Stranger Cheers

[Author's Note: The long-running American sitcom Cheers is considered by many to be the best television comedy of all time. Stranger Things, as of this posting, is a one-season phenomenon that harkens back to the adventurous films of the early 1980s. Its place in the pantheon of scripted television is yet to be determined. However, one thing is clear… Cheers and Stranger Things were destined to crossover. You're welcome.]

CHAPTER 1

When Jim Hopper first heard the rumors about mysterious happenings in a bar in Boston, he was expecting something a bit shadier. The neighborhood seemed pretty decent, almost touristy. The sign on the street that read Cheers, est. 1895 was classy, although the stairs leading down from the street gave the impression of something seedy and secret.

But when Hopper pushed open the door, El's face brightened when she saw the big, bright, open room.

Eleven gasped in the way only she could. It was a sharp intake of breath through the nose, a widening of the eyes, but a mouth trained to remain motionless. "Pretty," she said quietly.

Hopper took in the wood-paneled bar through her eyes and decided it was, indeed, pretty. It was definitely the most well-lit bar he'd ever found himself in. The clientele was a step up from most of the establishments in Hawkins, that was for sure. The light made the rows of glasses hanging from the top of the bar twinkle. He cringed a bit at the kitschy decorations on the wall, but even those held a certain charm in this atmosphere that wouldn't carry over to another drinking hole.

Eleven began to walk to the bar determinedly and Hopper put a jog in his step to keep up as she went down the few steps to the main floor of the bar. He had to remind her later not to do that. Hopper was glad she felt confident enough to stride forward like that, but they still had to keep up appearances. How would it look to strangers to see a teenage girl leading around a grown man?

Hopper reached the bar first and planted himself on a stool at the corner. El seemed so pleased to be there, it was hard to stifle a laugh at the sight of her. She sat on the stool next to him and almost wiggled in anticipation, her eyes glancing around the bar, taking it all in. She looked like a little girl again, like when he'd first met her, not like most teenagers her age who would be practicing rolling their eyes and trying to appear unimpressed.

The way the ladies back home in Hawkins fussed over her these past few years, you'd think they would've packed her something pretty to wear for this trip to the big city. They probably had. Instead, El was wearing an oversized sweatshirt that read Massachusetts Institute of Technology and a Red Sox cap.

The MIT shirt had come from their mission earlier in the day checking out some force field or something or other. He hated that part of the job. But that MIT lab was a center of high electromagnetism, and as such, he and Eleven had been asked to check it out. Nothing bad had happened there, though. Not yet, anyway. Why people couldn't just leave that crap alone, he didn't know. Nothing good would come of it. El had seemed satisfied after getting the grand tour, and that was enough for him. He just prayed they wouldn't get called out there again anytime soon. That would mean trouble.

But regardless of the attire, she radiated a simple beauty. Her hair was long and straight and sleek under her cap, not teased or permed to high heaven like the other girls at school.

Hopper had bought the baseball cap after he saw El admiring one in a kiosk on the sidewalk. He was such a sucker. He'd buy her just about anything to see her smile. Hopper knew how hard El worked. He knew how much she suffered and sacrificed better than anybody. If getting ripped off by a souvenir stand was the price to pay to bring her a little happiness, it was worth it.

He knew this mission couldn't be far from her mind. They never were. But he was happy to see she was able to enjoy being someplace new and different, regardless of that weight on her shoulders.

The work would come later… If what he'd heard about this place was true and not just crazy gossip.

11-11-11-11-11

"Huh, take a look at that," Norm said quietly, elbowing Cliff to get his attention.

Cliff scanned the bar before shrugging in reply. "What's that then, Normie? I don't see anything amiss."

Norm tilted his chin in the direction of the other side of the bar. "That guy. And that girl. She's a little young for him, don't you think? A little young in general, if you know what I mean."

Cliff leaned to his left to try to get a better look before Norm nudged him back into place. "Come on, Cliff, don't be so obvious."

"Maybe that's his kid or something. What do you think, fifteen? Sixteen?"

"I don't know, but she's definitely not eighteen. And if that's his kid, why's he bringing her to a bar at ten o'clock at night on a school night?" Norm asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Huh," Cliff grunted thoughtfully.

Norm glanced across the bar again to find the man glaring at him.

"Anyone work here?" the man asked gruffly.

Norm looked around. No Sam or Carla in sight.

"There's probably some philosophizing going on in the back," Cliff stated, throwing a thumb over his shoulder. "I'm sure they'll be back in a minute."

Norm sighed heavily as he prepared to descend from his stool. "I'll take care of this," he muttered to his friend. Norm began to make his way behind the bar. "What'll it be, mister?" he asked the stranger.

"Now, now, Mr. Peterson, don't get up," Woody called as he entered the bar from the back hallway. He hustled to his place behind the bar. "I'm sorry, Mr. Peterson, I shouldn't have made you do that."

Norm headed back his stool. "I think you've learned a valuable lesson."

"Oh, for sure, Mr. Peterson," Woody replied seriously. "I'll just hold it in next time."

Cliff adjusted the belt of his mail carrier's uniform and cleared his throat. "Nah, nah, that's a bad health decision, buddy. You see, when you ignore these important messages from your body to perform certain, uh, bodily functions, you run the risk of…"

"For chrissakes," the man across the bar muttered, rolling his eyes.

The teenage girl by his side let her eyes dart in his direction before focusing them on Woody. There was an intensity to them, but it wasn't fear or anger. She merely seemed curious, and perhaps concerned.

"I'm sorry you had to wait, mister," Woody said, grabbing an empty glass. "How about the first one's on me?"

"Free beer? What would Sammy, say?" Norm chastised.

Cliff snorted. "Why's it matter to you if he gives the man a beer on the house?"

"Because if anyone deserves a beer on the house, it's me," Norm proclaimed. "He doesn't even know this guy!"

"I'm sorry, Mr. Peterson," Woody said, as he began filling the glass from the tap. He carried it carefully to Norm and placed it before him. "Here you go. On the house."

"I forgive you," Norm said, lifting it to his lips.

"Gosh, mister," Woody gasped, slapping his forehead and turning to face the man on the other side of the bar, "now I've made you wait even longer. What were you saying?"

The man clenched his jaw before forcing it to relax. "Wasn't saying anything."

"Oh, right. Your order." Woody licked the tip of a pencil and got his pad of paper ready. "What'll it be, pal? You want what he's having?"

"I don't drink," the man said.

"He doesn't drink, and he's bringing a kid to a bar," Norm said to Cliff with a knowing nod. "Is he about to rob the place? Preach at us?"

"I'm looking for Woody Boyd," the man stated.

Woody's face broke out in a huge grin. "Well, what do you know! My name's Woody Boyd! What a coincidence. I mean, I knew Boston was a big place, but what are the chances."

The man grimaced, laying his hands flat on the bar. The young woman seemed to be holding back a smile, but was watching the man carefully for his reaction.

"From Hanover, Indiana?" the man asked.

"Wow, mister! Are you a mind reader?" Woody asked.

The man looked confused, as if he couldn't tell if Woody was pulling his leg. But then the girl chuckled. The man seemed to relax at the sound and let the corner of his mouth rise in a half-smile.

"I know a relative of yours. Flo. She works for me in Hawkins."

"Aw, shucks! You know my mom's step-cousin-in-law? Wow, Hawkins? Talk about the big city! You must be Chief Hopper! You're famous!" Woody turned to the other side of the bar and called out, "Listen to this, guys, this man right here is a real-life hero, I mean it. He saved that town from aliens!"

"Really?" Norm asked doubtfully. "Didn't think Indiana had border problems."

"No, aliens," Woody corrected. "Almost wiped the place out! Grabbed people and gobbled them up! Almost burned the whole place down."

"Wow, is this true?" Cliff asked, ready to be convinced.

"The story's been…exaggerated," Hopper said.

Norm sipped his beer before uttering, "I think if there were aliens in, where did you say? Hawkins? We would've heard about it."

"Don't be so sure," Cliff said, leaning against the bar. "The government doesn't want us yokels to know about this sort of thing. There'd be panic and mayhem if we learned there were intelligent species out in the…"

"Can I talk to you?" Hopper interrupted, finally catching Woody's eye. "Without…them."

"Hey, anything you say to me, you can say in front of my friends, right, guys?" Woody asked, turning to Norm and Cliff for support. "We don't have secrets here in Cheers."

Hopper leaned forward in his seat and rested his elbows on the bar. "Alright, well, Flo says you've been having some problems here at Cheers. Disturbances."

"Sure, power surges, lights flickering," Woody replied, waving a hand to the ceiling.

"Faces pushing out of the walls," Cliff added nonchalantly.

Norm nodded. "And the hands… Don't forget the hands."

Woody chuckled. "When I first got here a few weeks ago and started hearing these stories, I just thought maybe either everyone was drinking a bit too much, or this place is haunted. But did you know Cheers was founded in 1895? That's almost one hundred years ago! Think of all the people who've probably died here!"

"How long has this been going on?" Hopper asked.

"Couple of months, I guess?" Woody looked to the other men for confirmation. Norm and Cliff nodded in response.

"Hey, you know, come to think of it," Norm said, tapping the bar, "it's gotten worse since Woody got here."

Woody's voiced cracked as he laughed nervously. "Come on now, Mr. Peterson. I'm sure that's not true." Woody reached for another glass. "You sure I can't get you anything, Mr. Hopper? I mean, Chief?"

"Sure, a pop. Any kind."

"And for you, honey?" Woody asked the girl.

"Get her a Shirley Temple," Hopper said. He turned to the girl and grinned. "You'll like it," he said to her. "It's right up your alley."

"So, uh, you came all the way to Boston from Hawkins, was it? Indiana?" Norm asked, a suspicious glint in his eye. "To see Woody about a haunted bar? With your, uh…"

"My daughter," Hopper said, accepting the glass. "She's out here visiting schools."

"Oh, yeah, that's right," Woody said. "Boston has some good schools, I heard."

After draining the bright red drink, the young woman tilted her head, as if hearing something no one else could. Her eyes shot to the other side of the bar, past Norm and Cliff, and to the hallway behind them. She slid down from her bar stool.

"Where are you going?" Hopper asked. He looked as though he were prepared to follow her, but changed his mind when he heard her answer.

"Bathroom."

"She gonna be alright?" Norm asked. "I mean, this is a bar… At ten o'clock… On a school night…"

Hopper kept his eye on her as she entered the dark hallway. "She can take care of herself."

"Uh, mister?" Cliff said. "Your daughter just walked into the men's room."