Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

8th of June 1984, Sunday

Nestled in the wild fringe of Hawkins, where the town frayed into tangled groves and lesser-walked forest paths, stood Penny Grove. A grand log house, originally expanded on and meticulously renovated to serve as a haven for tourists trying to get away from the doldrums of the bigger cities. In the end, however, it turned out to be a monument of financial disappointment and failed aspirations as big as the potential it once held. Perhaps the property might have managed to defy its fate had the owner not died of cancer, not even a year after being open as Penny Grove Bed and Breakfast. After intermittent years of neglect, Penny Grove ended up as little more than the abandoned carcass of Thomas Fines’ business dreams. 

By the beginning of summer in ‘84, it was little more than the skeletal remains of a giant beast, a three-acre sprawl of neglect on the edge of the small and largely uneventful town of Hawkins. Four to five miles separated it from the Eno river, and a mere six hundred feet from the sill, inky waters of a small pond. The nearest point of civilisation was the affluent Loch Nora neighbourhood, located another three miles away inward to the town. 

To the credit of the employees at Prime Hawkins Realtor, regardless if they believed in their adverts or not, the property did hold some potential. It was just deeply buried beneath layers of overgrown weeds, peeling paint and enthusiastic mould. 

The Baker family, laden with suitcases and boxes that smelled of city exhaust, arrived at the property on a day so thick with humidity that they could have sunk their teeth into it. Their arrival in Hawkins, orchestrated by several events in the months preceding their move there, stirred the residents of Hawkins from the summer drowsiness that befell them. A general consensus was reached through hushed gossip being exchanged at sunny cafes or over iced teas in gardens at neighbourhood barbecues. The Bakers had to be as foolish as the former owner of the property, Thomas Fine. Or, perhaps, Georgia, the real estate agent who convinced them to sign their name on the deed was just that good at her job. And her job had been to fan the flames of misplaced optimism that Thomas had held for the property. To get the Bakers to see the potential rather than the financial burden it was undoubtedly going to be. 

Bless their naive hearts, some were quick to whisper when they heard the news that the property was no longer on the market. The new owners had to be wealthy. Wealthy and bored, perhaps, others whispered when it became known that the new residents were not even from Indiana state. How foolish, was said when the Bakers turned out not to be neither wealthy nor bored. What brought them there was left up for heavy speculation, especially when Paul Baker rolled into town one day in a car that was neither new nor impressive, and proved to be as much of a fish out of water as any other outsider. Poor guy, he really hadn’t no idea what he got himself into, did he? 

Paul Baker was the newest hire at the Department of Energy. The job offer he received not only had been an opportunity for him and his family to seek a simpler life, away from the chaos of Manhattan but also to earn more money. And while they were at it, maybe flip the property on Penny Grove, to sell it for a profit. 

The differences between their old and new home were stark, to say the least, a punch to the gut disguised as a breath of fresh air. Manhattan's cacophony had been replaced by the symphony of cicadas and the mournful cry of unseen birds. Skyscrapers had morphed into ancient oaks, their branches clawing at the sky like skeletal fingers. The Bakers used to the constant hum of traffic and the neon heartbeat of the city, felt the silence press in, heavy and unfamiliar.

Mary, Paul’s wife, was convinced that her husband may have lost his mind, but she stifled her horror when they first arrived at the property, if only because her daughter, Amanda, was never too far away from hysterics. Paul, who’d been there before, had clearly been overly optimistic about the amount of attention and effort the property would require to be remotely livable. She should have known better. 

The road leading up to the log house was somewhat of a treacherous affair, poorly paved and winding, serving as a foreboding sign that what awaited at the other end wasn’t in a better state. The elevated front of the property featured a gabled porch, flanked by windows on both sides that were covered in a thick layer of dust and grime. A garage, large enough to accommodate at least three vehicles and with a leaky roof, had been built to the side, out of cement, a rather peculiar architectural and interior choice. Somewhat of an eyesore, too. All around, nature had begun reclaiming its hold. Untamed greenery swallowed the once-manicured lawn, both at the front and down the hill at the back of the property. A couple of rickety stairs led onto the stone porch One was visibly rotten. 

Inside, the foyer was small and square. A closet and storage room flanked the entrance to the left, their doors hanging slightly ajar. Just past them, on the same side, two more doors led into a master bedroom and a room that Paul had already decided would serve as his office. 

The heart of the house unfolded uninterrupted ahead of the foyer into one grand open space, with a tall vaulted ceiling with a height going over twenty-five feet. The kitchen and dining space took over most of the right-hand side of the space, and the staircase, also plagued by rot and temperamental wooden boards, was located in the middle of the open space and led to a catwalk that cut a straight path through the mezzanine of the second floor. 

Past the staircase, there was a portion of barren space that the real estate agency attributed to as the grand room of the house. Panoramic windows and glass doors looked out onto the large deck and the neglected backyard beyond it. The deck was supported by tall stone posts rising to the upper floor, holding up the balcony, the roof and the central dormer. An equally hazardous staircase connected the deck to the backyard, which curved down the hill leading to Penny Pond. To the right-hand side, the porch formed a hexagonal corner of a perfect summer haven. Thomas Fine must have taken inspiration from gazebos for the shape and coverage, one of his last-ditch attempts at making the property even more appealing.

From the first floor, the mezzanines offered a view into the open space below but also allowed for a spectacular panoramic view of the forest stretching for miles around the property. It may have been the property’s only saving grace - the space and scenery - if one ignored the family of rats and raccoons that had taken residence all over the property, leaving clear signs of their occupancy even after the agency called in the exterminator. 

Two ensuite bedrooms, a third one with a smaller, separate bathroom took over the right-hand space of the upper floor. Another two were located on the other side of the house, past the catwalk and mezzanines, with a bathroom connecting them, flanked by a smaller room that seemed more suitable for storage than as sleeping quarters. The space between the mezzanine and the large windows overlooking the front of the property was enclosed - in another life, it could have been converted into one, maybe even two additional bedrooms. Paul, enthused, had told his family that space could be a rec room. Pool table, and maybe a projector with seats for family movie nights. It was an image that required significant wilful imagination given in its current state, sunlight struggled to pierce the gloom and three of the walls required mould treatment. 

Whereas Paul saw a jewel in hiding, his family was not quite convinced about could be’s of that place. Justifiably so. The log house, despite its spaciousness, wore neglect like one did a favourite shirt. Cobwebs, thick and dusty, hung like macabre curtains from the eaves, and a closer look revealed rotten boards begging for replacement. The grand staircase, once the centrepiece of the open floor plan, now looked like a skeletal hand reaching skyward. Loose banisters threatened to give way, and the upper step, cracked and splintered, displayed a gaping hole. 

Upstairs, the situation wasn't any better. Bedrooms stood empty, their furniture long gone, leaving behind dust bunnies as their sole occupants. The air there was even staler. In one room, a gaping hole in the roof let in slivers of sunlight and a worrying amount of rainfall. The loft-like attic, accessible only by a spiral staircase tucked in one corner of the upper floor, was full of broken furniture, dust and rodent excrements. 

The backyard had succumbed to the wilderness. Untamed greenery, a tangle of weeds and brambles, clawed at the elevated cellar, saved from rot only by its stone foundation. Detritus of secret parties was scattered all around, pieces of garbage easy to spot even in the overgrown grass. Rusted beer cans and bottles of vodka glittered like malevolent jewels amid the weeds. There was a lingering stench of cheap liquor that persisted on the porch, offset only by the acrid bite of urine spots over the deck. Whoever had partied there had also insisted on using the exterior logs and deck as their own urinal. 

The path leading down to the pond was barely a memory. It had been swallowed by the advancing tide of neglect, its stones hidden beneath a verdant shroud. What remained was a treacherous scramble, an obstacle course of uneven ground and thorny vines, threatening to snag clothes and skin with equal fervour. Its once sparkling surface was now choked with algae, a stagnant green mirror reflecting the decay around it. 

The abandoned pool, built halfway between the house and the pond, looked like a gaping earth wound. The pool’s cracked concrete walls were adorned with graffiti. Its bottom was a festering pit of muck, garbage and the charred remains of a long-forgotten bonfire. The pool was never fully finished, all of which Thomas Fine had hoped to turn into highlights along with the old barn sitting across from the main residence, a remnant from the property’s former use as a farm. 

“Oh my god,”

“Mandy—”

“Oh my god, what the fuck—”

“Mandy, language, please.”

“Language? You’re worrying about my language?!” Amanda Baker exclaimed, voice rising rapidly. “This place is a dump! Is it even safe to live here—oh my god, I think I just saw a rat.” 

“It wasn’t a rat, Mandy.” Mary sighed. “Stop being so dramatic—”

“Mom, look at this place! It looks like it’ll fall any moment!”

“Now, now,” Paul, ever the placating member of the family, smiled a little tightly. “I know this is a big change, but it looks worse than it is—”

“Do you even hear yourself?! I can’t believe you made us leave our home for this bullshit! It’s like you’re punishing us!” 

“Mandy, don’t talk to your father—”

“Girls—”

“I don’t want to live here! We can’t live here!”

Elizabeth Stirling couldn’t see the Bakers from her spot, leaning against her car but their voices carried out, easily bouncing out of the barren space of the log house and into the remote area. She decided to take her time before heading inside, although she was itching to conduct a thorough recon of the property. She’d gotten familiar enough with the layout from the blueprint Paul had obtained from the real estate agency, but she’d have liked to understand just how exposed they were in that place. 

The location was perfect, with how isolated it was from the better part of the town. What was not quite so ideal was the sheer amount of windows and doors that were built on both floors. Having many exits was good, but that also meant many entry points. 

“Um, Beth?” Freddie, playing with the Batman figurine he always kept on him and which came out whenever he felt nervous, leaned into her a little. The humidity in Hawkins was somehow even worse than in New York, and it made his curly dark hair swell and become frizzier than usual. “This place is not haunted, right? It kinda looks haunted.” 

It wasn’t the most eerie location she’d visited, but she silently agreed with his assessment - the property might have as well been transported from a fictional work of horror. “No, it’s not haunted.” She said calmly, throwing an assessing look at their surroundings. 

“And if it’d been haunted,” Oliver, her younger brother, commented from her other side, “Even ghosts would have escaped the moment they heard that.” He said irritably, referring to the shrill voices of the Baker women. 

That made Freddie snicker a little, the tension in his shoulders melting away. “It does look kind of bad,” He said next. “Is it really safe?”

“Safer than New York.” 

Quiet. Hawkins was quiet. It was exactly the type of town her father would have chosen for them to hunker down. With a population of less than fifteen thousand souls, it was barely a blip on the map. The nearest major city was Indianpolis, approximately eighty miles away. Other towns, some even smaller, were scattered like breadcrumbs between Hawkins and Indianapolis. 

Beth supposed that she should have been more grateful for Hawkins than she felt. New York had been a sensory nightmare. Honking taxis clamouring for attention, screeching brakes of buses and rumble of subway trains that made her ears ring. Vendors shouting their wares, pedestrians hurrying on bustling streets, musicians on street corners trying to make a living through their art. The city had surged relentlessly. Even if she’d ignored the noise, the medley of scents made her sick most days. For years metropolises had been faraway temptations that they’d skirted past and rarely ever ventured into. 

Beth was used to waking up to the sound of birds chirping at her window and with the smell of morning dew coating the thick foliage of trees. Nights in the wilderness had felt friendlier and more welcoming than the beast of concrete and glass and steel that New York had been. 

And she was. Grateful for Hawkins. The circumstances that brought them there, however, made it impossible for her to relax. 
That, coupled with an indescribable feeling that permeated the town, left her unsettled. Beth couldn't quite put her finger on it, nor articulate the unease she experienced, but something about Hawkins felt peculiar. It was cause for alarm; her instincts were rarely wrong. Perhaps it was the very silence she had yearned for in the preceding weeks, now casting an unexpected shadow over her peace of mind.

Hawkins hadn’t been part of the plan. Nothing that had happened in the last months had been part of the plan. Beth had broken rules—far too many of them. Her late father would have been devastated to discover that, in his absence, she had unravelled almost everything he had painstakingly built over the years. They were in the system now, Beth Stirling and her brother, and that was exactly what shouldn’t have happened. She’d been trained better than that. Yet, here they were, stranded in Hawkins, a remote outpost that offered solace in its isolation, but also served as a reminder of their entrapment.

One of her father’s rules had quite literally been, you cannot get caught or trapped. 

“Don’t worry, Freddie.” Oliver said, crossing his arms over his chest. “We won’t be here for long.” He glanced at Beth. “Right?”

“Of course.”

They had a new plan, and they were going to stick by it. 

And little, plain, old Hawkins was going to help them achieve that. 

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“Beth, I would appreciate it if you didn’t just stand there and watch.” Mary Baker scolded as she picked up a solitary lamp from the lawn, where the two men working for Powell Moving Company unloaded the furniture out from their truck. It pulled up the unpaved road twenty minutes after their arrival, a day earlier than expected. As a result, they only had six or seven hours to bring everything inside before the night caught the Bakers with all of their effects out in the open. “Not to mention, it sets a bad example for the boys.” 

Beth was tempted to point out that Mary had been doing precisely that for the past hour—merely standing by, hands firmly planted on her hips, micromanaging the movers and her family. Paul and her children, Mandy and Brian had been tasked with clearing as much of the dust and grime inside. They made little progress. Mandy was more intent on complaining about their new accommodations and Brian got distracted by the idea of claiming the entire basement space to himself. Paul kept on getting distracted - he’d abandoned sweeping three times because his attention was caught by small repairs he decided had to be completed right away.

If Mary had been likeable, Beth might have empathised more with her frustrations. She and her brothers were also not as quick to catastrophize over the temporary lack of electricity—they all had to make do with such circumstances in the past. 

“Sorry, Mary. I’ll get on with it.” Beth replied cordially, swallowing her retort. She’d been carrying boxes inside consistently for twenty minutes, and had only paused her task because she offered the movers to slide over one of the sofas to make more space. The front lawn was mostly gravel and dirt, with just a narrow strip of grass running alongside the porch. The Bakers were lucky the Department of Energy had included a relocation service in the job offer extended to Paul, or they’d have never had their furniture wrapped as well as it’d been. 

Beth grabbed another box from near the rickety, rotten steps of the porch. Mary, apparently deeming the task of holding the lamp too taxing. She carelessly dumped it into the box. Beth mustered a tight smile and locked eyes with her thirteen-year-old brother, who had just emerged from the house. Though he didn't fully grasp the merits of diplomacy like Beth did, he possessed an uncanny ability to maintain a poker face. That required far more conscious effort on her part. 
 
“She’s not doing anything.” He was quick to share his observations as soon as they were both inside the house. “She made me move the same box three times. For no reason.” Her nose tickled, as a result of the dust and she sniffed a little, hoping to mitigate a sneeze. 

“I am aware.” Beth remarked. “Have you checked—”

“Yes.” Oliver said, following her across the room. “The windows and doors are in good shape, secure. The place is better insulated than I’d have thought, but I think some of the logs need to be retreated.” He clicked his teeth. “This place has more entry points than on the blueprint. I don’t like it.”

Beth smiled faintly, unsurprised he made the same observations she did. “Neither do I.” She said, “But that means we also have many exit points. The layout isn’t so bad.” She added, as she placed one of the boxes down by the stairs and then pointedly looked at the mezzanine. She could make out Mandy’s huffs and puffs and muttered profanities coming up from the upper level. The girl must have switched her attention to the room she claimed as her own. 

“We have good visibility,” Oliver agreed quietly with a nod. “But there’s no way they can afford to renovate this place.”

She hummed in assent, bringing her gaze back down to their surroundings. “They could, but it’ll take a very long time if they don’t want to spend too much money at once,” She noted. “And they don’t have that much time. Hawkins has harsh winters. They’ll need it to be suitable to hold out the weather.”

“Not for normies, it isn’t.” Oliver said, shoving his hands inside the pocket of her dark cotton trousers. “We’d have no issue.”

“Yes, well, I don’t want us to be here by the end of year.” She murmured quietly, conscious their voices carried out easily in that space. “Is Freddie upstairs?”

“Yeah, he’s sweeping the floor.”

“Good.” Beth said. “Can you go help him? I’ll help outside. If we get everything done quickly, I can convince Mary to let us go into town. For groceries.”

“And for recon.”

“Obviously.”

Paul’s footsteps thudding against the floor announced his arrival even before he appeared in Beth and Oliver’s view. “Beth, oh good. There you are. Would you mind giving me a hand? Now, this isn’t a lady’s work, but I’ve asked Brian to move boxes upstairs, and Mandy is—” He paused, then looked around with a look of confusion as if he only just realised his daughter was missing. “Where is Mandy, anyway?”

“Upstairs, unpacking boxes in her bedroom.” Beth, then exchanged a quick look with her brother. No words were needed. He made his way upstairs, careful not to place his feet on any of the weaker steps. Beth made a mental note that they should fix the stairs first; being discrete was hard when everything creaked. “What do you need help with?”

“Come, come on. I’ll show you.” Paul gestured for her to follow him. Beth placed the box on the floor, to the side, then did just that. “It’s just this shelf in the laundry room, giving me a headache.” 

Yet hardly an urgent task given the lawn was full of boxes and furniture, they were four hours from sunset and they weren’t even sure the kitchen was fully functional. The real estate agency assured them the gas line was on and had already passed a safety inspection; and the plumbing, although not exactly new, worked just fine. Beth wasn’t quite ready to take their word for it. 

Paul was like that, however. Rather clueless, if well-meaning, easy to distract especially if there was something to be fiddled with or fixed. Beth preferred him over Mandy, but she also found him rather frustrating; Paul was not a man of action, like her father, who’d been focused and sharp and always five steps ahead of a crisis. Then again, her father wasn’t what most people - including herself - considered an entirely sane embodiment of human behaviour. 

The laundry room was built next to the pantry, both rooms separating the main house from the garage. Beth followed Paul inside the room, and immediately understood what he meant by the shelf being a headache. It was large and long, placed just above an old washing machine left behind to accumulate rust and dust. The shelf had come loose at one end, causing it to hang awkwardly at a steep angle that threatened to rip the metal fixture out from the wall. Unlike the main house, the laundry room, the pantry and garage had been built using cement. It’d been a rather odd choice, given the former owner had otherwise insisted on maintaining a ‘rustic charm’ for the rest of the property. 

Beth lifted the shelf and kept it aligned while Paul worked on screwing it back to the wall. It only took a few minutes, but judging from the red mark on Paul’s cheek, he had to have wrestled with it a few times before asking for help. And lost. “Perfect.” He said, as he lowered the screwdriver and took a step back to admire his work. “Thank you.” 

“You’re welcome.” She said, as she moved away from the shelf. “Is there anything you need help with?”

He gently patted her shoulder. She managed not to flinch. “All good, young lady. You should go check your room as well. I am sure it’ll be a nice change from that attic.” 

Clueless or not, Paul was easily the Baker member of the family she tolerated the most. He was polite, reasonable and did not hold her in contempt as much as Mary did. “No problem.” Beth walked out of the laundry room, and back into the main open space area, giving it another cursory look. 

The log house, despite the sheer space it offered and the little piece of land it came with had been on the market at a slightly cheaper price than the first residence the Bakers had looked at. A newly renovated two-story, near downtown Hawkins. With that property, however, the Bakers would have had to take out a mortgage, one they’d have never been approved for and that was in addition to a ten percent deposit of the purchase price. Instead, they bought the log house using most of their savings and the advance Paul received from his new job. The long-term plan was to use Paul’s higher-paying salary to renovate the cabin and re-sell it for a profit. 

Beth thought that was a foolish venture, especially since they had a significant debt to pay off, stemming from credit lines and a large loan they’d made in the past. A sliver of guilt pricked her conscience. She'd argued against the other house, closer to town and amenities, pointing out that owning land was, long-term, more beneficial than otherwise. While she hadn’t offered false information, she did make her argument out of a personal agenda. The log house worked better for her and the boys than it did for the Bakers - they were isolated from the town there, and close to nature. 

Perfect for disappearing when the time came. 

“Beth! I nearly tripped and broke my neck! Can you please help out with the boxes?” Mary shouted from outside, and Beth had to wonder if the woman sensed her having a quiet moment. 

With a sigh, Beth walked out of the house. Mary had her hands on her hips, one heeled foot tapping against the gravel next to a box labelled Kitchen. Oliver was behind her, holding a box himself and rolling his eyes. Mary didn’t notice it. Freddie was next to him, trying not to laugh. 

The box was considerably out of the way of the path leading to the porch.“As the oldest one, I’d expect you to be more responsible.” Mary said, irritably. “Please take that to the kitchen, then help with the other boxes. The movers can’t wait forever on us.” 

They’d already be done if you hadn’t distracted them. “Sure,” Beth said placidly. “Perhaps Mandy can give us a hand?”

“She’s unpacking her room.” Mary defended her daughter quickly. “You hardly brought anything with you, so unless there’s anything you need to take upstairs, help with the kitchen, please.”

It was true. They barely had any personal effects, except a few suitcases. And some items were hidden in the boot of her car that no one could know of, but that was a different matter. That reminded Beth that she needed to call Magnus and ask if he’d managed to check on their actual belongings. Beth never thought she’d miss the times when they had the freedom to roam around in an RV, but she did. Even more, the ordeal they’d been through in the last half a year made her miss being abroad. 

Just a few months, that’s all. Then we’ll be out of here. 

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13th of June 1984, Wednesday 

Five different roads led out of Hawkins. Two of them converged with a third, the longest one, the one they’d used to get into town, about twenty-seven miles from Penny Grove. The maps Beth studied also indicated multiple hiking trails, with the longest one being a little over ten miles but they all led into neighbouring areas. She made a mental note to think of routes that’d take them through the thick of wilderness instead - the kind that weren’t on any maps. 

While researching Hawkins’ topography at the local library, Beth found out that one of the trails was closed off after a child went missing over half a year earlier. He was found, thankfully but only after he’d been presumed dead first, and even that was after a town-wide search. The town was shaken, no surprise given crime was so low that their police station probably had no more than twenty staff members overall. Small burglaries, some vandalism and teenagers driving too fast were usually among the worst offenders. 

Another teenager had gone missing, however, but her disappearance hadn’t been as widely documented. A teenage girl named Barbara Holland. Compared to Will Byers’ story, hardly any attention was paid to hers. It’d been concluded that she’d run away, despite her parents protesting such an assumption. The town must have had enough of one crisis and preferred to gloss over the second. 

Beth wouldn’t have needed an official, marked trail to navigate the woods, however. To come up with a good route, however, she’d have to go into the woods and get a lay of the land. That hadn’t been possible in the nearly ten days they’d been in Hawkins already, thanks to Mary’s incessant concern that their house wasn’t presentable enough. She wasn’t wrong in pointing out there was a lot of work to be completed at their new residence. Beth was simply not keen on doing it. It wasn’t home. They’d be gone in months, if not weeks. 

“I think we should look here first.” Her brother said, marking a spot on the map she laid out over the trunk of her car. They were parked outside a store called Melvald’s. 

Beth eyed it. “Past Eno River?” She nodded in agreement. “It’ll be one of the quickest ways out of here, but that’ll be on foot, not by car.” The car should stay with them, in most if not all escape scenarios. “I’d like to find out where it’d lead us though.” 

“Are there a lot of dangerous animals in Hawkins?” Freddie asked curiously. “Like wolves and—and bears?”

“Hmm. Wolves, yes. Foxes. Bison, probably. Bears are less likely.”

“There aren’t any,” Oliver said. “I checked before we left New York. I got a few books on the flora and fauna. This place is pretty tame.” 

“That’s a good thing,” Beth said. “I am going to stop by the library a few more times this week. See what I can dig up in the nearest towns.” 

The only reason she’d been able to take Oliver and Freddie for a drive in town was because neither Mandy nor Brian were willing to go shopping for paint. Paul was at work, going through with the induction for his new role. Beth used the opportunity to make a few other purchases as well.

Mary was actively against allowing Beth to go anywhere if the boys were with her, out of fear, no doubt that Beth might decide to leave. She couldn’t stop Beth, who was legally an adult, but she knew the latter would never leave without Oliver or Freddie. They were the only reason Beth put up with the Bakers in the first place. 

“Can we get milkshakes?” Freddie asked, eyeing Melvalds’ behind them where the sole employee was a woman with dark hair and kind eyes. Her name was Joyce. She came across as a sweet woman, even if a little high-strung. While she noted they were new to town, she didn’t pry and instead praised Freddie’s choice of cereals. That pleased him greatly. 

Beth glanced at her watch. It was a quarter past eleven, and Mary asked her to be back by twelve. If they were late, she’d be bound to get a lecture, but Beth would just nod along and offer an apology. Mary found it more annoying when Beth did that, responding calmly and maturely, rather than arguing with her. If she kept on being angry while Beth maintained her composure, she came across as hysterical, which embarrassed her. 

“Sure.” 

She quickly found out that she may have underestimated Mary’s pettiness. 

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Jim rolled his eyes when his radio flared to life, interrupting the rather quiet moment he was having, leaning back in his seat with his hat over his eyes. He was posted on a small alleyway facing one of Hawkin’s longest roads, often favoured by dimwit teens trying to shorten their life by racing in their cars. It’d been a quiet week, so far, however. The youth of Hawkins was divided between those who began heading to the local swimming pool and those leaving the town for other vacationing spots. Summer camps, too. 

It made him think of El back at the cabin, shuttered in and watching more TV than it was probably healthy, especially for a kid like her. The only experience she had with swimming was tied in with the mind-fuckery she had to deal with at the hands of scientists. Dunking to splash her friends wasn’t a memory she had like others her age, or just floating around in the sun until her skin turned red. She couldn’t even leave the cabin during daylight, because it was too risky. At least it was cool up there in the woods. And safe. They couldn’t take any chances. 

He blindly reached for his radio, removed it from the pouch and brought it up to his mouth. “Hop here. What is it?” It had better not be a damn cat stuck on a roof again. Seriously, he got that nothing ever happened in Hawkins but that was ridiculous. Well, that’s not exactly true anymore. 

“Hey, Chief.” It was Flo. “You’re not going to believe this, but we’ve got a Code Adam.”

Jim pushed his hat up and straightened. “What? Who?” It couldn’t have been El. She wouldn’t have left the cabin, but maybe someone wandered onto the property? Alerted the police?

“New family up in Penny Grove. Remember, old man Fine’s house? The one he tried to get tourists in with. A family moved in about a week ago. The Mrs is saying that her youngest boys have been kidnapped by her niece. Actually, we’ve got a Code 10-30, as well.” That code indicated a stolen vehicle. 

“Are you sure, Flo?” He said, using his free hand to place the key in the ignition. “What’s the family name again?”

“Baker.” 

Right. Hopper hadn’t gone by that place, but Glenn and Calvin went by just for a friendly check-in when the family moved in two weeks earlier or so. Jim wasn’t sure. Days tended to blend still. El made it better for the most part. 

“Officer Glenn and Officer Calvin are scouting up north.”

“Got it. I’ll take South. Do we have a licence plate and details on the car?” For fucks sake, the last thing Hawkins needed was more missing children. 

There was a small pause. “Oh, huh. Yes. It’s a ‘69 Ford Mach Mustang. Black with a red line.”

Jim blinked. “Seriously?”

If the niece had really taken the children, they were bound to be already a good stretch of road ahead in a car like that. They wouldn’t have taken the one Jim had been posted on since earlier that morning, he’d have noticed. 

“Got it. Heading out now. Keep me posted.”

“You got it, Chief.” 

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He found the Ford Mach, ten minutes later. Jim’s first thought was that the niece, or whoever took the kids, was an idiot because she parked in broad daylight, in front of a well-known food joint. He parked right next to the Mustang - sweet car, well taken care of - and then removed his hat, as he walked inside the diner. 

Eyes scanning the place, it took him only a few seconds to spot the allegedly missing boys and their kidnappers. They were having burgers and milkshakes at a table by the window, looking in no rush to leave town. What the hell. The youngest boy, who looked about nine or ten, was giggling loudly as another boy, not much older than El herself, chucked a fry at him. Sitting in the middle, back towards the window, was an older girl - probably closer in age to Jonathan. Maybe older. She had a burger in her hands, watching the two boys tease one another. Her brown hair was rolled up in a bun at the back of her head, and she was dressed in loose clothing, a pair of denim overalls over a long-sleeved shirt. Odd choice for a warm day like that, but whatever. 

The older boy’s smile faded, and he looked up even before Jim started heading in their direction. Observant. The boy’s mood changed completely, shoulders going up to his shoulders. The other boy must have noticed, because he asked, “What’s the matter, Ollie?” Then he followed the boy’s gaze, over to Jim, lifting himself from the booth. 

The girl noticed him as well, sharp-eyed and all traces of humour gone from her face. Jim recognized apprehension when he saw it, and something told him it wasn’t related just to the sight of his uniform and badge. He stopped before their booth, and the younger boy immediately scooted closer to her, while the others’ hands clenched in his lap. The girl looked calmer than either of the boys, perhaps too calm. Her movements were too controlled as she placed her half-eaten burger down and then pulled her hands under the table. Did she have a weapon? She didn’t strike him as a gun nut, but people could be surprised. 

She was observant too, eyes darting to his belt - gun and radio - then his hands, before she glanced over to his left. The emergency exit of the diner. Interesting. She didn’t move, however, just brought her gaze back to him and leaned back in her seat, which he thought was an act of appearing casual. 

“Hey there.” He knew he struck an intimidating figure. Usually, he liked the advantages that came with it, especially unruly snotty teenagers, but the girl in front of him wasn’t one. He was starting to think there was no kidnapping taking place, just a big misunderstanding. “I take it you’re the Baker kids. Your aunt, Mary—”

“She’s not our aunt.” The older boy cut in, coldly.
Oh. Okay. Great start. 

“She’s distantly related, but we refer to her as our aunt.” The girl explained calmly. “I am Beth. These are my brothers, Oliver and Freddie. Mary and Paul Baker are our—” She paused. “Well, they’re their guardians. I am eighteen.” 

The younger boy Freddie looked up at him shyly. He looked chastised even though Jim hadn’t said anything, fiddling nervously with a figurine toy in his hands. A Batman figurine? It looked like it’d seen better days.“You’re not in trouble.” Jim said, bringing a hand over his jaw. “Not if you tell me why your…aunt would think you stole a car and kidnapped your brothers.”

He could see a resemblance between Beth and Oliver, in the shape of their eyes and nose, but not between the two and the younger boy. Oliver was blond, with green eyes. The sister had brown eyes. Freddie had blue. Different mothers or fathers, perhaps? The Baker family was already starting to sound like a headache he didn’t need. 

Oliver rolled his eyes at his words, then relaxed a little before he gave his sister a weary look. Should a kid look that weary at that age? “Told you so.”

Freddie looked affronted. “Beth didn’t kidnap us,” He said to Jim, emboldened a little when it came to defending his sister. “She bought us milkshakes!” 

Jim was tempted to point out that those actions weren’t mutually exclusive but the kid was just being a kid, and he didn’t want to cause them to be uncooperative. The sooner they wrapped that crap up, the better. He really liked his naps. 

“Alright, alright.” He said. “That doesn’t answer my question, though.”

“The car is mine,” Beth said, next. “It belonged to our father, he left it to me.” She was eighteen, which meant that her aunt had filed a false report. “I was meant to return by twelve, but the diner was busy so the orders ran late.”

It was barely twenty past, which meant their aunt had to have contacted the police as soon as the clock showed twelve, if not earlier. 

“She doesn’t like it when we spend time together,” Freddie mumbled, looking down at his figurine. “Beth would never do anything bad.” 

Beth placed a hand on his head. “It’s okay, Freddie. She just got worried.” From the looks on her brothers’ faces, they didn’t believe that statement any more than Jim did. Beth wasn’t even trying to be convincing, just diplomatic, most likely because of Jim’s badge. 

Jim sighed. What a drag. He gestured towards the food on the table. “Alright, take that to go. Let’s get you home before your aunt decides to contact the goddamn FBI.” He said, putting his hat back on. “I am taking you back myself.” 

.
.

They listened with minimal fuss. Or rather, the boys listened to Beth who listened to him with minimal fuss. Jim noticed the way her eyes darted over his scar, assessing, before she helped Freddie in the backseat of the Mustang. Oliver went shotgun. She made them both put their seatbelt on. He let her drive ahead, and he had no complaints. Kid drove safely, and within the speed limit which might have been a show, but somehow Jim doubted. Beth struck him as a teen who preferred not to draw attention, not the other way around. 

Mary Baker, he discovered, was a petite woman, almost as small as Joyce. Unlike Joyce, however, she was incredibly obnoxious and was wearing far too much perfume. Granted, she was a looker but as soon she opened her mouth, Jim began sporting a headache. For someone who’d been ‘frazzled’ about ‘her boys’ missing, she’d looked very polished. Not a single strand of hair out of place. 

She was one for theatrics as well, immediately gathering Freddie into a hug although the boy looked rather uncomfortable with it. When she tried to do the same with Oliver, the boy dodged it and pulled himself close to Beth. The girl remained calm, stone-faced when Mary, through gritted teeth, berated her for ‘wasting the Chief’s time’ and ‘worrying everyone with her antics’. The boys could have gotten hurt on her watch! God forbid!

Jim quickly got a pretty good idea of the dynamics in that family following that. And he was annoyed. “Ma’am.” Mary ushered the three young souls into the house, then asked him if he’d like to come in for some tea, with a change in her tone so drastic that he felt his mouth twitch. “You’ve said the car was stolen.”

She blinked. “Have I?”

“Yes. However, your niece has informed me it belongs to her.” 

Mary tilted her chin. “Oh, well my apologies, Chief Hopper. I was so worried, I must have gotten confused.” Bullshit. “Every time she takes the boys in that—that dangerous vehicle, I can’t rest easy.” She placed a well-manicured hand over her chest. “I don’t think someone so young should drive something that can go so fast, but she’s an adult, so I can’t stop her. That doesn’t mean the boys—”

“You also said she kidnapped them.”

“Well—”

“Do you realise it is a criminal offence to make a false report to the police?” He asked sternly. Mary’s face fell when it became clear he wasn’t automatically going to take her side. 

Behind her, in the foyer, Oliver was smirking, Freddie was still sipping from his milkshake as innocent as they came and Beth was faintly amused. She mostly looked tired. Jim had to wonder just how much Beth put up with from her aunt’s side. 

“I—well, I–”

“Aside from gorging too much sugar for lunch, I see no issue with them being out in town.” He said. “The police should be contacted for emergencies, not teenagers defying a questionable curfew by twenty minutes in broad daylight.” 

The woman’s cheeks turned red. Jim imagined she was also the type of woman to file complaints about others’ behaviour, but he’ll cross that bridge later. It wouldn’t have been the first time he offended someone. He averted his gaze over to the trio behind her. Particularly Beth. “Next time, ring home. Let your aunt know you’re running late.”

“Yes, sir.” 

Must be really distant relatives, he thought. No resemblance at all between the kids and Mary Baker. 

He tipped his hat at the speechless woman. “Have a nice day, ma’am.” 

“I—yes, alright. You as well, Chief Hopper.”

The door was closed even before he took three steps away. He stopped, and listened, mostly out of habit. There were no sounds that caused him concern, like yelling or something being broken. Mary did not strike him as physically abusive, but the kids’ reaction had been a little too strong for a person of authority. Especially the young ones.

He walked back to his car and got in, then radioed in. “False alarm. The car wasn’t stolen, it belongs to the niece. They were just having lunch in town. I brought them home. Next time, get more details. Mrs Baker is quite the…storyteller.” 

“Copy that.” Then a moment later. “Does that mean we can’t go to their house party next weekend? Calvin and I got invited.”

Jim took a deep breath, exasperated. 

Sometimes he wished he had El’s powers. God bless his officers if he did. 

.
.
.

Clearly embarrassed by the chief of the police not-so-subtly berating her, Mary didn’t even bother to give them another lecture. She just asked them to carry on with their errands. 

“He’s not a pastel,” Oliver commented as soon as they were alone in Beth’s bedroom. “I wouldn’t label him as a safe person, but I don’t think he’s a threat.” 

Beth closed the door behind them. “He looked like he’d rather not have come at all.” She said, “Freddie, go get changed into something lighter. The afternoon is still hot until around sunset.” They were going to scrub the back deck, then use a pressure washer to hopefully reveal the original russet colour of the deck underneath. Freddie loved pressure washing things, so he was more than happy to participate in that chore. Beth had to admit she found it quite satisfying herself. 

“Okay!”

Their rooms were connected by the bathroom in the middle, which had two doors. It took some communication and a few rules, like always locking both doors when they were using it, but so far they had no issues sharing. Freddie couldn’t lock the door leading to her room if he was having a bath, just in case he needed help. Beth’s memory of Oliver slipping after his bath, when he was nine and nearly cracking his skull open was still vivid in her mind. She did not need to relive that. 

Beth’s bedroom, much like the others, was crafted from sturdy logs, showcasing their natural texture and rustic charm. Pushed against the wall, a bed frame made of weathered wood with a thick mattress on top faced the bathroom door. She had soft, simple linen bedding on. On each side of the bed, she had identical small square nightstands that might have been carved by hand judging by their slightly unfinished look. She’d rescued both from the attic. 

A pale, wooden wardrobe was tucked in one corner of the room, near the entrance. On the other side of the room, a simple desk with a chair was placed under a large rectangular window that had no drapes yet. Adjacent to it was the glass door leading into the covered wrap-around balcony. She had great visibility of the creek and the grove of trees extending past the property’s green lawn. 

Other than a couple of boxes, her backpack and luggage, she did not have much else in there. She didn’t want to, either. Beth didn't intend on growing comfortable in that place, although she did like the house and in particular, it’s isolated position. If the Bakers hadn’t been with them, she might have considered them staying there for longer. 

“We should call Magnus tomorrow.” She said, “I need him to check on our storage unit and the RV.”

“Do you think anyone broke in?”

She hoped not. “I doubt it.” 

“Mh-hm.” Oliver fell back against her bed, arms spread out. “I can’t believe she’s going to have a stupid party.”

Beth eyed him from where she’d planted herself by the window. Force of habit. “She’ll want to introduce all of us, but I can tell her you’ve got a headache.” She said, “She won’t say no in front of other people. It’ll make her look bad.”

They’d only witnessed glimpses into Mary’s social life back in New York, because they’d often preferred to stay in the attic they’d been relegated to. However, Beth had gotten an idea of her modus operandi when it came to ingratiating herself to others. Mary turned the charm to one hundred and behaved as if she was the First Lady receiving people into the White House. In a small town like Hawkins, she was bound to try and leverage her experience as a ‘cosmopolitan’. Beth wondered if that’d work there, or if people were bound to think she’s a snob. 

“I’d rather we just left,” Oliver mumbled. “We could just—”

“We are not drugging her.”

“That’s hardly the worst thing we’d ever done.” As in her, mostly. Oliver’s ledger was nowhere like Beth’s, especially after the weeks they spent in the foster system. It’d been a brief experience, yet deeply memorable for the worst of reasons. 

“That’s a plan C, at best.” She said, returning her attention to the houses across from Penny Road. She could faintly make out the houses on the next street over from that height, amongst the foliage of trees. “We’re still on plan A.” 

“Yeah, but if there’s anything we can count on is plan A almost always fails.”

Something their father used to say. 

“Here’s hoping we catch a break, little brother.” 

.
.
.

16th of June, Saturday 1984

A simmering tension crackled in the air. Oliver shoved his hands deeper into his pockets, eyes flickering toward the barbecue. "Imagine if that thing just went up in flames," he whispered, a sardonic smile playing on his lips.

“Let’s not imagine such things.” Beth tugged at Freddie’s shirt collar, who’d been continuously pouting ever since Mary had him wear the new clothes. That was as far as the woman managed to impose her choice onto the boys before Beth stepped in. Mary would have gone as far as styling their hair herself and no way would have ended well. Freddie didn’t like to be touched by people he didn’t know well, and Oliver was prepared to poison her. 

“They’re kind of tight,” Freddie muttered with a grimace. 

“I know but they’ll loosen up. It’s cotton.” 

Beth was seated between her brothers on one of the sofas that the Bakers’ brought with them from New York. Much like most of their furniture and decorative pieces, the sofa was at odds with the overall rustic design of the cabin. Mary insisted that they were merely giving the place a ‘modern twist’ but Beth wasn’t convinced. She didn’t care much about what the place looked like as long as it was secure, however. 

The second sofa held court to Mary and Paul's brood - fraternal twins, carbon copies of their parents except where the originals had smooth edges, these had sharp corners. Seventeen-year-old Amanda, or "Mandy" as she insisted on being called, sported a pair of white shorts and a bright pink shirt she’d tucked in. Her dark hair, an echo of Mary's, cascaded down her shoulders in a carefully sculpted perm. Her blue eyes were undoubtedly her mothers’. Brian resembled Paul less in face and more in posture - perpetually hunched, lanky arms awkwardly folded into the front pocket of his hoodie. His unruly mop of dark hair mirrored his mother's, his eyes were brown, like his father’s. 

The twins’ personalities were as distinct as their outfits. Mandy, a social butterfly flitting from trend to trend, mimicked Mary's assertive nature, sometimes to the point of shrillness. Brian, on the other hand, embodied Paul's quiet demeanour, bordering on complete muteness. Beth couldn't remember him ever uttering more than a mumbled response. 

The mere mention of the move to Hawkins had elicited opposite reactions from the Baker siblings as well. Brian had been visibly disappointed but had otherwise not put up much of a fight. Mandy, however, erupted into a full-blown meltdown which then turned into days of whining protests and cajoling. When her parents refused to budge on their decision, a simmering resentment began gathering and then directed solely at Beth. In Mandy's world, the move to Hawkins, the uprooting from her friends and familiar life, was all Beth's fault. The silent Brian might not have voiced it, but Beth suspected he harboured similar feelings, albeit buried under layers of his usual complacent attitude. 

Beth didn’t blame either of them for being unhappy or holding the drastic change in their life against her. She understood how jarring that could be. It hadn’t been her fault, however, that Mary and Paul decided to move to Hawkins. 

Mary appeared in the room, dressed in a dark blue sunflower dress cinched around her waist with a yellow belt. Lush ringlets cascaded down her shoulders and her red lipstick matched her nails. Paul trudged in behind her, looking distracted by his tie. He thought a party was too soon but Mary insisted that they had to get ahead of making a good impression before the neighbours decided to come up with their own. 

They didn’t have any neighbours, however. The closest property was more than three miles away, on the edge of the affluent Loch Nora neighbourhood. 

“Up, up. The guests are here.” 

They all lined up in the foyer. The first guests to arrive around half past five were the Wheelers. Ted Wheeler was an accountant who worked at the small Jonesborough headquarters of a large financial company. Paul had struck a tentative friendship with him after he and Mary attended a local summer town gathering that she insisted they went to. 

Beth couldn’t figure out why Paul had likened Ted to an ‘interesting’ man. Ted Wheeler struck her like he’d rather sit down in a chair and just disappear into it, especially if it meant not talking to too many people. His wife, Karen, had a contrasting attitude, friendly and warm. Together, they had three children. Holly, who was only four and Mike who was thirteen. They were both missing that evening. A babysitter was looking after Holly, and Mike was out with friends. Her eldest daughter, Nancy, was meant to accompany them but she had somewhere to be. 

The introductions were polite, and brief. Beth and the boys found themselves marooned on the stairs in a compromise between boredom and obligation. Downstairs, Mary reigned over the kitchen, her laughter echoing amidst the women. Upstairs, Beth felt a tightening in her chest and a sickly rise in her throat. Memories faded yet potent, swirled in her mind like dust motes. Sitting on similar stairs, listening to another woman, a woman worlds apart from Mary, effortlessly genuine, effortlessly charming.

The nausea intensified. Playing house. No rigid routines, no suffocating rules, just the peaceful isolation of their cabin in the woods. A stark contrast to this new reality, a place far removed from that fever dream existence. Beth squeezed her eyes shut, willing the past to recede. The smell, the sounds, the layout – all different. This was where she was, Beth Stirling and those echoes had no place here, no place now.

“This is ridiculous,” Oliver muttered from behind her. “I can’t believe we have to play house with these idiots.”

Freddie was silent beside him, just fiddling with his toys. It’s been a while since he’s been around that many people, and he wasn’t a fan. 

They were, indeed, playing house. They were pretending to be a slightly more normal version of who they actually were, and even that version elicited divisive emotion from the Bakers’. If they knew the truth, the whole truth, Beth was positive they’d either have them committed or the family would end up with a collective nervous breakdown. Understandably, so. On both accounts. 

“Not for long,” Beth reminded him. “What do you think about the guests?”

“Pastels.” Her brother said curtly. “Boring. Just like the rest of the place.” Except he’d agreed that the town felt off to him. He couldn’t describe it any more than Beth did. 

“I like the house,” Freddie commented quietly. “I’ve never lived in such a big house before.”

Beth reached behind her and patted his knee. “I know, buddy.” She said, “It is a nice place.” It’d have been better if it’d been just them. 

“We can go now,” Beth said. “All the guests are here, and I doubt Mary will notice.” She’d heard Mandy ask Brian if he could drive her into town as they didn’t plan on staying. If they didn’t have to, then neither did Beth and the boys. 

“I can tell her we’re leaving,” Freddie offered. “She never says no to me.”

“Sure, buddy.” Beth didn’t like using Freddie like that, so she never asked him to sway Mary to their favour because she preferred him. However, she also knew that Freddie was trying to prove himself useful, always a little worried they might leave him behind. 

Beth would never do that. 

.
.
.

29th of June 1984, Friday

Beth hadn’t been interested in becoming acquainted with anyone in the town, but she supposed it came in handy, even if being cautious about her words was a continuous effort she’d rather have not dealt with. Alas, the rules didn’t change. And one of the most important rules was not to draw attention. They’d failed at it before, but with Hawkins, they had an opportunity to pivot and adapt better. 

Mary was a woman on a mission: social integration in Hawkins. That apparently consisted of sun-soaked afternoons at the community pool with her newfound flock and "book club" meetings that doubled as wine-fueled gossip sessions, while the rest of her family laboured over the log house. 

Well. Paul did for the most part, first during the two weeks off he had before he started his new job and then after, every single weekend. Beth and Brian had found themselves roped in more repairs than Mandy, who quickly began spending as much effort as her mother in trying to find her clique. Once she did, she was rarely at home. 

Beth didn’t mind the manual labour, or the dynamics the Bakers fell into. Throughout the week she rarely saw Mary or Mandy during the day, allowing her to spend time alone with the boys. Mary remained strict about Beth driving out with the boys in the car, and she imposed curfews when she approved of it, never without questioning their outings first. Beth circumvented that by finishing her chores early and quickly, so she and the boys could spend hours charting the area around the property. Freddie did not have the survival lessons that she and Oliver did, so she focused on teaching him basic camping skills. 

Just in case. 

That routine worked for everyone involved until it didn’t. Then, one morning, Mary approached Beth and told her she had two choices. She could get herself a full-time job or she could enrol into school. “---you’re eighteen, Elizabeth. You either pitch in, or you go back to school.” 

Beth had anticipated the ultimatum. Mary had been consistently dropping hints about how the log house was bound to put a strain on their financial situation, already somewhat strenuous. Beth did not have the details - yet - but she suspected the conversations she eavesdropped between Mary and Paul about their existing debts had more to do than just the maxed out credit cards they told the rest of the family about. 

After all, Beth had offered the Baker family nearly ten thousand dollars when they’d agreed to take all three of them in. At least some of it had to have been offered as part of the deposit for the log house, which Beth couldn’t have argued against. She’d been the one to push Paul to go for that property over the one closer to town. However, she did have to wonder if Mary was being greedy about asking her to pitch in, or if they were hiding far worse debts than they let on. 

Mary hadn’t been entirely unreasonable, she supposed. “Oliver and Freddie will always have food and a roof over their head, of course,” Mary said. “You won’t starve either, but I expect you to cover your own expenses just like I do with Brian.” 

Truth be told, Brian did start looking for a job as soon as they arrived in Hawkins. Mandy did not. Mary was far more lenient on her, Beth noted. 

Beth didn’t even want to entertain the idea of school but she had to be pragmatic and weigh her options. Attending school did offer the opportunity to be close to both Oliver and Freddie, as their schools would be located next to Hawkins High. She could drive them to and back, each day and if something happened, they’d be within her reach. She liked the idea of knowing the furthest they’d be at any given moment was not even half a mile away. 

Working full-time did have its appeal as well. The cash that their father left them with was rapidly dwindling. Partly because of her own choices, which her father would have certainly disapproved of, and partly because living outside of a safe house was expensive. Beth decided, however, that they’d be comfortable enough until their departure after which they were hopefully going back to familiar territory: natural resources, secured property, living by their rules. 

As soon as she made her choice, much to Beth’s chagrin, Mary decided she wanted to make sure she was ‘caught up on the curriculum’ just in time for Senior year, by reaching out to the school for a tutor. Beth’s protests went unheard. 

Officially, Elizabeth Stirling had been home-schooled for most of her life while living abroad, in Europe. She’d had the documents to back her story up. Skilfully forged documents, that was. The likelihood of anyone trying to validate them was low, but if it came down to it, Beth had contacts she could use. She hoped it wouldn’t come down to that. 

Hawkins High hadn’t cared much about her documents, but the school was sceptical that her home-schooling and ‘intermittent’ time in foreign educational systems were sufficient to ‘set her up for success’ in her Senior year, so she was assigned to four weeks of ‘recap’. All in preparation for three or four mock exams that the school was going to make her sit through in late summer, to decide if she needed any extra tutoring. Beth was also asked to complete three different essays by then. 

She was positive the school wouldn’t have made such a fuss over her background if not for Mary repeatedly pointing out that Beth came from a troubled background. Some days, Mary made it easy for Beth to loathe her.

Alas, due to the school insisting on assessing Beth's academic abilities Nancy Wheeler was assigned to be Beth’s tutor. Beth was a top student across the board. Well-liked by all her teachers, with an almost perfect attendance record. That summer, she’d offered to tutor younger students who struggled to pass their previous year and were deemed ‘at risk’ for the new one. Beth was an exception, in that regard, but the principal deemed Nancy perfect to walk Beth through the curriculum of past years. 

Nancy was a pleasant enough individual. Short and slim, with sharp features and large doe-eyes, Beth had struggled to see a resemblance between mother and daughter initially, but it was there, in the shape of their brows and the sharp glint in their eyes. Nancy was also polite, and thankfully, not inclined to ask too many personal questions. She caught on quickly that Beth was reserved, and just shrugged it off. She was also very thorough. From the first meeting, she’d come prepared with notes and old textbooks and walked Beth through every single one. 

There was hardly anything Beth wasn’t familiar with. She’d have said the school curriculum had nowhere the depth of the lessons she’d received in the past, nor were the assignments as challenging as some she’d had to complete in the past. Surprise quizzes and deadlines weren’t new to her either, but Beth hadn’t operated by a traditional educational system in years. There’d been no winter and summer breaks for her, not unless she was particularly unwell and needed time to recover. Even then, she’d have plenty of reading assignments. 

Beth couldn’t explain all of that without inviting questions she didn’t want to answer, however. Instead, she patiently listened to Nancy and nodded along regularly. Occasionally, she’d ask questions, mostly for the other girl’s benefit who appeared genuinely interested in helping her. She treated the affair as an opportunity to learn, in more detail, about what actual school was like. 

“Don’t be worried about mock tests,” Nancy said. “I can leave you my notes, and textbooks to prepare, if you’d like. I am not sure what they’ll give you as you’re going into Senior year, but you have the reading list, don't you?”

“Yeah, I’ve already read some of the books.” All of them. “I think I’ll be okay, thank you.” 

“If you have any questions, you can always give me a call. I’ll leave you our house number—wait. You probably already have it. I think our moms have been hanging out a lot this summer?”

Beth smiled politely. Her chest felt empty, and her hands burned.  “Mary is not my mother.” Nancy perhaps didn’t talk much to her mother, because Beth was positive Mary had already told all of her new friends of the sacrifice she’s made, taking in three orphans all at once. She and Paul were magnanimous like that. Beth had heard that speech several times back in New York while Mary lamented about their transfer to Hawkins to her friends, over wine and lemon cakes. 

“Oh. I–sorry.” Nancy’s brows furrowed a little. Her frown deepened as she realised her faux pas. “Oh right—shoot. I think Mom said something about it. Your father is—” She stopped abruptly, eyes growing a little wide. Then she gave Beth a pained look. She looked genuinely apologetic. “I am sorry. Yeah, I just… remembered now.”

“It’s okay,” Beth said calmly. “You’ll probably hear more about it.” 

Mandy, no doubt, was not bound to keep her mouth shut once they started school. She didn’t know anything of importance, not unless Mary yapped about it to her. But even Mary only knew the lies that Beth fed her. 

“Hmm?”

She waved a hand dismissively. “Nevermind. We’re good, Nancy, don’t worry. Thank you for your help.”

Later, Beth gave Nancy’s notes a quick review, just to make sure she wasn’t getting too cocky about feeling prepared. Even if she had questions, she’d never have called Nancy. Beth didn’t want to be in anyone’s debt for any reason, no matter how innocuous. 

A week later, Beth handed in her essays and then had three different tests in one day. One that tested her knowledge in calculus. The other is in English literature and history. A third in science. 

A few days later, the principal had them all come in for a meeting. Mandy and Brian’s school records had finally been faxed in, and the principal wanted to go over some recommendations made by the teachers on the classes they should all take. Including APs which would help their college applications. 

Beth hadn’t wanted to go seeing as there was no college in her future, but it was an argument she did not care to have with Mary so she went along, regardless. 

Mandy was convinced she’d be asked to be placed in advanced classes. At her old school, she’d been amongst the top ten students consistently, after all. She was nearly fluent in French. She made her clothes. She used to volunteer heavily back in New York, to build a ‘well-rounded candidate profile’. There was only one outcome Mandy cared about - being accepted into New York’s Fashion Institute. 

Brian’s attitude towards school was nearly the opposite. He struggled academically but had an affinity for basketball and baseball. His only hope was that he’d be allowed to play on either of the teams. He did not care much about what class he ended up as, but Mary insisted he’d take at least one AP as well. 

“If the principal says you’re not ready for Senior Year, I think it’d be good to consider going into Junior year,” Mary told Beth while they were waiting in the lobby. “There’s nothing wrong with finishing school later, especially with how you were raised.” 

Beth hardly paid her any attention. Oliver and Freddie had stayed behind, at the house. They were helping Paul paint the back deck. “Maybe.” 

Once inside the principal’s office, Beth posted herself by the window while Mary and Mandy took a seat in the chairs in front of the desk. Brian leaned against the wall near the entrance. 

Principal Simolett wasted no time. Mandy was recommended to take up one AP, and perhaps an Honours in a second topic. Brian was told he could sign up for early tryouts in the basketball team. However, he did have to maintain a C or above in all of his other classes to maintain his position on the team. 

Mandy glowed with pride. As did her mother who smiled from ear to ear. “Perhaps she could take another AP? Or two Honours?” Mary asked. “Mandy was already in three Honours classes back in New York.”

The principal offered the kind of smile that told Beth he’d had extensive practice fending off over-eager parents like Mary Baker. “I am aware. Her transcript shows a strong performance across the board. Excellent SAT scores. She can, of course, take another AP but I would have to issue caution regarding the workload. There’s still quite a jump between Honours and APs in terms of commitment.” He said, glancing down at the files before him. “You wish to apply for the fashion program in New York? At the Fashion Institute?”

“Yes. It’s one of my top three choices. The others are Pratt and Rhode Island.” 

“Good. Our Home Ec teacher, Mrs Lewis, covers both cooking and sewing. I trust you’re interested in the latter.”

“Can I take AP in French as well?”

“I am afraid we don’t offer it.” Principal Simolett said. “We only offer Spanish.” 

“Oh.” Mandy nodded, shoulders dropping a little in disappointment. “Alright, no problem. I’ll keep AP US History, and AP Art History, if that’s alright. And Honours in—” She glanced down at the sheet of paper she’d been passed earlier. “--Latin.” 

Mary reached over and patted her hand. “We’ll talk more about it when we get home. We have some time to decide, don’t we, principal Simolett?” 

“Of course.”

“And Beth?” 

The principal cast a hesitant glance between Beth and Mary, his lips pursed in thought. "Perhaps this could be a private conversation?" he suggested, his voice soft. "Normally, I only have students meet with me individually with their parents, but considering… well, the circumstances…"

Mary, ever quick to fill silences, waved a dismissive hand. "No need! Beth won't mind, will you, dear?" she chirped, not waiting for a response. "Naturally, I understand Beth might need some adjustments after her… unique homeschooling experience. Real school is quite different, after all. Nancy did her best during those four weeks, but if she requires further support, I am happy to provide it!"

As if. Beth stared at her aunt, a cold wave of disgust washing over her. She just smiled politely at the principal, when she averted her gaze back to him. She had no concerns about her academic ability and based on how puzzled the man before them appeared, he didn’t either. 

"I'm afraid there seems to be a misunderstanding," he began, clearing his throat. "My concerns aren't about Beth's ability to handle senior year. In fact, I would like to make a recommendation I don’t make often which is for Beth to take at least three APs."

"Come again?" Mandy's jaw slackened, eyes blinking rapidly.

Mary, brows furrowed in confusion, echoed, "I'm sorry? What do you mean?"

Beth rolled her eyes. If the principal saw it, he didn’t care. Brian was visibly amused. 

"No, Mrs. Baker," the principal interjected, his tone firm yet patient. "Not at all. Are you sure this conversation wouldn't be more fruitful if we had it…in private?"

His request wasn’t even acknowledged before Mandy burst out, "She has more APs than me? Oh my god, she does, doesn't she?"

Oh boy. 

The principal's smile strained at the corner. He shifted his gaze to Beth, who met it squarely. "Your test results were outstanding," he began, his voice measured. "Calculus was the only one we might need to keep an eye on, but a B-plus from Mrs. Antol is nothing to scoff at. Especially considering a quarter of the questions were from the second semester of senior year." He paused, letting the significance sink in. "You only needed a C to demonstrate readiness, regardless. All of your other scores were straight A's. Even your essays impressed Mrs Samson, our English teacher. She thinks you'd excel in AP English, actually."

The principal’s smile became strained. He decided to avert his attention to Beth. “The results on your tests were exceptional. I’d say calculus is your weakest area, but even so, Mrs Pollock gave you a B minus. At least a quarter of the questions were from the Senior year’s curriculum, actually.” He revealed. “You only needed to score a C, to be considered ready, overall, but aside from calculus, you were given an A. Including your essays. Mrs Bobson, our English teacher, was impressed. She thinks you’d do well in AP English.” 

A beat of stunned silence followed. Beth absorbed the principal's words, a mix of surprise and vindication settling within her. Mary, however, sputtered, her perfectly manicured facade cracking. “...are you sure?”

“Yes, of course.” Principal Simolett said, and leaned slightly forward in his chair. “Now, I know you don’t have your SATs but with your international background and the APs, you’d have some very strong college choices. Ivy League, even.” 

Beth smiled tightly. “I’ll think about it.” It was easier to seem malleable about her future choices. If she said she didn’t plan on going to college, the principal undoubtedly would want her to elaborate on that. “May I see my proposed schedule, please?”

“Of course.” She approached the desk, and accepted the sheet of paper the principal handed her. Ignoring Mary and Mandy gawking at her, Beth quickly scanned the proposed schedule. “...is physical education compulsory?” Not that it’d be a challenge for her, but she abhorred the idea of playing team sports. Then there was the matter of communal showers, which made her skin crawl.  

“It is not, but we strongly recommend it.” The principal leaned back in his chair. “However, you could go select another one of our electives. You were put down for Home Ec already but like I explained early, we also have Spanish, and Business available. Our computer science class is brand new, just launched last year. Very popular.” He explained, then added, “What were the two electives you wanted to go with? Based on your results, I’d recommend Business and perhaps, even our debate class.” 

Beth wasn’t interested in Business class, and while debate class sounded like an interesting challenge, she’d had enough of that incorporated in her previous education. Plus, she didn’t want to have to interact with other students too much. 

“Fine Arts, Spanish and shop class.” 

“What?” Mary blurted, mouth twisting. “Shop class?”

“Fine Arts? You’re not artistic.” Mandy added, with a scoff. 

Beth ignored her as she placed the sheet back on the desk. “I’ll go with those three, if that’s alright.” She said, “I already speak Spanish, so it wouldn’t be an issue. I can test for it, if necessary.”

“No, not at all. Not necessary,” Principal Simolett waved his hand. Mandy and Mary’s expressions were priceless. “Very well. Are you certain about shop class? It is not a regular choice for…young ladies.” 

“Yes, I am sure.” 

“Very well.” 

Dinner that evening was, needless to say, very tense. Paul, ever oblivious, just assumed everyone was tired. “Oh, by the way, how was the meeting today?” He asked. “Did you get the classes you want—”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Mandy snapped, then got up from the chair and stormed off. 

Paul stared around the table, confused. “Did I say something wrong?”

She shrugged. “I’d say it went well.” 

Brian was visibly amused. Mary just downed her glass of wine. 

.
.

Oliver scored high on his own mock tests, with ease. He impressed his future teachers, but held back just enough to not draw too much attention, especially when it came to his aptitude towards maths and physics. 

He was placed in the seventh grade, with the recommendation that he could take some classes at a higher grade if he so wished. Hawkins Middle School had no gifted and talented program to offer, so they navigated around that by allowing mixed-grade classes. 

Meanwhile, Freddie had to attend a few weeks of summer school between July and August, because of his inconsistent educational background which left him with knowledge gaps. Both Beth and Oliver helped him in those weeks, to ensure he felt confident going into the third grade. 

And just like that, they were preparing to become Hawkins’ newest students. 

Her father would have rolled in his grave, if not for the fact that she made sure his body was burned. 

.
.
.

Moonlight dripped through the gaps in the weathered wood of the wrap-around balcony, casting the second floor of the log house in an eerie patchwork of silver and shadow. Despite the late August warmth, a chill clung to the air, mirroring the unease that gnawed at Beth's insides. Sleep mocked her, replaced by feverish dreams of melting flesh and the sterile silence of a morgue. Each blink brought the image of her father's lifeless face, impossibly still, sharper into focus.

She inhaled the musky scent of pine, idly noting the distant call of a night owl. Hawkins at least made for a better place to sit and listen than New York. Every rustle of leaves, every creak of the cabin, sounded like a whisper from the shadows. Hawkins didn’t sound any different than other places they’ve been, not really. But the town continued to make her feel on edge. 

Leaning over the wooden railing, she stared at the forest silhouette stretching under the moonlit sky. 

She couldn’t shake off the sensation that something was just off with that place. 

.
.
.

Back in July, Beth got a job at Hawkin’s only movie theatre, The Hawk located in the town’s square. 

She’d been looking all day for vacancies available, and there weren’t many. Even fewer that’d accommodate her school schedule, or offer her flexibility in choosing her hours. Then she noticed the sign posted near the entrance to the movie theatre. Beth went inside, asked about it and was directed to the manager, a mild-mannered man in his early fifties who asked her if she’d be available to interview on the spot. She agreed. He didn’t mind that she wasn’t dressed formally, but liked that she’d had experience working with people before. She didn’t. And the name she’d put on her printed, while to be counted on for a good reference, didn’t belong to a former employer. Mr Williams did not care much for a reference, however. He did ask her to complete a ‘trial’ shift later that evening, which she agreed to. 

That was the first time she met Jonathan Byers. The older brother of the kid who’d gone missing nearly a year earlier. Beth hadn’t made the connection until later, but it hadn’t made much of a difference. He was nice and easy to work with. When he found she was doing a trial shift, he showed her around and told her that Mr Williams likes to hire people who don’t lean and do nothing if it’s quiet. So she didn’t. Mr Williams didn’t watch her for the entire four-hour shift she had, but he’d done more rounds near the concession stand than he usually did according to Jonathan. 

At the end of her shift, Mr Williams called her in his office and told her she was hired. He was in need of someone open to completing different tasks at the movie theatre, not just serving customers at the concession stand. That meant she might need to do some ushering, as well cleaning and maintenance and on the rare occasion, handle the loading and threading of film reels. She’d be fully trained on that, and only as a back-up in case the main projectionists - Jonathan and another guy - were not in. Officially, she committed to two shifts a week, on Fridays and Saturdays, but Mr Smith told her there’d likely be more hours available. Autumn tended to bring on blockbusters as well, even if a little later than the big cities at times, and with Hawkins experiencing harsh winters, most residents didn’t have much to do in terms of entertainment, other than go to the movies. 

Beth was given her uniform and a badge with her name on it, and the title ‘General Assistant’ underneath it. Her first real shift was the next day, which happened to be a Saturday and was thus quite busy. Jonathan, whom she learned often accepted extra shifts to help his family, gave her a full training and allowed her to shadow. She’d have lied if she hadn’t felt some nerves, if only because the entire experience was rather surreal. She was pretty sure having a job went against her father’s rules, but Mr Williams didn’t ask for much in terms of documentation. She had a social security number, and legally an adult, so she’d been able to sign her contract the day he’d offered her the job. 

Oliver hadn’t been happy about it, but he didn’t protest much once she pointed out that they could use the extra money. They had cash left, but it wasn’t going to last them forever. Magnus could help them, if they were tight, but as things currently stood, their father’s lawyer back in the UK was still trying to understand the will left behind  Beth and Oliver hadn’t even known their father had a lawyer, let alone a last will until a few months earlier so they had no idea what to expect. Some money was involved, apparently, but she didn’t know much more than that. 

A week after she began working at The Hawk, Beth met Jonathan’s younger brother, Will. He came by with his gaggle of friends, who were quite the characters. Will was easily the quietest of them, with his mop of dark hair and big eyes, which made Beth later suspect he might be related to the woman who worked at Melvald. He was. Joyce was Will and Jonathan’s mother. 

Amongst Will’s friends, there was also Mike, Nancy’s younger brother; a cheerful if a little loud kid named Dustin who smiled widely when she topped his bag of popcorn a little more on his request and Lucas. Beth had met the latter’s mother once, at the gathering Paul and Mary had at the house earlier that summer. The Sinclairs were very polite, and Beth got the sense Sue Sinclair didn’t like Mary very much. Clearly she’s a good judge of character.  

“Should I get sweet or salty?” Lucas asked his friends. “I always have sweet.”

Beth was mildly amused. “You could have it in layers.” That drew all of the boys’ attention, as if they were deer and she’d just presented them with some very luscious, tasty-looking leaves. “Sweet, salty, sweet, salty. Best of both worlds.” That was how her brother liked it. 

“Oh shit, why didn’t I think of that?” Dustin cursed. A quarter of his popcorn was already gone even though he’d only had it for three minutes. Jonathan reluctantly refilled it for him, pointing out it was a one-time thing and they were lucky it was quiet, so no Mr Williams or other customers to see him make an exception. 

“Can I have that, please?” Lucas asked Beth. “The layered one.” 

“Sure.” 

Then they all ordered the largest drinks they could get their hands on. Both Jonathan and Beth pretended they didn’t know their backpacks were probably full of candy and other sweets, even though there was a sign discouraging food from outside the movie theatre. 

“Layers. Nice.” Jonathan remarked, once the boys headed in. They were watching Ghostbusters which had been on for weeks, but had been somewhat of a hit in town. Beth made a note to bring Oliver and Freddie. She was allowed to go in for free, but Mr Williams told her that as long as the screen wasn’t close to being sold out and kept quiet about it, she could bring a friend or two. She had none of those, so the offer was moot. 

“My brother eats it like that.”

“Younger or older?”

“Younger.” Beth said. Jonathan was bound to find sooner or later, about her brothers in a small town like that. She was surprised he hadn’t already. “Two of them, actually. Oliver will be in seventh grade in September. Freddie is third.” 

“Yeah, I figured you were a big sister.”

Beth looked at him curiously. “Why?”

He shrugged, then scratched at the back of his neck. “Usually people get annoyed when my brother and his friends come by. They can be…a lot.” He said. “Then again, you could have just been good with kids.”

Beth wouldn’t have known. She hadn’t ever been good with kids, in general, not even when she’d been a kid herself. Except…She shook her head. “That’s fair.” She said, then glanced at her watch. “Screen one will be done soon. I can take that one.” 

“You sure?”

“Yes, it’s no issue.”

She preferred cleaning and ushering more than she did handling the concession stand. Beth hadn’t been assigned to the ticketing booth yet, but she already dreaded it. She hated tight spaces. Jonathan told her that it rarely happened that Mr Williams put anyone in there other than the usual two employees, who were also high students themselves or just a little older. She hoped the manager wouldn't break that habit anytime soon. 

Beth wondered what her father would have said if he’d have seen her in that black and red and white outfit, interacting with customers and sweeping popcorn off the floor. He might have understood her reasoning. 

But she doubted he’d have approved. 

Dead men tell no stories, though and certainly give no opinions. 

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.
.

A couple of weeks into moving into Hawkins, once Beth studied all there was to be studied in maps of the town, and even read some books on the town, she decided she couldn’t finish her reconnaissance by car. 

She wouldn’t have said she knew the woods as well as the ones back in the Catskills, nor had she managed to grow any more at ease in that town, but she felt more confident with the topography. She made a note of the variety in mushrooms she came across, and the types of trees that grew in Hawkins. Oaks. Mulberries. Sugar maples primarily on private lands, owned by the Anderson family who had been proudly producing syrup for almost as long as the town had existed. Beth also noticed some red and silver maples scattered in the southern part of Hawkins. 

Hawkins truly was a picturesque place where people moved at an unhurried place, at least compared to New York. The town square was easily the busiest part, in terms of commercial businesses. Mom-and-pop shops with a long history, cosy cafes and enough shopping stores that the residents did not need to travel further, even if they needed something a little more than essentials. Mandy complained regularly how fashion in Hawkins was behind New York by at least a year or two. Beth didn’t care enough or know enough about what was in or out to judge that statement as accurate. She’d quite literally lived in the wilderness before. 

If she had to pick, Beth would have said the town’s boundaries was where its charm lied in. Verdant parks and open spaces near residential areas, providing areas for families to gather for picnics under oak trees and children to play. The properties became more and more scattered the further one moved away from the town scare, until thickets and generous lawns were replaced by groves, and then again, by miles of rolling hills dotted with farmhouses and grazing livestock. There were only a handful of farmers who kept animals, her research revealed, but most of them - seven or eight separate families at most - also had fields of corn or vegetables, like pumpkins. Beth marked them all on her map, which had gradually filled with all manner of scribbles and colour-coded markings over the summer. 

There was one area, in particular, she hadn’t fully gotten examined. The headquarters of the Department of Energy where Paul worked. Beth had gone there, twice. One time, she’d had to turn her car back when she realised she’d have never been allowed to go past the security barrier, and pretended she got lost. It was plausible. She was new to the town. The guard didn’t even bat an eye, just told her to be careful next time. The second time, she approached the building on foot and took a closer look from the woods. 

There was nothing special about it, except it was the tallest building in Hawkins. 

And there were dozens of cameras.

And armed guards. 

Beth wasn’t sure if that was to be expected. Did the Department of Energy hold such important information that it’d require men with weapons stationed about? The camera’s made sense, to an extent, although excessive. She made a mental note to probe Paul about that place. Beth didn’t return, after that. That place made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. It inspired no good emotion, and her instincts were rarely wrong. It was best to keep her distance. 

She couldn’t shake off the sensation that a storm was coming. 

The weather remained mild. 

.
.
.

Mary snooped. Beth hadn’t caught her red-handed, but she was confident Mary snooped in their rooms. Not every time they left the house, but periodically. Beth had different ways she could tell - the handle to her room would be in a different position, the toothpick nudged between the boys’ door and the frame would be on the floor. 

She did not bother to confront Mary about it. Mary would have likely denied it or made an excuse, something along the lines of I just wanted to check if there’s any laundry to be done or to hoover your room. Beth knew she would because she offered the justification whenever her children called her out on her habit of going into their rooms. 

Beth couldn’t have said if Mary snooped through her children’s personal effects, but she was certain that did so with Beth’s items. It was unclear what she expected to find - drugs? Hidden money? Weapons? 

Well. She’d have been right on the money for two out of three, except Beth knew better than to leave herself exposed. 

“Hm.”

“Hm?”

Oliver’s green eyes roved around the old barn, assessing. It was over a century old. Old Thomas Fine had wanted to transform it into a pool house of sorts, or just a smaller accommodation, perhaps for couples. Or so the agency said. Oliver found it a little fascinating how the advert managed to place a spin on the actual state of the place. 

The weathered wooden exterior painted a faded red that hinted at a fiery past, held strong against the elements. The craftsmanship of a bygone era was evident in the sturdy beams and meticulously joined planks, a testament to generations of skilled hands. Neglect, however, had begun to etch its own story on the once proud structure.

Inside, the air hung heavy with the musty scent of disuse. Motes of dust danced in the single shaft of sunlight that pierced through a cobweb-draped window, illuminating a landscape of forgotten dreams. Cobwebs, thick and grey, hung like macabre tapestries from the rafters, their intricate patterns a testament to the long abandoned tenancy of resident spiders. 

Oliver's boots crunched on a thick layer of dust that coated the floorboards, obscuring the original purpose of the space – hay storage, perhaps, or a haven for livestock. Rusted farm implements leaned precariously in a corner, their once-gleaming surfaces dull and pitted. The silence was punctuated only by the occasional rustle, a symphony of unseen creatures disturbed by their intrusion.

The faint outline of a loft could be discerned above, accessible only by a rickety wooden ladder that looked more suited to a daring escape than a practical ascent.

“Paul might decide he wants to spruce up this place.” 

“Paul is too busy with work. He has a six-month probation he needs to fulfil so he’ll focus on that.” Beth had eavesdropped enough on Mary and Paul to know that they intended to be frugal about their expenses. “Plus, they first have to fix up the log house before the rainy season starts.”

Beth did some snooping of her own, in Paul’s office, and found the quote he and Mary were given for all the major repairs and wood treatments they had to get done before the bad weather settled in. They had bigger worries on their head to think about the state of the barn. 

Under the old floorboards, towards the back of the barn, Beth hid a metal box. She doubted that the walls of the box would hold against very determined rats, which is why she’d added rat traps and steel wool around it. The box contained five thousand dollars, Oliver’s crossbow, a first aid kit, maps and other items that might come of use in urgent situations like matches or a flashlight. Beth had also added one of their fake identity documents inside, keeping the others in her car along with the rest of the money and weapons they had. 

She didn’t like the idea of leaving their personal effects out of sight and unguarded, but she couldn’t risk the Bakers coming across them. Even if they didn’t have to explain the crossbow and fake documents, Beth would have struggled to justify where the money came from. 

As far as the Bakers were concerned, Harry Stirling abandoned her and Oliver before he died. In his wake, he left them with just enough savings that they could have kept living on their own for a while until Beth found a job. It was all true, except for the amount of money she told the Bakers about. 

“Remember,” Beth said as she placed the floorboards back into place. “Don’t touch the rat traps, alright, Freddie? If you need to get inside the box, always make sure you wear gloves as well.” They already established that the only time they should be going through the box was if in case of emergency; such as if they were in danger. 

“Got it.” 

Oliver helped her push an old wooden barrel, then Beth made sure they didn’t leave any obvious marks on the dusty floor leading to the hiding spot. If Paul or Mary did come in there and noticed footprints, she could just tell them they were being curious. 

“I’d rather have kept my crossbow,” Oliver remarked, dryly. 

“You’ve got the other one in the car,” Beth said calmly, conscious normal people talked only ever talked with such nonchalance about spare snacks or toys, not weapons. 

“You’re still going to teach me how to use one as well, right?” Freddie asked. 

Beth hesitated. “Yes, but I don’t want you to play with one when we’re not around, okay?”

“Okay, Beth.” 

“What about the rest of our stuff?” Oliver asked as they made their way out of the barn. Mary was at the swimming pool, Mandy and Brian were out in town doing whatever they did when they were in town, and Paul was at work. They were alone. “And the RV? It’d sell well, even in this area. I looked it up.” 

Beth had considered that before. “We’d have to bring it here first, and I am not sure it's worth the fuss seeing as we’ll be gone by winter.” She said, “But I’ll talk to Magnus about it. The rest of our stuff is safe. He already had everything moved.” 

Freddie stared at them curiously. “Magnus won’t go through your stuff, right?”

“Even if he does, there’s nothing of value,” Beth said. “Monetary value, anyway.”

The younger boy’s head cocked to the side. “What about your other things? Like clothes and books and—photos? You had those when you lived in Europe, right?” 

Beth nodded. “Most of it is still abroad, however.”

“But you’re not going to ask Gavin to send them, right?” Freddie asked. “Because we’re going back there, anyway.” 

She touched his head, gently carding her fingers through his dark curls. “That’s the plan.” 

Later, she’d wonder at what point the universe decided to fuck with them.