Sobs of Despair

act 1

The first time he heard it was late at night.
Shrieks and wails could be heard from outside Steve Harrington's window. It chilled him to his core, to wonder what was happening beyond the all-too-thin walls of the Harrington home.

And the worst part?

He was the only one who seemed to notice.
He should've thought it was unfair, being the only one to hear those gut-wrenching wails every night. But he didn't. Because out there, somewhere in Hawkins, Indiana, someone was suffering.

He just didn't know who.

When the shrieking had began, Steve had woken up in a cold sweat. Shrill, despair-inducing wails cut through the cool night air like a heated knife through butter.

Steve had rushed to his window, shoving it open with a slight screech. The cold night air catapulted into his face, and the wails grew louder. They seemed to come from all directions, lightly disorienting the boy.

"Hello?" he'd called, checking to see if any of his neighbours had awoken, too. His only response was a shrill 'shut up!' from the lady next door.

Steve's nose crinkled in distaste, however only for a moment, as the wailing grew louder — shriller still.

Steve raced downstairs, threw on a sweater and ran toward the door.

However, when the door opened, it stopped. All was quiet. Almost too quiet.

Steve hated that.

"Are you sure it wasn't just a bad dream?" Robin sighed, exasperation clear in her tone. "I mean, after all the shit we've been through, I wouldn't expect any less.

The bitchy soccer mom on the other side of Family Video sent Robin a sharp look, covering her son's ears pointedly at the curse.
Normally, Steve would've rolled her eyes at her. Today, however, was different.

"Yes, Robin, I'm sure." Steve confirmed, voice steeled in an attempt to make him sound more believable. "Nightmares like that don't just happen."

"Whatever you say," Robin said dismissively, turning back to the box on the counter labelled 'RETURNS'.

Steve didn't bring it up again after that.

The second time the wailing started, it was late.
Like, insanely late.

If Steve wasn't so worried, he'd have half a mind to scream at the person in question, but it really wasn't the time right now!

This time, Steve was faster; quicker. He rushed down the stairs, threw on some temperature-appropriate clothing and bolted out the door.

This time, the wailing didn't stop.

The direction of the noise was clearer this time, Steve thinks. He ran as fast as he could in its apparent direction, the flashlight he had on-hand bobbing up and down, making the measly beam of light go with it.

The wailing seemed to be coming from Lover's Lake, which was concerning. Either some teenagers had taken a liking to fucking in the lake, or someone was drowning. (Every night? his brain criticized him.)

However, Steve could never be sure, because the wailing stopped.

Tonight is the tenth day. Nine back-to-back nights of that terrible wailing. Nine sleepless nights, where even the slightest creak of a door or window would send Steve jumping five feet in the air.