𝐖𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐍. ˢᵗᵉᵛᵉ ʰᵃʳʳⁱⁿᵍᵗᵒⁿ ¹

032

032. 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘁𝘂𝗻𝗻𝗲𝗹𝘀: 𝘂𝗽 𝗶𝗻 𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘃𝗲𝗹𝗼𝘂𝘀 𝗳𝗹𝗮𝗺𝗲𝘀.

  𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝑷𝑼𝑻𝑹𝑰𝑫 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐈𝐍𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐃 for the sole purpose of describing Hawkins' underground tunnels, because that's exactly what they were— absolutely and horrifyingly putrid. Thick, sticky slime coated every inch of every wall, and there were these particles floating around in the suffocating air like pollen on a spring day. The only normal things about the tunnels were the uneven ground leveling, and the hollow atmosphere for voices to echo. But nothing else. Everything was bathed in a blue color, or maybe it just seemed that way from the glare of the Camaro headlights up above the tunnel opening. The rope was attached to the bumper of the car, and fell into the opening, reaching just to the slimy floor.

    The tunnels stretched on like dendrites, splitting in all kinds of confusing, different directions ahead. Along the length of each slimy segment, there were these sort of rings that lined the walls and the roof and the ground. It was easy to see that those things inhabited this place— the demodogs. The tunnels were an exact replica of their appearances— slimy, gory, sticky, and dark. And as soon as the kids stepped foot into said-tunnels, it all made sense. This was where they circulated, this was their form of transportation and it'd been like this for god knows how long. This was what had been rotting the pumpkins, it had all been happening right beneath their very feet.

    Feet. Lori's feet collided with the ground of the tunnel opening, emitting a loud squelch as her shoes squished into the slime. She let out a quick huff of air, but that huff turned into a tight gasp when she lifted her head up, eyes instantly going wide at the sight before her. Her lips parted beneath the bandanna covering her mouth, and her eyes were so wide behind the swimmer's goggles— but even through the tint of the goggles, she could still see the grandeur of what she'd gotten herself into, clear as day. Her heart immediately skipped into a race, and her stomach tightened.

    The tunnels were equally as terrifying as they were marvelous.

    "Mon dieu..." she whispered out loud.

    She could not stop her eyes from travelling across every inch of her surroundings. Face struck with shock, worry, and fear, she looked around at every wall and the slime that coated them, the roof above her head that sunk with gore, and the abhorrent aroma that she could smell even through the mask. All of it, absolutely repugnant and petrifying.

    There was a sensation burning in the middle of her chest, and she knew that it had to do with the pumpkin patch. She looked up at the opening she'd just fallen from, thinking about all the decaying pumpkins she'd seen on her very first day in Hawkins, the absolute curiosity that the entire thing caused her. She knew all along, that none of it was normal. And now look where she was— standing in a pile of slime underneath the damned rotting pumpkin patch, in the midst of countless inter-dimensional tunnels. All of the curiosity that had racked her brain for days upon days, that caused her anger and desire for answers— dissipated now. She was right. She'd been right from the start.

    And it was an overwhelming feeling to be right. To be right after such a long time of trying to convince everyone else of her superstitions, it was an overwhelming feeling. If it were not for the fact that she was in the tunnels now, on a very important mission, she'd probably have run down the streets of Hawkins screaming that she was right. Except, she thought now— as she stared around at the tunnels— was it a good thing to be right about this?

    Nevertheless, the place in her chest that housed all of the curiosity and desire for answers, along with the hatred for not receiving said-answers, was replaced with fulfillment. Or something of the sort. She had her answers now. She was seeing it with her own two eyes.