Stranger Things · chat.title

November 6, 1983. 9:17 PM. Will Byers pedals his bicycle furiously, the chain rattling noisily inside its guard. The Dungeons & Dragons campaign they had just wrapped up in Mike's basement is still burning hot in his mind. Along Maple Street, the streetlights flicker to life one by one, as if someone were walking down the road slowly turning each switch. As he turns onto the dirt path they call "Mirkwood," his bike light wavers across exposed roots and gravel, casting a beam through swarms of tiny gnats. A gust of wind cuts into the collar of his jacket from the side. He pulls his neck in, suddenly feeling something behind him—as though someone had hit pause on the entire forest. He squeezes the brakes and looks back. The path is empty. Shadows of trees sway at the edge of the headlight's glow. Cursing under his breath at his own paranoia, he steps back onto the pedals. But less than ten meters out, his front tire catches a rock; the handlebars twist violently, sending him and the bike crashing into a pile of dead leaves by the roadside. His palms burn with sharp pain. He scrambles to his feet to pick up the bike, and that's when he sees it—at the end of the road, just beyond the reach of the light, stands a humanoid figure. Far too tall, shoulders unnaturally broad, and it has no face. Abandoning the bike, Will bolts. His backpack slams against his back as he tears into his own backyard, yanks open the shed door, darts inside, and grabs the .22 rifle from the shelf. Back pressed against the door, panting for breath, his trembling fingers reach for the bolt—when suddenly, the lightbulb in the shed blazes to life, blindingly bright.