𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐄𝐒 𝐖𝐄𝐏𝐓 𝐒𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐋𝐘. The strange orange lights with enigmatic origins flashed at seemingly random intervals, newspapers fluttering on distant abandoned porches, the headline, as always, detailing animal maulings and sales for supposedly cursed objects. The soulless eyes of drivers glazed as they shook their head while passing by, not bothering to stop at a gas station lest something mysterious happen with them in the middle of it, the occasional headlight cutting through the perpetual fog like thin sheets of ice, the darkness pressuring against the windows, the high lost in a jigsaw puzzle stretch of land miles behind.

It was difficult to form thoughts in this dark, so encompassing that it has a suffocating feeling as if it's pressing in from all sides, the stillness of the air sucking in everything from his hitched breathing and heavy footfalls, and the only thing he could bear to hear was the beating of his heart; the eerie sounds of animals and objects he'd rather not identify didn't seem to abide by the rules of nighttime, for they continued to rustle in spite of his slowly growing fear. It was the kind of silence that throbbed before getting stabbed in the back.

Scout had let time run away with him. The passing hours of the afternoon seemed like mere minutes ago, but in the back of his mind he reminded himself of the time he had spent with Letitia after school, him never having any extracurriculars and her reveling in the cancellation of band and soccer practice, the two of them paying a visit to their favorite gas station for slushies and snacks before heading to Letitia's house to hang out in her basement until Scout's father noticed he was gone. Considering the man's track record, it was more than possible he wouldn't remember until the next day, despite Scout reminding him that morning, but as much as he would have liked to spend the night at his friend's house, he was observant enough to notice the lingering glances of her parents whenever he came over, and decided it was best to lay low for a while, or until Letitia scolded them for thinking there was anything between them; something that was becoming a habit, it seemed.

Playing the drums, of course, was something he kept to himself. He didn't think his father cared if he did, just as long as the noise wasn't too loud, which was why he'd been so excited at their own basement being soundproof when they first moved to Hawkins when he was a kid-even then, music was as important to him as breathing.

He would have put on earbuds and simply listened to his walkman, had it not been so dark and alone; it made him feel exposed almost, as if he couldn't hear what could possibly come for him if he wasn't fully paying attention. He was reminded of Letitia's offer to simply drive him home, seeing as how she was the only one of the two with a driver's license, and it really would have been much better than standing in the dark, terrified of his own shadow, but he'd refused, simply thanking her and agreeing to meet in the morning.

That easily could have been hours ago, since the passage of time since he'd left her house felt like more than he could bear, and he regretted never wearing a watch, if only to have something to concentrate on in the moment instead of letting his imagination run wild with all the possibilities of what could be scurrying past just beyond his line of sight; the band always made his skin itch and it was typically just easier to ask someone what time it was rather than suffer with the irritation all day long.

Even so, Scout wished he'd stuck around Letitia's house until his dad came to pick him up, seeing as how he was far more terrified than he should have been standing on the side of the road after nightfall. It wasn't as if he was scared of the dark-at least, he didn't think he was-but he couldn't shake the feeling that something wasn't right, like the eerie quiet was a prelude to something sinister brewing behind the scenes. Maybe it was the litter blowing across the mostly abandoned road like tumbleweed in an old western movie, or the flickering street light that illuminated shadows of small animals in the distant, or maybe the chill that fell over him whenever he heard the slightest movement, but it was something, and he didn't know what it was, so he cursed himself under his breath, because anything would have been better than this.

The blame wasn't entirely his, though, as he thought about it more, trying to keep his mind off how creepy everything was, shoving his hands in his pocket to avoid looking at how shaky they were. He knew his father meant well, but it was hard not to become upset when Clark left him at the mall or at school, or frequently forgot to pick him up, leaving Scout to scramble for a ride home, always shrugging it off when his father realized too late and apologized. His father may have been many things, but he was sure a bad person wasn't one of them. Part of him wanted to say a bad father, but he shook his head as quickly as it came up, as if trying to rid himself of the thought of it.

He took a deep breath and sighed as he tried to steady his nerves, running a hand through his hair and thinking again at how much he regretted the decisions that had gotten him there. Of course, given the choice, he knew he would have done exactly the same thing in a heartbeat, because as scared as he was at the moment, the last thing he wanted was to inconvenience someone, even if they assured him he was doing no such thing. Letitia had given him that lesson more times than he could, and he'd learned to simply accept when she did, because it was easier than arguing-she knew how he felt and respected it, but made it clear when it was time to be polite and when it was alright to accept.

But if he was being honest, he had no problem doing the same to his father. Maybe that made him the bad person.

The thought had just crossed his mind when he heard the sound of a car in the distance, and a sigh of relief escaped his lips as it came closer and closer, recognizing his dad in the driver's seat. Scout wondered how he felt safe driving at that speed when he wasn't that far to begin with, but the answer was obvious: he didn't, that was he did it.

The car screeched to a stop mere inches from his shoes, and he quickly opened the passenger's door and threw himself inside, shoving his backpack on the floor at his feet before realizing his father was staring at him with a mixture of bemusement on his face.

"What?" Scout asked, reaching over his shoulder and tugging on his seatbelt without looking like it was the most natural thing in the world, despite his dad not wearing his, because the speed always made him a bit nervous, even if they were the only ones on the road.

"You look like you've seen a ghost, kid," his father chuckled, the toothpick between his teeth rising and falling, not checking to see for other cars before maneuvering back onto the road, the speed only just below how fast he'd been driving before. "I picked you up on time, right?"

A small voice urged him to answer truthfully, but he wasn't quite ready for that conversation; he was hardly ready to admit it, much less bring it up. "No, yeah, you did, I didn't wait long."

"Good," Clark said easily, not catching on to his son's casual answer, and said nothing more for several minutes when he asked, "So, did you have fun at your girlfriend's house?"

"Letitia's not my girlfriend," Scout reminded him for what seemed like the thousandth time, his irritation clearly making his way into his voice, frowning, "We're just friends."

"Right, yeah, sorry," his dad said, winking at him as if catching on to whatever secret relationship he thought they had going on, bumping his elbow against Scout's forearm, holding the steering wheel with one hand and making quotations marks in the air with the other, "'She's just a friend.' I get how it is."

Scout internally groaned, wanting nothing more than to bang his head against the window. It seemed it was impossible for people to believe he and Letitia were nothing more than friends, as if the possibility of them being in a relationship was much more plausible or preferable. Nothing had ever happened between them since middle school, when they, along with everyone else their age, thought the feeling of friendship they felt for one another was sexual or romantic, and after lying on the floor of a mutual friend's house during a party, they confirmed it wasn't, going on as friends since then. Letitia later admitted her repulsion to sex in general, and he was glad she felt comfortable enough to say so-he knew first hand how awful people's response could be to something they thought was irregular.

His father fiddled with the dials on the dials on the radio, filling their ears with overlapping voices and music and laughter, before stopping on a station with several young children singing a nursery rhyme, listening for a moment before shaking his head and flipping it to another station that quickly filled the car with the sounds of classical instruments intersecting and playing in a different way he'd never heard before, as if the song leaned towards pop or rock music. Scout tilted his head in interest, hoping that the musicians would say something at the end or, at the very least, give a name to the type of music, but he was in no such luck. No sooner had his father landed on the station did he quickly shut it off, laughing mockingly.

"Sounds like shit," he scoffed, as if expecting his son to agree, the blond only offering a nod, "You don't play like that, do you?"

Scout shook his head because he knew that was the answer his father expected, not wanting to open his mouth and tell him how very wrong his opinion was; it would only lead to a conversation and an argument that would be best avoided. Clark nodded in response, like he was relieved his image of his son was preserved. "Good. You're not a pussy, playing shit like that. Uh, what do you play again?"

"The drums," Scout answered, turning his head away so as not to let him see him biting his lip. As much as it would have been a nightmare come true, he thought the sight of his dad's face when he found out who his son truly was, rather than the child that was never meant to be, or the teenage boy that fit his masculine expectations. The actual thing would be terrifying, of course, but maybe it would be worth it some day, just to prove him wrong.

Scout found himself staring at the flag fluttering violently in the wind on the car's radio pole. It might have been nice on the town's streets, where people actually abided by the speed limit and did nothing more than flap innocently between red lights, but now, it thrashed back and forth so quickly and noisily he thought it would fall off, watching as the cheap plastic bent as if trying to take flight. It would stay that way, a battle between pole and flag until they reached home, when Clark would be forced to slow down up the driveway and stop entirely, and the blond knew he would do so with a heavy sigh, as if it were a shame not to keep going and drive right through the garage entirely.

So while Scout was immersed in his all-encompassing thoughts and his father paid no more attention to the road than he did to his son, miles away, a tall figure might have been seen carrying a heavy load in his arms, his cold eyes bearing the expression of someone who had narrowly avoided disaster.

𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄

I can't wait until things start to pick up with this story because this chapter really isn't all there, I swear it gets more interesting as we go along, I can't wait to write some of the upcoming chapters it's gonna be lit

Thanks for reading!