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CHAPTER ONE
lights out
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( the disappearance of will byers )

• °:.☆ . ₊°• ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

THE CONSTANT HUM OF electricity has grown to a faint buzzing in Laura's ears now that her eight-hour shift is coming to a close. Her nails tap boredly on the cheap laminate countertop that her right elbow digs into, her chin propped up in her hand as she counts the seconds on the clock. "Maneater" by Hall & Oates plays faintly in the background, but that drone of power is always louder. George is in desperate need of new speakers — as she and her coworkers have told her a million times, but he won't listen. Says people don't come here for the music, anyway.

And they don't come for the food, either, Laura has to bite her tongue to keep from retorting. George's Family Diner isn't particularly known for extraordinary cuisine. But then again, nothing is extraordinary in Hawkins.

The lights flicker, burning more brightly for a second before returning back to their usual, washed-out luminescence. Laura sighs and rubs her aching eyes with her knuckles. Colors swarm her vision, yellows and purples conflating to form an ugly mass of swirls before her eyesight clears again. Ten more minutes. Ten minutes and then she can get the hell out of here.

"Watch out, boy, she'll — you —"

The skipped lyrics irk some distant part of her brain that had been subconsciously singing along. She blinks out of her daze and darts her eyes toward the jukebox next to the front door, where two young boys have begun rocking the machine back and forth.

Laura glances at the only table remaining. The mother is trying to stop a toddler from eating crayons and the father is doing nothing to help. Neither parent acknowledges their sons' misbehavior, so Laura rolls her eyes.

"Please don't rock the jukebox," she calls out flatly. Her monotone voice cuts through the otherwise quiet establishment like a blade.

The boys — probably eight and six — whirl around with wide eyes like deer in headlights, as if they'd forgotten that people work here and they aren't alone in the restaurant. The jukebox struggles to recover even after the assault has stopped.

"Oh-oh, here — comes — a maneater—"

All the lights shut off at once.

Laura notices the silence before her brain registers the abrupt darkness. For once, the electrical buzzing of the fluorescent lights is gone, and now her ears are met with nothing but ringing silence to fill the void. The song has cut out for good. Even the parents and kids have fallen completely quiet, struggling to adjust to the pitch blackness.

She blinks, lifting her chin from her hand, darting her eyes across the shadows blanketing the quaint dining area. A chill shoots down her spine when she notices that the windows facing the street reveal nothing but darkness. The hairs on the nape of her neck shoot up as some sixth sense picks up something she can't place. She's used to power outages, but for some reason, this one seems... sinister.

And then everything resumes again. Laura winces, shielding her eyes from the blinding brightness of the lights flickering back on. Hall & Oates resume their serenade over the crackling speakers. The electric hum has returned like an ever-present swarm of bees next to her ear.

"Oh, watch out, watch out, watch out..."

The boys scurry back to their family's table, thoroughly freaked out by the sudden power outage, leaving the jukebox alone and allowing the song to fade as it ends. The toddler begins to cry. Its piercing wail makes Laura cringe again, pulling at her checkered scrunchie to tighten her ponytail.

Eight minutes.

"Laura! What was that?"

The voice of her boss causes Laura to jump. Even though she'd already completed all of her closing tasks — except counting the drawer, which can't be done until that family leaves — she quickly grabs a napkin and wipes invisible streaks from the counter. George hates it when he catches her doing nothing, even if there's nothing to do.

"Not sure!" she replies, angling her head toward the back rooms behind her, where George is hiding in his office like always. "Looked like everything around us lost power, too."

The diner is surrounded by several other businesses, and there hadn't been a single bit of light seeping through the large windows facing Main Street. It was as if the world itself had gone dark— not even the street lamps had been lit. For a single moment, Hawkins, Indiana had gone silent.

Seemingly eager to leave, the family scoops up their children and hauls them to the register. Laura forces a cheerful smile onto her face as the father hands her their receipt and cash with a stony expression. The mother is still trying to calm her toddler while the younger boy's arm is clutched in her hand.

"All ready to go?" Laura asks as she counts the money. It's exact change, down to the penny.

The man gives her a huff that's apparently supposed to mean yes and grabs a toothpick from the glass cup on the counter. The distinct stench of cigarettes wafts from him, and for a second, Laura pities his wife and kids for having to put up with the awful smell.

"Alright." She prints off a customer copy of the receipt and passes it to him. "Have a wonderful night. Drive home safe and thanks for eating at George's."

The family leaves without saying a single word to her, which doesn't give her hope for what she'll find at their table. Laura closes the register and approaches the booth with a cringe. Half-destroyed crayons litter the red seats and floor, chocolate-covered handprints (toddler-sized) stick to the table from a spilled milkshake... and no tip.

"Hurry it up," George tells her as he walks into the dining area from his office, relying heavily on his right leg. He lights a cigar in his mouth. "Hank's almost done in the kitchen and I wanna go home."

"Yeah, me too," Laura grumbles under her breath when her back is turned to him.

"What did you just say?"

"Nothing, sir."

"Better've been." George fiddles with his lighter and makes no offer to help Laura with the final table. "You kids are lucky I employ you. Lotta folks ain't willing to put faith in teenagers."

After a year of working at his family diner — having started the day she turned fifteen — Laura should be used to this treatment by now. She should be able to brush off George's snide remarks as he gets older and grumpier with each passing day. After all, she's usually the only waitress working the night shift. None of the older ones want to, and George keeps her on the schedule because he knows she needs the money. But if she's still working even a minute past eleven o'clock, he'll huff and puff until she's done. Legally, he can't leave her alone at the diner. If the police station hadn't been a block away, Laura suspects that he'd regularly let her fend for herself.

By the time Laura climbs into her dad's 1978 Dodge Challenger and immediately puts her aching feet on the dashboard, it's 11:20, and she has school tomorrow.

"Feet off the dash," her dad tells her immediately.

Laura sighs but obeys, sitting upright and placing her white Reebok sneakers on the floor. She uncomfortably adjusts the hem of her mustard yellow waitress dress. She'd grown since last year, but George refuses to get another uniform made.

"How was work?" her father asks as he shifts gears and begins the slow drive down a half-dark Main Street. Some of the businesses still have power outages, but a few lights remain on, their brightness reflecting on the lenses of the wire-framed glasses that he wears when he reads or drives.

"Same as always," Laura replies as she crosses her arms over her chest. Her gaze follows the street lamps as they drive, a scowl on her lips. "George made some vague threat that was total bogus. He's not going to fire me— he needs me to work these shifts."

"Is that what the kids are saying these days? 'Bogus.' I'm not sure I know what that one means."

"Bullshit."

"Excuse me?"

"No, I mean, it means something like bullshit. Lies, blasphemy..."

"Good, because if you were cursing at me, I might've made you wash your mouth out with soap when we got home."

Laura glances at her father to see him trying — and failing — to hide a smile. She finds herself mimicking his infectious grin. The idea of him punishing her for foul language is laughable; after all, it's mostly because of him that she has such a vibrant vocabulary.

The corners of her dad's eyes are wrinkled with crow's feet when he smiles, but other than that, he's still very youthful in appearance. Most of her friends' fathers have graying hair and pronounced lines on puffy faces. Tim Fairer's black locks are still as dark as they were when Laura was born, and the only marks on his pale face are from smile lines.

Laura has always gotten along well with her dad. Her mom...

Luckily, her mother is asleep by the time they arrive home. Laura's father gives her a kiss on the forehead and wishes her goodnight before she creeps up the stairs, tip-toeing past her sister's closed door, then finally heaves a sigh of relief once she reaches her bedroom.

Moonlight seeps through her sheer curtains, illuminating her beige carpet in odd patterns. Laura quickly turns on her bedside lamp to cast a warm glow— she's sick of being in the dark. She wrestles with the buttons on her uniform before chucking it onto the floor and yanking on a soft nightgown. She barely remembers to take her hair out of its ponytail before tumbling into bed.

As she's immediately whisked away by sleep, the lamp on her nightstand flickers out.

—°• ☆ . °—

Laura shoves a granola bar into her mouth and uses her now-free hand to clumsily twist the combination on her locker. Its interior is messy, her textbooks reminding her of the midterm exams that are rapidly approaching, along with the mountain of studying she has to do on top of her late shifts at work. Would George murder her if he noticed she was writing chemical equations on the corners of her order tickets?

Probably. She'll have to find some other time to study.

She grabs her US History supplies before slamming the door closed and rushing to the adjacent hallway. Their lockers go alphabetical by surname and grades are grouped together, so in order to get to the small 'W' section of the Sophomore wing, she has to—

"'We just... made out a couple times,'" the soft voice of her friend, Barbara Holland, sarcastically repeats. Laura's eyes are automatically drawn to the sound and her heart does an acrobatic leap in her chest.

Nancy Wheeler is beautiful as always, her light brown hair held back from her diamond-shaped face with clips she'd once borrowed from Laura and never given back. Her petite frame is obscured by a striped skirt that falls below her knee, white tights, and a gray jacket that almost hides her pale pink sweater from view. But Laura knows that she's wearing it because she knows Nancy like the back of her hand.

The difference between Nancy and Laura's outfits is almost laughable. While Nancy's is full of pastels that coalesce to suggest a sort of sweetness and modesty, Laura's is ... well. In her half-asleep scramble to get ready this morning, she'd pulled on a pair of blue jeans and a white turtleneck shirt that she'd layered under a forest green button-up, which she hadn't bothered to button. She's still wearing her dad's old brown trucker jacket with its well-worn sherpa lining. It's the best thing to battle out the crisp air of early November. The front section of her hair is tied back with a green scrunchie, the rest barely brushed.

Nancy looks like she'd walked straight out of a Sears catalogue. Clean lines, soft colors, and unwrinkled fabrics. Laura may as well have just been picked up on the side of the road.

"Nance, seriously," Barb continues as she leans against the neighboring locker. "You're gonna be so cool now, it's ridiculous."

"No, I'm not," Nancy sheepishly argues, her eyes drifting to the red-haired girl. Then they catch sight of Laura standing like an idiot in the middle of the hallway behind Barb. Her granola bar is still half-hanging out of her mouth, she'd barely gotten sleep last night, and she looks like an idiot, jeez—

"You better still hang out with me and Laura, that's all I'm saying." Barb shrugs. When Laura approaches them and stops beside her, the girl says, "Speak of the devil. Laura, tell Nancy that she's not allowed to call off a single girl's night for Steve Harringto—"

Nancy quickly covers Barb's mouth. "Shhh!" Her eyes are alight with warning, flickering around the corridor to see if someone heard. (They didn't, because the three of them have never made a blip on anyone's radar in fifteen years.)

(Except now. Except Nancy.)

"I'm telling you, it was a one-time..." Barb raises her brows expectantly, forcing the truth out of Nancy, "two time... thing."

Laura swallows a painfully large chunk of granola and asks, "So things are working out? Are you guys...?"

She lifts both pointer fingers and connects them at the fingertips.

Nancy shoots her a quizzical look, placing a textbook into her locker. "Is that some new code, Laur? Because I don't think I know that one."

Laura and Barb share a knowing look. Nancy is merely trying to dodge the question. She and Hawkins's Golden Boy, Steve Harrington, have been skirting around each other for the past few weeks, and it's only a matter of time before things get serious. Which makes Laura want to projectile vomit for multiple reasons. But she'd never tell Nancy that.

Barb pointedly pushes her square glasses further up her nose when Nancy unfolds a piece of notebook paper from her locker and reveals the message, Meet me. Bathroom. —Steve

"He has such a way with words," Laura swoons sarcastically.

Nancy reaches over to swat her, but she's smiling as she regards the concise note scrawled in blue marker. She glances at the two girls as asking their permission.

Barb laughs, the sound mellifluous, and jerks her head in the direction of the closest bathroom. "Go."

Nancy bites her lip and shuts her locker. "See you in Chem?"

"Go!"

They watch her move toward the bathroom, trying to hide the eagerness in her steps as she dodges other students in the crowded hall. Laura is happy for Nancy, really — she's never seen her get so giddy like this, her light eyes are always shining, she has a spring in her step, and she deserves to like someone who feels the same way.

"You have granola crumbs on your shirt," Barb tells her.

Laura quickly looks down and starts brushing the fabric of her jacket with her hand. "Oh, rats."

I'm happy, is what Laura tells herself when Nancy whispers Steve's plan to climb through her window tonight and help her study for the Chemistry test tomorrow, even though they'd had plans to study together at Laura's.

I'm happy, is what Laura tells herself when Nancy spends the whole lunch period talking about how she's worried she's going to get caught with a boy in her room.

I'm happy, is what Laura tells herself when Steve's friends, Carol and Tommy, give her the stink eye in the hallway for no apparent reason. Now that Nancy is on Steve's radar, it means that Laura and Barb are on theirs. And it's not like those two are going to "help Barb and Laura study" anytime soon.

But the truth is, by the time the school day ends, Laura is almost looking forward to locking herself in her room so she can fool herself into thinking she'll pass tomorrow's test. At least she won't hear any mention of Steve.

She drags Barb along so the two can catch up. Since Laura has been working so much, she's only seen her friends at school, which was why Nancy was supposed to come over, too. She only has two days off this week. And if Steve manages to indirectly ruin tomorrow, too, she's going to flip her lid.

Laura's mother is sitting tensely on the sofa when the girls enter the house. That's unusual— usually, she'd be starting on dinner by now. It's unlike her to be waiting for Laura to arrive home.

Her feathered hair is styled so the front section curls away from her face, her angled eyes filled with something heavy when she looks at the girls. It's from her that Laura gets her Japanese descent. They share the same hair texture and East Asian features, but Laura is mixed with some of her dad's Ashkenazi Jewish traits.

"Hey, mom," Laura greets her, trying to shove town the gnawing feeling of apprehension in her gut. "Everything okay?"

"Karen was just over," her mother says, referring to Mrs. Wheeler. "She said that Michael's friend, that Will Byers boy, is missing."

Laura's stomach drops. She's known Nancy's little brother since he was born, and, by extension, his nerdy little group of friends. She and Nance used to dress up for their Dungeons and Dragons campaigns. Will has always been smaller than the other boys, so sweet and quiet. For him to be missing—

"What? But I haven't — we haven't heard anything about it—" Laura stammers.

"The police are waiting to make an official statement until they can find enough clues and make sure he wasn't just a runaway," her mom continues. "But they questioned Michael and his friends at school today. They're having a search party look for him out in the woods, and your father is going straight after work."

Laura plops down into the closest armchair and stares at the floor without seeing. Will Byers. A twelve-year-old kid. Missing. But he'll be okay, right? He has to be. Will probably just got lost on his way back home or something.

But a part of her brain that doesn't know how to shut up reminds her that Will had taken the route from Mike's house to his thousands of times. She's seen him ride his bike past her bedroom window and into the Wheelers' driveway across the street. He's too smart to get lost.

"I thought you girls should know," her mom says. "Hello, Barbara. I'll call your mother and tell her we'll drive you home later tonight."

"O—Okay, yeah." Barb nods. "Thanks, Mrs. Fairer."

Laura feels her friend's hand on her shoulder. She blinks to clear her vision and says, "Things like this don't happen in Hawkins."

"I know," Barb says soothingly. "Which is why they'll find him soon."

She tries to shove that hope deep into her gut, worming it between the worry and despair that are rapidly setting in. But hope is a fleeting thing that doesn't like to stay. Not when her father returns from the search party, soaked to the bone from the thunderstorm raging outside but with no news of Will. Not when she and Barb have to endure a painfully silent dinner with her parents where they try to discuss anything but the obvious monster looming over their heads.

And not when Laura has to pretend she doesn't see Steve sneaking in and out of Nancy's window from across the street.

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a/n:

not too fond of this first chapter since the teens don't do much in the pilot :/ but i wanted to add some special barb moments because she is amazing!!!

thank you guys so much for reading❤️ i promise things will get better as time passes and i get into the groove of the story

—kristyn

( word count: 3.3k )