[ vii. the locked door ]

november 8th, 1983. tuesday.

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"OH, MAN. OH, MAN. Oh, man. Oh, shit. Do you think Mike's been busted yet?"

"How are we supposed to know, Dustin? We had to go to school!"

"I don't know. Don't all twins have that twin telepathy thing? You know—if one feels something, the other feels it too? Does it feel like you're in trouble, Mel?"

Melanie's gaze drifted from the brooding autumn sky to the messy curls of brown hair in front of her. Dustin had generously offered her a ride on the back of his bicycle, sparing her the dreary walk to the Wheeler house. The ride had been quiet enough, allowing her thoughts to wander away from the mess at hand, but now, reality crashed back in—and reality sucked.

With an exasperated scoff, she shot back, "Nowadays, I always feel like I'm in trouble for something. So if Mike really is in trouble, I guess I wouldn't feel any different than I do any other day."

"Not exactly reassuring," Dustin chuckled nervously.

"What does it even matter?" Lucas chimed in as he biked alongside them. "We'll find out soon enough if he's dead or not—and whether the loony's back in her straitjacket."

Melanie adjusted her grip on Dustin's back, her other hand, still tender with healing, resting lightly on his shoulder, fingers delicately clutching the fabric of his jacket. She looked back up at the sky, knowing exactly where the stars were hidden behind the clouds, their light faint but ever-present. The cool wind brushed against her warm skin as they coasted, but it could not chase away the lingering unease in her heart. Despite the hours that had passed, it was still racing from her earlier encounter with Jason Duke.

How did he even know her name? In the small middle school, familiarity was common, of course, but Jason seemed oblivious to anyone but himself. He did not care about anyone but himself. So, he certainly should not have cared whether Melanie was given a detention slip or not. Simply put, a detention for Jason Duke was his oxygen. He thrived in trouble. He was trouble.

Lost in her thoughts, regarding the demon in seventh grade, Melanie was eventually jolted back to the present as Dustin's bike wobbled over the curb and rolled onto the driveway of her home. Karen Wheeler's car was parked there, but the clear absence of police presence suggested that nothing was wrong, and no discoveries had been made. Not yet at least.

As they rounded to the back of the two-story house, Melanie climbed off Dustin's bike and approached the dark door that led to the basement. The boys followed closely behind, their bicycles clattering to the grass as they hurried to keep up with her.

"Mike?" Melanie called out as she pushed the door open. An empty, shadowy basement unfurled before her. Her calculated eyes darted to the small desk in the corner; the curtain meant to conceal its contents was pulled back, and the sleeping bag lay abandoned. Melanie's twin brother and Eleven were nowhere to be found. Panic tightened its grip on her throat as she took another step into the room. "Mike!"

Silence answered. Beside her, Dustin ran his hands through his unruly hair. "Son of a bitch. He's dead!"

"He's not dead!" Melanie countered. She dropped her schoolbag to the carpeted floor. Without waiting for her friends, she bolted up the basement stairs, taking them two at a time. She barely registered her mother in the kitchen, brushing past her without a word. Behind her, Dustin and Lucas greeted Karen in passing, their voices growing distant as Melanie cut across the living room and sprinted up the stairs to the second floor. Hurrying to the end of the hall, she threw open her bedroom door, and relief washed over her as her gaze fell upon two familiar figures. "There you are!"

Mike stood by his dresser, one of his action figures curled tightly in his hand. Across the room, Eleven sat cross-legged at the foot of his bed, her eyes wide with surprise. Melanie stepped further into the bedroom, allowing Lucas and Dustin to follow, and then shut the door behind them all with a quiet, final click.

Lucas's horrified stare darted to Eleven as though she were a ghost. His face twisted in disbelief. "Are you out of your mind?" His tone trembled with accusation, his body rigid. "She's still here?

"Just listen—" Mike started.

"You are out of your mind!" Lucas cried.

"She knows about Will."

Melanie's frown deepened, her eyes narrowing. Eleven's hands were clasped tightly in her lap, her gaze fixed on the floor, silent but listening. Dustin took a nervous step forward, licking his lips. "What do you mean she knows about Will?" He questioned, suspicious.

Without a word, Mike turned back to his dresser and picked up a framed photograph. He handed it to Melanie, in his eyes awaited an answer that she could not quite decipher yet.

It was one of the few group photos their Party had. The science fair. Melanie posed in the center of the photograph, holding their hard-won trophy, surrounded by her friends. They all wore smiles that now felt like they belonged to another lifetime.

Mike pointed to the tiny figure of Will in the picture. "She pointed at him. At his picture. She knew he was missing. I could tell."

Lucas was not convinced. "You could tell?" He repeated.

"Just think about it!" Mike returned. "Do you really think it's a coincidence we found her on Mirkwood—the same place where Will disappeared?"

"That is weird," Dustin murmured.

"And she said bad people are after her," Mike pressed on. "I think maybe these bad people are the same ones who took Will. I think she knows what happened to him."

Lucas crossed his arms, still skeptical. "Then why doesn't she tell us?"

Before Mike could respond, Melanie spoke up. "Maybe she doesn't know, Lucas. Maybe she only recognizes Will's face. Anyone could—there are missing posters all over town. She could've seen them." Her eyes darted back to Eleven, who had not said a word, whether to confirm or deny the possibility. "Maybe she can help us," Melanie decided to continue. "Or . . ." Suddenly, inner doubt trickled in. "Maybe she can't. Maybe we don't get to know what happened to Will. But I know one thing for sure: something strange is going on, and it's bigger than any of us."

Her thoughts drifted back to that morning, to the tense conversation in the basement, the whispered fears, the imaginary finger guns. Melanie did not want to believe Will could be caught up in whatever dangerous mess this girl had brought with her. Will and Eleven felt like two worlds that should never collide. It had to be a coincidence, right? One vanished, and the other appeared in the same place—had to be.

Chewing softly on the inside of her cheek, Melanie watched as Lucas stepped forward, moving cautiously toward Eleven. His hands trembled. His fear was obvious—fear of what they did not understand, of what this strange girl might mean for their missing friend.

"Do you know where he is?" Lucas sternly demanded. Eleven flinched, her body recoiling from the aggression, but the Sinclair boy was not about to back off. His hand shot out, grabbing her by the shoulders and yanking her roughly toward him. "Do you know where Will is?!" he shouted.

"Don't touch her," Melanie said sharply. There was a quiet authority in her words that made everyone freeze. Lucas let go of Eleven instantly, his face still twisted in frustration, but all eyes now shifted to the Wheeler daughter. She crossed her arms, holding Lucas's bewildered stare. "You can't touch her," Melanie continued steadily. "You don't know her. She doesn't know you. You can't terrorize her into telling you something she might not even know. She's a person, Lucas—a scared one, just like us."

"She should be scared!" Lucas snapped, throwing his hands. He whipped back toward Eleven, pointing a finger accusingly in her face. "If you know where Will is, tell us!"

Eleven stayed silent, but her face contorted, her lips trembling. She looked just like Holly did right before bursting into tears—except there were no tears. Just a silent, unbearable fear that radiated from her small, fragile frame. Melanie's eyes darkened, watching Lucas with growing anger. Could he not see how terrified Eleven was? How low he was sinking by acting like this?

Clearly, he could not. "This is nuts!" he exclaimed. "We have to take her to your mom."

"No!" Mike protested, stepping forward. "Eleven said telling any adult would put us in danger."

Dustin's face paled. "What kind of danger?"

Lucas rolled his eyes. "Her name is Eleven?" He glanced at the girl again, as if the very sight of her left a bad taste in his mouth.

"Yes, Eleven," Melanie replied curtly. "Mike thought we could call her El for short."

"Hello!" Dustin suddenly boomed, waving his arms frantically to get everyone's attention. "Can we focus here? What kind of danger?"

"Danger danger," Mike emphasized ominously. He lifted his hand, forming a finger gun, and aimed it directly at Dustin's forehead. Dustin's eyes crossed as he followed Mike's gesture before he stumbled back. Mike then turned toward Lucas, pointing the imaginary gun at him. Lucas batted Mike's hand away, his face tight with annoyance.

"No, no, no!" Lucas growled. "We're going back to Plan A—we're telling your mom!"

Before anyone else could dare argue, he stormed toward the bedroom door, grabbing the doorknob with a furious yank. But before he could open it, the door slammed shut with a deafening bang. The impact sent a tremor through the room, rattling Melanie's full bookshelf and sending several of Mike's action figures tumbling to the floor.

Lucas's breathing quickened, his hand still gripping the doorknob. He tried again, pulling fiercely, but the door slammed shut a second time—faster, harder. The heavy sound reverberated through the room like a gunshot, and this time, a sickening click followed. The door's lock had slid into place, all on its own.

The air in the room shifted. Lucas's hand jerked away from the door as if it had become electrified. His chest heaved as panic flickered in his eyes.

Behind them, Melanie heard movement shift on Mike's bed. Slowly, she turned to see Eleven now standing at the foot of the bed. Her arms were at her sides, her small hands clenched into fists, knuckles white. Her eyes—once frightened—now burned with something darker, something dangerous.

And then Melanie saw it—the slow, crimson drip from Eleven's nose. Blood.

Melanie took a shaky step back. Meanwhile, Mike glanced briefly at his twin, and then moved instinctively, stepping in front of Eleven as though to take the brunt of whatever came next. He now stood in front of the Party like a human wall, even though it was clear that none of them knew what they were up against.

Eleven's jaw clenched, her teeth grinding together as her glare darkened. "No," she snapped.

The room fell deathly silent. No one moved. No one spoke. It was as though the world had stopped spinning, frozen by that single command. Eleven had only spoken once, but with only one word, she had taken complete control.

Melanie's heart raced as she stared at Eleven, dark blood dripping steadily toward her upper lip. This little girl—this stranger—could do more than any of their Party ever imagined. She could stop the world on its axis with a single flick of her wrist if she wanted to.

And none of them could stop her.

⇝ ⇝ ⇝

MELANIE'S STOMACH TWISTED INTO tighter, sicker knots as she returned downstairs later that evening. The long dining table was packed with family and friends, Dustin and Lucas among them. They had stayed for dinner, though she knew their real reason had nothing to do with the meatloaf. Their thoughts, like hers, were still upstairs.

As she sat and attempted to eat, Melanie's eyes drifted unconsciously to the ceiling, trying to imagine what Eleven might be doing now. Her arms prickled with goosebumps, a physical reminder of the fear that had not left her since earlier. She could still hear the door slamming shut with that unnatural force. She could still see the blood dripping from Eleven's nose—streaks of red quickly wiped away with the sleeve of her very own sweatshirt.

No matter how many times Melanie tried to rationalize it, there was no explanation for what she had seen. People like Eleven were not supposed to exist outside of comic books. Powers like hers were not supposed to exist in the real world. Because this was the real world. This was Hawkins.

Surely, it had to be a nightmare. In a matter of seconds, Melanie would wake up in her bed, safe, with no cast on her arm, no detention waiting for her, no missing friend, and no telekinetic girl hiding upstairs.

But there was no pinch to pull her out of this. This was her real life now. A place where things broke that should not. Where best friends disappeared into thin air. Where the impossible sat upstairs in her bedroom.

"Melanie, what are you looking at?"

Karen's voice pulled her roughly back to the present. Melanie blinked, quickly dropping her eyes from the ceiling to the table where everyone was staring—her mother, Dustin, Lucas, even little Holly.

"I thought I saw a spider," Melanie muttered half-heartedly. She picked up her fork and proceeded to prod at the meatloaf on her plate, stabbing at it like it was the source of all her problems, though she had no intention of actually eating it.

Karen frowned slightly. "Something wrong with the meatloaf?" she asked, though the question was not aimed at Melanie. Her mother's attention had shifted to Dustin and Lucas, who were staring at their plates with the same apprehension.

Dustin, quick on his feet as always, shook his head. "Oh, no, I had two bologna sandwiches for lunch." He laughed awkwardly, scratching his head. "I don't know why."

From across the table, Nancy chimed in with a sweet smile, batting her lashes. "It's delicious, Mommy," she cooed. Melanie merely rolled her eyes at the saccharine tone.

Karen smiled at her eldest. "Thank you, sweetie."

Then, Nancy's innocent smile faded, revealing the real reason she had bothered to compliment the meatloaf at all. "So . . . there's this special assembly tonight. For Will. At the school field," she said, her voice casual but calculated. "Barb's driving."

Karen's smile vanished, her eyes narrowing. "Why am I just hearing about this?" she asked.

Nancy shrugged, feigning ignorance. "I thought you knew."

"Nancy," Karen sighed, rubbing her temple, "I told you, I don't want you out after dark until Will is found."

"I know, I know," Nancy replied, a hint of impatience creeping in. "But it'd be super weird if I'm not there. I mean, everyone's going."

Melanie watched as her mother's parental resolve, weak to begin with, slowly crumbled. Karen took a long sip of her wine, her fingers gripping the glass a little too tightly before she finally gave in. "Just be back by ten," she relented. "And why don't you take the kids, too?"

"No!" Melanie blurted. At the same time, Mike and Dustin shouted their own objections, while Lucas just shook his head adamantly.

Karen's brow furrowed, clearly taken aback by their extreme reactions. "Don't you think you should be there?" she asked. "For Will?"

Rather than answer, Mike raised his glass of milk, taking a sip before choking suddenly, spraying it back into the cup with a sharp gasp. His eyes widened in pure horror, locked on something behind their mother. Instinctively, Melanie followed his gaze, and the second she saw it, her heart plummeted into her stomach.

Eleven was coming down the stairs, her small, bare feet padding quickly across the carpeted steps, completely oblivious to the full dining table. Her wide, curious gaze darted around, taking in her unfamiliar surroundings.

Karen, noticing her children's sudden distraction, frowned. "What are you—?" She began to turn in her seat, her head starting to swivel toward the stairs.

No!

Dustin was the first to react. He slammed his fists onto the table, the sound echoing through the dining room as the fine china rattled dangerously. Silverware clattered together, and little Holly whimpered, startled by the noise. "Ow, Dustin!" Melanie cried out dramatically, clutching her broken wrist like it had been wrenched in pain. "Oh God, it hurts—Mom, it hurts really bad. Can you look?"

Karen snapped her attention back to her daughter, her concern overriding her curiosity. "Let me see," she said quickly, reaching out for Melanie's wrist. Melanie placed her injured arm in her mother's hands, watching as Karen gingerly prodded the fragile bone, her brow furrowed in concentration.

In reality, Melanie did not feel an ounce of pain. The break had healed enough that it barely bothered her anymore. But she forced her expression to stay tight, her breath shallow, letting her mother fuss over her for just long enough to let Eleven slip away unnoticed.

By the time Karen had finished examining her arm, Eleven was gone—disappeared into the darkened hallway that led to the basement. Melanie's chest deflated in relief, and she gently pulled her arm back. "It's better now," she said quickly, forcing a grateful smile. "Thanks, Mom."

Across the table, Dustin's cheeks were flushed. "Sorry, Mel, sorry, Mrs. Wheeler. Muscle spasm." He shook his hands for emphasis, trying to sell the lie. Karen only sighed in irritation, her attention already shifting to Holly, who had begun to cry quietly from all the commotion.

As her mother turned away, Melanie's eyes darted back to the hallway where Eleven had vanished. The basement door was left slightly ajar in the girl's wake, just enough for Melanie to glimpse moving shadows within. Her eyes flickered to Mike's across the table. Her twin's expression mirrored hers: wide-eyed and worried.

She looked to Dustin and Lucas next. They sat frozen, like deer caught in headlights, unsure whether to bolt or stay glued to their seats.

Already, everything had gone too far. Eleven had almost been seen. Almost been exposed. One second more, one less distraction, and her mother would have turned, would have seen the stranger standing in her own home.

With little left they could truly do, the Party sat in shared silence for the rest of the dinner, their eyes communicating the same overwhelming realization:

Too close.

~~~~~~~~~~

edited 10/05/2024.