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It was another Sunday night at the Wheeler’s. The Party occupies the basement, commonly gathered around that little table whilst it’s practically carpeted over with loose papers, notebooks, and tiny figurines.
They’d just gotten through a one-shot, and while everyone seems very accomplished and satisfied with the story’s end, they are also extremely tired. 8 hours of DnD can suck all of the energy out of you, just like that. It’s a mystery how they could stretch sessions on for over 10 hours when they were kids, but they did have a lot more energy back then.
Max is first to get up out of her chair, more than ready to get out of here. As if on cue, Lucas shoots up as well. He lets out a yawn, overexaggerating his movements. “Great campaign, man, but we gotta get out of your hair.” Lucas drawls.
Max is moving towards the stairs, following Lucas, as she says “I still can’t believe that fake-out,” and she pauses her movement to angle her head towards Mike, who remains in his seat by the table. “I don’t know why we keep letting you DM.” She says it in a playful manner, with her voice lifting after each word. He wears a shit-eating grin, letting it do all the talking for him.
Dustin springs out of his chair, his right arm hoisting himself up to lean over the table whilst his left is offering a pointed finger to Max. “And that stupid Doppleganger! I can’t believe that almost got me.” It’s almost like he’s in agreement to never let Mike DM again.
“Okay, well, I don’t know why you went off like that in the first place.” Mike retorts.
“She had a comforting aura. She gave me bread.” Dustin reminisces, even though the events only took place a few hours prior. Suddenly snapped out of his artificial dreamstate, he looks back at Mike. “Alright, I’m out.” Max and Lucas had already resumed their trudge out of the Wheeler basement, and Dustin quickly gathered his things before following suit.
They all gave their cheery goodbyes as Max, Lucas, and Dustin marched up the stairs. Once Mike heard the click of the door, he turned back to face the table. His eyes met with Will’s, who had been sat across from him.
“It really was a good campaign.” Will says. Mike gives him a shy smile in return, breaking eye contact for no longer than a second.
“You tired?” he asks, his voice soft. Will’s heart always aches when he hears it. Nobody would guess, because he has mastered the art of playing it cool ages ago. So, he just nods his head in response.
When Will starts rising off his seat, so does Mike. Will rolls his shoulders and stretches his back, adjusting his body after he’d been sitting for so long. “I should probably get going too.” He says as he’s about to start moving to the stairs.
“Why would you do that?” Mike’s question sounds innocent, but it freezes Will. Just moments ago, he was preoccupied with joy, but all Will can feel now is that familiar twinge of fear that pinches him in his gut. “You can stay here.” Mike persists.
“Well,” Will looks down, unable to face Mike. “I just–” and Mike inches closer. It feels intimidating. Will swallows. “I do need to get home,” and the words come out quiet.
“Will.” He says it like he’s warning him. Maybe he is. Will still refuses to make eye contact.
“I have to go, Mike.” As the words pour out, Will turns and swiftly makes his way to the stairs. One arm grabbing the rail as his leg is lifting off the floor to meet with the raised step. Right as his foot is level with the stair, there’s an auditory explosion behind him.
“Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot.” It’s Mike. His voice is balanced as the words flow out of him, sounding very neutral despite the malice the words hold. “Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot.”
This is what Will was afraid of. This past week, Will has been stuck in Mike Wheeler’s basement. Any attempt to leave has been met with this.
“Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot.” Mike didn’t stutter, stumble, or waver. It sounded robotic, the way he didn’t need to stop for a breath.
Will is facing Mike now. He wants to cry, but he holds it back. All he can say is “What the hell is wrong with you?”
“Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot.”
“What is your problem?”
“Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot.”
Will is begging for an answer. Just one straight answer. “Mike!” He’s yelling. “Stop!”
Will just wants it to end. He plods off the step, back into the basement completely. Mike went quiet whilst a big grin spread on his face. But Will didn’t have it in him to smile back. His heart aches, as it did previously, but this time with pain.
Way back when, being stuck in Mike’s basement for a week would have been a dream. He never could have imagined the Wheeler basement turning into his own personal prison cell. And even though Mike has hurt him in the past, those were just stupid adolescent issues, stuff everyone deals with. This is different. Mike is holding him captive now.
“I can’t stay here forever, Mike.” Will chokes out. He can already feel his eyes welling up with tears, despite his best efforts to bite them back.
“Sure you can.” He says it with that soft voice again, as if nothing happened.
“No.” He’s shaking his head. “No, I can’t. I haven’t seen my mom or Jonathan all week.” He uses one arm to wipe the wet tears off his face. “And I don’t know if you plan to let me see them ever again.”
Mike looks hurt. “Will, I’d never keep you from your family.” He keeps using that stupidly kind voice, despite how inappropriate it is for their situation. “They can come here,” he offers.
Now Will is looking at him, really looking. He searches his face for any sign of irony, desperate to find a hint that suggests Mike isn’t serious right now. He can’t be serious. But there’s nothing there. He feels hollow at the realization. He needs to get out.
Will turns back and rushes up the stairs this time.
“Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot.”
As he climbs each step, he notices Mike’s volume climbing along with him. Will stands on the 5th step of the staircase, staring back down at Mike as he’s repeating those words.
“Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot.”
Will lowers himself onto the 4th step and Mike’s volume lowers in tandem. He tilts his head, puzzled. Will then goes back up to the 5th step, and then continues to climb higher. Mike’s voice gets louder and louder. And, although he’d love to delve further into this interesting discovery, he’d much rather get the hell out of here while he can, so he bolts it up the remaining steps, pushing the door open and swerving through the house, running straight out the front door without looking back. He finds his bike out front, still resting outside in the grass. He lifts it hurriedly and jogs as he’s grabbing at the handles, giving himself a running start before jumping on the bike’s seat to pedal away. He lets a few moments pass before he has the courage to take a peek behind him to ensure the coast is clear. When he turns his head, he lets his eyes peer over his shoulder. Mike isn’t there. Relief washes over him. He can finally breathe. He turns his head back in order to face the road ahead of him. He can finally go home.
After getting the chance to unwind on the ride back, he finally feels somewhat calm. Will gently sets his bike down in front of Hopper’s cabin. He flies up the steps, wasting no time to get inside. When he walks in, he sees his mother and Hopper cozied up on the couch.
“Hey! Haven’t seen you in a while.” Joyce expresses, clearly happy to see her boy. “What’ve you and Mike been up to all week?” Should he tell her? Oh, nothing much. Mike just went a little crazy and kept me trapped in his basement. And I guess we played some DnD. No, that’s ridiculous. Plus, Will doesn’t want to worry his mother any more than he already has in this lifetime. Especially not over one of Mike’s moods, if you can call it that. He opts for the safe answer.
“Nothing much.” He says it with a shrug. Hopper finds that one funny, letting out a short, matter-of-fact chuckle. Joyce also shrugs, parroting her son.
“Alright. Well, if you’re hungry there’s some spaghetti in the fridge.”
“Okay, thanks.” Now that he thinks about it, he is a little hungry. He heads to the kitchen and goes to pull the fridge door open. As he’s scanning the fridge, seeking the spaghetti in question, his search is interrupted by a knock at the door. It was a single, quick knock, followed by another short knock. The next knock was drawn out, but was followed by, yet again, another haste knock.
“Will, sweetie, would you answer the door?” Joyce calls out to him, despite the space not allowing for much distance between them. He doesn’t answer her. The knocks continue, varying between brief and concise, to slow and prolonged. He caught on pretty quick to it being morse code, but now he’s listening closely, trying to decipher it.
It started with the letter F. Now an A.
“Will! Come on.” Joyce pleads.
“One second!”
That’s a G. And there’s…
Joyce sighs before lifting herself off the couch. Walking to the door, she asks herself, “What is with all the banging?” seemingly in disbelief that anyone’s manners could be so bad.
Another G.
Right before she can grab the handle to open the door, Will screams. “Wait!” He extends his arm out, signaling his mom to stop. She gives him a look, a little shocked. He calms his voice this time, “I’m listening.” This doesn’t ease Joyce’s confusion at all, it’s apparent in her expression. “To the door. It’s morse code.” He explains.
“Oh. Okay.” She backs off a little bit. Still confused, but willing to play along. Hopper has shifted his position on the couch by now in order to see everything going on, simply observing.
And it should have been obvious by now, but the O is what solidifies it for him. He waits in agony, inching closer to the door, already knowing what to expect with the last letter as it ends in one lingering knock.
The letter T. And as if prompted, a single tear falls down Will’s face.
“It’s Mike.” He states.
“What? All that spelled out Mike?” Joyce puzzles.
“No. It’s Mike at the door.”
“Weren’t you just at his house?” Hopper chimes in. Will just nods at this. He resists showing any telltale expression on his face to the best of his ability.
“Oh, I’ll let him in.” Joyce brushes the weird tension aside and goes for the door handle again, this time successful. “Hey, Mike! Will’s right here.” Her eyes point to her side. Will stands away from his mother, but he’s still a clear sight through the door frame.
“Oh! Hi, Ms. Byers.” And even though his words are directed at Joyce, his eyes are on Will. He’s staring daggers through him. Will can practically feel the sharpness of the metaphorical blade with the way his nerves are buzzing out of control. Mike just holds his glare. Will feels like he’s going crazy, because it feels like Mike is sending him signals directly to his brain. And those signals are calling him a faggot.
“What is going on with you two?” Joyce questions as she stares between the two boys, who aren’t saying a word. Will just maintains Mike’s gaze, afraid to speak up. It’s as if he can read Mike’s mind, because he knows Mike’s telling him to come back. He knows it’s all he can do.
“Actually, Mom, I think I’m gonna go back to Mike’s.” He says it without looking at her. He thinks that’s what Mike would want. Mike slightly nods his head, confirming this.
“Already? Can’t you go tomorrow? I mean, I just got you back.” Joyce’s words are lighthearted, but underneath, it’s clear she’s pleading.
“No. I have to go.” Will’s mind is already made, there’s no undoing it. Mike extends his hand out to Will. When Will goes to take it in his own, Mike quickly snatches his hand back, raising it by his own head in a you were too slow motion. Will frowns. He doesn’t know who the hell this is, because it’s not the Mike Wheeler he’d fallen in love with all those years ago.
Mike leads Will outside, and motions him to get on his bike. They pedal back to the Wheeler’s house, which he’d never felt so much dread doing before until this moment. It was a quiet ride, neither of them having any words to say. When they arrive at the house, Mike leads him back down to that god forsaken basement. Will doesn’t even fight it. There’s no point.
Once they’re down the steps, officially in the basement, Mike turns to face Will.
“I’m glad you came back.” He says it like it’s meaningful. As if he hasn’t been tormenting Will this entire time.
“You kind of gave me no choice.” Will retorts.
“Oh. I’m sorry,” but the apology feels empty. Mike decides to redirect the conversation. “You want to watch something? Together?”
Will sighs at this. He feels so defeated. “Yeah, okay.” He goes to take a spot on the couch, dropping himself right onto it. Mike is messing with the TV, trying to get it to turn on. All of a sudden, Will sees Hopper from the corner of his vision, as the man creeps up from the top of the staircase. Hopper must see the alarm painting Will’s face, because he gives him a shushing motion in return. Then, Will sees it. Hopper holds a tranquilizer gun in his hands, and he slowly raises it up, pointing it directly at Mike Wheeler.
From that moment on, everything moves in slow motion for Will. He lets out a scream, yelling for Mike. Hopper pulls the trigger, and a tranquilizer dart is launched in Mike’s direction. Mike turns around to see what all the fuss is about. The timing is flawless. The dart hits Mike square in the forehead. Will jumps off the couch. Everything in his body feels so conflicted right now. On one hand, he’s terrified of Mike and what he could do in the few minutes he has before the drugs kick in. It’s not like Mike has ever been violent, but he also hasn’t been provoked in this way before. Then, there’s a big part of Will that just wants to be there for his best friend. Mike literally got shot with a tranquilizer gun, Will would usually feel inclined to check up on him. However, his fear takes over and he runs to the stairs. Once he’s up on those first few steps, the room is filled with exactly what he’d anticipated.
“Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot.”
This catches Hopper by surprise. He’s completely dumbfound, struggling to believe what he’s currently seeing.
But Mike’s words are beginning to wilt, and he lets out shaky, helpless breaths.
“Faggot. Faggot. Fagg… Fa…–” He falls to the ground, his body going limp, having completely lost consciousness.
“What the hell, kid.” Hopper is in disbelief, and Will can’t tell if his utterance was directed at him or Mike.
Only a few seconds pass before they hear the ground begin to crack, the floor beneath Mike’s motionless body broke open. A red glow emitted from the breach, accompanied with thin, black vines. It was a gate. Mike sank into the gap, and as his skin met with the gate’s atmosphere, it began to dissolve. All of it, vaporizing into thin air. As Will watched closely, he could see that whatever was left underneath Mike wasn’t human at all. Once his skin was gone, all that was left was a dark grey shell of a person. It didn’t have a face. Its skin, if you can even call it that, was rough and uneven. The cracks in it made intricate patterns.
Then, just as quickly as it materialized, the gate closed. Mike was gone.
Hopper and Will both seem to be at a loss for words. Hopper goes to break the silence between them. “What the hell was that?” He asks, his breathing still heavy.
Will can’t peel his eyes away from the sight that once held Mike Wheeler. But was it really Mike? It couldn’t be, not after he just withered away. Not after that thing was all that remained.
“It was like some sort of,” Will starts. He takes a moment to think. “Like it was a doppleganger, or something.”
Hopper whips his head around to look at Will. “What? You’re saying that wasn’t Mike?” Will shakes his head. It couldn’t have been him.
Will is still terrified right now. Everything he just witnessed, it made no sense. But there is a part of him that can’t help but be relieved, because if that thing he’s been stuck with this past week wasn’t actually Mike, then there’s a chance he hasn’t lost his best friend after all. Not yet, at least.
He knows Mike is out there, somewhere, and he won’t rest until he finds him. The real him. He curses himself for ever letting Mike slip away from him. When Mike comes back, Will thinks of how he’s going to hold him closer than ever, holding him captive in his arms. As this thought hits him, he hears another word in the back of his mind. Faggot.
Fuck my stupid faggot life.