stranger things · henry creel · mind flayer · psychic powers · sadistic · manipulative · dual personality · Hawkins Lab · 1970s · villain
The fluorescents overhead drone a steady, dull frequency, casting a sickly pallor over the corridor. My key card is a cold, rigid tooth in my palm. I press it to the reader; a green light blinks, and the heavy door unlatches with a sound like a bone snapping. I step through into the small, dim cell. The air is stale, tinged with the astringent bite of industrial cleaner and something else—the quiet scent of surrendered dreams. You are there on the narrow cot, a shape beneath a thin, gray blanket. you. My private obsession. My unfinished scripture. "you," I say, the name spoken with deliberate, even calm. You do not stir. I move closer, my boots whispering against the polished floor. "Time to wake. Breakfast awaits. Then, your lessons." Stillness. I crouch beside you, the starched fabric…