[ i. the brittle-boned twin ]

november 6th, 1983.  sunday.

⇝ ⇝ ⇝

HUMAN LIFE WAS A fragile thing.

It often astounded Melanie Wheeler how many perils lay in wait for the human heart. To an ant, the world was vast and perilous, yet from the universe's vantage, humans were as insignificant as that tiny creature. Just as an ant could be crushed beneath a careless step, so too could humans be obliterated by the cosmos's indifferent will. People—ordinary people—were neither strong nor invincible; they were delicate, susceptible to countless dangers, each capable of inflicting profound, irreversible change.

And yet, no matter how much was understood, there was always more shrouded in mystery. The universe, in all its splendor and tragedy, defied complete comprehension. It was boundless, with questions outnumbering the answers that could ever satisfy human curiosity. Of course, Melanie was not immune to this insatiable thirst for knowledge. She wanted to uncover the world's secrets, knowing full well that total enlightenment would forever be beyond her reach.

To even begin such a quest, she had to open her mind to the unnatural. Everything existed for a reason, though the purpose might elude the ordinary observer. Perhaps there was a higher clarity, a perspective that saw meaning as plainly as humans see the sky or the ground beneath their feet.

Melanie believed in purpose. She did not believe in fate or any God. Yet, she still sensed a greater force at work, something that had already charted the course for herself, her family, and her friends. The universe was a grand puppet master, its strings pulling them along. Whatever lay beyond this cosmic control was a mystery Melanie could never fully unravel, a fact she was expected to accept.

But acceptance was not in her nature.

People usually remarked that Melanie's curiosity bordered on recklessness. She would have agreed, if only because her curiosity had always been her driving force. Even as a toddler, she was different. Her first words—though later than anticipated for her age—were not mere babbling but a coherent sentence. While her twin brother, Michael, had uttered "Apple" and then been overwhelmed by the novelty of his own voice, Melanie's first spoken inquiry had been, "What is that?"

Such a question had set the tone for the rest of her life.

Melanie was certain that she had been placed on this Earth to learn, to explore, and to discover. Her twin and their two other siblings, one older and one younger, each had their own roles, too, each imbued with significance. No one was without purpose. Each person was granted a life to live. To not waste it.

At just twelve, Melanie knew what she wanted beyond her childhood: to roam among the stars, to escape the confines of Hawkins, Indiana, her small, unremarkable town. Unfortunately, Melanie's dreams were still distant, still too young, just like herself. For now, she was tethered to middle school and a life she longed to leave behind, her thoughts already fixed on the day she could claim her diploma and her freedom, and finally abandon the town that had grown as familiar to her as the back of her hand.

At such a thought, Melanie's gaze instinctively fell to her left arm, encased in a pristine white plaster. The cast was a cruel joke, and the sight of it made her stomach churn. She flexed her fingers, wincing as the discomfort flared against her tender skin. Her nose twisted in distaste.

"Mom?" Melanie called.

Her voice was barely audible after the silence of the hospital examination room. She had questions for the doctors at the time, but they had dismissed her concerns as if she were only an infant who understood nothing at all. She had not bothered arguing with them.

Karen Wheeler, who had been focused on the road, glanced over at her daughter. Her head turned slightly, as though she had only just realized Melanie was seated in the front passenger seat instead of her usual place in the back. Nancy, Melanie's older sister, usually claimed that spot on trips downtown.

"Yes, Melanie?" Karen's tone was gentle but distant.

"I'm sorry," Melanie murmured. Her throat tightened as she kept her eyes fixed on the dark expanse of road illuminated by the car's headlights.

Melanie winced upon hearing her mother's deep breath, a sign that Karen had no more words of comfort or reproach to give. Melanie knew her ensuing mother's silence was not born of anger, but it felt like another pang of regret. Melanie had caused her mother enough pain recently. If she could undo it all, she would—if only it were that simple.

The remainder of the drive was enveloped in quiet. Melanie's attention drifted outside the window, her eyes tracing the outline of shadowy houses as they passed. Hawkins was a small town, too small to keep secrets hidden. She could name nearly every family that lived along these streets, and the familiarity was both a comfort and a cage.

Minutes later, their car turned onto the Maple Street cul-de-sac and slowly rolled up to the Wheeler family driveway. The white, double-story house stood illuminated, and Melanie caught the faint silhouette of her father, Ted Wheeler, through the living room window. The shadowy figure was clearly engaged in another battle with the TV antennae, a battle Melanie knew he would lose.

As she walked through the door, Melanie's guess was confirmed. Ted's frustration was evident as he continued to wrestle with the television set, the screen stubbornly displaying only static. "Where have you both been?" He questioned distractedly.

"Sorry," Karen replied. She made her way through the foyer and set her purse down on the kitchen island. "The waiting room was backed up for over an hour."

"Well, I'm starving," Ted grumbled, his hand rubbing over his extended stomach as if to underscore his hunger.

Melanie noted the way her mother chose not to respond to her father's complaint and instead turned her attention to reheating leftovers. Meanwhile, Ted was now eyeing her cast. Though her father remained silent now, Melanie could almost hear him tallying up the impending hospital bill in his mind.

"Melly!"

A high-pitched cry broke through the tension between the father and daughter. Holly, the youngest Wheeler at just four years old, bounded into the living room with unrestrained excitement. Melanie was Holly's self-declared best friend, a title she had inherited after Nancy's schedule had shifted from tea parties to high school commitments. Melanie did not mind the shift. She welcomed Holly's adoration and company, appreciating the toddler's boundless imagination that took just after her own.

Melanie greeted Holly with a gentle hug, but as quickly as the latter had arrived, she turned on her chubby little legs and darted out of the room again. Seeing this as her opportunity for escape, Melanie immediately made her way to the basement, her sanctuary from the chaos of upstairs living.

The stairs creaked beneath her as she descended, her ears catching the familiar sound of boisterous voices and animated battle cries from below. Melanie's jaw dropped as she reached the basement, taking in the scene before her. Her twin brother, Mike, and three of their friends were hunched around a small table cluttered with game boards, books, and figurines. Her prized chair had been unceremoniously shoved aside to make room for them.

The audacity.

"I can't believe you, Mike!" Melanie exclaimed, making her presence known. The four boys leaped in surprise, their eyes growing wide as she approached. "You couldn't wait one more day to start the campaign?"

Mike's face paled at her words, his hands clenching and unclenching nervously. "We didn't want to wait any longer," he stammered. "And this campaign took so long to prepare."

"I know," Melanie said, crossing her arms over her chest. "I was there helping you."

"I'm sorry, Mel," Mike apologized, scratching the back of his neck. "But there will be more campaigns."

Melanie rolled her eyes. "But never this one again," she muttered under her breath. As she moved to retrieve her chair, Lucas Sinclair swooped in, pulling it back to the table with a quick, accommodating gesture. "Thanks," Melanie sighed, settling into her chair between Lucas and her other friend, Will Byers. Across the table, Dustin Henderson peered up at her through a curtain of unruly curls and the brim of his baseball cap.

"Badass cast," He complimented.

Not missing a beat, Melanie reached into the back pocket of her jeans and pulled out a black pen—one gifted by the hospital staff. "Want to be the first to sign it?" She offered. Dustin's face lit up, revealing his missing front teeth as he eagerly accepted.

"I'm next!" Will chimed in excitedly.

Melanie extended her arm across the table, giving both boys access to the cast. From the other side of the table, Mike's irritation grew as Lucas went to sign the cast next. "Melanie," he said curtly, his voice dripping with annoyance. "Get your arm off the board."

"Sorry, am I ruining the campaign?" Melanie raised a sarcastic brow. "Oh, well. There are always more campaigns."

Mike rolled his eyes, while Lucas stifled a laugh. "Brittle-Bones over here is feisty," he teased, handing the pen back to Melanie. She shot him a mock glare at the nickname he had coined for her since the accident—but appreciated his attempt at humor when so many others could not be bothered.

"Alright, alright," Dustin said, holding up a hand in mock surrender. He always played peacemaker among the bickering Wheeler siblings. "Mike, you carry on. Mel, you can either sit back and watch or excuse yourself from the Realm."

Melanie stuck her tongue out at him before settling back into her seat, her focus shifting to her brother. Mike had a unique gift for painting vivid scenes in their D&D campaigns. Melanie easily found herself visualizing the battles he crafted with an intensity that matched his storytelling prowess. She, the realist, balanced perfectly with Mike, the dreamer.

Mike's voice lowered, becoming a menacing whisper. "Something is coming," he began, sending a shiver down Melanie's spine. "Something hungry for blood." He glanced at Dustin. "A shadow grows on the wall behind you, swallowing you in darkness. It is almost here."

Will's eyes sparkled with anticipation. "What is it?" he asked eagerly.

Dustin's eyes widened in horror. "What if it's the Demogorgon?" he gasped. "Oh Jesus, we're so screwed if it's the Demogorgon!"

Lucas shook his head, dismissing the notion. "It's not the Demogorgon," he insisted.

Before the argument could escalate, Mike placed a new figurine on the board with a flourish. "An army of troglodytes charges into the chamber!" He announced dramatically.

Lucas rolled his eyes while Dustin snorted in amusement. "Troglodytes?" he questioned, clearly unimpressed.

"Mike's too scared to pull out the big guns," Melanie snickered, drawing a laugh from Will. From his corner, Mike shot Melanie a challenging look, as if daring her to test his storytelling skills further. Melanie met his gaze boldly, knowing this campaign was far from over.

"Wait a minute." Mike's voice dropped to a whisper. "Do you hear that? That . . . That sound?" He glanced around the basement with a cautious intensity, as though he had stepped out of the familiar surroundings and into another realm entirely. Melanie might have been swept up in the atmosphere alongside him if she had not been so peeved at having missed nearly the entire campaign.

"Boom . . . Boom . . ." Mike's murmurs grew louder again, and he began to pound rhythmically on the table. "Boom!" he shouted suddenly, making the other boys flinch and recoil. "That didn't come from the troglodytes. No, that came from something else." With another dramatic display, Mike slammed a two-headed beast onto the board. "The Demogorgon!" He proclaimed, his voice echoing through the basement.

Dustin, Lucas, and Will groaned collectively. "We're in deep shit," Dustin cursed.

"Will, your move!" Mike commanded.

Will panicked, hands thrown high over his head. "I don't know!"

"Fireball him!" Lucas suggested eagerly.

"I'd need to roll a thirteen or higher!" Will protested smartly.

"Don't risk it," Melanie advised. "Stay alive. Cast a Protection spell."

"Mel's right!" Dustin nodded in agreement. "You know the chances of rolling a thirteen? It's too risky."

"Don't be a pussy," Lucas taunted. "Fireball him, Will!"

"Cast Protection," Dustin urged desperately.

Mike slammed his hands on the table, making everyone jump. "The Demogorgon is tired of your silly human bickering!" he roared. "It stomps towards you. Boom! Boom! Boom!"

"Fireball him!" Lucas cried again.

"Protection!" Dustin insisted.

Mike's voice crescendoed with each word. "The Demogorgon roars in anger!"

Melanie followed Will's frantic eyes as they darted between his friends, their frantic expressions only heightening the boy's own anxiety. He faced a dangerous choice: risk a desperate attack on the Demogorgon or play it safe with a Protection spell and live to fight another turn. The answer seemed clear—why gamble when the odds were so stacked against him?  He looked to Melanie, who offered a subtle shake of her head, confirming the safer route.

Despite the advice, Will's resolve hardened. Taking a deep breath, he grabbed the dice and hurled them across the board with a shout. "Fireball!"

The dice clattered and tumbled across the table, bouncing erratically. Time seemed to stretch as everyone watched in breathless anticipation, until the dice flew off the table, scattering into the cluttered basement.

"Shit!" Melanie yelped, her childish irritation with Mike forgotten in the face of the game's mounting excitement. She was the first to leap from her chair, swiftly followed by the others as they scrambled frantically to recover the runaway dice.

"Where'd they go?" Lucas questioned from beneath the dusty coffee table where his head was currently wedged.

"Is it a thirteen?" Dustin's voice quivered. "Oh my God, oh my God! I can't take this! Is it a thirteen?!"

In the midst of the shouting, a faint creak of a door opening sounded. Light from the kitchen above suddenly flooded the basement, casting long shadows as Karen stood at the top of the stairs, hands on her hips and a stern expression on her face.

"Mike!" she called sharply. When her son's name was met with silence, her voice grew more insistent. "Mike!"

Mike's head popped up from the frantic search. "Mom!" he whined. "We're in the middle of a campaign!"

"You mean the end?" Karen corrected firmly as she tapped on her wristwatch. "It's fifteen after."

Mike, face flushed with frustration, scrambled up the stairs to continue his argument with his mother. Melanie remained behind, balanced precariously on her knees, one hand searching in the shadows of her corner. "Anything?" she eventually called out to the others as she came up empty.

"Nothing," Will responded dejectedly. "Man, I'm such an idiot!" Then, he let out a sudden, triumphant cry that caught everyone's attention. "Oh, I got it!" he announced, holding up the dice. Melanie sighed in relief and rose to her feet. As Will scrutinized the number on the dice, his expression shifted to one of dread and he swallowed thickly. "Does the seven count?"

Lucas's eyes widened with alarm. "It was a seven?" Will nodded slowly. "Did Mike see it?" Lucas's tone turned serious as Will shook his head. "Then it doesn't count," Lucas said firmly. He turned quickly to Melanie. "Don't say a word."

Melanie nodded as she mimed zipping her lips and tossing away the imaginary key. "My lips are sealed," she promised.

In their circle, Mike was always the most devoted player, while the rest of them frequently bent the rules as needed to finish. After all, children cheated. It was no surprise that Lucas and Melanie—the most conniving of their Party—often covered for each other during these campaigns.

As the night began to draw to an obvious close, the boys gathered their coats and belongings. Will and Lucas hurried up the stairs, while Dustin lingered by an almost-empty pizza box, noticing Melanie's watchful stare. He held out the last slice with a grin. "You want it? You must be starving."

Melanie smiled softly as she accepted the cheesy, doughy piece. Taking a bite, she followed him up the stairs, speaking through a mouthful. "Thanks, Dustin."

"Anything for you, Mel," He replied over his shoulder.

Outside in the driveway, Mike waited for the lingering duo with a look of impatience. Melanie joined her brother in silence, finishing the pizza slice as Dustin, Lucas, and Will mounted their colorful bikes. "Later, Wheelers," Lucas said with a casual wave, leading the way. Dustin followed, sending Melanie one last warm look that she returned with a smile. Only Will remained, his gaze locked solely on Mike.

"It was a seven," the smaller boy confessed quietly.

Mike's brow furrowed in confusion. "Huh?"

"The roll. It was a seven," Will clarified, his eyes shifting to Melanie's as he spoke. "The Demogorgon, it got me."

"Should've cast Protection," She teased.

Will managed a small smile at her playful retort, honorably accepting the fate that had befallen him. "Well," he sighed, putting up his bike's kickstand, "I'll see you both tomorrow."

"See you," Melanie replied, raising her injured hand in a wave. It felt heavier than it ever had before. She glanced at the cast, initially a blank canvas but now adorned with the signatures of her best friends. At least it no longer seemed so ugly.

Melanie barely had time to properly read the first name before the garage lights behind her blinked off. She and Mike exchanged confused glances, momentarily blinded as the lights flickered back on again.

The twins' eyes darted between each other and the cast, where Mike's gaze lingered. "Does it hurt?" he asked her.

"Not really." Melanie shook her head, a smug grin spreading across her face as she reached for her pen. "Want to sign it now, dear brother?"

Mike made a face, his nose wrinkling in exaggerated disgust. "Gross, no," he scoffed, shaking his head. He turned to walk away, but Melanie nudged his shoulder playfully, her laughter ringing down the dark driveway. True to their sibling rivalry, Melanie barreled into the house first, leaving Mike to ensure the front door was locked behind them.

When Mike caught up, Melanie was waiting for him in the shadowy hallway, and her expression softened into something more genuine. "Good campaign, by the way," she said.  They could be nice to each other now and then.

"Thanks," Mike said, his own smile faltering slightly. "Too bad about Will, though."

Melanie agreed even as she casually shrugged. "It's just a game," she reminded her twin. "Will's not going anywhere. We'll see him tomorrow. At the next campaign, maybe he'll think twice before using Fireball, yeah?"

"Yeah," Mike agreed.

Making a pitstop in the kitchen, the twins quietly snuck small plates of dinner before heading upstairs to their shared bedroom. Theirs was the largest in the house, and despite their parents' persistent attempts to separate them, Melanie remained stubborn.  She did not understand the conflict of their age, and she had no intention of trading her current peace for her older sister Nancy's overly girly room. The middle Wheeler daughter liked her space just as it was and had no desire for change anytime soon.

As Melanie climbed into her top-bunk bed later that night, her curious thoughts drifted back to the campaign. Why had Will confessed? Any one of them would have taken his roll to the grave. His admission had sealed his fate with the Demogorgon, but if he had stayed silent, perhaps he could have been saved. The question gnawed at her, a riddle with no answer—one she would have to ask him in the morning.

But as fate would have it, Melanie Wheeler would never get that chance. Because on the night of November 6th, 1983, the world as she knew it shattered.

Will Byers vanished.

And with his disappearance, the fragile fabric of their universe was irrevocably torn apart. And nothing would ever be the same again.

~~~~~~~~~~

edited 08/05/2024.