Chapter Text
*♯ ☏︵‿︵‿︵‿ ♯*
Hawkins, Indiana. . . My new, fresh Hell. I scrutinized the cracks in the street as I stared at them through my bedroom window; for the fourth day in a row. The view wasn’t getting any less miserable. It was autumn, my absolute favorite time of the year. The leaves were turning those perfect shades of orange and yellow. The air had grown crisp and chilled. There was that wet, Earthy smell floating on the breeze, the kind you can only smell the closer it got to Halloween. Yet, I couldn’t bring myself to give a damn about any of it. What fun is this time of the year when you don’t have any friends to hang out with anyway?
I gave up trying to manifest a more interesting view and stepped back into the gloom of my new bedroom. It was a loft. The walls were made of exposed wood that had seen better days. The beams holding up the tapered ceiling were imposing, like they were waiting for the exact right moment to come crashing down on me. There were three empty rooms available for the taking in our new house. The other two were notably more comfortable. They were also freshly renovated; with new drywall and brand new polished wooden floors.
But I’m nothing if not difficult. I chose the loft specifically because it was depressing. It perfectly reflected my sentiments of this house and this entire town. I felt like me and this room would get along just fine.
Dust motes danced around my head as I walked, the musty air stirring from my presence. The floorboards hissed under my feet. I pulled my phone out of my pocket and opened my recent messages.
No reply. He was probably making out with Max. Fuck me. . . I swiped my fingers across the screen, until I found Dustin’s name.
Also nothing. I couldn’t even blame them. It’s not like they were trying to ghost me. I knew that. They were probably just busy; it was September, after all. I would have literally killed to be busy right now. Instead, I was pacing around my room, going out of my goddamn mind with boredom.
I shoved my phone back in my pocket and made my way over to the door. I didn’t even really know where I was going. There was nowhere to go. I just needed a change of scenery. The tiny hallway outside my room didn’t really offer much change. The walls were the exact same weather-worn wood that lived in my bedroom.
I was about to make my way downstairs when my eye was caught by something else: a string. It dangled precariously from the corner of the ceiling, connected to a hatch. I assumed that must be the way into the attic. With nothing better to do, I pulled on it.
A splintered, wooden ladder unfolded in front of me; like a shitty butterfly, breaking free from its chrysalis. I hesitated to climb it, terrified it might not be able to support my weight. But my curiosity (and boredom) got the better of me. Up I went.
I didn’t think there was any part of this house that was in worse condition than my room, but I stood corrected as I gazed into the dusty fog of the attic. It was brighter than I had expected it to be, due to a pretty sizable window on the East facing wall, which was letting in a load of sunlight.
I coughed as I pulled myself fully into the space, swatting away a cobweb that tried sticking to my hair. There wasn’t much to see up there, it was mostly just empty space. But it was clear that the renovators hadn’t really touched this area of the house. There were still some old relics up there that had obviously been left behind by the previous owners.
The first thing I noticed was an old dress form. There was a dated ladies hat hanging on the mannequin’s ‘neck’. I couldn’t even begin to guess which decade the thing belonged to. Next to that was a small tricycle. It was rusted and dented in several places. The thing looked like it had been pulled right out of a horror movie.
Over in the corner I saw an old bureau, with a fancy padded stool. It still looked like it was in pretty good condition, except for the thick layer of dust that covered it. Sat atop the desk, was a small Tiffany lamp and a black rotary phone.
It was the last item that caught my eye. The thing was clunky, the cord was tightly coiled in a knot; like a hydra that was cannibalizing itself. I wiped some of the dust off of it, mesmerized by the glossy black sheen underneath. When I picked it up, I was surprised to discover it was kind of heavy. It made a slight dinging noise as I jostled the old ringer mechanism around. I turned the dial a few times, satisfied by the clicking noises it made.
It was junk, of course. It couldn’t work without a landline, which we didn’t have. And even if we did, I had my doubts the thing would still be functional anyway. I couldn’t figure out what era this artifact had come from exactly; my best guess was maybe the 60s. All I knew for sure was that it looked cool. And that was enough for me.
I wrapped the cord around my hand and clutched the phone to my chest, before taking one last glance around the rest of the attic, making sure I didn’t miss any other cool treasures. I didn’t.
I had to use every last ounce of my focus to prevent my feet from getting caught on the ladder as I descended. Long legs, rotting boards, altitude and full hands is not a combination I would recommend to anyone. I’m uncoordinated enough without any of those factors at play.
I set the phone down on my desk. It made for a really cool accessory and really added a special spice to the depressed-white-boy vibe I was going for. I tried, in vain, to untangle the cord but eventually gave up.
“Michael!” I heard my mom yell from the bottom of the stairs. “Come help me set the table!” I sighed, irritably, but turned and made my way to the stairs. In a way, I was grateful for the distraction. At least it gave me something to do. The only problem was that I was still raging mad at my parents for making me move to this shithole town, so I’d been giving them both the cold shoulder for days.
My dad didn’t give a shit; mostly because he never gave a shit. . . about anything. But my mom had been trying to coax me into talking again. She’d tried every approach she could think of. First was reassurance- she gave me her best speech about how amazing Hawkins was going to be and how I would make all sorts of new friends there. She spent the entire drive from Illinois to Indiana trying to convince me that I’m going to love the new house. “It’s so spacious,” she’d said. “You can pick whichever room you want. There’s even this cute little playground right across the street. I know you’re too old for that now but won’t it be fun to take Holly there and play?” It was beyond my ability to comprehend how she thought that pushing my little sister on the swings would be “fun” for me.
When that didn’t work, she tried guilt tripping. Classic mom move. “Come on Michael, your father got this amazing job offer, he couldn’t just turn it down. None of us wanted to uproot our lives. But when an opportunity like this lands in your lap, you have to take it. Just give it a chance. Please. . . for me.” It almost worked. I did feel kind of bad. But then I looked out the kitchen window and saw the empty podunk streets of Hawkins and remembered why I was pissed in the first place.
I missed my friends, I missed the town I grew up in; where we would enlist Dustin to annoy Steve Harrington into driving us around town late in the summertime. We’d stop at the ice cream stand in the park and get the messiest cones possible, only for Steve to insist we couldn’t eat them in his car. Then we’d have him drop us off at the skate park, where me, Dustin and Lucas would watch Max practice while we talked about our campaigns, new music we were into, or stupid memes we thought were funny for some inexplicable reason.
I missed spending most of my time at school planning for our next campaign, then staying up late on the weekends, watching my friends rage when the battle wasn’t going their way; the four of us eating pizza and flaming hot cheetos until our fingers were stained fire engine red.
After two days of me quietly sulking around the house, mom finally had enough. Her next approach was anger. “That’s it, Michael Theodore Wheeler, you are going to stop acting like a child! So help me God, this is your new life and you are just going to have to get used to it like the rest of us!” she screamed, after I had tossed an empty box across the room a little too aggressively while we were unpacking.
“Fine,” I mumbled, stabbing the next box with a boxcutter. She got so frustrated that she told me to just go upstairs and to not come back down until dinner. A very brief vacation from her bullshit. Hallelujah.
Ever since then, she had given up. Now she only attempted to engage in conversation with me if she had no choice. So we set the table in absolute silence, the only sound between us was the clashing of silverware against the dinner table. The dinner that followed was even more silent. Mom and dad both ate their food without once making eye contact with one another. Holly was reading a book, trying to tune out the deafening awkwardness. And I had my earbuds in shoved into my ears, blasting Foster The People and waiting with baited breath, hoping a plane would crash land right on our house.
And so the weeks went: buried under a malignant silence that suspended our entire family in misery. And it was largely my fault. I knew it was. Dad was always quiet. That was nothing new. But mom and Holly were both trying to be cheerful about our lives being completely upended. They weren’t happy about leaving their home and friends behind either. But mom’s bubbly attitude had worked on Holly- she was actually hopeful that Hawkins would be a new adventure for us. Just like she had been hopeful that Nancy’s move to college would be a fun new adventure for her, even if it meant she wouldn’t get to see her for a while.
But my sour attitude was poisoning the air. I felt it every time I walked into a room. And I didn’t want to upset Holly. Or even mom. It wasn’t their fault we were here. But I couldn’t just pretend that I was okay with this. So I tried my best to stay out of their way. I kept myself locked in my room as often as I could.
Hawkins High proved to be even worse than my former high school. They clocked my nerdy ass right away, even though I was trying my best to just blend in with the crowd. On my very first day I experienced a humbling exercise in humiliation when a cheerleader asked me out. It already didn’t feel right, she was way too pretty to allow herself to even be seen talking to someone like me. I didn’t know what to say. It felt like a trap but I didn’t really want to say ‘no.’ Not even because I wanted to go out with her. I didn’t. Mostly just because I was afraid of the rumors she'd spread about me if I turned her down.
So I tucked my head into my shoulders, anxiety dripping from my every pore and said; “Sure.” That’s precisely the moment she broke character and started to cackle uproariously. She returned to her friends, who were watching from a short distance away; all of them now joining in her jubilation at my expense. I heard them utter something that contained the words “loser” and “virgin.” It was sure to be an exciting year.
On my walk home from school, I thought about Nancy. She’d just left for college a few months before we moved. I’d only spoken to her one time since she got to Boston but she said it was great. The scenery is beautiful and the whole city is full of such rich history. She told me she’d gone to the Museum of Fine Arts and immediately thought of me, there were so many pieces on display that she knew I’d love to sink my art-appreciating teeth into.
I couldn’t draw to save my life but I’d always loved looking at art. Trying to find the hidden meanings behind each and every brushstroke. Trying to psychoanalyze the artist like they were one of my own characters.
This conversation with Nancy was another reason I’d been so bitter lately; I couldn’t wait until it was my turn to go to college and move out of this shitty little town forever. But I still had a couple more years of high school to go yet. Two more years in this armpit was two years too many.
It was about three weeks later, on a random Friday night, that my mom stopped me in the foyer. She was wearing a sleek black evening dress, her hair was up in an elegant bun and her makeup was pristine. She was trying to latch a pearl necklace around her neck but was having trouble.
“Where are you going?” I asked her, wordlessly stepping behind her to help her latch it.
“Your father has that dinner tonight, for work. I told you about it last week,” she said, as she popped two golden hoop earrings in her ears. “You’re in charge while we’re gone. Holly’s already in bed. Don’t stay up too late, yeah?” she said, giving me a kiss on the cheek.
The agonizing silence had dissipated the slightest bit as the weeks went by. I was still pissed. And I wasn’t really talking to anyone, unless I had to. But I was a little more responsive than I had been since moving here. I guess that was enough to break some of the tension in the house.
A car horn beeped from the driveway, it somehow sounded unenthused. “Alright, I’m coming. . .” mom muttered to herself as she shuffled her way out the door. “Lock up behind me and set the alarm. We'll be home before midnight.” I nodded and offered her a listless wave. Once she was gone, I locked the door, set the alarm and trudged up the stairs, to my depression chamber.
I threw myself onto my bed and flicked open a comic. It was one I’d read a million times already, but I didn’t really care. The plan was to just read it to pass the time before I inevitably crashed from boredom. It was starting to work; I felt my eyelids getting heavier with every page I turned.
RING RING
I jolted awake when I heard it. A ringing so loud that the sound ricocheted off of the walls and echoed, like a bagpipe, in my ear. I thought maybe I had imagined it; until-
RING RING
This time, I was conscious enough to recognize the origin of the sound; it was the old rotary phone. But it couldn’t have been coming from that thing. Because that piece of junk wasn’t plugged into a phone line. It didn’t even have a line cable. It was just sitting, uselessly, on my desk.
RING RING
I stood up, letting my feet carry me over to the phone. This was fucking impossible. . . I wondered, for a moment, if this was actually happening. Maybe I fell asleep and this was just some weirdly lucid dream.
RING RING
Fuck, it was so loud! It was like the damn thing was daring me to accuse it of not being real again. The painful vibrations reverberating in my inner ear felt real enough. My hand reached down, gripping the receiver for dear life. But my terror kept me from picking it up.
RING RING
With a fierce tug, I pulled the receiver off the hook and held it to my ear. I could feel my hand shaking. I tried to convince myself that it was probably just some malfunctioning part, making the ringer go off on its own. But that was bullshit, I knew it the moment I thought it; the ringer couldn’t work without power.
“H-hello?” I found myself asking- hoping to whatever god that might be listening that no one actually answered me. There was complete silence over the line for a few blissful seconds. And then my entire world was torn right out of my ass. . .
“Hello?” A voice replied.