#The Shadow Monster (Mind Flayer)

[demondog27]

Speechless

[v-i-r-i-d-i-a-n]

Shadow Brenner in the VR game whenever Henry does ANYTHING

[friendsdontlieokay]

I've said this once and I'm saying it again. Maybe I'm overanalyzing this, maybe I'm being delulu (assuming from the fact that I'm trying to give my favorite girl the spotlight) or maybe the mind flayer/ the most powerful creature in the upside down is rooting for killing Nancy for a long time.

Know how El's constantly been ruining the mind flayer's plans over and over again? Which is also precisely one of the reasons why it wants to kill her and I think the same thing is going on with Nancy too.

I mean definitely she does not have powers like eleven, but she too, has been trying to directly ruin the flayer's plans by connecting the dots and finding the truth everytime.

In S1, when she gets stuck in the upsidedown for that short while, a Demogorgon tries to attack her, I mean sure if a prey falls right into the trap themselves, what's the poor Demogorgon's fault right? But it didn't try to kill Hopper or Joyce so it's kinda sus cause it seems to me that there is more than one Demogorgon in the upside down, but let's just dismiss the fact for the time being just for the sake of it.

But again, in S2, Nancy, along with Joyce and Jonathan, manages to get the mind flayer out of will, and even though she was mainly there for assistance, Joyce did most of the work/torture, needless to say that she was the one to give it that final push when she poked that burning metal into Will's body which forces the flayer out of him, now I don't know about the mind flayer but if I were him I'd be pretty pissed at Nancy.

Now jumping straight into the third season, it's when things start getting real suspicious and logical, we know how the mind flayer has total control over the flayed's minds right? They have no control over it at all when the mind flayer is activated, so in the hospital scene when Nancy and Jonathan get chased by Tom and Bruce it's definitely for a reason, and I can't exactly remember who but one of those flayed assholes do mention it explicitly how the mind flayer is solely chasing Nancy "I'm here for you Nancy Drew" why would it be here for Nancy? And it's clear that it only chased Jonathan because he was with Nancy cause the whole time it's been after her, and even tried to swallow her, in fact even in Hopper's cabin, it tried to flay her.

And the reason for s4 is absolutely clear, vecna doesn't curse people without trauma, true he did not really curse her but he did enter her mind, revealed his plan and showed her the most terrible things about her loved ones, and I know that vecna did say that he showed her all these because she was so close to the truth and so that she could tell El, but I don't honestly think these are the only reasons, because in that case the chasing and torture are just unnecessary, I mean why would he mention and show her the dead body if barb right? It just doesn't click right.

[adraveins]

You will be called liberator.

[madcat-world]

Mind Flayer, the Shadow (1 of 2) - Isis Sangaré

[hatchpaper]

Inktober Day 8 - The Mind Flayer

By Corbin Leach | October 8, 2024 (Age 31)

[0aurelion-sol0]

On that note...

This is not the type of strangling I'm into personally... 😨

[allonzy]

in season 2 episode 4, will says "i just know things now. things i never did before"

could that be why he was able to recognize brenner in season 4? because it was after henry creel/vecna overtook his body, so even though will wasn't in hawkins anymore he still could access some of his memories??

[thelostsisters]

shoutout to my fellow big brained henry stans for taking the tired “what if the mind flayer was the real big bad??” take that ppl came up with after st4 vol 2 bc they were pissed that the true antagonist of the show was just Some Guy and turning it into the best st5 theory known to man

[kawaiidoodles95-blog]

Maxenn / The Mind Flayer’s art dump! I have only one more to go.

[inkier-things-au]

The Ink Demon has dreams, memories of times back before he was created, before his soul was formed, he has memories of being something else entirerly, with the strength of a god. and a kingdome he ruled over, and not in the studios, but in the outside, he remembers how the lands were, he vividly remembers the sky, and the grass, and the structures. but most of all, he remembers his subjects. He remembers being an Alpha. but then, that was when the dreams would change. he would remember an creature, an outsider, arriving from space, an literal beast. that messed with his subject’s minds. corrupting them. destroying his kingdom. he remembers a fight breaking out in the dream, a deadly fight, it had gone to the point where the whole world itself was being destroyed in their battle, or was it something else? he doesn’t remember. he remembers pain, suffering, saddness. but then. relief. he remembers destroying the outsider’s body, trapping him in the essences of hell itself, in a mirrored version of the world. but then. after that. he remembers pain. lots of it. the entire world, screaming. burning, smoke filling his lungs. his body being torn apart, before an bright light. The ink demon always wakes up, nearly shrieking out in fear at these memories, these dreams, almost as if he had remembered them clearly. a shame he’ll never get to know the truth.

[tryingonametaphor]

You vs. We

i rewatched the first shadow yesterday and i think there’s a hentty/byler/mlvn parallel worth noting. (spoilers for TFS ahead⚠️)

when henry is taken by brenner for the first time and brenner asks him to make contact with the mind flayer, patty tries to reach out to him so he lets her into his mind in the void. when she sees him strapped down in the lab, she runs to his side, holds his hand and talks to him. it looks exactly like the way mike’s monologue is framed in s4. and that’s where the similarities end.

patty holds the unconscious henry’s hand, but in the void, she’s still looking at henry when she talks and henry’s looking back at her. she says something along the lines of “if you leave, we can run away and find my mother. we can fight the monster together, you and me.”

and this made me realise the glaring difference between how mike talks to el and how mike talks to will. the entirety of his monologue is “you can do this,” and “you can do that, el!” meanwhile at the end of s4, when will says “we have to kill him,” mike says “and we will. we will.”

(all the gifs used in this post are by @will80sbyers!)

that’s not the only time mike uses “we” or “us” when he talks to will about a fight against the enemy. here are some more examples:

and how he segues into talking about his first meeting with el vs. his first meeting with will:

in his monologue to el, you is el, we is mike, dustin, and lucas.

mike sees el as the other. as someone he cannot imagine as his equal, and it reflects in the way he talks to her. this doesn’t surprise me considering it is exactly what he tells will in the van. but mike and will have had no issues seeing each other as equals. even after mike saw will possessed and powerful. and even though will considers mike the leader of the party, he doesn’t think mike is above him. they stand on equal grounds in their relationship.

[sunflowerwizard]

I've seen enough people mischaracterizing Early Access Wyll, so here's the best breakdown of his original character I can give.

I'll start this off by plainly summarizing Wyll's EA backstory, some of his core personality traits, then do a bit of analysis.

BACKSTORY

EA Wyll mentions being "born and bred in the upper city" into nobility. It's unspecified what exact level of influence his family occupied.

In datamined voice lines from EA (take with a grain of salt) Wyll refers to being from House Eltan specifically. Eltan was the Grand Duke of Baldur's Gate in the first Baldur's Gate Game, and the founder of the Flaming Fist. Forgotten Realms lore states that the Eltans are no longer in charge of the Fist and have somewhat diminished in power, but again. We don't know to exactly what level.

This also means that this iteration of Wyll was not Ulder Ravengard's son. While he still spoke about his father in EA, the descriptions and characterizations do not line up with Ulder at all. Additionally, he comments about "knowing of" Ravengard during the burning inn sequence, but otherwise makes no connection.

The most damning evidence of all that Wyll being a Ravengard was not originally intended, is Wyll wanting to be like his father and thus "going thieving in the wrong shadows".

Wyll gets caught stealing, presumably as a teenager, and his father uses latent connections within the Flaming Fist to get Wyll sent there. Effectively the fantasy equivalent of sending your unruly kid to boot camp.

Wyll mentions that he didn't adjust well to life as part of the Flaming Fist, was not a very good fighter, and was generally not well liked. The goblin at the windmill calling Wyll "Captain Failure" implies he might have been given higher status despite not earning it.

The way Wyll feels about goblins is a big change between EA and full release, and is explained as part of his backstory.

We didn't get the finer details, but we can assume Wyll in his time with the Fist bore witness to a group of goblins razing a village. Horrified and enraged, he tried fighting a goblin, was overwhelmed, and had his eye torn out.

This is when Mizora showed up and offered him a pact. Considering he was left for dead and probably going to bleed out, it's pretty understandable why he took the deal.

Mizora is not nearly as present in Early Access as she is in the current game. Karlach was not involved in Wyll's story at all, there's no devil transformation.

It's also more heavily insinuated there's a sexually coercive element of Wyll and Mizora's relationship, with him speaking to how every time he wanted to leave her, she found some way to pull him back.

Additionally, Wyll wants out of that contract. Unlike full release where Mizora is randomly captured in Act 2, she starts off kidnapped, and insists she'll let Wyll go if he frees her

It kind of ended up being a plot cul de sac, but Torturer Spike was the goblin that took Wyll's eye--which was a quest item you could pickpocket/loot off his body. Wyll had commentary on it and everything.

TL;DR: -Born to a noble family with Flaming Fist connections -Caught Stealing and sent to work for the Fist as punishment -Tried to fight back during a goblin attack and was gravely injured -Mizora offers a pact -Uses his pact to become a traveling monster hunter, presumably to make up for his past failure to protect people. Antagonistic towards goblins in particular -Ultimately wants out of the pact, but Mizora won't let him go -Wyll and Mizora get abducted by Mind Flayers -Mizora agrees to let Wyll go if he frees her from the cultists

PERSONALITY

This is a bit less concrete than changed story beats, but I can say this: a lot of Wyll's core traits stayed intact between EA and full release. He's still willing to put his life on the line for the Tiefling refugees, with a whole cut line about how the kids he's training deserve to have a carefree childhood. He wants to do good in the world, probably because he spent so much time in his youth feeling like a fuck up.

There's also a much clearer divide between "Wyll" and "The Blade of Frontiers". Notably, in EA he didn't introduce himself by name. Not even a "my friends call me Wyll" quip at Shadowheart like he has currently. During his old romance scene, he has a line about being used to being the hero, and not used to needing one. He's a symbol. An emblem of something bigger than himself. The fact he's so self-aggrandizing as The Blade makes it apparent he's not confident in himself as "just Wyll"

He's also decidedly more forward and flirty in EA, with no reservations about courtship. In fact, the main obstacle to your budding relationship is Mizora herself. Wyll's trauma from her treatment interrupts your first night together. Whether you have sex or just snuggle, Wyll has a line about how he doesn't want to start a relationship until he can "give himself completely" after being freed from his pact.

THOUGHTS & COMPARISONS

I'm also not entirely sure if I'd say EA Wyll is substantially angrier than current Wyll, so much as he had more opportunities to be angry during Early Access. I can understand why the goblin stuff was cut, because it did dip into "Let's make the one black guy fantasy racist" trope. However, it did very much feel like the narrative was pointing in bright, flashing colors that this is a trait Wyll would have to grapple with, learn, and grow from. The fact EA Wyll's most glaring character flaw was scrapped and didn't get much of a replacement in full release makes his story feel less realized.

While I appreciate the overtly sexual element of Wyll and Mizora's relationship was removed, I feel like the final version is somehow even more creepy. During Early Access she existed in the background as a vague villain you only experience via Wyll. And if you do his romance scene and see the way he panics at the mere memory of her, you get the impression of oh shit. This broad is bad news and I've gotta get my boy out of there. The same principle behind not showing the big scary monster too early in the horror movie. Once you've seen it, you can't let your mind fill in the blanks. Mizora went from this intimidating figure whose motives you couldn't fully ascertain, to a mean girl that thinks she's smarter than everyone else but is really just the bumbling lackey of a bigger fish. Who pulls Wyll around with an actual metaphysical leash like a dog. And you're meant to find this sexy.

My final point, and I've said this before: current Wyll's personality seemed more suited to being a scion of house Eltan, while EA Wyll seemed more suited to being Ulder Ravengard's dissapointment son. Current Wyll speaks and carries him like someone raised in nobility despite only being elevated to such status as a teenager. Perhaps this is cynical and maybe even a bit of a conspiracy theory, but I genuinely think he's only Ravengard's son to save on time and assets. Why give Wyll a whole unique family with its own story when we can just tie him in to the "rescue the grand duke" plot, regardless of how much sense it makes!

[sserpente]

Forgiveness of Blood

What if Tav and Astarion met a little differently? What if Tav was someone else? A half-vampire? What if Tav…was Cazador’s daughter?

A/N: *slides a plate of Astarion-shaped biscuits*

Words: 1920 Warnings: mentions of rape, murder, and abuse, violence, half vampire!Tav

The gith looked tasty enough. Perhaps the half-elf with the long black braid. Hells, even the Tiefling who was seemingly burning up from the inside out promised to be delicious—sizzling, you’d dare say.

At this point, you were desperate. Any humanoid blood would do and this group camped out in the middle of nowhere, was just perfect for satiating your needs for a few nights.

You crouched down further, remaining hidden behind the bushes and the dark shadows as you licked over your humble fangs. You hated it had come to this. One of the few advantages of being a half-vampire was that you were no slave to hunger for all things sanguine. You could walk in the sun though you burned up easily and you could eat regular food without it turning to ash in your mouth to sustain you. Still, there was no denying that blood, as much as you loathed the idea, would keep you at strength.

You’d been tumbling through the wilderness for days now. Escaping the clutches of a powerful vampire lord was one thing (especially when said vampire lord was your biological father) but escaping a horde of mind flayers? That took its toll. You shook yourself upon being reminded that Cazador’s blood ran through your very veins; you were disgusted by your own body because of it.

You only knew about half the horrors he’d inflicted on hundreds, thousands of innocents, the ones on your human mother included. Pregnancy among vampires was so rare it was nearly impossible. Your mother, may the gods be kind to her wherever she was now, had never been in love with that monster, of course. He’d taken a liking to her long ago, abducted her, kept her a prisoner in his palace until the impossible happened and she ended up with child—you.

Gods, the few childhood memories still flashing before your inner eye when you rested at night were all but devastating, lonely, and…cruel. He’d meant for you to do his bidding, to become his right hand—always by his side but never on top, of course. Only you wanted nothing to do with that. You’d seen the way he treated your mother when you were right there in your crib. You never found her body. Whatever he’d done with it…you weren’t sure you wanted to know.

You were around twelve years old when you took flight and, with the help of a servant who risked and sacrificed their life to save you, left Cazador behind for good.

Your stomach growled and you took a deep breath. He had passed part of the curse of vampirism onto you. There was nothing you could change about that, whether you wished to or not. You were wary of the berries and mushrooms growing around here though and you had no energy left in you to hunt for meat. The only thing left was…blood.

There. They’re getting ready for bed. You’d wait until they all gathered around the warm campfire and fell asleep and then…you’d strike.

“Astarion! Astarion, help!”

Shit. You pulled away from the black-haired girl whose neck you were about to sink your fangs into, ready to bolt away into the darkness. A beautiful elf who’d kept away from the fire stepped into view, blocking your escape route. He glared at you with his fists clenched, ready for a fight. Something was…different about him. You hadn’t noticed him at camp before because…your lips parted. He had no heartbeat.

“You’re a spawn.” It wasn’t a question, not really. He was unusually pale, his stunning eyes were red, and as he spoke…you saw the flash of a pair of fangs.

“What are you doing here? Who are you? You better get out before I gut you,” he spat.

“Another blood-sucker? Chk,” the gith tossed in.

You lifted your hands in defence. “I mean no harm, please.”

A dire mistake, so you realised quickly. Astarion’s gaze travelled to the silver ring on your finger—a keepsake from your mother, one that granted her access to various places and chambers in Cazador’s palace: it was a silver Szarr family ring, a small round ruby in its middle.

Astarion’s expression darkened until it was downright…murderous. You had neither the energy nor enough time to react when he lunged himself at you. Your back hit the dirty ground with a thump, pain shooting up and down your spine.

You felt the sharp blade of a dagger pressed against your throat before you saw it. It was accompanied by gasps, yet no one dared to intervene—yet.

“You came for me, didn’t you? He sent you! Answer me!” he yelled, making you flinch. Cazador.

“No! I’m not, I’m…I’m hungry, I…”

“You are not touching my companions. I still need them. Are there more? Who else did he send?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, please! Let me go!” You wriggled a little in his tight grasp.

“You’re wearing his ring. You serve him.”

“I don’t serve Cazador!” you choked out.

“So you do know what I’m talking about,” he growled.

“Please, let me up and I’ll explain.”

A man with longer hair and a beard cleared his throat. “Astarion…maybe you should hear her out. The lady seems to be very much in distress.”

“That’s how they lure you in,” Astarion retorted.

“Gale’s right, Astarion. Let’s hear what she has to say. Just like when you found me, remember?” the red-skinned tiefling added.

The spawn above you took a deep breath and released you, though his dagger remained drawn and ready to slice you open. You didn’t bother to get back up and instead, knelt on the ground in a weak attempt to prove you truly meant no harm.

“Speak before I change my mind. I do so love a midnight bloodbath.”

Chills ran up and down your spine. “I…I told you, I don’t work for Cazador. You’re…you’re one of his spawn, aren’t you? I don’t understand, why would he send people after you? Did you escape? How does he not control you?”

“We are not talking about me, we are talking about you.”

“Right.” You told him your name and offered a weak smile to the group. “I’m from Baldur’s Gate too. I have no idea where we are now though, to be honest. This is going to sound hard to believe but I was kidnapped by mind flayers.”

“Trust me,” Gale said, “it’s not as hard to believe as you might think.”

“Yeah…same thing happened to us, soldier,” the tiefling added.

“It…it did? I…I’ve been roaming the woods for weeks in search of civilisation.”

“You’re a spawn,” Astarion said, dismay swinging in his smooth voice.

“No. I’m not a spawn. I’m…I’m only half a vampire.”

Gale gasped. “A dhampir? How’s that even possible?”

“You know...” the black-haired girl you intended to bite intervened, “…when two people like each other very much, they do this thing…”

Gale snorted in response.

You nodded. “She’s right. Although…my biological parents did, in fact, not like each other when it happened. All I ever wanted was to be free from his disgusting legacy. I escaped from the palace when I was twelve years old. I don’t need blood to survive and I can walk in the sun, I just…I was so hungry I didn’t know what else to do.” You turned to the black-haired girl. “I wasn’t going to kill you. I just needed a few drops to regain my strength.”

“Huh, I think I’m having a déjà-vu.”

Meanwhile, Astarion’s face remained blank. One by one, the puzzle pieces you’d fed him fell into place—and he understood. “You…Cazador has a daughter?”

You nodded yet again. “My mother was human. She was a captive, much like you, I presume.”

“Well that certainly explains a lot,” Gale murmured.

It would all be fine now. Astarion knew the truth—he knew you weren’t here to bring him back to Cazador, and that never meant to kill any of his friends…

“You are…Cazador’s daughter,” Astarion repeated. Slowly. Dangerously so.

“I…I don’t know what he did to you. But I-I’m sorry. I’ve seen him in action, the man is a monster. I’m not like my father. I promise.”

He was still ready to kill you, you could feel it with every fibre of your being. You were not welcome here, not according to him anyway. Gods, you hated you were such an empathetic person! You couldn’t even tell whether the tears pricking your eyes were because of the crude hostility you were met with…or the fact that whatever Astarion had been through must have been even more terrible than what you had experienced living with the vampire lord.

“I’ll…I’ll leave.”

“No. You’re staying. Darling. You are going to be the perfect leverage to guarantee my freedom. And if not,”—he shrugged with a malicious smirk—“it will be a delight to kill you.”

Your blood ran cold. “Astarion…please, I…”

“Hold on! Let’s all just take a deep breath, yeah? No one is going to be leveraged here. You’re welcome to stay at our camp regardless, though. I am Karlach.” She points at herself, pleased. “It seems like you could use the company. We got food too. Real food, I mean. That’s Shadowheart, Lae’zel, Gale—but you already knew that—that over there, sleeping, is Wyll and…that’s it. Halsin’s probably still out in the woods, you’ll meet him in the morning.”

Astarion growled. “Cazazdor’s blood runs through her veins. The madness runs in the family. I ought to stake you right now. I’m keeping an eye on you.”

They let you stay. Against all reason, some space was made for you at camp and you were spared a bedroll. You couldn’t say you were a fan of sleeping under the stars but beggars couldn’t be choosers. None of them wanted to share their makeshift tent with Cazador’s daughter—and you couldn’t say you blamed them.

Regardless, no matter how much you turned and tossed, of course, sleep didn’t find you even after a quick but generous meal prepared by Gale. Astarion had been ready to kill you today. He probably had if Karlach and the others hadn’t stepped in.

And against all reason…you felt guilty. The pain in Astarion’s eyes…you’d seen your own reflected in it. Only the gods knew what he’d been through… You sighed and climbed to your feet, making your way over to his tent. Was this suicide? Quite possibly.

At first, you thought he was trancing. But then, from the corner of your eye, you saw a slight movement of his hand, one that would have been impossible to see with mere human sight. You cleared your throat.

“Astarion?”

Nothing.

“Astarion, I…I just want to say I’m sorry. I know you must hate me, I understand that. But for what it’s worth…I truly am sorry. Cazador is a monster. He killed my mother when he tired of her and only the gods know what he did with her corpse. Not a single memory I have with him is a good one. All I remember is pain, loneliness, and humiliation. We…we might share the same blood but I swear to you, I am nothing like him. If you won’t believe anything else…please believe that.”

There was no response for a while as you stood there, dumbfounded, waiting for his remarkably charming voice to sound. Then, finally…he shifted.

“I believe you.”

You breathed out audibly, relief flooding your veins. It was all he said. But for now…it was enough.

A/N: I feel like I'm going to continue this somehow. Maybe. Potentially when they're back in Baldur's Gate? Choices, choices...

[therainscene]

I think I might have figured out what the Mind Flayer really is.

This theory has been percolating in my brain for a while now; it hasn't really finished baking yet but I wanted to get the gist of it down before The First Shadow debuts.

Let’s begin at the Hawkins National Lab, 6th November 1983. For the second time in her young life, El faces terrifying and deeply traumatic circumstances which cause her powers to lash out and rip a gash in the fabric of reality.

Meanwhile, across town, Will is doing what every queer 12 year-old has done and finds an excuse to spend an extra moment alone with his crush.

His little gay heart is as aflutter as the garage lights.

(Strange, that. The lights, I mean -- considering that he's on the other side of town from the lab. Do you suppose the Demogorgon trekked all the way to Mike's house and quietly followed him home again?)

Will heads home, lost in thought as he cycles past the lab. Is he thinking about how sweet his new X-Men #134 is gonna be? Or is he thinking about something even sweeter? The lights flutter again.

And something in front of him notices.

Will has always been noticeable: his clothes, his mannerisms, his interests -- they've always attracted the attentions of bullies. Now something new -- or maybe something that was always there and is only now making itself known -- has attracted the attentions of a monster.

He runs home, he calls for help, but he's alone, there's no escape. He races to the shed and loads a gun like his father taught him -- but it's not in his nature to be violent. He freezes, petrified.

The lights surge as his terror wrestles control of his powers and uses them to puncture an escape route in the fabric of reality.

Why were we so quick to believe that the Demogorgon -- a minion of the guy whose whole thing is his inability to open gates -- was able to open its own temporary portals in S1 and then never again?

Will could plausibly have been responsible for every temporary portal in S1: he’s at the Byers house when the Demogorgon pushes through its walls; he's on the run to Castle Byers when Nancy stumbles across that portal in the woods; and he's plugged in to one of Vecna's vines during the finale -- something we see Vecna plug himself into when he remotely opens gates in S4.

There’s one exception though.

Barb likely slipped through a gate in Steve's pool, but how could Will have opened that one when he was in his bedroom at the time, talking to his mother through the lights?

Let me ask you this: isn't it interesting that of all the injuries Barb could have obtained in her passage to the Upside Down, she got a nosebleed?

I think powers are more common than we’ve been led to believe, and gates are a last-ditch self-defense mechanism for anyone with powers.

This is why the four curse victims’ deaths opened a gate: Vecna pushed them to their breaking point to artificially trigger the self-defense response. Those headaches and nosebleeds weren't caused by Vecna directly, but by their own powers acting up as they inched towards oblivion.

[Shoutout to @givehimthemedicine's underrated powers and blood theory for the idea of Vecna's Curse being the overcharging of his victims' own powers.]

It was already pretty obvious that Vecna's Curse is a metaphor for suicide, and this theory reinforces it: every kid who gets targeted by the horrors of Hawkins for being "different" tries to find some way to escape.

Willel's misfortune is that their powers are considerably more easily manifested than the average person's. Byler tells the story of visible vs invisible queerness, but that's just a reflection of the larger theme at play in the show: the visible and invisible ways kids are othered and abused.

Max's trauma was a quiet thing that came from within and festered until it was almost too late to save her... but Willel's trauma manifests as a giant monster that openly hunts them down.

And I'm being literal when I say the Mind Flayer is a manifestation of their trauma.

We know that Vecna fashioned the Mind Flayer from a cloud of black particles he found in the Upside Down, but where did that cloud come from? The Upside Down is a mysterious enough place that it's easy to assume the Shadow is native to that realm... but what if it isn't?

The Mind Flayer is heavily associated with repression -- Will gradually lost his memories while he was possessed, and El lost her powers when the sliver of Flesh Flayer wormed its way into her leg.

But Will has mysteriously been without powers ever since leaving the Upside Down, and we've seen El lose memories too: her memories of surviving the lab massacre, in which she didn't simply escape by opening up a gate, but by disintegrating her attacker into black particles.

The Mind Flayer doesn't cause repression -- it is repression.

There must have been countless generations worth of traumatized children who took the extra step El did and sent their abusers -- or at least their memories of abuse -- into that hidden realm beyond the gate.

(There's also the possibility that Mr. Time-is-Just-a-Social-Construct is stuck in a time loop of some sort -- maybe the massacre has repeated hundreds of times, and Dimension X is a timeless graveyard of El's attempts to repress her trauma. This would explain why Henry seems to have both disintegrated and survived: we were watching at least two different iterations of the massacre all along.)

Whichever way you slice it, it's a perfect fit: the tool Vecna uses to perpetuate the cycle of abuse isn't some bizarro alien from an alternate dimension, but a direct consequence of the cycle itself.

The Mind Flayer tells us that escape alone doesn't work as a long-term solution: it might help you survive the initial abuse, but if you don't address the effect it had on you...

...it will come back to wreck havok.

[Edit: Click here for post-TFS thoughts on this theory]

[writhingg]

heard you, saw you / need you, love you

Slender body angled in your direction, he leans against a rumbling car, a thick haze of cigarette smoke surrounding him. You quickly take stock of him—tall and tattooed, shaggy hair and black jeans ripped at the knee—and though you can’t see his eyes behind his sunglasses, you know he’s looking at you. More smoke pours slowly from his lips, and with a wide, wicked grin, he points his cigarette at you and calls out, “Gonna get you, baby!”

Eddie wants you, and he won't stop until he has you.

Word count: 4,857

Tags/warnings: 18+/minors dni, Flayed!Eddie Munson x fem reader, Eddie Munson & Billy Hargrove (Billy is more of a side character), college-aged reader, post-season 4, no use of y/n, Eddie and Billy live (sort of...), Eddie hints at SA-ing reader (nothing physical, but he does talk about it), horror, suspense, dread, blood and gore, coercion, emotional manipulation, swearing, creepy older men, the Upside Down, background Shadow Monster/Mind Flayer, literary references and allusions, this is not romance.

A/N: I posted this on ao3 back in April, but since we're about a day away from October (spooky season!!!), I figured it would be the perfect piece to debut on here. This was heavily inspired by "Where Are You Going, Where Have You Been?" by Joyce Carol Oates and Ptolemaea by Ethel Cain. Reblogs are the best! Likes and comments are appreciated as well! Thanks for reading!

sweet, mourning lamb  there’s nothing you can do  it’s already been done

Your life is perfect.

You have a father who gives you money whenever you ask for it and a mother who dotes on you even though she secretly covets your youth and your beauty. When she looks at you, you can see the wistful look in her eyes, gaze lingering on the smooth skin between your manicured brows, the barely-there smile lines from late nights of laughter around a bonfire at Lover’s Lake, surrounded by your best friends and girls who pretend to be your friend and boys who want to be more than your friend.

At Hawkins High, everyone knows your name, always calling after you or grinning your way, trying to get a seat at the lunch table where you and all your friends gossip about the latest rumor—“Did you hear that Tracy Anderson got knocked up?” “Is she the next Virgin Mary or something? ‘Cause no away anyone’s touching her.”—while sipping on cans of Diet Coke.

It fills you with a triumphant sense of joy to get whatever you want; all you have to do is flutter your lashes or flash a coy smile and people are like putty in your hands, bending and twisting in whatever way you wish.

When you tell your parents you’re going out and don’t know what time you’ll be home, your dad grumbles a response, not bothering to look up from the TV dinner he’s shoving into his mouth while your mom asks if you really need to show that much skin, her uneasy grin falling into a grimace as you strut through the front door without a single glance back.

Crystal, your third-favorite best friend, is waiting for you at the end of your driveway. She’s perched in the driver’s seat of her dad’s new car, a sporty red convertible with leather seats and a top that goes all the way down. She greets you with a kiss on your cheek, and after the two of you complain about the humidity and gush over each other’s outfits—“God, that top is to die for!” “Baby blue is so your color!”—she tears off down the road, the both of you hollering the entire way.

A girl on the cusp of womanhood, you’re no stranger to stares that follow your every move.

Boys are always looking at you, but men want more than a small piece. Men want to swallow you whole.

You notice the way they watch you, with leering eyes and bottom lips tucked between teeth stained yellow from tobacco dip. You simper and wiggle your fingers in their direction, you and your friends giggling behind your hands when they stumble over themselves in their attempt to approach you. And when you see them up close—the crow’s feet, the nose hair, the greying mustaches—you no longer hide your laughter, doubling over with tears pricking at the corners of your eyes.

“As if!” you always shout, unfazed as they grunt out stupid little bitch and fuckin’ tease. The words hang in the air as the men give you one last acidic look, scampering away with bowed heads and clenched jaws.

When you and Crystal pull up to the drive-in theater, it’s a familiar scenario. She finds a spot in the middle of the packed lot, and before the two of you even slip out of your seatbelts, the cars on either side of you are loud with boys you know from school and boys you’ve never seen before, all of them asking for your names and if you want to go for a drive to somewhere secret. The two of you share a smirk, Crystal busying herself with tuning the radio while you watch the intermission ad on the screen. You giggle at the dancing bars of ice cream, a jaunty tune crackling from the speakers as she finally finds the theater’s station.

They’re like hungry wolves, you observe, snarling and salivating at the sight of you reapplying your lipstick. When you climb out of the car, Crystal handing you a few bucks for her funnel cake and root beer, you pretend not to hear their desperate howls. It feels good to ignore them, just like it feels good to ignore the men who whistle at you on your way to the snack bar. Their idiocy amuses you, deluded enough to believe that cries of “Over here, honey!” will have you bounding over to them like a lost puppy.

You keep your head held high, eyes forward and hips swaying as you follow the oily scent of fried dough. You walk no further than a foot or two before the revving of an engine breaks your stride. Startled, your head whips to your left, and that’s when you notice him.

Slender body angled in your direction, he leans against a rumbling car, a thick haze of cigarette smoke surrounding him. You quickly take stock of him—tall and tattooed, shaggy hair and black jeans ripped at the knee—and though you can’t see his eyes behind his sunglasses, you know he’s looking at you.

More smoke pours slowly from his lips, and with a wide, wicked grin, he points his cigarette at you and calls out, “Gonna get you, baby!”

You roll your eyes in response, thinking only of how stupid it is that he’s wearing sunglasses at night before flitting your gaze back to the growing snack bar line.

Later, after Crystal’s food and your corn dog are paid for by Robbie, a sweet-talking sophomore over at Purdue, you’re settled in the backseat of the convertible watching an old movie about a baby and some lady named Rosemary. You let Robbie put his arm around you, but when it’s clear that his insistent lips won’t be met with an eager, open mouth, he climbs out of the car in a clumsy hurry, huffing insults under his breath you’ve heard time and time again.

You sport a smirk as you help yourself to the pretzel he’s left behind, and in the distance, in the dark, you don’t see the man with the sunglasses watching you.

“You sure you don’t want to come?”

You heave a dramatic sigh up at your mom, muttering, “Yes, I’m sure,” for what feels like the thousandth time that morning.

Attending a barbecue at your great-uncle’s house—where you’ll be surrounded by your sticky cousins and all of your catty aunts who will make snide comments about your “hooker makeup”—is not your idea of fun. With the end of summer looming over you like a dark cloud, the promise of college and responsibilities and having to fend for yourself edging dangerously close, you plan to enjoy your last days of freedom by lazing about instead, sprawling out on a thin blanket in the backyard while the sweltering sun beams down on you.

“Alright,” your mom finally concedes. “Your father and I will see you later then. There’s some money on the fridge so you can order yourself a pizza. Call if you need anything, okay?”

You give a barely-audible hum in return, listening to the slap of her sandals as she shuffles to the awaiting station wagon. When you hear it disappear down the street, you exhale a relieved breath. After your whirlwind of a week—the drive-in, a shoplifting spree with your second-favorite best friend Amy, and a two-day rager at an abandoned lake house that once belonged to some guy named Reefer Rick—you’re in desperate need of solitude.

Situated on the grass, you switch on the radio, flipping through a few stations until you hear a song you don’t completely hate. Though the air is muggy, you find yourself lulled into a quiet comfort. Eyes soon slipping closed, your mind fills with shiny daydreams of white-sand beaches, roiling blue waves, and sweaty, muscled surfers. You don’t realize you’ve dozed off until the incessant buzzing of a fly near your nose brings you back to reality. When you rise from your blanket with a yawn and a joint-popping stretch, you feel a hot, simmering ache across your face and chest.

“Shit!” you shout, scrambling toward the side door of your house. You take the stairs two at a time, out of breath as you rush past your frilly bedroom and into the bathroom. Twisting the faucet on, you splash your face with cold water, your warm skin immediately soothed by the icy temperature. A sunburn was so not on your agenda. Now you’ll have to spend the rest of the afternoon slathering yourself in one of your mom’s expensive moisturizers, which means you’ll have only a short window of time to primp yourself for tonight’s party over in Loch Nora.

You swear again, frowning as you gaze into the mirror and catch sight of your frizzy hair. With a scowl, you reach for your flat iron, a second away from plugging it in and dialing up the heat to the highest setting when you hear the loud blaring of a car horn.

“No way,” you mutter in disbelief, stunned as the horn beeps again only a few seconds later.

You cannot believe your parents are already home! They’d only been gone for an hour or two and weren’t supposed to be back until tonight! When you hear the horn a third time, though, a tell-tale signal of your dad’s impatience, you grit your teeth. You already told them you weren’t going to that stupid barbeque! What makes them think that you would change your mind, that you would want to hang out with all those gross kids and old people always going on about life a hundred years ago?

The horn sounds again, prompting you to forcefully stomp your foot against the tiled floor. Your parents are not going to ruin your plans. They’ll have to drag you out of the house kicking and screaming.

You barrel down the stairs and into the kitchen, bolting towards the side door once more. Your hands are on the screen, ready to push it open and unleash your frustration, but you stop at the last second.

It’s not your parents in the driveway.

The car is blue, sharp, and loud, with a set of words on the hood in an intricate, looping cursive. You can hardly read it, squinting as you try to decipher the sentence—“abandon all hope, ye who enter here”—before your face contorts into a disapproving frown. You think the car would look much better without all that mess written on the front of it. 

Someone clears their throat, and your gaze then travels to the lone figure leaning up against the driver-side door. Your frown deepens when you see a man with a head of shaggy hair and sunglasses perched atop his nose.

“I was starting to worry you were ignoring me,” he says.

“Who the hell are you?”

“Don’t pretend you don’t know me, honey. It hurts my feelings.”

He smiles at you, wide and toothy, and a look of recognition flashes across your face when you realize that he’s the same man from the drive-in.

“See? You know me.”

“No, I don’t,” you tell him, your voice sharp.

“You’ll get to me know me.”

He’s still smiling at you, a small dimple peeking through, and it occurs to you that he thinks he’s being cute. You study him, noting that he’s more of a boy than a man. You eye the black polish on his nails and his slightly cropped t-shirt, the sinewy muscle of his tattooed arms and his self-assured stance. He’s not your type, and you definitely don’t think he’s kind of cute.

“What do you want?” you ask him, arms crossing over your chest.

“Wanna go for a ride?”

“Uh, no.”

“Why not?”

You roll your eyes at the playful pout he gives you, and when he shifts to the side a little, you see through the window that there’s a second person in the car. Another boy, muscular with blond hair styled into a curly mullet. He sits behind the wheel and jams a tape into the cassette deck, the car filling with pounding drums and heavy guitars. Like the boy standing before you, he’s also wearing sunglasses.

“Hey,” the shaggy-haired guy says, snapping your attention back to him. “You’re pretty.”

“What?”

“You’re pretty. Prettiest girl I ever saw.”

You ignore the rush of warmth that blooms in your cheeks, gazing at him through a glare that takes more effort than usual to maintain. “I don’t even know you.”

“Eddie Munson,” he tells you. He jerks a thumb behind him. “And this is Billy Hargrove. Doesn’t say much, though. He’s shy.”

For whatever reason, in the furthest part of your mind, the names unlock a small inkling of familiarity. You brush away the thought, though, your glare fixed and sharp.

“Well, Eddie, it’s nice to meet you or whatever, but I think—”

“You should come outside and take a look at the Camaro. Decent stereo and it goes fast.” He leans forward, hands gripping the window frame behind him. “You like it when cars go fast, don’t you?”

There’s something in his words that makes you flustered again. You busy yourself by tugging at the frayed hem of your denim shorts, eyes darting away from him. He’s too forward and too inviting and too much trouble.

“So? What do you think?”

“What do I think about what?”

He chuckles, amused at your attempt to sound nonchalant. “Going for a ride. You know you want to.”

You exhale an exasperated huff, both hands on your hips now. Boys are always thinking that they can boss you around, that you’ll obey like some mindless servant. You don’t care that your stomach flutters a little at his words – it’s both insulting and annoying.

“No, I don’t.”

“You can sit in the front,” he continues. “Billy doesn’t mind moving to the back. We’ll turn on the radio and listen to some music. I bet I know what your favorite song is.” Then he does the most peculiar thing...he starts singing the song you dozed off to earlier. It’s an odd coincidence, especially when his voice starts to sound like the voice on the radio, gravelly and kind of breathy at the same time.

“That’s not my favorite song,” you interrupt him.

Again, all he does is laugh. “Fine, we don’t have to listen to music. We can do something else.”

“Like what?”

“Whatever you want, sweetheart. We could get pizza, go to the arcade.” One corner of his lips curves into a sly grin, as if he's privy to a secret only he knows. “We could even go to the beach.”

Another strange coincidence, you think, one that makes your heart beat just the tiniest bit faster. “There aren’t any beaches around here.”

“I’ll take you to one.”

“No, thanks.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’ve got plans.”

“Plans?” he questions, both eyebrows raising in what looks like feigned surprise. He places a hand over his heart, clutching the fabric as if you’ve dealt him a fatal wound. “How could you have plans when you’re supposed to spend the day with me?”

You roll your eyes at him, having already grown sick of whatever game this is. You take a breath, ready to tell him to crawl back into whatever hole he dug himself out of, but then he says your name, and you flinch as if you’ve been slapped.

You never told him your name.

“How did you know that?” you ask him, a mix of suspicion and fear swelling inside of you.

“How did I know what?” he replies, mimicking your earlier line of questioning.

“My name...I didn’t tell you what my name was.”

“You didn’t have to,” he shrugs, quiet for a moment as he plays with a silver ring on his middle finger. Then, an insidious smirk spreads across his face. “I know everything about you.”

It feels like someone has dumped a bucket of ice water on you, the air knocked from your lungs while your limbs lock in place. He seems close, too close now, and with a clarity that makes your heart thrash painfully, you realize that the only barrier between the two of you is a flimsy screen. With trembling fingers, you touch the lock on the side door, ensuring that it’s hooked in place.

“You d-don’t know me,” you stammer, trying your hardest to keep a straight face.

“‘Course, I do, baby. I know you and I know Amy and Crystal. I know sweet-talking Robbie and all those high school boys always running after you. I know those men and what they wish they could do to you.” He pauses, then his voice gets lower, taunting. “And I know your parents aren’t home right now, that they’re at your Great-Uncle Walter’s house for a barbecue. I know they won’t be home till later tonight.”

Your eyes are wide, your skin feeling too warm and too tight. You try to respond, but all that comes out is a shuddering breath.

Eddie isn’t looking at you anymore. He’s staring up at the sky, as if he’s trying to see past the sunshine and clouds. “Your dad...he’s sipping on a beer and tearing into a slab of ribs. And your mom is chatting away with your Aunt Belinda. She’s got a drink in her hand, something tart and sweet and mixed with vodka. Yeah...with the buzz the two of them are working on, they definitely won’t be home for a while.”

“How could you...you don’t know that!” you shout at him, breaking your composure. “You don’t know anything!”

He angles his head toward you again, still smiling, but there’s no longer any mirth. It’s what you see on all those other men, sharp and threatening.

Like he wants to consume you.

“You’re my girl. It’d be a shame if I knew nothing about you.”

“I’m not your girl!”

“Oh, but you are. You were made for me, honey, and I was made for you. And you can try, but you can’t run me off. I told you I’d be here, and I’m not leaving until you come with me.”

“Want me to grab her?”

Billy’s words petrify you, just as it petrifies you to see the shift in Eddie’s temperament. When he rounds on Billy, gone is the playful lilt of his voice. His skin flushes red, knuckles turning white as his hands curl into fists. “What the fuck is wrong with you, Hargrove? Huh? No, I don’t want you to grab her! She’ll come out here on her own, alright? Stay the fuck out of it.”

Eddie whirls around to face you again, a hand pushing back the hairs sticking to his forehead. He grins, and there’s not a single trace of his previous anger. “Sorry about that. Billy’s a little crazy, that’s all. Don’t pay him any mind. It’s just you and me, yeah? You and me.”

You nod because you don’t know how else to respond. Your fingers are still glued to the screen door’s lock, the metal latch warm and damp from your touch. Eddie cocks his head to the side, studying you.

“You’re scared of me.”

You don’t want to give him the satisfaction of being correct, but you have no rebuttal, no scathing comeback. You stare at him, blinking back tears, trying not to crumble. You are scared of him.

“You don’t have to be afraid of me,” he says, his voice soft and warm. “I promise I’ll be gentle with you the first time. I’ll hold you in my arms real tight and I’ll kiss you and I’ll touch you better than any of those scumbags ever could. You’ll cry my name so sweetly, and you’ll be wet and aching and you’ll beg me, you’ll beg me to keep going. You won’t ever want to leave me.”

A wave of nausea mixes with your fear, your stomach churning violently when his tongue swipes slowly along his bottom lip. “You – you’re sick! You’re disgusting! Go away or I’ll – I’ll call the police!”

He shakes his head, chuckling. “It doesn’t matter.”

“What?”

“It doesn’t matter. The police can’t keep me from you, just like that door between us, and that lock you haven’t let go of. They’re just barriers, and barriers can be torn down. Nothing can keep us apart.”

“Shut up! Just shut up! You’re insane!”

“Baby, listen,” he says, flashing you a placating grin. “As long as you come out here, I won’t go in there, but if you touch that phone, if you call the cops or your parents or anyone else, deal’s off and I can step foot in that house. I’ll hurt anyone who tries to stop me, and I can tell you this much...you won’t like it if I have to come after you.”

“Just let me grab her,” Billy says flatly. “I’ll make it quick.”

Eddie’s jaw seems tight enough to crack his teeth as he whips around again. “Are you fucking stupid, Hargrove? Are you deaf? You got a few bolts knocked loose? Your daddy shove you around too hard? Your mommy drop you on your head too many times? She’s mine! She’s mine and I don’t need your slimy fingers all over her. She’s mine and she’s gonna come out here because she loves me and I love her, got it? Mind your business and shut the fuck up!”

You want to run. You want to hide beneath the covers of your bed and fold yourself up and wish and hope and pray that you’ll wake up from whatever awful nightmare this is, but you catch something in your peripheral vision, something that keeps you anchored to your spot.

In the chaos of his outburst, the sun had changed its position in the sky, his shadow slanting tall and wide along the concrete driveway. It shouldn’t be something you notice, just as insignificant as the blowing of the wind, but you stare anyway, eyes wide with horror when you see a non-human figure sprouting from his body. Broad shouldered, the shadow’s wings are outstretched, with pointed horns curling from its head and long, sharp claws where the fingers should be.

It’s only the light playing tricks on you. It’s not real, okay? It’s not real it’s not real it’s not real it’s not—

A shrill cry tears its way out of you as you watch the shadow mirror each of Eddie’s movements.

He turns around, no longer shouting at Billy. His mouth is pulled into a knowing smile as he reaches up to remove his sunglasses, and when you see his eyes, you let out a blood-curdling scream. There’s no iris, no pupil, no white. Both eyes are dark, fully encompassed in an abyss of black.

Your body moves of its own accord, drifting backward and falling onto the stairs leading up to the kitchen. Eddie moves with you, a hand over his forehead as he peers hungrily through the screen. He calls your name again and again and again.

“You with me, sweetheart? You’re not gonna touch that phone, right?”

“Why are you doing this?” you whimper.

“Because I want you.”

“Why – why me?”

“I saw you at the drive-in and knew I had to have you. Such a pretty little thing, I thought, needs someone like me to take care of her, to her protect from all those creeps. They’re rotten, all of them. They only want to hurt you. They wouldn’t love you like I love you.”

“Stop!” you shriek, nearly out of breath. “Just stop!”

“Don’t you realize we belong together? All this time, you’ve been saving yourself for me. Don’t you know that?”

Billy is standing beside him now, watching you with the same bottomless eyes. Like a blackhole, their gazes suck you in, pulling and stretching and tearing you to pieces. 

And suddenly, seeing the two of them side by side stirs another rush of buried recognition.

You recall fuzzy, childhood memories, images blurred around the edges of news reports on the Starcourt Mall fire. You remember sitting on the couch, a teddy bear in your lap as dozens of names and faces are plastered across the screen, your mom in the background murmuring something to your dad about Susan and her poor stepson.

You remember your dad and a few angry neighbors huddled around the dining room table, all of them whispering about something called “cults” and “sacrifices” and “you think Wayne’s nephew actually did it?” while you colored in a picture of butterflies.

You remember the earthquake, the ground splitting open, strange, grey snowflakes falling from the darkening sky as your parents packed up the car and rushed you out of town.

You remember coming home after almost two years of sheltering out west, flyers of missing persons still hung up around Hawkins.

And when you think hard enough, when you think long enough, you finally realize why Eddie and Billy look familiar to you.

“No,” you shake your head too quickly. “No, no, no, no. It’s not—you can’t—”

“Use your words,” Eddie coaxes gently.

“You can’t. You can’t because…because you’re supposed to be…”

“Say it.”

Heart pounding, blood rushing, stomach whirling, the word falls quietly from your lips. “Dead.”

“See? Didn’t I tell you she was smart, Hargrove? Not like the last one. What was her name again?”

“Jessica, right?” Billy drawls out. “Or Jamie? Or was it Jacqueline?”

Eddie snaps his fingers excitedly. “Wait! I got it. It was Julie. Julie Thompson.”

Your face is buried in your quivering hands, but when you hear the name, everything becomes still and silent.

Julie Thompson. She���d gone missing last year, assumed by police and her parents to have run away with one of the many college boys she was sneaking around with. No one believed you when you said she wouldn’t just run off. And she was your best friend. Your first-favorite best friend.

You lift your head, reluctantly meeting Eddie’s pitch-black eyes. “What did you do? Where’s Julie?”

“Get in the car and I’ll tell you.”

“No!” you shriek, despair and hot anger coursing through you. “No! Fuck you! You – you’re fucking dead and you’re nothing and you can’t be here! You just – you can’t!”

“But I am here,” Eddie replies, all traces of his softness gone.

He sees every part of you—the rise and fall of your chest as you breathe too hard and too fast; the trembling of your shoulders as you hold back an anguished sob; the delicious throbbing of the pulse in your neck—like a predator tracking every movement of its prey.

A predator that has won the hunt.

“I’m here because this town owes me and I’ve come to collect what’s mine. And you, sweetheart, belong to me.”

You’re screaming again, your head whipping back and forth so rapidly that your world starts to tilt. You clamp your eyes shut, but your mind offers no solace, because behind your lids, there is only red – a red sky, red lightning, a red pool of something thick and warm and murky that your feet are quickly sinking beneath. And out of the pool comes slippery, snaking vines that wrap around your ankles and up your calves, tightening and binding as they rise higher and higher. And something is diving toward you, the beat of its wings growing louder as it swoops beneath the red clouds. And you feel the ground rumbling, shaking, falling apart as lightening cracks and illuminates a monster in the distance. Massive and spider-like, its roar cuts into you so deeply that you feel it in your bones.

It's coming after you.

You struggle and cry until your throat is raw and aching, and you beg for your parents, for someone, anyone, to hear you, to save you, but there is no one, there is nothing except red and screams and fear and blood. You can’t breathe and you can’t move and you sink further into the depths of this hell, and you swear and you plead that you’ll do anything, you’ll do anything, so please please pleasepleaseplease—

The distorted chimes of a grandfather clock reverberate across the cold, blazing landscape, and then someone laughs, cruel and deep and echoing. It grows louder, and it stretches on forever and ever, and you can't do anything because you are decaying flesh, you are crumbled bone, you are dust.

You are nothing.

After an eternity of depravity and suffering, of drowning beneath the weight of wailing souls and fetid corpses, your eyes are open again.

You claw at the lock on the screen door with shaking hands and push yourself over the threshold. And when you tumble outside, desperately gulping in lungfuls of fresh air, your face streaked with snot and warm tears, the world is bright and burning again.

Eddie stands before you, his mouth twisted into a malicious smile, his arms wide and open.

“I told you, honey. I told you I was gonna get you.”