Chapter 3: Christmas With the Devil

"So come all ye unfaithful

Don't be left out in the cold

You don't need no invitation, no

Your ticket is your soul"

December 25th, 1985

POV: Winter Reid

I step outside and the steam from the casserole in my arms rises into the night air. My gaze fixes upon the trailer directly across from mine. I walk quickly, feeling my eyes already watering from the stark cold.

Eddie Munson is always there, never too far away when I need him most. It didn't take long after we met before I started running to him whenever things got bad in my trailer. When my parents' screaming rattled the windows and no amount of music could tune them out, I would climb out of my bedroom window, run across the dirt, and stop under the small rectangle of light that shined from Eddie's bedroom. He wouldn't say a word as my uncoordinated, gangly limbs clamored into his room. Eddie would lean over and turn on the lamp while I ducked under the covers. A mug of steaming tea was always sitting by his bed. He didn't like coffee and he found that mint and lemon was the best combination to soothe his vocal chords and pacify his scattered mind.

He let me lay in his bed, curling myself into a ball next to him as he lay on his back. He would pull out a well-loved copy of The Lord of the Rings, it was a paperback of all three volumes bound together. Eddie always kept it under his pillow. Flipping to a random passage he would begin to read aloud. His voice was warm and soft. Depending on the characters, his tone would deepen, or pick up, but not in that obnoxious way that a parent might read to a toddler. His voice lulled me to sleep and painted a world behind my eyelids. A world of green and sunlight, where parents didn't throw dishes, and where two friends could wander out to find adventure.

I would close my eyes and listen to him read as the warmth from his skin radiated over to mine. I tucked into the duvet, shaking from fear and from running through the night air. One of his fingers would tap a rhythm onto the side of the book as he read. His voice carried a melodic, rich tone. He always spoke in a sing-song way. All of his ramblings had crescendos, valleys, and peaks. I could listen to his voice for hours.

The warm, orange glow of the lamp smoldered up the walls, reminding me of the blaze of a fire. The rain added a soft background track to Eddie's narration, and if I leaned closer I could hear his heart thumping out a soft, steady drum beat. He smelled lightly of pine, tobacco, and wild lavender.

He reminds me of an early morning walk in the woods; cool, sharp air filling your lungs; light drizzle from dark clouds misting your skin; a spectacle of golden light emerging through the darkness. I've always thought if people were places, then I'd be the sea and Eddie would be the forest.

Eventually, the soft thrum of his voice mixing with the fragrance of his skin made my eyelids grow heavy. Eddie would continue to read:

"I know. It's all wrong. By rights we shouldn't even be here. But we are. It's like in the great stories, Mr. Frodo. The ones that really mattered. Full of darkness and danger, they were. And sometimes you didn't want to know the end. Because how could the end be happy? How could the world go back to the way it was when so much bad had happened? But in the end, it's only a passing thing, this shadow. Even darkness must pass. A new day will come."

I knock softly on the trailer door and hear a small shuffle from the other side. A boy opens it up with a wide grin, wearing a Metallica t-shirt and a lopsided Santa hat.

"HO HO HO!" he bellows, swinging forward out of the door, causing me to lean backwards in surprise.

"What are you wearing?" I ask, shivering.

His arms move up and grab the top of the door, his body stretches to its full height as he looks down at me.

"I'm Santa," he says, batting the white fuzzy ball at the end of the hat like a cat with a toy, "Y'know? Naughty or nice, sit on my lap... it's the best day of the year." He smiles cheekily.

"Am I interrupting something or are you just sitting, alone, in your trailer, wearing a Santa hat?" I ask.

He bites back a smile, looking very pleased with himself. "Right now?" His hands drop and slide into the back pocket of his jeans as he looks around innocently. "Nah. There's no party happening right now."

I raise my eyebrows suspiciously.

"She already left." He says finally, and I nod my head, confirming what I already expected.

Who she is, I have no clue. I never usually meet the girls that Eddie "dates", and I myself don't have any experience in that area so I don't pry. The girls I do see leave from my vantage point across the way are usually the same exact type. Ripped stockings, dark eyeshadow, multiple piercings.

Eddie looks proud of himself, as if I should offer him a high-five.

Instead, I hold up the casserole dish, shaking it lightly.

"Well, I come bearing gifts."

He raises a fist in cheer, then bows backwards, extending his arm across the threshold into his trailer.

"After you," he says, still bent at the waist. I stomp the sludge off of my boots and step inside.
I shrug off my jacket and Eddie takes it from me, hanging it on the hooks by the door.

"Christ. It's cold out there," I mutter. I set the casserole down on the small kitchen table.

"Didn't you have any big plans tonight?" He asks, his arms crossed. I look up at him, he knows perfectly well I never have plans.

"No. Christmas is a bust," I shrug slowly, "Same as every year." I mutter, mostly to myself, "There is nothing redeemable about this holiday."

"Aw - you can't be a Scrooge today! This is your holiday. You can't hate it." He pulls the Santa hat off of his head and walks towards the table. He leans over the casserole and inhales deeply.

I move across his kitchen, already knowing my way around, and rummage through a drawer looking for a spatula. The objects clatter as I dig. Eddie Munson slides over and leans against the counter, watching me.

"Why are you so frosty?" He says with a grin. "Did someone forget to go down your chimney last night?"

"Winter is a long season, okay?" I snap quickly. The spatula must be hiding from me, so I begin taking things out and setting them down loudly on the counter. "It's not just Christmas lights and presents. It's black ice, and frozen grass-" I begin to rant, holding up a pizza cutter.

"Snow falling quietly in the morning, hot chocolate, snowball fights-" Eddie cuts me off.

"Hypothermia, brown sludge -" I toss a whisk onto the island of lost kitchen utensils.

"Soup!" Eddie yells. He's finding my complaining very amusing.

"Seasonal affective disorder." I say, looking at him with raised eyebrows. He tilts his head, confused.

"Okay," he begins counting on his fingers, "Sledding, hockey, cozy sweaters, hot tubs, cuddling..." He leans closer to me with every word, determined to win this game.

"Frostbite," I say finally, holding up a pair of tongs from the drawer and snapping them lightly, "frostbite on your nose, your fingertips... everywhere." I reach out and snap the tongs quickly in his face. He flinches back and his head collides lightly with the cabinet behind him.

"So cynical. I don't think this is what your mom had in mind when she named you." Eddie says, shaking his head disapprovingly.

I hold up the spatula victoriously. I had almost emptied the drawer except for a few loose sugar packets and a hammer.

"My mom is a born and raised Hoosier who named her daughter after the harshest, bleakest, deadliest season," I say, flabbergasted, "You're telling me you actually enjoy the wintertime? We don't exactly have fireplaces and stockings, Eddie."

I slide the pile of utensils back into the drawer and slam it shut.

"I find beauty in the unfriendly and inhospitable." Eddie shrugs his shoulders. He grabs two plates from the drying rack next to the sink and sets them down in front of the dish. He leans one elbow on the table and watches as I dig into the casserole.

"Well, I don't." I say firmly.

"Winter is about perseverance, in the face of darkness and despair." He moves his hand and his fingers begin to move as if he is lightly tapping piano keys. I feel a dramatic moment coming on, and Eddie loves a dramatic moment. He loves leaning close to you with his entire body engaged in the narrative and his voice dropping so low that you have to lean in as well, just to hear him.

"Most people, sure, they prefer the sunshine," Eddie says. "Those people think the winter rolls around annually to punish them, to freeze their crops and stray cats. Everything shrinks and hides away until the sun turns warm again. But, you can't get to the sweetness of summertime without the coldness of winter."

He ends his explanation with a wide grin and I roll my eyes at him.

"I'm serious! Okay," he splays out both hands and his voice continues faster, "Take the whole myth of Persephone, the hot chick that was stolen by the god of the underworld? People have it backwards. Hades isn't the harbinger of death and evil. He doesn't have that power; he receives lost souls after they're already gone. Just because he sees suffering and pain doesn't mean he wants that to happen."

I stop digging into the casserole and turn to look at him, squinting my eyes in confusion. When did we start talking about Greek mythology?

"Hades, right, he finds Persephone, this beautiful woman picking flowers along the river," his gaze drifts off into the distance, "She is full of sunshine and happiness and all of the things that he's never seen or felt before, and they fall in love." His hand moves as if catching something in midair, and his voice grows softer. "They both knew what it was like to be alone. To live in your own small world, never seeing anything different or new, everyday just as predictable as the last. And yes, when she goes down under, brightening up the abode of the damned, the humans above get a little cold. But, they needed it, really, because they had lived in the sunshine for too long and never appreciated it until it was gone-"

"Only you could read the myth of Hades and Persephone and side with Hades." I cut him off. He holds up one finger quickly, not appreciating my interruption. I shake my head and slap heaping mounds of casserole onto both plates.

"What I'm saying is..." He trails off.

"What are you saying?" I ask, amused.

He finds his point again, "That the cold season isn't a punishment. Us mortals need it. Life is all about balance; the light and the dark, sweet and salty, hot and cold... angel and devil." He says and smiles up at me, his palms spread out in a there-you-go gesture, as if I am supposed to start applauding. I lean over and playfully nudge him with my elbow.

"Am I the angel or the devil in this scenario?" I ask.

"Oh, you're the devil for sure. Don't you remember?" His palm lays flat, his eyebrows scrunch together. His head leans towards mine, the end of his curls brush against the back of my hand, "When you first moved here... I sold my soul to you on the swings out there," his finger points toward the front door, "for a bag of Reese's Pieces. Now, I must worship at your feet." He says teasing.

"Well, if that's true I'm not sure why I always have to cook dinner." I laugh now.

He's referring to the first time we met. I was 12, and my family had just moved to Hawkins. I allow myself to climb into the memory, the first time I met Eddie Munson, and he sold me his soul.

Author's Note:

Hades & Persephone. Eddie & Winter. is the parallel paralleling?

here's another 80s quote: If he gets up, we'll all get up, it'll be anarchy!

Thanks for reading!

links for this chapter:

Christmas With the Devil – Spinal Tap watch?v=kxH9oSRem0Y