𝐥𝐚𝐛𝐲𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐡, 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐓𝐘 𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐄

𝐥𝐚𝐛𝐲𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐡, 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒

𝐒𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄 𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐓𝐎𝐍
JULY 3RD, 1985

The group assembled before the red door of the Holloway home, its vibrant hue an ominous marker against the subdued siding of the house. Nancy leaned in, pressing the doorbell with a kind of nervous urgency. An unsettling silence draped over them, thick and heavy, before Nancy reached out to ring again, her anxious glance flicking to Jonathan, then to Eleven. With a shared look, Eleven gave a subtle nod, understanding what Nancy wanted without words.

A moment later, the door swung open under the invisible tug of Eleven's powers, creaking as it hit the wall, inviting them in—or perhaps, warning them away. They hesitated, peering into the dim house, each of them cloaked in unease. Scarlette felt a strange, cold pull in her chest, an otherworldly beckoning that seemed to both lure her deeper and hold her back. It was as if a devil whispered into one ear, promising secrets within, while an angel in the other begged her to turn and leave.

Slowly, they crossed the threshold, Nancy leading them in with Jonathan close at her side. Their steps were cautious, hesitant, the quiet punctuated only by their soft breathing. Scarlette lingered at the back of the group, a cold sweat trickling down her spine as her stomach twisted with a growing nausea. The house felt wrong, like the air itself was alive and prickling against her skin with a thousand invisible cuts. She shivered, the chill burrowing into her bones.

Nancy's voice broke the silence, calling out for her former boss, then for his daughter, the names echoing hollowly through the empty house. Scarlette took another step inside, her whole body tensing as an unnatural chill seemed to settle around her, gripping her tightly. The air was thick, and an odor—something metallic, something rotten—began to seep into their awareness, mingling with the cold in an oppressive blend.

"Do you guys smell that?" Nancy asked, her voice uncertain, searching the dim room. A few nodded, their expressions mirroring her own confusion and dread. The scent was faint at first, but it lingered in the air, insidious and sharp, growing stronger with each passing second. They shared glances, the silence between them weighted with unspoken fear. Something was here.

Chemicals.

Scarlette's nausea worsened, the room tilting slightly as if the ground beneath her had gone unsteady. Her head felt light, blood draining from her face as her gaze blurred at the edges. They turned a corner, and the kitchen came into view—its counters littered with spilled chemicals, containers upturned and cracked open like a scene from some surreal, abandoned lab. Nancy jolted, immediately covering her nose as the sharp, acrid scent hit them.

Scarlette gagged, pressing her hand over her mouth as the smell burned in her nose and filled her lungs, thick and sickening. A steadying hand found her back, and she turned, expecting to see Henry. Instead, she met Mike's concerned gaze. Mike—the same boy who usually treated her with indifference, who could bicker with her as if she were just a passing annoyance. And now, here he was, looking at her with quiet care.