Anarchy (WILLBERT)

2: Festive Ouija Board

Joyce cracked open some old wall paint in a murky, almost black shade of brown, haphazardly smearing a messy capitalisation of each letter of the alphabet on her floral wallpaper. Each letter fell under a lot corresponding Christmas light. Bert had re-strung a chain of coloured glass ones over the wall above the Byers' couch.

It took until dark to complete their handiwork, where the lights and letters were positioned correctly and weren't tangled together. The two of them lit candles as the sun fizzled out of the sky, engulfing the Byers house in darkness.

"Okay, okay, baby talk to me," Joyce began, wringing her hands together, "talk to us."

"Will," Bert said carefully, his throat feeling blocked, "where are you?"

A blue light appeared over the letter 'R', causing the two to chant the letter out loud, along with Joyce's grateful praises. The anticipation sent adrenaline through Bert's body. This was followed by an 'I', a 'G', 'T' and so on, eventually spelling...

"Right here?" Joyce questioned, she was sitting in her own home. If her son was there her, or the police, would have already found her. It was impossible. She shook her head, bringing her thumb up to bite at the skin around her nail.

Equally confounded, Bert muttered, "I don't- I don't know what that means," under his breath. His eyes darted between the walls in the open plan of the room, still only lit by flickering candles. There was no sign of the brown-eyed boy that was missing.

"Tell me what to do, what do I do? How do I get to you?" Joyce pleaded desperately at the lights attached to her wall. The communication hesitated. Bert sucked in a breath. He wasn't about to just give up.

"How do we find you? What do we do, Will?" Bert urged, trying not to sound panicked despite the drumming rhythm of his heart in his chest. His breaths were short and shallow even though he was trying not to freak Joyce out any more than she already was.

The diorama slowly started spelling again. A sequence of three lights, three letters. R. U. N.

No living thing in the room breathed, even the shaggy dog that Bert had been too preoccupied to notice. Suddenly, all the lights flickered and tinkled, and there was this awful cracking, tearing sound. The hairs along Bert's skin prickled, his mouth drying out as he had the awful feeling that something was behind him.

The two turned around slowly, seeing what looked like a humanoid creature fighting against Joyce's yellow, floral wallpaper that had been coloured red by the lights. It was like it was trapped, vacuum-packed between the paper and the wall.

A scaly, reptilian hand tore throughout the wall, gripping onto the flat surface before pushing the rest of the creature out of the wall. It was grey and human height. It made Bert's stomach flip, while he was frozen to his spot. He wanted to throw up.

As it tore itself out of the wall, it created a ripped, boring hole in the wallpaper. It was covered in fluid, appearing as though it had just hatched. The wall leaked out onto the floor like a wound. It had no face. Its limbs were long and gangly, but somehow perfectly coordinated.

Bert and Joyce made a dash for the door, hearing the creature's guttural call behind them as Joyce slammed the door. They ran as far as they could, coming up to the main road where it was pitch black and practically dead. The canopy created by the trees felt suffocating.

Ahead of them, the headlights of a car neared until it came to a screeching halt. Jonathan Byers, eldest of the brothers, clambered out of the drivers seat upon seeing his mother. He immediately took her into a bone-crushing hug, their bodies colliding forcefully. There were whimpers from in between them as Jonathan relaxed around the form of his mom.

He cast a glance at the short figure next to her, breathing a "Bert?" before pulling him into the hug. He could tell by Jonathan's grip that there was no good news for when he was released from the embrace. However, he allowed the hug to carry on for as long as possible, trying to ignore the connotations of Jonathan's death-grip.

It couldn't last forever.

"They've found him," Jonathan sobbed into his mother's shoulder, muffled by her light brown jacket. Bert's blood ran cold.

"What?"

"They've found Will's body."