Hawkins, Indiana — 1986
The bus hissed as it pulled up in front of Hawkins High School. The sky was overcast, gray clouds hanging low like they were about to spill secrets instead of rain. The kind of day that made you feel like something was about to happen, even if you couldn't say what.
A girl stepped off the bus slowly, her boots crunching against gravel. She was dressed in dark jeans ripped at the knees, a faded band tee half-tucked into her belt, and a black denim jacket covered in patches—most of which were music logos from bands half the school had never heard of. Her name was Lena Thompson, and she had been in Hawkins for less than twenty-four hours.
She adjusted the strap of her backpack and looked up at the school building. It was ugly, red-bricked, and heavy with the kind of tired history small towns carried. Hawkins High wasn't new, and neither was its reputation. Quiet, boring, and full of people who knew each other's secrets before they even whispered them.
But Lena had secrets no one here could imagine.
She walked through the front doors and headed to the office. The receptionist barely looked at her as she slid a schedule and a map across the counter.
"No tour?" Lena asked, arching an eyebrow.
The receptionist shrugged. "You'll figure it out."
Lena gave a dry laugh. "Thanks for the warm welcome."
First period was English, which wasn't so bad. She liked stories. Liked the way words could make something unreal feel more honest than truth. But sitting in the back corner, listening to the teacher drone about To Kill a Mockingbird, Lena couldn't stop scanning the room.
Everyone had their own little groups already—tight circles that didn't like being broken. She was the new, dark-haired piece that didn't fit the puzzle. Some people gave her curious glances. Others looked away like she was contagious.
Then there was him.
Sitting by the window, head tilted slightly, dark eyes distant. He wasn't looking at her—he wasn't looking at anything. It was like his mind was somewhere else entirely. Somewhere darker. Lena knew that look.
She recognized it because she had it too.
At lunch, Lena wandered the cafeteria like a ghost. No one invited her to sit with them, and she didn't bother asking. She picked up a tray, grabbed an apple and something that looked vaguely edible, and scanned the room again.
He was sitting alone. Same boy from class. Same faraway look. Something about him tugged at her attention, and before she could talk herself out of it, she walked over and sat down across from him.
"Hi," she said casually, taking a bite of her apple.
He blinked, clearly not expecting company. "Uh… hi."
"You look like you hate the food," Lena said, eyeing his untouched tray.
"I do," he said softly.
"Good," she replied with a smirk. "I thought you were just moody."
A brief flicker of something passed across his face—surprise, maybe. Then a ghost of a smile.
"I'm Will," he offered.
"Lena. New girl."
"I figured," Will said, his voice still soft. "You don't dress like anyone from here."
She raised an eyebrow. "That a compliment or an insult?"
He shook his head, smiling slightly. "Compliment."
She took another bite of her apple and leaned back in her seat. "So, Will, what's the deal with this town? It always this… dead?"
His expression changed—just slightly, but enough that Lena caught it. His smile faded. "It's quiet. But not dead."
She tilted her head, studying him. "You've seen things."
Will looked down at his tray. "Everyone's seen things. If you live here long enough."
"No," Lena said, voice low. "Not like you have."
Their eyes met.
For a moment, it was like the cafeteria around them vanished—just the hum of fluorescent lights, the distant clatter of trays, and the quiet electricity between two people who recognized the haunted look in each other's eyes.
Lena stood up, tucking her sketchbook under her arm. "See you around, Will."
She left him staring after her, his food untouched.
That night, Lena sat cross-legged on her bed, flipping through her sketchbook. Most pages were filled with faces—strangers from her dreams, or maybe memories. She wasn't always sure. But lately, there was something new creeping into her drawings.
Dark shapes. Twisting tendrils. Open mouths with too many teeth.
She turned to a fresh page and started sketching.
This one came fast. A long hallway, lit by flickering red lights. At the end of it stood a door. Beyond the door… something waited. Something huge. Watching.
When she was finished, she stared at the page for a long time.
It wasn't a dream.
She had seen that place before.
In her nightmares.
In the woods behind the house.
In the mirror.
Her fingers began to tremble. She pressed her palm against the page like she could crush the memory.
And then her bedroom light flickered.
Her breath caught.
The shadows in the corner of the room stretched unnaturally, like something was breathing behind them.
She didn't scream.
Instead, she whispered: "Not again…"
She stood and walked to the window, pushing it open. The cold October air rushed in, biting at her skin. In the distance, the woods loomed—dark, still, and full of answers she didn't want.
Across town, Will sat bolt upright in bed.
The same cold.
The same hum in the air.
His room looked normal—but it didn't feel normal. He reached for the lamp and turned it on.
Nothing.
He heard a click behind him.
Turning slowly, he saw the mirror above his dresser begin to frost over. It was like winter had clawed its way through the glass.
He stepped toward it, cautiously.
The reflection shimmered—and for a heartbeat, it wasn't his face looking back.
It was Lena.
Her eyes were glowing faintly.
Her lips moved, but there was no sound. Just a pressure in Will's head, like someone whispering inside his skull.
"Will…"
His heart stopped.
He stumbled back, hitting the edge of the bed.
Then, just like that, the lights flickered back on.
The mirror showed only his face now—pale, sweating, terrified.
The next morning, Lena showed up at school with tired eyes and a coffee cup she probably shouldn't have had at her age. She walked past everyone and dropped into the seat beside Will in homeroom.
He looked at her like she was a puzzle with missing pieces.
"You were in my room," he said quietly.
Lena didn't blink. "No. I wasn't."
"I saw you. In the mirror."
"Then you weren't dreaming," she whispered.
Will's hands clenched in his lap. "What's happening?"
She glanced around to make sure no one was listening. "You've been there. Haven't you? The other side. The place that smells like rust and ash."
Will's jaw clenched. "The Upside Down."
Lena's eyes darkened. "I've never been there. But it's trying to pull me in."
Silence stretched between them. A fragile bridge of truth connecting two broken people.
Then Lena did something strange—she reached over and touched his hand.
It was a small gesture. A simple one.
But it was the first time in a long time that Will didn't feel completely alone.
And for Lena… it was the first time she wasn't afraid of what she was becoming.