When the Night Comes
Steve Harrington x Reader
I received an ask from @madaboutjoe for option #2 from our Stranger Prompts which is: You mistake him for the man who is supposed to be your blind date, and he goes along with it, with Steve. I put my own spin on it and made it extra weird.
18+ONLY for horror, mention of gore and adult themes, fear of the unknown, hurt/comfort I suppose, she/her pronouns used for reader. WC: 11.8k
Summary: After being single for a while, a personal ad in the classifieds catches your eye, and the guy who posted it invites you to meet for coffee. There's a tree blocking the road, causing you to detour, and once you get to Hawkins you find it's not at all what you expected. Mention of Robin, and appearances from Hopper, Joyce, and Eddie Munson.
Author's Note: This was inspired by the horror show From (which I highly recommend), but you do not have to be familiar with it to understand/enjoy this. In fact, it might be even better if you don't know anything about it. Also, the Benny's described in this fic is a cross between the original burger joint and the diner in the show.
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It was mostly by accident that Steve and Robin took over Benny’s. One day, they were hunkering down there to hide, scared as hell, trying not to make a sound, and the next thing they knew, they were painting the walls and adding items to the menu.
When caught in a hellscape, it was important to have a place to go to bask in the illusion of safety, even if just for a meal.
Things generally slowed down in the afternoon on Wednesdays, as it was post lunch rush and right before the seniors dropped in for that early bird special. Robin was with Vickie tending to the farm animals across town, and the only customers at the time were Claudia Henderson chatting with a friend over coffee and pie. Steve would bus the table once he made a list of supplies he’d need to go searching for the next day. .
At a booth nearest the front door, in his trusty red and black flannel that was missing two buttons and a pair of jeans, Steve wore a white apron around his waist. He took the blue bandana off his head to let his glossy mane flop free, running a hand through it a few times, sweeping it to one side.
2
“Is this it?” You mumbled from behind the steering wheel of your car, peering ahead through the windshield at the first signs of a town after a long stretch of forest. The pavement was cracked and worn, giving you a passing thought about where their tax dollars were going if not to those improvements. The Welcome to Hawkins sign was just as weathered and also pockmarked with bullet holes.
A certain gloom settled around the town, like those places that exist in the lower valley between two mountains, nestled in a sea of fog. The afternoon had been fairly bright and sunny until you approached the Hawkins border and had to take your sunglasses off in order to see.
He said you’d be able to see it from the road, that burger place Steve said he’d meet you at. You took a right down the first street and craned your neck to read a sign scrawled in black marker on a sandwich board out in front of the post office:
62 Days Without Incident
You didn’t have long to ponder it before you were pulling into the parking spot at the far end of Benny’s. One of the windows had a menacing spider web crack in it that appeared to be mended with duct tape, and if not for the station wagon in the lot and the dim lighting inside, you’d think the building was abandoned.
Hawkins felt like someone's memory of a town, and the memory was fading.
“It’s just coffee,” you whispered, pacing on the other side of the building near your car. “It’s just coffee with a complete stranger.”
A complete stranger you contacted through a personal ad in the paper, to be exact.
You considered having a smoke first, but didn’t want the nicotine smell to cling to you. Maybe he was also an occasional smoker, you’d have to wait and see. You stepped into view of the front window, and then jerked yourself back to lean against the slate gray wall, cringing as if you’d just stubbed your toe.
You hadn’t been on a date in over a year, but there was something about the ad in the classifieds that made him sound so…normal. Unlike the others.
SWM 5’10, brown hair, hazel eyes, 30yr old business owner, hopeful romantic seeks SF for friendship and adventure with the potential for something more. I like to cook and want to make you laugh. UB kind, curious, homebody looking for LTR.
You’d left a message for him in the extension given by the paper, and then he’d messaged you back almost immediately, inviting you to an afternoon coffee date at a diner in Hawkins.
You were 98% certain that he did not have the voice of a serial killer, whatever that meant.
Fairly new to Indiana, you’d never ventured to Hawkins before, and there happened to be a downed tree blocking the exit you would usually take to the highway, forcing you to use the backroads instead.
A glance at your watch let you know you were fifteen minutes early, all things considered.
The interior of the diner was cozy dark wood with cream tile at your feet. Burnt orange nestled here and there as accents, including on the vinyl covers for the booth seats. A cigarette smoldered in a brown glass ashtray nearby, and to your right, two women spoke softly across the table to each other, but paused mid-conversation to nod suspiciously in your direction.
Maybe you’d have a chance to find a seat and order something to drink before he—-
3
Steve had to do a double take when he looked up at the sound of the bell ding. There was a stain on his white Hanes tee the shape of Australia and faint purple moons carved under overly caffeinated, bloodshot eyes.
At first, he assumed you were just another patron, but then you met his casual stare with enthusiasm, and offered a nervous yet generous smile, beelining in his direction as if the two of you were familiar.
You were new, and such a thing was a rare and unsettling thing to see in Hawkins.
He’d asked Robin to put fliers up at the post office and the library announcing that they were looking for waitstaff help, but that was only a few hours ago. Surely, someone wasn’t inquiring already.
It was hard for you not to run in the other direction when you saw how handsome he was. What the hell was a guy that good looking doing paying to post a personal ad? Better question—-what was a person like you doing answering one?
He’d been frowning down at the notepad in front of him before he glanced up, warm maple hair long enough to tuck behind his ears. Brown diner mug near his elbow, confusion tightened around his eyes when you jutted an arm out to shake his hand.
You introduced yourself. “And I thought I was the early one,” your cheeks felt hot, clutching your bag to your side.
“Uh, hi,” was all he could manage at the time, returning the generous hand squeeze. It took him a few seconds, but then he realized what the only possible explanation could be. “You must be here because of the ad?”
You slid into the booth seat across from him. Maybe he was trying to be funny, like it was some type of dry wit.
“Am I not what you were expecting?”
“No, no, that’s not—” he stammered, jerking his arm to the side so fast that he hit the coffee mug, causing liquid to splash out onto the table. He clawed some napkins out of the dispenser to wipe up the spill, a stray curl of hair bobbing over his forehead as he did so. “I just mean, I wasn’t expecting you this early, that’s all.”
You weren’t what he’d been expecting to walk through his door that afternoon in many ways.
First of all, he was attracted to you, so taking you in as an employee might not be the brightest idea, but also, why had he never seen you around before? Even if he didn’t know everyone in Hawkins personally, they’d all for sure crossed his path at one point.
The town was funny like that.
A hard pit in his stomach told him that you weren’t from town at all, and he really hoped that was not the case, for your sake.
A few beats of silence hung in the air, and the bell dinged again to herald the exit of Claudia and her friend, chattering as they went.
“Is the food good here?” You settled back in your seat, eying the display case near the register while shrugging out of your coat. “The pies look yummy.”
Like a trout thrown to the ground, Steve’s mouth opened and closed a few times, and he pushed the sleeves of his flannel up to his elbows, finding his words. “They’re pretty good, yeah, I think. The guy who makes them is a bit of a nut and takes his pastries pretty seriously.”
There were creased paper menus that looked hand-typed tucked in between the ketchup and the tiny, tableside jukebox. You grabbed one and put it in front of you, eyes roaming over the words without really reading a thing.
“I didn’t expect you to be so handsome,” your tongue was often faster than your brain, and you flicked a nervous glance up at him after realizing what you’d said. “Sorry.”
Totally inappropriate for a professional conversation, but why did it make Steve feel all tingly?
“Don’t be sorry,” he muttered. To avoid eye contact, he picked up the nearby pencil and started drawing squiggles on the yellow notepad in front of him.
“Do you have any experience waiting tables?” He cut right to the chase, not that any experience would make a difference. He wasn’t going to be able to pay you, anyway, that wasn’t how it worked around there.
You were not at all thrown off by the question; you figured there’d be a good helping of small talk.
“For a year in high school, yeah,” you were flicking the corner of the menu with your thumb. “It was a 24 hour waffle house. Met a lot of interesting people.”
“I bet.” He tried to sound casual, but the nervous eruption of a laugh bubbled out.
So, there it was: you were definitely not from there.
The idea that you would soon go through the stages of shock and denial and depression that was common for everyone who resided in what they’d once known as Hawkins, made his stomach drop.
He didn’t want to be the one to watch the light drain from your eyes.
4
You straightened up from staring at the menu to search for whoever might be behind the kitchen hatch. “Do we walk up there to give our order? Or will someone come to the table?”
“That’s, um, I can—let me,” Steve stuttered before taking a breath. “Uh, do you know what you want?”
“Just iced tea for now I think,” you were concentrating on the offerings, bottom lip sucked in between your teeth. “I’m not very hungry. Some of those steak fries maybe? Would you eat some with me?”
There were plenty of mysteries about the town that no one had been able to solve yet, including the way vegetable crops and farm animals showed up in various spots out of the blue. People found garbage bags full of packaged, grocery store quality bread in their backyards as if dropped from the sky. A few months ago while scavenging, Jonathan Byers stumbled upon a concrete door in the ground that led to a bunker stocked with endless dry goods. Steve didn’t ask questions much anymore, he was just grateful they had resources.
He figured whatever trapped them all there wanted to toy with them and fattened them up for the kill.
There was something very casual and familiar about your disposition that made him even more curious about what universal tide washed you up onto his shore.
To most people, ending up in their corner of the world felt like a punishment, but one that they’d somewhat adapted to over time. One day, hopefully, you would find your peace with it too. Maybe even share a piece of pie with him and tell him stories about what he’d missed out in the real world.
For now, you’d have iced tea and fries and pretend none of the horrors were real.
Steve got up from the booth, tucking his chin as he spoke. “I’m serious, I’ll make you anything you want. I mean, within reason.”
Your head snapped up. “Wait, you work here?”
He couldn’t help but frown at your genuine display of confusion.
“I kinda run the place, yeah. It’s not much but,” he shrugged. “My best friend and I, we—”
You blinked a few times. “I feel so stupid, I didn’t realize—”
“You’re not stupid,” he interrupted, planting his hands square on his hips. “Gimme…ten minutes, okay? Just need to throw them in the fryer.”
Your head snapped a few quick nods in a row, unable to settle the feelings of embarrassment.
“Oh, wait,” he spun around, snapping his fingers once in the air. “You like lemon in your tea?”
“Sure.” The more you looked around, the more you sensed something was really…off about the place. Not just the diner, but the entire town.
Outside, the grass was either dead or overgrown and there’d been a wrecked car--possibly and old Chrysler LeBaron---sticking out of an empty public pool on the corner when you first drove in. You remembered the way those two women at the other table glared at you, like maybe you were not at all welcome there at all, no matter what the tattered doormat out front said.
Steve returned to set your iced tea in front of you. There were a couple cubes of ice in the glass, a pretty lemon wedge perched on the lip, and a straw sticking out of it with the paper end still on to protect the sanitation of it. The only odd thing was the pint glass that it came in: it said Shiloh Inn Lounge on it.
“Sugar?” At first you thought he was calling you by a pet name and it gave you a heart palpitation, but instead he set a few packets of actual sugar down that were all different brands. “If you like.”
His eyes were kind and weary and you sensed a weight hanging in the air like maybe he wanted to tell you something but didn’t know how.
He hovered there, refusing to sit back down, and you took that as a hint that he just wasn’t feeling a connection. If that was the case, you didn’t want to waste any more of your time.
“If you’re not interested, I understand,” you took the paper off of your red and white striped straw. “That’s what things like this are for, right? To see if you want to get to know someone better.”
He frowned, cocking his head to one side, curling his lip. “Not interested?”
“You know…in me.” You squeezed a bit of the lemon in. A seed shot out and almost got you in the eye.
Steve softened, crossing one arm over his chest to hold onto the other, absently guarding himself. “Okay, but why wouldn’t I be interested in you?”
You snorted a laugh. “You can just say I’m not your type, it’s fine. You don’t have to be weird about it.”
Outside, an avocado green Ford Pinto pulled up to the curb and parked.
5
“Why did you come here?” He asked, massaging the elbow area where he clutched his arm.
You considered the weight of that question and all of the answers you could give. Practically everyone you loved was either dead or no longer a part of your life. You hated your job with the intensity of a thousand suns, but you’d acquired too much debt to up and quit. There was no family money or support to act as a safety net; no savings account to pull from. The last time you were in a committed relationship, you had your heart tramped, and to be honest, your wounds from that were still open and weeping.
All things on the table, you had no business floundering around in the dating world. You were the walking wounded just looking for a distraction from the emptiness.
Why did you come here?
“To meet you, obviously,” you scowled into your drink, trying to mask a hot wave of insecurity. It felt like a hornet was stuck in your throat. “But I can just go back the way I came, it’s no biggie.”
“See, that’s just it,” he wet his lips a few times. “You can’t go back the way you came. No one can.”
His heart stuttered at the idea of having to break the news to you right then, or ever, but it would be dark soon, and he’d need to make sure you were safe. Leaving you out without protection, out there for The Others to find you was not an option.
That made you bark a laugh. “Oh yeah? What is this? Hotel California?”
The accuracy made him feel like someone just dropped an ice cube down the back of his shirt. “Something like that, yeah.”
The front bell dinged again and in walked a dark haired woman with one of the most likable faces you’d ever seen. The shins of her jeans were dirty like she’d been working in the garden, and there was a tear in the shoulder seam of the hunter green button-down shirt that she’d left untucked. It was about 2 sizes too big for her, sleeves rolled up so that her hands wouldn’t drown in the material.
She looked right at you and a vacant smile quivered at the corners of her mouth, as if she was forcing it in place with all her mite. It felt like she had absolutely nothing to be smiling about, but wanted to put you at ease.
“Hi I’m Joyce,” she held one open palm up in greeting, approaching with the caution of someone trying not to scare off a feral cat.
“Word travels fast,” Steve muttered under his breath, introducing you.
“Hopper saw the car on his way by,” she progressed to wringing her hands in front of her. “And I came over to see if it was true. To see if…see if you needed any help…
…it will be dark in an hour or so.”
They were having a private conversation with their eyes right in front of you and a heady mix of disorientating fear prickled the back of your neck.
“I think I missed something,” you fisted a handful of the material on your jacket, ready to head for the door. “I think this was a bad idea.”
But the two of them were blocking your path at that point, and you sensed they had no intention of moving.
“Hey, listen,” Joyce made a steeple out of her hands as if she were about to pray. “I know this is absolutely not what you want to hear, and believe me, I know it’s bonkers, but we can’t let you get back on that road tonight.”
Your mouth went dry and you turned to Steve thinking he might offer comfort, but his jaw was set, muscles ticking on one side as he ground his back teeth.
“You can’t be serious.” You let out a chuckle that was void of humor.
Joyce vibrated loving mother energy and as much as you wanted to get out of that diner, you also wanted to hear whatever it was she had to say. Maybe even get a hug from her.
“I know this sucks,” she continued. “It sucks and there’s a lot we need to explain to you, but pretty soon…the roads won’t be safe.”
Your breath caught in your chest, tightening there.
“There’s a spare bedroom at my place,” her expression made it seem like she was offering you a trip to Disneyland. “Clean sheets, I’ve got some soup on the stove. I can take you there now and we can have some coffee, you can meet my sons, and I’ll tell you everything, but you can’t drive back into the woods.”
“I appreciate the offer, but I think I’ll pass,” despite the tough exterior, your voice wavered. “Not to sound ungrateful for the hospitality, but this is crazy.”
You waited for them to burst into laughter and tell you they were kidding. Ha. Ha.
“It is fucking crazy, tell me about it,” Steve mumbled. “We just want to make sure you…” he trailed off, staring up as if trying to remember his lines.
The entire thing was turning out to be some twilight zone shit, and it was no longer amusing. Sure, Steve was hot and you already liked him plenty, but clearly there was lead paint in the water or black mold in the walls because the two people in front of you were off their rockers.
Your steady gaze landed on your blind date. “Is that why you put the ad in the paper? So that you could get me here and abduct me?”
“Paper?” Confused, he frowned at Joyce and then at you. “What paper? What ad?”
Ice and thorns shot through your blood.
“The personal ad, Steve. The one you put in the gazette, the one I answered. You left a message saying to meet you here.”
When they talk about a “pregnant” pause, well that pause gripped the air like it was having quadruplets.
“Personal ad?” Joyce peered at Steve, but he only shrugged and shook his head like he had no idea what was going on. Because he didn’t.
You raised your voice then, practically shouting. “And why do you two keep looking at each other like that? What am I missing? You invited me here for coffee and now you’re telling me I can’t leave? This is bullshit, I’m sorry, I’m going.”
You prepared yourself to fight to get beyond them, but they parted easily and gave no resistance when you bolted from the booth, strapping your bag across your body with a grumbled curse.
“I didn’t put a personal ad in any paper,” Steve said softly, but his words had enough impact to make you freeze in your tracks halfway to the door.
6
Hawkins, as they knew it, didn’t even have a circulating newspaper anymore. Nancy and a few others kept The Post going for as long as possible to keep morale afloat with a sense of normalcy, but after a while started to run out of supplies and purpose for such an endeavor, especially since they had no line to the outside world. She did publish a pamphlet every so often that announced local events, and whenever one of The Others got a hold of a member of the community, she would be the one to break the news to those who weren’t privy to the information.
…62 Days Without Incident….
“Who did I come here to meet then?” You kept your back to them, asking the question more to yourself.
“Sweetheart, I promise I’ll explain everything to you once we—” Joyce hugged herself as she spoke, watching you storm the rest of the way to the door and then jerk it open to the tune of a violent rattling of the bell.
“Please, wait!” Steve jogged to your side.
“I want you to have this,” he tugged down the front of his shirt to pull out a quarter size, oblong chunk of rock attached to some type of cream colored string. He lifted it up over his head, fluffing the back of his hair in the process, and held it out to you.
There was some sort of design on the smoke gray stone, a symbol that itched a part of your brain as being familiar.
He had it dangling in front of your face and your stare narrowed beyond the swinging cord to find the colors in his hazel eyes swirling like some uncharted universe. They made you want to go swimming in the stars.
“If you want to go, I can’t stop you,” he shifted close enough for you to smell the fruity scent of his hair product and coffee on his breath. “But please wear this.”
You winced at the necklace without touching it. “What is that?”
You might as well have been asking him to teach you conversational German in the span of ten minutes, even though he only knew a few letters from their alphabet.
“As long as you have this with you inside wherever you are, They can’t get to you. I’m telling you, I don’t even know how it works. But, if you won’t stay here with me or go with Joyce, I need you to put this on and keep all of the windows up on your car. All of the doors stay locked, got it?”
“Who is They?” You did not receive a verbal answer to your questions, only more clandestine looks.
It hit you like a flying brick just then that they were indeed not being malicious, nor were they trying to drug you to put you in a well and skin you alive. Steve and Joyce truly believed everything they were telling you:
Some unspecified Things come out at nightfall and kill people, but wearing a stone around your neck magically keeps them at bay. Got it.
You didn’t know why they came across as so sheltered and endangered when anyone could hop on the highway and be back in civilization in ten minutes. There were probably wild animals out there in the woods; coyotes and wolves and maybe even bears, and those were the things that showed up to terrorize the locals at nightfall, not some nocturnal horde of zombies.
Your survival instinct won out over curiosity, and you mumbled “bye Steve” over your shoulder, dashing out into the parking lot.
Behind you, Joyce took hold of Steve’s arm to keep him from following in your wake.
“She’ll have to learn this one the hard way, unfortunately,” she whispered to him. “Like most of us did.”
They watched you throw yourself in behind the steering wheel, and then heard your door lock after it slammed shut.
“I’ll fix up the cot in the supply room just in case she—-” he didn’t finish, but Joyce knew what he meant.
You’d be back once you realized there was nowhere else to go, and hopefully your pride wouldn’t keep you out too long after dark. He’d wait up and keep the light on.
Without one of the stones of protection, it wouldn’t matter if you were in a concrete bunker, The Others would still be able to get to you if they wanted to.
Maybe if you got stranded in your car, you’d be smart enough to hide under a blanket and stay quiet until morning.
What if you tried to run from them on foot or, worse yet, tried to physically defend yourself?
As far as Steve knew, those things they called The Others couldn’t be stopped.
7
You literally squealed out of town, tires leaving fishtail skid marks on the pavement.
“What the fuck was that?” You mumbled, breathless, eyeballing the two in your rearview mirror as you got back on the highway and were swallowed up by fog.
The misty forest continued for about a mile, and then it wasn’t long before you were approaching another town. Had you somehow passed through a similar place without realizing on your way in? Seemed impossible, but you rationalized it as first date nerves getting the best of you.
And what a fucking bonkers “first date” that had been. One for the books.
Shame because Steve had one of those faces you’d never get tired of looking at.
All the same, you were grateful to be out of Hawkins, but you needed gas. You’d be able to get home with what you had in the tank, but didn’t want to have to take time to fill up on your way to work in the morning.
On your right, you passed another weathered Welcome to Hawkins sign.
No, that was a mistake. The natural light was fading rapidly but surely you’d misread it without your headlights on.
You slowed to honor the speed limit through to the center of whatever town it was. There was an establishment called Melvald’s, a Radio Shack, and further down was a Family Video, but the streets were deserted. It was barely dusk and not a single soul strolled the sidewalks or drove by in a vehicle.
A church bell rang in the distance, and you spotted a woman hustling three young children up a flight of stairs. The youngest didn’t seem to be taking the steps fast enough, so she picked him up and carried him the rest of the way to a door that slammed shut as once they were all inside.
They were acting as if the moonlight was poison and they couldn’t get any on their skin.
Pink and orange blossomed over the horizon while the sun sank behind the mountains, and the church bell persisted with its haunting tune. A little further and there were cars parked outside of fenced houses, but not a single human or animal to be found. A pair of seats on a swing set swayed back and forth as if occupied by ghosts.
Coming to a halt at a stop sign, there was a very familiar sight:
62 Days Without Incident
The same sandwich board, the same cursive handwriting in black marker in front of the same red brick post office building.
“Nononono..no. This is not right…” you started mumbling to yourself, inching along the pavement.
It wasn't long before you spotted the empty swimming pool with the back end of a wrecked car sticking out of it. If you turned down that first street, you knew you’d find Benny’s Burgers and Steve probably at the front window, waiting with flex cuffs to tie you up in his basement.
You’d missed a turn, that was all. That was the only explanation.
You went extra slow the next time through the forest, making sure to spot whatever exit or turn you’d missed before.
But then the trees opened up to a town and there was the Welcome to Hawkins sign. Melvald’s and Radio Shack. Family Video. 62 Days Without Incident. Wrecked car in an empty pool.
White knuckle grip on the wheel, frustrated tears welled hot at your lash line.
“This can’t be right.”
You tried it again, going no more than 10 mph through the woods, and it didn’t help that the smog was billowing thick as cream.
Why hadn’t you passed any other cars on the road?
On your fourth time back around, after a good cry, you reasoned that maybe you’d taken the wrong way out of town somehow, but you’d have to ask someone in the morning and try again due to the staggering lack of visibility you were currently faced with.
Plus, according to your gas gauge, you’d be coasting on nothing but fumes soon.
Wiping wet cheeks with the back of your hand, you flicked the blinker and coasted in under a metal awning alongside two gas pumps that were connected to a single mechanics garage and a mini mart.
“Please be open,” you said to the glass front door of the service station which, once again, looked like it had been abandoned for the evening, or possibly for the entire year.
When you turned the engine off you realized that the church bell was no longer thumping to the beat of your headache, and the dead calm silence settled around like a veil, much like the ambiance of a horror film.
The type of horror film your character didn’t make it out of.
You shook your head and thought about slapping yourself in the face. This was all just some wild mixup. You’d get gas, get a room at the motel you’d spotted a few blocks back, and find your bearings first thing in the morning.
Deep breaths in and out of your nose a few times while you sat trying to psych yourself up to get out and find someone to pay for the gas, pending the pumps weren’t dry.
Relief blossomed when you spotted a person approaching from the street. With each steady step, they took their time to cross the distance, as if calculating if they should .
“Oh thank god, a person,” you said on an exhale.
8
He was balding, but his dishwater blonde hair was combed over to try and hide it, he wore an oddly formal brown suit jacket and slacks. Polka dot orange and chocolate necktie, his hands relaxed at his sides, he reminded you of a used car salesman thinking he spotted an easy mark.
The smile was wide and plastered to his face, unwavering, as if his teeth were clamped shut and he was gritting through some private pain
“Hey,” you said, stepping out of the car, but keeping the open door in front of you as a barrier. “I was hoping to get some gas. Do you happen to know if anyone works here?”
His pace did not falter, nor did his deranged grin.
You thought maybe he hadn’t heard you clearly at first, so you waited for him to get a few feet closer. Nearly three car lengths away at that point and you made the decision to stay put, ignoring the sharp gut instinct telling you to start the engine and go.
“Sorry, do you work here?” You weren’t sure why that came out of your mouth considering his attire. “I only need a couple gallons. I have cash if—-”
“You shouldn’t be here,” the smiling man said, maintaining a show of teeth.
He also said your name. Somehow, he knew your name.
An alarm went off in your gut. “Do I know you?”
You hadn’t yet had time to process the idea that you’d gone to the wrong place entirely for your date, and Steve wasn’t even the one you were supposed to meet.
The smiling man got closer, only a car length away by then.
With a start, you noticed that a woman in an old fashioned Nurse uniform—like the type one might wear for Halloween—was not far behind the man in the suit, headed toward you at the same pace with her hair done in two platinum blonde braids..
Her smile was not as wide but just as unsettling.
“Hello?” You yelled in the direction of the service station, knowing you should go over and try to knock, but your feet felt like they had concrete shoes on.
“Hello?” A high-pitched voice came from somewhere behind you, and it was clearly mocking, complete with a maniacal giggle at the end.
You spun around to find that the smog was a curtain, and you were unable to see beyond it. It was gathering around you legs too, as if preparing to drag you into the void.
Disoriented and panting, you watched a car come flying up over the curb, gunning the engine so hard that one of the hubcaps flew off.
The avocado green Ford Pinto caught air for a second before the bumper crashed into the smiling man, bending him in half like a rag doll. It pinned him into the stone of the building with a loud, sickening crunch.
You would’ve screamed but your breath caught on a sharp inhale, making you choke.
Clearly broken by the impact, the smiling man’s expression never faultered, and he was still staring pointedly at you while bits from the wall crumbled around him.
Black blood dripped from his lips and eyes like tar.
“Fuckfuckfuckwhatthefuck,” you babbled while Joyce flapped her arms to try and get your attention from the window of the passenger seat.
“Hurry, get in!” She shouted, her voice cracking at the end.
Steve was driving, and he backed up enough so that the body of the smiling man slumped to the ground.
Throwing the vehicle into park, Steve bolted from his seat with what looked like a baseball bat covered in jumbo nails like a medieval mace.
He swung to strike the woman in the nurse uniform with it, but missed, and she hissed at him. Her mouth grew 5 times its original size, crowded full with rows of sharp teeth. Her eyes stretched into empty, cavernous holes with nothing behind them, her fingers were long claws and her…her….
It was then that you realized you were screaming.
9
“Steve watch out!” Joyce had a hold of your hand, dragging you along with all of her mite.
The thing that was once the woman in the nurse uniform let out a shrill cry just before the nail bat made contact with its skull. Its head whacked into the side of the Pinto and bounced off, causing a spray of black blood.
It barely made a difference.
It lunged jerkily and swiped at him; mouth gaping, eyes two spirling tunnels to hell, but before it could make contact, Joyce pulled a tiny firearm out of her sleeve and took aim, cracking the thing in the cheek with a bullet.
“I hate these things,” she muttered under her breath while the tip smoked, and you weren’t sure if she meant guns or the Other thing that tried to take a bite out of Steve; possibly both.
The nurse stumbled back behind the pumps and fell out of view.
“GET. IN.” Joyce was stronger than she looked as she stuffed you into the back seat of the Pinto. In haste, you scraped your knee on a piece of metal behind the passenger seat, but had no idea until you saw the blood running down your leg some time later.
The smiling man shuffled to his feet like he was being tugged up by strings.
His guts were spilling out of him but yet, he was able to stand. Stand and smile. With inky ooze dripping from everywhere like melting wax.
Joyce was in the process of shutting her door as Steve backed up. You felt the jarring bump when the wheels went over the nurse.
You caught Steve’s eye in the rearview mirror. “Are you okay?” He demanded. “Did any of them touch you?”
On the seat next to you was the nail bat; some of the nurses’ blonde hair was sticking to it.
“No, uh, no, I don’t think so. What are they? Did you just kill that woman? Take me back to my car. Tell me what is going on!”
He was lightning fast on the gears once he’d backed up into the street, just in time for you to see the nurse sit upright; black tar leaking from the hole in the back of her head.
“That’s not a woman,” he grunted, flooring the pedal. “It's not even human.”
“What does that mean?” Shaking, you listened to your own horrified voice as if from a distance.
Joyce swiveled in her seat to give you the best comforting twist of her lips that she could muster. “I’ll do my best to explain, back at the diner.”
“Why aren’t they dead?” You whined, staring back at the nurse one last time before the gas station disappeared in the smog.
Through the window you saw that there were more of those Things that resembled people lining the sidewalk, standing shoulder to shoulder. They swarmed in from the shadows one by one to watch the vehicle pass with vested interest.
Their eyes followed you like the pinto was a one-man parade. Or perhaps a meals-on-wheels.
“Where did they all come from?” You asked, almost certain you wouldn’t get an answer.
“Your guess is as good as ours,” Steve sighed.
He was awfully calm considering what you’d just witnessed.
From the rearview mirror dangled a similar stone to the one Steve wore around his neck, suspended by cream string or twine.
There was a crackling noise and then a new voice sounded like it was coming from a radio.
“Joyce, are you there?” A pause and more crackling. “Need you to talk to me Joyce. Harrington? Anyone?”
There was a CB radio attached to the dash. Joyce unhooked the mouthpiece from its metal hinge and put it to her mouth, depressing the side button.
“I’m here, Hop,” Joyce was doing her best not to sound rattled, adjusting her collar. Her glance flicked to the back seat. “We’re safe. We got her.”
The following silence hissed static before Hopper cleared his throat. “Good, that’s good. And Steve?”
“He’s here,” she assured. “Not a scratch.”
Jim was all the way on the other side of town about to take his shoes off and have some of the potato vodka his buddy Scott distilled in his basement when he got word that Joyce and Steve were going after you. He’d begged Joyce to wait for him, but knew she wouldn’t. He’d sped to the scene as fast as he could.
“I’ll be at Benny’s in two,” he said. “Be careful. Over and out.”
10
Gravel crunched under the tires as Steve pulled into the diner. Three of the things with the same posture as the smiling man were slinking out of the woods. Two from the left, and one from around the corner on the right.
They had the same lock-jawed grins, but this time, one was a high school boy in a green letterman’s jacket, one was an elderly woman in a robe with a shower cap on her head, and the third was a boy no older than twelve.
Disarming at first, but then you recognized the dead eyes, assessing you like a shark.
“There’s more,” Joyce gestured behind at the handful that were meandering up from the street. They all had a certain gait to them; like those serial killers in movies to go at a snail pace, but somehow always catch up to the victim.
Steve looked over his shoulder to get a look through the back window, and then his gaze landed on you again.
His scowl was more stern than he meant for it to be. “If you run, I can’t promise I’ll be able to save you again,” he swallowed, softening. “Joyce is going to head into the diner first, you follow her, and I’ll take up the rear, got it?”
You thought you gave a response, but maybe not.
“Nod if you understand,” he rumbled.
“I understand,” you said weakly, noticing that your cheeks were wet.
The things had the gait of zombies, but they were far from brain dead, and their skin suits weren’t composed of rotting flesh. Aliens, maybe? Vampires? How the fuck was this even happening?
“Ready?” Joyce had her fist around the door handle, ready to jump out and push her seat forward for your exit.
The old woman and the little boy with a mop of raven hair were only a few yards away, and you remembered how the nurse’s face had changed into a horrific maw of terror.
“Don’t look at them,” Joyce urged. “You just grab onto the back of my shirt and keep your eyes forward. They’re scary fuckers, but they are also really slow.”
You broke through the wall of fear that had you frozen in place, and tried not to think about how close the old woman was when you bolted from the back seat and tripped.
Of course you would trip.
Your knee caught all of your weight making you gasp in pain, but a surge of adrenaline pushed you through it, snatching Joyce’s hand as you went.
“Good to see you again, Joyce,” the old woman purred. “Who is your friend?”
“Fuck you!” Joyce said from the front door of the diner, yanking a janitor cluster of keys from the crossbody bag she wore.
You kept your gaze glued to the back of her head, but peripheral vision showed that the duo were almost within arms reach. Ice cold breath prickled down your spine.
Steve was behind you then, warm body crushed against yours, shielding you from the Others while Joyce undid the lock. All of you practically landed in a dogpile on the floor inside the diner.
Joyce sank down on the ground right where she was on the tile, panting while the strange Others begin to huddle at the entrance, peering in at you with salacious intent.
“She’s pretty,” the little boy said. “We just want to introduce ourselves.”
“You can’t keep her from us forever,” said the guy in the letterman’s jacket. Now that you had a closer look, you could see that the gums around his pearly white teeth were the color of rot.
Steve rolled his shoulders back, nostrils flaring while he maintained the stand-off with nothing but a single pane of glass between them. .
You took hold of his arm, unnerved by how close he was and how easily the glass could be shattered.
“Steve, get away from—-”
“They can’t do shit,” he snapped, more to them than to you. He pointed to a stone that was ten times the size of the one around his neck and mounted on the wall. “They can’t touch us now.”
How those rough cut rocks with some type of symbol carved into the surface kept anything out was another mystery. Was it like the symbol of the cross for demons and vampires?
Were those things some breed of demon?
Blinded by a sudden white flash, you had to shield your face when a pair of headlights bounced into the lot.
“It’s Hopper,” Joyce sounded relieved, getting to her feet.
The three that had been crowding at the door to leer in at you shuffled off to go and check it out.
The next thing you heard was the discharge of a gun. The jolt of it made you throw your arms around Steve, but then you quickly pushed off, clutching a hand over your heart.
Another gunshot, and then another.
One more for good luck.
A large man in a tan uniform and a substantial mustache squeezed his thick shoulders through the diner door, holstering his gun. He took his hat off once he was inside and swept a large hand through the new haircut Joyce had given him.
Outside, you could see the high school kid face down on the ground, sprawled like a starfish.
“It won’t kill them,” Hopper said, as if he could read your thoughts. “But it does slow them down a bit.”
He fished a toothpick from his front pocket and bit down on it. “We try to keep bullet use to a minimum, but that sure felt good.”
“You didn’t have to come,” Joyce tucked herself under his open arm and hugged him. “I told you Steve and I had it covered.”
“Yeah, well,” he closed his eyes and perched his chin on the top of her head. “It’s not every day we get someone new in town.”
You must’ve looked like you were about to throw up or pass out because Steve started making comforting circles on your back with the flat of his hand.
“You guys are only a few miles off the freeway,” the synapses in your brain were still fighting for a chance to make sense of it all. “How do the authorities not know about this?”
You couldn’t peel your attention away from the sprawled body out on the pavement. In the distance, groups of Others lumbered toward the building.
“I am the authorities,” the man introduced as Jim Hopper said with a glint of humor in his eye.
“She’s with me,” Steve blurted. The comment came so far out of left field that everyone turned to stare at him like he had lobsters crawling out of his ears.
“I mean,” he stammered, nibbling his bottom lip. “She can stay here with me if she wants, on the pullout in the store room. I’ll be fine in one of the booths.”
There were 7-8 of those things waiting outside the door at that point, including the ones that had been shot by Hopper, but those were all rising like marionettes by then. A busty woman with long red hair joined the stalkers, as well as a balding middle-aged man, and what appeared to be an elderly Priest.
Hopper put his hat down on a nearby table and sank into a chair as if it was just another day. “Coffee if you’ve got it.”
“Um, yeah, sure, I’ll make a fresh pot,” Steve moved around the partition toward the kitchen, grazing your hand with the tips of his fingers to urge you to move with him.
He leaned over to whisper. “We need to wait 15-20 minutes before they can go back out. Those things will get bored and wander off somewhere else. Back to hell or wherever they are from.”
“Sit here,” he tapped the end of the counter and a padded stool so that he could talk to you while he made the brew.
11
He put several scoops of grounds into a filter at the top of the machine and made sure it was filled with water. He’d removed his flannel at some point, and you caught yourself watching his back muscles twitch under the thin material of his white tee. The water he used was not from the sink, but in a plastic gallon jug with a duct taped handle.
You were still standing when he turned and wiped his hands down his denim-clad hips.
“That guy at the gas station,” you started. “The one you…the one in the suit, he…”
Tasting bile, you tried to find your words and Steve did not try to rush you.
“That thing…he knew my name. How could he know that?”
On an exhale, Steve leaned forward to rest his forearms on the counter. He wanted nothing more than to be able to put you at ease and say you had nothing to worry about, but alas.
“Yeah so it’s one of those mysteries I’ve been trying to figure out since I got here,” he opened his hand and ran his thumb over the calluses on the opposite palm. “They know things they shouldn’t know and they survive things no living organism should survive. The only way we know how to kill them is—-”
“Since you got here?” You blurted. “Did you just show up like I did? How long have you been here?”
“Well, I guess you could say I showed up like you did, but not really,” he rolled his head, stretching the sides of his neck so that something popped. “One day I was in a place I refer to as Normal Hawkins, and then I was in this very different version of the same town. We all were.”
“Wait, so,” you frowned, simultaneously comforted by the familiar warm scent of brewing coffee. The machine spit and sputtered. “You mean this isn’t Hawkins?”
“No, it is,” he swiped a tongue over his top teeth. “It’s hard to explain. Robin and I have been reading up on, you know, alternate universes and such. Parallel worlds. We think this might be one of those.”
“Robin?” Your eyebrow shot up.
“My best friend. I mentioned her before.”
“Oh yes, right. Where is she tonight?”
“Safe at home, I hope,” he went over to get a couple mismatched mugs from a light blue drying rack. “We used to live together but she moved in with her girlfriend and—” he stealed himself, realizing he was about to ramble on about his personal life.
“We’re out of cream today, but I have a lot of sugar,” he plucked a few packets from his magic apron pocket: one pink, one white, and one brown.
He loved offering you sugar.
He took the other two steaming mugs over to Joyce and Hopper while you stirred in the white crystals with a tiny spoon. It crossed your mind that maybe never left your apartment, and were actually asleep on the couch, dreaming all of this.
Easing down to take a reluctant seat, you perched on the edge of the stool. The deep orange of the upholstery was worn and split down the middle, exposing the white stuffing.
You took a peek over your shoulder to find that half of those Things were gone; only the redhead, the priest, and the high school kid remained. Where the bullet hole tore through his cheek was almost completely healed, but the weeping black blood remained like tear-soaked mascara.
His evil smile widened when he caught your eye, making you swiftly spin away. You scooted down to the opposite end of the counter so that you wouldn’t be within view.
Steve observed your seat change and did what he should’ve done when they first got there, which was to walk over and pull the shades down to cover the glass on the door. He was so used to ignoring them, he’d forgotten what it was like to comprehend their existence for the first time.
“I promise, you’re safe in here with us,” Steve leaned in to whisper. “I don’t know how the stones work, but they do.”
In a few days, it would be exactly two years since he’d been forced to cohabitate with those…ghouls.
A ghoul was the closest he’d come to describing them. But they weren’t a typical braindead zombie on the ravenous hunt for fresh organs like he’d seen in the old George Romero movies; they were unfortunately intelligent and possessed some type of psychic ability or hive mind.
The only thing that could kill them was decapitation, which also synced up with common zombie lore. If bitten or attacked, the person afflicted did not turn into one of them, which was a small mercy. Steve’s good friend Tommy had been one of the first to meet such a fate; they’d buried all of his mauled body parts out near Skull Rock.
Twenty months later, there were several rows of marked graves to accompany him.
“Steve?” He liked the way you said his name.
“Uh huh,” popping a hip out to rest it on the counter, he took a sip of his coffee from a Star Wars Ewok mug, addressing you over the rim.
“So, you never put a personal ad in the newspaper?” One hand was trembling, so you slotted it between your knees.
He inhaled to speak, but you continued. “The voice message I got sounded just like you, and it told me to meet you here.”
Your mug was beige with brown lettering that said: Accountant’s Never Die, They Just Lose Their Balance.
“It wasn’t me,” he said softly. “Believe me, I would never want to drag anyone into this.”
He continued, frowning. “I wonder if it was Other Steve that put the ad in the paper?
“Other Steve?”
He shrugged. “I mean, if this is a case of parallel worlds, there is a chance that there is another version of me back in that other version of Hawkins. The version that didn’t keep us trapped like rats in a cage.”
Even though it sounded ludacris, you considered it, because even that was quite a bit more comforting than the alternative.
He said your name, making you look up.
“So, you were supposed to go on a date with some other Steve guy?” It had been a while since he felt that particular brand of jealousy. “What a small world.”
“You could say that,” you swallowed, feeling judged. “I should’ve known that the only promising personal ad would lead to more horrors.”
He gave a low chuckle, feeling bad for the other parallel version of him who probably waited at Benny’s for a solid hour, thinking he got ditched.
If only Other Him knew you were absolutely worth waiting for.
“Steve?”
“Mhmhm,” he scratched the stubble on his jaw.
“Are we dead?” It bubbled out of your chest as you stared into your coffee. “Did I die out there on the highway or something?”
“I don’t think so,” he said, tucking his chin. “I’ve wondered that too, like, a lot, but I don’t think this is the end. I think we’ll make it out of here one day. I know we will.”
Something vibrated in the shared silence and you found yourself staring at his parted lips.
“I’m not ready to die.”
Your whisper was interrupted by a sudden, obnoxious noise coming from the back room.
It sounded like the rattling of a doorknob, like someone trying to get in.
12
“Stay here,” Steve instinctively grabbed the closest and biggest knife, held it aloft like Michael Myers, and went to investigate.
He put a hand over the stone under his shirt too, reminding himself that this building was protected. Those things could try to open the door, but even then they’d be powerless to step over the threshold, much like a vampire without a proper invitation.
The ghouls that had been huddling like cattle at the front door were all gone as far as you could see, and you wondered if maybe they’d wandered around to try another way in.
“What’s going on?” Jim scooted his chair out and stood to see why Steve was holding the knife like that.
Without answering, Steve made his way around a metal supply rack, eyes narrowing on the brass knob of the back door.
It was wiggling violently, causing Steve’s heart to explode in his throat.
The jostling stopped only long enough for there to be a loud thud and quake of the door frame while whatever was on the other side rammed itself against the wood.
By then, Hopper had unholstered his gun and was on his way over.
You and Joyce had the same idea at the same time and both started looking for a weapon. Joyce found a pair of scissors, but all you could find was a fork.
“Let me in, motherfuckers!” A voice shouted from the other side of the door.
Another thud, more frantic twisting of the knob.
“Wait,” Steve put his hand up to slow Hopper from going ahead of him.
The possible intruder went still.
“Munson?” Steve asked. “Is that you?”
“Yeah, it’s me man. You need a secret code or something? I’ve got one of those freaks on my ass, please open the fuck up!”
Hopper’s shoulders sagged and he lowered his weapon. Out of habit, Steve checked above the door to make sure the protection stone was still mounted there before he searched to see where you were. The ghouls were capable of mimicking voices to trick people into dropping defenses for them, but if there was even a tiny chance it really was Eddie, he had to check it out.
He planned to drill a peephole in that door the first chance he got.
Steve twisted open the lock and stepped way back. “It’s open.”
The guy who blew into the kitchen before slamming the door behind him to lean against it shivering was definitely not one of those things from earlier.
Panting, Eddie clicked the lock. “Fuck me Harrington, that thing almost got me. There were two of them, fuck, maybe ten. I stopped counting once I started running.”
“Eddie, what happened?” Joyce pushed by Hopper. “Where are your shoes?”
It was just then that you realized Eddie’s feet were bare. He wore a pair of tattered jeans and a worn shirt with the faded phrase Hellfire Club on the front. His long hair was wet and if he’d already taken a shower, the looks of his feet said he needed another one.
“Leave it to me to lock myself out of the trailer again,” his teeth were chattering, and without asking for one, Joyce handed him a multicolored, crocheted blanket from the broom closet to put around his shoulders. “I was headed over to find Wayne at Claudia’s, but then I got cornered and well, the rest is history.”
“Why didn’t you use the front door?” Steve crossed his arms with the point of the knife sticking up.
“I don’t know, man,” Eddie pulled the blanket tight around himself like a cocoon and shut his eyes tight. “Why doesn’t anyone do anything? Sorry if I scared you or whatever.”
Joyce introduced you as Eddie shuffled out to the dining area, and all he said was, “hey,” in greeting before he slumped into one of the booths, adjusting so that his back was to the wall and his legs straight along the bench seat.
“You got any shoes I can borrow?” The visitor with the long, wet hair asked Steve.
Steve put the knife back in the slot with the others. “Borrow as in I get them back tomorrow or borrow as in they become yours and I’ll never see them again?”
“Just forget it,” Eddie grunted. It wasn’t long before Steve threw a pair of flip flops at him and brought him a cup of coffee.
“Looks like it’s safe for us to split,” Jim announced a few minutes later, putting his hat back on. The parking lot was quiet, and even if there were any creepy ghouls nearby, they’d be able to get behind the wheel of their cars without making contact.
“You need a ride back to your place, Eddie?” Joyce asked while she walked their coffee mugs over to the back sink. “I still have a spare key from that time you let me and Will stay there.”
“Yeah that’s cool,” Eddie said absently. His attention had shifted and you realized he was staring at you.
“So, wait, you’re new here?” Eddie asked.
“Just came into town a few hours ago,” Steve answered somberly.
You’d been sitting with your back to Eddie, but then turned on your stool to make eye contact across the room.
“Shit, that sucks,” Eddie blurted. “I mean, you don’t suck, but just like, I’m not sure what type of bad luck makes people end up here.”
You didn’t know what to say to that, so you simply nodded a few times in agreement; it did, indeed, feel like bad luck, or something worse.
After a beat, Eddie cleared his throat. “You, um, don’t happen to have any smokes on you by chance?”
“Yeah, I do, actually,” you could almost hear a soft whine of relief come out of him. “Well, not on me. There’s an untouched pack in the glovebox of my car but it’s…”
You trailed off realizing that your bag with all of your ID and personal shit were back in the car, too. You’d left in such a hurry, the keys were probably still in the ignition. Fuck, the last thing you needed was for someone to steal your car and your bag. Could those zombie things drive? You’d almost forgotten about that secret pack of Camel Lights that you’d stuffed in there for emergencies, but you never expected it to be for an actual emergency.
“Yeah? Where’s your car?” He sat up, alert.
“Back at the gas station,” Joyce rolled up one of her oversized cuffs. “There was a run in with a few of those Things earlier and we had to leave in a hurry.”
“I should probably go back there and get my things,” you mused.
“Not a good idea, not tonight,” Steve interrupted, swinging his arm out as if to block you from the rest of the group. “In the morning I’ll take you. Those things usually don’t bother with inanimate objects, unless they are attached to a living-breathing human.”
Eddie mumbled. “Better not catch one of them enjoying a fresh cigarette, or I’m gonna be pissed.”
You stood up, addressing Eddie. “If you want to go by there and take the pack, you are welcome to them. I quit a while ago, so—”
“Yeah, so did I,” Eddie blew a raspberry of a laugh. “But not willingly. They don’t exactly grow on trees here.”
Steve crossed his arms over his chest again, rolling his shoulders back. “I don’t think anyone should be making any unnecessary stops tonight.”
“I agree,” Hopper voiced.
“I’d say it’s necessary,” Eddie countered, knowing that Steve was right. The safety of morning light would come soon enough.
Steve shut off the overhead lights and released the blinds that covered the door to peer out. Eddie shuffled over in Steve’s flip flops and the blanket around him like a little kid leaving for a sleepover.
The three made the decision to take Hopper’s Bronco, and Joyce told Steve to take care. She kissed his cheek while Eddie gave him a fist bump that Steve seemed unsure how to respond to at first.
“See ya later, alligator,” Steve told them before turning the lock to seal the building again.
You stood side by side and watched until they were safely on the road. In their wake, something bolted out of the woods and threw its head back to wail like a beast. It had a bald head and pointed ears and crouched to all fours like an animal.
“Why is that one different than the others?” You asked, clutching onto Steve’s arm.
“We think those are the older ones,” he cleared his throat. “But there are only a few of them that I know of.”
“Why do you think they’re older?” Your gaze was locked on the Thing as it lumbered back out of sight.
Steve shifted on his feet before pulling the blinds back down. “It’s just a hunch really, but they seem to be faster and smarter than the others. Those are the ones that can mimic voices.”
You shrugged away and put your face in your hands. “This can’t be real. This has to be a fucking nightmare.”
“It is a nightmare alright,” Steve agreed with you. “But the thing is, we’re not asleep.”
“How do you know that though? This is probably one of those deep REM dreams that we won’t even remember once we wake up.”
“If this is a dream,” he had his hands on his hips and the sides of his mouth wiggled with a repressed grin. “How can I find you when we wake up? Do you have a phone number I can call or?”
You shifted your gaze to the floor so that you wouldn’t get lost in his eyes. “When you wake up, put another personal ad in the paper for me to find.”
“Deal,” he offered a genuine smile that time. The guy had perfect teeth; it almost made you self-conscious.
13
You had the impression that Steve lived somewhere on the premises, but that was not the case. The “spare room” he’d mentioned was a cot in the pantry. Apparently he lived in the family home he’d grown up in, but crashed at the diner more often than not. He changed the sheets and threw a Sesame Street comforter on that had probably once been on a twin bed for a child while you were in the bathroom. He handed you a spare toothbrush and before you went in, you asked if the toilet worked.
“Why wouldn’t it?” Steve was honestly confused.
“Well,” you gestured around vaguely. “If this is some type of post-apocalyptic wasteland where nothing new comes or goes, where is the electricity and water coming from?”
"Another mystery, I'm afraid."
Your throat constricted. “We are dead, we have to be.”
“Because the toilets flush?” He chuckled.
You bristled with annoyance and turned away. Not annoyance with Steve in particular but with your shit show of a life that refused to let you know peace.
“Hey listen, I know—-” Steve reached out for you only to freeze his hand in mid-air.
There was music coming from the dining area.
The sound was shrill static at first but then the chorus bloomed, and it took you a second to recognize that the song was When the Night Comes by Joe Cocker.
“I just wanna be the one you run to
I just wanna be the one you come to
I just wanna be there for someone
When the night comes”
“Steve…what is happening?” With each word you were moving toward the sound, disregarding the protests of your gut.
“Let's put all the cares behind us
And go where they'll never find us”
With the only other light being the moon shining through the slats in the blinds, the neon red and yellow caught your attention.
At a table near the window was a replica of an old jukebox, no taller than a bowling ball. There was a coin slot at the top and white buttons at the bottom to choose from the flipcards with song titles on them. As you approached, you checked out the window above it to see the shadows made by rows of trees and wondered what could possibly be lurking there, observing you.
“It does that sometimes,” Steve was a few steps behind, combing fingers through his hair.
“Two spirits in the night
That can leave before the morning light
When there's nothing left to lose
And nothing left to fear”
You stood at the end of the booth and stared at the machine. “Is it the same song every time?”
“Different ones,” his chest was inches from your back, his warm breath on your neck. “But this one is a favorite.”
“I know there'll be a time for you and I
Just take my hand and run away”
“Do you want to wear this?” He’d picked up the flannel and put it over your shoulders. “I saw you shivering.”
“Think of all the pieces of the shattered dream
We're gonna make it out some day”
Without taking your eyes off of the jukebox, you let him wrap the wool shirt with a quilted lining over you and then, without hesitation, your hand slipped into his and he held it there, interlacing his fingers to step to your side.
A strange weight lifted off of you at the idea of not being able to go home.
“Do you really think we’ll get out of here one day?” You asked in a whisper.
“I just wanna be there beside you
When the night comes”
Steve admired your profile. “I hope so,” his voice was a murmur. “But it doesn’t seem so bad here all of a sudden.”
The jukebox did not run on batteries and it was not plugged into a socket on the wall.
You tipped your chin up slowly to meet his gaze and, just then, out in the street, something inhuman scampered through the parking lot and into the woods.
His thumb gently rubbed along yours and you could smell a touch of cologne on the flannel.
“Steve, I think we should have some pie.”
He was staring at your mouth while he nodded in agreement.
The music cut off before the song was finished, and the jukebox went dark.
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My friends, thank you so much for reading. Hope you enjoyed.
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