Over the years nightmares have been a frequent friend in the Hopper house. Chills and a scream lodged in the back of her throat is the only way that Christine Hopper knows how to wake up. Her father tries hard to believe his daughter has a handle on...
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"The weather's pretty nice," says Chris, stretching out on the hood of Steve's car. "We could sleep out here tonight. Under the stars."
The sun is sinking low, close to eight o'clock, casting a warm, golden glow. Steve drove them around for about an hour, sharing music and conversation, feeling a quiet comfort between them. They have no specific plans for the night, and somehow, that simplicity feels just right. The radio drifts softly from inside the maroon BMW, blending with the fading light. Steve leans against the windshield, his arms crossed over his chest, lost in the peaceful moment. They've draped an old throw blanket over the hood, adding a touch of home. His gaze softly falls on Chris, who is watching the sky with a sense of wonder, as if holding onto a fleeting, precious moment.
"In the backseat?" he questions, raising an eyebrow at her.
Chris sits up, moving next to him. "Sounds nice and cozy. We could go to the quarry for a bit. Midnight swim."
"Skinny dipping," Steve corrects, smiling warmly as he gently pulls Chris close, he wraps an arm tenderly around her. Chris softly rests her head on his shoulder, feeling the comfort of his embrace. Steve nudges her shoe with his own, a quiet smile playing on his lips. "I bet you look hot in the moonlight."
"I look hot all the time," she jokes.
"All the time," he agrees. Steve gently moves his head, nuzzling his face into Chris's neck with affection. She giggles, playfully trying to squirm free from his embrace. Steve softly tightens his hold around her waist, pulling her closer, a quiet warmth passing between them as she half-heartedly resists. He kisses her neck again and again, his hair softly brushing her face and neck, fueling a delicate intimacy. Chris's laughter bubbles up, her breath catching unexpectedly as their connection deepens.
"Steve!" she gasps, her hands trembling as they press fiercely against his chest, desperate to push him away or perhaps to hold him closer. Her voice is jammed with happy emotions. Steve responds with a gentle, reassuring kiss, his lips brushing softly against her neck, sending shivers through her body. His lips linger on her ear, and he exhales slowly, a fragile whisper of breath that makes her heart race. Chris bites her lip, her eyes fluttering shut for a fleeting moment, overwhelmed by the intensity of her feelings. She tilts her head back instinctively, craving more—wanting to be fully seen, fully loved. Steve senses her invitation and carefully, delicately, turns her so she lies beneath him, their bodies aligning—a silent vow of trust. He continues to kiss her neck and collarbone, each gentle touch igniting a fire within her. He trails kisses around her jaw, each one an act of devotion and longing that echoes deep within her soul.
Chris's hands rest lightly on Steve's neck and shoulders, fingertips trembling as she surrenders entirely to his touch. Her eyes are closed, her entire being melting into the embrace, craving the connection they share. Steve's hands rest at her hips, his fingers quietly waiting at the edge of her white tank top, craving to be closer. With a tender, almost reverent kiss on her lips, he seeks to communicate what words can't: love, desire, vulnerability. Chris responds instinctively; she parts her lips slightly, inviting him to deepen the kiss, vulnerable and eager, ready to lose herself in this moment of raw, aching passion.
"I love you," she whispers, a shaking hope in her voice as Steve gently pulls away to remove his bomber jacket. With a deliberate motion, he tosses it onto the roof of the car, as if symbolizing the weight of everything else falling away.
"I love you," he repeats softly, his voice filled with aching sincerity. She never wants him to stop saying it back to her. Steve leans in, capturing her lips in a tender, yearning kiss, while Chris's fingers instinctively slide beneath his shirt, tracing his skin with trembling desire. She runs her fingers up to his chest, burning to remove his shirt and reveal more of himself to her. Steadying himself, Steve undresses, his eyes meeting hers with a passion that ignites sparks between them. Chris follows, her shirt slipping off as they dive into each other again, their skin pressed close, their bodies ignited by a shared heat that burns brighter than the sunset behind them. As the sky darkens and stars begin to shimmer, the melody of "Heaven" by Bryan Adams fills the air, embodying the wild, reckless feeling of falling utterly, completely in love.
Billy tears down the dark, empty road with reckless abandon, heart pounding wildly in his chest. His speed is reckless, a furious rush fueled by something he can't quite name, racing toward the outskirts of town as if escape itself is within his grasp. His mind is a jumble—directions forgotten, purpose lost—yet he drums his thumbs relentlessly to the pounding beat reverberating through the speakers, desperately clutching at the fleeting moment of freedom. His hand reaches out desperately for the cigarettes on the dashboard, craving a touch of solace. But in that instant, something jagged and unforgiving crashes against his window, shattering the glass with brutal force. The world blurs as Billy loses control, tires screeching in chaos, spinning wildly out of control into the bleak silence of the Brimborn Steel Works lot. Dust billows up like the dust of his broken spirit as his car finally comes to a halt. Through the chaos, the battered radio sputters and whines, echoing through the air in a haunting, distorted cry.
Billy grunts. He's got a gash on his forehead from the impact. Billy groans, taking a look at the mess. He slams his hands against the dashboard. "Oh, no. No. Piece of shit." That doesn't seem to do anything. Billy reaches for his head, feeling the cut. "Shit." He slams the palm of his hand on the steering wheel in disappointment and anger.
"Damn it!"
Opening the car door with a struggle, Billy slowly slips out, straightening up despite the ache in his body. His eyes fall on his surroundings—the abandoned mill looming ahead. It's dimly lit, shadows dancing around it. He can hear the faint sounds of critters nearby, a haunting reminder of how neglected and forsaken this place is, yet it offers little hope. Billy's gaze drifts to his car, battered and broken—there's a deep dent on the passenger side, and the door stubbornly refuses to open. He moves carefully toward the windshield, his heart pounding with a mixture of determination and unease. Reaching out, he touches the spot where glass once shattered—now covered in a thin, sticky, almost unnatural substance—an eerie symbol of the chaos left behind.
"What the hell?" he mumbles.
From the trees, an animal darts through the shrubs, squealing. Billy spins toward the sound. "Who's there?" Billy moves cautiously, seeing no one. "Hey! I said, who's there?"
A long, writhing tendril erupts from the shadowy depths of the Steel Works shop. It coils mercilessly around Billy's leg, tearing him down with a ferocious grip. Billy screams in shock and desperation, clawing frantically at the dirt as the relentless tendril drags him deeper into the darkness. He jabs at the walls, clutching desperately as it pulls him down the stairs, hope flickering in his eyes. For a fleeting moment, Billy hangs on, his scream echoing with raw fear. But the tendril jerks him again, a savage tug that pulls him crashing down the stairs, sealing his fate as he's dragged into the terrifying abyss within.
