TOO MUCH BARK AND BITE FOR A BOY HIS AGE

A fanfiction short story for Creative Writing Class. Based on characters from Stranger Things.

He was there, the reflection of himself, and then he wasn’t. And Billy was completely, utterly alone. The road stretched out behind him and before him, fading into the fog of the night. His knees hurt from kneeling on the asphalt. Blood trickled into his eye. 

“I don’t understand,” Billy screamed again.

No answer came. He knew one wouldn’t but he tried again, fear clawed his throat hoarse. He didn’t even feel the tears in his eyes, how they stung the cut on his chin. He had to get home. He knew that Neil was probably there, but god, he’d prefer his father over whoever he saw before him. Maybe Neil was right-- he was a monster. 

The Camaro didn’t start. It didn’t even try. He stuck in the key, turned, and nothing happened. The thing that was once his source of freedom now had him trapped, stuck here. He barely knew where he was, stuck next to some run-down factory or something.

Piece of shit.

The phone box was dead too, not even a dial tone to spare. Who knows how long this factory had been abandoned, long enough for no one to care about this joint. He walked back over to the Camaro, trying it again. Still nothing. Billy couldn’t help but scream, wailing on his wheel until his already damaged hands busted and bled. It was like he was underwater: no matter how long or loud he screamed, it went flat. No one could hear. 

There was a noise though. It wasn’t the familiar sound of tires on the street, bringing the hope of rescue. It wasn’t the payphone ticking to life. It wasn’t the hum of his Camaro finally giving up the fight and starting with the familiar hum. No, it was a guttural, animalistic roar, like it was coming from a mutilated bear. It was coming from the factory, echoing through the empty metal frame and cutting through the stuffy silence.

At first, Billy thought it may be the building, all rusted out and creaking, but it came again louder this time. It reached him, grabbing him by his bones and rattling them. His hair stood on end. Without taking his eyes off the front of the factory, he rounded his car, opening the trunk to grab the tire iron in there. It roared again, its voice similar to those dinosaurs in that Jurassic Park movie that Billy saw, but didn’t watch two summers ago. He was too busy trying to get in the pants of Tiffany Browning. Maybe he’d know what to do if he wasn’t busy shoving his tongue down her throat. Maybe he wouldn’t be inching towards the factory. 

It was empty inside. Nothing was left except rusted machines that were too heavy to take out and leaves that littered the floor. There was no breeze to push them around--unusual for the Indiana Summer. There’s a stairway in the middle of the room, a little entrance to it with the door closed. Must have been a safety precaution, to keep the workers safe from falling in. Billy felt drawn to it, like he must know what’s behind the door. It opened with protest, years of rust crackling under the hinges. Billy hoped that was part of the noise, that the rust and the hinges echoed until it was too loud for Billy to ignore. But then, that meant that either something had entered or at least left. That idea didn’t sit with him any better. 

He stood at the top of the stairs, the dark at the bottom beckoning him. As his eyes focused on the darkness, he could make out a faint red glow at the bottom, probably from some safety light that was still operating. With his heart beating, a low and repetitive hum, he took another step. The beat of his heart grew louder with each step, pounding and pounding until it became this undeniable thwomp, thwomp. He felt his chest, feeling the heaving skin, and realized that the sound wasn’t in fact coming from him, instead, it came from downstairs. The hum reverberated and he felt it in his toes, felt it in his teeth, like the bass from the couple of concerts he attended back in California. 

He was nearly at the bottom of the stairs when he heard this sound, a snarl almost, like a critter bearing its teeth and cowering. But this didn’t seem like a cower, more like it was getting ready for a fight. He knew he had found it, the creature. He could barely see at the end of the stairs, the moonlight from the top doing nothing to help. The red light was there, as he assumed, but it wasn’t a safety light. It came from the beast, fading and growing along with the electric thrum. It snarled at him if that's what you could call its weird low gurgle of a noise, but Billy didn’t move. The creature was too big to tell, its skin a sickly texture, like one would imagine a skinned human to look like. Flesh, muscle, and not much else. It reminded Billy of the insides of the frogs they dissected in biology freshman year. It didn’t make him queasy then, but seeing the towering mass before him had it all coming up. 

He wanted to scream again, yell, tear out his eyes, and hope that somehow he’d wake up from whatever hell he’d plunged into. But his throat was tight, constricting, and tightening like the monster in front of him was choking him. Perhaps he was. Billy had seen the movies, seen how the mind can bend the body to break and move. 

He never should have driven out tonight, never should have decided to flirt with Ruthie, never should have promised to meet up. He thinks of her now, her smile, her red hair, how he’d do anything to be curled up next to her. He tries to imagine the strawberry scent that she carries with her, how it is much better than the foul odor coming from the beast in front of him. 

It stared at him. Billy didn’t even know if it had eyes, but he could feel them. They were calculating, sizing him up. He didn’t know if he should stay still like they tell you to do with bears or to run and hope that gym class trained him enough for a moment like this. Who knew the hundred-yard dash may come in handy? It didn’t matter now, the slack he took, focusing on the dumbells and flirting with the cheerleaders while others ran the mile. He needed it all now, and it was slipping away like the water into the grates below his feet. 

His breath staccatoed. Deep breaths to slow his heart, pounding.

Pounding.

Pounding. 

But each exhale came out like a shiver, as if he wasn’t sure if he could release the precious oxygen. He didn’t want to think of what he was breathing in among the stench. 

He must have hit his head hard when he swerved to avoid that deer. Or was it even a deer? He’s not quite sure now. What if he was supposed to come here, that this creature with the thrumming heart wanted him here? 

He felt it stare. So he stared back. 

Then it lunged. 

The arms of it-- more like tentacles than filled with tibias and fibulas and all those other bones and joints Billy can’t remember-- reached towards him. They struck him before he could react, latching on like leeches. He felt them suck. The smaller arms wrapped around like vines, in the way Poison Ivy’s do, but this creature wasn’t a beautiful eco-aware villainess, instead, it was a snarling mass of a mouth, opening to reveal layers of teeth spiraling into the center, where it went so far back it turned black. 

He knew that’s where he was going, and felt the roar of its breath against his skin. He closed his eyes, thinking of Ruthie, how beautiful she was, how she was going to be up waiting for him. Oh how devastated she’s going to be when they find his body, if they even do. Will she tell everyone that he was supposed to be there that night? Or will she keep her chastity and let that secret die with Billy? 

He definitely felt weaker, depleted by whatever the beast was draining him off. Though, if it was fear, it sure wasn’t getting any. Billy hung his head, his fate accepted. The world started to fade then, the shriek of the monster fading into the back of his mind as black swam in his vision. He didn’t fall to the ground though, once he wasn’t able to support himself. He found himself being laid down, almost gingerly. If he wasn’t dying, he’d consider it a thank you from the beast before him, a reward for the juices of his life. But he knew that soon he’d just be a rotting corpse. 

He kept his eyes closed, hoping that he could will away the smell and the feel of the beast. Maybe if he tried hard enough he could take himself to the California beaches, and trade the sounds of the gurgling beast for seagulls’ cries. The concrete can become sand, warm and conforming to his frame. The tentacles become a gentle caress of soft, but weathered hands. Familiar. A ghost of something from the past as they brush against his cheek. 

His eyes fly open then and he sees her. After all of these years, his mother hasn’t changed. He had forgotten some of the details of her face since her death, the only thing remaining strong was her eyes. Billy’s were the same shade. He reached up, putting his hand on top of hers, feeling her warmth. 

He sees it then, the beach surrounding him. The waves roar and crash. The smell of salt and ocean hangs in the air, heavy on his tongue. He stands, shaking the sand off to stand before his mother. She smiles at him, radiant as her eyes crinkle. He forgets about Neil, about the Camaro, about the monster he just faced. 

He’s dead, isn’t he? 

He can’t find himself to be upset, not as his mother embraces him. He sinks into her, smelling the perfume he had long forgotten. She kisses his forehead and he feels a tear run down his cheek. 

“Oh Guppy,” she says, her voice as summery as he remembers.``No need to cry. I’m here.” 

He laughs, letting out a couple more tears. 

“You’re so grown,” she remarks, petting away his long curls. He clings to her hands, holding her wrists like he’s scared she’ll blow away with the sea mist. 

“Where are we, Mama?”

“Do you not like it?” she asks, her face falling, 

He shakes his head, laughing. 

“No, it’s everything I could ever want.”

“I made it,” she kisses his forehead again, “For you.”

He holds her for a moment longer, then he follows her as she leads him along the beach. And back in a gritty warehouse, a chittering beast climbs out of the basement, followed by a young blond with too much bark and bite for a boy his age.