[ v. foreign languages ]

november 7th, 1983. monday.

⇝ ⇝ ⇝

THUNDER CRASHED AROUND MELANIE as she dashed up her basement steps, rainwater cascading off her coat in a torrent of tiny streams. Her fingers, numb from the cold, fumbled with the doorknob leading into the kitchen. After a tense struggle, she managed to turn it, but only glanced into the darkened room briefly. Seeing that no one was awake, she pivoted on her heel and hurried back down.

In the basement, her brother and their friends stood in a tight circle around their Party's newest acquaintance. The stranger from the woods sat on the couch, drenched and leaving a dark stain behind. Despite Mike's soaked jacket draped over her shoulders, she remained eerily composed, her gaze fixed on her bare feet.

Still, Melanie could sense the young girl's fear in the air, given her heavy, shuddering gasps for breath. And Melanie did not blame her, even though she seemed to be the one holding onto more mysteries than answers.

The question pressing on Melanie's mind was blunt and unsettling: Where had she come from? Children did not wander the woods at night, clad only in nightgowns amidst a storm. Girls did not have shaved heads unless . . . unless they were escapees from a cancer ward. But Melanie did not think this girl fit that description at all.

Another rumble of thunder shook the basement, and Melanie finally shrugged off her soaked rain jacket, tossing it aside. Her cast was damp along the edges, but she dismissed it as inconsequential—certainly not worth alarming her mother over. When Melanie looked up, she saw the stranger's eyes locked on her injured arm. The girl's gaze then flickered up to meet Melanie's before quickly darting back to the floor.

"Is anyone awake?" Mike asked, turning to his twin sister.

Melanie shook her head. "The house is silent," she replied.

Mike exhaled with relief and took a cautious step closer to the couch. "Is there a number we can call for your parents?" he asked gently. The girl's head jerked up, her brows knitted in confusion as if she could not quite comprehend Mike's question. Her breathing grew rapidly again.

"Where's your hair?" Dustin questioned, his baseball cap dripping rain. His eyes widened in sudden realization. "Do you have cancer?"

Before she could respond, Lucas jumped in, "Did you run away?" The barrage of questions continued, each one more frantic than the last, as the Party's worry escalated.

"Are you in some kind of trouble?"

"Is that blood?"

Lucas's voice trembled as he pointed at the girl's oversized shirt. Melanie's eyes followed his finger, settling on the red stains marring the yellow fabric around her shoulders. The spots, partially obscured by Mike's jacket, were still unmistakable. Melanie swallowed hard as Mike swatted Lucas's hand away. "Stop it!" He chastised. "You're freaking her out!"

"She's freaking me out!" Lucas exclaimed.

"I bet she's deaf," Dustin interjected. Before anyone could react, he leaned forward and clapped his hands loudly right in front of the girl's face. The sudden noise made her flinch violently, her feet lifting off the ground in a reflexive jerk. Clearly, she was not deaf. Dustin dropped his hands and glanced at his concerned friends. "Not deaf," he concluded with a shrug.

"Maybe she doesn't speak English," Melanie suggested. The boys exchanged uncertain looks, unsure how to test that theory. Melanie, the only one with advanced language skills among her friends, rolled her eyes.

Speaking softly, she addressed the girl, "¿Hablas inglés?"

The girl's eyes remained vacant. Melanie exhaled slowly and tried again.

"Sprechen sie Englisch?"

Again, there was no sign of comprehension. The girl's expression remained unchanged, her chest rising and falling with each panicked breath. Melanie's mind raced in response. She considered broaching Russian next, but she was still entirely unconfident in the language, having been forced to teach it to herself.

No, Melanie deduced that if this girl spoke any language at all, it had to be English. Otherwise, they would not have been able to bring her to their home.

Turning back to the boys, Melanie saw Dustin's eyes wide with surprise. "What the hell was that?" he asked her.

"That was Spanish and German," Melanie explained. "And she doesn't seem to recognize either. She must speak—or at least understand—English. She wouldn't have followed us home if she didn't have some idea of what we were saying."

"So, what's your final analysis?" Dustin pressed.

"My final analysis?" Melanie echoed, shaking her head with a small, frustrated grimace. "She's just not ready to talk. She's scared, cold, and probably exhausted. Who knows how long she's been out there."

The basement went silent once more. Every eye was drawn back to the mysterious stranger perched on the couch. A little girl soaked to the bone and shivering.

Mike finally broke the tension. He turned sharply and strode toward the laundry machines tucked in the corner of the basement. From a neat stack of clothes, he pulled out a pair of his own sweatpants and a sweatshirt that had belonged to Melanie. Melanie said nothing, knowing her cast would not currently fit through the sleeves, anyway. It seemed the least they could do was offer the girl some dry clothing.

"Here, these are clean," Mike said, extending the sweats toward the girl as he returned to the group. She reached out a trembling hand, taking the clothes with a wary glance. She inspected the garments thoroughly, going as far as rubbing the fabric against her cheek. She even inhaled their scent.

Melanie frowned at the strange behavior but held her tongue as the girl eventually stood up. She was no taller than any of them, and with a shrug, Mike's jacket slipped from her thin shoulders. She reached for the hem of her soaked nightgown, and just as she began to pull it up, Melanie reacted instinctively.

"No!" She shouted, slapping her hands over Mike and Lucas's eyes. Her palms landed with a hard smack, catching them by surprise. Meanwhile, Dustin spun around, his hands flying to his ears for some odd reason as he turned his back to the undressing girl.

"Oh, my God!" He shouted. "Oh, my God!"

"Stop!" Melanie ordered, her voice firm.

The girl froze, letting the nightgown drop back to her thighs. Melanie sighed with relief and lowered her hands from Mike and Lucas's faces, whose cheeks flushed with embarrassment. The girl looked at Melanie, her eyes wide with confusion.

"Not here," Melanie said gently, pointing over her shoulder at the small side room on the west end of the basement. "You can change in the bathroom over there."

"Privacy," Mike added, nodding seriously. "Get it?"

For a brief moment, Melanie caught a glimpse of something in the girl's dark, guarded eyes—a spark of understanding, or perhaps curiosity. The girl swallowed hard, and Melanie watched a single drop of rainwater slide down her cheek. Gently, Melanie took the clothes from her shaky grasp. "Follow me," she said softly. Without waiting, Melanie headed toward the bathroom, relieved to hear the soft shuffle of footsteps trailing behind her.

Melanie eased the bathroom door open. As she flicked on the light, the harsh illumination made the girl behind her flinch, eyes squinting against the sudden brightness. Melanie handed over the clothes. "Take your time. We'll be right outside," she reassured.

She stepped aside, allowing the girl to enter. But just as Melanie began to close the door, the girl recoiled, clutching the doorknob with a strength that took Melanie by surprise. Her eyes, now blown wide and filled with newly raw fear, locked onto Melanie's.

The Wheeler daughter hesitated. Then, she began pulling at the door again, trying to shut it, but the girl's hold was firm.

"You don't want it closed?" Melanie asked.

"No."

The single word sent a shiver down Melanie's spine, the girl's voice as flat as it was chilling. Yet, Melanie was relieved to know the girl could speak. At least she finally knew something about the stranger in her home.

Behind Melanie, Mike's voice sounded, unmistakably close. Of course, he was hovering. "So you can speak!" he said, almost giddy. Melanie shot him a sharp warning look, and her twin quickly fell silent, shifting his attention back to Lucas and Dustin, who continued to watch on with wonder.

Ignoring the boys, Melanie refocused on the girl, her expression softening. "Okay," she soothed. "How about I leave the door slightly open? That way, you can still see us. We won't look." She gently nudged the door, leaving it ajar just enough for the girl's eyes to glint through the narrow gap. "Is this alright?"

The girl did not nod but answered quietly, "Yes."

"Good. I'll be right outside if you need anything."

With that, Melanie stepped back, closing the door enough to create a sliver of space, while she moved away from the bathroom. Crossing her arms tightly, she joined the boys, leaning in close enough to whisper. Dustin's gaze remained fixed on her, a silent question in his eyes. Melanie met his stare. "I think she understands," she murmured, shrugging lightly.

Dustin let out a long-held breath, his eyes wide with disbelief. "This is mental."

"At least she can talk," Mike said defensively.

Lucas scoffed. "She said 'no' and 'yes'," he retorted. "Your guys' three-year-old sister says more."

"Lucas is right," Melanie agreed. "She can barely talk. Maybe she's just scared, but why was she out in those woods dressed in nothing but a nightgown and no shoes? I think she needs help."

"No shit," Dustin snorted. "She tried to get naked! She just went like . . ." He mimed yanking his shirt over his head, knocking his hat off in the process. He scrambled to pick it up, and Melanie rolled her eyes at his over-the-top theatrics.

"There's something seriously wrong with her. Wrong in the head," Lucas decided. "I bet she escaped from Pennhurst."

"From where?" Mike asked, puzzled.

"The nuthouse in Kerley County," Lucas explained.

Dustin smirked. "You got a lot of family there?" He teased.

"Bite me!" Lucas lightly shoved him. "Seriously though, think about it," He advised, cautiously glancing back to the twins. "That would explain her shaved hair and why she's so crazy. She's an escapee. She's probably a psycho."

"Like Michael Myers," Dustin added with a shudder.

Melanie's lips tightened as the room fell into a nervous silence. She struggled with the boys' assumptions. Deep down, she knew her instincts were typically more accurate. This girl needed genuine help—not the kind one would get in a mental institution. Sure, the girl might be traumatized, but she was smart. Melanie had encountered shy girls before, and they had turned out fine. This girl did not seem like a slasher film character.

"Stop being ridiculous," Melanie finally said. "She's not from a mental hospital. She just needs our help."

"We should've never brought her here," Lucas huffed.

Mike shook his head in protest. "So, you just wanted to leave her out in that storm?" He demanded.

"Yes! We went out to find Will, not another problem."

"She needed help," Melanie repeated, tone turning stern. "Would you have left me out there?"

"You're my friend," Lucas countered. "It's different."

"She's a person," Melanie said, matter-of-fact. "Saving someone shouldn't hinge on whether they're your friend. It should be automatic—something you do without a second thought." She let her gaze drift back to the bathroom door, still slightly ajar. "She might have died out there if we hadn't done something. I don't regret it."

"Me either," Mike agreed.

Dustin stared down at his damp ball cap, his fingers absently tracing its brim. After a deep breath, he finally looked up at Melanie and her twin. "I think we should tell your mom," he said.

"I second that," Lucas confessed.

Mike's jaw dropped in horror. "Who's crazy now?"

"How is that crazy?"

"Because we weren't supposed to be out tonight, remember?" Mike answered. "If I tell my mom, and then she tells your mom and your mom . . ." His voice trailed off as both Lucas and Dustin's eyes filled with dread. The unspoken truth was clear: facing an angry mother was a peril beyond imagination. There was no escaping that.

"Oh, man," Dustin whimpered.

"Our houses will become Alcatraz," Lucas concluded, sighing in disappointment.

"Exactly," Mike muttered.

"And we'll never find Will," Melanie conceded.

Several moments of silence passed afterward. Mike chewed his lip nervously, surveying the room with an intense gaze as if seeking answers in its clutter. "All right, here's the plan," He finally addressed. "She sleeps here tonight."

Dustin's eyes widened timidly. "You're letting a girl—"

"Stop acting like you've never seen a girl before!" Melanie exclaimed, cutting him off. "Good God, you're only best friends with one."

Dustin fell silent, his cheeks burning as Mike pressed on. "In the morning, Mel and I will have her sneak around the house, go to the front door, and ring our doorbell," he explained. "Our mom will answer and know exactly what to do. She'll send her back to Pennhurst or wherever she comes from. We'll be totally in the clear. And tomorrow night, we go back out. And this time, we find Will."

Melanie nodded eagerly at the developing plan. They could hide the girl for now, but her usefulness was limited if she could not even communicate properly. They had to pass the girl along, and the best solution for having the girl safely relocated lay with the Wheeler twins' mother.

The catch? Karen could never discover her children's involvement with the girl.

The challenge? Convincing the girl to actually follow Mike's plan.

Just then, the bathroom door creaked open once more, jolting Melanie from her thoughts. She turned to see the girl standing hesitantly in the narrow doorway. Now properly dressed, her eyes held a glimmer of comfort. She took tentative steps into the basement, her small frame practically swallowed by the oversized clothes. Melanie's heart sank at the sight. The girl was so tiny.

"You can sleep downstairs tonight," Melanie offered. "You're safe here."

The girl's brow furrowed. "S-Safe?" she stammered.

Melanie could almost hear Lucas rolling his eyes, though she did not turn to look at him. "Yes, safe," she said, searching for the right words. "It means you're protected here. You can't get hurt. This is a good place. You're safe and sound."

The girl hesitated, then repeated the words. "Safe and . . . sound."

Melanie nodded encouragingly, and the corners of the girl's lips twitched upward ever so slightly.

Eventually, Mike moved to set up a makeshift bed while Lucas and Dustin gathered their things to leave. Outside, the storm raged on, the rain hammering the roof. Occasional flashes of lightning illuminated the tiny window above the back door. Melanie hoped the storm would pass before morning. Leaving the girl alone in the center of the room, she followed her friends to the basement stairs.

"Get home safe, okay?" she said.

Lucas nodded, though his gaze lingered on the girl, a hint of unease still in his eyes. Melanie turned to see the girl now huddled on the floor, crawling into a small space beneath a desk. It was lined with blankets, and Mike's sleeping bag provided the only padding. Currently, the girl clutched the sleeping bag to her chest, rubbing the fabric against her cheek.

Dustin cleared his throat awkwardly, glancing between his friends. "You really think she's psycho?" he asked.

"Maybe she's just never seen anything like this before," Melanie suggested.

"Or maybe she's just playing dumb," Lucas countered sharply. "All I'm saying is, I wouldn't want her in my house." His dark eyes locked onto Melanie's, worry carved deeply in his expression. "Be careful, Mel."

"She's not going to hurt us," She insisted in return. "We're helping her."

Lucas's only response was a final, unbelieving look before he stomped up the basement stairs and disappeared from sight. Dustin lingered a moment longer, offering Melanie a soft, reassuring smile. "Night, Mel," he said quietly. She returned his smile as he too vanished from view. After waiting until she heard the front door click shut, Melanie turned back to her brother and the girl on the floor.

Mike was watching her with utter fascination. "Hey, um, I never asked your name," he prompted.

The girl glanced at him, then slowly pulled up the thick sleeve of her left arm. Melanie's breath caught in her throat as she saw the tiny, black numbers etched into the delicate skin on the inside of her wrist.

011

Melanie's jaw dropped. "You have a tattoo?" She gasped. "Is it real?"

Mike instinctively reached out for a closer look, but the girl quickly yanked her arm back, pulling the sleeve down to cover the tattoo. Mike's face fell. "Sorry," he apologized quickly. "I've just never seen a kid with a tattoo before. What does it mean?"

"Eleven?" Melanie wondered aloud. "That's what those numbers were, right? What are they for?"

The girl merely pointed at herself, her gaze fixed on Melanie. The realization hit the Wheeler daughter like a bolt of lightning.

"You? Eleven is your name?" Melanie gaped. The girl, now identified as Eleven, nodded gently. The weight of the revelation sank in, and Melanie's concern deepened, knowing she was not lying. "Who names a child after a number?" she whispered, looking at her brother in alarm.

Mike shrugged. "It's a cool name," he said, attempting to reassure both Melanie and Eleven. "Eleven," he repeated, offering a warm smile. "Well, I'm Mike. Short for Michael. And this is my sister, Mel. Short for Melanie." He chuckled softly. "Maybe we can call you El. Short for Eleven!"

"I like it," Melanie praised, her voice supportive, even as it was accompanied by a cautious laugh. Eleven's face lit up with a small, grateful smile of her own, seemingly pleased by the new name, too.

"Good," Mike said, glancing at Melanie before returning his gaze to Eleven. For some unknown reason, his cheeks were flushed even in the dim light of the basement. "We should probably get some sleep then. Night, El."

"Night, Mike," She responded.

Melanie rose slowly from her knees beside her brother. "Goodnight, Eleven."

"Goodnight, Mel . . . anie."

Melanie smiled down at her. She had never heard her name pronounced quite like that before. Eleven then carefully maneuvered into the small space beneath the desk, curling up in Mike's sleeping bag. Melanie watched on as Mike proceeded to carefully arrange the blankets around the entrance of the makeshift hideaway. The basement, strewn with the clutter of forgotten toys and old furniture, looked no different from what it had moments before. It was a disarrayed safe haven that would surely deter their parents from suspecting anything amiss if they came downstairs. 

Eleven would be safe here for the night.

It was only for one night, anyway, Melanie reminded herself.

Mike soon joined his sister at the base of the wooden stairs, their cautious eyes locking briefly as they looked away from their newest houseguest. Then together, they ascended the stairs, their identical footsteps muffled by the deafening roar of thunder and the relentless pounding of rain. The crackling of lightning cast shadows on the walls as they left the basement—and their new secret—behind.

~~~~~~~~~~

edited 08/11/2024.