Shadows of the Night •a Stranger Things story•

I Was Just...Daydreaming

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It wasn't anything new for Jim Hopper to wake up in the morning to screaming. He was sleeping on the couch, shirtless, probably hung over. There were many scattered beer cans throughout the tiny living room of the trailer-home. Dirty dishes thrown on the table and newspapers across the floor. A drawing of two parents and two girls, one older than the other, is tapped to the wallpaper. A book bag is slung over a chair, with the book: The Mist by Stephen King inside the bag as well as a sketchbook, pencils, and post-it notes, which are also scattered throughout the home. The TV was still on as Hopper woke up, broadcasting the morning news.

"And that's it for the News Center this morning. Thanks for joining us. Let's hand off now to Liz at the news desk. All right, thank you, Donna."

Hopper springs to his feet, a sign that he may be in his forties, but is still in shape and ready to reach whoever was screaming. His shoulder hits the door of the teeny little room down the small hallway. It's covered in drawings and leaves of books and posters and post-it notes. Not the typical teenage girl room.

Chris is sitting on her twin bed, the blue sheets wrapped around her feet. Her knees are pulled to her chest as she wraps her arms tightly around them. She has her chin on her knees, green eyes staring passively at the foot of her bed. Her long, curly, red hair entangled down her back.

Hopper sighs, "Chrissie?"

"I'm okay, I'm okay. It was just a nightmare," she whispers in a hollow voice.

Hopper hesitates to leave the room, heading outside for a morning smoke. The lake behind the trailer-home is quiet, smooth as glass as the sun rises over the trees. Birds chirp around the small bird house next to the little porch. Hopper shivers as he inhales some of his cigarette, the end of it burning red with heat.

He looks over at the bird house, where one blue handprint and one purple one are plastered on the side of it. One is bigger than the other, but it's obvious they are both girls' hands.

As he showers, brushes his teeth, lights another cigarette, puts on some deodorant, and downs some pills with a beer, Chris is in the kitchen, toasting some Eggo waffles before eating them without a plate or fork or anything. She's fully dressed, jeans, a white Queen t-shirt, and some high socks on. She kicks on her brown combat boots with her free hand as her other hand reaches for her brown leather jacket. A silver necklace around her neck swings back and forth.

It says Sara on it. Anyone that didn't know her would assume this was her name. Chris grabs her backpack, sticking a pencil in her ear as she finishes her waffle. Hopper finishes putting his uniform on, sticking a pen in the breast pocket. He grabs his hat and car keys. Being late and rushing things was how the Hopper's did it.

"Got everything?" he mutters, opening the front door.

The TV responds to Hopper before his daughter does. "In other news, you might wanna stay home tonight or at least pack an umbrella. We turn to everybody's favorite morning weather guy, Charles."

"TV, Dad," Chris mumbles, slinging her book bag over her shoulder.

"Can't bring that to school, Chris."

She rolls her eyes, flicking it off as they head out.

Joyce Byers, in her early forties just like Jim Hopper, is frantically searching her house for something. Her wispy, short, brown hair is pulled back and she's in her own uniform for work.

"Where the hell are they?" she scowls.

In the kitchen, her sixteen year-old son, Jonathan Byers is standing at the stove, cooking breakfast. He's wearing blue jeans with a belt and he's got a brown t-shirt on, matching his brown hair and his brown eyes. His pale completion makes him look a little daunting at first, but it doesn't help him much.