The Witch of Mirkwood
Chapter 1: Fire of Unknown Origin ( Link leads to song )
Pairing: Henry Creel (001) x Female Original Character (Fm!OC) Rating: Mature (18+) Word Count: 6,814 words Type: Multi-chapter
Warnings & Triggers: Canon-typical Hawkins environment, Spiders, Psychological Manipulation, Gaslighting ,Trauma Response & Mental Fractures, Eventual Smut, Stalking.
Tropes & Themes: Forbidden Romance / Phantom Lover, The Monster and the Anchor, Found Family
Synopsis: Years after the laboratory fell, Misty Starling lives an off-grid, whimsical life in the Hawkins woods, raising her eerie son, Isaac. She believes her past is just an airy dream, completely unaware that her handsome therapist is a psychic phantom projection of a monster that is keeping tabs on her, courting her from beyond the abyss until it's finally time to bring his plans to fruition. Tag list: @nocasdatsgay @cristalbeesnow
The air inside the secluded cabin was thick with the rich, earthy scent of burning sage, cedar wood, and dried lavender. In the corner, a vintage turntable spun lazily, the soft, melancholic vocals of Fleetwood Mac's Rhiannon warping slightly under the scratch of an old needle.
Misty Starling sat hunched over her heavy oak drafting table by the window, entirely lost in her own world. She was dressed in her usual bohemian armor, a flowing black maxi skirt, a dark shawl with brightly colored flowers budding from the fringe, long swinging tassels moving with every stretch of her arm, and a pair of perfectly round, amber-tinted sunglasses that pushed back her wild red curls, nested securely atop her head. Her slender fingers moved with practiced, delicate precision, shading the intricate line-work of a mythical fantasy illustration for her remote publisher. It was quiet, peaceful work that kept her completely hidden from the rest of the grid. Her mind was airy and calm these days, drifting over the deep, fractured amnesia walls that blocked out the horrors of her past. She had willingly forgotten the sterile lights, the sirens, and the blood, choosing instead to exist in this whimsical, slow-motion dream.
"Rhiannon rings like a bell through the night, And wouldn't you love to love her? Takes to the sky like a bird in flight, And who will be her lover~?" Misty softly sang along
Near the front window stood a uniquely retro visual fixture, an oversized, antique red gumball machine that she'd gutted and beautifully retrofitted into a terrarium. Inside the glass globe, resting on a bed of fresh moss and twigs, was a Mexican Red-knee Tarantula.
Or she would have been.
A four-year-old child was sitting cross-legged on the thick, patterned rug beside his mother, his auburn hair in soft curls, his small, pale hands cupped together like a cradle. His icy blue eyes never left the tarantula that sat perfectly still across his knuckles, her fuzzy black and orange legs twitching slightly as the little boy watched her with a profound intelligence that far exceeded his years.
" Don't keep her out too long, Isaac," Misty murmured softly, her eyes never leaving her sketchpad as her pencil scratched against the heavy paper. " Harriet gets cold when she's away from her tank for too long."
" Okay, Mama," Isaac replied, his little voice quiet and entirely serene as he carefully brought his hands toward the open top of the gumball machine to let the spider crawl back home.
Before the record could transition to the next track, a sharp, rhythmic knock echoed against the thick timber of the cabin's front door.
The rhythmic thumping against the oak frame made Misty's pencil stall, the lead leaving a tiny dark dot right in the center of an illustrated dragon's wing.
" Harriet's home, Mama," Isaac whispered, dusting his hands against his knee before looking up at the door with an intense, quiet curiosity. Those striking, ice-blue eyes of his seemed to look straight through the wood.
"Good boy, now go wash your hands," Misty murmured, nudging his shoulder, her voice lifting into a light cadence that made her sound like she was permanently daydreaming.
The little boy obeyed, and as she stood up from her seat, her long tassels swept against her ankles, the embroidered flowers on her shawl shifting like a moving garden. She reached up, adjusting the round, amber-tinted sunglasses nestled in her wild, fiery red curls to ensure they wouldn't slide down her nose. With a soft, humming breath, she unlocked the heavy iron latch and swung the cabin door inward.
Stepping over the threshold was the young man she always looked forward to seeing, yet whose name her fractured mind could never quite hold onto for more than a few minutes.
He was strikingly handsome, looking like an immaculate portrait pulled straight out of a 1950's university catalog. He wore a sharp, tailored tweed suit with a faint windowpane pattern, a crisp white collar, and perfectly round, dark-rimmed spectacles that caught the flickering glow of her hearth fire. In his right hand, he carried a simple leather briefcase. There wasn't a single leaf or speck of autumn mud on his pristine leather oxfords, despite having walked through the dense, rain-soaked paths of the woods to reach her door.
" Good afternoon,dear," The therapist spoke, his voice dropping into a low, hypnotic, and deeply comforting rasp.
The sound of his voice sent a sudden, phantom ache flaring inside her chest. It was a familiar, haunting vibration that always made her feel safe, yet entirely confused. She had absolutely no idea why he always pulled such reactions from her. But she wouldn't deny that she enjoyed it when he visited. She often wished he'd stay longer, but that wouldn't be quite professional between them. Still, she often got the feeling he wanted to stay longer than their small sessions allowed.
" Hello,Doc," Misty smiled warmly, stepping back to grant him entry. " You're right on time. Come in and sit at the table, and I'll fetch us some tea. "
" Thank you, Misty," He murmured softly, his pale blue eyes tracking her every movement with a soft longing as he stepped inside. The moment the heavy timber door clicked shut behind him, the amnesia walls in Misty's mine immediately smoothed over the details of his arrival like water over stone. He was just the kind, handsome man who visited on Tuesdays.
The Man set his briefcase down on the wooden table, his gaze instantly dropping to the rug by the window.
Isaac was sitting , perfectly cross-legged, one of his story books in his lap, yet he was staring up at the therapist with a calm, unblinking clarity that matched the doctor's own piercing stare. He felt a violent surge of pride and protective instinct ripple through his current. He slowly walked over and knelt down on the rug right beside the toddler, his tweed trousers brushing the frayed fabric of the rug.
"She is a beautiful specimen," The doctor murmured, his raspy voice holding a rare, genuine warmth as his eyes tracked the toddler's gaze to the gumball machine terrarium. " Spiders are deeply misunderstood creatures. They are solitary. Quiet. Masters of their own structured webs. Do you like her?"
Isaac offered the therapist a tiny, serene smile, nodding his head. " She likes the moss." The boy whispered, completely at ease with the man sitting with him in his living room.
From the kitchen nook, Misty smiled at the sight, carrying over two steaming ceramic mugs of herbal tea. " He has an affinity for her," She noted, her tassels brushing the Therapist's shoulder as she sat down across from him by the hearth. " Most children would probably scream. But Isaac… he's always been so quiet. so connected to things."
She fondly brushed a curl of his red hair away from his face. smiling at the comfortable scene of the three of them sitting down on the floor for today's session.
The doctor shifted in his position, his long, pale fingers intentionally brushed against hers as he accepted the warm mug, and the brief point of contact sent an immediate, low-frequency tremor through her baseline current.
Misty blinked, a sudden blinding wave of lucidity hitting her. Her breath caught, her hand trembled slightly as an overwhelming, crushing wave of love and absolute safety flooded her chest. For a split second, the dense amnesia walls cracked wide open. She stared at the handsome therapist with wide, knowing eyes, her heart hammering violently against her ribs as a ghost from 1979 tried desperately to scream his real name in her mind.
He did not pull his hand away. He left his long, pale fingers resting against hers on the warm ceramic of the mug. Beneath the wooden floorboards, his invisible frequency hummed a love, stabilizing vibration, systematically absorbing the frantic spikes in her heart rate to keep her mind from splintering.
" Breathe, Misty," He murmured, his gravelly voice dropping into a low, hypnotic cadence that rolled right through her chest. " Look at me. You are entirely safe. Focus only on my voice."
She took a sharp,shuddering breath, her fingers tightening around his hand for a separate moment before the suffocating fog rolled back in, gently smoothing over the sharp cracks in her memory. The terrifying clarity faded into a warm, comfortable twilight. She let out a long, shaky exhale, using her free hand to push her sunglasses further up into her wild auburn curls as she offered him a small, sheepish smile.
" I'm sorry, Doc," She whispered, her voice returning to its light, airy rhythm. " Sometimes…I get these sudden rushes. Like a physical wave of panic. It feels like I'm looking for a name or a face that's right on the tip of my tongue, but when I reach for it, it just turns to smoke."
" You don't need to apologize," Henry answered softly, his thumb lightly brushing the back of her knuckles before he reluctantly let his hand slide back into his lap. " Your mind has been through a great deal of strain. Amnesia is a protective barrier. It keeps certain doors locked until your system is strong enough to handle what lies behind them."
He leaned back slightly, resting his hands on his knees as the firelight danced across his round spectacles. "Tell me about the drawings on your table. Your hands have always told the truth. What have you been creating this week?"
Misty's face instantly lit up, her tassels swaying as she gestured toward the heavy drafting dark. "Labyrinths, mostly. And old trees with twisted roots that bury themselves deep into the rock. Joyce said the detail is almost too real, like I've actually stood in these places. But I just see them when I close my eyes. They feel more familiar to me than the town does. "
His jaw clenched subtly, a phantom ache striking him across the divide. She was drawing his childhood memories, his old structures, and the dark architecture of the lab without even realizing it. " And do these places frighten you when you see them?" he asked quietly.
" No," Misty murmured, tilting her head as she looked at him with a soft, searching expression. " They make me feel…lonely. But not frightened. Especially when I draw the shadow figures in the center of the mazes. I always get the feeling that someone is waiting for me to finish the map so they can find their way back out."
Isaac quietly crawled a few inches closer, his little red curls bouncing as he set his book down right against the edge of the doctor's leather briefcase. He didn't look at the book; instead, his piercing ice-blue eyes stared directly up into the Therapist's face with an eerie, profound intelligence.
" Do you know the way out?" Isaac asked, his little voice quiet and perfectly serene.
The doctor stilled a moment, behind his eyes, something protective seemed to flood his current. He slowly reached out, his longer fingers carefully patting the little boy's shoulder. " I am figuring it out, little one," he whispered, his rasp shifting into a genuine tenderness. " Every single day"
Misty smiled fondly at the two of them, unaware of the bridge that held them all together. " He likes you. He doesn't usually talk to anyone who comes up the trail. Even Jonathan has to bribe him with animal crackers. "
" Children possess a highly sensitive intuition," He noted smoothly, returning his gaze to her face, desperately wishing he could freeze the clock. " They can recognize when a presence is entirely devoted to their safety. "
He shifted his position slightly, leaning in closer as he tried to gather every shred of information he could about her current reality. " What about you, Misty? How has your life in Hawkins been treating you outside of your work? Are the locals leaving you be?"
Misty offered a light, whimsical chuckle, her fingers tracing the rim of her ceramic tea mug. " Oh, you know how they are, Doc. The people in town think I'm just the crazy hermit lady living in the woods. A group of the younger kids, The Wheeler boy, and Joyce's younger have dubbed me the " Witch of Mirkwood." But honestly, it suits me just fine. It keeps the nosy ones away , which gives me and Isaac all the quiet we need. "
She paused, her airy demeanor shifting into something a bit more pensive. She looked down into her tea, her glasses falling onto her face now, they slid down the bridge of her nose just enough for him to see the faint, searching look in her hazel eyes.
"…It hasn't been completely quiet lately," She murmured softly. " The woods have been feeling…different. Heavy. Sometimes, when the rain hits the roof at night, I could swear I hear the deep, echoing chime of an old grandfather clock out in the timber. It sounds so real, so structural, but when I go to the porch, there's nothing there but the wind. "
His entire frame stiffened, his pale blue eyes widening almost imperceptibly behind his spectacles. Across the dimensional divide, his heart stopped. She wasn't just remembering the past; she was actively tethered to his current frequency.
" A grandfather clock," He repeated, his gravelly voice dropping into a dangerously low, tight rasp. " And does this trouble you?"
" No," Misty said, shaking her head as a soft, knowing smile returned to her lips. She leaned close to him, her voice dropping into a conspiratorial whisper. " That's the strangest part. It actually makes me feel incredibly safe. And it's been influencing my illustrations too. Lately, I haven't just been drawing labyrinths and trees. Look."
She reached over to her drafting table, pulling down a fresh, heavy charcoal sketch and laying it flat on the rug between them.
His breath was completely caught.
Etched into the paper with brutal, beautiful precision was a massive, sprawling network of dark, decaying subterranean tunnels. They burrowed deep beneath the roots of the tree's branching out like a violent, living nervous system. It was a flawless, identical map of the exact tunnels he was currently commanding the hive mind to dig beneath the Hawkins topsoil.
" I started drawing them a few days ago," Misty explained softly, completely blind to the reality that their profound connection meant she was literally seeing straight into parts of his mind. " I just get these sudden, vivid images of these hollow paths beneath our feet. Like something is carving out a brand-new home right under the dirt. "
He stared down at the charcoal lines, a mixture of awe, love , and absolute possessiveness flooding his system. She was mapping his architecture. She was connected to him still, like a flawless mirror; her soul was still perfectly synchronized with his.
" Have you shown anyone these?" came his quick question. to which she'd shaken her head
" Good," The therapist murmured, his gravelly voice dropping into a low,fiercely protective rasp. He leaned over the charcoal paper, his long, pale fingers hovering just a hair about the dark, drawn lines of the subterranean maze. " Don't. Keep them here, Misty. The people in town…the doctors… they would not understand the depth of your decision. They would only complicate your peace."
Misty nodded softly, her long black tassels brushing against her arm as she slid the sketch back onto her drafting table. " I only ever show my finished work to my publisher. But these…these are just for me. And you, I suppose"
The doctor's pale blue eyes locked back onto hers behind his round spectacles, a profound, aching warmth flooding his system across the dimensional divide. She was keeping his mind a secret, just like they used to do in the laboratory.
Before he could speak another word to his family, the quiet sanctuary of the cabin was suddenly shattered.
From deep within the woods, the distant, rumbling rattle of an old, missing-muffler engine began to echo down the unmapped logging trail. Someone was driving a heavy vehicle up to her home, the tires crunching loudly over the wet autumn leaves and twigs.
Isaac's little head snapped toward the front window, his auburn curls bouncing as he tracked the sound through the wood panels with an intense, unblinking clarity.
" Our time is up for today, dear." The doctor spoke quietly, standing up from the patterned rug with a fluid, effortless grace. He picked up his simple leather briefcase and smoothed out his suit.
" Oh, is it already?" Misty asked, her voice instantly returning to that light, airy cadence as the amnesia walls smoothly rolled back over the details of their deep conversation. The intense lucidity faded like smoke, leaving her smiling up at him with a pleasant, dreamy detachment. " Thank you, Doc. I always feel so much lighter after our Tuesdays."
" Be careful in the woods, Misty," He warned softly, stepping toward the heavy oak door. He paused on the threshold, looking back one last time at his beautiful, fractured sanctuary and his quiet son." There's much shifting in this town. Keep your doors latched."
With a gentle nod, the handsome therapist stepped out into the misty autumn air. The exact second the heavy timber door clicked shut behind him, his physical avatar completely dissolved into nothingness, his consciousness pulling straight back across the inter-dimensional bridge to his throne in the Upside-down.
Misty blinked in the center of the room, her black shawl swaying as she completely forgot the color of his suit, only remembering that she felt entirely safe.
Outside, the rumbling engine grew louder, finally coming to a halt right in her clearing with a violent, metallic screech of old brakes. It was followed by the loud, heavy thud of a taped-up driver's side door wrestling open.
" He's here, Mama," Isaac said, his little voice calm as he sat by the gumball machine terrarium, watching through the window a tall, lanky figure emerge through the afternoon fog.
Misty smiled, immediately recognizing the chaotic, familiar energy before the visitor even reached the porch. She pulled her heavy door open just as Eddie Munson bounded up the wooden steps, a massive grin plastered across his face.
He looked exactly like the town's worst nightmare, a wild, untamed mane of dark brown curls bouncing around his shoulders, a patched denim vest thrown over a faded black graphic tee, and rings glinting on almost every finger. He was hauling a heavy, frosted-metal propane tank under his right arm like it weighed absolutely nothing.
" Greeting, O Majestic Lady of the Woods!" Eddie proclaimed loudly, his theatrical voice echoing through the quiet wood as he stepped onto the porch. He dramatically bowed his head, his dark eyes sparkling with a mix of genuine respect and playful mischief. " Your humble servant has arrived with the sacred fires of Winter. Where shall I drop this beast?"
Misty chuckled, her airy, whimsical laugh entirely matching his theatrical vibe. " Hello, Eddie. You can just leave it by the utility locker on the side porch. Thank you. "
" Your wish is my absolute command," Eddie chirped, expertly swinging the propane tank into its designated slot before wiping his dusty hands on his jeans. He stepped into the entryway, his eyes immediately lighting up as they landed on the child at the window.
Without a shred of hesitation, Eddie immediately dropped down into a dramatic crouch on the creaking floorboards, bringing himself straight down to eye level with the toddler. He dramatically tilted his head, the wild mane of brown curls bouncing around his shoulders as he pointed a heavily ringed finger toward the glass globe of the gumball machine.
" Greeting, young master Isaac," Eddie whispered conspiratorially, his dark eyes sparkling with a genuine delight. " Tell me, how is the legendary Lady Harriet holding up today? Has she initiated any arachnid curses on the local populace, or is she currently plotting the downfall of mankind from her gumball fortress? "
Isaac didn't flinch or shy away from Eddie's sudden, high-energy presence. Instead, he just looked at the teenager with intensely calm eyes. He offered Eddie a tiny, serene little smile, gesturing toward the glass globe with a small, pale hand.
" She's sleeping, Eddie," Isaac murmured softly, his little voice entirely peaceful. " She liked the moss best today. "
" An excellent choice," Eddie nodded solemnly, completely accepting the toddler's profound, quiet temperament after greeting him. He stood back up, looking over at Misty with a grin. " Man, I swear this kid is cooler than the entire student body of Hawkins High combined. Seriously. If I had half his composure, I wouldn't be failing Spanish for the second time."
Misty dropped her flower-fringed shawl over one of the rickety wooden kitchen chairs, setting her sunglasses down on the counter as she looked over at Eddie and Isaac with a fond smile. Other than her therapist, Eddie was the only other person Isaac seemed to like talking to.
" I'd say he got it from me, but that would be a complete lie," Misty shrugged her shoulder lightly, shifting her weight. " I'm pretty sure he gets the brains from his father. "
" You know, if you need help with school, you could always come to me, Eddie," She offered warmly. " I'm happy to help my knight in shining armor. Besides, it gives you an excuse to go through my Black Sabbath records again. "
Eddie's face lit up with a dramatic, hand-on-his-heart gasp, his dark eyes widening in pure joy. He stumbled back a dramatic step as if he had just been struck by a divine revelation.
" Help with la escuela from the Grand Enchantress herself? And a free pass to raid the holy grail of Black Sabbath pressings?" He shook his head, his wild mane bouncing as he pointed a ringed finger at her. "Misty, you are testing my mortal restraint! If the boys in Corroded Coffin find out I'm spending my Tuesday nights hitting the books instead of shredding the frets, my street cred is completely down the toilet!"
He chuckled, his chaotic energy softening into a warm, genuine grin as he reached behind his back. From beneath his denim vest, he pulled out a pristine, heavy square sleeve wrapped in protective plastic.
" But speaking of the dark arts of vinyl…" Eddie held it up like a prized treasure, a devilish smirk playing on his lips. " I managed to haggle with a guy in Indianapolis for this. Blue Oyster Cult. Fire of Unknown Origin. Pristine condition, Misty. I thought it matched your whole…cosmic, ethereal vibe. Figured we could trade for a bit? I've been dying to spin that old Zeppelin bootleg you keep hidden away."
Misty's fingers flexed as she made an enthusiastic, playful grabbing motion for the record. " Have I ever told you that you're my favorite? Because if it's not clear yet, Eddie, you're my favorite."
She snatched the album from him with a bright laugh, quick to slide across the floor and place it onto the vintage turntable.
" You know where most of the records are stored. She called out, shifting on her heels as she grew very excited to listen to a new album. " You're free to take whichever one you want. Just remember to bring it back after you record it onto your tapes. "
" Oh, you know I'm a man of strict honor when it comes to the plastic, Misty, " Eddie called back over the synth-heavy rock pulsing through the room, pulling out a rare Led Zeppelin bootleg and cradling it like a newborn baby. " This bad boy will be taped, loved, and returned to its rightful shrine in pristine condition. Scout's honor. "
Misty darted around the small kitchen nook, gathering different ingredients from the fridge and the wooden bread box. " Are you hungry? Do you need something to eat? I'll make you lunch if you haven't had it already."
At the mention of food, Eddie's stomach answered for him with a loud, aggressive growl that made him wince and chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly.
" Man, you really are psychic, aren't you?" He grinned, his eyes sparkling. " I am absolutely starving. Uncle Wayne had the early shift at the plant, so breakfast was pretty much a stale Pop-Tart and whatever coffee was left in the pot from yesterday. I will gladly accept whatever culinary witchcraft you're cooking up today. Seriously, no complaints here."
Misty smiled, expertly frying up thick strips of bacon on the stove and reheating a rich, fragrant pot of soup she had prepared the night before. While she worked, Isaac came to stand beside Eddie, his little head gently bobbing along to the rhythm of the current track.
Eddie leaned his lanky frame against the kitchen counter, sliding the rare record carefully under his arm as he looked to Isaac. He flashed the toddler a playful grin, pointing a ringed finger toward the dormant television set in the corner.
" Hey , Isaac," Eddie asked with a soft, teasing nudge of his boot toward the child. " Your mom makes you listen to this heavy, spooky rock music all day, or do you secretly prefer cartoon theme songs when she's not looking? Come on, you can tell me. What's your favorite song ?"
Isaac tilted his head, his ice-blue eyes fixed on the older boy. He didn't answer right away, entirely unfazed by the concept of regular children's programs.
" Doors," Isaac said, his little voice offering a single word with a quiet calm. He meant The Doors.
" Mama likes Doors," the toddler added, looking up at the teenager.
Eddie's jaw practically dropped into a look of exaggerated, comedic awe. He stared at the four-year-old as if the kid had just quoted ancient high-fantasy scripture instead of a 1960s rock band.
" The Doors ?!" Eddie gasped, slapping a ringed hand dramatically against his chest. He looked over at Mist, who was assembling a towering, massive BLT on fresh bread. " Misty, I'm telling you right now, this child is a prodigy ! A musical revolutionary! Most toddlers are out here crying for Sesame Street, and your boy is sitting in the woods analyzing the deep, poetic prose of Jim Morrison!"
He dropped down onto his knees again, leaning in towards Isaac with a look of intense, massive respect. " And immaculate choice, my tiny friend. The Doors are completely legendary. Very dark. Very Trippy. If you're spinning The End while you're playing with Harriet, you're officially cooler than anyone I've ever met in my entire life.
" I don't make him listen to anything I wouldn't force you to listen to," Misty chuckled, stepping away from the counter and handing Eddie his lunch plate and the steaming bowl of soup. " Actually, he likes most of the music that you've borrowed from me. "
" Man, this smells incredible," Eddie breathed out, taking a massive, aggressively happy bite of the sandwich and groaning in pure satisfaction. He leaned against the counter, his eyes naturally drifting back over to her heavy oak drafting table. Between mouthfuls, his dark eyes sparkled with a sudden, curious thought.
" Hey, so…I was looking at that other sketch you had peeking out from under the dragon drawings," Eddie said, his tone dropping into a casual, inquisitive murmur as the rock music pulsed in the background. " The one with all those crazy, branching underground tunnels. It looked totally wicked, like some massive labyrinth under the dirt. What's the story behind that one? Is that for a new book, or just some heavy imagery keeping you up at night?"
Misty's heart completely dropped the exact moment he mentioned the underground tunnels; her doctor's voice still echoed clearly in her mind, a phantom warning to keep them hidden.
" Oh, it's nothing," she said quickly, forcing a light chuckle as she played it off with a wave of her hand. " Sometimes I just have weird dreams. "
Even though Eddie wasn't like the rest of the townspeople, he was family, an outcast who would never judge her or treat her differently because of an abstract drawing; the residual fear kept her moving. She floated over to her drafting table, casually taking the sketches of the tunnels, rolling them up tightly, and sliding them deep into a safe, hidden compartment out of sight.
" What I really want to show you is this," Misty smiled, clearing away a few stray sheets of charcoal paper away to produce a fresh pencil sketch.
" I remember you were telling me about the new campaign you're running. " She said, her voice dropping back into its joyful, whimsical rhythm. " And you mentioned the monster… the Dragon Queen. Tiamat, I believe? So, I drew it from what you described to me. "
She handed him the heavy sheet of paper.
Eddie's eyes went completely wide, his jaw dropping into a look of absolute, slack-jawed awe. Etched into the paper with breathtaking precision was the massive, multi-headed Dragon Queen, each head displaying distinct, terrifying elemental details.
" Are you…Are you kidding me right now?" Eddie breathed out, his voice cracking with a high-pitched, purely ecstatic nerd-frenzy. He completely forgot about the tunnel drawing. He carefully set his plate down on the counter with trembling hands and took the sketch from her like it was made of solid gold. " Misty ! This is… this is absolutely insane !"
Eddie practically shouted, his face splitting into a giant, manic grin as his dark curls bounced. He held the paper closer to his face, his ringed fingers tracing the edges of the drawing with absolute reverence. " Look at the scales on the blue head ! and the lightning tracking around the white one ! This is exactly how I pictured her in my head when I was writing the encounter! The guys are going to lose their minds, Misty!"
He looked up at her, his eyes shining with pure, wide-eyed adoration. He dramatically dropped to one knee on the creaking floorboards, pressing a hand to his chest as he looked up at her. " I swear to you, Lady Starling, you are not just a favorite. You are an absolute goddess. A musical genius, a culinary savior, and not the official, legendary patron saint of my D&D campaign!
He laughed , standing back up and looking down at the drawing again with a giddy smile. " Seriously, how much do I owe you for this ? Because whatever the price is , I will happily sell my soul- or at least my favorite guitar pedals, to pay you back."
Misty laughed warmly, a bright sound that entirely filled the rustic kitchen nook as she tapped a finger to her chin, adoring her tasseled shawl again before she waved her hand dismissively.
" You owe me absolutely nothing, Eddie," She chided gently, offering him a soft, adoring smile. " But if you really want to pay me back, please consider actually bringing your school work with you next Tuesday. I mean it. Let me help you get through that Spanish class so you can finally get out of Hawkins "
Eddie winced playfully, clutching his chest as if he'd been shot, but the dramatic persona quickly softened into a look of deep, genuine gratitude. He carefully rolled up the heavy sheet of paper, treating it with the utmost respect.
" Misty, you are a saint. A literal angel in denim and fringe," Eddie murmured, his eyes shining. " I swear I'll find some way to pay you back for this. And I promise, next time I roll up the logging trail, I'll bring my books. Along with a few more legendary tales from the campaign trail to keep you entertained."
" I'll hold you to that," Misty smiled, but as she noticed him subtly shifting his weight toward the door with the record and drawing tucked under his arm, she pointed a strict finger back toward the counter. "But before you go anywhere, you need to finish eating. I didn't fry up all that bacon just for it to sit there and go cold."
"Yes, ma'am! Loud and clear !" Eddie grinned, immediately hopping onto one of the stools at the island. working with his usual high-octane efficiency, he aggressively demolished the rest of the towering BLT and polished off the warm soup, groaning in pure satisfaction as he finally set the empty bowl down.
He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, his rings clicking as he pulled back his wrist to check the heavy watch strapped to it. His eyes went wide.
"Man, look at the time. I've gotta jet," Eddie said, sliding off the stool with a sudden burst of frantic energy. He carefully tucked the rare bootleg record under his arm alongside his precious new arm. " The boys are expecting me at the trailer park in twenty minutes for a gear check, and if I'm late, freak-out mode initiates."
He paused by the entryway, dropping into a quick, respectful crouch to give little Isaac a high-five, which the four-year-old calmly accepted with a serene smile.
" Stay cool, my tiny Morrison fan," Eddie grinned, standing back up and looking over at Mist as he unlatched the heavy door. " Thanks again for the witchcraft, Misty. I'll be back in a couple of days for another…something. I don't know yet, but I'll be back!"
With a final, theatrical wave of his hand, Eddie bounded out into the misty autumn afternoon. The heavy timber door clicked shut behind him, followed moments later by the roaring, rattling of his old Chevrolet van coming to life and tearing back down the unmapped logging trail.
Inside, the soft, heavy track of the vinyl continued to pulse gently through the quiet room. Misty stood by the counter for a long moment, a peaceful smile on her lips as she settled into her black shawl. But as she turned her hazel eyes back toward her drafting table, where her hidden cache rested, the rolled-up terrifying maps of the underground tunnels, the deep, phantom chime of a grandfather clock echoed faintly through the pines, signaling that the cold autumn air was already beginning to shift.
The roaring , rattling of Eddie's old van finally died away into the distance, leaving the pines to settle back into their heavy, damp silence. Inside the cabinet, the vinyl continued to pulse gently through the quiet room until the needle clicked and began to lazily scratch against the inner groove.
By midnight, the fire had burned down to a pile of low, glowing orange embers. Isaac was fast asleep in his small bed in his room, his vibrant auburn curls spilled across his pillow, breathing with a peaceful, rhythmic serenity. Misty had finally retired to the master bedroom, completely exhausted from the day's events. She lay tangled beneath the heavy wool blankets, her face relaxed as her mind drifted seamlessly back into that comfortable, airy twilight state she used to shield herself from the world.
Outside, a violent autumn storm began to tear through the trees, the wind howled against the thick logs, and heavy sheets of ice-laden rain lashed at the windows.
But across the dimensional divide, the storm was different.
In the bleeding, wasteland of the Upside-down, the air crackled with a terrifying, cosmic static. Henry stood in the attic of the old Creel house, completely isolated, his ghostly eyes flashing with a sudden, sharp focus. With a deep, concentrated breath, he uncoiled his restored telekinetic current, throwing his conscious awareness straight across the dimensional fabric to anchor his mind back into the physical location of Hawkins.
Within a heartbeat, a phantom shadow materialized silently in the dark woods just outside Misty's cabin.
He didn't project his polite, tweed-suited therapist avatar this time. He existed as an invisible psychic presence, a heavy atmospheric pressure that immediately swept across her perimeter. His mind reached out like a living net, checking the surroundings with cold, hyper-vigilant efficiency. He scanned the dense tree line, tracking the movements of the nocturnal animals, ensuring no state troopers, no local busy bodies, and absolutely no black-budget search teams from Brenner's facility had breached her territory. The area was entirely safe.
Satisfied, his invisible current slid effortlessly through the cracks of the heavy timber door, flowing into the dark, quiet sanctuary of the bedroom.
She was the reason he was able to have such freedom in this area of the woods; their shared current still faintly flowed through his twisted veins, reaching out to him across the divide like a stagnant lifeline trying to guide him back home.
It was here that he could materialize even for a short time. looking down at her, his pale features softening into a profound ache that nearly tore his multidimensional baseline apart. God, he wanted so badly to bring her to him. He wanted to shatter the walls of reality, drag her across the threshold into his realm, and hold her fragile frame flush against his chest so they could be together again without the constraints of a ticking clock.
But as he looked down at his own phantom hands, the cold, suffocating weight of reality pressed into his chest. He was worried. He was deeply terrified of what she would think if she truly saw what he had become, the exact unchained, monstrous entity commanding the dark hive mind from the abyss. He couldn't risk her looking at him with horror. Not after everything he had sacrificed to keep her pure.
He carefully climbed into the spot on the bed next to her, rightfully where he should be. resting his head on the pillow and watching as she gently slept through the raging storm. His gaze drifted to her forehead, his mind immediately connecting to the dense amnesia walls built inside her brain. He leaned closer, his long, phantom fingers slowly ghosting just a fraction of an inch above the bare skin of her cheek, feeling the soft warmth of her frequency vibrating against his power.
Guilt hung heavy in his chest, and he desperately hoped that the barrier he'd placed would stay firmly in place until he could push further into his grand plans. He was the one causing the fog. He was the one systematically maintaining that beautiful, protective twilight inside her brain, deliberately making her forget the specific details of his identity every time his sessions ended.
As he watched her stir slightly under his touch, he painfully remembered the reason for the barrier, the memory flashing behind his pale blue eyes, pulling him back to the winter months of 1979.
Before his powers had grown strong enough to tear open precise, bi-weekly mental projections, his fractured consciousness had only been able to catch fleeting, agonizing glimpses of the real world. He vividly remembered peering through the ghostly, cracked mirror of the abandoned Creel house, his heart shattering as he watched Misty sitting on the dusty floorboards all alone. Heavily pregnant with Isaac, her fragile frame shaking as she violently wept, clutching her stomach and desperately begging for him to come back to her in the dark.
The raw, helpless trauma of her grief had been so intense that it drew him like a moth to a flame, pulling on that tethered lifeline. But it was killing her, and Isaac. That was the exact night He'd gathered every ounce of his volatile power, reaching across the dimensional divide to place a gentle, heavy hand over her mind. With a fierce, protective stroke of his abilities, he had systematically blocked his own name, his face, and the entire memory of the laboratory massacre from her consciousness, willingly turning himself into a nameless phantom to spare her from the grief that was killing her.
Now, in the quiet midnight of 1984, Henry leaned down and pressed a weightless kiss against the crown of her wild red curls.
" Soon, little bird," Henry whispered into the dark room, his gravelly voice nothing more than a passing shudder of wind against the glass. " When the map is finished…I will bring you home."
He let his fingers linger against her cheek for one final, agonizing second before his projection completely dissolved back into the storm, pulling his consciousness straight back across the inter-dimensional bridge, leaving his beloved little witch to sleep peacefully in the dark, entirely safe beneath his watch.
