Missybee Writes

Fiction addict, technophobe, archaeology nerd. She/her , 33, UK. Vague ambitions to turn a dangerously obsessive writing hobby into something more. A single, behemoth fanfic (HotD) and a number of original WIPs (fantasy + historical fiction - this world is far too boring).

[missybee-writes]

Shadow in the Dark - Chapter Six: Halloween

Genre: Sci-fi; Romance; Horror

Warnings: (eventual) sexual content; violence; gore; swearing; alcohol and drug use.

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fem!OC

Sooo...how about a 20k word chapter? It may have slightly grown beyond my expectations. Hope you enjoy!

Summary

In July ‘85, an ambitious realtor sells the crumbling Creel house to a family looking for a new start.

Rose McAllister may be living in a grand and gothic murder house in a small Midwest town, but senior year in high school is the stuff of her nightmares: a last chance at a normal school year without being the odd one out, the sick girl, the weirdo from across the pond. Blend in, make it through the year, and make some friends. Stay unnoticed at all costs.

Hawkins, and one seriously loud-mouthed metalhead, is about to flip that carefully laid plan Upside Down.

Chapter one: Cursed

Chapter two: Munson Magic

Chapter three: Fearless

Chapter Four: Code Name, Farrah Fawcett

Chapter Five: Sleepover

Ao3 link

---

The nylon gown scratched at the bare skin of her chest, fluorescent lights burned her eyes and buzzed incessantly, and the dull symphony of bleeping monitors was close to driving her to madness. Eyes closed, she could easily be back in Great Ormond Street Hospital with the brightly painted walls, or the view of the British Museum’s roof from her window. Hawkins Memorial was small, the smells and sights were different. And when Rose looked to her left, instead of her friend Elaine in her oxygen mask smothered in colourful boy band stickers pulled from the pages of magazines, there was only her Mum, sitting in a narrow armchair, picking at her the red-raw beds of her nails and stewing in a tense misery. Perhaps hospitals wore on Mum even more than they did Rose. After all, she’d lost Rose’s dad in an accident and seen her only child seriously ill within a year. No wonder Mum looked peaky just being back in here, washed out and pale under the hostile lighting.

The bleeping and rhythmic line moving up and down on the screen was steady, like the slow beat of Lars Ulrich on the drums in one of the songs on Eddie’s mixtape, Fade to Black. It must have pleased Dr Bateman, for he scratched his moustache and nodded, scribbling down something in Rose’s file.

“Alrighty then,” he said, clicking his pen and putting it back in his white coat pocket. “Mr McAllister, your daughter’s heart seems to be functioning well.”

Jerry looked from Rose to her mum nervously. “Oh, I’m just her stepfather, no need to t-”

“So I see no cause for concern,” the doctor continued, not even giving Rose or her agitated mother a glance. “If there are any significant changes then have her come in, but otherwise we’ll repeat the ECG in three months and go from there. Make sure she keeps up with her meds in the meantime. Okay?”

Jerry was flustered. “Um..oh, I guess. Does that mean there’s no risk of anything going...you know...wrong?”

Her mum swallowed hard and looked away, and Rose could see she’d made fingers bleed from picking at them.

“Well,” Dr Bateman said slowly. “There’s always a chance that complications can occur down the line. But more than likely, she’ll be-”

“Eighty-twenty, isn't it doc.” Rose didn’t try to hide the disdain she felt at saying it out loud. “There is an eighty percent chance I’ll be just the same as anyone else and keep going as I am, but a twenty percent chance that I’ll develop heart failure at any time in the future.” 

The doctor grunted. “Like I said, more than likely she’ll be normal.”

“Oh good, you can hear me,” Rose exaggerated her smile. “I was beginning to think I may be invisible. Tell me, if we played Russian roulette right now, and I held a gun to your head, would you be happy with a twenty percent chance of a bullet in the chamber? One in five?”

“No need to be smart now,” his lip stiffened, moustache trembling.

Of course. Smart mouths were somehow more acceptable when you didn’t have tits. God forbid a woman talk back. She took a deep breath and looked at the charts by his side. “Aside from regularity, were you able to hear any sluggish murmurs that might mean endocarditis? No? In that case, be a dear and fetch Dr Abrams from neurology, so he can carry out the electroencephalogram and I can get out of here as quickly as bloody possible.”

The doctor’s face was thunder, he gave Jerry a pissed-off look and turned on his heel and left the small room, shiny shoes tapping on the linoleum, at least a hundred beats per minute. 

“What an unpleasant man,” her mum said. “But I do wish you wouldn’t antagonise the medical staff, Rose. If something should ever happen, it’s them who...who’ll...oh gosh, i’m feeling dizzy. I should sit down.”

Jerry held her mum’s shoulders gently. “Honey, you’re already sat down.”

Her brows drew together like she was startled. “Am I? How silly of me. It’s alright, I just haven’t been sleeping very well.”

Rose, now free of all the wires attached to her chest, swung her legs off the rickety hospital bed. “It’s not more nightmares, is it?”

“No...well, just a few.”

“Shirley,” Jerry said. “I think you should see someone about that. The Department of Energy has in-house doctors for all sorts of things, without even going through insurance. Maybe I can make an appointment with a therapist.”

That was it, her mother laughed, dropping her purse onto the floor. “Therapy, Jerry? Nonsense, I am not mentally ill. It must be all the wires and the pipes in the house, you can’t go five minutes in that house without being woken up by clanking and buzzing. I don’t need a therapist, I need a plumber!”

Another doctor burst in, an older, kooky-looking gentleman with bushy white hair and round glasses, like a smiling Einstein. 

“Dr Abrams, at your service,” he nodded toward Rose. “My colleague is as wound up as a teakettle, steam coming right out his ears. Do I have you to thank for that, Miss McAllister?”

She nodded.

“You must tell me your secret. That man’s as grouchy as a possum eating scraps from a dumpster.”

Rose smiled, immediately put at ease. “I don’t believe I've seen a possum before, but I’ll take your word for it.”

Two nurses dragged another machine, this one with an intricate web of wires, each ending in a sensor. But unlike the little sensors that had been taped to her chest, these were attached together in the snape of a cap.

He looked over the rim of his glasses as the nurse held out the cap. “I would explain the EEG to you, but I don’t think this is your first rodeo, is it Miss McAllister?”

Rose tucked her hair out the way and flattened the waves alongside her head as much as possible. “No it’s not.”

The nurses attached the sensors all over her head, as close-fitting as a swimming cap and stretching from her forehead to the nape of her neck. The machine came to life, and she sat still for a long time as they fiddled with the monitor screen and dials and knobs beneath.

Dr Abrams read through her file as the machine did its thing, and Rose stayed still. “So two years since the surgery and your cardiac arrest. Dr Bateman’s tests look good, no issues identified with your heart right now. I see the hospital in England kept you in for a lot of neurological testing after the resuscitation. Are you having any memory issues?”

“Nope.”

“Any unusual changes in your temper, sudden mood swings?”

“Define unusual,” her mum snickered, and the doctor’s mouth turned up into a smile. 

“From your mother’s reaction, I'll take that as nothing abnormal for a teenager. See, I find this a little odd. Three minutes is a long time for inactivity of the brain, permanent damage becomes very likely.”

Rose shrugged. “So they keep telling me. But I don’t feel any different than before, doctor. Except for this lovely scar.”

“Three minutes...” mum trailed off, her voice numb and distant. “They told me something was wrong, and the doctors had begun resuscitation. The nurses in the waiting room said anything beyond ten minutes meant no chance of recovery...I would have sworn that the cup of tea they shoved into my hand went cold whilst I waited, and I saw them look at their watches and shake their heads when they thought I wasn’t looking. But then the doctor came out to tell me you were actually alive after all. It might have been three minutes, but...it’s like Wordsworth’s poem, isn’t it...to see a world in a grain of sand and a heaven in a wild flower, hold infinity in the palm of your hand and eternity in an hour. God knows it felt like an eternity to me.”

Rose wasn’t supposed to move her head, in case she disturbed the sensors, but she couldn’t help looking at her mum’s haunted face. No wonder she had nightmares.

“Waiting is the worst, isn’t it. It’s so difficult to go out there to a patient’s family, when something hasn’t gone the way you’d hoped.” Dr Abrams cleared his throat and looked back at the monitor, humming and holding his chin. “Well, isn’t this curious? Your brain activity looks a little different to me, maybe the sensor isn’t picking up the signals properly.”

Rose sighed. “They said that in Great Ormond Street. You can try again, but it won’t work. They said it must be a unique neurological dysfunction. Just can’t see properly into my head.”

“That’s how we met, actually,” Jerry squeezed her mum’s shoulder fondly. “They needed an electrical engineer to test their power room and some of their equipment as they thought it was faulty. I’d just left the Department for Energy and moved over, you see. So they sent me to take a look at the machine and I found Shirley in the parent’s waiting room.”

“He lingered about in that room for so long I thought he was another parent,” her mum said td. “I was always so nervous in those places, I didn’t even notice he was in overalls and had a toolbelt on!”

They really were an odd couple. Her mother had the outward appearance of a modest woman, but underneath was tough and sharp as steel. Rose’s father had been more easy to laugh and outgoing, with the kind of magnetic personality people were often drawn to, life of the party, pint in hand, cigarette in the other, always surrounded by his friends. Her mum and dad had been opposites that attracted, sparks flying, but with Jerry it was more of a...fizzle. Rose wouldn’t want something that passionless, but then perhaps nice and placid were qualities her mother valued after years of stress. 

“How odd,” the doctor said, looking at the monitor. “I might have to make a call to your old doctor in London. You know what, I have a colleague in Pennhurst who would jump at the chance to examine these results. Maybe even run your interesting brain through a test or two. If you don’t object, I could send him these results for investigation.”

“Pennhurst,” Jerry frowned. “Isn’t that the nuthouse in Kerley County?”

“Pennhurst is a mental hospital, yes,” Dr Abrams said evenly. “But it’s also an esteemed research facility, with a focus on all aspects of the human mind, from the behavioural to the biological. The warden Dr Hatch has a particular interest in neurological conditions, as well as psychology.”

“I don’t know,” her mother said. “Those places are for psychopaths, aren’t they? I don’t think that sounds like a good idea.”

Rose cleared her throat loudly, drawing their attention. “Well isn’t it a good job that i’m a legal adult, with full bodily autonomy. If I want to send my scans to a psychologist, then I’ll do it.”

Mum pouted. “I’m only looking out for you, Rosebud.” 

In her eyes, Rose was still thirteen, sickly, and fragile. Not a legal adult who’d been through more than most people her age, perfectly capable of making decisions about her future. It felt like an oppressive kind of love to Rose, one that itched even more than the nylon hospital gown. But whilst she lived under her mum and step dad's roof, she felt almost...powerless. Toothless. Neutered. Okay, perhaps not neutered, goodness knows she was more and more aware of the raging desires burning through her, particularly since she met a certain someone who should not be named. But losing a year of school and living with your mother at soon-to-be nineteen was exhausting.

“Fine,” Rose said, the fight draining right out of her. “Not now. But perhaps next time.”

---

All the way home Rose stared out the window, wiping the fog from the glass with her sleeve, humming a tune that had been stuck in her head for weeks. She couldn’t remember where she’d heard it first, but it wouldn’t go away. Da da-da da-da daaa-dum, da-

“Boy, a whole Monday off school,” Jerry said from the driver’s seat. “I know hospital’s aren’t fun, but that’s a bonus, eh? Four day week sounds nice to me.”

“I guess so,” Rose leaned against the steamed-up window, October rolling slowly into chilly, foggy weather. 

Mum caught her eye in the rearview mirror. “More time to sleep off that hangover too.”

“Oh god, not again.”

“I’m all for you bringing friends over to the house, but did you have to get quite so drunk? And on the old playground too? Robin might need a tetanus shot after your shenanigans on the rocket ship.”

Rose’s head throbbed at the memory of her, Robin and Steve climbing into the big climbing frame shaped like a rocket ship after a few too many fruity cocktails, singing Life on Mars at the top of their lungs. Robin had scratched herself on a loose screw, so they had to cut their excursion short and return home, clattering in the kitchen at 2am to find a band-aid and some rubbing alcohol. 

Sunday morning had been hell, but hell was far more fun when you had company. The three of them had hunkered down under a mountain of blankets in her room, nibbling on crackers and sipping ginger ale, until they felt more human again, and Robin was able to return home without alerting her parents to the fact that she’d been drunk.

The very same playground whizzed by the window now, and they pulled into the driveway of 1050 Morehead, though no one in the town called it anything other than Creel House. As they got out of the car and her mother opened the door, she wondered for the first time who the Creel family truly were. What happened to them here? Why did the murder live on in the town’s memory almost thirty years later?

Mum stumbled as she entered the house, clutching her head. Rose leapt forward to help, but when her mother turned around, her face was pale as bone, a trickle of blood seeping from her nose.

“Shit,” Rose hissed.

“It’s nothing,” she said, unconvincingly.

Rose guided her into the kitchen, holding her arm. She’d surpassed her mother in height by the time she was twelve, and now she was startled at how fragile she felt. Mothers were supposed to be there, a constant, as large and warm as life. “Come on Mum, let’s get you cleaned up. I think you should go straight to the doctor, you’re not looking well.”

“It’s just my luck, isn’t it. I felt fine when we were in the hospital, surrounded by medical staff. But the moment I walk through this door...”

Rose ran a cloth under the tap and paused, staring at the swirling water. She had been fine. Tired, perhaps. But not ill. “Here you go,” she said, dabbing away the blood from her face. “Let me get you some painkillers.”

“I think we should take you to the family doctor,” Jerry intervened. “I know you don’t want a fuss, but we need to get you checked out. It’s either that, or we go right back to the hospital and into the ER.”

The threat of an emergency room perked her mother up. “Alright, family doctor it is.”

Jerry opened the front door and guided her out, looking back at Rose. “Are you okay to hold the fort, kiddo?”

Rose wanted to be there, to make sure her mother was well. But she knew deep down that having her child there would only lead to her mother putting on a brave face, and she needed to be Shirley for once, not just mum. 

“Absolutely,” she forced herself to smile. “Won’t burn the place down. Cross my heart.”

The door closed and Rose was left in the grant house, alone. Once the car’s engine faded outside, the silence was a muffled, oppressive thing, making her ears ring. But after a while the tap dripped, boards somewhere creaked, and the place felt almost...alive. 

Alone at home for the first time in...well, possibly ever, Rose looked at the high ceilings, walnut-panelled Victorian interior, and felt what everyone else felt when they looked at the place. Fear. She had no idea where the murders took place or of their nature. Was it here in the kitchen, or were people slaughtered as they slept in their beds upstairs? Did they go quickly, or...or were the walls of this place witness to unimaginable pain and terror? Had there been blood, did it seep into the floorboards? Was it there still, after all these years?

The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end and she overcome with the need to be outside. She grabbed a book from the living room table and went out onto the porch, taking refuge on the loveseat by the front door, the walls of the house a thin barrier between Rose and the imagined horrors that lay within.

The leather bindings of the old book bit into her skin. Wuthering Heights. Oh great. She was stuck in the chilly October air without a jacket or even a cardigan, with an eerie gothic novel about lost love, paranoia and a windswept, menacing mansion out on the Yorkshire moors. Why couldn’t it have been Terry Pratchett or Douglas Adams, something to make her laugh?

By the time they arrived home, Rose peeled herself front he loveseat with numb fingers and listened intently to the insightful diagnosis from the family doctor: migraines. Take a tylenol and come back if it keeps happening. It made Rose feel powerless, and frustrated. 

Rather than face Jerry’s beige and very questionable attempts in the kitchen, she made their dinner, finding some peace in the repetitive task of chopping and cooking, layering lasagna sheets and sauce, watching the oven absentmindedly and waiting for an egg timer to go off.

“She’s asleep,” Jerry said, leaning against the doorframe. “But I’m sure your mom will love this when she wakes up.”

Rose could hold back no longer, she had to know. “I’ll heat some up whenever she needs it. I...I got to thinking when you were at the doctors. What happened in this house?”

“Oh, I’m not sure that’s a good idea, kiddo.”

“Maybe, but I’m not asking on a whim. I think I need to know.”

He was as placed and calm as ever, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. “It doesn’t matter. It’s just a floor, four walls, and a roof, like any other house. Look at the hospital we were in today, people die there every day. But it doesn’t make you scared, does it?”

Rose’s eyes narrowed, feeling oddly threatened by his dismissal. Jerry was never like this, he was a goofy idiot, but he was harmless. “Not knowing is worse. I’ll always be wondering and thinking about it, guessing which room, how it happened, or who was killed.”

He folded his arms. “I’m not going to tell you.”

“If you must be like that, then go ahead,” Rose said confidently. “But don’t forget I’m not a child...and I’m not your child.”

Most of the town knew of the Creel House and its backstory; if he wouldn’t tell her, she would find someone else to do it.

“No, you’re not,” Jerry said, masking whatever he was feeling with an impassive face. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I should go check on your mother and get some rest. I need to be at the plant by 5am tomorrow, before the night shift crew finish their shift. The Department’s facilities are having power issues, and we need to tighten the ship before it affects their research.“

In the two years since he arrived in her mother’s life, Rose had never seen him so petty, or act so strange. As she ate alone in the vast dining room, sitting cross-legged in the chair and staring out the tall window to the playground opposite, she felt a rush of hate for this grand, lofty space. 

It was her mother’s idea to move once Rose had the all clear and her health was back on track. With her and Jerry newly married, their little home was too small for the three of them. WIth Rose out of sync at school and her tentative friends all moved on to university or jobs, many of them moving from town, there was little left to cling onto.

Jerry was offered a promotion with the Department for Energy. When the house was sold, the exchange rate and expensive UK housing market compared to rural central Indiana somehow left them with way more than they’d expected. Enough for the real estate agent to sense her mother would fall in love with the Victorian gothic mansion that no one else would buy, at a dirt cheap price. 

It was strange, to have space, and for them as a family to have spare money. Rose’s father had been a dashing, red-haired Yorkshire coal miner whose love for life and taste for drink never stopped, despite the miner’s strikes putting him out of work in the 70s. He’d taken odd jobs, but there hadn’t been anything stable for years. Rose knew he’d not made life easy for her mother, and it hurt...it hurt whenever she thought of him, despite all the things people had said. All she had ever known was a father who told her stories, and always played games with her even when he was exhausted, when others would have said no. They danced and danced around their little living room listening to his beloved sixties and seventies rock, twirling her around until she was breathless and dizzy, laughing so much she thought she might burst. 

Yes, there had been shouting between her parents and more strife than she could really comprehend at a young age, but life without him was simply dull and colourless. She would rather live in her tiny, cramped two-bed terrace and have him back, than be here in this eerie mansion. But here she was. Eighteen and putting together the beginnings of a new life. Trying to find her tribe out in the world. And even if the house wasn’t home, she had a feeling the people who had become close to her over the last month might just be.

---

The week marchedon, despite missing school on Monday. A drumbeat of classes, American History more interesting than she’d anticipated, others like biology and math frighteningly dull and covering ground she’d already trodden before. The Hellfire guys waved her over at lunch as they always did, but something was...off. Eddie brooded at the head of the table, not engaging in conversation beyond his usual rants about the lack of creativity or personality in the curriculum.

But when Jeremy from the party kids clique turned up to school with a full-blown A Flock of Seagulls haircut - slicked down at the front with crispy, wing-like structures carefully constructed with a full can of hairspray - and Eddie didn’t even mention it? Jeremy who’d put him in detention for smoking in the boys bathroom only two weeks ago? Rose knew something was wrong. She put aside any weirdness she might feel after learning of his potted romantic history, more clear than ever that whilst there had been flirting in the beginning, nothing was truly going to happen between them, and tried to talk to him on Tuesday. But he was sullen and withdrawn, enough for Gareth, Gareth of all people, to tell him to snap out of it and apologise to Rose for being a dick.

On Thursday morning she was paired with Robin in Driver’s Ed, both of them horrifyingly clumsy and dangerous behind the wheel, creating an air of chaos and terror in the car that scared the instructor half to death. Rose couldn’t help it if she had difficulty remembering right from left, she’d always been that way, before the little brush with death.

She emerged on Friday in a great mood, her mum feeling better, the weather cool and crisp, and ready for another Hellfire session and pitting her fledgling necromancer against the Cult of Vecna, the very best part of her Friday’s. Yes, perhaps that was partly due to sitting by Eddie’s side for hours as he became the charismatic Dungeon Master, sweeping them up with his skillful narration, theatrical energy and passion for the game. Why shouldn’t it be? Friends enjoyed each other’s company, didn’t they?

Lunchtime rolled around, and with it came an air of anticipation. Maybe it was the impending session, or the cafeteria splurging out on pizza on a Friday, but there was a definite buzz in the air. Except for Rose, who yawned her way through it, half-listening to their banter.

“I’m telling you, man,” Eddie said confidently at the table’s head. “It’s happening. AD/DC are playing in Indy, Iron Maiden are coming to Evansville...I am going to find tickets if it kills me.”

“You have contacts, right?” Dustin lowered his head, and gave him a knowing look. “Like, people who get you things. Things that are...difficult to come by.”

Eddie scoffed. “Not the kind who sell concert tickets.”

Robin gasped in mock surprise and turned to Dustin. “Dusty bun, are you referring to...drugs? Or is this some kind of comic book thing that will go completely over my head?”

“Dusty bun?” Eddie paused with a slice of pizza inches from his mouth, surrounded by the older guys laughter. “Buckley, have you been holding out on me? Where’d that come from?”

“It’s so cute,” Robin began. “It comes from-”

“No,” Dustin threw his hands up. “Nope, I am not going through this again.”

Eddie’s pizza dropped on the tray, forgotten, and he leaned onto the table. “Oh come on, Dusty bun. No harm meant, man. Ignorant kids think up ignorant names. How else do you think I was dubbed Eddie the Freak?”

Lucas was too eager to spill. “Oh, this wasn’t thought up by a bully. That’s the cutesy nickname his girlfriend has for him. It’s barf-inducing at the best of times, especially when he calls her Suzie-poo. What is she, a poodle?”

Eddie was struck in the heart by cupid’s imaginary arrow, slumping back in his chair and holding his chest. Rose couldn’t stop her sleepy smile, completely charmed by the way he acted out his feelings, by the way he never reacted as people thought he would. She left less tired, and more energised as she watched.

“Love,” Eddie clutched the imaginary arrow in his chest. “Turns off all the rational thought in the brain. Enslaved by the sorcerer that is Cupid, made to do his bidding. Love makes you do the crazy, right?”

Rose’s smile died slowly as her mind kicked into gear. Which of his girlfriends was he thinking of when he monologued about love? Was it the record label girl from California? Was it Chrissy? As the table laughed over Eddie’s joke, she couldn’t help but feel fragile, and defensive on behalf of Dustin...or so she told herself.

“Not really,” she said out loud, without really thinking it through. Eddie looked to her straight away, big brown eyes so wide and deep she thought she’d drown in them, too difficult to look away from. She felt the whole table watching, though she couldn’t quite break away from his eyes, “I don’t think it’s crazy. I think it’s sweet.”

“See?” Dustin said. “This is why none of you have girlfriends, and I do. Girls like emotional vulnerability, and pet names are just one facet of that.”

“I have a girlfriend,” Mike added sullenly.

“And you’re always talking about her or writing her letters...didn’t you even give her the name El?”

Mike thought about it for a minute. “I suppose.”

Chris’ mouth was dropped open again. “Suzie-poo I get, but how do you go from Jane to El?”

“No reason,” Mike laughed nervously. “No reason at all, just thought it...suited her.”

Eddie snapped his fingers at his friend. “See, case-in-point. Who comes up with the nickname El for a girl named Jane? Chris is right, it’s weird. Hence, driven by the mushy, goo-brained beast that is love. Come on, Rose, back me up on this one. I bet your boyfriends have given you all kinds of mushy names.”

She sank lower in her chair, but there was no hope of disappearing. She thought of all the lovely things that came from Eddie’s mouth, the ‘Sweetheart’s’ and even the occasional ‘Princess’, or one memorable ‘baby’. She hoped it would feel like that, one day, if she ever found someone who actually liked her back. “I haven’t had any. Boyfriends, I mean, not pet names...aside from Mum calling me Rosebud. I can’t even blame it on being sick...I think I'm just too awkward. I put my foot in it with everyone I ever meet.”

Oh great. Eddie’s eyes widened even further. Stupid, charming doe-eyes, making her feel inadequate yet again. 

“You’re kidding, right? How is that even possible? You’re so...” he trailed off, chin propped on his hand. Their eyes were locked, all the noise in the room faded away, and she suddenly didn’t care what the end of the sentence was, as long as she could look at him like this forever.

Jeff prodded Eddie's arm, which made him snap to attention. “Rose. I mean, you’re so Rose. There’s no one else like you. I mean, kind and nice, and uh, one could say you were objectively pretty. You know, to some people, who are into that kind of thing.”

He was stumbling now, and the whole table knew it. Something weird happened to Dustin, whose face transformed from passive listening, to a little confusion with his brow puckered and head tilted to the side, and then his entire face lit up and mouth dropped open. Lucas casually elbowed him in the ribs and he hissed in pain, distracting everyone for a moment and giving Eddie and Rose a second to recover.

Robin nudged her knee under the table, and gave her a little nod, like she was about to save the day. What was it with prodding and jabbing today? Did everyone just wake up and decide on minor violence?

Robin began to speak. “Oh, don’t let her fool you. There was this one guy, right? Good kisser, kind of crazy about you, but-”

Rose kicked Robin’s foot, stopping her mid sentence. Yes, she’d told Robin all about Simon the Skinhead from the pub back home, but that entire fling was only fleeting, and it wasn’t the kind of story she wanted coming out at the lunch table. Besides, they’d only snogged a few times behind the back of the Nag’s Head, until both of his front teeth were knocked out in a bare knuckle boxing match. Rose liked to think she hadn’t stopped it just for that reason - she wasn’t superficial, though his smile was much harder to look at afterward - it was more that he’d fallen in with the wrong crowd. A dangerous one. And that was months before she’d left for America.

Robin shrugged and mouthed sorry, taking a big crunch of her apple as a blatant distraction, chewing slowly and avoiding eye contact. 

Great. Now the whole of Hellfire was awkward and silent. Or in Dustin, Mike and Lucas’ case, giving each other knowing looks and whispering, eyes still focused on Eddie and Rose.

Thankfully a hand emerged from nowhere, slapping down a pastel pink flyer on the empty space in the table’s centre, between Eddie’s Dr Pepper and Jeff’s lunch tray.

“It’s the end of the goddamn world,” Gareth announced loudly, stood behind the younger guys, his arm thrust between Dustin and Lucas’ heads. Rose flinched, Robin dropped the apple, and the younger guys squealed. 

“What the hell?” Jeff asked, snatching the flyer. “A Streetcar named Desire. Are you joining drama club now Gareth? Who are you gonna audition for, the sister? I knew all those Hellfire sessions playing the princess or the tavern wench would pay off eventually.”

“Fuck off, man,” he said defensively, dropping into his usual seat by Eddie, a bundle of ripped plaid, black denim, combat boots and attitude. “Just keep reading.”

Jeff mumbled to himself, until his face fell. “Oh man, oh no...how did we miss this?”

“I don’t know,” Gareth sighed. “But I stopped off at Ms Click’s class just to be sure. It’s happening tonight, for the next three weeks.”

Eddie had been staring blankly at the table, and sat up suddenly, ripping the flyer from Jeff’s hand. “You have got to be kidding me.”

“What is it?” Rose asked. “I can't take the suspense, what’s happening? Do we not like the works of Tennessee Williams? I have thoughts...he’s no Noël Coward, but his plays aren’t that bad.”

Eddie pinched the bridge of his nose. “The drama club needs the prop room until Thanksgiving, for rehearsals and the play itself. Goddamn it, all our stuff is there, the chair, my goblet...you know what I'm like without ambience, man. I can’t do Hellfire in Gareth’s garage again.”

Groans and curses echoed around the table, like it was indeed the end of the world. Rose and Robin exchanged a look of disbelief, but it was Mike who pointed his finger in the air and came to the rescue.

“My basement! We used to play D&D all day there in middle school. It’s dark and downstairs-”

“Duh,” Gareth mocked.

“Yeah, that might work,” Lucas added. “It’s kind of cosy. And Mrs Wheeler makes the best pizza rolls.”

Eddie gave him a scathing look. “I appreciate it, Wheeler, I really do. But didn’t you say your Mom is kind of uptight? Does she know you hang around with a bunch of scary, satan-worshipping seniors and Eddie the freak Munson?”

“She doesn’t exactly know,” Mike deflated, flopping onto the lunch table like he was suddenly removed of his spine. “And she wasn’t too happy about Nancy and I being involved in the whole mall fire thing; she grounded me until sophomore year, in theory at least.”

Eddie’s smile was bitter. “I don’t want to be the source of drama in suburbia, so we'll have to think again. I appreciate the offer though.”

Chris, silent thus far, closed his gaping mouth and added his own idea. “We could just steal the props we normally use and take Hellfire to another classroom for three weeks, couldn’t we?”

“They need the chair and table for the play,” Gareth said, crushing their hopes. “And I don’t think the classrooms will be up to our Dungeon Master’s exacting standards. Plus, they’re locked.”

The seed of an idea was blooming in Rose’s mind. She watched throw out a dozen different ideas and shoot them all down, and worked up the courage to add her own. “We could have Hellfire at my house.”

Eddie caught on first, attuned to her whenever she spoke, brows coming together in a frown. No one else had noticed.

Rose cleared her throat and tried again, louder. “I said, you could have Hellfire at my place. Everything inside is either crumbling apart, or properly restored to its former Victorian splendour. Lots of big fireplaces, candles, cobwebs...you know, the full haunted house experience.”

“It’s perfect,” Dustin said, beaming a great big smile. “Sounds even better than the drama room.”

Eddie hummed, toying with the ring on his right hand, the one with the black stone. “Won’t your parents be there?”

“I can ask them to go out for the day. Jerry’s been dying to visit this antique fair in Cartersville. It would be just us for most of the day. We could even do it on Halloween next Saturday, ” Rose gave him a meaningful stare, and did a dramatic gesture like she’d just remembered something. “Oh, that’s right, only if you actually can come inside. I know how selective you are about whose home you will come into...like a vampire without an invitation. Is it too scary for you, Munson?”

The tension crackled all the way across the table, everyone looking from left to right, waiting for him to respond. Eddie’s eyes were wickedly dark, even in the harsh cafeteria light. His smile was wicked too, teeth biting into his bottom lip, half way between a grimace and a grin. Touche, she thought. 

“There is very little that scares me, sweetheart,” he said evenly. “But I gather the house in question gets a lot of traffic these days, doesn’t it? Lots of people coming to and fro. Are you sure there is room for us lowly freaks next Saturday? Can you fit us into your busy social calendar?”

What the hell? Rose had no clue what he was even talking about. Eddie had left last Friday night, and she’d not seen him again until three days ago. 

“I won’t be coming, that’s for sure,” Robin interrupted, sensing the awkwardness. “Not that I am in Hellfire, or wanna play the dungeon game whatsoever. But I can’t look at your place without feeling sick, and the memory coming back from last week. I drove by with my parents on Tuesday and I had to fake car sickness just looking at the swings. And I’m never car sick.”

Rose was focused on Eddie alone, watching the twitch of his full lips, his narrowing eyes, knowing that something was going on, but clueless as to what. “So are we on, Dungeon Master? You’ll dare to come in?”

He let the tense silence drag on for a second, leaning forward on his forearm, the zip-chain on his jacket clanking on the table. “You bet we are, McAllister. Next Saturday. One PM. It’ll be the mid-point of the Cult of Vecna campaign, the one I've been planning for months. The adventure should be a long and agonising one, so prepare for it.”

Rose nodded, and the shrill school bell broke the tension around the table. Hellfire may be disrupted, but it looked like she had to play host, and Eddie might break that promise to enter her house after all. She wondered what had changed his mind, if anything had happened with Chrissy, or whoever else it might involve. Perhaps it wasn’t her place to know.

---

Three o’clock had her wandering the parking lot, working what to do with a few spare hours now that Hellfire was cancelled. Jerry was due to pick her up at seven, straight from a shift at work. Mum wasn’t home. She could get the bus home, but the thought of unlocking the door to that empty house, and spending several hours alone in it, wasn’t a pleasant one. Maybe she could go to the public library or Family Video, and pester Robin and Steve for a while.

Instead, her weary feet took her across the football field and on to the well-trodden path to the woods, crunching over leaves, stepping into the clearing. Empty. She sat at the picnic table and traced the little drawings of bats with her fingers, remembering the last time she was here, a couple of weeks ago. The near-kiss, the butterflies, the mixtape.

She pulled out her English notebook with the intention of studying, but her heart led her to the Charlotte Bronte novel hidden deep in her bag. Jane Eyre, her comfort blanket, which she’d read more times than she could count. Despite the allure of Jane and Mr Rochester’s fiery proposal scene, moments later found herself yawning and resting her cheek against the page. Just for a second, huddling in her scarf for warmth in the autumn air, lying gently on the book. Just a second.

“...no, Jeremy, I am not going to hook you up with my supplier. I told you, this is what’s on offer.”

Eddie’s voice drifted through the trees, stirring her awake. His voice was nice. So nice.

“Come on, Munson. If you have ket, don’t you have a little coke? Just this once?”

“No can do. If you don’t like it, you can go to Cartersville and find another dealer. I know a few guys that hang out at the biker bar on Sycamore Road, but they carry.”

“Guns?”

Eddie scoffed. “Did you think I meant candy or something? And they’re not particularly friendly to guys like yourself, who think they just stepped out or Risky Business. Come on, Jeremy, it’s October. You don’t need sunglasses. And that blazer looks freakin’ cold.”

The other, nasal voice must belong to this Jeremy. A name she recognised, one of the party kids who sat opposite Hellfire’s lunch table and gave them hell. Eddie in particular.

“Look, if you can’t do coke, then ket will do.”

“Not at school,” Eddie said firmly, with none of the gentleness she’d come to know from him. “Weed is one thing, but I can’t exactly hide ket in my lunch box, can I?”

“Wait...what the hell? Who's the random chick?” Jeremy called out.

She stirred fully from sleep, her brain whirring quickly to keep up. “Eddie?” Her voice was croaky.

He was running over to her, a hand pressed against her back, his concerned face hovering over her. “You okay, sweetheart?”

Shit. Shit. She’d not seen a drug deal before, but it wasn’t a good idea to get in the middle of one, was it? “Sorry. I don’t know what happened, I was just resting my eyes...and I've just taken over your spot, I'm sorry, I can get out of your way.”

Jeremy took off his oversized glasses and squinted at her. “That the new chick? I don’t want anyone else knowing about this conversation, Munson. If she talks-”

“It’s okay,” Eddie said to her, under his breath. “Just trust me.” Then he quickly reared back and crossed the clearing, full of intimidating energy, until he had Jeremy the party kid pinned up against a tree.

“No one is talking, Jeremy. Not me, the drug dealer, or you, the buyer. Who the hell are you going to talk to, the cops? The principal? And if we’re not talking, the completely unrelated bystander sat at a table in the woods, who just slept through our conversation, definitely isn’t. Understood?”

“Jesus,” the guy choked out. “Understood.”

“And if you so much as look in her direction, i’ll make sure no one in central Indiana sells to you again. I’m not so sure you’ll get through finals and into that fancy college without a serious quantity of uppers, or at least that’s what the gossips say about you at school. Are you a gossip, Jeremy?”

“Nope,” he shook his head, sunglasses dropped to the forest floor. “I’ll catch you another time, man.”

Eddie smiled a toothy grin and tapped him on the cheek. “Good. Now get out of here, shop’s closed for the day.”

Jeremy fled without his sunglasses, a blur of navy blazer and his bouncy Flock of Seagulls hair flapping in the wind, disappearing back in the direction of the school. Eddie took a deep breath, sagging just a little, like the adrenaline had worn off and he couldn’t keep up an intimidating posture.

“I’m sorry,” Rose tried to stand up, knocking her knee on the picnic table and hissing in pain. “This is your spot. It’s only fair that I go.”

“Wait,” he rushed over, black lunch pail dropped on the table. He grabbed the back of his neck, face scrunching up, like he was struggling for words. “I should be sorry. This is a public place, and I don’t want to get you involved in any of that shit. He’s chicken shit, by the way. There’s nothing he could do or say that could get you into trouble, not without admitting he’s been using a serious amount of class A drugs just to get through senior year.”

Rose scrubbed her face with her hand, feeling totally awake and alert. “Thank you. That was...you didn’t need to put yourself in any trouble for me. He won’t come after you, will he?”

Eddie pulled a face of disbelief, his smile returning in full force, brushing her concern away with his hands, flapping around like an awkward idiot. “Jeremy? No way. He might throw a few insults my way at lunch, but that’s the extent of his power. You, milady, are totally safe.”

“Good,” she sighed.

He cocked his head, looking over her books, her position at the table, her rumpled hair. “What are you doing out here in the cold, anyways? Couldn’t get a ride home with...um...anyone else? Not Robin and, uh, Steve?”

“They’re working. I did think about going to Family Video for a while, but I just wanted some space to just be. And Robin and Steve are kind of full on.”

He shifted from one foot to another, jean chain jangling. “Right. Do...do you want me to leave you alone?”

“No,” she said quickly. “I mean, I came to your spot, didn’t I?”

Eddie looked around for a minute, and dropped on the bench opposite her. “Yeah, you did. And why is that, exactly? Not that I mind at all, I just...after the cafeteria, I did think I might not be your favourite person right now.”

Rose frowned. “It’s not that, not at all. I came here to study English, actually, but was led astray by Charlotte Bronte.”

Eddie poked at the cover. “She any good?”

She cleared her throat and spoke aloud, voice tinged with the emotion those words always made her feel: “ Do you think, because I am poor, obscure, plain, and little, I am soulless and heartless? You think wrong. I have as much soul as you, and full as much heart!”

Eddie was taken aback. “Damn, that was good. You didn’t even read that from the page!”

“Jane Eyre is kind of my hero,” she looked down at the table, tracing the outline of Eddie’s drawn bats with her fingertips yet again. “She’s invisible, but she pushes through it to find her strength, her courage.”

“Invisible, huh,” Eddie said, with sincere doubt. “That doesn’t sound fun.”

“It wasn’t,” Rose replied without thinking. “But I don’t think I am anymore.”

“Yeah, definitely not. Highly visible, in a good way, I mean...ugh, I should just stop now. But I’ve gotta say, sleeping outside in the woods isn’t a good idea, even if you were invisible. You don’t know what’s lurking out there,” he gestured to the trees, shrouded in gloom just before sunset.

“I’ve not been sleeping well. I must have become a bit too tired. ”

Eddie's concern was genuine, and he leaned toward her. “Everything okay? I heard you were at the hospital on Monday for tests. That’s gotta be tough, with the amount of time you’ve spent there over the years. Like being back in the war zone, you know? Shellshocked, or something? Or at least that’s what Uncle Wayne calls it, and he was in Vietnam.”

Rose could feel tears prickling at the corners of her eyes. She was touched that he’d remembered, that he’d thought about her during the week, and put himself in her shoes long enough to pinpoint exactly what she was feeling. “I’ve had better weeks.”

He could sense the stress behind her words, she just knew it. “And a free afternoon studying the works of Edgar Allen Poe in the woods was just the thing to top it off? ”

“Poe is very cathartic,” she defended quickly, coming alive again. “I thought you would like his work, it fits with the whole anti-establishment, metal vibe you have going on.”

His smile was blinding. “Oh really? Maybe I haven’t had the best teacher. O’Donnell isn’t exactly inspiring. Hence why I'm still here, seeking that Holy Grail of graduation, the D of destiny.”

“I could help you,” Rose picked at her sleeve. “If English is key to graduating, why not call in a high level spellcaster to help you make it through the adventure?”

“Wait,” he said slyly. “Offering to tutor me and using D&D language to do it? Am I asleep? Is it me that’s napping at the table, and this is all a dream?”

She couldn’t help but laugh, her heart light because they were getting on again. “I can get you more than a D, Munson. I think a B minus is achievable.”

“Woah, woah, don’t aim for the stars, sweetheart. Munson’s don’t get that far.”

The idea that his opinion of himself was so low, that he made jokes and projected his lack of confidence in such a way, was so uncomfortable it almost caused her physical pain.

“You’re the only Munson I know, and you are more than capable,” she said confidently. “This is the mind behind the Cult of Vecna, and all of our other campaigns. You have no idea how much Dustin and the guys love those campaigns. They worship you, and they are incredibly smart. Annoyingly so. If you don’t believe me, believe in their good judgement.”

Eddie blushed, cheeks darkening as he ducked his head and dimpling as he smiled. “Okay. Can’t argue with that logic.”

“Do you want to go to the school library some time, or...” Rose paused; she could see his unease at the very thought of the building behind them, and remembered his agitated state in English class last week, like he couldn’t function under the bright lights and with the drone of O’Donnell’s voice. “Or somewhere else. I’d offer my place but I know it might not be ideal. Maybe...maybe yours?”

His mouth popped open. “You want to come to my place?”

“Yes. If it’s okay. I don’t want to presume.”

“No,” Eddie looked smug. “I get it, the allure of the Forest Hills Trailer Park is too strong for you to resist. You can come over sometime, Ms McAllister. As long as you don’t have anyone that would be bothered by it.”

Rose scrunched up her nose. Did he still think her parents were uppity, high class kind of people, just because of the square footage of her house? It was big, yes, but it was dirt cheap. And there was nothing posh about her or her family, so no trailer park was beneath her, or whatever he seemed to be implying.

“First of all, never call me Ms McAllister again,” she pointed a finger near his face, causing him to laugh and hide behind his own curtain of hair. “Second, no one is going to be bothered. Except Dustin, who probably will be terribly jealous that anyone is spending time with you outside of school, because he loves you desperately.”

“Stop,” Eddie swatted her hand away playfully. “You make it sound so embarrassing.”

“No. It’s sweet. He adores you and wants to be you. Honestly, with those high powered walkie talkies he has going on, he may be bugging your house. Or at least biking over to the trailer park and looking longingly through the window with binoculars as you practice guitar or write up campaigns.”

“This is getting so weird.”

Laughter bubbled up from her chest, warm and sweet as honey. “He likes having you as a role model, that’s all. He sees the good in you. And I have to admit, Dustin is not often wrong about facts or people, as much as I would occasionally like him to be.”

Eddie moaned, slapping his forehead. “I forgot. After lunch he cornered me in the hall, asking if we could finish Hellfire early next Saturday so he can go Trick or Treating. He’s fifteen. Fifteen.”

“I think it’s sweet.”

“Mmm. It’s the way people suddenly get this licence to be interesting and act scary, that’s what irritates me. Like they’re different people for one night, just because normative society dictates it. Costumes, though...costumes I get.”

“So why don’t combine Hellfire and costumes, so he doesn’t miss out?” Rose asked. He raised a brow, looking sceptical, but she ploughed on. “No, wait. Not ghosts or witches. We could dress as our characters. What could be more atmospheric than that? Come on, you know it’s a good idea.”

He thought about it hard. “Fine, you’ve convinced me. I guess I can bring Eddie the Bard to life for a night. But for now, carriage duties. Let’s get you home.”

---

Rose had never seen so much paisley and tie-dye in her life. Boxes upon boxes of clothes in shades of orange-brown, acres upon acres of plaid shirts, and endless racks of capes and flared jackets, the kind that her grandmother would have worn. The thrift store was a huge, cavernous store behind Main Street, full of items donated by the people of Kerley County, sold on at cheap prices. There were stained and faded couches that were nonetheless comfortable, old fashioned sideboards, retro drinks cabinets, and crockery and homeware in great big stacks. Books, too, and Rose had a dog-eared romance paperback under one arm ready to pay at the counter once she was done, lured in by the shirtless hunk dressed in nothing but a kilt on the cover and the promise of a clandestine, bodice-ripping romance. But her target today was the great big section of the store dedicated to second hand clothes.

She spied a scrap of ivory beneath a pinstripe skirt and pulled out a peasant blouse, the crinkled sleeves and body gathered at the top, floaty and feminine. She held it up to her body. It had a certain Medieval air to it, one she enjoyed.

“What do necromancer’s wear, anyway?” Robin called, emerging from a coat rack. “Ooh, that’s pretty, you look like you just came from a rendezvous with a stable boy. Oh my gosh...is that...is that straw in your hair?” She teased, so convincing that Rose actually put her hand to her head tocheck.

Rose groaned. “Robin!”

Her friend’s laugh was throaty and contagious. “I can’t help it, you’re too gullible.”

“I don’t know” Rose toyed with the ruched neckline which dipped where it laced up at the front, working out where it might sit on her chest. “I think it might be too low. Waaay too low.”

Robin threw on a fur coat, striking a dramatic pose and putting on a Transatlantic accent like an old movie star. “If it’s the scar you’re worried about, don’t be, darling. I have stretch marks pretty much the same size, and I don’t give a damn.”

“Alright, Scarlett O-Hara. Wait, are you sure you’re not auditioning for Blanche Dubois right now? Are you secretly in the drama club?”

“Oh please. I can’t be contained and made to remember lines. I’m au naturel. You should get the shirt, but isn’t your character, like, on the cusp of being evil?”

“You’re right, it’s not evil enough” Rose said, folding the blouse up and turning back to the clothing racks with a huff. “She’s a sorceress with a dark and twisted power, hell bent on revenge for her family’s death and learning necromancy to bring them back to life. Oh, and she wears light armour.”

“Hmm. Not sure ‘light armour’ is a category in the thrift store. ‘Lightly stained’, maybe.”

lHey there, Ladies,” a deep voice announced right at their backs. “Shouldn’t you two broads be back in the saloon serving whiskey?”

A figure popped up behind them, cowboy hat lowered and covering his face, foot propped up on a box. He raised the rim of the hat and Rose’s heart rate slowed down.

“Steve?!” Robin brandished a coat hanger as a makeshift weapon, hyperventilating. “When did you get so stealthy?”

He put his hands on his hips and sighed. “God, sorry. I’ll make more noise next time. But look at this hat? What do you think, am I cowboy material?”

“I can see that, actually,” Rose added. “You’d make a good authority figure, protecting the town from rogue gunslingers. The hat looks perfect for the keg party on Saturday you keep going on about. You might be able to rope in some broads whilst you’re there. Or cows...or horses...what do they even catch with the rope-thing?”

Steve raised his brows, “Cattle. Come on, I thought you were smart. But wait...do you really think I should wear this to Kyle’s party? Bianca might be there, and I was this close to dating her last year, she was all over me after the Nancy thing ended. Maybe Bianca likes herself a rugged cowboy.”

“No, Steve!” Robin cried loudly. “That is not keg party material! I know you got invited to the ‘biggest party of senior year’ when you’ve already graduated and we, the actual seniors, are not even a lowly rung on the social hierarchy and have no invite whatsoever, but can you stop rubbing salt in that wound already?”

“Geez,” Steve whined. “I was going to invite you. Apparently Tammy Thompson is going. Tammy who, you know...” he dropped into a terribly un-subtle whisper. “Who you spent a significant amount of time crushing over in sophomore year.”

Robin shook her head vigorously, shaking off the fur coat. “Nope, nu-uh. I’m not fifteen any more, Stevie. I’ve grown past this particular crush.”

“Oh, well some of your band geeks are going to be there too.”

Robin shrugged. “Maybe. Can I ditch early if it sucks?”

“Fine,” Steve said, resigned. “I guess authority figures have to stay sober to protect the townsfolk, or whatever. Rose, the invite is open to you too.”

There were very few, or specifically no parties like this in her past. By the time she was well enough to attend one and back in school at home, everyone was old enough to drink legally, and the need for clandestine gatherings had shrivelled away. “I would like that,” she admitted. “I watched so many teen movies before I moved over, and every one of them ends in some kind of raging keg party where parents mysteriously go out of town for the night and kids trash the house. I always thought...if I was invited to something like that, everything would be okay. I’d have made friends. Gone through the whole quintessential high school experience.”

Steve was shocked. “That’s horrifyingly sad, you know that? I’m about to shed a tear here. Now you have to come so we can fulfil your childhood dreams. Tomorrow, eight o’clock?”

Rose slammed the table, tipping over a box of scarves. “Dammit, I have to stay home tomorrow. My mum’s not well, I need to look after her. Jerry’s working a night shift at the plant, again.”

“There will be other parties,” Robin promised. “It’s only October. Just wait until spring, Hawkins will be one series of keggers after the other, and we’ll go to them all if you like.”

Rose grinned. “Next time, count me in. Now, for the bigger challenge. I have to find clothes worthy of a necromancer for less than twenty bucks from a thrift store.”

“Well,” Steve picked up a heap of corduroy and held it far away from his body. “If it helps, I think someone may have died in these pants. Maybe they were resurrected in them too?”

Robin squealed and ducked down, bringing up a box from underneath the table, her new bangs just visible over the top and she held it aloft. “Oh my god, I may have just found the answer to all your problems. Look!”

The box was still taped up, but on the side, someone had written in loopy script: Rocky Horror Picture Show, Hawkins Amateur Dramatic Society, ‘82.

---

“Be sensible, Rosebud,” Mum said, about to step into the car. “I know you said your book club friends aren’t the partying type, but you’re teenagers alone in a big house. Things are bound to get a bit rowdy.”

“Mum!” Rose groaned. “It’s not a book club, it’s a fantasy game, played by a bunch of comic-book and fantasy-novel loving teenage nerds. That starts at one o’clock in the afternoon. Just how rowdy do you think it could get?”

“Hmm. There are plenty of sandwiches and crisps, and money for pizza if you want it. No alcohol this time, given Dustin and his friends are a bit too young for that. I also left lots of chocolate and sweets in the basket by the door. Try to save some for the trick-or-treaters, won’t you dear? Claudia said there will be lots of them, so I may have gone a bit overboard.”

Rose’s mum Shirley had befriended Claudia Henderson in the grocery store, last week, her first new friend in Hawkins, bonding over raising children with various health issues as single mothers. Claudia had filled her in on the town, the goings on at school, and just how good and sensible Dustin and his friends were. That worked wonders when Rose asked if Mum and Jerry could vacate the house for Halloween for a Hellfire gathering. When she learned that Dustin could perform CPR and had a first aid certificate from his science camp, the deal was sealed, the house freed up for a full day for Rose and her friends.

“We won’t trash the place, promise,” Rose waved and plastered a smile on her face, stifling a laugh as Mum and Jerry pulled out of the driveway and off to Cartersville. It was eleven o’clock, and by Rose’s reckoning she had twelve hours before they were back. Two full hours before the guys were due to arrive. 

She’d been waiting for this moment for a full week, enduring school, planning the night in her head, hoping desperately that Eddie would actually arrive, worrying that he might disappear at the last minute. 

Facing down her anxiety she put on her walkman, danced up and down the house to Michael Jackson and made the place fit for the Cult of Vecna. The cheap plastic cobweb packs from Melvald’s General Store were broken open, and she wove the fake stuff around the light fittings, stair bannisters, and on the mirrors and paintings on the walls. Every candle they’d ever owned was brought out, the more melted and twisted looking the better, littering every surface, wax dribbled onto surfaces she knew she would wipe clean.

The hallway with its impressive fireplace and sweeping stairs were decorative enough, but the dining room was the focus of her energy, the location of the campaign. Usually, the table felt ridiculous for the three of them, but now she loved that it could easily sit ten. A crimson-red tablecloth was draped over the top, candelabra in the centre, and so much fake cobweb around the room that you’d think Shelob was nesting in the corners above the ornate panelled bookcases. In comparison the kitchen table groaned with snacks, enough to sate the bellies of a dozen teenage adventurers on a quest to vanquish a dark necromancer. 

The bloody terrifying mannequins that were in the cellar when they bought the place were placed strategically in windows to look like shadowy figures, draped in old hats and coats to give them a spooky, realistic outline. When she stepped outside into the yard by midday and looked over at her handiwork, she was delighted. It truly looked like a horror house. 

The contents of her wardrobe played on her mind, and even a brisk, chilly shower couldn’t calm her down. She tiptoed around in a towel and emptied the outfit from its bag onto her bed, the leather gleaming and catching her eye. 

The thrift store had yielded a fruitful haul. Next to the medieval-looking peasant blouse, lay a leather corset in deepest brown, a racy thing meant for a Rocky Horror Picture Show revival, with a scandalously low bustline, proper steel boning and eyehooks, and black silk ribbons laced up at the back. When paired with the leather wrist cuffs that went halfway to elbow, she reckoned it might just pass for leather armour. Yes, it was a bit too sexy for a real pair of bracers and a cuirass, but it fit the D&D vibe, at least in her eyes. Plus, wearing the peasant shirt beneath it would cover the sheer abundance of cleavage that she’d been embarrassed to see when she tried the thing on.

With the outfit laced up until she could just about breathe, knee high leather boots and a mid-length skirt, and her hair loosely braided with one or two curls escaping at the front, she truly felt like Lady Ceverra, the neutral-chaotic Cleric and fledgling necromancer.

It might only have been early afternoon, but Rose was busy setting a fire in the dining room hearth, until the soothing crackle of burning logs and the thick scent of woodsmoke filled the air. She was running around with a lit taper when the doorbell rang, and she took a deep breath, adjusting her hair and answering the door with a lit candle in one hand, and faint wisps of smoke around her.

“Who knocks at my castle door during this hour?” She said loudly, in a theatrical voice. “A pack of adventurers, I see. Come in, there is meat and mead at my table.”

All the guys were crowding around and she could see Eddie’s van parked on the drive, her heart racing instantly. But he must have been behind someone else, or getting out the vehicle.

Dustin’s open-mouthed grin was contagious. “Wow. You look freaking awesome. Wait, do you really have mead?”

“No, dummy. There’s Dr Pepper, root beer, or Mountain Dew.”

“Oh, nice,” he replied, holding up a big carved pumpkin. “We brought pumpkins, as requested. Your mom mentioned to my mom that she didn’t have any, so we all brought one. This place is freaking wild, man. It’s going to look amazing with so many pumpkins on the porch.”

“Thank you, gentlemen. Don’t forget to introduce yourselves on the way in,” Rose said, stepping to one side. 

Dustin came in first, with a rugged cloak, leather satchel instead of a backpack, and pan-pipes, slung around his shoulder. “Nog at your service,” he bowed. “Half dwarf bard, whose enchanted pipes play a tune as sweet as honeyed-wine.”

“Welcome, good bard.” Rose dipped into a curtsey.

Mike’s paladin knight came next, with a sword and shield that looked really convincing, but turned out to be plastic. “Lady Ceverra, this house kicks ass. I always wanted to come inside when it was a wreck, but now it looks like something from the movies.”

“Thank you, good sir.”

“Yeah,” Lucas added behind him. “Better than the prop room by a long shot.”

He drew back the string of a wooden bow, pretending to aim, though the quiver of arrows was still on his back. His outfit was the best yet, like something from a Renaissance fair, quartered red and green, with a shirt, jacket and a cap that looked almost real. When paired with the bow, the leather band around his forehead and the slingshot tucked into his pocket, he looked like he meant business.

“Nice pun, Sir ranger.”

“Sundar the Bold,” he replied. “Yeah, it’s supposed to be Robin Hood. Mom got it for me a couple of years back, but we went as Ghostbusters instead that year."

Chris was next, with something that looked like a sheepskin rug fastened around his shoulders and a sledge hammer at his side. “Thordus Boulderbash, whose hammer could cleave the very mountains in two.”

“Impressive,” Rose gave her verdict. “Like Gimli come to life.”

Chris blushed a little; he’d always had trouble talking to her one on one, his wariness of girls in general making it hard to speak to her without the context of a group conversation or something to focus on like the game of D&D itself. But she was pleased to note he went inside with a smile on his face, and not a nervous one.

The rest of the older guys had lingered at the back, and it took all of Rose’s energy to focus on Gareth as he came through the door, and not look back to seek out Eddie’s mop of hair in the background. 

“Sup,” Gareth said casually, leaning against the doorframe in a hooded cloak. “Illian the Unvanquished", half-elf Paladin and Champion of the Lost Lands. But then you already knew that. Can I go and see the murder house now?”

“Don’t mind him,” Jeff clapped his buddy on the shoulder, stepping inside with a tall gnarled branch like a wizard’s staff, with a plastic-looking gem embedded in the top. “He’s not properly house trained.”

“The place is cool thanks for having us,” Gareth mumbled, shrugging Jeff off. “Just remember, we’re not children here for Halloween, this is a serious endeavour. Let’s get set up.”

Jeff shook his head. “My spellcaster Zaegor is gonna have to kick Ilian’s ass tonight. I think he’s just hungry. Maybe he’ll be better after some Halloween candy.”

“We have lots of that,” Rose reassured. “And enough food to feed the whole of Hawkins. Go ahead, the kitchen is straight past the fireplace and staircase, the second door on the right, after the dining room.”

Then she turned to the open door again, and was left face to face with a figure that may as well have been summoned from a romance or gothic horror story. 

Eddie wore a flouncy, loose white shirt fathered at the wrist, and left unlaced at the top, showing off acres of his beautiful, muscular neck, and the beginnings of the tattoos at the top of his chest. On top of the shirt he wore a leather duster jacket, the kind that was almost floor-length. His Reeboks were replaced with leather boots, and his black jeans today didn’t have holes. He carried an old acoustic guitar, one that definitely wasn’t his precious Warlock. The whole ensemble was deceptively simple, but stunning in its effect on Rose.

“Milady,” he took her hand and pressed his lips to her knuckles. His soft, full lips, surprisingly warm...lips she could imagine in many, many other places, until her heartbeat morphed into an awful, beautiful kind of throbbing that settled low in her body, in places it really shouldn’t settle with a bunch of freshmen roaming the house. 

“You’re here,” she said stupidly. “I mean, you made the decision to come inside. I hope you won’t regret breaking the promise.”

His eyes clouded over and he stood up, but still kept her hand in his. “Yeah, well Eddie Munson may not be able to enter, but Eddie the Bard is bound to no such promise.”

“A loophole. How ingenious of you.”

They stood there grinning and holding hands, until Rose realised the source of all the drama and dropped it like a stone; by being here, was he upsetting Chrissy, or whoever else he’d made this promise to? Despite feeling thrilled by his presence in her house, she felt bad for a mysterious person who might be hurt because of it.

Eddie swallowed hard, eyes flicking all over the place. “You look, uh...”

“Ridiculous?”

“Like you just stepped out of a fantasy novel. You should be on horseback, wielding a sword, or something.”

Her skin flushed, and she fidgeted with her hands. “I...I was just thinking the same of you. Very Anne Rice.”

He leaned against the doorframe languidly. “Oh, like a vampire? Does that mean I have to ask permission to enter the mansion?”

“Come in,” Rose said immediately. “It’s not as glamorous as you make it sound. On the left is the parlour and the living room, on the right the kitchen and dining room and pantry. The bathroom is down the hall. Yes, I know it’s ridiculous that it has a parlour. It’s not like I sit around all day drinking tea and...okay, yes I do sit around all day drinking tea, but mostly in my room.”

He explored the place with wide eyes and gangly legs, almost knocking over a row of lit candles, and Rose trailed after him, reminding herself where the fire extinguisher was just in case.

They walked through the kitchen where the boys were congregating around the snack table, and Eddie gasped upon seeing the open archway to the dining room.

“Motherfucker,” Eddie chanted in a sing-song voice. “This is fucking perfect. Creepy, fancy, but also kind of derelict, like the place could fall apart at any given moment. Yep, I feel the ambience, Rosie, I feel it. This is going to be a good night.”

She frowned. “It’s one o’clock.”

He made a beeline for the head of the table, and the chair she’d set up as his throne. On top of the crimson tablecloth, behind the candelabra, lay his goblet.

Eddie gasped. “What the hell! I thought this was locked away tighter than Principal Higgin’s integrity. How is it here?”

“I know someone who knows someone,” Rose said with a smug smile. “Quite literally. Robin is old friends with Beth in drama club, she retrieved the goblet on Wednesday. Give Robin a secret mission and she is all over it. Obsessed. She even gave it a code name.”

Eddie was amused. “What was the code name?”

“Project Elixir.”

“Oooh, I like it. Are you sure she doesn’t want to join Hellfire?”

Rose snorted with laughter, and covered her mouth in embarrassment. “She’s not really one for fantasy.”

“Oh my god, I just spotted a skull. A skull!” Eddie was like a kid at Christmas, examining the gruesome prop on the side table, with its jaw wide open, sat on top of the bowl of candies. 

“Oh, that little old thing?” Rose tried to look cool by leaning back on the walnut panelling, and almost fell over, grasping to hold herself upright. “That’s Yorick. I stole him from a hospital when I was fourteen, on a dare.”

“That’s so fucking metal.”

He turned back to the table and shucked off his leather coat, draping it over the creepy mannequin in the corner. He leaned back in the chair with the nonchalance of an aristocrat, holding the goblet aloft and hooking one leg casually over the chair’s arm. 

“I’m feeling it. I am so feeling it. Fetch the minions,” he told Rose with swagger. “The Cult of Vecna calls for their leader to return, and we heroes must answer with blood and steel.”

---

Six hours. For six long and intense hours they huddled around the grand dining table with their character sheets, cans of Dr Pepper, flickering candles, and battled against the forces of evil. 

Eddie owned the room, he owned the whole house. He monologued like a Shakespearean actor, pacing the room, voice booming during the dramatic moments, whispering during the tense ones, until Gareth literally fell from a chair trying to lean in close to hear him.

“In the dank depths of the cavern, all you can hear is the heavy breathing of those around you. But in the dim, flickering torchlight, which of the hooded cultists are your fellow adventurers in disguise, and which are the true foes? That’s the mystery, there is no way to tell but the sound of their voices and the instinct in your gut.”

Eddie held a candle up to his face, the light casting shadows on his cheekbones and nose. “The acolytes carry the sack into the centre of the cavern, toward the stone altar. It wriggles, it writhes, it moans...and when they dump the contents onto the altar you see it at last...the telltale silver hair of Princess Volara, heir to the throne.”

“Oh shit,” Gareth rocked back and forth. “My betrothed has been captured by the Archmage himself. I won’t let you die, Volara. Not after Vecna slowly bled your soul of it strength.”

Lucas pulled out his slingshot and grabbed the D20, like the little weapon would give him luck. “My turn, guys. I take a stone from the cavern floor and load it into my slingshot-”

“Dude,” Mike interrupted. “You can’t attack, they’ll cut her throat before so much as take off your cloak!”

Lucas grimaced. “Trust me. I take my slingshot and fire the stone toward the sconce on the wall opposite. It knocks the wooden torch, just a little bit, making everyone turn toward the source of light.”

He rolled the D20, and they watched with bated breath, until it rolled onto sixteen.

Eddie pressed the tips of his fingers together, like a movie villain. “I see where you’re going with this. Crit hit, Sinclair. The cultists turn toward the source of light, and for the briefest of seconds, you see their eyes reflecting the firelight. Several of them are brown, several blue, but one is purple.”

“That’s me!” Jeff squealed. “All the potions turned my eyes purple, and-”

The ding-ding of the doorbell stopped them, and a collective groan rose around the table.

“Goddamn it,” Lucas shook his head. “Dustin, can you get the door?”

Dustin's face pulled into an expression of distaste. “Me?! I gave out candy only two times ago, it’s not my turn!”

“But what if it’s the pizza this time?”

Rose shuffled back in her chair, ready to go to the door, but Eddie stopped her, his hand brushing against her sleeve, making her breath catch.

Eddie seemed to pause too, his fingers stilling on her wrist. “Not your turn either. Just cause you’re the only girl, doesn’t mean it’s your job.” He grabbed his new favourite prop, Yorick the skull and played around, moving its lower jaw to mimic speech like a ventriloquist with a dummy. “Thordus, tis your turn to appease the cultists outside. Give them their pound of flesh - and by flesh I mean chocolate - and send them on their way. Go, good fellow! Before they tear down the defences!”

Chris groaned and picked up his sledgehammer, talking directly to the skull instead of Eddie. “Fine, but if I can scare them away, do I get to have the chocolate?”

“No!” Yorick’s jaw - and puppet master - said.

“Take some chocolate,” Rose called out, overruling the Dungeon Master. “Just don’t use the hammer anywhere near the children. We don’t need another murder to take place in this house, one was enough.”

“Where were we,” Eddie continued. “Ah, yes. Lucas, your character Sundar makes out Jeff’s wizard and Rose’s cleric in the crowd, hidden behind their own cultists masks and ready to save the Princess. They both stand to your left, by the cavern entrance. On your next turn, you can attack the Archmage and interrupt the ritual before it summons Vecna himself.”

Lucas passed the D20 over to Rose, who held out her shaky hand and clasped it, trying to determine a course of action.

“I can’t summon the dead body in the corner as a thrall, can I?” She asked, already knowing the answer.

“Sorry, sweetheart,” Eddie said gently. “You’re still level eight. Might be level ten by the next session, at which point you unlock Animate Dead and kick some cultist ass.”

She slumped in her chair, aching at the tight lacing of the corset. “God, I can’t wait.”

A series of childish screams sounded outside, followed by Chris’ laugh. He came running back in with his sledgehammer and a pile of chocolate and candy, hoarding it like Smaug with gold in his corner of the table. 

Jeff began to get antsy, fidgeting in his chair, checking his watch. “It’s seven o’clock, man. Where is this pizza?”

“It’s Saturday and Halloween,” Dustin rationalised, chugging back his Dr Pepper and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “They’re busy.”

“Wait,” Eddie stood up suddenly, drawing their attention. “You shiver and clutch the robes tighter around your shoulders, taken by a sudden chill in the air. It’s not just cold in the cavern, it’s icy, your breath fogging in front of you like an ice dragon.”

Jeff took in a sudden breath. “You know what that means...he’s here.”

Mike scrunched up his face. “Who?”

Jeff leaned in. “Vecna.”

The dining room felt chilly in reality, and Rose shivered as if someone walked over her grave, ignoring the fact that shuddering her chest probably did little to hide the effect of her tight corset and the poorly-concealed cleavage.

The faint buzz of electric lights dimming rose above the crackling flames of the fireplace, and the ceiling lights and lamps in the hallway upstairs flickered, the power outage travelling downstairs and affecting the bulbs one by one, like they occasionally did. But this time, with the whole party of eight fixed on the malfunctioning lights, it got quiet and tense very quickly.

“Uh...guys?” Lucas asked, his face a mask of horror. “You saw that too, right?”

“It’s only been three months, I can’t do this again,” Mike added, running his hands through his hair.

“Don’t worry,” Rose added quickly, trying to diffuse the weird tension amongst the younger boys. “I know it looks weird but it’s just an old house, the wiring is dodgy. It’s happened before, but the power hasn’t blown out or anything.”

The path of malfunctioning lamps drew toward them, until the kitchen light just a couple of metres away flickered into life, and then faded away slowly.

“That light wasn’t even on,” Dustin said, his face ghostly pale. “Guys, I think we have a code red. I repeat, code red.”

Eddie looked puzzled, waving a hand toward Dustin, the cuff of his shirt sleeve flapping about. “What’s a code red, Henderson?”

A second ding-dong interrupted them again, and Rose unfurled her aching legs and stood up with a groan. “My turn. I’ll get some money in case it’s pizza. If anyone dares to move my character, I will kill them. That includes you Gareth. Actually, that mostly refers to you.”

“Jeez,” Gareth scowled from beneath his hood. “What happened to innocent until found guilty?”

Rose wandered into the kitchen, where the sandwich crusts, empty crisp packets and wrappers littered over the kitchen table were the only remains of the feast, demolished by a hungry horde by three o’clock. She retrieved the small wad of cash from the tin of tea leaves and opened the front door.

“How much is it?” She asked, looking down at her hands and trying to remove a folded twenty dollar bill. 

A wave of noise hit her, voices clamouring and cheering, and Rose dropped the money on the porch floor.

Steve Harrington tipped the cowboy hat from the thrift store at her, one spurred boot propped up on a giant, silver keg of beer. His jeans and tasselled waistcoat rounded out a fairly decent cowboy outfit. 

“Howdy there,” he said. “Did someone call for a keg party?”

“Surprise!” Robin leapt out from the crowd of people - wait, who were all the people? - in a full-on French mime costume, complete with beret, stripey shirt, braces and white face paint. “If Rose cannot come to the keg party, the key party shall come to her! I see you kept your outfit on, damn, you could cause a traffic accident with those on display!”

Rose crossed her arms defensively as teens in all kinds of Halloween costumes pushed past them, flooding the hall before she even had a chance to stop. Jeremy - the party dude, with the coke habit, entered the hall and looked around at the decorated house, with an exclamation of: “Sweet, nice haunted house, man.”

“What the hell?” Rose said. “How did this happen?”

Some of Robin’s bandmates were next, and a girl with red hair she’d recognised from school. They carried in cases of beer, bottles of spirits, and - as if it was plucked from a movie - a boombox playing something electronic and very not suited to the whole D&D vibe.

“You were so sad last weekend,” Steve explained. “We wanted to make your keg party dream come true. I know people, all it took was a couple of calls. Not sure how, but the rest of the school sniffed the party out like ”

Robin spread her arms open. “Ta da!”

Panic began to flood Rose, particularly how one very particular DM might react to the chaos. “But we’re still in the middle of Dungeons and Dragons!”

Robin pulled a face. “Huh? You said it started at one.”

“Exactly. We’re not even half way through!”

Robin’s face fell, but Steve looked calm and collected, stepping aside to let in a string of witches - cheerleaders from school, Rose thought - his eyes fixed on them as they walked by. “So we have a little party on the margins. Best of both worlds, right? Come on, don’t say your parents won’t like it. Your mom literally plied me with alcohol last time I was here, no questions asked. She’s cool.”

“Plus,” Robin pointed for emphasis. “We’ll be on clean up duty, and help you get the place tidy before they come home.”

“In four hours?” Rose cried out.

“No, sixteen hours, dummy. Eleven AM.”

“No, Rob. Four hours. They’re not staying overnight.”

“Oooh,” Robin let out a whistling breath. “Steve, have we fucked up? Can we stop it now?”

The keg had already been carried in, music blared, and a loud smash inside caused them all to wince. 

“I don’t think so,” Steve said through gritted teeth. “Maybe we let it burn out for a couple of hours, until the alcohol’s gone. You know, like a forest fire.”

“Is that a good analogy, Steve?” Robin asked sarcastically. “Aren’t forest fires destructive?”

He held up his hands, kind of dopey. “What? I saw a PBS documentary on forest management last week, they’re supposed to, like, regenerate the forest by providing nutrients and encouraging new growth.”

“Fire...” Rose murmured. “There are a hundred lit candles in there. Quick, we have to put them out before the whole place goes up in flames!”

“Come on dingus,” Robin shook her head. “The least we can do is avert a disaster. You take the left side, i’ll take the right.”

Rose left them to put out candles and ran inside, her heart sinking. A picture frame had been knocked over, wooden frame splintered, but thankfully the glass was still intact. “Off!” She shouted to a ghost in a low-effort bedsheet with holes in it. “Break anything, and you pay for it. Damn it all to hell, I haven’t even checked with the Hellfire, they might be disappointed. I don’t know if they like this kind of thing, they might be too shy-”

As she wandered through the house and into the dining room, the Hellfire guys and the party people seemed to meet, absorbed into one big crowd. Lucas hi-fived another member of the basketball team.

Dustin was clutching his own face and giggling. “A kegger?” He squealed. “I didn’t think I'd be invited to one of those until Junior year. I’m three full years ahead of schedule...at this rate, I'll be prom king. Look out, class of ‘90!”

“I’ve heard of those kinds of parties, but I dared not hope...” Chris said. “Please say this isn’t a dream.”

Gareth was leaning back on his chair, his hooded cloak falling off his head, almost drooling at the outfits of the witch-cheerleaders. The game pieces in front of him and all the other guys had been completely forgotten. 

“Oh,” Rose said to herself. “Perhaps they don’t mind after all.”

The collective joy around the Hellfire table was contagious, the room filled with people and red cups of foamy beer, the electro-beat of Dead Man’s Party ringing out on the boombox...it wasn’t so bad. Like a John Hughes movie had leapt out from the screen and took place live in her home. 

Rose began to relax just a fraction. Until she saw the uncertainty on Eddie’s face. No, it wasn’t uncertainty, he looked downright pissed. She bumped her way through the crowd, elbowing through a pair of ghosts and a Princess Leia with fake buns on a headband, and tried to get to his side.

“Eddie, I’m sorry,” she called over one of the revellers in a monster costume. “I didn’t know this was happening.”

He swept up the figurines and board pieces, snatching one from the curious green-painted hand of the monster dude, and packed them back in the box with an agitated, twitching face. 

“S’cool,” he lied. “No worries, maaan. We’ll have a big party instead of the Cult of Vecna. Pick it up next week, I guess. That is, if we haven’t lost the guys to the popular social clique.”

Rose worked her bottom lip between her teeth, feeling terrible about the interruption, kind of angry at Robin and Steve, yet oddly touched they tried to put this together just for her.

She approached him gingerly, putting a hand on his arm, looking deeply into his big, doe-eyes. “Eddie, don't be ridiculous. They love Hellfire, there’s no way they’ll abandon it for a moment with the popular kids. You’re like their hero.”

At that very moment Dustin ran forward, stopping in his tracks, looking at the doorway to the hall, dumbfounded. “Steve? What the hell, are you behind this kegger?”

Steve opened his arms wide. “Henderson, you little menace. Come here!”

The two of them ran toward each other almost in slow-motion, colliding in a dramatic and meaningful hug, which they tried to make more masculine with a lot of back-slapping and clearing of throats.

Dustin looked up at him, like he hung the moon. “Crashing a Halloween party at a haunted house with a keg? Classic King Steve. Graduation can’t even contain your reputation at school, can it?”

“Oh no,” Rose muttered under her breath, watching Dustin and Steve greet each other like the oldest of friends. Shit. From the corner of her eye, she saw Eddie was wounded. Sure, he covered it by turning to grab his guitar from the eager-fingered green monster and pointedly ignoring Dustin. But she could see right through it. Jealousy. But it felt like there was more beneath the surface. 

Eddie surveyed the crowd, and winced at a particularly shrill beat from the boombox. “I’ll get out of your hair.”

“No,” she pleaded, grabbing his arm again. “Stay. Have a drink. I don’t want you to go.”

He looked down at her hand, wavering. “I guess I could have one.”

Rose sighed with relief. “Stay right here, I'll get us beer. If I'm going to be a reluctant party host, I might as well benefit from it by getting buzzed.”

The moment the crowd parted them, she lost sight of his long leather jacket and white frilly shirt, swallowed by dancing monsters and witches, moving to the beat. The kitchen was chaotic, all the Halloween candy eaten, and the pizza they ordered an hour ago had mysteriously arrived, been paid for, and completely devoured, leaving nothing but the greasy boxes.

“Robin!” She cried. “Where the hell is the beer?”

“In the parlour!” Her friend’s voice echoed back, a blur of face paint and a beret just visible in the hall. 

By the time she filled two cups with foamy beer, avoided the groping hands of a Thriller-style zombie whose face was almost planted in her cleavage, and got back to the dining room, Eddie was nowhere to be found. 

Okay, it wasn’t quite what she’d hoped for, but it was a party. A lively one, on Halloween, surrounded by teens who were high on hops and hormones, and...now that she came to think of it, what if they trashed upstairs? Used the bedrooms like a brothel, queueing up to fondle each other her mother’s quilted bedspread? It was enough to make her panic, until she saw a figure in a fur cloak, with his sledgehammer held high.

“Chris,” she waved at him, gaining his attention. “If you guard the stairs, i’ll owe you.”

“What?”

“I’ll owe you!”

His face was a picture of surprise. “You’ll blow me?”

“What the fuck, no!” She screamed, attracting attention, as When Doves Cry blasted across the room. “I will be in your debt. Owe you a favour. Anything except that!”

He nodded, finally getting it. “What do you want?”

“Guard the stairs, no one except me or Robin and Steve are allowed up. Okay?”

“A side quest,” he exclaimed. “No one will breach the stairs, milady. They can send an army, but I will guard it with my life!”

She sagged, secure in the knowledge that he wouldn’t let anyone through, though slightly worried that sledgehammer would be put to use at some point, even by accident. 

“All the candles are out,” Robin sidled up to her. “I hid your mom’s ornaments in the pantry, and Dustin is literally about to combust from excitement. Time to actually enjoy the party, you know, dancing, music, a little joie de vivre...sound familiar?”

“What, we’re not supposed to scowl at the edges like old spinsters?” Rose said with mock confusion.

“Dance with me!” Robin commanded.

“I’m too clumsy!”

“Me too. If we do it together, maybe we’ll cancel each other out. Two left feet make a right, or whatever the saying is.”

She allowed herself to be dragged on the dance floor, and when Duran Duran came on the stereo, she couldn’t stop herself, laughing breathlessly as Steve did a little cowboy dance and completely failed to charm Bianca, the current object of his affections.

They were clumsy, they were awful, but Halloween costumes were forgiving, weren’t they? Freedom to be more than who you were, and try out a different side of yourself. The party burned on for longer than she realised, until the grandfather clock in the hallway struck eleven, the sonorous ring of it snapping her out of it.

Shit. Mum and Jerry would be home any minute, and the party was in full throes, nowhere near burning out like a forest fire, or whatever other hamfisted metaphor Steve had used earlier.

Her face was burning, lungs struggling for air, and the place was too crowded. Rose bolted for the front door, pushing past a couple shoving their tongues down each others throats and emerging onto the porch, where more kids hung out with cups of foamy beer. The hoppy smell made her feel queasy, feet stumbling until she was out on the driveway.

“Nice party, new girl,” someone shouted. She gave them a thumbs up, no clue who was beneath the costume, and kept going until she saw Eddie’s van. It was at the front of the drive, trapped by a layer of parked cars of those who arrived later, drawn by the buzz in the air and the gossip whipping around the town at lightspeed, of a party at the murder house.

She put her hands to the widow and peered through the glass: empty. But then a chord drifted on the night air, with the scent of pumpkin flesh and pine. Black Sabbath, the chorus of Lady Evil. Eddie sat on the swings over the street, the foggy evening lit by buzzing street lamps, illuminating the frizzy hair like a halo.

Rose ws drawn by the song, leaving behind the party and stepping willingly into the playground, watching his ringed fingers strum the acoustic guitar and produce a sound so natural and beautiful she held her breath. He was concentrating so hard his tongue poked out the corner of his mouth, and her heart did a little leap. The perils of having a heart condition and helplessly falling for someone...each time her heart raced, she felt weird, and worried herself needlessly. But she found it was a good weird.

“Ah,” Eddie said, sitting up as her shadow fell over him. “Here she is, the Queen of the Night herself. Mistress of the keg party. Lady reveller, entertaining the masses in her tavern.”

She snorted, and dropped onto the best swing, cold chains biting her fingers. “I’m hardly a party mistress. Haven’t even had a drink.”

He kept strumming the guitar, playing through the rest of the song, but smiling wide. “No way.”

“Yes way. Not even a drop of beer.”

His teasing side-eye was enough to warm her right up. “You running for sainthood or something?”

She pondered it for a while. “Sister Rose does have a good ring to it. What, why are you laughing?!”

“You’d be a terrible nun, sweetheart,” he said, voice low and throaty. “You’ve been converted to metal music, satan worship, and liquor. Yeah...you’re too good at sinning.”

His teeth shone pearly white and the loose ruffled shirt was still half-open, exposing the neck that would tempt Dracula himself. And when he saw her looking, his wicked grin only widened. Well bloody hell, he must be out to kill her. Do her in, set her on metaphorical fire, or at least banish all the nice, innocent thoughts she’d been thinking about how they could be friends. But there was a Chrissy-shaped elephant in this room, even though they were outside, one they were no closer to overcoming.

“My last hangover was one to remember. It might be a while before I can stomach alcohol without wanting to be sick.”

Eddie laughed and put down the guitar gently. “Just avoid the instrument, sweetheart. My uncle Wayne won’t forgive me if it comes home covered in vomit. It’s his baby, carried it all the way from Tennessee.”

“Your Uncle Wayne sounds great,” she ventured. He hardly ever talked about his family, only when they were alone. He didn’t have a mother and father and a picket fence, like most of his friends. Less stability, and more shame. “Did he teach you to play?”

His smile was bittersweet, eyes glazed over and lost in memories. “My old man taught me first. Uncle Wayne kept it up later, when he wasn’t around. Real country stuff. But the love of music? That came from my mom. We didn’t have much, but no matter how little money you have, you can’t take away music. I’d be strumming and banging on anything in sight, dancing along to her records. Hendrix and Fitzgerald and all sorts of blues.”

Rose swung back and forth gently, boots trailing on the grass. “How did she...”

“Cancer.”

“Shit.”

“She was thirty-three.”

“Oh god. That’s fucking awful Eddie, I didn’t know. How old were you?”

He twisted his swing’s chains to the side, so he was facing her. “Ten. She’s buried at the cemetery off Cornwallis. I go there sometimes. Never on the day she died, there is not a little bit of me that wants to remember that day. But I go there every now and then, and always on her birthday. I, uh, know it sounds stupid, but I bring the guitar and play some Hendrix sometimes.”

“Not stupid,” she said, swinging higher and higher, feeling the rush of being at the top of the world, and the drop in your stomach when you fall back to earth again. “You’re talented as fuck. Must have been that goblet of rock that’s inside. I’d better not let anyone drink from it, or you’ll be dethroned as Hawkins’ rock god.”

“Sweetheart, do not inflate my ego. I can hardly fit in the van as it is. If my head gets bigger, will I grow more hair, or will it go ratty and balding, spread like butter over too much toast?”

Rose laughed until she couldn’t breathe, and stuck out her heels, feet jarring in the grass as she made the swing come to a stop. “You’re trying to kill me, Munson. Oh god, my ribs. It hurts.”

Eddie half-rose from the swing seat, face etched with concern. “Are you...sick? Do we need a doctor?”

“It’s this corset,” she grimaced, twisting her hands to her back and trying to pull on the laces. “Flipping torture devices made by sadists, that’s what they are. I couldn’t cope with the Victorian era. No wonder the ladies fainted all the time and needed smelling salts.”

“Oh, right,” he crossed his arms, shoving his hands into his armpits, like he didn’t know what to do with himself. “So you didn’t...uh, you didn’t just have that little torture device hanging around then? Not your weekend outfit?”

“Bloody hell, no,” Rose continued to struggle, going pink in the face. “I think I need help, I can’t reach the back. Could you undo the knot for me?”

Eddie stepped back. “You sure?”

Rose went light headed, and she stepped around until her back faced him, drawing her loose braid over the front of her shoulder. “I’m not asking you to strip me naked, Eddie. Just loosen it up a little. Besides, you can see I have a shirt on underneath this thing.”

“Oh. Loose...laces...knots. I happen to be amazing with my fingers, lots of practice. Oh Jesus H Christ, I meant with guitar strings not...though come to think of it...god, shut up. Shut up, Eddie.”

“Guitars,” she said dumbly. “I get it.”

His breath fanned the back of her neck and she could feel the warmth of him at her back. Don’t think of his fingers...don’t think of his fingers...

In a few moments he’d picked open the knot, and a single touch of his calloused finger to the exposed skin between her shoulder blades had a shiver rippling up her spine.

“Sorry,” he laughed nervously. “Kinda cold out here. So what do I do now?”

“Just tug on the top thread until it moves an inch or two, then the next one, and keep going. It should loosen up quite easily.”

He cleared his throat. “Right. Gotcha.”

The top of the corset began to loosen and the pressure in her ribs and lungs slowly eased, and it was glorious, remembering how to breathe again, the blood flowing back to her skin and tingling all at once.

She groaned, loudly, just as Eddie’s fingers worked their way down; he jolted and tugged the lace too hard, and somehow within a single fluid move the lace unravelled and the whole thing dropped to the floor.

“Oh...ooh no, n-no.” Eddie stammered.

With agonising awareness, Rose felt her nipples hardening as the cool night air rushed beneath the loose, half-open peasant shirt. And in an instinctive, foolish move, she turned around to see what had happened, until he was inches away from her. 

The sensation of boobs - and not small ones, not by any stretch - being freed after a long period of containment was a very personal, very private thing, and one she had not experienced in front of a man, let alone one she fancied the pants off of. Within a split second she’d covered them with her hands, with the flimsy shield of the peasant shirt. Unfortunately, she’d left the garment open to better fit beneath her corset, and it was a flimsy layer of clothing by itself, made translucent by the buzzing street lamp over their heads.

“I seem to be in a state of undress,” Rose said politely. “Oh lovely, I’ve fully embraced life as a Victorian lady, haven’t I. Someone will see my ankles in a minute, and denounce me as the town hussy. Oh fuck.”

Eddie's eyes were pools of coal-black, completely unreadable, somehow everywhere over her body all at once, until he jerked back like he’d been burned. 

“Do you...” his voice was low and even, like he was putting great effort into controlling it. “Do you want me to lace it back on?”

“No! It would take too long, I'm one gust of wind away from being topless here.”

“Here,” he flung off his leather duster coat, like it had fleas. “Take it.”

“Won’t you be cold?”

“I run hot, like a furnace usually. Warm all the time. Never need a blanket, not even in winter.” he babbled. 

Rose tugged the sleeves of the leather jacket on, and held the edges together at the front. Now that image was too much...Eddie naked, Eddie sleeping with no clothes, and no blanket. But now, he was in his own flowing white shirt.

“I like your shirt,” she said, humour coming back into her voice now she had some semblance of modesty. “We kind of match.”

Eddie looked down at himself and pretended to be shocked, playing the jester, jumping back. “Oh my gosh, how did that get there? Wait...if I put on your corset, i’d look very Rocky Horror, wouldn’t I. Shall I do it?”

She couldn't help but giggle. “Ah, but they would think we’ve been out here...you know...doing stuff.”

His eyebrows waggled and he paced around, giving her a very mischievous look. “Ah, stuff. I thought you were a virtuous woman, Sister Rose?”

“What, a nun can’t cross dress with her dungeon master? Whatever has the world come to?”

He strutted around like a peacock, like something from a romance novel, chest half-exposed, long hair curling around his shoulders. Rose noticed a silver necklace of some kind hung at his chest, a crucifix maybe? Yes, yes she would be re-reading Anne Rice tonight, she was sure of it.

“Stuff,” he repeated. “Naughty things. Things someone inside might not like. I get it. Maybe we should head back in, before the parentals come home and see the lady of the house dishevelled in the street, like a common whore.”

“Oh,” she raised her brows. “I’ve been upgraded to whore, have I?

“Promoted, sweetheart. I guess you have a thriving career ahead of you.”

“A nun and a whore. What will the priest say?”

Eddie winked. “It’s kinky, he’ll love it..”

Whilst some of the partygoers had begun to drift off, bound by curfews and the threat of permanent grounding, most of them remained. Dustin, Lucas and Mike were hanging out in the dining room window, and Robin and half their classmates would be inside.

“Do I have to go in?” She asked, looking back at the swings with longing.

“Eventually, yes.”

She looked up to the windows of the house, and a grin spread over her face. “Who said I have to go through the front door? Eddie, are you good at climbing trees?”

He looked to her, to the house, to her, back to the house, cogs whirring in his brain. “Oh my god.”

She nodded. “Yes.”

“No.”

“It makes sense. My window isn’t locked.”

“Do you have a death wish, sweetheart? Are you high? Except I know you’re not, cause I control the supply at school.”

“I’m high on life!”

He laughed and shook his head. “Goddamn it, you are going to be the death of me.”

Rose couldn’t stop giggling, until she sounded like a bit of an idiot. “Already died once, haven’t I? I must have eight remaining. You have nine left, like a cat.”

Eddie was contemplative. She thought she’d lost him for a minute there, as he turned his back to her. But a second later he came back, holding the leather, ribbed corset in his hands and shoving it in the waistband of his jeans. “You’ll need this, to protect your innocent reputation. Come on, Sister Rose, let’s break you back into the convent.”

“Oh, this is exciting,” she clapped her hands. “I’m living out every high school fantasy in one night.”

“It’s a good job your house has a nice veranda, and a great big tree right next to it. Come to think of it, you should get better security. That’s a thief’s wet dream.”

She giggled even more, stopping to breathe hard and clutch at his sleeve, completely ruining their stealthy approach. After a long pause they made it to the cedar tree at the side of the house, and Eddie climbed ahead of her, working out footholds and helping her take each step up. 

“Look,” she hissed. “They don’t even see us!”

The couple on the porch seat were sucking each other's faces off, too busy to notice the people climbing a tree only twenty feet away.

“Of course they don’t, they’re about to get to third base.”

“Yeah...I don’t understand baseball. No idea what that means.”

Eddie reached a horizontal branch and slithered onto it, testing its weight, and finding it sturdy. He hauled Rose up, until she straddled the branch and hugged the main trunk, watching how he dropped easily from the tree to the veranda below her mother’s bedroom.

“Come on,” he beckoned, hands outstretched. “I’ve got you.”

She dropped onto him with a thud, with a mental reminder to thank the contractor who’d repaired the roof last month, for doing such a sturdy job. There were some limbs pressed together, some awkward scrambling upright, until they stood holding each other's forearms, balancing together.

“So,” he said casually. “Which room’s yours?”

Rose looked up, gesturing with her chin to the big, round stained-glass window. “Up there.”

He threw his head back, exposing the column of his throat. “The attic? You’ve gotta be kidding me!”

“Hold me.”

Eddie blinked a few times. “What?”

“Boost me up. I can get in the side window, then pull you up afterward.”

“Sure,” he nodded. “We could do that.”

They crept to the side of the veranda, beneath a dormer window, and Rose limbered up, then wound her fingers together and cracked her knuckles. “I’m ready. How do you want to do this?”

Eddie held out his arms moving them up and down, like he was looking for somewhere to grab. “Maybe you should get on my shoulders? Jump up?”

The air seemed to crackle as she stepped toward him, looping her arms about his shoulders. She was so nervous she jumped straight away, until her legs locked about his waist and his head oh for god’s sake his head was at a level with her chest.

“Not that way,” He said, muffled by their clothes. “I meant jump on my back, not my front!”

“That would have made sense.”

“We’ll go with it,” he said, shifting her weight in his arms. “Can you reach the window from here?”

“Back up to the wall for me.”

He did as she asked. “Now?”

Her fingertips were so near, bark-scraped palms flush against the bottom of the window pane, almost able to push open the sash window. “Almost, let me get a bit higher.”

She wriggled up him, until somehow her knees were planted on his shoulders. “Yes, I've got it!”

“Hmm. Fuck. Oh god.”

“I’m sorry, I know I’m not light.”

“No, sweetheart,” Eddie’s voice was muffled again. “Just be careful where you move, or the couple on the porch won’t be the only ones out here getting to third base.”

She pushed open the window and the momentum carried her slightly forward, realising just at the wrong moment that his head was very much in between her legs. Panic and adrenaline made her pull herself into the window more than her arms could under normal circumstances, and before long she was crumpled on the floor of her attic bedroom, quivering in a heap. 

“Uh, Rosie? You in there?”

She sat up so quick it made her lightheaded. “Yep, I'm coming.” She appeared over the window ledge and looked down into big, brown eyes and a dimpled smile.

He threw his arms up, dropping down on one knee like a knight in a fairy tale. “Rapunzel, let down your hair,” 

“What?” She grabbed her braid, looking at it like a slack-jawed idiot. “Oh. Something to climb. I see.” She dived back into her room, switching on a lamp. Her scarf? Her hockey stick? Her eyes landed on the floral blue dressing gown on the wardrobe door, she pulled the terry cloth belt from it and threw it out the window.

Holding the rope with one hand, he climbed up the wall like a limber monkey, latching onto her arm as he neared the top and launching himself into the window, jean chain clanking on the sill. They collided again, proximity making her drunk and dizzy, lightheaded from being in the presence of all this Eddie. She was suddenly very aware Eddie Munson was just between her legs, whilst they broke into her attic room, with a raging party going on downstairs and music throbbing through the floorboards. There was no way she’d anticipated the night ending like this.

He rubbed his scratched palms together and became aware of his surroundings, peering into the corners, wandering around aimlessly, poking at her things. “So this is like your lair? Very creepy, very cool. Very Rose.”

“You think?”

“Hell yeah,” he gave her an enthusiastic nod. Oh god, he looked good in that shirt, it was sinful. He zeroed in on the bookshelves, fingers tracing on the spines. “That is a looot of books. If you didn’t have a wall of sexy guys plastered right next to it, I'd be kind of intimidated, y’know?”

“I’m a connoisseur of bands and movies,” she said, eyeing the posters of her old crushes, marvelling that the new one, the real one, was right there. “Purely a coincidence that they’re all very attractive men.”

“Harrison Ford,” Eddie appraised the poster of Indiana Jones. “Classic. I get it, it’s the whip, isn’t it.”

“Of course, every girl’s dream,” she replied. “Would you...would you mind waiting outside the door while I get changed? As much as I like this jacket, I-”

His mood shifted, becoming more guarded. “Oh, I get it. I don’t want a particular person to get the wrong impression, like I carry you into your bedroom window in a state of undress all the time. Especially when they might be downstairs, dancing to shitty music with the rest of the popular crowd.”

Chrissy was here? Rose supposed it made sense, she’d seen half the cheerleading squad in witchy outfits attacking the keg earlier. Come to think of it, she didn’t know who half the people in the house were, partly due to the costumes, but clearly a bigger crowd had been summoned by the invite from the former King of Hawkins High. “I didn’t realise there was someone...I mean I thought, but...”

“It’s okay,” Eddie flapped around nervously, inspecting her bookshelves again. “I kind of figured it out last week. Moving on swiftly, I can either sneak downstairs or go back out the window. I’m thinking the window; Chris might kneecap me with the sledgehammer on the way down the stairs, he looks like he was taking that responsibility very seriously.”

“I don’t want you to break your neck on the way down. I’ve never seen someone trip on their own feet so much, except Robin, maybe. If I didn’t know you were stone cold sober I’d think you were drunk.”

Eddie took the mortal blow badly, clutching his chest. “Me? Clumsy? I’m as graceful as a...okay, you got me there McAllister.”

Fuck. He was so clumsy, so charming, so infuriatingly on the same wavelength as Rose. It was typical, she supposed. She found someone she was crazy about, and he was crazy about someone else. 

Eddie had given her more courage and more reason to break out from her carefully crafted shell of invisibility than anyone. And maybe, just maybe, she should do something very…stupid. Then he was walking away, back facing, his hand on the doorknob.

“Eddie, wait,” she caught his arm. His pretty brown eyes found hers, boring into her heart. “I need to say something.”

He swallowed. “Is this the part where you tell me you wanna leave Hellfire? I don't want…I guess it-”

“No, you idiot! I love Hellfire. It's something else, stupid really.”

He stood up straight, becoming more serious. “Yeah?”

She took a deep breath. “I really, really-”

Darkness covered them like a thick blanket, pitch black so dark she could only feel his arm, not see him at all. Jeering and shouting from a half a hundred teens all at once rose through the house; then the music died, and all she could feel was her racing heart.

“Party's over, dipshits,” Steve cried out downstairs, to a chorus of boos. “If you're still here in five minutes, congratulations, you volunteered for clean up duty.”

Eddie's warm breath fanned her face in the dark. “I'd, um, offer to stay, but I have six guys to get home in the van, three of them freshmen and possibly buzzed for the first time.”

“Of course, you should collect the hellspawn,” Rose managed a lame laugh. “It's dark, so you can sneak down the stairs without being seen.”

“Well, don't mean to brag, but this bard's stealth is pretty high.”

He began to pull away.

“Eddie?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you. For being so kind.”

His hand squeezed hers. “Anytime, Rosie. Just say the word.”

In three heartbeats he was gone, stirring the air in his wake. And despite sneaking into her window with a boy, an out if control keg party, and the prospect of parents on the rampage for an impromptu rager, she'd trade every one of those high school cliche’s just to hold onto him a minute longer, or as long as he'd let her.

[missybee-writes]

Shadow in the Dark: Chapter Five - Sleepover

Genre: Sci-fi; Romance; Horror

Warnings: (eventual) sexual content; violence; gore; swearing; alcohol and drug use.

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fem!OC

Summary

In July ‘85, an ambitious realtor sells the crumbling Creel house to a family looking for a new start.

Rose McAllister may be living in a grand and gothic murder house in a small Midwest town, but senior year in high school is the stuff of her nightmares: a last chance at a normal school year without being the odd one out, the sick girl, the weirdo from across the pond. Blend in, make it through the year, and make some friends. Stay unnoticed at all costs.

Hawkins, and one seriously loud-mouthed metalhead, is about to flip that carefully laid plan Upside Down.

Chapter one: Cursed

Chapter two: Munson Magic

Chapter three: Fearless

Chapter Four: Code Name, Farrah Fawcett

Ao3 link

---

Rose

Hawkins was pretty in the autumn. Maybe it was the burnt orange leaves that crunched underneath her boots, or the slight chill in the air that felt crisp and tingled in her lungs as she breathed deeply. Maybe it was the freedom of walking into town on a Saturday afternoon by herself, fresh from a morning of American History homework and completing all her week’s assignments. She might not have a driver's license, but when the red-gold tree-lined streets were this picturesque, who minded walking?

Main Street was busy on a Saturday afternoon, a dozen bikes chained up outside the stores, older folks sat on a bench outside the library, watching the world go by. A girl with red hair a little lighter than Rose’s swung open the door of the arcade, and a loud wave of bleeping machines and electronic music blasted out the open door. She slapped a skateboard on the sidewalk, jumping on it and balancing easily, weaving between a couple leaving Melvald’s General Store with big brown paper bags and ignoring their protests as she passed. The girl raised her middle finger over her head as she disappeared in the distance, attitude stone cold.

Rose peered into the arcade window, and saw a familiar gangly figure inside. Mike was hunched over one of the arcade games, bashing buttons and manhandling a joystick, whilst Lucas leaned against it, slumped and looking longingly at the door.

She thought about waving or saying hello, but they were both absorbed by the shiny metal machine with its bright screen, with a great big donkey plastered on the side. Fixated, like it was life and death. She’d never understood the appeal herself; being wound up like a jack-in-the-box and raging with anger, desperate to beat some high score and placing coin after coin into the game...all for what? To end up on a leaderboard on a tiny screen?

After a few seconds at the window someone her age with brown hair and a name badge popped up on the other side with a weird look on his face, staring at her with his mouth wide open; she backed away slowly, then quickly paced along the sidewalk, almost missing her destination.

Family Video was attached to the arcade, with a neon store sign and glass windows covered in posters of The Breakfast Club and Scarface , along with other movies she hadn’t seen. Her nerves came back in full force as she pushed open the door, not sure if Robin would be up front. 

It wasn’t busy inside, with only a couple of families browsing the rows and rows of tapes, and stands of popcorn and candy. A guy leaned casually on the counter, in a white shirt and green waistcoat, kind of like Han Solo. He was glued to a TV behind the counter, with his back to Rose, and a hell of a head of hair.

“Welcome to Family Video,” he said in a monotone voice, like he wanted to be anywhere else. “We bring the stars of Hollywood to your living room for low, low prices.”

No sign of Robin, not lingering in the rows of tapes or behind the counter with the guy.

“Hello,” she approached the counter with a tentative wave, one slow step at a time. “Hi. Sorry, i’m looking for Robin, and I don’t know if i’m in the right place.”

He noticed her slowly, head turning, straightening himself up and looking at her eagerly. Floppy hair. Confident. 

She fidgeted with her hands, squirming internally at being the centre of someone’s full attention. “Well, I know I must be in the right place, there can’t be two video stores in a town this size, can there? I mean, there are only so many times you can watch The Breakfast Club before you start to lose the will to live. Oh...sorry, that’s probably your favourite, isn’t it. I have a unique talent of putting my foot in my mouth within three seconds of meeting someone.”

The guy’s answering smile was kind of dreamy, which threw her for a loop. He leaned on the counter, speaking low, like he was letting her in on a secret. “Actually, between you and me, I hate The Breakfast Club. I feel like i’m there, taking detention on a Saturday, wasting my life in a school library instead of being outside with my friends. Libraries are kind of dull, aren’t they?”

“Some people would say that,” she mumbled. Not her , but she didn’t want to argue about it. “I’ve never had detention though.”

“Not once?”

“Nope. Cross my heart.”

He found that amusing, his smile growing wider. “Really? You know what, you kind of remind me of the girl from that movie. Molly Ringwald. Mostly the hair, maybe not the face.”

“I don’t know, I can’t see it myself.” Rose’s hand raked through her hair; it was much longer, but perhaps it was a similar shade of red. Though Molly Ringwald had a perfectly styled head of hair in the movie, and Rose’s long waves were more untameable. She’d left it in its natural state this morning as she couldn’t face a can of hairspray or a mirror, still brooding after last night’s disaster when Eddie drove her home and all but confessed he had someone special already. And she was admittedly a little taller and rounder than Molly, never running particularly thin like some of the girls at school.

“Actually, I’ve been told i’m like the jock, what’s his name...” he clicked his fingers repeatedly.

“Emilio Estevez?”

“Yeah, that’s the one. But come on, Emilio Estevez wishes he had my hair.”

She snorted with laughter, covering her mouth with her hand in embarrassment. “It is a good head of hair. I wish I could keep mine that bouncy.”

“You think so? It’s all natural, just born with good genetics, I guess. Hey, how have I not seen you around before? I mean-”

“Oh no, this is not happening, Steve! ” A screeching Robin burst through the office doorway behind the desk, an angry whirlwind in a green waistcoat, hair tied up in a messy half-pony. “My friends are off limits. Keep your sucky flirting skills in your holster.”

Rose cringed hard, half tempted to hide behind a row of tapes or a cardboard cutout of Indiana Jones she’d just spotted in the corner. Refuge behind her beloved Indy.

“ Jesus , Rob,” Steve whined, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Can’t I have a conversation with a girl without you bursting out and mocking me? Do you have to do this every time?”

That was flirting? Rose glanced at him out the corner of her eye...she supposed he did have a kind of Simon Le Bon look...but not even a resemblance to her favourite musician could detract from the fact that when she saw this guy’s perfectly nice brown eyes, all she could think of was they’re not Eddie’s . Eddie’s were unfathomably dark, except in the bright sunlight, when the sun’s rays lit them whiskey-brown. Oh god, She was well and truly fucked, wasn’t she?

Robin leapt onto the counter and knocked over a tape, sitting cross legged on the top and prodding him in the chest.

“Ow,” he rubbed the offending spot.

“You should be thanking me for retiring the ‘you suck’ scoreboard, dingus. I finally have a cool, cultured, European friend, and you’re not taking her from me with your Farrah Fawcett hair and your King Harrington routine. She speaks French, Steve. French. She’s been to Paris. Whatever this is,” Robin waved her hand at him disdainfully, “she’s not interested.”

“Hello? I’m right here,” Rose said. The odd duo didn’t even stop to take a breath, they kept right on bickering.

“Alright, alright, cool it,” Steve held up his hands, de-escalating the situation. “I’m not sure if I can just turn off my innate natural charm like a light switch, but I get it. Off limits.”

“Steve?” Rose said, cogs turning slowly in her head. “As in, walkie talkie Steve?”

They both snapped to her, like they only just remembered she was there, wearing twin expressions of confusion. 

“How do you know about the walkie-talkies?” Robin asked suspiciously. “Our frequency is supposed to be highly secret.”

Steve leaned into Robin, their heads almost pressed together. “You said she speaks other languages , right?”

Robin thought about it for a while, and shrugged. “Nah, she’s too odd to be a...uh...one of the workers in the mall. She’s organically odd. No one in a position of power would dream this cover story up.”

“Odd, you say. How?” Steve asked.

“Well, for one, she made a total ass of herself in front of O’Donnell’s class by insulting the jocks and their macho need to throw balls in hoops. No desire to fit in with that team of idiots and their slack-jawed followers, at all.”

Steve frowned. “I was the captain of that team of idiots until like three months ago...you do remember that, don’t you?”

“That’s why her speech was so brilliant, it was insightful...scathing...tearing down the fragile male ego,” Robin sighed. “But she also lives in the murder house on Morehead, and that’s just too weird a backstory to make up.”

“Maybe,” Steve agreed. “Or maybe that’s what the Russians want you to think. Or maybe - ”

“Fucking hell,” Rose snapped. “This is ridiculous. I don’t know half of what you’re talking about, but you seem to be implying i’m some kind of spy, when actually i’m just friends with Dustin. I overheard your conversation on the walkies. Spinal Tap? Remember?”

“Oh shit,” Steve said, the memory clearly coming back to him. “ You’re Dustin’s lady friend.”

“Ew, don’t phrase it like that.” Robin pulled a face. But she slumped with relief, resting her elbows on her cross-legged knees. “I’m sorry, Rose, we may get a little carried away sometimes. You’re good, in fact, you’re great. Most interesting newcomer to Hawkins in like, ever. Are we good? You’re not gonna ban me from our murder-house movie night sleepover are you?”

Rose kicked the fluorescent carpet with her shoe, looking at the floor. “Of course not. Who am I to judge someone else with verbal diarrhoea? If anything, it makes me feel less anxious. And I could do with some cheering up, actually.”

“Oh,” Robin drew out the word, scooching along the counter and dropping her legs off the front, coming closer to Rose. “Is it to do with that whole thing going on at school, the extreme sexual tension with...uh...the guy in our English class.”

“Guy?” Steve asked, looking slightly dejected. “Of course, all the beautiful girls are spoken for.”

Rose was reeling with the implication that anyone would think her beautiful, let alone this admittedly handsome and confident young man, when a customer shattered their illusion of privacy.

“Excuse me?” A middle aged lady in a pea coat, clutching a tape, approached the counter. “Is anyone actually working in this place?”

Steve’s ‘innate natural charm’ turned straight back on, smiling sweetly at the lady. “I am so sorry, ma’am, we were just helping this customer with a video-related dilemma. But let me help you right out with that....Love Story, huh? What a classic movie. Gosh, it just makes me cry every time.”

“Oh, it’s wonderful,” the lady said, looking starry-eyed at him. “I’ve watched it a dozen times, at least.”

Steve stifled a laugh. “Is that so? Well that must make you our most loyal customer.”

Robin hopped off the counter, leaving Steve to serve the lady, ushering Rose to one side, standing underneath the TV. She slung her arm around her. “I’m the last person to think the world revolves around guy drama, but this is about him, isn’t it?”

Rose could feel a curious mix of anger and tenderness at the very implication of it. She hadn’t had the chance to speak to Robin about it, Robin only twigged on her crush yesterday, seeing her and Eddie together up close for the first time.

“Maybe,” she offered up.

“What a dickhead,” Robin fumed on her behalf. “What did he do? Whatever it is, it’s his fault, I just know it. My offer stands, by the way. I can set a very ferocious middle schooler on him for you. He’ll crumble like a breadstick.”

“It’s not anything he did,” Rose groaned. “It’s what he didn’t do. It’s me, i’m an idiot.”

Steve’s eyes were alert, swivelling between the two girls. The moment the lady at the counter left and the store's door closed, he leaned across the counter. “Who are we talking about here? Do I know the guy? Want me to break out my nail bat?”

Robin shot him a scathing look. The two of them clearly were great friends, for this felt like the real unfiltered Robin, not the slightly more reserved version she’d seen at school. “It’s not my place to tell you, it’s kind of private.”

“Who am I gonna repeat high school gossip to?” He said. “I’m a working man now, with my own place.”

Robin rolled her eyes. “Your parents’ pool house doesn’t count, dingus.”

“Yes it does!”

“Do you pay rent?”

“I help with groceries sometimes.”

She looked over at Rose. “Point proven. He’s a man child.”

“Hey, that is a very adult thing to do, alright?” He objected, crossing his arms and looking between the both of them. “And not even the grocery store. I went to the butchers in Cartersville last week and picked up a rack of lamb for my mom’s dinner party, it cost twenty bucks...how ridiculous is that?”

“Was it crusted in gold?” Rose added. “Never mind. Anyway, there’s no secret to keep because nothing is happening . Eddie and I are merely friends. Platonic friends, who barely know each other. Acquaintances, really. That is all.”

“No, no, no,” Robin interjected. “ Steve and I are platonic friends. Have been ever since we started working together at Scoops Ahoy. I enjoy watching him strike out with girls, because we’re not interested in each other like that. You and Eddie? No way. I thought English class yesterday was gonna end one of two ways: a proposal, or the two of you making out on O’Donnell’s desk in front of the whole class. It was the nerdiest flirting i’ve ever witnessed in my life - and that includes dingus here - but you were both drooling over each other.”

“Eddie.” Steve tapped on the counter as he thought aloud. “Eddie Kowalski, in Junior year? Glasses, mathlete?”

“God, no,” Robin laughed.

“But it has to be, that's the only Eddie below my class at-” Steve paused, and looked back at Rose in total shock. “Oh sweet mother of god, hold on. Are we talking about Eddie the freak Munson?”

Rose snapped. All the emotions of the past week boiled up and rushed out at once, until she was wagging her finger in Steve’s face. “Don’t call him that! What is it with people calling him a freak? He’s the kindest, sweetest person I think I've ever met. He protects his little pack of friends, gathers up all the outcasts who are bullied and abused, and puts himself on the line - literally taking a beating, if what I hear from Dustin is true - to keep them safe and give them a sense of belonging. He’s putting himself through a third senior year, because despite all the insults and the mocking from his classmates and the whole bloody town, he wants to be better than the name Munson . Nothing about that suggests to me that he is a freak.”

Robin and Steve were stunned into silence, and it was too much. Tears started spilling from the corners of her eyes, overwhelmed by all the new things that had happened in her short time in Hawkins High, the new place, new people, and horrible new emotions. “And maybe I thought something would happen between us. But it’s all hopeless, because he already has someone. He said as much last night, when he wouldn’t come into my house. I feel like such a fucking idiot . Sorry, Steve. I didn’t mean to snap at you.”

After a long pause, breathing hard, Robin rushed over and gave her a bone-crunching hug, the scent of shampoo and strawberry chapstick overcoming her. It was strangely comforting, not being able to move in her arms.

“Boys are so stupid,” Robin groaned. “But in good news, you’re in the right place for a breakdown. Steve and I are the most pathetic losers in the romance department ever. He’s not over his ex, and I...well, I have a tendency to like people who are unattainable. And beyond that, it’s been kind of a hellish year for us.”

“Yep,” Steve echoed. “We’re doomed. Welcome to the losers club, come and join us.” He opened the hatch to the counter, and she followed Robin into the employees’ domain, the little control centre of the video store.

“Munson though,” Steve mused out loud. “I wouldn’t have guessed it. Though I suppose Molly Ringwald does end up with Judd Nelson in the Breakfast Club. is there a basket case out there searching for me? If she looks like Ally Sheedy, I'll gladly accept.”

“Eddie is nothing like Bender,” Rose scoffed, sitting on a stool by the snacks. “Eddie rants a little bit, but he’s not angry. He’s just anti-establishment, naturally ill-disposed to authority.”

“That’s too many syllables for a Saturday evening,” Robin complained. “But here’s what I don’t get...who the hell is this mystery girl that Eddie is with? I have never seen him with a girl at school, not once. There was a rumour that a girl in the party kid clique - Cass something or other - was seeing him secretly a couple of years ago, but that was never really proved. And she had plenty of boyfriends after. Anyway it’s a moot point, she moved to Wisconsin for College in ‘84.”

Steve shook his head. “I can’t think of a single girl it could be. But we haven’t exactly moved in the same circles. Are you sure he has someone? What happened?”

Rose picked at a loose thread on her dress, going back to the conversation in her driveway last night. “He dropped me off at home last night. I asked if he wanted to come inside, and he said he’d like to, but he made a promise not to do it and he didn’t want to be a cheating, lying scumbag like his dad. Or words to that effect.”

Steve sucked in a breath. “Damn. Did he actually mention a girlfriend by name?”

“Nope.”

“And you’re sure he likes you?” He asked. “I don’t want to upset anyone, but he could have used a fake girlfriend as an excuse. What kind of signs are we talking about here? And not this girlie magazine stuff, like he opened a door for me once, he must be dreaming of our marriage ?”

“I don’t have much experience in this area, but let’s see,” Rose said, so firmly down the rabbit hole with Robin and Steve that she couldn’t stop if she wanted to. “He made me a mixtape. He called me fairer than the sunrise over  mountains. He kissed my hand once, though that was kind of acting during a Hellfire session. We did almost properly kiss a couple of times.”

“Wait, what?” Robin interrupted. “You never told me this? Explain, stat.”

Rose’s skin flushed warm. “We were in the woods behind the school on Monday, and we ended up holding hands. He sort of held my face and pulled me closer, but his rings got stuck in my hair and took out a small chunk of it. Oh, and then we were pressed against the lockers yesterday but Jeff came into the hall, and even Jeff noticed something, he called it a weird, alien mating ritual. So I don’t think it’s just me misunderstanding things.”

“Oh yeah,” Steve affirmed, arms crossed over his Family Video waistcoat. “That is not platonic behaviour. He’s down bad.”

“But I don’t think i’m his type. Dustin said he has a thing for cheerleaders.”

Steve made a funny face. “Pfft. So he’s a red blooded male? Doesn’t mean he only likes cheerleaders.”

Robin cracked her knuckles and stood up, pacing around the desk area. “We need to solve this mystery, I just can’t take it. Is there an unknown girlfriend? What is going on? I would say we could ask Dustin and Mike, but they’re little snitches, I can sense it. They’ll tell Eddie or the older guys and it will all come out.”

It was oddly comforting, sitting with an action movie blaring in the background as the last few customers of the day browsed the tapes, sharing her confusion with Steve and Robin behind the counter. At least she wasn’t brooding in her room, looking out over the treetops like a heroine from an Austen novel.

“Hold on a minute,” Steve sounded excited. “I may not have moved in the same circles as Eddie, but I know someone who does. I dated Jackie Teague in Junior year.”

He looked at them like that should mean something, tutting when their faces were blank. “Her older brother Dougie was one of his best friends, before he failed senior year the first time. And he used to be in that satanic little club with Eddie, the stupid hell and brimstone thing.”

“Hellfire,” Rose corrected. “Which i’ve joined, by the way.”

Steve stood with his hands on his hips, like he was utterly fed up. “Eddie Munson is suddenly a crushable figure and pretty girls are joining the satan club? It’s like the order of things changed as soon as I graduated. But I might be able to get to Dougie through Jackie and get the dirt on your guy.”

“You would do that?” Rose said gratefully. 

“Any friend of Robin’s is a friend of mine. Plus, us romantic losers need a helping hand now and then, right?” He ran over to a jacket on the back of his chair, and pulled a little book out of his pocket, wetting his thumb and flipping through the pages.

Robin pumped her fist and hopped back up on the table, sitting cross-legged again. “Steve, I knew your slutty little black book would come in handy one day. I am so here for this investigation. Harrington, Buckley and McAllister, detectives extraordinaire. You know what? All this tension makes me hungry. This calls for snacks,” she reached out for a pack of candy, something labelled Chewy Lemonheads Rose had never seen before. She broke open the box and popped one in her mouth, holding out the box. “What? I’ll ring this up on the register before I leave, i’m not just stealing.”

“Thanks,” Rose took one, pulling off the plastic wrapper as Steve balanced the earpiece of the phone between his ear and shoulder, dialling a number.

There was a long pause. “Jackie, it's Steve. Yeah, that Steve...” he grimaced at Robin and Rose, and a tinny voice from the phone got louder. “No Jackie, I am not crawling back to...hold on a minute, will you just let me speak? I’m sorry about the whole thing, alright? Tommy H was a prick. No, we don’t hang out together any more, I wised up eventually...yeah, you were right about me. I wasn’t in the best place, but i’m doing better now.”

Steve slumped over, shaking his head. “Actually, i’m not at college, i’m a working man now. Wait, that’s not the point. I kind of need to speak to your brother about something, I was hoping you could give me his number. Why?” He looked over at Rose, scrambling for something to say. “He was in a band, and i’m looking to get into the music sales business. I could do with some insider intel on what kind of items to stock. Uh...amps...guitars, you know, the usual.”

His smile must have meant it worked. He grabbed the little book, and looked around desperately for a pen; Rose leapt off her stool and passed him one from the counter, so he could scribble down a number. “Thanks. Seriously, i’m glad you’re doing well. Bye Jackie.”

Robin began to laugh, her shoulders shaking. “She was mad, wasn’t she. What happened between you two?”

Steve raised a brow. “A lady doesn’t kiss and tell.”

Rose’s mouth dropped open. “Are you the lady in this scenario?”

“He’s one of the girls, don’t let him fool you into thinking he’s a jock,” Robin agreed.

“Haven’t I done enough?” Steve waved the number in the air. 

“You’re right,” Rose said, contrite. “Please, please work your mysterious magic and see what you can find out. I’ll owe you one.”

He was smug, still craned to one side to hold the receiver to his ear. He dialled the second number, whistling as he waited for the phone to ring out.

“Where even is Dougie Teague?” Robin asked, voice muffled as she chewed on a lemonhead. 

“Terre Haute, his old man has a construction firm up there,” Steve replied. “Oh hi , man. Speak of the devil and he shall appear. Sorry, that wasn’t a joke about the Hellflame club.”

They waited whilst Steve greeted this Dougie guy, a faint voice coming from the other end of the phone.

“Yeah, I have a favour to ask,” Steve admitted, twirling the phone cord around his finger. “But before I say anything, I need you to promise that word doesn’t reach anyone about what i’m asking, including the person this relates to. It’s part of the favour. Why should you do that? Do you not remember the number of times I distracted your parents at dinner while you climbed in the window stoned off your ass? And the time that I took the blame for that box of condoms? Your dad gave me ‘the talk’ with a shotgun casually laid out on the coffee table. I could have died, man. Or, I could go and visit your Mom right now and...”

Rose was kind of engrossed, finding out about the inner workings of this Steve, the friend to so many people in her new social circle. From his easy going demeanour, and the way he so casually called in a whole bunch of favours to help a relative stranger, she could tell he was a good egg. 

“Thank you,” Steve sighed. “That’s the spirit. So I need to know everything about the romantic history of Eddie Munson.”

He held the receiver away from his head as laughter rang out. “Yeah man, i’m serious. Remember the deal. Jeez, I don’t care if you think he’s an overdramatic dungeon master...wait, that’s not something sexual is it? Oh, thank god. Now spill. Any girlfriends, crushes, preferences?”

Five minutes stretched out with Steve adding the occasional uh huh, okay , or anything else? , and it felt like the longest five minutes of Rose’s life. Robin had to serve a couple of customers in the interim, ushering them out of the store as quickly as she could without being rude. Between them they went through the box of candy, until she could feel the beginnings of a stomach ache coming on. Though it could be the tension as much as the chewy lemonheads, tangy and sugar-sweet in her mouth.

By the time Steve hung up the phone with a shrill ring, it was closing time. Robin sprinted over to the door and flipped over the sign from open to closed and they waited with baited breath.

“Do you want the good news or the bad first?” Steve asked, running his hand through his floppy hair, almost making it stand on end. 

“Bad,” Rose said. “Wait, good then bad. I’m fragile today, build me up to it.”

“Okay. Good news, he doesn’t have a girlfriend that Dougie knows of, and saw Eddie only last month for a rock concert in Terre Haute.”

“That’s great!” Robin looked joyful. “No girlfriend!”

“That we know of,” Rose reminded her.

Steve cleared his throat and continued. “He’s not really had girlfriends in school, Dougie thinks he was seeing that Cass girl. He may have had a thing with a girl from a bar in town, but that was a while back. And his last girlfriend was a music label executive from California, who was a few years older. She apparently wanted Eddie to move out there and pursue a record deal, but something happened to throw it off. He wouldn’t say what it was.”

What? How was she supposed to compete with older women, bloody record executives with a vast array of experience - life, career, sexual - that she wouldn’t have? And she would bet the California girl didn't need to be given a mixtape to learn what metal music is. God, it made her feel like a kid.

“There’s more,” he said carefully. “Dougie thinks he has a thing for Chrissy Cunningham, though Eddie hadn’t mentioned it in a while. Said he’d had a crush on her since middle school.”

At this point, Rose just hummed and nodded, her worst fears oconfirmed. “I see. So he’s either not into me at all, and using some imaginary girl to spare my feelings as he’s changed his mind about me. Or, he’s in love with Chrissy, maybe even carrying on some kind of fling behind her boyfriend Jason’s back.”

“That’s just a theory,” Robin added, her energy wild. “If anything, this has opened up even more questions. We need more leads. Maybe Chrissy herself; she looks fragile. I can get that nut to crack. Let’s get her in the girls’ bathroom on Monday. Or wait...where does she live?

“Woah,” Steve held up his hands. “I hate to douse water on this fire, but have you thought about sitting down with the guy and actually asking him what’s going on? Like a proper, adult conversation?”

Rose and Robin looked at each other, and burst out laughing. “Are you mad?” Rose said between gulps of air. “What am I going to say? Eddie, I may have known you for less than two weeks but i’ve developed a raging crush on you, and after secretly interrogating your old friends using very shady contacts outside of school-”

“Hey, i’m not shady!”

“Correction, using very unorthodox contacts outside of school, i’ve compiled a history of your love life, and think you might be carrying on an affair with your middle school crush. Can you confirm or deny?”

Steve rubbed his face with his hand. “Okay, when you put it like that, it sounds insane. Maybe you could just say: I like you, I think you might like me, do you wanna go out sometime? That’s how I've always asked girls out. Maybe with a little embellishment, but it’s not difficult.”

“He already declined coming into my house and said he didn’t want to be a lying cheat, what am I supposed to do, beg?” She argued. “Oh god, i’ve accidentally willed this into being, haven’t I...i’ve always wanted to be Eowyn, Lady of Rohan. And now I am.”

She looked at their blank faces, and missed Hellfire and Eddie deeply. They would have put the metaphor together straight away, and known exactly what she meant. “It’s a character from Lord of the Rings. She falls in love with the hero, Aragorn, future King of Gondor, pining away for him as they battle the forces of evil. But he’s in love with an Elvish princess, Arwen Evenstar. Okay, there’s a little more to it, but it’s a tragic love triangle with swords and elf ears and stuff.”

“Back up,” Steve said. “We’re in a world where Eddie Munson is a fantasy hero with not one, but two beautiful women lusting after him, and I can’t even get a date? What did I do in a past life to deserve this?”

Robin was eager to leap in. “Do you want the cliffnotes, or the full thesis?”

“Ha ha,” he said sarcastically. 

“Fuck it,” Rose stood up. “I’m not going to talk about Eddie Munson any more. We’re going to rent a movie, and consume so much sugar that we can’t see straight. Also, I don’t know if you drink, but I may have a sizeable stash of alcohol and a mother who always forgets the drinking age is twenty-one here, and not eighteen.”

Robin’s eyes lit up. “Ooh, that sounds good. My brain is fuzzy enough today, let’s double it up with booze.”

“I like that energy, Buckley,” she replied. “What movie do you want to watch?” Something high brow and intellectual? Foreign language?”

Robin laid back on the counter, knocking over the candy display. “I can’t take it tonight. Give me something trashy and brainless.”

Rose went out into the rows of tapes, scouting the shelves, fingers trailing over the VHS tapes. She left behind the documentaries and dramas, heading for the new and popular releases. She passed right over The Breakfast Club, stopping at some of the other tapes, grabbing a couple and coming back to a reclining Robin holding two aloft.

“Footloose, and Risky Business. What do you think?”

Robin gave her a big thumbs up.

Steve watched her with a strange look. “Dancing and hookers. Sounds like a good night. I was always kind of jealous of girl sleepovers...boys don’t get that.”

“You never had a sleepover?” Rose asked. “I haven’t had one in a long time. Unless you count sleeping with five other girls on a hospital ward. There was much less chance for booze and gossip, and the bleeping machines killed the vibe.”

“Not really,” Steve confessed. “Not outside of people crashing after a party, but then we’d all be hooking up. My parents weren’t big on hosting when I was a kid.”

“Come with us!” Rose said, spur of the moment. She’d had such a nice time in the video store, that she knew she didn’t want him to feel left out. It would be nice to bond with them over something other than her doomed love life, and she wouldn’t get to see him at school like she would Robin.

“Ooh, yeah!” Robin sat up quickly, grabbing the back of her head as if she were dizzy. “Come on, it will be fun! Haven’t you wanted to see inside Creel House?”

Steve shuffled from foot to foot, like he couldn’t make up his mind. “You’re parents won’t mind?” 

“Not at all,” Rose reassured him. “The house is as big as the high school, so you can have a room to yourself. My mum would love to meet some of my friends, and my stepdad is as threatening as a puppy. He’ll keep out of the way. It’s the least I can do, after you went to all that trouble with your ex.”

He chewed it over, and broke out into a big smile. “Girls night it is! Give me an hour to lock up and grab some clothes from home, and I can come to your place.”

“Great,” she beamed. “It’s near the corner of Morehead and Cornwallis, opposite the abandoned playground.”

He grabbed the keys, tossing them into the air and catching them deftly. “Oh, everyone knows where that house is. I’ll see you there.”

Robin patted him on the cheek as they left the store. “What did I say, Stevie? You’re just one of the girls.”

---

The walk from Family Video back to Rose’s house was slow. Rose and Robin talked nonstop, pausing every few minutes to laugh until tears came to their eyes, Robin filling her in on all funny or boring facts she could summon on Hawkins and the townsfolk. 

“There,” Robin said, pointing at a dilapidated, rusty-roofed bus stop on Morehead, just a few minutes from home. “That’s where an owl attacked old Mrs Gillespie’s head, and tried to nest in her perm.”

“What?” Rose barked out. “How big was that woman’s hair?”

“That’s not even the best bit, it turned out she’d been wearing a hairpiece since the late 60s, and the goddamn owl clutched it in its talons and flew away with it.”

Rose covered her mouth with her hands. “No way.”

“Yes way, she even called the police station to report a theft!”

She doubled up and clutched her sides, laughing so hard it hurt her ribs. “Stop.”

“Chief Hopper, or Officer Hopper back then, asked if she wanted it reported for theft or actual bodily harm.”

Rose buckled over, laughing until she couldn’t breathe. “I think I might pee.”

That launched Robin into another fit of giggles, and the two of them clutched each other, stumbling the street like drunks, laughing even harder when a passing car swerved away and the driver looked like he should be calling the doctors at Pennhurst Mental Hospital. 

The girls arrived like that, swaying up the driveway and scaring away the birds from the trees, which of course made it even worse. As they stepped up on the porch, Robin craned her neck and whistled, looking up at the house.

“What are you, part of the Addams Family? Is Lurch gonna answer the door and offer me a cup of tea?”

“Yep, Uncle Fester will be along any minute.”

Robin snickered. “If you mean Steve, with all that hair he’s more like Cousin It.”

Rose fiddled with her bag and tried to find her keys, when the door clicked open and swung inward. Jerry stood in the doorway, in a striped shirt and a cardigan, smiling merrily at them.

“Welcome, come on in,” he said, arms beckoning inward. “Now the first thing we do in this house when we have visitors is put the kettle on. Would you like a cup of tea?”

Robin screeched like Mrs Gillespie’s criminal owl, and her face was so red she looked like she would burst a blood vessel any minute. All the tension Rose had accumulated dropped, and she was filled with mirth and happiness, unable to keep herself serious, laughing alongside her yet again.

Jerry scratched his greying head, and looked kind of worried. “Uh...Shirley? I think I might need your help. I don’t know what to do!”

A set of footsteps bounded down the stairs, and her mother’s panicked face came into view, softening as soon as she saw Robin and Rose gasping for breath and wiping tears from their eyes.

“Oh, don’t worry, Jerry,” her mum said. “This is what teenagers are like when they gather in packs. They’re like Gremlins fed after midnight. You girls haven’t been drinking already, have you?”

“Nope,” Rose asserted. “Just high on life.”

Mum’s blue eyes - same as Rose’s, one of the only features they had in common - narrowed. “Hmm. Well come on in, let me put the kettle on.”

The hilarity began again, until the adults in the house went from amused to slightly irritated. They made it inside eventually, Robin cooing over the period features in the house, the sweeping stair and fireplace, high ceilings and turn of the century architecture. 

“I’m sorry, Mrs Gruber,” she said, gathering herself together. “I’m Robin Buckley. Rose’s friend from English class. You’re house is amazing. It’s so gothic and bohemian at the same time, I love it.”

Mum looked so genuinely pleased she almost vibrated with happiness. “Thank you, Robin. You’re welcome any time. God knows we can barely find each other in this house as it is, we probably wouldn’t even notice you!”

Rose stepped in, patting her mother on the back, trying to butter her up. “On that note, I may have promised that another friend can stay over too. Is that alright?”

Mum nodded, blonde hair bobbing about her face. “Of course. WIll she want to stay in the attic room too?”

“ He , actually.” Rose said confidently. “Steve is Robin’s best friend, they work at the Family Video together.”

Jerry clutched his chest in the background, like he might have a stroke, but her mother was totally unfazed. “It isn’t some sort of menage a trois, is it?”

“Bloody hell, no,” Rose said loudly. “He’s more like one of the girls. Honestly, it's mortifying that you would ask me that.”

Her mother merely smiled. “Oh, stop. You’re nineteen in a few weeks, not a little child. If this Steve wants to stay, he can stay. We can make up the guest room at the back of the house, can’t we, Jerry.”

He’d gone pale, but nodded dutifully. “Yes, Shirley. What a...great idea.”

Mum ordered a pizza while Rose gave her friend the tour, pointing out all doors that shouldn’t be opened, bits and pieces of the house that might snap or fall off at any minute, or wobbly floorboards, as they were still in the middle of restoring the long-abandoned place to its former glory.

When Steve pulled into the driveway an hour later, Rose ran out onto the porch to greet him, a bottle of Jerry’s beer in hand. Steve came into the house to a round of cheers; he seemed to love being greeted by a bunch of adults and teenagers eating pizza in front of a tiny TV in a huge sitting room, the music from Footloose blaring on the little speaker. Another hour and another drink - or two - later, and they all hung out in Rose’s room in the attic.. 

“No way!” Robin cried out from her spot on the end of Rose’s bed. “I’m an only child too! All three of us, that’s weird.”

Steve was laid out on a beanbag, with a girly peach-schnapps based cocktail made by her mother in his hand, sipping loudly and trying not to poke out his eye with a little yellow cocktail umbrella. “Mmm...but...would you actually want a sibling? Aren’t they kind of annoying?”

“Maybe,” Rose said, laying on the head of the bed, her feet propped up against the wall and covering the poster-face of Indiana Jones. “But i’m just glad to be here, eating pizza and drinking Tia Maria with you guys. Just happy to be alive, you know? Heart still beating. Life still moving forward. Living in a place so quiet and unremarkable that I know I can just...rest for a bit. You know what I mean?”

“Oh boy,” Robin groaned. “Sure is normal in Hawkins. Nothing ever happens here.”

Steve giggled, high pitched. “She’s right. But you live in a murder house...how can you say nothing happens here?”

Rose rolled right-side up without spilling a drop of her coffee liqueur-martini concoction. “Oh. I forgot. I don’t really know about the murder. Didn’t want to ask.”

“Really? Robin screeched. “I’d have to know.”

Rose hummed. “Maybe someone was pushed down the stairs? Stabbed in the kitchen, with a knife? Or maybe just whacked over the head in this attic with a lead pipe? Yep, that’s right, I live inside a real-life Cluedo. Just wonderful .”

“The Creel murder was brutal,” Steve explained. “It...woah, what the heck is happening with the lights?”

Rose opened her eyes. The bulbs in her room were malfunctioning one by one, the lamps and ceiling light blinking on and off. “Oh, it happens all the time. Dodgy electrics, you see.”

“That makes sense,” Robin reasoned. “This place is ancient.”

Steve wasn’t convinced. He took another sip of his cocktail, watching the lights, pointing at them. “They’re flickering in a line..see? One, two, three. It’s a sequence...like something’s moving across the room!”

“Oooh,” Robin made a creepy noise. “It’s a gh...a, a ghost."

“Hold on.” Rose slurred. “J’accuse! You are drunk. There’s no such thing as ghosts."

Steve was in his own world, watching the lights. “It reminds me of...of something...can’t remember what though. But it’s important. Very important.”

Robin sat up, out of the blue, wild-eyed from the schnapps. “I can’t take it anymore! I’m gay, alright? Stop with the questioning. I like girls. Are you happy now?”

The silence was thick, punctuated by the faint, pulsing hum of the flickering lights. 

“Uhh...Rob, I know that already,” Steve said. “Did you know that Rose?”

“Nope,” she replied casually. “But it’s all good. More boys for me that way, aren’t there?” She peered up at her wall of posters. “But Simon Le Bon will always be first and foremost in my heart. In fact, I swear off all men, be they international rockstar or high school guitarist. But Robin, are you good? Did you want to talk about it?”

Her friend slumped back down on the bed. “Huh. Maybe I just had that argument in my own head. Bloody hell, i’m drunk.”

Steve giggled yet again. “ Bloody hell. You sounded like Rose. English cursing is weird. Go on, go on, say something.”

Rose pointed at the posters and thought about it deeply. “I’m not a bloody circus freak, you wanker.”

“Hah!” Robin laughed. “That’s like a jerk-off.”

“Hey, you’re just taking the piss now, aren’t you.”

“I know that one!” Steve added. “More!”

Rose grumbled. “I’m too bereft and miserable to think of anything else. You twat.”

“Wait,” Robin called out. “You said twat pronounced like cat , not twat like what .”

“That’s what it is, love.” Rose downed the bitter dregs of her martini and put the cup on her bedside table. “I wish that ghost would bloody keep still, the lights are hurting my eyes.”

Steve sighed and closed his eyes. “It’s coming toward my beanbag chair. Hey, is the ghost single? This may be the closest I've been to being touched since Nance dumped me for Jonathan freaking Byers.”

“We’re so pathetic,” Robin agreed. “Also, I think I might like a girl in band. But I haven’t spoken to her yet.”

“Details please,” Rose requested. “But I think I might need some fresh air, should we open a window?”

Robin crawled off the bed and over to the stained glass dormer, pulling herself up with her fingers on the pane. “Wait a minute, there’s a playground twenty yards away, right? Let’s go on the swings! I always want to play on the swings. Why is it that you get to a certain age and you're told that all delight and whimsy must die, and you can’t play anymore? They should make playgrounds for adults.”

“Robin,” Steve chipped in. “It’s midnight, it’s cold, and we’re wasted. Oh, and we’re also in our PJs. So that’s a brilliant idea, let’s do it!”

Their midnight excursion was a disaster, crashing down two flights of stairs with bottles of alcohol in hand and slippers on their feet, whispering so loud they would wake the dead, let alone Rose’s mother and stepfather. But they made it out into the moonlight, laughing like idiots and running across the deserted street, making for the rusty swings.

And if Rose felt the wilting stems of cut flowers crunch under her slippered feet, and noticed blotches of shadow-dark petals on the sidewalk, then by Sunday morning it had completely slipped from her drink-addled memory, along with Steve’s recollection of the flickering lights.

---

Eddie

Eddie was a good musician, and he knew it. It wasn’t false modesty, he’d spent years learning to play and practising all hours of the night and at weekends, an outlet for his restless energy and creative brain. Music kept the buzzing in his head away, and calmed him down in a way nothing else could, except maybe weed. But nearly as important as hours of practice, he had that something people often searched for but couldn’t describe, the thing that drew the eye and kept an audience hooked. The rest of Corroded Coffin were good too, and Gareth was a demon on the drumset, but they were still a garage band. Decent, on time, in tune, and doing a damn good job of covering their favourite songs. 

But today? Practice was doomed from the start. Whatever magic he usually summoned to give him skill and stage presence when he played was completely fucking absent.

“Get it together,” Gareth cried out, his drumbeat faltering and the whole band trailing off into silence. “Your timing is so off. It’s like your racing to the end of the song, and this is goddamn Fade to Black , a fucking ballad. It might be Metallica, but it’s not thrash metal.”

“Alright, no need to be a dick,” Eddie snapped, looking down at the lump of plastic in his hand. “Jesus H Christ. I’ve broken another pick.”

Chris scoffed. “What is that, three? I’ve got a spare, but it's my last one.”

He reached into his back pocket, fishing out a black pick and pressing it into Eddie’s hands. Eddie took it gratefully, eyes directed at the chipped concrete floor of Gareth’s garage. “Thanks, man.”

“You’d better not be this bad at the Hideout on Tuesday,” Gareth warned, pointing at him with his drumstick, making the wooden implement look threatening. “If we’re gonna do a new slower set, we have to nail it. Bev won’t let us keep playing forever, not unless we actually bring in some customers. Or at least, not drive the existing ones away.”

Eddie clicked his tongue. “Sorry, alright? I promise i’ll bring the good stuff on Tuesday. You know me, Gare. I’m usually on this. Today, i’m just...off.”

His friend raised a sarcastic brow, a smug expression plastered over his face. “Off. Is that what they call it now? Dude, just forget about the girl for a weekend. Obsession is not a good look when trying to score.”

Eddie looked up, pacing Gareth’s garage with its fluorescent overhead light, nearly tripping on an amp cable. “Don’t say it like that. I am not just looking to score , man. You sound so sordid.”

“ Oh ,” Gareth taunted. “So you don’t want to bone her, just go to a tea party together. In that case, can I take a shot?”

Eddie advanced on him, teeth clenched together. “I'm one second away from smashing this guitar over your head, Emerson. If your mom wasn't so nice about us using the garage, i’d have done it already.”

Jeff stepped in to view, putting a hand to Eddie’s chest. “Easy. Easy, dude. He’s just making a point, though it was kind of a gross one.”

“Yeah,” Gareth chipped in again, sat comfy behind the shield of his drum set. “Point made. Why don’t you invite her to see us play on Tuesday? That way you’re actually making progress , and asking her out. And maybe if you think she’s going to be at the shoe, you might actually put in some practice and try not to suck.”

Chris sucked in a breath, watching the guys’ drama unfold, rhythm guitar poised in his hands. 

“Maybe that’s a good idea,” Jeff added.

After a week of intense longing and subtle flirting, Eddie was a goner. Rose McAllister was not just the pretty face that appeared in Hellfire from nowhere, she radiated goodness. Observant, accepting, warm and thoughtful. Starkly different from the girls he’d usually fallen for. And on top of that, she was a fantasy nerd with a voracious taste in exploring other worlds through the written word, and had the soul of a poet. He’d been himself around her, and somehow he’d not scared her off yet, and that was a rare thing...non-existent, actually. She knew about his trailer, his criminal dad, and his dealing, and she still wanted to be around him. But last night when he dropped Rose off at home, things got...weird.

She’d listened to W.A.S.P and Sabbath and Metallica, not put off by his kind of music, and they’d talked and smiled and flirted, until he got to her driveway and she invited him inside. His heart fucking jump-started and sparks fizzled in his fingertips at that, but he’d made a promise to Uncle Wayne not to go in that house, and he intended to keep it. Eddie had made a mess of explaining it, and she ran off. He had to course-correct with Rose, before he veered off a cliff and she never talked to him again. Eddie had lost out on so much - his mom, an opportunity to be a rockstar, his father’s love, a normal graduation - he’d be damned if he let the girl slip through his fingers.

“Okay,” he said, making up his mind. “I’ll ask her to the show. Like...a date. Maybe go out after.”

Jeff clapped him on the shoulder. “Live long and prosper, my friend. Good luck.”

“What if she says no?”

“Then at least you know.”

“I don’t think i’m gonna be able to concentrate right now,” he said. “I need a cigarette. Maybe a joint.”

“Hey,” Gareth shouted, “Mom has a no-tolerance policy, remember? Don’t light up til you get home.”

Eddie groaned. “Fine. Oh god...what if she says yes ?”

Gareth gave him a strange look again. “Then you fucking celebrate having a girlfriend, and start going out on dates and shit. That’s not exactly a problem, man.”

Eddie turned his frazzled mind to his Warlock guitar. He struck the opening few chords of Wild Child , the first metal song he’d introduced to Rose. Maybe he could play it for her on Tuesday.

“You’ll need money,” Chris piped up out of nowhere. “My sister’s boyfriend is always paying for her movie tickets, and burgers and shakes, and a corsage at Homecoming. Being a boyfriend is expensive.”

“Shit, I think you’re right, man.”

Eddie had the means to earn, even if it was a little less than legal. But when he had money, it tended to drain away pretty quickly: guitars, clothes, concert tickets, running his monster of a van and helping Wayne with the bills. 

Rose had never given off the impression of wealth, but he hadn’t forgotten that she lived in literally the biggest mansion in town, and had seen far more of the world than Eddie ever had. If he was going to do this right, he’d have to put some money together. And if he needed more cash, there was only one place to get it.

---

Lovers Lake glistened through the treeline as Eddie’s van sailed down the road, getting closer with each minute, until he emerged in a clearing. A decent-sized white lakehouse sat on the northern shore, with a separate boat house and a little jetty stretching out into the lake. He had to admit this part of Hawkins was pretty, surrounded by nature and autumn coloured trees. 

He killed the engine and the blaring noise of Judas Priest faded into nothing, leaping from the van and slamming the door. By the time he walked up the front steps, a face had already appeared in the doorway.

“Eddie, my good friend.” Reefer Rick bumped his fist and clapped him on the back, ushering him into the tidy, plainly decorated home. “Wasn’t expecting you till next week. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Rick Lipton was six three at a slouch, with the physique of a football player who’d let himself go. His long hair and beard gave him a hippy kind of air, only heightened by the cloud of weed that floated out the kitchen door, a joint lit and perched on the kitchen table’s ashtray.

“Hey, Rick. Good to see you,” Eddie began. “I know i’m not usually back within a couple of weeks, but I was hoping to shift more product.”

The great big hippy pulled at his beard, head cocked to the side. “Munson Junior, scaling up. Given up on high school yet, ready to earn something more than pin money from selling football stars and prom queens weed?”

Rick passed over the joint; Eddie took a drag gratefully, twitching and waiting for the calm to settle into his bones. They sat in silence for a moment, looking out the big window toward the lake, with a little row boat bobbing up and down on the jetty. 

“Nah, still in school,” he said, blowing out smoke and handing it back. “Not looking to get myself in more trouble, I just need to shift a little more this month, make a few extra bucks.”

“So not just here for pleasure. You should drop by sometime just to play pool and have a few beers. Maybe sit out by the lake. It’s nice here in the summer, real pretty.”

Eddie gave him a deadpan look. “It’s October, man. It’s cold out. And besides, what is it that you always say? Pleasure is the business.”

Rick grinned around the joint, smoke spilling from his lips. “Right on. Listen, i’m a little lower than usual. You can have another five ounces, but it’s bennies that i’m sitting on right now. Ket too.”

He kept a smile on his face, trying not to let his disappointment show. Rick had been distributing to him for a year or two. He was a contact of his dad’s before dad split town after fucking up a robbery and getting involved in a shooting. When shit hit the fan for Eddie and he needed cash, no reputable business in Hawkins wanted to employ a brash metalhead with a criminal family and no high school diploma. He’d caved and come to Rick for work. Dealing paid well, but he was this fucking close to being busted by the cops, on more than one occasion. And being a drug dealer with a moral compass absolutely sucked . Not to mention that the punishment for pushing hard drugs like ketamine and bennies was greater than possession of a little weed. 

“I’m not sure, Rick,” he said, grabbing the back of his neck. “Weed for high school kids is one thing, but I don’t want to be responsible for a bunch of strung out kids getting hooked on ket.”

“Ket and bennies have a greater profit margin,” Rick said, with a shrug. “More cash for less effort. Smart business.”

“I could take a little more, but not much. With Hopper gone, Chief Powell is on my ass. I can’t risk getting cautioned again, man.”

“So be it, Junior. Six ounces of weed, six bottles of bennies, six of ket. Six, six, six, the devil’s number...you’re into that Iron Maiden shit, right? That’s a pretty metal deal, endorsed by Satan himself.”

Eddie laughed. “Coming from you, that’s funny. Nothin’ but sixties rock, like you’re a Vietnam vet something. Weren’t you like ten in the sixties?”

“Shit, you sound more like your old man every day, Junior.”

Eddie’s jaw twitched, and his foot tapped against the pale lino of Rick’s orderly kitchen. “Just a chip off the old block, huh. Another piece of shit Munson, cheating and stealing his way through life with a smile on his face and a string of casualties in the rearview mirror.”

Rick’s easygoing face fell, like he was troubled. “Didn’t mean nothing by it, kid. I know you’re not like your dad in the ways that count. Anyways, what do you need this extra money for? New guitar, new ride, or something?”

Eddie leaned on the back of a kitchen chair, and chewed on his own hair like a goddamn cat. “Not exactly.”

“I know that face, brother. Seen it many a time. It’s a woman, ain’t it?”

A goofy smile came over his face. “Yeah.”

“Taking her out somewhere nice?”

“I’m hoping to. I haven’t asked her out yet, not properly. But i’m going to next week at school. Just need to find the right time to do it, I guess.”

Rick looked down his nose at Eddie, appraising him in one glance. “So this shit isn’t even in the bag, yet? What have you done so far?”

Eddie looked from left to right, like he was physically searching for an answer. “Do you mean...you know....like, sexually?”

“Hell’s bells, kid. That is not what I meant. Have you wooed the lady yet? Made your intentions known?”

Eddie’s anxiety went from nought to sixty in about three seconds. “I...don’t know. I mean, I think so? We’ve talked, listened to music...oh god. What if she just wants to be my friend? What do I say? What do I do ?”

Rick slammed his elbows on the kitchen table and buried his head in his hands. “I know it’s the eighties, man, but chivalry ain’t dead. What’s this girl like? She a rocker type like you?”

“Rose?” Eddie said with a sigh, picturing her instantly, heart going soft. “No, she’s no type at all, she’s unique. Funny, open-hearted, seriously smart. And beautiful...she doesn’t seem to know how beautiful she really is. I don’t understand why she’s giving me the time of day. I keep expecting something to happen, like some big-shot prom king or college kid is gonna turn up and sweep her off her feet.”

“Here’s what you’re gonna do,” Rick said bluntly. “Shelve all this casual shit. None of this wait til Monday ,or i’ll flirt a little longer and see what happens . Go over there right now, and tell her you’re damn crazy about her. You’ll want to bring her a gift too.”

Eddie sat up straight, feeling a surge of energy course through his veins. “Gift. Right. Wait...what kind of gift?”

“Depends on the girl, my man. But if in doubt, go with flowers.”

“Flowers,” Eddie repeated. “I can do that.”

Rick smiled, taking another drag from his joint, blowing out the smoke with a big grin. “Well what are you waiting for? Drugs aren’t gonna be ready til Monday, so unless you’d rather hang out with your supplier on a Saturday night, go and get the girl.”

Eddie leapt up, tripping over his chair. His jean chain caught on the chair leg as he set it back up, and he crashed about the kitchen like a clumsy foal on wobbly legs. Some mug or teacup smashed in the background and he apologised over and over, making everything worse as he tried to pick it all up.

“Get out, kid.” Rick waved him off.

He stopped long enough at the door to shout at the laughing guy inside. “Thanks Rick, I owe you one!”

---

His rusty old van rattled and roared as he sped down the backroads of Hawkins, foot heavy on the gas pedal; he was a man with a mission, a knight on a quest to win the heart of a fair maiden, and nothing could stop him now. Rick was right, he’d have to pledge his heart to the lady and seek her favour. 

Except he could hardly arrive with four hundred bucks of drugs hidden in the back of his van, reeking of weed. Pit stop necessary, a side quest, if you will. He raced home, sniffed all the clothes in his ‘clean’ heap and changed into the least creased shirt, and stashed the pills and baggies in some drawer in the hallway, under a load of old tins and spare tools, and other junk they’d never use.

Half an hour later he ran into the grocery store, five minutes before closing, sprinting down the aisles seeking the display of cut flowers he knew he’d seen last week. He startled the customers, but right at the end of the aisle he spied his prize, the treasure at the end of the dungeon crawl...or wait, was Rose the treasure? She wasn’t an object , but she was precious. God, he was nervous. 

Only a few bunches of flowers remained, but which ones did he get? There were pink ones and red ones, little ones surrounded with white baby’s breath. The big sunflowers were bright and cheerful, but he wasn’t sure about them...now that he looked at them up close, what was up with sunflowers? How were the heads that big? They were like a baby’s head, and that was a weird image. Fuck it, not the sunflowers. 

An older lady in a store apron walked by, and he seized upon her, running toward her and startling her.

“Jesus, sorry,” he held up his hands. “Help, please help. I need to buy flowers for a girl, and I don’t know which ones to get. Wait...flowers have meanings , right? Like there’s this secret language that Victorian women used to be into? What if I chose pretty flowers and it means sorry your dog died and she hates me forever?”

The lady’s panic slowly evaporated, and she walked him over to the flowers. “Okay, let’s take a look. The roses are pretty. There’s nothing classier than a Rose.”

He smiled. “I couldn’t agree more. Wait, if her name is literally Rose, does that change things? Is it too obvious?”

She shook her head, wrinkles creasing in the corners of her eyes. “I wouldn’t say so.”

“Perfect. Thank you, ma’am,” he shook the woman’s hand, and grabbed the best bunch of red roses he could find. They were still grocery store flowers, one of them slightly wilting, but he could throw that one out.

By the time he’d bought the roses and approached Creel house, the energy that sustained him was seriously flagging, and all kinds of possibilities were swarming in his head. 

What if she wasn’t there? What if her mom, the Balrog, answered the door? He supposed it was only fair that he slew some demons on his way to the fair maiden, but he couldn’t exactly pull out a broadsword and run through her mom. Or the stepdad...what if he was the kind to own a shotgun, and decided buckshot was the best way to get Eddie the freak off his lawn?

Heart pounding, he pulled up within sight of the house, twenty yards down the street. It was fancier than he remembered, an intimidating castle, ready to be sieged. The lights were on, car parked in the driveway; at least someone was home. Maybe he should climb the veranda and deliver them to her window. Shit, he didn’t know which one was hers.

“Time to fight, Munson,” he muttered to himself. “Roll the dice, and pray to Ozzy for a nat 20.”

He grabbed the flowers and went for the door handle, but had to shield his eyes from bright headlights instead. Bright headlights turning into the driveway of the Creel house. The car’s door slammed shut, and Eddie froze like a deer in headlights.

Steve fucking Harrington. The King, The Hair, or whatever dipshit nickname the gullible kids of Hawkins High like to call him, was walking up Rose’s driveway with a goddamn overnight bag in his hand.

No sooner than his face scowled and mouth dropped open, Rose came out the door. She called out, loud and happy, throwing up her arms in the air like she was so pleased to see Harrington she couldn’t contain it. Within the space of exactly six heartbeats, Harrington dragged his bag into the house and Rose closed the door behind him.

What the fuck?

Harrington was a year below him through Middle and High school; enough of a jock enough to be naturally opposed to Eddie and his band of freaks, but not violent or mean enough to be a real enemy. The guy was a bit of an asshole, and when he and Tommy H got into the basketball cult, they’d grown insufferable, pulling pranks on everyone. Come to think of it, they’d shoved Gareth into a girls bathroom stall in his freshman year and locked him in. 

How in the hell did Rose know the guy? And more importantly, what was he doing with an overnight bag in her house? Maybe she’d just hedged her bets and found herself the first prom king that came along. Someone better suited. Rich family, high school diploma, Hollywood hair. 

Eddie waited thirty minutes to be sure, but Steve never came out. With each minute his heart sank lower, until the night was pitch black and he was freezing cold in the van’s cab. Turning on the engine was a little act of defeat, an admission that he’d taken too much damage, killed before the campaign had even begun. And when he rolled out of Morehead, past the creepy old playground, he threw the roses out the driver's window, watching the splash of dark red fade in the rearview mirror.

[missybee-writes]

Shadow in the Dark: Chapter Three - Fearless

Genre: Sci-fi; Romance; Horror

Warnings: (eventual) sexual content; violence; gore; swearing; alcohol and drug use.

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fem!OC

Summary

In July ‘85, an ambitious realtor sells the crumbling Creel house to a family looking for a new start.

Rose McAllister may be living in a grand and gothic murder house in a small Midwest town, but senior year in high school is the stuff of her nightmares: a last chance at a normal school year without being the odd one out, the sick girl, the weirdo from across the pond. Blend in, make it through the year, and make some friends. Stay unnoticed at all costs.

Hawkins, and one seriously loud-mouthed metalhead, is about to flip that carefully laid plan Upside Down.

Chapter one: Cursed

Chapter two: Munson Magic

Ao3 link

---

The grandfather clock chimed four times, the echo ringing softly throughout the dilapidated house, floating all the way up the stairs to Rose’s attic lair. The noise was soft, but she was already wide awake, legs twisted in the crumpled bed sheets, flipping her pillow for the hundredth time to find a comfy position to sleep.

Fuck it. 

She flung off the covers and tiptoed over the smooth, varnished floorboards, turning on her bedside lamp. Her eyes stung as the dark room flooded with light, the huge space with its vaulted, beamed ceilings and dormer windows bathed in shadow. 

The house had four large double bedrooms on its second floor, but there was something about the attic room that drew her to it when she, her mother and stepfather Jerry had taken possession of the crumbling place two months ago. The twisting little staircase up to the top floor, the spectacular view of the woods from both front and back, and the quirky, dramatic interior called to her. There was something oddly romantic about this room.

The place had since been dusted within an inch of its life, floor varnished, thick rugs laid upon the boards, and an old wrought iron bed manhandled up the stairs. When her posters were pinned up on the brick wall and her clothes and books found homes in the shelves and wardrobes, it began to feel homely. Hers .

Except for the piano. That had come with the house, stowed away in the attic room, a gorgeous old piece, out of tune and unloved. Rose had years of piano lessons from her mother’s elderly aunt as a child, and whilst it was not an all-consuming passion, she could play pretty well. The piano had been retuned, but it felt...strange. Rose could never forget that it belonged to someone else once, someone long dead. She didn’t know the story behind the murder that inspired its nickname Murder house on Morehead , and planned on keeping it that way; her dreams were troubled enough without sketching out and colouring in the gothic murder that took place in these walls. It was like something out of the Edgar Allen Poe stories they worked on in O’Donnell’s English class...like she’d prize open the floorboards and find a beating heart. Ugh.

But Rose crept about her room this morning with a bubbling excitement, looking forward to school and the strange new friends she made on Friday night in the drama prop room. Sad, wasn’t it, that her weekend was boring and unremarkable, and she longed for school.

She folded and hung the piles of laundry that occupied her Saturday night, then took out half her clothes and laid them on the bed, throwing together five different outfit options and hating every one of them. The overalls were too whimsical, the dress too frumpy, the blouse didn’t fit well anymore.

“Pull yourself together, you muppet,” she mumbled to herself, sitting cross legged in the middle of half her upturned wardrobe. “It’s just clothes. Since when did you give a shit about fashion? Not like anyone’s going to be looking at me. Unless they want to laugh.”

By the time the clock chimed six, she had chosen the least nauseating of her options, but also one that felt her. Okay, perhaps not her usual style, but the her she wanted to be. A green tailored pinafore dress with double breasted buttons, fancier and more form fitting than most of her casual clothes, with a pretty white shirt underneath. Doc Martens bought in Camden Market, yellow stitches standing out against the black leather.

Punk and fancy...an eclectic mix, maybe. But perhaps that suited her. And despite a very dull weekend trying not to fixate on the events of Friday night, the slightly flirtatious words of one particular Dungeon Master popped up in her head. You’re good most of the time, but you can also be very bad if you want to be.  

Forty minutes and half a can of Aqua Net later, Rose emerged into the kitchen, colliding with a figure by the stove, narrowly avoiding a stream of scalding liquid.

“Oh, Jiminy Cricket, that was close!” Jerry cried out, clutching unsteadily onto a porcelain teapot and hopping backward. 

Her stepfather was short, slightly rounded, with hair greying at the temples and a timid disposition that would border on pathetic if he wasn’t so bloody nice all the time. God, the man couldn’t even swear properly. Rose often thought it was like living with a character from a children's cartoon.

“Sorry, I was lost in my own head,” she murmured, fetching something to mop the scalding liquid from the floor, and also his now-splotchy tie. It was a novelty tie, of course, printed with colourful horse-shoe magnets with googly eyes and moustaches, as if they were alive. 

Jerry quickly set the teapot down, hopping about the wet patch on the kitchen floor. “That’s a-okay. I was hoping to have your tea all ready, but half of it’s on the floor. I did what ya said last week, I added an extra spoonful of leaves.” He smiled goofily, “One for each cup, and one for the pot. ”

Rose couldn’t help but smile as she blotted up the spillage on the floor. “You remembered that?”

“Of course, buddy. Gotta perfect those tea-making skills in a house full of English ladies, haven’t I?” He looked down at Rose, feigning surprise. “A teenager up before sunrise...has the world turned upside down?”

“Haha,” she said drily.

“And what’s that on your face? Is that lipstick ?”

She busied herself with teacups and plates, scavenging for some breakfast to go with the tea. “I wear lipstick sometimes.” Sometimes...when she snuck into the pub last summer, with an eye on the handsome young barman. 

“Oh, sure,” Jerry nodded along timidly, not quite daring enough to contradict her. They began their new morning ritual, one that had taken root over the last year both here and at home in England. He poured a cup, added a dash of milk, and passed it over for her inspection.

Rose breathed it in, cup almost hot enough to blister her hand, and took a sip.

“Well?” Jerry was on tenterhooks, waiting for the verdict.

“Nine out of ten,” she marked him, after a long pause. “Nice and strong, but there’s a taste I can’t quite recognise.”

Jerry turned away quickly, tidying up the clutter on the countertop. “Oh? Must be the milk, I think it’s starting to sour. I’ll pick up some more when I stop by the store today, I need to go to Melvald’s for some more varnish for the staircase anyway, and the grocery store is only next door.”

“Thank you.”

“I know this weekend was kinda quiet, with your mom and I out at the antique store in Carterville all day Saturday, but I thought maybe we could go to that Family Video rental place next weekend. I hear that the new James Bond movie is out on VHS already. Or maybe the record store? I know Duran Duran had that song on the movie soundtrack, maybe you could get the single on cassette.”

Rose groaned. “I would, but I've lost my walkman. It must be somewhere in this enormous museum of a house.”

That walkman had seen her through countless hours in hospital wards, waiting rooms, and at home when she became invisible to all her old friends. Yes, she could get a new one, but the lump of plastic was oddly important to her. 

A noise at the kitchen door heralded her mother’s arrival. “Careful,” she said to Jerry. “If you mention Duran Duran or Simon Le Bon she’ll combust on the spot. She has a little crush.”

Jerry cocked his head, confused. “I thought it was Simon the Skinhead from the pub back at home?”

“Right,” Rose stood up abruptly, deciding whether to flee or face the Balrog herself. Perhaps if she could face down a dragon with a bunch of unfamiliar teenage boys, she could do it. “I am eighteen, mother. Old enough to marry, go to war, to vote, and to drive. And in any civilised country, to get blindingly drunk. There will be no talk of crushes, Simon Le Bon, Simon from the Nag’s Head, or any other bloody Simons.”

Her mum simply clicked her tongue. But as she moved about the kitchen, Rose could see shadows under her eyes, and her skin had an unhealthy grey sheen.

“I’m only joking, mum,” Rose said quickly. “You don’t look well. Are you alright?”

“Me?” Mum smiled, but it was brittle. “Oh, it's nothing. Just had a few headaches, and a bad night’s sleep. Nothing a cup of tea and an early night won’t cure.”

Rose hesitated. “Are you sure? I’m at the hospital next week for ECG and scans anyway, maybe you could go and see someone whilst I'm being prodded and poked like a lab rat. Maybe they’ll put me on a wheel and tempt me with some peanuts.”

“It’s really nothing, Rosebud,” she said. “You have enough to worry about, with your first full week of school. I’m just glad that you’ve joined a little book club already. What was it called again?”

Rose winced. “Hellfire, Mum. And it’s not a book club, it's a fantasy game.”

“If you say so.”

Jerry coughed awkwardly. “Well, I'll make sure I bring home something nice for dinner so you don’t need to cook. Pizza, maybe? Have a great day, ladies,” Jerry said, pressing a kiss to her mother’s cheek and fetching his briefcase. “And if the lights start acting up again, just ignore it. I’ve already called John the electrician. He’s on it!”

---

Butterflies hit her stomach the second she stepped into the parking lot, scanning the faces of every student hurrying into the school building; no Hellfire shirts, no friendly faces, no metalhead with the prettiest eyes and enough charisma to have her babbling and weak at the knees, only a sea of unfamiliar people. Except for Andy the meathead, of course. He nearly ran her over in a shiny red muscle car, a whole pack of basketball players bursting out its doors as it pulled into a space, laughing their asses off at Rose as she almost tripped to avoid the swerving car.

The hallways were no less intimidating than Friday, stuffed full of strangers who all knew each other, who spared not a single glance for Rose. It took five attempts to remember the combination on her locker, swearing under her breath the whole time, being nudged and bumped by unfamiliar people trying to retrieve their own books. The PA system blurted out cheery messages on this week’s homecoming dance, one which Rose had no intention of attending. 

History went by in a blur, math was painful but bearable, and before she knew it, lunch had come around again. This was it, wasn’t it? Unremarkable days, punctuated by crappy lessons and crappy food, with none of the friendship or wild experiences she had craved in all those months in hospital or at home, living vicariously through books and movies and music. Dull. Rinse and repeat.

Just like Friday, she entered the bustling cafeteria alone. She took a deep breath and surveyed the crowded tables, scanning over the jocks in their letterman jackets, the effortlessly cool party kids slouched elegantly over the hard plastic seating, wearing sunglasses indoors on a grey September day. Band kids carrying instruments. Then, something caught her eye. Hellfire. 

They sat at the same table as last week, but the guys were incognito today, not wearing the demon-emblazoned shirts they saved for campaign days. She could see the back of Mike and Dustin’s heads, along with another younger boy she had yet to meet; Gareth, Chris and Jeff were on the opposite side of the table, all three of them laughing and turned towards their glorious DM like flowers leaning toward the sun.

There he was, perched awkwardly on the back of the chair rather than sitting in it, a head above the rest of the guys. Big, frizzy curls, Iron Maiden t-shirt, smiling like he was feeding off his friends laughter, so comfortable in the spotlight, so happy being seen.

And Rose couldn’t deny it anymore, the little flame sparked on Friday night, one that only burned hotter after a long weekend playing and replaying the possible, hopeful , flirting during the D&D session. She fancied Eddie Munson, she had a great big crush on him after only three hours. 

Naturally, the thought of actually sauntering up to the Hellfire table and sitting down with her lunch tray was terrifying. Yes, they were welcoming to her on Friday, but didn’t that mean they wanted the random new girl to hang out during the week, did it?

Then he spotted her. Puppy dog brown eyes became alert and his whole body shifted from its awkward perch on the back of the seat towards Rose’s position. But the thin, flexible plastic had other ideas. It snapped, and he collapsed off the back of the damn thing, jean chain jangling and feet up in the air as he rolled over - to the cheers and laughter of the general population in that half of the cafeteria.

“Total wipe-out!” A blazer-clad, sunglass wearing party dude cried out. 

“Total freak- out,” another party kid returned, sniggering.

The Hellfire guys flipped him off and a minor turf war seemed to begin, in gestures and passive aggressive jeers. But Rose was kind of mesmerised; Eddie rolled over and leapt to his feet, spinning until he locked eyes with her and shrugging dramatically for her benefit, laughing off his own shame. She grinned back in return. Hell, he didn’t have any shame, he didn’t give a damn about the rest of them. Rose envied that with a sudden punch to the gut; in a hundred years, she didn’t think she’d grow that self assured.

Eddie settled in another chair further down the table, and waved at her, pointing to the empty seat by his side. 

She waved back gingerly and went to get some food, picking up a tray of something labelled tuna casserole. Upon inspection it seemed to consist of tuna, pasta and cream sauce, topped in cheese, which was so far from her understanding of a casserole that it boggled her mind for a moment. Clutching her tray with unsteady fingers, she honed in on Hellfire, picking her way around the crowd, past a studious table of kids studying, and another table of younger girls flipping through the pages of glossy magazines and squealing, until she saw it. The ghost table. The always empty table in the corner of the room, tucked away and obscured by a pillar, that she’d chosen to hide on her first day. 

Except the ghost table wasn’t empty. Robin Buckley slumped over its surface, head propped up in her hands, red-eyed and all alone. She toyed with her milk carton, picking the laminated carton into curly pieces, completely cut off from the world..

Rose had spent enough time crying in a corner to notice that same misery in another. So despite the lure of Hellfire, she turned away and walked up to the ghost table. Robin hardly noticed, not glancing up or stopping her slow dismantling of the milk carton.

“You know,” Rose began tentatively, “If you keep that up you’ll end up with a milk over your tuna casserole.”

Robin’s eyes snapped up, red-rimmed, cornflower blue. Up close, her face was smattered with freckles. Very pretty, despite the puffy redness. “Yeah, well...I think a good coating of milk will actually improve the food here. Might wash off the school-mandated funk.”

“Funk - is that what this is?” Rose gestured to the casserole with her chin. “I thought it was mac and cheese.”

“Well at least the school board is saving money on the lunches...expired military rations must come cheap,” Robin chuckled dryly. Her blank face morphed into a frown, and she looked up pitifully. “Listen, I wanted to speak to you this morning. I tried to find you, but I didn’t know which classes you had, or where your locker was.”

 “ I have no idea where my locker is,” Rose joked back. But beneath her flippant attitude she was kind of nervous. Robin’s tentative signs of friendship ended badly last week, and she didn’t know what to think of her classmate yet, not after the conversation in the locker room.

Robin stuffed her hands into the pocket of her classic bomber jacket. “I know I roped you into soccer tryouts, but I was a little surprised that you didn’t show up. I mean, i’d say I scared you off but you’re back, talking to me. Though i’d guess that’s more pity than genuine desire to join the soccer team.”

“There was some pity involved,” Rose admitted. She looked down at her black leather Doc Martens, almost squirming as she gathered the courage to say it. “I...uh...I heard you and your friends in the locker room. I just wanted to say that you don’t need to be ‘ all fake nice, and shit’ , or pretend to be my friend. I’ll do just fine by myself.”

Robin’s face fell, and she gasped through gritted teeth. “Holy shit. I did not mean for you to hear that...i’m sorry. I just wanna clarify I do not support what Linda said, she was a bitch, and I told her that to her face this weekend. It may have led to a serious breaking up, friendship-wise.”

Rose was oddly touched that a near-stranger would stand up for her, in any capacity. She sat down tentatively on the chair next to Robin, placing down her lunch tray. “Was it bad?”

“The worst,” Robin sighed, slumping on the table even further. “She said I was so different after the summer, and I was dragging down in her senior year. Apparently she can’t focus on college applications if she’s so bummed out by my miserable aura .”

Rose would feign surprise, but Linda did come across self-centred and, quite frankly, a bit of a bitch on Friday. “Bollocks. A good friend wouldn’t say that.”

“I don’t know, maybe you’re right,” Robin shook her head. “She was my best friend all through middle school. And I guess we grew apart over the last couple of years. You reach a point where you realise, you know what, everything we do or talk about is about her . I started listening to Blondie because she liked it, I played soccer because it was her favourite sport...I don’t even like soccer.”

“Neither do I!” Rose laughed.

That had Robin confused. “You were going to try out for something you didn’t like?”

“I was hoping to talk to some people, maybe make some friends. But I should have said that I hated it straight away, then I could have left you and your friends alone.”

Robin snapped to attention. “Hey, I didn’t just want to talk to you because of soccer. I hope you know that.”

Her stomach did a hopeful little flip. “Really?”

“Uh, shut up, dingus. You are totally cool. And it's nice not to be the only one with verbal diarrhoea for once.”

A little cackle came out of Rose’s throat. “Yep. That shit’s contagious.”

Robin’s shoulder shook with laughter, messy tangled hair bouncing about her face. “Oh my god, that is so lame. You sound like Dustin.”

“You know Dustin?”

“ You know Dustin?” Robin echoed right back at her. “Dustin Henderson? How is that even possible?!”

Rose grinned and leaned in conspiratorially. “Friday evening was kind of weird for me...it's a long story.”

The chaotic girl nudged closer. “Oh, I am so in need of a long story that isn’t about Linda’s college plans or Steve’s miserable love life. Hit me with it.”

Rose took a deep breath and prepared to explain how she came to meet a gaggle of teenage dungeon dwellers on a Friday night, but one fleeting look in Hellfire’s direction stopped her in her tracks.

Eddie was moping in his chair, casting a dejected look her way. As soon as she made eye contact he snapped away, as if burned, and turned back to the guys. The last thing she wanted to do was damage her tentative relationship with Hellfire - okay, with Eddie - when they had been so kind and patient with her last week. But at the same time, Robin was alone and in need of a friendly ear. Damn, the social hierarchy was brutal in this place.

“Can...can you give me a minute?” Rose asked Robin. “I just need to say hello to some new friends and let them know I haven’t forgotten them.”

“Ooh, I like the sound of this already,” she raised her fingers to her temple in a mock salute. “Permission to depart granted, Private McAllister. Return for duty at thirteen hundred hours. Wait...is that one p.m.? I have no idea.”

Rose almost skipped as she stood up and backed away from the ghost table, saluting her right back. “Yes, drill sergeant.”

Eddie caught sight of her halfway across the room, his entire demeanour brightening with each step she took toward Hellfire’s table. By the time she stood two feet in front of him he was lit up like a lightbulb, drumming on his ripped jeans with his fingers to a rhythm only he knew, flexing just a little bit in the artfully distressed Iron Maiden t-shirt.

God, he smelled nice. The scent of Old Spice was pretty strong even from two feet away from him, along with a tinge of cigarette smoke and something else she couldn’t name.

“Hi guys,” she said feebly, hands twisting together behind her back. 

“Hi,” Eddie returned, brown eyes soft as he looked up at Rose. All the Hellfire members turned to her at once, the separate conversations that were happening in tandem all trailing off into silence. There wasn’t hostility, but there was something more...a little surprise, maybe? They weren’t as confident in the school cafeteria as they were in the drama room. Less themselves.

“So,” she continued. “I hear this place isn’t as friendly as Eddie the Bard’s tavern, but it seems to be where the adventurer’s hang out.”

“Haha,” Dustin chuckled. “It’s like a tavern, but not. Because it's terrible here, and the food is kinda gross.”

“Incredibly gross,” Jeff agreed.

“Plus, no mead,” Eddie chimed in. “Maybe I could deal with O’Donnell’s English class if I were a little buzzed.”

Wait, what? Eddie had O’Donnell’s class too? Ah, now she remembered, there was an elusive Mr Munson she had sent to detention prior to Rose’s catastrophic arrival. Actually, thank god he had missed her embarrassing rant. For very budding, very obvious reasons she didn’t want to come across as an absolute loser. “If you find any, you’d better share it.”

He smiled. “Of course, Lady Rose. I...uh...admit I thought you might be too concerned with your social standing to dare talk to the freaks in daylight.”

Shit. He waved her over earlier and she sat with Robin instead...the man might be uber-confident, but he was still human , and maybe she had upset him. She had to put that right, no matter what it did to her social standing.

Rose looked around; a third of the cafeteria had eyes on the exchange. Whether their curiosity was more about the new girl, or the freak table, she couldn’t tell.

“You thought wrong, dungeon master,” she sat down in the empty seat by Eddie’s side, “I’ve no social standing left to lose. And even if I did, I don’t give a fuck about the opinion of a bunch of gorillas in letterman jackets, and the jungle they think they rule over.”

“Wait,” Eddie tapped the table with his ringed fingers, eyes swivelling about as if he were confused and searching for something. “We’ve gone from a tavern to a jungle? Sweetheart, if I'm gonna keep up with your impressive range of analogies I'll need notes. Maybe a lesson or two.”

She blushed again - goddamn it, the perils of having vampire-pale skin - and looked down. Her bare knee was inches from his, she could feel heat radiate from his body. “I think the workings of my brain would frighten off anyone.”

“Try me,” he leaned back casually, gesturing at himself. “I’m literally tattooed with bats and demons, if you hadn’t noticed. I’m not easily scared.”

“Oh,” she signed softly, eyeing the ink peeping from his shirt sleeves, “I’ve...um...definitely noticed.”

A throat cleared behind them, and Rose suddenly realised the rest of the guys were watching with expressions ranging from innocent puppy-like enthusiasm (Dustin), mischievous glee (Gareth), or mild interest (Chris, Jeff, and Mike). Plus confusion, from another one she didn’t know.

“Right, introductions,” Eddie said, “Rose, you know everyone except Sinclair the fickle-hearted, betrayer of adventurers, the newest member of the big-orange-ball team.”

“Hi,” the guy between Mike and Dustin waved. “I’m Lucas. I heard a lot about your session on Friday. Mike said it was awesome, I wish I could have seen it.”

“Congratulations on joining the basketball team. Oh, and whatever they said about me, it’s all lies,” she said nervously. “I’m not very good. I just happened to turn up at the strangest possible moment...everything else was Eddie.”

Mike and Lucas shared a strange look, an ‘ I told you so’ kind of look. It had her palms sweating.

Eddie turned back to her. “No lunch tray then, huh. Abandoning Hellfire so soon?”

“I just wanted to say hello and explain that I need to have lunch with Robin today. I don’t know if you noticed, but she’s not having the best day.”

He leaned to one side and looked beyond her to the ghost table. “Buckley? She’s a band nerd, right?”

“I guess so. I don’t want to jinx it but I think we’re going to be friends. And friends don’t leave each other when they are alone.”

Instead of disappointment or anger, something else flashed across his face. “Look at you, gathering your own sheepies. I can’t say i’m not disappointed, but I get it.”

“Maybe tomorrow?” She asked hopefully. 

He made a show of thinking about it, playing it up for her amusement. “Maybe, possibly, okay definitely . Wait!” He leaned forward, arms braced on his knees, looking around sheepishly. “There’s something I need to give you today. Kind of a slipper situation.”

Rose scrunched up her nose. “Huh?”

He shook his curly hair and waved dismissively. “Don’t worry, i’ll explain later. Are you around sometime this afternoon, after school maybe?”

“My Mum is picking me up again. The terrible price of not being able to drive.”

Eddie laughed. “You should really get on that. Or at least convince the Balrog to let you get the bus.”

Rose bit her lip. She didn’t want to wait until tomorrow; a fleeting few minutes at the lunch table was not a big enough hit of whatever this was, not even a little bit. “But I do have a free period after English class.”

His eyes lit up. “Really? Wait a minute...me too!”

Gareth’s elbows slammed against the table opposite them. “No you d-”

“No I don’t have plans for that free period, thanks for your concern, Gareth.” Eddie said very pointedly, shooting a manic look at his friend. “If you want to hang out after English I can explain this whole thing, maybe show you the parts of Hawkins High that weren’t on the formal guided tour.”

Eddie wanted to hang out with her. Alone, without the other guys...wait, this was without the other guys, wasn’t it? Or would they all trail after him? Somehow she couldn’t picture Eddie without his little misfit flock of sheepies .

“That sounds great,” Rose said, standing up, fidgeting with her hands. “See you after English, Eddie.”

She spun around before he could even respond, half-skipping back to the ghost table, heavy leather boots as light as a feather on the shiny floor. Robin was watching, squinting in her direction, fingers peeling at the milk carton in her lap again, absentmindedly.

“Context,” she fired off as soon as Rose sat back down. “I need context, stat. I have no idea what's going on right now.”

Rose smiled brightly. “I think I've joined a satanic cult.”

Robin gawped and grabbed the carton; the warped laminated cardboard split open with a pop and drenched her entire lower half with milk. It soaked her jeans, spilled a milky waterfall into her sneakers, and sloshed all over the floor. She made a loud, bleugh noise in her throat as she surveyed the damage, and looked up at Rose with an utterly defeated expression. 

“Your new Lord and master Satan, does he offer a cleanup service?”

---

Midway through Biology, nose-deep in the pages of a brand new textbook and speed-reading the section on neurological impulses in the brain, it hit her. She was meeting Eddie for a free period. As far as she knew, just the two of them. Did this mean he liked her as more than a friend? Or was this typical extroverted-Eddie behaviour? Just a casual, low-key hangout that somehow involved a slipper ? 

Robin quizzed her thoroughly in the cafeteria, but she was light on details. Yes, she came across Hellfire by accident, yes D&D was fun (no, it was not really a satanic cult), yes she seems to have joined. But the panic-inducing crush on its DM? She may have left that out, for now.

Rose was suddenly seized with the impulse to flee to the girls bathroom and check on her hair; yes, it was in far better shape today, natural curls actually teased out a bit and sprayed with some Aqua Net, but did it still look decent? Maybe she should get out the lipstick buried in the bottom of her bag.

“Oh, this is hopeless ,” she groaned into the pages of the textbook.

“I know, right?” A gentle voice sighed. “This neuroscience quiz is going to be the death of me.”

Rose lowered her book. Over the top of the pages hovered a cheerleader, elfin-faced, with strawberry-blonde hair, sitting just at the lab table in front of her. Rose thought she looked familiar from English, but she was quiet, like she too wanted to be invisible despite the green and white uniform. Her cream jacket emblazoned with a Hawkins Tiger swallowed her slender frame, and she looked downcast, like she wanted to burrow into it and never come out. She looked like the kind of girl to have a charmed life, but instead was forlorn, more sad than a biology test could account for.

A sudden rush of sympathy came over Rose. “Mr Kaminski doesn’t seem that...enthusiastic,” she admitted quietly.

In fact, the teacher was currently scribbling long sections of text  with no explanation or even discussion with the class. His balding head hovered close to the chalkboard, fingers and jacket collar dusted with pale chalk, arms moving in a blur as he raced to write out his lesson plan as quickly as possible.

“I suppose. Maybe it’s just my brain. I’m stupid, just like my mom says,” the cheerleader said, melancholy. Gosh, she had such pretty blue eye shadow, just the same shade as her eyes. 

Wait, should Rose be wearing eyeshadow? She didn’t think she’d ever pull off that elegant pastel look, it tended to clash with her hair. Though she might curse her own features sometimes - she always thought her nose was too large for her face - she did actually like her hair colour: red, but a slightly darker auburn red, not a carrot top as the kids used to call her at home, before her hair darkened.

Rose abandoned any thoughts of dazzling blue eye shadow, and decided to make an offer. “There’s no way you’re stupid. Oh, I made some flashcards whilst he was talking, you could borrow them, if you like?”

“Really, you would do that? For someone you don’t even know?”

“I’m Rose, you probably knew that already, from the forced introduction at the front of the class.”

“Chrissy, Chrissy Cunningham,” the forlorn cheerleader introduced herself. “Jason Carver’s girlfriend.”

Oh. Jason...king of the jocks, antagoniser of freaks, preacher of morality in English class. She couldn’t see them together, somehow.

Rose held out a thick wad of neon yellow cards, covered in her loopy handwriting. “So now we know each other, you can borrow the flashcards.”

Chrissy’s smile was dazzling as she took the notes. “You’re too nice. Won’t you need to use them yourself though?”

“I’ll make some more,” Rose shrugged. 

Turns out, when you spend half your teens in a hospital undergoing every scan on the planet and talking with specialists, including neurological examinations after the little died-for-a-while incident, this stuff came quite easy. Not that she had any ambition to pursue biology or medicine or anything vaguely health-related as a career - she’d had enough of the frailty of the human condition, thank you very much.

She was first out the door when the bell rang, books clutched to her chest, almost knocking over a boy in the crowded hall in her haste to get to English class. She speed-walked right past her locker, groaning and slapping her own forehead when she had to turn back and fiddle with the awkward little dial, messing up the combination and cursing under her breath as she tried to get the bloody thing open. When she eventually cracked it and pulled the metal door open hastily, her books collapsed onto the floor in a head, and she had to scoop them all up, chanting “fuck, fucking fuckity fuck,” and earning some serious side-eye from a girl with an enormous permed side-pony and a gigantic blue scrunchie.

So by the time she arrived at O’Donnell’s door, most of the class were chatting and taking their seats. Except this time, her desk at the back of the room was taken. Occupied by none other than Eddie, who seemed to take the rigid metal and wood frame of the desk and chair as a personal challenge, slouched in the chair at such a weird angle that he was almost lying down, feet squirming against the floor.

Miraculously, the desk to his left was free. And with no fear of offending Robin - who had used the milk stunt in the cafeteria and a very impassioned plea to Principal Higgins to get the afternoon off and go home to change - she slipped past the other students and took the empty desk.

“Twice in one day, McAllister?” Eddie quipped, leaning toward her. He put a hand to his chest in mock surprise. “Should I get a restraining order? Pepper spray? Maybe keep Dustin around as a highly ineffective bodyguard?”

She took out her new copy of Edgar Allen Poe’s short stories and poems, the gothic raven taking wing on the front cover, dropping it on the faded wooden desktop. “I’ve seen Dustin with a d20 in one hand and a sharpened pencil in the other, roaring like a tiger as he took down a demogorgon. He was feral. I’d put my money on him any day.”

It made him chuckle, eyes sparkling under the harsh fluorescent lights of the classroom. “Henderson is totally terrifying in his own way. Damn, sweetheart. Here I was, betting on you getting through-”

“Mr Munson, is that you?” O’Donnell’s nasal voice sliced right through whatever Eddie was about to say, jolting him to attention, his pencil bouncing on the floor. “I had almost begun to forget what you looked like.”

He took it like a blow to the chest, his quick-tongued, brash exterior slipping right into place. “You wound me, Mrs O’Donnell. Did our time together mean nothing to you?”

Rose looked around. Half the students including meathead Andy were laughing, the other were quiet, looks of apathy, or even hostility all across the classroom. Jason Carver most of all.

Mrs O’Donnell peered over the rims of her tortoiseshell glasses, her defeated stance obvious to the whole class. “On the contrary, I remember it all. Every expletive-filled rant about the curriculum, every complaint from another concerned parent who begged me to move you from their precious children’s class, every flunked test. In fact, I regularly pray for you to get your smart mouth in gear, put pen to paper, and finally get a passing grade so we never have to see each other again.”

Ouch. That hurt, even as a bystander. But it rolled off Eddie like oil on water; in fact, he seemed to feed on it. “I know, Irene. I’ve treated you bad. But we’ll always have those beautiful Saturday morning detentions, I'll look back on our memories fondly.”

Even Andy gasped at that one. One girl’s bubble gum dropped out her open mouth, stuck to the page of her open notebook.

“How Principal Higgins continues to let you on the school grounds and in a classroom is beyond me, Mr Munson,” O’Donnell fumed, the folds of her sagging neck shaking like a turkey as she vibrated with anger. “But I will not let you detract from the education of the other students. Save your theatrics for drama class.”

Eddie - for once - said nothing and let her cool off; she turned to the desk and took a huge shoulder-shaking breath before digging out her teacher’s copy of Poe. “Back to The Tell-Tale Heart, please class. Today we will discuss the physical manifestation of death and paranoia in the story, and how the house itself is a character, influencing the plot and bringing about the climax of the book. Listen up, for the themes here will be found in The Fall of the House of Usher when we study Poe’s other works after Thanksgiving.”

O’Donnell set to the lesson, and after a few minutes of settling the class and discussing the text, Rose finally spared a long glance at Eddie. He’d deflated, like the quippy defensive act with the teacher had truly taken it out of him. She didn’t like the look of it at all, that trace of sadness that lingered in his eyes.

He caught her staring. 

You okay? She mouthed at him, totally unfocused on the lesson, grateful they were at the very back of the class.

Eddie gave her a weak thumbs up, smile lines etched into his cheek. He was way over the pretense that he was reading the book, looking downward at the desk, taking something small out of his pocket and pressing it to the desk. But then he stopped, frowning and inspecting the tabletop with serious interest. Whatever it was, it was shiny and sharp, partly obscured by his unruly hair.

Oh fuck. Rose sat there last week; etched into that desk was a seriously cool-looking grim reaper, shadowed by a cowl, face unseen, wielding a scythe. She’d traced her fingers over the drawing and she’d drawn a severed heart in the path of the scythe in red marker pen, inspired by the beating heart that haunted Poe’s narrator and drove him to confess.

She must have made a pitiful noise of some kind, for when his eyes swivelled up, he knew . She could just tell. His ringed finger pointed at her then back at the desk, question written all over his own face. 

Casual. Yes, Rose could be casual about it. She shrugged, but it became a weird cringey motion and before she knew it she’d leaned into her own shoulder, muffling her own groan and hiding. Just wanting to be swallowed by the floor. Of course he could draw, of course the bloody grim reaper was penned by the Dungeon Master of Hellfire. It was so on brand, so in character...and she’d just doodled on top of his creation on her first day, like it was nothing.

Avoid eye contact. That will work. She kept her head down and listened to O’Donnell, focusing on her explanation of literary devices. Dramatic irony...fascinating.

Rose lasted thirty seconds. She snuck a glance toward him; Eddie immediately sprang to life, pulling a grotesque face with his tongue pointing down to his chin, eyes devil-wide and fingers feigning pointy horns on his head.

Rose spluttered, unable to stop herself. Her bark of laughter choked in her throat and became a humiliating cough, every person in the room suddenly swivelling to see what was wrong.

“Do you need a glass of water Miss McAllister, or can I get back to the class?” O’Donnell asked.

Tears stung the corner of her eyes. Eddie - the bastard - had quickly composed himself, pencil in hand, poised over his notebook as if he were diligently taking notes. Butter wouldn’t melt, puppy dog eyes. Only Rose could see the open page of his notebook was completely blank.

“Sorry,” Rose croaked. “My throat feels a bit dry, but i’ll be fine.”

O’Donnell narrowed her eyes, looking between the two of them. “Hmm,” her lips pressed together, and she launched straight back into the lesson.

Thus it began. Forty minutes of torture. Each time they made eye contact she was struck with an uncontrollable, side-splitting urge to laugh, bursting in her chest, threatening to spill out at any minute. It didn’t help that he committed to the bit with more vigour than a Shakespearean actor, pulling more faces, winking, mimicking O’Donnell by pushing non existent spectacles and peering over them.

By the time the bell rang her stomach ached, and she had learned absolutely nothing about the literary devices of Edgar Allen Poe. Couldn’t tell you a thing. Stupefied, sent into a dreamy daze.

When the bell screamed out, that stomach ache quickly turned to butterflies. Eddie shrugged on his leather jacket and denim battle vest, hovering by her side as she grabbed her leather satchel from the floor, pushing her books in clumsily.

“So,” Rose began, as they walked side by side out of class, shoulders bumping into each other at the door. “I’ve been dying to ask you about the slipper thing since lunch. Are we talking about a literal slipper, something I can wear on my feet?"

Eddie smiled bashfully. “Purely metaphorical, sweetheart. Though if you are into cosy footwear, you should go for it. Fly that freak flag high and proud, baby. I...uh... admit, i’m liking these boots though. Very Anarchy in the UK .”

Rose looked down and almost tripped, suddenly aware of her own clumsy feet. “Skinhead, actually,” she corrected. “I got them in Camden Market a few years ago. Though everyone seems to wear them since John Entwhistle went on stage in them a few years ago. He’s a guitarist-”

“The bassist from The Who,” Eddie cut in, nodding eagerly. “Oh I know who he is. He’s seriously good...so good they call him Thunderfingers. He experimented a lot with bi-amps and all these stacks of speakers so he could actually hear himself over the goddamn drummer, cause you know The Who weren’t known for being quiet, man,” he paused, grabbing the back of his neck and looking a little sheepish. “Sorry, I get a little crazy when it comes to music. The guys usually throw something at me to make me stop. Gareth’s broken a dozen drumsticks that way. In fact, I have to buy him some more from the music store in Cartersville before the weekend, or we won’t be able to practice.”

Really? Did his friends find this irritating? Because Rose wanted nothing more than to let him keep talking, revealing more about himself.

“There are so many questions I want to ask,” she said, gesturing with her hands, becoming more animated. “But most of all...you’re in a band? With Gareth? Do you play rock music? I figured it would have to be, with this entire look you have going on.”

They had wandered the corridors together. Eddie opened the door to the parking lot as she spoke, holding it open for her with a small bow, and following her outside. His limbs became looser, more free, with each step away from the school doors.

“Yeah, i’m in a band,” he flexed his shoulders, jean chain slapping into his thigh. “We all are, the older Hellfire guys. Gareth’s our drummer, Jeff is rhythm guitar, Chris is our bassist. But Corroded Coffin doesn't just play rock music, we’re a metal band.”

Rose followed him across the lot, no awareness of her surroundings. “Ah. The Iron Maiden t-shirt should have given it away, shouldn’t it,” she muttered, thinking herself foolish for not noticing earlier. “Wait, so if Gareth is the drummer, and Chris and Jeff are guitarists, what does that make you?”

Eddie had stopped, leaning against the panel of a beaten up old Chevy van, black with a white stripe across its middle. His stance was too casual for it to be someone else's, one of his sneakered feet braced against the panelling. His wicked smile spread slowly, dimples forming underneath the apple of his cheeks. “Lead singer, and lead guitarist, sweetheart. You think Hellfire is my baby? Wait til you see me on stage, wielding the mighty Warlock. There’s nothing else like it. It’s fucking intoxicating.”

Rose bit her lip. Eddie on stage, Eddie with a guitar...that was imagination overload, almost breaking her brain. “Your band is called Corroded Coffin? That’s gothic. Are you sure you haven’t been reading Edgar Allen Poe?”

Eddie looked flustered. “Ha ha. Yeah, it’s the best a bunch of middle schoolers could come up with. Eighth grade Eddie thought it was cool as hell.”

“It’s right up there with Black Sabbath. Wait...they are metal, aren’t they?” 

“Rose,” he said seriously. “If you start me up on the definition of metal, it will take more than a full free period to explain. Before you go all adorably ranty and ask me a million questions, I have to give you something.”

Eddie opened the drivers door of the van and leaned right in, jeans dropping at his hips until a stripe of plaid boxers were on show. He rummaged around in the cluttered front seat, throwing wrappers and tapes around until he cackled like a horror villain and grabbed something, turning around, hands hidden behind his back.

“What is it?” Rose said, on edge.

He whipped his arms around with a flourish. A very familiar silver walkman sat in his hands, headphones attached with a coiled little cord. 

“Thank fucking Christ,” she let our a deeply held breath. “I looked for that thing for hours, and turned up the whole house. Mum was tearing her hair out. I honestly thought I had lost it.”

Eddie handed it to her extravagantly. “You must have dropped it at Hellfire. I’m glad I could be of service to the fair Lady Thorn, nymph of Icewind Dale,” he squirmed and shuffled on his Reeboks, squinting as he looked at her. “I...uh...I have a confession to make though.”

Rose held the walkman tightly, against her chest. “Is this the part where you bundle me in the back of the satanic murder van and I become a gruesome story on the six-o-clock news?”

He gasped theatrically. “Shit, no way. Hellfire can’t sacrifice its own members, even satanists have to have some morals. You’re off limits.”

“Ah, so other students are on the table?” Rose asks.

His tongue ran over his teeth devilishly, and it did something feral to her, spreading warm, rushing feelings across her body, in particular places she shouldn’t be thinking about right now. 

Eddie’s eyes light up. “We prefer a nice ritual altar, but the lunch tables could do in a pinch.”

Rose snorted out a laugh, covering her mouth again, blushing furiously as she realised how inelegant she sounded. But she couldn’t be composed and cool when he was so lame and adorably funny. 

Eddie stuffed his hands in his jacket pockets, his words spilling out in a rush. “I was serious about the confession though. I just possibly, might have, okay definitely and repeatedly listened to your mixtape.”

“What?!”

“Now i’ve said it out loud that sounds like a total invasion of privacy,” he panicked, hands pulled out, palms up in a defensive gesture. “But it was there...all tempting and seductive, whispering Eddie, push my buttons...play me.. .and I caved like a little bitch.”

Rose bit her lip. “It’s okay. It’s not like you read my diary or something. Don’t even have one.”

“Oh, thank Satan,” he sagged with relief. “Because I have so many thoughts about your taste in music. Dear god, I have never heard so much Duran Duran in my entire life. Hungry Like the Wolf was on there twice ...was that an accident?”

She was mortified, and it felt like she’d been kicked in the gut. She had a giant, unrelenting thing for Eddie Munson, rock god and frontman of a metal band...and he’d heard all her guilty pleasure songs, a tracklist she’d put together without any thoughts of being overheard by magnetic, weirdly, alluringly, handsome boys dissecting her music tastes. 

“Kill me now,” she mumbled. “Just tie me up and put me in the van, let Hellfire sacrifice me on the altar.”

Eddie blinked several times like an owl, head dipping low. “Wha- what?”

“Well, now you have seen my inner loser,” Rose said, laughing sarcastically. “You know what? I’m not ashamed. This is me, Rose McAllister, lover of shit music, that must be what you’re thinking. I like Duran Duran. And Queen. And...and...and I suddenly can’t remember who else is on the tape.”

“Bowie, Billy Idol, Flock of Seagulls...” he trailed off gleefully, taking a step forward with each musical act, until he was so close she could see the dark liquid amber of his eyes. “And i’ll admit, for a minute there I was confused. Yes, it’s eclectic. There’s some normie shit on that tape. But when I flipped that little sucker over and listened to the other side, White Room came on and I was floored. Cream? Come on, fucking Eric Clapton on guitar? That is awesome. Sunshine of Your Love too...and then Hendrix with Voodoo Child, and that sweet opening riff of Smoke on the Water by Deep fucking Purple ? That’s rock, baby. That’s some serious orgasmic fucking guitar work right there...and Deep Purple are the goddamn progenitors of metal. Well, I'm kind of shafting Sabbath here, which feels wrong. Sabbath is really the bedrock of metal, who am I kidding. But the point is, you might just be a potential metalhead.”

He was so passionate as he went on and on about music that he seemed to vibrate, like he would burst at any moment, head shaking side to side, frizzy hair with a life of its own. 

She took the lifeline, held onto it tight. “So i’m not a lost cause, then?”

“Lost cause? Fuck no!” He shouted the last two words and their little bubble popped when a teacher yelled across the parking lot, reminding them both that this was still school, even if it was a free period. 

“Thank you,” she said quietly, holding up the walkman. “For returning it. This little thing got me through three long-term hospital stays, and Duran Duran and Cream and all the other bands, they kept me sane when I thought I was going crazy.”

His eyes softened. “You’re welcome, Rose. Can’t have you going crazy, we need that eighth player for Hellfire on Friday night. Gareth’s counting on you to do the girl voices.”

“Are there a lot of female voices?”

He leaned back casually on the van again. “Oh, we come across a few fair maidens on our travels. Sometimes other warriors, sometimes a saucy tavern wench we have to seduce to gain information. But...uh...we won’t make you do anything like that. Nothing creepy or uncomfortable. Just warrior maidens in this campaign.”

“Great,” she said, fighting off some serious nerves. The thought of being seduced by Eddie with words over the Hellfire table had her spiralling. Earth to McAllister, get your mind out of the gutter. She tried to change tack, before she blurted out something stupid. “So I believe I was promised a tour of the school. One that included all the parts the teachers won’t tell you about.”

Eddie flared to life again, slamming the door of this van shut and bowing for her again, ushering her toward the school building, where they walked in tandem, crossing the parking lot and going down the side of the building. “One tour coming up, milady. Can’t go back on my word now, can I. So these are the dumpsters that the lunch leftovers are thrown in each day. Smells divine, doesn’t it.”

Rose wrinkled her nose. “Just lovely.”

“I caught one of the teachers dumpster diving here once...that was a disturbing sight. Couldn’t look at them the same again. But quickly, we’ll move onto the athletic grounds, where the brightest and best of the monkey house fling faeces...I mean balls....up into the air to show off their masculine prowess and attract a mate.”

They approached a small outdoor field marked out with white lines, surrounded on two long sides by rickety metal frames of seating.

“The jock in his natural habitat,” Rose joined in, putting on a posh voice like the narrator of a documentary. “Threatened by other mature males, he peacocks, putting on a large helmet to increase the size of his head, and a jockstrap to appear more appealing to the female of the species.”

Eddie was in his element, joining right in. “And here, the bleachers. The mating grounds of the common jockstrap, where after the mating dance on the football field is complete, he attempts to lure the female with exaggerated claims of manliness, in a desperate attempt to procreate.”

Rose’s laughter trailed off as their hands accidentally brushed, and she felt as dizzy as a drunk coming out of a bar on a cold night, hit by fresh air. Eddie must have sensed it too, for he dropped the act and flexed his fingers like he didn’t know what to do with them. They took quiet, almost aimless steps across the grassy field, until he suddenly grabbed her hand and dragged her towards the treeline, jolting her forward.

“Come on,” he said cheerily. “Last stop’s this way.”

He dragged past the bleachers and into the , following a narrow, well-trodden path, where the beautiful golden leaves that made up the autumn tree canopy widened into an opening. Stray leaves crunched under Rose’s sturdy Doc Martens, but all she could feel was his hand, curled confidently around hers. Eddie was tactile with all the Hellfire guys, but friends don’t lead each other by the hands into secret spots in the woods...did they?

“If this leads towards a creepy ritual altar, Munson, then i’ll...” 

His head whipped around. “Don’t stop there, I’m intrigued.”

I’ll let you tie me up and do whatever you bloody like, Rose’s traitorous inner voice whispered. “Go for the eyes or the balls,” she said out loud. “Or if I was at home, crack you over the head with my hockey stick. I once saw a girl knocked clean unconscious on the hockey field.”

“That’s so brutal,” he grinned. “I would not have pegged you for a violent kind of girl.”

“I know i’m a clumsy, babbling idiot, but perhaps there’s more to me than people think.”

“Oh I am certain of that,” Eddie said with conviction.

When he turned back to the woods trail she spotted a black bandana tucked in his back jean pocket, and the huge Dio emblazoned on the back of his denim sleeves jacket. From his hair, rings, and the badges sewn all over his clothes, to the chain sewn clumsily into his sleeve where the zipper had broken, everything about Eddie Munson was unique, unapologetic about who he was.

They emerged in a clearing, dominated by a weathered picnic table and benches. It was a really odd spot for a picnic table, but Rose supposed the woods were pretty at this time of year, and the tree cover gave them complete privacy.

Privacy. Actually, this was the first time they had been alone, and far from the observing eyes of the Hawkins High student body. 

“Last stop,” he swaggered around the clearing, letting go of her hand and leaning on the picnic table. “The most dangerous spot in the school, where all the stoners go to score some pot.”

Rose chuckled and came to sit at the table, opposite him. “Which idiot thought this completely obvious spot would be a good spot for a secret drug deal? Let me guess, is it one of the basketball team?”

Eddie went quiet, eyes wide as saucers, waiting for something. She looked around, taking in the sights and smells of the forest, and looking down at the splintered table top. There was something etched into the wood, a bat...a whole series of bats, in the same style of the grim reaper from O’Donnell’s English classroom. Eddie’s grim reaper.

“Shit,” she exclaimed, breaking the silence. “Fuck. It’s you, isn’t it?”

His whole expression was vulnerable, watching her closely, warily. “Afraid so. Guilty as charged. I guess this is the part where you tell me to fuck off and leave you alone, huh?”

Rose didn’t expect it, she hadn’t really thought much about his life outside of school. She’d only known the guy for a couple of days, a few hours altogether. That rocker image he gave off was an outline, one she had yet to fill in with colour and shade, the complex reality of his life still unknown.

She turned introspective for a minute. She might have spent a lot of her teen years in and out of hospital - which was boring, filled with straight-laced medical staff and other sick children - but when she had recovered, she’d quickly tried to seek out all the elusive, wild experiences she’d dreamed about for years. Bars and pubs and alcohol, late nights with new people she’d hoped to call friends, but never really stuck around. There was a streak in her that she inherited from her father. It killed him in the end, led him to a cold, watery grave when she was thirteen and newly diagnosed, so drunk he’d swerved off the road into a small lake. So no wonder her mother watched over Rose like a hawk, melting down when she was home late, smelling of cheap spirits or beer, seeking out something to make her feel.

Life was messy. Hers had been, at least. So it should be no surprise that Eddie Munson’s was too.

“Motherf-” Eddie bit off his own curse, turning around slowly, sinking down onto the bench opposite with his back to her. He sat with his head in his hands, completely still. She’d not seen him that still in all the short time she’d known him.

She realised it had been a long time since he made his admission; she’d just sat there in silence, leaving him with no answer. And no answer probably felt like judgement or rejection.

“I see what this is,” Rose said, trying to keep her voice lighthearted. “You can’t sacrifice me to your lord and master Satan, but at least you can make a few bucks and convert me to the devil’s lettuce.”

“Don’t,” he murmured back quickly, still buried in his hands.

Okay, so joking didn’t land well. Rose leapt over the table - though it was more of an awkward scramble with a sudden realisation that her dress wasn’t that long so she should be careful of her leg placement - and dropped on the bench alongside Eddie. She couldn’t say why the hell she didn’t walk around, a momentary madness maybe, or copying the habits of the boy next to her.

“You can flee now,” Eddie said. “But i’ll walk you back to school if you want. Don’t know who else is out in these woods.”

“Why would I flee?!” Rose asked, voice high pitched.

“Oh, I don’t know. Because you’re in the woods with a fucking drug dealer. You must think i’m a waste of space. I would.”

She raised her hand, placing it tentatively on his back, wary they had not touched above the hand holding when he dragged her here. “I don’t give a fuck if you sell weed. I mean, assuming you’re not selling coke or heroin to the kids...”

“Fuck no,” he responds immediately, enough punchy anger in that statement to let he know he means it. “Just weed at school. Some bennies and ketamine too, but i’ve never sold them here. Mostly outside bars.”

“I’m not shocked. I was sick a lot, but I did have a fucking life, Eddie. I’ve done stuff i’m not proud of. But my opinion shouldn’t matter, what do you think about it?”

Eddie drew in a deep breath and sat up. He still couldn’t look at her; his face profiled from the side, staring at the forest floor. “What do I think that I can’t get an honest fucking job in this town, where the name Munson is synonymous with lying, cheating, stealing and wasting away like goddamn trailer trash? Because I am trailer trash by the way, I live with my Uncle Wayne in a one-bed unit off Kerley. Its just fuckin’ fantastic...I sell to kids who wanna get high at high school parties, living a little before they piss off to college and get white collar jobs or settle down and start cookie cutter little families. Whilst i’m a two-time super senior who can’t even scrape together enough credits to graduate from this shit hole.”

Eddie was gathering momentum, a dam burst behind the endlessly funny, confident demeanour he’d shown her. His knees were bouncing relentlessly, hands gesturing to punctuate the helplessness of his words. 

“I’m twenty years old, and the highlight of my fucking life is playing Dungeons and Dragons with a bunch of fourteen year old boys, or playing guitar with a garage band on the weekends and clinging onto the vanishing fucking hope that we might be good enough, that I might be good enough for something more than being booed off stage by a crowd of five drunks at The Hideout on a Tuesday. And knowing i’m gonna end up like my Uncle Wayne working twelve hour shifts at the plant with a trailer to come home to if i’m lucky, or even worse, like my old man...Al Munson, the two-time felon who tried to get me to mule fucking drugs for him...who left me to deal with the aftermath of a shootout without a second goddamn thought, leaving me to keep that cop from bleeding to death. So it's a factory or a jail cell for Eddie Munson. Glamorous, huh? Just the kind of guy you wanna be...you wanna be spending time with.”

Rose let the words echo around her. She laid her head back on the picnic table, the gravity of his words settled in as the russet leaves of the red maple tree swayed in the wind. “Come here,” she said softly.

Eddie snapped. “What?”

“Lie back with me.”

“This is a weird moment to be having a nap, sweetheart.”

“Just do it.”

He hesitated. Seconds later she heard a resigned gruff sigh and felt strands of his hair tickle her neck, heads laid side by side on the table.

“What are we looking at?” Eddie asked.

“Leaves. They’re pretty."

“Okaaay. I get it. I broke you, didn’t I. Fried your wires.”

“I want to spend time with you,” she began tentatively. “I want to be around you because you should be scary-”

“This isn’t a good start,” he interrupted.

“Shh. Just hold on. You should be scary,  you're covered in tattoos and chains and badges of heavy metal bands. You’re a bit obnoxious-”

“Wow.”

Rose swatted his hand, and somehow, his ended up tangled with hers again. But this time their fingers were entwined, the kind of intimate  hand-holding for those destined to be way more than friends. He held onto her like his life depended on it.

“Go on, Rosie,” he said, softer this time. “Tell me how obnoxious I am.”

Rosie. That was new. Well, it was better than Rosebud.

“Don’t be so impatient,” she chastised him. “I was saying...everything you do projects this big, fearless rockstar. Bold and scary and brave, shepherding these kids from the people that would bully them, their shield against the judgemental dickheads of the world. They think you’re tough because you don’t care for the opinions of normies. But you do care, and that’s exactly what makes you strong. You exist loudly, brilliantly, exactly as yourself, despite that fear. I’m not exaggerating when I say that in the two days I've spent with you, Edward Munson, I feel like a better person. I’m a little less afraid to be me. Maybe I can be fearless too.”

He squeezed her hand, until her fingers went numb. She squeezed back, until she swore she felt one of their knuckles pop, fingers so entwined she couldn’t tell where hers ended and his began.

“It’s Edgar.”

She sat up, blood rushing to her head. “What?”

Eddie’s hair was splayed about his face like a curly brown halo. He turned to face her, a slow smile turning the corners of his lips upward. “My full name is Edgar. I blame the old man, the asshole. I’m telling you this in complete confidence, the only person in school that knows is Jeff. If Henderson or the other kids find out...”

“ Edgar? Like Edgar Allen Poe?” Rose almost screeched. “Should I be following you around with a raven or a beating heart, reciting poetry?”

“Piss off,” he said, still smiling.

“Edgar Munson. Were you born in the Victorian era? I know you said you were a super senior but...wow. Should I get you a cane to walk with? A top hat? Shit, should I be calling you Mr Munson?”

“Seriously, McAllister. I’m gonna-”

“Mr Munson, esquire. I shouldn’t forget to respect my elders.”

Eddie tugged on their joined hands until she rolled into him, the full length of her torso pressed against his. Every cell of her brain deteriorated at once, the sheer heat of his body, the badges and zips pressing into her breasts, the immediate dismantling of the personal space that had kept them at a polite distance...and now they were in the same space, all pretense dropped, sharing breath, noses almost brushing. So close she had to look between his endlessly dark eyes to see them both, trying to determine what he was thinking.

“You were saying?” He said low; she could feel it vibrate through her chest, sending her into a daze until she had to remember to actually breathe.

“I...I don’t know,” she babbled, cripplingly aware that she was nearly straddling his lap, their thighs pressed side by side. Her lips parted, working up the courage to close the distance and kiss him.

Eddie reached out his free hand and held her jaw, stroking the skin of her cheekbone with his thumb. She would have sworn that literal violins struck up in the background, a chorus marching to the rapid beating of her heart, like she was in a period romance with the brooding hero. And when his hand slipped into her hair, raking through it, bringing her head closer, it was so perfect that it was almost...painful?”

“Ow,” Rose winced, her scalp on fire. “Ow, ow, ow!”

“Shit, what did I do?” Eddie cried out, face twisting into shock.

They tried to spring apart, snapped back by his hand caught in her hair. Rose felt a few strands of her hair torn out at the root. Eddie’s chunky silver rings had caught in the thick strands; the more he struggled, the more she cursed and hissed in pain. 

Eddie was babbling. “Oh my god i’m so sorry, what the fuck, i don’t wanna hurt you sweetheart please...i’m so sorry. Let me take them off, let me-”

“Fucking hell, Jesus Christ, I feel like i’m being scalped,” Rose mumbled back to him, tears springing in the corner of her eyes. She closed the distance again, needing to stay close to prevent the damage from worsening. Eddie’s face was right by hers, at one point their cheeks were pressed against each other and she fully ended up in his lap, as he wriggled the massive rings from his fingers.

“I’m sorry baby, i’m sorry,” Eddie said soothingly, his teeth gritting as he tried to delicately remove the last of the rings.

By the time they were all freed and his hand could untangle from her hair, they were breathing hard like they’d both run a marathon. Eye contact made, shock and panic shooting adrenaline through both of their veins, like she’d been drinking hard. She laughed, he followed. Sinking into mirth, the tense, romantic mood shattered into pieces, left with something funny, something still deep, something that was paving the way for serious, heart-stopping feelings.

“What is it?” Rose asked, seeing Eddie dissolve into a fit of giggles. “Is it the hair, do I look ridiculous?”

Eddie’s eyes were glowing. “My rings are all stuck in your hair...your hair is literally metal, McAllister. That’s so fucking weird.”

Her hands flew to her scalp and were met with four lumpy, cold chunks of metal. “Oh shit. What do I do? Will they come out by themselves? I don’t want to lose any more hair, I got chewing gum in my hair as a child and Mum had to cut it out, it took two years to fully grow out.”

Eddie nodded vigorously, taking off the ring on his other hand. “Just relax, I swear i’m not gonna do any more damage. At least, I don’t think so.”

Rose laughed again. “Are you sure it won’t hurt?”

Eddie thought of something, he dipped his hand into his pocket, bringing out a plain cassette tape in a transparent case. “I can’t promise, sweetheart. But I have a distraction for you. After I heard that beautiful mess of a mixtape in your walkman, I kind of made one for you.”

Rose felt more tears at the corners of her eyes, but not from the pain. “You made me a mixtape? After Friday night?” The subtext was clear: after one meeting, one session with Hellfire?

“Yeah. It’s metal songs that I thought you might like, after working out what music you’re into. Do you wanna listen whilst I try to untangle the rings?”

She nodded her head, not trusting herself to speak.

“Okay, here we go,” Eddie nodded. He switched out the tapes, clicking the walkman cover into place and putting her own tape into the case. He brushed the hair back from her shoulders gently, placing the headphones over her head, adjusting them carefully until the offending section of hair was free and the headphone cups covered her ears properly.

“You good?”

“I’m great,” Rose replied.

His bare hands looked different, fingers pale. He must wear the rings a lot . He pressed the play button and a guitar struck up, a kind of restrained introduction with a drumbeat slowly rolling in. It wasn’t heavy , not in the way she expected. It was...nice.

Raspy vocals kicked in, still relatively tame compared to her expectations.

I ride, I ride the winds that bring the rain

A creature of love and I can't be tamed

I want you, 'cause I'm gonna take your love from him

And I'll touch your face and hot burning skin

Eddie had wordlessly begun, fingers stroking her scalp, gently lifting away sections of hair until the rings were visible. 

No, he'll never ever touch you like I do

So look in my eyes and burn alive the truth

She closed her eyes and felt the music, and Eddie’s fingers, struck by the sheer intimacy of sitting so close to someone, fully trusting them to tend to you whilst you couldn’t hear a thing. She felt when one of the rings came free, just as the song’s chorus swelled.

I'm a wild child, come and love me

I want you

My heart's in exile I need you to touch me

'Cause I want what you do

I'm a wild child, come and love me

I want you

My heart's in exile I need you to touch me

'Cause I want what you do

I want you

Rose was nodding her head in time to the beat, losing herself in the music. By the time the first song had finished, Eddie was tapping her on the shoulder. She opened her eyes and found him watching with concern, as he carefully took off the headphones.

“I’m all done, sweetheart. Did that hurt?”

“Not a bit. Eddie, the song was great. Who was it? I’ve never heard them before.”

His answering smile was contagious. “That’s W.A.S.P. See?” He pointed to one of the badges on his denim vest. “They’re kinda recent, made a name for themselves in L.A. Really good showmen, their concerts are legendary. I’ve been meaning to go see them when they tour. But don’t lie to me, Rose. Did you like it?”

“Loved it. Play the next song,” she demanded. 

Eddie stowed his rings in his jacket pocket and put the headphones back on her. “This is Sabbath, but not Ozzy Sabbath, Dio Sabbath. Lady Evil is such a great song, I love this one.”

“Listen with me then,” Rose slipped them off straight away, inverting the earcups and pressing one to her ear, pulling Eddie close so he could listen from the other ear. Faces only inches away, sat side by side on the picnic bench, she felt as giddy as a thirteen year old with their first crush.

The music played again, and she could feel Eddie’s body move with the music.

“I can’t believe I've not really listened to metal before,” Rose admitted, caught up in the smooth vocals of Dio. “This is great.”

Eddie gave her an intense look. “You can’t start with full on thrash metal, sweetheart. You’ve gotta work it up, take it slow. Build up the intensity, until it’s pounding at your eardrums and you’re begging for more. Just wait, we’ll get you there. You’ll be listening to Metallica and Slayer in no time.”

Rose lowered her eyes and flushed again, feeling suddenly nervous that the man at her side had evaded the law, dealt drugs, and probably had vast and thorough experience to back up the clearly sexual innuendo behind his words. Whilst she had never gone beyond some frantic snogging and a bit of over-the-clothes groping with Simon the skinhead, the young barman from the pub at home, which her mother thankfully seemed to have no clue about. 

But as Black Sabbath launched into the chorus of Lady Evil and her little finger gently nudged against Eddie’s on the table, the slightest contact causing his breath to hitch and his cheshire grin to spread slowly across his face, she knew in her bones that whatever was happening was affecting them in equal measure. She might be able to live up to her little speech earlier; she might just be fearless. 

[missybee-writes]

Shadow in the Dark: Chapter Four - Code Name, Farrah Fawcett

Genre: Sci-fi; Romance; Horror

Warnings: (eventual) sexual content; violence; gore; swearing; alcohol and drug use.

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fem!OC

Summary

In July ‘85, an ambitious realtor sells the crumbling Creel house to a family looking for a new start.

Rose McAllister may be living in a grand and gothic murder house in a small Midwest town, but senior year in high school is the stuff of her nightmares: a last chance at a normal school year without being the odd one out, the sick girl, the weirdo from across the pond. Blend in, make it through the year, and make some friends. Stay unnoticed at all costs.

Hawkins, and one seriously loud-mouthed metalhead, is about to flip that carefully laid plan Upside Down.

Chapter one: Cursed

Chapter two: Munson Magic

Chapter three: Fearless

Ao3 link

---

“Never?” Dustin asked, his muffled squeal cutting through the quiet atmosphere in the study desk buried in the corner of the library, behind the physics and math section. “Not even once, not at all?”

Rose shrank away from the harsh stare of the librarian, whispering over the pages of the book. “Nope. Never heard of him.”

“Al Yankovic,” Dustin said, like he was talking about the President or the bloody Queen. “Weird Al. My Bologna, Another One Rides the Bus....Eat It? Seriously ? I thought you had MTV.”

“Sorry,” Rose said apologetically. “Is he funny?”

Dustin took off his cap and ran his hand through his curly hair; a memory from Monday made her own head tingle in sympathy the near scalping by Eddie, his rings intruding on what might have been a very romantic moment. Focus, McAllister.

“Uh, does a black hole emit Hawking radiation?” Dustin asked, completely confident in his own knowledge on the subject.

“Yes?” Rose bit her lip, trying to recall. “I take chem and biology though, not physics.”

Dustin’s mouth gaped open, braces glistening in the overhead fluorescent lights. He was weirdly charming. Something about him reminded her of Eddie. “Well, you should listen to his songs. His videos are hilarious too. Me and the guys, we laughed so hard when we heard I Love Rocky Road, it’s the best. Lucas pretends he’s too cool for it, but I see him trying to hold back his laughter. He can’t fool me.”

“Dustin,” she asked tentatively, chewing on the end of her pencil. “How did you get into D&D?”

His eyes brightened at her genuine interest and wondered how many people truly got to know the quirky kid, beyond his immediate friendship group. “Will and MIke were huge on it. They were best friends with Lucas since the first year of kindergarten, but I didn’t move to Hawkins until fourth grade. It was kinda hard for me to make friends. Zach was bullying me a lot, and he...” he trailed off, his mouth pressed in a thin line, crossing his arms across his chest defensively. “He, uh, kicked the crap outta me in the boys bathrooms, so I was upset, and Will came up to me and asked me if I wanted to be a magical spellcaster, and kick the ass of an ogre. And it was kind of awesome , and then we became friends.”

“I can’t even imagine the other guys without you,” she said, nudging his shoulder. “You’re like the heart of the group, and the brain too. Possibly the guts and the spine, and the funny bone. You’re all the good bits. But don’t tell them I said that.”

Dustin ducked his head and almost blushed, smiling like a goon. “I don’t know.”

“Well it looks like it to me,” Rose reassured him. 

He scoffed and waved away her compliment, with a weird little squeal that she found incredibly endearing. 

She was surprised to hear Dustin was the newest in the little friendship group. Where he went, Mike usually followed, and whilst Lucas seemed to be torn between Hellfire and basketball, he had an easy familiarity around the other two that spoke of long years of friendship and growing up with an unshakeable bond. Rose was fascinated by the way they understood each other's jokes and communicated without words. Envy burned in the back of her throat, for she saw in the freshmen boys what she had always longed for; someone who had seen you at your very best and worst, and who stood by you anyway.

It might be too late for Rose, but on the bright side, she wasn’t exactly alone, either. Dustin had been so thrilled at the prospect of helping her build a character that she couldn’t refuse his help, particularly when she knew so little about Dungeons and Dragons and the mechanics of the game. He was giving up his Friday lunch to help her.

Beyond that, the Hellfire guys said hello to her in the hallway, and welcomed her to the group. Tuesday and Thursday of this first full week at school had seen her at Hellfire’s lunch table; the first day, she was the complete focus of the lunch hour, much to her embarrassment. They peppered her with questions and stared at her until Eddie had to call them to order, requesting they back off and leave the lady alone. By Thursday, after she spent Wednesday hanging out with Robin, the Hellfire boys seemed to regard her as a permanent fixture, a piece of the furniture when she sat down at the table. Except for the pestering about her character, and harassing Eddie about tonight's campaign, of course. 

And Robin too, she was becoming a friend. She was going through a difficult time, clearly affected by the fire that killed so many people over the summer, finding it difficult to engage with her old friends after being right there during the tragedy. Rose could understand to some degree, she found it hard to carry on with old friendships after her illness. In a way, they could start fresh, a friendship with no before mall fire or before her surgery clouding the view of who they were right now.

Then there was their dungeon master, the leader, the glue of the club. The reason for her heart skipping a beat as she arrived at school each morning, searching for a telltale Chevy van or a big mane of frizzy hair, leather and denim. Her eyes scanning the parking lot, the hallway, or anywhere at all, really. The reason she lay listening to metal songs deep into the night, curled up in the window seat of her attic, examining every interaction, every glance and touch over the last week, trying to kid herself that it was just a new friendship, not getting her hopes up in case it was some kind of mistake, or he acted like this around every girl at school. But if she had any hope of concentrating she had to nip any thoughts of Eddie in the bud.

She turned to the sheets of paper on the study desk, her pencil twirling idly and drawing out a little flower-shaped spiral in the corner of the page. A character sheet, a chance to impress Hellfire tonight, and not appear like a silly, frivolous new girl with no clue what she was doing.

“Dustin,” Rose sighed. “I feel like i’m missing so much of Ceverra’s backstory. Yes, I was a noblewoman studying arcane magics at the Citadel, but what made me turn to necromancy?”

“Curiosity?”

“Maybe,” she hummed. “But the arc and the character have to be entwined, one feeds the other. You don’t just wake up one day and decide to raise the dead, you have to have a horrific reason...there has to be foreshadowing in her story. Maybe once we realise her backstory, we’ll work out why she’s here.”

“There’s an element of randomness to D&D play,” Dustin warned. “No one can predict the dice.”

“I still think she should have a good motivation. Something I can pull out when we get to the final villain in the campaign. A clue in her past, something hidden there all along that explains why she raises the dead.”

Dustin flipped through the pages of his Dungeon Master’s manual, one he explained belonged to his friend Will, who had just moved to California. He’d left behind his D&D books so they could play together when he came home for the holidays. The pages were weathered and dogeared, like they’d been used and loved for years. It brought a smile to Rose’s face; she too preferred her books that way. Lived in.

“Maybe we can find a magical reason, something happened to you as you studied to be a cleric,” Dustin rambled, concentrating on the pages.

“No,” Rose said. “It had to be a human reason, something tragic. I think...I think she lost her family. They were drained of life by a cult of warlocks or something, whilst she was away at the Citadel, and when she returned she found them all dead. She wasn’t there to protect her mother and father, and a sibling, a little sister maybe, so she turned to the dark arts. But it's doomed, because if she succeeds in raising her family, she will have become the thing they hate. In raising them, she kills herself, the Ceverra they loved. She turns to her old companions from the Citadel, including your bard and Jeff’s spellcaster, to aid her in finding an artefact she needs to raise her family. And gets drawn into whatever Eddie’s campaign is, before she can cross over that line and become a soulless lich. A last chance for redemption before she goes full chaotic-evil.”

“Shit,” Dustin snapped up. “That’s good. I think it works. Deeply personal motive, check. Dark magics, check. Reason for your joining the party, check. I think we have it, Lady Ceverra. We just need to determine how to spread your 27 ability points. You want three high abilities, three low. For a cleric, I recommend focusing on Wisdom and Intelligence. Plus, it kinda suits you!”

“I trust you, Dustin. Wisdom and Intelligence it is.”

He handed Rose the open book, and she searched the page, fingers tracing the scoring system; she made some notes and began to add some scores to her sheet. After ten minutes of diligent work, she handed him the character sheet; it felt like returning homework, except she suddenly cared for Dustin’s opinion more than any teacher, desperate for some kind of approval. She knew the kid was a genius, she knew he was Eddie’s protege, and somehow Robin knew him. All her favourite people seemed to regard Dustin highly. 

He leaned back in the chair, his Hellfire shirt barely visible under a brightly striped baseball-style short sleeved shirt, covered in some kind of novelty mathematical equation - probably a real one knowing Dustin - with a green Camp Nowhere badge newly sewn into the hem. It almost reminded Rose of Eddie’s battle vest, and she smiled like an idiot. Dustin idolised Eddie, she could see it in the way he deferred to the leader of their group, and copied some of his mannerisms subconsciously. 

“Okay, okay,” Dustin said positively, scanning the sheet. “The stats pass muster. I think this is gonna work. And the backstory kicks ass, like, you should be a writer.”

Rose felt herself smiling, and babbled dismissively. “Oh, I don’t know. I would like to study English Literature at university though. Maybe not cut out to be a full-blown author though...”

“That is so cool,” he said, head propped up on his elbow. “I’ve always been more of a math and science kind of man, but you’re a whole different kind of smart. Where do you wanna go to college?”

“I don’t know,” Rose faltered, making a strangled noise in her throat. She’d been so focused on achieving one single full year of school, one year with friends and normal teen experiences, that she’d put off thoughts of university. “I suppose i’d always imagined going back home, probably to London. Beyond that, i’ve not thought about it.”

“Well, you have plenty of time,” Dustin said comfortingly. “Probably two whole months, right? That’s if the application process is the same as here.”

Rose swallowed down her terror and turned back to the character sheet, where a large gap was left at the top. “Gareth is going to draw my character in art class today. He thinks the teacher won’t mind because he’s finished his assignment already. That way, it's ready for Hellfire tonight.”

Dustin looked at the sheet, with her neat, calligraphic script, his direction and shaping, and a space for Gareth’s impressive drawings. “You’re really going all out on this, huh. Eddie is going to lose his shit tonight, he’ll love it.”

“I hope so,” she said, trying to contain a gleeful grin. Since Monday’s beautiful, disastrous near-kiss, she hadn’t been fully alone with him. The closest was those two whole lunch hours at the Hellfire table, Eddie saving a seat next to him and pulling it out like a true gentleman, each of them sneaking dreamy-eyed glances at the other, careful not to be caught staring for too long. It was like a game of tag, a thrill of electricity each time they made eye contact.

White noise crackled in the quiet of the library, a muffled sound of something electronic, like white noise from a radio. Then out of the noise came a single word.

“Dustin?”

Rose went still, trying to locate the noise, but Dustin exploded into action,ducking under the table to get to his backpack, knocking over all his stuff in the process.

“ Is this thing even on? God, this is so stupid. Dustin, if you’re hearing this, it’s Steve. We have a code red. I repeat, a code red.”

“Shit,” Dustin hissed, fumbling about with his bag. He’d dropped to all fours on the beige floral carpet of the library, eyes sweeping the room for anyone watching: all clear, the place was quiet at the end of lunch, no one in their right mind would sacrifice their free period for more time around books. Except Rose and Dustin, clearly.

He retrieved a brick-sized hunk of plastic and metal from his bag, a walkie-talkie, pulling out a foot-long metal antenna from the top.

Dustin pressed down the walkie’s button, putting the mouthpiece close to his face. “This is Gold Leader. State your code red. And by the way, I told you, code names only . Also, you should bear in mind i’m in earshot of a civilian. Over.”

The combination of Dustin’s deadly serious demeanour, and his position on his knees by the library table clutching a walkie-talkie was so funny, she could almost laugh. But she really, really wanted to hear what he was saying, so leaned forward over the pencils and D&D handbooks, quiet as a mouse and straining to hear.

“Come on, not the code name. Seriously?”

“I’m deadly serious. And we spoke about this, you have to end with over . Over.”

The crackling went on for a couple of seconds, before a defeated voice came out again. “This is Farrah Fawcett, reporting a code red. There, you happy? Uh, over, or whatever.”

“I acknowledge your call sign, Farrah Fawcett. What is your code red? Does it involve any encrypted messages in other languages? Over.”

Encrypted messages? Rose was clueless, but already hooked. 

“No, Dus- I mean, Gold Leader. So Keith is busting my ass again. He says if I can’t work out which section of the video store to shelve This is Spinal Tap, i’m fired. He is so unreasonable! Over.”

Dustin growled. “We talked about this Farah Fawcett, this is not a code red. A code red is a life-threatening emergency. Or at least something that involves being so grounded that I won’t see daylight until i’m in college. Please keep this channel of communication open for genuine emergencies. Over and out.”

“Dustin, he’s gonna fire me! My dad is going to kick me out of the pool house, and then i’ll have to move in with my Aunt Josephine in Cincinnati. Is that code red enough for you, huh? No more rides to the arcade, no more free popcorn or videos, no more babysitting duties. Do you want me to suffer? Do you want Robin to suffer?”

Dustin made eye contact with Rose and shook his head, like he was forty, not fourteen, and the weight of the world was on his shoulders. “Okay, message received. What was the name of the tape again?”

“Thank god. It’s called This is Spinal Tap, which is some British rock band, apparently. Cover’s got these guys with huge hair and guitars on it. I don’t know if I should put it in the documentary section, or the music section. He’s back in two minutes, so I need an answer, like, now. Over.”

“Oh shit,” Dustin said, his finger still pressed on the walkie. “My mom won’t let me see those kind of movies, Steve. But it's not like a music video, it's a documentary, right? Over.”

“You’re not filling me with confidence, Gold Leader. Should I go with Documentary?”

Rose scooted further over the table, into Dustin’s view. “Dustin, I know this one. I know it!”

“Wait, who is that?” The mysterious Farrah Fawcett - slash Steve - asked quickly.

“I’m with a girl, I mean a lady . Hold on a second Steve. Over,” Dustin looked up at Rose, eyes hopeful. He let go of the walkie and spoke privately to her for a second. “What should it be?”

“A lady? Hey, Robin doesn’t count you know. It’s Nancy isn’t it. Or maybe not, it’s Homecoming and she’s gonna be slammed with the committee today. Come on, Dustin, who is it? Is she pretty?”

Rose ignored the voice, thinking back to Monday. “It’s one of Eddie’s favourite movies. It’s a documentary, but a fake one. There’s no such band as Spinal Tap. Eddie said it was so funny he nearly pissed himself!”

“Huh,” Dustin replied, taking off his cap and mopping his brow. “He told you that? Jesus, that’s kind of personal. So it’s a comedy then?”

“Definitely,” Rose nodded wildly.

“Okay, but if you’re wrong, Steve and Robin are never gonna let me hear the end of it.”

She sat back, completely confused. Robin? What did Robin have to do with this?

Dustin turned back to the walkie. “I’ve conferred with my study buddy Lady Thorn, and can confirm the tape should be shelved in comedy. I repeat, comedy . Over.”

The static crackled. “Really? It doesn’t look funny. ”

“Just do it, Steve. I’ve gotta go, I think we’re attracting attention from hostile actors. This is Gold Leader, over and out.” He switched off the talkie, and sagged with relief, collapsing the antenna with a slap of his hand and stuffing it back in the backpack.

Rose sat back on the chair, mouth agape. “Hostile actors?”

“The librarian is giving me the side-eye,” Dustin explained, pointing subtly toward the desk, at the far end of the stacks. “I think she’s gonna kick us out.”

“Ms Miller likes me,” Rose assured him, returning to a whisper, just in case. “She’s obsessed with romantic English Literature, and I gave her my copy of an Elizabeth Gaskell book she’d never read before. She thought Mr Rochester was the pinnacle of a brooding gentleman? Oh ho, she’s yet to meet Mr Thornton. She’ll be swooning for days. No way she’ll kick us out.”

Dustin was bright-eyed as a puppy. “You really are a nerd, aren’t you.”

Rose snorted. “I thought that was clear already. Wait, you’re not getting away that easily. Who on earth was that? Is he your older brother?”

“Steve?” Dustin’s voice was so far it went into the stratosphere. He slapped his knee, laughing. “I'm so going to tell him you thought we were brothers. You know, we do both have fantastic hair. Maybe long lost cousins or something. No, Steve is a...friend, slash babysitter? It’s hard to capture with words. There’s nobody like him.”

“And you just go around with a walkie talkie, on the off chance you want to speak to this babysitter slash friend,” Rose said, suspicion creeping into her voice. 

“Sure. People do that, all the time. It’s really common in Indiana. Who needs a payphone when you’ve got a personal walkie? That’s free! Cause then you don’t need a whole stack of quarters,” Dustin shrugged his arms. “What? It’s practical!”

His voice went higher with each statement, until Rose knew he was covering something up. What an odd kid. 

“Right,” Rose narrowed her eyes. “If I didn’t have to get to class, I'd have a few more questions for you. But it's your lucky day.”

They got up from the study desk at the back of the library and slung on their bags, Rose carefully stowing away the character sheet between the pages of her math textbook as they swung open the library door, entering the hallway with its aura of enforced cheer, balloons and all sorts of glitter-laden signs announcing Homecoming! as if anyone in this school could forget it. Everyone congregated in the hallways, gossip and buzz in overdrive, like they could already taste the sugary-sweet tropical punch, feel the air thick with Aqua Net and cheap cologne, and  hear Indiana’s most middling DJ blaring out school-approved pop and light rock, a tepid beat that would fill the auditorium in just a few hours time.

They turned a corner and were met head on with a wobbling tower of boxes, shiny silver streamers spilling out the top.

”Excuse me, coming through,” a voice called out, muffled behind the decorations. 

“Hey Nance, hold on a minute,” Dustin leapt forward and took the top one, pulling it away and revealing a very frazzled Nancy Wheeler with bloodshot eyes and a don't-cross-me kind of glare.

Rose felt guilty for standing unencumbered whilst they carried heavy loads of decorations, so she followed them, running forward and opening the double doors to let them into the auditorium.

“Thank you guys,” Nancy said breathlessly, stacking them on a table and directing Dustin to do the same. “I would have collapsed in the hallway without you. Wait, Rose? I haven’t seen you since last Friday, I was going to check up on your first week but you’ve been a hard woman to find. I checked the cafeteria but you weren’t there.”

“That’s nice of you. I was a little busy today, Dustin was helping with a project in the library.”

Nancy’s face screwed up. “Dustin? Well he is a great tutor, he was always the best at math and science, better than Mike, but don’t tell him that.”

Dustin looked smug. “Mike’s known since the seventh grade, that secret is out. But it wasn’t math or science, it was something a little more fantastical , if you get my drift.”

Nancy looked between them, realisation coming to her at last. “Oh my god, did he rope you into Dungeons and Dragons? Just remember those sessions go on for hours . Sometimes the whole day. And I would get so tired my eyes would blur, and I couldn't even see the dice anymore.”

“Amateur,” Dustin said under his breath. “And it was not I that did the roping. It was Eddie.”

“Munson?” She asked, confused. “Isn’t he a little...aggressive?”

“Not at all,” Rose said immediately. “Not even a little bit.”

She could only picture Eddie smiling; slow, creeping smiles that turned up his lips and lit up his onyx eyes; wide, manic grins that cried out joy and enthusiasm; and those smiles that were infectious, laughing wholeheartedly at Dustin or Gareth’s antics. The way he held her hand in the woods, gripping it like she could possibly let him go. The way he cradled her cheek, like she was made of fragile glass. How in the nine hells of Asmodeus could Eddie Munson be called aggressive? Okay, if you were shallow you might see the hair and the jacket and the wild charisma, but when did clothes become more important than who was under them?

“Okay,” Nancy replied eventually, a thoughtful quirk to her head. “You guys can go now, thanks for the help. I’ve roped in Fred to help with the last of the decorations. He’s not on the homecoming committee, but he’s volunteered to help anyway.”

Rose and Dustin said goodbye and headed out the door; the kid waited until the door closed firmly behind them before leaning into Rose, making sure no one was in earshot before speaking low into her ear.

“Fred Benson is not helping out of charity. He’s totally in love with Nance,” Dustin dished the dirt. “He follows her around like a little puppy dog, it’s kinda sappy.”

“Which one is Fred?” She whispered back, wary of insulting any of the guys in the hallway.

“Glasses, blonde hair, has a scar on his face. He’s in the school paper with Nancy.”

“And Nancy doesn’t like him back?”

Dustin chuckled. “Seriously, if you want gossip you should hang around more girls...not including Robin. It’s complicated. Fred is in love with Nancy, but her boyfriend Jonathan - Will the Wise’s older brother - just moved to California so they’re long distance now. But Nancy’s ex Steve still has a torch for her.”

Rose gasped. “Walkie-talkie Steve?”

“Yeah!” He squealed gleefully. “They dated in Nancy’s sophomore and Junior year, but broke up because she fell for Jonathan. It was a whole thing.”

“Wow,” Rose tried to keep up. “So half the school’s in love with Nancy Wheeler. Noted.”

Dustin’s skin flushed. “I may have liked her for a little while, but that was just a silly kid thing. And it was B.S.” Dustin saw her confusion and made a wild little gesture. “ Before Suzie , of course. You’re right though, half the school is in love with Nancy. And the other half is in love with Chrissy Cunningham.”

Chrissy...Rose had biology and English with the cheerleader, whose forlorn aura and sweet smile made her stand out against the bolder, more brash girls who hung about in those cliques, circling about the basketball players. Her anxiety flared again, the sudden memory of Andy and some unnamed meathead insulting her on her first day, calling her kinda fat , in comparison to Nancy the broom handle . It was insulting to both of them, to women in general, and it brought out the self-doubt she’d tried so hard to bury. 

Don’t do it, Rose, don’t do it .

“So,” she said, pretending to be casual. “Which half are the Hellfire guys in?”

“Ew, gross,” Dustin said immediately. “Some of us are basically related to Nancy, or at least it feels like it now we’ve grown out of any middle school crushes.”

One thing Rose had determined over the last week, and was fairly certain of, was that Gareth, Jeff and Chris knew something was up between her and Eddie. Gareth’s smirk was too smug, his eyes too watchful when she sat next to Eddie in the cafeteria. Mike and Lucas she could see were observant too, but Dustin? Dustin seemed to have no idea. Or if he did, he was an incredible actor.

She fidgeted nervously with the end of her French braid - which was totally a coincidence, not that she could be more easily held or kissed or whatever by a certain metalhead covered in snaggy silver jewellery - feeling like a complete idiot. “And the older guys?”

“They don’t like Nancy, I know that. I’ve definitely seen them looking at the cheerleaders. Eddie and Gareth had this whole thing about who was hotter, Trisha Miller or Chrissy Cunningham. Gareth said Trisha because of, well,” he shot an embarrassed look at her, “She fills out the front of her uniform, if you know what I mean. That was his whole argument: boobs. But Eddie said Chrissy had the delicate aura of an elf princess, which is far more gentlemanly. He’s so freakin’ cool. Don’t tell him I said that. I don’t wanna sound like a pleb.”

Rose’s answering nod was weak. “Got it. Not a plebeian. Just a regular old equite, a knight of the Republic, maybe even a senator. I could see you as a tribune of the people. Or a philosopher.”

“Oh my God you are such a nerd, Hellfire is lucky to have you. You know, I think Eddie likes having a girl in hellfire. But not like a girl , if you get what i’m saying. Not like that,” he gave her a signature gap-toothed grin. “You’re just like one of the guys!”

---

The brief space between her last two classes found her scuffing her feet on the floor of the hall, trudging to her locker without the infectious enthusiasm for Hellfire that she had earlier.

She stowed her books and the character sheet for later. Gareth’s drawing of the lady necromancer and cleric adorned the top of the page, an elegant figure in light leather armour and a cape, wearing a bone charm around her neck. Perhaps he’d focused too much on the boobs, it was looking a little...voluptuous. And the armour wasn’t really functional, far more decorative. Just like those stupid uniforms, come to think of it. Damn cheerleaders, with their nonexistent little skirts and bouncy ponytails, and -

“Whatcha doing, McAllister?” Robin’s head was right behind her locker door, popping up like a poltergeist in a haunted house.

“Jesus,” Rose clutched her chest. “Announce yourself next time. You’ll be the death of me.”

Robin gave her a toothy grimace. “Sorry. Come to think of it, that’s not the first time someone’s said that to me.”

“I’m getting you a bell.”

“Are we talking like a necklace with a cute little charm, or a full-on cat’s collar here? Cause i’m not sure I can be contained, you know? I once got locked in a gas station bathroom and I broke out in hives. The mere thought of being stuck in an elevator makes me wanna puke. Oh god, what if the lights cut out while I'm in there...”

Rose clicked her fingers in front of her friend’s zoned-out face. “Wake up, Buckley. You’re not in an elevator, or a coffin, or a locker, or anything confined. You’re spiralling.”

“Hey! Claustrophobia is no joking matter,” Robin fired back. She watched Rose heft her books into her satchel and slammed the locker door emphatically. “What did the locker do to you?”

“Nothing,” she said quickly. “Except for reminding me of my existential dread, social awkwardness, and the fact that i’ll die alone surrounded by a thousand cats.”

Robin’s nose scrunched up. “Do you even have a cat?”

The two of them fell in step, traversing the busy hallways to get to O’Donnell’s last period English class. 

“No, “ Rose said. “But I assume the cats will be attracted by my sad, spinster aura, and flock to the house in droves when I end up pathetic and alone. Maybe i’ll emit a strong catnip odour. It will just be me, a gigantic gothic murder mansion, and an army of cats. Come to think of it, I did see a mouse in the pantry last week chewing on a box of Ritz crackers. I screamed and smashed my favourite Bagpuss mug, and i’ll never find another one of those over here. Perhaps the cat army could come in handy.”

“See?” Robin casually slung her arm around Rose’s shoulder as they walked. “Look at you, thinking positively. But seriously though, why would you end up alone and miserable? You have your family. And me too, I'm your friend?”

Rose beamed. “Of course you are.”

“And the Hellfire guys.”

Her mouth twitched. “Hmm."

Robin stopped in her tracks, almost destabilising them, retracting her arm from Rose’s shoulder. “It’s those assholes, isn’t it. Have they said something weird or insulting? Done something utterly stupid?”

“It’s really nothing,” Rose said dismissively, folding her arms defensively.

Robin had none of it. Her blue eyes narrowed until they were dark and stormy. “I knew it. Something is going on. They’re teenage boys, they don’t have the self awareness to know how irredeemably, stupidly immature they sound. Whatever it is, i’ll knock some sense into them. But I should mention that i’m a pacifist at heart and I don’t even know how to throw a punch,” Robin pondered something, pointing her finger when an idea came to her. “I could ask Steve! Actually, he’s kind of a punchbag, i’m not sure he could survive another blow to the head. The man’s gonna end up with amnesia or something. So not Steve. Aha! I know a scathing, very intimidating middle schooler that we could rope in for Hellfire-defeating duties.”

“Robin, i’m not sending in a child to fight my battles,” Rose insisted. “Wait, its not even a battle! There is no battle, i’m just feeling..off.”

Robin groaned and looked at her long and hard. “Hey, are you busy this weekend?”

She shrugged. “Hellfire is tonight. We have to finish by six, or the Homecoming committee will turn us out of the drama room.”

“I don’t think many people have the right school spirit for Homecoming this year. I know Linda’s going, which makes me doubly glad i’m not. But what are you doing tomorrow?” Robin asked hopefully.

“I have three hundred years of American history to memorise before Ms Baldwin’s history assignment. But I can do that anytime.”

“Okay,” Robin grinned. “I have to work Saturday until six, but do you wanna watch a movie after? We can choose something the Hellfire guys will hate, something sophisticated, something...intellectual.”

A warm feeling spread in Rose’s chest, and she toyed with the strap of her bag, trying not to sound too desperate. “I would like that.”

Robin slapped her own forehead. “Agh, but my parents have this thing, this dinner party with my Dad’s old college friends. It’ll be three hours of smalltalk, devilled eggs, thousand island dip, and charades. And sherry, who drinks sherry? There’ll probably be reels of photographs from Mimsy’s trip to Nantucket. A fate worse than death.”

“We could...we could do it at my place?” Rose said, feeling emboldened by Robin’s willingness to suggest a weekend hangout, something beyond prescriptive school time. “My mum and Jerry will be there, but they are quiet, and I have the third floor all to myself. It would be like they weren’t even there. You could even sleep over, if you wanted to. I know the house is a bit...dilapidated. But there are only four windows still boarded up, the rest have all been replaced. And no more leaks!”

She felt stupid even asking; she was eighteen, not eight. Do young adults even do sleepovers?

“A movie night in a dilapidated murder mansion? Are you kidding? It’s so whimsical!” Robin was excited, hands gesticulating at a hundred miles an hour. “If you stop by Family Video before we close, we can have our pick of movies, courtesy of a very special employee-perk a.k.a what Keith doesn’t know, won’t kill him. Plus you can meet Steve.”

Rose cocked her head to one side, thinking through the mutual friend everybody seemed to have. “I don’t understand how everyone knows this Steve.”

Robin grew shifty, fidgeting and looking anywhere but Rose’s eyes. “Just, normal places. Work, school. You know, where everybody meets everybody. Oh, and if he hits on you, just let him down gently. He’s had a bad year in the romance department.”

“So Dustin tells me,” Rose said. She zoned out as Robin nattered about Steve’s failed dates and some kind of scoreboard, because she spotted Eddie’s unmistakeable figure coming down the hallway, toward Mrs O’Donnell’s classroom door. 

Where others walked, Eddie swaggered. He was all gangly limbs, swerving around the corner as came into the corridor, almost knocking over other students, brushing off their angry looks or jeers with a middle finger or a scary face. But today, he actually had a book. Hell, he had two books in his hand, tucked against his battle vest. Rose had gathered from their few shared classes and the brief, staggeringly honest exchange in the woods on Monday that Eddie was not exactly committed to academics. He tried, he showed up most of the time, but he was often fidgety, overwhelmed or completely buried in his own head rather than the lesson. Yet she knew he read fantasy extensively and designed complex D&D campaigns that required a serious degree of storytelling. 

Eddie hadn’t seen her yet. He hovered by the door, face falling as he looked inside. He’d paused on the threshold of the classroom like he might still make a run for it. She should wave, she should run up and say hello...maybe they could sit together. Who was she kidding, she was definitely sitting next to him if the seat was still free, just like on Monday.

But now, thanks to Dustin bloody Henderson, every bit of her recent burst of confidence was put into doubt. What if he was looking for a cheerleader? Did he search for Chrissy Cunningham in the crowd, with her gentle Elvish princess aura or whatever else Dustin had repeated to her? 

Rose looked down at herself, her Live Aid t-shirt, acid wash jeans, and Doc Martens, and felt incredibly underdressed. Well, at least she’d blend in with the Hellfire boys tonight; it might not be an official Hellfire shirt, but it had a similar vibe. It certainly felt more her than the awful pink high-collared cardigan she’d thrown over a dress last Friday on her first day, in a desperate attempt to cover her surgical scar.

She was miles deep in desperate thoughts about her own imperfections compared to the gaggle of cheerleaders that hovered nearby, all seeming to take her English class, when Eddie looked up. Their eyes met across the hall, a single sizzling, sparking second of contact that almost affected her as physically, as the near-kiss, even though they were twenty feet apart. 

Eddie’s brash, confident personal bled out of him until he was like jelly, leaning against the doorframe for support, eyes bright and hopeful. God, she’d missed that dopey smile. It was no more than 24 hours since they last spoke, but in a single week of acquaintance a day was a long time. Too long. She hugged her copy of Poe to her chest, not sure if she should wave. Is waving too much? Too boring? 

Rose’s arm twitched before her brain engaged; her imagination ran away with her and she did a weird little curtsey, actually dipping at the knee and nodding her head; to Eddie’s absolute, crazy-grinned delight. He did a full-on bow in response, bending at the waist, arm spreading wide.

Her view of Eddie’s theatrics were cut off as Robin stepped into her field of view dramatically, her freckled face only inches away.

“Oh, i’m sorry,” Robin’s voice was teasing, vibrating with restrained energy. “Am I interrupting something here?”

Rose snapped back to her friend. “What?”

“Don’t you give me that , it’s me that’s asking ‘what’...as in what the hell did I just witness?”

Nerves hit her in the stomach, like she’d been caught with her hand in the biscuit jar. Just as she opened her mouth and ready to babble some meaningless excuse or denial, the shrill bell rang out just above their heads, Rose flinching and clutching onto her books.

Rose drew as tall as she could - still several inches shorter than Robin - and tried to look dignified and imperious. “I have no idea what you are talking about. A girl can curtsey if she likes, nothing wrong with it. In fact-”

Robin’s gasp was loud and drawn out. “Oh my god. You like him.”

Heart racing, palm-sweating. Rose didn’t like that feeling, it reminded her too much of being ill, and damn did all this fancying him push her close to that heart-fluttering feeling. She walked toward O’Donnell’s room, where Eddie had gone inside with all the rest of the waiting seniors. “I like all the Hellfire guys,” she whispered to Robin. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Robin looked like a ripe tomato, red, cheeks about to burst. She was about to say something when Rose ducked into the class, using Mrs O’Donnell and her class as a shield, knowing they couldn’t talk freely beneath her bespectacled, scathing gaze.

She let out a deeply held breath, relieved and nervous when she saw Eddie in his usual spot at the back, winking at her and nodding toward the empty seat by his side. 

She could feel Robin’s eyes upon her back as she fled to the back of the classroom and took the empty spot.

“Milady,” Eddie greeted, mischief in his eyes. “I had to fend off an army of orcs to keep the spot free, so you’d better take it.”

“Orcs?” Rose raised a brow.

He shrugged and pointed with his skull-ringed finger toward the front of the room. Gareth was sat between two of the mathletes from the terribly named science geek lunch table, brooding, arms crossed over his chest and shooting Eddie dirty looks. 

She grimaced. “Oh no. I don’t want to piss off Gareth. He might stab me in the back during the campaign later. And i’m not sure if I mean literally, or in the imaginary landscape of the Icewind Dale. I could move, if it will make him feel better.”

Eddie leaned over, and put his hand on her desk table. “Gareth the Great will survive. In fact, he might just concentrate more up there without me distracting him. I’m basically inflating his grade from a C minus to a B.”

“So generous of you,” Rose smiled, staring at his hand, just a finger’s width from hers. “So now it’s my turn to be distracted? Didn’t think about my grades, did you?”

When she turned to face the front, Robin was sitting four desks away,  neck craned comically, keeping an eye on their interaction. 

Eddie didn’t seem to notice, his voice low as he replied. “What’s the worst I could do, drag you down from A plus plus to a measly A single plus? I get the feeling that you know more about this literary shit than Mrs O’Donnell ever has, and you’re just sitting amongst us mere mortals to pass the time.”

“We actually have a double plus at home, it’s called an A star, but...it’s silly really,” A shaky laugh came from Rose’s throat, one she silenced quickly when the teacher’s chair scraped against the floor and O’Donnell stood, surveying the students with a predatory gleam.

“You’re all looking forward to Homecoming tonight, aren’t you,” O’Donnell said gleefully. “Dreaming of corsages and slow dances. But before you scurry home and put on your fancy frocks and bow ties, you owe me something. Assignments.”

Andy the meathead slunk deeper into his chair, with a low, desperate groan.

“Yes, Andrew.” O’Donnell pointed at him. “I will be paying particular attention to your grade this semester. Come on now, everyone pass your assignments forward. Don’t forget, this will count as ten percent of your final grade.”

A whole room shuffled and produced stacks of papers from the inside of their books or their bags on the floor. Rose pulled out a ten page behemoth she had penned at home in the window seat of her attic room.

Eddie plucked out two creased pages from the inside of his jacket, and eyed hers with a nervous smile. “Jeez, did you write a novel or something? How long did that take you?”

Rose bit her bottom lip, feeling her face warm up. “Not that long. But the power cut on Wednesday night really helped, there was nothing to do but read by candlelight in my room.”

He nodded vigorously, passing their essays to the guy in front. “Cool, uh, cool image. Big creepy mansion, candlelight, rooms, bedrooms with...beds. Very gothic.”

“I suppose,” she said weakly. Better than admitting she had nothing else to do on a weeknight than delve into literary analysis in her bedroom, watched over by her wall of handsome musicians and actors pulled from the glossy pages of magazines.

“Wait,” Eddie burst out, head cocked to one side. “What power cut?”

“Thank you class,” O’Donnell interrupted them. “Barring Andrew, of course. If you can’t produce an essay by Monday you’ll be marked as a zero. Which somehow means, Mr Munson, that you handed in an essay on time. I think this has to be a first. I take it this one is yours?”

Mrs O’Donnell held aloft Eddie’s two-pager and she could see it was headed with an eye-catching drawing of a beating heart, anatomically correct...just like the one she’d sketched on his desk last week.

“That’s right, Mrs O,” Eddie said with a smug grin. “But be gentle with my heart, I don’t know if it can take another F.”

The teacher held it with two fingers, slightly away from her body like it might be covered in something unpleasant. “It’s certainly...something. I’m surprised you stopped staring at the cheerleaders long enough to read a single word of Edgar Allen Poe. Let’s hope you can keep it up.”

Oh shit. Rose wasn’t sure which hurt more, the entire class making disgusted noises and turning in their direction, or the sudden realisation that Chrissy Cunningham was three seats in front of Eddie, directly in his field of view. Chrissy was the only one that hadn’t turned around, like she was in her own world, picking at the beds of her reddened, bitten nails. Coincidence or not, it was enough to drain the confidence from her yet again.

“Fucking freak,” Jason Carver muttered under his breath. Rose didn’t miss that he looked between her and Eddie, seemingly just noticing the proximity of the freak to the new girl, his brain slowly ticking and putting together an association of some kind. Not that she cared for the opinion of a such a crowd-peddling narcissist, 

O’Donnell gathered the papers and swung right into the lesson, giving them three poems to read in silence whilst she marked the assignments at the desk, sipping from a mug of steaming black coffee. The woman looked up and snuck a glimpse at Eddie and her, and Rose just knew it. The woman had it out for him, big time.

Rose kept her head down, reading the page a dozen times and not taking in a single line of poetry. Sure, Eddie had flirted with her. Even she was clued up enough to recognise that. But was that because she was just there, literally walking into his domain last week in Hellfire? Was she a consolation prize? 

A grating, irritating noise sounded to her left. She snuck a glance past her makeshift shield a.k.a. notebook, and Eddie was downcast, pencil tapping incessantly on his book, completely wired and ignoring the book altogether. It was worrying, like he was disassociated from the classroom, not able to concentrate on the work, about to snap at any second.

Something clicked within her; he looked like she had felt, stuck in a bright, sterile hospital ward, tethered to bleeping monitors by wired electrodes stuck to her chest, worried sick every second that this was how she would die. That panic threatened her now, an urgent need to flee, her breathing coming hard. If this was how Eddie reacted to a classroom, no wonder his grades had suffered. No wonder he’d repeated senior year not once, but twice now. Rose was kind of in awe that someone would put themselves in that situation willingly, over and over again. She didn’t think she could.

Fuck O’Donnell, fuck the Jason Carvers and the Andys of the world, those that made Hawkins High a real hell for Eddie and those who were different. Rose made a silent vow to herself that she’d help Eddie get through this class, no matter what. Romantic weirdness aside, that smug bitch O’Donnell was not getting one over on them. Not on her watch.

An hour of silent reading later they were turned out of the classroom, collecting their assignments on the way out. Gareth had passed her something covertly and headed early to the drama room, to meet Chris and Jeff before the session began. And as Eddie hadn’t yet left his desk, Rose said a quick goodbye to a very perplexed Robin. Her friend was obviously about to explode with questions, but had to leave as the mysterious walkie-talkie Steve was giving her a ride to her Friday night shift at Family Video.

Eddie was last out of the class, face buried in his assignment. He saw her waiting, flipping over the page and pointing to a big, red D overlapping the sketch of the heart.

“It’s not much,” he said, squirming from her gaze. “But all I need is a D in Mrs O’Donnell’s, and then I should have enough credits to graduate. So it's better than an F.”

“That’s fantastic. Ten percent of the class, already locked down. Ninety to go,” she prattled nervously. “You felt compelled to actually read the story then? It’s as exciting as Tolkien.”

His confident grin returned slowly. “What can I say, I’ve developed a sudden interest in beating hearts and haunted houses. Both very metal. But what did you get, an A or an A plus? Oooh, don’t say a B, you couldn’t live with the shame.”

Rose stepped closer. “Oh, that assignment? Yes, it was an A plus, though she left a note complaining about the length and some of the source material being outside of the curriculum. But actually, i’ve been waiting to hand in my real assignment all day.”

He looked perplexed, brows furrowing, big doe-eyes looking around like he might find the answer in the corner of the room. “Uh...what?”

She produced a sheet of paper from behind her back, holding it up; her newly illustrated character sheet, Lady Ceverra beautifully drawn in monochrome by Gareth during his Art class, except for the red of her hair beneath a dark hooded cloak. It looked like something from a comic book, but less childish, more gothic. 

Eddie’s eyes widened until they almost popped from his head, scanning the drawing, surrounded by her calligraphic script with her character’s name, boxes full of stats, and alignment. “McAllister, what the hell? You did this since last Friday?”

His hand reached out to take the sheet but she pulled it back, planting a hand on his chest to keep his greedy hands away. “It’s a surprise. No reading it before the campaign, dungeon master. You’ll have to discover who Lady Ceverra is as we go through whatever you have planned for us tonight.”

She could feel the rumbling in his chest as he laughed. Somehow her hand had slipped past the layers of open denim and leather, resting over his Hellfire shirt, warm and solid chest right beneath her palm.

“Gimme,” he said, trying to snake his arms past her. “I see some seriously badass leather armour, and suspiciously low cut...did Gareth draw it for you?” He did a dramatic gasp. “Have you been meeting all the guys behind my back, McAllister?”

Rose’s lips twitched upwards. “Only Gareth. And Dustin; that’s why he was missing from lunch today.”

“That little shit. I thought he had the stomach flu. Give it, I wanna see!”

Rose twisted away, keeping the paper away from his grasping hands, surrounded by a curtain of his hair. “No, you’ll have to wait! Be patient!”

She broke away, dodging from him and stepping backward, running down the now-empty corridor with Eddie in pursuit, the place echoing with footsteps and their laughter. She felt like a kid again, being chased in the playground in a game of tag, without a care in the world. She rounded a corner and ducked into an alcove, letting Eddie run past. He kept going to the drama room, arms flailing, wobbling about like a goofball. He has such a stupid run that she couldn’t make it to the drama room door without a breathless cackle coming from her throat, alerting Eddie to her presence as he was about to burst through the door.

“What the hell?” He said, whipping around. “Your stealth must be off the charts.”

She raised the character sheet. “Try Wisdom and Intelligence.”

He bounded over to her like an over-eager puppy, chains clanking on his jeans, hair swishing manically around his face. “Oh please, Lady Ceverra. This humble bard only wishes to learn more about you.”

Her laughter slowed down, became more of a low hum in her throat, finding herself with her back pressed against a locker and Eddie bracing his arm just inches from her head, not caging her in completely but overwhelming her senses.

She held up the paper, obscuring the lower half of her face with it. “Is it proper for the Dungeon Master to read a character sheet before a session?”

Eddie’s eyes were wicked in the gloomy hall, with half the lights turned off already. “I don’t know about proper. More, uh...insatiable curiosity, I guess. I just can’t help it. Not when it comes to you, Rosie. Will you show me who you are?”

This was more than D&D, the seriousness of his tone was clear. And the way he was ignoring the sheet, looking right into her eyes. Her hand dropped and limbs had turned to warm jelly, surrounded by Eddie, still not getting enough , her fingers and lips tingling with the need to touch, to do something phys-

“Oh shit, you two disappear for a minute and you’re getting all pon farr on the lockers,” a very pissed off Jeff said, emerging from the drama room. “Hey, that’s my locker!”

“Goddamn it Jeff,” Eddie gave Rose an apologetic look and pulled away from the locker reluctantly, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Enough with the sci-fi references. Not everyone watches Battlestar Galactica.”

Jeff looked like he might pass out. “Woah, woah, woah...that’s Star Trek, not Battlestar. How could you, man. I know you're more of a fantasy guy, but you’ve gotta respect the greatest TV show on the face of the planet.”

“Alright, alright,” Eddie sighed and shepherded Jeff into the Hellfire room and looked back nervously, gesturing to Rose to enter. “If the Lady Ceverra will forgive the foolish jester back there, could I still tempt her inside? The party of adventurers won’t be the same without her.”

Rose peeled herself from the lockers, her back aching from the cold metal. “You can’t put me off now, Dungeon Master. But one question. What’s a pon farr?”

Jeff’s muffled voice called out from within. “It’s a Vulcan mating rit-”

Eddie leapt inside, suddenly filled with panic. “Shut it. Silence Jeff, I swear to god i’ll tape your mouth up if you don’t stop right this minute.”

---

“Your quest has led you to here, every tavern rumour, bribe and threat to the wizards of the Citadel has proven right. The burial mound slopes gently in the wooded hollow, weathered by storm and wind and frost over eons of time, now smothered in vines and moss. The entire mound emits an aura of magic, intense magic. There are wards placed to keep out magic users like you. What’s inside, you ask? Oh, I don’t know, you’ll have to find out yourself by exploring the dark, dank tunnel crumbling into its side. Damp air, thick with mouldering earth, stale with decay, lingers at the tunnel mouth. Do you dare enter?”

When Eddie, reclining on his throne with goblet in hand like he was at a bacchanal, finished his monologue, the party looked at each other one by one. Gareth flexed his knuckles like he was faced with a physical fight, Dustin was nodding vigorously, and Lucas tightened the bandana around his forehead, like he was Rambo himself. 

“Do you even have to ask?” Chris said scathingly. “Each one of us has bled for this moment, dungeon master. I, Thordus Boulderbash, enter the tunnel with my axe-”

“Wait, we’re the Circle of Eight, remember?” Mike prompted him. “We’re playing as wizards for the beginning of the campaign.”

Rose leaned forward onto her elbows. “Wait, why is that? I spent so much time on Lady Ceverra, I was looking forward to playing her.”

Eddie raised his goblet, and threw his leg over one of the arms of his wooden throne. “Children, and milady , hold on. It’s all about trust, man. Let me guide you through this,” he turned to Rose, seated on his right hand side just like last week. “Sweetheart, I know you were excited about this. Just be patient. And in the meantime, you can make the wizard you’re playing now a cleric. You can still heal and eventually raise the dead.”

“Okay,” Rose sighed. “I trust you.”

Jeff muttered under his breath. “I’ve been scarred by Eddie too many times...I feel something big coming, something bigger than a demogorgon, man.”

Dustin nudged Lucas and whispered; Rose had no idea how all the younger boys acted when all three were together, so she just observed and assumed this was all normal.

“We climb into the tunnel,” Gareth picked up the narrative thread. “One by one, we get on our knees and crawl through the dirt, raising torches to light the way.”

Eddie rolled a dice behind his screen. He hissed and popped up, grimacing at them. “Sorry my little adventurers, that’s...a rockfall. You’re clambering through the tunnel and the roof collapses, causing ten damage to the last three people into the tunnel, sealing off your exit. Now, you’re trapped.”

Lucas moaned loudly. “Why did I have to go last? Last is usually safest. Wait - Rose, you’re a cleric, right? Can you do a healing spell? Keep up my HP?”

Rose’s brows raised, and she looked around the table. “Can I?”

Eddie nodded. “You can.”

Rose whistled with relief and threw a d20. 

“That’s a miss, sweetheart,” Eddie says gently. “You all proceed, damage remains.”

“I feel useless already,” she said.

“You’re level one, it’s kind of expected,” Dustin explained. “But look on the bright side! It only gets better from here. Sure, you’ll be slow, miss most of your attacks, and won’t be able to use your necromantic powers until you hit level ten, but you’ll get there.”

Rose tried to mask her disappointment. “Level ten?” 

Eddie placed down his goblet, sitting upright like a normal human for once. He waited, each second he purposefully paused drawing out the tension in the room. “Necromancer’s aren’t born, milady. They have no natural place in the order of things. The land of Greyhawke might be full of magic, but life and death, those are...immutable. And the power to raise something already dead back to life? That’s against nature. That’s something you earn with blood, sweat, tears and a mother fucking tonne of XP points. But when you get there, it’s...intoxicating, like a high,” he gave her a smile that travelled straight into her veins, pulsing warm and dizzy all around her body. “When the time comes, you’ll fucking love raising the dead.”

Rose cleared her throat and pressed together her legs, aware of a very distressing, very urgent pulsing in places other than her heart, hopeful that the other guys didn’t notice the flush to her skin. “So, um, why does it take a necromancer so long to build up to their attacks?”

It was Mike who answered, his gangly awkwardness long gone, confident in the game and as knowledgeable as Eddie. She remembered he was the younger boys’ Dungeon Master.

“Whether good or evil, a necromancer can’t just practice raising the dead straight away,” Mike gestured with his pencil to the board and the character sheets they all placed in front of them. “There’s not really a halfway to raising the dead, right? They will have to practice slowly sucking the life force out of people before they can make their first thrall - that’s the zombie they create, a thrall. So it might be like they’re sucking the energy out of someone for a long time, making them sick. Like...their eyes might start bleeding, organs sucked out their bodies.”

“I guess,” Lucas chimed in, with a grin. “But I think it's more psychic than physical. So they might feel sick and have headaches and shit, but they’ll look fine, until suddenly they’re not fine at all. The lich is hungry, and they need a snack before they have the energy to fully raise the dead. But once a necromancer has practiced enough? Once he or she has reached level ten? All bets are off. Their Raise Dead spell is like a nuclear bomb on the D&D board, a weapon more powerful than most other classes. They go from nought to sixty, killing and raising people as thralls left and right.”

Rose looked down at Lady Ceverra, at the drawing Gareth had finished this afternoon. The drama room spotlights and flickering pillar candles lit up a fighter in light armour, a cleric with healing skill, and one day, a necromancer. A thing of power, but with that power came the serious temptation of evil. Whether her character could resist all that temptation at level ten was to be seen. Raising creatures from the dead sounded fun, but she’d been dead herself, technically. Even if it was just a few minutes. Was she a thrall, bound to do others bidding? Or now she was alive again, was she truly herself?

The game went on for three hours, screaming, jeering, dice flying across the table. They encountered a horde of gargoyles in the burial chamber, losing Lucas to the creatures before the party could make it to the main chamber in the burial mound. Chris was slain at the burial chamber, inhaling poisonous spores, and their party became just five.

Eddie ducked behind his screen again and read through his meticulous notes, then he launched upward, standing on the throne, speaking down to them like a King to his subjects.

“You creep into the burial chamber. Runes on the wall are familiar, but older than any you’ve seen before, layered with a thousand years of dust. And all around a central sarcophagus are long given offerings of wine, incense, coin, and something even more sinister...corpses of animals, of people, pitchers of dried blood filling the air with the thick scent of copper and iron.”

“Oh man,” Gareth said shakily, hands buried in his hair. “I don’t like this.”

Eddie smiled, and continued. “A blast of air colder than ice, colder than death itself, ripples through the chamber. It sucks the very last breath from Dustin, killing him on the spot.”

“What?” Dustin threw his hat across the room. “What the hell, Eddie? I didn’t even get to roll?”

“Mike is next,” Eddie says, sinister, creeping toward the back of the boy’s chair. “Your lungs struggle, coughing and snapping something in your body, gargling on the sudden warmth of your own blood and choking to death.”

“Thanks,” Mike said, deadpan.

Eddie crept around the table clockwise, talking to each of his friends, and Rose got a vague idea of what was happening. 

“Jeff, you’re next. Death comes for you as swift as a knife in the dark. Then Gareth...ah, Gareth. Your power is obvious, your skill known throughout the land. But even you cannot face the forces of darkness and evil alone. You form a fireball with your hands just as the cold takes you, desperate for its warmth. Your body shrivels and hits the floor in an instant. But the light it casts illuminates the dark chamber for just a second...”

Eddie turned to her, his dark eyes wild, the candlelight flickering in their glassy depths.  “Lady Rose, the flare of light gives you just long enough to see a lumpy, grotesque shape emerge from the sarcophagus...a skeletal frame, grey-skinned, with white hair and broken teeth. He raises two gaunt hands toward you and snaps your neck with a single click of his fingers. And his last words? Hail, Vecna.”

“Jesus Christ!” Dustin flung his pencil on the table. “The wards weren’t there to keep wizards out, they were there to keep Vecna in!”

The guys made noises of shock and horror, Rose holding her breath, waiting for an explanation.

“Hold on, it can’t be Vecna,” Gareth said to the group. “The thing had two hands. We know Vecna’s left eye and left hand were sacrificed long ago, so this is just one of his followers, another necromancer. The fucking Cult of Vecna, dude. This campaign is going to break us, it’s going to kill us all.”

Rose was confused. She let them talk amongst themselves about the significance of the villains she’d never heard of before, but her eyes kept going back to her character.

“But we all just died!” She shouted, cutting over the masculine voices. “Isn’t that the end of the campaign?”

Eddie leaned toward her, palms planted on the wooden tabletop. “She’s right, you did just die, so let me finish. Rose, your wizard is dead, as are all of you. The Circle of Eight - which you were playing as - has perished in the tomb, releasing a powerful lich, a cultist of Vecna. But as each of you die, you wake in your mortal bodies. Rose, that means you’re now playing as Lady Ceverra, and everyone else as their own characters. Each one of you awakens with the same thought: Vecna will rise, and the Circle of Eight is slain, the last force strong enough to contain his evil already fallen. One thing each of you know is that you must find Mordenkainen, the Circle’s leader, the last hope for defeating Vecna and his cultists. The quest for Mordenkainen is next week, brave warriors. Get your characters ready, this is the start of my longest campaign yet, we’re talking months.”

“Holy shit,” Dustin cried out. “Vecna is going to be so tough.”

“I know,” Lucas shook his head. “Erica is going to be so jealous. She’ll pretend it's dorky, but she secretly thrives on shit like this.”

Rose felt so behind compared to the others, out of her depth when it came to the gameplay and technical knowledge. She smiled weakly and packed up her things with the others, blowing out candles and wafting away the smoke before the Homecoming committee barged in and accused them of smoking.

A hand appeared on her shoulder; Eddie, with his bashful smile, trying to stop her from tidying the room.

“Hey.”

She smiled back. “Hey.”

Wow. Thrilling exchange, McAllister. What next, how are you? Do you come here often?

Eddie crossed his arms over his Hellfire-emblazoned shirt. “So Vecna is basically the Witch-king of Angmar, once a king, kind of ascended to godhood but not really. So  maybe a cross between the Witch-king and Sauron?”

“Ah, my nemesis,” Rose laughed. “Because...because i’m Eowyn...from last week.”

Eddie blinked a couple of times. “No, I get it. Very appropriate. But Vecna’s a big deal, I hope you have fun. I mean, the whole point is to have fun whilst doing this. So if at any point you think it's boring or don’t wanna continue, please don't pretend and secretly grow to loathe and hate me for dragging you here. What I mean...I mean...”

Rose hushed him. “No one is forcing me to be here. I like it, your storytelling is amazing, and the guys are all fun.”

He seemed to like that, growing brighter as she spoke. “So you’re not going to Homecoming tonight then? No desire to put on a poofy dress and dance? You know, they’ll probably play some Duran Duran at some point. Your favourite.”

Eddie did a little tap dance across the drama room, with the guys in the background making groans of despair or laughing along as they saw him up to his usual antics. He looped around the table and came right back to Rose, bowing at the end.

“Is that how people dance at school events? Like their boots are on fire?”

“Nope, that’s the Hellfire special, dance like Satan’s watching you, and your feet are licked by the flames of hell itself.”

“Satan licks feet?” Rose feigned surprise, hand on her chest. “That’s a bit  kinky. I would expect no less from the dark lord himself.”

Eddie’s grin was a mile wide, and he bit his bottom lip rather sinfully. “You just wait until Halloween. The ritual sacrifice is so worth a whole year of red tape and consent forms.”

Chris made a disgusted noise in his throat as he walked by, putting on his own leather jacket and getting ready to leave.

Dustin, Mike and Lucas ran out, called by someone’s parents in the hall, probably Mike’s mom dropping Nancy off early for homecoming prep.

Eddie watched go fondly, and turned back to Rose. “Your Balrog isn’t here yet?”

“My mum? No, she’s relaxed her claws a little bit. She’s not very well, and my stepdad’s working late, so I get to take the bus. It’s quite exciting really, she’s been overprotective about it for years, like she thinks I need to be within ten feet of a trained paramedic or first aider for the rest of my life.”

Eddie’s frown lined his face deeply, mouth pursed and slightly open. “You’re getting the bus? But that doesn’t come for almost an hour.”

“I’ll wait. Maybe Nancy needs help with decorations or punch-bowl filling.”

He wasn’t convinced. “Nope. Nuh-huh. The carriage has plenty of room, i’ll give you a ride home if you don’t mind sitting next to Gareth for a while, his place isn’t too far.”

Rose toyed with her hands, fidgeting awkwardly. “Really? You’re sure?” 

“Deathly serious,” he replied. “No maiden roams the streets and takes the bus on my watch. Besides, we can continue your metal education, introduce you to a few new songs. I still have to build you up to Megadeath, remember?”

“Sounds...slightly terrifying. But thank you.”

He went a little shy, grabbing the back of his neck and avoiding eye contact. “You never have to ask, alright? Just tell me when you need to get home after Hellfire...or school, or whatever. The van is at your service. And, uh, me too. At your service. Just, whenever.”

Rose could hardly stop smiling, a smile that persisted all the way through clearing the drama room, through Gareth calling shotgun as they walked through the parking lot, through Eddie insisting she get the seat closest to him, but only because Gareth’s house was first, so he’d need to be by the door.

The chariot smelled of cigarettes, weed, and stale fries. But Eddie opened the van door for her like a true gentleman, running to his own side and scooping up wrappers and all kinds of stuff that lived on the front seat, throwing it into the back frantically. She climbed in and buckled the seatbelt, examining the stack of tapes he’d shoved on the dash; Judas Priest, Dio, W.A.S.P, and Jimi Hendrix. 

Gareth crammed into the seat by the door, and Eddie took the wheel, engine roaring into life with an aggravated growl. 

“Hold onto your hats, ladies and gentlemen,” Eddie threw the van into reverse, swinging his arm right behind Rose’s shoulders to look out the back. The van jerked backwards across the lot, swerving around a corner so quickly the thing felt like it would flip over, rubber screeching on the tarmac.

“Jesus,” Gareth hissed. “Lighten up on the gas, dickhead.”

“Drama queen,” Eddie said sheepishly.

Despite clinging onto the seat belt for dear life, Rose was more focused on the arm snaking dangerously close to her shoulders, feeling bereft when he withdrew it. “So what’s next on my metal journey?” Rose asked. “Do I get something heavy yet?”

Gareth replied before Eddie could open his mouth. “Don’t let this guy brainwash you with his Dio obsession. Ozzy Sabbath is the best Sabbath.”

“I have nothing against the Prince of Darkness!” Eddie’s voice rang out shrill in the small van cab. “Lady Evil and Heaven and Hell just happen to be great songs, that’s all.”

Gareth chuckled sarcastically. “Better than War Pigs? Better than Iron Man or Paranoid?” He scrambled around and found a tape, leaning over Rose and shoving it in the cassette player. “You know Sabbath wrote Paranoid in under an hour, just to fill up the album. One of the greatest metal songs of all time was just Ozzy’s filler . How can Dio compete with that?”

Gareth punched the play button and the opening riff blasted in her ears, her hands coming up to muffle them.

“Sorry,” Eddie reached over for the dial and turned it down, swerving just a little as they came out onto the main road. 

“It’s a miracle you still have any hearing left,” Rose commented. Her knee bounced to the rhythm of the song. “I like this. Weird that he’s blaming his girlfriend for his craziness, but I can overlook it.”

“See?” Gareth said smugly. “Ozzy Sabbath is the pinnacle.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Eddie murmured. “Lady Evil still kicks ass. Dio has the range, you can’t deny it.”

Rose laughed and just observed ad the guys argued back and forth in the ten minutes it took to get to Gareth’s house, a split level ranch in a neat, tidy neighbourhood, the very picture of suburbia with manicured lawns, little garden gnomes and flower beds, and practical sedans and station wagons parked on the roomy driveways.

“Don’t forget practice on Sunday,” Gareth called out as he leapt down from the van. “You still owe me those extra drumsticks.”

Eddie nodded. “I’m good for it. See you later, man.” 

The van door closed and Rose was acutely aware of their proximity, and the fact that they were alone again.

“So,” Eddie grinned. “The cassette player is all yours now, milady. What do you want to play?”

She hummed, making a show of thinking intently. “Give me something heavy. I can take it, I promise. What’s your favourite?”

Eddie sucked in his breath and whistled. “Oh, I don’t know. Not sure if you can handle it.”

Rose pivoted in her seat, belt straining across her chest. “Is that what you think, hmm? I’m not delicate, trust me. Favourite song, give it to me.”

Eddie swallowed hard. “I...I, uh think I can do that. Maybe it's time to introduce you to Metallica. I mean, it’s only fair after I listened to about an hour of Duran Duran last weekend.”

“Hey,” she swatted his arm. “No one forced you to eavesdrop on my personal mix tape, Edgar Munson .”

“I knew you’d pull the Edgar card eventually,” he chuckled as they pulled out of Gareth’s drive, back on the road again. “I told you, restraint isn’t my strong suit, sweetheart. God, what do they all even do? Do they have instruments, or just stand around doing a little dance as they sing backing vocals for the main Simon Le Bond or whatever?”

“Simon Le Bon,” she corrected. “But stop trying to distract me, give me some Metallica.”

He grabbed a tape from the dash and tossed it over to her, an electric blue case, forked with lightning, with the band’s name in big letters. “Fast forward for a few seconds, press play exactly when I tell you. Keep going...now.”

Rose hit the button and a sonorous church bell rang out, followed by a heavy guitar riff, the sound filling the whole van. She let the music unfold, watching Eddie headbang and tap his ringed fingers on the steering wheel out the corner of her eye.

By the time the vocals kicked in she was nodding with him, bowled over by the incredible guitar work. It might be kind of a new genre to her, but there was something so atmospheric about it, unpretentious, out there...very Eddie. A drumline so strong it thrummed through her like a heartbeat.

Minutes later, the song faded slowly away, and Rose snuck another glance at him. 

“You like?” he asked, face vulnerable. “Don’t lie if it’s too much.”

Rose smiled. “I like. A lot.”

He let out a breath, sagging against the steering wheel. “That’s good.”

“So what’s next? More Metallica, or do I get to graduate to Megadeth?”

Eddie cocked his head in surprise. “As much as I wanna walk you through my whole collection, you know you’re home, right?”

She startled, looking out the window. They were parked on her vast driveway, sweeping up to the double-fronted house, the grey-blue faded paintwork of the gothic mansion fading into the gloomy dusk, bright lights in the first floor windows lighting the place from within like a great big jack-o-lantern. “Oh.”

“Yeah.”

She gripped her satchel hard, stilling her fidgeting fingers, leaning back against the lumpy van seat. “Maybe, do you want to...you could come in. I mean, if you wanted to.”

Eddie grabbed a handful of his hair and covered his mouth. “You want me to come in?”

Rose felt so utterly lame, so bumbling and terrible at talking to him, that she willed the ground to swallow her up whole. “Only if you want to.”

He leaned in, looking between her and the house. “I don’t think I should.”

Rose nodded vigorously, unbuckling her seatbelt and reaching for the door, clambering out as quickly as she could. “Of course, no big deal. It's Friday night, after all. That was stupid of me to assume you wouldn’t have any plans-”

Eddie’s door slammed as she backed away from the van, and before she knew it he was out on the path ahead of her, palms held up like she was skittish and about to run away - which she supposed, she was about to do. “No, no, no,” he said frantically. “I mean I literally can’t come in. I, uh, I really want to. Like really . But I promised someone I wouldn’t, and I don’t want to break that promise.”

“Ah,” she said slowly. Oh god. This was the part where he admitted to having a girlfriend, wasn’t it? Someone less bookish, someone metal , who wore leather and listened to Megadeth every day with her breakfast. Not Duran Duran. God , she probably had a Megadeth tattoo. Complete fucking opposite of Rose. What the hell, she was probably a cheerleader too. A rocker-cheerleader, with blood red lipstick and teased out Joan Jett hair, and nipple piercings. Yep, an anti-Rose. 

Eddie sighed, frustrated, crossing his arms and pivoting about, feet restless. “I can’t be that guy, going back on my word, you know? Everyone expects a Munson to be a fuckup, a criminal, a cheat. I don’t wanna be like that.”

Rose laughed, but instead of careless and breezy it came out deranged and shrill. “I get it, Eddie. Thanks for the ride. I’ll see you in class next week.”

She dodged around him and marched up the path, towards the imposing house. Don’t turn around, she told herself, tears stupidly prickling at the corner of her eyes. Don’t look back. She fumbled with her keys at the huge door, the one with newly fitted stained glass in the shape of  a rose, of all things. Mum insisted it had to be a rose, she thought it was a lovely coincidence.

“Fuck it. Bollocking fucking fuck,” she cursed, keys clinking as they dropped to the floor. She bent down as the door swung open, the light inside bathing the gloomy night, a pair of tartan slippers right in front of her nose, attached to corduroy trousers, with novelty socks peeking out.

“Whatcha doing there, kiddo?” Jerry’s chipper voice said loudly. “Got the old butterfingers, have you?”

“Something like that,” she said, all the energy draining from her.

A car door slammed in the distance, and an engine roared into life, chugging away and fading within a few long seconds, all with Rose still bent down on the porch.

Jerry shielded his eyes with his hand. “That’s a strange looking bus to me.”

He left. Of course he’d left. She groaned as she stood back up. “A friend gave me a ride home.”

Jerry nodded, standing aside so she could come inside. “You’ll have to ask your friend to come in next time, I know your Ma would love to meet them.”

Her laugh was shrill, just like earlier. “Wouldn’t that be nice, Jerry. I don't think he fancied coming in for a cup of tea.”

“Maybe next time, eh?”

She sighed heavily. “Maybe next time.”

The entrance foyer to the house was a mess. The facade of the fireplace was fancy as hell - and who the bloody hell has a fireplace in their foyer? - but the metal grate was missing and some tiles needed laying. The huge sweeping staircase was in need of a good sand and varnish and two spindles were missing. 

Rose had never minded living in a construction project, the dilapidated state of the house had given it a romantic air, but tonight she saw what others must see: decay. Her imagination was running wild, wondering where the murder had taken place. Hopefully not her room.

“There you are, love,” her Mum pottered into the hallway, a cup of tea in hand, her face drawn and tired, blonde Princess Di hairdo mussed up and tucked behind her ears. “How was your day at school?”

Rose kicked off her Doc Martens and stomped across the creaky floorboards. “Still alive, so there’s that at least.”

“Don’t,” Mum said, a hint of panic in her voice. “Don’t joke about that, Rosebud. My nerves won’t take it.”

She felt horrible, guilt eating away at her stomach. Rose’s little brush with death may have affected her far less than her mother, after all Rose went itn surgery and came back out feeling like shit, that was all. But Mum? She’d lived through being told her daughter was dead, and they’d begin resuscitation, with a slim chance of success. Yes, Rose knew the impact on her was far greater, despite the scar she lived with now.

“I’m sorry, Mum,” she gave her an impetuous hug, holding her tight. She’d lost weight, her bones felt fragile as a bird. “Shall we watch some telly that Jerry won’t understand? Monty Python, or Only Fools and Horses? I’ll make you a proper cup of tea, his always tastes a bit odd.”

“Hey, I heard that!” Jerry’s voice floated from somewhere across the house.

Her mother beamed, grabbing onto her tight. “Really? I thought you’d be busy, maybe even go to that school dance that’s on tonight.”

Rose wrinkled her nose. “It’s not like a school disco, it’s all big poofy dresses and tuxedos. Plus, I think someone has to ask you.”

Mum settled in front of the TV, under a knitted blanket Rose had made when she was ten, misshapen and lumpy. “So. No nice boys at school then? No one you’d have liked to dance with?”

She snorted as she joined her mum on the couch, trying to imagine Eddie Munson in a bow tie, slow dancing to Bonnie Tyler or REO Speedwagon. “The less said about the boys at school the better.”

Her mum was no fool, her eyebrow twitched and she watched Rose with sudden interest. 

“Actually,” Rose reached for a diversion. “I have a favour to ask. Can my friend Robin come and stay tomorrow night? I may have promised her we’d watch a film.”

Mum’s face lit up. “Oh, that sounds lovely. Does Robin know about your heart?”

“No,” Rose moaned. “But i’ll add it to the interview process for my potential friends, shall I? Sense of humour, check. Good taste in music, check. Can recognise congenital heart failure and perform resuscitation, check.”

“No need to be sarcastic, dear. Invite her over, I’ll make sure Jerry is occupied in the garden or in the basement. Give you girls some peace, so you can gossip about musicians or boy bands or whatever girls your age talk about these days.”

“I think Robin wanted to watch something sophisticated, maybe something French. She speaks it too. Maybe a foreign film or a documentary.”

“God,” her mum sighed. “When I was your age...well, we didn’t spend much time watching documentaries, if you catch my drift. Ah, the sixties. Just before I met your father I had a fling with a very dashing pipe welder from Sheffield. My goodness, he had muscles in places I didn’t know could be muscled.”

Rose buried herself behind a stuffed pillow, muffling her cries of horror. “ Stop, please , before I vomit on the sofa.”

“Youth is wasted on the young. Do you want some booze tomorrow? I’ve got some Peach Schnapps and some Tia Maria in the pantry, on the top shelf.”

The pillow moved just slightly, until she could speak. “Yes please, Mum. If you’re going to talk about muscled pipe welders, i’ll need to be drunk.”

---

Rose slept fitfully that night, hovering on that surreal place between the waking world and the sleeping one. In her dreams she was floating aimlessly, on a river in the dark. At first it was peaceful but the current dragged her under. Through the muffle silence she could hear a melody, a beautiful tune hovering on the edge of her consciousness, like she’d left on her walkman and it was bleeding into her dreams.

She woke for the briefest of seconds, the delicate keys of a piano still thrumming through the air, an echo of the dream music in the quiet, creaking house. Her breath came short and she flung her arm out, grappling with the pull-switch on her lamp. Light flooded the room again, but there was nothing, no figure in the corner, no monster lurking in the shadows. Just the old piano by the window, untouched, and silent, the black and white keys illuminated by the lamp and the sliver of moonlight from her window.

She sagged back down on her bed. On the edge of her consciousness a thought crossed her mind; she would have sworn the lid over the keys was shut...wasn’t it? But sleep came for her like a thick, warm blanket, and any thoughts of haunting music and piano keys were forgotten.

[missybee-writes]

Shadow in the Dark: Chapter Two - Munson Magic

Genre: Sci-fi; Romance; Horror

Warnings: (eventual) sexual content; violence; gore; swearing; alcohol and drug use.

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fem!OC

Summary

In July ‘85, an ambitious realtor sells the crumbling Creel house to a family looking for a new start.

Rose McAllister may be living in a grand and gothic murder house in a small Midwest town, but senior year in high school is the stuff of her nightmares: a last chance at a normal school year without being the odd one out, the sick girl, the weirdo from across the pond. Blend in, make it through the year, and make some friends. Stay unnoticed at all costs.

Hawkins, and one seriously loud-mouthed metalhead, is about to flip that carefully laid plan Upside Down.

Chapter one: Cursed

Ao3 link

---

Chapter Two: Munson Magic

Rose

“It’s the most hellish day of your life,” the words trip off Eddie’s tongue with all the gravitas of a stage actor, his eyes peeping over the demon-painted dungeon master’s screen, boring into her soul. “You’ve been betrayed, abandoned, and left to face danger alone. You have one move remaining; a last gambit. What do you do, Rose? Do you take the potion of invisibility and hide from your enemies, or do you face the dragon Iymrith in its lair, ready to face your demise?”

Fight or flight. Be invisible, or show herself and take on her demons. This first Dungeons and Dragons campaign perfectly mirrored her first day at Hawkins High, and probably her whole life. There was something comfortable about being unnoticed, until you realised no one missed your presence at all. The irony of this choice was not lost on Rose.

She’d stumbled into the lair of Hellfire after school three hours ago, finding herself drawn into a campaign with six very intense, very passionate teenage boys in matching shirts. A party of adventurers, led by a manic, charismatic rocker. He could have been obnoxious with his loud personality, impassioned rants, and a decent-sized ego, but somehow he wasn’t. He was kind, with the prettiest eyes she had ever seen. God, no, she couldn’t be thinking about his eyes right now. Or his lips. Or the glimpse of tattoos on the skin of his forearms, or the ...shit . Compose yourself, McAllister.

Gareth and Mike were talking at a thousand miles an hour about hit points and odds of success as she pulled herself together. The guys were on the edge of their seats, waiting for her next move, each one of them already killed by the dragon; the hopes of the party lay upon her shoulders. Her skin prickled beneath the itchy wool of her mum’s cardigan, far too hot and stuffy for the warm September night. Be brave , she told herself. Take out the sword .

“I take the potion,” she said, defeated. “I drain the glass vial in one gulp, and seek refuge in the thick brambles of the forest. If the ice dragon can’t see me, it can’t kill me, right?”

Eddie gave her time to sweat, ignoring the debate of the Hellfire members in the background. “You sure, Lady Thorn?”

God, it really was warm in here. Rose’s hand toyed with the dice. “Yes, but...maybe...agh. I’m starting to worry that my big, completely unexpected entrance tonight has you thinking i’m brave and cool and capable of slaying a dragon. You’re probably thinking i’m Eowyn, Lady of Rohan, wielding swords and kicking arse, and about to punch the Witch-king of Angmar in the bollocks.”

Gareth, who had taken an ill-timed sip from his can of coke, sprayed it back over the table, choking and coughing until Jeff and Chris both slapped him on the back, just a little too hard.

Eddie didn’t even notice, he was staring like she was on fire, lips parted a little bit. “You read Tolkien?”

Rose didn’t hear him; she was mid-ramble, so hot and flushed she had to pull the cardigan off her head clumsily and scrunch it into a ball in her lap. “I’ve built myself up to be a shieldmaiden, but the truth is, i’m just a hobbit. I want to sit by the fire in Bag End, with a nice cup of tea and a book. So maybe I should just take the potion and run from Iymrith.”

“That didn’t work out so well for Frodo, did it?” Dustin finally broke his silence. “When he wore the One Ring he wasn’t exactly invisible, and it led to him being stabbed by the Morgul-knife, carried by the Witch-king of Angmar himself. You might wanna hide, Rose, but the fight has come to you.”

“Henderson speaks wisely,” Eddie admitted begrudgingly. “The time for self-doubt is over, sweetheart. Iymrith the dragon waits for no woman - be she shieldmaiden or hobbit. His wings beat overhead, stirring the canopy of leaves in the forest. He spies your fiery dark red hair in the tree cover, and takes aim.”

Rose panicked. “Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit...I prize Mike’s single-handed sword from his dead, cold grip and raise it toward the dragon.”

“ Yes , I knew you had it in you,” Gareth choked out, his voice still croaky. “Take the bastard down.”

“But it's madness!” Jeff was spiralling, hyperventilating and shaking his fist. “You can’t just wield a single-handed blade against a dragon with most of its hit points remaining.”

“Jeff’s right, the physics of it would never work,” Dustin agreed, wielding his pencil like a sword. “But we don’t traverse the Forgotten Realms to debate physics, my friends. We do it in the name of adventure. We do it to be heroes!”

The cluttered drama room was buzzing with cheers and applause; Rose lurched to her feet, clutching the edge of the wooden table with her hands. She had no idea what she was doing, but she felt like the moment demanded dramatics.

“I pull back my arm, and launch the sword into the air like a javelin, in the path of the dragon.”

She looked up expectantly at Eddie. He passed the d20, and they all held their breath as she rolled in onto the table. It bounced and clattered, settling on seventeen.

“That’s high, that’s a high number, really high” she babbled. “Did it work?”

“Hold on,” Mike added. “The chances of a random sword hitting the dragon and doing anything other than bouncing off or giving it a little cut is tiny . The DM would have set a ridiculously high target, like 19 or 20. It’s what I would have done.”

Their current DM looked down at a mass of paper and notes behind his demon-painted screen.  He let them sweat, face inscrutable, leaning back in his wooden carved throne. “Kid Wheeler is correct. I’m sorry, Lady Thorn, your sword swings in a parabola through the air, skittering off the dragon’s back.”

“Motherfucker,” Rose groaned and slapped the table, earning a slightly startled look from the younger guys. 

“Don’t worry about it,” Jeff says, deflated. “Eddie’s campaigns are sadistic. It’s amazing you even made it to the end alone, especially playing as a nymph. They’re kind of useless, with no-”

“Hold on a minute, did I look like I was finished?” Eddie interrupted. “Cool it for a second. The sword glances off the dragon’s back, but as the blade strikes its scales something flickers...you see a disturbance, and instead of a leathery wing, a humanoid shape takes its place. A humanoid with tentacles coming from its head. Its skin is purple-grey, and covered in a film of mucus, from eating brains!”

“Aw, man, this can’t be happening,” Dustin panicked, pacing around his side of the table. “It’s a goddamned illusion. It wasn’t Iymrith after all.”

“What?” Rose cried out, way too loud.”

“I think Mike’s sword was spelled. It broke an illusion. But that means...” Gareth trailed off.

Dustin sighed heavily. “It’s a Mindflayer.”

“Fuck off!” Mike cried reflexively. “We cannot be doing this again, man. It’s been two months.”

Chris’ mouth gaped open. “Did you guys have a Mindflayer campaign over the summer, or something?”

“Or something alright,” Dustin said, serious as the grave.

Tension quietened the table. They looked at each other over the goblet and flickering candles, working out the consequences of this development. And Rose, as usual, had no bloody clue what was going on, only an instinct to let it play out naturally.

“Wait, this is good news, gentlemen - and lady.” Eddie added quickly. “The Mindflayer is working in your characters’ minds. All your characters are still alive, under the creature’s spell. If the odds are with you, you might just be able to break free and slay it. And thus, the baby-campaign continues next week.“

“Thank the gods,” Jeff sighed. “I’m too attached to my spellcaster to give him up.”

Eddie looked over at her, puppy dog eyes watching her every move, manic energy dialled right down, strangely vulnerable. “ So. That’s the whole Dungeons and Dragons thing. What did you...uh...was it good? I mean, did you enjoy it?”

She couldn’t keep the grin off her face. “Did I enjoy it? That was fucking brilliant. I know my nymph was essentially useless when we had to fight, but I did it...I stood up to the forces of evil; I wasn’t just a hobbit, I was a warrior like Eowyn. I just wished I had been better and actually slain the dragon. Not very impressive, am I...”

They rushed to correct her, all talking at once. “Hold on,” Gareth said loudest. “I saw you humiliate Carver and his letterman assholes within minutes of arriving at school, not just making fun of him personally but undermining the stupid masculine sports-thing, attacking the very pillar of his masculinity. You are totally impressive.”

The Hellfire members were laughing, looking at her in a new light.

“What?” Eddie blustered, head swivelling to look at them all. “What? Where? What? How the fuck did I miss that?”

Gareth shrugged. “This is what happens when you get detention in O’Donnell’s class for ranting about the rigidity of a reading list, man. You miss the best moment of the school year so far. I’ve never seen so many jocks scratch their heads at once.”

Rose snorted with laughter very inelegantly, and flushed red with embarrassment. “It was just like that gorilla impression Eddie did in the cafeteria today.”

Eddie gawped even wider. “You saw me, sweetheart? And here I thought the mouthbreathers juggling their big bouncy balls were the only spectators. Damn. Damn . I am speechless. Words have failed me. And there is never a moment when I don’t have something to say.”

“Clearly not that speechless. You’re still talking,” Jeff mumbed.

Eddie folded his arms over his chest, showing off tattoos, lit by the candles and spotlights. Bats. Intriguing.

“So you liked it?” He asked again. As she glanced at the others, she wondered how many new members they really took on. Six guys, most of whom seemed to know each other well. Admittedly not the type to sit at the top of the food chain in a school environment. Not a single girl amongst them.

“Liked it?” She put her hand to her chest. “I feel like I've just fought off the hordes of hell itself. My heart is racing.”

Eddie’s eyes dropped to her chest; her laughter died on her lips, as realised what she felt beneath the palm of her hand. Not the scratchy cardigan stolen from her mum this morning - that was dropped to the floor, forgotten in the throes of battle - but instead skin, with a ridge of twisted scar tissue snaking up the middle of her sternum, ending halfway to her collarbones. Shit .

She looked down, and picked up the cardigan, holding it up to her chest, but the nervous looks on their faces told her everything she’d needed to know. They’d already seen it.

“Hey,” Eddie said, soft as velvet. “You don’t need to...uh...hide yourself or anything. And I don’t just mean the badass scar, I mean... you , y’know? We’re the freaks, sweetheart. I was a little worried that this apparently perfect girl had stumbled in here, and we were gonna find out you were a preppy asshole, or something. Which you are not, by the way. Very cool. Very unique.”

Rose dipped her head, her face flushing hot. She dropped the cardigan, mustering up the courage to say something, anything. 

“This is totally unfair,” Dustin burst out, lighthearted and smiling. “Look at you, showing off your collarbones and everything. I don’t even have collarbones. Watch this...”

He flexed his shoulders forward, and they moved at an unnatural angle and almost met at his front, to the surprise of the older guys.

“Cleidocranial dysplasia,” he grinned, metal-clad teeth on display. “Had a few missing teeth, too, but these babies are new. Look out, sophomore year, Dustin Henderson is going to have a full set of teeth. I’ll be unstoppable.”

He did a little tiger-like roar, and it was the lamest, most brilliant thing Rose had ever heard in her life. She collapsed with laughter, holding her aching sides.

“I’ve seen this act more times than I can count,” Mike grumbled like an old man. “It gets old.”

Eddie was beaming at the head of the table at his little freak show. “That is metal, Henderson. Very metal. How about you, princess? How’d you get the battle scar?” His eyes widened and he made a goofy gesture with his arms. “You don’t have to talk about it, not if you don’t want to. Not an order, not that I even can order you, though i’d kinda like...i’d kinda like to shut up now.”

Rose’s head ducked down, and pulled a thread from the cardigan in her lap absentmindedly. “I was born with a congenital heart defect. Everything was fine until I was thirteen, then it wasn’t fine. I’d go blue in the lips and get breathless. They kept me in hospital for almost a year, told me I had a very small chance of survival because the deformity was so rare, they didn’t even have treatment for it yet. Between thirteen and sixteen I was in and out of hospital more than school.”

“That must have been tough,” Mike said quietly, his quiet demeanour and hidden empathy surprising for a boy of fourteen. “My girlfriend missed a lot of school too, for...uh...similar reasons. It was really hard for her to make friends.”

“You find out who your true friends are when things get really bad,” Rose admitted bitterly. “They dropped off one by one. When I was well enough to go to school they weren't mean or anything, but they weren’t really friends any more either. By the time I was sixteen the hospital had developed a very experimental surgery. Cracked me open like a lobster, gave me this beautiful scar, and - despite the bit in the middle where I died on the table - I woke up, and felt...normal. OK, I was shit for a few months, but then I was normal as any person with a heart condition can be. They fixed up the old ticker and sent me on my way.”

“Hold on...you DIED?” Eddie’s strangled voice echoed across the prop room. “Like, heart stopped? Clinically dead?”

“Yep. For quite a long time. It was a miracle that they resuscitated me, actually. I don’t remember anything. No alternate dimensions, no grey purgatory, no light at the end of a tunnel. Just a feeling of weightlessness, like I was floating in water, no sight or sound. Then I was coming around in the ward, off my head on morphine.”

“That is fucking intense, McAllister. That’s goes beyond metal, that’s...that’s fucking magical.”

“Doesn’t feel magical,” Rose glanced down at herself. The scar was the width and length of a pencil; two years had seen it fade from angry red to a pinkish silver, still standing out from the creamy pale skin. When she looked in the mirror it was all she could see, despite her mother’s words of encouragement, telling her to wear it with pride.

“Scars are fucking cool. Look, I pay to get stabbed with needles so I can have something half as cool as that. See?” Eddie dragged down the collar of his shirt; her eyes trailed down his neck - oh my god, his neck - to more ink scratched across his skin, a figure she couldn’t make out, obscured beneath a guitar pick necklace.

“Did they hurt?” She asked tentatively.

“These babies? Not really. More like a very intense tickle. Except when it went over bone, then I was crying like a little girl. Weeping, snotty, begging for mercy, the whole deal.”

Eddie was a lot . Leather chains at his wrist and on his jeans, demon on his shirt, attitude bordering on obnoxious when it came to the jocks in the cafeteria. Yet Rose could see that in the privacy of the drama room he was goofy, patient, utterly enthusiastic, and possibly even a little bit vulnerable. It was almost enough to give her whiplash.

“I thought a dungeon master would be made of sterner stuff.” She teased.

His grin was brighter than the stage lights in the background. “Oh yeah? You haven’t seen what a DM can really do, sweetheart. Next semester's next campaign is going to be mind blowing. My best yet. If you...uh...I haven’t had time to talk to the guys about this, but do you wanna stick around for it, maybe?”

Rose looked at her watch. It was nearly seven; hours had blown by, her mood totally transformed since the incident in the locker room almost four hours ago. “I don’t think I can, my mum is probably outside waiting for me.”

Eddie grabbed the back of his neck, looking sheepish. “I kind of meant next time. We meet on Fridays, same time, same place. If you want to. No pressure; like Gareth said before, hanging out with Hellfire isn’t exactly a fast track to popularity or an easy life around here.”

“You want me to come back? Really?”

“Hellfire has had girls before, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Jeff explained. “But not since Ronnie graduated in ‘84. I don’t mind.”

Gareth was also enthusiastic. “If you can voice the female characters we come across on our travels, I'm totally in. It’s not been the same since my voice dropped at the end of freshman year.”

“This is so exciting,” Dustin gushed. “We’re gonna have to create a character for you. We can run you through classes, alignments, preferred weaponry...the possibilities are endless! We could even meet at lunch or in the library or something, to flesh you out before next week’s session.”

Mike snapped his fingers. “As long as it brings balance to the party, right? I’m a paladin, that’s like a knight. Jeff’s a spellcaster, Chris a fighter, Dustin’s a bard...Lucas - you’ll meet him next week - is a ranger. We are really in need of a cleric, though. We haven’t had one since our friend Will the Wise moved to California.”

Rose was trying to piece it all together, but it was a lot of new information. “What do clerics do?”

“They heal,” Eddie said, fidgeting in his seat. “Clerics are conduits of otherworldly power. I can kind of see it, but it’s a little...predictable.”

“Predictable?”

Eddie kept her on edge, gaze sweeping over her, nodding to himself.  He leaned so close she could smell cigarettes, Old Spice, and something musky, uniquely man . Her throat went dry.

“You are anything but predictable, McAllister. You survived death; you’re probably told you should forget it, move on, pretend it didn’t happen. That shit stays with you, but you can take charge of it. Own it. You know, I can see you as a necromancer.”

It was like Eddie Munson, freak, dungeon master, could see right into her mess of a mind. Plucked out her greatest fear and twisted into a strength. 

Dustin took in a shocked breath. “Oooh, that is so perfect. You survived death, and now you raise others from the dead to do your bidding. Liches - or necromancers, same thing - are kinda evil though, and they are not usually part of the adventurers party. And I would have pegged you as chaotic good.”

“Chaotic neutral,” Eddie mused, holding onto his chin. “You’re good most of the time, but you can also be very bad if you want to be.”

He was trying to kill her, wasn't he? Finish off the job, heart beating overtime.

Her lips tugged upward into a reluctant smile. “I like it. I think I really like it. But my Tolkien metaphors are going to be completely confused. I’m a hobbit by nature, I want to be Eowyn of Rohan, but i’m really Sauron the Necromancer himself? Can I even play with you if I'm evil?”

“Eh, we’ll work on it.” Eddie breezed over it, chin propped up on his hands. “I am all powerful after all. Might have to make some adjustments to the upcoming campaign, but I think it's going to work out in the end.”

The clickety-clack of footsteps echoed down the distant hall. “Rose?” A very familiar voice called out. 

“Shit,” Rose launched out of her seat. “I have to go, that’s my mum.”

Eddie looked resigned. “I get it. Parentals will be scared of the princess hanging out with the freaky cultists, huh?”

Rose barked out a sharp laugh, scrambling over to the costume rack, looking for the leather satchel she threw dramatically into the corner on entering the room this afternoon. “That’s a low roll and a miss, dungeon master. She may look like an English librarian, but...you’re the Fellowship, she’s the Balrog.”

“Balrog,” Eddie echoed, leaping over to help Rose. “Scary, Flame of Udun, lurks beneath mountains. Got it.”

“Rosebud, are you here? Is everything alright? ” Her mother called out, voice drawing closer with each step.

Eddie popped up from the costume pile with a satchel in his hand and a curious look on his face. “Rosebud, huh? Cute.”

Oh wonderful, now he knew her humiliating childhood nickname. She snatched the bag from him, and paused, desperate to say something funny, something smooth, or at least something memorable before she left. Instead, she went beetroot red and mumbled incoherently. 

“Huh?” Eddie squinted.

Okay, charisma is lacking. Honesty might have to do.

“Thank you,” she said sincerely, to Eddie and all the guys all watching behind him. “This could have been a really bad day, but thanks to you, it was bloody lovely.”

“Rose!”

“The Balrog calls,” she paused at the door, taking one last look at the Hellfire boys over her shoulder. “Wish me luck.”

---

Eddie

“Uh...gentlemen?” Eddie asked, hands running through his hair. “Did I concuss myself under that table, or did that whole session really just happen?”

The prop room was somehow smaller, darker now that she had gone. If it wasn’t for the extra chair squished to the right of his throne, and the incredibly unusual stillness of the six guys behind him, Eddie Munson would swear he just experienced a three-hour fever dream. 

“I like her,” Henderson’s first to break the silence, throwing out his chipper verdict on the freaking angel that just upended Hellfire. “She was neat.”

“ Neat ?” Eddie wheeled around, revved up, no outlet for his thousand-mile-an-hour thoughts. Crap, he needed to dial it down a notch. “Yeah, neat. A little raw, but a lot of potential.”

They were laser-focused on him, but he couldn’t afford to scare the freshmen off now, not when Hellfire had two, three if you counted Sinclair, recruits who were really fucking into the game. 

Worthy apprentices, at last. Kids who could carry Hellfire forward and make sure it didn’t die next year, with only Gareth left. Cause, goddamn it, Eddie had gone through his last first day at the monkey house that was Hawkins High. There was no fourth shot at senior year, not when he’d be turning twenty in the spring, and the school board wouldn’t allow an adult over twenty to re-enroll. Three strikes and you’re out, Munson. Off the bench, out of the team, and a dozen other tired sports metaphors his old man would have used if he were here.

Gareth, Jeff and Chris were being weird. Quiet. Still . Watching Eddie as he packed up the DM’s board and pieces, gathering up his story notes and scoring sheets with a gentle tap, tap, tap of all the papers, fitting them inside the box neatly. The maps were a little smudged from Gareth spitting out all that coke, but he could let them dry out by the overworked little space heater in the trailer tonight, and trace fresh new ones this weekend.

“Well?” He snapped. “Are you gonna help pack up, or sit there like a bunch of drooling cave trolls?”

The rest of the guys were waiting for something to happen, but it was Gareth who broke first. He raised a single mocking eyebrow. “So are you planning a spring wedding? Or wanna cut to the chase, and ask her to elope to Vegas? I can see you in an Elvis jumpsuit.”

Eddie fidgeted, rings tapping against the table, mouth twitching. Keep it together.

“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about, Gareth,” he denied casually, shrugging on his leather jacket and battle vest. Armour donned, shields up, ready to deny, deny, deny. “If you really don’t want her to join we can work something out, but I think she’s like us...I think she needs this.”

More raised eyebrows from the older guys. 

A girl called out; Eddie’s heart skipped, but it was merely Wheeler’s big sister, the prissy one who ran the paper. Dustin and Mike threw together their stuff in record time, completely whipped by the voice in the hall.

“That’s Nancy,” Mike explained. “See you guys on Monday.”

“Great campaign, Dungeon Master,” Dustin saluted him at the door, over his ‘Thinking Cap’ , before disappearing into the night.

They really were good kids. It had only been three weeks since he spotted Dustin roaming the cafeteria in his Weird Al shirt, scoping the tables and cliques who sat at them, searching for his own place in the school ecosystem. Eddie had offered them shelter at the freak table, sensing kindred spirits. There was something about Dustin and Mike, they completely owned their nerdiness, in a mature way freshman Eddie had definitely lacked. Lucas was different; sure, he was great at D&D and clearly had a tight friendship with the other freshies, but he was a little less comfortable owning it. He’d watch the jocks table with envy, wince every time someone threw a joke or an insult Hellfire’s way. 

Gareth, Jeff and Chris? They’d been playing together for years. Greatest friends he had in Hawkins, or at all , now that his childhood best friend Ronnie was in the Big Apple, her book smarts earning her a place at NYU after their first senior year. Her Granny Ecker still lived in the trailer behind Eddie and his Uncle Wayne’s. They were stuck together like magnets once, but now their polarity was reversed, distance growing with each phone call; Ronnie talking about law school and all the excitement of living in Brooklyn, Eddie chiming in every now and then with a new campaign plan, the latest class he was failing, the same old crap she had left behind a year and a half ago. Poles apart. Damn, he must have paid attention in Mr Kaminski’s physics class to remember that shit. Either that, or Henderson’s insanely smart brain was rubbing off after barely a month.

But Gareth, Jeff and Chris weren’t just Hellfire, they were Corroded Coffin too. Hours at Hellfire and even more hours practising in Gareth’s garage brought them pretty close, close enough for Eddie to know they were not going to let this go, not without giving him shit about it.

Chris shook his head. “ I couldn’t pull off what you just did in a hundred years. Talking to girls one on one is...kind of my kryptonite. How do you do it, man?”

“Do what, huh?” He fired back quickly. “Make a new potential member welcome to the group?”

Gareth chuckled mercilessly, dropping his voice to imitate Eddie. “You’re good most of the time, but you can also be very bad if you want to be... I don’t recall you saying that stuff to Wheeler or Henderson, or any of us when we joined. And you definitely didn’t call us fairer than the sunrise over the Greypeak mountains .”

Eddie placed the D&D box gently back on the table, and his composure broke. He collapsed forward onto his forearms, shaggy hair shielding him from his friends and their judgement. Hidden, he could give voice to the chaotic new thoughts swirling in his already-chaotic brain. 

“Shit. Jesus H. Christ. I came on too strong. I came on too strong, right? Did I just make myself out to be a grade-A asshole? I...uh...I know i’m lacking an off switch most of the time, but was it too much? Was I bad?”

Gareth wouldn’t let it lie. His face was smug - okay, Eddie couldn’t actually see his face, but he could feel it in his voice, in his friend's aura. “Bad at what ? Say it, Eds. Come on.”

Eddie burrowed deeper into the table, voice muffled beneath all that hair. “Perhaps, maybe, it could be possible that I like the fair maiden Rose. In a...more than platonic way.”

“No shit, Sherlock,” Gareth said, matter-of-fact. “It was obvious.”

Eddie sighed like it was the end of the world. “Let me just crawl away and die. Better yet, put me out of my misery, crack me over the head with that goblet. Lights out, goodnight. Nice to have known you. Jeff, you can have my Warlock. Chris, I bequeath to you my tapes and posters. Gareth, you little shit, you get nothing, not even the dirty magazines under my bed. Bury me in my battle vest. Wayne will have to make peace with my untimely death.”

“This is dramatic, even for you,” Chris gave his verdict. “It’s just a girl. I’ve seen you talk to girls before, after gigs and stuff.”

Just a girl. Sure. Just a girl whose smile lit up the room like the fourth of fucking July, fireworks spinning in his head, fizzing in his ears. Who used Lord of the Rings analogies to adorably find her place in the world. A girl who laughed at Dustin’s goofy jokes, threw herself into D&D without judgement or hesitation, totally giving herself over to the adventure. A girl who wasn’t cheerleader-pretty, but timelessly beautiful, like she should be in a fancy laced-up gown on the cover of Granny Ecker’s historical romance novels, the ones that always seemed to have a shirtless guy wearing a kilt. 

He didn’t just have butterflies in his stomach, it was like a horde of winged demons were trying to claw their way out. Brain not yet caught up, body trying to give him a warning. Girls like that don’t wind up with Eddie the Freak, resident of Hawkins’ finest trailer park, the friendly neighbourhood drug dealer. 

Gareth turned to Chris. “So how lame was he, on a scale of one to ten?”

“I thought it was kind of suave,” Chris replied, shrugging on his own leather jacket. “Like James Bond.”

“Oh, come on! Double-oh-seven has a little less verbal diarrhoea than our DM. And far cooler cars and gadgets.”

They bickered back and forth as Eddie waded in his own misery, replaying the whole campaign and how she’d reacted to it. She was nervous, yeah, but she got into it. Great improv skills.

“She likes you back, by the way.” Jeff added nonchalantly. 

Eddie’s head snapped up. “Oh, right, cause you can read minds now.”

Jeff kicked Eddie under the table. “I have three sisters, so yeah, I have insider intel into the female species. She looked at you like Tara looks at Michael Jackson when Thriller comes on MTV.”

Chris’s mouth drops open. “Ew, like the werewolf part? I guess Eddie has a lot of hair.”

“No, dude,” Jeff replies. “The normal part with the girlfriend at the movies, before he turns. Okay, after he turns too. Women are a complicated species, Chris. They’re into all sorts of weird stuff.”

A switch had fried in Eddie’s brain. “Which means?”

“Weird stuff? Like vampires and-”

“No, Jeff!” Eddie launched out off the table and grabbed him by the shoulders. “The look your sister has for Michael Jackson. What does the look mean?!”

Jeff gritted his teeth, like it physically pained him to talk about his irritating older sister, who he heard just moved to college somewhere in Georgia. “It means Rose was all blushing and smiling, hung on your every word. I’m not saying she’s crushing on you, but she isn’t not crushing on you, if you know what i’m saying.”

She didn’t not like him. That’s only one step away from actually liking him. And liking him was just one step away from a hangout, a date, maybe even move in for a kiss - and now all he could picture was her lips. Seriously good lips. Full, cupid’s bow, beauty mark near the corner of her mouth. So pretty when she smiled. Hope flared his heart, like those electric paddle-thingys had just jolted him back to life.

“I knew it,” Eddie said.

Gareth wasn’t convinced. “Weren’t you just doubting yourself?”

“Munson magic,” Eddie ignored him, swooping round the table, Reeboks tapping on the linoleum, moving to the music in his own heart. “Eddie the Bard worked on his charisma for so long, it had to pay off eventually. Ability off the charts...I got it, man. I got the Munson magic.”

Jeff stepped out of his way and almost tripped, looking over at the costume rack in the corner. “There’s something i’ve got to tell you, but first you have to promise any of this isn’t going to make Hellfire weird.”

Eddie crossed his fingers over his heart. “I will not bring girl drama to Hellfire. I promise on my wicked, hellbound soul. Now tell me!”

Jeff tipped his chin toward something in the pink taffeta dress dominating the costume rack, a chunky silver rectangle, with a cord snaking out the top. “Cinderella left her slipper behind. You might wanna give it back to her on Monday, Prince Charming.”

Eddie gasped dramatically, hand slapped to his chest. “A walkman. Rose’s walkman.”

He was over there in a shot, tripping over the costumes, slamming onto his knees by the precious object. He picked it up gingerly; there was nothing remarkable about the lump of plastic, nothing to tell him more about its owner. But what lay inside tempted him beyond belief. He clicked the button, popped open the top of the cassette holder, and inspected its contents. There were no printed stickers on the black cassette tape, only the faint shadow of a permanent marker on the clear part: Study mix.

“Holy shit, it's a mixtape,” he half-squealed at the guys. He felt like a prospector striking gold, nuggets sparkling in his hands. Scraps of information, carefully chosen slices of her mind for him to study. An introduction to the music that makes her tick. And music was the heart of everything, a window into the mind.

“You know who gives out mixtapes? Boyfriends.” Gareth, that goddamn contrarian, said sarcastically.

Eddie pointed at him, skull ring sparking in the light of the now-stubby melting candles. “That’s it, you're out Emerson. Expelled from Hellfire.”

Gareth spread his arms wide, face scrunched up and ready for a fight. “What the fuck? You just said-”

“I’m kidding, i’m kidding,” Eddie interrupted quickly, “Besides, she’s just moved, she knows nobody. I don’t think it's a boyfriend. If she has one back in England...well that would suck, but long distance doesn’t exactly work out for most people, does it?”

“Real classy, Munson,” Gareth shot back.

“Cool it, Gareth. I just wanna talk to her some more, get to know her. No need to invent drama that doesn’t exist.”

“Whatever,” Gareth shrugged. “Are you still okay to give me a ride home?”

“Of course, man. Gotta pay you back for using your garage as our practice room. I need your opinion on some potential W.A.S.P covers for our next set at The Hideout, we can talk about it on the way home.”

That perked Gareth right up. Eddie might have new apprentices, but Gareth was the first freshman he’d sheltered under his tattooed, scrawny wing when Carver and his jock squad singled him out for a beating a couple of years ago. Hobbits have got to stick together, and when they fought together, there was nothing they couldn’t take on, be it a cave troll, Jason Carver, or the disdain and fear of the entire small-minded town.

Still, Eddie slipped the walkman into the pocket of his jacket, and every now and then he would slip his hand in and touch it, just to make sure it wasn’t a fever dream after all.

---

Forest Hills Trailer Park was never quiet, not even on a Friday night. Eddie’s van skittered into the makeshift parking space by the trailer he shared with Uncle Wayne; the whirring engine and glam metal notes of W.A.S.P disappeared as he cut off the engine, and the dusky September night was filled with dogs barking, a screaming match between the couple in the RV round the corner, and a dog chained up somewhere near the forest edge. God knows it wasn’t the finely manicured neighbourhood of Loch Nora, or even the more modest single storey ranch homes that made up most of Hawkins, but it was home.

Eddie launched up the steps and flapped open the door, humming Love Child under his breath and tapping it on his thigh. His battle vest and jacket were thrown onto the wall hook, and he made a quick sweep of the fridge; the remains of the tuna casserole Granny Ecker brought over on Monday were looking a little sad and dried, and Eddie could not be bothered to cook up the eggs and bacon. He grabbed a can of Miller Lite and an apple, and slammed the door shut.

“Now I know your momma didn’t raise you to be a savage, Eddie Munson. Softer next time, please.” A southern drawl came from the corner of the room.

“Holy fuck!” Eddie’s arms flailed about, catching the Miller Lite mid air and dropping the apple on the patterned carpet.

“She didn’t teach you to cuss, neither,” Uncle Wayne muttered from his recliner chair, peering over the paper, lit by a cosy lamp. The trailer was so busy with mugs and hats Wayne had picked up on the road in his truck driver days that he went unnoticed amongst the clutter.

“You’re scaring the life outta me, Uncle Wayne,” Eddie laughed nervously. “It’s Friday, shouldn’t you be at the plant?”

Wayne watched the apple roll across the floor, scooping down to pick it up when it got close. “I swapped shifts with Carl so he can see his granddaughter’s ballet recital next week. Taking a Tuesday shift instead. I was gonna head out to the country bar in Carterville with a couple of old buddies but they came down with the stomach flu, so you’ll have to put up with your old uncle tonight.”

“You’re...uh...you’re no trouble Uncle Wayne. It’s me that you’ve gotta put up with.” Eddie said glumly, catching sight of the pullout bed in the corner of the living room. “I can go out for a while if you want some peace.”

That pullout bed was a squishy, metal-framed reminder that his uncle had given up his bedroom and his freedom full time after the incident a couple of years ago that led to Eddie’s childhood home going up in flames, and his ex-con of a father - okay, definitely still a con - fleeing town. Even before then, when his dad was in the drunk tank or on a bender somewhere Eddie would be left alone for days or weeks, rescued by Uncle Wayne and taken back to the unlikely safe haven of the trailer park for a while. His uncle's unconditional love and endless patience got Eddie through a clusterfuck of a childhood. He’d never be able to thank him enough for it. Guilt remained, even after he started dealing to bring in some money to help keep the dilapidated home together, and ensure he could pay for his own clothes and van, lifting some of the burden of raising a kid you didn’t even ask for.

“Hey now,” Wayne dropped his paper on the side table and fixed Eddie with a serious look. “I ain’t trying to drive you out. Trailers’ not exactly a palace, but there’s enough room for the two of us. There somethin’ on your mind, son?”

Uncle Wayne motioned for Eddie to sit on the couch next to him, so he kicked off his Reeboks and collapsed in the seat, cracking open the Miller Lite and reclining in silence as he took the first foamy hit of it, yeasty and soothing on his tongue. His uncle lit up a Marlboro Red, tip flaring orange red in the dim trailer.

“Do you think i’m like Dad?” Eddie said, looking absentmindedly at the ceiling with its numerous water and tobacco stains.

He hummed thoughtfully. “What makes you ask?”

“I don’t know, I just...I’ve been thinking about him lately. The way he is with people. He’s an asshole, goes without saying. But he’s got that charm about him, something people are drawn to. I guess I think I had something similar, but I don’t want to be like him. I don’t want to hurt people the way he does.”

“Ed,” Wayne says softly, leaning on the arm of his chair. “Al Munson might be able to charm the birds from the trees, but it's a shallow kind of charming. Scrubs off real quick, and by the time people realise what my brother’s truly like, he’s split town and left behind a trail of gambling debts and broken hearts. That included you and your momma more than once, bless her soul. You might have his charm, Eddie, but yours ain’t shallow. It runs deep,” Wayne smiled a crooked smile, etched deep into his weathered skin. “Plus, Al had a receding hairline, and you’ve got a hell of a head of hair. Needs a cut, though. Startin’ to look like a shaggy dog.”

Eddie bit back a smile, touched more than he could say. “Don’t mess with the hair. I’m like Samson, it holds all my power.”

“No, son. That’s all in here,” Wayne taps the space on his plaid-covered chest, right over his heart. 

Eddie dips his head. “Don’t go soft on me, old man.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

He sipped his beer, sitting quiet and peaceful as Wayne put on some Western on the little TV by the door. Gunslingers chased each other across the desert, or ran after a runaway train, Eddie wasn’t really focused on movie detail, instead just basking in quiet, comfortable companionship. Wayne asked nothing of him, and that was what made him want to open up.

“There’s a girl,” Eddie ventured, twisting the metal can around in his hands. 

“Is that so?”

“It’s nothing. Stupid, really. But it’s got me thinking about dad, and life and repeating senior year, and...everything.”

“That’s heavy.”

“Yup,” Eddie agreed, draining the can in one last swig.

Wayne cleared his throat politely. “You gonna be bringing this girl around sometime?”

“Woah, hit the brakes, Uncle Wayne. I’ve only known her for about three hours. It was a good three hours though, you should have seen me. I was smooth. She said I made her first day in American high school bloody lovely. ”

Wayne twisted around to face Eddie. “Your girl. She new in town, moved over from England by any chance?”

“How’d you guess?”

A dark shadow passed over his uncle’s face, mouth pressed into a line, eyes narrowed. “Her stepdad is Jerry Gruber, we used to run around in the same group as kids. You’d remember him, he used to head up the engineering office for the plant, left back in ‘81 to work for the Department for Energy. Got himself a job in Europe after that, and a wife and stepdaughter too. Came back last month.”

Eddie’s brows creased; she’d spoken about a stepdad, but he didn’t clock the name at the time. “Yeah, that fits. She said as much.”

“Listen,” Wayne leaned in, voice deep and rumbling. “Jerry bought the old Creel house on Morehead. He’s more foolish than I ever thought...that place ain’t right, Eddie. The only thing that came outta the Creel place is pure evil, and Hawkins ain’t a normal town, no matter how everybody here turns a blind eye to things. I don’t care if you’re sweet on this girl, promise you won’t go there.”

Jesus H. Christ. That place was notorious in Hawkins, a genuine murder house boarded up for years after some gruesome shit went down when he was a little kid. Every middle schooler had been dared to go up to that place and face the ghosts inside, Eddie included. But all that demonic stuff was bullshit. Nothing there but empty rooms, broken glass, and a metric fuck ton of dust. He didn’t even know the place had been sold. He tried to imagine Rose living in a gothic murder mansion, and came up short.

“Have you found my stash, or something? You’re not making sense, unc-”

Wayne grabbed his wrist. “Promise me, son. Promise me you won’t go to that fuckin’ house.”

Wayne didn’t cuss, and he was not physical, not even when Eddie was at his worst. “Alright, Uncle Wayne. I won’t.”

“You mean it?” “I swear on my Warlock,” he added quickly, raising his free hand up, palm splayed wide. “That place is straight out of a slasher movie. No desire to go there.”

“Good,” Wayne gruffed, as he let go. “I’m sorry, son. Didn’t mean to scare you.”

Eddie rubbed his wrist. The man’s grip was surprisingly strong, but then he did manual labour at the plant, not some cosy office job. “Don’t sweat it.”

“And Eddie, don’t get caught up in your head with the girl. A bit of that Munson magic does a whole lotta good, son, when it's coming from you . Don’t let anybody tell you that you’re not good enough. Including yourself.”

Eddie scoffed and zoned back in on the TV, cogs whirring like overtime; his uncle had gone back to the paper, totally normal. That was weird...Wayne wasn’t superstitious. He’d probably watched a few too many horror movies. It was nearly that time of year; Halloween coming up, tacky plastic decorations in the window of Melvald’s General Store, leaves crispy and golden. Something in the air, maybe.

An orchestra swelled as the shootout in the western movie reached its peak. The rogue gunslinger got the bad guy, and something about the music clicked in his brain; he’d almost forgotten about the walkman tucked in his jacket. 

Eddie pushed to his feet and crushed the beer can, tossing it in the trash can with a clatter. He padded over to the coat hook, socked feet slipping on the kitchen lino, eager hands pulling the walkman out of the jacket pocket, tapping his fingers against the plastic.

“I gotta go study,” he explained to Wayne. 

His uncle’s face had never looked so confused. “Homework on a Friday night. Are you sick again, comin’ down with a fever? We ain’t got no tylenol, but I can go out to the seven-eleven and get some.”

“I’m sick alright. But the diagnosis is looking good, Uncle Wayne.”

Wayne gawped. “What the hell are you studying, biology?”

He grabbed another beer on the way to his room, shutting the refrigerator door softly this time, little headphones and walkman clutched tight to his chest. He gave his uncle a classic Eddie wild grin. “Music 101: Intro to Fair Maidens.”

[missybee-writes]

Shadow in the Dark: Chapter One - Cursed

Genre: Sci-fi; Romance; Horror

Warnings: (eventual) sexual content; violence; gore; swearing; alcohol and drug use.

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fem!OC

Summary

In July ‘85, an ambitious realtor sells the crumbling Creel house to a family looking for a new start.

Rose McAllister may be living in a grand and gothic murder house in a small Midwest town, but senior year in high school is the stuff of her nightmares: a last chance at a normal school year without being the odd one out, the sick girl, the weirdo from across the pond. Blend in, make it through the year, and make some friends. Stay unnoticed at all costs.

Hawkins, and one seriously loud-mouthed metalhead, is about to flip that carefully laid plan Upside Down.

---

Chapter two: Munson Magic

Ao3 link

---

Chapter One

Rose was fucked. Some unearthly being had marked her for disaster, she was sure of it.

“This isn’t happening, this cannot be happening,” she chanted over and over to herself. “Hawkins is way too small for us to be lost. I’m cursed. And it’s not even nine a.m.”

Her mother sighed from the driver’s seat. “You are not cursed. I just took a wrong turn at the Memorial Hospital. Maybe if I loop around...”

“How do you explain the alarm clocks? You can’t blame faulty wiring this time, all of the electrics were replaced last week.” Rose gestured wildly.

This morning she had woken slow, bleary-eyed and heavy-limbed, with the gnawing feeling in her bones that something was just wrong. Something beyond the weird disorientation of being in a new bed, and a new house. Wooden beams flexed and creaked - no surprise with half the walls stripped down to boards in the remodel - and it hit her: no radio, no cheery blast of synth or guitar or whatever popular music central Indiana’s finest radio stations had to offer, drifting from the alarm on her bedside table.

One glance at the alarm clock confirmed it; grey pixels where the neon red numbers should be. Dead. Another power cut, she thought. But no, as she sat up, brain-fogged, the light from the floor lamp still glowed buttery yellow, casting a faintly pulsing light on the faces of Simon Le Bon, David Bowie, and the newest addition to the posters that covered the exposed brick wall: Harrison Ford as Indiana Jones, his rumpled shirt slightly unbuttoned, fedora askew, whip hooked on his belt.

No time to ogle Indy, she’d thrown herself from bed, a clumsy hurricane tripping, hopping and falling down the winding stairs to the second storey hall. The old clock was just about visible through the walnut bannister, its gold pendulum swinging back and forth and heralding her own personal doom: seven forty six, just fourteen minutes until Hawkins High closed its doors and classes began.

“Bollocks! Fucking hell!” She’d cried out.

One alarm clock dead? Fine, no problem, plausible. But when her mother and Jerry stumbled from the master bedroom, awakened by her foul mouth instead of their own alarm clock - which also happened to be dead, despite the rest of the electrics in the bedrooms working fine - an eerie feeling of the unnatural crept up her spine. After a manic rush to brush her teeth, grab her neatly stacked books and throw on some clothes, she found the washer dryer had stopped-mid cycle, and her carefully planned outfit options all lay in a damp, musty heap in the machine drum. It only confirmed that fate, karma, whatever one might call it, was stacked against her.

“Jerry said it might be a power surge,” her mother said, eyes on the road and foot on the gas pedal. “The plant is running on a skeleton crew until they fix the new conductor...convection...honestly, I don’t understand anything he says, but it sounds important. He’s called in additional engineers from Indianapolis to help.”

Rose chewed her lip, literally biting back the dozen denials and witty remarks that came to her mind all at once. If the power had surged, the old bulbs in the lamps should have been the first to go. But Jerry was no-man’s land in the battleground between her and her mother; though her stepfather’s goofy behaviour sometimes begged for it, he was too nice to mock. After meeting her mother two years ago, he launched an all-out campaign to win her over, bringing her tapes, magazines, and a new VHS player so they could watch her favourite films together. But most of all, he made her prim and proper mother laugh more than she had ever seen, even more than when Dad was alive. Against all odds, Rose kind of, just about, liked him.

“The teachers will understand, Rosebud. It’s your first day. And besides, you’ll only be ten minutes late.”

“Exactly,” Rose’s head thumped back on the headrest of the passenger seat. “It’s the end of the fucking world.”

The streets here were endless, a thick wall of trees speeding past in a blur of green, broken by the occasional driveways of modest one-storey homes. All unfamiliar, and strange.

They turned a corner, passing bright yellow school buses, already empty and relieved of their precious cargo, but were met with oncoming traffic and a chorus of loud car horns.

“Jesus, Mum, you’re on the wrong side of the road. Right, go right!” Rose said shrilly, panic swirling in her gut and sending her voice a few octaves too high.

A sudden jerk of the wheel had the tires screeching and her stomach flipping upside-down; the car tilted as it swerved into the right lane, Rose’s fingers digging into the beige leather interior of the station wagon like a drowning man clinging to a liferaft.

“Oops,” her mother muttered mildly. She had no longer than Rose to get dressed and run out the house, but somehow she looked just as mumsy as always. Hands perfectly positioned at ten and two, not a hair out of place in her blonde bob or a single crease in her frumpy crochet cardigan, despite the chaotic driving. “I don't know if I'll ever get used to driving on the wrong side of the road. Jerry would have taken you, but he has a meeting with the Department of Energy at the plant this morning. About the promotion.”

“It’s OK. I’d rather be here with you. As much as I like Jerry, you’re my mum.” Rose said.

Hawkins High School appeared at the end of the street, its squat, single-storey front building surrounded by bikes and cars. They pulled into the parking lot, taking up a space by the front doors. Only a few stragglers remained in the lot: someone chaining up a bicycle, another girl running through the front doors with cheeks pink from exertion, a teacher with a worn briefcase.

Rose instinctively grabbed her mother’s hand, and they sat for a moment in pleasant silence. It was always like this, when mum drove her to the hospital. A minute of respite before the shitshow began.

“Ready?” Mum squeezed her hand.

Nope. Not at all. American high school, a more terrifying prospect than any hospital ward, or any of the sixth form schools at home where she would be unnoticed and normal...well, perhaps not normal, but only the sick girl, not the new kid with a different accent, with no idea how any of this worked. Too late to turn back now.

She launched herself out of the passenger door, clutching her leather satchel to her chest. “Ready.”

The shiny window of the station wagon reflected her own image back to her, a mess of long, red-brown curls that looked like a bird's nest, no time today to tame it with a brush and half a can of Aquanet. She dragged her hands through her hair in a vague attempt to tidy it up, until something else caught her eye in the reflection.

“We have to go back. The dress...I can’t wear it,” Rose said. It was faded green and floral, with a square neckline, and ending just above the knee. A bit old fashioned, maybe, and not exactly her first choice, but her favourite clothes all sat mouldy and damp in the washer dryer at home. It was bought at least four years ago, before Rose’s last growth spurt, when she really filled out. But it wasn’t the close fit of the fabric or the definite visible cleavage that had her worried.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Her mother was leaning over to the passenger side of the car, brows knitted in confusion. But when she realised the source of the panic, her whole demeanour changed. Mum’s hands flew to her own chest, and she unbuttoned her cardigan hurriedly. She flung it off her shoulders and threw it to Rose out the passenger door, who swore like a sailor as tugged it over the green dress, buttoning it all the way to the top. The cardigan was shell-pink with a cream Peter Pan collar. It clashed horribly with the dress, but it covered her all the way to her collarbones.

“I'm sorry, are you Rose?” A sweet voice called out behind her. “Rose McAllister?”

Rose turned slowly. The girl behind her was a foil to Rose, hair styled, blue pastel skirt perfectly matching her eyes. She looked like she’d just stepped from a John Hughes movie in those white leather boots, scarf artfully tied at her neck. Preppy with a capital p.

“Hi?” The girl smiled weakly.

“Hi? Am I?” Rose spluttered. “Hi. Sorry, I am Rose. That’s what I mean to say. That’s me, I am she.”

Oh god. Nought to crazy in under ten seconds. It really was her superpower.

Put-together-girl smiled, seemingly not put off by the bundle of awkwardness before her, and shook her hand. “Great, I thought you’d accidentally ended up at the Middle School for a while there. I’m Nancy. Nancy Wheeler, part of the school welcome committee. If you want to say goodbye to your mom, i’ll take you to register for your classes. Janice in the principal’s office has all the forms ready for you, it shouldn’t take too long.”

Rose gave her mother a final smile. “Thanks Mum. See you at three,” she closed the car door soundly.

But nope, instead of leaving, the drivers’ window rolled down and her mother’s blonde bob leaned out the window. “Just one thing before I go...Nancy, you couldn’t point out the nurse’s office, could you?”

Nancy Wheeler paused for just a second, and nodded toward a small brick building over to the right. “It’s just there, Mrs. McAllister. It’s shared with the Middle School.”

Mum smiled as she got out of the car, and turned to Rose’s guide. “It’s Mrs. Gruber, but thank you, dear.”

“Do you have to?” Rose asked her mother through gritted teeth. “Can’t it wait until tomorrow?”

“I won’t be long. I promise, Rosebud.”

Oh god, the shame. She was eighteen, not eight. Nicknames were acceptable at home, but not in public.

“Sorry Mrs Gruber.” Nancy waved to her retreating figure.

Distance. Rose sought it straight away, shiny new sneakers pounding on the cracked pavement beneath the great big tiger poster on the wall, bounding toward the door. Nothing like your mother tagging along on your first day of school to make classes seem more appealing than hanging about outside.

“So,” Nancy caught up quickly, guiding her into hallways striped orange and green. “I should tell you a little about the school. There are almost a hundred students, about seventy per year. We have band, math club, AV club, drama club, and that’s just for starters. Girls have a soccer team. Usual sports, but you should know basketball is bigger than football here. Go Tigers!” Nancy’s little cheer was lukewarm at best, but she seemed genuinely nice. “ I guess it looks a little lame to someone who just moved from England. I mean, the teachers here are good, but you’re probably used to more academic rigour, right?”

“Not really.” Rose eyed her surroundings nervously, big colourful notice boards peppered with hand-drawn signs about pep rallies, someone offering French tuition, and a whole list of dates and match times. “School is school, but I don‘t think we had as many extra curricular activities at home. Except hockey, and the pub.” And definitely not so many weird ones. In one corner, a wad of chewing gum was stuck on the board, pinning up a strange devil-like drawing, letters H E L L interrupted by a pastel yellow flyer advertising auditions for A Streetcar Named Desire. She desperately wanted to lift it up and find out what kind of hell Hawkins High School was hiding.

“Still, must be hard joining in senior year. You must miss your friends.”

“So much.” Rose lied, plastering on a smile. “I’m just calling and writing to them all the time.” Surely her gran counted. And she did call her friend Elaine from the hospital ward, when Elaine could breathe well enough to actually talk back. One benefit to being new? No reputation to overcome. A new slate, a chance to shine. If only shining didn’t involve being so visible. “Thank you for doing this, I know you probably have to, but it’s nice to not be faced with a thousand faces at once, you know?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Nancy shrugged it off with a wave.

Janice in the principal’s office gave her a stack of forms, and she went through them one by one with a freshly sharpened pencil whilst Nancy filled her in on the school.

“People here are friendly, most of the time. If you want, I could hook you up with some clubs. I run the school paper and the yearbook committee. It’s a lot, but I plan on early application to colleges - i’m in this fight with my mom and dad about applying to any Ivies - and then i’ll have a lot of time in the second half of senior year. That should tie in nicely with the production of the yearbook.” Nancy was in full flow, working through all the things on her clearly enormous brain. Rose handed back some of the papers to Janice and got a schedule in return, and Nancy led her into a maze of hallways,

“Here’s your locker.” Nancy smiled, patting a metal grill whose beige paint was flaking away. “Your combination is 2-2-6-2, but you can change that anytime. Your first period is English with Mrs O’Donnell. This semester they’re working on classic short stories. Oh, you should know that homecoming is next week. I’m on the committee for that too, since Heather and...uh...a couple of the members left over the summer. And that means I’m probably on the hook for prom committee too, unless Jennifer P shapes up and actually orders the decorations. I know it’s really soon bearing in mind this is your first day, but I could probably get you a homecoming ticket, if you wanted? My boyfriend moved to California a few weeks ago, so i’ll be there stag, manning the punchbowl probably. What I mean is, I don’t know if you have a boyfriend or anything, but girls go stag all the time. Guys too.”

Rose’s face was flushing warm just listening to it. She followed Nancy with her head buzzing, her smile cracking as they stopped halfway down the hall.

“Nancy, I'm going to level with you. I only understood about half of what you said. I have this very vague understanding of the word homecoming from watching a couple of John Hughes films, but what is the difference between homecoming and prom? Isn’t it all just dancing to shit music without alcohol - something which I'm pretty annoyed about, by the way. At home the pubs will serve you from about fourteen, even in your school uniform if the police aren’t about.”

Nancy was shocked, frozen as Rose started rambling. And once she started, it was like a broken pipe, overflowing without any sign of stopping.

“What’s a yearbook?” Rose continued. “Why do you need a committee of people to make a book? College is University to me, but I couldn’t tell you if it’s early to apply, because I have no idea when people actually apply. And you said basketball instead of football, but then you also said girls play soccer...soccer to me is football, so now I'm thinking to myself, McAllister, have you been living under a rock? Do Americans call it football for boys and soccer for girls? Or do the girls get to play football, but the boys don’t - and by that I suppose I mean soccer, not your football where you have to strap on a helmet and thirty pounds of foam padding just to play a bit of bloody rugby. Because at home, girls play basketball, only we call it netball. But not the tough girls, they play hockey. God, when I think about it, everything about sports is so unbelievably stupid, isn’t it? I have no idea why it's life or death to some people. Sorry, I don’t know if you are big on sports.”

Rose laughed hysterically, “You seem really nice, and I can’t believe I'm already proving that I'm a lunatic with no social skils. I feel like I'm trapped in a film or a play and I don’t know the lines, but everyone else does. And at some point, I'm going to end up naked in front of a chalkboard whilst everyone laughs at me, and then hopefully wake up sweating in bed at home in Oxfordshire. Except this isn’t a bad dream, this is fucking real.”

Nancy covered her hands with her face, blue eyes wide with horror. Her gaze drifted from Rose to a point behind her shoulder that suddenly seemed to be interesting.

Rose’s stomach did another flip upside-down. “Someone’s right behind me, aren’t they.”

Nancy nodded. At some point during her unhinged rant they had arrived at an open door. A door to a class full of open-mouthed teenagers gawking at her, like she had three eyes or an extra head.

“Miss McAllister.” A bespectacled woman in a tweed pencil skirt and addressed her, “How nice of you to join us. I’m Mrs O’Donnell, and it seems I'll have the dubious honour of teaching you English for your senior year. Now I don’t know how you do things in Britain, but in America, we arrive at our classes on time.”

Yep, that checks out. All those years wishing for a clean slate, and within moments she’s covered it in dirt. So much for a new start.

“This is my fault.” Nancy bravely interjected. “I’m the reason she was late, Mrs O’Donnell. I just babbled on and on about school, and I didn’t even think about what I was saying. Truth is, the welcoming committee doesn’t really do that much welcoming. We’ve had one new student in the last year, and he was from Illinois. Not counting Billy...” her face clouded over for a second. “Please don’t punish her for my mistake.”

“Hmm.” O’Donnell hummed, fiddling with her tortoiseshell spectacles, clearly swayed by the appeal on Rose’s behalf. “I don’t like tardiness, and I don’t like disrespect. But perhaps I can let you off this time, Miss McAllister. Why don’t you come in and introduce yourself to your classmates?”

With a nervous apology to Nancy, Rose clutched her books and papers, and stepped into English class as gingerly as if it were Dante’s seventh circle of hell. Thirty teens sat expectantly at their tables, books spilling over desks, bags on the floor. They watched her every move , and at least half of them in some kind of sports gear. Which she just insulted, of course. If only the ground could swallow her up, or make her invisible. Anything to take her away from the thirty pairs of eyes that prickled across her skin. Yup, cursed.

A guy with a mullet and one of those fancy green jackets sniggered behind his fist. “Chalkboard’s right there. You gonna take your clothes off, or what? We can do it elsewhere honey, I wouldn’t mind a more private show, if you know what i’m talkin’ about.”

“Nice cardigan,” someone mocked. Rose’s closed her hands in fists, to stop herself from fidgeting with it. Laughter spread across the class like wildfire. Great. Just fucking great.

“Andy, I will not tell you again,” O’Donnell pointed at the lewd-mouthed jock, chalk in hand. “Talk back once more and you’ll join Mr Munson in the principal’s office. Go on then, introduce yourself Miss McAllister. I’m sure the class is just dying to hear more about you.”

Dead. She was dead alright. Deceased. Six feet under. Nancy Wheeler can write her obituary and put it in the school paper. Rose McAllister, gone, and totally forgotten. Cause of death: foot in mouth.

“Hello.” Her voice cracked. “I’m Rose. I moved to Hawkins a month ago, after my stepdad got a new job. Or, he got his old job back at the power plant. He grew up here. As for me, I Iove to read, classics mostly-”

“Nerd alert.” Quipped a girl in a polka dot blouse, just under her breath enough for the teacher not to notice. Cue more laughing from the sporty side of the class.

“I speak French, I, um, I saw Live Aid this summer in London, just before we moved out here.”

A silent pause. A peppy blonde cheerleader clapped her hands together. “Oh my god, that is so bitchin. Who was the cutest? Was it Spandau Ballet? They’re British too, right?”

Relief washed through her, almost as intoxicating as the cranberry and vodka mixers all the cool girls at home drank in the Nag’s Head. Not that Rose was often in the popular crowd, not since she got sick. “I’m more of a Queen or Bowie girl myself. Freddie was unbelievable, couldn’t take your eyes off him. Status Quo and The Who were amazing too. But...uh...Spandau Ballet, yeah. Martin Kemp is cracking to look at, isn’t he?”

“That’s enough, that’s enough,” O’Donnell quietened them down. “I see we’ve devolved into cute musicians or whatever you young people class as music these days. Settle down. We have a lot to work through before this assignment. And before you ask, Andy, it’s due next Friday, despite the interruption.”

Andy, that wonderful mouth-breathing specimen of idiot found in schools everywhere, flipped off the teacher as soon as her back was turned.

“Was Edgar Allen Poe on your curriculum at home, Miss McAllister?” She said, whilst writing on the chalkboard.

“No. I haven’t read any.”

“That’s alright, just take a seat and listen. You can get caught up over the weekend.”

The class returned to their books, and Rose fled the front of the classroom for an empty desk at the back of the room. At least this way she could wallow in eternal shame without eyes on her back. Her bag deposited on the floor, she collapsed quietly into the wooden desk, shrinking down as far as she could in the arse-numbing seat. Pencil tapping nervously on her book, until her neighbour took mercy on her and passed over a dog-eared copy of Edgar Allen Poe’s short stories, pages folded over at The Tell-Tale Heart.

Shit. Not one she was familiar with. Give her Shakespeare, give her Hardy or Dickens or any of the Bronte’s - hell, even Tolkein or McAffrey or Pratchett - and she’d be talking a mile a minute about them. Poe, not really in her wheelhouse.

Minutes passed as the class read passages aloud, and talked about the imagery. She scanned the story, reading it through as quick as possible, scribbling down some notes as the class discussed it. Rose flipped over a page and found the story was over already, five punchy pages of compact gothic imagery. Concise. That was a blessing, for her first day.

Behind the battered book, something on the desk caught her eye. A grim reaper in a hooded cowl, hand clutching a gruesome looking scythe. The lines were clean, and it wasn’t just inked on the desk, it was etched, scratched into the wood with a pen or a pin or something sharp. It was good. Clearly someone found O’Donnell’s class so riveting, they turned to the visual arts instead.

“OK.” O’Donnell sighed heavily. “So what do we think about the themes? Someone? Anyone? Becky, how about you?”

Polka dot shirt girl ummed and ahed. “I guess, madness?”

“Yes, Becky. Well done. The concept of madness. Anyone else?”

A hand shot up. Jock number two, sat next to his mullet-haired buddy Andy. “I don’t know about the class, but I have some concerns.”

“What a surprise. I would ask you to share them in private, Mr Carter, but that would be a foolish hope, wouldn’t it.”

“That’s right. Mrs O’Donnell. I think my fellow classmates are counting on me to speak the honest truth, and say what we’re all thinking. I’m shocked that impressionable young minds are being asked to read this explicit material. The narrator killed someone in cold blood, and we’re being told he’s not insane, because he was careful and calm whilst doing it?” Blonde jock paused and looked around, working the crowd like a pro. “I mean, to commit murder, to hack a guy to pieces and bury him under the floorboards...that’s the worst kind of evil.

“And don’t we all deserve to spend our formative years studying something that shows the best of humanity? I don’t know about you, but I turn my mind to Psalms 141: Do not let my heart be drawn to what is evil so that I take part in wicked deeds along with those who are evildoers. Mrs O’Donnell, I say we remove this book from the curriculum. My father supports the idea, and he’s willing to take it to the school board next month.”

“Yeah, what Jason said,” Andy piped up, bumping his friend’s fist. “Let’s throw it in the trash, and the assignment due next Friday. I did like the haunted house part though, with the ghost stuck under the floorboards. Don’t know how a ghost has a heartbeat, though. Weird.”

Rose stifled a smile, and turned back down to the grim reaper on the desk. At some point in all the talk of beating hearts her hand had settled over her chest, over the cardigan covering her dress. still buttoned up. A sudden impulse had her grabbing for a red marker pen, and drawing a heart onto the desk, in the path of the grim reaper’s scythe. She was careful not to overlap the original, so the artist could scrub it out if they didn’t like the random addition to their work.

“I’m sure the school board will give it serious thought, Jason,” O’Donnell grumbled, already ground down before second period. “Any more themes in the work? Come on, come on. This will help in the assignment. Miss Buckley, are you with us?”

A girl blatantly napping on her desk in one corner jolted awake at the prodding of a neighbour, her eyes wired, and hair tousled from lying on the desk. “Themes? Right, yeah. Themes. It’s got haunted houses, and death.” The girl turned introspective, eyes glazing over. “There’s guilt, for having lived through something so scary, right? Like he did all these terrible things, and survived. He kinda wants to get it off his chest and admits to murrder straight away, which is a stupid move for someone who calls himself smart, a lot. Reminds me of a dingus I know. He’s so desperate to talk about all the creepy stuff that happened in that house, even though it will get him in trouble. Guilt just eats away at you. Yeah, definitely guilt.”

The teacher looks almost surprised. “Very astute, Robin. If you can keep awake for the rest of your senior year, you might just get an A in this class.”

“Nice,” Robin smiled. “The previously mentioned dingus will be hearing about this later. So much for the senior slump.”

Rose had little time to ponder what on earth a dingus was, as O’Donnell was talking again. “What about comparisons to other work? Does it remind you of anything we studied last year?”

Silence. It was nice and quiet in the back of the room, and being thrust into the spotlight was the last thing Rose wanted. But this was books, this was her element. Something compelled her to raise her hand.

“Miss McAllister, I realise you won’t have covered last year’s work either, i’ll set you up with a reading list.”

“I had some thoughts about this part,” Rose held up the book. “‘There came to my ears a low, dull, quick sound, such as a watch makes when enveloped in cotton. I knew that sound well, too. It was the beating of the old man's heart.’ There’s something so gothic and logical about the prose. It reminds me of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.”

“Sir what-now?” Polka dot girl muttered.

“Uh, Sherlock Holmes,” Robin added, feigning holding a microscope to her eye and pulling a funny face. “You know, its elementary, my dear Watson.”

“Yes, exactly.” Rose grinned, delighted. “Sherlock Holmes. And Lovecraft too. I think they both came after Poe, so he might have been an influence.”

O’Donnell looked like she’d sucked on a lemon, her thin lips pursed until they almost disappeared. “I thought you hadn’t read the material?”

“I just did.”

“Just now?”

“Yes.”

“And you came to that conclusion within the space of a few minutes?”

Rose eyed her suspiciously. “Yes?”

The teacher looked down over the rims of her glasses. “It would not look good for you to lie on your first day, would it.”

“I assure you, Mrs O’Donnell, I am not a liar. Just a quick reader.”

Snickering floated through the air, disturbing the silent battle of wills stretching across the little classroom. “See? Nerd,” Becky in the polka dots said. “But I thought you weren’t supposed to be smart. My mom said you’re eighteen already, and she works in the office at the power plant. You’re a super senior.”

Desks shuffled, heads swivelled, and now everyone was staring at Rose again. Great, just bloody great.

“In case you were wondering,” Andy said mockingly. “A super senior is someone who repeats the year, cause they failed.”

“Strangely enough, I could deduce that,” Rose said bitterly.

“Enough, class,” O’Donnell tried to regain control, throwing her hands up in the air. “We are not going to discuss the intricate personal lives of our students. Save that for the cafeteria. Back to the book.”

Where was that hole in the ground when she needed it? Rose blocked it all out as best she could, focusing on the cool grim reaper on the desk. Whispers and titters floated across the room again, until Jason the preacher-in-training spoke. “Wait. I know who you are. Your dad - or stepdad, whatever - is Jerry the Goober, right?”

“It’s Gruber, not Goober,” Rose mumbled.

He slapped his jean-clad leg. “Yeah, I knew it. He was class of ‘60, same as my dad. You guys bought the old murder house on Morehead.”

Even O’Donnell stopped, making no further attempt to hold back their stampede of questions

“The creepy old place opposite the playground? Jesus, that place is definitely haunted.” “How many people died there?” “Is there still blood in the floorboards? I bet there is...gnarly.”

Her new home was five times the size of her house in England. Hell, ten times. A wrap around porch, original fireplaces in half the rooms, enough space to swing a family of cats. Three floors and a basement, each room panelled in walnut and grander than the last. True, it was a little...different. Grant, gothic, pretty much in ruins. And yes, Rose had heard there were some horrific acts in the house’s past, something she’d rather not dwell on. But it wasn’t haunted.

“Haunting isn’t real, dumbass.” A guy in a plaid cut-off shirt actually said in her defence, aimed at the one of the jocks. “People watch a lot of Ghostbusters and horror movies, it doesn’t make that shit real.”

“God damn freak,” Andy retorted under his breath. “How’d that place even get sold? Isn’t the old dude that owns it still alive?”

“Someone broke into it last year and cut themselves on a pane of glass,” Rose explained. “The Roane County Housing Board declared it unsafe, so they forced the sale. They said it was a lawsuit waiting to happen.”

The bell rang out and made Rose jump, each and every teen grabbing up their books and fleeing for the door. Except Jason Carver, who stayed back for a few seconds to glare menacingly.

“Assignments. Friday.” O’Donnell cried out the door. “And will someone find Mr Munson, he needs to pick up his...never mind, why do I bother.”

---

The crush of students in the hallway moving to their next classes provided Rose with a little anonymity, and the map pushed into her hands by Nancy Wheeler, plus the small size of the school, meant she could navigate to her Chemistry class without asking for help or accidentally pissing off an entire class of peers.

Mr Kaminski’s class was far less traumatic. She said a simple hi to the room and sat down at the back once again, working diligently on a hydrocarbon pop quiz that kept the class mercifully quiet, and focused on something other than the new girl. Chemistry was hardly her favourite, but it was material she had learned long before, schoolwork splayed across the sterile white sheets of a hospital bed, one eye out the window on the world below.

Then the bell of doom rang out again, and the most nerve-wracking forty-five minutes of the day dawned. Lunch. She marched to the cafeteria like a soldier to battle, scouting out the exits, the seating hierarchy and potential to hide from enemy combatants in a corner or behind a pillar of a room.

Yes, the student body of Hawkins High School stared at her. No, they did not approach. Either the students didn’t care about the new girl, they hadn’t worked out who she was yet, or her episode this morning had spread so widely throughout the school that no one wanted to talk to her. So she swiped a tray of congealed looking meat in grey sauce and green beans, and found a spot on an empty lunch table in the corner of the room, poking at the food until her stomach calmed down enough to eat it.

The basketball team entered the cafeteria to a round of applause, their green and white uniforms lurid under the harsh fluorescent lights, smiles brittle as they cheered for some kind of game tonight in the gym. She supposed this was what happened when your first day of school was three weeks into September, on a Friday. Novelty worn off by early afternoon.

Justin from her English class held court in the centre of the room, holding a bright orange ball as he worked the room. She heard a thump, thump, thump as he dribbled it up and down by the cheerleaders’ table. They all preened as he spun it around on his finger, and it looked so ridiculous she almost choked on a slimy green bean.

Another thud, another voice, this one louder. White sneakers hit a different tabletop and plastic lunch trays bounced, an earthquake of dark hair, denim and leather, upending some poor kid’s apple and carton of milk. The guy on the table pranced about, spitting out words so quickly she couldn’t make them out. Whatever it was, his friends laughed. His voice dropped mockingly, arms flailing at the jocks dribbling balls across the room.

Denim rocker guy squatted down with the awkward grace of an alleycat, a jean chain smacking against the table, and dragged his knuckles around, grunting like an ape. His friends laughed harder, each one looking up at him as if he hung the moon.

“Eat it, freak,” Jason shouted across the cafeteria.

Denim guy grunted and beat his chest with his fists. It only enraged the jocks; the more they cursed and shouted at him, the more he responded like a monkey. Rose snorted with laughter. His confidence was off the charts, no fucks to give, shame completely absent. It was kind of hard to look away from. Magnetic, really.

“Brutal, but effective,” a voice agreed at her side. “I think that’s the longest I've seen Munson go without talking.”

Robin from English class casually leaned on her table, with a ‘I care so little about this that it's cool’ vibe about her tousled hair, check shirt and an honest-to-god tie tucked into high waisted trousers. Very Annie Hall. “Sup, new girl. What are you doing on the ghost table?”

“Ghost table?”

“The one place in the cafeteria that’s hidden from the view of the jocks table, great exit path to the doors. Yeah. I see your attempts to hide, new girl. Is it OK if I call you that, or is that totally presumptuous? God, it is, isn’t it. Stupid Robin. What about McAllister. Has a nice ring to it, kinda like a detective’s name. McAllister. Buckley and McAllister, one’s a straight-laced pencil pusher, the other’s a beat cop with a dark past who doesn’t play by the rules, together they must solve a murder...or no, old fashioned detectives like Holmes and Watson,” her accent changed to a strangled attempt at a posh accent. “The curious case of the Hawkins High murder.”

Rose beamed, watching Robin’s elbow slip off the table, the girl reeling backward and clumsily righting herself.

“Mystery solved, partner,” Rose joined in. “Victim, one Jason Carver, brutally killed in the cafeteria, bled of his dignity in front of a hundred witnesses. Suspect, one suspiciously intelligent gorilla wearing a curious sleeveless denim jacket. Murder weapon, a crude, yet cleverly executed, parody of his bestial behaviour. And in front of the cheerleaders too.”

“I knew it,” Robin slapped the table. “I knew you’d be cool. I could just tell. And I may have slept through the incident in the hallway, but several reliable sources have since told me it was crushing to the fragile male ego. I love you already. Come and sit with us, you’re not languishing here all alone.”

A flood of warmth spread through her chest. “Really?”

“Really. Come on, partner. And by us I mean Beth and Linda, we’re over here.”

Rose snatched up her tray, led by the frenetic Robin to a table by the stage, walking right around the table of jocks. Jason Carver shot her a look of...disdain? Intrigue? It was something weird, anyway.

Beth and Linda were leaning over the table, whispering in hushed voices when they arrived.

“Buckley and McAllister, reporting for duty,” Robin dropped onto the bench with a thud, saluting at her friends. “This is the legendary new girl I mentioned earlier. Rose, this is Beth Wildfire, retired goalie, with a leg so full of metal she can’t ever go near a magnet,” she waved at a brunette who sat stiffly, with her leg propped on the bench. “And this is Linda Chen, our fearless leader and captain,” she poked the lunch tray of a girl in a numbered sweater, dark hair pinned back with bubblegum-purple barrettes.

“Football girl,” Linda said appraisingly. “We heard about you. So soccer is for wimps, huh?”

Rose winced and choked on a sip of juice from a carton. “Technically, I didn’t say that. I said the tough girls at home played hockey. But everyone plays soccer at home. It’s clearly the superior sport.”

It got a little awkward after that, each of the girls finishing their lunch wordlessly.

Robin cleared her throat. “Oooh, I forgot to mention we’re the girls’ soccer team, didn’t I...” she trailed off. “All the drawbacks of using the sweaty locker rooms, none of the perks of having a letterman jacket or a sweet spot on the social hierarchy. Hey, did I mention Rose went to Live Aid this summer? In London?”

Robin’s contagious smiles and easy banter made it almost easy; the four of them spoke for half an hour and more, Rose cross-examined on her thoughts about every band from the last ten years (Wham was so overrated, obviously) to movies (anything with Harrison Ford) to fashion (in her head, a slightly more punk version of Princess Di. In reality, whatever looked passable at the time). Having the spotlight on herself was not entirely comfortable, but by the end of the lunch hour she may have just avoided being a complete social pariah.

“So,” Robin drummed her hands on the plastic lunch tray. “I admit, I had an ulterior motive in bringing you here.”

Rose braced herself. “Which is...”

“Soccer tryouts,” Linda interjected, rolling up her sleeves. “We’re seriously down on numbers this year. Two of our team were killed in the fire a couple months back...I don’t know if you heard about that.”

“Shit,” Rose said. “I’m so sorry.” The mall had devastated Hawkins just before she arrived. No small place could lose that many of its people without touching the lives of everyone in the town.

“And Veronica’s parents pulled her out of school over the summer; they moved to Maine. Said this town was cursed, which it probably is,” Linda admitted.

“Ha.” Robin croaked. “Yeah, cursed. Like...like that magic shit’s real. Nope, just a regular old mall fire. Nothin’ to see here, except a whole lotta pain and sadness. And ash. From the totally natural fire.”

Linda eyed her suspiciously. “After Beth broke her leg, we’re down to four players. I don’t think we’ll be able to field a team this season, not unless we find another player for a five-a-side. We have tryouts tonight, would you wanna maybe come?”

“Oh,” Rose’s brows raised. “I’m not sure I can. I can’t do gym this year.”

Beth looked confused. “What do you mean, you can’t do gym?”

“I have a note that gets me out of gym for the whole year. I have free periods instead.”

Robin squealed and stood up. “There’s a note to get you out of gym? For the whole year? It’s senior year...that’s all of gym, gym forever, gym never again. That’s an option? What does one have to do to get one of these notes?”

“Major health issues,” Rose said. She didn’t elaborate. It would be nice to go one full day without being sick girl. “Mum had the note signed by three specialists at the hospital, and I think the school nurse.”

Robin sat down again, flushing and averting her gaze. “Okay then, permanent gym-pass is a no-go. Damn, I was excited for a minute there.”

A thousand questions ran around in Rose’s head. “So you like soccer, but hate gym?”

“Yes, and yes,” Robin blurted out. “I can’t face that rope climbing thing one more time. I might be fast, but I have the arm strength of a cabbage and I fall over like a lot. Wait, does that mean you can’t run or move around quickly or do anything strenuous? Should we be watching you carefully?”

“Not really. I’m better, or at least I should be. It’s just my mum, she’s over protective.”

Cogs were turning in Linda’s head, and she chewed and swallowed a forkful of carrot before speaking. “So technically, you can’t do gym. But what about sports teams outside of school hours?”

“Yeah,” Robin clicked her fingers and pointed them like guns. “I love a good loophole. If it’s out of hours, it doesn’t count.”

Rose hummed noncommittally.

“Oh come on,” Robin whined. “None of the other girls want to come, and I won’t even have to explain the offside rule to you. That takes half the tryout! Otherwise it will only be me and Linda.”

Did she want to throw herself into sports on her first day of school? Probably not. In fact, she didn’t really like soccer, and she only pretended to understand the offside rule when the lads in the pub screamed at the telly, cig in one hand, pint in the other. But the vague promise of a friendship group was too strong a lure. “OK. I’m in, i’ll come to tryouts. But I don’t have a change of clothes, i’m completely unprepared.”

“Yes, McAllister!” Robin punched the air, tie coming loose from her pants. “Come to the girls locker room after last period, i’ll find you something. You know where the gym is?”

Rose hung her arms like a gorilla, imitating the rebel rocker raising hell on the table earlier. “If I get lost, i’ll follow the monkeys in letterman jackets.”

“See?” Robin walked backwards out of the cafeteria, tripping over a bench and recovering swiftly. “Knew you’d be cool.”

---

A quick call to her mother on the school payphone by the front door set it in stone. “Pick me up at seven instead of three please, I have an after school club, think I made some friends, love you, bye.” She said it quickly and slammed the receiver down, so her mum couldn't draw breath to argue or question the change in plans.

Rose nearly skipped to her first free period, immersing herself in the library like a drunk stumbling into a bar after a dry spell. She was in school full-time finally for the first time in a couple of years, and she had a year of uninterrupted studying to look forward to. Her fingers skipped over the spines of Chaucer, Austen, Shelley, until she found the works of Hawthorne, Twain, Fitzgerald and Salinger. Most of them were new to her, one of the benefits of moving across an ocean and beginning a new curriculum. The librarian Ms Miller just about died on the spot, having an avid lover of literature to speak to for an hour. Things for Rose McAllister were looking on the up.

History went by in a blur; most of her classmates were not in Mrs O’Donnell’s English class of misery this morning, so she got to introduce herself all over again, without fucking it up with an epicly bad monologue. Her other classes were fine, turns out mathematics pretty universal and if you’re good at it there, you’re good at it here too.

Two forty-five. The home stretch. Her pencil tapped the desk in agitation, thinking about soccer tryouts. Yes, she might be rusty, but she wasn’t half as weak as her mother made her out to be. And she did know her way around a football pitch, even if it was from watching the boys from the sidelines on the rare occasion she was in school and had a few friends to tag along with. This madcap plan of Robin’s might just work.

When Mr Fitz let the class out ten minutes early so he could make an appointment, she was out of her chair like a shot, peering at her school map. Right past the tiger mascot painted on the wall, through the double doors, and into a room...that was dark, and full of shelving. Ah. Definitely not the locker room.

“I just don’t know, Rob.” Linda Chen’s muffled voice sounded on the other side of a cupboard door; clearly the locker room was just next door. “She pissed off every sports team in the school within five minutes of arriving. Basketball, football, soccer...the cheerleaders just by association. If it wasn’t so damaging to me socially to be seen with her, i’d be kind of impressed.”

“Come on,” Robin whined. “I’m a grade-A klutz and I have verbal diarrhoea, and you guys like having me around, right?”

“That’s different,” the other one, Beth, reasoned. “You’re our friend. I know you’ve been a little off since Starcourt, but-”

“Off? Of course i’ve been off. I saw shit you wouldn’t believe, Beth. Forgive me if i’m not as peppy as I used to be.”

“I know you were there, Rob, but we all lost people that day. And I don’t think I have the energy to be all fake nice to this new girl, when i’m just sad and tired, you know? It’s senior year, its too late for that kind of bullshit.”

“Yeah, well clearly this was a bad idea, Forget it.” Robin spat out. “I just wanted you to be happy, but I won’t be making the same mistake twice.”

Doors slammed and voices faded. The darkness was kind of foggy and Rose couldn’t see far ahead of her, but she stood in the dark for a few minutes, still processing what she had just heard. Hopes crushed, balloon deflated. Can't say she was surprised. Don’t want too much of a good thing, that would break a lifelong pattern. Yes, she could tell that Linda and Beth were hesitant, but Robin too? The one person she formed a connection with on her first day?

She crept out of the janitor’s closet, marching toward the front doors of the school...where her mother wouldn’t be for hours, because she had just called to change her pick up time. Shit.

Rose was not above admitting she considered getting back in that closet for a moment, but that would be completely absurd. Instead she trudged back to the library, where tall bookshelves might keep her hidden and their contents keep her occupied for a few hours on a Friday evening.

A steady trickle of people were heading her way, going from classes to the gym for whatever ball-in-hoop sports stuff she had mocked and derided by accident earlier, clearly alienating the more popular half of the student body in one fell swoop.

Head down, with a notebook covering the bottom half of her face, she inched through the thickening crowd and found the welcome fortress of the library doors...closed. Open hours, eight til three.

“Motherfucker,” She mumbled.

More people streamed toward her, but Rose couldn’t face another witness to her shitty day, and ducked behind the lockers.

An unknown guy’s voice floated through the halls. “...I bet Tommy will break up with her, now he’s at community college in Cartersville. Pretty faces are a dime a dozen in college, and Carol P is yesterday’s news.”

“Carol’s hot.” Meathead Andy from English class offered. “I’ll pick up the pieces if her ass gets dumped.”

“You are such a dick.”

“Just saying what we all think, man. But i’m not counting on it. Maybe I should make a move on the new girl. She might be a nerd, but she’s got a couple of redeeming features, if you know what I mean. Probably hotter than Carol.”

“Did you ever think you just have a thing for redheads? Besides, the new girl is irritating as fuck. And she’s not exactly cheerleader material. I thought she was kinda fat.”

Andy sniggered, his voice fading as he walked away. “Nah, she was just standing next to Nancy Wheeler. Wheeler’s built like a broom handle. And I don’t need a girl to be a cheerleader, just give good head.”

The jocks slithered away to the gym, and the garish orange and green walls began to feel suffocating. She pushed hard on the library door hoping it might somehow be unlocked, but it didn’t budge. Her chest was aching, skin flushing and breathing hard. She tried another. Classroom after classroom, door after door, all fucking locked. What is this, a prison?

Her feet pounded the hallways, pushing blindly until one of the doors yielded and she burst into a darkened space. Content there was no one else around, she flung her back across the room like a discus, crashing into some kind of clothing rack, almost exploding in a puff of red velvet and pink taffeta as it dragged some costumes to the floor.

“Aaah,” the roar came out before she could stop it. Some kind of drama room, filled with dark curtains and crowded rows of props, dominated by a big table. She slammed her fist on it impulsive,, scattering some of its contents to the ground in a metallic crash.

This was as good a place as any to wither away and die, so she walked to the far corner, leaned back and slid down the wall, knees folded beneath her.

There was something comforting about defeat. At least, sitting on the floor in a dishevelled heap, she’d hit a literal rock bottom. Nowhere to go but up.

Yes, she could call home and get a ride back home within the next fifteen minutes. But that meant admitting defeat, reliving the entire experience over and over, prodded and poked by an interfering mother. She couldn’t even hope that Jerry would answer. He was far too honest to keep a secret. Nope, she was stuck here amongst the stage lights, costumes, and decaying dreams of Midwestern theatre kids until seven, which was three and a half hours away.

Plastered on the stage curtain was a sign coloured in orange and red, a cool drawing of a horned demon that looked eerily familiar. Just like the flyer from this morning. Sprawled in bold letters: HELLFIRE. Interesting.

Her velvet-lined, backlit refuge from the high school world didn’t last long. Deep voices bickered passionately in the hall, footsteps squeaked on linoleum, and the door was flung open with so much energy that it nearly popped off its hinges.

“...i’m telling you, man, the frozen lair of Iymrith is just a warm up campaign. I needed to test the mettle of you sheepies before the good stuff next semester. I had to see if you knew your ass from your elbow.” Someone breezed into Rose’s view, a mop of dark frizzy hair, just visible over the huge wooden table that dominated the room.

A squeal of laughter followed, a younger guy’s voice. “Or our class from our elbow. Get it, our class? Our characters’ class?”

“Oh my god, stop Dustin,” a third person protested. “He gets character classes. He’s probably been a DM since we were, like, toddlers.”

“Jesus, Wheeler. Crit hit. I’m not that goddamn old.” The older guy spoke, coming into Rose’s view. He stumbled backward with his hand over his denim and leather jacket combo, as if punctured in the heart. The menace from the cafeteria, gorilla boy, now sentient and walking on two legs. “But the DM in me does thrive on this servant-master dynamic, so keep the subservience coming. My ego could do with a little stroking.”

“Ew...” The ‘Wheeler kid’ moaned; he was lanky, with a grown-out bowl haircut and a grimace peeling apart his lips.

Their leader was unperturbed. He leapt onto a heavy carved chair, wobbling, arms outstretched as he balanced on the makeshift throne. “Bow down, minions. Kneel and pledge obeisance. Damn, I could get drunk off this power. I should get a crown, or something.”

“You already have a throne, isn’t that enough? Or have we birthed a tyrant?” A dark skinned guy with braces shook his head, a trace of envy in his narrowed eyes.

Rose froze like a rabbit in headlights. Her position on the floor was hidden by the clothes rack, but not hidden enough. There were more of them, a hurricane of teenage hormones, awkward haircuts and matching Hellfire shirts swirling about the table and taking off their leather jackets, setting up the table with boards and boxes and...game pieces? She had no clue what they were doing, but they had wider grins and more buzz than the all manufactured cheer in the cafeteria put together.

“Uh...Eddie?” One of the older guys says, holding up something beige and cylindrical. “Drama kids have been messing with our stuff again. I can’t find your goblet, and a couple of the candles are broken.”

“Goddamn thespians,” the rocker Eddie’s voice dropped, all gravelly and menacing. “Completely out of touch with the real world, acting out bullshit stories for the man, nothing but corporate message after corporate message. Harris is gonna know about this the next time he wants to buy off me. Touch Hellfire’s stuff, and i’ll add ten dollars to the going rate. S.A.S. Special asshole supplement.”

“I thought you had to be a girl to be a thespian. If Harris is a guy, does that mean he likes girls, or other guys?”

A kid in an eye-wateringly bright shirt over his Hellfire top, and a cap covering his curls, held up his palms in desperation. “He said thespians, not lesbians, Jeff,” he lisped, pent up with manic energy. “Thespians are lovers of the theatre, not girls who like other girls.”

“Ha. Lesbians.” Someone giggled. Laughter erupted. It might appear to be a weird cult, but they were teenage boys after all.

“Silence,” Eddie the rocker snapper. Commanded, even. One word and the group shut up, watching him warily. He dropped to his ripped-denim kees and crawled under the table. “First Sinclair shakes us off for tryouts - I don’t know how big shiny balls have a greater lure than the harsh, yet beautiful, plains of the Icewind Dale, but hey, critical thinking doesn’t really kick in until you at least finish puberty, freshies - and now my goblet has vanished? It’s all stacking up against me, man. I don’t know, i’m not feeling good about this.”

“Careful Dustin,” one of the group warned. A voice she knew, the one from her English class with the torn up plaid shirt. “You do not want to mess with Eddie’s ambience. I did that once in sophomore year. Set up a session in my garage during the holidays. Let’s just say, the more immersed the DM, the nicer he is during the campaign. You guys don’t want to see him grouchy.”

Wheeler scoffed. “Come on, Gareth. This isn’t grouchy?”

“Not. Even. Close,” Gareth crossed his arms over his plaid-covered chest. “Your buddy Lucas really messed up, skipping out on the third Hellfire night of the year. It’s not even October, and we’re gonna have to bring out a secondary character or something. At least the place could look good.”

“Gareth the Great is right, children. Ambience is a key part of storytelling. It’s all about the mood,” Eddie replied, dragging out the last word. He manhandled the bags on the floor, peering into nooks and crannies, nosing around like a stray dog looking for scraps, completely beneath the table, facing away from Rose. Until, abruptly, he wheeled around on his knees.

Doe eyes met hers, liquid dark and wide, framed by frizzy rocker hair. His manic, dynamic presence froze perfectly, like a VHS tape on pause, cogs in that brain working overtime. He stared blankly at the interloper in his domain, who was scrunched up on the floor, hiding all along in the corner. And right in front of her feet, his shiny pewter goblet.

Rose held her breath. She waited for it. Cursing, shouting, orders to leave. Instead, his lips curled up in a grin, one so contagious and earnest that she couldn’t help but smile back. He raised a finger to his mouth, silver rings pressing against his lips, asking for her silence. She nodded back once. Permission sought: request granted.

Ten seconds passed by without either of them breaking eye contact; Rose hadn’t appreciated just how long ten seconds really was, when you were caught in someone’s gaze. Snared like a rabbit, unable to move, unable to look away. Bordering on weird, but not necessarily bad weird. A standoff, destination unknown.

“Eddie,” The Wheeler kid moaned and kicked his chair leg. “Can we find your goblet later? My sister’s leaving school at seven, and she’s not above ditching us if we’re late.”

“Mike’s not lying,” Dustin backed him up. “She has totally done that before. Ruthless. And every minute we lose searching for goblets is one minute less in the frozen wastes of the Icewind Dale. Just think of how much storytelling you can fit into a minute, Dungeon Master.”

That phrase hit her in the chest. She maintained eye contact, and mouthed Dungeon master?

Eddie, still beneath the table, gave her a wolfish grin, split from ear to ear, teeth shining pearlescent white in the light of the candles. He tried to motion something to her, but knocked his head on the underside of the table in the process.

“Earth to Eddie,” the bigger of the guys called out.

The man in question rubbed the back of his head, snapped out of some deep thinking. “Right, goblet. We have a problem. A naughty nymph must have snatched it and run back to her lair.”

He winked at her, dimple etched into his cheek, and she had to stop her shoulders from shaking with laughter.

Jeff sighed a second time. “What the hell’s keeping you down there? I cannot sub again, I was a terrible DM last year when you had mono. I let you guys defeat Asmodeus in fifteen minutes. Asmodeus, ruler of the Nine Hells. It took me five times as long to plan the damn campaign!”

Rose and Eddie conversed in gestures as the guys above them spoke. A full blown wordless conversation captured with a tiny shrug, a smile, a raised eyebrow. He was clearly trying to tell her something, and wouldn't give her up to the group.

A theoretical light bulb flipped on over Eddie’s head, and he flapped his hands wildly, pointing at the rack of costumes just to her side. Implication clear - get behind it. Wait, what? This wasn’t an escape plan; duck back there would lead her further from the door. Did he expect her to stay there until seven?

“Eddie!” Jeff called out.

Eddie’s shoulders sagged in defeat, and he addressed the group above. “Yup, that’s me. But as Wheeler so kindly pointed out, i’m an old man now. Knees aren’t what they used to be.”

Rose peered behind over her shoulder, checking out the fully hidden spot behind the clothes rack. Target acquired. Unfortunately she couldn’t make it without being seen by the minions at the table.

She nudged her chin toward it and Eddie caught on. Another grin, another gleam in his dark eyes. He rolled out from under the table, groaning theatrically, arm held out.

“Give us a hand, Henderson.”

The freshman smiled so wide his braces almost popped out and complied immediately. It was endearing, actually. He stepped forward, forearm grasping Eddie’s, planting his feet on the floor firmly. But not firm enough.

Eddie grabbed him and tugged him hard, toppling the kid on top of his stomach, wind knocked out with a dramatic groan. They landed in a heap of tangled limbs, with the kid’s neon cap flung across the room.

“Oh my god!” He cried out.

“Sorry, Henderson. Shouldn’t have had that second tray of mystery meat at lunch.”

“You only ate half a bag of pretzels, dude.”

They were distracted, backs turned. She sprung into action, launching behind the clothing rack, cursing under her breath as she nudged the goblet accidentally.

A pink costume became her refuge, layer upon layer of taffeta, the size of a small sedan. She felt hot and itchy just looking at the scratchy fabric. A dress for a princess, or maybe the good witch in Oz?

“This is hazing, isn’t it? Mom told me all about it.” Dustin lisped, hands on hips. “Keep it up, Dungeon Master. If you think a little rough housing will deter this halfling bard, you are seriously mistaken.”

But just as the guys finished helping Dustin to his feet, Mike shooting forward to grab his hat, the goblet where Rose just sat began to roll.

“Gentlemen!” Eddie roared, even more maniacally than before, diverting them again. “Before we begin I propose a detour. A side quest, if you will.”

Rose inched out her hand, slowly enough not to attract wandering eyes, and retrieved the goblet, just as they took their seats, wooden chairs scraping heavily on the linoleum.

“What kind of side quest?” Gareth from English class asked.

“Your party is weak. Your ranger Lucas the Fickle-hearted has abandoned you upon the road-”

“That’s not his name!” Dustin protested.

“Yeah, well, i’m rebranding him,” Eddie declared. “Like I said, Lucas the Fickle-hearted has fallen prey to the cheap thrill of a local tourney, drawn to test his mettle upon the melee ground and take his place as a totally righteous, totally boooring knight of the Kingswatch. But you, good sirs, you make it to a humble tavern on the edge of the forest. There you are greeted by an old companion, Eddie the Bard. Tears streaming down his face, he tells you his cherished goblet is gone, a ring of dried crimson wine staining the table where it once sat.”

He sprung forth, grabbing the back of Mike Wheeler’s chair and narrating directly into his ear. “What’s that, you say? Tis merely a pewter cup, worth nothing more than a couple of coppers on the open market? No, gentlemen. This cup is the secret to the bard’s otherworldly music, spelled to give the bearer great luck and fortune. Charisma off the charts, baby. A Goblet of Rock.”

She had no idea what this Hellfire club was actually doing, but it seemed like a cross between a board game and a storytelling exercise. And this Eddie was...good. Really good. But a knot wound tight in Rose’s stomach as he belaboured the importance of the cup in her very hands. A cup he was no doubt trying to work back into the story.

“I say we retrieve the goblet,” Gareth folded his hands under his chin. “Our party is one man down, and we need all the help we can get if we’re going to defeat the storm dragon Iymrith. Maybe this bard will owe us a favour, and give us a companion or an artefact to slay the dragon.”

“Hear hear,” Dustin thumped the table, shaking about some small pieces Rose couldn’t see. “I walk into the tavern at the head of the party-”

“Hey,” Jeff protested, shooting Dustin a jealous look. “I’m the senior member here. I should lead the party.”

Eddie raised a hand. “No one disputes your position, Jeff. But let the little halfling make his move.”

Dustin took a deep breath. “I open the tavern door, toss my hat onto the table, and flag down a serving wench. Our throats are dusty from the road, so I take a few of our silver coins from the last dungeon crawl and purchase six flagons of mead. Eddie brings them to us.”

Eddie leapt onto his chair, squatting on his heels. “Welcome, patron. I would stay and sup a flagon of mead with you fine warriors, but my troubles overwhelm me. Without the Goblet of Rock, my charisma remains too low to wield my mighty Warlock, and shred to my heart’s content. No guitar, no revellers, no coin for Eddie the Bard. I'm in need of help to keep bread on my table and patrons in my tavern.”

Chris chuckled low and ominous. “If it’s steel you’re after, I, the dwarf Thordus Boulderbash, will take my battleaxe and face any man who dares take the Goblet of Rock.”

“Thordus has a fearsome reputation in these parts, my chaotic-good friend,” Eddie pats him on the back. “But this cup thief is no warrior. A nymph of seriously high stealth crept into the tavern as the guests slept, and made away with the cup before dawn’s light woke me from my slumber.”

For a moment, Rose was too captivated by the story to absorb her supposed leading role in it.

Gareth cleared his throat. “This nymph, she pretty by any chance?”

Eddie leaned in, weight on his elbows. “Fairer than the sunrise over the Greypeak mountains.”

Rose’s brain tripped, lights out, power surged. Even someone with her abysmal track record could recognise the flirtatious tone in his voice. Wait...was this just part of the game? Was he like that with everyone? She wished another girl was in the room, so she could get a sense of normality, something to compare this to.

“Niiice,” Gareth drawled.

“Wait, how would you even know it was a nymph in the first place?” Dustin asked, twirling a pencil between his fingers. “She was gone before daybreak, we have no evidence.”

“Well, gentlefolk, I happen to have an enchanted mirror in the tavern. Caught a glimpse of the wild little thing just as she booked it out the window, leaving behind a lock of auburn hair. And we all know that a nymph cannot be slain by steel alone, so break out your charisma, boys, we’re gonna have to find her, and convince her to return the Goblet of Rock.”

They whooped and applauded, more revved up than a crowd of football hooligans, and Rose had to fist her hands in her crochet cardigan to stop herself from joining in. Something was about to happen, and she was hopping around on the scales between terror and excitement, brimming with a nervous energy.

She couldn’t see the table close up, but she heard dice roll and gasps from the guys at the table, Eddie narrating something about scores, determining the outcome of a battle, or perhaps a decision. It was hard to tell, without any context. It took a few minutes, and her brain didn’t take much of it in.

“Adventurers,” Eddie addressed them after a brief burst of action. “The forest glade beckons, a sea of autumn-gold leaves rustles in the wind. You’ve fought hard to get past the elemental spirits, and emerged bloody, but victorious. Now place down your swords, for the final hurdle is one of wit, not one of might.”

“As our party’s bard, I step toward the tranquil pool,” Dustin says gravely, as if the weight of the world lay on his shoulders. “I take out my lute, and play a tune of such beauty that the nymph hiding in the forest must-”

“Hold on there, halfling,” Eddie silenced him. He looked on edge, his silver rings tap, tap, tapping against the wooden table incessantly. “There are some things a guy’s gotta do himself.”

Mike gawped. “DM’s don’t join in like that, man.”

“You’ll live, sheepies,” Eddie said, dripping in sarcasm. “I, Eddie the Bard, thank the halfling for his admittedly awesome lute playing, and step toward the glassy surface of the forest pool.”

He took a deep breath, stood up suddenly, and turned toward her hidden lair behind the costume rack. Oh god. She was going to die on the spot, she was going to combust from embarrassment if he brought her out. But somehow, even stronger, was the fear that he wouldn’t. He stepped slowly toward her hiding spot, eyes scanning the piles of clothes for a rough idea of where she might be.

“Lady nymph,” he began, voice cracking a little. “You fled my tavern before we could meet, my goblet in your clutches. If you would honour this humble bard with your name, we might determine what you desire in return for the Goblet of Rock.”

“Dude, please don’t make me do a girl's voice again,” Gareth begged. “My vocal cords can’t take it.”

Fuck it. This was the most entertained she’d been all day. All year, probably. Rose swept aside the hangers of clothes with a flourish. She stepped out, to a chorus of shouts and an ear-splitting scream.

Dustin shrieked like a banshee, his hat lost yet again as jolted out of his chair and into Mike’s lap.“Jesus! What the hell?”

“Get off me, man.” Mike said, pushing him away.

“Oh my god, a plant?” Jeff roared. “This is fucking unprecedented Eddie. It’s without precedent!”

“I must be high right now,” Gareth mumbled. “You guys see what I see, right?”

Eddie was right there, tall and frizzy-haired and only two steps away, eyes as wide as saucers. Rose barely had time to notice how tall he was before he dropped to one knee like a chivalrous knight, hand outstretched toward her.

Rose gripped the goblet hard, fight or flight kicking in hard. Ten paces and she’d be out of the door, into the night. Or, at least, into the bleak corridors of Hawkins High.

“Hey,” Eddie said low under his breath, ignoring his friends’ drama behind him. “Eyes on me, sweetheart.”

He held out his hand again, palms wide, sleeves rolled back, ink snaking up his forearm. Close up, he was even more intense, with a jack o’lantern grin. He spoke again, this time loud enough for the group to hear.

“The nymph dares to emerge from the forest pool, bearing the goblet. But will she tell a humble bard her name?”

Brain whirring quickly, Rose realised she’d need a story. Her social skills? Dubious. Eclectic book knowledge, and rambling profusely at the worst of times? Proficient. She couldn’t just use her real name, could she? Nymphs...nature, mythology, natural places. Might just be enough to go on.

“Lady Thorn,” she said, doing her best to imitate his dramatic narrative voice. She placed her hand in his; skin warm, rings cool, surprisingly gentle. “But you, good sir, can call me Rose.”

The group were whooping, chaotic energy rolling off them in waves. Dustin was still hyperventilating, and the guys were giving him shit for reacting like a ten year old girl.

“Lady Thorn,” Eddie clutched her hand in supplication. “We seek the return of the Goblet of Rock. Name your price, fair maiden.”

An hour ago, she’d name a one way ticket back to the Shire. Now, the road to Rivendell was starting to look a little interesting. Question is, was this the Council of Elrond, or a table of leather-jacket clad, hormonal, teenage Nazgul?

“Is that his girlfriend?” Mike asked, face scrunched up in confusion.

“Nope,” Jeff answered. “We have sighted a UFO: unidentified female object. Contact made, presence yet to be explained.”

Rose frowned at being called an object, but there was too much going on in the room to be distracted by it. She held the goblet in her free hand up to the stage light, pausing for dramatic effect, and to figure out what on earth she might say. “I am new to the land of...”

“Icewind Dale.” Dustin supplied quickly, braces sparking in the spotlights as he grinned.

“...to the land of Icewind Dale,” Rose continued nervously. “I was torn from my simple hedgerow in the Shire and cast to these frozen forests without hope or expectation of returning home again. I seek...uh...I seek a guide to help me navigate these new lands.”

“A guide, huh?” Eddie pondered, turning to the table behind him. “Can we do that, gentlemen?”

Mike was the first to respond. “No traveller walks the road alone on our watch. But first, we roll. She has to have a skill check.”

Eddie threw back his head. “Uh, kid Wheeler, remember what I said about my omnipotence earlier? Don’t forget who the DM is here. Me, buddy. I call the shots.”

Gareth sighed dramatically. “Besides, what are you even rolling against? She has no stats, no abilities, just a name and a goblet!”

Chris shuts his gaping mouth just long enough to ask her: “You don’t happen to have a character sheet, do you? Do you have any thoughts on your alignment? I’m sensing lawful good, but nymphs are pretty wild. Maybe chaotic good?”

Rose was at a loss. “Wait,” she said, brandishing the goblet. “I can’t believe i’m about ramble at completely unknown people again, because it worked out so well for me in English class this morning, but I have no idea what you are talking about. What’s an alignment? A character sheet? Stats?”

“I truly hate to use a sports term, but time out, people,” Eddie declared. He stopped, tongue poking out the corner of his mouth, weighing up something behind his dark doe-eyes. “Sweetheart, either that is a world class fake accent, or you’re not from these parts. Have you ever played Dungeons and Dragons?”

She narrowed her eyes. “What are Dungeons and Dragons?”

“What?” Eddie let go of her hand and paced up and down, hands on his hips. “Really? Like, never? Not heard of a dungeon master...the D20...the ‘we’ll sacrifice your firstborn’ brand of satanic panic troubling the hearts and minds of parents all across America? ”

She thought about it. “Is D20 a band? I don’t really watch much MTV, though my stepdad did just get cable. Are they any good?”

He reeled backward until he hit the table, arms flailing in the air. Anyone else would have left it there but Eddie threw himself backward, rolling on top of the table like an invisible hand was dragging him. “No way. No way. That can’t be happening. But you just played along like a pro!”

She burst out laughing. He was really hamming it up, knocking over everything on the table - the candles narrowly snatched by the guys, whose quick thinking prevented the drama room going up in a puff of smoke.

“It’s not a band, it’s a twenty sided dice,” Mike said slowly, like he was talking to a toddler. “There are other numbered dice too. Not just six.”

“Yeah, we use them to make decisions on our actions, the success of our attacks...you know, it’s just how we roll.” Dustin squealed a laugh. “I said, how we roll...’cause it's a dice.”

Groans echoed across the room, second hand embarrassment so strong you could cut it with a knife, but the corner of Eddie’s lips still turned up into a smile. Their teasing clearly stayed on the right side of friendly.

He vaulted off the table clumsily, and staggered back over, approaching Rose gingerly, like she were a flight risk liable to run at any second. “Wait, wait. Before we return to the Icewind Dale I have to ask. Who are you, and how in the nine hells of Asmodeus did you appear in the centre of Hellfire on a Friday night?”

“Hold on, hold on,” Dustin interrupted. “You two really don’t know each other?”

“We go a long way back,” Eddie boasted, chest puffed out. “All the way back to that table incident thirty minutes ago. And trust me, if I'd seen the lady before, I would have remembered.”

That feeling bubbled up again, like warm whiskey coursing through her veins. “I’m Rose. It’s my first day of senior year. My first ever day of high school since we moved. So naturally I've pissed off half the school, some of the teachers, and got trapped in a supply closet whilst the nice girls talk behind my back. My social life has withered and died in a single day, like a fragile desert flower.”

Eddie nodded along. “So a quiet Friday, then.”

“Just fucking fantastic. I found a dark corner to hide my shame, only to find myself in the middle of a satanic cult. Those two John Hughes films that I watched over the summer did not prepare me for this American high school experience.”

“Yeah. It’s less Sixteen Candles, more Nightmare on Elm Street.” He smiled a dopey, lopsided smile, and fidgeted with his hands. “I’m Eddie, by the way. Munson. First days suck, I would know, I've had more than my fair share. The gentlemen behind me here are fellow D&D enthusiasts and members of Hellfire: Jeff, Chris and Gareth are long-time members, and we have some new little sheepies, Dustin and Mike. Lucas too, if he can drop his shiny rubber balls long enough to commit to the campaign.”

A chorus of Hi’s and waves introduced the players to her, but watching them from the corner of the room had given her a decent sense of their personalities and dynamics.

“Come on, guys, shuffle round the table and make space for the lady,” Eddie commanded. He dashed over to the wall and manhandled a heavy wooden chair into place, directly on the right side of his ornate throne. He bowed and gestured at the empty seat, then the colour drained from his face. “I didn’t even ask if you wanted to join, did I. It's not an obligation. You can walk right out of here having nailed the best side quest in Hellfire history.”

“We should warn you,” Gareth imparted wisely, “if you’re looking to be popular around here, this is the wrong place to be. We’re not exactly tight with the jocks or the party kids.”

Eddie pointed to himself with both thumbs. “They don’t call me Eddie the Freak for nothing.”

Her decision was already made, the moment Eddie spotted her from under that table and smiled. Here was a group of strangers going out of their way to make her feel welcome, without knowing a single thing about her.

Rose felt a lump in her throat. “You would put up with a complete idiot who doesn’t know her class from her elbow?”

Dustin’s fist pumped the air. “Yes! Puns are totally cool, I knew it.”

“I don’t mind,” Mike said. “I taught my girlfriend D&D, she had to start somewhere.”

Eddie did a double take. “You have a girlfriend, freshie?”

“She moved to California just before the school year.”

“Ah,” Jeff drew out the syllable knowingly. “Out of state. Convenient excuse.”

“I wouldn’t call it convenient,” Dustin disagreed. “My girlfriend Suzie is in Utah, and that totally sucks. It’s been forty-six days since Camp Nowhere finished, which means two hundred and ninety-nine before I see her again next summer.”

Gareth groaned. “Come on, man. Both the freshmen have girlfriends? How is that even statistically possible?”

Dustin leaned forward intently, “Well if you look at the number of D&D players, profile them by age and cross reference them with the number of-”

Eddie’s hand smothered Dustin’s mouth. “Shh, halfling. He did not mean literally. Besides, the lady hasn’t given us her answer. Sweetheart, do you wanna help us take down Iymrith, the storm dragon? I have a feeling these novices will need a helping hand. It is going to be brutal.”

Rose took a seat at Eddie’s right hand side, and picked up the many-sided lump of red plastic on the board. “I suppose I could join you. Do you know why?”

He fell for it, hook, line and sinker. “Why?”

She dropped the D20 on the table. “Because this is how I roll.”

Dustin dislodged the Dungeon Master’s mouth; fuse lit, laughter exploding from his chest like a stick of dynamite. Groans turned to laughs.

Eddie smiled, and opened his arms wide. “Welcome to Hellfire.”

[yocalio]

SHŌGUN Chapter Two: Servants of Two Masters

[missybee-writes]

Favourite novel, ever. Can't wait for the rest to play out.

[missybee-writes]

Dragonskin (Ao3 link)

Aemond Targaryen is nothing without his dragon. Vhagar is the greens’ greatest weapon, his source of strength, and mayhaps his only friend. When an accident leaves him grounded and his family vulnerable, he is forced to seek out the strangest of allies to help him back into the skies, before King Viserys meets the Stranger and civil war tears apart the Seven Kingdoms.

Jeyne of Cobbler’s Square is impulsive, lonely, braver than any common woman ought to be, and burdened with a secret: in her blood lies a power greater than any dragonlord, and the key to Vhagar’s flight. When Aemond stumbles upon her in the streets of King’s Landing, she is drawn into the dangers of a divided court, Otto Hightower’s schemes, and the fate of dragonkind itself.

Their love is so fierce that Aemond begins to question his duty and honour, but the Dance of Dragons will leave them bloodied and torn apart, fighting for their survival.

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The Dance of the Dragons retold, with a love story that changes the fate of Seven Kingdoms. Romance and battle scenes in equal measure, rich in ASoIaF lore, green-focused but with nuanced, flawed characters. Told through multiple POVs (Aemond, Aegon, Alicent, Otto, Daemon, and two OC’s).

800k words. Complete as of 1st March 2024.

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Ao3 link (if I get the energy to copy over 110 chapters to Tumblr, i'll link below)