustin.
For nearly five hours, Will had been gathered with his friends down in Mike’s basement, playing through a festive holiday-themed Dungeons and Dragons campaign, which Mike said had taken him almost two weeks to plan.
“Oh shit…” Will sits anxiously on the edge of his seat. “What is it?”
Dustin groans, “It’s that demon, isn’t it? Oh, Jesus—we’re so screwed if—”
“Relax, it’s probably something else,” Lucas insists. “Besides, we can take it!”
“I dunno…I’ve got a bad feeling…”
Mike sets down a cluster of small miniatures on the game board. “An army of toy soldiers come to life on the shelves of the workshop!”
And then Lucas smirks as he points at the miniatures and says, “See? Told ya!”
Lucas and Dustin laugh, and Will laughs along with them—at least until he notices Mike narrowing his eyes at the three of them. He suspects that Mike probably thinks they aren’t taking him seriously or something, so Will stops laughing. And as Lucas and Dustin start tossing cheese puffs at each other across the table, Mike catches his stare, and so Will immediately offers him a faint smile and nod of encouragement, as if to say; Hey, don’t worry, we’re just being idiots. Mike’s expression quickly softens and he smiles back as the faintest hint of red colors his freckled cheeks—Will imagines he’s saying; Yeah, you’re right, thanks.
But they continue to stare at one another, completely oblivious to the banter and antics of their friends, until eventually they go quiet and Mike shakes his head—his eyes dart down to the Dungeon Master’s Handbook propped up in front of him, then he says, “And now the toy soldiers jump down from the shelves and triple in size as they march over and surround you, preventing any chance of escape! They ready their muskets and swords, but they don’t attack just yet…they’re awaiting orders—and what’s that? A dark shadowy fog starts creeping in all around you, slowly extinguishing the candles in the room one by one…and wait a minute…” Mike looks around ominously. “Do you hear that? That sound…sounds like rattling chains and…is that…whispering? It’s coming from that room at the far end of the workshop…and it’s getting louder…and louder and—” he smacks both his hands down as he yells, “—Boom!” Will, Lucas, and Dustin all flinch and Mike reaches over and slams a miniature of a larger monster down on the game board. “The demon fiend Krampus breaks down the metal doors of the workshop’s office!”
“Son of a bitch!” Dustin throws his hands up. “I knew it—we’re in deep shit!”
“And now the creeping shadow finally swallows every inch of the workshop into complete darkness as the demon finishes casting his spell in his abyssal tongue…” Mike looks directly at him, then says, “Will, your action!”
“I don’t know! What should I do?”
“Fireball him!” Lucas shouts.
“But I’ll need to roll a thirteen or higher!”
Dustin shakes his head. “Yeah, no—too risky! You should cast Daylight or at least a protection spell!”
“Don’t be such a pussy, Will!” Lucas says. “Just fireball him!”
“Cast Daylight!”
Mike yells, “The ancient demon grows tired of your silly human bickering! He thrashes the chains clutched in his clawed hands and growls in anger!”
“Fireball him now!”
Will decides to take the risk and go for the offensive attack—he grabs his d20 in hand, gives it a good shake, and then he shouts, “Fireball!”
And at 7:41 pm, just as he throws the d20 down—rolling right off the table too—the basement door flies wide open, and as they all jump up in search of the die, Mike’s mother calls out to them from above.
“Michael Wheeler—what did I say?!”
Will looks over to see Mike at the foot of the staircase yelling back, “Mom! Can’t you see we’re in the middle of a campaign?!”
“You mean the end. We already talked about this last night! I said seven-thirty and that was almost fifteen minutes ago!”
“Mom, please! Wait!” Mike abandons the hunt and darts up the stairs after her. “We just need twenty more—”
Will continues looking for his lost d20 among all the clutter of the Wheeler’s basement. It could be anywhere. And so far Lucas and Dustin didn’t seem to have any luck finding it either.
“Where is it?”
“I don’t know!”
“Is it a thirteen?!”
“How would we know if we haven’t found it yet?!”
But then after two minutes of frantic searching Will spots it in a corner, disappointed when he picks it up and realizes that the roll was a seven—great. “Found it!” he announces, holding it up. “Does a seven count?”
“Did Mike see it?” Lucas asks.
He shakes his head.
“Then it doesn't count!”
The three of them were certain the game was officially called for the night because they didn’t expect Karen Wheeler to cave to any of Mike’s demands for additional time. And so they start to pack up their belongings, stuffing them in their backpacks—Will slips the d20 into his bag of dice and sets it in his backpack along with his D&D binder.
Mike stomps down the stairs in a huff. “I can’t believe she won’t even let you guys stay for another twenty minutes so we can finish the damn campaign. As if twenty minutes is the end of the world! She acts like it’s gonna somehow make it so I won’t be ready to leave for our trip tomorrow or something. So stupid.”
“Do you really think we’d get it finished within another twenty minutes?” Dustin chimes in.
“Well, it all depends on Will’s roll—if he rolled higher than a thirteen…”
“We couldn’t find it,” Lucas states, which Will knew was a lie. He hated the idea of lying to Mike.
“I guess I can look for it after you guys leave, not that it’ll matter for tonight—the flow’s already screwed up.”
Then the boys all start heading up the staircase. But Will takes a detour to make a quick phone call to let Jonathan know that he was ready to be picked up, and then right after he walks over to where the others were standing in front of the garage door—from the window in the door he could see it was snowing rather heavy now. And by the time he had rejoined them, Lucas and Dustin were donned in their winter gear, ready to go and saying their goodbyes.
“See ya.”
“Bye guys.”
“Later,” Will and Mike say in unison. They linger behind inside the house, watching as the other two leave and retrieve their bikes from where they had been parked in the garage. And in less than a minute they were out of sight.
Lucas and Dustin were the first to leave because they lived in the same neighborhood as Mike, so riding home by bicycle—in the dark through the blistering cold and heavy snowfall—wouldn’t be nearly as torturous for them as it would be for Will, which is why he usually relies on Jonathan for a ride during times like these. Sometimes he hated that he lived so much farther than all his friends. But right now he wasn’t mad about it at all, because it would take Jonathan a few more minutes to get to Mike’s house. Longer if he got stuck at any red lights. Which meant he got to relish in this small moment, where it was just him and Mike standing together, waiting by the door to his garage.
Will sets his backpack down by his feet and starts layering on his winter garb—coat, scarf…
“So what’re you gonna do while I’m gone?—besides Christmas stuff, of course,” Mike asks, inching the slightest bit closer and making Will’s stomach flutter.
They’ve been doing this little dance of theirs a lot lately. It started back in the summer with their hands brushing against each other in dark movie theaters, and then there were all the times he would look up to find Mike staring (or vice versa), and of course all the times he’s caught Mike’s eyes darting down to his lips, because that’s happened so often he’s lost count. But they never say anything about it. It’s quite confusing really, like they were playing a strange game without a rule book. And sometimes Will isn’t entirely sure if it’s all just in his own head or if Mike was aware of it too. But one thing was certain, absolutely every time he’s alone like this with Mike, he wants to burst into a million pieces because he can’t get his heart to stop racing, or quell the butterflies living in his stomach, or simply ignore that crazy impulse he gets to lean in and kiss him.
Focus.
Will places his green beanie over his head. “Uh…remember I told you yesterday that I finally got the last piece I needed for my Cerebro?”
“Mhm…” Mike nods, eyes dropping down for only a second.
Will swallows hard—his face had gotten so hot from just standing in the doorway like this. “So, um…if the weather’s finally good tomorrow then Dustin’s gonna help me install the antenna tower…just uh…me and him since…y’know…you’re gonna be out of town and uh…Lucas—Lucas already has plans with his family and whatnot…” If he had more to say than that, it was completely lost on him on account of Mike and the intensity of his eyes.
Get it together!
“That’s awesome…‘cause now I’ll finally be able to radio and talk to you whenever I want—no more fighting Nancy for the phone.”
“Yeah…” Will says, then he slips a pair of brown gloves onto his hands, and as he stares down at them trying to think of what else to say, only one thing pops into his head—how he went along with Lucas’s lie about the roll and how much it was actually bothering him. It bothered him because Mike didn’t deserve that—he didn’t deserve to be lied to. And he’d probably be mad if he found out. He always works so hard on his campaigns and lying about the roll just made Will feel like he was a cheater and a bad friend—especially when Mike was standing right in front of him, all smiles and excited at the opportunity to talk to him endlessly on a ham radio—so of course the very next thing to come out of his mouth ends up being; “It was a seven, by the way…”
“Huh?”
“The roll…I found the d20…it was a seven.”
“Oh.”
The house lights flicker and they both look up, then back at each other and Mike starts to grin impishly at him.
“What?” Will knits his eyebrows together.
“Didn’t you see it?” Mike says softly.
“The lights? Yeah…it’s probably ‘cause of all the snow messing with the power lines or something.”
“No…not the lights—look up again.”
Will looks back up and then he sees it. Mistletoe. Conveniently hung from the ceiling right in front of the doorway.
“Oh…” He looks back at Mike, who's still smiling like a cat that got the cream.
“Bet my mom or Nancy put it up there…”
“Uh-huh.”
“But…rules are rules,” Mike says, shrugging as if whatever he was referring to were a simple matter-of-fact.
“Rules?”
“Yeah…mistletoe rules—you do know the rules, right?”
“I know people are supposed to kiss under it.”
“Mhm…but if they don’t kiss it’s bad luck…” then he whispers, “so that means we should probably kiss or the both of us’ll get bad luck…”
“Wait—are you making that up?”
“Why would I make that up—why would I lie to you about something like that?”
“I don’t know…”
“Friends don’t lie, remember?”
“I wasn’t—”
“I mean—I understand if you wanna say no…but just think of all the potential bad luck—is it really worth it? ‘Cause…it’s only a silly little kiss between two best friends…”
Will can’t help his gaze from drifting down as Mike bites at his lip, eyes lingering a bit too long at the distraction. And then he wonders if Mike truly believes that—that it's only a silly little kiss. A kiss between two best friends, nothing more. Because for Will, he wanted it to be more. It’s been on his mind constantly for months now. And what if that’s all it is to Mike? Just a silly little kiss. Despite the dance and game they’ve been playing since this summer, he still can’t be sure that Mike had actually considered thinking of him in that way. After all, they’re both boys—it wasn’t normal. And he knew it was wrong of him, not that it ever stopped him from thinking about Mike like that.
But what if this was the only chance he’d ever get to kiss Mike? He could die tomorrow and never know what it feels like—he can’t say no. He’d regret it for the rest of his life.
“Okay.”
Mike lifts his eyebrows. “Okay? So you’re saying yes?”
Will nods his head. “Yeah.”
He smiles lopsidedly at him. “Cool.”
“Cool…” Will mumbles. But there was nothing cool about it—his entire body felt like it had been set on fire. Because he was about to kiss Mike!
Then Mike inches forward some more until they’re impossibly close, and right as they lean their heads in, lips about to touch—
BEEP-BEEP!
They both flinch, backing away from one another abruptly, and he watches Mike clutch his chest with his hand as if he were having a mini heart attack. Dammit. Jonathan really had the worst timing ever.
“Shit!”
“Yeah, I gotta go—” Will slings the strap of his backpack over his shoulder and then reaches for the doorknob, but he pauses and turns back, asking Mike timidly, “Uh, hey…when do you get back from your trip again?”
“Should be back on the twenty-eighth, I think around noon or so…why? Did you wanna hang out?”
“Well, I got you a Christmas present…but I forgot to bring it for you tonight—was hoping I could give it to you then.”
“Oh, yeah?” Mike smiles. “I…I actually have one for you too—do you want it now or would you rather we exchange them together?”
“Together.”
“Alright—sounds good to me.”
“Cool, guess I’ll see you then…” Will smiles back at him and then he pushes the door open, quickly making his way out of the garage to the driveway before Jonathan gets impatient and honks his horn again.
Will makes it halfway down the driveway when Mike calls out to him, “Hey wait!”
He stops to turn around, seeing Mike standing there at the edge of his garage, snow falling fast, while the lights flicker one more time.
“You still owe me a kiss, Byers!”
Will grins wide, then he continues walking backward as he says, “We’ll just have to save it for when you get back!”
“Promise?!”
“Promise!” Will laughs as he turns back around and then hurries down the rest of the driveway to get into Jonathan’s car. He was immensely thankful for the car’s heater, because he wasn’t even outside for less than two minutes and he already felt like a popsicle.
“Looks like you guys had lots of fun tonight—never seen you so smiley before.”
“Yeah, uh—it was a really cool campaign.”
“So did you guys win?”
“Uh…not yet—we got interrupted, but almost.”
It wasn’t as if Will was going to tell his brother about the fact he and Mike almost kissed, or how Mike said he still owes him one, and especially not the fact that he actually promised to kiss Mike when he got back from his trip.
And less than a minute into the car ride home, while listening to one of Jonathan’s mixtapes, which was currently playing When I Dream by The Teardrop Explodes, Will thinks about it some more. Because maybe, just maybe, Mike actually wanted to kiss him, regardless of the mistletoe…
THE INDIANAPOLIS STAR
Friday, December 22, 1995
GEOMAGNETIC STORM LIKELY TO DISRUPT RADIO COMS AND POWER SOURCES
By George Parker
The Sun's surface has been unusually active since Wednesday. According to NASA, this sudden increase in activity is related to the solar cycle of our Sun, which involves a typically 11-year periodic change of the Sun’s magnetic field. The height of this cycle is known as the solar maximum, however, data indicates the last solar maximum was reached only ten years ago, indicating a shorter than average cycle.
Based on current patterns, NASA scientists are anticipating intense solar flares to occur throughout the week, impacting the earth with multiple magnetic storms over the next several days. Effects of solar flares can be expected to hit earth 15 to 70 hours after the gasses explode on the Sun's surface. As solar winds brush the earth, they disrupt magnetic fields and have the potential to not only interfere with radio communications, but possibly even shut down entire power systems. Back in December of 1985, scientists linked a strong geomagnetic storm to a transformer overload that shut down entire power grids in Canada for two whole days.
Of course, many people consider the effects of such intense solar events to be magical, as they are the source of gorgeous glimmering auroras that can be seen as far south as Mexico on a clear night when they would otherwise only be observed in the Arctic and Antarctic Circles.
Friday, December 22, 1995 6:54 pm
Somewhere driving along US Route 31 in Indiana, heading north toward his hometown of Hawkins, Mike Wheeler was cursing his obsessive nature. He knew he should have left earlier in the day, because the sun had already set and snow had begun falling in flurries—visibility was decreasing by the minute. But of course, he had no one to blame but himself.
Sorry, Mom. I know I said I’d be getting in around four o’clock—just got caught up in one of my cases and totally lost track of time, but I’m leaving right now and should be there around seven.
Okay, well, it’s supposed to snow, so please drive safe—no speeding to get here faster.
I’ll be careful—see you soon. Love you.
Love you too.
And now thanks to traffic—due to the combination of holiday travelers and the weather—he wasn't going to make it by seven o’clock like he hoped. But he also promised not to speed or be reckless and he’d much rather his mother assume he’s dead in a ditch somewhere for a little while instead of actually turning that worrying thought into a reality.
He didn’t hate driving long distances either, but Mike really wished his cassette player hadn’t jammed last week (which was seriously rotten luck), because now he had to rely on his car radio for music and suffer through commercials every three to five songs. The other drawback was the inevitable need to change stations once he got too far from Indianapolis—though the drive from Indianapolis to Hawkins only ever required him to change it once. Because halfway there, he would be able to pick up channel 101.9—his old favorite classic rock station from when he was a teenager. But for some reason, after he was within range of the station and having tuned into the right channel, he found the connection kept cutting in and out. Every few seconds he’d hear nothing but static. It was definitely altering the context of the current song that was playing; Mary Jane’s Last Dance by Tom Petty & The Heartbreakers;
“…Last dance wi—*STATIC*—time to kill—*STATIC*—this town again…”
And by 7:19 pm he could just barely see the sign through the snow as it came into view:
WELCOME TO HAWKINS
It’d be about another twenty-five minutes to get to his parents house on Maple Street. Mike continued slowly driving down an unlit single lane highway into the small quiet town, at times he wasn’t even sure he was driving on the right side of the road, and his windshield wipers were working overtime to combat the encroaching snow—it was falling faster and thicker than before. But not so thick that he couldn’t still see faint signs of houses decorated with festive holiday lights.
Every year he dreads his inevitable return to his hometown for the holidays—if it wasn’t for his parents and sisters, he’d never set foot in Hawkins ever again. But he especially hated coming back for Christmas, because this particular time of year was forever laced with a horrible memory that had a way of cutting into his heart like a sword. Of course, he’d never hear the end of it if he avoided any of his family’s holiday gatherings. Nancy would pester him, Holly would beg, his mother would cry—his father was perhaps the only one who wouldn’t care either way, he was always the apathetic type, yet he would likely still remind him how much it would break his mother’s heart. So every year, he’d wrap duct tape around his own just to prevent hers from breaking, and force himself to make the trip. And then he’d partake in all their family traditions—a mini Christmas movie marathon with his sisters, drink some of his mother’s rum-based eggnog, add a star to a decorated tree and admire all the lights around the neighborhood the night before Christmas, have even more eggnog, exchange gifts in the morning, get so tired of eggnog he starts drinking straight rum, enjoy a festive feast on Christmas night, even more rum—mostly just to try and forget the one thing that’s haunted him for years…
The murder of his best friend—someone he deeply loved—Will Byers.
He’ll never get over the feeling of returning home from a near week-long family Christmas vacation to learn that Will had gone missing—vanished, nowhere to be found—with the town littered with his smiling face on posters saying; ‘HAVE YOU SEEN ME?’. And only days later he and his other friends Lucas and Dustin, while out at night trying to find him, followed flashing lights and the sound of sirens—arriving just in time to witness Will’s bloodied body being recovered from the edge of a frost-covered cornfield.
That’s not Will—it can’t be…
But it was.
It was also his propensity to always have clear-cut proof that had propelled his legs forward at impressive speed, flying past anyone who dared prevent him from seeing with his own two eyes, until he was within arms reach of the body—the body of his favorite person in the whole wide world. Mike wished more than anything that it hadn’t been Will.
But it was.
And he also wished that he could only remember the way he looked the last time he’d seen him alive—when he was laughing and smiling with snow falling upon his head as he left his house that evening—not the gruesome bashed-in face that he came upon with all that spilled blood, completely unrecognizable, where the only thing that confirmed to him, that it was in fact Will and not some other kid, were his birthmarks. And that horrifying sight of him was an image that had been burned into his brain ever since. Finding its way into his dreams—twisting them into nightmares. Too often when he’d fall asleep, Will would be there and he’d try to save him, but he'd always fail—jolting awake, often drenched in a cold sweat.
The constant threat of those nightmares had also led to a horrible battle with insomnia. He would dread sleep—at times, that fear would keep him awake for over twenty-four hours in a row. Sleeping pills like Ambien were the only way he could ever hope to get a proper night’s rest. And while they hadn’t exactly prevented his relentless nightmares from occurring, he found that whenever he took an Ambien, he’d be less affected by them when he woke up—they’d be less haunting. That alone was probably why he became rather dependent on them, taking them a few times a week—or whenever he didn’t drink something alcoholic instead.
But even in his waking hours, Will still always found a way into Mike’s thoughts—sometimes he even believed he could see him too—just a glimpse of him in a crowd. Or sometimes he’d hear his voice whispering to him in the wind, and at times the sound of it was so clear that he would even talk to him, which he never told anyone about because people would think he was crazy.
Don’t forget about me, Mike.
I could never.
It was almost as if he were a ghost trying desperately to reach out from beyond the veil to touch him one last time. Though the more likely reason for any of that was because his brain was trying to cope with what he lost, still to this very day. Because losing his best friend had turned his world upside down. It left him utterly broken. Even though he tried to hide it, he was always and forever unbelievably angry that someone had taken something so precious from him, and that there was nothing in the entire universe he could do to change what had happened. No way to turn back the clock and save him…
Will was gone.
Gone for almost ten whole years—December 26th would be the tenth anniversary of his disappearance and December 30th would be the tenth anniversary of the day they found him lifeless in that cornfield. That night had also completely changed the trajectory of Mike’s life—how different would things be if it hadn’t turned out this way?
For starters, Mike never forgave the Hawkins Police Department for nearly botching the case against Henry Creel—the now convicted killer—all because Phil Callahan—the now former Chief of Police—was a fucking idiot. Had it not been for his own personal investigation, which took three years of following all the leads Callahan ignored, who knows what would’ve happened? That piece of shit would probably still be out there—still killing. It left a bitter taste in his mouth.
And it was that very same bitterness that was the primary reason Mike does what he does now—offering his services as a private investigator to other people who trust cops to do their jobs about as much as him, specializing in missing persons cases because he had quite the penchant for that sort of thing. Of course, ever since he was young, Mike always sought the truth, but it was the murder of his best friend that turned that quest for truth into relentless obsession. It was like an addiction. Because even after he eventually got the answers he was seeking involving Will’s murder, he was never satisfied. It was never enough. And maybe the reason he made a career out of it was only because discovering the answers for other people kept him from going truly insane…
At 7:47 pm, he makes the last turn onto Maple Street, driving down all the way until he reaches the cul-de-sac at the very end, and then he pulls into the driveway of his old childhood home. It looked the same as it did every year in December, the yard and roof were blanketed in fresh snow, and the windows and trim of the house were decorated with white Christmas lights.
Mike wasn’t looking forward to getting out of the car—outside the temperature was somewhere around 13°F. He was definitely stalling a bit, just sitting there, staring at the house (as best he could through all the heavy snowfall). A few times the lights flickered and he started to worry the power would go out. That would sure make for a miserably cold night without any heater. But he couldn’t stay idling in the driveway forever. He was late as it was. And so he sighs, popping the trunk before turning off the engine of his car. Then he braces himself before he exits the vehicle, grabbing his suitcase from the trunk, then carefully walks up the driveway—the lights flicker again as he makes his way into the garage. He brushes off the snowflakes from his coat and hair, then taps each of his boots against a wall to dislodge packed snow from the groves within the outer soles. And he’s about to reach out for the door knob when the door swings open.
“Michael! Oh thank God, I was so worried!” His mother wastes no time pulling him into an almost painfully tight hug.
He can't help but smile. “Hi, Mom.”
“You said seven o’clock and you know me—started to think the worst.”
“Hey, I did exactly what you said—no speeding or unsafe risks were taken,” he laughs.
“I’m so grateful—now come in before you get sick.” She lets go, allowing him to walk in before her. And as he sets down his suitcase and starts to take off his boots, she asks, “Hungry? I can heat up some dinner and make you something warm to drink too—maybe some hot cider?”
“With a little rum?”
“Just a splash…” His mother pinches his left cheek. “Oh, I’m so happy you’re home!”
“Ow.”
She rolls her eyes as she drops her arm to her side, still smiling. “Also, I meant to ask you—would you mind going through some of your old things in your room and in the basement? Doesn’t have to be tonight—I know you’re probably tired from work and driving and I think your sisters were waiting for you to watch a movie…but I thought now would be as good a time as any for you to help sort through whatever’s yours before you leave. And if you want to keep anything, be sure to take it back with you—I’ll donate whatever you don’t want. This house just has too much junk lying around.”
“Alright.”
“Good…well, I’m going to go heat you up something, should only take a few minutes.”
She smiles again and walks over toward the kitchen, leaving Mike behind to remove his scarf and coat. He hangs them both up on a coat rack, then arranges his boots neatly beside the garage door.
“Mike!” Holly shouts, turning the corner from the front hallway that leads into the kitchen, and dashes over to him. Her golden locks had been tied into two low pigtails and she's wearing the same green Mickey Mouse Christmas-themed pullover sweater that she’s worn excessively during the last two Christmases with red pajama pants.
“Hey, Holls.”
She throws her arms around him, with more force than he expected of someone her size—she's about as tall as Nancy now, but couldn’t be more than one hundred and twenty pounds. He returns the hug and after a moment they break away.
“Okay, so me and Nancy went to Family Video earlier and rented—” she starts to count with her fingers as she lists off each title, “—Home Alone, Scrooged, The Muppet Christmas Carol, The Nightmare Before Christmas, Miracle on 34th Street—the newer one—and also The Santa Clause. We’re giving you first pick, so which would you like to watch first?”
“Nightmare Before Christmas, of course.”
“We knew you’d say that—well, that or Scrooged,” she laughs.
“Uh, yeah—Halloween plus Christmas? It’s like the perfect movie.”
“Well…I’m going to set it up and I’ll make some popcorn when we’re ready. And Nancy should be down soon, she was just drying her hair.”
“Sounds good.”
After she walks away, Mike takes his suitcase and drags it over to the basement, lugging it down the stairs. He figured he would rather sleep down there than his old room. And this way he wouldn’t have to share a bathroom with his sisters—they had a tendency to hog it.
He liked how the basement had remained relatively the same, sporting only a couple significant changes since he last lived in the house. The corner wall-mounted shelves above the old television and end tables were much tidier than they ever used to be, the sofa had been replaced with a futon, and all of the old posters and Will’s drawings had been removed (but of course his mother had given the drawings to him since she thought they’d be safer off the wall and kept in a folder—which is exactly why they’re all stored together in a drawer in his apartment).
Even with the changes, it was still his favorite place in the whole house. And back when he was a kid, it was also the coolest hangout for all his friends next to Castle Byers, which unlike the basement, no longer exists. For the first three years after Will was murdered, Mike would hike out to the small fort as often as he could—somehow it helped him to still feel close to Will, almost like a part of his spirit had lingered nearby, but one day he made the trek only to find someone had tore it down—there was nothing left of it, not even a single piece of wood that looked as though it once belonged to the framework. Gone, just like Will. And it made him sick to think someone had used the pieces as firewood, since that was the most likely scenario. But he at least still had the basement. A place where many of his most treasured memories had been made. And of course it makes him angry at just how often he wishes he could turn back time to experience them all again.
Once his suitcase was settled, Mike sighs and then he darts up the stairs to where his mother had set out a plate of reheated meatloaf and broccoli with a glass of hot cider, which he adds a bit more rum to when she isn’t looking. And he’s halfway through his meal when Nancy finds him in the eat-in kitchen area, so he pauses and gets up to give her a hug. He notes to himself how she had straightened her shoulder length hair, and just like Holly, she was also wearing Christmas themed pajamas—satin green with a red trim.
Then Nancy sits with him while he continues to eat, catching up on all the things they’ve missed since last seeing each other for Thanksgiving only a month ago—there wasn’t tons to talk about on his end, but for her, well, Nancy tells him that she ran into Jonathan while visiting for Thanksgiving, and how shortly after that, the two of them had started dating again—long distance for now since he currently lives in New Haven and she lives in Boston—and then tells him how they talk on the phone every night and how every weekend they try and meet up somewhere roughly halfway to make it easier to see each other.
And Nancy claims she hadn’t told him yet because she didn’t know how to bring it up—afraid that the mere mention of Jonathan would cause him to spiral and then ruin their family holiday by not showing up or something. And she isn’t wrong, thinking of Jonathan Byers instantly makes him think of Will again, but he also couldn’t sit there and demand her to never talk about him. If Nancy found happiness with Jonathan, who was he to keep her from it? Besides, Will is always on his mind anyway, so he couldn’t be any more upset or angry than he already is. Because not a single day has gone by since he died where he hadn’t thought of him at least once—there’s always something there to remind him.
But Mike had come to accept that it would likely be this way for the rest of his life. And that he’ll continue to remain plagued with thoughts of what Will would be like if he were still alive—things like; Would he and Will still be just as close as they were as kids after graduating high school and moving away for college? Where would he go to college? What sort of job would he have? Would he get married? And would he have kids of his own by now? Twenty-four still seemed young to Mike, but Lucas and Max got married only a year out of high school and they had their first daughter by the time they were both twenty-one, so he supposes it could have happened like that for Will. Though the idea of Will being married to someone else with kids, no matter how irrational it was, makes his stomach twist—because if Will were still here, he’d wish it would just be the two of them against the world for the rest of their lives—of course, that’s only because Will wasn’t just his best friend, he was also his first love. As pitiful as it sounds, he’s never left any room in his heart for anyone else since he died, even though he never knew for certain if his feelings would’ve even been reciprocated—he only suspected the possibility and then it was too late to find out. And the thought of feeling that intensely about someone again only to lose them was just too much…
“I’m happy for you…truly,” he manages.
“Thanks.”
“So uh…is he gonna stop by for Christmas?”
“No. I mean, we talked about it, but we thought it was all still too new and we weren’t ready to mix our family traditions just yet…also I didn’t exactly want to take him away from Joyce right now and I still wanted to see you guys—it’d be so much easier if she and Bob still lived in Hawkins—you remember they live in Maine, right?”
Mike nods. He remembered—he hadn’t been the only one who wanted to leave Hawkins behind as soon as possible, because Joyce, Bob, and Jonathan had moved to Maine just a little over a year after what happened to Will…
And then he scrunches his nose. “Wait, hold on—how did you run into Jonathan then? What was he doing in Hawkins for Thanksgiving?”
Nancy gives him a knowing look as she says quietly, “You know…”
“Oh…right…” She didn’t have to say it because he figured it out, it just took him a few extra seconds for his brain to connect the dots. Jonathan had made the trip for Will—to visit his grave. Mike sighs. “Well…in the future, if he ever does happen to stop by, I don’t care—at least you don’t have to worry about me, okay?”
Nancy nods, then smiles. “I’ll keep that in mind…but uh, he’ll be visiting around the thirtieth, if you’re still around and want to say hi…”
“Maybe.”
They talk some more and once he finishes eating, he washes his dishes in the sink and pours himself a bit more rum—without the cider this time—then he finally joins his sisters in the living room to start their first movie of their annual marathon and Holly immediately hands him a bowl of buttered popcorn. Although, Mike didn’t expect he’d have the energy to stay awake long enough to watch more than one movie tonight. He was extremely tired since he’d been up since around 5:50 am working on a case and the alcohol was certainly not helping—he downs the rest of his drink anyway and sets the empty glass on the table.
Not even ten minutes into the movie, in the middle of Jack’s first song, did he start to feel like he was sinking into the sofa, eyes growing heavier with each passing second, almost hypnotized by the moving pictures on the television screen. He tries to fight it, but sleep takes over and he drifts off…
“Sorry,” Mike says, only when he looks over to find his sisters, he’s alone—and also down in the basement sitting on an old sofa.
Oh right—we’re supposed to watch movies. Must’ve forgot.
And so he gets up from the sofa to meet them upstairs, but as he ascends the staircase, he slips, falling backward as everything around him fades away—falling further and further down until something finally breaks his fall—and it wasn’t the basement floor.
Mike stares up with his back flat against the ground—rays of brilliant light dance and swirl like smoke in the wind across the darkness of the night sky.
Where am I?
He could hear singing in the distance, but where was he exactly?
Mike pushes himself up, now noticing the surrounding stalks of corn illuminated from the dazzling aurora above him.
Wait…
I know where I am.
And Mike wants to shout—he wants to scream—only the words won’t come out.
More music.
More singing…
But then he hears laughter coming from behind him and he spins around to see Will about twenty feet away.
Will?
“Will!”
But Will only laughs at him some more and then turns to run away.
“No! Come back!”
Mike starts to chase him through the cornfield, but it was an endless maze. Every time he thought he was about to reach him, Will would disappear between another row. Or he’d follow him through and lose track of him altogether until he heard his laughter again coming from another direction.
More music…
“Will, where are you?!”
And more singing…
“Will, please!”
But then everything goes silent.
“You never should’ve let me go…” Will whispers from behind him.
And when he turns around, Will is standing within arms reach, face bashed-in and his entire body dripping with blood—
Mike jerks awake with a distressed groan, heart racing in panic, and popcorn flying all about. It takes him a moment to ground himself in reality—it was only a nightmare—then he finds his sisters looking over at him with worry as his heart starts to steadily slow back down. The movie was now paused with about twenty-three minutes remaining, but they were sympathetic to his fatigue, deciding to finish it after dinner tomorrow and then they helped him to clean up the mess. After he bids his sisters a good night, Mike drags his feet toward the basement and down the stairs, flopping his drained body on the futon, not even bothering to convert it into a bed, and falls fast asleep. But of course, his nightmares eventually invaded…again.