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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Nancy arises from Steve's bed, staring over at him. He's under the sheets, sleeping soundly on his stomach. Nancy shrugs Steve's sweatshirt over her shoulders, and turns to look at him. "Steve?" She waits. Nancy places a hand on his back. "Hey, Steve."
"Mm," he moans, barely stirring.
"I'll see you tomorrow, okay?" Steve hums back and Nancy purses her lips together. She gets up from the bed, gathering her things before leaving the house. She walks out the back door, moving across the pool. An owl hoots from the trees, startling her. She hurries away from the house, knowing that she'll have to walk home.
Jonathan awakes early in the morning to the sound of his mother calling for his little brother. "Will? Will? Sweetheart, can you hear me? Will." Jonathan frowns to himself, turning toward the doorway. "Will. Please, Will. It's me. It's me. Just talk to me." Jonathan reaches for a t-shirt, pulls it over his head and heads toward his brother's room. His mother's voice travels through the closed door. "Talk to me. Just say—"
Jonathan opens the door. "Mom?"
Joyce Byers sits on her twelve-year old son's bed, surrounded by lamps with the shades off. The exposed bulbs aren't on, but there are many of them crowded around the room. Joyce turns, not at all embarrassed by how this must look to her eldest. "Jonathan! Come here." She waves him over. "Come here."
"Mom, what is this?" Jonathan moves into the room.
"Come here. Come here." She gestures for him to sit down beside her.
Jonathan sits on the edge of the bed, staring at the lamps. "What's going on?"
Joyce sniffles, grabbing Jonathan's arm. "It's Will. It's Will, he's—he's trying to talk to me," she explains.
"He's trying to talk to you?" wonders Jonathan, staring blankly.
"Yes, through—through the lights."
"Mom—" he begins, his eyes laced with sorrow and pity. He knows she's struggling, but the idea that Will is using electricity to speak to them is insane. If he were here, Jonathan would see him. Why would Will hide from them?
"I know. I know." Joyce shakes her head. Of course the idea sounds crazy. Joyce knows this. She's not stupid, but she knows what she saw. She isn't drunk or delusional. "Just—just watch." Joyce stares at the open space around them. "Will, your brother's here. Can you show him what you showed me, baby? Please."
There's silence. Jonathan's concern grows, until the lights flicker once. Joyce points to the bulb, then squeezes Jonathan's arm. "Did you see that?"
Jonathan sighs heavily. "It's the electricity, Mom. It's acting up," he defends.
"No," she shakes her head. Fresh tears shine on her cheeks.
"It's the same thing that fried the phone," the teenager groans, his voice unsteady with so many emotions.
