𝐁𝐄𝐒𝐓 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐓, ˡᵘᶜᵃˢ ˢⁱⁿᶜˡᵃⁱʳ ¹

08

𝟬𝟴
𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗯𝗲𝗴𝗶𝗻𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗼𝗳 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗲𝗻𝗱

    𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐏 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐔𝐌𝐍 𝐀𝐈𝐑 𝐇𝐔𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐎 𝐓𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐀'𝐒 𝐒𝐊𝐈𝐍 as she trudged toward Hawkins Middle School, the sky above a pale, muted blue that seemed almost suffocated by the delicate veil of mist. Leaves, brittle and golden, crunched beneath her sneakers, their dry, skeletal forms crackling like embers underfoot. The trees that lined the quiet street had shed most of their summer vibrancy, their once full, verdant branches now twisted and bare, reaching toward the sky like ink-black tendrils, stretching, yearning.

    Each step Tessa took felt heavier than the last, as though the weight of the world had settled firmly on her small shoulders. The familiar, brick façade of the school stood ahead of her, but even it seemed different this morning—its usual warmth dulled, the windows dark and still. The building was wrapped in a sense of eerie quiet, as though it, too, could sense that something was off. The leaves that had gathered at the entrance swirled lazily in the morning breeze, whispering secrets in the language only autumn knew.

    The air smelled of damp earth and woodsmoke, the faintest scent of burning leaves lingering in the distance. She could taste the change of season, the way the sharpness of fall lingered on her tongue, mingling with her unspoken worries. It was the kind of morning that felt too still, too quiet, as if the entire town of Hawkins was holding its breath, waiting for something—anything—to happen.

    Tessa's fingers, cold and stiff, curled tighter around the strap of her backpack. The fabric rubbed against her palm, a small but grounding sensation amid the unsettling feeling creeping up her spine. She stopped at the entrance to the school, her gaze drifting over the chipped paint of the double doors. They were slightly ajar, just enough for her to catch a sliver of the dimly lit hallway inside. The fluorescent lights flickered, casting a jittery glow that wavered like a heartbeat.

    With a sigh, she pushed the door open, the hinges groaning in protest, and stepped inside. The familiar scent of stale textbooks and cleaning supplies greeted her, mingling with the faint hum of distant voices and the squeak of shoes against linoleum floors. The warmth of the building hit her immediately, contrasting sharply with the bite of the cold morning, but it wasn't comforting. The warmth felt thick, oppressive even, like it was trying too hard to convince her everything was normal.

    The hallway stretched out before her, lined with row upon row of lockers—some dented, others plastered with stickers peeling at the edges. The beige walls seemed to close in slightly as she walked, and the buzzing overhead lights threw faint, sickly yellow shadows along the floor. Every little sound—footsteps, the murmur of distant conversation, the occasional slam of a locker door—seemed louder than usual, more insistent. She could feel the echoes of each sound reverberating through her, each one unsettling her more.

    She passed the bulletin board, its cork surface riddled with pushpins that held up crumpled flyers and faded announcements. A sheet of paper hung haphazardly, fluttering slightly in the draft that crept through the hall. "Hawkins Middle Dance" was scrawled across it in bold, blocky letters. Yet, the torn edges and hastily taped corners made it seem like something from a forgotten time—a relic from when things were still simple, before Will had gone missing.

    Tessa's thoughts drifted back to the night at Mike's house, playing Dungeons & Dragons with Will, Mike, Lucas, and Dustin. Will's smile had been shy but bright as he held the dice in his hand, eyes glimmering with that quiet excitement he always carried during their campaigns. She had barely spoken to him then, too absorbed in the game's fantastical twists and turns, but now... now, his absence left a hollow ache in the pit of her stomach.