chapter five. the flea and the acrobat

𝐁𝐘 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄 𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐙𝐀𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐇 𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐍𝐄𝐃 𝐇𝐎𝐌𝐄 𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌 𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐖𝐀𝐋𝐊, the sun had already dipped below the horizon, casting an orange glow across the sky and deepening the shadows around the house. She trudged down the familiar path toward the front porch, feeling the cool evening air prickling her skin. She didn’t notice the new tarp hastily thrown over a hole in the wall — too lost in her thoughts to register much besides the familiar creak of the floorboards under her feet as she pushed the door open.

Inside, darkness greeted her, the faint scent of dust and something stale lingering in the air. The Christmas lights her mother had strung haphazardly across the room were still turned off, casting an eerie silence over the house. As her eyes adjusted to the dimness, she noticed the alphabet scrawled on the wall, the letters painted in crude, uneven strokes.

But it wasn’t the state of the house that made her heart lurch.

Sitting on the couch beside her mother was a figure she hadn’t expected — or wanted — to see.

Her father.

Elizabeth felt her breath catch as old, buried memories clawed their way to the surface. Her stomach twisted in a mixture of shock and anger, emotions so thick they nearly overwhelmed her.

In the middle of the room, Jonathan stood awkwardly, looking as if he’d rather be anywhere else.

“What the hell is he doing here?” Elizabeth demanded, her voice sharp and cold as she glared at her father. The room seemed to go still, her words hanging heavy in the air.

Lonnie stood up, his hands raised as if trying to pacify her. “Hey, hey, hey,” he said, his voice casual, dismissive. “Your mother’s upset enough, we don’t need you throwing one of your tantrums like always.” His words landed like a slap, dredging up every ounce of resentment she’d tried so hard to bury. He turned toward the kitchen, acting as if her anger was nothing more than a childish outburst.

Elizabeth clenched her fists, nails biting into her palms. She shot her father a glare as he disappeared around the corner, her heart pounding with the familiar surge of frustration and fury he always managed to provoke.

Jonathan stepped toward her, his expression serious but uncertain. “Liz… I need to talk to you,” he murmured, glancing toward their father to make sure he wasn’t listening.

“Sure, later,” she replied, waving him off, her tone clipped. She moved to sit on the couch beside her mother, hoping the physical proximity would anchor her turbulent emotions. Her father’s sudden reappearance had stirred up old wounds she’d tried so hard to ignore, bringing back memories she’d rather forget. She took a deep breath, trying to remind herself that there were more urgent things to worry about — things bigger than the anger clawing at her insides.

Elizabeth leaned back, trying to center herself. After a long, tense silence, she glanced over at her mother, concern creeping into her voice. “Mom… are you okay? Is Dad… is he bothering you?"

Her mother, Joyce, shook her head quickly. “No, no. He’s… just here for the night. On the couch,” she assured, though her voice wavered. She reached over, taking Elizabeth’s hands in her own, her touch warm but trembling. “He wanted to be here for the funeral. For… support.”

Elizabeth’s gaze softened as she looked into her mother’s tired eyes, the weight of everything they’d been through visible in the lines etched on her face. Her mother was trying to be strong, but the faint tremble in her hands gave her away. Elizabeth squeezed her mother’s hands gently, silently vowing to keep watch.

Just then, Lonnie emerged from Jonathan’s room, his presence breaking the fragile peace in the room. His mere presence ignited a fresh wave of anger within her, but she forced herself to swallow it, if only for her mother’s sake.

“I’ll go talk to Jonathan,” she whispered to her mom. “You… you try to get some sleep, okay?” Elizabeth gently released her mother’s hands and stood, casting one last reassuring glance at her before walking down the hallway.

The floor creaked beneath her feet as she made her way toward Jonathan’s room, the dim light casting long shadows along the walls. She paused at the doorway, steeling herself before knocking softly.

Jonathan was sitting on his bed, his gaze distant and troubled. He looked up, and for a moment, he seemed to search her face for understanding.

“Hey, you said you wanted to talk about something,” Elizabeth said quietly, stepping into the room. She sat down cross-legged on his bed, her posture open, a silent invitation for him to speak.

“Yeah…” Jonathan’s voice was barely above a whisper. He swallowed hard, his hands fidgeting as he tried to find the words. “The… the monster you and Mom saw…”

Elizabeth’s stomach twisted, her mind flashing back to that night, the terror that had gripped her as she faced the impossible. She had almost pushed the memory to the back of her mind — until now. She narrowed her eyes, unsure if she wanted to revisit it, but Jonathan pressed on, his voice firmer.

“It’s real,” he continued, his tone pleading. “Nancy… she saw it too. In the woods, around Steve’s house.”

Elizabeth’s eyes widened, disbelief mingling with a flicker of hope that maybe she wasn’t alone in what she had seen. “Nancy Wheeler?” she asked, her tone incredulous. Jonathan nodded, looking slightly embarrassed.

“And… Steve Harrington?” she added, raising an eyebrow. Jonathan nodded again, his expression dead serious.

“I… I took a picture of it,” he said, his voice thick with regret. “I’m sorry, Liz. I should have believed you and Mom. It’s just… it sounded so absurd. I thought maybe you were just seeing things because of… everything.”

His words tumbled out in a rush, a mixture of guilt and self-reproach that cut through Elizabeth’s lingering anger. She placed a gentle hand on his arm, grounding him.
“It’s okay, Jon,” she murmured, her voice soft. “It’s hard to believe. I mean, I barely believed it myself. But… are you sure about this? That it’s real?”

Jonathan nodded. Elizabeth sighed, running a weary hand down her face. "Nancy and I are trying to figure out how to deal with it. We can't let it hurt anyone else."

Elizabeth's mind raced as she processed this new information. "Do you have the picture? Can I see it?"

Jonathan nodded, and the determination in his eyes left little room for doubt. Elizabeth’s heart pounded as her mind raced, piecing together what this meant. The danger was real, and it was closer than she had feared.

“Do you… have the picture?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. “Can I see it?”
Jonathan reached over to his bag, pulling out a crumpled photograph. He handed it to her, his fingers trembling slightly. Elizabeth took it, her heart racing as she gazed at the blurry yet unmistakable figure captured in the image. It was monstrous, something out of a nightmare — and it sent a chill down her spine.

For a long moment, she couldn’t look away.

𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐙𝐀𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐇 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐎𝐃 𝐁𝐄𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐑𝐄𝐅𝐋𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍, fingers gripping the edges of the bathroom sink as she stared into her own weary eyes. She barely recognized the girl in the mirror; dark circles etched beneath her eyes, despite her best efforts to conceal them, seemed to deepen the longer she looked. She hadn’t slept in days, her face pale and hollow, each line and crease a testament to the fear and grief she'd been bottling up since Will disappeared.

Straightening her black dress, she tugged at the hem and picked off a stray lint, more to keep her hands busy than out of care for appearances. The dress felt foreign, too formal, too tight, like it was suffocating her. She drew in a shaky breath, trying to muster the strength to face the crowd waiting downstairs. The very thought of standing in front of all those people, accepting their empty condolences and pitying looks, made her feel sick.

The funeral, held a few hours later, felt like a slow, agonizing blur. Elizabeth stood at the graveside with her mother, watching as the casket was lowered into the ground, a hollow ache pressing down on her chest. Beside her, Joyce clutched the edge of her coat, her knuckles white, as if holding herself together by sheer force of will. Elizabeth didn't believe Will was in that casket, not really. And from the glances her mother gave the casket, Elizabeth knew she felt the same.

Hours later, the funeral felt like a slow, agonizing blur. Elizabeth stood at the graveside with her mother, watching as the casket was lowered into the ground, a hollow ache pressing down on her chest. Beside her, Joyce clutched the edge of her coat, her knuckles white, as if holding herself together by sheer force of will. Elizabeth didn't believe Will was in that casket, not really. And from the glances her mother gave the casket, Elizabeth knew she felt the same.

As the funeral speaker’s voice droned on, Elizabeth's attention drifted. She fiddled with the rings on her fingers, twisting them absently, her mind churning with thoughts. The condolences, the murmured reassurances, they all felt pointless, like echoes in a hollow room. No one else understood the strange, nagging sensation that told her Will wasn’t gone. Not yet.

After the crowd began to disperse, Elizabeth's gaze landed on Cameron, standing apart from the others. A flicker of determination sparked in her chest as she made her way over to him, her heels crunching on the gravel path. Without a word, she grabbed his jacket and pulled him aside, away from prying eyes and overheard whispers.

“Hey, Liz,” he greeted her softly, his voice a mixture of concern and surprise. “How are you holding up?”

“Cut the bullshit, Cameron.” Her voice came out sharp, edged with frustration and something deeper. “I’m going monster hunting. You want in?”

Cameron blinked, the look of utter bewilderment on his face might have made her laugh any other day. But now, it only amplified the urgency bubbling within her.

Still, Cameron Sinclair could never say no to Elizabeth Byers.

𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐎𝐍 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐊𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐀𝐑 on the narrow gravel shoulder by the edge of the forest, the headlights casting weak beams into the shadowy underbrush before he cut the engine. Silence closed in around them, thick and eerie in the stillness of the night. Elizabeth took a deep breath as she stepped out, the cool night air prickling her skin, and heard Cameron quietly shut his door behind her.

"So, what did you bring?" Cameron asked, his voice low, almost reverent in the quiet of the woods.

Elizabeth shrugged, reaching into her backpack and pulling out a large kitchen knife. It gleamed faintly under the moonlight, looking both dangerous and slightly ridiculous.

Cameron raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Really, Betty? A kitchen knife?" He let out a nervous laugh, attempting to lighten the atmosphere, but Elizabeth could sense the tension in his voice.

“What?” She crossed her arms defensively. “It’s the biggest one I have. It’s not like I had time to hit up an armory,” she shot back, though her own nerves made her voice waver slightly. “Like you have something better.”

Cameron’s smirk deepened as he reached into his backpack, pulling out a gun. It was small, barely larger than his hand, but seeing it in his grip made Elizabeth’s heart skip.

“Where did you get that?” she demanded, her voice a mix of shock and, if she were honest, just a touch of admiration.

“My dad’s,” Cameron said, his voice soft as he looked down at the weapon. “He keeps a few around the house. I’ve never used one — just, you know, messed around with the safety a few times. But I know enough to be careful.”

Elizabeth felt a flicker of relief and worry all at once. “Let’s just hope we don’t have to use it,” she murmured, glancing around at the ominous shadows stretching between the trees.

“Yeah,” Cameron replied, trying to laugh but sounding more nervous than before. “Let’s hope.”

They exchanged a look, and in that moment, Elizabeth realized just how far out of their depth they were. Still, she steeled herself, gripping the kitchen knife a little tighter. “Let’s go monster hunting,” she said, more to bolster her own courage than his, and turned toward the dark expanse of trees.

The forest swallowed them as they ventured deeper, the crunch of leaves underfoot the only sound. Elizabeth led the way, her flashlight sweeping across the shadows while Cameron followed close, his eyes flickering from side to side as if half-expecting something to lunge at them from the darkness. The branches above seemed to reach down, casting twisted shadows across their faces, and the air grew colder the further they walked.

After what felt like hours, Cameron let out a sigh of frustration. “Alright, Liz, are you gonna tell me why we’re actually out here?” he demanded, breaking the silence. “Or are we just gonna keep wandering around in the middle of the night?”

Elizabeth bit her lip, gripping the knife so hard her knuckles turned white. She didn’t want to look at him. “You didn’t have to come,” she muttered, though even she could hear how unconvincing she sounded.

“Yeah, but I did,” he replied, the edge in his voice softening as he looked at her. "I’m gonna need some answers."

She stopped, the words hovering on the tip of her tongue, and turned to face him, letting the knife fall to her side. His eyes searched hers, waiting for an answer, and for a moment she wondered if he regretted coming at all.

“Fine,” she sighed, the tension in her shoulders loosening slightly as she gave in. “You know how everyone thinks my mom’s losing it? How she’s been going on about… things? Things that aren’t supposed to be real, crawling out of walls?”

Cameron shifted uncomfortably. “I don’t think she’s crazy,” he said carefully. “Grief does strange things to people. I mean, sometimes—”

“I saw it too.” The words slipped out before she could second-guess herself, her voice barely above a whisper. Cameron stared at her, his expression hardening as the reality of what she was saying settled over him. She took a deep, steadying breath, feeling the weight of it all pressing down on her shoulders. “I was there. That night. When she saw it—whatever it was. And I saw it too.”

The silence stretched between them, thick and weighted, as Cameron’s expression shifted slowly from confusion to something darker, tinged with worry. His eyes narrowed, scrutinizing Elizabeth like he was searching for a punchline that hadn’t come. “Are you messing with me right now? Is this some… weird prank, or—”

“No, Cam.” Elizabeth’s voice was low but edged with a brittle sharpness, her words landing like stones. She clenched her fists at her sides, her gaze hard and unyielding. “I’m not. I saw it, alright? It was real. There was this… thing. I don’t even know what it was, but I swear it came out of the wall, and it… what if it got Will?”

For a moment, Cameron didn’t respond. He just stared at her, shifting his weight from foot to foot, clearly uncomfortable. Finally, he let out a shaky breath. “Liz, that… that doesn’t make sense,” he said, and his voice was softer, like he was trying to steady himself. “You’re talking about monsters? In Hawkins?”

“Yeah, well, none of this makes sense!” The words shot out of her, louder than she intended, echoing briefly in the silence of the woods. Her chest heaved with the weight of it, the bottled-up confusion and anger spilling over. “But it happened, Cameron. And now Will’s gone, and my mom thinks he’s still alive, and maybe I do too—” Her voice faltered, a crack slipping through the edges of her frustration. “I need to know. I need to know if there’s something out here.”

Cameron’s shoulders sagged, and he cast a wary glance around the shadow-drenched trees as if half-expecting something to materialize from the darkness. “So, what… we’re just hoping we’ll run into it? That’s the plan?”

Elizabeth felt her defenses spike. She crossed her arms, her voice snapping back in a strained tone. “You don’t have to believe me, okay? I know you probably think I’m crazy too.”

“No, Liz, it’s not that,” Cameron said, his voice softening, even as he struggled to find the words. His face softened, frustration giving way to something more vulnerable. “It’s just… why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

Elizabeth turned away, her eyes fixed on the ground as a sharp pang hit her. She hadn’t meant for this conversation to go this way, for him to sound so… hurt. “Well, you made sure to let me know where your priorities are these days, and it’s pretty clear I’m not one of them.”

“That’s not true.” His response was instant, quiet but firm. Elizabeth looked at him, surprised by the intensity in his voice. The way he held her gaze made something twist inside her, but she quickly shrugged it off, pushing her feelings back down where they belonged.

“Feels true,” she muttered, her voice barely above a whisper.

Cameron let out a frustrated sigh, a faint glimmer of hurt flashing across his face. “I’m here now, aren’t I?”

Elizabeth’s eyes softened, her voice wavering with an unsteady edge. “Yeah… you are.”

The quiet that followed felt almost peaceful, like maybe they were finally starting to understand each other again. But the moment shattered in an instant when a piercing scream sliced through the night, a raw, desperate sound that reverberated through the trees.

The scream jolted them, their bodies freezing as adrenaline surged through their veins. Elizabeth’s wide-eyed gaze met Cameron’s, and without a word, they bolted, urgency and fear coursing through them as they moved together, instincts guiding them through the dark. Their earlier tension faded, replaced by the sharp edge of dread that hung thick in the cool night air.