WHISTLEBLOWER | ❝It only gets stranger...❞
Hawkins has never looked back on the events of November 1983. They know the surface-level story. 'The boy who came back to life.' Will Byers is alive and well, while the futile search for Tonya McCarth...
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WEDNESDAY 31st OCTOBER, 1984
THE last day of October begins seemingly like any other day — dull daylight softly illuminates the curtains in Daphne's window, which spills out onto the girl as she slowly writhes in half-slumber. Birdsong and hoarse barks of the neighbour's basset hound permeate the soundscape of Kerley road in the daily morning routine.
But there are a few differences. The air is laced with the aroma of pumpkin innards, put out on display at people's doorsteps, along with crisp autumn rain that paints the fiery leaves in a glossy varnish. Excited chatter is exchanged between children who have started the school run, exchanging costume ideas; indeed, Halloween is upon them.
Of course, the most important difference of the day is yet to come...
Daphne should get used to anticipating Cath's gentle knock by now, for her sister has been doing it since she could walk. But half-asleep, it still surprises her. Her eyelids still glued together with the will to sleep, the gentle tip-toe of footsteps across the floorboards alert her attention, along with the sudden sinking of the mattress as Cath plonks herself down on it. Daphne groans, rolling over in her bed and rubbing her eyes.
"How are you not awake yet?" Cath asks incredulously, but in a gentle whisper.
"Mmph... stayed up late," Daphne replies. She squints past a blurry Cath at the blob of colour on her desk, which soon materialises as her heaps of story ideas piled up in scraps. Some homework is bound to be buried under there too...
"Well, maybe it's for the best, 'cause we had more time to prepare downstairs."
"Downstairs?"
"You do know what day it is, right?" Cath asks, then lights up as if Christmas has come early, nudging her sister playfully. "It's your birthday, silly!"
The sudden epiphany strikes Daphne's mind, erasing her half-sleeping brain fog — it is a strange blend of euphoria and dread, which throws her for a loop. With instructions to get downstairs as soon as possible, Cath scurries away. Daphne sighs and contemplatively stares at her ceiling from the comfort of her pillow.
Eighteen, she thinks, staring herself down in the mirror. Daphne tries to see if anything has miraculously changed overnight. So far, nothing — she is just as small as usual, same wide blue eyes and blonde bedhead, same voice as far as she can tell. Just a little bit wearier than she used to be, perhaps. Is weariness wisdom? It would certainly be a more romantic way of seeing it, like a prophecy fulfilled as she hits adulthood, but part of Daphne is sceptical that it is merely a product of what she endured last year. Maybe feeling years beyond your age isn't the best feeling in the world after all...
