Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Tell me, my dear.

Do you believe in ghosts?

Do you believe in the afterlife, that unknown dark abyss?

That veil that stands between the world of the living and the dead?

For the teenagers of Hawkins, to the question the existence of the supernatural was laughable. They knew the truth about the nightmares that lurked in the darkness. From the strange creatures that crawled out from the Upside Down to the psychological terror that had plagued their Party since the dreaded winter of 1983, the remaining Party members living in Hawkins knew better than to doubt the existence of the supernatural. 

For Maxine Mayfield, the nightmares that existed both within the realm of the supernatural and in the outside world were all too real...

The Upside Down was real.

They had fought grotesque monsters, watched loved ones succumb to the nightmares they’d fiercely battled against, and dealt with the aftermath in their own ways, but there was no denying that it had been real.

It was real.

That was an unwavering fact that Max had held onto, even when her sanity had been scrutinized. The horrors she and her friends had experienced had been real.

No amount of coerced therapy or mind-numbing medications could disprove that.

Max had clung to that sacred reality, refusing to let anyone trick her into thinking it was false…but she couldn’t hold the notion of seeing Billy’s ghost to the same standards.

When you’re the only one who can see something, it does make you question yourself.

“Your parents are concerned about you, Maxine. They say you’re making some very disturbing claims about your older brother. Would you like to tell me about it? I’m only trying to help you.”

Help...

That’s what they called it, every single time.

We just want to “help” you. We're here to "help" you, Maxine. Don't you think you need "help"? Don't you want "help", Maxine? 

She knew better than to believe a single word that came out of a doctor's mouth the minute they'd scrutinized her mental status, claiming she was sick - but curable - if only she would let go of her so-called delusions. 

The word ‘help’ had become a euphemism for ‘fix’.

Susan and Neil had forced her into cognitive and behavioral psychotherapy, sessions of psychodynamic therapy, and even antipsychotic medications that would turn her brain to jelly, all while assuring her that things would get better soon and this was all for her own good.

“Have you been taking your medicine, Maxine? You’ll feel so much better if you continue to take your pills, dear. We’ll get you a stronger dosage.”

White pills.

Blue pills.

One pill.

Two pill.  

Even when Max tried to refuse the damn medications the doctors had prescribed for her, her mom would hide them in her food or dissolve them in her drinks, unbeknownst to her. The constant fog she found herself in would never fully lift and she never could understand why, not until her mom would coo at her in her drugged-out state and claim the pills would make her feel better, uncaring that her only child was barely clinging to reality. 

What kind of parent did that make Susan Hargrove? 

What kind of child did that make Max seeing as she kept falling for it?

“Are you ready to talk, Maxine? Your mother tells me you’ve been resistant to your medicine. You know you need them to get better, Maxine. We can’t help you if you continue to resist your treatment.”

Treatment, as they called it, involved listening to Max’s claims, only to morph them all into disillusioned tales of fiction.

Doctors claimed her “delusions” were a fantastic response to the traumatic events she had been through and that their best course of action was to make her understand that it was all in her head.

...make her believe she was a complete and total lunatic was a better way of putting it.

Every time Max opened her mouth to try and explain herself she was met with criticism, or worse, faux belief which only led to manipulation and gaslighting further down the line.

Of course I think you believe what you're seeing is real, Maxine.

It's only natural to lie to yourself after what you've been through, Maxine.

I'm not the bad guy here, Maxine. I'm only trying to help you understand that what you think you're seeing isn't actually there. It's all in your head, dear.

It was pointless for Max to try and tell others that she was seeing Billy, that he had been there the whole time, but people would only try and correct her by explaining why she was wrong…even when she was watching and listening to her big brother laugh in their faces.

“Now, Maxine, we have talked about this before. There are no such things as ghosts. They do not exist. I can not help you until you learn to accept that fact. You need to let go of these ideas and accept the truth; your brother is dead. He died in the mall fire, he was not murdered by a monster. You are not seeing his ghost. You were never seeing his ghost. He is not real.”

No one believed her.

No one ever believed her.

No one else had ever seen him like she had, even if they’d been directly beside her. Billy's visage was only visible to her and it had slowly begun to kill her over time. The Party had tried to help too, claiming they were worried about her mental state and that they only wanted what was best for her. They’d all been through Hell and knew she was suffering, they all were, but the insane idea that she honestly believed she was still seeing Billy was too much for even them to process.

Mike was convinced she'd lost it. 

Dustin tried to prove that ghosts weren't real. 

Neither Eleven nor Will knew what to say or do to help. 

Lucas eventually gave up after Max left him for the final time, giving her the space she wanted. 

Their refutation, however gentle it had been each time, had completely crushed Max.

When her friends had failed to reassure her, much less believe her, any confidence she’d had left had diminished to the point of being non-existent. What was the point of believing her own mind if she was literally the only one who did?

It only served to make her question her own sanity.

Maybe she was crazy.

“Your family loves you, Maxine. Don’t you understand the sacrifices they made for you? They moved away from Hawkins for your benefit, my dear, to help you heal. You can not heal if you don’t let yourself move on from your trauma.”

If Neil wanted to call moving away from Hawkins a decision they made for Max's own sake, fine, but she knew the real reason.

After the 4^th of July horror show at the mall and the death of his son, the townspeople of Hawkins, Indiana had turned the Hargrove-Mayfield family into a walking sideshow act. People they didn’t even know would show up at the house to give their condolences, asking uncomfortable questions, and giving them looks of pity. Reporters had swarmed them in the days following the mall incident, focusing on their family because of Billy’s death, his identity having been leaked by the hospital.

In the weeks and months following, Susan would be bombarded on a simple trip to the grocery store by people gossiping about the Independence Day disaster.

Neil couldn’t even sneak off to the local bar for a drink without being ambushed by folks claiming they’d heard rumors about Billy, prying for answers with the façade of kindly neighbors just making conversation.

Then there was Max.

The school had been the one to inform her mom first about her “odd and concerning behavior”. Another student had caught Max out behind the school building during break seemingly talking to thin air, running off to tell a teacher. One sit-down later with the school counselor landed Max in an uncomfortable parent-teacher meeting with the principal. The school made their solicitude known to both Susan and Neil, suggesting that Max may be suffering from a form of PTSD or possibly even an undiagnosed mental illness.

Susan had panicked, of course, jumping the gun and pushing her daughter in to see a specialist just days after. Even Neil had seemed off-put by the idea that his, now only, child could be a mental case.

And everything just went downhill from there...

Word spread quickly and people started looking at them with more than just pity. Strangers would stare at Max with her mother in public, whispering under their breath or giving them uneasy looks. As if to say; look at that poor woman with the misfit daughter. Poor thing must be so embarrassed.

It got old very quickly.

It was less than a month after Christmas of 1985 that Neil accepted a new job in a different state and packed them up to move.

Max had refused to see the boys before leaving, having lost what little faith she had in them after they refused to believe her about Billy. She hadn’t wanted their help. In fact, she hadn’t wanted to move at all. Her “delusions”, as they were called, had grown worse in the days before they’d left Hawkins, to the point of violence. Broken dishes lined the kitchen, picture frames bashed on the floor, boxes upended onto the ground, and belongings strewn across the house. Neil and Susan obviously blamed Max, claiming she needed to stop throwing tantrums and shape up, even after she’d pleaded with them that it had not been her doing.

But again, no one ever believed her.

It also didn’t help her case that occurrences like that had completely stopped after they’d moved. Their new home, now hundreds of miles away from Hawkins, had absolutely zero “paranormal” events.

That only made her parent's skepticism of her grow and did not help Max’s case when was forced to see about a dozen different kiddie shrinks.

“I believe we’ve made quite a lot of progress, don’t you, Maxine? Don’t you feel so much better knowing it was all in your head? It was nothing more than your mind trying to come to terms with your brother’s death. Grief can make us see things that aren’t there. You know this now, don’t you?”

It was so much easier to nod and agree.

Ghosts did not exist.

It was all in her head.

She was sick and they only wanted to help her.

Her parents loved her and this was all for the best.

Just take the pills, they’ll make her feel so much better.

None of it had been real.

Billy wasn’t real.

“Now, Maxine. Do you believe in ghosts?”

“…no.”

Chapter Text

Hawkins, Indiana, 1995. 

Present day.

Summer was nearing its end and the early stages of fall were beginning to blossom, the trees slowly changing from vibrant green to muted yellows and reds while the weather slowly began to change from humid to breezy.

It was the perfect time for a move.

Down a narrow-paved road in an old neighborhood, a beat-up car pulling a small trailer loaded down with boxes pulled up along the curb outside an empty house with a new sold sign on the lawn. The yard was unkept and the grass was high with falling leaves careening across the broken walkway. It definitely needed some serious work to clean it up since it had been sitting empty for so long.

And Maxine Mayfield was nothing if not determined...

Stepping out of the driver seat of the car, Max took a minute to just gaze at the house. If you had asked her a few years ago if she’d ever end up back in Hawkins, she would have probably hysterically laughed before breaking down in tears, and yet here she was.

The only difference was that this time, it had been her choice to move to Hawkins.

Slamming the car door, she slowly walked up the sidewalk to the porch and stared at the front door, fingering the set of house keys dangling from her fingers for a moment.

This was the moment she’d been waiting for.

To be able to call a place her home.

It was finally hers.

Pushing the key into the lock, she quickly shoved the door open and stepped inside, taking a deep breath to calm her fraying nerves as she took in the space around her. She could do whatever she wanted now.

No more overbearing parents.

No more unwanted therapy sessions.

No more forced medications.

No more anything.

At 24 years old, Max’s life had completely turned upside down over the last five years. The week after her 18^th birthday, she realized she now had the freedom to make her own choices and medical decisions whether her mom agreed with her or not, and the first defiant act she had done was flush every bottle of medication she’d been forced to take since she was fourteen. With her mind clear, she’d packed up a single bag of belongings and took only a few boxes, one being Billy’s things she’d kept after his death, and left home. Her mom had begged and pleaded, and Neil even tried to stop her, but ultimately their opinions fell on deaf ears. Max had been determined to get the Hell out of that prison she’d called home.

It was a lot easier said than done though.

With nothing but the junker car in her name, a whopping $27, and the clothes in her possession, she’d had nothing after leaving her parent’s house. For the next year and a half, she’d lived in her car and ate cheap fast food or out of dumpsters, saving and scraping back every cent she earned working multiple jobs.

It had been the lowest point in her life...

But with the storm passing, the sun would shine, and this was her sunshine. After years of saving paychecks and building herself back up, Max had made the incredible decision to start her life over on her own terms…and this was how she was determined to do it.

No matter what anyone said otherwise.

Susan and Neil divorced shortly after Max left home at 18, the two finally getting fed up with each other and splitting. From what Susan told Max, on the rare occasion they spoke, Neil had returned to California for work while her mom remained in Chicago, having moved into a trailer park.

Max felt absolutely no remorse or pity for her mother. Their relationship had been irreparably damaged. In fact, Max only spoke to her mother once every month and really that was just to verify the woman was still alive, not that she cared much. During those calls, Susan would carry ninety-nine percent of the conversation, telling Max all about her life lately, sharing stories of work friends or other people who lived in the park, all while trying to question Max about her own life, but the fiery redhead would remain tight-lipped. In Max’s opinion, her mother should be grateful she even bothered contacting her at all. She’d completely ghosted her parents for over a year after she left home while dealing with the aftermath of what they’d put her through.

It had been almost 15 months before Max could even stomach hearing her mom’s voice. It was then that she learned about her parent’s divorce and her mother’s plans to move.

Susan did not know about Max’s recent life change.

‘And she probably never will,’ Max thought smugly.

Her strained relationship with her mother was not something she would ever be interested in fixing. Susan Mayfield made her choice the moment she started drugging her fourteen-year-old child, all while sticking with her hypocritical belief that she was curing Max.

The worst part had been the knowledge that Max was missing vast memories of time from her childhood due to the medications she’d been forced to take. They messed with her so badly that there were massive blank gaps in her memories, events others claimed had happened that she had absolutely no recollection of.

Her mom had literally stolen years of her life…

Max would never forgive her for that.

Now, standing in her new home free of judgment and pressure, Max felt a sense of peace she hadn’t experienced in years. This was her future and her choice.

No matter what happened next, she was at peace.

Shouldering her way inside the front door with her arms loaded with heavy boxes, Max heaved a deep breath and dumped her burden onto the kitchen counter where piles upon piles of other boxes were stacked. When she’d packed up and left Illinois for Indiana it hadn’t seemed like that much, but damn if she hadn’t become a bit of a pack rat the last year or so.

“And that is officially the last of it,” Max sighed heavily, leaning against the door.

The last of her moving boxes had finally been unloaded from the trailer she’d rented, now piled high in the empty kitchen and living room. It would take her some time to get everything the way she wanted it.

‘First things first though’, she thought, heaving a large box into her arms and walking into her new bedroom. The bed was dismantled against the wall with her mattress leaning up against the far wall along with a small dresser.

Setting the box gently on the floor, Max took her boxcutter and carefully sliced through the faded masking tape and pried the cardboard open. It had been so long since she’d packed the box that she couldn’t actually recall what all was inside.

The first thing that hit her was the subtle smell of cologne…

Memories flashed through her mind that were tied to that scent, some painful enough to have her biting the inside of her lip to keep it from wobbling as she pulled out a familiar leather jacket. The faded initials of B.H. on the inner lining made her smile.

Billy loved that damn jacket.

Setting the leather beside her, Max reached for the next item which was a jewelry box filled with everything her brother had worn, including his rings and earrings, but most importantly it held his beloved medallion. Max remembers taking the necklace off of his body herself before strangers had carted his body off that night, holding onto it like it had been a lifeline to him, making sure to hide it from everyone.

She unclasped the hook and reached around her neck, moving her hair out of the way so the necklace could hang against her chest. The cool metal felt strange against her skin.

She’d never been one to wear jewelry, but if there was one thing that made her feel close to her brother it was that stupid medallion.

The next thing she removed was Billy’s cassette collection. From Metallica to Scorpions, her brother had been a lover of rock and roll. She had a different taste when it came to music but the thought of giving Billy’s tapes away had made her stomach twist painfully when her mom suggested it. Max had refused to let anyone touch Billy’s things before her, going through everything in his room before Neil could get his grubby hands on her brother’s belongings.

Along with tapes, she also found the bottle of Billy’s cologne he loved along with some of his hair ties, his stereo and headphones, the pillowcase and blanket from his bed, an arm-full of shirts including the crimson red button-down he favored, his combat boots, a few picture frames, his glass ashtray, half a pack of cigarettes and even a stack of old photos and letters he’d kept from his mom after she and Neil divorced that Neil never knew about.

Max had shoved everything into the box she could in a frantic attempt to keep something of her brother’s, taping it up and moving it into her room so Neil wouldn’t find it. Her mother had called it a grieving process and left it alone. For years, the box had remained unopened and hidden everywhere Max was forced to go and it was always the first thing she took when she had to move somewhere.

Now, she was free to unpack it and not worry about anyone messing with her brother’s things.

Picking up one of Billy’s old shirts, Max was surprised to find that the fabric still held his unique scent. Not enough for someone else to notice probably, but she was very familiar with her brother and knew it from memory. All of his clothes held an air of cologne and the spicy soap he’d used, mixed together with an undertone of bodily sweat. The shirt was soft beneath her fingers and she couldn’t help but pull her own off to replace it with Billy’s. Of course, it was too big on her, needing to be bunched up around her hips and secured with a hair tie. Billy had been much bigger than her and even fully grown, Max wasn’t that big. She’d filled out, obviously, but she was still on the shorter side.

Pulling her hair into one of Billy’s old hair ties, she piled her long, wavy locks atop her head so it would remain out of her way. Looking around the room, she decided to put her brother’s clothes up in the closet and his other items on the dresser for the time being. After manhandling the bed to where she wanted it, Max tossed her bedding onto it and left it for later. The last item she brought into the bedroom was her large, full-length mirror, and set it up in the corner beside the closet.

It wasn’t perfect, but it would do for the time being.

Moving on to the kitchen, Max went about arranging boxes where they needed to go to make unpacking easier, focusing on getting the kitchen done first so she could cook and eat in peace. As a young teen, she’d had zero inclination to learn how to cook anything that couldn’t be microwaved or tossed in the oven. Her mom used to say she was the type of person that could burn water. It wasn’t until Max was living on her own in her first tiny apartment that she began experimenting with cooking, soon learning that she thoroughly enjoyed it and was pretty good at it. She couldn’t deny that she now had a deep respect for delicious, homemade meals.

Living off garbage and vending machines will do that to anyone…

Now she had the freedom to do as she wished and if that included making homemade mac ‘n cheese as her celebration meal, so be it.

The decision to move back to Hawkins had not been an easy one, and if Max was being honest it had actually been mostly out of spite, a decision she’d made to try and get some semblance of control back that she’d lost during her childhood.

The realtor that she’d been paired with was a bubbly older woman named Amy who had tried to talk Max into a number of other properties. She was one of those typical bottle blondes that wore too much jewelry and always overdid it with the perfume, but Max had been pretty grateful to be paired with a woman rather than a man knowing it would have been a much bigger headache. A single, young woman buying her first home was the perfect opportunity to bully and push for some realtors. Just the thought of trying to deal with that hypothetical mess had been why Max had requested Amy to work with. Even though the older woman had major ‘mom vibes’, she had easily bent to Max’s will when it came to buying the specific house she wanted.

Everything went as planned and if their last phone call still held water, Max would be in possession of the deed by the end of the day.

A knock at the front door made her pause while unpacking her second box of kitchenware, wiping her hands on her jeans as she walked to the front door. She already had a good idea of who it was knocking.

‘Speak of the Devil’, she thought.

Spooky.

Standing on the porch was none other than Amy with her beehive hairdo and ruby red lipstick, smiling brightly as Max opened the door for her.

“Hello, Ms. Mayfield! I just stopped by to give you the final paperwork for the house,” Amy said, handing Max a thick envelope with a smile. “Everything’s there and I double-checked that all signatures and dates are correct. I’ll just take my final check and get out of your hair.”

“Thank you,” Max said politely, setting the envelope down and heading to grab her purse from the table.

Amy followed behind and glanced at the moving boxes, “I hope the house is everything you imagined. It’s not often we have someone purchase a house unseen, and this one has given us a run for our money with four different owners over the last decade. I personally always thought this house was a bit strange and unusual. It’s been empty for so long now, I was worried we’d never sell it!”

Max paused while writing out a check, hiding her reaction. She knew all about the long list of previous owners that had owned the house. From what she understood, one owner claimed bankruptcy while another only owned the house for a month before leaving. The real estate company that oversaw the property had to deal with the bad press on the house and had jacked the price down to the bare minimum to try and get it sold.

When she’d heard about it, she had jumped at the chance to the utter shock of the real estate company.

“What can I say,” Max shrugged. “I’m used to the strange and unusual.”

Amy laughed obnoxiously loud, taking the check. “Well, our town certainly has its fair share of that!”

‘Oh, believe me…I know,’ Max thought.

Even though the majority of Hawkins' population had been kept in the dark about what really went on in their little town, most people knew that Hawkins was not exactly normal. Between the mysterious deaths, Starcourt’s sudden destruction, and a horde of military vehicles lining the streets on America’s birthday, Hawkins had made a name for itself.

Strange and unusual didn’t even cover it.

Leading the older woman out the door, Max offered the agent a bland smile and a short goodbye. “Thanks for stopping by, but I’m sure you want to get back to work and I need to get back to unpacking.”

“Alright, dear, well I will leave you to get settled in. If you need any help with the house just give our office a call,” Amy smiled brightly, stopping at the door to offer Max a final wave. “And welcome to Hawkins!”

Standing at the front porch to wave the woman off, Max smirked as she turned back to look at her new home.

More precisely, her old home...

In an unbelievable twist of fate, it hadn’t been just Hawkins that she had returned to, but she was also now the proud owner of 4819, the dreaded home no one else wanted at the end of Cherry Lane.

“Welcome back to Hawkins, you mean,” Max sighed, trudging back inside through the front door and shutting it behind her. The house was pretty much the same as it had been when Max had lived there a decade before, with only a handful of changes. The roses in the front had been removed for plain greenery. The back porch steps had been replaced due to age and weather damage. The kitchen had some new appliances.

Little things mostly, but all in all the house hadn’t changed.

Looking down at the deed to her new home, Max thumbed through the pages with a smile. It finally felt like she was truly getting her life back. Glancing up at the boxes piled in the kitchen, she couldn’t help but smile.

Welcome home…

Chapter Text

Hawkins, Indiana

January, 1986

“Maxine, I’ve had enough of this nonsense, young lady!” Susan exclaimed in exhaustion, rubbing her eyes while her daughter stared up at her tearfully, both women standing over the shattered remains of Susan’s antique lamp.

“It’s true though!” Max cried, her wide blue eyes pleading with her mom to believe her. “Why won’t you just listen to me!”

The Hargrove-Mayfield house had become a battleground over the course of the last month. Ever since Neil had made the decision to move them again, Max had been caught in a tidal wave of misunderstandings between her and her parents due to the number of accidents occurring around the house and Max’s absurd conviction that it was Billy’s doing and not her own.

An argument that had reached its last leg with Susan.

“I am your mother, Maxine, and you will listen to me!” Susan yelled. “I am sick and tired of your excuses and these ridiculous stories! I know that you’re upset that we’re leaving but that does not give you the right to break things.”

“But it wasn’t me! I told you it was Billy-!”

“Dammit Maxine, enough!” Susan screamed, grabbing her daughter’s shoulders and shaking her. “Billy is dead for God’s sake! I am done listening to you try and blame him for your outbursts, do you understand me!”

Max went still at the ferocity shining in her mom’s eyes, unable to even defend herself against Susan’s harsh treatment, closing her wet eyes as she was forced to back down. It was no use anyway...her mom would never believe her. 

“Clean this up and take your pills,” Susan commanded, pointing to the broken glass before turning away and clutching her forehead. “I want you to go to your room and stay there…I can’t even bear to look at you right now.”

Max’s lower lip wobbled as she watched her mom storm towards the master bedroom and slam the door shut. She hated her mom at that moment. It was bad enough that no one else believed her, but even now her own mother seemed dead set on turning her back on Max as well.

She truly was alone.

Trudging to the kitchen to grab the broom and dustpan, her eyes lingered on the glass fragments littering the living room floor. She’d been packing as her mom requested her to do, wrapping things in newspaper and shoving them into open boxes, all while Billy paced around her angrily. Her mom had been outside, unaware of the fight between the siblings, only rushing inside after Max had watched her mom’s priceless lamp go soaring across the room from the table, shattering violently against the wall.

Her mom had barged in just as Billy disappeared into his room, leaving Max alone to take the blame.

No one ever believed her when she tried to tell them Billy was the one responsible…

Hawkins, 1995

Present Day

Max jerked awake from the unwanted memories plaguing her dreams, panting and holding her chest as the memory of her brother’s angry gaze and her mom’s harsh reaction surged through the forefront of her mind, reminding her of days she’d rather forget. Her trauma surrounding Billy’s death and the months that followed were ones she wished she could bury forever.

For years, the idea that it had been her own mind playing tricks on her while her body acted out on its own had plagued her. Countless people had tried to tell her she was crazy, that she’d gone off the deep end after the loss of her brother, that it was all in her head, that she was to blame for everything and that she was acting out due to the traumatic experience she’d gone through.

The only scrap of evidence she had that proved she wasn’t insane was the news from the realtor company days after they’d moved away stating that the house had been ransacked...

Windows broken, large holes in the walls, kitchen cabinets ripped from their hinges, doors ripped right from the wall…it appeared as if someone had gone on a rampage through the entire house, hellbent on destroying everything in their path. The police blamed it on teenagers using the empty house as a place to party. The neighbors claimed to have heard disturbing noises coming from the house during the night, including violent screams, but no one had bothered to call the cops.

Cherry Road wasn’t located in an upstanding neighborhood.

Neil had been upset by the out-of-pocket cost of repairing the damages but had never mentioned the house again after that.

Susan had been a bit disturbed by the news but followed her husband's advice and brushed it off.

Max only heard about the incident the one time and it was never spoken of again, but she still held onto that tiny shred of hope that she was right.

After so many years in therapy and support group sessions, Max had let go of the memories she’d had in the months following the horror at the Starcourt Mall. That included the memory of her brother’s downward spiral just days before the Hargrove-Mayfield family moved away from Hawkins. Billy had scared her in ways he never had before, pushing her to her limits while claiming they couldn’t leave Hawkins, that she had to stay, becoming angrier and angrier each day.

That is when the so-called “accidents” started to escalate.

The only time Neil or Susan ever actually saw any activity was during a horribly tense day a few days before they were set to leave.

Max had been upset because Billy would not leave her alone and she hadn’t slept in what felt like days. Neil was in one of his moods and got angry at Max, taking a threatening step towards her and that’s when the living room light busted right over their heads, glass shattering onto the carpet, stopping Neil right in his tracks. Susan had jumped in fright while Neil had just blamed it on a faulty bulb and mere coincidence, ordering Max to go to her room and finish packing her suitcase.

She didn’t sleep that night either…

Shaking her head from those negative thoughts, Max slowly sat up and shoved the covers off of her legs, rolling out of bed to start the day. Coffee was calling her name and she needed to run a few errands before the day was over.

‘Definitely gonna need some extra caffeine’ she thought as she passed by her mirror, catching the state of her reflection. With her memories surfacing as nightmares, sleep was difficult. She looked as though she hadn’t slept at all.

Tugging the loose-fitting shirt she was wearing, she trudged out of the bedroom towards the kitchen to get the coffee started when something caught her eye.

When had she put that there?

Sitting on the coffee table was one of Billy’s old cassette tapes.

Shuffling over to the coffee table, Max leaned down and grabbed the tape, turning it over to see that it was one of his Scorpions mix tapes. Looking back at the bedroom, she could see the basket of cassettes still sitting on top of the dresser, untouched, and yet this one was out in the living room?

“Weird,” she murmured, setting the tape back down on the table.

When she walked into the kitchen, she was once again surprised to find a few boxes open that she couldn’t remember opening, including the one that held all her dishes and cups. Shrugging it off as her own forgetful mind, she started the coffee maker, grabbed a mug out of the cabinet, set it on the counter and headed for the bathroom so she could shower and get dressed for the day.

A steaming, hot shower and getting to brush her teeth made her feel human again. After all the dirt and grime of cleaning yesterday she should have showered but didn’t, too exhausted from the long drive and the task of moving boxes around to bother.

Now, wrapped up in a fluffy towel and her hair freshly washed, she felt a lot better.

Now for some coffee.

Max had just finished clipping her hair up when she walked into the kitchen, pausing when she noticed her coffee mug was not where she had put it…

“What the Hell?” she muttered, looking at the mug now sitting on the table rather than the counter.

Had she put it there instead and just didn’t remember?

The coffee pot beeping broke her train of thought, forcing her to pause her conundrum. After pouring herself a large cup, downing it and refilling it twice before even leaving the kitchen, Max walked back to the bedroom to get dressed. She set her mug down on the dresser and searched her bag for some clean clothes, noting that she needed to do some laundry before the day's end. For the sake of comfort, rather than wear one of her own, she grabbed another one of Billy’s old t-shirts and threw it on, the soft fabric rubbing against her skin as the faded band label stretched across her chest. Pairing that with an old pair of ripped jeans, she finished her coffee and turned to face the mirror to check her outfit…and that’s when she noticed small flecks of something dark on the floor beside the mirror.

Kneeling down, she reached forward and touched it, realizing it was dirt.

How on earth had dirt gotten in here?

Max was sure she hadn’t tracked anything inside, checking her shoes constantly with every trip she’d made, and how would dirt have only gotten right next to the mirror rather than the rest of the house?

Shaking her head, she brushed the smudged earth from her fingers onto her pant leg and stood up, casting a few glances around the room.

“You’re just tired,” she sighed, walking out of the room with her coffee. “That’s all…”

After a quick breakfast of toast, Max grabbed her purse and headed for the door so she could get her errands done, pausing in the living room to grab Billy’s Scorpions cassette.

She needed some new music anyway.

Hawkins had not changed much since Max had left all those years ago.

They had rebuilt a new mall apparently, a smaller one than Starcourt, but it was still a bit of a surprise to see it. The public pool now had a kiddy addition for little ones and babies, as well as another large pool with slides. The school hadn’t changed anything other than updating their playground. The old arcade and video store were still there. The main drag of town looked the same, a few businesses had changed but the old-school mom-and-pop shops were still flashing their open signs for business. With fall on the rise, the town had already begun to decorate the streets for the upcoming spooky season even though Halloween was still over two months away.

Thinking back, Max could remember just how crazy Hawkins was when it came to celebrating holidays. Trick or treating with the Party, watching the Christmas tree go up outside city hall, seeing pumpkins and turkeys everywhere around Thanksgiving, even town-wide Easter egg hunts throughout the spring, and of course the 4^th of July bash was no different.

It was kind of nice to see something so familiar.

Pulling up to the grocery store, Max tossed her keys into her purse and headed inside with her shopping list, briefly smiling at a handful of people who greeted her. Hawkins was still small-town America and with that came small-town kindness. Grocery shopping had always been uneventful. Just get what you need and go. That logic hadn’t changed for Max over the years and it certainly hadn’t changed now, even when a few people attempted to talk to her, she just wasn’t in the mood.

Pushing her cart up to the check-out, Max was greeted by the older cashier who smiled at her and asked her how her day was going, offering her a few coupons and discounts, all while smiling too brightly in Max’s opinion. It was when she was halfway through checking out that she stopped at stared at Max for a moment, tilting her head.

“You look so familiar, Hon. Have we met before?” she asked, scanning the packages of pasta next. “I swear I know you.”

“Sorry,” Max shrugged, trying to avoid eye contact. “I don’t think so.”

“My goodness, I just know that is goin’ to bug me until I remember, but I could swear I’ve seen you before,” the woman continued. “Maybe it’s that lovely red hair?”

Max had been complimented on her hair more times than she could ever count. Normally she’d brush off the comments with a smile or a nod, rarely ever engaging anyone. She sometimes hated her hair because it was identical to her mother’s.

“I’ve been told I look like my mom,” Max shrugged once again, hoping that was the end of the conversation.

“Does she live around here?”

“No.”

As Max pulled out her wallet to pay, the woman cashier snapped her fingers and pointed at Max happily, “You know I think it’s because you remind me of a lovely lady and her daughter that used to live here. My word, what on Earth was their name? I could swear it started with an H? Har-something?”

Hesitating, Max dug through her wallet and quickly pulled out a handful of bills, handing them over so she could get away from the unwanted conversation.

“Here you are,” the cashier handed her back her change with another bright smile. “You have a wonderful day, Honey.”

“Thanks,” Max said, trying to offer some semblance of a smile while pushing her cart out. Once she cleared the doors and made it to the car, she took a deep shuddering breath to try and calm down.

Did she really stand out that damn much?

Was her red hair truly that memorable?

Does everyone remember the details of her and her family after Starcourt?

Rubbing her eyes, she tried to focus and quickly loaded up her groceries into the trunk, taking a minute to compose herself before she began the journey home. Honestly, she wasn’t sure how she felt about people remembering her or her family. Maybe that’s why she had enjoyed living in the city for so long.

It was easier to run from the past when people didn’t know who you were…

Back home, after unloading all the groceries and throwing a load of laundry into the wash, Max got to work unpacking more and more boxes. The living room was soon filled with picture frames and collectibles she’d found over the years. Her favorite throw blanket was spread out over the back of the couch along with her mix-matched pillows.

Unlike her mother who was damn near anal about decorating and matching style, Max’s preferences leaned towards comfort rather than anything else.

She put her scented candles up on the mantle next to her favorite pictures and lit a few to make the house smell nice. After removing a load of boxes and vacuuming the living room, she made herself some lunch and finished unpacking the opened boxes in the kitchen as she munched on her food. Somehow, one of her pictures ended up packed away in the box of dishes.

Taking a quick sip of tea, she grabbed the picture and walked into the living room to put it with the others and stopped short.

All her candles had been blown out.

Max nearly dropped the frame in her hands as she stared at the candles in confusion. There were no drafts in the house and even if there were, how would every candle be extinguished?

Shaking her head in disbelief while grabbing the lighter from the table, she just re-lit every candle and moved them into different rooms throughout the house. She put one in her bedroom, two in the living room, one in the mud room, and one in the kitchen.

God dammit, she wanted her home to smell nice!

Trying to ignore the weird sensation creeping up her spine, Max went back to work unpacking the rest of the kitchen boxes.

‘It’s all in your head…’ she thought darkly.

It’s just in your head.

What Max failed to see when she returned to the kitchen was the candle in her bedroom being blown out…

Chapter Text

Hawkins, Indiana

November 1985

Max was sitting across from the school counselor, Mr. Nelson, bouncing her knee as she waited impatiently for the man across from her to say something, anything, anything to quell the discomforting silence between them. She had been called into the office soon after returning to class from break. Imagine her surprise when the school counselor asked to speak with her.

Never a good sign...

“Would you like to talk to me about anything, Maxine?” Mr. Nelson asked, clicking the pen in his hand as he gazed up at her over his glasses.

“It’s Max,” Max replied cooly, crossing her arms.

“Alright, Max. My question still stands," he offered. "You’ve had quite a difficult year.”

Max shrugged, looking away from him while leaning back in her seat. She hated that she was even sitting there. It felt like she was being interrogated or accused of something. Yeah, she’d had a shitty year, but so had the others and they hadn’t been dragged in here.

“Your recent behavior has been concerning,” he continued. “Another student came to me and told me she saw you arguing with someone, but there was no one else there. Would you like to tell me about that?”

Max rolled her eyes. Of course, she was only in here because another kid got freaked out over nothing and snitched. She’d been arguing with her asshole of a brother outside during break, but she hadn’t realized anyone had seen her.

Said asshole was currently lounging against the wall of the counselor’s office with a look of absolute boredom, smirking at her.

“He thinks you’re crazy, Maxxx,” Billy drawled lazily.

Max ignored him and kept her gaze focused on the window. She was already in deep shit because of him, he didn’t need to make things worse by trying to antagonize her here. He did that enough in public and it was difficult to ignore him when others were around. The risk of someone catching her speaking to Billy was too high. 

Case in point.

“Maxine?” Mr. Nelson spoke again.

“I told you, my name is Max,” she growled.

“I need you to talk to me, Max,” he urged. “I know this has been a difficult time for you, but I can help. You just need to let me.”

“He wants to crack you open and see how you tick,” Billy teased her, swirling his finger around his temple. “See if you’re really coo-coo for Coco puffs.”

Max shut her eyes and shuddered, “So what, it’s illegal to talk to myself now?”

“No, of course not,” Mr. Nelson said calmly.

“Well that’s all it was,” Max pushed. “I was having a bad day and sometimes I pretend to argue with my brother, it makes me feel better. That’s not a crime, and whoever snitched should have just kept their damn mouth shut and left it alone.”

“Careful, Nelson, she’d gettin’ riled up,” Billy snarked.

“Language aside, you do have a completely valid argument. However, I would like to address your habits. While it’s alright to have coping mechanisms, I don’t believe yelling at someone imaginary is the healthiest option for you,” Nelson said. “Can I ask how often you engage in these so-called arguments?”

“You can but I don’t have to answer you,” Max stated, feeling her ire rising with each passing second.

Mr. Nelson wrote something down on his clipboard with a small sigh, crossing his leg over his knee.

“Let’s talk about your life at home,” he offered.

“Tch. Are all kiddie shrinks this boring?” Billy clicked his tongue and strolled over to stand behind Nelson, glancing over his shoulder.

“What’s there to talk about?” Max shrugged, gazing at the floor so she wouldn’t accidentally look at Billy. Ignoring his voice was hard enough.

“How are your parents handling things?” Nelson asked, clicking his pen again.

“Neil isn’t my parent,” Max grumbled.

“It’s true, she hates my old man,” Billy smirked down at Nelson, running his tongue along his teeth. “She only loves me.”

“How about your mother?” Nelson asked, making another note.

Max shrugged once more, seemingly unable to come up with any other motion, “I don’t know? What does it matter?”

"Has she spoken to you about your ordeal?" he coaxed. 

"Sure she has," Max muttered, resisting the urge to move her shoulders. "But there's nothing to talk about."

"Maxine--"

"My name is Max!" she growled, glaring at the man across from her. "Stop calling me Maxine!"

"My apologies," Nelson murmured, making a short note on his clipboard. 

"He says you're 'exhibiting possible signs of dissociative rage'," Billy snarked, flashing Max a wicked smirk. "Clearly he ain't ever spent time around redheads."

"Is there anything you'd like to talk about with me that you haven't with your mother?" Nelson asked. 

"I didn't even want to be in here in the first place, so no," Max said in a hushed tone, crossing her arms. 

"Have you spoken to anyone about what happened?" Nelson pressed. 

"Why does it matter?" 

"Max, you need to talk to someone. You cannot ignore what you went through."

"I'm not ignoring it, I'm dealing with it in my own way," she snapped. "What the Hell is so wrong with that?"

"As I said before, there is nothing wrong with having coping mechanisms, but I'm afraid you are only making things worse for yourself. The best course of action is to allow yourself to experience the Kübler-Ross stages, or you might know them as the Five Stages of Greif. We, as people, can't move passed our tragedies if we don't allow ourselves the opportunity to grieve properly."

Oh God, not this crap again...

This wasn't the first time Max had heard this speech. 

"Your brother--"

"You don't know anything about my brother," Max interrupted, glaring hatefully at Nelson. 

"Max," Nelson sighed. "I'm sorry, but the reality is that your brother is dead. Pretending he isn't is not going to help you heal from that fact. You need to--"

"Stop telling me what I need to do!" she cried, fighting off the urge to look at Billy standing behind Nelson. "Everyone keeps telling me what I 'need' to do, but no one gives a shit about whether or not it's what I want. What I want, is to heal on my own...in my own way...on my own goddamn time. Is that good enough for you?"

Nelson sighed and clicked his pen, writing something down on his paperwork. His brow was furrowed and his posture tense, obviously a bit miffed by their lack of progress. 

Great...he probably thinks she's insane now. 

Max huffed and fell back against the chair, shifting uncomfortably in the strained silence. She didn't want to talk about the Fourth of July accident, or what happened, so why did everyone keep pestering her about it?

I t wasn't like she was crazy...

No pompous kiddie shrink was going to convince her to do anything she didn't want to do. The guy may have a college degree but that didn't make him a fucking expert on how people should grieve. Everyone was different, right?

Besides, Max wasn't like other people anyway...

“He thinks you’re suffering from PTSD and possibly being neglected at home,” Billy said lowly, casting Max a look.

“I do not have PTSD!” Max shouted furiously, glaring at both Mr. Nelson and her brother. Her outburst caused Nelson to jump slightly, his wide brown eyes flying to her momentarily before he removed his glasses and stood up.

“Max, would you please go wait in the hall? I think your parents should be here for the remainder of this meeting,” he said tightly, motioning towards the door.

Max groaned loudly and stormed towards the door, jerking it open and slamming it shut behind her much to the disapproval of the school secretary. She stomped over to the waiting area and fell into one of the chairs, uncaring about how rude or loud she was being, she just wanted to go home and curl up under her blankets.

A low whistle made her turn her head up to glare at her brother as he slowly strolled over to her, his appearance being pretty normal rather than the discomforting bloody look he seemed to favor lately. He kneeled down in front of her and rested his arms on his knees.

“This is your fault,” she growled, narrowing her eyes at him.

“Now that’s just not nice,” he said, acting wounded. “It’s not my fault you’ve been in a mood lately.”

“You’ve barely let me sleep in days, Billy!” she whispered loudly. “Maybe you don’t need to anymore, but I do! What happens when they really do cart me off to the looney bin because of you?”

They'd had this argument before, in fact it was the one they had been having during break when she'd been caught.  Every night was the same. She preferred to sleep in Billy’s room, but if she did sleep in her own room then her brother would inevitably show up at some point, often poking and prodding Max until she paid attention to him, regardless of the time. For the past three days, Max had barely slept at all.

Hence, the fight outside.

Rather than argue with her, Billy just stared at her silently with that weird, blank look on his face. His eyes glazed over, and his entire body seemed to go still.

“That won’t happen,” he muttered, blinking very slowly.

“Oh really? If you keep pulling shit then I’m going to be punished for it!” she cried, throwing her hands up.

A moment or two of tense silence passed before Billy’s face morphed into a cocky grin, as though he didn’t just look half-dead a mere second ago, laughing like the whole fucking situation he’d gotten them into was hysterical.

“You’re the one talkin’ to ghosts, shitbird. Know what they’ll say?” he sing-songed. “There’s something wrong with Maxxx.”

Present Day

Hawkins 1995

Max’s eyes snapped open and stared up at the blank ceiling from her spot on the couch. Looking around dazed, she realized she must have fallen asleep on the couch watching tv. A glance at the clock told her it was well past midnight and she really needed to head off to bed…but the thought of re-living memories like the one she’d just had was not a pleasant one.

She’d only been in the house a week and every night she would end up dreaming about him. Whether it was a distant memory or a repressed one, all of them ended up involving Billy somehow. She hadn’t thought about that day in the counselor’s office in years.

That was the day everything went to Hell in a handbasket.

Her outburst and aggression had ended up causing a fuss between the school and her mom and Neil. It wasn’t even 24 hours later that she was sitting in a doctor’s office answering uncomfortable questions, trying not to snap at anyone, all while feeling like a mouse under a microscope.

It had been embarrassing and incredibly humiliating.

“God dammit…” she murmured, rubbing her eyes. She was exhausted but the thought of going back to sleep didn’t sound too appealing. By God, she needed to get some rest though. 

Standing up, she turned off the tv and strolled into the bedroom, shucking off her shirt to replace it with an oversized nightshirt while shimming out of her jeans. Tossing her dirty clothes onto the floor, she crawled into bed and collapsed onto the pillows, too tired to even pull the blankets up.

Just as she was dozing off, a noise startled her back to reality.

Thump!

Sitting up, she pulled the chain on her lamp to illuminate the room and gazed around to see what the sound was, only to come up empty.

‘What the Hell was that?’ she wondered, her eyes darting around the room. There was no way it was just in her head. It sounded like a thud from something heavy? She waited a few tense moments to see if it would happen again, but the house was silent.

After a few minutes of continuous quiet, Max laid back down while casting one last glance around the room. She forewent turning the light back off…

‘It could have been any number of things. The house settling, something hitting a window, something in the closet falling over’ she thought to herself, pulling the covers up over her shoulder.  

It wasn’t a big deal.

There was no reason to worry.

It was probably just the wind anyway.

Closing her eyes, Max tries to will herself back to sleep. She’d look around the house tomorrow and see if she could find what caused the weird sound. With that thought in mind, her breathing slowly relaxed and she felt herself drift off, succumbing to the darkness.

It was nothing.

Nothing at all…

THUMP!

Max’s eyes jerked open and she sat up in a mild panic, looking around in confusion when she realized the room was completely dark with only the moonlight shining in through the curtains. What happened to the lamp? Had the fuse blown?

Reaching over, she pulled the lamp chain over and over only for the light to remain off. Her heartbeat quickened as she contemplated getting up and checking the fuse box or trekking to the kitchen to try and find a new bulb. The adult in her tried to tell her she was being silly and that rationally speaking, it was most likely just a blown fuse, which could have caused the noise, but the child in her was content to stay put and hide under the covers, fearing what might be lurking in the darkness. Thoughts of the Upside Down raced to the forefront of her mind.

‘No!’ she scolded herself, shaking her head clear of those thoughts.

They had closed the gates forever.

There was no way anything was crawling its way out of that dreadful place.

“You’re being ridiculous,” she muttered, tossing the covers off of her legs and standing up from the bed. She quickly tried to turn the main light on above her head and cursed under her breath when it wouldn’t turn on either.

Guess something flipped the breaker.

Walking through the bedroom, Max tried every light switch she passed just to make sure it was really an electrical issue, coming up empty with every switch she tried. The whole house was dead.

“Damn…” she sighed. 

Heading into the back mudroom, she blindly patted the wall to find the breaker box. To her surprise, every switch was perfectly aligned and should have been working fine.

So, what the hell happened to the lights?

Closing the box, Max swallowed and tried to come up with an explanation. It must have been a power outage, that’s all. Some idiot probably took out a pole while drunk driving or something.

Checking the phone just in case, she wasn’t surprised to find that it wasn’t working either.

Sighing, she grabbed a couple of candles and headed back to the bedroom with her lighter. As she set the candles down on the dresser, she was just about to light one when she suddenly caught movement out of the corner of her eye.

What the…

The mirror across from her was…spinning?

Gasping at the strange image, Max nearly dropped the lighter as she scrambled back away from the mirror, falling back onto the bed in a mass of flailing limbs!

What the fuck was happening?

The mirror twisted back and forth, its shiny finish mutating into an odd, dark vortex of sorts, slowly moving to and fro. It was almost like looking into a heat mirage at a distance. The mirror itself never moved, only the glass rotating like some twisted funhouse mirror straight from Hell.

Max backed up against the headboard in fear, covering her mouth when a dirty, blackened hand reached through the swirling mirror!

“Wha--!” she gasped in sheer terror, watching horrifically as the hand became an arm, and then another arm soon followed by a mass of dirty, tangled hair and a large torso.

Something was literally crawling out of her mirror...

‘Oh God, I’m gonna die’ she thought horrified, trembling as the thing crawled across the floor towards the bed. She’d survived demodogs attacking her, fighting against the Mind Flayer and the Upside Down only to be killed by a fucking mirror demon?

This couldn’t be real.

This could not be real…

Her fears only intensified when she felt the bed move and a hand reach up from the floor to grasp at the covers, the nightmarish creature pulling itself slowly up onto the bed with her. In the moonlight, the only thing Max could see through her tear-filled eyes was the dark grime covering whatever was crawling towards her and that it looked like the twisted shape of a person. Fear rushed through her while her body remained still, frozen with fear thinking she was about to be killed.

Could it be another Demogorgon? She’d never seen one herself but from what the guys had described, it had a humanoid shape, so was this one of those fucking things? Was she about to be pulled into the Upside Down like Will had been all those years ago?

No.

No, this couldn’t be a monster from the Upside Down.

It wasn’t possible.

The thing moved up onto the bed and Max’s eyes went wide as she realized she wasn’t looking at a monster, she was looking at a human being…

Moonlight streaked across the entities features as it raised its head and illuminated the face in front of her…one she was all too familiar with.

It…it can’t be.

Max went completely still as tears streamed down her cheeks, her breath caught in her throat, fighting back the urge to jerk away as an ice-cold hand reached out to brush against her cheek. The feeling of icy fingers touching her skin caused her to close her eyes.

It couldn't be real. 

“Maxxx,” a cruel voice whispered against her terror-stricken face, cool breath dancing across her tear-stained skin.

It isn’t real.

It’s not real…

“MAX!”

Max’s eyes burst open as she violently jerked awake, right on the edge of hyperventilating while her frantic eyes darted around the bedroom, searching for any sign of her lingering nightmare. The beside lamp was on and sunlight was streaming in through the window, her curtains dancing gently with the subtle breeze blowing in from the open pane.

Everything was just as it had been when she’d gone to sleep.

None of it had been real.

Reaching up to touch her cheek, Max sighed heavily when she found no evidence of tears or anything else that would lead her to believe it had been anything other than a nightmare.

“Just a dream…it was just a dream,” she whispered shakily, pulling the covers off of her.

Billy was gone.

Ghosts weren’t real.

Everything was fine.

It was all in her head…

Taking a deep breath to steady her nerves, she swiftly got up and left the room to go get the coffee started and take a nice, relaxing shower. After last night she was in desperate need of one.

What she failed to notice as she left the bedroom were the small streaks of dirt beneath the foot of the bed, nor did she see the newly formed crack in the corner of the mirror…

Chapter Text

The following week was fairly boring and consisted of Max arranging things around, running back and forth into town for things she needed to fix up the house, doing remedial chores and handing in her resume at a handful of places to try and find a part time job.

All in all, uneventful.

…if you brushed aside all the weird occurrences happening around the house.

Besides the freaky nightmares plaguing her each night, most of which were memories she’d rather forget, there were things happening in her new home that she couldn’t explain.

Like the lights flickering for no reason.

She’d gone through an entire box of new bulbs in less than three days, changing each and every one in the house only for them to burn out for no fathomable reason!

Another thing was misplaced things.

Not so much misplaced as in she set them down somewhere and forgot about them, more like setting a tool down on the counter and it suddenly ends up in the bedroom type thing. The first few times it happened, Max hadn’t put much thought into it other than her mind playing tricks on her, but when her coffee mug disappeared from the living room and was later found in the shower…she knew something weird was going on.

Pictures that she had hung up in a specific order were suddenly rearranged.

Plates moved from one cabinet to another.

Pillows moved from the bed to the floor.

The radio randomly turning on at all hours of the day.

And let’s not forget the strange sounds that kept occurring throughout the house both day and night...

The first night after hearing the weird thumping noises, Max had brushed them off. However, when she started hearing unknown sounds coming from every room in the house, she began to wonder if she had an infestation, like rodents or something equally chilling.

One quick trip to the hardware store for a bag of mouse traps later and she’d thought that would be the end of it. She’d set traps out in each room, setting them up with peanut butter and crossed her fingers that they would do the trick.

Only to wake up the next morning to find every trap had been tripped and any trace of peanut butter was gone…

Mice may be smart little critters, but there was no possible way they could have removed every shred of peanut butter from the traps without setting them off, it simply wasn’t possible.

To put it mildly, the house was seriously starting to freak her out…

There was no explanation for what was happening around her. By the end of the week, Max was ready to jump at any little sound, her eyes carefully gazing around each room she entered, looking for any sign that something had been tampered with.

Sleep no longer came easy...

The idea of taking sleeping pills each night was becoming sweeter by the day.

Sitting at the kitchen table eating her breakfast, Max sipped on her third cup of coffee that morning while reading the morning paper. It was only Thursday and she had only been living in the house for a little over a week now, but it felt like longer. The radio was currently on in the living room, tuned in to the local rock station, with Heart blaring from the speakers.

Whatever was going on in her home, music seemed to soothe the chaos...at least for a little while.

As she took a bite of her eggs the phone suddenly rang loudly from the wall making her jump. Hoping up, she raced to answer before it cut off, wiping her hands on her shirt.

“Hello?”

“Ms. Mayfield? It’s Sandy, from down at the Video Store.”

“Hi, Sandy, how are you today?” Max feigned pleasantness, gazing back at her coffee longingly.

“I’m fine, dear. We were looking over your resume and I was hoping you could come in for an interview today? Or we could schedule one if you’d like?”

“No! N-no, umm, today would be great,” Max stammered, desperate for a reason to get out of the house for a while. “What time should I come by?”

“Oh, any time is fine, dear. We’ll be here all day,” Sandy joked.

“Okay then, I guess I’ll see you in about an hour,” Max said. “Thanks, Sandy.”

“You’re very welcome, sweetie. Bye now.”

Sighing, Max hung up the phone and did a short dance, sliding across the floor happily! She finally had an interview, and the job was cake!

“Sweetness,” she sang, sashaying towards the bathroom so she could shower and get ready.

It was gonna be a good day.

The drive to Family Video was just as uneventful as the rest of her morning which Max was thankful for. All she wanted was a quiet, peaceful day and hopefully a new job. Her savings account would last her awhile, and there was also the other account filled to the brim that she was able to access once she turned eighteen…one she refused to touch.  

Getting dragged into the world of the Upside Down, fighting for your life and watching your brother die after being possessed by a violent, murderous monster hellbent on destroying humanity tends to make the Government apologetic.

Who'd of thought?

Max, along with everyone else involved, had received a large settlement in return for their silence. The only reason her hush money had not been taken was because she had been condemned as a lunatic during her youth…who wouldn’t be? That said, she absolutely refused to touch the money.

It was nothing more than a cruel reminder of what she’d lost…

‘Not that anyone else cared’ she thought darkly.

Pulling into the Family Video parking lot, she smirked at the decorations lining the windows and the array of paper mâché pumpkins hanging from the roof.

Always crazy with the decorations.

This town definitely knew how to celebrate the spooky season, that was for sure. The streets had been lined with even more Halloween decor, including pumpkins and a crazy amount of haybales. The shops, Family Video included, all had their windows and doors decorated. 

'Maybe I should get some pumpkins' she thought. 

Heading for the door, Max took a steady breath and steeled herself. This was just another job interview, and she had a great work record, what could go wrong? Nodding to herself, she pulled open the door and headed inside.

“Be right with you!” Sandy’s, the manager she’d spoken to earlier, cheerful voice sounded from the back office as Max walked up to the counter. A few moments later the bustily, older blonde walked out with a bright smile.

“Hello, Ms. Mayfield! You’re right on time, honey,” Sandy grinned, waving Max around the counter. “Come on back to the office and we’ll get started.”

Max plastered on a fake smile and followed the older woman back into the office. The room was pretty bland, just like any other small office she’d seen, except for the wall of photos that caught her eye.

One photo in particular.

The crazy head of hair was tough to miss. Very few people had locks like Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington, and it was impossible to miss Robin’s bright smile next to him. The two had their arms around each other, grinning brightly at the camera.

T hey look really happy…

“Yes, we’re a pretty tight knit group around here,” Sandy chuckled, catching Max gazing at the pictures. “Those are pictures of everyone that’s worked here.”

“Yeah, I figured. I’m a very old friend of Steve Harrington’s,” Max explained, pointing at the picture of Steve and Robin together.

“Really?” Sandy gaped in excitement. “I didn’t realize you were from Hawkins!”

“I’m not, not really anyway,” Max back peddled, waving her hands. “My family only lived here a couple years before moving again. I went to school with Dustin Henderson, he and Steve were really close.”

“Oh yes, Dusty used to come in all the time when Stevie worked here,” Sandy giggled. “Robin used to call Stevie Hawkins Greatest Babysitter. He always loved those crazy kids.”

“Yeah…I was one of ‘em.”

As Max took a seat across from the desk, she noticed Sandy’s face go blank for a moment as her eyes flashed back up to meet Max’s.

“You’re that Maxine Mayfield?” Sandy asked, suddenly covering her mouth while spouting apologies. “I’m so sorry, sweetie, that was incredibly rude of me!”

“It’s fine,” Max shrugged, her smile fading a bit. “That’s how most people react.”

“No, that was completely rude and uncalled for,” Sandy gushed in embarrassment. “Oh, we never actually met each other back then, but Stevie and Rob used to talk about everyone in their little party, including you, sweetie…and I know it’s been a long time, but time doesn’t always heal all wounds, and I know you went through a very rough time back then…I just want to say that I’m so sorry you lost your brother, Max.”

That…stumped Max.

The unexpected apology aside, it shocked Max that Sandy was honestly the first person that had ever said that to her.

How pathetic was that?

No one, not her parents or even her friends, had ever said they were sorry about Billy. She knew Eleven and Will were, in their own way, but neither had ever said the words out loud to her. Everyone else seemingly brushed Billy’s death under the rug.

Yet this woman, this stranger, kindly offered her condolences over a decade later.

Maybe not everyone in Hawkins was terrible…

“Thank you,” Max whispered genuinely, still surprised by the heartfelt words. She wasn’t used to anyone being so kind to her as Sandy had been so far.

Sandy smiled at her and handed her a handful of papers, “If you’re still interested, I’d love to hire you, honey. All I need is for you to fill out a few forms and the job is all yours.”

Max did have half a mind to turn the job down after the awkward introduction, fearing it was nothing more than an act of pity, but she could tell that Sandy was being genuine and appreciated the honesty.

It wasn’t like she had a whole lot of options either.

One basic interview later and Max was now the newest member working at Family Video.

After leaving Family Video with a new job title and a laminated ID card, Max wondered what to do with the rest of her day. The idea of going home so soon was a little redundant seeing as she would just sit around and watch tv. She bit her lip as her eyes wandered to the road that led to City Hall. The idea of gathering information about the house had been plaguing her mind for days.

As the new owner, she was rightfully intitled to any and all information pertaining to it.

That included any records the previous owners had left behind in regard to the property, including police public records, which Amy had informed her there were. Apparently, at least one of the previous owners had filed a police report shortly before abandoning the house.

She was deeply interested in what that report had to say.

Turns out, Amy hadn’t been spouting hot air when she’d told Max to call her if she had any questions about the house. One phone call to the realtor company and a quick trip to City Hall later and Max was in possession of everything revolving around 4819 Cherry Lane.

And boy was there quite a bundle of information...

Sitting on her bed with the large manila folder before her, Max delved right in.

The first handful of papers were old, pertaining to the original deed and floor plans for the house. Nothing spectacular about that. A few building permits here and there. Some old black and white photocopies of the house when it was originally built.

It wasn’t until she reached the middle that things started to get interesting.

Inside was the copy of the paperwork Neil had signed when he and Susan had bought the house, his scrawling signature across the pages right next to her mom’s, dated October 25^th, 1984, just days before they had officially left California for good. There was even a picture of her mom and Neil standing outside of the house together, likely taken by the realtor.

Setting that aside, Max soon found a handful of police reports that made her stop and stare, her breath catching with every word she read.

Hawkins Police Department

Date: December 17^th, 1984.

Time: 11:52 PM.

Officers called to the scene of a possible domestic dispute.

Hawkins Police Department

Date: February 20^th, 1985.

Time: 8:23 PM.

Officers dispatched after an anonymous call reported domestic assault.

Hawkins Police Department

Date: April 2^nd, 1985.

Time: 1:49 AM.

Officers dispatched after neighbors reported sounds of a domestic dispute.

Why the Hell hadn’t she known about any of these?

Never once had the cops shown up at the house when she was home, yet there were over half a dozen police reports of officers being sent to their home. Memories of Neil’s anger and Billy’s defiance flashed through her mind. She knew they had fought all the time, even exchanging blows from time to time from what she’d heard, but to have it laid out right before her eyes was spinechilling.

Neil had been an abusive piece of garbage, hellbent on leaving an echo of his fists forever scarred into the skin of his only child…

Reading over the reports made her sick to her stomach. There had never been an ambulance called nor had there ever been any follow-up visits, meaning Neil either managed to talk his way out of each call or the Hawkins police officers were horrible at their job.

…she wasn’t sure which one made her want to vomit more.

Hopper would have never let it slide. He would have been able to see right through Neil Hargrove’s bullshit, but those deputies of his, Callaghan and what’s-his-face, were worthless. They had probably taken one look at Neil’s perfect ‘suburban family man’ act and put the blame on his rebellious teenage son, who appeared as the stereotypical bad boy with an attitude problem. Between the two men, Billy had far more respect and moral standings than Neil ever could hope to have.

Knowing what she knows now, Billy had been the true line in the sand between her and Neil’s wrath. Never once had Neil Hargrove ever laid a hand on her and Max knew it was because Billy would never have allowed it.

He may have been an asshole, but Billy was nothing if not a protective asshole.

All those times he would lash out or yell at her, scold her, lose his temper on her for not obeying him and following the rules, they were all because he was trying to keep her safe in his own messed up way. Neil would punish Billy for Max’s faults, but that didn’t mean there wouldn’t have been a day when Neil would turn his anger towards Max instead. She knew now that Billy had done everything in his power to keep that from happening…even if it meant making her cry and hate him at times.

She quickly shook her head, needing to stop that particular line of thinking before she started crying.

Shoving the police reports face down, she thumbed through everything pertaining to her family living there and moved on to the next owner.

“Mr. and Mrs. Andrew Lorne,” she murmured, reading the signatures aloud. They looked to be a younger couple buying their first home, it seemed. From what she could see, they had moved in just a few months after Max and her parents had moved out.

And it looked like they hadn’t stayed long themselves…

Chapter Text

Hawkins, Indiana

August 24th, 1986

“I know you both will simply love the layout of the house! It has such a wonderful homey charm to it that is just perfect for first time homeowners like yourselves!” A cheerful voice rang out followed by the appearance of a trio of unknown people stepping through the door of 4819. Rosanna, the realtor in charge of the house, led a young couple into the house with a large grin, pocketing a key.

The couple, newly wedded, was Andrew and Gail Lorne. They had been on the hunt for their first future home as a married couple and had settled for quiet bungalows located in the old part of Hawkins.

4819 Cherry Lane fit the bill to a tee.

“As you can see, the living room is quite spacious for a house this size without taking away from the dining room area,” Rosanna continued, motioning around her. “It does have three bedrooms but you could easily turn one of them into a nice office space or even a nursery for future little ones!”

“What a lovely fireplace,” Gail said, running her hand over the painted brick. “Not too sure about the color though?”

“We can always re-paint, dear,” Andrew interjected. “Let’s not make a fuss over minor details.”

“The fireplace is real brick and can easily be changed or stripped back to its original color,” Rosanna said.

“I suppose,” Gail murmured, her eyes roaming the rest of the room. The house was definitely one of the nicer ones they had looked at thus far, but there were still a handful of things she wasn't thrilled about upon first inspection. 

“Look at how bright it is, dear,” Andrew motioned around them. “You can change the color of things; you can’t change the number of windows. Look at the bigger picture.”

“You’re right,” Gail sighed, surrendering to her husband's point. She only wished that they could find a house that didn’t need so much work. This was supposed to be their first home, a real home together, so forgive her for having certain expectations. That said, she knew Andrew had a point and refrained from making comments about minor details. 

Rosanna led them into the dining area and kitchen, pointing out the new appliances that came with the house as well as the cabinet space. For an older home, it did have small charms.

“The molding on the woodwork is quite charming,” Gail added, pointing out the dollhouse look of the cabinets. “I do think I’d like to paint the kitchen a brighter color, maybe French white or eggshell?”

“Whatever you want, dear,” Andrew waved off. “Let’s see the master bedroom.”

“The master is of course the largest in the house,” Rosanna said, showing the way to the bedroom. “As you can see, the master bedroom also connects to the neighboring bedroom and both have large closet spaces. The smaller bedroom near the front does have a closet, though it isn’t as large, but it does have folding doors. I would imagine this would be the ideal room for a nursery.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that yet,” Gail laughed.

“Plenty of time for that in the future,” Andrew said casually, gazing around the bedroom thoughtfully. His eyes wandered to the far wall where the paint seemed freshest.

“Was the house remodeled recently?” he questioned. 

“Yes, in fact it was,” Rosanna stated. “There was a break in shortly after the previous owners moved away and the house was badly vandalized. The police said it was teenagers messing about, you know. They did quite a number on the house.”

“Does that include busting up the walls?” he asked, pointing to an obvious patch of drywall near the door.

“Oh yes,” Rosanna sighed. “Holes in the walls, windows shattered, doors ripped clean off the hinges. It was an absolute mess. The owner had to pay out of pocket to have everything repaired and even had the house re-painted professionally. It took months to repair all the damage.”

“Darn hoodlums,” Gail muttered with disdain.

“Quite right,” Andrew murmured. “Has there been any unsavory activity in the area since then?”

“Oh no, not at all,” Rosanna shook her head. “In fact, the incident was brushed off as a random act. The house was freshly empty, and the owners had children in school, so the police believed the kids knew the home would be empty after a certain date and took advantage. Easy place to have their parties and what-not, you know.”

“Probably drinking too, no doubt,” Andrew nodded. “Well, that’s a relief. I’d hate to buy in a randy neighborhood.”

"Oh, I assure you, Mr. Lorne, this is a perfectly safe neighborhood," she chuckled lightly. 

The tour of the house continued without much fanfare. Each room was inspected and gone through; minor comments made over subtle changes they would like to make. The largest change Gail set her mind on was the color of the kitchen and the color of the first bedroom.  

“Well, what do you think so far?” Rosanna asked happily, smiling as she applied a fresh layer of her lavish, red lipstick.

“I like it, but out of curiosity, the previous owners? Why did they leave?” Gail asked.

Rosanna’s smile became a bit more strained as she waved her hand in a vague motion, “They had a tragedy occur in the family. One of their children died unexpectedly and the other suffered some type of mental break.”

“Oh my,” Gail murmured. “How awful.”

“Yes, it was big news for some time. Just devastating,” Rosanna tutted before smiling brightly and clapping her hands together. “But enough about the past, let’s talk about the future. Your future in this lovely home! Do you think you could see yourselves in a home like this?”

Seemingly unbothered by the news of a family’s tragedy, Gail and Andrew shared a grin before nodding.

“We’ll take it!” Andrew stated cheerfully, happily shaking the realtor’s hand.

“Wonderful!” Rosanna exclaimed. “I’ll gather up all the paperwork!”

“Guess you should start picking out your new colors, dear,” Andrew joked as he led his wife out the door behind Rosanna. None of them seemed to notice the temperature of the house suddenly drop as they departed, nor did they noticed the shadows moving ominously within the darkness of room.

As their voices faded down the front steps, every door in the house slammed shut…

September 6th, 1986

“Are you sure you don’t want to go with me tomorrow? I can wait until you’re home from work,” Gail said as she walked through the living room towards the kitchen with the last box of dishes. She was planning on going to the hardware store the following day to pick out new paint for the house.

“I’d rather not,” Andrew answered blandly, taking a seat on the sofa while snatching up the remote. They’d finished unpacking mere hours earlier and he was dead set on watching his show to relax.

“Such a man…” Gail muttered with a roll of her eyes. “Than I don’t want to hear a word of it if you don’t like what I pick.”

As she walked into the kitchen, she stumbled to a startled halt, gazing around in confusion.

Each and every cabinet door had been opened...

“Sweetheart, did you leave the cabinets open?” she called out, slowly walking into the room and setting the dishes down on the table.

“No, dear,” Andrew murmured lazily from the couch, too focused on the television to bother registering his wife’s uneasy tone.

Gail blinked, midway through shutting the first few cabinets as her husband’s words reached her. She stopped and took a few backward steps, gazing around the dimly lit kitchen timidly. What on Earth was going on? She obviously hadn’t opened the cabinets, but why would Andrew lie about something so trivial?

“Are you playing with me?” she asked a bit testily, unamused by whatever prank Andrew was trying to pull. They were far too old to be playing games on each other.

“Gail, I’m trying to watch my show,” Andrew groused, turning up the volume on the television.

“Oh, don’t get huffy,” Gail murmured, rolling her eyes. “And for the record, I don’t appreciate being pranked.”

After shutting all the kitchen cabinets and turning off the light, Gail tutted off to the bathroom for a nice, hot relaxing soak, carrying her bathrobe in with her. She plugged the tub and turned on the tap, adjusting the temperature before undressing and slowly lowering herself into the warm water. She grabbed one of her pink washcloths and leaned her head back against the tiled wall, sighing. Had she been paying attention, she may have heard the faucet choke for a moment.

With her eyes shut, she was unable to notice the water ominously changing color. The clear expanse slowly morphing into a ghastly dark void of liquid.

Steam filled the bathroom, soon followed by a scream…

“O-oh God, Andrew!”

Moved by the sound of fear in his wife’s voice, Andrew sprang from the couch and rushed to the bathroom just as his wife appeared through the open door, a towel haphazardly wrapped around her. She was stammering and pointing to the tub, which was filled with a blackish water, sloshing onto the floor from the still-running tap.

“What on Earth?” he scoffed, quickly walking in and shutting off the water.

“The w-water, it just started coming out like that!” Gail cried, frantically drying herself off to rid her skin of the disgusting bath water. “What’s happening? I thought everything was working fine!”

“There must be an issue with the plumbing,” Andrew sighed, draining the tub with a grimace. “I’ll call in a professional first thing in the morning. We’ll have it sorted out.”

Gail tossed the soiled towel into the laundry and grabbed her robe with a huff, “I’m going to bed. I can’t handle any more excitement tonight.”

Andrew held his tongue at his wife’s exasperation, throwing his hands up in surrender as she stormed off into the bedroom. No point in arguing over spilt milk.

As the couple parted ways, neither noticed the dark chuckle emanating from the shadows…

September 8th, 1986

“Yes, I understand that we called your office stating that it was an emergency but I fail to see how---yes, I realize that you charge a fee upon arrival, but your plumber claimed there was nothing wrong with our pipes and left soon after, so I don’t understand why we should have to pay full price for what was basically a consultation,” Gail tutted with a mild huff, cupping the phone between her ear and shoulder as she listened to the receptionist scold her over their bill. “I still don’t see why—you know what, can I please speak to a manager or a supervisor?”

The previous morning had been a mess of calls to the closest emergency plumbing services which had led them to this moment. Andrew had called in a company who promptly came out and did an inspection. When they found no damage or discoloration in any of the water lines, the plumber’s attitude had gone from kind to condescending, obviously annoyed by the apparent lack of emergency. He didn’t believe either of them about the previous evenings fiasco. The company had billed them the full amount anyway, which Andrew threw a fit about and Gail had been less than pleased as well, leading to her arguing over the phone the following day with the company.

Andrew was off at work and had left her to deal with the rude plumbing company.

“Yes, hello? Is this—yes, hi, this is Mrs. Lorne, my husband and I had one of your men come out yesterday for an emergency call? Well, yes, he did fine but my issue is actually due to your bill because—” Gail rambled on but was suddenly spooked by a loud banging from the front door.

Glancing over at the door, she pursed her lips and ignored it. “No, no, I understand your company charges for all calls on site but your plumber claimed there was nothing wrong with our pipes, which to be honest I find hard to believe after what happened in our bathroom.”

Another firm set of knocks landed against the front door, startling Gail.

“Yes, I—no, I see no reason to escalate things like that, I simply want—” she was once again cut off by a series of banging knock, this time causing her to jump. “I’m sorry, can I call you back, please? Thank you.”

Promptly hanging up the phone, Gail walked over to the front door and opened it, expecting to see someone standing on her porch.

Only to find it empty?

Glancing around, she couldn’t see anyone around nor could she hear any voices nearby. Who in the world would knock so violently and then leave suddenly?

“Probably kids,” she murmured to herself, quickly shutting the door.

Walking back towards the kitchen phone, she grabbed the phonebook off the table with the intent to call the plumbing company back when she was once again jolted by knocking at the front door.

‘Oh, for the love of Pete’ she thought, walking back to the front door and opening it. Once again, there was no one around and no sign of anyone close by.

Who in the world kept banging on her door?

Sighing in exasperation, she closed the door with force and headed back towards the kitchen, only to stop in her tracks when the back door started banging loudly!

“Who is out there!” she cried, rushing to the back door to look out the peephole. If someone was deliberately messing with her then she would be calling the police.

As expected, there was no response.

“This isn’t funny! You’d better leave or I’m calling the police!”

Once again, no answer.

Locking both the back door and the front just to be safe, Gail took a few steadying breaths and tried to calm her nerves. It was the middle of the day, it wasn’t as though someone would try and burglarize or vandalize their home with her here. It was probably just the neighborhood kids or a prankster out for some fun.

Just someone having fun…that was all.

September 12th, 1986

The following days, Gail had successfully bought new paint for the house and was excited to start renovating herself. Andrew was about as useful as a bucket without a bottom when it came to interior design, but she was determined to make this home their own even if she had to do everything herself.

Her first task? Re-painting that bedroom and making it a lovely guest room.

The bedroom was the first one you came to as you entered the house and easily had a lovely view of the front yard. With some new paint, a fresh set of curtains and a bed, it would be a wonderful room to have company stay in.

With that thought in mind, Gail set out her paint clothe and tools, getting to work. She poured the new color she’d chosen into a pan, a lovely Robins egg blue, and grabbed one of the new rollers she bought. Getting a good amount, she started in on the far wall where the light of window hit so she could see how the new color would look.

Only a few stroke in and she could tell that something was wrong.

“What on Earth?” she whispered, watching the paint congeal and slowly droop down the wall. It was as though the paint had suddenly become watered down?

Gazing at the paint bucket, she wondered if she should stir it some more. Though it appeared fine, there was always a chance she hadn’t shaken it enough.

Grabbing the wooden paint stick she’d stirred with earlier, she gave the blue paint a good whip before pouring a fresh coat into the pan.

‘There’ she thought, grabbing her roller once again and dipping it.

…only for the paint to once again roll off the wall like water off a duck.

“What?” she gaped, sitting back on her haunches to gaze at the wall in bewilderment. The paint continued to droop and slide down the wall, neither sticking nor drying at all, pooling down around the baseboard. What in Heavens name was wrong with the paint? 

Grumbling under her breath, Gail grabbed a roll of paper towels and quickly began to wipe away the paint before it stained the baseboard. To her amazement, the paint left absolutely no residue or mark on the wall? It was as if she hadn’t tried to paint it at all. How in the world could blue paint not leave a mark on a pale wall? 

The sound of the phone ringing made her jump and she quickly set everything aside, hopping up to go answer.

“Hello? Lorne residence.” 

“How’s the painting going?” her husband’s voice echoed from the other line.

Gail huffed and leaned against the wall next to the receiver, “It would be going much better if the paint I got was working! I tried to use the paint roller and the paint practically seeped right off the wall! Can you believe that?"

"Paint can do that? How odd?"

"That's what I thought. I’m taking the paint back and requesting a refund, clearly it’s faulty or something.”

“I’m not sure paint can be bad, dear. Did you stir it?” Andrew asked.

“Of course, I did,” Gail sighed. “I’m telling you, something is wrong with the paint they gave me. Maybe it was a bad batch. Either way I’m getting something else.”

“Alright, if that’s what you want.”

After finishing up with Andrew, Gail hung up the phone and went to the mud room to grab a hammer from Andrew’s toolbox. She would replace the paint’s lid and take it back to the hardware store. She still had her receipt and they should remember her. If nothing else, she would simply request a different brand of paint and get a replacement gallon.

Tool in hand, she walked back towards the bedroom with a new plan in mind.

‘I should probably grab dinner for tonight while I’m out’ she thought, stepping inside the bedroom, only to drop the hammer in shock.

The paint was gone…

In the weeks following, Gail and Andrew’s relationship with both the house and each other grew strained.

Gail was convinced that something was very wrong with the house, claiming things would move on their own and that she would hear strange noises each night while trying to sleep. Between the random spookiness of the house and her husband’s reluctance to fully believe her, her nerves were slowly becoming fried.

Andrew was growing concerned that his wife was having some kind of mental episode. Moving had been quite stressful on both of them, but hearing Gail talk about things moving or weird sounds was beginning to get on his nerves.

The paint fiasco hadn’t helped either.

Gail claimed the paint had vanished. She told him she had gone to get it to return it and had found it gone, only the paint pans and roller remaining. The whole episode had left her in hysterics for days.

Personally, he thought there were far better ways to get a rise out of him. Pretending to lose paint and costing them more money than necessary were not pranks he found amusing. He’d played her little game and gone looking for the paint himself, convinced that she had hidden it somewhere, but neither had been able to find the stupid paint. He’d been less than thrilled over his wife’s impromptu scavenger hunt.

That conversation had only led to a fight and landed him in the guest room for a few nights.

Another incident was the kitchen ware being rearranged constantly. The plates would be moved to where the cups would be, then switched back, only to wind up over the fridge.

It was maddening.

Neither of them would help because they would only accuse one another of being the culprit. The only shred of doubt Andrew would get would be seeing the fear in Gail’s eyes.

He began to think she wasn’t joking…

They’d barely lived in the house a month and already it was looking to be a bad investment. The amount of money they had put into buying the house was substantial. It wasn’t as if they could simply move again.

The only incident that Andrew had witnessed firsthand had been the issue with the wallpaper.

One evening, during dinner, the wallpaper in the dining room and suddenly began to darken near the ceiling and a black substance started to ooze down the wall. Gail had been hysterical and had locked herself in the bedroom while Andrew got the ladder out to see what on Earth was leaking down the wall. The ooze, for lack of a better word, was watery in nature and smelled just as awful as it appeared. Fearing that there was a leak in the roof, he’d immediately called in someone to come out and look at the issue.

The next day, the strange ooze and stain was gone and the roof workman had found no signs of damage to the roof, even crawling into the attic to check for signs of water damage.

Nothing had been found.

The shred of doubt slowly began to grow after that…

October 17th, 1986

With Halloween on the rise, tensions within 4819 Cherry Lane were higher than ever. Between the ever-growing marital discord brewing between Andrew and Gail and the increased unexplainable activity occurring within their home,  antipathy towards the house grew stronger each day. The strange occurrences in the house had skyrocketed since the beginning of the month and neither Gail nor Andrew could find an explanation. 

Pictures would disappear from the wall only to be found in different rooms. 

Furniture would be moved around. 

Clothes would disappear and reappear.

Dishes would be moved from the kitchen to the bedrooms. 

Those were simply the innocent things happening...

The darker activity was what truly began to spook the newlyweds. 

The walls began to leak the strange black substance at random times, followed by a sickening odor that reeked of death and decay. There was never any clue as to where the ooze was coming from, but it would soon disappear without a trace.

Then there was the time Gail's candles went missing, and they'd found them all in the attic space, each one lit. That had startled Andrew more than he wanted to admit. 

Other times, the plumbing would suddenly malfunction, and dark, greenish black water would spew from the faucets. Gail began to fret taking showers for fear of that nightmare reoccurring. More than one dinner had been ruined on account of the water. 

The truly terrifying events always occurred during the night...

Gail had gotten up one night to use the bathroom when she swore someone reached out and grabbed her ankle from beneath the bed. Her wailing screams had not only woken Andrew, but the neighbors as well. Andrew had simply told them it had been a night terror and that his wife was stressed, nothing more. Even after searching the entire room and beneath the bed to assure Gail there was nothing there, she had refused to sleep in their bed that night and the following as well. 

During the night, strange noises would fill the silent house. Knocking against the walls, the occasional sound of footsteps, creaking against the floorboards, scratching, none of which Andrew heard because he could sleep through anything, but Gail would hear everything. The first few times this happened, she'd woken her husband in fear that someone had broken in. Andrew stopped listening to her after the third time this happened. 

There was also the guest bedroom...

No matter what Gail tried to do to it, it would always be thwarted somehow. If she tried to paint it, the paint would never stick to the wall. The furniture would be moved or even removed from the room. The curtains had even been thrown out the window that had been locked the night before. Of course, Gail had been convinced Andrew was the culprit while Andrew believed his wife was playing some cruel joke. 

Neither truly wanted to believe the other was innocent.

Gail had been thinking recently and wondered if they should bring in someone to look at the house. Though she was not religious anymore, she had been raised within a Christian household and knew help could always be found in the church. The only problem was that Andrew was completely against any and all religion, stating he was a firm atheist and would never be swayed by any church. His animosity towards faith had always been a cause of strife between him and her family, but that was neither here nor there. 

She refused to be swayed when the answer was clear. 

That evening, as they set down to have dinner, Gail made sure to pour her husband an extra ounce of whiskey to try and loosen him up. She'd even made his favorite meal, pot roast with extra carrots and potatoes with her homemade mushroom cream sauce. A full belly and a strong drink would do wonders to help. 

"What's the occasion?" Andrew asked as she set a large slab of roast onto his plate. 

"What do you mean?" she shrugged, giving him an extra helping of mushroom sauce. "Can't I simply be in the mood for roast?"

"I'm not going to complain."

Smiling, Gail sat down and made herself a plate as well, eyeing her husband as he quickly dug in. He'd already finished half of his whiskey while she sipped lightly on her wine. 

"So, how was your day today?" she asked, taking a bite of carrot. 

"Not too bad, I suppose," he murmured, cutting off a bite of roast. "The final quarter has started so we'll be dealing with a bit more paperwork than usual, but nothing monumental. I did check the stocks today though, we're still averaging normal but I'm hopeful that they'll rise by the months end."

"That's nice," she said.

"And yours?" he asked, wiping a hint of sauce from his lip. 

"Oh, you know," she shrugged. "I went shopping and spent some time at the market, nothing too exciting."

"You've been spending a lot of time out and about," he commented. 

"...maybe I don't like being at home by myself," she whispered, cutting a potato in half. 

Rather than start an argument over their disagreements on the house, Andrew simply feigned to ignore her and continued eating. They were half-way through dinner when Gail noted that he had finished his whiskey and seemed relaxed. 

It was now or never.

"I believe we need to have a discussion," she said, sipping her wine. 

Andrew stopped chewing momentarily and gazed at her, "About?"

"You know what I'm talking about."

Once again, Andrew simply ignored her and continued eating, his lack of response grating on Gail's nerves a touch. 

"We should call someone," she suggested, setting her fork down. 

"Gail, we've already discussed this," Andrew chided, cutting into his roast with more force than necessary. 

"No, we haven't," she retorted, clenching her teeth slightly. 

"We are not having this conversation," he dictated.

"Would you listen to me," she urged, her eyes darting around the room timidly. "We need help, Andrew. Why can't we ask for it? We could go to the church and--"

"And what, Gail?" Andrew snapped, dropping his fork and knife against his plate while narrowing his eyes at his wife. "What exactly are we to gain other than looking like complete lunatics? We aren't even religious!"

"The priest from the Catholic church could come and bless the house!"

"Oh, and what are we supposed to tell him, hmm? 'Yes, do you preform exorcisms?'. Don't be ridiculous, Gail," he scolded. "I won't have people thinking we're associated with all that God fearing nonsense."

"Then we'll just ask him what we can do," she pleaded. 

"Gail, enough," he scoffed. "Now I've had enough of this superstitious guff."

"You've seen what's happening and you still think it's nothing?" she stressed, annoyed by Andrew's blatant denial. 

"I think you're tired and winding yourself up," he surmised, returning to his dinner.  

“Andrew I am telling you, there is something wrong with this house!” Gail wailed, slamming her hand against the table! Her outburst startled her husband and shook the dining ware, glass vibrating against the wooden table.  

"You have done absolutely nothing to help and have left me alone to deal with this madness on my own! You constantly belittle my concerns, and I am sick of it!" she ranted, glaring at him across the table. "A good husband would believe his wife and do something to ease her fears...obviously you are not as good as you claim to believe you are."

Without a second thought, she swiftly stood up and threw her napkin onto the table, stalking off to the bedroom and leaving her husband to sit at the table in shocked silence. 

Inside the bedroom, Gail locked the door and turned all the lights on. She crawled up into the bed after searching through her jewelry box for her cross necklace, securing it around her throat before settling in for another sleepless night...

October 31st, 1986

Halloween was meant to be a spook-filled, fun holiday for children to dress up and go trick or treating, make scary costumes and carve Jack-O-Lanterns. The streets were filled with little ones carrying bags, seeking out candy. Each house lined with pumpkins and spooky decorations. It was a day of spirited celebration. There should be no strife or dismay on such a holiday, which is why Gail and Andrew had decided to reconcile with one another in favor of carving pumpkins and handing out candy to the local kids. 

Andrew had just returned from the grocery store with bags and bags of candy, smiling at a group of children skipping down the street dressed up as Thundercats. He'd seen more little ones out and about today than ever before. 

Walking inside, he was greeted by the sight of his wife diligently working on her Halloween pumpkin. They'd put up decorations and all, but she had insisted on carving up a couple of Jack-O-Lanterns for the evening. 

"Did you get the candy?" Gail asked, tossing him a smile. 

He held up the bags triumphantly and set them down beside the door, "I had to arm-wrestle Mrs. Garinger for the last batch of suckers but I prevailed. She's strong for an 80-year-old gal."

Gail smirked and rolled her eyes, getting up to re-fill their cauldron of candy by the door. They had enough goodies to fill every bag in Hawkins. Better to have too much than not enough. The last thing Gail wanted was to run out too early. 

"Did you finish your Jack-O-Lantern?" he asked, collapsing onto the couch. 

"Not yet," she replied, opening another bag of candy. "I just finished the eyes."

"Guess I should start on mine then."

Andrew had never been much for Halloween, but his wife was very big into holidays and with everything that had been happening recently, he figured it couldn't hurt to indulge her a bit more. She was very much into the superstitions surrounding Halloween night.

God forbid they don't appease the spirits, or whatever...

Shaking his head, Andrew grabbed a carving knife and set to work on his pumpkin. 

"Think I'll go with a classic scary face," he claimed. 

"Good plan," Gail smiled, joining him. 

By the time dusk had rolled around, multiple kids had come knocking with their treat bags begging for sweets. The array of costumes was astounding. Never before had they seen so many cartoon characters and homemade costumes. Hawkins clearly knew how to spend Halloween.

"My goodness, such fantastic costumes!" Gail gushed, smiling at a toddler dressed up as the cowardly lion, happily holding up his pumpkin head basket. He was with his family, all dressed up as the cast of The Wizard of Oz. The mom was Dorethy and the father the Tin Man, even walking an adorable little yorkie with a bright red bow around his neck. 

After handing out the candy, she waved to the family as they walked back up the sidewalk to the next house. Before retreating back inside, however, her eyes strayed to the other side of the street where a young man stood, alone, watching her. 

Felling a bit uneasy at the sight of him, she quickly closed the door and set her candy cauldron on the mantle. 

"Something wrong?" Andrew asked from the couch, his eyes glued to the tv. 

"No, I just..." she trailed off, her eyes darting to the door momentarily. "Just some scary costumes this year, you know?"

"It is Halloween, dear," he smirked. 

"Very funny..."

As the night came to an end, Gail and Andrew had satisfied every ghost and goblin in Hawkins as well as a few parents, happily handing out treats to all the spooks. They'd even managed to go through all but one bag of candy. 

With the night coming to an end, Gail had just finished locking everything up after re-lighting their Jack-O-Lanterns on the porch. It was nearing midnight, and she was exhausted. 

When the clock struck midnight, there was suddenly  a fierce knock at the door.

The sudden knock caused Gail to jump in fright, casting a look at the front door in surprise. It was awful late in the night for anyone to still be out? Surly all the trick or treaters were home by now.

No parent would let their child be out so late. 

"Trick...or treat..." a gruff voice came from outside, muffled by the door. 

'At this hour?" Gail thought scandalously, tying her robe together as she made her way over. 

Unlocking the door, she slowly opened it and had to bite back a gasp at the sight of the young man standing on their porch. It was the same man she'd seen earlier that evening standing across the road. Up close, his costume was certainly leaning towards the scarier side. His dark blond hair was damp and dirty, his curls unkept. The ghastly complexion of his skin was impressive to say the least, though she wasn't entirely sure what he was supposed to be? There was black ooze covering his shirt and jeans, dripping from his mouth as well, coating his teeth in a viscous liquid. His eyes were dull and grey, almost lifeless, with deep black shadows surrounding his sunken eyes.  

If she hadn't known it was Halloween, she would have thought he was dead...

"It's a bit late to still be out, isn't it?" she asked cautiously, looking past the young man curiously. "Are you out by yourself?"

The sight of the stranger on her front porch had her a bit on edge, given that she had seen him earlier and he had no visible bag or bucket for candy. Besides that, what possible reason could he have for knocking at such an ungodly hour? 

"Hello?" she asked, waiting for the boy to say something.

His eyes gazed at her silently before his mouth pulled upwards into a vicious looking grin. 

"Trick...or...Treat," he said, his blackened teeth shining under the light in a macabre grin. 

Swallowing thickly, Gail took a small step back and shook her head, "I'm sorry, but we ran out of candy hours ago."

The young man's head tilted unnaturally far to the side, his dead eyes roaming over her in a creepy manner. His face never changed from its taunt smile. When his eyes roved past her towards the Jack-O-Lanterns flickering beside the door, his smile faded just a touch. 

"Nice pumpkins," he said, a stream of black ooze leaking from his mouth. "Very scary...my sister would love them."

"Y-your sister?" Gail asked quietly, her grip on the door tightening. 

"She loves Halloween," he grinned, his eyes glued to the Jack-O-Lantern's haunting smile. 

Feeling more and more afraid by the strange man's appearance, Gail took another step back inside the house and cast him one last glance. 

"Well, I'm sure you two had a wonderful night then," she said with faux cheerfulness. "Goodnight."

"...still hearing strange noises at night, Gail?" he asked suddenly, his eyes flashing from dull grey to a vibrant blue. 

"W-wha--?" she gaped, fear flashing across her face. "What did you just say?"

Rather than answer her, the young man simply grinned at her again and slowly backed down off the porch steps. His eyes never left her own as he calmly stepped into the darkness. 

"Maybe you should call in that priest," he taunted quietly, casting a final wicked grin at her. "That'd be a trick..."

Before Gail could respond, to her utter amazement, the young man seemingly vanished into the night without a word or sound. Terror surged through her chest and she quickly slammed the door shut, locking both sets of locks before hurrying through the house to make sure all the windows were locked as well. 

It couldn't be possible. 

How had that man known about--no...

No, it must have been a mistake. 

A simple coincidence. 

That was all...

"Are you coming to bed, dear?" Andrew asked from the hallway, having come out of the bedroom to grab a glass of water for the night. 

Startled, Gail clutched her chest and shakily nodded, "Yes, I...I'm coming."

"Who was at the door?" he questioned. 

"I-I'm not sure," she admitted, following her husband back to the bedroom. "It was a young man, I think he was a teenager? He was...well...creepy." 

"Creepy?"

"I'm telling you, there was something off about him," she murmured, taking out her earrings. "I don't know how to describe it?"

"It was just a good costume, dear," Andrew sighed, flipping the blankets down. "One last Halloween prank before the night's over, that's all. His friends were probably watching from the woods or something."

That wasn't much of a comforting thought, but Gail conceded to it. It most likely was just an unamusing prank.

T eenagers and their nonsense...

"Well, Halloween is officially over so let's call it a night, shall we?" Andrew coaxed, patting the bed. 

Sighing, Gail removed her robe and tossed it onto the chair next to the bed. It had been an exhausting day and the little prank she'd just unwittingly been a part of had not helped. No matter what, she simply could not get that man's appearance out of her head. 

She prayed she wouldn't have nightmares from it...

In the dead of the night, Gail could have sworn she felt something touching her feet. There was an icy temperature pressed up against her ankles and it was causing her to stir.

Annoyed, she kicked at the sensation, believing it to be Andrew's feet pressed against her. However, her reprieve was short lived as something pushed against her foot from above the blankets this time. Kicking at the pressure, Gail could slowly feel herself waking from her slumber. 

"St'p it," she grumbled, pushing at Andrew's shoulder to move him away from her.

It was then that she realized something was amiss...

From the darkness, she could make out a faint glow coming from the foot of the bed that was out of place. Reaching up, she quickly rubbed her eyes and sat up in bed, turning her gaze towards the foot of the bed.

...and screamed bloody murder. 

Sitting perched on the foot pedestals of the bed posts were their Jack-O-Lanterns, their terrifying grins shining brightly in the pitch-black room. Her deadly shriek had quickly roused Andrew from his own slumber.

"What the--Oh, my God!" he yelled, scrambling out of bed! "What the Hell, Gail!?"

"I didn't do this!" she screamed, scrambling to turn on the lights. To her utter shock, neither lamp would turn on and neither would the overhead light, leaving them surrounded by the glowing candlelight of the Jack-O-Lanterns. 

"Andrew, the l-lights!" she cried, tears streaming down her cheeks as her heart pounded. 

Before either of them could speak, a thunderous thump sounded from the living room followed by the sound of breaking glass. Fearing someone had broken into their home, Andrew quickly grabbed his pistol from the bedside drawer and rushed out of the room. 

"Andrew don't leave--Andrew!" Gail cried, scurrying off the bed to follow her husband. 

Outside the bedroom, none of the other lights worked.

Andrew tried to turn on the hallway light and the kitchen, but to no avail. There were broken dishes scattered across the kitchen floor and they could see that the dining room chairs had been flung across the room. 

Gail gripped the back of her husband's nightshirt and sobbed, her eyes gazing at every corner, searching the shadows for signs of movement. Through her blurry vision, she gasped at the sight of something crawling across the darkened room, darting into the guest bedroom.

“T-there’s s-something in the h-house,” she whimpered with wide eyes, her breath catching in her throat. "Andrew t-there's--!"

Behind them, the bedroom door slammed shut!

"Jesus fucking Christ!" Andrew cursed, tripping backward as dishes suddenly began to fly from the cabinets and the doors slammed open and shut! 

This couldn't be possible.

None of this could be real!

From the bedroom, one of the Jack-O-Lanterns suddenly floated out and danced through the air, mocking their terror, a chilling laugh sounding from the darkness as the demented pumpkin came flying at their heads!

Gail covered her mouth and let out another scream, ducking and rushing towards the front door. 

“ I am not staying here another second!” she screamed, shoving her way outside into the cold air, barefoot and hysterical. Behind her, Andrew ran out as well and made a mad dash to the car. The couple shared a haunted look with each other before frantically speeding away into the night, neither looking back towards the devilish house.

The moment their taillights were out of sight, the front door slammed shut…

Chapter Text

Max was astounded that the Lorne’s had only lived in the house for barely two months before leaving. Looking at the paperwork, they had taken out a loan to purchase the house in the early fall of 1986, moving in on September 6^th. They had moved out at the beginning of November, filing for bankruptcy and moving out overnight it seemed.

The house went back up for sale in December of 1986.

According to the records, the house was empty for almost six months before it was purchased, unseen, by a man named Winston Finn. He bought the house outright from the bank and moved in less than a month later in July of 1987.

Max looked at the date of the police records attached to Finn's file and grimaced. This was when the first police report was filed by a different owner, in August of 1987. Besides that, Mr. Finn had apparently called 911 over 27 different times from August 8^th to January 19^th, 1988. In that time period, he filed four different police reports, siting strange and violent activity in and around the house. He claimed that someone had broken the living room windows, however when police investigated the scene they determined that the windows had been broken from the inside. From what Max could understand from the police notes, Mr. Finn’s claims of vandalism were brushed off after the first event.

The following occurrences were much worse...

One report cited vandalism outside of the house, where the bedroom window had been cracked and there were holes found along the outside of the home. Another report was filed when Mr. Finn claimed someone had chased him through the house and one of the neighbors had called 911 for a domestic call, hearing Mr. Finn screaming at someone inside the home.

The last report filed was the most disturbing, dated January 19^th, 1988, coinciding with a hospital spreadsheet dated the same day.

Hawkins Police Department

Date: January 19^th, 1988.

Time: 3:37 AM.

Officers responded to a 911 domestic disturbance call to 4819 Cherry Lane. Mr. Winston Finn, owner of the property stated, was found in the front room of the residence with ligature marks around the neck. Mr. Finn was unresponsive to EMTs on sight and was transferred by ambulance to Hawkins Hospital Emergency, unresponsive and suffering from shock.

The hospital report was vague and only mentioned what the police report did, which was that Mr. Finn was admitted to Hawkins Hospital on January 19^th, diagnosed with traumatic shock, and treated for ligature bruising around the neck that would later be determined to be handprints.

Someone had tried to choke him to death…

Hawkins, Indiana

August 8^th, 1987

“911, what is your emergency?”

“Yes, this is Winston Finn at 4819 Cherry Lane, I need an officer dispatched to my house, please. There’s someone causing trouble outside.”

“Can you describe the suspect, Sir?”

“No, I just keep hearing someone outside my house.”

“Can you tell me what they’re doing?”

“Banging against my house! They keep banging against the windows! Will you just send someone to take care of this?”

“I’ve already dispatched an officer to your location, Sir, I simply need as much information as you can give me so I can relay it to the officer.”

“Look, there’s just someone banging against my house and it’s coming from outside, I don’t know what else to tell you, lady!”

“Stay calm, Sir. Officers will be at your house in a few minutes, okay? But I need you to remain calm. Are your doors and windows locked?”

“Yes!”

“Alright, I need you to remain indoors and wait for officers to arrive.”

“Fine, just tell them to hurry up!”

August 19^th, 1987

“911, what’s your emergency?”

“I need an officer to come out here, there’s someone screwing around outside my house. I keep hearing banging against the windows and I think one of them just cracked.”

“Can you give me your location, Sir?”

“4819 Cherry Lane.”

“Okay, Sir, can you tell me how many people are outside your house?”

“No, I don’t know—fuck! There they fucking go again!”

“Sir, calm down, officers are on their way—”

“Don’t tell me to calm down when there’s someone trying to break into my goddamn house! I’m not—YOU BETTER GET THE HELL OUTTA’ HERE!”

“Sir, please—”

“THE COPS ARE ON THEIR WAY YOU FUCKERS! YOU BETTER STO—fuck! They broke the glass! The just broke the glass on my living room window!”

“Sir, I need you to get to an interior room and lock the door and any windows. Can you do that?”

“I’m already going! I’m going to the bedroom—fuck this! Fuck This! FUCK!”

“Sir? Are you in the bedroom?”

“Yes I’m—how far away are the cops?”

“Only minutes, just stay calm for me. Can you still hear the perpetrator?”

“Yes! They’re fucking busting my windows!”

“Stay on the line with me until officers arrive, Sir. They’ll be there soon.”

Hours after the officers had arrived to investigate the 911 call, Officers Calloway and Randal stood in the living room of 4819 with the owner, Mr. Finn, attempting to de-escalate the tension. Their initial findings were somewhat inconclusive with Mr. Finn's claims. 

“Are you sure you’d like to go through with a report, Mr. Finn?” Officer Calloway asked. 

“Yes, of course, I want to file a damn report!” Winston demanded, slapping his hand against the tabletop.

Calloway shared a look with his partner as they surveyed the residence, each taking notes to compare. After they had arrived to the house during the frantic 911 call, there had been no sign of anyone outside and everything was calm and quiet. A cursory look around the property gave no sign of any perps, nor any damage. The only evidence they had found was a single broken window in the living room that appeared to have been struck with a baseball or something because no person could shatter a window like that and not destroy their hand.

After questioning the neighbors, no one else claimed to have heard anything except for a handful of angry cries from Mr. Finn. According to the 911 dispatcher who had been on the phone with Mr. Finn, she claimed she never heard anything except Mr. Finn’s voice.

Needless to say, they were not totally convinced the incident was ever a true emergency.

“Alright, Mr. Finn,” Calloway droned, taking out his pen. “Start from the beginning.”

Winston sighed heavily and leaned against his palms, “Do we seriously have to go over this again?”

“We do if you want to file a police report.”

“God…fine,” he fumed. “I heard something outside the front window last night.”

“What time?”

“I don’t know, whenever I called 911? I wasn’t looking at the damn clock!”

“So, you aren’t sure what time all this started?” Calloway asked skeptically, raising an eyebrow.

“It was late, okay!” Winston snapped. “Look at the damn time log on the 911 calls!”

“Alright, so what happened after you first heard the noises?”

“I looked out the window to see if I could see who it was and didn’t see anyone, so I opened the door and called out for whoever it was to leave.”

“And no one responded?”

“Obviously not,” Winston growled.

“So, to clarify, you never actually saw anyone outside?” Calloway stated, pausing.

“Do you think it was the fucking wind busting up my windows?” Winston sneered, pointing to the shattered window.

“Just getting all the facts straight, Sir,” Calloway murmured. “What happened after that?”

“I shut the door and locked it. Then I heard someone banging on the bedroom windows,” Winston said, jerking his thumb towards the first bedroom. “It was loud enough that they were rattling.”

“Is that when you called 911?”

“No, I went to check the bedroom first and that’s when I heard a really loud bang against the living room window. That’s when I called 911. I thought it was more than one person,” Winston shrugged. “You tell me who can move that damn fast.”

Of course, neither officer truly believed the tale and once again shared a look of skepticism. Other than the state of the broken window, there was little credibility to corroborate Mr. Finn’s claims. All in all, the whole thing came across as fishy.

“Alrighty, Mr. Finn, that about wraps it up for us,” Calloway said, tearing off a section of his notepad and handing it over to Winston. “Call this number and our office will mail a copy of our report to your insurance company.”

“That’s it?” Winston asked, eyeing the paper.

“That’s all. Have a nice day.”

As both officers walked out the door to their car, Calloway glanced at his partner and shook his head. This mess seemed like a complete waste of their time. 

“What do you think?” he asked, pocketing his notepad.

“I think it’s a half-ass attempt at insurance fraud,” Officer Randal shrugged, opening the passenger door. “Probably broke a window by accident and doesn’t want to pay outta’ pocket. Kinda pathetic really…”

“Agreed.”

September 4^th, 1987

“911, what’s your emergency?”

“Yeah, this is Winston Finn at 4819 Cherry Lane. I need to report a break-in!”

“Are you in immediate danger, Sir?”

“I—I don’t know! I just woke up and heard something moving from the attic, t-there’s someone in my house!”

“Okay, stay calm. I’m going to dispatch officers to your location, can you stay on the line with me?”

“Ye-yes, I—Oh, God, just send someone.”

“Stay calm. Can you lock yourself in a room? Can you safely leave the house?”

“No, I can’t leave I—I’d have to go past the fucking attic door and I can still hear someone moving around up there!”

“Is there a room you can lock yourself in?”

“I’m in the bedroom and the door’s locked already, I did that before I called you people!”

“Remain calm, Sir. Officers are on their way.”

September 10^th, 1987

“911, what’s your emergency?”

“I need someone to come to my house, please.”

“What is your location?”

“4819 Cherry Lane.”

“Okay, what seems to be the problem, Sir?”

“I need to report a break-in.”

“Are the suspects still inside your residence?”

“No, no, everything’s quiet, I—I just got home from work and saw the damage. There’s windows broken, my furniture’s been upended, there’s glass e-everywhere--! My house is fucking vandalized!"

“Okay, Sir. Officers on en route. Are you sure there’s no one else inside the house?”

“I don’t think so? God I--I don't know.”

“Can you wait outside for the police to arrive so they can do a sweep of the house?”

“I—I guess. Fine…”

"Do you see this?" Winston stressed, kicking the glass littered around the floor. "Do you fucking see this bullshit!" 

The moment police arrived and surveyed the house, determining it was empty, they began to take photos and get statements. Mr. Finn's neighbors were less than helpful, claiming they hadn't heard anything nor had they seen anyone besides Mr. Finn on the property. As far as they knew, things were quiet.

Once again, the officers were a bit skeptical of the situation. 

Mr. Finn had stormed back inside the house once it was cleared and began yelling in anger at all the damage found. There was not only glass everywhere from broken windows and what appeared to be kitchenware shattered but also picture frames busted, the TV had been kicked in, and the living room furniture had been upended and apparently thrown.

I t was complete and utter chaos. 

Honestly, it appeared as though someone had gone on a rampage through the house. 

Officer Randal eyed the damage critically, wondering if they weren't dealing with a case of mental instability or perhaps an undiagnosed aggression disorder. He didn't know much about mental health but this appeared to be more along the lines of a homeowner destroying his own belongings in a rage. Possibly even a drunken-induced outburst.

From the look of the other officers present, they all seemed to be thinking the same thing. 

"Mr. Finn, could you please give us your statement again just for clarification?" Randal asked, watching the furious homeowner pace around the room. 

"Why? You people see this shit, right!" Winston crowed, waving his arms around him. "You see what these fucking assholes did to my house!'

"We're trying to get all the facts straight here, so why don't you do all that you can to help us help you?" Officer Randal said with a hint of condescension in his tone. 

Winston grumbled under his breath and pinched his eyes shut, "For the last time, I went to work at 7 o'clock this morning. Everything was normal. I did my work, went to lunch, finished the day in the office, and came home. I unlocked the door and walked in, and that's when I saw the damage."

"So you did have to unlock the door? The door was definitely locked?" 

"Yes, the front door was locked."

"What about the windows? The back door?"

"I keep the windows locked and none of them were open or unlocked when I left this morning. The backdoor was locked too," Winston implored. "I'm a born and raised city rat, man. I don't leave my shit unlocked!"

According to Finn, none of the doors were unlocked and none of the windows were open, which is where holes began to open up in his tale for the officers. By Finn's statement, a suspect must have entered the home via a window considering both doors have bolt locks, meaning they can only be locked with a key. However, there was no sign of broken glass inside the house from a window. From the photographs and notes taken by officers on the scene, they all concluded that the windows had been broken from the inside. The majority of the shattered window glass was located outside.

Meaning, something wasn't adding up. 

"Is anything valuable missing?" Randal continued. "Money or jewelry missing? Anything to say that this was indeed a robbery?" 

"The Hell is that supposed to mean?" Winston demanded, glaring at them. "What the Hell else would it be? Someone broke into my house and destroyed my stuff, doesn't that scream 'robbery' to you people!?"

"Sir, to classify an incident such as this as a robbery would mean that one or more of your possessions has been stolen. Can you prove that anything is missing?"

"Fuck all if I can prove they fucking took anything--have you looked around!"

"You haven't answered my question, Mr. Finn. Is there anything actually missing?"

Winston growled under his breath and stormed around the room, checking spots while glaring daggers at the officers standing around watching him. He checked every hiding spot he had and was both relieved and annoyed to find nothing missing. His savings, his watches, even his expensive cigars were untouched. 

...nothing was missing. 

"Listen Mr. Finn, we'll write up our report and keep the case open in the event you discover something is missing," Randal said with mock assurance, tipping his hat at the frustrated homeowner. "We'll get out of your hair and let you get on with your evening."

"That's seriously all you're gonna do?" Winston scoffed. 

"There's nothing else we can do at this time. If you have any questions or concerns, call our office. Have a good night."

September 16^th, 1987

“911, what’s your emergency?”

"I think there--I think--there's someone in my house! Someone's inside my house!"

"Can you tell me where you are, Sir?"

"I'm at 48--4819 Cherry L-Lane!"

"Are you inside the house as well?"

"Yes!"

"Can you leave the home until officers arrive?"

"I can hear them! I can hear---I hear them up there!"

"Up where, Sir?"

"Up there! They're moving around up there!"

"Sir?"

"I don't--I can hear them! I hear--GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!"

"Sir, can you hear me?"

"..."

"Sir? Sir, are you there?"

October 2^nd, 1987

The house was creaking again.

Creaking and stomping and moaning and banging and--

It was never quiet anymore. It was never quiet to start with, but now it was constantly so - damn - noisy!

The skittering in the attic would crescendo each night just as dusk set in, always followed by banging against the rafters. At first, Winston thought it was rats or raccoons or something.

Critters were a huge problem out here in the sticks, right? 

Shortly after moving in, he'd noticed the odd sounds coming from the ceiling and called in a local exterminator to fix the issue, only to be told there was no sign of any animal activity anywhere on the property. That had been a dead-end. The only problem was that it was just that, a dead - fucking - end. He had no answers as to what was making all the goddamn noise in the attic! 

He'd gone as far as to install a lock on the attic door and yet, it did nothing. 

Each night he would hear thumping and scratching from above. They would always start when it was quiet, like it was waiting for the perfect moment so he would always hear it.

Then came the really weird shit...

Shit started moving on its own. 

His drawers would be open when he knew he'd shut them. Pictures would end up on the floor from off the walls. His food would vanish from the fridge. Towels disappearing when he was showering.

Things that shouldn't have been happening!

No one believed him either. Not the cops, not his neighbors, no one! He'd even called his buddies back home and they'd straight up laughed at him, calling him a paranoid asshole yankin' their chains. It was humiliating...

"What the fuck am I doing here?" he groaned, pulling at his hair as another thump sounded from above. "Why am I here!"

He never should have left the city. 

He never should have taken the new job, higher pay be damned. 

Dear God...he shouldn't have come to this God-forsaken town...

October 22^nd, 1987

“911, what’s your emergency?”

"Send somebody for the love of Christ! Send help! Please!"

"Sir? Are you being attacked?"

"I don't fucking know, lady! Somebody's throwin' rocks or something at my house!"

"Give me your address and I'll send an officer over immediately."

"4819 Cherry Lane, it's--dammit! They just cracked another fucking window!"

"Mr. Finn? I have your call sheet up, are you--"

"I'm not makin' this shit up, lady! Can not seriously not hear the banging sounds? Someone is throwin' shit at the outside of my house!"

"Calm down, Sir. Officers are on their way. Can you see the suspect or suspects?"

"No, man, it's dark! All I can hear is shit flyin' at me! It sounds like fuckin' rocks!"

"Stay away from the windows, Mr. Finn, and wait for officers to arrive. Try to move to a room with no windows for your own safety."

"Fuck, just--just hurry!"

The damage to the outside of the house was impressive, given the circumstances. 

In all honesty, it appeared as though a tornado had pelted the outside of the home with debris. Holes lined the outer walls, stones littering the ground surrounding each side, along with a damaged window. The police found no one outside the house or inside, only Mr. Finn. There was no sign of anyone trying to flee the scene as they arrived. The only difference was that the 911 dispatcher could hear the commotion through the line this time versus the other calls Mr. Finn had made.

"What do you think?" Officer Calloway asked, snapping a piece of gum while tilting his flashlight up at the damage. 

"Kids?" Officer Luden shrugged. "It is Friday night."

"Makes sense," Calloway murmured around his chewing gum. "Hooligans pickin' fun at the cursed house."

"Cursed house?" Luden questioned. 

"Oh yeah," Calloway nodded, popping his gum. "You should've been around back in '85. Family that lived here was a basket a' trouble. Dad was a closet drunk, mom was a timid little thing. Their oldest was killed in the mall fire, you know back in July of '85? He was one of the casualties. Damn kids messin' around, burned the whole damn building to the ground. Afterward, the family moved away because their youngest went crazy. Took her off to the big city for help or some such."

"That's sad," Luden muttered. "But why do you call the house cursed?"

"After the family moved out in '86, another couple bought the place and ended up leaving less than three months later. My wife works down at the realtor's office and you should hear her go on about this place," Calloway joked, nodding at the house. "Owners claimed it was haunted. Well, as you can guess, word spread. Now the runnin' joke is that the house is cursed or some such nonsense. Local kids gossip, leads to calls like this one."

Calloway sighed and shook his head, "Crazy guy livin' here doesn't help with all the damn calls he makes. I swear I've made more trips out here in the last couple months than I have in the past year anywhere else. It's always somethin', I tell ya'."

Luden's gaze flashed back to the house, shining his flashlight up at the damage once more before following Calloway towards their cars. The whole idea of a haunted house in their small town was laughable, really. With Halloween on the way, he knew there were bound to be quite a few more incidents like this one in their future. 

December 20^th, 1987

“911, what’s your emergency?”

“Yeah, can you please send an officer to check on a neighbor of ours? We heard some really weird noises and someone screaming loudly. I think it might be a domestic disturbance?”

“Can you give me the address to give to an officer?”

“It’s 4819 Cherry Lane. We’re on the opposite street behind them, but we can clearly hear someone screaming from the house.”

“Can you describe the screams?”

“It’s a man. We haven’t heard anyone else, just a single male voice. It sounds angry though.”

“Okay, I have an officer on the way to investigate the situation.”

“Thank you.”

"Mr. Finn? Police department!" Officer Calloway called out, knocking heavily against the front door. "Mr. Finn, can you answer the door, please!"

"Better check around back," Randal suggested, nodding towards the side of the house. "I'll check the back door."

"Good idea."

Knocking again, Calloway waited patiently as he began to hear footsteps coming towards the door. He had just removed his hat when the front door flew open and he was met with a wild-eyed Winston Finn who grabbed his arm and pulled him inside roughly!

"Whoa, now! What's the problem, Finn?" Calloway asked, righting himself from the jarring movement.

"They're here! They're here, can't you hear it!" Winston bellowed, his voice laced with panic. "Just look! Look! You'll see it this time!"

"Mr. Finn, we came because a neighbor of yours called 911 after hearing some screamin' goin' on over here? Would you care to explain that?" 

"I heard them!" Winston claimed, stomping through the house towards the kitchen. "Those bastards are up there, I can hear them! They're scurrying around up there making me lose sleep and I'm--SHUT UP!" 

Calloway swallowed a bit nervously as he watched the deranged man bang a broom against the attic door, which he noted was locked. 

'This guy's totally lost it...' he thought, reaching out to try and calm the man down. 

"Mr. Finn, my partner and I will perform a full search of the house if you would like us to, but I need you to calm down and talk to us. Now would you be so kind as to let my partner in?" he asked, motioning to the back door. 

"I--what?" Winston stopped, glancing at the back door. "What partner--wha--what are you doing here?"

"I just told you, Mr. Finn, we responded to a 911 call your neighbor made because they heard screaming from your house? Do you wanna tell me about that? Is there someone else in the house?"

"No, there's--it's them doing all this!" Winston cried, pointing at the attic. "They won't stop!"

"Who won't stop?"

"THEM!" 

"Okay," Calloway sighed, rubbing his eyes. "Sir, I'm going to need you to go sit on the couch, please."

"You'll see that I'm right, you will--you'll hear them!" Winston assured quickly, stumbling towards the living room with his broom. 

Calloway shook his head and walked to the back to let Randal inside, motioning towards the living room. The two officers convened in the living room with the panicked homeowner, each doing a cursory look through the house as they went. 

"Mr. Finn, just to clarify, there is no other person in the house right now besides yourself?" Calloway asked. 

"No!" Winston stated with a scowl. "Fuckin' check for all I care!"

Randal nodded towards Calloway and retreated to actually scour the house for anyone else. Normally they would have immediately upon entering the home, but given Mr. Finn's history and lack of relationship, they hadn't.  

"Alrighty, Mr. Finn," Calloway began, taking out his notepad. "Can you tell me what happened tonight?"

"They won't ever stop," Winston muttered, shaking his head as his ire grew. "The noises don't stop unless you're here. Why? Why won't they stop? Why! Why! WHY!"

"Sir, I need you to calm down and talk to me."

"No! You don't understand! The noises and the shit happening in here, it--it never stops! It never fucking stops!"

"Mr. Finn, are you currently on any medications or substances?"

"You think I'm fucking high right now!?" Winston raged, glaring up at the officer. 

"Would you consent to a drug test?"

"No, I don't consent to any fucking tests! You have some nerve coming in here and accusing me like that, you prick!"

During Winston's rant, Randal returned and shook his head, signaling that there was no sign of another person inside the home. At best, they could at least say that Mr. Finn was indeed alone. Confirming that this was not a true domestic dispute, both officers shared a look. 

Unfortunately, there wasn't a lot they could do.

They couldn't arrest a man for yelling in his own home, regardless of what the neighbors thought. If it was truly a mental issue, what could they do besides provide the man with a number to call for help and the advice to seek out help? Their hands were, quite literally, tied. 

"Mr. Finn, I am authorized by law to provide you with a way to seek assistance for yourself, so I'd like you to keep this number. These folks can help you," Calloway explained, writing down a phone number on his pad before tearing off the page. "I'd also advise you to seek out medical help in the near future."

"The Hell are you talking about?" Winston balked. "You assholes think I'm totally nuts or somethin', don't you!"

"I would never say such a thing to a man in your position," Calloway said. "You have a pleasant night now, and try to keep the noise level to a minimum, alright?"

"You people are fucking worthless!" Winston screamed, crumpling up the paper and tossing it onto the floor as the officers quickly walked out the door. 

January 3^rd, 1988

“911, what’s your emergency?”

“The noises are back! They’re back, they’re back--!”

“Sir?”

“The noises, can’t you hear them!”

“Sir, can you tell me where you are?”

“I’m in the hou—there they go again!”

“Sir, I need you to calm down and tell me where you are.”

“Can’t you hear it? It’s coming from the attic!”

“Can you tell me your name, Sir?”

“Winston Finn!”

“Mr. Finn? Can you confirm your address as 4819 Cherry Lane?”

“Yeah—yes! I’m in the house now and the noi—fuck! It’s in the attic! The attic!”

“Mr. Finn, an officer is coming. Can you wait outside?”

“I’m gonna catch it this time—I’M GONNA CATCH YOU THIS TIME YOU SICK FUCK!”

“Mr. Finn? Please—Mr. Finn? Hello? Hello?”

January 19^th, 1988

The police refused to believe him.

They thought he was crazy.

But he’d show them.

He’d show them all.

They were the crazy ones for not believing him. After everything he’d seen, they were the insane ones, not him!

He knew he wasn’t crazy.

He wasn't...

For days, Winston had debated looking up into the attic for signs of anything. The noises continued to plague him daily and nightly, leaving him with little to no rest. His mind was in a constant spiral each day he spent wandering the house, jumping at every small noise while searching out the source. The shadows always moved too fast.

They were always too fast…

He knew what he saw, though. He'd seen that shadow stalk through the house at night, banging against the walls, moving his stuff into disarray. 

They never showed up around the police or the neighbors, it was always just him. Everyone thought he was making it up, that he had somehow fabricated the incidents happening to him. That damn cop, Calloway, always looked at him like he was a ticking time bomb. Those fuckers would stare at him with pity in their eyes, calling him a basket case under their breath. 

The police stopped believing him after the second time he’d filed a police report, like they were merely amusing him by going along with the charade. He’d yelled at every cop in town but it got him nowhere.

No one believed him! 

His short temper and sleeplessness had cost him his job. The company had gone over his recent performance and offered him two options; either succumb to a psychological exam or take un-paid time off. Obviously, he had snapped at them, calling them non-believers who had no right to question his sanity!

They had let him go, effectively.

Now he had no job, an unpaid mortgage, and a house that was slowly driving him insane...  

Looking up at the attic door, hammer in hand, Winston scaled the ladder to break off the lock. If there was any answer to be found, it was up there. It was late in the night, past midnight, but sleep was an impossible task. With one powerful swing, he destroyed the lock he'd placed on the attic door and quickly pushed it open. 

"I know you're up here, you fucker!" he called out, dropping the hammer and fishing out his flashlight from his back pocket. Clicking it on, he swallowed before cautiously crawling up into the darkness. 

'This is crazy...' he thought, his hands shaking with every step he took up into the attic. The crawlspace was barely tall enough to kneel fully, much less stand up. It was cramped and cold, black as night, with only the dim flashlight illuminating the creepy space. There were cobwebs and abandoned spiderwebs hanging from the beams, coupled with dust and drooping insulation. 

"What a dump," he muttered, shining his light around quickly. 

From the back corner, he spotted something pushed back against one of the wooden beams. It was small, like a cardboard box, with flaps and dust covering it. 

Swallowing, he swerved the flashlight around once again to make sure he was alone before slowly making his way closer. Each stuttering exhale seemed to echo in the small space, steam filling the light from his hot breath. Upon closer inspection, the object actually was a cardboard box. The flaps were folded down but remained un-taped. The box appeared to be filled with stuff, but what?

Carefully, he set the flashlight down on its end to illuminate the attic, eyeing the shadows as he reached out to pull the box towards him. Opening up the flaps, he looked inside to find a menagerie of items. 

The first thing that caught his eye was a shirt, a dark crimson button-down, hastily thrown inside with little care. Beside it lay a pair of sunglasses, aviators or something equally douchey. Then there was a couple of old cassette tapes, none of which was worth a damn. 

"Seriously? Who listens to this shit?" he scoffed, chucking the tapes aside. 

Aside from the shitty music and sunglasses, there were also photographs and other small things littering the box. There was a ratty-looking keychain with a scorpion on it, probably owned by Mr. Douchy Sunglasses too. If he had to guess, it was nothing but a box of junk an old homeowner left behind. 

"Probably on purpose," he muttered, tossing the keychain aside. 

The pictures, however, were a different story. 

One was frayed and old, portraying a blonde woman wearing a sunhat and smiling, looked to be taken on a beach or something. She was pretty, as far as blondes went. Personally, he was more into redheads than anything else. Not that blondes and brunettes weren't cute, that was just his preference. 

There were a handful of other photos of the same woman. Each one was taken at a different time. One was during Christmas, labeled 'Christmas of '75', this one containing a small kid in the picture as well. Both were smiling at the camera, dressed in gaudy holiday sweaters. The others were sporadic, some taken outside at random while others seemed planned. There was even one where the woman was icing a cake, licking frosting off her finger. 

Freaking family photos, man.

The other pictures were different, however. 

One had been torn in half, severing whoever was supposed to be in the picture too. It was clearly a man, a bit burly one at that, with the head and upper torso missing from the picture. Someone had obviously gone through and torn out the guy from each photo that contained him.

There weren't many, but enough. 

"Oh, hellooo, gorgeous," he whispered, thumbing the next photo he found. This one was of a girl, a teenager by the looks of it, and wasn't she just a cute little redhead? She'd be one Hell of a woman if that face was anything to go by. She was wearing a Metalica shirt and ripped jean shorts, laughing at something. The shot was obviously a candid shot, but damn...that was one fine piece of--

The box suddenly went flying and the picture was ripped from his hand!

"What the fuck--!" Winston shrieked, an icy chill ran up his spine as he stumbled backward in fright, fumbling with his flashlight. "Who's there!"

From the darkness around him, a black form began to take shape soon followed by an animalistic growl. 

"Oh fuck this!" he cried, jumping towards the open door to escape whatever nightmare he'd unleashed. Before he could make it, something latched onto his leg and jerked him onto his chest, shocking and terrifying him bad enough that his bladder emptied.

“No! N-no get off me!” he screamed, scrambling towards the attic door to  escape the frozen fingers curled around his ankle. "GET AWAY FROM ME!"

His struggles continued, kicking out at an invisible force, his heart pounding hard enough that he thought he was having a heart attack. Finally, after a handful of horrifying seconds, he was able to grab the edge of the door and swiftly pulled himself away from the apparition trying to harm him. With a horrified scream, he fell headfirst through the opening, slamming right into the ladder before he hit the ground.

He didn't even hesitate to run.

From behind him, he could hear someone stalking after him with heavy footfalls. He just had to make it to the front door and he could escape this fucking nightmare!

"No!" he bellowed, falling to the floor when something wrapped around his leg. "N-no! No, don't--!"

He clawed at the wooden floorboards as he screamed in terror. The ghostly figure dragged him back down the hallway by his legs, ignoring his violent struggles and his pleas for mercy. Whatever had him, it was determined to make him suffer. 

"P-ple-please!" he begged, closing his eyes. "Please, no!"

Just as he believed he was free, Winston felt a heavy weight knock him onto his back and any air still in his lungs was extinguished. That same heavy weight was suddenly pressing down on him, settling on his torso, uncomfortably similar to a human weight. 

“Lemme’ go! Let go! G-get away from me! N-no--N-ahh!” his horrified pleas were silenced when hands wrapped around his neck, crushing down on his windpipe. This thing was actually trying to kill him! His lungs were screaming for air, his eyes burning and bulging. 

'I don't wanna die!' he pleaded to any God listening, praying for someone to save him from this Hell!

The last thing he saw before everything went black was the sight of a man sitting atop him, his face contorted in a sick mask of demented rage...laughing...

“911, what’s your emergency?”

“Yes, I need an officer to come out to Cherry Lane, please. My wife and I heard screaming coming from the house next door.”

“Okay, can you give me the house number?”

“4819. 4819 Cherry Lane. It’s at the end of the street. The lights are on and we heard an awful ruckus just before the screaming started. It—it’s bad, ma’am, can you just please get someone out here fast?”

“Officers are already on their way. Do you believe an ambulance is needed?”

“Yeah, y-yeah, I’d say so. I don’t know what’s happening but it ain’t good. Oh, man…Oh Lord, I—”

“Officers are on their way, Sir, just stay calm for me, okay?”

“I’m sorry, I’m just—we’re really panicked, ma’am. This isn’t the first weird thing to happen at that house.”

“I’m going to stay on the line with you until officers arrive.”

“Thank you, I—Lord, I hope they hurry…”

Chapter Text

“Jesus…” Max whispered with a shudder, staring at the files while unconsciously palming her throat. 

There were no pictures except the police photos taken at the scene where Mr. Finn had been found that horrible night, but Max didn’t need physical pictures to imagine what the guy must have looked like. Just the thought of having someone's hands wrapped around her neck made her sick.

That would be a truly awful way to go...

The remainder of the report only said that Mr. Finn had been admitted to a psychiatric ward after his discharge from the Hospital. His claims were noted, of course, but none of the medical professionals believed his story of the 'invisible man' trying to kill him. Police had gone through the house looking for any sign of an intruder but speculated whoever had attacked Mr. Finn had fled the scene before police arrived. Considering there was no sign of forced entry, police assumed one of the doors had been left unlocked and that was how the suspect entered and left the home. 

However, Mr. Finn continued to maintain his account of the attack, in remarkable detail, despite the professional's asseverate insinuations that it was impossible and that he had most likely suffered a psychotic episode. He was soon moved to a psych ward, via involuntary commitment...

The house was put up for sale once again on January 23^rd, 1988.

'Shit...' Max shivered, trying to imagine the whole scenario Winston must have gone through. It was disturbing...

Should she even keep going?

Biting her lower lip, she decided to trudge on and get the answers she’d been wanting. As far as she knew, there were only two more sets of owners and only one filed another police report.

Flipping through the pages, she soon found the next owner which ended up being pretty sad on its own.

Mrs. Jean Reece, a 79-year-old widow, purchased the house in March of 1988 shortly after her husband had passed away. From the records, Mrs. Reece lived in the house from March 4^th, 1988, until May 12^th, 1992, with no issue whatsoever.

'That's a relief' Max thought, flipping through the pages. 

The kind-looking old woman had lived out the remainder of her life in the house until May 10^th, 1992, when she was admitted to the hospital for pneumonia. She passed away May 12^th, 1992, of natural causes at the age of 83. There was an obituary attached to the file that pictured Mrs. Jean “Jeanie” Reece and her husband.

They looked like a very sweet, old couple.

Max smiled softly at the card and carefully set it aside, happy to see that not every owner had trouble with the house apparently. She couldn’t imagine a kind, old lady like Mrs. Reece suffering the same ungodly fate as Mr. Finn had.

“That would have been a nightmare,” she muttered, pulling out the files on the previous owners who had the house before she did. It only took one glance for her to know this one was going to be hard to read.

In June of 1992, the house was purchased by a couple, Mr. and Mrs. Hank Jonas. A younger couple, only in their early 30’s, much like the Lorne's. However, unlike the Lorne's, these people were clearly running in a different class.

“Boy, you don’t look like a walking cell number at all…” Max muttered, picking up the police headshot of Hank Jonas, dated July 1^st, 1992, with a redacted copy of a hospital report attached.

Looking at the photos and the police record, it seemed Hank Jonas was exactly like Neil Hargrove, if not worse...

His rap sheet included domestic violence, domestic assault, assault with a deadly weapon, DUI, public intoxication, and the list went on. It appeared as though most of the charges brought against him were dropped due to his wife failing to press charges.

Max had seen the horrors of an abusive relationship first-hand and knew how messy they could be when the law was involved. Neil hadn't been the only prize her mom had settled for. Besides that, Max's relationship with Billy hadn't exactly been top-tier either. She knew, even at a young age, that the men in her life weren't supposed to scream or break shit when things went south, but emotional trauma and years of being repeatedly castigated didn't exactly form a normal mindset now did it? The idea of straying from the norm of everyday life, even one as sad as Christina Jonas' seemed to be, would be extremely unsettling for some people in that situation. 

Setting the criminal record down, Max turned her attention to the police report and seemed just as surprised as the officer who'd written it.

Hawkins Police Department

Date: July 1^st, 1992.

Time: 7:19 PM.

Officers responded to an anonymous 911 call reporting domestic violence at 4819 Cherry Lane. Officers arrived on scene to find the front door open and Mrs. Jonas against the couch in the living room. She was unresponsive when officers approached her. Officers announced their presence and found Mr. Jonas in the kitchen surrounded by broken glass, sustaining injuries to the head, neck, and spine. EMTs collected both Mr. and Mrs. Jonas from the scene and transported them to Hawkins Hospital Emergency. Further investigation provided statements from both parties. 

"What the Hell?" Max murmured, her brow furrowing as she continued reading.

What the Hell, indeed...

Hawkins, Indiana

June 25th, 1992

"Tina, where's my socket set!" Hank called out, his head buried under the hood of his old truck parked in the driveway of their new house. 

Hank Jonas', a young gun known around Hawkins for having a strong constitution and a bad attitude, had just finished moving into his new home with his wife, Christina. They'd been evicted from their old house over one too many disagreements with the owner, Nick Harris. Asshole owned half the damn trailers in town and wouldn't accept the rent a couple weeks late, claiming they'd never paid on time, which was total bullshit. They'd made the first two months on time but hit some hardships after that. His word clearly wasn't good enough for the likes of that tight-ass Harris. 

Whatever...

It didn't matter anymore since Tina's aunt passed away and left her a sizeable inheritance. He had, of course, insisted they use it to buy a house for themselves. They had been crashing in Tina's parent's garage the last few months after they'd been kicked out of the trailer park, surrounded by boxes of junk Tina claimed she needed. All of it was crap in his opinion.

Why the fuck did she need so much junk?

Tina said it was family heirlooms or somethin', but to him was just a waste of space. 

His wife was one of those homebody types. Never really weaned off the tit, so to speak. Tina's mama never liked him, accusing him of stealing her baby girl away too young, saying they were a couple a' lovestruck teenagers who hadn't known no better. So what if they'd married young? They were schoolyard sweethearts and he'd proposed halfway through High School. School hadn't been for him and he'd dropped out before graduating, choosing to go work at the factory like his old man and earn a living. He didn't need no education for that. 

Tina had finished school, unlike him, and settled on being a stay-at-home wife. She had wanted to go to work at first, but he had pushed for her to stay home. His mom had been a good little wife and his parent's marriage was solid, so why should theirs be any different? Sure, he had to raise his voice sometimes and keep his lady in line, but what good husband didn't?

Like when his wife was ignoring his request?

"Tina! God dammit, I'm talkin' to you!" he yelled, slamming the hood down. From the corner of his eye, he could see one of their new neighbors looking at him with disdain. He rolled his eyes and waved them off. 

Judgy pricks...

Storming up the steps to the back door, he opened the door and almost ran right into his wife.

"Where the Hell were you?" he demanded.

"I was unpacking our clothes," Christina said, wiping her hands off on her shirt. "What did you need?"

"I can't find my socket set," he grumbled, pushing past her towards the kitchen to grab a beer. 

"All your tools should be in the shed, honey."

"Well they ain't!" he argued, snatching a cold can from the fridge. "You put in the wrong box or somethin', 'cause they ain't there! We've been here two fuckin' days and you're already making me lose shit!"

"I'll go find them for you," she mollified gently, already heading for the back door. "Why don't you watch something and take a break?"

Grumbling in annoyance, Hank walked off into the bedroom where they'd set up a TV to chill for a while, beer in hand.

Sighing quietly, Christina headed outside towards the shed. Packing had been a nightmare back when they'd been evicted from the trailer park. Mr. Harris had given them a grace period to pay the rent that was past due but Hank had ignored the kind gesture and spent over half his paycheck on a set of new tires for their truck, which they didn't need. She hadn't had the heart to say anything, merely waiting for the inevitable.

Sure enough, they'd been given an eviction notice soon after and she had been left to try and gather up all their belongings herself. Thankfully, her parents had offered them their garage to stay in until they could get back on their feet. Her mom had been unimpressed, to say the least, after learning why they'd lost their home. It had been embarrassing enough to admit the truth out loud, but Hank had not helped the situation by disagreeing with her and coming up with his own tale. 

She was used to her husband's convoluted fictions that painted him in a better light to others, at least those who believed him. 

After months of living in a garage surrounded by boxes piled high with all their things, bad luck struck again in the event of her loving aunt passing away suddenly from a stroke. To Christina's surprise, her aunt had left her a generous sum of money to do with what she wanted. Hank, of course, pushed for her to use it on a house, claiming he was entitled to it as her husband.

He was right, in a way, and she agreed.

Her parents had disagreed, saying she needed to leave Hank and use the money to start over, but they didn't understand her husband like she did. Hank could be very sweet when he wanted to be. There was a gentle side to her husband, he just didn't show it around others very much. She took a little pride in the fact that she could pacify him, sometimes, and she was the only one who saw his kinder side. 

As she walked down the back steps, she wondered where on Earth Hank could have put his tools. He had packed them away himself from her parent's garage because he'd been using them while they'd lived there. She'd left him to pack them away so he knew where they were.

How could he have misplaced them so quickly?

Stepping into the shed, her eyes wandered around the handful of boxes before her gaze landed on the floor directly in front of the shed door...where Hank's socket set was lying right in plain view.

Confused, she quickly picked them up and looked around. It was almost as though they had been placed there intentionally.

How strange?

Knowing better than to say anything about her husband's lack of foresight, Christina closed the shed door with the set in hand and walked back towards the house.

"Found them!"

June 26th, 1992

Settling into the new house was a bit difficult for Christina. For one, she could tell that the few neighbors they'd met already didn't care for them much, at least they didn't seem too fond of Hank. She knew her husband was a bit of a handful and had quite the reputation around Hawkins. That said, she didn't want Hank's acquired tastes to drive a wedge between them and their new neighbors. 

Another issue she had was the feeling of unease whenever she was in the house, which was to say that she always felt like someone was there? It was odd, but she could almost feel eyes on her throughout the whole day. 

It was silly, she knew, and she wouldn't dare bring it up to Hank, but it was still there in the back of her mind. 

They'd only been in the house for three days, having purchased it on the 20th and moving in on the 23rd. The real estate office had practically jumped at the opportunity to sell the house when they had asked about it. It was well within their price range and seemed to have been listed at under-market value, which was strange considering its size.

The three-bedroom bungalow was perfect for them. 

With the stress of moving and organizing their new home, Christina had been surprised at her husband's mood. She had been afraid of him lashing out but thankfully she had been able to appease him each time. She had made his favorite meals each night and made sure to buy extra beer for him when she'd gone grocery shopping. If Hank seemed close to boiling, she would distract him or offer an outlet. 

So far, it was working. 

That evening, after they had finished dinner and settled into the living room, Christina had brought out a box of her family heirlooms to put up. She hadn't decided where exactly she wanted to put them yet, but she knew she wanted them in the living room. Her mother's porcelain angels would look lovely on the mantle. 

"I don't see why you keep all that crap," Hank griped from his chair, taking a swig from his beer bottle. 

"It's special," she smiled. 

"It's ugly," he argued. 

Christina's smile became a bit strained but she didn't argue, merely setting each figurine out after unwrapping them. She had her mom's angels, her aunt's Jesus figure, and her grandmother's handpainted glassware. All of it was special to her. Her mom had also given her an angel statue with a Christmas nativity scene on it, but Hank had broken it years ago during one of his drunken fits. He had apologized and she had forgiven him, knowing it was the alcohol. 

She missed that angel. 

"We don't even go to church, Tina," Hank muttered, eyeing the angels with a sneer. 

"I still go for Christmas service with Mom," she said softly. 

"Oh sure, you're a real good Christian goin' once a year," he scoffed. 

Ignoring the quip, Christina went about setting the figurines up on the mantle as she wanted. The angels sat in a neat row with her aunt's Jesus statue in the center. Her antique mirror hanging behind them made for a lovely backdrop. 

"What do you think, honey?" she asked, smiling.

Hank looked away from the TV for a moment to glare at the display with contempt, "You know I don't like that shit."

"Well I do," she said, adjusting one of the angels. "You won't even notice them after awhile."

Rolling his eyes, Hank went back to his show while Christina walked to the kitchen to wash the dishes from dinner. He took another swig from his beer and glared at the stupid angels. He hated that girly shit, annoyed that his wife even kept them. If he'd had his way those damn things would have been thrown in the trash a long time ago. 

"Won't notice them, my ass..." he growled, shaking his head. 

From the kitchen, Christina sighed and bit her lip. She probably should have waited to put up her angels on a night when Hank wasn't drinking heavily. The last thing she wanted was for him to break any more of them in a rage. 

Hopefully, he wouldn't mind them too much this time around.

The next morning, Christina woke up bright and early as always. She could hear Hank in the shower getting ready for work and quickly headed for the kitchen to start the coffee and get breakfast made. 

Humming to herself, she started the coffee pot and went about gathering what she needed to make breakfast before Hank had to leave. After last night, she knew her husband would be sporting a hangover and would prefer something greasy. Bacon and eggs would be a good idea. 

As she fished a package of bacon out of the fridge, she heard the shower shut off and rushed to make Hank a cup of coffee before he came out. 

"Tina, where's the painkillers!" Hank called from the bathroom, his voice gruff. 

Scampering to the bathroom with coffee in hand, Christina rushed in with a pleasant smile. Without a word she quietly handed Hank his coffee and opened up the cabinet beneath the sink, retrieving the pills for him, and got a few out for him to swallow. 

"Breakfast will be ready soon, honey," she said, leaving him to finish getting ready for the day. 

"Hmmm," he groaned. 

Back in the kitchen, Christina quickly got the bacon frying and made herself a cup of coffee. The eggs were frying on low heat and she even tossed some toast into the toaster. She needed to start a new grocery list and make sure to get extra bacon and a few rolls of sausage. 

"Honey, I'm going to run to the grocery today. Is there anything special you want for dinner tonight?" she asked, hearing Hank walk out of the bedroom. 

"Anything's fine," he grumbled, rubbing his eyes. "Is that bacon?"

"It'll be ready soon, don't worry," she smiled. 

"Make me another coffee. I'm gonna go grab the paper," he stated and set his cup on the table, heading for the front door. 

"Sure thing, hon."

After re-filling her husband's mug, Christina plated their food and buttered the toast, adding a spread of strawberry jam to hers. She set the plates down just as Hank walked back in, a small grin on his face as he sat down. 

"Guess you took my advice, huh?" he smirked, jerking his head towards the living room. 

"Hmm?" she queried, setting her cup down. 

"You took the angels down."

...what?

Christina stopped and looked towards the living room in confusion, her gaze locking onto the - now empty - mantle. 

'What the Hell?' she thought, walking into the living room to see what had befallen her beloved antiques. She prayed her husband hadn't broken them or thrown them away like he'd threatened to do in the past. All of her figurines were gone, but rather than find them shattered or in the trash, she was shocked to find them back in the original box...each one wrapped haphazardly in the paper she'd used to transport them. 

He'd taken them down...

Somewhat annoyed, Christina sighed quietly and returned to the kitchen. She knew better than to bring it up, but she was still miffed about Hank messing with her things.

Regardless of whether he remembers doing it or not. 

"It looks better without 'em anyway," Hank said as Christina sat down, taking a bite of his food. "Less crap in the house."

Keeping her mouth shut, Christina just offered a fake smile and a nod, taking a small bite of toast. It was just better to leave it be. She was lucky he hadn't broken any of her figurines when taking them down and he'd been kind enough to try and wrap them. Of course, she would re-do it, but the gesture was somewhat appreciated. It was still upsetting that he would do so without telling her, and then accuse her of doing it. 

She knew when to pick her battles, and this definitely wasn't one. 

After breakfast and a quick goodbye, Hank left for work and Christina set about putting away her angels. Each one was carefully re-wrapped by her and put in the box. It was a little heartbreaking to think she couldn't display them.

Maybe it would be a good idea to keep them at her parent's house...

Sighing, Christina tapped the box shut after re-wrapping all the figurines and slid the whole thing under the bed in the guest room. For now, it was safer to keep them hidden.

July 1st, 1992

Everything had been going so well. 

The day had started out fine, just like any other. 

Christina had cleaned the house, she'd done the laundry, and even made a nice dinner...and that's when everything took a turn for the worse. 

She'd overcooked his steak too much and he'd gone on a rant about how expensive the cuts were and how she'd ruined a perfectly good steak. Things escalated when he'd tossed his plate into the sink hard enough that it broke, choosing to drink his dinner instead. One full case of beer later, Hank's mood had worsened. His temper flared every second he sat in his chair, simmering, watching Christina silently fluster around cleaning things up. 

It seemed that even silence wasn't acceptable in his eyes. 

"H-Hank, pl-please," Christina pleaded softly, holding up her hands to try and calm her raging husband. She'd been taking out the kitchen trash when her husband had stormed in, looking for more booze, and realized he was out. 

Of course, that was her fault...

"Don't fucking tell me to calm down!" Hank yelled furiously. "You don't tell me to do shit!"

"I didn't m-mean--," she stammered, backing away. 

"Don't you fuckin' backtalk me, woman!" he screamed, pointing a finger directly in her face. 

"I'm sorry..." she whispered, lowering her eyes. 

"You're damn right you're sorry," he sneered drunkenly, swaying back against the counter. 

"Hank, I--I'm s-sorry, honey, b-but maybe you--," Christina hesitated.

"Maybe I should fuckin' what!"

"Sweetheart, y-your'e drunk--!"

Christina's words were painfully cut off when her head was snapped roughly to the side, her eyes wide as tears streamed down her cheeks.

He'd backhanded her...

"You shut your damn mouth, you--!" he raged.

Behind them, the flower vase suddenly shattered and sent water spilling all over the floor surrounded by glass. 

"The fuck?" Hank growled, turning his wild eyes toward the sound. 

Unfortunately, before either of them could move again, Hank suddenly screamed and went flying across the room, crashing into the far wall! His body slammed into the wall panel hard enough that Christina heard an awful 'snapping' sound, spurring her into running away to another room. 

"A-Ahh-God! Fuck!" Hank cried as stars danced across his vision, unable to get up off the floor. "What the--!"

The kitchen cabinets flew open right before his eyes and dishes started sailing at him! One hit him right above the eye, breaking the skin. More and more came at him in a flurry of violent bursts, glass shattering all around him, showering down over his crumpled body. 

"W-wha--the f-fuck!" he sobbed, trying to cover his head, his face streaked with blood. "Christina Help Me!"

His wife had escaped to the living room without looking back, leaving him to be attacked by an unknown entity, ignoring his cries for help. All he could do was lay there in agony and pray it would end. 

"SOMEBODY HELP ME!"

Gazing at the police photos, Max was surprised Hank Jonas had even survived his attack...

Christina Jonas' statement included that she and her husband had been arguing when he hit her and her husband screamed, followed by the sound of loud crashing noises and glass shattering. She had crawled to the living room to hide beside the couch.

Hank Jonas' statement, however, was much worse.

He was treated for a concussion, fractures to the L2 and L3 vertebrae, as well as whiplash and a number of lacerations to the face and torso due to broken glass. His statement claimed that he was physically thrown against the kitchen wall by something, snapping his head back hard enough to cause whiplash, before the kitchen cabinets suddenly opened and dishes began to fly out toward him, shattering against the wall above him. He felt like he couldn’t move before the police arrived on scene.

The pictures told of a terrifying encounter.

The police photographs depicted the kitchen in a state of disarray. Broken dishes and glasses littered the floor with blood speckling the wall. There was a clear indentation to the wall Mr. Jonas claimed to have been thrown against. From the report, some speculated that Mrs. Jonas had committed the crime herself but the hospital staff claimed it was impossible given her size and weight compared to that of her husband.

She simply was not physically capable of picking him up and throwing him hard enough to cause the injuries he had sustained.

The whole situation had baffled the investigators and the case remained unsolved in regard to Mr. Jonas’ assault. The case against him regarding the attack against his wife, however, was quickly opened and shut.

After that incident, Mrs. Jonas moved away from Hawkins while her husband was currently serving time upstate for assault.

The house was emptied and put up for sale again…

Rubbing her eyes, Max took a deep breath and shoved everything back into the folder, slamming it shut and tossing it onto the floor.

Good God...

That…had honestly been way more than she’d been expecting.

She glanced at the clock and winced. Time had flown by during her little investigation, as it was well past 11 PM and she needed to at least try and get some sleep that night.

Hopefully, she wouldn’t have nightmares about the living nightmares she’d just read about…

Clicking off the lamp, she reached over and turned the radio down just enough to be able to sleep with it on, pulling the covers up over her and snuggling down into the pillows. As she closed her eyes to the stentorian vocals of Queen, she silently hoped her time in her new home would be like that of Mrs. Reece…and not like the others.

November, 1985

They were fighting again…

It seemed like all they did was fight with each other and argue.

The loud voices of her mother and Neil echoed through the locked bedroom door where Max was hiding, curled up in the closet with her brother’s blanket wrapped around her. The subtle scent of his cologne stuck to the fabric and brought a little comfort.

She could almost pretend she was in his arms…

The sound of glass shattering and Susan screaming in anger made Max glance fearfully at the door. She knew her mom had a temper when push came to shove and it seemed like Neil only fueled it during a fight. They’d been going at it ever since they’d come home from Max’s psychiatrist appointment. The subject of moving away from Hawkins had been the topic of discussion, one that they had contemplated before, only this time it had delved into a screaming match.

She was so tired of listening to them fight.

A noise from outside the closet door made her jump slightly, her eyes darting to the small crack in the frame to see who was outside. The closet door opening made her squeak in fear, thinking it was Neil, but one glance had her relaxing, quickly recognizing the figure kneeling before her.

“Don’t ya’ know there’re monsters in there?” Billy asked, cocking his head at her huddled form.

Max couldn’t even laugh at the stupid joke, still too focused on the raised voices coming from the kitchen.

“You shouldn’t be here…” she whispered, moving over to make room for him.

Billy slowly crawled into the small closet and sat next to her, reaching into his pocket to pull out his lighter and a cigarette. The ‘flick’ ‘flick’ of the sparking lighter illuminated his features and Max winced at his grotesque appearance. His skin was still ashen, dark specks of what she could only assume was blood marring his once flawless face, coupled with his eyes that were once vibrant and had since faded to a lifeless, dull blue.

He looked like he’d crawled right out of his grave.

But that didn’t mean Max loved him any less…

Most days, Billy was the only person she spoke to, leaning heavily on him for reliance and strength, especially on days when she felt more like an experiment rather than a patient. He would sit beside her at the doctor’s offices, keeping up commentary to make her smile, sing along to the radio in the car, anything to occupy her attention so it remained on him.

If she were being honest, she’d seen him smile and laugh more after the mall incident than ever before.

“What’s wrong, shitbird?” Billy asked lazily. “You look worried.”

Max didn’t want to talk about her growing fears involving her mom and Neil’s recent arguments. Then again, Billy had been present for most of them, so it wasn’t like he wasn’t aware of the massive elephant in the room.

“They’re talking about moving again,” she said softly, tugging at a loose thread in the blanket. “Neil’s embarrassed and mom’s worried…they keep talking about starting over again somewhere else. Somewhere far away from Hawkins.”

Billy went quiet for a moment, flicking the end of his smoke lazily, turning those dead eyes towards her rather than the door.

He had that look again.

One that truly made him look like nothing more than a corpse, situated like some demented puppet.

An uncomfortable minute of silence passed before her brother’s eyes flicked towards her and his face regained emotion, tilting his head while bringing his cigarette back up to his lips.

Before either sibling could speak again there was a loud crash from the kitchen and screaming voices carrying down the hall, followed by the sound of something shattering.

“Why are they so angry?” she asked quietly, gazing up at her brother fearfully.

He stared at the bedroom door for a minute or so, silently smoking a cigarette that never seemed to fully burn down.

“This whole town thinks we’re the fuckin’ Addams family,” he rumbled with a sly grin. “Guess that makes you Wednesday.”

“Billy,” she pleaded, wishing he would stop turning everything into a joke.

“They’re freaked, Max,” he said, the glow of his cigarette smoldering in the darkness between them. “They think you’re goin’ off the deep end and so does the rest of this goddamn, shithole of a town.”

Max knew all about the rumors flying around Hawkins about her and her family. After the school suspended her for ‘behavior issues’, she’d been tossed head-first into a multitude of offices ranging from therapists to medical doctors, all agreeing that she was crazy. Sitting in a psychiatrist’s office, listening to them tell her that her brother was dead over and over, all while watching him waltz around the room would probably make anybody crazy…

Maybe she was crazy.

Her so-called condition was the main reason Neil and her mom had been talking about moving again. Hawkins had become an enigma for the strange and unusual, now Max was looped in with it too. There wasn’t a day that passed that strangers didn’t stare at her, where her mom didn’t look at her like she was about to snap, where her so-called friends didn’t walk on eggshells around her.

How had this become her life?

“You know you could make it all stop,” Billy said suddenly, breaking her train of thought.

“Huh?” she murmured, wondering what he was talking about.

“The shrinks. Those doctors. Your mom worryin’ over you,” he clarified, leaning closer. “You can make it all go away.”

“How?” she asked.

“Those pills Susan makes you take…take ‘em all.”

Max jerked back as though he’d burned her, her eyes widening at the idea he was tossing around. It hadn’t been the first time she’d heard him talk like that either, and that scared her more than she wanted to admit.

“Billy--”

“It's just like going to sleep, Max,” he whispered, his cigarette dancing between them in the dark.

“I—” she stumbled, leaning back away from him. “I can’t d-do that?”

“Wouldn’t it be better that way?” Billy pushed. “Susan wouldn’t be scared all the time and you’d be cured, just like they all want, right? Taking a handful of pills and goin’ to sleep is better than most ways to go. Or we could go out to the quarry, take a nice long swan dive over the edge and it’ll be over in a second.”

Max turned her head away and closed her eyes, gripping the blanket tighter as if it could protect her from Billy’s cruel suggestions.

“They’re gonna take you away, Max,” Billy stated darkly. “Neil and Susan are gonna leave this town in the rearview mirror and they’re gonna take you somewhere else, shove more pills down your throat and throw you to the wolves again, and again.”

A part of her knew he was right, about everything, and she hated him for it. Her mom was so convinced that she was sick, that there was something wrong with her, that Max’s future was not looking to be a pleasant one. The days she didn’t spend waltzing around like a zombie were spent in front of therapists.

What kind of life was that?

“You can stop it, all of it, right now,” he coaxed.

Max gazed up at her brother, swallowing thickly as thick, hot tears rolled down her cheeks.

“Why?” she asked wetly, choking back sobs at the thought of dying. “Why can’t you just come with us?”

Billy’s cold eyes gazed at her as she cried, moving to crouch right in front of her as she sobbed.

“Because I can’t leave Hawkins,” he growled quietly, reaching up to trail icy fingertips across her tear-stained cheek. “…and you can’t leave me.”

Chapter Text

Hawkins, Indiana

December 15^th, 1985

It was the middle of December and it looked like Santa had projectile vomited all over Hawkins, Indiana. Every street had been lined with Christmas decorations varying from giant candy canes to tinsel-lined reindeer, not to mention the brightly colored lights strung up across every house in town. Everywhere you looked there were constant reminders of the holiday season. Businesses decorated their glass storefronts with chalk drawings of Santa and presents, milk and cookies, snowflakes, and snowmen. Christmas specials were advertised all throughout the town to encourage people to start buying gifts for their loved ones.

Hawkins may as well have turned into freaking Whoville.

All the Christmas cheer did was remind Max of everything she’d lost…

Susan had decorated the house with multicolored lights and godly tinsel. They’d put up a tree and covered it with shiny lights, bright red glass bulbs, candy canes and even popcorn strings. A stupid blanket with a depiction of Saint Nick and his flying reindeer lay across the back of the couch, practically taunting Max every time she passed by it.

It was Christmas time and she was supposed to be happy, but how could she be? All it took was a look at their fireplace where Susan had hung stockings to understand why Max wasn’t in the holiday spirit.

Where four stockings should be, there were now only three.

It was almost as if no one remembered Billy except her. The Party offered their weakhearted condolences but Max knew they were not truly sincere…and she honestly couldn’t blame them. No one knew Billy like she did. All anyone ever saw was the California bad boy who had a mean streak a mile wide. Billy would rather use his fists than his words, which obviously hadn’t earned him any brownie points with Max’s friends.

But they didn’t know him…not the real him.

They only saw the loud, cruel bully, or the overbearing big brother who’d rather go out each night and get wasted than watch his stepsister, the guy who claimed to need no one and nothing except a pack of smokes and his car.

They never saw the callous hands holding her after a nightmare or felt the strength of his arms around her while she cried.

They never heard how gentle his voice could be, murmuring along to the radio.

They didn’t see how calm and serene those stormy blue eyes looked when he smiled.

They didn’t know his overbearing and pushy behavior when it came to her was because he was worried about her and didn’t know how else to show it.

They never saw the hardest nights when he would sleep beside her with the door locked, whispering that everything would be alright, covering her ears to block out Neil’s raging screams.

No one else saw Billy Hargrove for who he truly was…except Max.

Yes, there were times that she hated him more than she loved him, given their rough past and forceful move, but he was still her brother. They fought and yelled at each other, bitched and complained about one another to anyone who would listen, screamed hateful things just to hurt the other, but at the end of the day, Max knew that Billy loved her.

Their problems were their own. Even if the Party had witnessed some of the shit she and Billy did to each other, they only saw the surface of their relationship and made their own assumptions about the siblings. They were convinced that Max was the rebellious little sister and that Billy was nothing more than the resentful, asshole stepbrother.

Why bother trying to correct them if they’d never believe the truth?

Unfortunately, their biased opinions of Billy had made them all seemingly disregard his death as nothing more than a minor loss compared to most and they acted like Max should have felt the same, that she should have been unbothered by the devastating loss of her brother…what kind of friends did that?

Regardless of how they felt about Billy, they should have seen her pain for what it was.

The only ones who seemed to understand were El and Will, but their departure had severed their shared grief. Will had offered her a shoulder to cry on and talk to while El held her as tightly as she could, trying to heal her friend the only way she knew how, and Max loved them both for it.

But the boys…didn’t understand.

They tried to go on like before, mourning the loss of their Party’s destruction after the Byers’ family left Hawkins, and apparently part of “moving on” was pretending as though Billy Hargrove never existed. After Halloween and her “psychological break” as the school liked to call it, Max had distanced herself from the boys and Steve, still upset by their rejections.

A Christmas without her friends around didn’t bring much holiday cheer, did it?

Currently, Max was curled up on the couch in the living room watching Rodolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer, smothered by a blanket with an untouched cup of hot chocolate next to her on the coffee table, trying to focus on the movie. However, her eyes kept glancing at the hallway that led to her parent’s bedroom. She could very faintly hear them talking about Neil’s job and something about finances.

Her focus was interrupted by a hand jostling her blanket, the bulky figure beside her crushing her against the arm of the couch uncomfortably.

“You keep daydreamin’ and you’re gonna miss Hermey singin’, brat,” Billy muttered, reaching for the bowl of popcorn on the table. “Where’s your mind at?”

Max glanced at her brother’s face, illuminated by the television. He had wanted the popcorn, not her, and had demanded they watch Rodolph since it was on. He’d been in a pretty good mood lately.

“I can hear them,” she murmured, focusing back on the TV.

“Can always hear them,” he argued, shoving a handful of popcorn into his mouth. “What’s your point?”

“They’re talking about the house loan again.”

Billy grabbed another obnoxiously large handful of popcorn with a scowl, “So what? We’ve only been here a year. Ain’t like they can afford to uproot again.”

Max wasn’t so sure of that.

She’d heard the arguments between her mom and Neil about the house and what it was costing them. Her mom had explained before they left California that Neil had taken out a bank loan to buy the house in Hawkins, but she had no clue about the payments they’d been making or the cost of her medical bills.

They always claimed she was too young to understand all that.

“You’re worrying over nothin’, shitbird,” Billy rumbled.

“But what if they do want to move?” she asked.

“They won’t.”

“But, Billy—”

“Hey!” he growled, turning to narrow his eyes at her. “It’s not gonna happen, so knock it off. I already told you nothin’ is gonna happen.”

“You keep saying that like it’s some cure for all!” she whispered loudly, keeping her voice low enough so she wouldn’t rouse their parents. “Just because you don’t want it to happen doesn’t mean it won’t!”

Rather than scream and rage at her like he normally would have, Billy went quiet and just glared at the TV, crossing his arms across his chest. His eerie silence made Max uncomfortable but she remained still, her sorrowful eyes a juxtaposition of the cheerful characters on the screen. Both siblings sat beside each other quietly for the remainder of the movie, neither willing to break the dreaded silence between them.

In the end, Max found herself alone on the couch well after the movie had ended, staring at her chilled mug of hot chocolate with a furrowed brow. Her brother had disappeared somewhere without a word, leaving her to think about their short spat.

Every time she brought up their parents, Billy would get defensive and angry, but she didn’t know why. His claims that they wouldn’t ever leave were disturbing in ways she didn’t want to admit.

Brushing off the dark thoughts for the night, she stood up to turn off the TV and stalked off towards her bedroom, leaving the untouched bowl of cold popcorn on the table…

December 26^th, 1985

Christmas had been, in a word, exhausting.

For starters, Susan’s faux cheerfulness had done little to brighten the day even with the nice dinner she’d served and the cacophonous sound of Christmas tunes blaring through the house all day. It had been annoying to listen to after the first hour and Max had spent most of the day in her room with headphones on.

Billy had kept jerking them off her ears just to be an annoying shit.

When it came to handing out gifts, things got uncomfortable when Susan made a big spectacle of taking pictures of Max opening her gifts, telling her to smile for the camera every single time. Even Neil had posed for family pictures which was extremely weird to see.

All the while, Billy had lounged on the floor beneath the tree next to Max, teasing her over every gift she got knowing she hated just about all of them. The clothes her mom bought her were not her style, nor were the new shoes they’d purchased for her. The only nice gift Max truly appreciated had been the new Kate Bush tape her mom had got her.

Of course, Billy mocked her for her music tastes. That didn’t stop him from laying with his head on her lap while she listened to it though.

The boys had called her on her radio to wish her a Merry Christmas, asking what she got and so on. It hadn’t felt as magical as it probably should have. But she listened to the boys go on and on about their own presents and how excited they were to have their next get-together after school, barely letting Max get a word in edgewise before she eventually just turned the radio off.

Ever since Christmas, she’d been in her room listening to her new tape, over and over again, waiting for dinner to be ready while Billy bitched about having to listen to Kate Bush continuously and nothing else!

It was during dinner that Neil dropped the bombshell…

Max sat in her spot at the table munching half-heartedly on her mashed potatoes, listening to her mom and Neil, uninterested in talking herself. That was how most meals went anymore. She just didn’t care to talk and always tried to finish her food quickly, though her appetite was lacking.

“Maxine,” Neil spoke directly at her, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “Your mother and I have something we would like to tell you.”

Oh no…

Sitting up straight, Max set her fork down and waited tensely, knowing this was not going to be a good conversation. The last time she’d heard those words she’d been carted off to a therapist and prescribed mind-numbing drugs.

“Sweetheart, I know you’ve had a tough time recently,” Susan began, sharing a look with Neil. “We know it’s not your fault and that we’re doing what’s best for you, but things haven’t been easy for any of us. So, we’ve been discussing options.”

Max kept her mouth shut even though she wanted to scream at her mom that all of this bullshit was because of them, not her. If they had just listened to her then maybe the whole town wouldn’t think they were all freaks.

“You see, sweetheart, Neil has been offered a promotion to transfer to a different city. We talked it over and agreed that it would be best for all of us if we moved. Doesn’t that sound nice?” Susan asked sickly sweetly, smiling at her husband instead of watching her daughter’s face drop.

‘Move away?’ Max thought fearfully. ‘No…no they couldn’t!’

“A new city and a new start? We can be happy again, Maxine,” Susan urged.

“No!” Max cried, scooting back away from the table.

“Maxine, this is not up for discussion,” Neil scolded. “Your mother and I have already made the decision and we’ve spoken to the bank about our financial options. We’ll close by the end of January.”

“No! No, you can’t do this!” Max yelled, tears stinging her eyes as she shook her head frantically, searching for any sign of a shadow closing in. “Y-You can’t!”

“Honestly, Maxine, I don’t know why you’re reacting this way?” Susan admonished her. “This town has been nothing but a bane for us, don’t you see that? You’ll feel so much better once we leave here, sweetheart.”

“You don’t understand anything!” Max sobbed, tugging at her hair while tears of frustration streamed down her cheeks. “We can’t go because h-he’ll get angry a-and he’ll blame me! He said we can’t leave b-because he can’t leave, Mom!”

“Maxine--!” Susan exclaimed, rushing around the table to try and calm her frantic child.

“Don’t touch me!” Max screamed, trying to shove her mother away but only ended up on the floor with her arms pinned against her, crying into her mom’s sweater as Neil stood silently by.

The last thing Max saw before she succumbed to her tears was the sight of her brother standing over them, his dead eyes morphing into a hollow glare.

January 1^st, 1986

Ever since the Christmas disaster, followed by Billy’s harsh accusations that everything that had happened had been solely her fault, Max had given her brother the cold shoulder, refusing to even look at him, much less speak to him.

Billy had brushed it off the following day, merely poking and prodding at her to try and annoy her like he always did, but she had refused to even acknowledge him. His taunting words soon turned sour after two continuous days of Max’s silence.

If there was one thing he hated, it was being ignored.

Max’s refusal to speak to him seemed to only add gasoline to the ever-growing fire of Billy’s temper and that’s when things started to break around the house…

“You know what happens when you make me angry,” he warned. “I break things.”

The angrier Billy became, the more violent he became. His ire had led to a stack of dishes crashing to the kitchen floor, shattering against the linoleum. Max’s posters were ripped off the walls and shredded across the bedroom. Even the stupid porcelain figurines Susan kept on the mantle were smashed during one of his tantrums.

Max would ignore his violent outbursts and turn a blind eye, either pretending it didn’t happen or quietly taking the blame for things being broken, but she refused to speak to him.

…and that alone fueled his rage.

We've lost our chance

We're the first and last, ooh-ooh-ooh

After the blast

Chips of plutonium are twinkling in every lung

I love my beloved, ooh-ooh-ooh

All and everywhere

Only the fools blew it

You and me knew life itself is breathing

Out, in, out, in, out, in

“Turn that shit off,” Billy growled from the bed, glaring at the stereo sitting on the dresser.

Max was sitting on the floor dutifully packing some of her things in boxes while Billy was lazily sprawled across her bed complaining about anything and everything. He’d been on edge since Christmas.

“I’m serious, shitbird. If I have to listen to this fuckin’ tape again I’m gonna scream,” he grumbled.

  She refused to give him the satisfaction.

“Maxxx.”

Fuck off.

“You can’t ignore me forever.”

You want a bet?

Max refused to even look at him. Not only had he lashed out at her after Neil’s surprising news but he’d also blatantly blamed her for it, claiming her actions had been their undoing. She’d wanted to scream and rage at him right back and tell him that none of this would have happened if he had just left her the Hell alone outside of the house! His constant mischief did nothing but harm, and yet he made it his mission to annoy her every chance he could, whether at home or out in the real world.

And look where it had landed them.

Ever since her vow of silence, Billy’s mood had gone from mischievous to downright irritable. He was always moody about something and had no qualms about bitching to Max about whatever was bothering him, but since Christmas, she had unabashedly ignored his every move.

His cruel words had cut her deeper than she wanted to admit…

For a split second, she eyed the bottle of pills sitting on her dresser. They may make her dizzy and sleepy, but they also made it difficult to see Billy sometimes. If it would give her a little peace—

The pill bottle suddenly went flying across the room and crashed to the floor.

Max’s head whipped around and she gasped when Billy appeared directly beside her, glaring at her with those stormy blue eyes.

“Don’t even think about it, shitbird,” he growled. “I can already see what you’re thinking.”

The anger in his eyes made Max second guess herself, leaning back a hair to try and put some distance between them. It wasn’t often that he scared her anymore…but when he got like that, it was almost like he was truly alive again.

Cold hands suddenly curved around her pale cheeks and she jolted slightly at the sensation, fighting back tears as blue eyes gazed into her own.

“I’m sorry,” Billy whispered, his voice now as tender as his hands as if a switch had flipped. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean any a’ that shit before, okay? ‘S not your fault the old man’s a dick.”

Sweet words weren’t going to make her feel better, not this time, and Max fought to resist the gentle feeling of icy thumbs brushing away her tears. She hated that he could wrap her around his finger with just a few amiable words or a breathy touch.

The tape player suddenly screeched and rewound itself, Kate Bush’s voice lulling the first few notes of the album.

Billy brushed his thumb along the top of her cheek, “It’s your favorite…sing for me?”

Damn him.

Damn Neil and her mom.

Damn her for being too weak to deny him…

“ You…It's you and me,” she sang softly.

And if I only could

I'd make a deal with God

And I'd get Him to swap our places…

January 10^th, 1986

Without Neil around, Max had thought their final weeks in Hawkins would have been nicer, but she was wrong. With each passing day, Billy’s ire had grown and so had his volatile actions. If he wasn’t cursing out their parents or screaming at Susan, he was pacing the house in agitation, impeding their undertaking of packing up the house and delaying them every chance he could.

Today had been one of the worst.

Max had been tasked with packing up the living room with anything they didn’t need right away, such as pictures and her mom’s knickknacks. Her mom wanted to spend the day gathering up everything outside in the shed.

Billy had, of course, stuck with Max in the house but he had been the opposite of helpful. In fact, he’d been downright infuriating. Moving things before Max could grab them. Unpacking boxes and strewing whatever was inside them across the house. Breaking things left and right, usually by throwing them against the wall.

It was the last thing that caused a scene…

“Why are you listening to her?” Billy stormed through the room.

“Because I don’t have a choice!” Max argued, watching her brother pace back and forth, stomping over the pile of newspaper she was using to wrap things in.

He’d already managed to break three picture frames during his tantrum. Thankfully, Max was able to salvage them and wrap them up in paper, shoving them into the bottom of the box. She could easily blame their destruction on the bumpy moving van.

“You’re doing everything she tells you like you’re fucking Cinderella, Max!” Billy ranted, his eyes wild as he tried to jerk the blanket she was folding out of her hands.

Max threw up her hands and released the blanket, watching it go sailing across the room, “Do you think I want to do this?”

“Yeah well I don’t see you putting up much of a fight either,” he snapped.

“Dammit, Billy, I don’t want to leave Hawkins!” she cried. “I want to stay here, don’t you see that?”

“They’re gonna take you away from me,” he growled, continuing his frantic pacing.

“Billy,” she begged.

“You’re gonna leave me.”

“Billy, please--!”

Her pleas went unanswered as her mother’s antique lamp went flying across the room, smashing into the wall with a shattering crash.

“Maxine, what was that noise!” Susan yelled from the backyard, footsteps thumping up the back steps towards the door.

In a panic, Max tried to cover up the remains of her mom’s prized possession before she could see it, but luck was clearly not on her side as her mom flounced in from the back door, rushing into the room.

“What on Earth was tha—Maxine! What did you do!” Susan cried, looking between her daughter and her broken lamp.

“It wasn’t me!” Max rebuffed vehemently.

“What do you mean it wasn’t you?” Susan demanded, taking a few deep breaths to try and stay calm.

“Mom, I swear, it wasn’t me! It was Billy!”

It was the same argument each and every time, and just as every time before, her mother refused to believe her. Neither Susan nor Neil ever believed her when she attempted to talk to them about Billy’s destructive acts.

“Maxine, I’ve had enough of this nonsense, young lady!” Susan exclaimed, rubbing her eyes while her daughter stared up at her tearfully.

“It’s true though!” Max cried, her wide blue eyes pleading with her mom to believe her. “Why won’t you just listen to me!”

“I am your mother, Maxine, and you will listen to me!” Susan yelled. “I am sick and tired of your excuses and these ridiculous stories! I know that you’re upset that we’re leaving but that does not give you the right to break things.”

“But it wasn’t me! I told you it was Billy-!”

“Dammit, Maxine, enough!” Susan screamed, grabbing her daughter’s shoulders and shaking her. “Billy is dead for God’s sake! I am done listening to you try and blame him for your outbursts, do you understand me!”

Max went still at the ferocity shining in her mom’s eyes, unable to even defend herself against Susan’s harsh treatment, closing her wet eyes. Her mom had never lost her temper with her as much as she had in the last few months.

“Clean this up and take your pills,” Susan commanded, pointing to the broken glass before turning away and clutching her forehead. “I want you to go to your room and stay there…I can’t even bear to look at you right now.”

Max’s lower lip wobbled as she watched her mom storm towards the master bedroom and slam the door shut.

“This is all your fault…” she whispered into the empty room, unable to even lash out at the one responsible as he’d disappeared into his room.

Chapter Text

It was another week closer to Halloween and it seemed like all of Hawkins was getting into the spirit of the upcoming spooky season. Fall had only just arrived, yet everywhere you looked there were pumpkins, hay bales, corn stalks and a macabre of Halloween decorations throughout the whole town. Flyers had been put up to advertise all the events coming up, including multiple Halloween parties, trick or treating scavenger hunts for kids, costume contests and even a weekend festival. 

Halloween in Hawkins had certainly become a big spectacle over the last decade.

It was only Max’s third day working at Family Video, accompanied by Sandy, and they had spent the majority of that time setting up specials for their horror movie collections. With Halloween on the rise, people wanted to rent out spooktacular movies to get into the holiday spirit of All Hollows Eve.

Nothing says Happy Halloween like a good slasher film...

“I swear we get more business this time of year than any other,” Sandy sighed after ringing up the fourth customer to rent The Shining that day. “I prefer Christmas cheer to all this spooky business. Too scary for my tastes.”

Max smirked from where she was setting up a life-size cardboard cutout of Beetlejuice. She had always loved Halloween herself, remembering how much fun she used to have on the scariest night of the year. Her time in California had obviously been better than her Halloweens in Hawkins, but she still cherished the memories of her and the boys trick-or-treating together.

Loch Nora gave out the best candy bars.

“I’ve always liked Halloween,” she said. “I used to make my own costumes.”

“Now that takes talent,” Sandy grinned.

What Max didn’t say was how her Red Riding Hood costume was the last one she’d bothered to make…or that that Halloween was the last one she'd celebrated. After that Halloween, her heart just wasn’t in it anymore. Her haunting days were over and the idea of going out on her own to trick or treat just made her depressed.

Then again, a lot of things made her depressed...

"Are you gonna dress up this year?" Sandy asked. "The festival's costume contest is always a big hit every year."

"I don't know about that," Max replied quietly, smiling a bit sadly. "I haven't celebrated in years."

"Well, you ought to, honey!"

Smiling, Max just shrugged and pretended she'd give it some thought. She listened to Sandy go on about the Hawkins Halloween festival and all the fun things the town's committee planned each year. Something about mouth-watering caramel apples and games for kids. 

Honestly, her mind had begun to wander... 

Maybe she should celebrate a little bit this year. If anything, she could carve a pumpkin or two, set out candy for the kids trick or treating. The thought of dressing up as anything made her uncomfortable, but she didn't have to play dress up to celebrate, right? Her mom had refused to do anything for Halloween after they had left Hawkins, believing the haunted holiday had somehow affected Max's mental state, so the remainder of Max's childhood had been Halloween free. After she had left home at 18, celebrating Halloween hadn't been a big deal, really. She'd worked every single holiday anyway. 

Perhaps it was time for a change. 

"You know, I remember one year when my oldest was still a baby and we dressed him up as a pumpkin," Sandy continued on, giggling at the memory. "He was just a lil' thing, chubby cheeks and all, and I--"

The front doorbell suddenly sounded and in walked a handful of people, one of which was a young couple, probably around Max’s age, talking amongst themselves. They made a beeline for the horror movie shelves and rudely side-swiped Max’s shoulder as they passed.

‘Asshole’ she sneered silently, glaring at them while walking back to the counter.

“Parker Allens,” Sandy murmured as Max rounded the counter, nodding towards the couple that had bumped into her. “He’s trouble with a capital T. He’s a year younger than Stevie and Rob. Never made much of himself, not that his girlfriend did either, I’m afraid.”

One thing Max had learned very quickly after starting at Family Video was that Sandy knew almost everyone and their grandmother in Hawkins. She sometimes wondered how the older woman knew so much about everyone.

If there was a piece of gossip going around town, Sandy knew about it.

“Oh?” Max muttered, mildly interested. She didn’t recognize the guy, but to be fair she didn’t really remember that many people from school. He would have been in Billy's class if he was younger than Steve. 

“Oh, you bet,” Sandy continued. “He barely graduated high school and didn’t move out of his parents' home until he was twenty-three. Got a girl pregnant, poor thing. Don’t know what ever came of that mess, but I know the girl with him now, see her? That’s Tabby. Her real name is Tabitha, but she prefers Tabby, you know. Those two have been on and off together since school and I swear they are just as bad as that Tommy Hagan and Carol Perkins. Though, Lord forgive me for saying so, but Tabby is nowhere near as wild as Carol, if you get my meaning.”

Max held back her laughter as Sandy re-laid all her personal knowledge. If her memory served correct, Carol had hooked up with Billy once or twice, but Max had always preferred to stay far away from her brother’s extracurricular activities.

“Sounds like a swell crowd,” she snarked quietly.

“Oh no, dear, I’d stay clear of those hoodlums,” Sandy tisked, stacking a pile of returns onto her cart. "Nothing but trouble, honey."

Max turned her gaze to the group just as one of the guys slapped Tabby's ass with a smirk, jumping out of the way of her slap, causing the others to laugh. 

'Yeah, staying away from those assholes' would not be a problem' Max thought. 

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of movies crashing to the floor followed by a dark chuckle. Looking over at the horror sections, Max saw Parker and his friends snickering towards the counter, casually shrugging and muttering, “Oops.”

Rolling her eyes, Max shared a look with Sandy, “I got it.”

Typically, cleaning up after customers meant tidying up after rambunctious little ones getting away from their parents and knocking shit over, not cleaning up after dickhead adults that were too immature to do it themselves.

Better yet, she hated cleaning up after adults who did shit like that on purpose.

“Sorry ‘bout that,” Parker smirked as Max walked over to them.

Not bothering to respond to the faux apology, Max just started picking up the movies and rearranging them back onto the shelf correctly.

“Don’t I know you from somewhere?” Parker asked from beside her crouched form, his eyes running up and down her back like a damn creep. “You look familiar.”

“Old flame, maybe?” one of the other guys in the group snarked, laughing along with the others.

“Did you need help finding something?” Max drawled lazily, crossing her arms. “Date night rom-com? Something to set the mood? Pretty Woman? A Room With A View? How about Dirty Dancing? You look like a Jennifer Grey kinda' guy, or are you a closet Swayze boy?”

“Ohh, kitty got claws!” One of the guys cackled.

Parker wasn’t as amused, casting Max a lip snarl before stalking off to find his girlfriend. The others carried on with their antics and Max returned to the counter.

“Like I said; trouble,” Sandy murmured.

“No shit…” Max grumbled, catching Sandy’s subtle grin before she took her cart away to put movies away, leaving the redhead to run the register.

Trouble.

That was a word many people would associate with Billy, once upon a time.

In a way, watching and listening to the rowdy group prowl around the store, all Max could think was that they reminded her of the people that used to follow Billy around like panting dogs begging for scraps. Wherever the Hargrove's went, Billy’s attitude and charismatic charm never failed to bring a flock of ruffians to worship him.

It had been no different in Hawkins.

Within the first day after moving to Indiana, Billy had successfully taken over Steve’s role as King of the School. Whether it was due to Steve’s lack of care or Billy’s role as the cool, new California kid, she’d never know, but Billy had a group of lackeys and babes trailing after him like he’d been there for years.

Girls loved him, guys wanted to be him, and Billy would eat it up every single time.

People like Parker and Tommy were just extras to Billy. He didn’t care about anyone but himself when it came to his little entourages. He’d make heart eyes at the first chick he found attractive, take her out once or twice and do the deed, then drop her like a hot stone the next minute.

It was just how Billy was.

He acted like a badass because that’s exactly what he’d been. The whole macho bad boy attitude was just a show for his followers, a game, something to keep him entertained outside of their home life. The real Billy Hargrove had no need to play up his image in the eyes of others, not like these idiots who probably hadn’t even seen a true fight in their lives.  

It made Max smile behind her hair thinking that these guys were people Billy would rather throw hands with than listen to damn word they had to say.

“Hey, cashier chick!”

Speaking of idiots...

Parker strolled up to the counter, cutting in line and blocking off a mother and her son who’d come up first. He tossed a couple movies up onto the counter while his girlfriend set her own up, avoiding everyone’s gazes.

“Ring me up,” Parker ordered cheekily.

Leveling the dick with a dead-pan stare of her own, Max grabbed the movies and pulled them towards her. 

"Sure," she said. "Since you seem to be in such a hurry."

"What?"

Max blatantly moved her eyes to the obvious line he'd cut, raising an eyebrow at him. 

Parker just scoffed and waved a hand, "They can wait."

"Clearly," Max deadpanned. 

Tabby glanced up at Max for a moment before lowering her eyes again, seemingly pretending everything was fine. She had her arms crossed and stood behind her boyfriend, ignoring everyone else around them. If she was off-put by her boyfriend's behavior, she didn't show it.

“Jesus, I swear I know you,” Parker claimed, narrowing his eyes at Max. “That red hair…you go to Hawkins High? You look like someone we went to school with back in the day.”

“Sorry, don’t know you,” Max replied dryly, typing the movie titles into the computer.

“What’s your name?”

“...Max.”

“Tag says Maxine.”

“Then why’d you ask,” Max snapped, still maintaining an emotionless expression. 

Parker grinned, knowing he was starting to get under her skin.

"Maxine, Maxine," he drawled. "Didn't we know a Maxine?" 

"I don't know you," Max stressed, slowly getting fed up with the encounter. 

"Doesn't mean I don't know you," he smirked. "You go to school here? How old are you?"

"Old enough to know it's rude to ask a stranger her age," she glared. "How old does that make you?"

"Now, now, no need to get nasty," he leered. "We're just havin' a nice conversation, aren't we?"

"Is that what we're having?" she refuted. "Because from my end, it's just a nosey guy asking me uncomfortable questions. That scream 'nice' to you?"

"Don't have to be such a bitch about it," he scoffed.

"Parker Allens, I know you aren't harassing my staff," Sandy said suddenly, appearing from around the corner. "You should know better, young man."

"Harassing?" Parker scorned, waving his hand at Max. "I was just talkin', she's the one acting like a total--!"

"Don't you dare finish that sentence, Parker Allens, or I will personally throw you out of my store," Sandy ordered shrilly, shaking her finger at the disrespectful man. "You may be a grown man, but I still go to church with your mother, and I won't hesitate to tell her about the language coming out of your mouth! Now you finish paying for those movies and stop bothering my workers."

"Parker, come on," Tabby urged quietly. "Let's just go?"

Rolling his eyes, Parker leaned against the counter and took out his wallet, "Whatever."

The other guys that had come in with them finally stepped up to the counter, joking with one another and bothering the other customers. One of them bumped against Parker and tossed another movie onto the counter. 

"Get this one too, Parks," he grinned. 

"Fuck off, I'm not buyin' your shit," Parker scoffed. 

"I'll buy the beer, man! I'm--" he stopped, his eyes finally locking onto Max as he tilted his head slightly. "Wait a second...I do know you! Ain't you Billy's sister, or somethin'?"

...shit.

"Huh?" Parker cocked his head, looking from his friend to Max. 

"Man, you know, Hargrove? Bastard kicked it back in the fire, remember?" the guy continued. 

“Wait a second,” Parker grinned darkly and snapped his fingers. “You're that girl who went crazy? The Ghost Girl!”

“Parker!” Tabby admonished quietly.

“Yeah. Yeah, it is you,” he continued, looking at his girlfriend while nodding towards Max. “She said she could see ghosts and shit. It was right after the old mall burnt down. Weren’t you kicked outta’ school or admitted to the crazy house or somethin’?”

“Parker, knock it off,” Tabby snipped, slapping her boyfriend’s arm lightly. She briefly glanced at Max before lowering her eyes again. “Just buy the movies already.”

Yeah, Parker, buy the movies already.

The dick rolled his eyes and reached into his wallet for some cash, tossing it onto the counter. His leering eyes bored into Max as she rang up the purchase.

“So, what brings you back to Hawkins, ghost girl?” he taunted, leaning against the counter. "Still seein' Caspers?"

"Fuckin' rad, man," his friend snarked. 

Rather than waste her time arguing with spineless creeps who thought they knew shit about her, Max ripped their receipt out of the machine and slammed it onto their order, shoving it across the counter.

“You’re holding up my line, Parker,” she growled lowly, leaning across the counter. "Now get the fuck out of my store and take your fuckboys with you."

The asshole and his skanky girlfriend left pretty quickly with the others, but not before throwing Max a few heated glances though. She apologized to the mother and son for having to wait and witness what they had seen, ringing them up with a warm smile while complimenting the boy on his movie choices.

Hopefully, that would be the most action she’d see for the day…

Well, as it turned out, when the gossip was juicy it spread faster than an STD around a campus college party because by the time the day was over, everyone and their mother knew about Maxine Mayfield’s return to Hawkins.

Family Video had never seen so much action in a single day.

Countless customers arrived, all sneaking glances at the counter or casually asking questions to try and engage with Max. There were some who didn’t even come inside, they’d just drive by in their cars and slowly look through the front glass windows to spy on her.

Bunch of creeps…

Max was fed up with the townsfolk stalking her, acting like it was a perfectly normal thing to do! Poor Sandy had been forced to ask a few people to leave the store due to their invasive inquiring or loitering.

It was humiliating.

After the first few hours post Parker and his goons leaving the store, people began showing up with the obvious intent to see the staff rather than the movie selections. It started with just a handful of people, a parent or two bringing their kids in to browse, only to blatantly seek out the new red-headed staff member to chat. 

By chat, meaning subtly interrogate. 

Sandy had watched people she knew personally come in the store and borderline stalk Max through the store. It was weird and uncomfortable, resulting in Max having to hide in the office multiple times throughout the day just to get some peace and quiet. The two women had been bombarded with questions all day long. One woman, someone who Sandy claimed she went to church with, had come in and tried to warn Sandy about 'keeping company' with someone like Max, saying the Devil was in her. Of course, Sandy had been incredibly embarrassed and had to politely ask her friend to leave. 

It had been, in a word, a terrible day...

Sandy had been a trooper though, firmly putting her foot down whenever someone started hounding Max, refusing to let anyone badger her. 

Speaking of, the sweet natured store manager had just finished closing up the front doors when Max walked around the counter with her purse in hand, ready to call it a day and go home.

...and probably cry.

“I’m so sorry about today, sweetie,” Sandy apologized for what seemed like the hundredth time. She simply couldn't get over the amount of people that had come in asking questions about Max being that Maxine Mayfeild.

As it turned out, Max and her family had become quite the Hawkins legends…awesome…

“It’s okay,” Max shrugged, thumbing her purse strap nervously. “I should be the one apologizing to you though.”

“Oh, pish posh! You didn’t do anything wrong. It’s all those chin wagging churchbells that should be ashamed of themselves! Honest to Betsy, I thought better of this town! I'll be having words with Clara Downing this Sunday, you mark my words.”

The idea that one of the town’s most honorary gossipers was baffled by people being nosy was laughable, but Max held her tongue and just shook her head. Sandy was a sweet, church-going woman, not a vicious snoop like those who had tried to interrogate Max at work. She could only imagine how mortifying it had been for Sandy when her church friend had come in acting like a termagant old bitty, spouting religiose rubbish with a holier-than-thou attitude. The only thing that could have made it worse would have been if she'd held up a cross and yelled 'Be gone, Satan!' at Max. 

Yeah...definitely a weird day.

As Max went to unlock her car, Sandy stopped next to her and carefully laid her hand on the redhead’s arm.

“Are you sure you’re okay, honey?” she questioned gently. “It couldn’t have been easy for you today.”

“I’ll be alright,” Max assured her. “I’m sure something more interesting than me will hit the town gossip before long.”

God, she could only hope something more interesting would happen soon...

Sandy smiled and nodded, rummaging through her own purse for her car keys, “Okay, sweetie. I’ll see you tomorrow then. Night night!”

“Night, Sandy.”

Heading for home, Max tried to ignore the tears threatening to fall and the ache in her chest. It was nobody’s damn business, but every soul in Hawkins seemed to think the ghost girl’s return was the greatest thing since sliced bread. That stupid nickname had been stuck on her for years, following her around like an unwanted shadow. She never knew exactly who came up with it first, but it only took a couple of days after her "breakdown" for the derogatory name to become the go-to for addressing her both in school and out. She'd done her best to ignore it, glaring at anyone brave enough to call her ghost girl to her face, but it never stopped. No one else knew the horrors she’d faced at home after her secrets had come to light. No one knew the Hell she’d been through.

People just thought she was crazy back then and it appeared they thought no different now. 

She was still just the crazy girl.

The outcast.

The freak...

"...I shouldn't have come back," she murmured regretfully. 

Hawkins, Indiana

November, 1985

Laughing.

That was all she could hear. 

People laughing at her.

The halls of Hawkins school were always filled with murmuring and gossiping voices, but it seemed like most all of it was now directed at Max. News of her recent crack-up had spread like a wildfire through the town. Little shits who caught wind of her episode in the counselor's office had scattered the gossip, calling it a break down or a meltdown, saying Max had been carted off to the hospital and studied by shrinks. How people knew about the specifics of her episode was a mystery, but Max wouldn't have put it past a rumor simply gaining traction. 

Kids talked and they were cruel. 

The first day she was allowed back in school was the first day she'd heard it. 

"Check it out, it's the ghost girl."

"Ghost girl's back."

"Talk to any ghosts lately, ghost girl?"

Like she said, kids were cruel...

"Don't listen to them, MadMax," Lucas urged, wrapping his arm around Max's shoulders as they traversed the hallway with Mike and Dustin. 

"Yeah, those assholes don't know what they're sayin'," Dustin assured. "All they do is talk shit."

The boys had greeted her happily in the parking lot of the school, acting like nothing at all was amiss. None of them brought up what had happened. No one asked her questions. Nobody said anything.

...and for some reason, that felt worse. 

Max knew the boys were freaked and scared, but pretending nothing was wrong at all wasn't going to help. Didn't they get that? 

"So, what'd you guys do over the weekend?" Mike asked halfheartedly, shouldering his backpack. 

Lucas shrugged, "Watched a few movies. You?"

"Talked to El for hours on the phone, why'd you even ask?" Dustin snarked, rolling his eyes. 

"I did not!" Mike argued. 

"Oh really? Then what'd you do?"

Mike looked uncomfortable for a second before shoving Dustin's shoulder, "Shut up."

"Like I said," Dustin nodded. "It's all you ever do, dude. And then we have to hear about it."

"I talk to Will too!"

"For what? 5 minutes?" Dustin asked, miming talking on a phone. "'Oh, hey Will, nice to hear from you, how are things? Good? K, can you put El on? Thanks!'."

The two continued to bicker with each other as they walked down the hall, but Max couldn't focus on the growing argument. Her eyes were too busy darting around to see all the eyes focused on her. Kids she didn't even know were gazing at her with sly grins, whispering to one another, pointing and laughing...

What were they saying?

"Max?" Lucas murmured, looking down at her in concern. "You okay?"

God love him, but sometimes she really wanted to smack him and scream at him to stop being an idiot. Of course she wasn't okay! None of this was okay! What about any of this nightmare could remotely be considered okay!? 

"...I'm fine," she whispered, trudging on. 

"You sure?" he asked again. 

Instead of answering, Max ignored him and held her tongue, knowing she would snap at him if she didn't restrain herself. It was clear she wasn't okay, so why bother asking?

Couldn't he take a damn hint?

"You guys wanna do something tonight?" Dustin asked when they came to their lockers, setting his bag on the floor. "We could go to the arcade or get some pizza? Chill at Mike's?"

"Why are you volunteering my house?" Mike asked. 

"Because yours has the most privacy, moron."

"We could rent a movie?" Lucas suggested. 

"Fuck that, I'll just tell Steve to give us one," Dustin said. 

"Won't that get him trouble?"

"Why would it?"

"Check out the freak," a random girl whispered to her friend as they passed the Party, side-eyeing Max. 

Max stared at her locker blankly, clenching her teeth. 

"Cheese or pepperoni?" Lucas asked. 

"Dude, we didn't even agree on pizza yet!" Mike countered. 

"What the Hell else would we have?" Dustin gaped. 

'Calm down...' she thought, gripping the edge of her locker door. 'Just calm down.'

"Dude, we can't play D&D, it's cold as balls outside and the Mall is gone so what the Hell are we supposed to do with our free time?" Dustin continued on, ignoring Mike's quips. 

"Guys, calm down, we'll think of something," Lucas said, playing referee. 

More kids walked by, all of them chuckling under their breath while casting amused looks at Max. One boy even called out, "First a zombie boy and now a ghost girl? What's next for the freak pack?"

...and the boys did nothing. 

"Stop," Max finally pleaded, slamming her locker door shut. "Just...just stop." 

The boys looked at her silently, halting their heated discussion. 

"Stop what, Max?" Lucas asked.

"Stop acting like everything is fine!" she cried, slamming her fist against the lockers. "Stop pretending like I didn't just spend the last week being studied like a fucking rat in a cage! Stop acting like things are fucking normal because they aren't!"

"Max--" Dustin tried, but she barreled right over him. 

"Ignoring shit doesn't magically make it go away!" she stressed. "I feel like I'm losing my fucking mind and you guys are acting like nothing's wrong!"

"Max, we know you're having problems, but we...Max, we don't know how to help. We thought not saying anything would--I-I don't know, help, I guess?" Lucas pleaded, silently begging his girlfriend to understand. "Please, Max...just tell us how we can help."

"You want to help?" she scoffed. "How about listening to me and actually believing me?"

She already knew it was pointless to ask. 

She'd tried...

After she'd been 'diagnosed' at the hospital, Max had finally managed to get in touch with the Party and tell them what had happened. They had been concerned when she'd been taken out of school, calling the house and trying to raise her over the radio. Her explanation had been met with slight criticism from most of the Party. The worst part was that she'd been honest with them, completely honest, telling them everything about Billy...and none of them believed her. 

"Max, I...I know you believe what you're seeing is real, but--" Dustin murmured, his tone apologetic. "But ghosts? It's just..."

"Just what?" she demanded. "Crazy? Like how the idea of a parallel world is crazy? That kind of crazy?"

"Okay, I get that it's unfair, but the Upside Down actually exists, so..." Mike jumped in, shrugging. 

"So, a world full of monsters is fine but ghosts are too much?" she asked, crossing her arms. 

The boys shared an uneasy look with each other. 

"Look, it's not that we don't want to believe you," Dustin said. "It's just that it's hard to do when there's no evidence, you know? We're scientists, Max--"

"Oh, fucking quit with the science shit, Dustin!" she snapped. 

"Max--" Lucas tried, stepping closer to her. 

"No, no you know what," Max began, grabbing her things with a huff. "I'm sick of hearing everyone call me a goddamn liar. If you won't even give me the benefit of the doubt, then fuck you guys..."

Storming off towards the bathroom with tears in her eyes, Max left her friends behind to stand there in stunned silence. She shoved passed anyone in her way, shouldering her way through the growing crowd, keeping her books pressed tightly to her chest. She ignored the whispers around her and quickly made it to the bathroom, rushing inside. 

Within the safety of the locked bathroom, away from cruel prying eyes, she let her tears fall...

Chapter Text

"You know, I've been meaning to ask you if you'd like to come to a little get-together we're having this weekend, sweetie," Sandy piped up over lunch. "We always have a big bar-b-q with our church family and friends around the neighborhood every year and I've been jabberin' my husband's ear off about you. I know he's been dying to put a face to you." 

A bar-b-q get-together?

With people?

With churchy people?

Perish the thought...

Max held back a shiver and took a bite of her salad, chewing thoughtfully. She had never been much of a people person, let alone a social person, so the idea of hanging around a strange house with people she didn't know was deeply unappealing. She knew ever since news of her return to Hawkins had spread, Sandy had made it her personal mission to include Max in anything she could. Max knew it was because Sandy felt bad for her, even if she refused to phrase it that way, and a part of Max was appreciative but a larger part of her really didn't want Sandy's commiseration. 

"I'm not really one for crowds," she offered lamely. 

"Oh, come now, honey. It's fun! You'll have a great time and I'll finally get to introduce you to everyone!" Sandy gushed, smiling brightly. "Everybody brings a little somethin' to share so there'll be plenty of food."

"I still don't think it's a good idea," Max stressed. 

"Pish-posh!" Sandy said with a wave of her hand. "It'll be good for you to get out and about, hon."

Fighting back the urge to roll her eyes, Max just faked a smile and nodded, taking an angry bite. It wasn't that she didn't like people like Sandy, the woman was lovely and one of the sweetest people she'd ever met, it was just that people who were that up-beat and sanguine often needled her. The type of people who simply wouldn't take no for an answer.

In this case, Max's opposition to gatherings wasn't a good enough excuse to refuse the unwanted invitation...

Ever since she'd started working at Family Video, Max had become friends with her boss and even shared a handful of private memories with the older woman. Sandy was kind and bubbly, always interested in talking about anything, and Max couldn't help but enjoy the woman's company. She'd only been back in Hawkins a little over a month and a half and yet it felt like longer. Having a woman like Sandy as a friend was both comforting and yet...exhausting.

"Oh, please say you'll come, Max?" Sandy pleaded, clasping her hands together. "It would mean so much to me, honey."

Oh for God's sake.

"Can I bring anything?" Max sighed.

Present Day

October 10th, 1995

It was Saturday, the day Max had been anxious about for days...the day of the dreaded Fall bar-b-q. 

After eventually agreeing, reluctantly, to attend the get-together at Sandy's house, Max had kept her composure and politely asked if she should bring anything. Apparently, it was customary to bring a dish or a dessert to this yearly party. When asked, Sandy had simply told her to bring whatever.

Like that was helpful...

Cut to Max trying to bake a pumpkin pie for the first time while simultaneously making a batch of homemade whipped cream. Thankfully the can of pumpkin puree she'd bought had the recipe for a pie on the side of it, but that didn't mean shit when she'd never baked a pie in her life. Susan had never been a great cook and baking was an art form, so Max had never learned how during her childhood, and baking desserts hadn't exactly been a thing for her until now. There had never been a need. For one, she'd never had a home to do so until now and in the past, if she wanted something sweet she'd just go buy a package of cookies. 

Honestly, she was still getting used to the whole cooking thing. 

"Shit, I still need to pick an outfit!" she scolded herself, checking the time. It was still early, but she wanted to plan accordingly. She didn't want to be early, in fact, she wanted to get there kind of late so she wouldn't have to stay long, but she also didn't want to arrive too late and make it seem like she hadn't wanted to come...regardless of whether she wanted to come or not. 

This 'social niceties' thing was hard...

Sighing, she checked on the pie after she finished up the whipped cream. It hadn't turned out half bad in her opinion, tasting a smidgen. Maybe she wasn't so bad at the baking thing. The pie still needed to cool so she took the extra time to go get something out to wear. She'd already showered and done her hair, styling it in thick waves, while applying a touch of make-up. Throughout her life, she'd been told she was a natural beauty and if she was being honest, she'd never been one for makeup, but she figured some mascara to thicken her lashes couldn't hurt.

It was a party, she was supposed to look nice, right?

"Okay... let's see..." she murmured, digging through the closet. She had a handful of nice clothes she'd bought after moving, just in case, but she'd rarely bothered to dress up for anything. 

Grabbing a couple of sweaters, she tossed them onto the bed and grabbed a pair of new jeans and a cream-colored shawl she favored. Picking through her sweaters, she decided to go with a dark burgundy sweater, her dark jeans, her cream shawl, and a pair of ankle boots. Tucking Billy's necklace beneath her collar, she smoothed everything out and checked herself in the mirror. 

"Not bad," she shrugged. 

Grabbing her pie and her bag, Max took a deep breath and puffed out her cheeks. Why had she agreed to this again? 

"Wish me luck," she muttered, snatching her keys from the table and headed for the door. The day had only begun and she was already ready for it to be over...

This was Hell.

This was literally Hell.

If there was a definition of Hell...this was it. 

The party was, in a word, suburbian.

There were children running around the spacious yard, families jibber-jabbering with one another and laughing with each other, older church ladies dressed in their Sunday best sitting in a little circle in the kitchen, drinking tea or whatnot, men standing around with drinks in hand boisterously chatting, all while music played from the living room stereo where a buffet style table was set up with matching dishes, all Fall themed with a gaudy glittery tablecloth... absolutely Hellish...

'Dear God, what have I gotten myself into?' Max thought, taking a sip of her cider, homemade of course. The second she'd arrived at Sandy's home, said woman had handed her a cup of cider and gushed over her pie. 

"How lovely! You didn't need to do that, honey, but my word it looks delicious! Come in, come in, hon, meet everybody! Here, try this cider, honey, it's absolutely mouth-watering. Cindy made it just this morning with fresh apples from the farmer's market, have you been yet? Oh, you have to go! Cindy makes the best cider, I swear, we always run out before the day ends," Sandy prattled on, steering Max towards the kitchen. She'd happily pointed out everyone they passed, not that Max could keep up, and made sure everyone knew about the pumpkin pie!

"This is Margarett, Katherine, Tanya, Bonnie, Carolyn, and Stacy," Sandy pointed out before urging Max closer. "This is Max, who I've told y'all so much about! And she was sweet enough to bring us pumpkin pie!"

"Nice to meet you all," Max offered politely, taking a seat when motioned. 

"So you're Sandy's new employee?" Bonnie started. "How do you like working at the video store?"

"It's fine," Max offered, taking a sip of the so-so cider. She wasn't entirely sure what was so great about it. 

"Is Max short for something or--?" One woman, B-something, asked lightly. 

"Uhh," Max hesitated, gripping her cup harder. "It's short for Maxine, actually."

"Oh, how nice!" 

"Why on Earth would you shorten such a pretty name?" Tanya asked, laughing under her breath. "To a boy's name, no less?"

"I just prefer Max," Max emphasized. 

Tanya hummed, "My husband and I thought about naming our oldest Maximus. I'm glad we changed our minds though."

"Why?" Katy - no, Katherine - asked. 

"Well, I just think the nickname Max is too common," Tanya shrugged, offering Max a small smile. "No offense, dear."

"None taken," Max smirked darkly, wondering how long she'd have to suffer through this party before she could escape. "So, what do you all do?"

"Oh, well, I'm the nurse at Hawkins High School," Tanya said proudly. "Bonnie owns the bakery downtown, best pies in the county."

"Oh, hush!" Bonnie giggled. 

"Carolyn is a secretary at the family dentistry," Tanya continued, pointing to each woman. "Margarett and Katherine are stay-at-home mommies and Stacy works down at the Court House."

"How exciting," Max faux smiled. 

"You know, now that I think about it, you do look familiar?" Stacy popped up, cocking her head. "Were you down at the Court House recently? Sorry, small building and all that." 

"I ummm...y-yeah, I was," Max said, tapping her foot uncomfortably. "I went to pick up some records on the house I bought, that's all."

"Oh?" Sandy asked, taking a seat next to Max. "You hadn't told me that?"

"Records for what?" Tanya pried. 

"Anything that had to do with the house," Max shrugged.

"Where did you move from, Max?" Carolyn asked courteously, taking a sip of what Max could only assume was coffee.

God, why couldn't Sandy have offered her coffee instead?

"Uh, Chicago," Max answered. 

"The windy city?" Bonnie exclaimed. "We went there on vacation last year, it was lovely!"

"I suppose it's nice, from an outside perspective," Max offered lamely. 

To be honest, she'd hated Chicago. The cityscape was pretty, but it got old. Moving from Hawkins to a city like Chicago overnight and trying to adjust to a lifestyle she wasn't accustomed to had been difficult. Besides the fact that she hadn't been in the best headspace at the time, Max had also had to deal with re-learning how to live in a crazy city. Chicago had been very different from California in many ways. They hadn't lived in the greatest neighborhood either, partially due to financial issues, so learning to live in an apartment building had been an experience as well. The sounds of gunfire and screaming from the streets had become normal after awhile, as had the odd weather Chicago saw throughout the year. After Max had left home, she'd suffered through a fair share of winters sleeping in a car. 

Not the best way to spend your nights in a city like Chicago...

"And where did you move into?" Carolyn continued asking. 

"Cherry Lane," Max murmured, taking another sip of cider. 

"I thought the only house on Cherry available was the abandoned one?" Stacy asked. 

"The cursed house?" Katherine gaped. 

"Can we please not call it that?" Sandy interjected. "We shouldn't call other folks troubles cursed. It's not right."

"Well, what would you call it?" Tanya asked. "After that first family, the house went to Hell in a handbasket!"

"Please don't use that kind of language, the kids," Sandy pleaded. 

"Heck in a handbasket then!"

"Would anyone like a cookie?" Bonnie asked, holding up a plate of goodies. 

"Do they have sugar?" Katherine asked. 

"Of course they have sugar, they're cookies," Margarett stressed.

"Then none for me, I'm on a diet again."

"Again?"

"Paul told me I looked fuller last week," Katherine shrugged. 

"You just had a baby, of course you're fuller!"

"Have a cookie, you'll feel better," Bonnie offered. 

"Can we get back on topic?" Tanya asked, snagging a cookie. 

"Why not change the subject?" Sandy pressed. 

"Why?"

"Because we are in mixed company and there are probably people at this table who don't wish to talk about certain subjects."

"Oh, pfft! She deserves to know what happened in that house, everyone in Hawkins knows, so shouldn't she?" Tanya argued, gesturing to Max. 

"Tanya--"

"I do know," Max interrupted, setting her cup down. "I was there..."

Her confession silenced the table and suddenly all eyes were on her. 

Growing tired of the charade, Max crossed her legs and leaned back in her chair, balancing her cup on her knee. This whole 'pretending to be normal' thing was tiresome and really, why bother? People were bound to find out sooner or later, so why not just get it out in the open? 

"My family lived in that house back in 1985, if that's what you're referring to," she said calmly, eyeing Tanya specifically. 

Most of the women looked taken aback by her confession, some eyeing their drinks with sudden interest, but the ring leader of the circus wasn't as put off by the others.

Tanya pursed her lips and hummed under her breath, "So it's true then."

"I'm assuming you mean the gossip going around about me?" Max asked coyly. "You betcha."

"And are you still...?" Tanya trailed off, raising her eyebrow. 

"Tanya Richardson!" Sandy scolded with a huff. 

"I'm merely asking a question," Tanya stated. 

"An incredibly insensitive question that is none of your business!"

"It's fine, Sandy," Max said, locking eyes with Tanya. She was familiar with people like Tanya Richardson. The desperate housewives itching for the juiciest gossip to fill their time with because their lives were too boring. The type of people who didn't see any problem prying into other people's personal lives if it meant they got something good out of it. 

Typical churchbell. 

And Max knew exactly how to deal with people like that.

"By all means," she gestured pleasantly. "Ask away."

"Well, for starters, there were quite a few rumors going around about your family all those years ago," Tanya began, a bit smugly. "Care to enlighten us?"

"As I said...ask away."

"Tanya, please--" Sandy beseeched.

"No, no. She agreed, so no harm done, right?" Tanya countered, turning her full attention back to Max. "So, Max, is it true?"

"You'll have to be more specific," Max drawled, taking a drink. 

"All of it."

"You'll have to forgive me for not following, as I was a bit preoccupied during my last few months in Hawkins all those years ago and have more important things to do than care about what the scandalmongers are saying about me or my family...so once again," she said slowly, as though speaking to a child. "You will have to be more specific."

Tanya's smug grin slowly began to slide away and she tutted, "Fine. There were rumors that your father--"

"My father lives in California."

"What?"

"Once again, I'm assuming you're referring to Neil Hargrove, right? He's not my father. He was my stepfather. My father's name is Sam, and he lives in California," Max corrected, enjoying the subtle annoyance crossing Tanya's face. 

"Stepfather, then," Tanya emphasized, albeit sarcastically. "What was he like?"

"What have you heard?" Max countered. 

"That he was a drunkard," Tanya claimed smugly, as though she had won. 

"Well it's about time the truth got out," Max agreed with a nod, enjoying the way the smile slid off Tanya's face. "Though you forgot to mention abusive as well, both verbally and physically. Make sure you get that too."

"I--really?" Tanya gaped. 

"Oh yeah," Max nodded. "It was part of why I left home on my 18th birthday. Due to my situation, I wasn't able to be emancipated sooner, unfortunately."

"What about your mom?" Katherine asked. 

"My mother was wrapped so far around Neil's finger she may as well have been a ring," Max shrugged. "Of course, this is the same woman who secretly drugged my food and drink every day over the course of four years, so...not really the most trustworthy or grounded person."

"I'm sorry, she drugged you?" Margarett stammered, looking quite horrified. 

"Yes, with antipsychotic medications that were not FDA-approved to be given to anyone under the age of 18, but that didn't seem to matter to her. Apparently, dosing me up each day was the easiest option for her and Neil. To be honest, I have very few memories from age 14 to 18, if hardly any at all. Even now, I have bouts of short-term memory loss due to the excessive amount of medication I was being given by my mother."

"Oh, sweetie," Sandy murmured, laying her hand on Max's leg. 

"Have a cookie, hon," Bonnie offered, passing Max the tray. 

"It's alright," Max said while snagging a cookie, and turning back to Tanya. "Now, what else was it you wanted to know?"

"I suppose you answered one already," Tanya stated, her tone leaning more toward neutral and less smug. "It's true you had a psychotic break or something like that?"

"Tanya, that's pushing it," Carolyn rebuffed. 

"If you mean me being punished for mourning the death of my older brother in my own way, then sure. At least, that's what the doctors called it at the time," Max shrugged lightly. 

"I heard you lashed out at the school counselor?" Tanya pressed. 

"I did," Max agreed. "To make myself feel better, I used to pretend I could still talk to my brother. Another student saw me do just that and that's how I found myself trying to explain my actions to an adult who obviously believed he knew better. Then again, what fourteen-year-old likes being told they're wrong?"

"And your parents just took you straight to a therapist? That seems excessive?" Katherine murmured. 

"Oh, they skipped therapy at first and went straight to hospitalization. During that time, a rumor got started that I had apparently claimed to be able to see ghosts? I never found out how that came about. But as I'm sure you know, gossip can spread like a wildfire if someone keeps fanning the flames, right, Tanya?" Max quipped, smiling at said woman. 

"A little girl pretending to talk to a dead person is pretty odd, don't you think?" Tanya clapped back condescendingly. 

"Right," Max stressed. "Because a grieving child trying to pretend her brother isn't dead to deal with the loss is ludicrous. Got it."

"That's not what I meant."

"Then what exactly did you mean?" Sandy finally snapped, butting in while throwing Tanya a mild glare. "Because it sounds like you're lashing out."

"I am not lashing out," Tanya denied. 

"It does kind of sound like you are," Bonnie said. "Cookie?"

"Would anyone like more to drink?" Carolyn asked, standing up. "I'll put the kettle back on."

"Is there coffee?" Max asked. 

"I'll brew you some, dear."

"I am not lashing out!" Tanya cried.

"Well, you are coming across as snippy," Bonnie pointed out. 

"Bon's right," Margarett agreed, biting into a cookie. "Are these cranberry?"

"Cranberry and lemon."

"How am I being snippy?" Tanya demanded. 

"See that? That tone says snippy," Bonnie said. 

"Maybe you need to eat?" Katherine offered.

"We have plenty of cookies!"

"Maybe something besides sugar."

"How is my tone being snippy? Do I sound snippy?" Tanya asked, turning to Stacy.

"Little bit?" Stacy murmured. 

"I'll grab some appetizers," Sandy offered, heading towards the buffet table. 

"Bring the pie!" Bonnie called after her. 

"How about some tea? You love tea," Stacy asked.

"I don't want tea," Tanya refused. 

"Coffee?"

"Fine."

"Make it two coffees, Carolyn!" Stacy requested. 

"Back to what we were talking about," Tanya butted in. 

"Wait for everyone to get back so Max doesn't have to repeat herself."

"They didn't even want to talk about this?"

"You're the one who insisted on having an interrogation," Bonnie said. 

"Interrogation is a strong word." 

"Who wants spinach puffs!" Sandy asked happily, setting a large charcuterie board in the middle of the table and Max's pumpkin pie next to it. "We have options. There's Margarett's spinach puffs, which I'm still waiting on the recipe for. Sliced honey ham, roasted turkey, salami, and peppercorn. The cheeses are brei, blueberry and lemon goat cheese that Bonnie brought and is to die for, by the way, a smoked gouda and swiss. Katherine brought the fruits and I added fresh strawberries for you, dear. And of course, we have Bon's fresh baguette slices and Ms. Gracie brought a loaf of sourdough she made early this morning. Plates, plates, everyone have a plate?"

"Two coffees and fresh tea for everyone else," Carolyn said as she entered with a tray, handing Max a cup first. "Cream and sugar, dear?"

Once drinks and food had been handed out, Tanya was quick as a whip to get back to it.

"Alright, what about your brother?" she inquired, pointing a carrot at Max. "Surely everything going around about him couldn't be all lies?"

"Depends on what it was," Max shrugged, smearing jam on a slice of bread. "Because if it was about him being a womanizing brawler with a bad boy image and too much hairspray then it's spot on."

The other women at the table chuckled at that, but Tanya merely smirked and barreled on. 

"So it's true that he got into fights? I heard he did quite the number on Steve Harrington at one time."

"That's true," Max nodded, taking a bite. "We were new to Hawkins and like the 12-year-old brat I was, I decided to sneak out to see my new friends. We ended up with Steve and Billy found out, came to get me and Steve tried to cover for me by lying to Billy. My brother had a temper and he was very protective over me back then, so he lashed out. Was it wrong? Obviously. Did I know or understand that at the time? No. I was a kid who didn't know any better, and I never understood why Billy was so strict with me all the time. But I learned later on that it was because of Neil. If I messed up, Neil would take it out on Billy...guess that kind of upbringing doesn't really mold a boy into an upstanding citizen, does it?"

"I suppose not," Tanya agreed, spearing a grape with her fork. 

"This spinach puff filling is so creamy," Stacy moaned. 

"I added feta," Bonnie said around an apple slice. 

"What about Karen Wheeler?" Tanya asked. "Do you remember her?"

"I was friends with her son, so yeah," Max nodded, taking a sip of coffee. "What about her?"

"Wasn't his name Mark?" Katherine asked. 

"Mike."

"Mike!" she snapped her fingers. 

"Technically it was Michael," Stacy stated. "My God this spinach puff is creamy."

"Do you want the recipe?" Bonnie asked. 

"You still haven't given me the recipe!" Sandy cried. 

"Why were we talking about Karen?" Margarett asked.

"There was a rumor going around that Billy Hargrove had an affair with Karen Wheeler," Tanya stated. "Karen denied it, but then again, Billy wasn't exactly around to argue the point."

"So, let me see if I have this right," Max held up a finger while munching on a strawberry. "You want to know if Karen Wheeler, the mother of one of my childhood friends - who was 41 at the time, if I remember right - had any sexual encounters with my brother who was 18 years old? Hardly old enough to be an adult and suffering from years of emotional trauma and neglect, causing him to latch on to an older woman who had zero business flirting with a boy his age? A boy who was a year younger than her daughter?"

Once again, Tanya looked more uncomfortable than smug over Max's answers. 

"The answer is no, by the way," Max said. "Billy never slept with Karen. Did he want to? Sure. He was a hormonal teenage boy in his sexual prime. Did that give Karen the right to lead him on because she was bored of her marriage? Absolutely not."

"You don't think she tried that with anyone else, do you?" Katherine questioned, shuddering. "My oldest just hit seventeen and I can't even imagine someone my age propositioning him like that..."

"As far as I know, the Wheelers keep mostly to themselves," Sandy offered, shrugging a smidge. "They go to a different church than we do."

"Hmm, Catholic," Carolyn nodded sagely. 

"I'm not sure?"

"You know what, I do want this recipe because these are the creamiest spinach puffs ever," Stacy moaned happily.

After the very awkward encounter at the kitchen table with the girls, Sandy took Max around to introduce her to others at the party. A few people stared at her strangely, clearly having heard the rumors flying around about her, but offering mild greetings to her nonetheless. 

It wasn't until an hour or so had passed by that Max got a major surprise...one she definitely wasn't expecting...

"Max?"

...Oh God no.

Turning around slowly, the redhead was met with a startling sight. 

Her old flame stood just a few feet behind her with a beer in hand, looking just as surprised to see her as she was to see him. He was dressed in a simple sweater and jeans with brown loafers, a good foot taller than her now, with a goatee and glasses sitting perched on his nose. 

"Lucas," she gaped softly, her cup nearly slipping from her grasp. "You're here?"

What in God's name was he doing there? 

From what she knew, Lucas had left Hawkins years ago after graduating from High School, so what in the nine circles of Hell was he doing at Sandy's party? 

Jesus fuck...this really was Hell...

"I'm here?" Lucas laughed softly, stepping closer. "You're here. I didn't even realize you were back in Hawkins?"

"I...yeah," she murmured. "I moved back. Almost two months ago."

"That's--," he trailed off uncertainly, grasping for the right words. "That's really cool."

Max was officially fed up with the whole day. First off, she didn't even want to come to the stupid party, then she got harassed by the gossip train, then shown off like a prized pony for others to gawk at, and now she's stuck in the last social interaction she could ever want. 

Kill her now.

"I don't understand, what are you doing here?" she asked abruptly, knowing she sounded short but couldn't care less. This...this was not what she needed, nor wanted. The sooner she could escape the better. 

"Oh, I uhh, my dad's friends with the hosts," he explained, pointing over to where she could now see Mr. Sinclair talking adamantly with Sandy's husband. "We come to their party every year and I always drive down for the weekend."

Okay, great. Now that that was out of the way, time for an exit. 

"Ah," she nodded, glancing around. "Interesting."

"I live up in Minnesota now."

"Fascinating."

"I still can't believe you're back in Hawkins," he gushed. 

"Me too..." she sighed, wondering what deity she'd pissed off to deserve this. 

"Do the others know?"

"Others?"

"The guys? El? Do they know you're back?" he pressed in excitement.

Max blinked, "Why would they?"

Lucas seemed to catch on to her lack of cheer, taking a small step back while lowering his eyes a bit. He nervously licked his lips and offered her a small smile. 

"Sorry, I just--I'm rambling, I know. You probably haven't talked to them since..." he murmured, his tone solemn. 

"Since when?" she asked harshly, feeling her chest throb. "Since I left? Or since you all told me I was crazy?"

Lucas' smile dropped into a sad grimace, "...are we really doing this?"

"Doing what?" she demanded. 

"Bringing up the past."

Is that what they were doing?

Bringing up the past?

Hashing out old, conflicting memories? 

That wasn't the plan. No, the plan had been for Max to make a quick exit and leave with her dignity intact, but seeing Lucas standing there had suddenly brought up a rush of agonizing emotions she thought she had buried long ago...right along with a deep, long seated anguish she hadn't even realized she'd been carrying. All she wanted to do now was wail and scream out her frustrations, the same ones she thought she had let go of years ago. 

Apparently, she hadn't.

Time doesn't heal all wounds, it seemed.

"What exactly do you think we're doing, Lucas?" she asked roughly.

"Two old friends talking?" he ventured softly. "Can't we do that?"

"Friends?" she murmured, crossing her arms. "...is that what you call us?"

"Max--"

"Let's get one thing straight, Sinclair," she said quietly, but firmly. "We may be old acquaintances, but you and me...we're not friends."

If saying the words out loud hurt, it seemed hearing them hurt more. 

Lucas' eyes widened fractionally before lowering once again, refusing to meet Max's gaze. 

"Friends don't do what you did," Max pressed. 

"You needed help, Max," he pleaded quietly, silently begging her to understand him. 

"You're right," she whispered. "I needed help...but what I got wasn't help, Lucas..."

How dare he...

How dare he come up to her and act like he knew a damn thing about the pain and suffering she'd gone through. 

How dare he act like he gives a damn now.

"...I watched my brother die," she whispered brokenly, a single tear streaming down her cheek. "I was fourteen years old, and I watched the life fade from my brother's eyes. And when things got bad, I...I thought I could turn to you because I trusted you...a-and I never needed you more."

"Max," Lucas begged softly, hesitantly reaching towards her but she swiftly took a step back. 

"I lost years of my life, Lucas," she lamented. "...what could you possibly say to make that alright?"

Lowering his hand, he didn't try to follow her steps and regretfully took a step back, seemingly holding back tears of his own, "I know it seems pointless now after so many years, but I am...so sorry, Max. For everything that happened, I-I'm--Max, I'm sorry."

Sorry.

Now how many times had she longed to hear that? Not just from him, but from all of them? Her friends, her mom, fuck even Neil. She waited years to hear someone - anyone - say sorry.

...what good did it do her now?

Sorry would never give her back the years or the people she lost. It would never take away the pain, or the trauma, nor would it erase the years of torment she'd suffered at the hands of her so-called parents. Sorry wasn't going to change the past. It wasn't going to undo all the damage done by her so-called friends when they'd turned their backs on her.

Sorry wasn't going to fix it. 

And it sure as Hell would never give her her brother back...

"You're sorry?" she surmised with a gentle scoff. "You honestly believe sorry would ever be enough to undo the damage between us? After everything that happened, you thought sorry would be enough?"

"N-no," he objected quickly. "No, I never thought that. I just--"

"You destroyed any ounce of trust I ever had in you, Lucas," she seethed. "So you can take your apology and keep it. It's too late to apologize. And even if it wasn't...I'm certainly never going to forgive you."

Not bothering to wait for a response, Max swiftly backed away and turned on her heel, leaving her one-time friend behind for the second time in her life. She only hoped this would be the last time...

That evening, when Max finally arrived home and walked into the safety of her home, she let the anger and sorrow that had been brewing inside her out. She threw her bag onto the couch and grabbed a pillow, screaming into it like a wailing banshee. 

The audacity.

The fucking audacity.

Throwing the pillow to the floor, Max stormed across the room, throwing down pieces of clothing as she went. Up on the mantle, beside the picture of her and El, sat a smaller frame that held a picture of Max and a few close friends she'd made in Chicago where she'd worked. Their smiling faces eased the ache in her chest as she ran her finger across the glass. 

Swallowing, she grabbed the picture frame and turned it around, undoing the backing to pull it off. Inside, behind the picture of her friends, sat a lone Polaroid. 

The Party

June, 1985

They had taken it the day Dustin had left for summer camp, sitting on the couch in Mike's basement. From right to left, it was Lucas, her, El, Mike, Will, and Dustin, all smiling brightly at the camera. Karen had taken it for them, loving the opportunity to get some pictures of them. She'd taken one for each of them.

For years, Max had held onto hers like a lifeline...clinging to the memory of happier times with her friends. 

And for what?

"You're sorry?" she murmured, all the fury having left her, leaving her feeling more like an empty shell. "...you're sorry."

Taking the picture with her, she slowly walked into the bedroom and set it carefully on the dresser. There had been so many times she'd wanted to get rid of the damn picture, but the thought of losing one more thing from her past had always been too painful. It would feel too real if she gave it up. Having something, anything, besides memories was far too precious to give up.

Even if the very sight brought tears to her eyes.

"What good does sorry do?" she questioned weakly, collapsing onto the bed. "It won't fix anything..."

Sorry wouldn't give her back what she'd lost...

"It won't bring you back," she whispered, trying to envision blue eyes gazing at her instead of brown. Of all the things she regretted in her life, giving in to the pressure of those around her and losing her brother all over again was close to the very top. The only thing she regretted more was keeping everything a secret from Billy from the beginning. Maybe if she hadn't, the Mind Flayer wouldn't have gotten to him and maybe...maybe her brother would still be alive. 

But he was gone.

...and sorry wouldn't be enough to ever bring him back.

As Max fell into a troubled sleep, she failed to see a shadow moving around the room. Had she been awake, she would have noticed the picture on the dresser disappear into the top drawer, out of sight.  

Chapter Text

Hawkins, Indiana

February 2^nd, 1986

The dreaded day had arrived.

The house had closed, the van had arrived the day before and it was supposed to be the beginning of a new start, a new adventure. Susan had done nothing but gush about the possibilities of their new home, acting as though paint colors and pillow patterns were all they had to worry about. She’d spent the last week cutting out pages from home and garden magazines to plan out how she was going to decorate the new house, taking every monotone sound Max made as an agreement when asking for her opinion.

Paint was the last thing on Max’s mind.

She felt as though she hadn’t slept in days. Maybe she hadn’t. All she knew was that she had not had a moments peace throughout the night because Billy hadn’t let her.

He hadn’t left her side in days.

She was so tired…

“Maxine, time to get up!”

Her mother’s voice echoed from the bare kitchen, soon followed by a series of knocks on her bedroom door. Of course, her mom would be in a bubbly mood.

…they were leaving Hawkins today, after all.

Neil had come back roughly a week ago, or maybe it had been longer, Max wasn’t entirely sure. Upon his return, he told them that he had found them a new home and the keys were theirs. Max was almost certain her mom had mentioned something about an apartment, or something to that effect. 

It should have been good news, and it probably was for them, but not for Max.

It was the opposite of good news.

...and the reason was laying right behind her.

“Ignore her,” Billy rumbled, shooting a glare at the bedroom door. He’d been up all night muttering under his breath, so low that Max hadn’t been able to catch most of what he had been saying, and it wasn’t like he would tell her anyway. His mood had been extremely dark the last few days and he’d taken it out on her. If Max tried to get away from him, he simply followed her.

It wasn’t as though a locked door could stop him anyway…

“Maxine let’s go! Up, up, up!” Susan called out again.

Knowing it would be pointless to ignore her mom, Max simply swayed her body upright and stumbled out of bed, looking as much like a corpse as her brother. She didn't have to look in the mirror to know she looked terrible. 

Turning, she was surprised to find the room empty.

Where had he gone now?

“Maxine, come on, breakfast is ready!” Susan called out from the hallway.

“Coming,” Max replied lamely, pulling a fresh set of clothes on. She barely had the energy to walk, much less get a shower. With as little sleep as she’d gotten the last couple of days, she’d be lucky to be of much use heaving boxes out to the truck.

Maybe some food would help.

Keeping an eye out for any sign of Billy, Max walked to the kitchen table and grimaced at the full plate of eggs and toast waiting for as well as a large glass of orange juice. Her stomach rebelled at the idea of food, but she knew she needed to eat something. She'd skipped most of her meals the last few days due to stress and it was slowly catching up with her.

Then again, her appetite hadn't exactly been great the last couple of months...

She'd lost quite a bit of weight over December, her spine poking through her back dangerously as January slowly came to a close. Her doctor had mentioned it during her last appointment, sighting multiple causes, but failing to actually do anything about it. It was a multitude of things. The pills, her growing anxiety, the uncontrolled depression.

Ever since December had come to an end and she'd officially cut off contact with her friends, Max had spiraled into a sea of sorrow. She felt guilty, angry and sad...and yet there were days when she felt nothing at all. Her mom would just give her more pills and tell her to cheer up.

The whole charade was exhausting and complete bullshit. 

Billy hadn't helped anything either...

Ever since Neil had announced their move, Billy had become borderline manic. His bouts of anger grew wilder, and his emotions bounced around like a pogo stick. One second, he would be fine and the next, something would set him off like an irascible timebomb. There had been times when Max had been terrified of him. She'd leave him during those rare times and wait for him to cool off, which would normally only take a few hours, and then he would be right back at her side, sometimes he'd even apologize.

Those moments had slowly become an almost daily occurrence now. 

Another reason Billy had not been a great asset to Max's mental health was because of his continuous morbid suggestions regarding death...

On multiple occasions, Billy had casually brought up the idea that all their problems would be solved if Max simply - stopped living? She wouldn't have to leave, they would be free of their parents, no more pills, no more doctors, no more pain...wouldn't that be better? 

Didn't she want to stay with him?

Each time, Max had refused to even discuss that harrowing topic, shutting her brother down every time he mentioned it. The thought of dying was not a pleasant one. She didn't want to ruin her final days in Hawkins by contemplating death, thank you. 

However, her constant refusal had only aggravated him further. 

Suggestion soon became urging...

“Maxine, have you seen your pills?” Susan asked while searching the empty counter, breaking Max's train of thought. “I swore I set them beside the fridge? Did you move them?”

“No,” Max murmured around a bite of toast. The bread settled like lead in her stomach, turning against her. 

“Oh, buck up,” Susan said enthusiastically with a too bright smile. “It’s moving day! Aren’t you excited?”

“I’ll try to contain my joy…” Max droned, taking a sip of her juice. A second sip made her pause, looking at her glass suspiciously.

It tasted funny.

“Is the orange juice still good?” she asked, smelling the glass.

“It’s the same carton as yesterday, dear,” Susan claimed, washing the skillet she’d used. "Hurry up and finish it, we need to start getting ready."

Max eyed the glass and took another sip, crinkling her nose at the taste. There was no way she would be able to drink it with that weird aftertaste. It was almost chalky, like a metallic flavor or something equally odd. Running her tongue over her teeth to chase away the taste, she slid the glass away from her. 

However, it suddenly slid back a moment later.

Casting a look around, Max pushed the juice away from her again, but it was shoved back even harder, a few drops spilling out onto the table. When she twirled around to see if her mom had noticed, the glass hit her hand again.

From the other side of the kitchen, Max watched in horror as her brother appeared out of the shadows with an empty prescription bottle in hand, dropping it into the trashcan beside the fridge. His eyes narrowed at her and once again, Max felt the glass of juice nudge her hand. Glancing down at the juice, she suddenly felt her stomach drop. 

…Oh god.

Bile surged up her throat.

Leaping from her chair, she scrambled to reach the sink as undigested toast and eggs came up violently. Stomach acid burned her throat while she cried, her mother’s urgent voice beside her along with a hand cautiously rubbing her back.

“Honey, what’s wrong? Are you okay?” Susan asked, turning the sink on to wash everything down the drain. “What happened?”

Max wanted to scream.

Obviously,  she was not okay.

Her brother, who she thought loved her more than anyone, was trying to fucking force her into committing suicide!

“I-I’m fine!” Max stammered, shoving her body away from the sink and making a beeline for the bathroom. She needed to get the Hell out of the kitchen before she broke down. 

“Maxine!” Susan tried to follow her, but Max quickly shut and locked the door, barring her mom from entering.

“Just leave me alone!” she cried, sliding down to the floor. The severity of her situation suddenly crashed over her. She couldn’t trust Billy. If he could tamper with her food, then there was no way she could eat or drink anything inside the house anymore.

In that same moment, she felt him appear beside her.

He was either purposefully being mean to her by appearing as he did that night at Starcourt or he didn’t realize how he looked, either way, when Max turned to look at him her breath caught in her throat.

“You don’t have to be afraid, Max. I’ll be right here next to you,” Billy urged. “It won’t hurt. It’s just like going to sleep.”  

She felt dirty.

Just the idea that she could have suffered an overdose without knowing, it made her skin crawl uncomfortably. All she wanted to do was scrub herself clean and try to survive the rest of the day.

Billy followed her gaze to the bathtub and furrowed his brow, “Drowning hurts.”

…looks like she was taking a shower instead.

Getting to her feet, she quickly darted into the tub and pulled the shower curtain shut. Stripping off her clothes and tossing them out onto the floor, she turned on the water as hot as she could handle it, standing beneath the steaming stream for a few minutes of blessed silence. The sensation of fresh tears mixing with the water made her stomach clench again.

How could he do that to her?

How could he even try—

Max halted those thoughts quickly, knowing she would only break down and cry again if they continued. She loved her brother, without question, but for her own safety she knew she wouldn’t be able to trust him.

And that thought hurt more than she thought it would.

“We could go to the quarry,” Billy spoke suddenly from the vanity, sitting against the mirror with a lit cigarette in his hand. “Not as peaceful, but it’ll be quick. I’ll do it with you.”

“Stop,” she whispered.

“We have to do something, shitbird.”

“No, we don’t!”

Even though she could only see an outline through the shower curtain, Max knew her brother was glaring at her. She could practically feel the temperature of the room drop in response to his flaring emotions.

“Pick something,” he demanded.

“No!” she wailed.

A box of bottles and makeup from the vanity went sailing, crashing against the wall next to the door making Max jump, tensing under the shower spray as she watched his shadow start to pace the bathroom.

"You won't take the goddamn pills and you won't jump," he hissed. "If you don't think of something then we're fucked, Max!"

She wanted to argue that they didn't have to do anything, but she knew it would be pointless. When Billy set his mind to something then nothing would get him to change his mind. It was like talking to a brick wall. 

A violent, bull-headed, possessive, ghostly brick wall...

Sinking down to her knees, Max slowly leaned against the shower tile and just let the hot water flow over her, masking her quiet sobs. How the Hell had this become her life? Crying in the shower whilst talking to ghosts? 

A knock against the bathroom door make her jump, but she realized it was just her mom, hearing her voice call out through the door. 

"Maxine?" Susan called, knocking again. 

"Oh, fuck off, Susan!" Billy snapped.

"Are you okay, sweetheart?" Susan asked, trying the door.

Lips trembling, Max slowly reached up and turned the shower off, croaking out, "I-I'm fine, just...showering."

"Alright, well," Susan hesitated momentarily. "Hurry and finish, okay? We have a lot to do."

"Sure..."

A low scoff from outside the shower echoed through the room making Max bite her lip. There was no doubt in her mind that Billy would be absolutely detrimental to their efforts today.  

For the next hour, Max assisted her mom in taking boxes out so they could load them. Neil was busy organizing everything inside the moving van and ordering what should be brought out next. They had already loaded up all the furniture they were taking and the bedroom sets. One of the first things Max had done before anything else was to set the box of Billy's stuff in her seat inside the car, insuring it would not be left behind. 

During their arduous task, there had been no sign of Billy anywhere...which was both odd and alarming after the stunt he'd pulled that morning. It was nice to get some alone time, of sorts, but it was also very concerning because Max didn't know what her brother was up to if she couldn't see him. He had become unpredictable. 

The sound of glass shattering inside the house made her jump.

'Never mind...found him' she thought, racing inside after her mom who darted towards the door as soon as she heard the unexpected noise. 

"What in the world-?" Susan faltered, seeing the remains of a mirror shattered on the floor in the living room. It had been hanging on the wall above the fireplace. Now, it lay in a hundred pieces along the floor. 

"Now how in the world did that happen?" she questioned, shaking her head as she went to grab a broom. "I adored that mirror."

'And that's why it's broken' Max thought blandly, catching the sight of her brother leaning against the bedroom doorway, scowling at her mom's retreating back. 

For a moment, Max was afraid her brother would try and break more than just a simple mirror...

"What are you doing?" she whispered, taking a few steps closer to him while they were alone. 

"What?" he growled. 

"Billy--"

"Maxine, would you clean this up please?" Susan asked, walking back in with a broom and dustpan. "I need to finish helping Neil outside."

Max took the broom without a word, merely sweeping up bits and pieces of glass while her mom trotted off back outside, leaving them alone. The trashcan near the door helpfully slid towards her. 

Sighing, she glanced over to see Billy sitting in the doorway against the frame, his knees bent and his hands running through his messy hair. He looked like he was falling apart just as badly as she was.

"This is what you're gonna do?" he asked quietly, turning to narrow his eyes at her. "Listen to everything they tell you and just go along with their fucked up plan?"

"What do you want me to do?" she asked hopelessly, tossing the glass into the trash harder than necessary. 

Rather than answer her, Billy just growled and slammed the bedroom door shut, leaving her alone to clean up the mess he'd made.

The hours ticked by, and with each passing one, the tension inside the house grew. 

Max literally had to wrestle boxes out of the house or worse, re-pack them when they would be upended and emptied onto the floor. More than a handful of items were broken or damaged. Picture frames had been cracked, clothing ripped, dished chipped, all on purpose, of course, It was a never-ending tantrum Billy was throwing and unfortunately, Max was the only one who could see him doing it. 

Besides the broken mirror, everything else he had done to hinder their departure had been blamed on Max. 

What was worse, it seemed like the angrier Billy got, the more alive he became. He was so solid at one point; Max could have tricked herself into believing he was still alive. His hands were cold, holding no warmth, but they were solid each and every time he touched her or whatever she was holding. If the circumstances had been different, she might have thrown herself at him to hold on and never let go...but right then, all she could do was try and temper his rage. 

He'd tried to throw a fucking knife at Neil's head earlier but thankfully Max had stopped him, ripping the blade out of his grasp. She had immediately taken all the sharp objects out of the house and into the moving van. Billy had tried to fight her on that, claiming they should keep a blade hidden just in case they needed it later. 

She really hadn't wanted to know what he'd been insinuating. 

Through the day, each time Billy had come out, he would whisper ideas to her, trying to goad her into executing her own demise. Every suggestion was worse than the previous. Some were horrifying to even think about. One had been darting out into traffic while another had been to drink industrial cleaner. 

The thought alone made her shiver... 

It wasn't just Max Billy was harassing either.

Little "accidents" continued to happen to both Neil and Susan throughout the day, but neither of them bothered to think about it. More than one lightbulb shattered over Susan's head, giving her a fright each time. The front door suddenly closed on Neil's hand when he was carrying a box out, hard enough that Susan had tried to talk him into getting it checked out before they left. Then there was the moving van. Boxes mysteriously ended up outside on the street when they had clearly been put inside, confusing both of them.

Once more, they brushed it off and continued on packing.

All the while, Max could only stand by and wait for the imploding culmination that was bound to come soon...

Bursting awake, Max gripped her chest with a gasp, her heart racing beneath her fingertips. It had been so long since she’d dreamed of that day, knowing it was only surfacing now because of all the unwanted memories surging up after the nightmare of a day she'd had. Bringing up her past had been bad enough, but running into Lucas again like she had?

Being forced to interact with someone she swore she would never see again?

That alone had been enough to send her into an emotional spiral. 

She'd cried on the drive home, barely even holding it together long enough to tell Sandy she had been leaving before she had, trying to fight back the torrent of anger and grief that had surged up. Clearly, she wasn't as okay as she liked to pretend she was. There were still a lot of traumatic memories that she knew she needed to address and hadn't, choosing instead to push them down like she'd been forced to at fourteen. 

Unfortunately, feelings don't just go away...they fester. 

And then one day, they erupt like a volcano, and you're left to pick up the pieces. 

That had happened before, many times, especially when it came to her feelings about her mother. They had had many arguments over the years but letting all those emotions out and confronting her mom over her behavior had helped.

Did that mean she forgave Susan? Absolutely not. But it did ease the ache in her own heart to let some of that anger go.

...she hadn't been able to do that with any of the Party.

And clearly, that anger was still there.

Wiping her eyes, Max slowly took a few deep breaths and blinked back a few tears threatening to fall.

'Fucking Hawkins and its gossip train…' she thought, hoping she could avoid any more drama from Tanya and her mom club. All that conversation had done was bring back unwanted memories. 

She didn’t want to remember.

Her memories brought nothing but heartache...

Glancing at the clock next to the bed, she quietly cursed. It was too damn early to get up, but there was no way she was going back to sleep either, one horrible dream was enough for her for the night. Her best option would be to make a pot of coffee and watch crappy TV until morning.

Anything was better than reliving old memories…

Reaching for the lamp, her fingers had barely brushed the chain when the bulb suddenly exploded!

“What the--?” she gasped, flinching back. Her eyes moved around the room in suspense, like some monster was about to jump out of the shadows and scare her. It took a few incredibly tense minutes for her to gather up enough courage to try and get out of bed, swinging her legs slowly over the side to try and locate her slippers. As she stood up, her mission to escape the bedroom was halted when her eyes suddenly caught movement from the open closet.

The closet door was open and the black, inky void of darkness within seemed to hypnotize her.

There was no way she could have possibly seen anything.

There was nothing there.

‘It’s all in your head,’ she thought, sliding her foot around to try and find her slippers in the darkness.

A ‘thud’ from inside the closet made her think otherwise…

Jumping at the sudden sound, Max’s eyes locked onto the closet door as it slowly began to move. The hinges creaking quietly within the darkness, the door opening wider and wider by an unseen force.

“No…n-no, no—” Max stammered, falling back against the floor.

She had to be dreaming, right?

This had to be a horrible dream.

It couldn’t be real.

“This can’t be happening,” she whispered fearfully, scrambling back until her spine hit the wall. “This—it can’t be real…”

In an effort to save her own sanity, she shut her eyes and curled her legs in front of her body, desperately trying to ignore the sounds coming from her closet. The thought of something crawling out of the closet sounded like something out of a bad horror movie!

This had to be a dream.

It had to be a dream.

It must be a fucking dream!

“Wake up. Wake up. Wake up!” she pleaded quietly to herself, her breath hitching as tears filled her eyes. “Please wake up!”

Her pleas were answered only by the sound of something dragging its way across the bedroom floor towards her. She could hear light thumping noises that almost sounded like hands hitting the wood floor, but she was far too terrified to look.

If she was going to die, she didn’t want to see it coming.

Biting back the sobs attempting to crawl from her throat, she clenched her jaw and softly hiccupped. Whatever had come out of the closet was now directly in front of her, its presence pressing against her legs like a phantom weight.  

Breath danced across her nose and cheeks and Max suddenly heard a voice she knew as well as her own.

“I told you there were monsters in the closet.”

…it wasn’t possible.

Slowly, afraid of what she might find, Max carefully opened her eyes and any breath she had left her lungs…

A familiar, wicked grin met her own frightened gaze, cool fingers reaching up to gently run down her cheek. Those dead, blue eyes stared at her, still the same as she remembered them. Black, stained clothing with bloody holes where he’d been stabbed repeatedly. His long hair a tangled mess of dark, blond curls. Skin an ashen gray rather than its natural sunny tan, scarred beyond recognition.

Billy…

He tilted her head up to meet his eyes head-on, forcing her to face the subject of her traumatized youth and the bane of her continuous nightmares. Those same blue eyes that haunted her dreams and her memories now only seemed to taunt her with their coldness. The pressure of his fingers were just as real as the breath fanning across her face.

“Maxxx?”

It was real.

He was real…

As though reading her mind, Billy sly grin turned and his eyes lowered in a faux look of concern, tilting his head to the side. 

“…you look as though you’ve seen a ghost.”

Chapter Text

Max could only stare and gape at the ghostly mirage before her, taking in every detail. Nothing about him had changed, he was still exactly the same as she remembered, from his cool blue eyes to his dirty, blond hair. 

This was, without a doubt, Billy Hargrove.

He was real...

“You—you’re r-real?” she stammered weakly, reaching up to carefully touch his cold, clammy skin. “You’re really h-here?”

Billy tilted his head and glowered at her astonishment, leaning into her touch. She could feel him, actually feel him beneath her fingers. How was this even possible? Was she hallucinating or something? It couldn't have been a dream because the pain she felt in her chest was definitely no dream. 

She was awake.

...and her brother was sitting right in front of her.

"I don't believe this," Max whispered.

"Believe it," he smirked, his lips pulling into a dark grin. 

"But it--it can't be--"

“What’d they do to you, huh? Try and tell you I wasn’t really here? Pump you full a’ drugs and tell you it was all just a bad dream?” he asked roughly, brushing his fingers through her hair. “Or did they stick you in some Looney bin to try and ‘cure’ ya’. Tell ya’ it was all in your head?”

Max could have laughed ironically at the cruel insinuations, mostly because they were so spot on it wasn’t even funny. She’d never been thrust into an asylum or anything, but the threat had come up multiple times.

Therapists claiming it could help her.

Susan wondering if she’d receive proper care in one.

Neil threatening to ship her off to one just to be rid of her.

Maybe her life would have been easier if they had…

“Hey, shitbird, don’t go gettin’ lost inside your head,” Billy chided, tugging on her hair. “I finally get you back and you start spacin’ out on me? That’s just not nice.”

Back?

That’s right…she came back.

She came back and he—oh god…

“You’ve been here this whole time,” Max realized, her raging emotions quickly morphing into anger. “You’ve been messing with me this whole time, haven’t you?”

“Bein’ stuck inside the veil doesn’t exactly give me a lot a’ options for entertainment. Not like I get MTV in here, shitbird,” Billy snarked, his haunting visage leaning in closer to her. “Bein’ a spook ain’t so dull once you get the hang of it.”

Of course, that would be his excuse. 

She'd been on edge for months because of all the weird shit that happened inside her home and all this time it had been her jackass brother playing games with her, entertaining himself via the price of her own sanity. 

His words suddenly registered in her head and Max was hit with a ghastly realization…

“It was you,” she surmised, blinking away the moisture in her eyes. “You attacked those people who moved here, didn’t you?”

“They didn’t belong here,” Billy sneered, his face falling into a look of disdain.

Oh god...

Faced with the unwavering certainty that Billy had been the cause of all the malignant occurrences plaguing the house, Max felt sickened by the revelation. Her brother had not only been haunting the house but he’d also physically harmed people. The crime photos attested to that without question.

The handprints around Winston Finn’s neck proved that…

“You almost killed someone,” she babbled quietly, trying to resist the urge to lean into her brother’s touch. This couldn’t be her brother. The Billy she knew could never be capable of killing anyone.

Right?

Her brother may have been spiteful and callous towards most, sometimes downright cruel, but even throughout all his odious deeds, he’d never crossed the line to murder.

How could the same hands that held her so gently be capable of such malice?

“What’d I say about gettin’ lost inside that head ‘a yours?” Billy scolded her once again, flicking her on the forehead.

“Lost inside—I’m sorry, but imagine being in my place?” Max gaped, shaking her head. “I just had—my whole world turned upside down, s-so forgive me if I’m having trouble wrapping my head around this whole you being real thing!”

“You know I’m real, Max,” he implored, cocking his head. “You’ve always known that.”

“I was on fucking drugs!” she argued fiercely.

“And what? You thought I was just a fucking imaginary friend or some shit?” he scoffed. "You knew I was here before they started pumpin' you full of pills, shitbird! Think! When have I ever not been here?"

Taking a stuttering breath, Max tried to calm down and focus. Her argument was weak, she knew that, but Billy's kind of was too. So what if she'd seen him before she'd snapped and been carted off to multiple therapists? It had been rammed into her head that he'd been nothing more than an illusion. In some ways, similar to an imaginary friend. 

And wouldn’t that have been a messed up imaginary friend?

The fact that he had been there the entire time, regardless of whether she believed it or not, the realization that he had been real all throughout the whole ordeal washed over her.

All of it, it had all been real...

“I was the only one who ever saw you,” she pressed, her breath hitching as cold dread settled in her gut.

“But you knew I was real,” he said. “What did it matter what anyone else thought?”

“Everything I went through…e-everything I—a-all that pain?” she whispered, betrayal seeping into her tone. “All of it was because of you. Do you have any idea what you put me through?”

"What I put you through?" he argued, narrowing his eyes. "Do you have any fuckin' idea what it's been like for me? Being stuck here, stuck in this goddamn house! I wouldn't even be in this fucked up purgatory if it weren't for you and that goddamn party or whatever the fuck they are! Did you forget the fact that you're talkin' to a dead guy!"

Dead.

He was dead.

Billy was dead.

And it was her fault...

"Don't," he demanded quietly, breaking the tense silence between them while tilting her head up to meet his eyes. "Don't cry..."

'Good luck with that' Max thought, sniffling. How could she not cry? In fact, how could she not break down completely? Her reality had been flipped and her dead brother was speaking to her. 

She felt entitled to some waterworks.

Billy tilted his head again and brushed his hand through her hair, fingering a few strands while he gazed at her. “You changed?”

“Of course I changed,” she murmured, wiping her eyes. 

“How long has it been?” he questioned distractedly. “You’re older. Probably older than me? Look how long your hair is…you’re taller?”

Cocking her head, Max tried to understand why Billy seemed to be so confused by her appearance. Obviously, she had changed? She’d grown up, didn’t he realize that? Did he not—did he not know how much time had passed since they’d left?

"Do you really not know how long it's been?" she asked. 

Billy shrugged, continuing to finger her hair mindlessly, "What does time matter to me?"

“…Billy, it--it’s been years,” she whispered. “It’s 1995.”

Her revelation was met with silence.

Billy's hand dropped from her hair, his eyes glazing over. Flashes of unwanted memories of moments just like this flew through Max's mind as she watched him, recalling when he would get that look. It was like she was watching him die all over again.

She hated those moments.

“Ten years…” he murmured, gazing past her head. 

“Billy?” she probed, cautiously.

His eyes suddenly turned and locked onto her own, coming to life. 

“You left me…for ten years?” he cursed, his eyes glazing over with fury. “A damn decade?”

"You think I had a choice?" she countered angrily, tired of him blaming her for everything bad that had happened to them. "You think I wanted to go through what I did? You weren't even there the last four years I was forced to live with those abusive assholes! I never wanted to leave but I was too young to have a damn say in anything they did, Billy!"

“You left me!” he swore furiously, unfurled rage burning in his cerulean eyes. “And I was alone!”

"So was I!" 

Billy stopped sneering at her, his anger slowly fading thanks to the sheer sorrow etched across her face. His ire was soon replaced by sympathy and regret, carefully dragging the backs of his fingers along her face to catch her falling tears. He didn't mean to hurt her, the last thing he wanted to do was hurt her even more. 

She'd been hurt enough...

"I'm sorry, Max..." he offered sincerely, hating to see her cry. 

Max was touched by his solicitude, soaking in every second of it. It had been so long since anyone had touched her so gently, with reverence, and she was touch-starved for it. For years, she had refused to let anyone close enough to touch her due to the abuse she'd suffered. Call it whatever you will, but being forced into examinations against her will was abuse to her. Even those she considered friends later on in life were kept at a short distance. 

Who could blame her?

What she wouldn't give to be held...truly held. 

"Tell me what happened," Billy enjoined while settling down beside her, watching her with rapt attention. "Tell me everything."

And so she did.

She told him about leaving Hawkins and moving into a rodent-infested apartment building near Fuller Park in Chicago, having to relinquish most of her belongings so they could fit everything else inside the cramped space. Learning that her mom had sold her precious ratten bedframe while she was at school and replaced it with a crummy twin mattress, completely brushing off the fact that the bed had been with her since she was a child and was one of the few things she'd kept from California. Having to start over at a low-end school that didn't give a flying fuck about its students. Dealing with new doctors and even more therapists, always the shitty ones that were assigned to cases like hers based on income or whatever, all because Neil had refused to change their insurance to cover it. Being prodded and questioned like she was a basket case. Having to listen to kids she didn't even know talk about her behind her back at school. 

Being so high from her meds that she couldn't distinguish fantasy from reality.

Losing days, weeks, even months of her life, all because of her mother's immoral actions.

Leaving in the middle of the night on the day of her eighteenth birthday to escape the nightmare that had been her life for years, taking only a bag and a single box with her during her escape. Being forced to live on the street or a kind classmate's couch for months until she was able to buy a car. 

Living inside a junker for years, saving every penny she made while struggling to survive each day. Spending multiple winter nights in the backseat, fearing she wouldn't see the morning. 

...counting all the times she'd contemplated ending her life.

Billy wasn't the only one who had been alone all that time. For years, Max had relied on only herself, afraid to let anyone close to her. Even those whom she had considered her friends had never learned her real name. She'd always gone by Maxine Hargrove, a vain attempt at keeping her brother's memory alive. All she'd had were her memories, a bland job, and a handful of good acquaintances. 

What kind of life was that?

"Tell me somethin'," Billy asked, nudging her with a small smirk. "Did you give 'em Hell after you walked out on 'em?"

Smiling, Max nodded, "Called them the next day and told 'em to go to Hell and called 'em every name in the book. Ghosted them completely for years."

"But?"

"I call Susan from a payphone or unknown number once every six months or so," she shrugged. "I really don't give a damn about her, honestly. I guess I just...do it out of pettiness? She carries on most of our conversations because she knows I won't tell her shit. She learned a long time ago that I won't ever forgive her."

"And what about my old man?" he questioned, his tone taking a darker note. "He didn't..."

Max knew exactly what he was asking. 

Did Neil ever put his hands on her?

She could imagine the horrific scenarios Billy was probably visualizing, given his past relationship with Neil. If they hadn't been arguing, they'd be fighting. There had been so many times Max had seen the handiwork of Neil Hargrove littering the face of his only son. Had she had a better view of the real world and a bigger backbone she would have turned her stepfather's ass into Hopper back when she'd had the chance. 

Ignoring the problems between Billy and Neil was another thing she would never forgive herself for. No matter what Billy would tell her at the time, she should have done something. She should have said something.

She shouldn't have listened to her brother when he told her to mind her own fucking business.

"No," she sighed, leaning against him. "He didn't do anything."

"But he wanted to," he surmised. 

"Oh yeah," she agreed. 

"...I'm sorry I wasn't there."

Glancing over at him, Max wondered what he could have done if he had been around the whole time. 

To be honest, she didn't really want to think about what he would, or could, have done to Neil if the man had tried to harm her. After seeing what Billy had done to the poor souls living in the house...she knew Neil Hargrove had dodged a bullet.

"I missed you," she admitted. "Even if I thought you weren't real at times, you were always there...you were all I had."

"You could have stayed," he muttered.

"Billy..."

“You left me alone for so long,” he murmured, his icy fingers gripping her own. “I thought you didn’t love me anymore.”

"I told you I did," she refuted, looking up at him curiously. "Don't you remember?"

"You and I remember things very differently..."

Hawkins, Indiana

February 2nd, 1986

No…

No.

No!

No, they couldn’t do this, they couldn’t leave!

Billy paced back and forth, passing through the ginger-haired bitch as she trotted towards the front door with a suitcase, his bastard old man right behind her. Neither of them paid him any attention, not that they could even see him. He knew that for a fact because he’d spent hours screaming at the both of them, cursing their very existence. He’d seen how snarky and short Neil had been since his death, the heavy drinking, the late nights out at the bar only to come home reeking of booze and sweat. He’d seen how fake Susan’s personality had become, trying to play the role of the caring mother slash perfect housewife.

It was pathetic…

Billy didn’t give a damn about them. The only person he cared about was his sister, and even in death, his fucking dad was able to screw him over. Neil and Susan were going to try and take Max from him.

And he couldn’t let that happen.

Every idea he’d come up with to keep Max there had failed, whether it was because of her refusing to cooperate or divine intervention, nothing had worked. He needed a plan, they needed a plan, or else everything would fall apart.

…and they were running out of time.

“Maxine, are you packed yet?” Susan called out, startling both Billy and Max who were hiding in his room. His sister had been dragging her feet finishing up each task their parents told her to do, and of course, he didn’t help by trying to sabotage each one, but their time was running short.

“Almost,” Max replied half-heartedly.

She’d been avoiding his gaze since that morning. Billy knew she was angry with him but he was beyond caring at that point.

“Hurry up, would you? We need to get going,” Susan nagged, standing in the doorway.

Billy growled at her intrusion, wishing he could just reach out and snap her neck…but that would upset Max, wouldn’t it? He would kill both Susan and his old man if it meant being rid of them. Unfortunately, he couldn’t risk them ending up like him, stuck as he was with no way of escape.

Stuck forever inside this house with Neil Hargrove.

That really would be Hell…

“I’m almost done,” Max stated, motioning to her bag. She’d already finished packing the rest of her things, only her travel bag remained.

“I’ll take these out to the car then,” Susan said, reaching down to grab Max’s other bags. “I expect you to be ready when I get back, young lady. We’re already behind schedule.”

Fuck.

They were out of time.

“Dammit,” he cursed, seeing Max’s face fall at her mom’s words.

“Billy—” Max whispered, trying to calm him down.

Fuck.

Fuck!

What was he supposed to do?

What were they supposed to do?

“Billy?” Max cautioned, watching him frantically pace around her.

They couldn’t waste any more time.

They needed a plan.

Need a plan.

Need a plan.

Need a plan!

“Billy, please—”

“Maxine, let's go!” Susan demanded from the front door, her footsteps coming closer.

No.

No!

“I--,” Max flustered, unable to choose who to speak to just as her mom walked into the room. Her sorrowful eyes met his own as Susan snatched her bag and then her hand.

“Come on, Maxine, honestly! We have to go!” Susan urged, trying to pull her daughter along.

Oh, Hell no…

Susan suddenly screamed when Max was violently ripped away from her, covering her mouth as she watched the younger redhead be pulled back into the bedroom.

“Maxine!” she shrieked, trying to reach out and grab Max again.

Not a chance.

Max couldn’t fight against the unshakable grip around her wrist, forced to follow or risk serious injury. The moment she cleared the bedroom door it slammed shut behind her, the lock clicking into place with an unsettling jolt, locking Susan and anyone else out.

“Billy?” she whispered, watching her brother lean against the door, no doubt looking like a madman.

Out of time.

Nowhere to go.

Need a plan.

Billy’s eyes flashed around the room and Max jumped when she heard the window slam down, the latch turning to close as well.

They can’t come in.

No way in.

…no way out.

“Maxine! Max, open the door!” Susan yelled from the hallway, banging against the bedroom door frantically.

Between her mother’s panic-stricken knocking and Billy’s unhinged behavior, Max was starting to get scared. She didn’t understand what was happening.  

The sound of the front door opening and closing made both Billy and Max look at the bedroom door, Neil’s voice soon joining Susan’s, attempting to open the bedroom door himself.

“Maxine, open this door right now!” Neil demanded, pounding against the wood.

“Neil, I d-don’t think—” Susan hesitated, her voice catching. “Something’s wrong!”

“Calm down, Susan, she’s only being a child. There is nothing wrong, understand? Maxine, open the door! It’s time to go!”

The banging continued and Max could hear their parents arguing back and forth.

How long could they keep this up?

Better yet, how long was Billy planning on keeping them out?

Her eyes flashed to her brother who was feverishly pacing, gripping his blond mane in his black-stained hands, looking seconds away from ripping it straight out. His wild eyes were unfocused and stricken, his blackened teeth clenched tightly.

Out of time.

Out of time!

They were out of time!

“--get my tools from the truck,” Neil commanded, his footsteps fading down the hall towards the back door.

Billy’s eyes darted to the door and he stopped, breathing heavily. He knew it was pointless to try and keep them out for long. His dad would break the fucking door down if that’s what it took.

Goddammit…

“They’re gonna get through that door…” he murmured. “Time’s up.”

Max had curled up against the wall beside the closet, furthest from the door, tears streaming down her cheeks with every hitch of her breath.

She looked so scared…

Kneeling down in front of her, he cupped her damp cheeks, forcing her to look up. Her eyes met his own, watching the whirlwind of emotions surge through them.

“Billy, please,” she trembled, her voice breaking as she leaned against his palm.

“Why couldn’t you have just drank the damn juice, Max?” he pressed, gripping her face tightly. “It would have been over by now! I could have kept them away until it was over and they couldn’t do a damn thing!”

Max closed her eyes as her tears continued to fall, shaking her head slowly.

“You’re not real…” she whimpered.

No…

“Max, I’m real!” Billy stressed, gripping her even harder. “I’m right here! Look at me!”

Don’t do this…

The sound of footsteps and metal hitting the floor outside the door made them both twist around to look, shadows beneath the door’s space showing both Neil and Susan outside of it, their voices hushed. Whatever tools Neil supposedly needed to get inside, he’d clearly found.

Billy knew he couldn’t keep them out forever.

Please don’t do this…

“Billy?” Max whispered.

“I could keep them out long enough to get out the window,” Billy muttered, turning his gaze to the locked windowpane.

“Billy—”

“You’ll have to run, okay? But if we hurry we can make it to the quarry before they catch up,” he continued, as though he hadn’t even heard Max’s voice. “An overdose’ll take too long. We’re running out of options.”

“Billy, stop--!”

“Max, it’ll be fine, alright?” he shushed her, trying to keep her calm by brushing his thumbs against her cheekbones. “I’ll be with you the whole time.”

The bedroom doorknob began to jiggle and twist, screws dropping onto the hardwood floor from the outside. Neil’s grumbling could be heard through the door along with Susan’s panicked voice.

They were out of time…

“Billy,” Max’s voice suddenly broke through his thoughts, her fingertips gently running down his pale face, taking in every inch of his features like it was the first time she was seeing it.

“I love you…” she whispered sadly, gazing up at him.

His eyes closed and he tried to lean against her hand, a shuddering breath leaving his lips.

“…but I don’t wanna die,” she begged him softly.

Out of time.

He was out of time…

He knew what she was thinking without her having to say the words out loud. He knew her better than anyone and now was no different. She didn’t want to leave him, but she didn’t want to stay anymore either…

“No…” he gasped, shaking his head in denial, dislodging Max’s hands. “No, no—no, you can’t leave me.”

“Billy, I can’t stay here,” she pleaded.

“Yes you can!” he swore, gripping her tighter.

“…I can’t.”

The doorknob began to jiggle and creak loose, dislodging another screw onto the floor. Neil and Susan continued to pound on the door for Max to open it even as they slowly made their own progress, unaware of the spiraling turmoil occurring within the room.

They were out of time…

Billy couldn’t handle it.

He could feel the darkness creeping into him and it felt like he was being swallowed into an icy pool. His hands began to shake, his throat tightening, shivers wracking his frame.

He’d lost everything.

They’d taken everything from him.

This couldn’t be real…

Black began to tint the edges of his vision, causing him to shudder and release his hold on Max. The little warmth he felt from her skin had already vanished, leaving him chilled to the bone. She was going to leave him alone, and it felt like his heart was breaking.

Can a heart break once it’s stopped beating?

Tell me this isn’t real…

The doorknob clattered to the ground, echoing throughout the room, drowning out the quiet cries of his baby sister. The door swung open, and footsteps rushed inside. Hands reached through him, mindless of his presence, gripping Max and pulling her towards her mother’s chest.

But Max’s eyes never left his own.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered brokenly, and Billy knew she was speaking to him. “I’m s-so sorry…”

Their time was up.

Billy watched the edges of his vision slowly close in around him, cocooning him in a dense fog. The voices of his family slowly faded to silence, and he could see the colors fading as well. It was easier to let go than to stay and watch the inevitable.

As the darkness set in, the last thing he saw were his sister’s doleful, blue eyes…

Chapter Text

September, 1986

The fog had slowly lifted, and the darkness pilfered away into nothing, leaving only the heavy weight of dread and suffocating grief that had slowly been building for an indefinite length of time. The empty floors of the once Hargrove home creaked ominously, awakening with the sudden revival of haunting spirits that had lain dormant for so long.

How long had it been?

How long had he been lost in the dark?

Gone.

Gone.

Gone!

The previous inhabitants having packed up and left the desolate house behind, leaving nothing except for the haunting memories created within.

Well…almost all of the previous inhabitants.

Billy Hargrove, Hawkins one-time boy of summer, sat alone in the emptiness surrounding him with only cobwebs and silence to accompany his days. Each day he roamed the bare house was another day he spiraled slowly into madness.

Gone.

Gone!

GONE!

They left him.

They’d left him.

She left him!

Screaming out his agony never eased his suffering, and he’d tried plenty. He’d screamed so loudly and violently the first day of his abandonment, cursing his dad and that bitch Neil had married for leaving him behind, and worse, taking Max from him.

She left him.

She left him!

She fucking left him alone!

Max could have tried harder. She should have tried harder! So what if they couldn’t see him? They didn’t need to see him! Max was the only one he cared about anyway, only she needed to see him. Why couldn’t she have just locked it up and pretended?

They’d been happy.

They were happy!

They would still be happy, because Max would come back and things would be like they were before. He just had to wait, she’d come back.

She wouldn’t leave him.

Max wouldn’t leave him.

“She won’t. Won’t. Won’t. She wouldn’t leave,” he muttered, eyeing the empty walls critically.

This house was so damn boring…

Hawkins wasn’t exactly bursting with excitement either. Every time he tried to leave the house, like clockwork, he would suddenly find himself back at 4819 like he’d never left.

Not to mention the time he lost.  

If he wasn’t paying attention, or seemingly drifted, he’d wake up as though he’d been asleep. There was a strange darkness surrounding him and it felt as though he was looking through a dense murk. Time meant very little to him anymore. When the fog set in, he began to lose so much time that the outside world had changed, the seasons changing from winter to summer. After his last meltdown back when the ground was still littered with snow, he’d screamed so loudly that the windows had shattered around him. A deep, somber silence had followed and he’d found himself drifting inside the fog again…unaware of the world outside his prison.

How long had he been asleep in his eternal damnation?

How was he to know how much time had passed?

Did it even matter?

Gone.

Gone!

Everyone was gone!

Sinking to the floor beneath the window of his room, Billy contemplated going back to sleep. Each time he awoke the world had changed and the house remained empty.

The unyielding feeling of loneliness was slowly driving him mad.

He just wanted things to go back to the way they were before, back when he’d first realized he was free of his old man’s wrath and could do as he pleased, when he learned his sister could see him…when he hadn’t been afraid to sleep.

Was it even sleeping?

It felt like sleeping.

Honestly, it felt like a drug induced haze, the feeling he got just as he would hit the peak of his high. Like nothing mattered and all he could do was float. It felt like an aberrant euphoria. He missed the days he spent with Max rather than his current ones, lost to the confines of inescapable stasis.

He missed her…

When was she coming back?

The sound of the front lock turning made him still, his head whipping around towards the wooden door in anticipation.

She came back!

He knew she wouldn’t leave him alo—

“I know you both will simply love the layout of the house! It has such a wonderful homey charm to it that is just perfect for first time homeowners like yourselves!” A disgustingly cheerful voice rang out followed by the appearance of a trio of unknown people stepping through the door. The woman who spoke, a well-dressed businesswoman of some kind with bright blonde hair and rosy lipstick, lead a young couple into the house with a large grin, pocketing a key.

How did this bitch get a fucking key?

Who were these people?

“The fuck are you doing in my house?” Billy demanded roughly, surging up off the floor. “How’d you get a damn key!”

The three intruders ignored him and continued further into the room.

“As you can see, the living room is quite spacious for a house this size without taking away from the dining room area,” the blonde woman said, motioning around her. “It does have three bedrooms but you could easily turn one of them into a nice office space or even a nursery for future little ones!”

Future little one---what? Who the fuck were these people?

“What a lovely fireplace,” the young woman grinned. “Not too sure about the color though?”

“We can always re-paint, dear,” the man interjected. “Let’s not make a fuss over minor details.”

“The fireplace is real brick and can easily be changed or stripped back to its original color,” the older woman said cheerfully. “Would you like to see the kitchen?”

Billy watched the trio move towards the kitchen and dining room, his confusion quickly morphing to simmering rage. That cunt was a goddamn realtor and these assholes were house hunting!

No.

No, this couldn’t be happening.

This was not their house!

“The molding on the woodwork is quite charming,” the woman said, having moved into the kitchen. “ I do think I’d like to paint the kitchen a brighter color, maybe French white or eggshell?”

Oh God…these people were typical white-suburbia, middle-class douchebags, weren’t they…

Fuck, he was gonna get stuck rooming with Mr. Rogers and his uppity wife.

“The master is of course the largest in the house,” the realtor said, showing them the bedroom while Billy followed close behind. “As you can see, the master bedroom also connects to the neighboring bedroom and both have large closet spaces. The smaller bedroom near the front does have a closet, though it isn’t as large, but it does have folding doors. I would imagine this would be the ideal room for a nursery.”

Oh fuck no…

“Oh, I don’t know about that yet,” the woman laughed.

Thank God.

“Plenty of time for that in the future,” the guy smirked.

No!

No more people in his home!

“You two fuckers are bad enough,” Billy growled, plotting ways he could get rid of them.

A How-To book on haunting would be great right about now.

His focus returned to the intruders just as the guy asked about the house being remodeled. The realtor tutted under her breath as she nodded, counting off everything, “Holes in the walls, windows shattered, doors ripped clean off the hinges. It was an absolute mess. The owner had to pay out of pocket to have everything repaired and even had the house re-painted professionally. It took months to repair all the damage.”

Months?

Had he really been asleep that long?

What day was it anyway…felt like a Tuesday.

“Darn hoodlums,” the woman muttered.

“Who you callin’ a hoodlum, bitch?” Billy rumbled, crossing his arms.

“Quite right,” the guy murmured in agreement.

They could think whatever they wanted. Were they dead? No. When they kicked it and became ghosts, then they could have a say in what is considered an appropriate response to abandonment.

“The incident was brushed off as a random act. The house was freshly empty, and the owners had children in school, so the police believed the kids knew the home would be empty after a certain date and took advantage. Easy place to have their parties and what-not, you know,” the realtor stated.

“Partying? That’s what the cops wrote it off as?” Billy scoffed.

“Probably drinking too, no doubt,” the guy nodded. “Well, that’s a relief. I’d hate to buy in a randy neighborhood.”

“Don’t buy in this one then!” Billy exclaimed.

"Oh, I assure you, Mr. Lorne, this is a perfectly safe neighborhood," the realtor chuckled.

“No it’s not,” Billy grinned, shaking his head. “Don’t you know the place is haunted? Spooks galore. Not a good place to buy. I’d get out while ya’ still can.”

The trio walked right through him and continued exploring the house, leaving him standing alone and unable to even hear his quips. 

No one appreciated his humor…

Strolling after the unwanted guests, Billy caught up to them just as the wife asked about his family, specifically, why they had left.

“You know, I’d like to know that myself,” he snarked, leaning against the wall behind them.

The realtor waved the woman’s question off halfheartedly, “They had a tragedy occur in the family. One of their children died unexpectedly and the other suffered some type of mental break.”

Died unexpectedly?

That’s a funny way of saying murdered.

“Oh my,” the woman murmured. “How awful.”

“Yes, it was big news for some time. Just devastating,” the realtor tutted.

“Sure sounds like it was devastating,” Billy rolled his eyes. “Heartbreaking, really…”

Grumbling, he listened to the bitch showing off his house brag about it being perfect for the couple, calling it their dream home.

How the Hell was this place anyone’s dream home?

It was an old, fixer-upper at the end of a crumbling road…was that the American dream now?

“We’ll take it!” the man stated cheerfully, happily shaking the realtor’s hand while his wife smiled brightly.

From the darkened corner of the room, Billy narrowed his eyes with a dark glower.

“The Hell you will…” he growled, fading into the shadows…

The Lorne’s, as Billy predicted, were your typical newlyweds in search of the American Dream. The only thing missing from their perfect little lives was that they did not appear to be religious, which did come as a bit of a surprise to him if he was being honest. They had moved in mere days after purchasing the house, filling it with mind-numbing, picture-perfect furnishings that looked like they came straight out of a Homes and Gardens magazine.

It was gross…

The matching fine China dishes, the carved wooden dining table, the crystal lamps…lace doilies.

They were turning his house into a Hellscape!

He’d started trying to scare them from day one, desperately trying to get them to leave. Moving items wasn’t too hard. He’d learned early on what his limitations were when it came to touch and object manipulation.

He could move things and become corporeal…he just had to want it bad enough.

Gail, the woman, had quickly caught on to something being wrong with her new house. Her blood pressure was probably through the roof by now. It had been amusing to see the looks of terror on her face whenever he messed around with her. Opening kitchen cabinets and messing with the taps was child’s play.

The paint had been harder.

Like Hell he was gonna let her change the color of his room to that ugly ass shade of blue. It looked like a color you’d pick out for a baby’s room. It had been disgusting, and he loathed the idea of anyone trying to mess with his sanctuary. He’d moved furniture out already, clearly confusing the new owners, but it took a great deal more to get rid of that fucking paint.

It had been satisfying to watch it glide right off his walls.

For a month, he’d upped his game and gone above and beyond to spook the young couple. The husband, Andrew, was harder, but he had Gail by a hook. It wouldn’t take much more.

He could feel the veil getting thinner, allowing him more freedom to roam.

“Halloween,” he grinned. “My favorite holiday…”

Standing outside the house, across the way, he was able to blend in with the outside world in a way that he couldn’t before. He wasn’t entirely sure why ghosts were allowed out and about on All Hallows Eve, but he wasn’t gonna complain. The look of fear on Gail’s face when she gazed at him from the front door of the house was mesmerizing to him.

She should be afraid.

He waited.

Patiently.

…okay, maybe not entirely patiently but he did wait, for the perfect moment.

As the clock struck midnight, his fist met the front door of 4819.

“Trick…or Treat,” he smirked.

As the door opened to reveal Gail in her nightgown and robe, Billy stood perfectly still and basked in the knowledge that his heart was no longer beating. What better way to look like a corpse than to actually be one! He knew from experience that he could appear as dead as he wanted, remembering the look of unease that Max would give him at times.

What did you expect from a ghoul?

“Hello?" Gail asked, waiting for him to say something.

His eyes gazed at her silently before his mouth pulled upwards into a vicious grin. 

"Trick...or...Treat," he said, his blackened teeth shining under the light in a macabre grin.  

Swallowing thickly, Gail took a small step back and shook her head, "I'm sorry, but we ran out of candy hours ago."

Billy tilted his head unnaturally far to the side, his dead eyes roaming over her in an obvious creepy manner. When his eyes roved past her towards the Jack-O-Lanterns flickering beside the door, his smile faded just a touch. 

Max had always loved Jack-O-Lanterns...

"Nice pumpkins," he said, feeling a stream of black ooze dribble from his mouth. "Very scary...my sister would love them."

"Y-your sister?" Gail asked quietly, her fingers gripping the door hard enough that Billy heard the wood creak. 

"She loves Halloween," he grinned, his eyes locked onto the Jack-O-Lantern's haunting smile. 

A cruel, dastardly idea suddenly came to mind and he had to bite back a dark chuckle.

Oh yes…that’ll do it for sure.

"Well, I'm sure you two had a wonderful night then," Gail said with faux cheerfulness. "Goodnight."

"...still hearing strange noises at night, Gail?" he asked. 

"W-wha--?" she gaped, terror flashing across her face. "What did you just say?"

Rather than answer her, Billy just grinned at her and slowly backed down off the porch steps. His eyes never left her own as he calmly stepped into the darkness. 

"Maybe you should call in that priest," he taunted quietly, casting a final wicked grin. "That'd be a trick..."

Her quick inhale and frantic slam of the door was music to his ears.

Looking back at the glowing pumpkins, he smirked.

“Time to play.”

While the Lorne’s slept peacefully in their bed, their unwanted guest crept through the house with mischievous intent. All he had to do was wait and set his trap.

The sound of screams soon filled the silent house…

Cackling with malicious glee, Billy watched the two lovebirds scramble out of their bed in horror, crying to one another in their scattered attempts to escape their waking nightmare. It was everything he’d hoped for and more.

As the terrified couple rushed towards the door, Billy grabbed one of the pumpkins and held it up over his head.

“Run Ichabod,” he grinned, violently throwing the glowing pumpkin at their shock-ridden faces.

Gail screamed and ran out the door with Andrew right on her heels, neither of them waiting around to be scared even more.

They’d clearly had enough.

As they jumped into their car and quickly sped off, Billy happily slammed and locked the door behind them.

Walking into the dark bedroom where the final Jack-O-Lantern sat, Billy reached out to grasp it while smiling back at the scary grin. He chuckled darkly, holding it up to illuminate his ghastly complexion.

“Happy Halloween…”

July, 1987.

Noise.

Noise?

What was that noise?

Why was there noise?

Growling under his breath from his comfortable perch within his closet, Billy felt his consciousness return to his body. He’d been sleeping so peacefully…

Crawling out of his hiding place, he looked out the window in surprise. The trees were green and the grass vibrant and lush.

What month was it?

Was it spring already?

Hadn’t the Lorne’s just left?

Cursing his twisted sense of time, he stormed out of his room to find the living room filled with packed boxes and new furniture.

“Oh, come on,” he growled. “Not again.”

Seriously? Another one? What would it be this time? Another couple? Another set of bright-eyed newlyweds with a positive outlook on the world? A family with 2.5 kids and a dog lookin’ for their white-picket-fence? An older set of grandparents that spoiled their grandkids too much and only paid taxes and went to church on Sunday? A single fucker that had shitty taste in music and played Bingo on the weekends?

What was it this time!

“Just put it over there!” a loud male voice came from the backdoor, soon followed by the echo of multiple footfalls. “And don’t drop anything!”

“Yes, Mr. Finn,” another male voice answered.

Billy’s gaze soon found the source as a set of uniformed men brought in more boxes, part of a moving company it seemed. They each had resigned faces that said they clearly didn’t want to be there. From outside the room, near the back, stood a shorter man with dark hair and a bad haircut. He was barking out orders to others outside, unbothered by his tone.

Glancing at the boxes, Billy caught the address label for a classier part of Indianapolis, if memory served.

Oh great, a city boy with a complex…

“Hmm. Asshole with short-guy syndrome was not on the Bingo card,” Billy drawled, snooping around some of the open boxes. Finding a box of music, he only had to see one artist to know short-stack was a douche.

“Oh God, he listens to Henley?” he groaned, rolling his eyes at the disturbing amount of ballads. “Yeah…this dude’s gotta go.”

It didn’t take long for Billy to get a feel for Winston Finn.

Better yet, what kind of name was Winston?

How badly do your parents have to hate you to name you Winston?

Worse still, ole’ Winston had a few dark secrets that he kept hidden from the world. Secrets involving videos and scantly clad women that barely looked old enough to be 18. Those dirty little secrets were kept hidden away in a locked box beneath the bed in the master bedroom, but Billy knew they were there. He’d even had to listen to Finn using said shit.

Kill him all over again…

Billy had no issue with people having kinks. He had his own, everyone was different, which was fine. But when your fetish included underage girls getting’ rammed by guys that were clearly three times their age?

That was pushin’ it.

By a lot.

And a few of those videos Finn coveted included more than just average sex scenes, toeing the line of consent. Not to mention the rough way most of the scenes played out, often depicting violence and assault.

It had made Billy shudder the first time he’d heard the sounds of Finn’s fetish videos from the attic where he spent most of his time now.

He’d spent every single day and night trying to get the asshole to leave. Banging on the walls, making loud noises in the attic, changing shit around to fuck with dickhead. What did he get for his Casper theatrics?

Winston would panic and call the cops…

You know…like any rational, well-educated human being would do.

Hawkins police department wasn’t exactly known for being the most on-the-ball, so to speak, and it was clear after the first handful of 911 calls that the cops did not take Finn seriously. In fact, most thought he was a total quack suffering from a mental break.

Billy wouldn’t mind sending the man spiraling into a breakdown.

He almost had one night.

Winston had been back to his aberrant ways one night, only this time it had gone on for fucking ages. The obnoxiously lewd talk and sexual sounds coming from the TV were giving him a headache. He couldn’t even jack it anymore, right along with not being able to eat or drink or feel anything really. Now just the very idea of sex was bland and boring.

And having to listen to that shit was grating…

Creeping down from the peaceful darkness of the attic space, Billy manifested his image from the shadows and violently banged the bedroom open and closed, startling Winston from his sordid self-gratification.

“What the fuck!?” the man cried shrilly, his member falling from his hand as he scrambled away.

Lunging at the scumbag, Billy relished the man’s screams as he chased him through the door and out the hall. The shadows curled in around Finn’s body and the man slammed into the front door, running out of the house with a terrified shriek.

That should have been the straw that broke the camel’s back, but alas, Winston Finn proved to be a very stupid human being.

But when ole’ Winston stepped foot in the attic…well, that was his undoing.

Billy had been having the time of his un-life besieging Winston’s tormented existence within his home. For months he had afflicted the man with his haunting antics, pushing the margin more and more each day. It was entertaining at least, but he still wanted the man out of his house.

Imagine his surprise when Finney came a knockin’ on his door.

"I know you're up here, you fucker!" Winston’s voice called out, shaking, followed by the sound of the attic door opening.

From the back corner of the room, embraced by the shadows, Billy sat crouched down silently to watch and wait.

“Bad idea, Finney,” he sing-songed, lowly.

“What a dump," Winston muttered, shining his light around quickly, swerving the flashlight to chase the shadows away.

“What’s wrong?” Billy taunted, leaning back against the wooden beams. “Afraid of the dark?”

Winston slowly crawled into the attic, unable to see his ghostly roommate lounging across the room. Said spook was interested to see how this was going to play out. 

Billy watched Winston slowly cross the attic when the man caught sight of his belongings. The few things he had squirreled away for safe keeping, not trusting his dad or even Max to keep them safe. They were all he had left of his life. 

When Winston discovered the box, Billy could slowly feel his temper flaring. 

"The Hell?" Winston muttered, flipping open the cardboard box after setting his flashlight aside. He'd pulled out Billy's favorite shirt, tossing it down without care, followed by his sunglasses.

"Didn't your mama ever tell you not to mess with other people's shit?" Billy rumbled, narrowing his eyes. 

"Seriously? Who listens to this shit?" Winston murmured with distaste, chucking Billy's music tapes aside. 

"Rude," Billy scoffed. "Says the guy who thinks Bonnie Tyler is music. And don't touch my damn scorpion."

His growing ire at Winston's disregard for his things and the man's intrusion into his space. The asshole was seriously pushing his luck.

Then Winston touched Billy's pictures...

"Think twice, Finney," Billy growled, crawling closer to see Winston fingering his photos, photos of his mother and his family. 

If those got messed up in any way--

"Oh, hellooo, gorgeous," Winston whispered, thumbing the next photo he'd found. 

The second Billy's eyes locked onto the picture the asshole was holding, every ounce of control he'd had left his body...and only rage remained. 

He was going to kill him...

Screaming in anger, Billy's fist met the box and sent it flying, scaring the shit out of Finn and causing the man to stumble backwards with a scream. 

"What the fuck--!" Winston shrieked, fumbling with his flashlight. "Who's there!"

From the darkness, Billy's form began to take shape, soon followed by an animalistic growl. 

"Oh fuck this!" Winston cried, jumping towards the open door to escape the nightmare he'd unleashed. Before he could make it, Billy's hand lashed out and latched onto his leg, jerking the man down to his chest, terrifying him bad enough that he pissed all over himself.

"You people," Billy growled, pulling the frightened man closer to him. "Never fucking learn!"

“No! N-no get off me!” Winston screamed, scrambling towards the attic door to escape the icy fingers curled around his ankle. "GET AWAY FROM ME!"

Winston's struggled continued, his feet trying to kick out at Billy's intense grip.

What to do with him?

What to do?

He could find some rope. A cord? Make it look like a suicide. Take ole' Finney out to the garage, or use the attic door, string him up and watch him struggle to live. There were so many options!

Billy's internal thought train halted when he felt Winston pull himself away, having grabbed ahold of the attic door to jerk himself free. The man went tumbling headfirst down the ladder, screaming as his body toppled painfully to the ground floor below. 

"Run, run, run, as fast as you can," Billy hummed darkly, carefully putting Max's picture back inside his box before trailing after his prey. 

Winston had barely made it past the kitchen before Billy was on him again, his heavy footfalls echoing through the shadows closing in around them. 

"No!" Winston bellowed, falling heavily to the floor when Billy's hand wrapped around his leg. "N-no! No, don't--!"

Billy dragged the man back down the hallway by his kicking legs, ignoring his violent struggles and his pleas for mercy, listening to Finn's screams. 

"P-ple-please!" Winston begged, closing his eyes. "Please, no!"

"Sorry," Billy raged. "All out of mercy."

He flipped the scum of a man onto his back, pushing the air from his lungs and crushing the man under his weight. 

"I'm gonna enjoy this," Billy grinned, laughing as he wrapped his hands around Winston's throat. 

“Lemme’ go! Let go! G-get away from me! N-no--N-ahh!” Winston's horrified pleas were silenced when Billy's grip tightened, crushing down on the man's windpipe. 

"How does it feel to be the one begging?" Billy sneered, feeling only uncontrollable anger surging through him. "How does it feel to be the bitch? Tell me, Finn! How does it feel to be the one held down and victimized! Beg me for mercy just like those girls you get off on, Finn! Beg me to STOP!"

The man's eyes began to  bulge and turn bloodshot, his skin taking on a dark purple as the skin around his lips slowly turned blue from lack of oxygen. As the life trickled from the scum's eyes, Billy cackled cruelly and reveled in the feeling of ascendancy.

"You should have left when you had the chance," he grinned, listening to the subtle crescendo of sirens echoing in the distance. 

1988

There was a time when sleep felt better than being awake.

Billy didn't know how long he was asleep, but it had been the first time he'd felt any semblance of peace since Max. The house felt warm, for some reason. Music would greet him when he would wake up, for however short it would be, and there would always be the subtle scent of warm, apple pie lingering throughout the house. 

He knew someone was there, but rather than feel anger he would feel benumbed...

How long had it been?

Was it spring again?

Or was it later?

His vision would blur for a time, letting him wander through the dense fog around him whenever he tried to rest. It would seep into his bones, keeping him under. He didn't feel anger anymore. What was he supposed to feel? 

Could he feel anything anymore?

...or was he as hollow as his heart?

The quiet, woman sitting in the rocking chair by the window made him feel...calm? Was it calm, or was it something else? When had he ever been calm? Rage, he knew, anger, sadness, even love, those were emotions he was familiar with. When had he ever felt calm in his life? 

'When mom held you in her arms after she finished cooking lunch, and she smelled like watermelon' he thought, recalling his mother's beautiful smile. 

That feeling of peace...he thought he felt it now.

Jeanie.

That was her name.

She was sweet, always baking something or knitting in her chair. 

There was yarn everywhere...

Billy liked the ole gal. She listened to music, and honestly, he didn't mind what it was because anything was better than silence when he came back to the world. He didn't mind sleeping anymore, knowing the scent of cookies and the croons of Waylon Jennings would greet him when he decided to wake back up...

But then there was lamentable silence, once again, and sleep was the only comfort he had.

1992

Why did this keep happening?

Why did more and more people keep showing up to his house?

How long had he been asleep now?

The last time he'd been up he had been awakened by the smell of pecan pie and the lull of Christmas carols. Jeanie had decorated the house, bringing back memories of his last Christmas with his family, remembering how happy Max had been to get that stupid Kate Bush cassette. 

'...I wonder if she still listens to that shit' he wondered, eyeing the new boxes littering the storage shed in the backyard. He knew Jeanie was gone, he'd discovered that quickly by the sight of her missing furniture and the lack of yarn littering the living room. He didn't necessarily want to think about why she left.

Her 'replacements', as he was referring to them, were everything sweet, Jeanie girl, was not...

The Jonas' couple. 

The poster children for white trash and bad decisions. 

If there was a way to describe Hank Jonas, it would be a walking cell number. It didn't take a genius to spot a wife-beater, and Hank could have easily been the Webster definition picture. 

The guy was Neil Hargrove all over again, just without the pretense of exuding perfection. 

"Tina! God dammit, I'm talkin' to you!" an obnoxiously loud voice rang out from the front of the house. 

"Speak of the Devil," Billy muttered, tilting his head to listen to Hank lash out verbally at his wife, the mousy woman Billy learned was Christina, about a missing socket set. Watching the man try and work on that hunk of junk he called a truck had been amusing to Billy. He seriously doubted Hank could fix a leaky faucet with a wrench and a diagram. 

Why any woman would ever willingly marry a man like that was a mystery to Billy. 

All he saw was a photocopy of his old man. A guy who only cared about one thing and that was himself. Fuck family values and healthy relationships, only how you were perceived by others mattered in the long run. Course, Billy wasn't the best at relationships either, what few he had. After seeing what his mom went through and every other girlfriend his old man had before settling on Susan had given Billy a bad taste for relationships. Sex was fine, but anything deeper than that wasn't worth it. 

He had been stuck with Max, having his baby sister thrust into his life unwillingly, so he let himself slowly fall in love with her. They were family. Step siblings or not, Max had been the only constant in his life for years that he had any control over. He knew their relationship hadn't been great, and that was mostly on him, but at least he would never physically lash out at her like Neil would with others, himself included. 

Neil may have taught him wrath, but his mom had taught him how to be gentle.

Hank Jonas, as it appeared, did not have that setting...

Spying the socket set sitting directly on the new shelves the couple had put up, Billy rolled his eyes and grabbed it, setting it directly on the floor in front of the door. The man was too damn lazy to get his own shit, so he'd send his little woman to get it for him. 

'Fuckin' typical' he thought, listening to the sounds of Christina's footsteps coming closer. 

He hated abusers. 

He would have to wait, and regain his strength before he could scare them away. He'd been asleep for too long...

Billy put up with Hank for as long as he could. 

The man was a cunt, always complaining about something or other, expecting his wife to do everything for him like he was a damn King. It was pathetic. Hank's self-righteousness only added fuel to the growing fire of Billy's vexation. With each passing day, that simmering anger made him stronger. 

He wasn't always cruel though. 

Christina didn't deserve to suffer as her husband. 

Keeping to the shadows along the wall, Billy watched with hooded eyes as Christina finished setting up her collection of angels and what-not. Her bright smile never left her face as she stepped back and admired her accomplishment. 

"What do you think, honey?" she asked, smiling at Hank.

Billy watched as Hank looked away from the TV and glared at the display, grumbling, "You know I don't like that shit."

"Well I do," Christina said, adjusting one of the angels. "You won't even notice them after awhile."

Boy, this chick is far down the rabbit hole...

Billy eyed the angels distastefully, but unlike Hank, he didn't care. They weren't hurting anything. Wasn't Christina allowed to show off some of her stuff? This was supposed to be her home too. 

Unfortunately , Billy knew that people like Hank didn't change. 

There would be no 'you won't notice them after awhile' solution, no matter what Christina choose to believe. 

The moment the couple headed off to bed, Billy emerged from the darkness and glanced at the innocent display of angels. Seeing the lone box and newspaper tossed inside sitting off to the side of the fireplace, he made a decision. 

Grabbing the box, he set to work. 

It started off as a whimper. 

Something woke him during one night, something timid sounding and weak, crying out from the kitchen. 

Billy's eyes snapped open when he heard Christina's voice shudder from outside his room, 

"H-Hank, pl-please!" 

Crawling out from his hiding spot, Billy felt a darkness begin to form inside the voice within him. 

"Don't fucking tell me to calm down!" Hank yelled furiously. "You don't tell me to do shit!"

"I didn't m-mean--."

"Don't you fuckin' backtalk me, woman!" 

Storming into the room, Billy's eyes locked onto the man shoving his finger into his wife's meek face, lashing out at her for who-the-fuck-knows what. All Billy could see was his old man standing over his mom, screaming at her. 

And the rage surged forth...

"I'm sorry..." Christina whispered, lowering her eyes. 

"You're damn right you're sorry," Hank sneered drunkenly, swaying back against the counter. 

"Hank, I--I'm s-sorry, honey, b-but maybe you--," she whsipered.

"Maybe I should fuckin' what!"

"Sweetheart, y-your'e drunk--!"

The sound of skin slapping skin echoed through the tense silence, and Billy felt himself snap..

"Get away from her!" he growled.

Christina's flower vase suddenly shattered, and water went spilling all over the floor, surrounded by glass. He reached out and shoved with all his might at Hank's prone form, sending the asshole flying across the kitchen into the far wall. The sound of Hank's frightened cry and Chrsitina's terrified sobs filled Billy's ears. He couldn't stop.

He wouldn't stop. 

He wouldn't.

"A-Ahh-God! Fuck!" Hank cried as his head bounced off the ground, unable to get up off the floor. "What the--!"

"You think you're so tough? You think just because you're bigger than her that you can throw your fucking weight around?" Billy raged, throwing plates and cups and glass at the petrified man curled up on the floor beneath him, blood quickly pouring from his crumbled form from every shattered piece of kitchenware slashing his skin. "Do you still feel big? Do you feel empowered? Do you feel helpless? Do you!"

"W-wha--the f-fuck!" Hank sobbed, trying to cover his head, his face streaked with blood. "Christina Help Me!"

"She can't help you," Billy grinned, aiming shards directly at Hank's eyes. "You're my bitch now, you worthless, waste of air..."

"SOMEBODY HELP ME!"

1995

There was...a presence.

A familiar tugging at his consciousness. 

What now?

Why couldn't they leave him alone?

Opening his eyes, Billy glanced around him in wonder, finding himself in the mist...but there was something in front of him. An opening, like a window, or glass, slowly swirling before his eyes. 

Gazing through the fog, he found himself looking into his bedroom - or his old bedroom, to be exact - but it wasn't empty...

A figure, a woman, was lying in a bed fighting the covers, lost in the throes of a nightmare of some kind. Tilting his head, Billy narrowed his eyes on the woman's hair splayed over her pillow. 

Red.

Red?

Her hair was red.

"...Max?" he murmured, trying to reach out through the fog. His hands met some type of block, like pressing his hands against glass. What was stopping him? Irritation lit within him and he banged his hand against the invisible fortress containing him. The lights flickered in response his burst of emotions, and he slammed his fist against the barrier again. 

Suddenly, as though she'd heard him, the woman sat up in a jolt. 

Red, thick locks draped over pale shoulders, framing a face he would know as well as his own...

She came back. 

She came back!

Billy pressed his hands against the invisible barrier and watched his sister stand up to leave the room, in search of something, all while he fought to free himself from this prison he was in. 

Where was she going?

She couldn't leave!

He had to get out!

Banging against the glass, his eyes darted to the doorway when Max strolled back into the bedroom, a lighter in hand to light one of the candles sitting on the dresser. She wasn't leaving him. 

She couldn't leave again. 

Why couldn't she hear him? 

"Max!" he cried, his nails digging into the forcefield keeping them apart. "LET ME OUT!"

Once again, like she had heard his voice, she turned her head towards him and gasped, dropping the lighter. Her blue eyes went wide and she stumbled back, and suddenly the veil dropped and let him through...

Crawling from his prison, the plush carpet pillowing his hands as he pulled himself forward. He could hear Max's horrified whimpers echoing through his ears. 

Why was she scared?

They were together again, she should have been happy!

"Maxxx," he sighed, leaning closer to her. 

Kneeling in front of her, he gently reached up and touched the tears streaming down her cheeks, his breath dancing across her face. Why won't she look at him?

Why was she afraid? 

She came back. 

She came back to him. 

Look at him.

Look at me!

"MAX!" 

Looking down at the sleeping redhead beside him, Billy let his mind wander over the course of his imprisonment inside their home. He'd been left in the dark for so long, but now things would be better. They were together once more, with no one around to try and separate them. 

No one could tear them apart now. 

No one could dictate their lives. 

And no one would ever take her away from him, again...

Chapter Text

October 31^st, 1995

‘Twas the night before Halloween, and all through the town, all the ghouls, ghosts and goblins were soon to be found. The monsters had gathered to plan and prepare, for trick-or-treater’s would soon be there. So watch your back and do not be blind, for if you’re not careful who knows what you’ll find?

Halloween had arrived, and with it, an abundance of carved pumpkins, chilly weather, and a lot of much-needed therapy…

Since that damn party at Sandy’s and Max’s unwanted reunion with Lucas, it seemed the universe either wanted to apologize for screwing her life over by giving her what she wanted most.

Her brother.

Not exactly the best gift the world could have given her…but she’d take it. It seemed even though life was still trying to fuck her over, at least it was using lube this time!

“Did you just compare me to a dildo?” Billy asked skeptically.

“…well, to be fair, you are a dick,” Max shrugged.

“Rude.”

“But not wrong.”

Over the last couple of weeks, Billy and Max had reacquainted themselves with each other, mostly Max trying to come to terms with the fact that she wasn’t alone anymore. The same could be said about Billy. Without the impending fear of being left to his own madness, death wasn’t such a nightmare.

That didn’t mean all their problems had miraculously been solved overnight, of course.

There were years’ worth of baggage between them and issues that burned in both their heads, mostly Max’s, but neither broached the topic that needed to come up, which was; what now?

Billy seemed content, for whatever reason, and Max was too afraid to bring anything up.

How does one go about starting that conversation anyway?

She didn’t know how, nor did she want to. Things were finally good again, wasn’t that enough? She wasn’t crazy, Billy was there with her, her mom was out of her life and they had Halloween candy!

“If you eat another Snickers, ya’ not gonna have any left for the little ghosts and goblins,” Billy said, lounging on the couch behind her while she set to work on carving a pumpkin, munching away on her fifth candy bar…or was it her sixth?

“Shush,” she snipped, chewing thoughtfully. “I haven’t done this in years and I am savoring the moment.”

“Done what? Carve a pumpkin or eat candy?”

“Both, actually.”

And didn’t that sound sad when said out loud?

During her stint of living out of her car and while she was technically homeless, things like sweets and candy had become scarce and worthless to her. She ate cheap food and only drank water because it was free.

She’d gone three years without eating a brownie or a snack cake!

On top of all that, since she hadn’t celebrated Halloween, there had been no need to carve pumpkins or even buy any. So yes, she was going to bask in the glory that was Halloween and stuff herself full of chocolaty goodness and make the whole house smell like pumpkin guts, thank you very much.

“You should make a scary face,” Billy said, poking her side.

“Maybe I want a funny face,” she replied.

“Halloween means scary, not funny.”

“Funny faces look better.”

“They do not.”

“Do too.”

“Do not!”

“Do too!”

"Do not!"

"Do too!"

“Scary!”

“Funny!” she declared, sticking her tongue out at him. “And I’ll even hand out apples and oranges instead of candy just so I can keep it all to myself.”

Billy gaped, grabbing his chest, “…you’re a monster.”

Giggling, Max grabbed her marker and set about drawing her Jack-O-Lantern face. She missed this. Just laying around lazily, poking and prodding each other, arguing mindlessly, and teasing one another. Ever since Billy had reappeared, they had been inseparable.

For reasons neither of them understood, Billy could follow Max anywhere she went, including work, which made for some interesting days. She was pretty sure Billy had read every single movie cover in the building, twice.

Along with following her around, he would sleep next to her, even if he didn’t sleep, per se. He mentioned that he does “sleep”, in his own way, but he’s a ghost and therefore, lacked the need for rest. Max hadn’t questioned it, but she did make a rule that he was not allowed to keep her awake like he used to when she was younger.

Bedtime meant quiet time.

Billy would merely lay beside her while she slept. Was it strange? Sure. But the alternative was loneliness.

She didn’t want to be lonely anymore…

“You’re thinking too loud again,” Billy said, tugging on her hair.

Max felt her lips pull in a small smile, feeling a few more hair pulls, “I’m thinking of what to carve.”

“Make a funny scary face.”

“Like yours?” she smirked, turning towards him. “Wanna pose?”

“Fuck off…”

Their banter was suddenly cut off by a knock at the front door, both their eyes flashing towards the front door simultaneously. 

"You expectin' someone?" Billy asked, watching her rise from the couch. 

"Am I ever?" she clapped back, wandering over to the door. 

Who on Earth could be knocking that early? It was barely half-past 9 a.m. and it was her day off, surly kids couldn't be trick-or-treating yet? 

Grabbing the lock, she quickly turned it and opened the door, her faux smile lighting up her face to greet whoever was standing on her porch--until she saw who it was...

"Holy shit..." Billy mumbled from behind her, chuckling under his breath. "Lookin' good, Pretty Boy."

Holy shit, indeed.

Steve Harrington, of all people, stood before her with a bright smile and soft brown eyes, "Hey, Max."

"Oh my God--" Max gasped, unable to fight the real smile gracing her lips as she carefully stepped into Steve's open arms, more than happy to lose herself in a real hug from another person. "What are you doing here? How did you even--?"

"Sandy told me," Steve smiled, shrugging sheepishly. "Then I heard through the grapevine from Lucas that you really were back in town and I just had Sandy confirm it. Sorry if that sounds a little stalker-ish."

"Oh, yeah...that," Max said, her smile fading a bit. 

"Which is why I came to see you," Steve continued happily. "I wanted to invite you over to my parent's house tonight for a Halloween party! I know parties aren't your thing, but I'm only in town for a couple of days and so are the others and we really, really want to see you."

"Others?" she asked, crossing her arms. 

"The guys are gonna be there," Steve nodded. "Will that be...okay?"

Oh boy...

"Come on, babes, you can't say no to those puppy eyes," Billy drawled, leaning against the wall beside her. "Let's go. It'll be just like old times."

"I don't know," she sighed. 

"There will be lots of people, free food, good music, and alcohol," Steve urged. "We can get totally sheet-faced!"

"That was terrible."

"Made you smile though," he grinned. 

Max rolled her eyes fondly, wondering if she should just agree and go. The idea of seeing the others again was intimidating, but she wouldn't be alone this time. With her ghostly shadow beside her, the anxiety of facing her past wasn't so suffocating. 

"Alright," she agreed softly. 

"Sweet!" Steve exclaimed, fist-pumping the air. "Rob totally owes me $10!"

"You bet on whether or not I would say yes?"

"Yep, and I just won."

"How'd you know I would say, pre-tell?"

"Because you like me best," he grinned cheekily. 

"Second best," Billy said lazily. 

"Party starts at 9 tonight, goes until dawn if we're lucky," Steve explained, heading back down the walkway towards his car after hugging Max one more time. "Costumes are a must!"

"See you tonight then," Max called out, waving half-heartedly. 

"Costumes are a must?" Billy smirked gleefully. "You know what that means, right?"

Sighing, Max shut the door and groaned, "I can guess..."

"I feel ridiculous..."

Standing inside the small dressing room at the local thrift store, Max looked down at the outfit she'd gathered together at the last minute. As a joke, Billy had urged her to go as Red Riding Hood again, just as she had on their last Halloween together. Thankfully there were many ways you could put together a Red Riding Hood costume, but in her case, they'd actually found an adult-sized Red Riding Hood costume in the crowded racks of the thrift store Halloween section. There were many people getting last-minute costumes, so it wasn't just her. 

"What do you mean?" Billy asked from outside the door, no doubt gawking at the people around them. 

"I look ridiculous!"

"Would you just come out already!"

Groaning, Max unlocked the door latch and let it swing open, stepping out in a set of shiny black heels. The costume was more along the lines of sexy rather than scary. The skirt was split up both legs, barely a few inches from dragging the ground, displaying her pale thighs. The shirt was a renaissance style, off-the-shoulders blouse that cupped her breasts and had trumpet sleeves, complete with a black corset that accented her waistline perfectly. And of course, no Red Riding Hood costume would be complete without a blood-red hooded cape, the velvet material billowing around her bare shoulders all the way to the ground. 

To her mortification, someone cat-called from across the store and a few people began to stare openly at her. 

"Yeahhh," Billy smirked, cocking his head at her. "Ridiculous isn't the word I'd use."

"Funny..."

"You're gorgeous, Red. Get used to people noticin'," he stated, unhelpful. "You gotta get that costume."

"I don't want to."

"You're gettin' it."

"Don't wanna."

"Don't pout."

From the rack next to them, a mother shopping with her son stared at Max for a few seconds critically, raising her eyebrows at Max's one-sided conversation. Throwing the woman a glare, Max looked at herself in the full-length mirror once more. She wasn't used to dressing up, in any capacity, and she wasn't used to being the center of attention either. 

This outfit definitely screamed attention.

“Come on, Red,” Billy coaxed, tilting her chin up. “It’ll be fun.”

She really wasn’t sure she trusted his idea of fun, anymore.

Harrington House

October 31^st, 1995

If you had asked Max a week ago what she would be doing for Halloween, standing outside Steve Harrington’s parent's house dressed up in costume, moments away from laying eyes on old friends, she would have laughed in your face.

Now, as she stared up at the big house, decorated with giant cobwebs, shiny lights, and life-size skeletons, she wondered how this whole night was going to go…

“Spooky scary skeletons send shivers down your spine,” Billy sing-songed, teasing his icy fingers up her back. “What’s wrong? Afraid of facing the boys?"

Rolling her eyes, Max swung her basket up her arm and marched towards the door, “No, because I have a secret weapon.”

“And what’s that?”

“You,” she smirked.

Grinning at the possibilities, Billy trailed after her and up the front steps.

The party was in full swing by the time they had arrived and people were getting deep into the spooky spirit. The whole place smelled like booze, sweat, and sugar. Writhing bodies littered the living room floor while music poured from the speakers. Twinkling lights bathed the house in purple, green, and orange. There was a plethora of costumed people walking around, laughing loudly and sharing drinks. There was even a handful dirty dancing on the impromptu dance floor. 

This looked more like a high school party than an adult party...

"Well this brings back some memories," Billy snarked, gazing at a couple of scantly clad women waltzing by.  

"No kidding," Max agreed. 

The whole thing reminded her of the last time they'd been to a Harrington house party. Only, unlike last time, rather than a godly prom dress, Steve greeted them in a black and white striped suit with wild hair and darkened eyes. 

"Hello, Beetlejuiceee!" Max smirked, loving the green make-up adoring Steve's face and hair. 

"Pretty Boy makes a good-lookin' ghoul," Billy teased. 

"You made it!" Steve cried happily, strutting over to them with a girl behind him wearing a bright red wedding dress. 

"Robin?" Max gasped, realizing who it was beside Steve. "Or I guess I should say Lydia."

"Hey!" Rob greeted cheerfully, waving a fake bouquet of roses at her. 

"You guys look amazing!" 

"Thank you, thank you," Steve bowed. "It was Rob's idea. She's been obsessed with the movie forever, man."

"Guilty," Robin agreed. "But you wanted to do matching costumes, dingus."

"True."

"But forget about all that, look at you!" Rob exclaimed, gesturing to Max's outfit. "You look incredible!"

"Told you," Billy snarked. 

"Oh, thanks," Max smiled lightly, adjusting her basket. 

"God, you changed so much. You look amazing, girl," Rob smiled, giving the redhead a hug. "I'm glad you came."

"Yeah, me too."

Well, that was still debatable. 

"You hungry? Thirsty? We've got everything!" Steve offered, motioning to the kitchen where the counters were covered in a mountain of food. 

"You need a drink," Billy said. 

"I need a drink," Max nodded. 

"One drink comin' up!" Steve said. 

"Come on, let's go find the others," Rob stated, pulling Max through the crowd with purpose. 

Oh no...

The idea of actually seeing the boys hadn't fully hit her until just then. What was she supposed to say? What was she supposed to do? Was she supposed to just fake pleasantries and pretend they didn't have a past? 

What exactly was the correct protocol here?

"You have to try one of Stevie's mixers, they're super amazing and give you one Hell of a hangover, but sooo worth it," Rob continued on, dragging Max somewhere further into the house. "Have you met Linda yet? Wait, do you know her? I can't remember if you have or not, but I'm already pretty tipsy so! You gotta see her costume, Max, it's wild! I can't wait to show them yours too! I need to--where'd I leave my flowers? Stevie grab my flowers! I'm sorry, it's super loud in here and--oh, there they are! Hey, assholes! Look! Look who's here!"

In a group away from the crazy crowd, sat her old friends. Her eyes immediately found Lucas sitting next to a lovely black woman, both of them dressed as characters from Alice in Wonderland. He was wearing blue with his face painted, holding a pipe, while the woman was dressed in a baby blue dress and apron. The caterpillar and Alice.

Lucas, and that must be Linda.

Besides them, a curly-haired man stood with an oversized fake clock under his arm, wearing a set of white bunny ears and a burgundy trenchcoat. He was clearly the White Rabbit.

Dustin.

Across from them sat a dark-haired, young man gazing up at her with dark eyes, wearing an obnoxiously large top hat filled with cards. The Mad Hatter. 

Mike.

"Holy shit, dude," Dustin gaped, nearly dropping his drink. 

"No way..." Mike murmured. 

"You--you came," Lucas whispered, standing up slowly. 

"Of course she came!" Rob cheered, pulling Max closer. "Stevie used the power of his puppy eyes on her and she caved like a house of cards."

"You're actually here," Dustin interrupted, stepping up to see her. 

"Dustin," Max greeted lightly, looking at the others. "Mike...Lucas."

"Uhh--hi?" Mike stammered, still seemingly lost in awe at the sight of her standing there. 

"Are you going to leave me in the dark here or introduce us, Luke?" the woman - Linda - asked with a laugh from behind them. She slid up next to Max and held her hand out.

"Hi, I'm Linda, Lucas' wife," she smiled. 

Wife...how nice.

"Max," Max replied, shaking the woman's hand kindly. She'd give her ex one thing, his wife was stunning. "Nice to meet you."

"Are you a friend of Rob's?" Linda asked.

"...wow," Billy deadpanned. 

Pausing, Max carefully glanced at the boys and noted that their eyes all immediately were cast down, none of them bothering to correct the assumption. This meant that A; Linda had no idea who she was, and B; That meant they had kept their relationship with Max a secret...

She shouldn't have been surprised, but the fact that they had basically erased her from their lives did sting more than she cared to admit. 

"Yeah," she eventually nodded, ignoring the apologetic look Lucas attempted to give her. "I'm an old friend of Steve's."

"Wow, that's awesome! I can't believe I've never heard of you?" Linda wondered aloud, casting her husband a weird look. 

"Yeah...me neither," Max murmured. 

"One drink, my lady!" Steve suddenly appeared beside her, holding up a clear glass with a purple and green sparkly drink inside. "It's called a Witch's Potion. Don't ask what's in it."

"If that turns you into a frog, I'm out," Billy drawled, eyeing the drink with distaste. "How does it taste?"

"Tastes like...green apple?" Max said, taking a sip. It actually wasn't half bad. 

"Told ya'!" Rob grinned.

"How much alcohol is in this?" Max asked, taking another sip.

"Don't ask questions," Steve said. 

"That means a lot," Rob added helpfully. 

"Why is it sparkly?" Billy questioned. 

"It has this rad apple vodka in it, sooo good!" 

"Max...why is it sparkling?" 

"I've had like four already," Steve grinned. 

"You look like you're drinking glitter!" Billy cried, shivering. 

"It's pretty good," Max shrugged. "Sparkles aside."

"Don't dis my glitter," Steve pouted.

Smiling and taking another sip of her drink, Max took a set next to Robin on the sofa beside Mike, sitting across from the others while Steve collapsed on the floor. They were all nursing drinks and there was no telling how much they had all already had. 

This was going to get interesting. 

"So, Red Riding Hood, huh?" Dustin asked, eyeing Max's costume. "Goin' for a throwback?"

"Something like that," Max shrugged. 

"Well, you look great."

"Doesn't she!" Rob agreed, toasting her cup against Max's. 

"Told you," Billy smirked, leaning against her legs on the floor. 

"You said that already," Max murmured. 

"And I'll say it again."

"Were you Red Riding Hood before?" Linda asked. "You make a fantastic Red, by the way. I love your hair."

"Thank you, it's natural," Max smiled half-heartedly. "Yeah, I was Red Riding Hood once before. A long time ago. When Steve said costumes were a must, I had to go buy one and happened to find this one by coincidence."

"She loves your hair," Billy laughed, batting at her long waves. "But so do I."

"That's natural?" Linda gaped. "Oh my God, it's gorgeous! I seriously thought it might have been a wig!"

"Thank you?" Max tilted her head, unsure of the off-handed compliment. 

"Sorry, it's just that I haven't met many redheads and none of them had hair as beautiful as yours. It's so long and thick! And shiny!"

"She's been hitting the Witch Potion too," Lucas added carefully, smiling apologetically over his wife's excitement. 

"They're so good, aren't they!" Rob giggled. 

"Sooo good!" Linda laughed. "Steve, you should have been a bartender."

"Nahhh!" Steve waved, smiling. "I jus' threw bunches a stuff together an' made it pretty, 's all. It's delicious, mannn."

"He's wasted," Billy noted. 

"You okay, Stevie?" Max asked.

"Peachy-keen, lovely!" Steve giggled. 

"Correction, he's peachy-keen," Billy snickered. 

"Okay, drunkies, lay off the booze," Dustin rolled his eyes. "I'm the youngest here and I have to be the responsible one, honestly..."

"Technically, I'm the youngest now," Billy popped up, raising his hand. 

Max snorted into her drink, choking down a laugh. She was so going to use that against him later. 

"Oh, screw responsibility, it's Halloween!" Steve cried, waving his arms around. "Pumpkins an' candies an'--stuffs!"

"Didn't your mom bring brownies?" Linda asked Mike.

"I think so," he shrugged. 

"Your mom's here?" Max asked.

"Karen's here?" Billy smirked. 

"Yeah, she and my dad came. Holly's out with some of her friends trick-or-treating," Mike said, pointing out into the crowd. "I think she's dancing? Her and her friends came as the Sanderson Sisters."

"What kind of brownies?" Rob asked.

"Probably the boring kind," Steve snickered. 

"Don't you dare dismiss the wonders of chocolaty goodness on such a sacred day, Steven Harrington!" 

"I could go for a brownie," Max decided, standing up. She carefully made her way through the growing crowd, easing her way to the kitchen for something sweet and a few minutes to gather her thoughts. Out on the floor, she instantly spotted Karen Wheeler dressed as Winifred Sanderson, happily dancing with two other women dressed up as Sarah and Mary.

Time had not been very kind to Karen, that or she was really good with make-up.

"Damn," Billy whistled. "You sure it's only been ten years?" 

"I can't believe you wanted to hit that," she said scandalously, shaking her head. 

"I wanted to hit a lot a' pretty babes, Pretty Boy included, but we can't always get what we want, shitbird," he shrugged. "Ain't like she wasn't into it."

"She was twice your age!"

"You may well judge me," he smirked. 

"Believe me, I did," she rolled her eyes. 

Swaying through the gaggle of bodies, they eventually made it to the kitchen to find an ungodly amount of food and drink. Between the overflowing pans of different snacks and appetizers, there was an entire table stocked with sugary sweets, including a massive platter of brownies. Making a beeline for her prize, Max grabbed a small plate and quickly snagged three large brownies. 

"Try this," Billy said from next to her, holding up a chocolate-covered cherry. 

"Why?" 

"I can't eat, so I must live vicariously through you," he shrugged. 

Rolling her eyes, Max took the cherry and fought back the urge to pucker her cheeks. Those were vodka-soaked cherries! And she was pretty sure that chocolate was somehow spiked too!

"Goddamn," she smacked her lips, wincing at the subtle burn. 

"Good?" he smirked. 

"Potent!"

"Yeah, those cherries will get you if you aren't careful," Lucas' voice suddenly said from behind them. 

Turning violently, Max almost dropped her plate as she came face to face with her ex. He was standing at the other table gathering a plate of food himself, casting her a small smile. 

For the first time, Billy kept silent, merely standing back to see what would happen. 

"Yeah, pretty stout," Max agreed quietly, trying to keep her composure. 

"The mummy fingers are really good though, so is the chili," Lucas offered, gesturing to the food table while grabbing a water. "I'm playing designated driver for everyone."

"Good," she nodded. 

There was an awkward silence between them, steadily growing, and there were only so many times Max could scour the dessert table for new things to magically appear. 

"Max, I--" Lucas began, biting his cheek. "I'm sorry, about before. I didn't know you'd be here and that wasn't a great way to, you know..."

"I get it," she shrugged. 

And she did. 

Why would they want to tell people they used to know her? The one deemed crazy and paranoid? Her past wasn't exactly the best topic of conversation. That said, it did hurt a bit that they hadn't mentioned her at all to Linda.

Ghostly hauntings aside, they had been friends at one time, didn't that count for something?

"Right," he murmured. 

"So," she tried, picking a few more items to try. "How did you and Linda meet?"

Changing the topic to anything other than their sorted past, Max chose the most logical. Her choice seemed to work, a little too well, as Lucas suddenly changed from melancholy to sappy. 

"Funny story, we actually went to the same college and had classes together, but we'd never met each other," he chuckled. "Not until I literally ran straight into her at the coffee shop on campus. Came in the door right as she was leaving. Double-shot mocha everywhere. It was a mess!"

Oh joy...the classic 'coffee shop mishap' meeting, every rom-com's dream beginning...

"She made me buy her a new coffee and we just got to talking, found out we were practically neighbors on campus and started as study buddies. She made me work for it," he smiled, shaking his head fondly. "She's somethin' else, man. We've been married almost three years now."

"That's great," she offered, taking a bite of her brownie. 

"I'm sorry I never told her about you, it's just...you know, we don't really talk about that time in our lives, you know? Government secrets and all, hush-hush."

"Well, yeah, I get that you wouldn't tell her about that," she said. "But I didn't realize our old relationship counted as hush-hush, too."

"It--" Lucas fumbled, clearly uncomfortable being put on the spot. 

"Look, Sinclair, I said I got," she said quietly, finally meeting his eyes. "You didn't want to ever tell your wife that you used to date a crazy chick. Fine. That's your decision. I'm glad you found someone that makes you happy."

"Max, you're not--"

"Not what?" she challenged, raising an eyebrow. 

Her question was met with silence, but Max was tired of the same old argument. She sighed, shaking her head slowly.

"Go back to your wife, stalker. I've got mingling to do."

Lucas gave her one last small smile before turning and making his escape, full plate in hand. As he left, Max took a deep breath and closed her eyes, relaxing at the sensation of cold fingers caressing her cheek. 

"You're better off without 'em, Red," Billy murmured. 

"I guess," she muttered. 

He grinned and taped her chin, "Smile, babe. It's Halloween."

Mingling, as she called it, consisted of accidentally bumping into people and getting looped into conversations. Many people either knew who she was or had no idea, merely believing she was one of Steve's friends and complimenting her costume. She had a few guys offer her drinks, a few girls too, but she turned them down. She wasn't interested in anything more than friendly conversation. 

God, wouldn't that be awkward...

'Hi, welcome to my house, which by the way is haunted, hope you don't mind voyeurism!'

Shuddering at the very idea, Max downed her drink and promptly asked Beetlejuice to make her another one, with extra emphasis on the Potion this time! 

"Hit me up, Beetle!"

"You got it, Red!"

How much had she had anyway?

Oh well, didn't matter!

She drank, she ate too many brownies, she even danced between Rob and Linda, swaying together to the blaring music. The boys had joined them for a few songs, alternating dance partners, all while ignoring the massive pink elephant in the room. 

No, seriously, there was a guy dressed as a bright, pink elephant.

Max giggled, thinking about how insane the whole situation was. Here she was, surrounded by people who all thought she was crazy because she could see her dead brother, while said brother was making fun of them right under their noses. 

It was hilarious, in a messed up way...

To be honest, though, it wasn't until they had all begun talking about their lives that she had started hitting the booze a bit harder than she should have. It had started with a harmless question, a little conversation starter really, asking about holiday plans.

What are your plans for the holidays?

Lucas had started off by saying he and Linda would be flying to spend Christmas with her family in Vermont, and that they would be spending Thanksgiving with his family and staying over the long weekend because it was his nephew's birthday as well.

Then Dustin pipped in with his plans to meet his girlfriend's family over Thanksgiving for the first time and that he would be bringing her home for Christmas. Big family dinner over Christmas Eve and opening up presents under the tree Christmas morning. 

Mike was next, saying how he was flying up to see El and Will at the Byers' home over Thanksgiving and that he and his family would be taking a Christmas vacation together to Maine, as Nancy would be flying in with her fiance. They were getting married next summer if everything went as planned. 

Steve and Robin said they were taking a road trip to see Rob's family but they hadn't decided where to spend Christmas yet, but if things worked out then they would probably be taking a trip to a ski resort with Steve's parents. 

...and of course, all eyes turned to Max. 

What about you, Max? What are your plans?

A harmless, natural question, right?

Wrong.

Because what was she supposed to say? 

She hadn't celebrated a single fucking holiday since she was 18 years old. She'd worked every Christmas, every New Years, every Thanksgiving, every major holiday - alone - because she had been the only one without a family. She had been the fallback for every call-out, missed day, sick day, everyone's go-to for a replacement because she never did anything. 

She never had plans. 

She never had family down to visit. 

She never had family functions to attend. 

She never even had friends...

"I'm not sure what the plans are for this year," she said quickly, shrugging. That is when she started hitting the Potions harder and harder. And maybe the brownies too. Comfort food does wonders for the soul when it's been crushed into a thousand itty-bitty pieces!

So after having to listen to her ex-friends talk mindlessly about their wonderfully, normal lives, Max had come to a startling realization. 

She had absolutely nothing in common with anyone...

All she could say for certain was that she was a dedicated workaholic, had a decent set of street smarts, and spoke to one parent twice a year...yeah, her life was far from normal. It wasn't even in the same galaxy as theirs. While they had been in college, studying to better their lives, she'd been sleeping in a car trying to make a single pop-tart last two days for food. 

They had wonderful relationships, where they'd met beautiful people over coffee, and she was batting a whopping zero on the dating chart. 

They had good, healthy relationships with their folks, while she hadn't even laid eyes on her own in years. 

They had nice, normal lives...and her only companion was a ghost.

'What am I even doing anymore?' she wondered, resting against the couch while Rob and Steve started a conga line to the Banana Boat song. 

Day-o, day-o
Daylight come and we want go home
Day, is a day, is a day, is a day, is a day, is a day-o
Daylight come and we want go home!

Work all night on a drink of rum
Daylight come and we want go home!
Stack banana 'til the morning come
Daylight come and we want go home!

Smiling at the dorks, Max could admit that she had missed them. No matter how insane her life had turned out, she would always be thankful that she had known Steve Harrington. Robin was a blessing too. Those two would always look out for each other and keep the Party together. 

"We should go before angry pygmy shows up," Billy murmured against her ear, appearing from the shadows. "I wanna go spook some spooks before the night's over."

Getting lost sounded good. 

Walking over to the couch, Max set her glass down and picked up her basket, tossing Linda and Mike a small smile. 

"I'm headed out, it was nice meeting you," she said, waving at them. 

"Bye, Max!" Linda waved back, smiling brightly. 

Rob and Steve waved to her from their dance party, blowing her drunken kisses while giggling. Behind them, Lucas stood next to Dustin and offered her a small smile, noticing her departure. She really didn't care whether they noticed or not, she just wanted to leave and get some peace and quiet. 

"Ready?" she asked, finding Billy lounging against the doorway, a cigarette dangling from his pale lips. 

"Yep," he grinned, flicking ash on the ground. "After you."

As they were getting ready to leave the party, Billy stopped at the door and turned back around, seeing Lucas and Dustin staring at Max's retreating back. Letting the veil fall, he smiled maliciously and locked eyes with Lucas, cherishing the look of absolute horror falling over the man's face as Billy winked at him. Chuckling darkly, he waved at the terrified onlookers before disappearing from their sight. 

Outside, Max stood on the bottom step waiting for him.

"What did you do?" she asked, catching his delighted grin. 

"Nothin'," he chuckled, wrapping his arm around her neck and pressing a kiss to her hair. "Now let's go scare some folks, Little Red."

Beneath the moonlight, in the dim glow of Jack-O-Lantern's light, a lone ghoul and a lovely Red Riding Hood strolled side by side through the streets of Hawkins. Even though they weren't trick-or-treating, they had managed to snag some candy due to Max's costume. People stared and whistled at her, calling out that they could be her Big Bad Wolf if she wanted. 

She just smiled under her cloak, usually followed by a frightened scream as her Big Bad made a ghostly appearance to scare them out of their skin.

Throughout the streets, she had seen more than a fair share of fabulous costumes. There had been many Frankenstein monsters, a few Draculas, Werewolves, Witches, Ghosts, Zombies, Rock N' Rollers, Superheros, and even Princesses. It was nice to see so many little ones out running amuck around on Halloween. 

"Amuck, amuck, amuck!" she giggled, licking on a lollipop. 

"How much sugar have you had?" Billy asked, watching her out of the corner of his eye. 

"Not enough," she grinned. 

"You're gonna crash so hard."

"Worth it."

They had managed to waltz up and down every street in Hawkins, and honestly, her feet were killing her. But she didn't want to go home yet...

"Where should we go now?" she asked. 

"Hmmm," he hummed, tilting his head. "I got just the place..."

Following along without a care, Max watched her brother lead them somewhere unknown through the dark. It was late, very late, and most of the town's inhabitants had returned to their beds. Children tucked away as the true witching hour began. The moon was still high in the dark sky, lighting their way. 

From ahead of her, she could hear Billy humming and swaying slightly, the beginning notes of Jack's Lament from The Nightmare Before Christmas echoing around them in the silence. That silly movie had quickly become one of his favorites after she'd shown it to him one night all those weeks ago.

He'd been murmuring This Is Halloween since before Halloween.

"Oh, somewhere deep inside of these bones, an emptiness began to grow. There's something out there, far from my home. A longing that I've never known..." he crooned quietly, getting Max to smile and even dance with him beneath the moon. "I'm the master of fright, and a demon of light. And I'll scare you right out of your pants!"

Max laughed as they swayed back and forth, singing along, letting Billy twirl her around while her cape swept behind her. 

"But who here would ever understand, that the Pumpkin King with the skeleton grin, would tire of his crown, if they only understood," he sang, his tone getting softer. "He'd give it all up, if he only could..."

"Oh, there's an empty place in my bones, that calls out for something unknown," she joined in, closing her eyes as the cool air flowed around her. "The fame and praise come year after year, does nothing for these empty tears..."

The unsaid words between rang louder than their duet, filling Max's heart with a mixture of unease and hopeful longing.

It had been so long since she'd felt so alive. 

...and it was with him. 

Sighing happily, she slowly opened her eyes and realized where Billy had brought them. The bright moonlight shone down on the large cavern of the quarry, the still water shining beneath the starry sky above. It hadn't changed at all since the last time they'd been there. 

Now doesn't this bring back memories?

Smiling softly, Max stood on the very edge of the ravine and enjoyed the feeling of the cool breeze blowing through her hair. It was such a beautiful night. Nothing could make it better.

Well, one thing could...

Billy came up behind her and gazed over her shoulder at the water below, lost in its haunting depths. There was a spooky fog slowly converging across the water's surface, hiding the jagged rocks beneath. 

"Hey, Billy?" Max murmured.

"Hmm?"

"Ever get an urge to jump?" she whispered, glancing up at him. 

Oh...

She wasn't the only one who remembered their last time there. 

Billy gazed down at her silently, his face unreadable, while Max just took in every detail of his, like she was memorizing it. 

“It would probably only hurt for a second,” she continued, reciting the exact words he'd spoken to her all those years ago. “Maybe wouldn’t even feel anything at all…”

Rather than answer her, he simply reached up and brushed his fingers through her hair, looking at her longingly. He knew better than to try and force her to do anything, she would have to make the decisions in her life, not him. No matter what he wanted...

She leaned into his touch with a quiet breath, savoring his touch. 

"Do you love me?" she whispered. 

"...more than anything," he swore.

"That's all I needed to hear..."

Closing her eyes, she smiled once more before stepping back away from him, letting the air carry her to her chosen future. For the first time, she was making her own choice. No one to tell her what she should do. No one around to stop her.

Only her, the judgeless moon and the night air embracing her in its icy caress. 

There was no more pain. 

No more sorrow.

...she was finally free.

Max...

Maxxx...

"Maxxx..." a familiar voice crooned to her, warm breath billowing against her closed eyes. "Time to open your eyes."

Billy?

Listening to her brother's voice, Max slowly opened her eyes and found herself back on the edge of the ravine, only now she found herself locked in her brother's warm arms.

But that can't be...

"Am I--" she began, tilting her head back to look over the edge, thinking she'd dreamed the whole thing, when suddenly Billy stopped her, pressing her against his chest. She wasn't worried anymore as she melted into his embrace, lost in the feeling of being back in his arms.

She finally had him back.

They could finally be together again. 

"You're real," she whispered gaily, tucking herself against his warmth. 

"Course I am, Red."

"Don't leave me again," she pleaded softly.

"Never again," he avowed, twirling them away from the quarry's edge. "We'll never be apart, ever again."

"Promise?"

"Cross my heart," he grinned. 

Hand in hand, the two figures swayed back and forth under the cover of night, awaiting the dawn's morning light. Lost in each other's arms, with only the moon as their guide, they danced together without a care. As the witching hour faded and morning light began to gleam, two ghostly moans could be heard.

"Happy Halloween!"