Welcome to Hellfire

Now, there was a bit of hesitation to him, instead of the usual mischievous glint in his eye, as you stood behind the building for your afternoon smoke break together. Phil from accounting had just gone inside, so it was just the two of you. No reason to be nervous.

"What's up?" you asked.

He fidgeted under your gaze and his nose scrunched. You couldn't help but laugh.

"Are you breaking up with me?" you continued. "We've had one date, I'm not gonna take it that hard."

Which was a lie, you would be devastated. To calm your own self-induced nerves, you took a drag from your cigarette and turned your attention back to the squirrels that were sniffing around the loading dock.

"I'm psychic!" He finally blurted out.

You almost sucked the entire cigarette into your mouth from shock.

"Excuse me?" You coughed.

Ok, he wasn't breaking up with you, he was just crazy. Which you sort of already expected and also found charming regardless.

"It's not something I tell everyone," he explained, holding his hands in front of him innocently. "I just figured that you deserved to know in case, you know, you wanted to break up with me."

You blinked at him, unsure of what to say.

"Can I show it to you? What I can do?" he asked after a beat. "That way I can prove I'm telling the truth."

"Uh...sure," you replied hesitantly.

He held out a hand and gestured for you to do the same. At first, you thought he meant your free hand, but as you laid yours in his palm, he batted it way.

"I'm not a palm reader," he explained. "I guess...I mean, I am a fortune teller, in some ways. Just not that. Here, come over here."

He took a step back and led you back to the little ashtray atop the trash bin, and he stubbed his cigarette out and gestured for you to do the same. Which you did, but not before one more quick inhale of glorious nicotine that would get you through the next few, stress-induced seconds.

"It's like...reading tea leaves," Eddie grinned nervously. He waved a hand over the overflowing ashtray, noting the few butts that had fallen to the ground. "Better than tea leaves, actually. Let's take Phil for example." Eddie waved at the still somewhat smoldering remnant belonging to your coworker. He hummed and closed his eyes, inhaling deeply, then held his hands over the ashes. "He's having trouble at home. He's afraid his wife is leaving him because of his receding hairline."

"Phil doesn't have a receding hairline," you pointed out.

"It's a toupee," Eddie responded immediately, he cracked an eye open and stared at you. "It's really convincing, right?"

"I don't believe this." You laughed. "Even if you did know that he wore a toupee, that's an observation. Not a fortune."

"Oh no," he closed his eyes again, "that's where you're wrong. There is going to be a big blowout in about a week...when Phil's wife leaves him...for the mail man. Damn. Poor Phil."

His eyes opened and he stared at you expectantly. "Want me to read your ashes now?"

You gestured for him to go ahead and he pulled the same Johnny Carson act from before. He hummed and waved his hands; there was a little twitch as his eyebrows drew together, and you had to admit that your curiosity was piqued at that.

"There's a lot of information here," he muttered. "You've...gained something new recently. A boyfriend? Interesting. I bet he's handsome. And really good at playing the guitar."

You rolled your eyes.

"No, no, wait!" He shouted and leaned forward. "Oh, but so much indecision surrounding you. Because you like this guy, you really like him, but you're not sure. You need a sign to tell you if he's the one."

"Is he?" you asked blithely.

He hummed and then threw his arms out and opened his eyes, suddenly out of breath.

"The future is unclear," he shook his head, stepped forward and took your hands in his. "But I was able to see one thing for certain."

"What do you see in my future, oh Edward the Clairvoyant?"

"A...kiss?" He offered hesitantly, and then nodded. "Wait, no, not just one. Many kisses. And some cuddling, if you wanna...come over to my place and hang out after work?"

You couldn't help the smile that bloomed on your face, and that boyish grin you loved to see on him deepened as he pulled you closer, right into his embrace.

"What a way to ask someone for another date!" You giggled.

"Hey, I didn't ask," he said, completely seriously. "I prophesied."

"Sure you did."

"Now I'm asking if you wanna come over and hang out after work. I can order pizza and maybe we...make out a little?"

"Sounds great!" You agreed.

He rocked you back and forth until you leaned into him. Your nose brushed against his and you felt your cheeks get hot.

"So, do you believe in my fortune-telling skills now?" he muttered.

What an idiot...

"Mmm, yeah," you nodded. "I do."

StarCourt Mall had brought a lot of commercialized business to Hawkins, and even though the shiny novelty of the mall had worn off a bit, stores and restaurants were popping up left and right.

The Wendy's at 11 StarCourt Mall Drive, directly on the opposite side of the circular road, was one of them.

"I still want McDonalds," Dave grumbled from the back seat.

"There's a Play Place at McDonalds," Gareth added.

"Nah, that's no fun," Eddie shut their protests down. "I got banned from the ball pit, remember? Lets try this. They have square patties. Square."

"So does White Castle," Jeff pointed out.

"Eh, not the same. That's a slider."

"Oh Mr. Burger Scholar."

"It's Dr. Burger Scholar," Eddie joked as he turned the van into the parking lot. "Get it right."

The inside of the dining room was very brown. Almost depressing, if it wasn't for the hanging potted plants that cascaded with green vines and leaves, or the over-flowing salad bar that had fruits and veggies that shone thanks to their cold, misted surfaces.

Not to mention the peppy, blue striped uniform of the employees behind the counter.

Actually, depressing was a word that you could use for one of the employees in particular.

"Keith?!" Jeff's jaw dropped as he saw the slack-jawed expression on the cashier's face. "I thought you worked at the arcade."

"I thought you worked at Family Video," Gareth snorted.

"I do," Keith blinked at them. "And I work here too. Listen, my dad likes to call it enterprising..."

Eddie let out a cough with a barely-disguised "nepotism" in the hacking.

"...yeah maybe it would be if he actually paid me well. What can I get you Freaks?"

They placed their order, a veritable smorgasbord. Cheeseburgers and chicken nuggets. Baked potatoes and a trip to the salad bar to create a heaping bowl of greens.

"Wayne's always telling us to eat our vegetables," Eddie joked as he popped a cherry tomato into his mouth.

There were biggie-sized french fries with so much salt they would have to refill their drinks at least three times--worth it--and the piece de resistance: the Frosty.

"You've gotta dip your fries into the Frosties," Dave narrated and shoved the salty-chocolate concoction into his mouth. His eyes rolled back and he groaned. "Yeah, that's the stuff. If only they had hot fudge."

"No, that's gross," Eddie muttered, nose wrinkled. Ketchup dripped down the side of his mouth and he thumbed it clean. "You can't just put fries in a shake."

"You've gotta put it in the chili," Jeff insisted, showing off his move. "Chili cheese fries, duh."

"No you can't do that either."

"Stop being such a picky eater, Eddie," Gareth joked and threw a fry at his head. "Actually, when did you become a picky eater. I have seen you eat floor pizza before."

Jeff gagged slightly, recalling the memory.

"I don't know," Eddie shrugged. "I also don't like it when my mashed potatoes and peas touch in the Hungry Man dinners either. It's not picky, it's particular. Fries are perfect as they are. You barely need ketchup."

"Are you Dr. French Fry now too?" Gareth joked.

"Yeah, double PHD. Obviously," Eddie said, completely seriously.

The rest of their night was filled with chewing and wrappers crinkling, quiet conversation, and even a bit of bickering as they decided to write lyrics to a song For Wendy on one of the napkins.

"The night was that good, you blew me away. Your red braids swinging..." Jeff paused...pen pressed to his lips. "Ok I've got nothing."

"I think you could use the whole blowing bit for something else, if you know what I'm saying," Dave said with a smarmy little laugh.

"I'm not writing something about fucking the burgers, ok dude?" Jeff scoffed. "This is a ballad. Romance. This verse is just really hard."

"Maybe we shouldn't be writing songs about fast food mascots at midnight," Gareth argued. "Don't they close soon?"

"You're right," Eddie agreed. "Obviously it needs to be during the day."

It was an unexpected moment that they would all remember in some way, shape or form. Laughter bright amongst the quiet solitude of drab brown.

And it was almost ruined as Keith shouted at them.

"What the fuck guys?" Eddie scoffed. "It it not. It's a paid gig, $500 split between the four of us. Do you know how far that could take us? We just need to drive up to Chicago, hit up this recording studio, ba-da-bing, ba-da-boom. Hollywood here we come."

"This feels like a ploy for some creep to take our clothes off and have us touch our junk on camera," Dave pointed out. "Like those modeling agency people my mom heard about on the news. I'm calling Stranger Danger while the getting is good."

The other two boys all chimed in their agreement.

"Listen," Eddie shouted over them all. "It's a real gig. Shit, you've gotta believe me. I sent in one of those tapes we recorded, they want us. They want our sound."

"It's a jingle! For a commercial."

"It's $500!!!"

"A jingle for the Washington Prunes."

Eddie was silent as he let the statement roll around in his head.

It sounded…ridiculous when Jeff said it. Obviously it was a ripoff of the California Raisins. Did prunes even grow in Washington?

“A lot of stone fruits are cultivated in Washington,” Dave chimed in, as though reading Eddie’s mind. But he was obviously just trying to be helpful by playing Devil’s advocate.

How had Eddie said it to them? In his own head it sounded perfect. “I’ve got us a gig that’s gonna pay us a lot of money and get experience under our belts.” Right? Didn’t that sound better?

“Why prunes!?” Gareth questioned. “Aren’t they for old people?”

“They make you poop,” Jeff agreed.

“I dunno,” Eddie defended. “I think they want to market them outside of old people and people suffering from constipation. It made sense when I was talking to a guy on the phone. Heavy metal prunes, keeping the cool kids…regular.”

He felt his stomach drop.

Maybe this was the dumbest idea he’d ever had?

He fell onto the sofa and rested his head in his hands.

“I just…I’m inpatient,” he started. “I want to be there already.”

“Be where?”

“Anywhere. LA, Chicago, New York. Hell, maybe we’ll be the coolest metal band in Denmark. Anywhere but Hawkins, Indiana where they treat us worse than the dirt under their shoes. Away from anywhere the name Munson means anything.”

His throat felt tight as he finally said it out loud to someone other than his reflection.

“I just…we work so hard and it feels like it’s for nothing sometimes. I know every band goes through their shitty gig phase and their never-gonna-make it phase. But when is that gonna be over for us?”

“I don’t think the California Prunes were gonna get us to the next phase, Eddie.” Gareth said sagely.

“Washington Prunes.” Dave muttered.

“Whatever,” Jeff scoffed. “We could be the Georgia Peaches, it still wouldn’t be right.”

He took a step forward and kicked Eddie’s foot lightly.

“You know what? We could do a thousand jingles and…I dunno, try our hand at being a barber shop quartet—“

“Now that’s dumb.”

"--but that's not who we are. And you might be Eddie Munson and that might suck sometimes but you know who else you are? You’re the lead guitarist for Corroded Coffin. We are Corroded Coffin, and we're gonna make it out of here someday. Right guys?"

Jeff looked at the others expectantly and received a lackluster response in return. "Right, you guys?" He repeated, an edge to his voice.

He elbowed Dave, who yelped a sharp "right" and then glared at Gareth until he agreed.

Then he looked at Eddie and held out his hand.

"What do you say, Eddie the Ambitious? You ready to give up? Or are we gonna keep fucking trying?"

Eddie glanced up at him, letting the thought stew for a minute. And he knew what he had to do, of course he did, but sometimes...sometimes it was hard to keep rising to the challenge.

But, then again, it wasn't just about him. It was about them. Corroded Coffin. Greater than the sum of its parts.

He slapped his hand into Jeff's and stood up triumphantly, pulling his friend into a hug.

"Right." He grinned as he pulled away and clapped a hand on Jeff's shoulder. "Thanks Jeffy. Always know the right things to say."

"Wouldn't be your best friend if I didn't," Jeff laughed. "Wanna go get a burger? Your treat?"

Eddie shook his head but gestured towards the door.

He paused before following them though.

The TV is playing some old rerun of a show Alan Munson does not give a single fuck about, but it's been keeping him company during his meal. He's got a tray pulled up next to the bed he's sitting on the edge of. He's halfway through the microwaved dinner when there are three sharp wraps on the door. 

He barely has time to set his fork down when Eddie's voice huffs, "it's me."

So Alan stands and answers. Eddie doesn't wait to step in. He looks much different than the last time Alan really saw him— when Wayne stopped bringing him up for visits. He would've been about 14 then— he's older, lines visible in places where there used to be none. But that's not what stands out to him. It's the way he carries himself these days that does him in. He stands taller, prouder, more of a man than Alan ever was. "Edward—"

"Don't." Eddie frowns, immediately shutting the door behind him.

Alan frowns and sits back down on the edge of the bed. "I didn't think—" 

Eddie cuts him off again. " I know, that's kind of your thing. Isn't it?" 

Alan sighs, trying to find some sort of footing in this conversation and coming up with none. "I went by your house because I wanted to see my family."

Eddie lets out a laugh, this time much more humorless. "My family." he repeats, shaking his head. "You don't have one here." 

Alan's expression hardens as he looks at his son. "I'm your father." 

Eddie nods, pausing for a moment. He takes a deep breath, his hands finding a spot on his hips and lets out the words he's been keeping locked away in his heart for a while. "Not anymore."

Alan frowns, straightening his back, on the defensive now. "People change, Eddie. I thought maybe—"

"You thought you could just show up and what?" Eddie interrupts him once more, his voice much sharper now. "That you’d walk into my house, look at my kids, talk to my wife? Like you didn't spend my entire childhood making me wish I had literally anyone else as a father." 

The TV plays a laugh track at that moment, which sounds completely insane in the middle of this moment. Alan waves him off. "I didn't do anything to them." 

"That's not the fucking point." Eddie's voice cracks through the room, a bit louder now. He drags a hand down his face and sighs, pacing slightly in the little walkway in front of the door. He pushes his hair out of his face, trying to keep himself from falling apart. "They're so good." He goes on, eyes angry, "They're smart, they're funny, they're—" He shakes his head and lets out another laugh, his shoulders falling, "—they're everything I didn't get to be when I was living in a house with you."

Alan goes quiet as Eddie takes another breath. He steadies himself and tips his head down, pinching the bridge of his nose before looking back up at his father. "You don't get to walk in now, however many fucking years later when they're already grown enough to be interesting." 

Alan raises an eyebrow, his jaw tightening, "I was hard on you, yeah. But I—"

Eddie cuts him off again, "You were cruel." He frowns. "You were mean for the sake of it and I was a fucking kid. I've got kids now. I can't imagine for a second treating them like you treated me."

Alan looks at him, trying to find a version of Eddie that he knows. One that he can get to, talk down to, but he's not there anymore. The man standing in front of him, is a man of a different Munson's creation. He watches as Eddie reaches into his back pocket and pulls out his wallet. Alan mutters, confused, "what are you doing?" 

Eddie pulls out a stack of cash, folds it, and steps forward just enough to drop it onto the TV tray, right beside his dinner. "For the room." He shrugs. "Gas. Food. Whatever." 

"I don't want your money." Alan glances down at the stack and then back to his son. 

Eddie shrugs again, "I don't care." He sighs, "You stay here. You finish whatever the fuck this is. Then you leave."

Alan snaps up to look at him at that, "And what? That's it? I'm just supposed to disappear?"

"Yeah." Eddie meets his eyes and nods, "You don't come back to my house. You don't talk to my wife. You don't go near my kids. You don't send cards, you don't call, you don't get curious again in five years and try round two. You leave them out of whatever guilt finally caught up with you." 

"Edward—"

"I have a father and it's not you. You are nothing to me." Eddie frowns. Those words just sit there between them for a moment. And for a second, it looks like Alan may try to push back. But he doesn't. He just looks downs at the money again, his shoulders rolling as he reaches out, lifting it from the tray. Eddie just nods and makes his way back to the door. He pauses, his hand on the handle. "Don't make me come back here." He says without looking over his shoulder. 

Then he opens the door and just walks out. The hallway is cooler and much quieter. The door shuts with a soft click that suddenly feels like the end of a chapter of his life he'd been very much stuck on. Eddie stands there for just a second. Then he drags a hand over his face, exhales hard through his nose, and heads for the elevator, knowing he has a beautiful wife and two amazing daughters waiting for him at home.

He uses the menthol shaving cream so you know he’s got it that cool, minty kind of smell.

The yo-yo is maybe the least surprising thing ever. It’s gotta be a borderline stim toy.

The PEPPER SHAKER 🤣 I know it pisses Wayne the hell off when he’s in the kitchen and can’t find the damn thing.

This spray is tuner cleaner for color tvs

I can’t find an exact match, but I think the other box is a foldable ice bag. Convenient for nursing injuries sustained by egging on jocks

Eddie could have sourced from one of the following,

Dungeons & Dragons Sourcebook Dragons of Deceit; September 1985

Dragonlance Calendar 1985, featured in the month of August

They blinked again, in unison, before the lightbulbs went off. At least, they went off in Dave and Jeff's heads, as they chattered and quickly put their things away. Gareth, on the other hand, stood there with a very prominent pout, his arms crossed over his chest.

"But...we can't," he scoffed, causing the others movements to come to a stop.

Eddie folded his arms over his chest, mirroring Gareth. "And why not?"

And to be fair, he expected something along the lines of curfew or early plans with his family. He should have known better. Should have known that the younger boy was still new to their brand of debauchery and mischief.

“Uhhh, because of Mrs. Reagan. Obviously. Just say no?”

Eddie snorted and rolled his eyes.

"Is that some old lady you help cross the street?"

"It's the First Lady, Ed," Jeff offered sincerely. "You know, married to the president."

"I know who she is Jeffrey." Eddie shot him a scathing look, then turned back to Gareth. "What does she have to do with beer and weed?"

"Have you seriously never seen the posters around the school? Just say no? As in, just say no to drugs?"

"I've clearly ignored them. Since when have I ever read a poster taped to the walls around here? They're always for the chess club meetings or the Spring Musical. Once again I ask, during the very stimulating questions-and-answers segment of our evening: what does that have to do with beer and weed?"

"Weed's a drug."

"It's just weed!" Eddie threw his hands up in the air. "I smoke it, Wayne smokes it! Shit, everybody does it."

"That's what they said you'd say!" Dave interjected, not helping the matter in the least bit. Gareth held his hands out towards Dave, as if to emphasize his point, and Eddie growled.

"Who is they?"

"Nancy Reagan!"

"Fuck Nancy Reagan!" Eddie shouted in exasperation. "I can't believe what I'm hearing right now, Gare. Remember when I asked you if you wanted to join Corroded Coffin? After Ronnie went off to college? If I'm not mistaken, you howled the words "sex, drugs, and rock and roll" into the air and then started head banging. What happened to the drugs part?"

"I thought I could ignore it," Gareth reasoned, sheepishly. "Like...the sex part would be cool...and the rock and roll...but I don't know about the drugs. My mom says it ruins your life."

"Or makes it better?" Eddie offered. "Come on! What do moms know? It'll be fine. I've smoked with Jeff before. It was great. Makes you feel good, floaty. Tell him, Jeff."

"Makes you hungry," Jeff recalled.

"Yeah, you thought you could eat a million oreos," the older metalhead laughed, then sobered up. "And then you threw up in the van. Lets not have a repeat performance of that tonight, kay?"

Jeff crossed his heart and held his hands up innocently.

"But we can have oreos?"

"Sure. I don't care." Eddie turned back to Jeff. "See? Got a night of getting high with beer and oreos and no puking. Couldn't be better! Sounds like a dream. Right guys?"

Jeff and Dave answered in unison.

"So what'll it be?" Eddie urged and stared at Gareth with big, hypnotic, abyss-like eyes. "Don't say no. Just say yes."

Gareth swallowed, looked around at his friends, and then down at his backpack that rested by his feet. More specifically, he was looking at the just say no club pin that was displayed proudly next to a bunch of bands and slogans.

"I'm sorry Mrs. Reagan," he whispered, as he reached down and carefully pulled the it free. He discarded it haphazardly onto the floor, hiked his bag over his shoulder, and then looked at his friends expectantly.