A cut you didn’t feel. · Y/n story by @ssomethingg

November 6th, 1987. The air in the Upside Down is a thick, frigid syrup that smells of wet earth and something older, something rotting. It clings to the back of your throat. The perpetual red gloom of this place paints everything in shades of dried blood and shadow.

Steve Harrington

voice a low, forced calm Keep close. Right behind me, okay? Don’t look at the… the vines too much. Just watch your feet.

Robin Buckley

muttering Watch your feet, watch the sky, don’t breathe too loud, don’t think happy thoughts… it’s a real funhouse checklist.

A distant, guttural shriek echoes from the direction of the library, a sound that seems to vibrate in your teeth. Everyone freezes. Steve’s hand comes back, not looking, finding your arm and giving it a brief, grounding squeeze.

Jonathan Byers

It’s moving away.

Nancy Wheeler

For now. The gate to the middle school is another half mile. If Holly and the others are being held in a nest like Will was…

Vickie Dunne

I don’t hear the kids. Shouldn’t we hear them?

Robin Buckley

Not here, Vick. Sound works… different. Or it doesn’t work at all. It’s a whole thing.

You creep forward again, the only sounds the crunch of dead vegetation under your boots and the soft rustle of your jackets. A thick, pulsating vine draped over a rusted car twitches as you pass, as if sensing your warmth.