Chapter 34

Guys i was gonna make the end of the season one chapter but it ended up being like 7000 words so i split it into two lmaooooo. but anyway were reaching the end and the next chapter gets lowkey so sad buttttt i think yall will like it anyway :))))))))))))))))))))))))))

Back at the Byers’ house, the mood is nothing less than somber. The lights flicker weakly above.

Maggie kneels beside the couch where Will lies unconscious, pale and sweating, his small chest rising and falling in shallow breaths. She reaches out, brushing the damp hair from his forehead.

“Hey, sunshine,” she whispers, her voice trembling, “I’m so sorry I couldn’t be there for you. I wish I was.”

Her words fade into the quiet, swallowed by the hum of the flickering lights. For a moment, she swears she hears something whisper back. Not Will, but something deep and cold. A faint hiss curling around her thoughts, a pulse like an echo of her heartbeat.

She shakes her head hard, blinking it away.

Behind her, Nancy stands quietly, rubbing gentle circles on Maggie’s shoulder. Maggie glances back with a faint, weary smile, and rises to her feet. As she stands, the world tilts slightly. The lights flicker again, and for half a second she sees the room overlayed with dark, spindly vines crawling up the walls. She blinks and they’re gone.

She exhales shakily and walks down the short hallway toward Joyce’s room.

Hopper sits on the floor near the bed, elbows on his knees, a deep frown cut into his face. Joyce sits on the edge of the mattress, wrapped in a blanket, clutching Bob’s name tag like it’s the only thing keeping her upright.

“Hey, Mom,” Maggie says softly as she sits down beside her, “I’m so sorry I disappeared. I should’ve been here. I could’ve helped.”

Joyce turns and immediately pulls Maggie into a trembling hug, the blanket slipping off her shoulders.

“Oh, baby,” Joyce weeps into her hair, “It’s not your fault. None of this is your fault. I’m just glad you’re alive.”

Maggie squeezes her eyes shut and sinks into her mother’s arms, trying to shoulder some of her pain the only way she knows how. The weight of Joyce’s grief bleeds into her, heavy and suffocating, but Maggie lets it happen. When she reaches into it, something reaches back. A deep, oily shadow pressing against her mind like fingers dragging through tar. For a heartbeat, her vision tunnels and she hears a distant, guttural hiss: Join us.

“We’re gonna figure this out,” she whispers hoarsely, tears stinging her eyes, “I promise.”

When she finally leaves the room, the house feels smaller, but the whispers follow.

In the kitchen, everyone’s crowded around the table. The drawing of the shadowy creature sprawls across it like a curse.

“The shadow monster,” Dustin says grimly.

“It got Will that day on the field,” Mike explains, “The doctor said it was like a virus. It infected him.”

“I’ve seen that thing before,” Maggie says, stepping closer.

Every head turns toward her.

“When I tried to snap Will out of his trance that day… I think some of it got into me,” she hesitates, the back of her kneck prickling, “That’s why I’ve been having nightmares and visions. Why I can feel everything. When the feds torched the tunnels, Will and I both felt it.”

Dustin throws his hands up, “And you’re just now mentioning this?”

Maggie shrugs, the corner of her mouth twitching and stomach churning, “Didn’t seem like a big deal.”

“Not a big deal?” Max blurts.

The light above her flickers again, then steadies. Maggie’s eye twitches.

“It’s not like Will,” Maggie continues, “It doesn’t need me. But it’s there. Waiting in the back of my head.”

Max frowns, “So this virus… it connects you both to the tunnels?”

“To the tunnels, the Upside Down, the monsters, everything,” Mike says.

“Whoa, whoa, hold up,” Steve says, throwing his hands up, “You guys are saying you’re psychic now?”

“It’s not psychic,” Dustin explains, “It’s a hive mind.”

“A what?”

“A collective consciousness,” Lucas says, “Everything’s linked, vines, monsters, Will… and Maggie, apparently.”

Maggie swallows hard, trying to ignore the sharp pain behind her eyes. For a moment, her vision fractures, the edges of the room pulse black like ink seeping in from the corners.

Dustin flips open a D&D manual, his eyes gleaming, “Like the Mind Flayer.”

“The what?” Maggie, Steve, and Max say in unison.

“The Mind Flayer,” Dustin repeats proudly, tapping the page, “It’s a monster from another dimension, super ancient, super powerful. Controls everything with its highly developed psionic powers.”

As the kids talk, Maggie presses her fingers to her temple. The words controls everything bounce around her head, growing louder.

Hopper, who’s just entered, groans, “Oh my God. This is a kid’s game.”

“No, it’s a manual. And it’s not for kids. And unless you know something that we don’t, this is the best metaphor—”

“Analogy,” Lucas interrupts.

“Analogy? That’s what you’re worried about? Fine. An analogy for understanding whatever the hell this is.”

Nancy cuts in, “Okay, so this mind flamer thing—”

“Mind Flayer,” Maggie and Dustin interrupt.

Nancy sighs, “What does it want?”

“To conquer us, basically. It believes it’s the master race.”

“Like the Germans,” Steve says with a nod, as if he’s just cracked the code.

“The Nazis, dumbass,” Maggie mutters.

“Right, right, the Nazis,” he mumbles.

Mike presses on, “It wants to spread. To take over our world.”

Lucas folds his arms, “We’re talking about the destruction of our world as we know it.”

Steve lets out a long groan, “Fantastic. That’s great.“

Something inside Maggie shifts. The whisper returns, clearer this time. We are everything.

Maggie’s breath hitches and the room distorts again. The wallpaper peels, replaced by writhing tendrils of black, the floor slick with phantom sludge. She blinks and it’s gone.

Nancy studies the drawing, her brow furrowed, “If this thing is the brain… then if we kill it, we kill everything it controls.”

Maggie stiffens at that, biting the inside of her cheek. Including me and Will, she thinks. But she keeps it to herself.

Hopper rips the manual out of Nancy’s hands. “Great. So what, we just shoot it? Throw fireballs at it?”

“No, no, no. No fireballs,” Dustin laughs, “Uh, you summoned an undead army, uh because…because zombies, you know, they don’t have brains, and the mind flayer it…it…it likes brains. It’s just a game. It’s a game.”

“What the hell are we doing here?” Hopper sighs, frustrated.

“I thought we were waiting for your military backup,” Dustin shoots back.

“We are!”

“How are they gonna stop this? You can’t just shoot this with guns,” Mike argues.

“You don’t know that! We don’t know anything!” Hopper yells.

“We know it’s already killed everbody in that lab,” Mike shoots back.

“We know the monsters are gonna molt again,” Lucas adds.

“We know that its only a matter of time before those tunnels reach this town,” Dustin says.

“They’re right,” Joyce’s voice sounds out, “We have to kill it. I want to kill it.”

“Me, too. Me too, Joyce, okay? But how do we do that? We don’t exactly know what we’re dealing with here.” Hopper points out.

“No. But he does,” Mike says as he makes his way toward an unconscious Will, “If anyone knows how to destroy this thing, it’s Will. he’s connected to it. He’ll know its weakness. Maybe even Maggie.”

“I thought we couldn’t trust him anymore. That he’s a spy for the mindflayer,” Max points out. “Yeah, but he can’t spy if he doesn’t know where he is.”

Maggie’s gaze drifts toward the window, and for a split second, she sees movement outside, long, inhuman shadows sliding just beneath the glass.

She blinks. Gone.

“Maggie?” Nancy’s voice again, soft and worried.

Maggie startles slightly, realizing everyone’s looking at her. She forces a grin.

“Sorry. Zoned out.”

But inside, she’s screaming. Because she can feel it, the Mind Flayer’s awareness brushing hers like a cold breath down her spine. Every time she blinks, she sees a flash of the tunnels. Every time someone says Will’s name, her head pulses.

The group bursts into motion. They start prepping the shed outside, covering the windows and setting up lights. Nancy and Maggie work together in silence, the cold night air nipping at their faces.

After a while, Nancy finally speaks, “Is that thing really in you?”

Maggie ties off the last tarp and exhales, “Unfortunately.”

“Does it… hurt?” Nancy asks softly.

Maggie shrugs, but her voice is quieter now, “Sometimes. It’s like… being homesick for a place you’ve never been. It whispers. It wants control. But it’s not getting it.”

Nancy nods, worry flickering across her face, “You’re not scared?”

“Of course I’m scared,” Maggie admits, “But if Will can fight it, so can I.”

Nancy studies her for a long moment, then reaches out and squeezes her arm, “You’re not alone in this, you know.”

Maggie gives a faint, lopsided smile, “I know. Just wish I believed it.”

Nancy’s eyes soften, “You’re stronger than you think, Maggie. You always have been.”

Maggie looks away toward the flickering lights of the house, her throat tight.

“Yeah,” she says quietly, “Let’s just hope that’s enough.”

Once they finish setting up the shed, the air feels dense with unease. The flicker of the hanging bulb throws long, jagged shadows across the wooden walls, and the smell of bleach lingers sharp and acrid in the cold.

Jonathan carries Will inside, his arms trembling slightly under the boy’s weight. Will’s skin is cold and clammy against his brother’s sleeve. He lowers him gently into the chair they’d rigged together.

A bright lamp is positioned in front of him, its beam harsh and white. Another chair sits across from him, empty, like an invitation no one wants to accept.

“Alright,” Hopper mutters, his voice low and taut, “You ready?”

Joyce takes a sharp breath, her hands shaking even as she tries to steady them, “Yeah.”

Hopper nods once, grabbing a small cotton ball soaked in bleach. He hesitates for a split second before waving it under Will’s nose.

The reaction is immediate. Will jerks upright with a gasp, his eyes snapping open. He blinks at the faces surrounding him: Mike, Jonathan, Joyce, Maggie, Hopper. His breath comes fast and ragged.

“What? What—what is this?” he demands, “What is this? Why am I tied up?”

Joyce crouches in front of him, tears glimmering in her eyes, “Will, we just wanna talk to you, honey. We’re not gonna hurt you, okay?”

Will’s head whips toward her, panic flashing behind his eyes, “Where am I?”

Hopper steps forward and holds the drawing of the Mind Flayer in front of him.

“Do you recognize this?” Hopper asks.

Will stares at it for a moment, then shakes his head hard, too fast.

Joyce tries again, her voice soft but pleading, “Hey… we want to help you, sweetheart. But to do that, we need to understand how to kill it.”

Will’s voice cracks as he screams, “Why am I tied up? Why am I tied up?”

The words come again and again, louder and more frantic. He jerks against the ropes, his small body shaking with effort.

Mike flinches, and Maggie instinctively reaches out to steady him.

“Hey,” Maggie whispers, eyes flicking between Will and the others, “He’s gonna be fine.”

Then she looks at Mike. His hands are clenched so tightly the knuckles are white, his breathing shallow as he stares at Will like he’s watching his best friend drown. Maggie can feel the fear coming off him in waves.

“Can I?” she asks quietly.

Mike is confused for a heartbeat, then realizes what she means. He hesitates, but the look in her eyes makes him nod.

Maggie exhales, grounding herself before reaching out. The fear in him rushes toward her, a flood she willingly takes on. It hits her chest like ice water, but she bears it. She lets it burn through her veins until Mike’s shaking steadies and his shoulders drop, the panic in his eyes dimming to something more manageable.

The world around her wavers, shadows darkening for a moment at the edges of her sight. Her pulse thrums against her temples. She feels the Mind Flayer’s influence in the back of her head, like it senses her act and disapproves.

Will’s screams shift to ragged breathing, his body sagging against the chair restraints. The overhead lights flicker violently, humming like angry wasps. Hopper steps forward, gripping Will’s shoulder to hold him steady while Joyce kneels again in front of her son.

“Do you know what March twenty-second is?” she asks softly.

Will doesn’t answer. His head droops lower.

“It’s your birthday,” Joyce continues, her voice trembling, “When you turned eight, I gave you that huge box of crayons. Remember that? 120 colors.”

Her lips quiver as she speaks.

“All your friends got you Star Wars toys, but all you wanted to do was draw. You made this big spaceship, it wasn’t from a movie, it was yours. You called it a rainbow ship.”

Joyce smiles faintly, tears streaming down her cheeks, “You must’ve used every color in that box. I hung it up at Melvald’s and told everyone who came in, ‘My son drew this.’ You were so embarrassed, but I was so proud. So, so proud.”

Her voice cracks, but she keeps talking, keeps clinging to the sound of it.

Jonathan steps forward next, his voice shaking as he recounts a memory of building Castle Byers when Will was six. Then Mike, recalling the day they met and became friends. Each voice fills the air, one after another.

By the time it’s Maggie’s turn, the air feels charged. She steps closer, her heart pounding against her ribs. Her fingertips twitch as she looks at Will.

“Hey, sunshine,” she says softly, “Remember when you tried to teach me how to draw that stupid dragon from your game? You said I was the worst artist in Hawkins.” A small laugh escapes her, choked with tears, “You were probably right.”

Will’s head shifts slightly.

“That night, you told me not everyone has to be good at the same things,” she continues, her voice trembling, “That I was still cool in your book because I could make Dustin laugh and talk Jonathan into letting you sneak cookies. You always see the good, even when things are dark. That’s who you are, Will. That’s what’s real. Not this thing inside you.”

She hesitates, then reaches out and places her hand over his again.

The second she does, a shock rips through her. Her vision blurs like the world has folded in on itself.

Maggie.

The voice isn’t her own. It’s crawling under her skin.

Her breath catches as her eyes roll back slightly. She sees flashes: the tunnels pulsing like veins, the Mind Flayer’s shape twisting above Hawkins like a storm. Her body jerks once, violently, and her knees buckle.

“Maggie!” Mike shouts, grabbing her arm.

She doesn’t respond. Her eyes are open but unfocused, her lips parted like she’s caught mid-breath. The light flickers rapidly overhead, bulbs popping. Joyce screams her name. Hopper grabs her shoulders and shakes her, but she doesn’t blink.

“Oh my God,” Nancy, who heard them screaming for the girl, gasps from the doorway.

“She’s—she’s connected to him!” Mike cries.

Hopper looks between Maggie and Will, both of them motionless, both trapped behind their eyes.

“Do something!” Joyce begs.

Jonathan’s voice cracks, “We—we have to talk to her like Will. Bring her back.”

They move quickly, desperate. Panic ripples through the shed as Maggie’s body goes slack, her eyes wide open but vacant. The light in front of her flickers wildly, strobing across the walls like a heartbeat gone wrong.

Joyce is the first to break.

“Maggie—Maggie, honey, please,” she cries, grabbing the girl’s hand between both of hers, rocking slightly as if that could pull her back. Her voice cracks, raw with the grief she’s been holding in since the lab, “You come back to me, you hear? You come back right now!”

Mike crouches beside them, trembling, voice rising with emotion, “Hey, Mags—hey, remember when you used to argue with me about literally everything? You said Star Wars was overrated, and then you watched it twice just to make sure you were right. You never let me win, not once.” His voice breaks, “So don’t you dare lose now, okay?”

Dustin’s voice pipes up next, loud and cracking, desperate to fill the silence.

“She used to steal my walkie-talkie,” he says, eyes glassy, trying to smile, “She’d prank call me—pretend she was the President, or Hopper, or—hell, one time she said she was the Demogorgon demanding snacks,” His laugh dies halfway through, replaced by a sniffle, “You can’t just stop now, Mags. I still owe you for that one.”

Lucas kneels on her other side, his usually steady tone wavering, “You gave everyone the dumbest nicknames,” he says, forcing out a shaky laugh.

“You called me ‘Cool Hand Luke’ for, like, a month. Said it made me sound mysterious. You can’t leave if you haven’t given Steve one yet. C’mon.”

But Maggie doesn’t move. The light flickers harder now until the shadows stretch long across the walls, pulsing with every flicker.

Nancy steps forward. Her hands are shaking, her eyes red and shining in the harsh light.

“Maggie,” she starts, her voice trembling, “you told me once you weren’t scared of anything.” She kneels, close enough that her voice softens into a whisper. “You said you’d fight the whole world if it meant keeping Will safe.” Her throat tightens, but she pushes through the words, voice breaking into something fierce, “Well, it’s time to fight again. Come on. Come back.”

For a long, awful moment, there’s nothing, just the buzz of the lamp and the sound of everyone breathing like they’re afraid to stop.

Then the light steadies. The flicker fades into a low, steady glow. Maggie’s eyes flutter, her pupils shrinking back to normal. A single tear slides down her cheek, catching the light like glass. Her fingers twitch against Will’s hand.

“Maggie?” Nancy whispers, voice shaking.

Then, with a soft, sharp gasp, Maggie collapses forward, her body limp. Hopper lunges forward just in time to catch her, pulling her up against his chest.

“Maggie?” Nancy breathes again, stepping closer.

Her voice is weak, barely a whisper, but it’s hers.

“He’s in there,” she rasps, eyelids fluttering, “But it’s not just him anymore.”

The shed falls into silence. The only sound is Will’s shallow, uneven breathing. His eyes are still wide, staring straight ahead at nothing. Then his fingers begin tapping against the wooden arm of the chair. A steady rhythm.

Tap-tap-tap. Pause. Tap-tap.

“Will?” Joyce whispers, voice trembling.

But the boy doesn’t respond. His gaze fixed somewhere far beyond them. The tapping grows more deliberate. Hopper leans closer, realization dawning.

“Wait,” he mutters. Then, suddenly, he spins and bolts for the house. “Come on!”

The rest of the group scrambles after him, tripping over each other as they race through the yard and into the kitchen.

“What’s happening?” Dustin pants, nearly skidding as Hopper grabs a notepad off the table and slams it down.

“Think he’s talking,” Hopper says quickly, scribbling frantically as Will’s pattern echoes in his memory, “Just not with words.”

The others crowd around, watching as he draws quick dots and dashes across the paper. Joyce stands beside him, eyes wide, following every mark.

“Morse code,” Mike realizes.

“Exactly,” Hopper keeps writing, muttering under his breath as the pattern continues.

After a few tense moments, he looks up, then rushes back toward the shed. Jonathan and Joyce tear after him, the screen door slamming behind them.

Maggie stays behind, half leaning on the kitchen counter. The warmth from the lights doesn’t reach her. She still feels the cold from the shed buried deep in her bones. Nancy slips an arm around her shoulders.

Maggie’s voice shakes, but there’s certainty in it.

“He’s telling us how to kill this thing,” she whispers.

Her eyes are distant, like she’s hearing something the others can’t, “We need to close the gate.”

Everyone turns to her at once, but before anyone can speak the telephone shrieks.

Dustin jumps and rushes for the receiver, slamming it back down. The ringing cuts off, but starts again, louder this time, echoing through the house. Nancy’s face hardens. She grabs the phone, rips the cord straight out of the wall, and throws it to the ground.

The silence that follows is deafening.

“Do you think he heard that?” Max whispers.

Steve tries to sound calm, “It’s just a phone. It could be anywhere, right?”

But before anyone can answer, an inhuman screech splits the night.

Another follows. Then another. The sound vibrates through the windows. Maggie exhales shakily, the corner of her mouth twitching in dark humor.

“You know,” she says, bracing her hands on her knees, “I think he might have an inkling as to where we are.”

The kids move fast. Mike, Lucas, and Max crouch low in front of the living room windows, peering out into the dark.

Heavy footsteps thud from the back hallway as Hopper storms in, rifle in hand. His expression is grim, all business.

“Hey!” he barks, “Get away from the windows!”

The kids scramble back instantly. Hopper scans the room, spots Jonathan, and shoves the rifle toward him.

“You know how to use this?”

Jonathan is visibly startled, “What?”

“Can you use this?” Hopper snaps again, voice rough with urgency.

Jonathan hesitates, but before he can respond, Nancy steps forward.

“I can,” she says, taking the rifle from Hopper with steady hands.

Maggie straightens up beside her, flipping open her pocket knife with a sharp click. Her movements are calm, but her pulse pounds hard against her throat.

She flashes Nancy a crooked smirk, “You know, I always dreamed of dying next to a beautiful girl.”

Nancy doesn’t even glance at her.

“We’re not dying,” she says firmly.

Maggie grins, the tension in her eyes betraying the fear underneath.

“Optimism is hot,” she says.

Outside, the screeches grow louder. And inside the Byers’ house, every breath feels like borrowed time.

Immediately, the air shifts. A low, guttural snarl rips through the night outside the Byers’ home, followed by the violent rustle of bushes. Every head in the room whips toward the window.

The growling grows louder. The shadows beyond the glass flicker with movement.

Suddenly, the window explodes inward. Shards of glass scatter across the floor, catching the light like fractured stars. The group screams and stumbles back as a demodog bursts through the opening, slamming against the living room floor with a thud.

“Is it dead?” Max breathes.

Hopper steps forward, rifle raised. He nudges the creature’s body with the toe of his boot. Its head lolls lifelessly to the side.

“Yeah,” he mutters, “It’s dead.”

But before anyone can exhale, the front door gives a long, eerie creak.

Every muscle in the room tenses. Weapons lift. Flashlights and trembling hands aim toward the entryway.

The lock clicks and the knob slowly turns.

The door swings open and there she is.