[U/C] Stranger Feelings || Mike Wheeler

Merill's farm [6]✔

I quickly get up on my feet and haul off towards the entrance. Blood pounds in my ears. My hands shake, and my feet tingle. My vision remains disfigured as if I was looking through a fish-eye lens. I had to get away from that place, stat.

I dash down the long, forlorn driveway: away from the eerie barn. The sound of my shoes slapping against the asphalt road bongoed along with rapid thumps of my heart. The screeching noise got overheard again. I push myself to run even faster, so my feet barely keep up. The tendons cord through my legs send out a high-pitched wail, and the hornets move swiftly into my lungs. I cough due to a lack of oxygen as the taste of blood surges through my mouth.

A bright lantern on the side of the deserted road catches my eye throughout the fog, followed by multiple more. I hurry over to the light as fast as possible, the adrenaline becoming weaker and weaker as I approach. Two big headlights briskly come closer as the sound of squealing tires tags along after. My eyes widen as I throw my arms in front of my face. Silence.

A hatchback door unlocks, followed by a man's voice: "Are you okay?" My quivering arms lower as beams of light blind me. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to adapt to the light. It was a man with brown hair and a beard. He wore a stereotypical lumberjack outfit and remained outside the vehicle. "Y/n? Is that you?" Another person gets out of the car. The person approaches me: a halo forming around his features.

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"Here you go," chamomile tea gets settled onto the wooden coffee table as the guy decides to sit beside me. "Now, what happened?" I look up at him, instantly feeling myself being pulled to the barn again. "I don't know..." My mind turns blank, but the vivid feeling of fear remains present. I attempt to retrace the steps in my mind, but without any luck. The boy glimpses up at his father, "Bon, on fait quoi maintenant?" His father stands against the wall, rubbing his chin. "On ne sait pas ce qui s'est passé. Elle a peut-être été agressée et s'est enfuie." He walks up to me and lowers himself. "Do you need help?" My eyes shoot up to his. There's a thick French accent wrapped around every word that leaves his mouth, just like his son. "Did someone hurt you?" I remain silent as a frustrated exhale emerges from the man's thin lips.

"Listen, girl. We can't help you if you don't talk to us."

"She doesn't have to. We can let her rest here. She can get my room and--"

"Dányel," He gave his son a glare: signalling him to stop talking. "Désolé, papa." He looks back at me, "Your parents might be worried at this point. Hell, they might have called the cops already." My eyes shoot up, "No-" A satisfied smile appears on his face, "speaking of a drop of a hat." He stands up straight, "Well if your parents didn't call yet," he shrugged: "maybe we should." I get up from the couch, "You... You won't believe me." He lowers his face again: only being inches away from mine. "Try me."

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Hopper, 11:28 am

We've been searching for almost three-quarters of an hour: without any luck. "This doesn't feel right, chief," Powell mentions in the back as I glare at him through the mirror. "We've checked the house, the park, the police station and the hospital. What else--"

"Maybe we need to look more closely, hm?" I hum in frustration. That's when a sudden spot hit my head. I take a U-turn back to the Wheelers' house. "Where are we going?"

"Where do upset children go to in the middle of the night?"

"I dunno, chief."

"They don't go far because their tears block their sight."