𝔸𝕥 𝕊𝕚𝕩𝕖𝕤 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕊𝕖𝕧𝕖𝕟𝕤

ᴛʜᴇ ᴠᴀɴɪꜱʜɪɴɢ ᴏꜰ ᴡɪʟʟ ʙʏᴇʀꜱ ①

Will Byers shoved open the porch door, its handle cracking against the siding. He rushed down the stairs and bolted towards the outbuilding in the backyard. Grass crunched under his feet, the pale light from the shed illuminating his terrified face.

The cold night air followed him into the shack as he slammed the door shut with a bang. Chester's frantic barking echoed faintly from the house, but he had no time to worry if the terrier was alright. Will hurried to the other side of the room, pulling his father's Mossberg rifle from the wall. He set it down on the workbench with shaking hands and fumbled for a case of bullets on the shelf above. He felt as though he couldn't control his hands; for a brief, alarming moment, they practically froze.

Will finally loaded the bullets into the chamber and aimed it at the door, trembling in fear. He half-hoped that what had been chasing him this whole time was just an illusion, a hallucination from lack of sleep. But that faceless thing he'd seen standing in the road wasn't a trick of the moonlight. It was real and it was coming after him.

Breathing hard, heart pounding in his chest, intense fear gripped him tightly. Only minutes ago he'd been playing a ten hour D&D campaign with his best friends. Now, he was cornered in the backyard, waiting for a monster to burst through the front door. The sheer anticipation of it was almost worse; he second-guessed if he should keep running and find somewhere to hide. Surely, he could make it back to his bike and pedal away... right?

Just then, all of a sudden, the horrible guttural sound of the monster stopped. Dead silence filled Will's ears like water, the kind so quiet it made your ears ring.

Is it gone? Will wondered, grip loosening on the rifle. Chester's barking had even subsided. In fact, the only sound he could hear was the buzzing of the fluorescent lightbulb that hung from the ceiling. It moved slightly back and forth, like the pendulum inside a clock. With each swing, it seemed to buzz a bit louder every time...

A sudden flash of light made Will whirl around in terror. There it was, looming over him, hissing; tall and thin, elongated limbs, claws instead of hands, slimy gray skin, and a cone-like head with no face- that is, until it opened its mouth. It split into five different sections like a flower, with razor sharp teeth lining each one. All at once, time seemed to slow down. Will thought about his family, his friends, his life flashing before his eyes. The light bulb glowed so bright it might've exploded. The world seemed to collapse around Will, the sound of the monster screeching faint in his ears. He fell to his knees, the gun loosened in his grip, landing onto the cold, dark ground. Lucas and Dustin's voices filled his head from the D&D campaign.

"Fireball him!" Lucas had urged him.

"Cast protection!" Dustin had countered.

The monster screeched at him, rearing back with claws aimed for his face.

"Fireball!"

"Protection!"

But in reality, Will didn't have a choice of spells. It was either kill or be killed; there was no magic to protect him. All he could do was protect himself.

Leaping up on shaky legs, he squeezed the trigger as the monster lunged at him.

"Fireball!" he screamed. Bang, bang, bang, the gunshots boomed in his ears. The monster screeched one last guttural sound and bolted away, smashing through the shed door, ink-like blood dripping from its wounds.

Will stayed like that, gripping the gun so tightly he lost feeling in his hands, not even breathing. When he finally exhaled, his entire body seemed to relax, and he slumped over, gasping for air.

You're okay, you're okay, he thought over and over again. When he finally caught his breath, he looked up and saw that the monster had disappeared. But did he actually hurt it, or just scare it off?

Gun in his grasp, he stepped out of the shed. It was too dark to see anything; the lightbulb must've exploded after all, though he hadn't heard it. The scent of something rotten filled his nose, malodorous and putrid. The smell of the monster still lingered, even if it had left. But wherever it went, it certainly wasn't safe in the shed anymore.

Will held the gun up, aiming for any sign of the creature. Palms sweaty, knees shaking, he was so on edge that the slightest movement probably would've set him off.

Moving from the shed to the house felt like a ten-mile walk across a battlefield. Each second felt like an hour, each step more tense than the last. But finally, finally, he made it back.

He reached over and flicked the light switch. It reminded him of when he was younger and afraid of the dark; light kept the monsters away.

But nothing happened. Darkness still covered the house like a blanket. Will flicked the switch a few more times in desperation, to no result.

Did a circuit blow? he wondered, thinking of the lightbulb flash. But he couldn't dwell on it. He needed to make sure the monster wasn't back.

Will headed into the living room, feeling the carpet squish under his shoes.

"Mom?" he called, his voice echoing eerily in the darkness. "Jonathan?"

He cautiously moved down the hallway, the silence like a vice grip around his neck. His mother must've been working late again, and his brother was probably out with his camera again.

He pushed open his bedroom door, gun out in front of him, clutched so tightly his knuckles were (probably) white.

Whatever's going on, he thought, sitting down in the corner of his room, back resting against the closet doors, they'll know what to do when they get home. They'll find me.

He didn't mean to fall asleep; it just sort of happened. Exhaustion and relief overcame him and his head slowly dropped, eyes falling shut. He was at peace, perhaps momentarily, but nevertheless a relief.

He dreamed of his friends, playing a D&D game together. They'd had a bad streak; it was like the dice had it out for them...

༶•┈┈┈•༶

The Wheeler's dimly lit basement was where the party did almost all of their campaigns. They could count on one hand the number of times they'd been to the others' houses. Dustin's mom checked in on them every second, offering snacks or trying to persuade them to do something else. Lucas' little sister, Erica, had teased them relentlessly to the point Lucas had thrown the board at her, effectively ending the campaign five minutes in. And Will's house was unfortunately a bit too small to host all four of them.

The campaigns at Mike's house usually went really well, though, this time, the odds were not in their favor.

"This sucks," Lucas Sinclair had complained, scowling. "Our magic user is so weak!"

"We're gonna die," Dustin Henderson agreed, adjusting the red and blue cap he always wore. A strand of his curly light brown hair fell into his eye and he blew it away with a huff. "We're gonna die so fast!"

Shame tugged at Will's brain; he was trying his best! He ducked his head, fiddling with the sleeve of the green flannel shirt he wore.

"Maybe he should have picked a different class," Lucas suggested.

"Anything in the rules about re-rolling when making characters?"

Mike Wheeler stood up suddenly, slamming his hands onto the table, palms flat. He scanned them all with defiance in his dark eyes, always dramatic when narrating; it was why they always made him dungeon master.

"Fate has already spoken. The party has been gathered. No re-rolls." He frowned at Dustin and Lucas. "You two act like the dice gave you so much more power than him. You're both still level one; easy prey. And if something eats you, don't blame Will the Wise."

Will looked up, shocked. Mike was standing up for him?

"This isn't a contest to see which of you is the strongest or can get the most kills. You live as a party or you die alone. Right, Will the Wise?"

Will hesitated, trying to fight the heat rising in his face. Recently, for some reason, Mike had started making him feel nervous. He freaked out everytime they made eye contact or accidentally brushed against each other in the school hallway. He nodded shyly, trying to look as grateful as he felt.

"Then let's keep going..."