Mike’s
bike wheels hissed against the wet tarmac as the boys raced through the backstreets of Hawkins.
The town was sleeping, windows dark, porch lights flickering. Rain fell in cold, slanting lines, and
their breath fogged in the air like smoke from a dying fire. They didn’t talk —
only the wind spoke, threading through the trees in broken whispers.
As they passed the woods, the shadows thickened. Trees leaned in like watchers, their branches clawing the air. Will glanced over his shoulder. Nothing. Just the forest, silent and staring. But something didn’t feel right.
A noise. Behind him. A rustle. A snap. Then stillness.
He stopped pedalling. The others were already ahead. For a moment, the only sound was the ticking of his bike chain and the soft patter of rain on his helmet. He turned slowly. His heart thudded in his ears. The darkness was so complete it seemed to breathe, pulsing and shifting with things unseen.
Then—movement.
Something darted between the trees. A blur, too fast to follow. Will’s breath caught in his throat. His legs trembled. The cold seemed to press in on him from all sides, slicing at his face. He dropped his bike and ran.