cryptid chronicles | steve harrington
pairing: steve harrington x ghost hunter roommate!reader
summary: when your usual ghost hunting companion ditches you, steve joins you on your latest adventure to hunt the lady in white, also known as the hawkins witch. you and steve went into the woods wanting to hunt a witch but instead you stumble across something worse than some old ghost tale.
contains: fem reader, horror/suspense, supernatural elements, heavy themes, blood, knife, death, mention of strangling, swearing, slowburn, love confession, kinda steves POV, plot twist, lotta banter, steve being whipped for reader, lots of pining!steve, slight inaccurate 90s technology, cameraman!steve, inspired by the blair witch project, romance with plot
a/n: this actually took me way too long so i hope ya’ll like it :) kinda nervous. also working on a bonus pt.2 thats a little more wholesome and steamy ;)
Steve was in your room, lit only by the soft yellow glow of your bedside lamp, the only light shining in the dark of your shared apartment. He sat on your bed, perched against the headboard and absentmindedly toyed with your Bigfoot stuffed animal. He watched as you were walking around your room, packing for your latest expedition.
You had been Steve’s friend and eventual roommate all through college. Steve never thought he would actually pursue any form of post-secondary education, but after everything that happened in Hawkins, he thought maybe pursuing something in early education would be a good route. That's where he met you, in a first-year English course; you were studying journalism. He thought you were a little weird at first. Definitely a little sarcastic at times, definitely geeky. He loved it, though. How could he not? He spent the latter half of his formative years surrounded by nerds. He found your dorkiness comforting, familiar.
He found out the full extent of your dorkiness one random night, first year, second semester. You invited him to a late-night study session in the library when you showed him a project you’ve been working on. Your website, Cryptid Chronicles. You filmed mini documentaries and posted articles about exploring haunted sites or forests that are said to be inhabited by strange animals.
Steve was fairly new to all the World Wide Web stuff, but you explained it all to him. He looked over your shoulder as you were hunched over the computer. You spent that whole night passionately detailing your love for the supernatural, conspiracies, occult, and the paranormal. You went into detail about monster hunting and exploring haunted locations. He thought that if you had grown up in Hawkins with him, you probably would’ve had a field day.
Steve had never been the type to fully believe in the paranormal or the supernatural. Sure, there were times, usually under the influence of marijuana, that he would entertain the idea, but he never took a strong stance. After dealing with 8-foot monsters, other dimensions, and children with mind powers, the notion of ghosts and monsters lurking in rural forests didn't seem so far-fetched. So, he listened to you with no judgment and open curiosity.
That’s what deepened your friendship. You came to Steve with your new findings, and he wholeheartedly supported your endeavours. He never wanted to make you feel like you were crazy or stupid for being into these things. He cherished the friendship you two had immensely, even as he grew to have feelings for you; he ignored them.
Though you didn’t make it easy. You were touchy and sarcastic in that naturally flirty way. Steve liked the easy banter between the two of you, but he didn’t want to misinterpret your natural charm for attraction. He really didn’t want to be that guy. So he just ignored the way his heart raced when you would squeeze his arm. Ignored the way a shitty day could easily be better when you would smile at him.
“Wait, so what are you trying to find again?” Steve broke the comfortable silence, and you just continued packing your camping bag.
“She’s called the Lady in White, some witch who supposedly haunts the woods.” You packed your flashlight and a notebook that was sitting on your desk. “You should know, she's the Hawkins witch,” you continued, walking around your room and throwing supplies into your backpack.
“Oh ya…” Steve just pursed his lips and shook his head no. “Doubt she’s real, was just some spooky crap the adults told us so we didn’t set shit on fire in camp.” Steve shrugged and set the Bigfoot next to him on the bed. Some old Hawkins ghost tale did not hold the same threat compared to what he had been through. Not that he could tell you that.
“Well, you never know, which is why I’m going.” You packed some matches in the front pocket of your backpack.
“I just don’t understand why you're going alone,” He crossed his arms over his chest.
“Sally bailed on me, some last-minute trip, but it’s okay, I’ll probably just keep this as an article instead.” You shrugged and continued focusing on your task.
Sally was your friend from your major. She was your camera woman and partner in crime. Sally tagged along everywhere you went and helped you capture all the creepy shit you found. Steve met her a couple of times. She was blonde, bubbly, and very talkative. Honestly, when you first introduced her, he had no clue that she would've been into all that supernatural shit, but she was just as passionate as you.
“Just doesn’t seem safe.” Even after all this time, Steve still had that need to protect the ones he cared about. “What if you get lost or something?”
“Lucky for me, my dad taught me how to read one of these.” You walked over to your bed and picked up the map near his leg. You shook it in your hand for emphasis. Steve just rolled his eyes.
A minute passed, and you continued to rifle through your room for stuff to pack. He couldn’t let you go by yourself. He knew you could handle yourself, but honestly, the woods near Hawkins just sent him back to some dark places. He knows everything is over, but he's still paranoid.
“You know, I can always come with you,” Steve asked rather shyly. You turned to him and just looked him up and down. He tried not to let that make him nervous. He failed. “I have walkies and stuff,” he continued at this point, verging on going on a nervous ramble. A habit he picked up from Robin. “Even think I have a compass around if you know how those things work.” Steve was in the middle of thinking of something else to add when you cut him off.
“Sure, why not?” You shrugged completely unbothered and just continued packing.
“Ya, got a big ass tent, and I could use the company.” You smiled over your shoulder, one of those smiles that had his heart beating a little faster in his chest.
“Great, I’ll pack my nail bat,” he grinned back.
You stilled and placed whatever you were picking up back down on your desk. You fully turned to him, now shooting him a puzzled look. “Why do you have a nail bat?”
“Long story.” Steve just gave you a sheepish smile, hoping that would be enough. You responded with an unsatisfied hum but let it go.
The Gas station was located just off the highway. It sat empty except for Steve’s beamer, parked next to a pump and a cool-looking bike near the side of the gas station, probably belonging to the attendant. You spent most of the ride complaining about the lack of snacks, and lucky you, Steve needed to refill his tank.
So now the two of you made your way into the small store. Without a word to each other, you made a beeline to the snack aisle, and Steve walked over to the fridges at the back of the gas station. This had become a little routine anytime you guys went on late-night drives. You knew what snacks he would enjoy, and he knew your go-to drink.
Once he had the drinks picked out, he decided to join you in the snack aisle. You held a bag of gummy bears in your hand with a satisfied grin. Steve laughed and walked over to the glasses stand near the chip rack. He examines it for a second, looking for anything cool. Now that you had all the snacks picked out, you stood next to him, also examining the glasses on display.
“What do you think, Harrington?” You turn to him with the most trashy-looking sunglasses on. Black with red and orange flame patterns all around. You posed for him, and he just bit his lip in an attempt to stifle his laughter.
“If you want to join that truck meet we passed by… then sure it's perfect,” you scoffed at his remark with faux offence.
“You have no vision,” you shook your head and put the awful-looking sunglasses back on the display rack.
“Ya okay whatever,” Steve laughed off your comment with a flick to your head that earned him a flick back from you.
The Gas Station attendant was an old, scrawny man. Scruffy salt and pepper stubble covered most of his face, and a beat-up baseball cap covered his thin, grey hair. He was not at all what Steve was picturing the owner of the bike to look like, but hey, never judge a book by its cover.
He was checking out the items with a rather neutral, almost unimpressed, distant look. His demeanour kind of reminded Steve of Hopper. Something about his energy made Steve want to be on his best behaviour. You, on the other hand, were clearly not as intimidated, because you instantly chatted him up.
“So, have you heard of the lady in white?” you asked directly. Steve's eyes widened, temporarily giving you a slow side eye.
“That's what's bringing you kids to Hawkins?” his voice was just as unimpressed as he looked.
You shrugged, “Something like that.” You leaned against the counter, looking like the definition of unbothered. “Why? You think we’ll find something?”
The attendant just scoffs and shakes his head. The task of checking out the items abandoned as he looked at both of you with an intense stare. Steve stiffened, but you kept your lax demeanour beside him. “Hawkins is filled with things that should stay uncovered. If you asked me, the two of you should just run back to where you came from,” he said strictly.
Ha, this guy doesn't even know the half of it, Steve thought.
You just grinned like this was all some challenge. “Hm, sounds like you’re talking with experience.”
“I’m assuming you're going to the old mill house?” the man questioned with a raised eyebrow. You nodded in response. “Well past that, maybe a mile or two north, I stumbled on something.” His heavy voice sent a chill down Steve’s spine. “Two flat rocks in the middle of a clearing, still covered, dripping in fresh blood, animal bones all around, and some witchy shit carved into the stone cave behind it.”
Steve turned to you with unease written all over his face, but you just looked back at him with wide, almost elated eyes. He knew that face meant trouble.
“Do you think it was a sign of the witch?” No trace of fear was present in your voice. It just stayed steady and curious. You seemed completely undeterred.
“I don't know what that shit was, but I know that those woods are no good, so you guys don't go playin’ ghost hunter and sniff around places you don't belong.” The man raised his slender, almost bony finger up, gesturing to both of you.
Steve was suddenly feeling less confident than he had on the drive over.
Outside the gas station, you sat on the hood of the beamer – to Steve's dismay – with a map open and a red marker in hand.
“Thought you marked our path already,” Steve questioned, looking over your shoulder a bit.
“Nosey,” you placed your palm on his face and playfully pushed him away.
“Hey!” he just positioned himself back.
“You heard the man, he said he found some creepy shit past the mill house.” You traced your finger across the map until it landed on the spot you were searching for. You drew a big red circle around it. “Maybe this little adventure can be a two-day event, whatcha think, Harrington?” You turned to him with a little smirk. It made him feel uneasy.
“No,” you smiled up at him, and he just groaned begrudgingly.
But it would be obvious to anyone that he would've done whatever you wanted, no questions asked.
Steve’s beamer drove down the nearly empty highway that leads to Hawkins. A mixture of soft pop music and the rumble of the engine filled the silence in the car. The plan was to park near the site and then walk the rest of the way. The two of you would be camping overnight and then leaving early in the morning, hopefully before any state police try to tow it. Steve didn’t particularly love that his car might be compromised on this expedition of yours, but he guessed this wasn’t the first time he sacrificed his precious beamer for the cause.
You sat in the passenger seat with a map open on your lap. You’ve been the self-proclaimed navigator and pretty much just bossed Steve around about which route was the fastest. As if he, born and raised, Hawkins resident, wouldn’t know which way to go.
“Kay’ Harrington, Hawkins sign should be coming up in a mile, so we should park off… here!” Steve abruptly pressed on the brakes and did his best to ease the car off to the side of the road.
“Jesus, thanks for the warning.”
You ignored him and folded the map. Wordlessly, you exited the car and made your way to the trunk. Steve smoothed two hands down the steering wheel and sighed to himself. He followed you out.
The sun was still shining down, but it was that warm glow when you knew evening would be approaching soon. Once he had exited his car, he was met with the fresh, warm air. Since it was still spring, it hadn’t been that oppressive humidity yet. It was just enough warmth to wear a light jacket.
“Are you ready for the adventure of a lifetime?” You playfully wiggled your eyebrows at him.
“As ready as I’ll ever be.” Steve sighed. Honestly, he was starting to be a little creeped out now. He would be camping out in eerie forests for the next few hours. His mind couldn't help but conjure up images of flower-headed monsters while the two of you gear up.
The trunk was already open, and you adjusted your camping bag on your back. You pulled out a camera and a tape recorder. While you got ready, Steve pulled out his familiar friend. A wooden bat, courtesy of Nancy Wheeler, with nails that have slightly rusted over, poking in different directions, courtesy of Jonathan Byers. She was one hell of a weapon.
You let out a low whistle, camera rolling and pointed at the bat in Steve’s hand. “Jesus Harrington, I believe the Hawkins witch has nothing against you.” You chuckled and pointed the camera at his face now. He ran a hand through his hair nervously. “What do you think we’ll find?” you asked.
“Better safe than sorry,” Steve shrugged.
“Can’t fight you there.” You turned the camera off and went over the last checks.
With everything strapped and ready to go, you marched off into the woods, and Steve just stayed close to your side.
The leaves on the trees have started to reach full bloom, with different shades of green being illuminated by the evening sun. Under different circumstances, Steve might’ve taken the time to take in the nature around him. But of course, anytime he let his mind drift to admiring the scenery, you had to give him a reality check.
“Okay, so our destination is the old mill house further into the woods. A lot of locals I interviewed said that the mill house was the Witches' home way back when.”
“Sounds romantic,” Steve’s voice was filled with nothing but sarcasm. He couldn’t lie and say he wasn’t on edge. Maybe he didn’t fully think through the whole tagging-along thing.
You laughed at his comment, which helped ease some of the tension in his shoulders. He tried to hold onto that. Instead, he focused on how you looked with the sun rays streaking through the trees, how it made your skin glow in a beautiful, natural way.
A few minutes into walking down a narrow path with sticks cracking under shoes, you stopped to hand Steve the camera. Guess he was going to be Sally’s replacement. You explained that you wanted to attach some short video clips to your article when you posted.
Steve fumbled around with the video camera a bit before you helped him with the basics. He knew if Dustin were here, the kid probably would’ve been a little smart-ass about him not knowing how to operate this damn thing.
Once he got the hang of things, Steve went off the path a bit, shooting close-ups of the trees. You were off somewhere on his right with your voice recorder out.
“This is where Paul Norman reported encountering the mysterious lady in white,” you narrated and recounted your notes. The voice recorder is now hovering near your lips as you take in the scenery. “Norman said he was walking down this path in the afternoon when he caught a glimpse of white fabric gliding between the trees,” you continued.
Steve continued to film what he thought were artsy shots of the forest, something Jonathan maybe would have shown him. He scanned the trees when his eye landed on something odd.
A pattern was messily carved on bark. It was an inverted triangle with a swirling circle behind it.
The mark felt too artistic to be a natural coincidence.
“Uh, I think I found something,” He gestured you over with his free hand. With no hesitation, you made your way over to him. He pointed to the mark with his index finger, and you leaned closer to the tree for further inspection.
“Huh,” you reached out your hand and traced the pattern on the bark. “Seems like a staff member at Cryptid Corp found some sort of ritualistic carving,” you spoke into the voice recorder and winked over at him. He felt his stomach flip.
“Staff member, really?” he deadpanned, and you just shushed him. He rolled his eyes but said no more.
“A swirl with some sort of witch's mark, I believe,” you paused the tape and tucked it into the back pocket of your shorts. “Good find, Harrington,” you patted his shoulder and continued down the path.
Steve felt a rush from your praise and followed you with pride swelling in his chest. “So, where to next? Wait… don’t tell me we're camping at the mill house.” Steve shuddered at the thought.
“No, no,” you retrieved the map from your back pocket and angled it toward him. “We’re camping out maybe a mile away from the site, far enough so that we can avoid any trespassing laws,” you pointed out the path drawn in red marker on the map.
Steve lets out a breath of relief.
“I’m sure we will get to our campsite in maybe an hour,” you checked your watch and placed the map back into your pocket. “Also, just an FYI, locals said the path should stop around the 2-mile mark.”
“Comforting,” he said dryly.
“Ah, come on, Steve, you’re talking to an expert.” You squeezed his upper arm, and his heart did something complicated. “You're in good hands,” you grinned, and he just shook his head.
30 minutes into this hike, and you were right, the path slowly started to be taken over by overgrown plants, and Steve could’ve sworn that he saw, like, at least twenty plants that resembled poison ivy.
Steve has been keeping his head down, letting you chat while he made a few comments here and there. He was trying to ignore the dull ache in his feet. You had warned him, well, more like lectured him about wearing proper shoes. He simply ignored you.
But now with this ache across his soles, he realized that wearing his old beat-up Nikes might not have been the smartest move. Not that he would ever admit that to you.
You stopped abruptly, and Steve stilled beside you.
When he lifted his head, his stomach churned. “What the fuck?”
The sight ahead can only be described as unsettling.
The forest continued, with scattered trees, but decapitated baby doll heads hung on white string tied to random branches. It seemed to go on for miles and spread far off into the dense woods.
The two of you stayed there for a second. Steve blinked a few times slowly as he tried processing what the fuck he was looking at.
“Steve, please start recording.”
With a shaky hand, he scrambled to get the camera out. You didn’t even hesitate and pulled out your tape recorder.
Your voice was steady when you started speaking.
“It was said a long time ago that a young pilgrim boy, Samuel Goodman, went missing in these very woods.” You started to walk ahead, closer to the strung-up doll heads. “The night of his disappearance, his sister reported that Samuel had whispered something about hearing a voice…”
As you continued to talk, Steve walked around and zoomed in on the tree branches decorated in white string and doll heads, even the same mark from before was carved into some of the trees.
“In a sleepy haze, the sister dismissed him, going back to bed. What she didn’t know was that little Samuel followed the voice into the dark woods, and they never saw him again.”
You stood near Steve now, and, honestly, your little story sent goosebumps blooming on his neck. “The old settlement of Hawkins was divided; some blamed the parents, and some blamed the witch.”
The click of the pause button added to the story's ominous feel.
“Jesus, are you going to do a creepy voiceover every time?” Steve put down the camera. You laughed and shook your head while setting your bag down. You shuffled through your bag for a second before pulling out a water canister.
“Water break?” You opened the lid of the canister.
“Here?” he said incredulously. “What about creepy dolls screams, 'Let's take a break?’”
“Oh come on… in a way it's kind of artistic!” you shrugged. Steve didn’t have it in him to argue with you, so instead he just watched as you looked over to the fucked up “art piece” in front of you. You gazed at the woods with an intense look as if the dolls could tell you what you needed to know.
“You worry me,” Steve stated plainly and in response, you shook your head and looked over to him with a teasing smile.
“Come on, drink up. Don’t want to set up camp in the dark,” you pushed your bottle into Steve’s hands. He grunted in response while he pushed the sweat out of his hair.
“So how’d you learn to do all this stuff?” Steve gestured his hand vaguely toward the open map in your hand.
Steve laughed through his nose. How could he forget? The man was terrifying.
He had only met your dad once. The day you guys moved into the same apartment, your dad came to help set up. But Steve was 100% sure your dad came with the sole purpose of intimidating him.
Steve remembered how your dad barely greeted him and instantly put him to work. They spent the whole day setting up different pieces of furniture. Steve handed him tools and held the flashlight where your dad needed light. It all felt like a big test. Steve would accurately locate the Philips screwdriver, and your dad would clap a passive-aggressive hand on his shoulder with a “Not too bad, son.”
And Steve? He played into it; he was on his best behaviour that whole day. You had even teased him about it in the morning. You pinched his arm and called him a suck-up.
What Steve didn't tell you was that night, when everything was set up, and you had gone to search for something in your room, your dad had pulled Steve over for a talk.
The talk itself wasn’t anything too aggressive; there was no yelling, no sizing him up, your dad simply gave Steve a chilling smile. A smile paired with a rough hand on Steve's shoulder and a reminder that he owns quite the collection of hunting guns.
Safe to say Steve got the message loud and clear. He was to be on his best behaviour around you and treat you well. Not that he was planning to do anything but that.
“Oh, I remember him alright,” Steve toyed with the camera in his hand while he listened to you.
“Yeah well, he’s a big camping nerd, used to take me camping every year,” You smiled softly. “He taught me everything I know.”
“I always appreciated that from him, how he never treated me softly because I was a girl, he just brought me into his world and let me figure out if I was interested or not.” A small smile made its way on your face, and Steve could tell you were lost in a memory.
Steve envied that. How natural your relationship with your dad seemed. You recounted funny memories and weird camping stories like it was no big deal. But it was a big deal to him.
“You’re lucky, my dad never bothered with any of the father-son bonding stuff.”
“Ya, he's a bit of an asshole, huh?” Steve has told you some brief stories about his dad, never ones that paint him in the best light. Not that many did.
“Grade-A,” Steve let out a huff. “ Never got a bonding moment with him, even when I was in little leagues, he just bought me the equipment I needed, and that was that.”
You looked at Steve, and he noticed the little crease between your eyebrows. “It sounds cliché, but I always wanted that moment of like practicing with your dad, maybe throwing a ball back and forth,” he sighed.
“Guess it was never in the stars.” Steve shrugged, an act of dismissal; he didn’t want you treating his honesty too seriously. Always quick to devalue his feelings.
You slowed your pace before fully stopping. The look on your face made Steve's breath catch. No trace of pity, instead just complete understanding. It was like you were able to peer into his mind and see him, past the charisma, past the charm, past his tendency to downplay things and just see him for who he truly is.
“I know it might not be the same, but you have me now, so I’ll show you anything you wanna know.” You flashed him that smile that never failed to ease something in him. You looped your arm with his and tugged him forward, continuing the trek. With no hesitation, you opened the map and pointed out important things to Steve. You taught him the basics of reading a map and showed him what to look for.
You have me now. Steve wondered briefly how such a simple statement would probably stay with him forever.
Along the way, you guys encountered more trees marked with that “witches” symbol. Steve really didn’t have a good feeling about how frequently the mark showed up, but you just tried reassuring him that everything was fine.
“Are you sure?” Steve combed a nervous hand through his hair.
“Harrington,” you whined. “For the last time, there's probably some normal explanation, okay?” You just kept your eyes on the map and ignored Steve’s nervous rambles.
In a cruel twist of fate, a small clearing appeared. Flat grass surrounded by pine trees. Except the pine trees are surrounded by what looked like crosses woven out of pale palm leaves. They hung from tree branches, similar to the babydoll heads.
It had to be some cruel joke.
You turned and faced Steve with a sheepish look, guilt written all over your face. “Well, we arrived.”
“W-what?” Steve’s eyebrows furrowed as he took in his surroundings. “This is where we’re camping? His voice continued to rise with apprehension.
When he turned his head to look at you, you shot him a halfhearted smile.
“You’re joking,” he said flatly.
Steve scrubbed his hands down his face, trying to keep his agitation at bay. “You cannot be serious. Do you want to get taken?” and even though he was dead serious, you laughed.
“Gosh, Harrington, stop being so dramatic.” You rolled your eyes. “I’m like 90% sure this ‘witch’ doesn’t even exist.” You flexed your finger in air quotations, and Steve actually felt the angry vein protruding on his neck. “It’s this or the mill house. Your call,” you deadpanned, and his shoulders sagged with defeat.
“Fine, but if some angry witch comes to haunt us, I’m throwing you to the wolves.”
“How cold,” you teased, and Steve placed two hands on his hips like he meant business. But he knew this was a bald-faced lie; he’d always prioritize your safety over his. He did this for anyone he cared about.
“Whatever, Steve. Let’s stop wasting time.” You walked past him, farther towards the middle of the clearing. Steve’s pretty sure he heard you grumble something about him being “a big baby,” but he instead chose to ignore you.
He joined where you were standing and started to take the tent parts out.
“Here I’ll set up the boning, you put the pegs through the holes,” you passed him the pegs, moving on to assemble the tent.
“Sounds like a fun time,” Steve wiggled his eyebrows as a small grin played on his lips.
“Ew, any more bad jokes and you’re sleeping outside,” you grimaced and pointed one of the tent parts threateningly at him. In return, he put his hands up in mock surrender and got to work.
“Jesus, how many spiders are in these damn woods?” Steve spent the last 10 minutes swatting away cobwebs.
The sun was starting to set, and mixes of pinks and oranges painted the sky, casting a yellow glow through the trees. The two of you have started making your way to the mill house. By the time you guys make it there, you will be in pure darkness, save for the flashlights.
Steve has been ridiculously “floundering” his hands –your words– as you guys pass through trees.
“Steve, it’s the woods, what did you expect?” you called back over your shoulder.
“Yeah, but what if spiders get in my hair?”
You stopped in your tracks and turned to him with an insincere worry. “Oh no. Steve, this is serious. They can lay eggs in your hair and then slowly eat through your hair follicles,” you said in the most serious tone you could muster up. You peered into his eyes with fake panic.
“That’s it, I’m going back.” Steve was highly unimpressed and started to turn around before you caught his upper arm. You let out a loud laugh; your voice bouncing around the empty woods.
“Come on, you’ll be fine.” You lifted your hand and combed out small pieces of cobweb that were caught in his hair. Steve leaned into your touch and let out a soft sigh.
You were so close to his face now, and he kept his eyes trained on you.
The opportunity to really look at you up close like this was rare, but whenever he got the chance, he never wasted it. So now his eyes studied your face. He noticed the shape of your nose, the slight furrow in your eyebrow as you concentrate, and the way you lightly bite your bottom lip.
“See, no eggs,” you exhaled a quiet laugh, breaking Steve out of his daze, “Now come on, we got a mill house to explore.” You dragged him by his sleeve for a while after. Steve felt his unease dissipate.
Night arrived in the Hawkins forest, dark and silent. The moon was out, and its pale, luminous glow helped illuminate the path ahead, in addition to the flashlights you brought.
The two of you had finally reached the mill house, and it was just as creepy as Steve predicted it would be– overgrown ivy wrapped around the house in thick clusters. The moonlight cast ominous shadows, making the house’s presence cold and daunting. It felt like something reminiscent of the Creel house.
It made Steve's skin crawl.
Steve looked at you sideways with a wary expression, but you seemed unfazed. You simply took out your tape recorder. Steve followed and started filming the house, which was only a couple of meters away.
“The mill house was said to be where the witch lived. Pilgrims would travel from Hawkins Square to the forest in hopes of getting aid with illnesses and prosperity issues.”
You lead Steve around the mill house first. Walking around the dried-up lake and the creepy cellar door. Honestly, Steve didn't really know what to look out for. He figured he’d just leave it to the professional and focus on getting some nice shots of the house. Steve zoomed in on some broken bottles near the back of the house. You continued to speak into the tape recorder.
“The witch was the Hawkins settlements' little secret. This was a very religious time in Hawkins history; the church would have considered any form of witchcraft illegal and punishable by death. Unfortunately for our Lady in White, the news of her ‘business’ made its way to the pastor, and he ordered a witch hunt.”
You pointed to a tall tree in the distance. It stuck out like a sore thumb. Tall and wide compared to the trees surrounding it, with crooked branches. Steve zooms the camera towards it, though it was hard to fully capture it in the dark.
“A group of townspeople went storming into the woods. They found her in the mill house, dragged her out, and they hung her on a nearby tree.”
The click of your tape recorder echoed, adding a chilling finality to what you were saying.
Steve felt a chill run down his spine.
He sent you a sideways look, and you just sent him back a funny face. He didn’t understand how unaffected you seemed.
The two of you round the house and decide it’s time to explore the inside of the abandoned home.
The old wooden floors creaked with every step, and Steve felt on edge. Your flashlight worked as a beacon of light in the dark home. Steve kept two slightly shaky hands on the camera, using the night vision in the viewfinder as his point of reference.
“Remind me why we're doing this at night?” Steve broke the silence, and he could feel the bob of his Adam's apple while he looked from side to side.
“Because it wouldn't be as thrilling,” you responded, seemingly unaffected by the dark.
“You know you love it, Harrington.” You looked at him with a grin.
“I do,” Steve replied absentmindedly, but still sincere.
But when he was met with a quiet hitch of your breath that was followed by silence, he instantly regretted what he indirectly implied.
Ignoring the slight tension in the air, you didn't respond; instead, you walked over into another room. Steve was just happy that the dark covered the flush that had definitely made its way to the tip of his ears.
In the unexplored room of the mill house, you pulled your tape recorder close to your lips and resumed your voice-over.
“I interviewed an older gentleman, Simon Higgins, a Hawkins resident, who explained to me his encounter with the witch back in ‘58. Higgins recounted how he had explored the mill house when he was young. Joined by one of his friends, they set out to do some innocent witch hunting.”
You swiped some dirt off a mantle piece that rested on top of a stone fireplace. You crinkled your nose– which Steve found endearing– and wiped the dirt off on Steve's jacket sleeve, which he didn't like as much.
“When they got to the mill house, Higgins reported hearing what he described as a haunting voice. Doesn't that sound similar to what happened to the pilgrim boy? Anyways…”
In an attempt to keep your spooky ghost stories from affecting him, Steve focused all his attention on filming his surroundings. He zoomed in on the dry rot in the wooden floor panels. Then, cutting over to some broken glass on the ground near the fire pit.
“Simon Higgins followed the voice out into the woods. That's where he saw her, the Witch. Clad in a white dress, she walked and disappeared between trees. Spooked by the encounter, he ran all the way back into the mill house to find his friend. But by the time he got back, his friend was gone. Leaving nothing but one missing shoe.”
Your voice echoed off the walls of the unfurnished house. The quiet that followed was unsettling.
One shoe, the only piece of evidence to prove that the kid had been there in the first place.
Steve shuddered at the thought.
Maybe Dustin was right, maybe Steve had gotten soft over the years.
You weaved through the house carefully, and Steve followed closely behind. He was confused by your nonchalance; you hardly jumped or shuddered when the floorboards would make creepy sounds– never budged at the sound of distant branches snapping. You explored the tiny upstairs of the mill house with a stony gaze and the efficiency of someone who just clocked into work at a normal job. Really, not the reaction he would expect someone to have when stuck in this creepy dump.
The upstairs was uneventful, no bloody witch symbols, no lit candles, none of the witchy shit that Steve was expecting to find. Only some scattered glass from broken windows and empty rooms.
The only thing left to uncover was the cellar.
Both of you stood with the old wooden door open, flashlights in hand, staring down the stone staircase. The cobblestone walls are cracked, and it’s pitch black. Not even the flashlights can illuminate the bottom of the staircase enough. Safe to say Steve was getting major deja vu.
“Nope. No. Absolutely not.” Steve shook his head with finality. It wasn’t like he was above diving headfirst into danger, but he left his bat back at camp, so sue him for feeling a little vulnerable.
“Oh God. Steven, don’t be a pussy.” You crossed your arms.
Steve whipped his head to the side to face you. He shot you a glare for calling him Steven, and then his face shifted into one of disbelief, like you grew two heads because why the hell would anyone want to go down there, willingly.
You rolled your eyes. “Fine, look, I’ll go by myself, you be a lookout.” You patted his chest with a sweet, condescending smile.
Just as you were about to make your descent down the dark staircase, Steve caught your elbow. “I’ll come.”
He stepped in front of you and took hesitant steps down the stairs. The further he descended into darkness, the drier his mouth got. His heart was beating erratically; it felt like it was going to beat out of his chest.
Even though he could hear your footsteps following him, he couldn't help but turn around just to make sure you were okay.
Once at the bottom of the cramped cellar, Steve scanned the area. Nothing much, a broken shelf in the corner of the room. Soft patter of leaking water. A strong smell of what he thinks might be mildew. Honestly, a bit underwhelming, but still creepy in the way all basements are.
Suddenly, a yelp came from behind him.
He turned around instantly, just in time to catch you and stabilize you. You must have tripped on one of the cracks in the last step. He braced you with two hands on your upper arms. You were close. Steve scanned your face for a second. “You okay?”
“Y-yeah, I’m good. Just tripped,” you replied, voice quiet and breathless like you got the air knocked out of you.
A sort of unreadable expression passed your face. Then a sudden awareness washed over Steve, and he realized that he had been holding you longer than necessary, thumbs rubbing mindless circles on your arm.
“Good, good.” he pulled back from you and cleared his throat, a sad attempt to play off the weird moment.
With no acknowledgment of the proximity, you walked further into the cellar, continuing your search. Steve took out the camera again and continued what he had been doing for the past hour, filming anything he thought was creepy.
There were some random barrels scattered in the corner. Steve kicked one, and the hollow sound made a loud noise that disturbed the quiet atmosphere. He winced at the noise and turned to you with an apologetic smile. You just gave him a disapproving shake of your head, but still you laughed under your breath.
A moment after, Steve walked over to the broken shelf in the corner of the cellar. Beside it, he noticed a hole in the wall, small for an animal but definitely not big enough for a person to get through. He assumed it probably led outside.
When the shelf didn’t provide anything interesting to report, Steve made his way back to where you were standing.
“It’s looking like there is no witch, which told ya so.”
“Never say never, Steven,” you shrugged, with a teasing smile.
Steve sent you an annoyed glare, though it really didn’t have any heat behind it.
“Lighten u-” you were interrupted by a rustling noise by the shelves. You flashed your flashlight in the direction of the noise. Steve, with no hesitation, went to stand in front of you.
Pieces of cobblestone fall from the corroding hole in the wall.
The culprit of all the noise slowly emerged. Both of you held your breath.
A black snout poked out first.
Followed by a dark furry body and then a bushy tail.
White stripes are the only thing keeping the culprit from blending in with the dark.
It was a skunk. No witch.
Steve let out a breath of relief, but suddenly, from behind him, you shrieked.
It bounced off the walls, and before he can process anything, he is being pushed forward. You sprinted up the stairs, all while panicked noises and soft curses spilled from your lips.
You left him in complete darkness, so he pulled out his flashlight. He stayed standing in the middle of the room. He blinked at the skunk, who just continued on, unbothered and blinked back at the stairs.
Oh, he would never let you live this down.
Steve raced back up the stairs. The front door of the mill was fully opened, and if he squinted, he could make out your blurry frame hunched over outside. Once he reached you, he placed a delicate hand on your shoulder. Despite the touch being feather-light, you jumped, clearly startled.
“Jesus! Harrington!” you glared at him. He thought you looked pretty cute.
“So you’re telling me you can explore creepy mills by yourself, haunted forests, and abandoned buildings and nothing, no reaction. But a skunk?” Steve laughed before he could even finish his sentence. “That's what gets you?” he questioned through fits of laughter.
You continued to glare at him, completely unamused.
“You’re sleeping outside tonight.”
“Oh come on, hey, let’s just get you out of here,” Steve rubbed a hand on your back, “before Pepe Le Pew comes back to terrorize you.” Steve could barely get through the joke without snickering.
“You’re so dead, Harrington,” you slapped his hand away. You walked ahead with your arms crossed, the flashlight now being supported by your elbow.
“Oh, come on, you know you love me.” Steve caught up to you and fell into place with your pace.
“Unfortunately, I do,” you grumbled, and Steve pretended not to think too much about your comment. He just continued to walk beside you, quietly chuckling a bit at the memory of you shrieking.
You guys were back at camp and getting ready for bed. All your gear was shoved into one corner of the tent. While you set up the sleeping bag, Steve changed into grey sweatpants and his old Hawkins High gym shirt. Once he was done, it was your turn to get dressed for bed.
Steve turned to you and flopped down onto the unrolled sleeping bag. He looked you up and down with furrowed eyebrows. He studied your pjs, hoodie, his hoodie, and some sleep shorts.
“Hey! I’ve been looking for that everywhere.” Steve frowned at you while he pulled out a granola bar from his pocket. “Didn’t know I had a little thief stealing all my clothes.” Steve took a big bite of the bar.
“I did not steal anything; it was just a little laundry mix-up.” You flopped down next to him, making your way into the mostly unzipped sleeping bag.
“Gimme a bite.” You opened your mouth slightly.
Steve let out a groan and rolled his eyes. But still, he stretched out his hand and let you take a bite of the granola bar he's been saving for a while now. You chewed happily while you snuggled closer to him. His heart stuttered in his chest the way it always did when you got close to him like this, but really, you sleeping next to Steve wasn’t anything new.
It started about the second month after you moved in together. You were gone the whole week off exploring some creepy sanatorium in Kentucky. It was Saturday night, and you should have been coming back late, so Steve didn’t wait up.
Steve used to be the heaviest sleeper; nothing could rouse him. Then that night at the Byers home completely changed his sleep patterns; now anytime he heard as much as a creak in the floorboards, he was up and alert. It was horrible at first, but he slowly adjusted to this new quirk of his until the summer of ‘85, after everything with the Russians came the worst insomnia episodes. He was able to overcome the insomnia, but even now, after everything is over, he’s still a light sleeper.
So when you gently opened the door to his bedroom that night, even just the little squeak of the hinges had him stirring. He rubbed at his eyes as he faintly saw your frozen body in his doorway. He called your name out into the dark, coming out as a groggy question.
“Sorry,” you sounded so small, so completely unlike yourself. That immediately captured his full attention. “I didn’t mean to wake you, is- is it okay if I sleep here?”
Steve looked at your shadowy outline with furrowed eyebrows. What the hell happened?
“Please, I just don’t want to be alone.” Your voice wavered, and something in Steve's chest pulled tight.
Steve opened up his blanket, a silent invitation for you to crawl in next to him, and you accepted. You lie down, back facing him but getting as close as possible. With no warning, you took one of his arms and wrapped it around you, and Steve didn’t protest. How could he when you acted so out of character? Whatever happened to you in Kentucky must’ve been serious for you to seek comfort like this.
“Hey, you okay?” he whispered, taking the hand that was around your middle and gently stroking up and down your arm.
“Don’t feel like talking about it right now,” you whispered back.
Steve nodded and positioned his arm back around you.
It soon became a habit that anytime you came back from a particularly chilling adventure, you would climb into Steve's bed, wrap his arm around you and spend the whole night tucked into him.
So he already knew the drill at this moment as you snuggled deeper into the sleeping bag, laid out back facing his front. Just as bossy as ever, you took Steve's arm without a word and wrapped it around you. He didn’t fully understand why you were so cuddly. He knew the skunk had been a scare, but he didn’t think it spooked you that much. Not that he was complaining.
The little camping lantern that was illuminating the tent was now turned off, and it took several minutes for Steve’s eyes to adjust to the dark. Outside, the only noise that can be heard is the rhythmic chirping of crickets. It was almost peaceful if he ignored the creepy crosses that surrounded the tent.
You wiggled around trying to get a more comfortable position, but once you were satisfied, Steve could feel something digging into his thigh. It was dull, but in the angle you were lying in, it uncomfortably poked him. Without much thought, Steve retreats his hand from yours and goes to pat around the back pocket of your sleep shorts.
“Uh, Harrington, what the hell do you think you're doing?” you whisper-shouted while looking back at him over your shoulder.
“Shit, sorry,” as he came to his senses, he quickly put his hands in defence, “Something is just poking me.”
It was a little hard to make out your features in the dark, but Steve could sort of see the widening of your eyes as if something just dawned on you.
“Oh yeah- sorry, it's my pocket knife.” You turned to face him fully now, pocket knife away from his thigh.
The arm that rested under your head now supported Steve’s body weight as he leaned up. “Why the hell do you have a knife in your pocket?!”
“It’s just a pocket knife,” you pulled Steve back down by the collar of his shirt.
“Just a pocket knife?” Steve said.
“Better safe than sorry,”
“Whatever, weirdo.” Steve shook his head.
“Hey! Look, it’s an old camping tip my dad taught me, okay.” Steve’s not really surprised that your dad is behind this. “Apparently, one time when my dad went camping with my grandpa, the only thing that stopped them from getting mauled by a bear was a knife that he kept in the pocket of his pyjamas.”
“Remind me never to piss your dad off.” You laughed softly at his comment.
It was clear that the exhaustion from the day was starting to catch up with you. Not saying another word, he rolled over onto his back, ready to let sleep take him too. You curled into his side and let out a breath you didn’t even know you were holding.
“You're like a human furnace,” you said quietly.
Humming in response, Steve pulled you closer, his heart was beating wildly, and he prayed that you couldn’t hear it from where your head rested.
“Goodnight, Steve,” you whispered. A small smile tugged at his lips.
In the distance came the faint sound of footsteps, followed by the crack of fallen branches, instantly pulling Steve out of the semi-peaceful sleep state he was in. He blinked his eyes open once, twice, until he was fully awake. The inside of the tent was pitch black, and it took a while for his eyes to adjust.
Still slightly disoriented, Steve checked his glow-in-the-dark watch – a gift from Dustin after claiming it was cool and highly useful – and sighed at the time.
Of course, he’s hearing creepy, mysterious noises at 3 a.m., surrounded by even creepier crosses in the middle of the woods.
Steve looked over to where you lay against him. You were still peacefully sleeping, and he didn’t want to disturb you; whatever it was, it was probably nothing anyway, probably some animal. Yeah, maybe a coyote or a fox or some shit. But no matter what he told himself, that sinking feeling of dread in his gut stayed.
The mantra played in his mind over and over and over and over-.
A sudden hit on the side of the tent, and Steve immediately jumped into a sitting position. Okay, definitely something. You began to stir, and little by little you started to wake up.
Another hit on the side of the tent, and Steve is thoroughly freaked out.
“Wha- what’s wrong?” you voiced groggily, clearly still half asleep.
“There’s something outside-” Steve’s answer was followed by another hit.
“What do you mean?” You rubbed roughly at your eyes, forcing yourself to wake up fully.
What started as periodic hits to the tent escalated into a full-blown attack. The sides of the tent shake and jolt violently; it was as if whatever was surrounding the tent was shaking it from the outside. The noise of nylon scraping together was growing louder as the shakes became more aggressive.
You were fully up and kneeling beside Steve now. You had a death grip on his upper arm. He turned to you, staring into your equally frantic eyes.
The shaking only kept getting more vigorous. With every hit, Steve’s heart started to thump wildly in his chest. He wasn’t the only one scared. You squeezed his upper arm repeatedly, acting as if it were an anchor.
Steve had no idea what to do, where to go, or how to defend. Being in this tent was like being sitting ducks; there was no upper hand, you guys were surrounded.
Surrounded by what? Steve didn’t even have the answer for that.
The Witch? Bears? Or worse, monsters he hoped to never see again?
Abruptly, all noise and shaking stopped. All that followed was utter silence. Not even the chirps of crickets.
Both of you looked from side to side, bracing yourselves for something to happen.
But after about a minute, nothing came.
Steve slowly turned to you and raised a finger to his mouth, signalling to keep quiet. He reached for his nail bat, then shuffled closer to the zipper of the tent, but before he could unzip anything, you grabbed his wrist.
“Harrington, what are you doing?!” you whisper-shouted.
“I gotta go check it out,” he whispered back.
“Are you crazy? You can’t go out there.” Your grip on his wrist tightened.
“Well, we can’t do anything in here, can we?” It came out harsh, but he knew there was no other option.
Realistically, you also knew that Steve was right, and he saw the internal battle you were fighting. Steve gently removed his wrist from your hold, but he didn’t go far; he held your hand in his and squeezed. “I promise I’ll be safe.”
You looked down at your hand in his, then back up to his face. Your eyes met, and you held his gaze, still unsure, and Steve nodded. He felt you squeeze his hand back before dropping it.
As he unzipped the tent, Steve held his breath. He didn’t know what he’d find out there. Unable to handle the anticipation, he roughly drew the tent door to the side, but there was nothing. Nothing but darkness.
He turned to give you one last look before he stepped outside. It was hard to see anything in the dark of the night, still, he stood his ground, bringing his bat up ready to swing at any potential threats.
Except there seemed to be none.
His eyes drifted across the open area from right to left.
Nothing explained what the hell had just happened in the tent.
The pounding of Steve’s heart was so violent that the sound of it reverberated in his ears. The familiar feeling of fight or flight consumed him.
He swung his bat from left to right.
Still, he saw nothing, and beyond the trees was just pure darkness; not even the moonlight could illuminate.
The coast was clear. For now.
Steve kneeled outside the tent, and he lifted the tent door still outside. He zeroed in on you, trying to get a read on how you're feeling.
You were still in the same position as before, but this time you clutched a flashlight, fully alert and a bit on edge.
“So, anything?” you questioned.
“I think we’re in the clear for now-” something rustled in Steve's peripheral vision, and suddenly a shadowy figure emerged from the dark, charging at full speed.
Steve had no time to react before something connected with the side of his head. The only thing he remembered before he was consumed by darkness was the sound of you screaming his name.
The familiar pounding of an impending headache is what woke Steve up first. Then followed the strained ache between his shoulder blades. He began to hear the distant sound of your voice pleading with him.
Once his vision cleared, he didn't know what to process first. He felt uncomfortable; he was lying down on what felt like rock, and his hands must have been tied behind his back because the rough material of rope was digging into his wrists. His feet were bound as well. He was somewhere new, another clearing in the woods. The space was lit by torches that lined the trees. Over his feet, he saw what looked like people kneeling with their arms outstretched and heads bowed. They wore black robes, big and shapeless, that covered them from head to toe. It concealed any identifying features.
Steve turned his head to his right when he saw you. You were beside him, lying out on a slab of rock. Your hands were bound behind your back, and your feet were also tied. He must’ve been in the same position. His hoodie wasn’t on you anymore, and across your chest was a black mark, something that resembled ash or tar. That's when Steve noticed that his shirt was missing too.
What the fuck is going on?
Your eyes were wide, and you squirmed around.
Then, when the ringing in his ear subsided, it was impossible to ignore the sound of foreign consonants and syllables– words that Steve couldn't understand being chanted from above where you lay.
He turned his head to his left, and by one of the torches that lined a tree, he saw it. That familiar carving that followed them throughout the whole trip.
The chanting continued, and Steve finally noticed the dark figure hovering over you, coming from someone he thought must be the leader of all this.
Similar to the people kneeling, they were clad in a dark, shapeless robe masking anything that gave away who this sick freak was. In their hand was a long, sharp, curved dagger. Oh fuck-
“Steve! Please-please answer me, are you okay?” Your voice startled him, and now he was fully alert again.
“I-I’m okay,” his voice cracked, and he winced as he tried pulling at his binds. “What’s going on?”
Steve closed his eyes. He needed to think. Think of a plan of action, what to do next. The task felt like an impossible feat when the mix of his adrenaline and the continuous chanting made the act of thinking difficult.
You went strangely quiet. Just the occasional whimper when you squirmed the wrong way. Steve wasn’t sure if you felt defeated or still determined to fight your way out. He didn’t have to dwell on that thought because suddenly the leader went quiet, and somehow the silence felt ten times more chilling than the creepy chanting.
His eyes snapped up to where the robed leader hovered.
The curved blade of the dagger was high in the air, clutched between two hands. You let out a strangled cry, and Steve knew in that moment with absolute clarity that he would do everything in his power not to let you die like this, die first.
“Hey! Hey! Wa-wait!” Steve mustered up all his strength to fight through the dryness of his throat to yell.
The leader turned to him, dagger still in the air.
“Kill me first! Don’t- just kill me first instead, okay?” he didn't care how pathetic he sounded pleading like this. He was a one-track mind right now, your safety being his only priority.
“Steve-” he interrupted you before you could say any more.
“No- no look, I don’t know what kind of fucked up cult thing you guys are running here, but-” Steve took a sharp breath “but just start with me, okay, just kill me first.”
It was quiet. Steve swallowed, but kept eye contact with the leader.
Another second passed. Slowly, the dagger lowered. The leader hovered over Steve’s head now. The chanting started over again.
Steve let out a breath before turning to face you.
“Look,” he called out your name, his voice cracking around the syllables. You turned to him, and something unnamed swirled behind your eyes. Your hands kept squirming under the weight of your body, but you kept your eyes on him.
“I need to tell you this because I don’t want to die without you knowing that.” The chanting only got louder, but he continued, “that I love you- more than a friend, and I’ve been in love with you for a long time now.” Steve saw the way your eyes softened, and he could sort of make out the way tears streamed down your face. “I love you so much,” his voice broke when he said your name.
He knew this wasn’t the ideal setting for this kind of confession, but he had to let it out, tell you what he’s been wanting to tell you for years. Steve didn’t expect a response or wait for one; he faced the sky, and when the chanting stopped, he knew it was time. It was the end.
From above him, he saw the dagger being drawn up, its silver blade shining in the moonlight.
He closed his eyes and went over his happiest memories.
The pool party his mom threw for his 6th birthday. The breakfast in bed he attempted to make for his mom on Mother’s Day, which ended up burnt and awful, but his mom still ate it and just stroked his back as he lay with her. The first basketball game he won, and his teammates lifted him on their shoulders. Every time Dustin forced him to help out on one of his nerd projects. Late-night movies with Robin. Meeting you. Study session with you in the library. Holding you at night because you didn’t want to be alone. All the times you smiled at him.
They all flashed in his mind, short bursts of memories playing like film clips behind his eyes. They filled him with an all-consuming feeling.
He loved, and he was loved and-
Something cold dripped onto Steve's face. It almost felt like rain, except it was thicker, stickier.
His eyes fluttered open. He’s still alive, and instead of being met with a black robe, his eyes met yours, wide and frantic and a little crazed.
“Steve, hurry- get up!” You didn’t wait for a response; you cut through the binds at his ankle with your pocket knife.
Holy shit. The knife in your back pocket. Steve knew that if you guys survived this, he had to remember to apologize for making fun of you.
Quickly, he sat up as you cut the rope around his wrist. His eyes trailed from his wrists to the trees. That's when he noticed the absence of the people who were kneeling. He swung his face toward you. One of the robed people came barreling in your direction. “Shit, behind you!” Steve yelled.
You were quick to turn around, just in the nick of time, and you stabbed the masked person who tried to blindside you.
Steve sprang into action; he hopped off the rock slab. He picked up the dagger that was clutched in the hand of the now-dead robed leader.
“Steve! On your right!” you yelled as you struggled against another one of those robed freaks.
From his peripheral he saw a dark figure charging at full speed. With no hesitation, he planted his feet firmly and confidently into the ground. He counted in his head, and at the perfect time, he stabbed at the figure right in what he assumed would be their throat.
Two hands plant firmly on Steve’s shoulders from behind, heavy and threatening. Steve wastes no time in turning and firmly puncturing the dagger into the person’s side.
They dropped to the floor, limp and lifeless. Steve’s chest puffed in and out, trying to catch his breath. He pushed back his hair.
A couple feet away, you yelped, and Steve whipped his head in your direction. You were on your back on the ground, struggling against a robed person who straddled your hips and had their hands around your neck. You're desperately trying to grab your fallen pocket knife that is an inch away from your reach.
Steve’s feet seemed to move on their own. One second, he was heaving, and the next, he was sprinting towards you. In the blink of an eye, Steve pulled the person by their robe, causing the hood to slip. He now had a death grip on the person's head. In a frenzy, he held the dagger to the side, and he slit the person’s throat.
He still held onto the person's hair with white knuckles, except the hair he gripped wasn’t as much hair as it was fur. Coarse and grey.
And the shrill sound of their voice wasn’t as much human as it was animalistic.
As the blood sprayed everywhere from the jagged cut that Steve left, the person fell, gravity causing their body weight to fall fast and limp. Steve noticed that the person he killed wasn’t even a human at all.
A long snout, dark grey fur, and dull, tiny horns that protrude from the head.
It was the head of a goat. The hands were still human, and when Steve went to shred off more pieces of the robe, he saw the rest of the person's body was human, extremely hairy, but human.
You joined Steve’s side now, upper body caked in blood and dirt and general grime. But you were alive, and that fact alone felt like the biggest relief.
Steve placed his hands on your shoulders, rubbing up and down, eyeing you to look for any urgent injuries, but despite some scrapes, you were alive and breathing. “Steve, we have to go,” you choked out.
He nodded. He surveyed the area, and everyone was dead, but still, you guys weren’t out of the woods yet. Steve gripped your hand in his, he handed you the dagger, just in case, and he ripped one of the torches off the tree. He needed a plan. He couldn't just run off into the woods hoping to find the way.
“How do we even know where to go?!” You still had a nervous edge to your voice.
“It’s a hunch, but I think the witch's mark we kept seeing is some kind of path,” he explained. You didn’t argue; you had no other plan, so you let him lead you. It was the only option you had.
Steve located the mark he had seen earlier; the symbol seemed to be carved on every other tree, acting as a guide. Steve dragged you along as he scanned the trees for the next mark he could see. For once on this trip, seeing the carving brought him some optimism.
After some time following the marks, you and Steve found yourself back at camp. The tent came into view, and Steve let out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding.
In a frenzy, you packed as many items as you could. You took your camping bag, and Steve grabbed his nail bat. You and Steve didn’t even bother with packing the tent or sleeping bags.
Once the essentials were in hand, you got the hell out of Dodge. This time, you took the lead and followed the path back to the car.
The soft, pale blues of sunrise stretch out across the sky by the time you and Steve reach the beamer. It was the start of a new day. You had nearly escaped a living nightmare; the morning felt too soft for what you guys had just experienced.
The adrenaline wore off about an hour ago, but the air around you both was still tense. There was a nervous edge that wouldn’t leave. Any crack of a tree branch or rustle of leaves had Steve skittish. But now you and Steve are back in the safety of his beamer, and something in him untensed.
Steve placed the key into the ignition, and the minute the engine roared to life, he pressed the gas and zoomed down the highway.
Fifteen minutes into the drive, Steve couldn’t stand the rigid silence. The events of the past few hours played on a loop; nothing could pause them. He was gonna go mad if he didn’t try to talk about it soon. “What the hell happened back there?” Steve’s voice was uneasy. He tightened his hand on the steering wheel before he let one hand go to push his hair back.
A couple of seconds passed, and you stayed quiet. He looked back and forth from the road to where you sat straight in the passenger seat.
“I mean the goat? What was that, and oh god, the chanting, I just don’t understand,” he continued, talking with his hands now. He let out a rough sigh while rubbing his jaw, “Like what the hell were they even saying?”
You finally spoke up, “I know what they wanted.”
“Wha- what you do?” Steve's eyebrows furrowed as he looked at you out of the corner of his eye.
“Yeah, they were speaking Latin.” You squeezed your knee. Steve had a distant memory of when you took an intro to Latin course back in your second year. “I didn’t catch everything, but I got the main message.” You swallowed.
“So what did they say?” Steve faced you, and for the split second that you made eye contact, Steve recognized a look in your eye, the same one you got every time you climbed into his bed after a bad trip.
Judging by the fact that he’d almost been killed, he knew whatever they were saying was bad.
You took a breath before you continued, “They were praying to a demon, I’m sure I've read about it once or twice.” Steve’s eyes were on the road, but he could feel the nervous energy radiating off of you. “It was hard to pick up on all the words, but I think they wanted to sacrifice us to a demon called Baphomet.”
“Shit,” Steve breathed out, two of his fingers massaging his temple.
“There's more,” you leaned your head against the car window. “After they sacrificed us, they would complete the ritual by-” you hesitated, looking at Steve from the corner of your eye. He waited for you to continue with bated breath.
A beat of silence. “By eating us.”
The silence that followed felt deafening.
Steve had only one thought that entered his mind: What the fuck.
