In the end, the boys couldn't persuade Richard. Under his watchful gaze they started down the hill, and several times they tried to double back—only to freeze when Richard's eyes and a soft cough appeared above them, forcing them to slink away.
Halfway down, Lucas suddenly hurried ahead of the others. "On second thought, that girl's powers are cool, but we're the guy squad. A girl doesn't fit."
Will glanced at Mike and shrugged, neither agreeing nor disagreeing.
Sensing the chill, Dustin laughed and offered a compromise. "Eleven's got Force-like powers, sure, but her emotional IQ is totally off. We don't know if adding her helps or hurts." He looked from Lucas to Mike.
Mike frowned. "If we teach her the games we love, she could be a great teammate."
The other three spotted the crush in his voice and sighed, shaking their heads in mock-stern silence: the poor guy was spellbound.
Mike felt a stab of guilt, then irritation—his friends should back him up.
He stomped on in sulky silence.
"Well, well, if it isn't Wheeler's little chickies," sneered two familiar, hated voices as the boys crossed the woods toward home.
Two older kids—half a head taller—flanked them, smirking, boxing the four smaller boys together in fright.
Troy and his tall pal were classmates at Hawkins Middle School, the middle-school equivalent of high-school bully Tommy H. Science-loving, soft-spoken kids like Mike were their favorite prey.
"What do you want, Troy?" Mike blustered, old fears dampening his fresh anger.
Troy sneered. "We don't need a reason, Wheeler. We never do."
"There're four of us. Walk away," Dustin warned.
"Ooh, mouthy for a toothless runt. Now I really want to try." Troy itched for a fight; shoving Mike's crew was sport, not a fair scrap.
The two attackers lunged; the four friends yelled back, and a wild scuffle erupted.
Rolling in the dirt, the older boys' strength told: they pinned Mike's group. Still, numbers counted—Lucas left a shoe-print on Troy's cheek.
Humiliated, Troy raged that he'd kill them.
Seeing Troy lose it, the four bolted.
They knew every dip and tree; years of being chased paid off as they widened the gap.
Troy, desperate to catch slowpoke Will, sprinted recklessly down the slope.
A gnarled root lay across the path. Just as Troy reached for Will, the root snagged his foot—he crashed, tumbling violently, stunning pursuers and prey alike.
"Wil, move!" Dustin shouted first.
The four snapped out of it and raced downhill, leaving Troy bleeding and motionless against a trunk.
Troy's friend stopped chasing and hauled the dazed bully to his feet.
"You okay?" Troy's friend draped the other's arm across his shoulders and helped him walk.
Troy limped along, hissing at every stab of pain and scraped patch of skin. "F*ck, they got off easy. When school starts, I'll show them."
He scowled, miserable. "This is bad—face and scalp torn up, ankle twisted. No hiding it; Mom and Dad are going to kill me.
The two boys shuffled toward home, the sky darkening... "Sheriff, there's more slime everywhere—are we getting closer to the bear?" Officer Powell whispered, tense.
The two officers investigating the dead cows at Gilbert's farm had tracked the trail until nightfall. Flashlights cut through the trees as they neared the killer's lair.
"Stay sharp, Powell," Hopper said. "I'm begging you—be ready to shoot, whatever you see."
A familiar guttural growl rolled out. Hopper's eyes narrowed; Powell's heart jumped. Side by side, they swept the forest with light and pistol barrels.
"What was that?" Powell's hand shook. He knew bear sounds from the zoo, and this wasn't one of them.
"Fire on sight, whatever it is." Hopper felt cold sweat soak his shirt and merge with Powell's, doubling their dread.
Huff... huff...
Breath ragged, Hopper sensed the source in the dark and spun, firing rapid shots.
Muzzle flashes lit a naked, man-like creature. Bullets slammed into it—no effect. It roared and sprinted away into the night.
Powell stood frozen, forgetting to breathe.
"Powell!"
Hopper's shout snapped him back.
Hopper stood before a tunnel like a devil's maw pulsing red from within. He splashed liquor around it, tossed a match, and burned the gate. "It ran—move! We'll torch it before the whole town starts dying."
"Y-yes, sir." Duty shook Powell awake; he chased his sweating sheriff.
The pudgy superior was fitter than the gym-kept deputy. Maybe Hopper was right—he still wasn't cop enough.
A roar cracked through the trees as the boys left the woods. Troy and his friend froze.
Adrenaline split them: the friend yanked free and bolted; Troy lunged and wrapped both arms around him.
They crashed down. "Let go, you bastard!"
"Don't leave me!"
Roar!
A blur of claws clamped their limbs and dragged them through a slime-slick passage into a dark world of drifting white filth and stench.
Under crimson lightning in a black sky, a titanic spider-shape atop the clouds turned its gaze on the boys.