Chapter 56

BAGUETTES I’M BACK! new semester just started and i have 8 classes including 3 three hour labs😝 so im short on free time again. BUT! im here with a new chapter and am very excited about this because now you get to find out about maggie’s past (i hope you’ve been catching my subtle hints throughout the book though some of them are REALLY subtle) anyway! hope you enjoy:)))))))))))))))))

Maggie leans her cheek on her hand as she watches microfiches roll by on the machine.

“Anything juicy over there yet?” Robin calls from the machine on the other side of the two girls.

“Nothing new,” Nancy mutters as she sighs.

“Yep, same here. Victor seemed like a normal guy. Dead family, missing eyes, took a plea deal, sent to Pennhurst. Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah.”

Nancy drops her head in annoyance as Maggie softly rubs her back.

Robin leans over to look at them, “What are we looking for exactly?”

Nancy doesn’t answer, dropping her head into her hand like she’s getting a headache.

“Nance?” Robin calls again, knocking on the machine.

Nancy leans over with a tight expression.

“Any mention of dark wizards or alternate dimensions? Things in that vein?” Robin asks.

Nancy’s response comes out clipped and annoyed, “I don’t know. Okay? It’s starting to seem like this was just a big waste of time.”

Maggie gives her a look, “She’s just trying to help.”

This seems to annoy Nancy further as she continues, “You’re obviously bored. Why don’t you call Steve? I’m sure he’ll pick you up. And I mean, I’m not in any real danger here, so…”

Robin opens her mouth, but Nancy walks away before she can say anything.

Robin watches Nancy’s retreating back and slowly straightens.

“…Wow,” she says finally, “Okay. That was icy. I think I just got frostbite from across the room.”

Maggie exhales through her nose, already pushing away from the microfiche machine, “Yeah. She does that when she’s spiraling. Or thinking. Or when she’s thinking about spiraling.”

Robin snorts despite herself,”Comforting.”

Maggie glances toward the stacks where Nancy disappeared, jaw tight.

Robin shifts her weight, “So. For the record. I’m not bored. And I wasn’t trying to step on… whatever that was.”

“I know,” Maggie says quickly.

She scrubs a hand over her face, “She’s just… wound tight. When she feels like she’s losing control, she lashes. And when she feels like she’s losing people—”

“—she sharpens the knives,” Robin finishes, “Yeah. I know the type. My mom does it with Post-it notes.”

Robin hesitates and then lowers her voice, “I’m not trying to insert myself between you two. If that’s what she thinks is happening.”

Maggie looks at her, “She doesn’t think. She feels. And right now she feels like she’s on the outside of something.”

Robin furrows her brows slightly, “Of… you and me?”

Maggie winces, “Yeah.”

“Well that’s wildly inaccurate,” Robin says, “I mean, you help me not lose my mind in terrifying situations, but that’s more a survival partnership.”

Maggie laughs, “You’re very charming in a crisis.”

“Thank you. It’s my only setting.”

They fall quiet again. Across the room, Nancy’s silhouette moves between shelves rigidly like she’s trying to out-walk her own thoughts.

Robin watches her, then says carefully, “Do you want me to… back off? Give you space?”

Maggie shakes her head immediately, “No. That would make it worse. She’d read it as confirmation.”

“Confirmation of what?”

“That she was right to feel threatened,” Maggie’s mouth twists, “Which she’s not. But good luck convincing her of that when her brain’s already running the horror montage.”

Robin considers it and nods once, “Okay. Then I’ll just… exist less loudly.”

“Please don’t,” Maggie says, “She needs to get over this without the world rearranging itself for her.”

Robin smiles faintly, “Bold stance. I respect it.”

Maggie glances back toward Nancy, “I’ll talk to her later. Not apologize. Just…help her see.”

“Good,” Robin says, “Because I didn’t actually do anything wrong and I refuse to be emotionally indicted.”

Maggie smirks, “Fair.”

She starts toward the stacks, but pauses momentarily, “And for what it’s worth, thanks for not taking it personally.”

Robin shrugs, “Please. I’m excellent at being disliked for reasons that have nothing to do with me.”

Maggie snorts and walks off.

Robin watches her go, then looks back at the machine beside her. She pats it.

“Okay,” she mutters to herself, “Microfiche doesn’t judge. Microfiche understands.”

The machine, tragically, offers no reassurance. She stalks off toward to the two girls sorting through more microfiches.

Robin crouches beside a low shelf stacked with mismatched cardboard boxes, most of them sagging under weight. She flips through them quickly, fingers brushing spines and labels, waiting for something to spark.

Then it does and her hand freezes.

“Oh my god,” she breathes, yanking the box free, “The Weekly Watcher. I cannot believe they have this.”

Nancy glances over from where she’s been pretending not to listen. “Isn’t that the one that writes about, like… Bigfoot and UFOs?”

Maggie leans in, peering at the cover over Robin’s shoulder, her grin already spreading, “Ten out of ten journalism. No notes.”

“First of all,” Robin says, holding up a finger, already in full lecture mode, “UFOs are absolutely real. Bigfoot I’m still on the fence about.”

Nancy huffs, but there’s less bite in it.

Robin’s eyes widen as the thought clicks into place, “But also. We are looking for information on dark wizards. And if anyone is going to print that, it’s these absolute freaks.”

Nancy pauses, tilting her head, “That’s… not a terrible idea.”

Maggie beams as she pats Robin on the back, “Good work, soldier.”

Robin hustles toward the nearest microfiche machine. The three of them crowd around as she feeds the reel. Headlines scroll past in black-and-white monotony.

“Elvis cloned by aliens,” Maggie reads aloud, nodding thoughtfully, “Honestly? I could get behind that.”

“Of course you could,” Nancy mutters, already pacing, arms folded tight.

Robin keeps scrolling, this time faster.Maggie stiffens as her eye catches something.

“Hold it. Stop.”

Robin does, rolling it back a fraction.

Maggie leans in, grinning, “Bingo.”

Robin clears her throat and reads the headline in an exaggerated voice, “‘Victor Creel Claims Vengeful Demon Killed Family: The Murder That Shocked a Small Community.'”

“Ha. Ha,” Nancy says flatly, without turning around.

“She’s not joking,” Maggie says, eyes locked on the screen, “Nancy. Get over here.”

Nancy’s posture shifts immediately. She strides back, stopping close, her hand settling subconsciously at the small of Maggie’s back as she leans in to read.

Robin scans the article and starts reading aloud for real, “According to several insiders, Victor believed his home was haunted by an ancient demon. Victor allegedly hired a priest to exorcise the entity. Which is bold for the fifties. Exorcist wasn’t even out yet.”

“Keep going,” Nancy says, focused now.

Robin swallows, “The exorcism failed. And Victor claimed it only angered the demon. Shortly after, his family was murdered. Eyes removed. Victor believed he was spared as punishment.”

Nancy straightens slightly, “That’s pretty convenient for Victor.”

“Or incredibly inconvenient,” Robin counters, “He was declared legally insane, right? What if this is why?”

“The plea bargain,” Maggie murmurs, “Records sealed.”

Robin points at her, “Exactly. So what if a demon really did invade Victor’s home? Just… not a generic one.”

Nancy’s eyes harden as the pieces lock together, “It was Vecna.”

The decision is immediate.

“Let’s go.”

They’re already moving, weaving through the stacks, urgency driving them forward.

“We have to tell the kids,” Maggie says.

“I’ve got the walkie,” Robin replies, pulling it from her jacket as they burst out into the night. She clicks it on.

“Dustin, do you copy?”

“Yeah, I copy,” Dustin’s voice crackles back.

“So,” Robin says, climbing into the car, “Nancy is, once again, terrifyingly right. Vecna’s first victims go all the way back to 1959. Her wild guess? Dead-on.”

Dustin exhales, “Okay, that’s… totally insane. But I can’t really talk right now.”

“What are you doing?” Robin asks.

“Breaking and entering the school to retrieve some confidential and extremely personal files,” he says casually.

“YES!” Maggie cheers, “I taught you so well.”

She glances proudly between Robin and Nancy as they buckle in, “That is 100 percent me. I’m the influence.”

“Just get your ass over here,” Dustin grumbles, “We’ll explain everything.”

The engine turns over, and the car pulls away toward the school, all three of them braced for whatever comes next.

The school feels wrong the second they step inside. They spot them down the hall. Steve, Dustin, Max. Maggie slows and her stomach tightens.

“Okay,” she says carefully, “what happened?”

Dustin turns first, his face pinched in a way Maggie recognizes. He’s scared, but trying to keep it organized.

“We just found Max,” he says, “She was kind of… gone. Like she wasn’t here. Exactly like Eddie said happened to Chrissy.”

Maggie’s eyes flick to Max. She looks fine, technically. Standing and breathing. But there’s a hollowness in her eyes.

“That’s not even the bad part,” Max says quietly.

She leads them into Ms. Kelley’s office. The door clicks shut behind them, sealing them into the cramped space. Maggie perches on the edge of a chair, knees bouncing despite her best effort to stop them.

“Fred and Chrissy,” Max begins, voice steady but fragile, “they both came here for help. To Miss Kelley.”

Maggie’s throat tightens.

“They had headaches,” Max continues, “Really bad ones. Ones that wouldn’t go away. Nosebleeds, out of nowhere.”

Maggie’s blood goes cold.

Earlier that day flashes through her mind. The pressure behind her eyes. The sudden metallic liquid running from her nostril.

Uh oh doesn’t even begin to cover it.

“And then the nightmares,” Max says, “They couldn’t sleep. They’d wake up drenched in sweat. And then… the visions. Things from their pasts. Bad things.”

Maggie swallows hard.

“These visions just kept getting worse,” Max says, “until eventually… everything ended.”

“Vecna’s curse,” Robin says softly.

Max nods, “Chrissy’s headache started a week ago. Fred’s six days ago. Mine started five days ago.”

Maggie’s pulse pounds in her ears. Five days. She counts back automatically, like numbers might save her. Her own headache. Her nosebleed.

“I don’t know how long I have,” Max says, “All I know is they both died less than twenty-four hours after their first vision.”

Her voice cracks, “And I just saw that goddamn clock.”

The words crawl under Maggie’s skin.

“So…” Max breathes in shakily, “looks like I’m gonna die tomorrow.”

The room goes dead silent.

Maggie feels the slow, sinking certainty that Vecna isn’t just circling Max.

He’s circling her too.

A loud clang echoes down the hall, making everyone jump.

“Stay here,” Steve says immediately, grabbing a lamp like it might save them from literal hell.

Nobody listens. Of course nobody listens.

They spill back into the hallway, flashlights slicing through the dark. Maggie’s heart slams against her ribs.

Another sound rings out closer.

Steve raises the lamp just as a figure comes sprinting straight at them.

Everyone screams.

“It’s me!” the figure shouts.

“Lucas?” Nancy says, shocked.

Lucas skids to a stop, hands braced on his knees, gasping, “It’s me.”

“Jesus, what is wrong with you, Sinclair!” Steve yells, shaking the lamp, “I could’ve taken you out with this lamp!”

“Sorry,” Lucas pants, “Sorry. I was… biking. Like. Eight miles.”

He holds up a finger, sucking in air. Maggie notices his hands are shaking. That does nothing good for her nerves.

“We’ve got a code red,” Lucas says once he straightens.

“What?” Steve asks.

Lucas turns to Dustin, “I’ve been with Jason, Patrick, and Andy. They’ve completely lost it. They’re hunting Eddie. They think you know where he is.”

Dustin exhales, “Okay. Yeah. That sucks.”

“But,” Dustin glances back toward Max, “we’ve got bigger problems than Jason right now.”

Lucas follows his gaze.

Maggie hugs her arms around herself, suddenly very aware of her own skull. Of the faint pressure building behind her eyes again. Of the quiet tick-tick-tick she swears she can almost hear if she listens too closely.

Vecna doesn’t rush, and now she has the awful, sinking feeling that he’s already started counting her down.

They pile back into the cars. It’s like gravity has shifted and the only direction is away. No one suggests splitting up. No one even pretends that’s an option.

The Wheeler house glows ahead of them. Maggie stares at it as they pull into the driveway and feels the sharp, irrational urge to laugh.

This place has a track record.

Inside, the house smells faintly like laundry detergent and whatever Karen Wheeler cooked hours ago.

They move through the house in a tight cluster, whispering even though there’s no one to overhear. Steve does a quick sweep. Dustin and Lucas drop onto the couch, wired and exhausted.

Max disappears into herself again.

Maggie leans over, nudging her shoulder gently.

“Hey,” she whispers.

Max glances up, a small, tired smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

“Hey,” Max murmurs back, voice rough from the day.

Maggie sits down beside her, careful not to crowd, “You okay?”

Max shrugs, pretending it’s casual, “Yeah. Just… thinking.”

“About what?” Maggie asks softly.

Max just shakes her head, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear, “Stuff. You know. School. Life. Bad dreams. Everything.”

Maggie nods, letting her arm hover near Max’s shoulder without touching, offering presence without words. Max leans slightly into it anyway, just a little, before tugging her jacket tighter around herself.

“You’re not alone,” Maggie says quietly.

Max gives her a small nod, a tiny acknowledgment of the comfort offered and received.

Maggie glances back at Nancy and the others, then at Max again. She swallows the truth about Vecna, about what she knows, and lets it sit. Some things can’t be shared tonight.

Nancy grabs Maggie’s hand as she bids goodnight to Max.

Upstairs, the bedroom feels smaller than usual. Nancy shuts the door and locks it.

Robin drops her backpack on the floor and immediately starts laying out blankets, “Okay. Floor it is. I’m strategically positioning myself near the bed in case of nightmares, monsters, or emotional breakdowns.”

Maggie gives her a look, “So… everything.”

“Exactly.”

Nancy sits on the edge of the bed and exhales, shoulders sagging now that she’s stopped moving. Maggie sits beside her, close enough that their thighs touch.

For a moment, no one speaks.

The silence presses in. Maggie feels the day catch up with her all at once. The headache. The article. The realization that Vecna doesn’t care how brave or smart or loved you are.

She lies down first, curling onto her side. Nancy follows immediately, facing her, one arm slung around Maggie’s waist. Maggie presses her forehead into Nancy’s shoulder and breathes in the familiar scent of her shampoo.

For a second, the fear eases.

Robin clicks off the lamp and settles onto the floor, her back against the bed, knees drawn up.

“Just so you know,” she says quietly, “I’m an incredibly light sleeper. And also deeply paranoid. So if anything tries anything, I’ll scream first.”

“Comforting,” Nancy murmurs.

“Happy to help.”

Darkness settles in.

Maggie stares into it, eyes open, listening to the house. Her head throbs faintly and persistently. She swallows and tries to pretend it’s nothing. Just stress and adrenaline, simple.

But her mind keeps drifting. Maggie closes her eyes, letting everything settle in her chest.

The darkness behind Maggie’s eyelids twists. She’s not exactly alseep. The world she lands in feels different and familiar all at once.

It starts with a room she doesn’t recognize. The walls are metal and cold and gleaming. She tries to move her arms and legs, but they feel heavy.

A low and deeply unsettling voice rings out in her head.

“Maggie…”

Her stomach lurches. She wants to run, but the nothing beneath her offers no purchase.

“I see you,” the voice whispers.

She freezes, but another voice comes through. One that feels familiar, but so distant. It’s a sound her mind doesn’t want her to remember.

“Maggie, you’ve got to trust me.”

The words echo in her mind. The world around her wavers, and she sees a man leaning over a workstation, gesturing to a holographic display. Dark hair, sharp eyes, and a half-smile tugging at his lips.

“You’re ready for this test,” the man says, “I need you focused.”

Maggie’s chest tightens. She knows this voice. She knows him. But her brain protests violently. It pulls down curtains over the memory.

She’s in a lab now, a sprawling space filled with tech she doesn’t understand. She’s wearing a sleek suit, but her fingers feel too small in the gloves. She’s running simulations, calculations, manipulating screens that respond to thought alone.

The voice is closer now, “Come on, Mags. You’ve got this.”

The familiarity of the nickname cuts through her fog. The dream warps. She’s standing in a tower, wind howling around her. Panels of light shift, showing faces she doesn’t know she remembers. They’re laughing, arguing, and celebrating. The air smells of burnt ozone, metal, and coffee.

She feels herself running past doors, halls, and rooms she can’t name. A younger version of herself appears, maybe six or seven, scribbling in a notebook, eyes bright, hair a mess. She reaches out instinctively, but the child recoils.

“Dad!” the child yells suddenly, voice cracking, “Tony!”

The word slams into Maggie’s mind like a tidal wave. Tony. Her chest aches. Something deep in her gut twists violently, as though she’s remembering the weight of a loss she shouldn’t feel this intensely.

Flashes erupt across her vision.

A huge room, fire everywhere, and people screaming. She’s small, hidden behind debris, shaking. Someone calls her name.

“Maggie, come on!”

She runs, but she doesn’t know where to.

There’s another flash of memory. A taller figure, standing silhouetted against a glowing portal. “I’ll catch you,” the figure says, and she leaps into light.

The dream shifts again. Now she’s older, standing at a lab table, reading a screen. Her hands move faster than thought.

A voice says, “You’re brilliant, kid. You got the Stark spark.”

Something in the memory is bitter, and she realizes she knows why they call it that.

It isn’t just a nickname. It’s a legacy.

She stumbles backward as the lab melts into smoke, turning into a quiet suburban street. The street is empty, except for a faint glow of someone walking away from her. The figure turns just slightly. A helmet catches the light.

“Stay safe, Mags,” the voice says, “We’ll find you.”

Then the ground collapses beneath her, and the world turns black.

“You can’t hide from me,” the terrifying, rasping voice from before whispers, “Your memories are mine now. The clock is ticking, and every second you forget… I will remind you.”

Her heart pounds, and then she feels her chest tightening. A single memory surfaces. It’s the end of a fight, dust in the air, debris around her. A hand reaches down and she grabs it. The last words before she falls through the portal.

“Maggie, I—”

The sentence is cut off, swallowed by the portal, the darkness, and Vecna.

“Do you feel it?” Vecna taunts, “The fear, the hunger, the power you’ve tried to bury? You think you can be just another girl in Hawkins. But I know who you were. Who you are. Who you will be when I’m finished.”

She wakes with a gasp.