Chapter 8

It has been about two months since Maggie literally fell into Hawkins, Indiana。

Two months since she dropped into the lives of four middle school boys mid-campaign and mid-puberty, and promptly flipped their world upside down with nothing but a crooked grin, confusing abilities, and a rotating wardrobe of mismatched sweaters.

Since then, Maggie has become something like a fixture in Hawkins. A mystery, a menace, a makeshift older sister. To the kids, she’s chaos incarnate with good snacks and better stories. To adults, she’s something unnameable, something hard to look away from, kind of like a car crash.

Today is November 6, 1983.

And today, she’s sitting criss-cross on the basement carpet, elbow-deep in Dorito crumbs, surrounded by the self-declared most elite Dungeons & Dragons party Hawkins has to offer.

Mike Wheeler sits at the head of the card table, Game Master screen set before him like a shield. Lucas and Dustin are locked in their usual bickering positions, and Will curls his legs under him as he leans forward, eyes bright with anticipation. Maggie lounges beside Will on the floor, chin in her hand, idly twirling one of the tiny dice between her fingers.

The table is cluttered with character sheets, hand-drawn maps, and greasy napkins. Maggie’s not technically in the campaign, but her unsolicited commentary is practically a fifth character by now.

“Something is coming,” Mike intones, voice low and dramatic, “Something hungry for blood. A shadow grows on the wall behind you, swallowing you in darkness. It is almost here.”

Maggie snorts softly, “Do you rehearse these in the mirror, Wheeler?”

Mike ignores her, “What do you do?”

“What is it?” Will asks, the slightest tremor in his voice.

“What if it’s the Demogorgon?” Dustin suggests with wide eyes, “Oh Jesus, we’re so screwed if it’s the Demogorgon.”

“It’s not the Demogorgon,” Lucas scoffs.

“An army of troglodytes charge into the chamber!” Mike announces triumphantly, slapping a card down on the table.

Lucas throws up both hands, “HA! Told you.”

“Troglodytes?” Dustin mutters in confusion.

Maggie leans over to whisper to Will, “Sounds like my dating history.”

Will giggles behind his hand, and Lucas basks in the feeling of victory.

“Wait a minute,” Mike says, his voice lowering again, “Did you hear that? That… that sound?”

He pauses for dramatic effect. Maggie mouths the words along with him, already knowing what’s coming.

“Boom… boom… boom…”

Mike slaps the table, and everyone jumps.

“That didn’t come from the troglodytes,” he says, eyes wide, “That came from something else.”

Maggie fakes a gasp and clutches Will’s arm, “It’s the ghost of your social life.”

“The Demogorgon!” Mike slams the monster figurine onto the table.

Everyone groans.

“We’re in deep shit,” Dustin says grimly.

“Will, your action!” Mike calls.

“I don’t know!” Will panics.

“Fireball him!” Lucas shouts.

“I’d have to roll a 13 or higher!”

“Too risky. Cast a protection spell,” Dustin advises.

“Don’t be a pussy. Fireball him,” Lucas shoots back.

“Protection!”

“Fireball!”

“The Demogorgon grows tired of your silly human bickering!” Mike roars, “He stomps forward—BOOM!”

“Fireball him!”

“BOOM!”

“Protection!”

“He roars in anger!”

The basement erupts into chaos.

“FIREBALL!” Will screams, and the die goes flying off the table.

All four of them immediately scramble after it, crawling on hands and knees, overturning couch cushions and chip bags.

Karen’s voice drifts down from the top of the stairs, “Mike!”

“Mom, we’re in the middle of a campaign!” Mike shouts back.

“You mean the end of one? Fifteen after.”

Mike races up the stairs, groaning, while the others continue hunting for the die.

“I found it!” Will yells from under the couch.

“Did Mike see it? Then it doesn’t count,” Lucas declares, already resetting the board.

“Yo, anyone want this?” Dustin asks, holding up a greasy, sad-looking slice of leftover pizza.

“Nope.”

“Nah.”

Maggie stretches, brushing Dorito dust off her jeans, “I’ll take it upstairs to Nancy.”

Lucas raises an eyebrow, “You’re not even subtle about it anymore.”

Maggie winks, “Why should I be? Mike’s sister is hot.”

Will stands, brushing off his knees, “I’ll see you at home?”

“You bet, Sunshine,” She leans over and plants a kiss on the top of his head, ruffling his hair affectionately, “I won’t be too far behind.”

As the boys settle back into sorting the aftermath of their battle, Maggie makes her way up the stairs, balancing the plate of pizza on one hand. The upstairs is quiet except for Karen moving around in the kitchen and the faint sound of Nancy’s door creaking open down the hall.

Maggie pauses by the dining room mirror, catching her own reflection. Two months ago, she didn’t know who she was. Still doesn’t, really.

But somehow, in the middle of Indiana, surrounded by goblins and demogorgons, little boys with big hearts, and a maybe-crush on a girl, she’s starting to feel like she could figure it out.

She hums something soft under her breath and turns toward the hallway. Time to find Nancy Wheeler. And maybe, accidentally, totally by chance, run into her while holding a slice of greasy pizza like it’s an offering.

Maggie follows the faint creak of a door down the hallway, bare feet whispering across the Wheeler’s carpeted floor as she balances the plate of cold pizza with practiced grace. She doesn’t knock, doesn’t really believe in knocking, actually. Instead, she leans against the doorway of Nancy’s room and peeks inside.

Nancy’s back is to her, corded phone tucked between her shoulder and ear, her voice hushed but urgent.

“I don’t know, Barb. He keeps asking me to hang out again, but it’s like—” Nancy sighs, “I don’t want to just be some girl who follows him around like a puppy. I actually like him, but…”

There’s a long pause as Barb answers from the other end, too soft for Maggie to hear, though Maggie already knows Barb’s tone by heart. Steady, honest, and a little sharp around the edges. A good match for Nancy’s quick tongue and cautious eyes.

Maggie smiles and leans her hip against the doorframe.

“She’s over at my house right now, actually,” Nancy says into the phone, “Maggie. I mean. You probably already knew that.”

Maggie raises her eyebrows at that, shifting the plate to one hand.

Nancy lowers her voice even more, “She’s… I don’t know, Barb. She’s weird.”

Maggie’s grin grows.

“Weird how?” comes Barb’s voice faintly through the phone.

“I don’t know,” Nancy admits, “It’s like she’s… flirty, but not just flirty. And she remembers everything you say, even the little stuff. Like last week, I said I liked green apple lip balm and she—she gave me a pack today like it was nothing.”

“Do you like her?” Barb asks curiously.

“No, definitely not. The flirting is annoying. I like Steve.”

“Are you sure?”

Before Nancy can answer, Maggie decides that’s her cue.

With zero shame or hesitation, she leans forward just enough to let the wood creak under her heel.

Nancy flinches, spinning halfway toward the door like a teenager caught smoking.

“Pizza?” Maggie offers sweetly, holding up the plate.

Nancy glares, cheeks turning bright pink, “Were you eavesdropping?”

Maggie tilts her head, “Define eavesdropping. If your door’s open and your voice is carrying… is that really on me?”

Barb’s muffled laughter snorts through the receiver.

“Tell Barb I say hi,” Maggie says brightly, brushing past Nancy into the room like she owns the place. She flops onto the edge of Nancy’s bed, crossing her ankles and holding the pizza out like it’s a peace treaty.

Nancy glares at her for another heartbeat, then sighs and takes the slice.

“Hi, Maggie,” Barb says with dry affection.

“Hey, Barbarella. Tell Wheeler here to stop talking about me like I’m a stray cat that keeps showing up.”

“She likes you more than she lets on.”

“Traitor,” Nancy mutters into the phone.

“Don’t act like you didn’t blush when she winked at your mom.”

“She winks at everyone!”

Maggie props her head on her hand, “Not everyone. Your mom’s just got good taste in cardigans.”

Nancy gives her a withering look, but the corners of her mouth twitch like she’s trying not to smile.

“Okay, I’m hanging up now,” she tells Barb, “Before you both start gossiping about me while I’m still on the line.“

Barb’s last comment is faint but pointed, “Just admit it, she’s growing on you.”

Nancy slams the phone down a little harder than necessary and turns to face Maggie with crossed arms.

“I’m not blushing,” she says preemptively.

“I didn’t say you were,” Maggie grins, eyes gleaming, “But now that you mention it…”

“You’re exhausting.”

“I get that a lot.”

Nancy sighs and drops down next to her on the bed, accepting the pizza with a dramatic groan like it’s all that’s keeping her alive. They sit in companionable silence for a moment, Maggie picking at the crust of her slice, eyes flicking to Nancy’s shoulder, then back down.

“So,” Maggie says softly, without her usual theatrics, “You like Steve, huh?”

Nancy tenses for a beat, then relaxes.

“Maybe,” she says, “You already know that.”

“Yeah,” Maggie replies, nudging her foot against Nancy’s, “But I like hearing people say things out loud. Makes it feel more real.”

Nancy doesn’t answer right away. She’s still chewing, eyes darting to the window. It’s dusky outside, the last hints of gold disappearing into that purple-blue haze. The quiet in the room is strange, comfortable, and heavy.

Nancy looks down at the crust in her hand, then back at Maggie. 

“I don’t think you’re a stray cat,” she says suddenly.

Maggie smiles, soft, surprised.

“I think you’re a hurricane,” Nancy adds.

“That’s either the best or worst compliment I’ve ever gotten.”

“You can decide later.”

Maggie’s eyes linger on Nancy for a long beat.

“Thanks for letting me in,” she says softly.

Nancy just nods.

Downstairs, Karen calls to Maggie, her voice echoing through the halls. Maggie hops up, already moving.

“That’s my cue to leave, Nancy Drew,” Maggie smiles, “See ya at school. Now it’s my time to romance your mother.”

Maggie winks, and with that, she’s gone.

The girl pedals her bike through the quiet streets of Hawkins, the wind tugging at the sleeves of Jonathan’s flannel shirt wrapped around her shoulders. The sky is dimming fast, streaked with purples and golds, and a few porch lights flicker on as she rounds the final corner toward the Byers house.

When she gets there, it’s dark.

All the lights are off. The porch is still. No TV static murmuring through the windows, no glow from the kitchen lamp Joyce usually forgets to turn off.

Maggie frowns but figures everyone must’ve already gone to bed. She tiptoes inside, drops her backpack with a quiet thud, brushes her teeth with autopilot movements, and collapses fully clothed on the pull-out couch with a groan. Within minutes, she’s out cold.

In the morning, Maggie rises from the dead.

Her hair is a tangled disaster, her flannel twisted halfway off her shoulder, and there’s pillow crease lines across one cheek. She drags herself into the living room barefoot, still yawning, to find Jonathan flipping pancakes with practiced boredom and Joyce pacing around with wild eyes, rummaging through a pile of unopened mail and stray pens on the table.

“Maggie, you’re up! Good,” Joyce’s voice is clipped but warm as she snatches her car keys from under a coupon flyer.

“Morning,” Maggie croaks, squinting at the light, “Smells like… smoke and effort.”

Joyce laughs under her breath, already pulling on her coat, “I’ve gotta go, double shift. I’ll see you guys tonight. Where’s Will?”

Jonathan looks up from the stove, confused, “Oh, I didn’t wake him yet.”

“I got it,” Maggie offers, rubbing her eye, “I’ll grab him.”

She trudges down the hallway, knocks once out of habit, then pushes open Will’s bedroom door.

It’s empty. The bed is still made. Blankets smooth, pillow untouched. The room looks exactly the same as it did yesterday.

Maggie steps back into the hallway.

“Uh… Joyce?” she calls, a hint of unease in her voice, “He’s not here.”

Joyce freezes in the middle of putting on her second shoe, “What do you mean, not here?”

“I mean…” Maggie walks slowly back into the kitchen, “His bed’s made. Like, perfectly. No sign of him.”

Joyce’s face creases, “He came home last night, though, right?”

“Yeah, I think so,” Maggie replies, eyebrows furrowing. “He left Mike’s before I did. I went upstairs to drop food off with Nancy, and he said, ‘See you at home.’ He should’ve been back way before me.”

All three of them now stand still in the kitchen, the air growing heavier.

Joyce turns sharply to Jonathan, “You were home last night. Did you see him?”

Jonathan hesitates, guilt flickering across his features, “I wasn’t home. Eric called, asked if I could cover his shift at the print shop. I thought we could use the extra cash.”

Joyce sighs, shoulders slumping, “Jonathan. We’ve talked about this.”

“I know, Mom,” he says quickly, “But it was just one shift. I figured—”

“You don’t have to be the adult, okay? That’s my job,” she says, voice rising just slightly before she takes a breath, “You don’t have to cover for me. Neither of you do.”

Maggie, still hovering near the hallway, looks away. She’s heard this conversation before. Joyce trying to carry everything alone. Jonathan trying to help. Maggie offering to pitch in and being waved off. Always the same pattern.

“I’m sure he just stayed over at someone’s house,” Jonathan tries, but the words sound weak even to his own ears.

Joyce doesn’t answer right away. Instead, she reaches for the phone on the wall and starts dialing.

Maggie bites her thumbnail while Joyce calls Mike’s house. Then Lucas’s. Then Dustin’s. No one’s seen Will. No one knows where he is. Each “Sorry, haven’t seen him” chips another piece off Joyce’s composure.

“Do you want me to check in town?” Maggie asks, stepping forward, “Like, the comic shop? The arcade? Maybe he—”

“No,” Joyce interrupts, her voice slightly too fast, too bright, “No, honey. You two have to get to school. He probably just… left early, that’s all.”

“Without breakfast?” Jonathan asks quietly.

Joyce gives him a look, then forces a smile at Maggie, “Don’t worry. I’m sure he’s fine. I’ll check around. You two go. Really.”

She’s trying to sound calm, but her hand trembles as she hangs up the phone.

Jonathan and Maggie glance at each other, an unspoken agreement passing between them. This isn’t nothing.

Still, they nod. Maggie grabs her bag. Jonathan slings his over one shoulder and turns off the stove burner with a distracted flick.

Joyce waves as they leave, but the second the front door clicks shut, she turns toward Will’s room, her smile collapsing like a house of cards.

Outside, Maggie glances back at the house.

“She’s spiraling,” she mutters.

Jonathan exhales, “Yeah.”

Neither of them say what they’re both thinking. This isn’t like Will. And something’s wrong.