[ vi. universe of terror ]

november 8th, 1983. tuesday.

⇝ ⇝ ⇝

"OUCH! THAT'S HOT!"

Melanie hissed, flinging the scalding Eggo waffle onto the nearest plate. She shook her hand in the air, trying to cool her burning fingertips. While she glanced around, morning sunlight streamed through the wide kitchen window, casting soft golden hues over the room as the familiar chaos of a busy Wheeler household filled the air—voices overlapping, dishes clattering, and feet hurrying in all directions.

Amidst the fray, Mike stood beside his twin sister, his eyes darting between her and the toaster, watching intently as she fished out more waffles. Before Melanie could even get them to another plate, he snatched two, shoving the warm waffles into his pocket with a quick nod of approval. Their guest downstairs was probably starving by now—if she was still there at all.

Eventually, Melanie buttered a waffle for herself, taking a small bite before heading toward the dining table. A hostile Nancy sat there, her glare cutting deep into Melanie already.  It was barely seven in the morning.

"There's a perfectly good seat at the far end of the room, away from me," Nancy sneered, motioning toward the kitchen island.

With a coy smile, Melanie dropped into the seat right next to her. "And there's a perfectly good front door over there," she teased, pointing toward it. "So why did Stev—"

Nancy's fist shot out, hitting Melanie square in the chest, knocking the breath from her mid-bite. Melanie gasped, forcing the food down her throat in a painful swallow as anger of her own flared. She gritted her teeth, lifting her arm and bringing her cast down hard on Nancy's thigh. The dull thud was followed by Nancy's sharp cry of pain.

From across the kitchen, they heard their mother's sharp intake. "Melanie!" Karen warned darkly.

Meanwhile, Nancy smirked arrogantly, dropping her head as if she had won some unspoken battle.

Melanie's jaw dropped in disbelief. "She hit me first!" she snapped, but Karen had already turned away, her attention now on little Holly, who was babbling in her highchair. 

Melanie fumed silently until, out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Mike at the table now, practically inhaling his own waffles.  No.  He was far too excited, the crumbs gathering at the corners of his mouth. Frowning at his strange eagerness, his foolishness, she kicked him lightly under the table.

"Slow down," she instructed.

Mike lifted his head, cheeks bulging with half-chewed waffle. Wet crumbs now spilled from the corners of his mouth, and Nancy visibly recoiled, her lip curling. "That's disgusting, Mike," she muttered.

Mike swallowed heavily and shot his eldest sister a wide-eyed, innocent look.  "Do a lot of studying last night?" He wondered sweetly. 

Sickeningly sweet, Melanie noted.  Oh, she knew where this was going.

Nancy's eyes narrowed, though her expression remained infuriatingly calm. "Yeah, actually, I did," she answered coolly.  Despite the feigned nonchalance it did not take a genius like Melanie to know that her older sister was definitely plotting their murders, probably thinking up the most painful, creative ways to end both of the twins without even a twitch betraying her fury.

But Mike was not done. He was making the final nail in their coffin worth it.  "What was your test on again?" He prodded. "Human anatomy?"

The effect of Mike's comment was instantaneous. Nancy's composure shattered as her legs shot out from under the table, kicking both Melanie and Mike sharply in the shins.  Without thinking, they retaliated in unison. It was almost instinctual, the kind of perfect timing only twins could manage. Their legs lashed out, landing a combined brutal kick against Nancy's chair. Nancy flailed as her chair tipped backward, nearly sending her crashing to the floor.

"Hey!" Karen's head snapped upward at the sound of clanging silverware.  "What is going on with you three?"

Instantly, all three Wheeler children froze. Silence fell over the table as if nothing had happened. Melanie, Mike, and Nancy stared down at their breakfast plates, statuesque, before mumbling together, "Nothing."

Karen's gaze lingered, clearly suspicious, but even she eventually turned away, distracted once again by Holly's whining.  As soon as her back was turned, Mike pushed his chair back, shooting Melanie a subtle nod. Without a word, he slinked toward the basement door. Melanie quickly followed suit, gathering up their plates and dropping them at the sink. As she passed Nancy, her sister made one last spiteful attempt, sticking her foot out to trip her, but Melanie was too quick, stepping lightly over the obstacle and darting after Mike.

Taking the basement steps two at a time, Melanie's heart pounded excitedly in her chest. When she reached the bottom, her eyes immediately landed on Eleven, still sitting in the same spot she had been left in the night before. Relief washed over her, and she dropped to her knees beside her brother.

Eleven was a small, fragile-looking thing. Her dark eyes, wide and hollow, flickered between the twins, taking them in with that quiet intensity Melanie was quickly growing accustomed to. Eleven had yet to say an actual word of greeting to them, but her hands were busy—fingers twisting the dials and buttons of Mike's radio as if she barely knew what they did.

"You found my supercomm," Mike said softly, grinning kindly at Eleven. "Pretty cool, huh? I talk to my friends with it. Mostly Lucas, because he lives so close. The signal's pretty weak. Sometimes I talked to Mel too, when we were in different rooms. Until hers broke."

"Wasn't my fault," Melanie quickly reminded.

"Still broken," Mike conceded.

Melanie's stomach soured at the thought. She had had that radio for years. It was a matching set—something she and Mike had gotten for their birthday. Now, his was still alive and well, humming with activity, while hers was discarded somewhere, broken and useless, buried in a trashcan. She did not have the money to replace it, so now she just . . . listened.  Listened in on her brother's conversations, relying on her ears instead of her own voice.

Mike cleared his throat and reached into his pocket, pulling out the two semi-warm waffles. He held them out to Eleven, his expression soft but expectant. Eleven eyed the offering warily, her posture stiffening as she leaned back.

"Got you breakfast," he said.

Eleven did not move, her eyes flicking instead to Melanie for reassurance. Melanie met her gaze with a nod, her smile as encouraging as she could make it. "It's okay," she murmured. "They're good."

For a moment, Eleven just stared at her. Then, finally, she let out a shaky exhale and reached over, taking the waffles from Mike's hands. Without further hesitation, she took a small, tentative bite. Her eyes widened slightly as she chewed, and then she took another, larger bite.

Melanie watched carefully, trying not to feel like some detached observer. But that was exactly how she felt, like a scientist peering at a test subject through a glass window. She hated herself for the thought, but she had never been in a situation like this before. How was a twelve-year-old supposed to process finding a girl her age, lost in the woods, alone, and acting like she had never seen the world before? How was Melanie supposed to react to that?

A nudge broke her thoughts. She turned to see Mike staring at her, his jaw clenched tight. He tilted his head ever so slightly, from Eleven to the stairs, then back to Melanie. The message was clear. He wanted her to handle it. He wanted her to send Eleven away. But this was his plan, not hers.

Melanie stubbornly shook her head.

Mike let out a frustrated sigh, glancing back at Eleven, who was oblivious to the silent exchange, too focused on her waffles. Reluctantly, he turned to her, forcing a casual tone into his voice. "So, listen . . . This is going to sound weird, but I need you to go out there." He pointed to the opposing basement door that led into the backyard. "Then go to the front door and ring the doorbell."

Eleven's chewing slowed. She blinked at him.

Mike pressed on, his words quickening. "Our mom will answer. You'll tell her you're lost, and that you need help."

Melanie, seeing the flicker of hesitation on Eleven's face, leaned forward now.  "Just go outside, turn left, and go straight to the front. A woman with brown hair will answer the door, and she'll know what to do," she promised. "She can help you get back home."

"Home?" Eleven echoed.  Her brow furrowed, her mouth parting as if the word itself was foreign. 

"Where you live," Melanie clarified. "Where you sleep, eat, do your homework. Your family. The place you're safe and looked after." But Eleven's eyes remained vacant, the meaning of the word, perhaps, impossible to grasp. Melanie's heart sank as she dropped her voice to a whisper. "You have a home . . . don't you?"

There was a pause. Eleven's hands had begun to tremble, her fingers clenching the half-eaten waffle. Then, in a slow, almost imperceptible movement, she shook her head.

Melanie felt her chest tighten. Without thinking, she reached out, intending to place a comforting hand on Eleven's shoulder, but the moment her fingers brushed Eleven's skin, the girl flinched, pulling away as if the touch burned her. Melanie snatched her hand back, heat rising in her cheeks.

"S-sorry," she stuttered.

But Eleven would not meet Melanie's eyes again.

Mike watched them both closely, his lips pressed into a thin line. When the silence stretched too long, he finally broke it. "Look, my mom will be able to help you get back to wherever you belong," he said, his tone more urgent now. "But whatever you do, you can't tell her about last night or that you know us. Understand?"

Eleven stared back at Mike now, her expression unreadable.

"Really, it's no big deal," Mike finished with a shrug, trying to sound casual. "We'll all just pretend to meet each other again.  And our mom, she'll know who to call."

The girl in the baggy sweats, sitting silently before the twins, said nothing for what felt like an eternity. But Melanie could see the gears turning behind those deep, dark eyes. Finally, with a sharp exhale, she spoke.

"No."

The single word hit the room like a hammer, hard and blunt.

Mike blinked, taken aback. "No?" he repeated.

"No," Eleven confirmed.

Melanie swallowed, her throat tight, as she watched Eleven pick up the second waffle and continue eating it as though their entire conversation had never happened. Melanie shot a glance at Mike, but her twin refused to meet her gaze. His eyes were fixed on Eleven, a bewildered expression spreading across his face.

"No . . . you don't want my mom to get help?" He asked her uncertainly.

Again, Eleven shook her head. This time, something flickered in her eyes—a shadow of fear. But Melanie recognized it was not fear of them, or their mom, or anyone else in the Wheeler family. This was something much larger, something far more dangerous.

"You're in trouble, aren't you?"

Eleven froze mid-bite, her face betraying her. For the first time in several minutes, her dark eyes finally met Melanie's again, and what Melanie saw made her blood run cold. There, in the depths of that gaze, was a universe of terror—something so raw, so primal, it sent a shiver down her spine. Melanie had no idea what this girl had gone through, but she knew, without a doubt, it was something far beyond anything she or Mike could handle.

"Who are you in trouble with?" Mike asked.  His voice was barely more than a breath, as though he was afraid someone, somewhere, might hear.

Eleven's eyes grew distant, unfocused. "Bad," she murmured.

"Bad?" Melanie repeated. "Bad how? Bad who?"

Mike leaned forward. "Do they want to hurt you?" he quietly questioned. "Bad people?"

Eleven did not answer with words. Instead, she raised a small hand to the side of her head, fingers poised in the unmistakable shape of a gun. She flicked her wrist, imitating a gunshot. The silent gesture sent a jolt of icy fear through Melanie's veins.

Without breaking eye contact, Eleven turned her hand toward Mike, her fingertips stopping mere centimeters from his forehead. Her expression was chillingly blank. Moments later, her other hand mimicked the same gesture—this time pointed at Melanie.

Then, just as slowly, she lowered her hands back into her lap. "Understand?" she asked, her eyes darting between the twins.

Melanie's heart thundered, each beat hammering like a warning. Her pulse raced so fast it felt like a desperate hummingbird trapped behind her ribcage. She looked at Mike, seeing the same fear mirrored in his eyes, the same dread creeping in, inch by inch. But beneath that fear, Melanie saw something else—a stubborn defiance. Her brother was not going to back down. Mike had always been the protector, the one who acted with his heart before his head, no matter the consequences.

And Melanie? She was always the observer. The cautious one. She thought things through, kept emotions at bay, let logic guide her every step. But as she stared into Eleven's haunted eyes, she knew this was no ordinary problem. This girl was not lying. She was in real danger. And maybe—just maybe—the Wheeler twins were her only chance.

But what kind of danger was this? What kind of people were they about to face? The kind that carried guns, that killed without hesitation? How were they supposed to hide a girl like Eleven in their basement without anyone noticing? Without endangering their entire family?

Melanie knew the risks. She knew they were in deep already. Their fates had been sealed the moment they found Eleven in the woods, drenched from the rain, lost and alone in the dead of night. Melanie and Mike had let Eleven into their lives, and now, in a way neither of them had anticipated, she was about to pull them into hers.

The Wheeler daughter startled inwardly as more of her questions ran rampant. Was she truly ready to face the "bad people" Eleven had spoken of? The ones who would shoot without a second thought? Was she prepared to uncover the terrifying past that had led this girl to her doorstep? The past of a girl named after a number?

More urgently, was she ready for the possible fallout? Melanie had already broken her arm once.  Would she walk away from this with something far worse? Another cast, or worse . . . in a body bag?

"Michael! Melanie!"

Their mother's shout echoed loudly from upstairs. The sound snapped Melanie out of her spiral, and she flinched at the sudden intrusion. Mike's hand instinctively reached out, steadying her as she caught her breath.

"Where are you?" Karen called again, impatient. "We're going to be late! Let's go!"

Melanie scrambled to her feet, her legs numb and tingling from kneeling too long. Mike stood beside her, his face tight with focus. "Just stay here, okay?" he instructed Eleven. He then grabbed a large sheet from the nearby couch and flung it back over the girl, draping her makeshift hiding spot in shadow. "Don't move." With one last glance at the cloaked figure beneath the sheet, Mike tugged his sister toward the stairs. "Come on, Mel," he urged.

Melanie thought to hesitate, but there was no time. Her mother's voice—closer now—spurred her into motion. Together, the Wheeler twins rushed up the stairs, emerging from the basement as if nothing was wrong.

Karen was waiting just outside the front door, Holly balanced precariously on her hip. Melanie hurriedly snatched her schoolbag from the living room couch and as she slung it over her shoulder, she glanced at Mike. "I'll see you in Clarke's?" she asked.  Mike did not answer right away, his eyes avoiding hers, and that small act of evasion set alarm bells off in her head.  "Mike," Melanie pressed, her tone hardening. "What are you thinking?"

He slipped into his jacket. "Fill Dustin and Lucas in," he said, dodging the question entirely. "Tell them to come over after school. I'll be here."

For the second time that morning, Melanie's jaw dropped. He was staying behind? Betrayal flooded her. "I want to stay, too," she protested. "That's not fair."

Her brother had the audacity to smirk at her. "Having a bike has its perks," he quipped, and she rolled her eyes, annoyed. But then his expression softened, becoming serious. "I'll look after Eleven," he assured. "I won't let her get caught."

"Melanie!" Karen called again from outside, followed by a sharp honk of the car horn.

"I'm coming!" Melanie snapped. She turned back to Mike, her frustration simmering just beneath the surface. "Fine, you win. But keep the doors locked," she ordered. "And don't do anything stupid."

Mike nodded in understanding.  Finally, with a reluctant sigh, Melanie spun on her heel, stomping out of the house and into the damp morning air. The grass was wet beneath her shoes, each step sinking slightly into the earth as she trudged to the waiting car. Climbing into the backseat, Holly's tiny hand was already stretched out toward her, eager to be held. Melanie took it automatically.

Holly beamed up at her, and Melanie forced a smile in return, though her mind was far away, her heart still tangled in the basement and with the girl she and her twin brother had hidden there.

With a heavy exhale, Melanie turned to stare out the car window, the world outside blurring as her thoughts raced once more. Hawkins. A town so small, so suffocatingly quiet. To anyone else, it seemed harmless. But to her, it was now a trap. She could feel it—something lurking just beyond its borders, slowly creeping closer, unseen and unstoppable. It was coming, whatever it was, and Melanie knew deep down it would soon breach the fragile walls of their world.

Perhaps Hawkins was not so small after all.

⇝ ⇝ ⇝

"ATTENTION, FACULTY AND STUDENTS. At eight o'clock this evening, there will be an assembly on the football field in support of Will Byers and his family. All are encouraged to attend."

The static-filled announcement cut through the usual clamor of the school hallway—high-pitched voices, slamming lockers, and the squeak of sneakers on polished tile.  But as the PA system crackled out once more, Melanie began to feel fresh eyes on her, a familiar weight settling on her chest as people openly stared in her direction. However, her classmates were not just looking at her cast anymore. They were looking at her face.  Searching for cracks, for tears, for any sign that her best friend's disappearance had finally broken her.

She hated this. Ever since the fifth grade, it had always been the five of them: Mike, Lucas, Dustin, Will, and her.  But now, everything felt wrong. Her friends were gone, scattered. Will was missing. And she? She was stranded, walking the halls of Hawkins Middle School alone.

By the time Melanie finally reached her locker, weaving through the sea of students, her breath caught in her throat. A bright red slip was taped to the metal door. A detention notice.

She stared at it, a strange mix of emotions bubbling up inside her. It was almost laughable. Detention? Really?

A few days ago, Melanie would have been devastated by something like this—her first ever detention. The perfect student, perfect daughter—stained. But now, all she felt was a grim sense of relief. It did not matter anymore. The line had been crossed. She was no longer afraid of breaking rules, of stepping out of line. Everything that once seemed so important to her, to her future, now felt so small, so meaningless.

"Well, well. I'm shocked."

A voice slithered out from her right.  Melanie knew that voice. Slowly, she turned her head and found herself face-to-face with Jason Duke, his lean frame casually propped against the locker beside hers. His hazel eyes glinted with amusement, a crooked smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

"At first, I thought they just slapped that slip on the wrong locker," he drawled, eyes flicking to the red paper. "But then I saw your name and couldn't believe it. Miss Perfect isn't so perfect anymore."

Melanie stood still, unnerved by the sinister boy in front of her. Jason Duke was not someone you spoke to—he did not speak to anyone. In all the years they had grown up in this dead-end town, she had never exchanged a word with him. How did he even know her name? Why was he talking to her now? And why was he smiling? She had never seen Jason smile. Not once. And even now, his smile was wrong, like it belonged to someone playing a cruel game.

"Why are you talking to me?" Melanie finally managed to force out.

Jason tilted his head slightly, his dirty blonde hair falling into his eyes. "Didn't realize it was against the law to talk to you," he snickered. There was no bite in his voice, just an unsettling enjoyment. This was not about insults—it was about entertainment. Her discomfort was his game.

Melanie frowned, her fingers gripping the strap of her bag tighter. "It's not," she muttered. "You've just never spoken to me before."

"I'm not talking to you, necessarily," Jason said with a lazy shrug. "Just talking out loud. I mean, goddamn, I can't be the only one shocked by this."  He leaned in closer, his hand brushing the air just beside Melanie's cheek as he snatched the detention slip from her locker. He waved it in the air like a prize. "First the Byers kid disappears, now Miss Perfect gets a detention? Someone pinch me, I must be dreaming."

The moment Will's name left his lips, something ignited in Melanie. Her jaw clenched hard, her eyes narrowing with a sudden, blinding rage that instantly drowned out any trace of wariness she had of Jason Duke.

"Don't talk about Will like that," she snapped at the boy. "You don't know what happened. You don't know anything."

"Whoa, careful, Wheeler." Jason's smirk did not falter. "You look like you might actually hit me. But are you sure your brittle bones can handle it?" His eyes flicked to her cast. The mention of her injury made her cheeks burn with humiliation, but he only chuckled at her reaction. Then, without breaking eye contact, Jason casually reached into the back pocket of his faded jeans, pulling out a red slip of his own. "See you in detention," he teased.

Melanie's glare was still guarded and locked upon Jason as he spun on his heel and sauntered off down the center of the hallway. Every student instinctively parted for him, their gazes following him as he went. His arms swung openly at his sides, his detention slip in one hand—and Melanie's still clutched in the other. Just before he rounded the corner and disappeared from sight, the warning bell shrieked overhead, echoing through the crowded corridor.

But Melanie did not move. For several minutes, she simply contemplated.  How had everything gone so wrong in such a short span of time? She had not even been awake for three hours, and already, she wished she had never crawled out of bed.

The sound of approaching footsteps snapped her back to the present. She shook her head, trying to clear the whirlwind as she hurriedly swapped her bag for her science book. Keeping her head down, she fell into step with the flow of students heading toward their next class.

Her class. Jason's class.

And in a couple of days, Melanie realized with a sinking feeling, they would be heading to the same dreaded detention together, too.

~~~~~~~~~~

edited 10/04/2024.