Beginning of the End

Jonathan

He watched Nancy plunge into the river and waited just long enough to see her reemerge beyond the weeping willow's branches before being swept downstream with the swift current. Behind him, he heard the soft suction of the Demogorgon's steps as it trudged slowly through mud and sopping leaves. Then came the bone chilling nickering and cold, rattling exhale.

Jonathan turned on his heel and charged upstream, leading the monster away from Nancy. He let fear and panic propel him forward, but he was still exhausted and his breath came in sharp, painful gasps. The path he'd chosen was growing steeper uphill and veering away from the river. His footing was less sure, sliding over patches of glossy leaves and stumbling over loose rocks. From below he heard the snapping of twigs and tumble of dislodged boulders as his pursuer gained on him.

Finally reaching the top of the hill and staggering forward, Jonathan found himself in a small field of goldenrod and milkweed. Pinching his elbows to his side and biting back the pain of the cramp that dug into his ribs, he forced his feet forward into a clumsy sprint. The tape that held his bandage was already peeling back, so he grabbed the corner and hastily unwrapped the cotton gauze, shaking his injured hand to loosen the dressings from his cut.

The first layer was white and pristine. He let it flutter behind him, sinking into his swampy footprints. The second layer was spotted brown with old blood. The thundering from behind told him he was losing this race. Sliding his thumb under the final wad of bandages, he peeled it away, praying that it still carried enough scent to act as a decoy and left it on the red crown of a staghorn sumac before making a hairpin turn and running away from the river, back into the woods.

He ran for another quarter mile, then slowed to a jog, then a walk and finally stopped, planting his hands on his knees and gasping desperately. The air was sweet and heavy with the storm. Sweat mixed with the rain that dripped from his eyebrows and the glossy tips of his hair. It ran along the curve of his open mouth and fell from the edge of his chin. Jonathan concentrated on relaxing his muscles, slowing his breathing and focusing. He needed to keep moving. He needed to get back to Nancy. The bandage diversion wouldn't last long and he needed to find her before the Demogorgon did. Then—he clenched his jaw determinedly—they needed to get out of Indiana together.

Letting out a deep breath, Jonathan strained to hear any movement. He listened for a footfall, a rattling pant, a faint growl. All he heard was the steady rain, soft and constant. Standing back up, he wiped the sweat and water from his forehead and brought away a hand covered in blood. His heart stopped at the sight of his dark, glistening palm. The cut—it had reopened when he ripped off the bandage. Jonathan swiped at the injury, wiping away the smear. It wasn't bleeding heavily—just a few cracks in the scab were oozing. But was that enough?

In response, he felt the earth shudder beneath his feet as the steps of something monstrous began again. And, with a defeated groan, Jonathan turned and ran, his mind reeling. How could he escape now? His plan backfired in the worst possible way. Frantically, he tugged his shirt over his head and wrapped the drenched fabric around his cut. The footsteps grew louder.

Ahead was another steep incline and Jonathan promised himself that if he could just get to the top, he'd run into the river again and jump in. That was his only hope now. That was his only escape—let the water carry him away. He climbed the hill bent over, grasping at rocks and narrow trees to pull him up, his feet scrabbling below. One false step sent his leg into the sharp edge of a fractured rock. Jonathan let out a choked cry and grabbed at his knee. Already red beads were blossoming from the new cut. And from the woods emerged the Demogorgon, its jaws outstretched—the soft flesh inside its mouth pink and swollen.

Jonathan dug his toes into the ground and lunged forward. His shirt slipped from the palm of his injured hand, falling aside and landing against the rock that had cut him, as he frantically struggled to the top of the hill. Ahead he could see a ridge and the drop off that promised his escape. It was so close. Using the last of his failing energy, he limped and stumbled to the edge. Falling on all fours, he finally looked over the ledge to the rocky ravine below.

There was no river.

Hope and determination collapsed inside of him. He dropped his head in his hands and let out a dry sob as raindrops speckled his bare back. He felt his resolve wither and his strength fail. With his final ounce of willpower, he lifted his head from his hands and considered jumping over the edge—if, for nothing else, to claim this one last act as his own.

Before he could move, though, the immediate shift of loose gravel announced the Demogorgon's arrival. Jonathan turned, staring into the faceless maw of his own death and as the creature pounced, he shut his eyes to the end of the world.