Chapter Text
You were creeping along behind the businesses of main street. The sky was red and black clouds rumbled with thunder as lightning struck. These big, ugly death-bat things were flying around and screeching. It didn't scare you. It was always like this. You'd been here too long for most of this shit to bother you anymore. Here... wherever here was. It looked like your hometown, but not. Like something out of a bad sci-fi horror movie. Non-Hawkins, that's what you called the place.
You readjusted your backpack straps as you ducked under the sheet of corrugated steel perched across two dumpsters. You learned a long time ago if you were quiet and not seen, the bats didn't notice you. This makeshift hiding spot was something you put up weeks ago. Or was it months? Years? Maybe it wasn't even that long. There was no sun or moon to clock the days. Your watch was shattered when you fell down the creepy hole. Or fell up?
Who knows anymore. No point trying to find another watch. Stuff in Non-Hawkins didn't work the same way it did in Hawkins. Electricity was sporadic at best. If it wasn't for the constant rainless thunderstorm, power would probably be nonexistent. Just about everything was covered in slimy, undulating vines anyway. You learned the hard way you shouldn't touch those. Especially the really thick ones.
You didn't want Creepy Asshole sending his minions after you.
Man, he was gross to look at. He'd gotten progressively worse since you first saw him. Back then, you could still see parts of the man he used to be. He introduced himself when he found you by the old mill. You hadn't been in Non-Hawkins long then. Still scared of every sound and sight. His soft tone and the way he approached like you were a defenseless animal almost made you believe he was good despite his freaky appearance. Half man, half squelching vines. But when you didn't tell him your name or how you got there, he was quick to anger.
Harry? Henry? Whatever the fuck his name was. He tried to grab you when you refused to follow him "somewhere safe". It was then he confirmed your thoughts that he was not to be trusted, that he was a crazy person. He stretched his arm out like he was going to grab you but didn't lunge. He just stood there. Arm stretched, hand in a weird, claw-like form, eyes flaring with anger, whole body vibrating like he was straining, nose suddenly bleeding. You had tilted your head in confusion. The fuck was he doing?
"It's not working." Vine Guy had gasped in frustration after he finally stopped spazzing out and sucked in a desperate breath.
You had no idea what he meant by that. And you sure as shit didn't stick around to find out.
Since then, he'd find you on occasion. He always seemed surprised to see you. Like he'd forgotten your existence. For him, it was a happy accident you crossed paths. He'd do that weird claw stance each time. And every time, he'd get pissed when whatever was supposed to happen, didn't. It was the same old song and dance. Claw thing, you run, he sends his minions after you, running, jumping, ducking, fighting, hiding, escaping. Usually he sent the flying bitches. On a rare occasion, it would be one of those Toothy Flower-faced Motherfuckers. Maybe one of the small flower faces that ran on all fours like a fur-less bear or dog. Maybe his tentacle-like vines would slither and squirm after you.
You were always so thankful for your parents pushing you and your sister into extracurricular activities during these times. The both of you had your strengths. While your sister's were more flexible and aerobic, your strengths leaned towards speed and endurance. She was a gymnast and cheerleader. You were a track and field star. Your best events were long distance, steeplechase, triple jump, and javelin throw; but we digress.
The point is, you could run. Far and for a long ass time. And jumping over obstacles while running wasn't a big deal. So you always ran for the woods when you had to escape Creepy Asshole and the Creep Brigade. It was easier to lose the monsters there.
When the screeching faded signaling the bats had grown bored of patrolling the area or had been summoned, you grabbed your mirror pole from under one of the dumpsters to check. Again, you'd been around long enough to usually know how to go around undetected. Carefully constructed hiding spots, weapons and mirrors and supplies tucked away everywhere, traps set up in strategic places so you could sleep a little easier. The mirror pole was exactly what it sounded like, a handheld mirror tied to a broom handle. Sometimes it was a car's rearview mirror or a silver platter you spent a long time shining, a hockey stick or rod of rebar. You just needed to be able to stick the mirror out far enough to check the coast was clear without exposing yourself.
Once satisfied the bats had indeed left, you stashed the mirror and clung to the brick wall of the building. You were in need of food. Like a stealthy ninja, you traversed the maze of vines as you moved down the alley to the "employees only" back door to Melvald's General Store. You would've preferred Bradley's Big Buy, the supermarket, but you were downtown. The little drugstore would have to do.
As you dug through boxes in the back room, you kept your ears peeled. You ripped open containers of individually wrapped health food bars and shoved them in your bag. Surprisingly, Non-Hawkins food was... food. You had half-expected to find refrigerators full of "filet of death-bat" and shelves lined with bags of "flower-face seed pods". Instead, you found the same things you'd find in regular Hawkins. The smartest move was to only take non-refrigerated prepackaged items. Seemed safe. Maybe well past their expiration dates but it was sustenance so you choked it down. Funny how you didn't think those nasty protein bars your mom used to force you to eat during training could get any worse... but, in Non-Hawkins, they surprised you. They were worse.
The first few times you tried to eat anything here, you wound up sick. You'd ralph it up as soon as it was down. The water was no better. Even after boiling it first in the hopes of killing whatever bacteria was floating in there, it made you feel like your insides were turning inside out. It took a long time for your body to accept that this was your life now. It's still not pleasant, but you can eat and drink what little you gather and not puke your guts out after.
Stocking up never took long. You only carried a tattered school bag with you. If you needed to run, too much stuff to carry would get you caught. A single bag of supplies was easier to haul and safer to lose if you had to ditch it. You slung the bag back onto your shoulders as you crept through the front of the store. You eased the front door open, you had removed the welcome bells after the first time you set one off, and paused to see if it was safe. It was then, an unusual sound drifted through the air.
"The fuck is that?" You mumbled to yourself. You stayed crouched and left the store, ducking behind a bench along the sidewalk. The sound was familiar. "A guitar?" That didn't make sense.
Creepy Asshole didn't listen to music. Even if he did, you were pretty sure he would listen to oldies. Stuff from the 60's era. Not this, not rock. No, not rock. Metal. This was metal. This was a kick-ass metal guitar solo. You didn't recognize the song, if it even was from a song. But you knew you needed to find out where it was coming from.
If, by some crazy happenstance, another person was in Non-Hawkins, you had to warn them. Sound attracted the death-bats. They were jamming out to their own funeral song. The sky darkened as a huge swarm of death-bats flew by.
"Shit."
Keeping the mass of flying doom in view, you hurried through Non-Hawkins. The sound was further away than you thought but when you had to crest a hill, you could see it. The noise was coming from the trailer park. Someone was on the roof of one of the trailers shredding on a guitar, long hair blowing in wind you couldn't feel from here. The cloud of screeching horror was honing in on whoever that was. You could see now there were two people. Two living, breathing, human people. The musician suddenly stopped playing and bailed off the roof, their friend following after them. You watched as they scrambled to barricade themselves inside the trailer.
You were able to let out the breath you hadn't realized you were holding when they made it to safety. Your relief didn't last however. The bats swarmed the trailer, clung to it like a chittering mass of ants on a dead animal. Ugh, that image was probably not the best to think about. The people inside weren't dead yet.
Just when you were about to descend the other side of the hill and get closer to the trailer park, a bat attacked. Must've been a straggler from the pack. It latched onto your backpack and tried to bite your shoulder. It only succeeded in ripping the bag's strap apart. You dropped the bag, rolling away from the creature. As you stood up, you pulled your bowie knife from it's sheath strapped across the belt of your camo khakis.
"C'mon, beastie." You taunted as the thing tossed your ruined backpack off itself and tried to fly. It screamed and flapped erratically. It was then, you saw one of its wings was bent at an awkward angle. "Broken wing, buddy?" You sneered when it gave up flying. It lurched towards you from the ground, whipping its tail around. You jumped like it was a Skip-It and the tail slashed air under your feet. The big beast rounded on you, ready to chomp down on your leg with its razor sharp teeth. In one swift swing, you raised the knife and plunged it into the thing's head before it knew what hit it.
You took a moment to catch your breath before stepping on the bat's neck and yanking the knife free with a sickening squelch. You wiped the stainless steel on the thigh of your pants, staining the fabric with black muck. Once you slipped it back home against your lower back, you pulled a small notepad from one of your cargo pockets as well as a little golf pencil. You flipped through pages to the last one with writing and jot something down then tucked the items back into your pocket. You grabbed the good strap of your bag and dragged it behind you as you scurried towards the woods at the edge of the trailer park.
You were going to lay low and wait out the death-bats. Either they'd find a way in, kill the people, leave, and you could investigate the trailer or they'll be stumped on what to do, leave, and you could see if these people were friend or foe.
Your notepad: