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 group of teenagers lounge on the waiting room chairs beside the vending machine, their restless energy palpable as Robbie, Lisa, and Chris arrive. Chris hurriedly walks up to the reception desk, where Lorraine is on the phone, chatting animatedly. Gossip is always so electric in Hawkins—everyone's secrets seem to swirl in the air. Chris clears her throat, her voice a little tense but determined.
"Lorraine, hi. I'm looking for Mrs. Driscoll's granddaughter. She's—"
"No more than two visitors at a time," Lorraine cuts in briskly.
"Oh, I just—"
Suddenly, Robbie shouts, startling everyone. "Ma;am! Are there peanuts in these?" He's holding a bag of peanut M&Ms, eyes wide with concern as Nic doubles over in pain. Lorraine's gaze snaps to him, raising an eyebrow. "My brother's allergic—"
Without hesitation, Lorraine leaps out of her seat, leaving her desk behind, her voice muffled as she glares at the boys for reading labels. Chris quickly mouths a grateful thank you to Robbie before rushing down the hall toward Nancy and Jonathan. She twists at the corner, spotting the room sign for Mrs. Driscoll. She pushes open the door, her pace slowing as she sees Nancy and Jonathan standing beside an empty bed.
"Where is she?" Chris asks, her voice gentle but filled with worry, her eyes searching both of them with a mix of concern and confusion.
Nancy and Jonathan glance back at her, then toward the vase of flowers tipped over on the bedside table, the silence heavy with unspoken fears.
"I don't know," Nancy whispers, voice despondent.
"Are you sure this is the right room?" Jonathan asks, concern etched on his face as he steps closer, half-shielding Nancy. He turns to include Chris in the circle.
She nods, gesturing toward the hall. "Yeah. I saw the name on the door."
Suddenly, the lights flicker ominously, and Chris turns just in time to see Tom Holloway blocking the doorway. His cold stare fixates on them as he adjusts his watch absently, blood smeared on his hands and his clothes, his face a ghost of vacancy. Sweat beads his skin, and there's an unsettling sickness to him.
"She's gone home," Tom says hollowly, his eyes vacant, voice flat. His presence feels terrifyingly wrong—like something else has taken over him. He's covered in sweat. Chris steps back instinctively. "We were hoping you might come back."
"Whose blood is that?" Jonathan demands, stepping protectively in front of Nancy, eyes blazing.
Tom begins to herd them further into the room, his movements unnatural. Chris and Jonathan stand side by side, tension thick among them. Behind them, Nancy's voice trembles with desperation: "Tom, whatever you've done, it's not you. He's making you do this."
