Chapter Eight

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"SON OF A BITCH..." Casey groans with a pounding headache and a swollen left cheek. She recalls the events from the night before, and by the state she was in, it wasn't a bad dream after all. Laying on the floor, a little disassociated, she sits up slowly. Her dad is on the couch still knocked out, so she crawls her way over to him. Gently at first, she shakes his shoulder, "Dad." Becoming worried when his body remained lifeless, so she did it harder the next time and yelled, "Dad!"

He jumped awake, drenched in sweat, and breathing heavily. Concerned blue eyes scan her face, a thumb brushing against her uninjured cheek, but he doesn't say anything. He swings his legs over and plants his feet on the floor. Casey is impatiently waiting for an explanation, "Dad, what the hell is going on?"

"Shhh..." he says taking his gun from the coffee table and rushing to the front door. She looks at her father puzzled, then stands up to follow him. Watching from the porch, her dad circles around himself searching for God knows what. He looked insane.

He comes stumbling back inside passing Casey in the doorway. "Dad?" She drawls, continuing to trail behind him. He goes to the bathroom, staring at himself in the mirror, specifically his neck. "Dad!" He whips around, raising his finger to his lips.

"What?" She whispers. He mouths something that she doesn't understand, "Dad, I—"

He grimaces, raising his voice in the slightest, "Bugs. Help me look." He waves his hand around, and the teen shakes her head.

She matches his energy, waving her arms, "I don't know what a bug looks like."

Making motions with his hands, "Small. Check...everything." He turns around, dragging his fingers along the top the mirror then takes the cover of the light checking the lightbulbs. Casey swallows thickly—this is gonna be fun.

The tore the house apart. Hopper handled all the overhead lights while Casey checked cabinets, drawers, pulling everything out of them. She looked the lamps and her dad smashed through both their telephones. The thermostat, fire alarm. She was looking underneath the coffee table when she caught a glimpse of her sketchpad. That shouldn't have been abnormal, but the drawing she was working on last night had been ripped out. The one of the creature in the woods. Why would they take that?

She didn't dwell on it, instead Casey moved onto her bedroom. She stood in the doorway taking one last look at it all perfectly clean and sighed. Removing the drawers from her dresser, she dumped her clothes onto the floor. She took out the lightbulbs from her lamp and looked in the back of her radio. Nothing.

When she walked back out to the living room, the couch cushions had been cut open and the dining table had been flipper over. Hopper stole a glance, panting, silently asking if she found it. She shook her head, and he exhaled roughly. They start taking pictures off the wall. Everything off the shelves. Casey thought they were in the clear. There wasn't a space in the house that hadn't been absolutely decimated. But then her dad noticed the lone light in the ceiling.

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