1983
If Eddie had to listen to one more marching band rendition of "We Will Rock You," he might just puke. Apparently he was in the minority, because as soon as the song started the bleachers rang with repeated stomp-stomp-claps from the cheering crowd above. Popcorn and other debris rained down, and he narrowly missed taking an open can of Coke to the skull. Stomp-stomp-clap! It seemed like the vibrating stands might collapse over his head at any moment. Swearing profusely, Eddie abandoned his spot and emerged from under the bleachers. He brushed peanut shells out of his hair and wondered if it was worth sticking around. He'd already made a couple good sales, but on nights that Hawkins won he could usually double his earnings. He walked toward the field, close enough to get a look at the score board, and sighed with disappointment. Hawkins was up twelve points. He should probably stay. Why did these football games have to last for hours? It was all such a massive waste of time. He strode to the back of the bleachers, but didn't go under. Instead, he leaned against the pole of the nearest floodlight. He'd go back to his spot when it was safe again, but if the game went on for more than another hour, he would leave. Halloween was coming up soon, which was always good business. He'd probably be fine this month, and didn't need to stay here freezing his butt off all night.
A collective whoop went up from the crowd. Despite himself, Eddie strained his neck to catch a look at what was happening. The Hawkins cheerleaders rushed onto the field and into formation. The band shifted into another tune, and the ponytailed girls began to dance and shout in unison. It wasn't exactly Eddie's jam, but he couldn't deny that they were much more entertaining than a bunch of dudes running headfirst into each other for hours on end. At intervals, one or a pair of the cheerleaders would break away from the group and fling themselves into a series of dangerous-looking leaps and flips. Eddie held his breath at the sight of a sparrow-sized brunette careening through the air like she didn't care what physics said about gravity. He almost joined in with the shouting crowd when she landed safely. He had a reputation to maintain, though, and kept his mouth shut and arms crossed as he leaned against the pole. Next, a strawberry blonde turned herself over and over like a human pinwheel as she moved across the front of the group. A sense of déjà vu fogged Eddie's brain. With one last flip of her feet over her head, the girl landed and then bounced up, waving and smiling. Even from a distance, he recognized her. Something unstable inside Eddie's chest did its own pinwheel spin.
Don't be an idiot.
"Who is that one?" A voice floated down from the stands.
"I don't know man, she's a year below us."
"C'mon, Steve. Do you expect me to believe there's a cheerleader you don't know by name?"
"Dude, I don't keep a list of every cheerleader in school. I'm not a pervert. Hey, Wheeler!"
Eddie's hair shielded his face enough that he could look sideways up at the bleachers without turning his head. That's how he spotted Nancy Wheeler, her face all blue eyes and cautious smile, spinning in her seat to face Steve Harrington.
"Who's that cheerleader?" Steve pointed. "The one there at the end of the line. She's in your year, right?"
Nancy Wheeler's gaze followed the direction of his finger. When she looked at Steve again, her smile was less hopeful.
"That's Chrissy," she said.
"Thanks." Steve raised his voice loud enough so that everyone in his vicinity would definitely hear him. "See, I told you Nancy knows everything."
Sure enough, Wheeler blushed pink and shifted in her seat to put her forehead against her friend's, and their faces disappeared behind a cloud of mingled brown and red hair. Eddie tried not to roll his eyes. Even smart girls fell for that? What was the world coming to?
"Are you happy, man?" Steve's voice was lower now.
Eddie peered up to the stands. Steve was sitting at the end of the row and talking with that human toilet brush Tommy H. On impulse, Eddie leaned and spat over his shoulder. Tommy was a frequent customer, but that didn't mean Eddie had to like him.
"Hey," Tommy said, elbowing Steve in the ribs, "Instead of Wheeler, why don't you invite that cheerleader Chrissy instead?"
Eddie froze while he waited for Steve's response. Don't be an idiot.
"Because I like Nancy."
"But Chrissy is way cuter, dude."
"So dump Carol and ask her out yourself. I've never even spoken to Chrissy before."
"So what? All Nancy Wheeler does is study and do homework."
"And all you do is run your mouth. Why are we still talking about this?"
"Seriously. Chrissy is perky and flexible."
"Drop it, Tommy."
"You know she'd give it up to you in a second. Cheerleaders always do."
"What are you talking ab-"
"Hey!" A third voice interrupted Steve. Eddie's head swiveled automatically to see who had shouted. A blond kid stood on his bench a few rows below Steve and Tommy. His cheeks looked unhealthily red against his white letterman sweater.
"Yeah?" Steve sounded annoyed.
"I heard what you said." The blond kid jerked his chin at Tommy.
"So?" Tommy scoffed.
"So, you can't talk about Chrissy like that."
"Is this kid for real right now?" Tommy's braces flashed as he laughed.
"Hey, Jason, cool off, man." Steve leaned forward and raised a placating hand toward the blonde kid. "Tommy didn't mean anything."
"No," apparently-Jason shouted. "I don't like what he said."
"So what are you going to do about it?" Tommy stood.
"Seriously, Tommy? Just drop it." Steve pulled roughly on Tommy's arm.
"Let go, man." Tommy swatted away Steve's hand. "I'm not about to take any shit over some slutty sophomore."
Jason lunged up and grabbed the front of Tommy's jacket. They both tumbled sideways off the the bleachers and landed in a heap on the ground, almost on top of Eddie. He stepped back a few paces to get out of the way as Steve jumped down and grabbed Jason around the chest, hauling him to his feet. Tommy stood and started to run at Jason, but Steve got between them.
"Jesus!" Steve yelled, each of his hands pushing against the chests of the other two. "Both of you, cut it out!
"What's going on over there?" The distinctive snap of an annoyed adult voice cut through the adolescent "ooh" that had started up at the end of the bleachers.
Jason and Tommy paced away from each other and Steve dropped his hands. With a few murmurs and giggles, everyone in the stands shifted their attention back to the field.
Time to go home. Without a backward glance, Eddie set off at a brisk pace to collect his bike. No way was he going to let those clowns get him into trouble by proximity. His feet scuffed against the uneven ground in the dark, but Eddie didn't break his stride. He had to get out of here. This game, this school, this town - shit for the birds, all of it. He was almost at the parking lot when someone behind him shouted his name. Eddie stopped and exhaled though his nose before he turned around.
"Hey, Munson," Tommy called. "You got a half?"
"Keep it down, man." Eddie scanned the area, worried, but the only other person nearby was Steve Harrington standing a few paces away. Combing his hair. Of course.
"Well, have you got it?" The start of a bruise was turning Tommy's left cheekbone red.
"Sure," Eddie answered, putting one hand in his jacket pocket. "You got the cash?"
"Yeah, I've got twenty-five right here." Tommy held up folded bills between his first two fingers.
"Fifty." Eddie stared at that red spot on Tommy's cheek. It was round, like the bulls-eye of a target.
"What? No." Tommy snorted. "Last time it was twenty-five."
"What can I say?" Eddie shrugged. "Prices change. Now its fifty."
"Are you shitting me? What the hell?"
"Do you want it or not? Because the price could be seventy-five." Eddie couldn't keep his eyes away from the red spot on Tommy's cheek. His fist itched to connect with it.
"What is wrong with everyone tonight? I don't have time for this." Tommy dropped the bills, fished his wallet out of his jeans, and threw two more on the ground.
Eddie pulled the baggie from his pocket and dangled it from the tips of his fingers.
"Come and get it," he said with a grin.
Eddie braced himself as Tommy advanced, but all he did was grab the baggie out of Eddie's hand, glower, and walk back to Harrington.
Eddie watched them go, the hollow grin still stretched across his face, bitter with disappointment. He made sure no one was watching before he bent and gathered Tommy's money off the ground.
"Asshole," he muttered, stuffing the damp bills into his jeans. They were all assholes. Tommy, Steve, Prince Valiant. What was his name? Jason. Those rich jocks were all the same. Entitled, pushy show-offs. Eddie yanked his rusted bike out of the rack and walked it out to the road. A BMW zipped past him, its engine purring.
Screw those guys. They acted like they were better than everyone else. Eddie could pretend like he was Prince Valiant, too, if he didn't have clients to keep and money to earn. Eddie was so close to putting away enough to pay for the Warlock he'd had his eye on for months. In fact, the extra dough he took off Tommy tonight might just put him ahead of schedule. He could have it by the end of the month. Then he could start saving for a car. Imagining driving away from Hawkins on his own wheels with his guitar and his diploma, Eddie smiled. Maybe 1984 was going to be his year.
1986
Eddie needed to pull himself together. It was tempting, awfully tempting, to lie flat on the floor with his head hanging into the slip and just let whatever was going to happen to him happen. Give up trying. But if he did that, someone would find him and he would definitely go to prison. He might even get locked up with his dad. That settled it. Eddie was up and thinking.
So the boathouse was a dump, but he was here now and had to make the best of it, so what were its assets? An escape route onto the lake, for one, and, even better, a boat to escape in, obviously. Grand. He pulled the tarp from the top of the boat and peered over the edge. It had a motor and oars and lots of spiders. At least two of those things were helpful. And even the tarp could be used as camouflage. He stepped into the boat to gage its size. There was plenty of room for him to stretch out along the bottom, though the cold was brutal. Reaching over the side, he draped the tarp over the top of the boat and crouched under it, as if it were a blanket fort. Maybe the plastic sheet would do something to keep in the warmth. Might as well test it.
Eddie lay in the dark with only the constant lapping of water and the occasional spider to keep him company. There was nothing to distract him from his thoughts, and the more he tried not to think about Chrissy, the more he thought of her in those last moments. Memories eventually slid into speculation. What if he had grabbed her around the waist as she levitated, and hung on to her? Would he have been carried up to the ceiling as well, or would his weight have pulled Chrissy down? What if he had tried it and they tumbled to the floor together, and that was the shock she needed to snap out of her trance? Even before it came to that, should he have hit her harder, slapped her across the face instead of patting her cheek? Poured water over her head? Stuck the prongs of a fork into the back of her hand? Stomped on her foot? He had so many ideas now. At the time, he couldn't think of a single one. Why didn't he think of anything? Why didn't he do anything?
We're safe. I promise. Eddie had said that to Chrissy earlier that day. He was telling her that he knew what he was doing, that he was looking out for her. It was an easy thing to say when there wasn't any real danger. His words were good for nothing. If Chrissy had gone home with Jason, would she be alive right now? Jason probably would have sprung into action. He would have done anything to save Chrissy, would have tried everything he could think of. Jason might have saved her. But Eddie couldn't resist the chance to bring Chrissy home with him, so she was with a shit-for-brains wimp when something came to kill her instead of with her star athlete boyfriend. Eddie had been told a lot of bad things about himself – that he was trash, that he wouldn't amount to anything, that he was a loser – and he had never really believed any of them until now.
As exhaustion pulled him into sleep, Eddie's thoughts became dreams which turned into nightmares. He woke over and over, sometimes reaching, sometimes thrashing, sometimes shouting. As soon as he realized he was awake, he fell asleep again, and the cycle continued. There was no keeping track of time in that state, but the misery seemed to drag on for hours.
Eddie was almost relieved when the sound of tires on gravel sent a spike of adrenaline coursing through his system and brought him fully awake. After the tires there were voices shouting and banging noises not far away. Surrendering to instinct, Eddie threw off the tarp, lunged out of the boat, and grabbed for a weapon. The first thing his hand landed on was a beer bottle, which was good enough. Grabbing the neck, he smashed the bottle on the edge of the slip, then dove back into the boat, this time curling into a ball at one end and rearranging the tarp over himself. Blood pulsed in his ears like a drumbeat, and he worked hard to quiet his breathing.
There was the unmistakable sound of a door opening, and then footsteps inside the boathouse. After a few seconds – thwack thwack thwack. The other end of the tarp moved. Thwack thwack. Someone was jabbing hard into the boat, over and over. Whoever it was would hit Eddie and find him in a matter of seconds. The jabs paused, and someone started talking right over Eddie's head. He had to get the upper hand now before it was too late. Eddie burst from his hiding place. Someone stood next to the boat, a man holding an oar like a weapon. Eddie threw himself towards him and pushed until they both hit the wall of the boathouse. The guy was taller, but Eddie pinned him with the broken bottle at his throat.
Several voices shouted, but they didn't sound like cops. In fact, they sounded familiar, but his brain couldn't divert enough attention away from his hold on – Steve Harrington?
"Eddie!"
Henderson screamed at him, which made a little bit of sense, but not enough. Eddie tightened his grip on Harrington. He wasn't going to go to jail because of this clown. It was a few more seconds before his mind began to process Henderson's words, because the kid was still talking. Calmly, for some reason. Information started to filter through. Robin from band was here too, and the neighbor kid who hung out with his freshman Hellfires sometimes.
"Eddie, we're on your side!"
Steve Harrington had never been on Eddie's side. Never. He used to imagine what it would be like to beat up jocks like him, to kick them right in the teeth. Didn't he used to wish that Steve would get his pretty face messed up? Didn't he deserve it? Terror and anguish were feeding new a desire to hurt someone, to cause pain. He could hurt Steve. He had that power now. But he wouldn't want Henderson to see. Or the girls. If they weren't here, he could do it then. And if Steve didn't look so scared. Because right now he looked terrified. Frightened of mean and scary Eddie Munson. Eddie let go of Steve and sagged against the wall. He didn't have it in him.
"Eddie. We just want to talk."
Something touched his hand and he flinched. The latest rush of adrenaline was dissipating, leaving him hollow and shaky.
"We wanna know what happened." Robin from band sounded gentle.
"You won't believe me," and as he said it, Eddie realized how crushingly alone he was.
"Try us." It was the neighbor girl. She was very small, and very young, but her eyes didn't belong to a kid. Eddie remembered that she'd moved to the trailer park after her brother had died in that fire. Her childhood was probably kind of like Eddie's – not really much of a childhood at all.
"I saw you come home last night," she added.
He might as well try to tell her some of the story. "You saw Chrissy." It wasn't a question, but she nodded in response. "We met after the game, in the parking lot, and drove to the trailer." In his peripheral, Eddie saw Harrington shift. No one said it, but he could feel an uncomfortable "why" radiating from his listeners' eyes. "We, um, talked earlier, about-" You do remember! How could I forget? His throat closed. Eddie covered his mouth for a second as he swallowed, took a breath. "We talked earlier. She was, um, in the market." He rubbed the heel of his palm over his knee and avoided looking at the kids.
"It's ok," Henderson waved a hand like he was shooing away a fly. "I know what's in your lunchbox."
"Yeah, well, I thought that's what she wanted, but she asked for something different. Something stronger, and she needed it as soon as possible."
"Chrissy Cunningham?" Harrington's voice was incredulous.
"Just let him say what happened, man," Henderson interrupted. "Go on."
"We were in the trailer." Eddie spoke deliberately, even though he felt like he was in a dream. "I went into my room–alone–to look for something. When I came out, she was just standing where I left her, silent. She didn't say anything, didn't move. It was like she was maybe having some kind of seizure, her eyes were twitching, but she was standing up." How could he even describe what happened next? "And then…her body just like, lifted, up into the air, and, uh, she just hung there. In the air." Every part of him shook. "And her bones-uh-she" Eddie pressed his lips together to suppress the ugly noise threatening to burst from his throat. "Her bones started to snap." He could see it, hear it all again. "Her eyes, man. It was like there was something, like, inside her head, pulling." Something had pulled Chrissy apart, right in front of him, and what had he done? "I didn't know what to do so I…" He had to say it out loud. "I ran away. I left her there."
Eddie sank into his guilt, felt it pull him under and close over his head like quicksand. You know, you're not what I thought you'd be like. Whatever illusions Eddie had held about himself were destroyed. He was a coward. He knew it, and now these kids and Steve God-damn Harrington knew it, too.
Maybe they all just thought he was crazy. But when they started talking, they sounded crazy, too. Everything they said was ridiculous fantasy. Except, it also made some sense. Because how much bad luck could one small town have in the space of three years? He never understood how the Byers kid had come back from the dead after falling into the quarry, or how so many people had died in a middle-of-the-night mall fire, for that matter. The world was full of random tragedy. Horrible accidents sometimes happened for no reason. But there were also things that stalked and lurked in the shadows, things that hunted not for food, but for the pleasure of killing. Minds that planned tricks to cheat and steal, souls that fed themselves greedily on the suffering of others. There was bad luck in this world, but there was also evil. Eddie knew which had followed Chrissy to his trailer that night. If everything Henderson said was true–and the kid had a record of painful honesty–then at least Eddie could put a name to what he had seen.
"A curse."
He wasn't any less terrified. In fact, he was more frightened than he had ever been in his life, but Eddie's hands finally stopped shaking.
