Skies grew darker

Currents swept you out again

And you were just gone and gone, gone and gone

Hawkins, March 22-23, 1986

Unbeknownst to either Eddie or Chrissy, the former's advice had provided a safeguard against the new terror stalking through Hawkins. Armed with The Beatle's discography, Chrissy Cunningham toiled away the Saturday of spring break catching up on her late assignments. Around noon, she got a call from her longtime boyfriend, Jason Carver, and he regaled her with stories of Lucas Sinclair getting beyond drunk at the celebratory party after Friday night's Hawkins Tigers basketball team victory.

After getting off the phone with Jason, she called Eddie Munson to thank him again for his help and to recite her own phone number for him to take down. She did chores with her younger brother, Caleb, and picked at her dinner with her family before retreating back to her room to listen to more music and finish her work. It was the most uneventful Saturday Chrissy had spent in a long time.

The same could not be said for Fred Benson and Nancy Wheeler.

Both journalists for The Weekly Streak, the student paper published by Hawkins High School, the classmates were driving on a long stretch of tree-lined road. It had been Nancy's idea to write about the rowdy after party thrown by Jason and the other senior basketball players.

"We've been stale lately," Nancy lamented, driving along the curves. "We need something to spice up the layout, something to draw attention."

"I'm sorry I'm not Jonathan," Fred snapped. He had a headache. A pounding one, right behind his eyes, one that wasn't touched by any of the ibuprofen pills he had hastily swallowed that morning. "But at least I'm here, unlike him. He's a full-fledged California boy now, isn't he?"

His tone had needled Nancy enough that she pressed heavier on the gas, speeding on the road toward the location a very hungover Lucas had given Nancy. She had gained the information by threatening to make Mrs. and Mr. Sinclair privy to the details of Lucas' post-victory escapades. The entire student body of Hawkins High had heard the tale and it was only two p.m.

Flashing red and blue lights had Nancy slamming on the breaks and pulling off the road. She glared over at the passenger seat and Fred was overcome with a wave of guilt for being the cause of Nancy's impending ticket. Enough so that he found he couldn't lift his gaze to meet the eye of the officer when he leaned into Nancy's open window.

"Do you know the charges for aiding and abetting a murderer, miss?" Fred's head snapped up at that, finding a sinister smile on the man's face. The smile grew wider and wider, splitting the officer's face in two. Fred's one face began to burn, the scar on his cheek popping open as if the injury were new. It stretched over his face like a painful, insidious vine. Biting back a scream, Fred forced himself to blink, hard, and the officer returned to a middle-aged, non-descript man scolding Nancy.

They made it away with no ticket.

Nancy drove on a little farther, coming to a stop outside the abandoned Benny's Burgers restaurant on the edge of town. The not-so-secret preferred party spot for the Hawkins Tigers basketball team. "What are we even looking for here?"

"Anything noteworthy," Nancy answered unhelpfully.

"Won't we be getting our classmates in trouble if we write about their underage drinking?" Fred asked, cautiously stepping out of the passenger side of Nancy's car. "And, um, didn't someone die here a few years ago?"

"Do you really care about knocking a few popular guys down a couple of pegs?" Nancy shot back, folding her arms over her chest. "And yes. Given that half the basketball team has been getting trashed here regularly, I think we'll be just fine." Fred watched Nancy turn on her heel, skirt swishing around her calves, and walk confidently toward the restaurant. The front door gave immediately under her hand.

"I'm just gonna look around out here!" he shouted at Nancy's retreating back. She raised one hand in acknowledgement before disappearing into the shadows within the restaurant. Fred walked around to the side of the restaurant, giving the building a wide berth. There were discarded beer bottles littering the ground, the spring sun glittering off the broken piece of glass. He was stepping gingerly over a puddle of puke when the sound of a chiming grandfather clock came loudly from the forest behind him.

Fred froze with one foot still raised from the ground his body gone cold with the sound. Icy fear squeezed his ribcage so that his next breath came strangled into his lungs. He turned on his heel, wooden legs carrying him unbidden toward the chiming of the clock. Not so far into the woods, he found the source of the sound: a handsome, wooden grandfather clock lying atop a coffin. Dread filled his chest and clawed its way up his throat, bursting from his lips in a primal, fear-filled scream.

Shadowy forms began to emerge from the trees, taking the solid shape of zombie-like creatures in their Sunday best. All the vacant eyes were fixated on Fred, a rising chant of 'murderer' leaving their black, decaying lips. They began to close in on him, drawing nearer so that Fred felt the crush of true terror cave in his chest. He screamed once more, pushing past the mourners.

Fight or flight kicked in and Fred chose flight without a second thought. He booked it past Benny's Burgers, past Nancy's car, down the long stretch of road. Yet the chiming followed him tauntingly even as his heart sped and his lungs burned with the effort. He ran as if on instinct, his feet taking him to the place of the accident before his mind even realized that was where he was headed.

The car was there again, just like on that terrible night. Toppled and burning, the flames hot on his face as he drew ever nearer. A small, rational part of his brain was urging Fred to continue running, but he found himself unable to heed that warning. He feared he might walk right into those flames and he knew in the shadows of his heart that he deserved it. Fred didn't get the chance. There was Jack, bursting from the burning car, reaching for him and groaning even as the other boy crawled along the ground.

Fred took a step back. It was the wrong move. Suddenly, the solid road beneath him was gone, and he toppled into a black abyss. When he landed, it was into Jack's grave; his rotted face meeting Fred's horrified gaze as another scream ripped through his throat.

"Nancy!" Fred shouted, desperate. Nancy was miles away, she wasn't going to hear him. But he had to try, he had to fight it. "NANCY!"

But it was too late for Fred Benson. This grave was not Jack's, it was his own. When his bones cracked and his mind fell to pieces, when the world went fully dark, his only thought was I'm sorry.

Fred Benson became the first victim of Vecna.


"…they found the body out in the boonies, and get this, Chris—a bunch of his bones were broken. Like, his legs, his arms, his neck. That's not even the worst part. His eyes were missing! What kind of sick shit is that?!" Chrissy cringed at Jason's graphic retelling.

"They wrote all of that in the newspaper?" She asked, glancing at him from the passenger seat of Jason's car. The two of them were heading to the next town over, to the movies.

"Yeah, I mean, this is huge news. What kind of sick fuck is lurking around Hawkins that would do that?" Jason had one hand on the wheel, the other twined with one of Chrissy's. She gave his fingers a squeeze.

"I don't even want to think about something like that," Chrissy said softly, looking down at their hands in her lap. A small shiver wracked her shoulders at the thought of poor Fred Benson being murdered in such a brutal way. She knew Fred, kind of, knew his face at least. He was a slight boy, and quiet, especially after that car accident he was in last year. Another boy had died in that accident, Frank something….

"You're not scared, are you, baby?" Jason asked, glancing away from the road to catch her eye. His eyebrows furrowed with concern. He gave her hand a squeeze in turn. "You know I won't let anything bad happen to you."

Chrissy tried to smile at that. Her lips quirked but it didn't quite hold. She leaned over the console that divided them and pressed a kiss to his cheek. Jason smiled beneath her lips, his cheek lifting. "I know you wouldn't. It is scary, though. Fred was so nice."

"Know what I think?" Jason asked once she had settled back into her seat. "I think it's those Dungeon and Dragons freaks. I'll bet you anything they have something to do with it."

"Jason!" They were pulling into the movie theater. He parked before turning to her. "Why the hell would you say something like that?!"

Chrissy took in the blazing conviction in her boyfriend's blue eyes. "They play that devil worshipping game, Chris. Have you ever heard of a murderer who did shit like snapping bones and gouging out eyes? Like, not even Bundy took it that far. That man was evil even without playing a demon game!"

"You really think Eddie Munson and his friends would murder someone?" Chrissy shook her head, ponytail bobbing. "Those are our classmates, Jason! You're accusing them of cold-blooded murder! That's not just a rumor you can start, Jason, that's a serious accusation!"

"Those guys are freaks, Chrissy! Look, even if they didn't do it, you know people—not just me!—are going to be looking there first. Just… I would feel better if you stayed away from them, okay? After spring break? I know you're not friends with them, but you are nice to everyone. And now isn't a time for being nice, okay, Chris?"

Chrissy sighed. "I get what you mean, but… just don't say that, okay? It's not a rumor," she repeated. "How would you feel if someone was saying you murdered Fred Benson?"

"Okay," Jason agreed after a long pause. "Okay. I see your point. Let's go watch the movie, take our minds off it?"

Chrissy nodded and Jason smiled softly at her. He swept her bangs to the side and kissed her forehead before they got out of the car. It was definitely easier to focus on Police Academy 3: Back in Training than it was the fear currently holding Hawkins hostage. She ate a few handfuls of the popcorn she shared with Jason, took a few sips of their soda. Nothing too much. Nothing that would make her bloat or cause her mom to eye her with suspicion once she got home.

She laid her head on Jason's shoulder and spent two hours in laughter, any thoughts of her mother or Fred Benson only small whispers in the back of her mind. That wasn't so much the case when they were back in Hawkins and Jason had dropped her off at home. Mom greeted her with a VHS tape.

"Jazzercise?" Chrissy read from the plastic cover. A blonde woman with too much makeup and too white teeth smiled at her.

"I know you like going on your runs," Mom told her, "but with what just happened to that poor Benson boy, I thought it would be better for you to do your exercising at home. Doesn't this look fun? Why don't you change and try it out in the living room while I get dinner ready?"

It wasn't a suggestion even if it was framed as one. Chrissy knew better than that. She took the VHS and headed upstairs, changing out of the dress she had worn on her date with Jason and into a t-shirt and cycling shorts. When she passed by Caleb's room, she could hear the tinny music of one of his videogames and tried not to feel annoyed. It wasn't his fault. He was too little to understand the vast difference in the treatment they each got from their mother.

Chrissy went through the motions of the video. She would never admit it to her mother, but it was actually fun. And, truthfully, an improvement over taking a jog alone through the neighborhood with a murderer on the loose. Before dinner, she took a shower and toweled off, stepping carefully onto the bathroom scale before putting any clothes on.

Her guess had been right. The popcorn and soda at the movies hadn't set her over. Turning this way and that, inspecting her nude body in the slightly foggy mirror. No; she wasn't bloated. As long as she watched her portions at dinner, surely Mom wouldn't have anything to critique. Just in case, though, she changed for the final time that day in one of Dad's old college t-shirts he had given her when they no longer fit him. Ironic.

The shirt was baggy on her, effectively hiding her pajama shorts and figure alike. Chrissy made sure to eat all of her steamed vegetables at dinner before touching her chicken. She only took a few small bites of mashed potatoes.

It was a terrible thought to have, but Fred Benson's murder couldn't have come at a worse time. Chrissy wasn't sure how she would survive a week of close contact with her mother, without the respite of school and Ms. Kelly. She felt so guilty for that thought that she went right to her room after dinner, to lay on the floor and listen through another Beatles album. She chose A Hard Day's Night, letting the music fill her head and leave no room for thoughts of her mother's cutting words, or her too-small cheer skirt, or Fred Benson and the discomforting fact that the details of his death felt oddly… familiar.

There was only the music in her ears and the sunshine feeling of learning to ride her bike while Dad played this very album in the driveway. Only the hardwood floor beneath her, comforting in its solidness.

And, in the back of her mind, a genuine gratitude for Eddie Munson. For teaching her this way to care for herself.