No Surrender | Eddie Munson

Chapter Twelve: Becoming Her Ghost

CHAPTER TWELVE: BECOMING HER GHOST

BETH — KISS

You say you feel so empty
That our house just ain't a home
That I'm always somewhere else
And you're always there alone

——————

A strange calmness falls over Hawkins after that night. People venture out of their homes, children play in the snow and nobody utters a word about that terrible week.

Will Byers came back home and those who died faded into memories. 

It's as if it never happened.

Resting the last stack of cardboard boxes on my hip, I carefully descend the stairs of the trailer. A white dusting covers the gravel now and still falls in tiny flakes. The rising sun casts a wonderful sheen of gold over the park.

"Hey."

Startled by the unexpected noise, I almost drop my belongings. A pair of hands appear from the other side to steady them. Then a slender face peeks out, an awkward smile. I grin back at him as if on instinct. "Hey, Ed. What are you doing? Thought you don't willingly get up until at least midday."

He takes the boxes before I can protest and gestures for me to take the lead. I slip my headphones around my neck. "Yeah, well, what can I say? A shitty alarm clock and a poorly timed energy drink can work wonders. And what exactly are you doing up so early — on your birthday, no less?"

I turn my smile to the ground, itching my neck in the hopes of easing some of my nerves. "Can't believe you remembered," I mutter.

Bringing a hand to his heart, he gasps mockingly. "And I can't believe you thought I wouldn't! I got you something."

"Oh God. Really, you didn't have to—"

"Just shut up and take it."

There is a great deal of fumbling as he struggles to produce something from his back pocket without dropping my stuff. Eventually, I have to slap his hands away and take it out myself. He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively and I elbow him, rolling my eyes. "You're so annoying sometimes, you know that, right? I swear, I can't— Wait, is this a mixtape?"

He nods. "Spent all day making that. Even slipped in a few Corroded Coffin numbers. Your music taste is good but still lacking."

"'Lacking' what? Murderous screaming?"

"The best kind." Hearing my snort of laughter, his smile only widens. "Don't worry, I threw in some Springsteen and Beatles, too. Even some, uh, Simon Garfunkel to keep you happy."

I correct him through more laughter, "Simon and  Garfunkel."

"Huh?"

"It's two people. Paul Simon and Art Garfunkel, they're a duo."

His brow furrows but he shrugs it off. "Go on, humour me."

So, feigning my frustration at him to cover up the rising heat in my face, I switch out the tapes and press play. I know his love for rock and metal so the opening of the first song is far from what I expect — a gentle piano accompanied by violins. "Who are you and what have you done with my Eddie? This is, like, the least murderous music I've ever heard from you." When I receive no reply, I stop it and open up the case to get a look at the list scribbled onto a notecard within. "'Beth — KISS.' Seriously?"

His eyes widen in innocent confusion. "What?"

"That is... adorable. Are you sure you're feeling okay?"