Chapter 17

“Mom! Wake up,” Jonathan’s voice cracks as he crouches in front of Joyce, who’s slumped on the couch with her hand loosely wrapped around the handle of an axe. Its blade rests awkwardly against her lap.

Joyce jolts upright, disoriented and pale. 

“What…what time is it?” she mutters groggily.

“It’s almost eight,” Maggie answers gently, “We have to go.”

“Go? Go where?” Joyce’s eyes dart to the windows like she expects something to crawl out of them.

Maggie’s gaze softens, but her stomach churns, “To see Will.”

The ride to the morgue is suffocating. Joyce sits in the passenger seat like a ghost, staring blankly out the window as the Indiana landscape blurs by. Maggie is curled in the backseat, not sprawled out or slouched like usual, but upright and still, hands folded tightly in her lap.

Her eyes stay glued to the back of Joyce’s seat, but her thoughts spiral restlessly.

Was the thing I saw when we found El the same one Joyce saw come out of the wall? If it was, then what the hell is happening here? Was that really Will in the water? Was it really him, or is there something someone isn’t telling us?

Her throat tightens. Please don’t let it be him.

At the morgue, the front lobby smells like antiseptic and coffee gone cold. Maggie stays just a few steps behind as Joyce and Jonathan approach the reception desk, hands clasped together like they’re trying to hold each other up with sheer force of will.

She feels like she doesn’t belong here. Like she’s hovering at the edge of someone else’s tragedy. But then Hopper appears from behind her, his expression grim.

“Hey,” he greets her with a nod, “How’s everything at home, kid?”

Maggie huffs out a breath, “It’s… hard,” she admits, “Joyce is spiraling. We found her passed out on the couch this morning, holding an axe.”

Hopper winces, “Jesus.”

“And Jonathan… he’s barely holding it together. But he’s trying. For her. And me?” She shakes her head.,”I’ve seen things I can’t explain. And I know you think it’s grief, or trauma, or whatever…but what if Joyce isn’t wrong?”

Hopper’s jaw tenses. He looks at her like he’s hearing her and simultaneously begging her not to keep going.

“You can’t tell her that,” he says quietly, firmly, “Even if you do believe her. If she’s wrong, and there’s a real good chance she is, feeding into it is only going to break her worse. She’s already hanging on by a thread.”

Maggie looks down at her hands, nodding slowly. She understands. But the gnawing unease in her gut only digs deeper.

The receptionist glances up from her clipboard as Joyce finishes signing a form. 

“So, are you all his family?” she asks, eyes scanning the trio.

“Uh, yeah,” Jonathan says quickly, looping an arm around his mom, “I’m his brother. She’s his mom.”

Maggie steps up beside them, uncertain. 

“I—I sort of am,” she adds awkwardly, “I live with them.”

The woman offers a kind but apologetic smile, “I’m sorry, sweetheart, but only immediate family is allowed in the viewing room.”

The words strike Maggie like a slap. She swallows the lump forming in her throat and forces a tight smile, “Right. Of course. Totally.”

The ache blooms in her chest like a bruise. She backs up a step, trying not to let it show, but the truth is sharp and undeniable.

No matter how close she feels, she’ll never be truly one of them.

Hopper catches the shift in her face and walks over, placing a hand on her shoulder with surprising gentleness.

“Wait here. I’ll stay with you,” he says.

Maggie nods, arms crossed tight over her chest as she watches Joyce and Jonathan disappear down the hallway. The silence returns, thick and suffocating. Hopper leans against the wall beside her, crossing his arms.

For a while, neither of them speaks. But they don’t need to.

After nearly thirty minutes of restless pacing, tense silence, and Hopper rhythmically tapping his fingers against the edge of the plastic seat, he finally speaks.

“What’s taking so long?” he asks, voice tight with impatience and suspicion.

The receptionist sighs and glances at the wall clock, “Well, everything’s been a bit chaotic around here without Gary.”

Hopper stiffens, “Without Gary? What do you mean ‘without Gary’?”

“I thought you knew,” she says, her brow furrowing, “Those men from the State? They showed up last night. Said they were taking over and sent Gary home.”

Maggie sits up straighter, “Wait, who did the autopsy?”

“Someone from the State,” the woman shrugs, like it’s no big deal.

Maggie and Hopper exchange a sharp look. Neither says anything, but the weight of the glance is louder than any words. This isn’t just weird, it’s wrong. Maggie’s suspicions congeal into a sick certainty in her chest. Whatever is going on here… they’re being lied to.

Before she can speak, there’s a sudden burst of footsteps from the hallway. Jonathan rushes out, hand clamped over his mouth like he’s trying not to be sick. His face is pale, eyes glassy with something like shock and nausea.

He slumps into the chair beside Maggie, wordless. Hopper shifts slightly, letting Maggie remain between them. She touches Jonathan’s shoulder gently.

“How’s your mom doing?” she asks softly after a moment.

Jonathan shakes his head, staring at nothing, “I don’t know.”

Hopper leans forward, elbows on his knees, “How long has this been going on? With the lights, Will, the thing in the wall?”

Jonathan rubs a hand over his face, “Since the first phone call, I guess,” He pauses, “You know she had… anxiety problems. In the past. But this…this is different. I don’t know. I’m worried it could be…”

He trails off. Then inhales sharply. “I don’t know. She’ll be okay. We’ll be okay. My mom’s tough.”

Maggie lets out a small laugh through her nose, trying to hold back the emotion. 

“Yeah,” she agrees, nudging him gently, “She is.”

Jonathan cracks a watery smile. 

“She is,” he echoes, quieter this time.

Hopper gives a small grin, “Damn right she is.”

The moment is broken by the sound of raised voices. The coroner’s assistant is chasing after someone.

“Ma’am! Ma’am, I need you to sign the release forms!”

Joyce storms into the waiting area, jaw clenched, eyes blazing. 

“No!” she shouts, “I don’t know what you think that thing in there is, but it’s not my son!”

“Joyce, wait a second—” Hopper starts, standing quickly.

“No!” she barks, spinning around, “You didn’t see him. That… thing. That’s not Will!”

“Mom!” Jonathan’s voice trembles, but she’s already out the door.

Maggie locks eyes with Hopper, heart thudding. 

“Thanks, Hop,” she says in a rush, already running after Joyce.

Jonathan’s car crawls beside the sidewalk, matching pace with Joyce as she power-walks down the street, arms tight around her torso.

“Joyce, please get in the car,” Maggie calls out the open window.

“No. I need to think,” Joyce mutters, not slowing, “Just go on home.”

“Mom, will you just get in, please?” Jonathan pleads, his voice cracking.

She keeps walking.

Jonathan pulls the car over and he and Maggie jump out, chasing after her as she crosses the street like a woman on a mission.

“Stop!” Jonathan finally catches her arm.

“Just go home, kids,” Joyce says again, her voice thinner now, fraying at the edges.

“No, this is not an okay time to shut down,” Maggie says, stepping in front of her, “You can’t just pretend this isn’t happening.”

“Shut down? What—” Joyce looks between them, confused and angry.

“We have to deal with this, Mom,” Jonathan adds, voice firm, “We have to deal with the funeral.”

Joyce stares at them like they’ve grown horns.

“The funeral? For… for who?” she laughs bitterly, “For that thing back there?”

Jonathan’s hands ball into fists, “Okay, let me get this straight. That isn’t Will because he’s in the lights, right? Talking through the walls? And there’s a monster crawling around our house. Do you even hear yourself?”

“I know it sounds crazy!” Joyce screams, her voice shaking, “You think I don’t know that?! But I heard him! He talked to me. Will is calling to me and he’s scared! He’s alone! And I don’t care if anyone believes me, I’m going to find him and bring him home!“

She turns on her heel and stalks away, fury and anguish dripping from every step.

Jonathan calls after her, his voice hoarse, “Yeah?! Well while you’re talking to lights, the rest of us are planning a funeral for Will! I’m not letting him sit in that freezer another goddamn day!”

A few passersby stop and stare. The confrontation is too raw to look away from.

“Show’s over,” Maggie growls at them, shooting a glare before grabbing Jonathan’s arm, “C’mon.”

The funeral home is stuffy and sterile, the kind of place where even the silence feels artificially preserved.

Maggie and Jonathan stand in front of a row of caskets while the funeral director drones on behind them.

“This one here’s soft pine, crepe interior. Modest, but still elegant. If you’re looking for something a little more… substantial, we’ve got copper, bronze—”

Jonathan tunes him out, eyes locked on the closed lids of the caskets. Maggie stands beside him, arms crossed, jaw set. Neither speaks until a familiar voice interrupts.

“Your mom said you guys would be here,” Nancy says from the doorway, looking unsure of herself, “Can we talk?”

Jonathan nods and turns to the director, “Can we have a minute?”

The man nods and steps away. Outside on a bench, the three sit in a triangle of tension. Nancy holds a taped-together photo in her lap.

“I was looking at this picture of Barb,” she begins, “and… there’s something weird.”

She hands it to Maggie first. Maggie’s breath catches.

In the corner of the image, barely visible in the trees, is a warped shape. Distorted. Almost human, but not.

Jonathan leans in, “Could be perspective distortion. But I wasn’t using the wide-angle…”

“And you’re sure no one else was out there?” Nancy asks, voice low.

“No,” Jonathan says, “She was there one second… then gone. I figured she bolted.”

He glances at Maggie.

“She knows,” Maggie says quietly, “I told her.”

Nancy shakes her head, “The cops say she ran away. But they don’t know Barb. I went back to Steve’s. I thought I saw something. Some… weird man. Or something.”

She stands suddenly, “I shouldn’t have come. I’m sorry.”

“What’d he look like?” Jonathan asks quickly.

Nancy turns back, “What?”

“The man you saw.”

“What did he look like?” Maggie echoes.

Nancy hesitates, “I don’t know. It was like he—”

“Didn’t have a face?” Jonathan finishes.

Nancy nods slowly.

Maggie draws in a long breath, her fingers flexing anxiously, “There’s something you guys need to know.”

The three pile into Jonathan’s car and head to the school, Maggie in the back seat as she explains everything.

“I saw something. A couple weeks ago. I was out looking for Will during the storm, and I… I was somewhere else. It was like here, but different. Everything was dead. The air was cold. Silent. It was like this world but… wrong.”

Jonathan glances at her in the rearview. Nancy twists in her seat, listening closely.

“And there was something there. It was tall, pale, humanoid, but it didn’t have a face. And its head… it opened like a flower. With teeth.”

She swallows, “I think it’s the same thing Joyce saw. And maybe the thing you saw too, Nance. It’s real. And whatever it is… it’s not from here.”

The car falls into stunned silence, only the low hum of the tires on asphalt filling the void as they drive toward a truth none of them are ready for, but can no longer deny.

The three of them sit huddled in the darkroom. The silence hums with tension, broken only by the rhythmic click of the enlarger and the faint slosh of developing chemicals. The air smells like vinegar and paper.

Maggie stands beside Nancy, the warmth of their shoulders pressed close enough to share a breath. Nancy leans slightly into her, the touch subtle but deliberate. Neither of them comments on it, but their cheeks are warm, the blush hidden by the red-tinted light.

Across from them, Jonathan moves with careful focus, hunched over trays of photos, hands steady despite the weight they’re all carrying.

“And you’re…” Nancy starts softly, watching him.

“Brightening,” Jonathan says, without looking up, “Enlarging.”

Nancy shifts beside Maggie, her voice tentative, “Did your mom say anything else? About the thing? Like where it went or…”

Maggie shakes her head, frowning, “Only that it came out of the wall.”

Nancy’s brows knit together, “How long does this take?”

“Not long,” Jonathan murmurs, still focused on the photo developing under the red light.

“You been doing this a while?” Nancy asks gently.

Jonathan glances at her, “What?”

“Photography.”

He shrugs, “Yeah. I guess I’d rather just… observe people. Than, you know…”

“Talk to them?” Maggie chimes in, raising a brow, a teasing smile on her lips.

Jonathan snorts quietly, “Yeah. I know, it’s weird.”

“No!” Nancy says quickly, shaking her head, “It’s not weird.”

Jonathan meets her eyes, then Maggie’s, and laughs under his breath, “No, it is. It’s just… sometimes people don’t really say what they’re thinking. They wear masks. But if you catch the right moment, it says more than words. Like you and Maggie in the pool.”

Nancy freezes. Maggie’s breath catches in her throat. Both girls flush in tandem, faces turning away from each other in a failed attempt to hide it.

Jonathan’s eyes widen slightly as he realizes what he’s just said, “I—I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant—”

But he’s cut off when Nancy gasps suddenly, her hand flying up to point at the developing photo.

“That’s it,” she whispers, “That’s what I saw. In the woods. That’s it.”

Maggie leans in, eyes scanning the image now surfacing beneath the chemical sheen. 

Her stomach twists, “That’s what I saw too. In that other place. That’s it. It’s real.”

The image is blurred, but unmistakable, a tall, distorted silhouette lurking just behind Barb in the photo. Limbs too long. Head featureless.

Jonathan straightens up slowly, “My mom… she kept saying it wasn’t Will’s body. That he’s alive. I thought she was crazy.”

Maggie’s voice comes out like a whisper from her soul, “But if she’s right… If Will’s alive…”

Nancy turns to her, eyes wide, “Then Barbara might be too.”

The three of them stare at the picture, the unspoken hope hanging fragilely in the air.

Maggie and Jonathan walk through the front door, the faint scent of cigarette smoke and cheap aftershave hitting Maggie’s nose before she even sees him.

Lonnie Byers is sitting on the couch with Joyce sitting beside him, her shoulders stiff and her hands clenched tightly in her lap. Maggie slows, her boots scraping softly against the hardwood floor, and her face twists like she just bit into something sour.

Jonathan stiffens at her side. He instinctively moves in front of her as if shielding her from something toxic.

“Hey, kid,” Lonnie greets his son.

“You must be Maggie,” he continues, grinning like it’s supposed to charm her, “Joyce told me a lot about you.”

Maggie doesn’t respond. Her glare could curdle milk.

Jonathan steps forward, “What’s going on?”

Joyce forces a thin smile, though her eyes dart nervously to the tarp-covered wall behind them, “Your dad’s, uh… gonna stay here tonight. On the couch.”

“Yeah,” Lonnie adds quickly, “I’m here for as long as you need me, okay? How you holding up?”

Jonathan doesn’t answer, his expression blank.

Maggie moves quietly toward the wall, something already twisting in her gut. She reaches out and peels back the tarp. Behind it is a gaping hole punched clean through the drywall.

Maggie’s brow furrows, “What happened here?”

Joyce opens her mouth, but before she can speak, Lonnie stands up with a forced chuckle, “Don’t worry about that.”

Maggie’s eyes snap to him like a whip, “Wasn’t talking to you.”

She turns back to Joyce, more gently now, “Joyce…”

Before the woman can answer, Jonathan steps beside her. 

“Mom,” he says quietly, “That thing you saw before… did it come back?”

“That’s enough,” Lonnie barks, stepping forward, “You two don’t need to keep feeding into this delusion. Your mom’s been through hell.”

“Hey,” Maggie snaps, her voice sharp as a blade, “No one asked for your two cents. So how about you sit down, shut up, and let the people who actually care about this family talk.”

Lonnie bristles, but Jonathan holds up a hand before it escalates. 

“Can we talk? Alone?” he says, glaring at his father.

The second they’re out of sight, Maggie walks over to Joyce and kneels in front of her. The woman looks fragile. She’s trying to keep it together but her eyes are rimmed red, and her hands tremble slightly.

“He doesn’t believe me,” Joyce whispers, voice barely audible.

“I know,” Maggie says gently, reaching up to take her hands, “But I do.”

Joyce’s lip quivers, “I saw something again. Right there. I heard Will, he was talking right to me through some portal or something. I thought I was going insane again.”

“You’re not,” Maggie promises, “We saw it too. Me, Nancy, Jonathan. We saw it in the photos. And I saw it a couple weeks ago in the woods, Hopper told me not to say anything. It’s real, Joyce. You’re not alone in this.”

Joyce clutches Maggie’s hands tighter, her eyes spilling over with tears, “Lonnie thinks I’ve finally cracked. He came here talking about funerals and moving on and…God, I just know Will is still out there.”

“We’ll find him,” Maggie tells her firmly, “I don’t care what Lonnie says. We’re not done yet.”

Joyce nods shakily, “Thank you, sweetheart.”

Maggie gives Joyce a smile, “I’m gonna head to bed, get some rest before the funeral tomorrow. Please, do the same and don’t let Lonnie Byers walk all over you.”

The next morning, the whole Byers house is sluggish and quiet, a heavy tension thick in the air like fog that won’t lift. The floorboards creak under hurried feet, but no one speaks above a whisper.

In the bathroom, Maggie stands in front of the mirror, brushing out the last knot in her hair with slow, deliberate movements. She’s done her makeup in soft, muted tones, giving her face some color. She slips into a black, long-sleeved body-con dress that hugs her frame and ends at mid-calf. The neckline stops just below the collarbones, formal, respectful. She’s never dressed this somberly in her life. A thin black ribbon wraps around her wrist like a bracelet.

Taking a deep breath, she walks down the hallway and raps lightly on Jonathan’s door.

“Knock, knock, Broody Tunes,” she calls with forced cheer.

Inside, Jonathan is hunched in front of the mirror, lips pressed into a firm line as he fumbles with a black tie. He lets out a huff of frustration and looks up just as Maggie opens the door.

“Need some help?” she asks, a teasing smile.

He hesitates for a second, then nods, gaze dropping.

“Sorry…guess I never had anyone to teach me,” he mutters.

Maggie steps forward, brushing his hands aside gently as she takes over. Her fingers move with careful precision, looping and tightening the tie with practiced ease.

“Believe it or not, I’m not the worst person when it comes to fashion,” she says with a small grin.

Jonathan glances at her, then lets out a breathy chuckle.

“You look really nice,” he says quietly.

She smiles back, soft and warm, “Thanks. I actually put in effort.”

She pats his chest once the tie is straightened, “All done, Mope-athon.”

He quirks an eyebrow at her,”New nickname?”

She shrugs, brushing a speck of lint from his shoulder, “Had to come up with something else. After a while one name gets boring. And that’s the beauty of nicknames.”

He playfully nudges her shoulder, and for a moment, there’s a flicker of lightness in the room.

“Alright, let’s get going before Lonnie is on our ass,” he mutters, glancing toward the hall.

Maggie groans, dramatically rolling her eyes, “Please tell me we’re taking separate cars. I think if I have to stand that man’s presence anymore I’ll vomit my organs out.”

Jonathan smirks, tugging on his jacket, “Yeah, sure. We’ll take mine.”

Down the hall, Lonnie’s voice grates against her ears like nails on a chalkboard, but she keeps her head high. The four pile into their respective vehicles, Maggie sending death glares through the windshield as Lonnie climbs into his car. Her stomach churns just watching him put a hand on her shoulder.

As soon as they arrive at the cemetery, the gray sky above mirrors the mood. Maggie steps out of the car and adjusts the hem of her dress before scanning the small crowd. Her eyes catch on three familiar faces.

“Maggie!” the boys call, bounding over the moment they spot her.

She bends slightly to meet them halfway.

“Hey, guys. How are you doing? Haven’t seen you since everything went down,” she asks, her voice soft but laced with genuine concern.

“Oh, we’re good,” Lucas grins, eyes darting sideways.

“Yeah, totally,” Dustin adds with his signature toothless smile.

Maggie narrows her eyes, catching the subtle shift in their expressions, “You know something, don’t you.”

The three exchange looks before Mike speaks up, “A lot happened. We’ll have to update you later.”

She lifts a brow but nods, “Well, try not to laugh during the funeral, okay? Pretend like you’re sad.”

They nod, slipping back into the crowd just as the service begins.

Maggie sits beside Joyce on the cold, metal folding chairs, her hand resting lightly on the woman’s. She can feel Joyce trembling, though her face is stoic. The preacher’s voice drones on, distant and echoey. Maggie’s mind drifts, unable to focus on the words.

All she can think about is the body in that casket. How it isn’t Will. How she’s sure of it. How her sunflower in hand doesn’t belong among the neat little white roses the others toss. Her fingers tighten around the flower’s stem, knuckles pale.

As the ceremony wraps up and the crowd begins to move, Maggie walks up to the casket slowly. Her heels sink into the damp earth with every step. She looks down, lips pressed tightly together.

She lays the sunflower across the polished wood. Its petals are a jarring contrast to the muted floral arrangements.

She leans in slightly, whispering under her breath, “We’ll get you out soon, Sunshine.”

The wind catches her words and pulls them away into the sky.

She turns, eyes still misted, and spots Lonnie speaking with a pair of distant relatives, all fake smiles and solemn nods, like he’s playing a part in a movie he doesn’t believe in.

Jonathan stands a few feet away, shoulders curled inward, eyes on the dirt. Maggie walks toward him, but Lonnie cuts between them, his hand slapping Jonathan on the back with exaggerated sympathy.

“You held it together good, son,” Lonnie says, his voice too loud for the mood, “Proud of you.”

Jonathan doesn’t answer and instead stalks off to see Nancy.

“You’ve got a hell of a lot of nerve,” Maggie mutters.

Lonnie turns, “What’s that?”

“You don’t get to stand here like some grieving father of the year,” she says, voice low and shaking with restraint, “Not when you haven’t been here. Not when Joyce and Jonathan and Will went through everything without you.”

His smile vanishes.

“I came as soon as I could.”

“No,” she snaps, stepping closer, “You came as soon as it made you look good. When there were people to see you. When there was a casket and a crowd.”

Lonnie frowns, “You better watch your mouth, girl. This is family business.”

She scoffs, “And what the hell do you think I’ve been? I’ve been here every night. Every fight. Every meltdown. When Joyce woke up screaming, when Jonathan had to calm her down, I was there.”

“You’re not blood,” Lonnie says flatly, voice turning cold, “You’re not one of us.”

Maggie’s expression flickers. Just for a second. A crack in the armor.

Lonnie continues, voice rising, “You think crashing in the house makes you part of this family? You think being Joyce’s little emotional support animal makes you important? Kid, you’re a stray. You’re here because she pities you. Don’t confuse that with love.”

Several heads turn. People are watching now. Maggie stares at him like she’s been hit. Her fingers curl at her sides, shaking.

“You’re the only person here who doesn’t belong,” she hisses.

“Oh, but I do, sweetheart. Name’s on the birth certificate,” he sneers, jabbing a thumb toward Jonathan, “You? You’re just the ghost that wandered in after the damage was done.”

“Say that again,” she dares, stepping in close, eyes blazing.

Maggie breathes hard, fists trembling, “You don’t get to rewrite history just because you showed up in time for the funeral. You left. You stayed gone. You don’t get to kick the people who stayed behind.”

Joyce walks up just as the final words fall from Maggie’s mouth. She looks between them, her face drawn, drained, but alert.

“What’s going on?”

Lonnie steps back, “Just reminding the girl where she stands.”

Joyce looks to Maggie in confusion but Lonnie is already turned in the other direction, muttering curses as he goes.

Maggie’s voice comes out strained, “Everything is fine, Joyce.”

But Maggie feels Lonnie’s words sink into her ribs like sunlight. She wraps her arms around herself, trying not to let the insecurity eat away at her mind.

She joins Nancy and Jonathan who are in a hushed conversation.

“What’s going on?” she inquires.

“We’re gonna find this thing and kill it,” Jonathan assesses.

Maggie doesn’t waste a second, “Alright I’m in.”