Chapter Text
i.
An alarm goes off.
You can hear it all the way from here, in a room merely lit with flickering screens of the security cameras. Most of the video surveillance monitors lost sight of their designated field of vision. Instead of seeing prospects, it is replaced by grey and white static, unpleasantly scratching your ears and flashing your eyes by its sharp and crackling animation. Hissing and taunting white noise. Lost into the view of snow scattering pixels of its lackluster transmission.
Except for one. A camera working perfectly stable at the very room you saw everything that has happened. The sole reason for tonight's disaster. The source of your nightmares haunting you over the years.
There’s blood. So much blood splattered all over the colorful walls and the floor. A place that used to be filled with toys and children, purposely for puerile moments of calming and playful juvenescence, and it was all demolished into this gruesome state of gore and sanguinary. Cadavers of kids, soldiers, the doctors— especially Martin Brenner, are lifeless. All of them are gone.
The harrowing shrieks and piercing cries echoing through the handheld transceiver left with you elicit a jolt of terror to your spine. It left you speechless and frightened, you would never ever hear such sounds even from films or movies showing in cinemas or on tapes you’d watch on Saturdays. Their raw and desperate emotions laced in their voices forced an impact on your conscience. This is real. Everything that has happened is real.
You wanted to hide. You wanted to run. But you’re left frozen on the spot in the observation room, and witness everything of a man creating dreadful history.
This is a mistake. Your mind reiterated over and over. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Questions such as how and why left you unsure when you couldn’t think straight. As a matter of fact, you were involved but you didn’t see it coming, and you felt a pang of burdensome guilt because of your unsophisticated judgement.
You are one of the reasons for this massacre to occur. You involuntarily set a monster free. You were blind and stupid to help someone you thought to be the nicest person in this unfeeling and inhospitable inception. You trusted and gave, and yet you were deceived. You ended up becoming a co-conspirator. An associate to the killings. It is an irreversible mistake. A perdurable consequence nailed to your creed. Now you’re just standing in front of the monitors, watching in disbelief and shock at the culprit you once trusted. One that you thought he’d be different.
How it mocks you. In all of his glory, to lift innocents in the air, snapping and twisting their joints and bones, and crushing their eyeballs with powerful force. To your horror, you’re frightened to find out his true nature like this. You wouldn’t have guessed it either way by your lack of knowledge and awareness, and most of all, blinded by your devoted feelings towards him. You shouldn’t have listened to your heart. You shouldn’t have been so foolish with your silly infatuation.
The last person he killed is Two. One of the talented children, who is nowhere near as strong as him, was easily defeated. It wasn't even a duel. It was a slaughter. He can’t be stopped. With him effortlessly mangling all of those people with his power, you’re slowly coming to realize his true identity.
Once Two’s body collapses to the floor, there is a moment of silence. While the emergency alarm continuously goes off, the man looks around at the outcome of his destruction, without any shred of remorse seen in his face. It’s like he has done a mere chore, simply wiping a single blood from his nose with his thumb, pausing, before his eyes land on the cameras right exactly where you are watching. His head slightly tilts with that menacing glare plastered in his cold, icy blue eyes. You went frozen as he stared intently, staring right through you. He sees you. He knows you’re there. He senses it.
Abruptly, the lights in the security room flickered intensely and you jumped. You have to get out of here. Get help. Warn the military. Activate lockdown. Something. Anything. He needed to be contained. He needed to be stopped.
So you made your move, finally breaking out of your frozen trance. But as you dashed out to the doors, expecting you to be heading to the division where the facility personnel works, you were suddenly sent to a different place in a blink of an eye, causing you to halt instantly and look around in confusion like a lost child.
White and square tiles. Lights going nuts. Doors with numbers. Cameras at every corner. Bodies left and right. Blood smeared and splattered everywhere. You’re where hell is.
How did you get here?
Tick-tock… Tick-tock…
A slow, ominous echo of ticking and chiming distracts you, reverberating and resounding to your ears and, somehow, through your soul. Because you feel it. There’s a force, eliciting, as if it was tugging you. A calling. It sounded familiar too. A clock. You realised. You don’t see one when you search for it, and you thought you were losing your mind until you discerned the noise resonating from the doors ahead of you, and you knew exactly where that led to.
The Rainbow room.
Tick-tock… Tick-tock…
You dared to approach carefully, knowing who is on the other side, your heart quickens at every step you take. Your breathing grows heavy in apprehension. You wanted to turn around and flee, but you felt the need to respond to this forbidding invitation.
You reach out to the cold surface of the doors, taking a breath before swinging them open simultaneously.
TICK-TOCK… TICK-TOCK…
You’re greeted with an abnormally large grandfather clock erected in the center of the Rainbow room. The gold pendulum through the glass steadily sways left and right. The chiming, ticking, and creaking of wood grows snappy and hefty the moment you laid your eyes upon it. Regardless of a clock popping out of nowhere, the Rainbow room seemed different compared to what you saw in the cameras just now.
There’s no one here but you. No bodies, and no sign of the culprit, yet the place is still a mess. No bodies though. The toys are dispersed, chairs and tables are scattered, lights are dead, and there’s blood here and there. In addition, there’s the creepy clock and a burning red glow illuminating the room.
Behind the clock, past the shattered mirror where the vantage point is, there’s a lofty, unusual rift on a wall. It’s like a gateway to Hell. A gleaming crimson opening with a border of dark wreathing vines, curling and worming like snakes around the rim, spreading out further and further. There seems to be a creature inside the way you hear raucous growling, something lurking just a veil away.
Out of curiosity, you went towards the window with glass shards poking out at the frame, and you studied the alien-like threshold producing eldritch gurgling which elicits goosebumps trembling all over your body. It is definitely not earth-friendly, but it is alive. Living and malicious. You wondered where it came from and why it is here out of all places. You’ve never seen anything like it.
While distracted, you heard a familiar voice calling your name in a hushed tone, so soft and sweet that it would swoon you before. Your heart involuntarily skipped a beat. It’s not from an affection notion though, but fear.
Behind you.
Before you turn your head, a weight presses down to your shoulder, coarse and long. You went still, scared to wits, not daring to make sudden movement yet you felt the need to know what in God’s name is behind you and touching you. So you courageously and gradually rubberneck your gaze over your shoulder to find out.
You tried not to scream. You’re met with a fleshy, shriveled hand, exposed muscles that have an uneven, deformed surface and grotesque mien. It gets worse when you follow where the limb leads to, forcing yourself to spin your body around towards a creature that resembles a spawn of Satan, then you hold your breath and go rigid.
Human-like. Towering and desiccated. It has a face, and is distinguishingly bald-headed. Its protruding, prominent cords of muscles and tendons attached to its neck, jaw, collarbones, shoulders, and torso are slithering all over. Its one arm is larger than the other, bearing longer fingers and sharper nails.
The eyes of the creature are dulled leaden-blue, and they’re bored right to you. The intent stare finally snapped out of the taut of your distracted daze and you suddenly sprung to vigorous life.
Jesus Christ! What the fuck?! You hurtled and receded away from it while sharply cursing under your breath. What the Hell is that?!
Your lower back hits a wall, and forgetting you’re against the shattered window, you accidentally scrape your palm from the protruding shards in the frames when you’re trying to latch onto something to stabilise yourself. You winced and shakily held your hand to stop the bleeding. A warm pool of red liquid generously leaks from your wound and spills to the floor.
In reaction, the creature releases a low guttural growl through its mouth. A sign of sentience and life. Here you thought it was just some sick statue or fucked up mascot, but you trusted yourself that what you’re seeing right now is just all in your head and this is nothing but a waking nightmare. A hallucination. A messed up reality that nothing makes sense. This thing isn’t real.
This is fake. This is all in your head. You tell yourself out of comfort and you pray to wake up at any moment. This is not real.
But if it’s not real, how come you’re feeling pain right now?
The monster takes a step forward and you recoil, striking a thundering beat of fear into your heart and a wave of goosebumps and cold sweat all over your body. For all of your rational thoughts to sink into a blank disposition, you all but cower with weak knees, slipping down to the ground and stare back at the approaching predator. With your dumb decision and state, you’re just gawping and offering yourself to be killed on a silver platter.
It halts barely a foot in front of you. Its feet are similar to the rest of its body, desiccated and shriveled. You can hear its neck crunching because it is tilting its head in an observing motion, peering down at your distress with an aloof expression.
God. Please go away. You tried your best not to cry and stop trembling as you bleed. You’re basically stuck since you failed to run, but you had this inkling feeling that whatever you do you’ll wind up back here again unwillingly just like how you left that security room. One step out for some ploy to escape will only shift this warped reality back to its intended course, forcing you to endure this hellish dream whether you like it or not.
By that, it hit you with a helpless feeling, you quivered in terror after you shot one look back at the monster, who remained observant and quiet at your quailing. Without any other choice, you squeeze your eyes shut before pinching yourself in your arm so hard until your nails are close to penetrating your skin.
Wake up. Wake up. Wake up!
There’s silence shrouding in the room except for your heavy breathing then your heard electricity humming and flickering. Behind your eyelids, you see the lights going off again, and the red glow disappears. Something else changes and that is the sense of danger ceasing. You somehow felt safe, just a little.
Did it work?
You flinched when a hand held yours. Warm and gentle.
“Open your eyes.”
ii.
At breakfast, you’ve never been more tempted to chug down a cup of coffee in your entire life.
You’re marking ‘86 as the year of your upbringing in caffeine addiction. The nutty aroma and bitter taste beverage brought you back the nostalgia of drinking your morning java in the midst of your college life. Oh, how it takes you back. Everything is fine when your troubles are student loans and attain your bachelor’s degree. Time was simple. Once you enter the real world, responsibility has never felt so burdensome and pressuring. You would always deal with it alone because you’re an adult. No one else is going to take care of you since you’re mature and so you’re expected to know your way around without any guidance.
With your nightmares constantly haunting you these past few days, you are eager to try a new routine of taking revivifying subsistence to keep you awake at night, which sounds inane. Still, you’re planning to go to the pharmacy downtown to buy over-the-counter stimulants and take a trip to the grocery store for some caffeinated products. Maybe buy like the chocolate ones to make it more bearable. A little indulgence after what has been going on recently.
You’ll take risks just to keep yourself from sleeping as much as you can. Although sleep is important, with all that prone to heart disease and immunodeficiency and whatnot, yet you still prefer dealing with your night terrors as your priority because— honestly— they keep getting worse and worse.
You don’t want to waste your time any longer and wait for the horrible dreams to worsen your life. You already have enough problems to deal with.
iii.
“Sheesh, someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning.”
If your coworker notices it then you’re not surprised half of the population in Hawkins has seen your haggard appearance as you commute from your house all the way to the cinematheque. You look like shit. Simon wants to remark, but working hours are about to start. Plus, it’s Monday— goddamn Monday, so he had to apply some professional or friendly filter or whatever facade close to that area that wouldn’t tick you off this early. God knows you don’t need another reason to lose your sanity this January. The holidays just ended. Vacation is over. Daily life and work has returned.
You dumped your satchel in your workspace, to which you didn’t notice it happened to bump into a carton box sitting in the middle of your table.
“Whose this?”
“Oh, that’s for you.” Simon answers. He is currently dismantling a video tape, and with a small screwdriver in his gloved hand, he points out. “Some lady in a suit brought it here. I don’t think it’s an ordinary mailwoman either.”
As he said that it sounded off, and it’s more weird as you checked for the stamp and address which is none. It’s almost as if it is meant to be anonymous.
“Did she say anything else? This mailwoman.” You pry for more information but Simon shakes his head with his eyes on his work.
“Nada.”
Okay… You silently thought. Mystery mail then. You slipped out a pocket knife from your bag and snapped the blade open before thrusting it to the scotch tape, dragging and tearing the sticky strip.
After that, you fold out the flaps and pluck out the styrofoam, the package reveals a small rectangular black object. You pulled it out, observing, only to realize it is a receptacle. A familiar plaster container that you’ve dealt with countless times, confirming your suspicion as you unlock the case and there is a videotape inside.
There’s a label, and it says:
ALL IMAGES CONTAINED HEREIN ARE CONSIDERED CONFIDENTIAL AND OFFICIAL PROPERTY OF THE UNITED STATES GOVERNMENT
FOR AUTHORIZED EYES ONLY
You couldn’t move, absently clutching the tape as you repeatedly reread the words.
Oh my god.
In silence, around a minute probably, you suddenly and carelessly tossed back the videotape inside and slammed the box shut before shoving it away from you.
“Woah, woah, you good?” Simon peers over his shoulder to check up on you as you ended up backpedaling from your desk to his. Your back hitting the border of the table. Your coworker glances between the package and you. “What is it? Is it porn?”
“What? No.” You blanched. “No… But, honestly? That is worst than fixing the damn sex tape from that one snitch who recorded Larry Kline and his former secretary fucking at the Cadillac.”
“Seriously?” Simon scoffed, laughing under his breath. “And I have seen weird shit during restorations and what else is worse than that?”
You immediately grabbed the carton box before Simon’s curiousity brews more, hiding the package from his eyeshot. “I can’t say.”
“Is it top secret or something?” He jests.
“Something like that.” You responded shakily.
And the rest of the day, you never mentioned the mail to Simon or anyone else. It pissed you off more as you held onto the secret tape and kept it in your satchel. The sender is really testing you. The fucking audacity. Your anger flared internally but you didn’t bother to express your reaction, knowing that you’re no longer in the shadows but in the spotlight.
Someone is watching you the moment you open the mail because you’re officially and frustratingly involved with them.
iv.
The audio cassette slid into the counter is demolished. Shell cracked and the tape is stretched and tangled out. You peered closer out of genuine curiosity.
“Do you think you can fix it?” Said your client, a young teenager actually, a redhead girl with headphones hooked around her neck. She is carrying a Madrid skateboard affixed with duct tape.
“What exactly happened to this?” You ask.
“It was just stupid mistake…” She begrudgingly answers, scowling momentarily. “I crashed.”
That explains it. Not only is her skateboard split in half and she tried to reattach it with duct tape, she has a bandage on her knees, and her Walkman on her hip is broken. Proof of her said crash incident.
Obviously, she’s having a bad day right now, so you didn’t bother to question further. You saw a familiar picture plastered on the cassette. “Kate Bush.” You comment with a tiny smile, thinking of enlightening her a little. “Nice taste.”
She ignored that though. In a hurry, she went straight to business. “How much?”
“For repairs, we take twenty.”
After payment, you closed for the day. It was uneventful lately since people rarely visited nowadays except for needed personal restorations and repairs. Although the RadioShack offers such services, it was a relief that the cinematheque is also considered a preference.
The cinematheque has no name, but it was once a well-known motion-picture archive in Hawkins; practices of film preservations, exhibitions and film projections in theaters were popular decades ago. It’s an old building, but it was shut down until 1980. The current owner, Matthew, your boss, reopened it after it was inherited to him, and he was quite a nerd for films, tampering and tinkering old tapes.
However, the cinematheque didn’t receive much recognition compared to its glorified days. It is tuned out to the public’s attention, especially the time when Starcourt was built last year. The stores downtown, including the cinematheque, were disregarded.
For years working, the consideration of the cinematheque’s presence is still hanging. Surprisingly. There has been a sliver of hope when senior citizens have been keen on exploring back the classic films, or when youngsters, who tend to open their doors of curiosity in their minds, look through to learn cinematic background in the archives. The latter was a rare occasion though.
Yet the real deal of it all is restoring history. Lately in the ‘80s, there had been a dilemma, collections of motion picture heritage on the brink of becoming lost films. It is generally found in reports of cellulose triacetate degradation. The vinegar syndrome. Decaying of mediums. Tapes are losing their quality, to which it forfeits countless films.
That’s what you and Simon are dealing with recently. Film preservation. It had been an official practice in this decade. And throughout tackling these decomposing tapes, the only way is to secure them by duplicating them to a newer medium, and you have been doing it for years now. The cinematheque may have not been popular but it still has its uses.
Before clocking out, you return to your workspace to retrieve your bag, and you find Simon popping open a beer from his six pack he just bought from the convenience store across the street. He sits down to his chair and raises his legs over the table before tilting his seat back.
You cringed. Not because of his alcoholism but his careless position. He’ll fall if he continues treating his seat like a rocking chair.
“Drinking already?”
“Can never be too early. Besides, Matthew isn’t here.” He shrugged before chugging down. “Want one? You look like you need one.”
“It’s… Monday.” You lamely interpolate.
“So?”
“I don’t drink during working days.”
“But you are tempted.” He points at your staring.
Well, aren’t you so obvious? You kinda want one. You have to admit. It’s been a long day for your temperament, with all the nightmares and headaches torturing you lately.
Silently, Simon tosses you a can and you effortlessly catch it. You swiftly take a swig.
“So, do you want to talk about it?”
“About what?”
“About your whole…” Simon gestures to you with a wave of his hand. “Shitty look.”
You’re not offended, since you’re tired of dealing with it. “I bet you’ve been wanting to say that to me since I clocked in.”
Another long sip. “Yes, but you know you and your temper, lady. It’s a pain in the ass.”
You snorted in amusement. “Are you saying you’re scared of my angry side, kid?”
He laughed, loud, before it immediately disappeared. “Seriously, you look like you’re one step closer to falling into a grave. You haven’t been sleeping well.”
“Yeah.” You started to feel bloated. The alcohol kicked in. ”No shit.”
“Are you having nightmares? Again?” Simon asks seriously, and you didn’t answer. “I’ve known you for four years and I can tell you’re not having a pleasant sleep when you’re having those dreams again. It’s getting worse too, right? You’ve been having headaches and nosebleeds.”
You’re taken back. “How did you—“
“I saw you wiping off your nose with your sleeve and taking pills.”
Shit. “I’m fine. Seriously.” You promulgate. Simon isn’t convinced. “I’m fine.”
Your coworker shakes his head, slightly unimpressed with you. “Keep saying that. Look, if you don’t want to tell me, how about to someone you can seek help from. She’s a neighbor and Charlotte has been going to her at school when she’s having problems.”
“At school? Is she…”
“A guidance counselor.” At your confused stare, Simon elaborated further, “Ms. Kelly is a nice woman. We’ve been going out sometimes for coffee to mingle, even Matthew approached her one time. She listens and understands. I mean, she has a bachelor’s and master’s degree in psychology after all. Anyways, there’s no harm in that. I can tell her about your situation. Plus, it’s free. No payment for sessions.”
“Pulling out your connections, huh.”
“Just think about it.” Simon suggests. “There’s something going on with that head of yours and the only way to assess further is with help.”
“Sure…” You slowly said, taking a last sip to your beer. “As if this woman you recommend has any idea what is going on in my head right now.”
v.
Once you drift off to sleep, you’re back again in the lab.
Just like where you last left off, you’re in the midst of the massacre. In the hallways filled with blood and mangled corpses splayed everywhere, there are dead military guards and orderlies in every corner, and children found in their bedrooms. All of their bones snapped and their eyes squeezed into their skulls.
You feel nauseous as you proceed onward, nearly faltering every body you come across. The flickering ceiling lights hurt your eyes in all directions, almost drowning you to dizziness with its flashing brightness. You snapped to rapt attention as you heard screams nearby and then you recalled where they originated, so you hastily went onto your destination.
Shoving the doors open before stumbling in, the Rainbow room is what you expected it to be, everything you saw in the previous nightmare, the clock, the weird doorway, and the monster are absent. The place is just the same as what actually happened, and to your dismay, the truth that lies within the facility hammered into your dreams, replaying the horrifying event over and over only activates your trauma.
You ventured deep into the room, glancing at every body you see. Despite seeing this countless times in your memories, it always sickens you and the feeling would never go away.
“What are you doing here?”
That voice.
You swear you didn’t see him as you entered but there he is now, middle of the room. The man of your nightmares.
“What have you done?” You gasped out the question you’ve been meaning to ask all this time. This is a dream. You’re very much aware but it felt so real. So real that in front of you is actually him. “Peter, what have you done?”
His reaction to that is frowning slightly at you. Disappointed at something. Did he not think you wouldn’t freak out at this? Why did he even ask why you’re here? Is he going to kill you too?
“Breaking free.” Is what he answered after a long stretch of intense silence. It’s so simple and nonchalant that it drives you insane.
But you’re only confused. “I don’t understand.”
You realised… you never knew Peter Ballard that well. You thought you did. You thought he’s a good man. His presence was once a comfort to you. His tender voice and friendly words definitely fooled you to overlook this side of him. You were just so trusting and foolish. You’re stupid.
And that’s why he used you. The perfect puppet.
“I’m sure you don’t.” Peter says as he approaches you. “You’re the type to oversimplify things and never assume the worst, don’t you? You are so credulous and guileless.”
He stops in front of you and you can see clearly the details of his face. His eyes are like a madman even when he tries to soften his chilling mien. The bloodshot veins in his sclera are forbidding, just as the blue iris vivified into a colder hue.
You are offended at what he said, yet you couldn’t glare at him out of spite. Not when he had committed homicide, if you ticked him off who is to say you wouldn’t end up like these poor victims?
Sensing your flare, Peter smiles, just like he would whenever he’d greet you in brief encounters during work. Sweet and welcoming. As if that would comfort you after what he did.
“It’s alright.” He raises a hand to stroke your hair and you still. Afraid to move. “If it weren’t for you though, I wouldn’t have been able to recuperate my abilities and be one step closer to freedom.”
“Are you going to kill me like what you did to those people?” You had to ask. It only keeps you sane and capable of handling this without breaking down to a fit. You’re so close to crying. So close.
To your surprise, Peter shakes his head as he retracts his hand. “No. Why would you think that?”
“I don’t know, Peter. You’ve really outdone yourself to exceed my expectations at this point.”
A huff through his nose. “Have I affected you in such a way?” He asks in wonder.
Yes. You did.
“We’re at our differences at the moment.” He continues. “I didn’t do this as the means to give you the idea of laying a finger on you.”
“Yet.” You imply his hidden insinuation. “Because this is a warning.”
You’re not wrong. You can see in his gaze that you hit the jackpot. Peter stares at you intently with a slow tilt of his head. “I know you’re just scared and that is something I’m not unfamiliar with.” He says quietly. “You know me very well. Better than anyone else. As I do to you. Every shed of impression I show you is true. Have I ever lied to you?”
You’re not so sure anymore. But you know Peter is nowhere near the best of being truthful. He just didn’t show all of his true colors. What you know of him is a part of who he is. A man of mystery, who holds many secrets, and you didn’t see the aggression and intent to kill. He is manipulative to stir your focus by making you overlook.
“You still tricked me.” You protested, clenching your fists. “You deceived me into helping you.”
Peter frowned. His brows furrowed. “I merely asked you to help me save the girl.”
“No. You weren’t saving Eleven. You helped her so she will owe you by helping back, and you got what you wanted.” You eyed his nape where the chip was implanted.
“Is that what you think?” He muses. There is a sudden change of demeanor then. “How about we shall exert a mutual exchange for us as well?”
You almost scoffed. “Are you saying you owe me?” There is nothing he can give that you want.
As if reading your thoughts, Peter tipped his head closer to you as a challenge. You didn’t lean away since you don’t know his intentions but intimidating you. It’s a habit of his, an observing motion like a curious creature.
“What do you want?” His voice is so low and quiet you almost didn’t hear him, although given his distance you can. Only him. “Say it and I’ll give.”
You’re now holding your breath. You don’t like where this is going. The room is so awfully still and silent waiting for your answer. What would you say to this? For him to disappear in your nightmares is tempting but that is influenced by your trauma and memories anyway. Peter is subconsciously always at the back of your mind. That’s why you kept seeing him as you slept. You cannot run from him as you rest.
The abrupt willingness to repay you literally caught you off guard and you couldn’t think straight. Your undecided pause suddenly urged Peter to close the gap between the two of you with a simple and gentle kiss, to which the contact of his lips rambunctiously surprised you, you instantly jerked back with wide eyes.
You don’t know if it’s your affections you had once for the man are the reason you had a guilty pleasure from what just happened and you felt ashamed, torn between two sides of right and wrong. This is wrong. So wrong.
You have to wake up now.
Seeing your conflict had Peter straighten himself. His face is unreadable. “I’ll see you again soon.”
That was an eerie bid of farewell for a dream and it haunted you as you woke up from your alarm clock.