Chapter Text
WILL POV:
Well, it’s official. Michael Wheeler was right. Will is definitely being watched. Over the past couple of weeks, since talking with Mike, Will has noticed an increasing amount of strange occurrences. Things going missing, doodles and words on his papers that he didn’t put there, shadowy figures just outside his periphery. If Mike is being watched, and Will is being watched, who else is being watched? Maybe all of their friends are being targeted by this mysterious force.
“Hey Dustin?” Will says one evening, while finishing up his homework. Dustin looks up from his phone.
“Hm?” Dustin responds, turning slightly to face Will.
“Have you noticed anything… weird recently?”
Dustin shrugs. “I don’t know, like with a person? Or just in general?”
Will fidgets in his desk chair, trying to choose his words carefully. Dustin would maybe believe him if he made an outright ghost allegation, but there’s no way to tell for sure.
“Not a person… well- maybe. Something… paranormal?” Dustin drops his phone, sits up straight, and turns towards Will, not even batting an eye when the phone thumps against the floor the floor, certainly disturbing the poor sophomores below them.
“Is this about the ghost?” he asks, eyes wide. Will inhales sharply and studies Dustin’s expression. Has he seen a ghost? Has he seen something to indicate the existence of a ghost? Is he making a joke? Will studies him harder. He looks dead serious.
“Do you think there’s a ghost?” Will asks finally. Dustin scoffs.
“Of course there is. There’s basically no way this place isn’t haunted. There seems to be some sort of poltergeist running—floating?—around and pulling small pranks. It might be targeting our friend group, from what I’ve noticed.”
“Should we tell the others? Mike has noticed stuff too.” Dustin pulls out his phone and starts typing.
“Yes. I think if you two have been noticing it as well, I’m not going crazy,” Dustin says, flipping into planning mode. “We should investigate this. All of us. That’s always the first step in a supernatural mystery movie. We have to gather data, get our friends in on it.” Will chuckles a little. Sure, there’s maybe something going on, but Will is pretty sure it isn’t movie level. It should be fun though, playing Hardy Boys. Will’s phone buzzes, and he checks it to find a text from Dustin in the group chat. It reads:
Code Red! Emergency meeting by the tree!
He certainly has a flair for the dramatic.
Within minutes, everyone has reacted with an exclamation point or a thumbs up. Dustin scrambles upwards and bolts out the door.
“Dustin!” Will calls. “Your shoes!” Dustin appears back in the doorway, grabbing his crocs and running away again while hopping to put them on. Will stands up and follows after him, much slower, but still attempting to keep up.
They enter the courtyard to see Max and El already standing at the tree.
“Why are you wearing a tennis skirt?” Will asks, inspecting El’s apparent tennis apparel.
“We were playing tennis!” she answers.
“Neither of you play tennis,” Dustin says pointedly.
Max rolls her eyes and smiles, “No, but Victoria does.” El glares at Max and elbows her. Will narrows his eyes and studies El’s expression, then it clicks.
“Is that the girl from your ceramics class you were talking to at the club fair?” El turns pink, which is a definitive yes.
“Let’s talk about this later,” she responds. “What was the code red about?”
“Well, we have to wait for Lucas and Mike,” says Dustin.” Right on cue, Will notices Mike and Lucas quickly coming around the tennis courts, supposedly from the gym. Mike has his hair up in a sad little man bun and is sweating like a pig.
“Okay so suddenly everyone is playing sports,” Dustin remarks once Mike and Lucas are within earshot.
“I feel lazy,” adds Will.
“I was bored so Lucas volunteered to take me through his workout routine for fun,” Mike says, obviously out of breath. “It was not fun.” The group immediately starts cracking jokes as Lucas recounts the events of the last two hours.
“Guys!” Dustin reminds. “Code red!” Everyone collectively quiets down and gives their attention to Dustin, waiting for him to explain. “We have a ghost,” he says simply. Everyone stares at Dustin, except for Mike, who is staring directly at Will.
“Did you tell him?” Mike asks Will. He shrugs.
“Yeah, but he already suspected it.”
“The school has been haunted for years. Obviously,” Dustin explains. He’s in storytelling mode. Will can tell. It’s like they’ve entered a new side quest in their D&D campaign.“But recently, Will has been being targeted, and so has Mike, and so has our whole friend group. I don’t think the school is just casually haunted. I think there’s actually something going on here.” Will chews on the inside of his cheek. He wasn’t expecting Dustin to take this so seriously. Maybe if he’d known, he wouldn’t have suggested the supernatural. Will doesn’t find it likely that anything sinister is going on, especially since it’s a bunch of harmless pranks.
“Okay,” El says after a short silence. “What should we do about it? Does this ghost have bad intentions? Who even is it anyway?”
“Wasn’t there a student who died here?” Max chimes in.
“I thought it was two?” says Lucas.
“Do we think there are two ghosts here?” Dustin asks. Will looks at Mike, who has been quite silent this whole time.
“My grandfather knew the dead student,” Mike blurts. “-or students. I don’t really remember, but he said something about it. Some sort of freak accident. Apparently it was big news at the time but no one talks about it anymore.” The whole group goes silent, possibly wondering how they didn’t know about this freak accident before.
“I have a really silly idea,” El announces. “What if we use a ouija board? To talk to the ghost?” Will fights the urge to roll his eyes. Sure, maybe ghosts are real, but he still doesn’t believe that ouija boards actually work.
“It’s worth a shot,” Dustin shrugs. “Plus it’s getting dark. We could have a seance or something.” Lucas and Max agree, but Mike looks uncomfortable.
“I think I’ll go to the library instead. If the story was big news, there’s surely something about it in an old school newspaper or whatever.” Mike readjusts his shoulders and looks at the group. “If anyone wants to come with me…” he trails off.
El wraps her arm around Will. “Well, Will is banned from seances because he tries to explain the so-called ‘science’ behind it just because he doesn’t believe. He can go with you!” Will glares at El. He would rather keep his mouth shut during a stupid seance than go on a mission with Mike alone. He thinks they would probably murder each other. Then they would both be ghosts.
Dustin claps his hands together. “Perfect! Let’s get moving.”
“But the library is closed this time of day,” Max points out. Everyone begrudgingly agrees, and Will tries to think up a new course of action.
“I can pick the lock,” Mike answers, and everyone stares at him for a second. Will tries to figure out why and how Mike would know how to do that, but ultimately gives up on that mystery.
“..Right, okay,” Dustin continues. “So, you two will sneak into the library, and the rest of us will try to ouija this ghost into talking.”
“It’s like a fun mystery!” El says, and Max and Lucas nod in agreement. Mike and Will exchange a worried glance. Do their friends actually believe?
~•~
“Remind me what we’re doing here?” Will grumbles, pushing the enormous library door closed with a dull thud, still reeling from Mike’s actual ability to pick a lock. He didn’t use a Bobbi pin, like Will expected, but instead what looks like a straightened paper clip and a special hook.
This library seems mystical and beautiful during the day, perfectly fitting the aesthetic that Will loves so dearly in this school, but it feels haunted during the night, like something will jump out and steal him away at any moment to some nightmare dungeon. Moonlight streams in through the large stained glass windows near the ceiling on the far wall, coating the entire massive room in a rainbow hued glow. The dark wood shelves come to life as the gibbous moon covers them in light. Will pulls out his phone and turns on the flashlight, disrupting the color but allowing him to actually see the books.
“We’re here for a book, any book that can help us figure this whole… thing out,” Mike says, running his fingers along the edges of the dusty shelves, creating wavy lines on the wood.
“Very specific,” Will sighs, skimming shelves to figure out what section they’re in. If only he remembered what the numbers mean. He seems to be in the astronomy area, and the numbers are in the 520s, but that doesn’t help at all.
Mike grabs his wrist and pulls him down the aisle. “Dude, come on,” Mike says, and before Will can get annoyed at him for calling him dude, he continues. “We need to go way more to the right.” How does he know that?
“Do you know the Dewey decimal system?” Will gawks. Mike shrugs and Will has a mental moment of wondering who the hell this guy is, before shooting back an “I didn’t know you could read.” Mike just shakes his head and points down the aisle of shelves they’ve arrived at.
“This is the low 800s, aka most general literature. Look in this aisle,” Mike demands matter-of-factly. Will mumbles something about Mike being bossy, but he doesn’t seem to notice. Instead, he moves to the other side of the shelf, probably to some other relevant section.
Will resigns to doing as Mike said, even though just thinking that sentence makes him want to throw up. If there’s one annoying thing about Mike Wheeler, it’s how often he’s right (though no one would ever catch him saying that out loud). If there’s two annoying things about Mike Wheeler, it would be that, and how smug he is about it. That part, he would say directly to Mike’s face.
While Will scans the titles of the 806 books, he notices that through the shelf, Mike is sitting cross-legged on the floor, face practically becoming one with the book he’s holding.
“Find some interesting pictures there buddy?” Will jokes. Mike scowls and mumbles something about it being dark before sticking his face back in the book. Will squints at the title of the book: “How to Stanza,” a book title Will doesn’t even understand the meaning of.
“Are you sure that’s relevant to what we’re doing? Or are you just using this as an excuse to do homework?” he questions. Mike sighs and shuts the book, placing it in the empty gap on the shelf where he had found it.
Will returns to his section, skimming the titles for anything relevant. He notices an old looking book called “American Boarding Schools.” It has 727 on it, and was obviously put in the wrong spot. Plucking it off the shelf, he skims the table of contents until he gets to “M,” surprised to find Melville right where it should be. Will turns to page 159, seeing a sepia tinted monochrome picture of the Melville/Dickinson front gates. He reads the overview, not finding anything he didn’t already know, before moving on to history. Maybe a news story about a dead student, maybe a vicious killer from before their time.
Nothing.
However, on the opposite page, a birds eye architectural drawing of the campus is shown. Will notices that the gymnasium is differently oriented, and what seems to be a different shape. It’s completely rectangular, unlike the gym as Will knows it with its bump-outs for lockers and other separate rooms.
“Mike?” he hears himself say.
“Yeah?” Mike answers.
“Sorry, this is like, totally off topic, but when was the gym built?”
“Same time as the school, I’d assume.” Right, Will thinks.
“Nevermind then,” he answers, turning the page to look for something else.
“No, what is it?” Mike asks, poking his head around the shelf like a cartoon character.
“I don't know,” Will admits as Mike sits down next to him on the floor; “I just thought it was weird that this gym is completely different from ours.” He points to the illustration, and Mike’s brow furrows.
“Did they rebuild it or something?” mumbles Mike, and Will shrugs.
“Maybe, I mean this book is from…” he flips back to the inside cover page, keeping his place with his thumb, "Nineteen forty-nine, so there would have been plenty of time before we were even born.” Mike nods and Will notices him chewing the skin on his lower lip.
“The memorial fountain isn’t here either, maybe the two are connected?” Will guesses. Mike nods again.
“Good find. We should take a picture of that page.” Mike pulls out his phone and snaps a photo.
“You mentioned school newspapers, right?” Will asks as he closes the book and returns it to its rightful location. “Should we look for those? Or yearbooks? Or, you know, Google?” How has no one used the internet yet? It’s the twenty-first century.
“I went down an internet rabbit hole already. There’s basically nothing about this school from before nineteen eighty. My guess is something happened before then.”
“Well maybe we could find some yearbooks and school newspapers, do you know where those are?” Will asks. Mike thinks for a moment, furrowing his brow. Will wants to reach out and press the wrinkles on his forehead flat, but he doesn’t dare.
“I think they are near the back, by the study tables,” answers Mike. The two begin heading towards the study tables, and Will watches as the numbers decrease in value. Mike walks slightly ahead of Will, and Will keeps noticing that he looks back occasionally, possibly checking that Will is still there.
“Why didn’t you want to do the ouija board?”
“I like the library,” Mike grumbles, avoiding eye contact. “Plus it’s dumb.” Will studies Mike’s body language. Something is…off.
“Are you scared of it?” Will says finally.
“No!” Mike answers a little too quickly.
“You are! You’re scared of ghosts!”
“I’m not scared of ghosts,” Mike snaps, and Will backs off. “I don’t like ouija boards. They freak me out.”
“It’s not real, you know. It’s psychological. We subconsciously move the planchette,” Will explains. Last time he explained that, El kicked them out of the seance and he was never allowed back.
“Are you still sure about that? With all of this?” Mike asks, tone small and unsure. Will doesn’t say anything. Will is still fifty-fifty on the ghost being a real thing. It could be a string of weird coincidences, or a student playing a prank, or it could be a ghost. He wants proof first.
They find the yearbooks right where Mike said, lined up by year on tall shelves in the corner, organized chronologically.
“Okay, before the eighties. When did your grandfather go here?” Will asks.
“Fifties? Sixties? Not sure.”
The two crouch down and use their phone flashlights to skim the years on the spine.
“I’ll take fifty to fifty one, you take the next year,” Will says.
“Okay bossy,” Mike scoffs.
“Says you,” retorts Will.
They pluck their respective books off the shelf and begin flipping pages. Will searches the event section, the back, and the front for any news of a dead student. He also checks all of the W names for Mike’s grandfather.
“Don’t forget to check for your grandpa,” Will reminds, “he’s on your dad’s side, right?” Mike nods.
“Good thinking.” Mike turns to the end of the Melville freshman section first. “Here he is! Joseph Wheeler.” Will peers over at Mike’s finger on the page. A boy with neatly gelled short dark hair appears in a black and white box, smiling the Mike Wheeler smile. He is wearing the classic Melville suit and tie, and if Will squints, he looks like a slightly younger Mike with short hair.
“I see the resemblance,” Will comments, and Mike chuckles in agreement.
“Genetics, huh.” Will puts his yearbook back and reaches for Joseph’s sophomore yearbook: fifty-two to fifty-three. Mike grabs fifty-three to fifty-four. They both skim in silence and find nothing, before reaching for the fifty-four to fifty-five edition, grabbing it at the exact same time.
“I’ve got it,” Will says casually.
“No it’s fine,” Mike replies in a passive aggressive tone.
“I touched it first.”
“It’s my grandpa.” They glare at each other, and Will senses another stupid fight, which he really wants to partake in, but now is not the time. Will lets go of the yearbook. Mike sighs and takes it, generously placing it right between them without uttering a single snarky remark. They scan the table of contents, finding the event section.
Nothing.
They skim through the senior superlatives, which named Mike’s grandpa “most likely to live forever,” and find an “In Memoriam” page directly after.
“In loving memory of Henry and Alice Creel, two students whose lives were lost in the tragic gymnasium fire of January 1955,” Mike reads aloud. “So there were two…”
“Does this mean there are two ghosts?” Will asks, and Mike shrugs. Will stares at the children, both with light hair and a light complexion, staring at them. Henry is barely smiling in his photo, but Alice’s teeth shine bright off the page.
“God, they look like twins,” Mike gapes.
“They aren’t,” Will says, a little shocked himself. “She was in the class of fifty-six.”
“It says there was a fire in the gym. That must be why it looks different now. It was rebuilt after it burned down.”
“That explains the book.”
“And the fountain! It’s a memorial fountain, remember? For Alice!”
“Right!” The two look, each other with surprise at their new discovery. Mike checks his phone.
“Shit, it’s late,” he says. Mike is right, it’s nearing midnight, which is when they do dorm checks.
“We’ll reconvene later, I guess,” says Will, and the two put back the books and make their way back to the dorms as silently as possible.
~•~
Today is October thirteenth and Mike is being weird, Will notices. Weirder than normal. There’s Mike-weird, and then there's this. During biology, he doesn't once make a joke that no one laughs at, and when Will asks to borrow an eraser, Mike gives it to him without saying a word.
On his way to lunch, Will decides to ask Dustin about Mike’s odd behavior. After all, if anyone knows, it’s him.
“Um, Dustin?” Will asks as they’re walking from math class together.
“What’s up dude?” Dustin asks nonchalantly. Will sticks his hands in his pockets, suddenly feeling very awkward.
“Uh, do you know what’s going on with Mike?” he asks. “He’s acting differently today.” Dustin stops suddenly, grabbing Will’s arm, signaling for him to stop too. Will turns to face a very serious looking Dustin.
“Will,” Dustin starts, speaking slowly, “please don’t tease Mike today. Today is never a good day for him, and I need you to understand there’s nothing to be done about it. Okay?” This is the most serious Will has ever seen Dustin, so he simply nods. He really wants to ask what Dustin means by “never a good day.” Does this happen all the time? What’s so specific about today? Hopefully he’ll find out, and if not, Will doesn’t really care, it’s not like it’s his problem.
By the time they get to lunch, the rest of the group is already there, including Mike, who sits at the edge of the table, silently writing something in a notebook. Everyone else obviously got the “don’t talk to Mike” memo, because they are casually engaging in a conversation about… sharks?
“Max, sharks like, never attack. That’s just the media trying to make them seem scarier than they are,” El explains to a very unconvinced Max.
“It’s like how they told people the bald eagle makes a different sound than it actually does,” Dustin jumps in, as if he’s been here for the whole conversation.
“Wait what? What do you mean?” Lucas asks, clearly unaware of this fact that Will had only found out himself a month ago (thanks to Dustin himself). Dustin starts to explain and Will walks over to the lunch line. As he gets closer and closer to the buffet style food serving area, he takes notice of the food choices for today. Will scrunches his nose; you’d think a private school would have better quality food than this.
Will chooses a slightly soggy ham and cheese sandwich, along with some pre packaged apples and a bag of potato chips, before walking back to the table. By now, the conversation has switched to a more normal—albeit more boring—topic: parents day. Mike has also now put in earbuds even though they’re not allowed.
“I hear this year they’re doing a haunted house in the arts building because Halloween is coming up,” El says excitedly. If there’s one thing El loves, it’s Halloween. If there’s two things El loves, it’s Halloween and Christmas. Mostly because Christmas goes hand in hand with friends and family, but also because she loves big holidays.
“I won’t be surprised if they charge for admission though,” Lucas counters, causing both El and Max to frown, “or at least encourage donations,” he adds, causing Max to shrug.
“No one wants money more than rich people,” Max concedes.
“You two do realize that both of you can afford to be here,” Will says, pointing his sandwich at Max and Lucas. He says it lightheartedly, obviously, but it’s true. Max and Lucas share a look of defeat and nod.
Easy conversation continues about the day to come. Classes will end an hour early, and parents will arrive to see their children, talk to teachers, and participate in different activities. Depending on how close families live, they can choose to stay for dinner.
Considering his family lives in Indiana, his mom and Hopper decided to make a road trip out of it. They left about a week ago and his mom has been sending selfies at every state border they passed and every hotel they stayed at. She had texted him earlier that day with a selfie with the “Welcome To Vermont” sign. This is the second year they’ve done this, but Jonathan isn’t with them this year. He was transferring colleges and in the meantime he’s taking some online classes, but this year he is officially at his new school in Colorado. Will’s glad for him, he seemed really unhappy at his previous school, and he seems to be adapting well at whatever new college he’s at.
The loud, echoey bell rings and snaps Will out of his thoughts. Just a few more hours before he sees his family.
“Shakespeare played a major role in English as we know it today,” Keller explains enthusiastically. Will tries to pay attention, truly, but he can’t help but notice Mike staring down at his desk. Mike loves this class, and Shakespeare is like, his favorite historical dude ever. You’d think he’d be more enthused about their current unit on the guy.
“He invented many everyday words we still use that were considered odd at the time,” the professor continues. “Can anyone tell me one of those words?” Suddenly, Mike is very interested in the current conversation, and his hand shoots up. Will simply rolls his eyes. Of course he knows this.
“Yes, Mr. Wheeler, what is a word that Shakespeare invented?” Keller asks, and Mike scowls a bit for some reason, but answers anyway.
“Uncomfortable, lonely, and lackluster, to name a few.” Damn. He really picked the three names for bad feelings. He could’ve just said bandit. Obviously Mike is upset, but he’s being a little overdramatic; yet another hardly-bearable Mike Wheeler trait.
“Good job Mr. Wheeler,” the professor congratulates. “Shakespeare invented many words, though some he is credited with have been found in earlier sources, so the following list is simply composed of words that he was credited with.” With that, the professor begins writing words on the board and saying them out loud. Mike is now paying attention, but still seems out of it, not that Will cares, obviously. He’s simply taking notice of the people around him. He’s being observant.
An hour and a half later, classes end early and the parents start seeping in through the gates and into the school and courtyard. Will and El sit on a bench near the entrance to the Melville dorms waiting for their mom and Hopper to arrive. El puts on her headphones, presumably to listen to music. Will pulls out the book he is currently reading.
About ten to fifteen minutes later, Will sees Mike walking out of the classroom building with what can be assumed to be his parents.
“Seriously Michael, it’s time to apply yourself,” the man—presumably Mike’s dad—says. He is a grumpy looking man with square glasses and thinning gray and brown hair. “We aren’t paying your tuition for nothing. A’s are not enough, we need you to go that extra mile. Join a sport. Do some tutoring. What about the chess club?”
“Your father is right, sweetie,” Mike’s mom says. She has obviously fake blonde hair styled into beach waves, and her whole look exudes ‘wealthy white suburban mom.’ “Everyone gets A’s these days. Colleges want you to stand out, especially the Ivys.” Will looks at Mike, who although is taller than his father, looks small and weak, shoulders tight and hands shoved into pockets.
“Yeah, I know,” he mutters.
“You know Michael, when I went here, each of my teachers knew me personally. After all, that was what you needed to do if you wanted a letter of recommendation,” his dad continues. Will rolls his eyes. He is starting to understand why today of all days is the one that is always hard for Mike.
Mike’s dad says something else that can’t quite hear, and then Mike’s mom changes the subject.
“Do you have a girlfriend Michael? We never got to meet that girl you were dating last year.”
“No mom, I don’t have a girlfriend,” Mike answers monotonously.
“Good,” his dad says officiously. “You don’t need any distractions. This is the most important academic year in high school. You know-“
“Will! El!” Will hears his mom call. He looks over to see his mom and Hopper approaching, and taps El on the shoulder. She looks up and takes off her headphones, jumping up to embrace her dad. Will walks over to his mom and they hug, and the siblings switch.
“Good to see you kid,” Hopper greets, patting Will on the back as they release their hug.
“Oh I missed you both so much,” his mom says, pulling them both in for another hug. Will smiles a smushed smile against his mom. She releases them.
“Wanna get some food? We were thinking we would go to Denny’s,” Hopper suggests.
“Yes!” El exclaims, grabbing her bag off the bench.
“Didn’t we just have lunch like… less than two hours ago?” Will asks.
“Yeah, but it’s breakfast food,” El argues, and Will is forced to concede. He didn’t even finish his gross sandwich, so he could still eat.
The Denny’s is mostly empty, save for a group of construction workers in the corner, all enjoying a tower of waffles each. The family orders, and his mom begins asking questions about their year so far, as if they don’t text and call all the time. El is mostly the one to answer, and Will spaces out. He knows this is the time to be bonding with his family, but there’s this glitch in his head that can only play the earlier conversation over and over again in his head. The way Mike’s dad talked to him, the way his mom went along with it, and the way Mike seemed to cower in his father’s shadow. Mike usually had this semi-confident yet awkward air to him, but all of that was gone within seconds. Will thinks to his own father, and how things would have gone if his mom hadn’t stood up to him and moved out. He thinks about how Jonathan would look the same way next to Lonnie, like a sapling failing to grow in the looming shadow of another tree.
Will stares at his waffle, half listening to Hopper’s work story, and uses his fork to distribute the syrup equally into each little box, before using his knife and fork to cut the waffle up and eat it.
El talks about the decoration process of her and Max’s dorm, and Will snaps out of his trance just long enough to share a quick anecdote about art class.
Will finds himself slipping in and out of the conversation: talking about Dustin, mentioning English class, and briefly complaining about his World History teacher. However, his brain can’t seem to push out the image of Mike with his dad out of his head.
~•~
Will can’t sleep. Of course he can’t, his brain is one of those brains that only turns off when it’s least convenient. He stares through the darkness at the ceiling, popcorned into a weird spiral pattern like one of those hypnosis wheels.
He sighs and rolls out of bed, careful to not wake the snoring mass a few feet away that is called Dustin Henderson. Will slips on his sweater and shoes, grabs his sketchbook, pencil case, and phone, and slips out of the room, carefully closing the door before letting the knob turn.
The hallways of the dorm buildings are a lot smaller than those in the main school, but they’re daunting nonetheless. In the dark, it feels like a haunted mansion, with hallways that go on for miles. The hallway provides very little light except for a few scattered sconces on the walls, and Will wouldn’t dare attempt to find the switch for the florescents. There’s no carpet, so the wooden floors creak under most movement, making Will pray no one else is awake at this hour.
Will swears the creaking happens more often than usual, and he pauses for a second. Just like he feared, the creaking pauses later than he does.
Will is being followed.
He dares to look behind him and- nothing. Of course. Just an empty hallway.
Will keeps walking, not daring to look behind him until he gets outside for fear of what he might find. Is it the ghost? He reaches the door at the end of the hall, steps into the staircase, and spins around.
“Mike?” Will finds himself saying, and there he is, dressed in Northwestern University hoodie and flannel pajama pants. Mike smiles sheepishly and Will sighs. “Were you following me?” He questions, stepping closer to Mike in an attempt to be menacing. It doesn’t seem to work. Hell, Mike seems to be blushing, most likely in embarrassment that he got caught.
“Um… no?” Mike answers unconvincingly, turning from pink to red. He shoves past Will, down the stairs, and into the courtyard. Will spins around once again and hurries to catch him. “I was just going for a walk and you happened to be here!” Mike explains defensively while still walking away. Will follows after him, not satisfied with this answer.
“You were following me! You hid when I heard you!” Will says. Mike turns around and sighs, running his fingers through his annoyingly soft looking hair.
“So maybe I was following you,” Mike admits, “but I was just curious why you were out and about in the middle of the night so I decided to see what you were doing. I’m nosy, what can I say?” He shrugs with that last sentence and Will lets out an exasperated sigh, giving in to Mike’s creepy (but kind of sweet) explanation.
Will continues into the night and towards the meeting tree before pausing, and for some reason unknown to him blurts out: “I was going to sit by the tree and draw for a bit. Do you want to join me?” Mike looks surprised at that sentence, but his gaze softens and he simply nods, following Will, once again, to the tree. The two sit a few feet apart with their backs against the tree, subconsciously waiting for the other to say something first.
As per usual, this person is Mike.
“So, any reason why you couldn’t sleep? Or is it just one of those nights?” Mike asks, scooting the slightest bit closer. Because of this, Will wants to be annoyed, but isn’t. This has been happening occasionally since joining The Party, and Will has decided to dub it: “The Mike Wheeler Effect.” The Mike Wheeler Effect is also the reason why Will decides to actually share what he’s feeling.
“Kind of both,” Will answers truthfully. “I mean, it’s for a reason, but I’m not really sure what that reason is.” Will knows he’s about to start rambling, but goes on anyway. “Something feels… I don't know, off? Recently and in general, with all this stuff, but especially tonight. I know there’s the whole ghost thing or whatever, but I think it goes deeper than we realize. Who knows, maybe I’m crazy and it’s just from tonight’s dinner but it’s like this gut feeling that something bad is going to happen.” When Will finishes, he turns to Mike, who’s staring directly at him.
“Will,” Mike says in the softest, most genuine voice Will has probably ever heard, “I don’t think you’re crazy. Maybe it’s just anxiety, maybe there really is a ghost. Whatever it is, I believe you.” That last sentence itself is enough to make Will cry, but he holds in his tears.
“Oh,” Will whispers.
“Actually,” Mike says in a hushed tone, “I think I’m going a bit crazy too. I was sleeping before, but I woke up and saw this… figure at the foot of my bed. I blinked, and it was gone. I was so freaked out but couldn’t turn on the light because, y’know, roommate, so I put on my shoes and left. Then I saw you and… here we are.” Will’s eyes widen.
“Do you think it’s the ghost?” Will gapes. Mike shrugs.
“Something like that. I’m not sure if I believe in it. Maybe it was just the shadows or something, but it was creepy as fuck,” Mike explains.
Definitely creepy as fuck. Will thinks.
“Well, if you go missing, I know what to tell the cops,” Will jokes. Mike laughs. It’s quiet and raspy but seems genuine.
“I think if I went missing, you and our friends would be the only ones to notice,” Mike says, and that sad glimmer reappears in his eyes from earlier today.
“Huh? What about your parents?” Will asks. Mike shakes his head.
“I’m surprised they even came today at all. For starters, they live all the way back in Michigan, but it’s not like they even pay attention to me there,” Mike explains. Will thinks back to what he overheard earlier today. He always thought Mike had this picture perfect life with a suburban mansion and elaborate family vacations every summer. That’s not to say that he doesn’t, but it seems like he doesn’t really get along with his parents.
“Midwestern parents can be like that. I got lucky with my mom,” Will says. Mike nods thoughtfully.
“What about your dad?” he asks.
“Piece of shit.”
“At least we’ve got that in common,” Mike chuckles. Will studies his face in the darkness, the only illumination being the lantern style street lights scattered around the courtyard. There's a forced half smile on his face, and he looks like he’s trying not to cry.
“Hey,” Will says softly, scooting a little closer so there’s only a few inches between them, “are you okay?” The question is a tricky one, Will knows that, but hopefully it’s one that Mike is willing to answer.
“I-“ he starts, but he seems to choke on his words, and tears start pouring down his face before he can try to speak again. Will just watches as Mike leans over and stuffs his face into Will’s shoulder. “Do you hate me?” His muffled voice croaks. Will reaches up to hold Mike’s head. Fuck, his hair is soft.
“What? No, of course I don’t,” Will answers softly. He means it. Sure, Mike is annoying and privileged and doesn’t know when to shut up, but Will doesn’t think he ever hated him. He doesn’t even dislike Mike all that much anymore. “I think if I hated you, I wouldn’t be letting you cry on my shoulder right now.” Mike laughs. It’s short and not very genuine, but he doesn’t seem to be crying anymore.
They sit in silence for a while, the only sound being their breathing and the far away sound of cars in the town outside the gates. The two of them, inside the gates, protected. Their own little haven of flowy darkness. Will feels frozen with Mike’s face shoved into his shoulder, but it isn’t uncomfortable. Will questions if he should move his hand or not. He hasn’t really comforted someone he doesn’t really like before. But also, he and Mike are maybe friends now?
After a few minutes, Mike sits up, wiping his face with the heel of his hand. “God, sorry about that,” he says through a sniffly chuckle. “I’ve had a day.”
“Hey, it’s okay. You know, I…” Will takes a deep breath, working up the courage to say the next sentence. Mike is looking at him, waiting for him to continue. “I’m embarrassed. I was wrong about you.”
Mike cocks his head in confusion, obviously not expecting what Will said. “What?”
“I was rude to you when we first met. I… I didn’t have any friends and I thought you were another stuck up snobby rich guy. You had nice things and you looked like you belonged here, so when you talked to me, I thought you were being fake.” Will turns to look at Mike again. “I’m sorry I was an asshole.”
“You know,” Mike starts, “I couldn’t tell you were here on a scholarship. You were just new, and I could tell you needed someone to talk to. I’m not… the best at first impressions, so I probably did come off as a little obnoxious. I also totally matched your energy when you started being rude, so…”
Will nods, and the conversation lulls. He resumes his drawing that he barely started. Mike pulls out a pocket sized leather bound journal and pen, and begins writing. Will peaks over at the page, but the writing is so small and messy that he can’t make out a single word in the darkness. Mike’s pen pauses suddenly mid-word.
“Sorry, hang on,” Mike says, interrupting the calm silence. “You didn’t become friends with me because you thought I was snobby, but a week later you became besties with Anthony Braden? Explain that to me.” Will sighs.
“Well, I guess I became friends with him by default,” he explains.
“What do you mean?” asks Mike.
“I- god I can’t believe I’m telling you this. I was really into his friend… Levi,” Will answers, cringing.
“Oh my god- Levi Fenwick? That asshole?” Mike gapes. Will hides his face in his hands and groans. “You know he’s like, the douchey-est douche, right?” Mike continues.
“I know that now, thanks,” Will grumbles through his hands. “I learned it the hard way.” Mike becomes silent.
“Sorry.”
“It’s fine. I’m just not really a fan of talking about it. El doesn’t even know the full story yet.”
“You don’t have to share…” Mike says, “but I’m here if you do.” Will considers Mike’s offer. Mike was just super vulnerable about his dad after all…
“Well,” he starts, “I’m from this little town in Indiana called Hawkins, right? Everyone knows everyone. I always knew I was queer, and the town isn’t exactly living in the twenty-first century in that department.” He checks Mike’s expressions, making sure he’s not going to be weird about Will being gay. He seems fine, so Will continues. “Anyway, I got to Melville, where there’s more kids from more urban environments, so people are like, ten percent less bigoted. Within the first couple of days I met Levi Fenwick, and he’s hot. I mean, you have eyes right? You see it.”
Mike seems to consider for a moment, before agreeing.
“We became friends, and I’m bad at interpreting flirting, but he was definitely flirting. Blah blah blah we had this weird situationship and then in August he completely ghosted me.” When Will is done, he assesses Mike, who seems to be waiting for more details. Will’s not sure he wants Mike to know all the details yet, especially since El doesn’t even know this much. He’s not even completely sure why he’s sharing all of this with Mike at all.
“That sucks dude, I’m sorry. I’m surprised Levi isn’t homophobic, I totally thought he was,” Mike replies. Will shrugs, feeling his eyes burn a little from talking about the subject.
“It’s complicated.”
“I get that. Detroit is sort of chill? But my dad isn’t really… well, he isn’t totally homophobic, but he’s… um… weird about it. I think that set back my ‘self discovery’ a little for sure,” Mike says.
“Sorry about your parents by the way,” says Will, thinking back once again to the conversation he overheard.
“Yeah, my mom is fine, she’s just kind of a pushover. Maybe that’s why she’s still married to my dad. Maybe she does it because she thinks it will be better for my sisters and I.”
“Believe me, it was definitely better for me to not live with my dad,” Will scoffs. Every situation is different, but if Will’s parents were still together, he would probably be an entirely different person.
Mike nods and comfortable silence follows. Well, comfortable for Will. Mike looks like he’s about to jump out of his own skin.
“Do you… wanna take a walk or something?” Will asks. Mike darts up from his slumped position, sitting up as straight as possible.
“Please.” Mike hops to his feet and holds out his hand to Will, who takes it and follows. Side by side, the two begin to wander around the campus, navigating the dark with only a soft glow.
“We have to be quiet though,” Will says in a hushed tone. “We don’t want anyone hearing us.”
A cool breeze passes Will’s face, and he takes in the view of the campus that surrounds them.
“It really is beautiful,” Mike sighs. Will cocks his head.
“Hm?”
“The campus. At night.”
Mike is right. Every area around them is bathed in a golden light, the sort of glow that makes everything look like an old sepia photograph.
“It’s like… a room with translucent white curtains during sunset,” Mike says.
“Poetic.”
“Well, you know me,” Mike smirks. Will nods and laughs a little, then reconsiders.
“No I don’t,” he says.
“What?”
“We don’t really know each other. I mean, we met over a year ago, but I barely know anything about you. I bet you don’t know much about me either,” Will explains. Mike frowns.
“We know things about each other. Where am I from?” challenges Mike.
“Michigan, right? I think you said the city earlier…” Will is trying his hardest to remember, but he and Mike haven’t ever talked much except for pointless bickering. Mike shrugs.
“What’s my favorite color?” he asks.
“I don’t know, red? What’s mine?”
“My favorite color is blue. How should I know your favorite color?”
“That’s my point exactly!” Will exclaims. Mike nods, and Will notices they’ve stopped walking. Finding themselves at a natural yet awkward pause in front of the fountain, Will sticks his hands into his pockets and hears himself continue talking. “Y’know something weird?”
“What?” Mike prompts.
“I kinda wish I did know more about you.” Will isn’t sure why he said that. He didn’t even know he thought that until it spilled out of his mouth. It’s true, he supposes. Hanging out with Mike the past month or so has been… nice. Granted, it was always in a group, but even this one on one tonight has been surprisingly enjoyable.
“Maybe you’ll find out sometime,” Mike smiles. Will studies his expression, trying to interpret the undertones of his simple remark.
“Maybe I will,” Will shoots back, mirroring his smile. Mike coughs awkwardly and looks away, seeming embarrassed.
Weirdo.
A slight breeze once again passes through the courtyard as they begin walking again, creating little circles of leaves spinning off the ground. Jonathan used to call them ‘mini tornados’ and Will thought it meant that one was coming.
Before they can get much farther, Mike sticks his arm in front of Will’s chest, stopping dead in his tracks.
“Hold up,” he says, eyes darting around.
“What?”
“I swear I just saw it.”
Will’s eyes widen and start darting around as well. “The ghost?” Will asks in a hushed tone. Mike nods. Shit.
The two look behind them and see a dark shadow hovering over the fountain.
“HOLY-“ Mike yelps, quickly slapping his palm over his mouth.
The shadow has a distinctly human shape, and almost looks as if it’s standing on the lip of the fountain, arms still at its sides.
“Uh,” Will starts, deciding to be brave. “Are you Henry or Alice Creel? Or- uh- someone else?” The figure remains still, then suddenly bolts into action, floating directing between Mike and Will’s shoulder, and across the courtyard behind them. As it passes, Will hears the faint whisper: “Henry.”
The two boys spin around once again, watching the ghost travel across the path toward the art building.
“Let’s follow it,” Mike says suddenly, grabbing Will’s wrist and starting toward the ghost.
“What?!” Will half-screeches.
“Come on!”
They chase the ghost—much to Will’s dismay—all the way to the art building. The front wall comes into view, adorned in a mural of trees from a former senior class.
Just as they catch up to Henry, he disappears into one of the painted trees.
The two of them stop in their tracks a few feet from the wall to catch their breath. Will grabs his knees like an old person.
“Jesus… Christ!” Mike exclaims. Will approached the tree on the wall. Its spindly branches look pitch black in the night, and Will can hardly make out any of the details. The tree reminds him of a weeping willow, but with extremely sparse leaves. There is a name painted in white on the side of the trunk in straight, clunky letters. Henry Creel.
“Mike, look,” says Will. Mike comes to and stands directly beside Will, squinting at the tree. His eyes widen. Will looks slightly to his left at the adjacent tree; it has lighter branches and a full cover of leaves. Will doesn’t can’t see—nor does he know trees—well enough to identify it, but if he had to guess, it’s a maple tree or an oak tree. There is a prominent knot near the middle of the trunk, and written directly in the center is the name of Mike’s grandfather. “Your grandpa did art class with the ghost- with Henry.”
Will scoots over and Mike scoots with him, studying the tree.
“Huh. I’ll have to ask him about that.”
“Not now though. We should get back to the dorms,” Will explains, as if it isn’t an obvious statement. Mike nods, and the two turn around, not saying anything as they return, but carefully checking their surroundings for any lingering spirits.
The hallway is just like it was before, but it feels darker. The darkness inside isn’t unnerving, like it was before, but almost comforting. Will and Mike approach their respective doors, reaching Mike’s first. Mike reaches for the doorknob, but turns back, and without saying anything, slides his back against the wall and sits on the wooden floor. He pats the space next to him, and Will accepts his offer, smirking slightly at Mike’s goofiness. The floor is cold, and creaks slightly under Will’s weight. He cringes, hoping no one was disturbed.
Will notices Mike digging in his pockets, and he pulls out the black pen he was using earlier. Without any warning, he gently takes hold of Will’s right arm, rolls up his sleeve and touches the ink to his skin. Will looks on, surprised, but not doing anything about it. Whatever Mike is drawing is covered by his hand. Will tries to move his head to see the doodle, but Mike purposefully covers it up with his other hand. Will scowls, mentally twiddling his thumbs while the ink scratches on his skin. When the pen finally lifts off his skin, Will raises his arm to admire the finished product. It appears to be a crudely drawn dolphin, and Will can’t help but snicker at Mike’s attempt.
Will reaches into his own pocket and pulls out his own pen, uncapping it and grabbing Mike’s hand. Will places Mike’s hand on his own knee—for stability—and begins working. At some point, he offers a trade, and provides his left hand to Mike to doodle away on. Will finishes his jellyfish and adds bubbles right above it, then admires Mike’s stars on the back of his hand.
“Wow,” Mike utters softly, gazing at the jellyfish. Will blushes.
“Do you like it?” he asks, matching Mike's hushed volume.
“Yeah, it’s cool as hell,” Mike grins.
“I like the stars,” says Will, holding up his hand as if Mike doesn’t know what he’s referring to. Mike smiles wider and Will smiles back, launching them into a lull in the conversation. For the first time tonight, Will has absolutely no idea what to say to Mike.
“I um…” Mike starts, immediately trailing off.
Will looks at him. “What?”
“Nothing. Nevermind.”
Will knows it was something, and if it was any of his other friends talking, he would push harder. But it’s Mike. They aren’t there yet.
“Okay.”
The lull returns, and Will wants to crawl out of his skin. He wants to stand up and go to bed and skip his brain ahead to morning. Unfortunately, he is stuck; something is keeping him sitting on the floor at Mike’s side, staring at the stars on his hand.
“We need to tell the others about Henry. We haven’t had a chance yet. It’s been two weeks,” Will says all of a sudden, almost too casually for the conversation topic. Mike nods.
“School is so busy, it’s like the whole ghost thing went on the back burner,” says Mike. Will agrees. The whole group hasn’t hung out together in at least a week, since Lucas got sick and was confined to a single dorm for five days, and they had to cancel their last D&D session because El was at a rescheduled club meeting.
“We’ll tell them tomorrow.”
At some point, Mike sighs and stands up. “I’m going to bed,” he says.”You too?” He reaches out and offers his jellyfish adorned hand to Will. Will looks up at him and nods, taking Mike’s hand and hoisting himself up. Mike nearly stumbles over, obviously not prepared to support another person’s weight. Will puts his other hand out and steadies Mike’s shoulder.
“Careful there,” Will says, and Mike rights himself.
Mike clears his throat. “Sorry,” he says, turning pink. Will decides it’s time to take his hands off of Mike’s shoulders. Mike turns towards his door and puts his hand on the brass knob. “Goodnight Will,” Mike smiles. Will provides an awkward half smile.
“Goodnight Mike.”