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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FRIDAY 2nd NOVEMBER, 1984
WILL Byers has seen better days.
For a while until they finally can see him, Cath and Mike have been treading on eggshells outside his room so as not to wake him up. They carefully tried not to clatter their cutlery too much as they ate their dinner — some pasta, the courtesy of Joyce, although the mother seemed understandably distracted and it turned out a little on the... watery side. Nevertheless, that was the last thing on her mind during that meal. Cath was more occupied with the state they had found the Byers home in. Only a couple of steps in, she had felt the crunch of paper underneath her shoes. Then she was looking around and saw that paper was in fact everywhere, crayon scribbles of blacks and blues, bruising the walls in crazy meandering patterns.
Things were worse. Much worse than the Byers had previously let on.
Finally, a small murmur had come from Will's room. It was barely audible, a small wisp of a sound, calling for his mother. Joyce was there in a shot, slipping in and gently pulling the door closed behind her. Mike had exchanged a glance with Cath, both of them growing in attentiveness for their friend. Joyce soon poked her head out and beckoned the two thirteen year-olds inside...
And now here they are.
The first thing Cath notices is how cold Will's room is. The freezing air prickles against her skin like brambles, adding to goosebumps that were already there. She sees that both his windows are wide open, gusts of wind dramatically billowing the curtains like storm-battered sails. Will has his back to them, sat in his pyjamas on his bed and staring vacantly ahead of him.
"Will, honey, you have some visitors."
The Byers boy turns slowly around to look at them; Cath has to resist looking surprised. The way he has deteriorated in only twenty four hours blindsides her. Will appears pale and withdrawn, his skin clammy and feverish. A triangle of night sweat drenches his shirt, as fresh as his puffy, exhausted eyes which look as though they have cried a thousand times already. "Hey, man," Mike says carefully, giving him a small wave.
"Hi guys..." Will croaks back, his voice hoarse and tired.
Joyce gently clicks the door shut behind them, leaving the trio alone in the room.
The paper tendrils of black and blue have consumed Will's walls too, swallowing all the other things in his room that made him... him. As he turns back around, Cath shoots Mike a despaired look as if to say, "What the hell do we do?" to which he bows his head solemnly. He still seems to be wrapping his head around all of it. The Wheeler boy starts scaling the paths of furious crayon scribbles, fixated with an intense curiosity. Meanwhile, Cath circles around to Will's side of the bed to take a better look at him — he seems to be shivering slightly, she notices. It must be the breeze. Is he trying to freeze to death?
