1980

Chrissy slipped out of the auditorium. She didn't think anyone noticed. At least, no one bothered to stop her if they did. All the participants of the talent show were supposed to stay and watch the entire run-through so that everyone would be prepared for the actual event later in the day. She wanted to be a team player, obviously, but her group had already rehearsed getting on and off the stage and practiced their routine. Chrissy's back needed a rest from the auditorium's folding seats, and she didn't like the nervous energy of all the contestants cooped up together. It was too much for a Saturday morning. Her sneakers squeaked on the tiles as she moved down the empty hall. It was always weird being in this building outside of school hours. Everything looked familiar, but also totally different. With no destination in mind, she quickened her pace to a jog, trying to burn away the anxious feeling that had built up while she was in the auditorium. After a few seconds, she realized she was running in the school halls, and no one was here to yell at her. She smiled and picked up speed again. Breaking rules was fun when you didn't get in trouble for it.

Chrissy turned a corner and looked down the long, empty hall before her. The restrooms were on her right, and for a moment she felt the impulse to go in and check her hair and makeup in the mirror. She had been sweating earlier, so she probably looked a mess. But no one was around to care how she looked. She didn't have to fix anything. She could do whatever she wanted, instead. So Chrissy turned a cartwheel. Her hands came off the floor gritty with dirt, but she didn't care. This was even more fun than running in the halls. Next, she tested a roundoff. Landing on the stone floor sent a vibrating jolt up her legs, but it didn't really hurt. She could do more. Chrissy eyed the length of the hall, calculating, and took a few steps back. She should have enough room. It was probably way too dangerous, she thought as she wiped her hands on the sides of her skirt, but for some reason she didn't care. Before she could talk herself out of it, Chrissy turned another cartwheel and followed it with a roundoff back handspring step out.

It was a bad idea. The surface of the floor had no traction, and her hands slipped on the handspring. Luckily for her, it happened after she'd already gained enough momentum to get her legs all the way over her head. She was thrown off, though, and just barely got her feet under her before she landed. She tumbled sideways and into the wall of lockers, which made an obnoxious metallic thud that echoed down the hall. Chrissy eased herself back onto her feet and counted her lucky stars that she hadn't landed on her face. She flinched as she imagined her nose or her chin slamming into the tile floor. That had been a stupid thing to do.

"Whoah. That was awesome."

Chrissy looked around in a panic until her gaze landed on a boy standing at the other end of the hall, just outside the men's room door. Relieved that he wasn't a teacher or parent, Chrissy laughed a little bit as she continued to rub her shoulder.

"Nah, it was really bad," she said.

"Are you serious?" The boy walked towards her, grinning.

"Yeah, I'm serious," she laughed again, louder this time. "Didn't you see that crash landing? It was horrible."

"If you say so," he shrugged. "It looked pretty cool to me."

"Thanks," she replied, half-mortified and half-pleased that someone had witnessed her moment of rebellion. An awkward few seconds of silence passed while Chrissy tried to place him. He was lanky with short brown hair and big brown eyes. His clothes didn't fit him well, and he fidgeted a lot. She had definitely seen him around, but he was older, not in her class.

"You're in the talent show, too, right," he asked, and Chrissy nodded. "So," the boy continued, looking side to side, "are you practicing out here, or what?"

"Not really, I was just," She shrugged, not able to explain what she had been doing. "I guess I should get back," she concluded, and started to walk away with a pang of worry that she was about to get in trouble after all.

The boy kept an arm's length from her, but matched her stride and walked with her.

"So you're playing hooky," he said with a serious tone. "I should report you for juvenile delinquency."

Chrissy looked at him, confused.

He continued, squinting at her. "Yeah, you look like a real menace to society. I can see it in your eyes."

He was teasing. Boys had been teasing her a lot lately, but not like this. Usually teasing made her feel gross or awkward, but she didn't feel that now. Chrissy smiled, surprised.

"Look at that," he went on, shaking his head with mock despair at her smile, "she's not even sorry for her crimes."

Chrissy giggled, and noticed that the boy blushed. He was sweet, she thought.

"What's your name, again?"

"Eddie," he answered. "Eddie Munson. I'm in eighth grade.

The name rang a bell. Chrissy realized he was the new kid who had started at Hawkins at the beginning of this year. The one people said had been in jail. She was glad she hadn't remembered before, or she might have been scared of him. Obviously, that had just been a stupid rumor.

"Chrissy Cunningham," she said, feeling very mature for talking with an older boy and being too smart to believe ridiculous gossip. "Sixth grade."

"Hey," he waved one hand at her.

"Hey," she waved back. "You're in the rock band, right?"

"Corroded Coffin, yeah." Chrissy started to wrinkle her nose on impulse, but stopped herself. Not soon enough, apparently.

"You don't like it, huh?" He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his baggy jeans.

"No! I think you guys sound cool." This was close enough to the truth. When his band started their song during the run through, Chrissy was bewildered by the chaotic noise. It didn't even sound like music at first. But, after a while, she got the hang of it. The song still sounded strange, but she kind of enjoyed the way it washed over her like a big wave. She couldn't say all that to him, though. "It's just a very descriptive name," is what she said instead.

"Descriptive? Come on, Chrissy. Don't hold back." His eyes were egging her on, gleaming at her.

"It's gory." She smiled, impressed by her own boldness.

"Yeah, gory," he nodded approvingly. "We thought so, too."

They were close to the auditorium doors now. Chrissy wished she had walked slower. Eddie was fun and silly, and she liked talking to him.

"Well," she turned to him with a smile. "Good luck tonight."

"Yeah, you too." He lingered by the door. It seemed like he wasn't in a hurry to go inside.

"You're going to be really good," she added, because she didn't want to go in either.

"So are you." His eyes gleamed at her again. There was a happy flutter in Chrissy's stomach. It made her nervous, and she didn't like to look nervous in front of people.

"See ya, Eddie." She waved one hand, and hurried to pull open the door. He held it out for her. As she walked through without looking at him, she heard his voice from above her head.

"See ya, Chrissy."

He sounded like he was confused, or maybe kind of sad. Chrissy worried that she might have hurt his feelings, but was too embarrassed to turn around. She'd make it up to him, later.

That evening, at the real talent show, she clapped and yelled extra loud when Corroded Coffin took the stage. The noise stood out from the polite applause of the rest of the audience, which was probably why Eddie turned his head in her direction. Lights were pointing at him and she was in the dark, so Chrissy didn't think he could actually see her in the crowd. She hoped, though, that he had heard her, and maybe recognized her voice. She was being silly, but Eddie grinned as he adjusted the guitar strap over his shoulder, and she imagined that the smile was for her.

1986

Eddie woke up with his face on the floor. His cheek throbbed and his neck ached. It was dark, and he spent a few seconds gathering himself and remembering where he was. For a moment, Eddie considered the possibility that he might have slept on Rick's floor after some sort of hallucinogenic bender. The cruel hope that Chrissy's death wasn't real flared in him again, but he snuffed it out. He remembered everything. Chrissy was dead.

His entire body ached as he stood and stumbled, heavy-footed, to the kitchen. Leaning over the sink, he drank from the faucet and splashed water over his face, then fumbled for a dishrag to dry his eyes. He sniffed loudly. Too loud. Every noise he made echoed through the empty house. At least, he assumed it was empty. It's not like he had checked. Eddie started to walk from room to room, but didn't turn on any lights. As if wandering through a house in the dark was helpful at all. He didn't get very far before he had to admit that he was just pretending to do something useful for the sake of having something to do, and gave up. He sat on the rug in the living room. It didn't seem right to sit on the couch. That would be too comfortable, too normal, and he would never be either of those things again. So Eddie sat on the floor, as stiff and still as stone, and fixed his gaze at the window. Through the blinds, the dark pane reflected part of the room behind him. If only he could step into the reflected space, like Alice through the looking-glass, and disappear into that other world. An insubstantial world where nothing was real. Words floated from Eddie's memory to his lips.

"Beware the Jabberwock, my son, the jaws that bite, the claws that catch." He had whispered the lines to himself, but wondered, with a stab of fear, if someone else had heard them. A monster in the glass? Eddie tried to push the fear down under the layer of numbness that allowed him to function, sunk it into the terrifying current below the surface, rushing like a river under a sheet of ice. He wished he were made of stone. He sat for a long time, maybe because he was resting, or maybe because he didn't know what else to do.

The inky blue night lightened to dull gray. It would be dawn soon. Maybe he really would turn into stone, like a troll. Suddenly, Eddie realized he could see the color of the sky because the curtains and blinds were open. Any neighbor or cop driving by would be able to see in through the windows. He could shut them, but that would just give away the fact that a person was in the house. Damn damn damn. Eddie jumped to his feet and his vision lit up with floating stars. Shit. He needed to eat something or else he was going to pass out on the floor again. As his vision cleared he went into the kitchen. Opening the first cupboard revealed a bag of candy, which he grabbed, and some uncooked pasta, which he left. He opened the fridge next. Even though he had been searching for food, he didn't bother looking past the beer. It was close enough to bread, he reasoned as he grabbed one bottle and tucked two more under his arm. From the kitchen window he spotted the boathouse, its door lit up like a beacon. It looked like the better place to hide, and–more importantly–the only other option. He had to get there fast before it got any lighter outside.

Eddie hurried out the door, turning the lock before he closed it. Trying to run while staying low and also keeping a hold of his loot felt ridiculous, like he was Bugs Bunny sneaking around with a stolen bunch of carrots. It wasn't far, though, and the boathouse wasn't even locked. This was a better hiding place, he decided as he entered and dropped the candy and beer onto the first available surface. Smaller and darker, like a cave. Eddie laughed humorlessly. He could fool himself with the best of them.

He ripped open the candy packets, one right after the other, and crammed the chocolates into his mouth. While he chewed he opened one of the beers, and didn't even finish swallowing the chocolate before he started to drink it as fast as he could. The alcohol hit his bloodstream immediately and went right to his head. Thank God. The second beer followed, partly because he was thirsty, but mostly because his mind had started easing into a fog and he wanted more of that. He unwrapped and ate the last few candies even though he was already feeling kind of sick. It was always a bad idea to drink on an empty stomach. And since he was eating, he could drink more. The third beer was a mistake. It made his head spin and his heart race, like he was some kind of lightweight. It was embarrassing.

The boathouse wasn't so great, after all. What was he thinking? There were curtain-less windows here too, and the door didn't even lock. The place was full of junk. It had a slip, so parts of the wall and the floor were open to the lake, which was stupid. Reflected light danced on every surface so that everything looked like it was moving, which made Eddie want to lie down. It was very cold and everything was damp and smelled like fish.

He wanted his room and his bed and for Wayne to yell at him for coming home drunk. He wanted to go back to his trailer.

Chrissy is in the trailer.

Was she still there, alone? Had she been alone all night? By herself in the trailer park, where she probably had been scared to go to in the first place? Was she scared at the end?

Eddie roughly wiped tears from his face. Three beers and he was crying like a baby. He couldn't get any more pathetic, could he? His stomach churned. Yes, he could. He rushed to the slip, dropped to his knees, and puked into the lake.