Chapter 10

The house feels like it’s suffocating her.

Joyce is in her room again, shouting into the phone, the sound of her voice cracking under pressure. Jonathan is silent in the next room, his door closed, the static of some radio station bleeding softly through the wall.

Maggie can’t sit still anymore.

She grabs her coat, zips it to her chin, and slips out the front door without a sound. The night air hits her like a slap, sharp and damp. Her breath clouds in front of her as she walks fast down the empty street, arms wrapped around herself.

She heads straight for Mirkwood. Cornwallis and Kerley. That stupid little patch of road Will always took.

Her sneakers scrape against loose gravel as she reaches the intersection. The streetlights end here. All that’s ahead is a wall of trees, overgrown, tangled, alive with shadows.

She hesitates and then steps off the road.

The forest swallows her quickly. The further she walks, the quieter it gets. There’s something off.

“Will?” she calls out, voice sharp and shaking, “I swear, if you jump out and scare me, I will throw you in the creek.”

Nothing. Not even an echo. She moves deeper, following what looks like a trail carved through the brush. Each step feels heavier than the last. Her ears ring faintly, like pressure’s building behind them.

Crunch.

Maggie freezes. That wasn’t her. She turns. The trees are still. There’s no breeze. No rustle of leaves. Just that strange hum, barely audible, like a fuse burning out.

“Okay,” she mutters, “Cool. Totally not horrifying.”

She takes another step, and the forest answers.

Snap. Crack. Then a shriek. It splits the silence like lightning.

She turns and runs, sprinting blindly through branches and mud. Her foot catches on a root, and she goes flying. Her forehead slams against a rock jutting from the earth.

Pain explodes through her skull. Her vision whites out. She wakes up. Only…she’s not where she fell.

She blinks through hazy, flickering light. Everything is dark, coated in a layer of ash and decay. Trees loom around her, but their bark is blackened, pulsing slightly. The air tastes like metal. Her breath fogs strangely like smoke. Flicks of ash float through the air like deadly snow.

Her head pounds. She reaches up and her fingers come away sticky, blood. A long, shallow cut just above her temple.

“What…” she whispers.

A low growl answers. Maggie turns and nearly screams.

Not twenty feet ahead, through the flickering dim, stands something that should not exist.

It’s tall. Twisted. Like a man that got stretched and gutted and put back together wrong. Its head is a flower of flesh, petals peeling open to reveal rows of jagged teeth inside. It twitches when it sees her. Sniffs the air.

Maggie can’t breathe. She stumbles backward, tripping over a fallen branch. Her hand scrapes against cold dirt as she scrambles to get up.

The creature shrieks, and it starts to move, fast and hungry.

“MAGGIE!”

She gasps.

“MAGGIE! MAGGIE!”

Her eyes fly open.

The forest is normal again. Cold and dark, but not that. She’s lying in mud, head pounding, chest heaving, and rain aggressively splattering against her face. Above her, flashlights bob through the trees. She hears bikes clattering to the ground.

“Maggie!” Dustin’s voice is the loudest, “We heard you scream!”

She tries to sit up, groaning, “I fell…”

Mike drops beside her, out of breath, “You’re bleeding!”

Lucas shines his flashlight on her face, eyes going wide, “Holy crap, are you okay?”

“I—” she gulps air, heart still hammering, “I saw it. I saw something. It wasn’t… It wasn’t normal. It was like I went somewhere else.”

The boys exchange looks. No one speaks for a long second.

Then Maggie looks up at them, mud-streaked, shivering, blood trailing down the side of her face. 

She whispers, “I think I saw the thing that took Will.”

The boys stand around her, frozen. Maggie sits half-upright in the dirt, legs sprawled out in the brambles, blood running in a sluggish trail from her temple. Her chest rises and falls in quick bursts, her eyes wide and distant like she’s still halfway in another world.

“You think you saw the thing that took Will?” Mike repeats, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I don’t think,” Maggie says, “I know.”

Dustin slowly crouches next to her, his flashlight trembling slightly in his grip, “What did it look like?”

She swallows. Her throat is dry, cracked. 

“Like a person, but not. Tall. Wrong. Its head,” she pauses, gagging slightly, “it opened. Like a flower. But with teeth. All teeth.”

Lucas sucks in a sharp breath and backs up a step, “Okay, nope. No thanks. I’m out. That’s some horror movie, monster-under-the-bed crap.”

Mike turns to him, pale, “You think she’s lying?”

“No, I don’t think she’s lying!” Lucas says quickly, “That’s the problem.”

“I’m not making this up,” Maggie growls. 

She uses the side of a tree to haul herself to her feet, swaying slightly. 

“I fell, hit my head. And when I woke up, everything was… different. Like a flipped version of here. It was like the woods, but dead. Empty. Cold. And that thing was there, watching me. Hunting.”

She points to the shallow gouge along her cheekbone, where blood’s dried in dark streaks, “This isn’t from my imagination.”

The boys are quiet again. A sudden wind cuts through the trees, and all of them flinch.

“Okay,” Dustin says finally, “okay, let’s break this down.”

He paces a little, arms flailing in classic Dustin fashion. 

“There’s a monster, and it’s taken Will. You,” he points to Maggie, “Somehow got pulled into its turf, saw it, and barely escaped. That’s huge.”

Lucas rubs the back of his neck, “Yeah, but how? I mean, you hit your head and ended up in another dimension? That doesn’t even make sense.”

Maggie shrugs helplessly, “I mean, I fell out of a portal in the basement ceiling. Nothing about this makes sense, Lucas. But it happened. I was there. I could feel it. Smell it. The air was different. It was wrong.”

“We’ve seen weird stuff before,” Mike mutters, “Remember the lights in the sky near the quarry? The compasses going haywire last summer?”

“That wasn’t this level of weird,” Lucas shoots back.

“Doesn’t mean it’s not connected,” Dustin says, “What if whatever’s happening now has been happening? We just didn’t know how bad it could get until it took Will.”

There’s silence. The kind that feels like it’s pressing in from the trees.

Then Maggie says, “We need to tell Hopper.”

“No way,” Lucas says, “He already shut us down once.”

“Yeah,” Mike adds, “and if we tell him we snuck out after he told us not to, we’ll all be grounded until college.”

“I don’t care,” Maggie snaps, “Will’s my family. I saw something. If you guys aren’t going to help me get someone to believe it, then I’ll go alone.”

She starts to turn, but Mike grabs her arm, “Wait. We believe you.”

Dustin nods quickly, “Totally believe. One hundred percent. We’re with you.”

“Even if it’s a little insane,” Lucas adds reluctantly.

Maggie lets out a breath, slumping back against the tree, “Thanks.”

Mike looks around, “Okay. So, what do we do now?”

“I think,” Dustin says slowly, “we keep quiet about what Maggie saw for now. We’ll keep looking, but smarter. Figure out what the thing is, and how to find it. If we can prove this other place is real, then Hopper has to listen.”

“And maybe we try to find a way back into it,” Mike says.

Lucas frowns, “Or maybe we don’t do that.”

But Maggie is already nodding, “If it’s where Will is, we need to find the doorway.”

They all glance at each other. A silent agreement forming in the dark.

The plan was supposed to be go home after school, do nothing, stay safe.

No one says it, but none of them want to be the first to suggest turning back. Not after what Maggie saw. Not with Will still out there. The only sound is the squelch of muddy sneakers and the rhythmic clatter of rain on leaves, steady and cold as it soaks through jackets and hair. Maggie’s hair sticks to her forehead, matted down, blood diluted by the rain until it drips red-pink into her collar.

The forest sways with wind and water, branches shivering above them.

“I can’t feel my toes,” Dustin mutters.

“Better than not feeling your face,” Lucas shoots back, nodding to Maggie.

She ignores them both, eyes scanning the trees like the thing might still be watching.

The rain picks up, heavier now, sheets of it lashing through the branches. Flashlights jitter with their shaky hands, beams cutting through the dark like pale swords.

A sharp crack of branches sounds somewhere off the path. They freeze.

Maggie’s heart slams once in her chest, then again, faster. Her hand clamps onto Mike’s jacket. 

“Did you hear that?”

Another rustle. Closer this time. A sudden, sharp crunch of leaves. Every flashlight turns toward the sound, beams converging.

The light lands on something, a shape half-hidden behind a tree. Then it moves. Not a monster with claws, but a girl.

She steps slowly out from behind the trunk like a deer testing its luck, blinking against the light. Her t-shirt clings to her like it was never meant to be worn in this weather, bright yellow, now damp and see-through in spots, clinging to skinny limbs. Her hair is shaved nearly to the scalp. She’s barefoot. Her eyes are wide, rimmed with red, her lips trembling like she might speak but forgot how.

She’s breathing like she ran through hell and barely outran whatever chased her.

Dustin lowers his light first, “What the hell…”

“Is that… a kid?” Lucas asks, voice thin.

Maggie steps forward instinctively, slow and careful, like trying not to spook a wounded animal. 

“Hey. Hey, are you okay?” she says softly, her voice the calmest it’s been all night, like how she talks to the neighbor’s cat that only appears on Wednesdays.

The girl doesn’t answer. Her eyes flicker over them, like she’s still seeing something else behind them, something far worse. The wind howls through the trees above. Rain pelts the ground with renewed fury.

Lucas groans and throws his hands up, “Oh Christ, this is just what we needed.”

Mike kneels slowly in the mud, careful not to slip.

“It’s okay,” he says gently, holding out his hand, “You’re safe now.”

The girl stares at his hand for what feels like an entire minute, then reaches out hesitantly and takes it.

The walk back to the Wheeler house is a soggy, silent affair. Their sneakers squish with every step. No one talks, not even Dustin, which is a borderline miracle. Maggie keeps near the girl, occasionally glancing at her with concern. The throb in her temple from the fall hasn’t gone away, and every now and then her fingers swipe the blood from her cheek. But she doesn’t complain. Not when this girl looks like she’s been through ten times worse.

Inside, they dry off as best they can, the warm lights of the Wheeler living room making the surreal scene somehow more strange. They sit the girl on the couch with someone’s older jacket draped over her shoulders. Her legs are pulled up to her chest, arms wrapped tight around them, eyes fixed somewhere on the floor, still breathing heavily.

Maggie crouches in front of her, not too close, her voice low, “Hey. Is there a number we can call? Parents? Babysitter? CIA handler?”

No answer.

“Where’s your hair? Do you have cancer?” Dustin blurts, squinting at her like he’s trying to figure out a puzzle.

Mike whirls on him, “Dustin, you can’t just ask people if they have cancer!”

“I wasn’t being mean,” he defends, “I was being observant.”

“Did you run away?” Lucas asks, taking a step forward, “Is that blood?” He reaches for her arm.

Maggie slaps his hand away without looking, “You idiots are scaring her! And I thought I was intense.”

“She’s freaking me out!” Lucas mutters.

“I bet she’s deaf,” Dustin says. 

Then he leans in and claps twice in front of the girl’s face. She flinches violently.

“Not deaf,” he confirms.

“That’s it. Shoo. Shoo, all of you. It’s time for me to be the adult, which is deeply concerning to all of us,” Maggie says, flapping her hands like she’s herding ducks, “Go hydrate or build a pillow fort. Whatever you nerds do when you’re not summoning the apocalypse.”

They groan, but retreat a little in a clump of wet socks and whispered speculation.

Maggie rises and rummages through the hallway closet, emerging with a bundle of clothes, “Here, these are clean. They’ll be warmer than the wet t-shirt you’ve got on.”

She kneels to offer them to the girl, who takes them silently. The thunder growls through the walls, and the girl visibly flinches, her body curling tighter.

Maggie’s expression softens, “You’ve had a hell of a night, huh?”

The girl stands on shaking legs and grabs the hem of her shirt, clearly intending to change right there. The boys erupt in chaos.

“Whoa, no! Hold up,” Maggie stops her, hands up, “Do not undress in front of these hormonal demons. The last thing we need is their brains short-circuiting mid-puberty. They’ll be dreaming about it for the next week.”

Mike, red-faced, gestures quickly, “Bathroom’s over here! Privacy! Very important concept!”

Maggie nods in approval, leading the girl gently to the bathroom, “Right here. You get full solo real estate in there, deal?”

She goes to shut the door behind the girl, but a small hand catches it.

Maggie pauses, “You don’t want it closed?”

The girl shakes her head once, “No.”

“You can speak!” Maggie gasps, dramatically clutching her chest like she’s in a silent movie, “Thank God. I thought I was gonna have to learn Morse code.”

The girl just looks at her with tired eyes.

“Alright,” Maggie murmurs, her voice dropping back to soft, “We’ll keep it cracked. I’ll be right here if you need me, okay?”

“Okay,” the girl says.

As Maggie turns and leans against the wall outside the bathroom, she hears the faint sound of the faucet running. The boys peek out from the kitchen, curiosity radiating off them like heat.

Dustin sidles up to Maggie and nudges her elbow, “You know… I’m pretty sure the sight of you yelling at monsters and bleeding from the face is the coolest thing I’ve ever seen.”

Maggie quirks a brow, “Are you flirting with me, Henderson?”

“Depends,” Dustin grins, “Is it working?”

“Hmm. I rate it a solid six out of ten. Maybe a seven if you bring me snacks.”

“You’re injured,” he says gallantly, “It would be my honor to fetch thee Cheez-Its.”

“Then go, noble squire,” Maggie says with a dramatic wave of her hand, “and return to me with cheesy treasure.”

Dustin bows so hard he nearly slips on the hardwood before jogging off to the kitchen.

Mike leans beside her, “So… what do we do with her?”

Maggie exhales and looks toward the cracked bathroom door, “First? Let her feel safe. Then we figure out who she is… and what the hell she’s running from.”

“This is mental,” Dustin mutters, pacing in a half-circle around the living room.

Maggie shrugs, flopping dramatically onto the edge of the couch, “At least she can talk.”

“She said no and yes, Maggie,” Lucas snaps, arms crossed tightly over his chest, “Mike’s three-year-old sister can say more than that.”

“She tried to get naked!” Dustin exclaims, as if this is somehow the final nail in the coffin.

“There’s something seriously wrong with her,” Lucas adds, lowering his voice, “like… wrong in the head.”

Maggie smirks, not even looking at him as she says, “Sinclair, I don’t think you’re one to talk about mental issues.”

Lucas jerks toward her, indignant, “Well neither are you!”

“She’s got you there,” Dustin says under his breath, grinning.

“We should’ve never brought her here,” Lucas insists, digging his heels in.

Mike’s brow furrows. 

“So you just wanted to leave her out in that storm?” he asks, incredulous.

“Yes! We went out to find Will, not pick up another problem.”

“I think we should tell your mom,” Dustin suggests, glancing toward the stairs like Karen Wheeler is going to materialize out of thin air.

Maggie groans, flopping her head back like she’s in a melodrama, “That is a terrible idea. I mean, sure, she loves me, but even I have limits. What do you think she’s gonna say when we show up with some traumatized forest child in a stolen hoodie?”

“I agree,” Mike says, “We weren’t even supposed to be out tonight. So if I tell my mom…”

“…then the rest of ’em find out and our houses become Alcatraz,” Lucas finishes grimly.

“Exactly. We’ll never find Will,” Mike says.

Maggie groans again, softer this time, pinching the bridge of her nose, “God, it’s like babysitting three gnomes on acid.”

Mike ignores her. 

“Alright, here’s the plan,” he starts, standing like he’s about to deliver a State of the Union address, “She sleeps here tonight.”

Dustin gasps, “You’re letting a girl—”

“Just listen!” Mike snaps, “In the morning, she sneaks around the house, goes out the front door, and rings the bell. My mom answers, she freaks out a little, does the mom thing, calls child services, and boom, we’re in the clear. Totally innocent. And tomorrow night, we go back out again. This time, we find Will.”

Maggie shakes her head slowly, “I’m not so sure about this. That girl is in some kind of serious trouble I mean, she knows something, I can tell. I think she saw it, the monster. Or maybe she’s even connected to it somehow.”

“But we don’t know,” Mike says firmly, “And we can’t help her if we lose the chance to help Will.”

The conversation stalls as they hear soft footsteps and Dustin and Lucas head to the stairs to go home. The girl steps into the room, changed into clean clothes, her feet barely making a sound on the carpet. She looks cleaner and warmer, but no less haunted.

“Here you go, this is my sleeping bag,” Mike says gently, guiding her toward the fort made from couch cushions and blankets.

She kneels slowly, almost mechanically.

“Hey,” Maggie says, crouching beside her, “We never got your name.”

The girl glances at her, then lifts the sleeve of her oversized shirt. Tattooed faintly on her wrist: 011.

Mike’s eyes widen, “Is that real?”

He reaches toward it but she pulls back, eyes wary.

“Sorry,” Mike murmurs, “I’ve just never seen a kid with a tattoo before. What’s it mean? Eleven?”

She points to herself.

Maggie winces, “That’s your name? Shitty name if you ask me. Sounds like a microwave setting.”

Mike nudges her arm with an exasperated look, “Eleven, okay. That’s fine. My name’s Mike. Short for Michael.”

“I’m Maggie,” she adds, tossing her hair over her shoulder, “Short for Marigold. Unfortunately, like the flower. Or the tea. Or the graveyard plant. Pick your poison.”

Mike perks up, “We can call you El. Short for Eleven.”

El nods, and Maggie gives her a small smile.

“Well,” Maggie says, standing with a little stretch and a wince at her still-aching head, “Goodnight, El. I’m gonna go romance Mike’s sister before I head out.”

“Goodnight, Maggie,” El says, her voice quiet but sincere.

Maggie wipes a fake tear, “Well damn. That was sweet. I might cry.”

“See ya, Mikey,” she adds, ruffling his hair before disappearing up the stairs, “Don’t do anything stupid without me.

Upstairs, Maggie hums softly to herself as she walks the familiar hallway, eyes still catching on every detail of the Wheeler’s decor that never changes, doily-lined frames, wood-paneled walls, suburban perfection. She stops outside Nancy’s room, where voices carry faintly through the door.

She smirks. Then knocks once and swings it open.

“Well, well, well,” she says with a playful lilt, leaning on the doorframe, “Long time no see, Harrington.“

Steve jumps about a foot back from where he’s seated on the bed with Nancy, clearly startled, one socked foot already halfway on. Nancy’s eyes widen.

“You know,” Maggie continues, grinning, “I’m gonna start feeling really lonely if you guys keep leaving me out of these little make-out marathons.”

Steve gapes, “Maggie, what are you doing here?”

“Oh, I dunno. Bleeding from the face. Babysitting feral children. Talking down future felons,” she says, spinning a lazy circle with her finger in the air, “What about you two? Having a PG slumber party? Sharing deep secrets? Touching noses?”

Nancy’s mouth opens, stunned, but trying not to laugh, “Mags…”

Maggie flutters her lashes with mock innocence, “What? I’m just saying, I’ve seen Steve’s car parked out front more than the mailman lately. I’m starting to feel neglected.”

Steve snorts, arms crossing over his chest, “You jealous, Marigold?”

She gasps, hand to her heart, “Jealous? Never. I’m just wounded that you two keep locking lips without inviting me to join. I bring commentary and emotional support!”

Nancy shakes her head, grinning, “You’re such a weirdo.”

“Thank you, I work hard at it,” Maggie says, doing a little curtsy with an exaggerated bow. Then, her tone shifts ever so slightly, eyes gleaming with mischief. “But seriously, do either of you ever get the feeling something’s just… off lately?”

Steve raises an eyebrow, “Off how?”

She gives a little shrug, turning to pace Nancy’s room, “Oh, I don’t know. Haunted woods. Unexplained screams. Bleeding from the head. Mysterious girls appearing out of nowhere and giving me cryptic vibes. Typical Tuesday.”

Nancy straightens, concern flickering in her eyes, “Wait, what happened to your head?”

“Shepherd’s bush tried to murder me. Or I tripped over a root. Nature’s hitman, either way. I’m fine. My skull’s tougher than it looks,” Maggie taps it with a knuckle for emphasis and then winces, “Mostly.”

Steve steps forward like he wants to say something more, but Maggie spins toward the door. 

“Anyway! Didn’t mean to crash your adorable domestic situation. I was just floating by like a sexy forest nymph with a mild concussion.”

“Definitely mild,” Nancy murmurs under her breath.

Maggie blows her a kiss, “Love you, too.”

She backs toward the hallway, wiggling her fingers in a parting wave, “Enjoy the rest of your romantic rendezvous. Try not to break any bones or furniture.”

“Night, Mags,” Steve says with a lopsided grin.

“Sweet dreams, Harrington. Tell your hair I said hi.”

With that, she skips down the hallway, humming a tune that sounds suspiciously like the Twilight Zone theme, her thoughts drifting back toward the strange, silent girl downstairs.

Maggie may not know what she’s gotten herself into but one thing’s for sure. She’s in it now. And it’s about to get weird.