Chapter Text
A whirlwind of orange danced before Mike's eyes. A blur of color, of momentary joy. He could see that people were laughing and shouting, but he couldn't hear them. Dustin just finished his valedictorian speech, and just like that, everyone erupted in candid celebration. While everyone was moving, he lay there, frozen, unblinking. Suddenly, sound rushed back to his ears, roaring, blaring, almost too much to bear. Mike forced something that resembled a smile on his lips. Dustin was coming back to them, grinning.
"You’re a madman. You’re an absolute madman." Mike laughed.
"Higgins totally shit his pants." Lucas added.
"What’s he gonna do, expel me?" Dustin chuckled.
"You’re crazy." said Lucas, shaking his head in disbelief.
A few seconds later, Stacey Albright was in front of them, staring at Dustin as if he hung the stars. Mike involuntarily tuned out her voice, his mind wandering somewhere else. He saw flashes of red, yellow, white, and a girl, in the middle of it all, terrified and heartbroken. He snapped back into his body when he heard the low register of Will's voice.
"Wait…" Will said, laughing in disbelief.
"Did that just happen?" Dustin asked, awestruck.
"Should we go?" said Will, eyes bright.
"Is that rhetorical?" Lucas responded, a hint of sarcasm in his voice.
Mike gathered that they were talking about a party, and he really, really didn't want to go. So as if pushed by an invisible force, his mouth opened and uttered the following words. "No. Screw that. I got a better idea. Way better."
They were in the basement of his house, all sat around the table. Mike posted in front of his Dungeon Master screen.
"A hushed quiet falls over the town. Frightened villagers watch from rooftops and alleyways, wondering, how will this all end? The sound of boots echo across the square as Strahd von Zarovich strides up to Dustin the Bard." Mike narrated, voice mysterious.
"Don't do this." Everyone protested in unison.
"The Vampire Lord lunges." He continued. It was met by a collective "No!"
"Plunging its fangs into his throat. Onlookers gasp as his body collapses. His lute clatters across the cobblestone, letting out a final mournful note."
"Son of a bitch!" Dustin grunted.
"A lone hero remains, Will the Wise, Barovia’s last and only hope." He mischievously added, looking directly into Will's eyes. He was vaguely aware of his friends arguing in the background as he lost himself in the pools of hazel. They sparkled under the ceiling light, a perfect mix between green and brown. He jolted awake as he heard Max thrashing the basement, seemingly frustrated at their lack of outcomes. "Stupid, goddamn waste of time!"
Mike resumed his Dungeon Master act, mimicking a voice a vampire lord could have, it sounded downright ridiculous. "Strahd takes great pleasure in your anger." He laughed maniacally, "Time to join your friends, sorcerer." He added in a seductive tone.
Will rolled his eyes fondly, his friends urging him to roll the dice already. As he was about to, Dustin spoke. "The mage. From the Abbey of St. Markovia. She said we can summon her."
"When at our lowest depth." Lucas supplied.
"The incantation to summon her. What’s the incantation?" Max asked in a desperate tone.
They started chanting Will's name, encouraging him to keep going.
Will cleared his throat and spoke with a theatrical wizard voice: “Oh, mage! Arise and end our fall from darkened paths and secrets deep. Come forth and help your promise keep.”
Mike smirked, pleased, "Nothing happens."
"Come on, man." Will groaned in frustration.
"Why? Then why do we even have the incantation?" Dustin asked, defeated.
Seeing his friends so deflated, Mike quickly continued, "Wait. Wait, wait—A purple light begins to shine through the mist. Growing brighter and brighter. It’s a portal. And out of this portal steps… the Mage of St. Markovia!"
The others erupted into cheers and shouts.
"The mage holds out her hands, and shoom! A beam of powerful light shoots forward. Strahd lets out a piercing…" he screeched, "…as his body shrivels, burns, and turns to ash." Mike narrated, barely containing his smile.
"Bada-boom! How do you like that?" Dustin cheered.
Will beamed in delight.
"The misty gloom that shrouds the village of Barovia evaporates, and you are met with cheers from the townsfolk. In honor of your courage and bravery, they give you medals, and you are all awarded 1,000 pieces of gold each."
The Party celebrated.
"Flush with wealth and honor, you live out the rest of your lives in comfort and in happiness." Mike finished, which earned him a triumphant "Aaaaah!" from the rest of the teens.
"The end." Mike concluded.
"Great campaign." Lucas clapped him on the shoulder.
"Good campaign, buddy. Great campaign." Will smiled at him.
Mike was briefly overcome by a rush of something,—not quite happiness—satisfaction, he smiled back.
But then Max spoke again: "Wait, wait, wait. Hold on. That’s it? Comfort and happiness? Could you be more trite?" She scoffed, "I thought you were some kind of master storyteller or something."
Mike sighed and looked at each of them. "Well, it is true, the comfort and happiness part. But happiness can be found in many places." He started. The rest of his big speech was a blur to him, his mouth deciding to work on its own. His friends seemed pleased by his words. He mentally cringed as Will asked. "And the storyteller? What about him?". He was always too kind for his own good. He thought.
Mike took a deep breath and continued. "The storyteller keeps telling stories, stories inspired by his friends. One day, he hopes their tales of grand adventure will spread far and wide across the land so all can know of their great bravery. But there is a story that he can never tell. The story of the mage. Or at least not the real story." He couldn't stop himself from adding the last few words, regretting them as soon as they left his mouth.
"The real story?" Max asked, voice trembling slightly.
"When she cast Sunbeam." Mike responded somberly.
His mind wandered to the girl again, so, so afraid, expression too mature to belong on a teenager. A void, three words that just couldn't come out, what they could have changed. He distantly heard his friends rationalizing his statement.
He kept going, almost on autopilot, "Together, the sisters devised a plan, a plan to protect the mage from the Order of the Black Hand, who remained hellbent on stealing her powers. So in order to trick them, she had to make everyone, including her friends, believe that she was dead. And so the sister cast a spell from far away. Safe from the power of the suppression stone." He closed his eyes, trying to stop the flow of words that were coming out of his mouth, "A spell of invisibility." To no avail, his body simply refused to obey him, "Once the mage escaped, the sister cast one final spell. The mage you saw die was not real. She was an illusion." Everyone gasped.
"Where did she go?" Max asked hesitantly.
Mike kept going, "No one knows. No one will ever know. But I’d… I’d like to imagine that she’s in a beautiful land, somewhere far away… She finds a small town to call home. Safe from the danger of the Black Hand. And it is here, at last, that she finds peace. That she finally finds happiness."
"And this is just a theory, right?" Max's eyes were teary, brow trembling slightly.
"How do we know it’s true?" Will questioned, voice small.
"We don’t. Not for sure. But I choose to believe that it is… I believe." Mike concluded, sounding fake to his own ears.
"I believe." Dustin started, he was then parroted by each one of their friends.
They took their binders and placed them on the shelf one by one. Until it was Mike's turn. He was frozen in place as he heard his mother shout for them to come eat. Why did he say all of that? Was he trying to reassure his friends with his lies? Or himself? The others left the basement, chatting and laughing. Will and Mike the only ones remaining. Mechanically, Mike got up from his chair and started climbing up the stairs. But as he went for the door, a voice stopped him in his tracks. “Mike…” He turned around, giving Will his full attention. The latter opened his mouth to say something, but ultimately decided against it. He simply smiled. “Thank you, that’s all.” Mike smiled back at him, already feeling slightly better about his speech. He turned to leave the basement, knowing that, despite it all, everything would be fine as long as they were together.
The lasagna tasted like cardboard. It wasn't Karen's fault, of course, her cooking was always nothing short of perfect, but Mike's taste buds refused to cooperate. His friends seemed fine, so maybe he was the problem. He wondered if it hurt to smile for them too. As he pushed a piece of meat around his plate with his fork, it felt like the world kept spinning without him. His friends got up, thanking his mother for the meal, and started gathering their belongings. Mike got up from his chair, following them to the front door. They all gathered there, exchanging quick goodbyes.
"This summer is gonna be the best!" Dustin promised.
"Hell yeah! We're finally gonna get a real summer with normal teenager stuff! Like uh… Booze and parties!" Lucas chimed in.
"Yeah, I think we deserve it." Will chuckled.
"We do, and we're gonna write a crazy checklist! Just like in the movies." Max added.
Mike smiled, trying to visualize what their last summer together could look like. "Yeah, yeah we get it guys, we're gonna go feral and all." He snorted, "I'm curious to see what you guy's idea of crazy looks like." He teased.
Max gave him an evil smile in response, "Oh you have no idea, Wheeler."
"OK now I'm scared." Mike said dramatically.
They laughed and patted each other on the back.
"Well see you tomorrow guys, we're meeting each other at the lake, it's already hot as fuck in here." Dustin said.
"Yeah, bye guys, see you tomorrow!" Lucas followed.
Max waved "See ya' losers."
Yet again, Mike was alone with Will. Who looked at him expectantly.
"Hum…" Mike started, "You—You wanna sleep over tonight?" He played with the hem of his shirt nervously.
Will seemed surprised. He smiled shyly. "Yeah… I would like that."
"Cool." Mike responded awkwardly.
"Cool."
They looked at each other for a few seconds, the space between them charged. The tension between them had always been there, but it seemed to have increased tenfold in the past two years. Will was the first to break the spell. "So… Can I come in or do I need to be invited back?" He teased.
Mike chuckled and stepped aside, bowing dramatically. "By all means, do enter, my dear sorcerer." This earned him a signature Will Byers eye roll as he stepped inside. Mike was left there smiling like an idiot, probably his first real one in a long time.
"Come on Mike, let's go read comics or something!" This shook Mike out of his reverie, he followed Will back into the house, both heading to his room. As they were crossing the kitchen, Mike felt someone's eyes on him, he turned his head to find none other than his father, narrowing his eyes disapprovingly at him. He swallowed thickly and turned his head back to his friend, finally reaching the top of the stairs. When he stepped in his room, Will was already laying on the bed, reaching for his comics. Mike couldn't help himself but stare. He looked like he belonged here, propped on one elbow, eyes downcast to look at the cover art of the comic he chose, his long lashes framing his hazel irises, focused on the image. His brows furrowed in concentration, his bottom lip catching on his teeth. "I love John Byrne." The brunette stated without looking up from the comic book.
"Huh?" Mike was once again brought back to reality by his voice.
"The artist." He looked up, seemingly amused by his friend's reaction, "What are you doing standing here, c'mere." He sat up and patted the space next to him. The taller one nodded and sat there, close enough for their arms and knees to brush lightly. Mike gave him his full attention as he explained the line art and color choice to him, passion radiating from his soothing voice.
That night, as they lay a few inches apart from each other, Mike was unable to sleep. His eyes wouldn't close as he replayed what he had said a few hours prior.
"Mike?" Will whispered. He hummed in response. "You can't sleep either?"
Mike turned, looking down at where his friend was laying on the mattress. "Yeah."
Will was silent for a few seconds. "Do you…" He started hesitantly, "Do you think we'll ever lose touch with each other?"
Mike sat up, "What? No!" He gasped, "Why would you think that?"
"I—I dunno it's just that…" Will exhaled softly, "I'm just scared that the Party will grow apart after our last summer together."
"Will…"
"I know… It's just… When I moved to California, I felt like you guys kept moving without me, that I was never part of the group in the first place." He let out a bitter chuckle. "Especially you, it felt like you completely forgot I existed. I guess I'm just scared that it'll happen again…"
Mike stared at him, guilt written all across his face. "I'm sorry Will…" He sighed, "That's not gonna happen again though, we're gonna be roommates, remember?" He smiled weakly.
Will looked at him for a moment, expression unreadable. "Yeah, I guess you're right." He smiled. Then, softer, "'Night Mike."
"'Night Will."
Mike could not remember much from that summer except for the smell of sunscreen, lake water and cold pizza. Hazy early mornings at the lake. Nights in the basement full of sweet smoke and whispered secrets. Wandering hands during movie nights and alcohol-induced promises. It wasn't perfect, but it felt good, better than anything had since that fateful night of November.
He blinked and summer was almost over already. He was laying on the floor of the basement next to Will, who was fanning himself with a magazine. It was way too hot to do anything but laze around in their swimsuits. Mike was in the midst of a very animated rant about RoboCop. Will smiled as he nodded along, gaze focused on him.
"I thought you liked science-fiction." Will teased, eyes sparkling with mischief.
Mike, of course, took the bait. "You call that science-fiction??" He rolled his eyes. "Blade Runner is science-fiction, hell, even Star Wars is more of a science-fiction saga than this… thing!" He exclaimed in disgust.
"Oh my god, you're such a snob, it's insufferable."
"Me??" Mike responded in fake offense. "Maybe you're just just too easy to please, have you considered that?"
Will scoffed, shoving his shoulder playfully. "You're definitely a huge snob."
They teased each other back and forth for a few more minutes before falling into comfortable silence again.
"Will?"
"Yeah?"
"Are you scared of going to college?"
"You?"
"Yeah… I am." He admitted, hands folded above his chest.
His friend stayed silent for a moment, eyes trained on the ceiling. Mike turned his head to look at him. "I am too." Will whispered.
The raven haired boy reached his hand to nudge his friend's gently.
"At least we'll be together." He smiled, linking his pinky with Will's.
Will bit his lip, eyes still glued to the wood above them.
"What's up Will?" Mike asked gently, a tone that their friends jokingly referred to as his Will voice.
"I'm sorry Mike…" He responded, voice shaky.
"What? Why?"
"I'm… Not going to Indianapolis University with you."
"W-What?"
"I got accepted to NYU. I'm moving in with Jonathan."
Mike sat up quickly, eyes opened wide.
"You're messing with me, right?"
"No." Will responded, no trace of humor in his voice or expression.
Mike clenched his fist, anger bubbling up under his skin at an alarming rate. He searched for Will's eyes, but he refused to look back at him. Mike furrowed his brows and chewed on his lip, trying to control the outburst that was threatening to spill out sooner or later. With just one sentence, his dreams came crashing down. He closed his eyes tightly, nails biting into his palm. Ears ringing, trying to drown out his surroundings. But there was nothing to drown, Will was deathly silent, gaze seemingly still attached to the ceiling.
"When?" Mike asked, voice empty.
"In a week." he responded, his bottom lip wobbling slightly.
Mike inhaled sharply, hands trembling at his sides. "Were you planning on telling me?"
Will finally turned his head to look at him. The haunted look on his face was enough of a response. Mike stood up, expression suddenly unreadable. "I see."
Will got up next to him, Mike turned to the door, "I guess you should go back home to get ready for your move then." He added, not even turning back to spare a glance at him.
"Mike—Wait, please…" He pleaded, Mike stopped in his tracks, back still facing him. "I really wanted to tell you… trust me, it's just that—"
"Don't bother trying to explain yourself. You pretended to be excited to move in with me all summer, you just wanted to humiliate me."
"What? No! I did want to tell you! I didn't want to lie to you… It's just… Complicated."
Mike scoffed. "Yeah, right." He gritted his teeth and turned around, facing him, his eyes were big and glassy. "I guess I deserved that."
"Mike…" He reached his hand to his shoulder. "No you didn't, I—I didn't make that decision to hurt you."
"Well, you did." He swatted his friend's hand away. "Hope you have fun in New York, Will." Mike stormed out of the basement without waiting for a response, locking himself in his room.
He collapsed into his half made bed, gaze fixated on nothing.
That last look at Will would haunt him for years to come. His shaky shoulders, his big doe eyes drowned in hurt and sorrow, his bottom lip trembling, frozen in the low light of the basement forever. A place that was once his one true home, empty, defiled.
Mike didn't leave his room for the entire week. He couldn't bring himself to face Will. The first couple of days, anger, sadness and betrayal followed one another inside his tormented mind. Now, it was replaced by a dull ache, a deep emptiness that swallowed him whole. But despite it all, he couldn't bring himself to hate Will for it. He was simply unable to.
He lay on his back on his bed, arm raised, absentmindedly tracing patterns in the air, Mike wondered if Will would miss him in New York, or if his life would be so fulfilling that he would forget about his existence altogether. He slowly turned his head to the calendar on his wall. He realized that he had spent a full week wallowing in his own misery, barely even coming out to eat. A sudden panic overflowed his senses. He was sure that Will was moving out today. He sprung out of off his bed in a hurry, grabbing a random shirt and slipping into it. He didn't even bother putting his shoes on correctly. He ran down the stairs, crossing the living room and kitchen at a speed that was, quite frankly, impressive coming from him. He didn't acknowledge his parents' interrogations. He hopped on his bike and pedaled to Hopper's cabin, almost crashing into oncoming cars multiple times. It was usually a pretty long ride, but it only took him about twenty minutes to reach it. He discarded his bike carelessly onto the lawn and frantically knocked on the door.
The cabin remained silent. Overcome by deep denial, Mike knocked again, more insistently. Nothing. He looked around the porch, they were no cars parked.
As his eyes swiped left and right in confusion, Mike realized that he was too late. The thought crashed on his shoulders like a physical weight. Because, just like that, Will was gone once again. But this time, it was on his own accord. He choose to leave him behind, to rot alone in this hellhole.
Slowly, he sat on the wood. Eyes wide and mouth parted. He ran a hand across his face. He released a shuddering breath. This was worse than the summer of '85. He buried his head into his knees, defeated. How was he supposed to survive in here without him? He was the only thing keeping him from spiraling into madness in this godforsaken town that held too many memories. He sighed again.
"Goddammit Will."
Studying business at Indianapolis University was not an easy or pleasurable task whatsoever. In all honesty, Mike only chose this particular career path to appease his father. Because Ted Wheeler was mostly uninterested in his own offspring, except when it came to ruining their lives, apparently.
Mike lived in a small student apartment near campus, where he barely stayed. He had a roommate—Jason—he was loud, obnoxious, and filled the small space with cigarette smoke. The smell always lingered on the walls and sheets, even after airing everything out for days. It triggered an almost Pavlovian response in Mike, the fragrance bringing him back to sweet afternoons at the Byers' house. Plus, the walls were extremely thin and Jason had a habit of bringing back girls to his room. So Mike always ended up back in his childhood bedroom, door locked.
But honestly, being at home wasn't much of an improvement. Because the place may have been familiar, but it felt wrong. Mike never went back to the basement after that fateful summer day. Physically unable to even approach the door. Nancy was out for college, in New York, with Will and Jonathan. Holly didn't even acknowledge him most of the time. Ted, as per usual, was present in name only. Karen was the only one that had any interest on him. She had tried her best to connect with her shell of a son at first, until she ended up giving up entirely.
The first few months, Max and Lucas called, almost once a week, until Mike stopped responding. Dustin called him once a month, but it was short lived, he seemingly lost interest in Mike's sad excuse of a life. Will never called, and Mike didn't try either. He was close to doing so multiple times, but ultimately decided against it, unable to imagine what he could possibly tell him if he responded. Just like that, the friendships that survived the apocalypse died in slow motion, unable to withstand the physical and emotional distance.
The classes were fine in the beginning, Mike managed to mostly tune them down, daydreaming about fantasy worlds to cope with the mediocrity of his reality. But as the days went by, marketing and business and branding all started to bleed into each other, resulting in an ungodly abomination of buzzwords and statistics that he had no interest in ever remembering. He sat at the back of the lecture hall, eyes glued to the plane of his table, inspecting every knot in the wood, memorizing every bend and line like it was his only tether to reality. He made no effort in maintaining meaningful connections to anyone in his class. There was this girl whose name he never bothered to learn. She tried to talk to him a couple times, but Mike's very obvious disinterest probably deterred her to keep going.
He barely managed to pass his finals that year, and it was fairly impressive considering that he didn't even try. His father was mildly content at the news, his mother hugged him and even bought him his first car as a reward. Was that what it felt like to make them proud? Was that what being normal was supposed to feel like?
Mike closed the door of his room quietly and stopped in front of his mirror. Staring back at him was the splitting image of one Theodore Wheeler. How did he manage to change so much in so little time? Was he always this skinny? God, did the middle part do him disservice. His hand raised to his face as he felt for it, checking if it was really him. He stared at himself surprisingly long, really taking in the unfamiliar sight. Suddenly, he turned his head, unable to keep looking. And in the corner of his eye, he swore he could have seen his reflection smirking at him.
Summer break that year made Mike almost miss college. Nancy was back, she seemed different, older, sharper, but definitely not happier—at least they still had that in common. At first, he was glad she was there, as it could add a bit of change to his excruciating routine. They also had a fairly good relationship. Who would've known that surviving hell together brings people closer to each other? However, that relief was very short lived as he found himself under scrutiny almost immediately upon her arrival. Her sharp eyes never left him once, she assessed and analyzed, as if he was nothing but a lab rat, a new exciting subject to write a paper about. He felt like he was going to be interrogated. And sure enough, two days after coming back home, she cornered him as he was just entering the bathroom to wash his teeth.
"Are you okay?" She asked him, gaze locked on his through the bathroom mirror.
"Good morning to you too Nancy." He responded sarcastically.
"Mike, I'm serious."
He sighed. "Yeah of course I am, why are you suddenly asking that?"
"You don't look okay."
"Ok that's just rude." He grumbled.
"Mike…"
"What?"
"What's wrong? You can tell me, you know I won't judge."
Mike averted his eyes, her stare was starting to burn into his soul and he couldn't stand it anymore.
"Nothing's wrong."
She put her hand on his shoulder.
"I know you and Will don't talk anymore. I heard him telling Jonathan about it."
Mike scoffed. "So what about it?"
"Mike, I'm worried about you, this looks an awful lot like when he was in California. You were miserable then and you look pretty much the same right now, so if I'm connecting the dots alright, this is the reason why."
"Wow. You're such an amazing investigator Nancy." He rolled his eyes, spreading the minty paste on his toothbrush and shoving it in his mouth.
"Ugh! Why are you being so pissy at me? I'm just trying to help."
He spit into the sink. "Well have you maybe considered that I don't want your help?"
"You're not doing a great job at convincing me, Mike."
"Just leave me alone Nance, it's eight in the morning for God's sake."
She huffed in exasperation. "Fine, but you better believe I'm not dropping this so easily." She said, finally leaving the room.
"Oh trust me, I know." He sassed under his breath.
After that, Mike made no effort to leave his room anymore, not so eager to have a redo of that painfully awkward conversation. He got back to his usual moping around in his bed doing mostly nothing except trying to write sometimes.
He didn't sleep much most nights, unable to get any break from his rapidly spiraling thoughts. However, he had no interest in watching movies or reading comics to distract himself. He seemed to enjoy wallowing in his own misery, that was definitely not out of character for him. So of course, the bags under his eyes only grew and grew, as testimonies of his inability to make his brain just shut the hell up. A constant haze of tiredness now clung to him like a second skin. That, added to the fact that when he finally managed to get some rest, it was haunted by nightmares. He often saw that girl in the smoke, bathed in reds and oranges. Her face was blurry now, undefined, it was hard to even remember her name sometimes. The only certain thing that remained was the all-consuming guilt, the absolute certainty that her death was his fault. He sometimes also saw Will's teary face in the basement. Tonight, however, seemed to play a little differently.
He opened his eyes in the basement, Will by his side. He was sitting this time, knee pressed to Mike's.
"Mike."
Mike turned to look at him, surprised by the change in script.
"Y-Yeah?" He stuttered.
"Why are you lying?" Will asked.
"What? I'm not!"
"Yes you are."
"No I'm not. What would I even be lying about? If someone is lying here, it's you, Will."
Will was coming close to him, almost crawling to Mike.
"You aren't lying to me, Mike, you're lying to yourself." He said, voice low, approaching dangerously.
"Will what are you—" He was interrupted by Will sitting on him, straddling his legs. A light blush dusted his pale cheeks as the rest of his question died in his throat.
"You're always… Sending those… Signals. Confusing me, while you tell yourself that we are still friends." He places a finger under his chin and lifts it up. "So again, Mike, why do you keep lying to yourself?" He inched closer. "Is it because you feel guilty? Because of her?"
"What?" Mike whispered in confusion, trembling slightly. "What are you talking about Will?"
Will smiled deviously. "Eleven." Mike's eyes opened wide as his lips parted, but words failed him once again.
"You never really loved her did you?" His smile grew even more.
"That's not—"
"Oh yeah? Why didn't you tell her then?"
"I-I did tell her!" He replied defensively.
"Did you tell her as she was about to die in front of your eyes?"
Mike was at a loss for words, jaw trembling slightly.
"You didn't." Will was now forcefully holding his chin up. "And she decided to sacrifice herself, because you weren't able to give her the will to keep fighting."
"Will, stop." He attempted, weakly.
"Would she still be there if you said it? Who knows? But at least she would've died feeling loved." He laughed. "The only thing you ever managed to do was make her feel like a monster. Make us feel like monsters." His voice was too deep now, almost monstrous.
Mike was trembling, unable to say anything as Will's smile melted, his face contorted into an inhuman expression. "The only thing you ever do is make us suffer. You make us wish we never met you." His voice was now a deep rumble.
Finally, Mike found the courage to push Will off of him, backing off to the corner of the room. The latter followed him, caging him against the wall, he seemed taller, his face looked wrong, his fingernails had grown into claws. Mike closed his eyes tightly as the thing wearing his best friend's face inched way too close to him. But then, he heard it. It was faint, distant. There was a voice. He trained his ears, trying to make out the words.
"Mike, wake up!"
He stilled. The voice spoke again, it was so familiar, he'd recognize it anywhere.
"You have to wake up, please!"
Will.
Mike opened his eyes, gasping. He was in his room, laying in bed.
"Mike, wake up." Nancy was knocking at his door insistently.
Mike groaned, still trying to come down from his nightmare.
"Nancy I swear to God, if it's you trying to "help me" again, I'm gonna—" He ran his hand over his face, sighing. "Go away, I'm not in the mood for one of your lectures right now."
"Mike, Will called."
He stood up instantly. "What?"
"Yeah… He's coming back for summer break, he'll be there in a week."