Time After Time (a Stranger Things fanfiction)

Thriller

"Thriller"

It's close to midnight

And something evil's lurking in the dark

Under the moonlight

You see a sight that almost stops your heart

You try to scream

But terror takes the sound before you make it

- Michael Jackson

The creature was pounding on the door. For the moment, it held, but any second now, the Russians were going to open it and that thing was coming out and then ... then it would only be a matter of time.

The entire line of men remained on their knees in the cold, stunned with fear and anticipation. "Stay calm," Antonov shouted in Russian. "Stay close. Stick to the plan."

Not that it was going to help, Hopper thought with a calm fatalism. So this was the way he died—cold and alone in a Russian prison. The only thing he hoped for, the only thing he asked of whatever fate had dominated his whole crappy life, was that he could take this damned thing out with him. For El. And for Will. And for all of them.

An alarm blared, causing them all to jump. Antonov leaped for the key as the rest of them got hastily to their feet, hurrying as best they could across the snowy, icy ground to the cabinet, waiting impatiently while his fingers, stiff with cold, fumbled the key into the lock. He pulled open the weapons cabinet and they all grabbed something.

Antonov tossed Hopper a spear. While the others scattered, Hopper leaned against one of the support struts, pulling the ripped piece of his shirt out of his coat and wrapping it around the end of the spear.

Above their heads, Joyce watched with mounting terror. It took all she could do not to scream through her gag, but that wasn't going to help anyone. She had to calm down, she told herself, trying to bring her breathing under control. She had to.

Another alarm sounded, and everyone stood still, staring at the metal doors that held the beast back. With a squeal of metal on metal, they began to open, torturously slowly.

Antonov called out in Russian, no doubt encouraging the others to hold their ground, to stay together, to stick to the plan. Hopper figured that would last until the thing appeared, and then it would all go to hell. At the end, all he could hope for was that the others would keep the beast occupied until he could get the fire going and try to kill it. He felt badly for them—but they were going to end their lives in a Russian prison one way or another. At least this way, it would be quick and they could go down fighting.

The doors were fully open now, the empty blackness almost worse than if the creature had lunged at the first moment.

Hopper took the vodka bottle out of his coat, uncapped it, and poured the liquor over the fabric on the end of the spear, saturating it thoroughly. He dropped the bottle on the ground and dug into his pocket for the lighter.

Joyce and Murray exchanged frightened glances. Hopper was moving with purpose, Joyce recognized that much, but what could he do against one of these things, one man with a spear? Behind them, the warden was snapping at a guard in Russian. Joyce looked up at Murray again. It was time. It was past time. What were they here for if not to keep Hopper from getting eaten?

Murray reached into the pocket where the gun rested.

Hopper waited, hearing the beast snarling. He didn't want to waste the fire; he wasn't going to light his makeshift torch until he saw the thing's face. The others had their weapons ready. They were standing, ready to fight.

Next to Joyce, Murray spoke to the warden in Russian, grinding the words out between clenched teeth.

Antonov turned to Hopper, nodding breathlessly, and Hopper flicked the lighter open, holding it next to the soaked cloth, ready to light at the first sight of the creature.

Only it didn't work. Flicking it again, the flame appeared for a brief flash and then was gone. "Oh, come on!" Hopper cried in desperation. This was his only chance, the only way he was going to make his final moments worth anything to the people he loved. "Come on, come on, come on!" he chanted, flicking the lighter again and again.

"Tell me that's not out of fluid!" Antonov shouted.

Murray and the warden were talking in Russian, snapping at each other. Murray finished in English. "... the Americans are very tricky."

Below them, Joyce could hear Hopper's voice. "Come on! Come on!" She knew he wasn't talking to her—he didn't know she was here. But she echoed the supplication in her head.

She yanked the gag out of her mouth, leaned across Murray, and said to the warden, "If you want to live, then whatever sick, twisted game this is, you're going to stop it, and you're going to free our friend."

He wasn't impressed. "Then I'm afraid you're going to have to kill me. Because your friend is already dead."

"Come on!" Hopper shouted again, desperately working the lighter. "Come on, oh, come on!"

A trill from the other side of the open doors told him he was almost out of time.

And then it was out, crossing the empty space between the doors and the waiting men almost before they saw it appear. It leaped over Antonov, landing on the man behind him, who cried out in fear and pain ... but only briefly, before he was never going to cry out again.

Joyce gasped. She had never seen the full-size ones. She'd had no idea just how big this thing was. And it was out now, free, with Hopper, nearly defenseless, only a few feet away. She wanted to scream, to throw herself into the pit with Hopper, to hurl the warden in and watch him be torn apart instead. She tried to force herself to think, to plan, to find a way for them all to get out of this ... but all she could see was the demogorgon.