— CHAPTER 9 —
THE HEATHKIT HAMSHACK

THURSDAY 10th NOVEMBER,
1983

DAPHNE can think of many reasons over the years that have made her want to skip class, none of them truly coming to fruition — reasons that are unpleasant to reminisce of. But none of them had involved Nancy Wheeler and a series of gloomy photographs that could only have even darker origins.

     And yet here she is, struggling to fall into step alongside her new companion as she walks briskly along the streets of downtown Hawkins. Daphne glances uneasily around them with every step; the last thing she needs is for her dad to waltz out of the Hawk Theatre and see her truanting. She can only hope that with the afternoon being closer to the 'rush hour' (if she could even call it that) for movie goers, he would be safely cooped up in the sealed darkness of his projection box showing 'All The Right Moves' for the umpteenth time.

     Once the small tinkle of the doorbell subsides with a swift shutting of the door, Daphne's throat closes up; where has all the air gone? The musty, artificial scent hits her with a sudden vengeance, choking from the inside. And gets worse when they turn the corner. A still sea of coffins surround her, stationary and cold. Too many bad memories here. A man in a suit with a scratchy voice gestures gingerly to one coffin, sickeningly advertising it like a material possession. "It's made of soft wood with a crepe interior," he rasps. When Jonathan doesn't respond, his shoulders tense and eyes vacant, the owner clears his throat to move on. Where is Joyce in all of this? she wonders. She knows this experience is horrid enough with company...

"Uh, now, I... I don't know what your budget is," the man stammers, shepherding Jonathan over to one of the more central coffins, "but over here, we... we have copper and bronze."

Now in their line of sight, Jonathan turns and blinks in surprise to see the two girls lingering by the doorway. Daphne can't find the words and Nancy says nothing either, struggling between meeting his gaze and averting hers elsewhere. This really doesn't seem like the right time anymore.

Unexpectedly, Jonathan sighs and turns back to the man briefly. "Can you just give me a second?"

"Of course," the man replies respectfully, bowing out of Daphne's periphery with a characteristic sombreness. It's almost funny to her. It felt like something that only happened in movies or books, where someone like a funeral director would embody their profession in every way...

Or maybe Will's death has simply pushed her over the edge.

"Hey," Jonathan murmurs when he reaches them, glancing awkwardly between Daphne and Nancy.

"Hey..." Nancy trails off, unsure how to phrase her request. Her fingers brush the pocket of her satchel where the photos are. "Can we talk for a second?"

The three of them evacuate the coffin display to perch on a bench just outside the room, much to Daphne's relief — she was slowly suffocating in there. As they leave the room, she sees Jonathan shoot her a telepathic query: What is she doing here? Daphne can only respond helplessly, Just hear her out. She still isn't entirely convinced herself, but it was difficult to miss the desperation in Nancy's eyes. But then again, where had that led Joyce last night?

Sandwiched between Jonathan and Daphne on the bench, Nancy reaches into her bag and retrieves the photographs. The flash of surprise on his face is difficult to miss, recognising the torn scraps that Steve had ripped up only yesterday, back when a broken camera had been a bigger priority. He examines them curiously, taking care as he cradled the photos in his hands. After a while, he shrugs. "It looks like it could be some sort of perspective distortion, but I wasn't using a wide angle... I don't know. It's weird." Jonathan looks up and squints at her.

"And you're sure you didn't see anyone else out there?" Nancy barely whispers. "That night?"

     "No. And she was there one second and then, um... gone. I figured she bolted."

"The cops think that she ran away. But they don't know Barb," she stresses. "And I went back to Steve's... and I thought I... saw something. Some... weird man, or... I don't know what it was."

     Jonathan stares off into the distance, clutching the photographs in his hands. Sometimes he seems pretty hard to read, and right now is one of those moments. Daphne can't tell whether he is in deep thought or still grief-stricken from yesterday; she reluctantly recalls how desperate he had been after getting the news, the way he had clung onto her and she'd tried to stay strong for him.

     Nancy seems to pick up on this possibility too. She stands up abruptly, gathering her things. "I'm sorry," she apologises, in scorn of herself. "Come on Daphne, we... we shouldn't have come here today. I'm... I'm so sorry—"

     "What did he look like?"

     Jonathan's questions catches both the girls off guard, but Daphne is the first to notice the glint of curiosity in his eyes. She's seen that look before. He must be opening his mind to the possibilities...

     Yeah. Until you tell him about what you saw, she thinks to herself.

     "What?"

     "This man you saw in the woods. What did he look like?"

     Nancy stammers, visibly trying to remember it herself. "I don't know. It was almost like he... he didn't have—"

     "Didn't have a face?" Jonathan finishes for her. Both of the girls freeze, staring hard at him. He doesn't look as though he needs to hear another word, his face hardening with purpose. He looks down at the photographs again, his hands almost buckling in underneath the weight of what they could mean.

Things just got a lot more interesting.

━━━━━━

     BY the time they have reached Hawkins Middle, Cath thinks she might finally be getting used to her bike — even if she was scrambling for the brakes last-minute and almost went careening into Lucas on a couple of occasions. She's just glad she no longer had to perch on the back of his or Dustin's bike anymore, seeing her life flash before her eyes every time they turned a corner.

     Or maybe it's because she has bigger things to worry about right now. Like getting caught. As they stride in faux confidence through the double doors and into the empty hallways, Cath descends into a flurry of paranoia. She finds herself almost getting whiplash every time she surveys her surroundings for teachers.

     "We're going to get in so much trouble..." she whimpers, regretting everything about their plan.

     "Not if we don't get caught," Mike replies, who is clearly in an opposite state of mind than she is.

     "But what if we do?" asks Lucas.

     "More like when we do—"

     "Cath, relax. If we get caught, just pretend to be really sad, okay?" After Mike's comment, Dustin turns to Eleven and demonstrates a pouty face by dragging the corners of his mouth down with his fingertips. She tries to mimic this with an almost comical level of concentration. Just then, an announcement sounds over the speakers that reverberates through the halls:

     "Attention students, there will be an assembly to honour Will Byers in the gymnasium now. Do not go to fourth period."

     Great, Cath thinks painfully. Now I'm going to feel awful for missing the assembly.

They arrive at a door and Mike tugs at the door handle. Perplexed, he stands back. "It's locked."

"What?" Lucas retorts, pushing past him to jiggle the doorknob himself, only for the wooden door to stay firmly in place. Cath tries to soothe her swirling nerves; she swears to God, if she's risked getting caught only to find a locked door—

"Do you think you could open it?" Dustin asks Eleven hopefully. "With your powers?"

"Boys—"

The adult voice behind them has an instantaneous effect; the kids scramble into a mutually understood formation, standing up straight like marines under the command of their officer. Even the fact that it's the generous Mr. Clarke who is standing before them doesn't do anything to calm her nerves. Cath gulps in a nervous breath, which comes out much louder than she'd anticipated and only fills the awkward silence.

"— and ladies," Mr. Clarke corrects himself, noting Cath and El. "Assembly's about to start."

"We know," Mike mumbles, and she turns her head to find him already bowing his head sadly. God, he's good. "We're just..."

"Upset!" adds Lucas, a little too enthusiastically, before he remembers to act grief-stricken and stares at the linoleum floor with a Shakespearean melodrama.

"Yeah," Dustin chips in, "d-definitely upset."

"We need some alone time."

"To grieve," Cath adds solemnly.

"And... to... cry."

Although still staring at Dustin a tad sceptically, Mr. Clarke's posture instantly softens, the care he holds for his students crystal clear. "Listen. I get it, I do. I know how hard this is. But let's just be there for Will, huh?"

All of the kids nod in response. Cath finds some genuineness in her response — after all, they don't know for sure that he is alive after all. Even pretending that Will might be dead is enough to provoke a real sadness in her.

"And after that..." Mr. Clarke reaches into his pocket and pulls out a bunch of keys, chucking them for Mike to catch. "The Heathkit is all yours for the rest of the day. Make sure you show Cath the ropes too, I'm certain she'd enjoy it. What do you say?"

Cath stares in disbelief; how was that so easy? When she meets Mike's eyes, it takes everything in them to suppress the relieved grin that threatens to blow their cover.

But it's soon wiped clear as Mr. Clarke turns to Eleven with a smile, who's been solitary for the past minute. "I don't believe we've met, what's your name?"

"Eleve—"

"Eleanor!" Mike cries out, confusing both El and Mr. Clarke. "She's my, uh..."

"Cousin!" Lucas finishes.

"Second cousin!" Dustin adds.

"She's here for Will's funeral."

"They were very close," Cath nods sincerely.

"Ah. Well, welcome to Hawkins Middle, Eleanor," Mr. Clarke says warmly to El, his cheery disposition unwavering. "I wish you were here under better circumstances."

"Thank you," she responds, under the guidance of the others' stares.

"Uh, where are you from exactly?"

Her pupils dilate with a real, visceral dread, and she shakes her head slowly. "Bad place..."

     "Sweden!" Dustin corrects her, which Mr. Clarke furrows his eyebrows at.

     "I have a lot of Swedish family," clarifies Mike.

     "She comes from Stockholm every now and then," Cath bluffs, before wondering if she is at all convincing.

     "She hates it there."

     "Cold!" Lucas shivers.

     "Sub-zero," says Dustin.

     Mr. Clarke rocks back and forth on his heels, studiously observing the clueless 'Eleanor' with suspicion. He finally seems to give in, unwilling to question their odd behaviour. "... Shall we?" he asks, nodding down the hallway.

     "Yep!" Lucas replies on behalf of the others, reluctant to stretch out this beyond-awkward interaction any more.

     Against their will, the group shuffle reluctantly through the halls with Mr. Clarke ushering them eagerly behind. From behind the double doors of the gym, Cath can hear the Principal's sincere words being muffled from inside the walls. When the doors swing open, a wave of students' heads turn in their direction with blank stares. "Abort," Dustin whispers harshly, halfway through turning around before Mr. Clarke pushes him forward again.

     The Principal, having stopped his speech momentarily, continued with his words about Will that Cath only catches bits of. As they wade through the bleachers to squeeze into the last empty space, she recognises Andrea sitting a couple of rows behind to her left. Sandy Brooks sits by the gaping space where there is still room to sit, and Cath follows in first to sandwich herself between Sandy and Lucas. Sandy simply nods at her, an action which she mirrors, before staring back at the display. For some reason, her heart sinks slightly. She knows it's the middle of an assembly, but she had been hoping for perhaps a little more... acknowledgement. Not even a bit of surprise over where Cath had been.

     She shakes off the disappointment, refocusing her attention on what really matters. The Principal's hands clutch the sides of the lectern as he continues his speech. "Will Byers' death is an unimaginable tragedy," he sighs. "Will was an exceptional student and a wonderful friend to all of us. It's impossible to express the hole his loss will leave in our community... I'd like to introduce you to Sandy Sloane. She's a local grief counselor from the church over in Jonesboro..."

     A couple of seats to her left, Cath hears Mike scoff in disgust. "Look at these fakers," he whispers, nodding to a student at the bottom of the bleachers who sniffs rather loudly as she wipes her tears. "They probably didn't even know his name until today."

     But then there is another sound. A laugh. The three of them are instantly drawn to the concealed chuckles, although even without seeing them, Cath can take an educated guess at who they're coming from. "Who is interested in this?" Troy mocks in a hushed tone, although still obnoxiously loud enough to grab their attention. "This is so stupid. Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah..."

     An unfathomable rage suddenly starts brewing inside of Cath. She clenches a portion of her skirt's fabric into a ball on her lap, exhaling sharply out of her nose. "I can't believe those two," she whispers to Lucas. "This is like... the height of disrespect."

     Lucas, still watching, shakes his head with resent at them. "What a bunch of—"

     "Mouthbreathers," Eleven finishes for him. When they turn to look at her, she's leaning over in her seat with an unfamiliar look in her eye. If Cath weren't mistaken, she thinks it might even be mischief. It's still there when the girl slowly leans back once more, remaining fixated on the two troublemakers.

     When the shrill tone of the school bell sounds, the students on the bleachers disperse swiftly to escape as soon as possible. When first standing up, Cath smiles weakly at Pamela and Sandy. "Hey," she murmurs, hopefully.

     "Oh, hi," Pam responds, hooking her satchel over her shoulder. "Sorry, can't talk for long. I want to catch every scrap of the fourth period that I can." And with Sandy nodding in agreement, they're already descending down the bleachers without saying goodbye. Gina, however, lingers for a moment as she cleans her glasses with her cardigan, eyes puffy and glassy with fresh tears.

     "You alright there, Gina?" Cath asks sympathetically.

     "Yeah," she chuckles, popping on her glasses again and magnifying her eyes to twice the size. "You know, in all of the Science Fairs we did, I never minded losing to Will. He was a real good sport..." Gina then sniffs again, pushing her glasses up her nose and following an impatient Pam out of the gymnasium.

     By this time, Andrea appears to have clocked Cath in the crowds, falling into step at her side as they walk down the bleachers together. She still seems too stunned at first, speechless for the first time as she wriggles her arm through the sleeve of her denim jacket.

     "Wow," Andrea breathes. "That was... heavy."

     "I know right?"

     "Poor Will. Hey, just as a newbie in this town, does this kind of stuff normally happen in Hawkins? Because if so, maybe I should just... you know... give my parents a heads up?"

     Cath manages an awkward laugh, not entirely sure of the answer herself. "Trust me, this is not normal. Before this it was about as average as you get. I think you just have... poor timing?"

     Andrea's eyes pop open wide. "And my mom thought Hawkins would bore us to death."

     She would have laughed again, but another voice amplified by the acoustics of the gym distracts her — and it's coming from Mike. Cath searches for him in the dots of heads in the amalgamating crowds and, to her horror, he is in the small central clearing that has been made. And he is facing up to Troy.

     "Oh God..." Cath despairs under her breath. With a brief look back at Andrea, she quickly runs down the bleachers to stop at Dustin's side and spectate anxiously. Don't be an idiot, don't be an idiot, don't be an idiot—

     "Y-you think this is funny?" Mike stammers, trying to appear brave but clearly feeling overpowered by Troy and James.

     "What did you say, Wheeler?" Troy threatens, stepping forward.

     He looks back for a moment, and she seizes the opportunity to make a desperate slicing gesture across her neck: Cut it out, she pleads. The last thing she wants to see is Troy's fist flying into Mike's face in front of the entire school. And as much as she would want to shake some sense into those bullies, she also wouldn't dare try and confront them this way. There are better ways. Cath sighs in frustration — the line between bravery and idiocy is blurring more and more recently...

     "I saw you guys laughing over there..." Mike's back straightens, summoning newfound courage. "And I think that's a real messed up thing to do."

     "Didn't you listen to the counsellor, Wheeler?" James shoots back. "Grief shows itself in funny ways."

     Troy nods in agreement, smirking. "Besides, what's there to be sad about anyway? Will's in fairyland now, right? Flying around with all the other little fairies... all happy and gay."

     Hushed whispers and gasps ripple through the gymnasium, Cath being amongst them. That's none of your business, she wishes she could yell at him. She wishes so badly that she could teach him a lesson about the weight of words, and a simple tutorial on basic manners...

     So why can't she speak up? Why can't she stop being the coward, the crybaby Troy had called her the other day? Instead Cath finds herself frozen, watching the bullies walk away and wishing she were as brave as Mike.

     However, before they can walk further away, Mike lunges forward and shoves Troy hard in the back — the force sends him tumbling to the ground, evoking dramatic gasps from everyone as he makes impact.

     Never mind, she thinks to herself. Mike's an idiot after all.

     Troy hops back into his feet, practically seething as his hands ball into fists. "You're dead, Wheeler," he growls, lunging towards him. "DEAD!"

     But before he can throw a punch, he suddenly freezes mid-air in his fighting stance. For a few moments, there is a puzzled silence, even from him. Then Cath sees it — the damp patch on Troy's trousers, blossoming like a flower and trickling in stems down his leg, the pathetic sound of it deafeningly loud. If it is what she thinks it is...

     "Dude, Troy peed himself!" a boy in the crowd exclaims.

     The entire gymnasium bursts into laughter, with the exception of a mortified Troy, who still stands frozen and now soaked in his own urine. He's the laughing stock. Good. Let him have a taste of his own medicine. But Cath is still confused... how did it happen? Almost on cue, she catches Eleven in the corner of her eye, a small droplet of blood running onto her upper lip. One corner of her lip quirks upwards, wiping it away with one clean swipe of her finger. Now Cath really laughs, covering her mouth as she giggles — she didn't know El had it in her.

"Hey! What's going on here?" The Principal emerges through the crowd, and before Cath can begin to react after abruptly stopping her laughs, Lucas has grabbed both she and Mike by the arms and yanked them towards the exit. They all run down the hallway, hoping Troy's little incident will stall time for them, as they realise their opportune moment to use the Heathkit — Mike skids to a halt in front of the door and swiftly unlocks it, letting the others in first. The room is shrouded in complete darkness until he turns a small ceiling lamp on with the flick of a switch.

With a sense of familiarity, the boys crowd eagerly around the machine in the centre of the room, allegedly the Heathkit Hamshack. It's a beautiful machine, fashioned with various buttons, dials and lights. Cath can see why this gadget is a dream come true for them. She huddles next to them, watching intently as Eleven takes a seat in front of the radio. She shuts her eyes to focus in on the signal... the air is fragile in its silence as they wait.

     Eventually Mike gets impatient, flicking some switches on the radio. Even that doesn't seem to work.

     "Now what?"

     "She'll find him," Mike assures them. "Right El?"

     El squirms uncomfortably in her seat, eyebrows creased as she continues to try and focus in. Cath waits behind her, trying to remain patient, although it feels impossible when there is a chance they might hear something.

     Just when it looks like they might give up, a glorious crackling of the radio frequency fills the room. She releases a breath she didn't know she was holding.

     "She's doing it," Mike exclaims. "She's finding him!"

     "This is crazy..." Dustin says in awe, to which she nods along with in agreement.

     Lucas shrugs, unimpressed. "Calm down. She just closed her eyes."

     A sharp CRACK fills the room as the light above them suddenly blows, the kids left alone in almost complete darkness. Before they can react, another noise emits from the radio amidst the stating — clang, clang, clang. "What is that?" Cath asks in dread. It intensifies — CLANG, CLANG, CLANG...

     "Mom!"

     Cath's knees almost buckle in from beneath her, the wind vanishing from her lungs. She knows in an instant who the voice belongs to. He calls again:

     "Mom! Please..."

     "No way..." says Lucas, completely transfixed.

     Shaking her head in disbelief, Cath says what they're all thinking: "It's Will," she whispers in awe. The realisation overcomes her and she almost laughs — it's only been a few days, but it feels like an eternity since Cath heard his voice.

     "MOM!" he cries out on the radio, panicked.

     "Will, it's us! Are you there?" Mike exclaims, desperately flicking switches. "Can you hear us? We're here!"

     "Hello? Mom?"

     "Why can't he hear us?"

     "I don't know!"

     The signal distorts, prompting them all to lean in closer, as if Will is trapped inside the Heathkit somewhere — banging on the metal from the inside, his voice dissolving into radio static, incoherent to him and them. He keeps calling out his mother's name a few times, each one more urgent than the next. A low, guttural sound suddenly obscures his talking and he gasps.

     "Mom, it's coming!" Will gasps, and the clanging speeds up.

     Another long pause. Cath glances at the others, wondering if they feel as lightheaded as she does. Dustin's eyes glitter in the dark like he might start crying any moment. She knows how he feels. Will's in danger and they can't do anything. They can only listen to his cries and hope he will leave a clue.

     "It's like home, but it's so dark..." Will cries. "It's so dark and empty. And it's cold!"

     Cath claps a hand over her mouth and, upon feeling a wetness on her fingers, realises she is crying. Clenching her eyes shut, she clamps her hands firmly over her ears instead, blocking out any other things he might say. Cath doesn't care — the others can listen if she want, but she doesn't know if she can bear to hear him suffering. But even then she can still hear him, screaming even louder.

     "MOM? MOM! MOM, PLEASE!!"

     A severe screech shatters the room before the Heathkit emits a BANG as it blows its fuse — it spits sparks and tendrils of smoke creep up, triggering the deafening fire alarm that rattles their skulls. Coughing slightly on the singed odour that fills her nostrils, Cath notices Eleven tiredly slumping in her chair. Mike grabs her by the shoulders, trying to get him to look at her.

"El, are you okay? Can you move?" he asks urgently. She doesn't reply, eyes lulling tiredly as blood streams steadily from both nostrils. There is a light sheen of sweat on her forehead. She must have over-exerted herself. "Here, he'll her up," says Mike, giving Lucas one of her arms to sling around his neck. The others help her into her feet whilst Cath clears a path for them, opening doors and navigating hallways until they get outside into the courtyard to make a clean escape.

━━━━━━

     JONATHAN is always in his element either with a camera in hand, or cooped up in a darkroom developing his work. And right now Daphne is able to watch it; the usual awkwardness he exudes is completely gone as he carefully arranges his scraps of photographs in the developing tray, putting the pieces together like a jigsaw puzzle. She can understand why he spends so much time in here — it's peaceful by its nature. If only more people could see this side of him, not the isolated 'weirdo' or 'creep' everyone makes him out to be. Jonathan couldn't be further from that.

     The three of them stand around the photographs, Jonathan in the middle. He carefully rocks the tray, completely focused on his task.

"How long does this take?" Nancy asks.

"Not long..."

She sighs. "Have you been doing this long? ... Photography, I mean."

Jonathan's lips thin into a small smile for a moment, and he shrugs lightly. "Yeah. I guess, I'd rather observe people than—"

"Talk to them?" Nancy finishes, a smile flashing across her features.

"I-it's weird, I know."

"No—"

"No, it is," Jonathan emphasises. "It's just, sometimes... people don't really say what they're really thinking. But you capture the right moment... it says more."

Daphne considers this for a moment, still watching the photograph scraps floating in the tray tinted in the crimson light of the room. A picture is worth a thousand words. She looks more carefully, watching Barb's figure with her feet dangling over into the pool as she cradles her wounded hand. A thousand words, precisely, occur to her: Where was everyone else? What happened to her hand? And why did no one hear anything if she was taken?

"What was I saying?" Nancy suddenly asks, her pupils visibly dilating in the red as she looks intensely at him.

"What?"

"When you took my picture?"

At this, Daphne looks suspiciously between the both of them, suddenly sensing the mood change. Was she just a hopeless romantic, or...? Shaking her head gently, she looks off to the side for a moment. Now what? She was supposed to just stand here and listen? Daphne begins doing what she does best — drifting off. Or, as she likes to think of it, tuning out in the right moments. She remembers in silent reading time in Elementary School, whilst the kids around her would be screaming and distracted, something in her was able to simply focus in on every word of the book and drown out the background noise.

She's almost in daydream territory when she sees it in the water. Full-developed, larger than life. Her mouth goes dry. In the photograph, the moonlight illuminates a grainy gnarled claw, bones protruding from rotting flesh. Suddenly she can smell it again, and phosphenes swim before her eyes at the memory of the strobing lights in Joyce's house. The faceless beast. The mere memory makes her break out into a cold sweat.

"That's it!" Nancy points to the photo, the smile wiped clean from her face. "That's what I saw at Steve's house."

"You saw that... in broad daylight?" Daphne stammers. If that is the case, then they're in deep shit.

Jonathan gasps quietly, taking the photos between his hands. "I... my mom... I thought she was crazy... she said she saw this thing break—"

"— Through the wall," Daphne completes his sentence, feeling more nauseous than before. Jonathan's eyes grow wide as he stares at her through the dark. "I know. I was with her yesterday. I'm telling you, Jonathan, she... she's been right all along." Especially with this new evidence. She can't be a crazy mother with a dead child any longer. Daphne almost feels proud for Joyce.

He nods slowly, starting to understand it himself. "And today," he continues, "when we went to see Will's body. She... she kept saying it wasn't him, it was a fake. She said she'd heard him, and that he was alive."

Will's alive. Could it be? Daphne doesn't want to hope too soon, but at this rate, anything seems possible...

"Then if Will's alive—"

"— Barbara."

"And maybe even Tonya," adds Daphne. "Three missing within days of each other? There has to be a link, for sure." All three of them could be alive.

Nodding as if to affirm his own wild thoughts, Jonathan looks up to the both of them. She knows what he is thinking — something truly strange is going on in this town, something beyond their comprehension. In stunned silence, the three of them try to take it all in, wondering both curiously and hesitantly what might be beneath the grim layers when they peel them back. Finally, it's Daphne who speaks.

     "Well," she says weakly, staring at the photos. "I guess I did want something exciting to finally happen in this town..."

━━━━━━

A/N;

i kind of have a love/hate relationship with this chapter, mainly because it was so difficult to find the scenes included as a reference (except for the ICONIC pant-pissing scene, of course, that's all over youtube!). but one thing i do love is how differently the delaney sisters react to will maybe being alive...

cath: hmm... is he though? i mean it'd be nice, but seems a little sus to me.
daphne: OH COOL 🤠

and one other thing... about a week ago, i impulsively planned the whole of paranormal out, chapter-by-chapter. i don't know where THAT inspiration came from, but i'm not complaining. anyway, i can tell you now that the whole book will have 24 chapters, so considering that we are almost halfway through the book!

— Imogen

[ Published: July 10th, 2021 ]