Chapter 11: Will the Wise
"Crunch—"
The crisp sound of crunching was exceptionally loud in the absolute silence. Andy leaned against the corner of a relatively clean house, holding a bag of potato chips and mechanically feeding the salty, crispy thin slices into his mouth.
He had been walking for a long time, or at least it felt like a long time.
The sense of time in the Upside Down was maddeningly distorted. Sometimes Andy felt like every minute he walked was as long as an hour, and sometimes he felt like hours had passed when it had only been a few minutes.
The only certainty was that he hadn't found anything resembling a "gate" yet, nor had he discovered a way to leave this dimension.
To conserve his strength and to let his mind, exhausted from overusing his abilities, rest, Andy decided to find a place to stop for a while.
This house looked like the most "normal" one in the area. Although it was still covered in sparse black vines, it at least retained the shape of a home, and the door could still be pushed open.
The inside of the house was surprisingly clean.
It wasn't that it was spotless, but rather that there were no vines, and not even much dust.
It was like an ordinary, slightly messy living room in the real world: the sofa was tilted to one side, a few magazines were scattered on the coffee table, and there was half-burned firewood in the fireplace.
Andy checked every room, and only after confirming it was safe did he sit down in a corner of the living room.
Fortunately, when he decided to go out and look for Eleven, he had packed a small bag of snacks.
At the time, he thought that if he found her, the two of them might need food on the run.
Thinking back now, it might have been one of the wisest decisions he had ever made.
Besides the chips, the bag contained two packs of crackers, a Hershey's chocolate bar, and three bottles of water.
Andy carefully planned the distribution; after all, if his luck was bad, these might have to sustain him in this hellhole for several days.
After finishing half a bag of chips and taking a few sips of water, Andy felt his strength recover slightly.
But following that was a deeper level of exhaustion.
It wasn't the soreness of muscles, but a mental depletion, like a wrung-out sponge that couldn't produce a drop of water no matter how hard it was squeezed.
His eyelids began to feel heavy.
Andy forced himself to try to stay awake, but his body's protests grew stronger and stronger.
The successive battles, the overuse of mental power, the physiological shock brought by the dimensional shift... all of these came knocking at this moment, demanding he pay the price.
"Just ten minutes..." he muttered to himself, leaning in the corner and adjusting to a relatively comfortable position.
His consciousness, like an ebbing tide, slowly receded from the shore.
In the darkness, he seemed to see fragmented images beginning to surface: the white walls of the Lab, the colorful decorations of the Rainbow Room, Dr. Brenner's expressionless face, the nosebleeds during training... and then, everything sank into bottomless darkness.
Andy fell asleep.
Not long before, on the other side of the Upside Down, not far from the forest, a shed door was slowly pushed open.
The door hinges gave a piercing creak that carried far in the silence. A hand reached out first—thin, pale, with knuckles white from exertion.
Then came half a body—a boy, about twelve years old, wearing a flannel shirt and jeans, his face stained with dust and fear.
Will Byers.
The fingers holding the shotgun were trembling slightly, and the barrel warily scanned outside the door.
The sky of the Upside Down was forever a dark red haze, and everything was shrouded in a sickly, oppressive light.
Just a few minutes ago, something terrible had happened in the shed.
That monster—Will didn't know what to call it—that thing had followed him as he fled to the shed door.
Will heard the sound of it pacing outside the door, a sickening noise somewhere between heavy breathing and something wet moving.
Then, behind Will, a crack suddenly opened in the shed wall, and the monster stepped out as the lights grew brighter and brighter.
"Fireball!"
Will, like a wizard in the game, fired his gun.
The gunshot was deafening in the enclosed space, and the recoil almost knocked him over.
But the monster recoiled. It let out a screech like scraping metal and then quickly retreated into the shadows.
Now, Will stood outside the shed, the barrel still pointed in the direction where the monster had just vanished.
He took a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart. At this moment, a strong odor filled the air, like rot mixed with rust, making him feel nauseous with every breath.
"Did I really hurt it?" Will whispered to himself. "Or... did I just scare it away?"
He remembered the bullet hitting something, but that rotten smell was still there, even stronger.
Will knew the monster might still be nearby, and the shed was no longer safe.
He had to leave.
Will took a deep breath and began to move toward his house. Every step was cautious; he touched the ground lightly with the ball of his foot first, confirming the ground was solid before putting his whole foot down.
His eyes scanned the surroundings constantly: left, right, front, back, up—God knows where that monster might spring from.
Will pushed open the front door. The house was pitch black, darker than outside.
He instinctively reached out to flip the light switch.
"Click."
No response.
Will flipped it a few more times. The switch made a hollow sound, but the familiar ceiling light never came on.
He frowned, remembering the eerie phenomenon in the shed: when he was hiding behind the shelves, the light above his head suddenly became brighter and brighter, the bulb emitting a blinding white light.
Was it a power outage?
"Mom? Jonathan?"
Will's voice echoed in the empty house, sounding exceptionally lonely. No response.
Only his own echo, twisting as it bounced back from various rooms, finally dissipating into the silence.
"Mom must be working late again," Will muttered to himself, trying to comfort himself with the thought.
But when he walked to Jonathan's room, there was no one there either, and the bed was neatly made.
"Jonathan must have gone to pick up those photos he developed," Will continued to tell himself.
He tried the light switch again, this time in Jonathan's room.
"Click."
Darkness remained.
Fear began to coil around his heart like vines. Will felt his breathing quicken, and cold sweat seeped from his palms.
But he forced himself to calm down. Panic wouldn't solve anything; when the party was in trouble, Will the Wise must stay clear-headed.
"No matter what happens next," Will whispered, as if reciting some incantation, "as long as I wait for Mom and my brother to get home, I'll know what to do. They'll find me."
This thought gave him a little strength. Will went back to his room and huddled in the corner, clutching the shotgun.
Time began to feel thick.
In the Upside Down, waiting was especially agonizing.
No ticking of a clock, no sound of traffic outside the window, not even the chirping of crickets or birds.
Only absolute, suffocating silence, and the occasional, indiscernible low sound from afar—like something massive moving slowly, or like the earth itself breathing.
The adrenaline gradually faded. The tension and fear from his escape earlier had consumed a lot of energy, and now exhaustion rolled in like a tide.
Will felt his eyelids getting heavier, and his consciousness began to blur.
He tried hard to stay awake, but his body wouldn't obey.
His head slowly drooped to his knees, and his grip on the gun loosened.
Between sleep and wakefulness, some memory fragments began to surface.
It was a Saturday afternoon a few weeks ago. In Mike's basement, four boys sat around a low table. A Dungeons & Dragons map was spread across the table, scattered with dice, character sheets, and snack wrappers.
Will played Will the Wise, the party's wizard. That campaign was going poorly—they were exploring a cursed dungeon, had already lost an NPC guide, and everyone's hit points were low.
It was Will's turn to act. He needed to cast a "Fireball" to repel the gargoyles ahead. The dice rolled across the table with a crisp sound.
"A 2," Dustin read out the number, letting out a wail. "We're toast, we're totally toast!"
Lucas threw the pencil in his hand onto the table: "Will, what's wrong with your wizard?"
"That's not fair!" Dustin protested. "We should re-roll! The table shook just now, it definitely affected the result!"
"No," Mike's voice was calm but firm. As the Dungeon Master, his word was law.
"But—"
"No buts." Mike looked at Lucas and Dustin. "Just because you guys are low-level doesn't mean you should blame Will the Wise. This game isn't about who's stronger or who kills more enemies."
Mike firmly defended Will and pointed out the key to the game.
He paused, his gaze sweeping across each boy's face: "The party sticks together. That's how we survive the campaign. Going solo gets you killed."
Will remembered that crushing defeat. They couldn't decide which path to take at a fork in the road and finally decided to split up. As a result, the trolls picked them off one by one—first Dustin's Ranger, then Lucas's Paladin, and finally Will's Wizard. Only Mike's Cleric barely escaped, but he lost all his equipment too.
The memory ended there, and Will woke up with a start.
He didn't know how long he had slept—maybe a few minutes, maybe a few hours—but his spirit had recovered slightly.
He stood up, stretched his stiff limbs, and then walked to the window.
Outside was still that dark red haze, no stars, no moon, only the eternal, oppressive dark red sky.
Only now did Will truly observe the interior of this "home" carefully for the first time.
The furniture was all in its original place, but everything was covered in a layer of grayish-white particles, as if forgotten by time.
It was as if something had corrupted this place; everything was familiar, yet different.
"Hello? Is anyone there?"
Will's question received no answer. Only his own voice echoed in the empty house before being swallowed by the silence.
He remembered the rules of Dungeons & Dragons: "The party that stays together survives. Splitting up or going solo makes you the easiest prey."
"Can't stay here," Will said to himself. "Gotta find the others. Gotta find a way home."
He checked the shotgun—three shells left.
He found a flashlight in a kitchen drawer and tried the switch.
No response.
Just like the electric lights, the flashlight refused to work in this world.
Will frowned, but he didn't panic. As the party's wizard, he was used to solving puzzles and finding a way out in seemingly impossible situations.
He slung the shotgun over his shoulder and walked out of the house.
He walked through the forest with the flashlight and the shotgun, but the flashlight, like the lights at home, wouldn't turn on, as if this entire place rejected light.
Will didn't panic; he thought calmly. The last time he had seen people was at Mirkwood.
As Will the Wise of the party, he felt he could surely find a way out through exploration or cleverness, just like in the game.
But that was assuming... he could stay alive.
Walking to Mirkwood, Will saw 'Castle Byers,' the fort he had built himself.
He slowly came to a halt, observing his surroundings with alertness.
Suddenly, he noticed some lights appearing around him.
It wasn't artificial light like a flashlight or an electric lamp, but rather softer, more flickering points of light, like fireflies on a summer night, but the colors were a cold blue and a ghostly white.
They floated in the air, moving slowly, sometimes clustering together and sometimes scattering.
Moreover, within these lights, there seemed to be voices.
They were very distant and muffled, like shouts coming from underwater. Will held his breath and tilted his head to listen.
"...Wi...ll..."
"...Whe...re..."
"...Answer..."
They were human voices. There were men and women, the deep tones of adults and the higher pitches of kids. They were calling his name.
"H...Hello?"
Will tried to respond, his voice somewhat hoarse from tension.
The points of light seemed to flicker for a moment, but the voices didn't become any clearer.
They remained just as distant and muffled, as if separated by a thick wall.
Will frowned, but his reason told him that even if someone were truly looking for him, they wouldn't be in these eerie forest shadows.
These voices might be hallucinations, a trap used by this world to confuse its prey.
But just then, a particularly bright light lit up not far away.
The light was so intense that Will had to squint his eyes. In the center of the light, he saw a figure.
A girl.
Thin, bald, and wearing oversized clothes.
Will didn't recognize her; he had never seen this girl before.
But in this dead and dark world, seeing the figure of a "person," even if it was just a silhouette, made his heart race wildly.
"Hello? Is someone there?" He hurried forward.
The girl's figure seemed to turn around to face him.
But the light was too bright, and Will couldn't see her face clearly, only a blurry outline.
His thoughts suddenly drifted back to that Saturday afternoon in the basement, and he couldn't help but remember that when they played board games, Mike, as the Dungeon Master, would sometimes play characters the party encountered on their journey.
"An elf in the forest," he remembered asking the elf guide Mike was playing once, "I've lost my way. Do you know how I can get back to my friends?"
And Mike would gesture dramatically and say in an exaggerated voice, "Oh, brave traveler, Mirkwood is no place for you. Let me be your guide~~"
Now, Will knew clearly that he wasn't in a game.
But the figure before him was the first "human-like" presence he had seen in this dark world.
Perhaps she was some kind of guide, perhaps a trap, or perhaps...
"Wait!" Will suddenly shouted.
Because the girl's figure began to dissipate.
Like smoke scattered by the wind or frost melting in the sun, her outline became blurry and transparent, finally vanishing completely into the bright light.
The light itself dimmed along with her, turning back into ordinary, flickering points of light before going out entirely.
"No, wait!"
Will rushed forward, but there was nothing there.
Only darkness, only silence, and the floating spores on the ground disturbed by his footsteps.
The voices calling his name were still there, still distant and muffled.
Will responded loudly, "I'm here! In the forest!"
But no matter how he shouted, his voice seemed to be blocked by some invisible barrier, unable to reach the ears of those calling him.
He had become the person behind the one-way glass, able to hear the voices outside but unable to make them hear him.
Will stood in place for a long time, until the last bit of light disappeared into the darkness.
He understood: there was no way out to be found in Mirkwood.
So he turned around, retraced his path, and returned to that strange home.
Will closed the door and slid down to sit on the floor with his back against it.
Fatigue hit him again, even more intensely than before.
How long had he been here? Hours? Days? Time had lost its meaning.
He slowly stood up and walked to the television. It was an old RCA TV, its thick glass screen now covered in a layer of dust. Will sat down in front of it, just as he used to on weekend mornings to watch cartoons.
Then, a strange thought popped into his head.
He remembered the movie Poltergeist, which his mom had taken him to see a few years ago.
There was a scene in the movie where a little girl communicates with ghosts from another dimension through a television. The TV screen would turn into static snow, and then the ghost's image would emerge from it.
"Hello? Can anyone hear me?"
Will said to the black TV screen, his voice echoing in the empty room.
Of course, nothing happened. The television sat there quietly, like a dead piece of electronics.
But Will didn't give up. He tried a few more times, each time more desperate: "Please, if anyone can hear... I'm Will Byers. I'm... I don't know where I am, but it's very dark and cold here, and there are monsters..."
There was no answer.
Will lowered his head and covered his face with his hands. He felt his eyes burning, but he forced back the tears.
Crying was useless; crying wouldn't scare away monsters, turn on the lights, or take him home.
Then, he suddenly remembered something.
He stood up abruptly and rushed into his bedroom.
Everything in the room was the same as in the real world: the bed, the desk, the bookshelves filled with action figures and comics.
Will knelt down and looked under the bed.
When he was little, a long time ago, he used to be afraid of what might be hiding under the bed—monsters, demons, or just the darkness itself.
His mom would check under the bed before he went to sleep, promising him there was nothing there.
But the fear had never completely vanished; it lurked in the depths of his consciousness, creeping out quietly on every night the power went out.
Now, those childhood nightmares were unfolding before his eyes as if they had come true.
The darkness under the bed was particularly thick, as if it had physical form, writhing slowly.
But he couldn't afford to be afraid. He reached in, groping through the dust and clutter.
His fingers touched the cold floor, touched a stray marble, touched a long-lost crayon... and then, he felt it.
The walkie-talkie.
"Hello? Is anyone there?"
Amidst a burst of static, suddenly—
"...Will?"
A woman's voice, blurry and distorted, mixed with heavy static interference, but Will recognized it instantly.
It was Mom.
Meanwhile, in the real world.
Joyce and Jonathan were crying and talking to each other, both wanting to be a pillar of support for the other who had lost a family member.
But then the ringing of the telephone interrupted their thoughts. Joyce hurried to pick up the phone, hoping to hear some good news.
"Hello, who is this?!"
But on the other end of the line, no answer came. There was only the sound of a monster and Will's heavy breathing.
"Who is this? What have you done to my son!"
Joyce instantly felt that the person on the other end was her son, and she hurried to question loudly.
"Give me back my son!"
But before she could finish, the phone suddenly short-circuited. The sensation of an electric shock made Joyce drop the phone immediately.
At the same time, in the Upside Down, Will was hiding behind the bed, calmly thinking of a strategy.
He didn't know how fast the Demogorgon was, nor did he know if he could get to the shotgun before it reached him.
But in Will's view, the fact that his mom's voice had come through the walkie-talkie meant they weren't too far from him.
The voice of his family gave Will courage, a raw, reckless courage.
He remembered Mike's words from the game: "Sometimes, Will the Wise has to pick up a sword too. Not because you're good at fighting, but because there's no other choice."
With almost no hesitation, Will decided to take a chance.
The moment the monster took another step closer, Will lunged up from the floor, not rushing for the shotgun, but jumping onto the bed.
The mattress sank under his feet, making a dull sound.
Will rolled, grabbed the shotgun leaning against the bed, turned, chambered a round, aimed, and pulled the trigger.
The entire sequence of movements was seamless, so fast he could hardly believe it himself.
"Boom!"
The gunshot was deafening. The flame from the muzzle cut a brief trail of light through the darkness.
Will saw the bullet hit the monster's face—if it could even be called a face. A hole opened up there, and a black, viscous liquid sprayed out.
The Demogorgon let out an even sharper shriek, its body twisting and twitching violently.
It looked at Will. Though it had no eyes, Will could feel something in that gaze... what was it? Anger? Pain? Or...
Then, it turned around and slid out of the room at an incredible speed, vanishing into the darkness of the hallway.
As if it had received some command, or as if it feared something even larger, it fled.
Will gasped for breath, the muzzle of the gun still pointed at the empty doorway.
It was only a few seconds later that he was certain the Demogorgon had truly left.
He lowered the gun, his hands shaking so much he could barely hold the walkie-talkie.
"Mom, can you hear me? Is anyone there?" His voice trembled with emotion.
"I'm in a place that looks like home but isn't. Everything is the same, but different. The walls are... they're alive, the floor moves, the lights won't turn on..."
He described it, rambling, trying to convey all the information: "There's a monster here, it's really tall, it has no face, it's afraid of light, or maybe sound, I'm not sure... I just wounded it, but it might come back..."
There was only static on the other end of the walkie-talkie.
"Mom? Jonathan? Anyone?"
Silence.
Listening to the silence on the other end, Will couldn't help but recall that when his mom bought him the walkie-talkie, she was worried he might not get a signal if he was too far from his friends' houses.
But Will knew the range the walkie-talkie could receive was actually pretty good, so an idea occurred to him.
Will set up a ladder and climbed onto the roof.
He held up the walkie-talkie, turned it to maximum power, and pressed the talk button.
"Is anyone there? Anyone? I'm Will Byers. I'm... I don't know where I am, but if you can hear me, please answer. Mom? Jonathan? Mike?"
He repeated it over and over, his voice drifting across the empty roof, absorbed, diluted, and dissipated by the dark red mist.
Time passed.
Perhaps minutes, perhaps hours.
The static on the other end of the walkie-talkie remained eternal, like the background sound of this world.
Will didn't give up.
He sat on the edge of the roof, his legs dangling, the walkie-talkie pressed tightly to his ear.
Every time he pressed the talk button, he held his breath, hoping to hear a response, any response.
But there was only silence.
Only the eternal, suffocating silence of the Upside Down.
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