WHEN AMARA AWOKE THE FOLLOWING MORNING it was from the sunlight peeking through her blinds instead of the ringing of her alarm clock, whose digits currently read 9:30 am, three hours past the time she set it for on weekdays. Golden sunspots danced along the cream walls of her room, warming the atmosphere as she pushed herself into a standing position. Opening the shades, she found that the sky was cloudless and a lovely hue of periwinkle, a complete juxtaposition to the overall mood of Hawkins that day.

        Attending the funeral of a boy she'd never met was odd, even more so considering the body being buried was likely artificial. Nevertheless, as Jonathan's new friend and the sister of Joyce Byers' co-worker, she needed to prove to the town, most of which believed Will Byers to be dead, that she at least cared about the people in her life. Donning a midnight dress she wore to Kevin's high school graduation, she twisted her dark hair into a sleek knot at the nape of her neck, tendrils softening the angles of her jaw.

        School was canceled that day, as nearly the entire town was observing the funeral whether they knew Will personally or not. As Amara stood among a sea of black, she caught sight of a few unfamiliar faces, such as a man standing next to Joyce Byers, supporting her as she leaned into his body for comfort.

        "That's my dad," someone spoke, and she turned to find Jonathan standing to her left. "He's here for the funeral."

        Amara noticed how out-of-place the two looked together. Joyce was nurturing and kind, whereas her ex-husband appeared to have no emotion written on his face, despite it being his own son's funeral.

        "It's bullshit, really," Jonathan continued. "He was never there, even when he still lived with us. And then he comes running back hoping we're depressed enough to forgive him. He'll probably fuck off back to his girlfriend or whoever's living with him after this is all over."

        Amara didn't know how to respond to that; her instinct when someone was upset was to offer advice rather than emotional support. But what advice could you give to someone whose father had never been there his entire life, who cared more about sex with strangers than the family he'd left behind? Words couldn't make up for the trauma Jonathan had experienced, so Amara chose instead to place her hand on his forearm. It was enough for him.

        When the funeral had ended and everyone had tossed their white and gold roses onto the wooden casket, Amara waited for the crowd to disperse before joining Nancy and Jonathan by a small fence surrounding several ancient graves. Jonathan had acquired a map of Hawkins and marked three spots with red X's to indicate the locations the creature had been sighted, at least the places they were certain of.

        "This is where we know for sure it's been, right?" Jonathan asked rhetorically as Amara sat down beside them, peering over his shoulder. Nancy reached out a finger to point at the northernmost marking, closest to the urban part of Hawkins. "So that's... "

        "Steve's house," Jonathan responded. He moved his finger to the bottom left X, "And that's the woods where they found Will's bike and... " he pointed to the last X at the bottom right of the other two, "that's my house."

        "It's all so close," Amara remarked.

        "Yeah. Exactly," Jonathan agreed, though his tone was one of purpose rather than shock. "I mean, it's all within a mile or something. Whatever this thing is, it's not traveling far."

        Amara looked at him and saw the blazing look in his eyes. In the week this thing had made its appearance known it had torn apart unknowing families and created a wave of deceit and lies. And to discover a distinct location where there was a chance of ending it for good – she could tell without asking that he wanted to find it.

        Nancy had caught on as well. "You want to go out there." It was a statement, not a question.

        "We might not find anything," Jonathan admitted more to himself than them, as if trying to talk himself out of embarking on something dangerous without thinking through what could go wrong. But with the image of Will in his subconscious, alone and scared with nobody left to look for him anymore, damn the consequences.

        "We found something," Amara reminded him. "I saw it twice in two days and I know the lights flicker when it's nearby, so if we stay within the places we know it's been we'll probably find it. But if we do... "

AMARA RETURNED HOME LATER THAT DAY after the three of them had come up with a rough idea that barely qualified as a plan. She changed out of her funeral outfit into clothes that could withstand the inevitable temperature drop in the evening: hiking boots, navy jeans, a burgundy sweater hidden beneath her black fall coat, and fingerless gloves. She stored her flashlight and a pocket knife she'd found in one of her family's toolboxes in a small traveling bag, as well as water and a first aid kit for good measure.

        She found Eurydice in the kitchen, who was in the process of replacing the lights. Old bulbs littered the countertop as she stood on the second-highest step of a ladder, one hand bracing the ceiling to support herself as she screwed in a new light with her other hand. It glowed as soon as it made contact with the wire.

        "You might wanna turn the lights off," Amara commented from the foot of the ladder. Eurydice, who had been aware of her presence for a few minutes now, smiled and lowered herself to Amara's level.

        "I know," she sighed, tossing an empty box into the trash: it landed atop several others. "I've had them off all day until now, but the sun's setting. I'd rather burn my hands than break my leg."

        "Fair point."

        "So, how was the funeral?" Eurydice asked, perching on the bottom step of the ladder. Her face fell as she pictured how Will's family must be feeling right now, something akin to the grief that came from losing her father and Amara's grandfather to leukemia six years ago. There was a definition for a child who had lost their parents, but none to describe a parent whose child had died before their time because everyone wanted to believe that their offspring would outlive them. Any world where a parent had to live through both the birth and death of their babe was a cruel one. But death doesn't discriminate between the sinners and the saints – it just takes.

        "Pretty depressing," Amara said bluntly, choosing not to mention how increasingly likely it was that Will was alive, even if nobody knew where he was. Or that she was on her way to hunt down a faceless creature in the woods at night. "I mean, someone died. In Hawkins."

        "Did you talk to anyone there?"

        "I gave Jonathan my condolences." It was not entirely a lie, as she had been there for him when he told her about his estranged father. "He didn't seem to recognize me, but he thanked me for my concern." That was a lie.

        "That's wonderful!" Eurydice beamed, clasping one of Amara's hands in her own. "Did you introduce yourself?"

        "It was his brother's funeral, Mom. I'm not that selfish." Amara responded, pulling her hand back gently. She understood that her mother meant well, that she wanted her to make new connections – which she had, out of the most horrific circumstances. But after being labeled an outcast her entire life, she couldn't let herself be deemed delusional by one of the only people she loved. She turned on her heel and made her way to the door.

        "Where are you going?" Eurydice queried, standing up.

        "I haven't seen Robin in a while," Amara replied, holding eye contact while simultaneously concealing the fact that her heart was racing with trepidation. "This week's been hard on both of us, so I'm planning to stay the night with her – if it's okay with you, though."

        "Oh, of course," Eurydice answered, and Amara barely held in her sigh of relief. "Do you need me to drive you there?"

        "Mom, I bike there all the time!"

        "Just asking. Say hi to her for me, please."

        "Totally. Love you, Mom," Amara smiled before shutting the door, establishing a distance between her and Eurydice. She entered the garage to collect her bike, haphazardly rummaging through her bag to ensure she didn't leave anything behind.

        Her eyes landed on the pocket knife she had chosen as her weapon. She thought back to the two times she had encountered the man without a face, and what had happened to those unlucky enough to face its wrath. Fortunate though she had been to escape it, Amara still risked ending up in the same position as Will and Barb – missing or dead to the world. She needed a better weapon.

        She quickly scanned the tools strewn about the garage, acknowledging that she was running out of ample time. She weighed a pickaxe and a hammer in both of her hands, choosing not to take either after deciding that the pickaxe was too heavy and the hammer was barely larger than her pocket knife. After another minute of deliberation, she settled on a crowbar that was the length of her arm and weighed the right amount for her to effectively use it as a weapon.

        Amara easily located Jonathan's house. She passed Steve Harrington's house every time she rode to and from Robin's, and she only needed to turn off of Cornwallis onto an unmarked road to find Jonathan. He had set up a makeshift shooting range several yards away from his house, attempting to hit empty cans propped up on tree trunks with the gun he'd stolen from his father's car. She didn't know how long he'd been practicing, but he had not succeeded in knocking any of them down.

        "You're supposed to hit the cans, right?" Nancy called as she joined them. She too had brought along a weapon for self-defense: a baseball bat. Amara wasn't sure how useful it would be, but none of them knew how to kill whatever it was that was haunting Hawkins, so anything was better than nothing.

        "No, actually, you see the spaces in between the cans?" Jonathan retorted. "I'm aiming for those."

        "Ah," Nancy responded, placing her bag and weapon on the grass alongside Amara's.

        "You two ever shot a gun before?" Jonathan asked them.

        "No, never," Amara shook her head. Eurydice was more afraid of her children accidentally getting ahold of a gun than she was of any intruder. While her vision of a nonviolent society was shared by most people, she didn't believe in the idea of nuclear deterrents, or more guns, to create that world. It made her different from most of America.

        "Have you met my parents?" Nancy scoffed.

        "Yeah, I haven't shot one since I was ten," Jonathan said as he opened the gun to load it with more ammo. "My dad took me hunting on my birthday. He made me kill a rabbit."

        "A rabbit?" Amara repeated out of shock.

        "Yeah. I guess he thought it would make me into more of a man or something," Jonathan explained. "I cried for a week."

        "Jesus," Nancy muttered.

        "What? I'm a fan of Thumper."

        "I meant your dad," Nancy laughed nervously, facing Jonathan.

        "Yeah," Jonathan looked at the ground as he thought of his father, who only showed up when he had something to gain. "I guess he and my mother loved each other at some point, but I wasn't around for that part."

        He cocked the gun again, but before he could shoot again, Nancy held out her hand wordlessly, willing him to let her try. She wanted to prove that she wasn't the prissy, uptight girl everyone thought she was, at least to herself.

        "Um, yeah," Jonathan handed her the gun. "Just, uh, point and shoot."

        "I don't think my parents ever loved each other," Nancy declared, and Amara furrowed her eyebrows in confusion. Her parents always seemed so happy, but perhaps it was just a show for everyone other than themselves.

        "They must've married for some reason," Jonathan said.

        "My mom was young," Nancy explained, clasping the gun in both of her hands as she aimed it at the can in front of her. "My dad was older, but he had a cushy job, money, came from a good family. So they bought a nice house at the end of the cul-de-sac and started their nuclear family."

        "Screw that," Jonathan stated.

        "Yeah," Nancy agreed, closing one eye as she readied the gun. "Screw that."

        She pulled the trigger and hit the can, sending it flying. Shocked at her success, Nancy turned to face Jonathan and Amara, who wore equally impressed expressions. Jonathan seemed to fall harder as he admired her ability to hit the target on her first try, resolving that she was capable of anything she set her mind to, and Amara concluded that Nancy wasn't as transparent as she seemed. No one in all of Hawkins could picture Nancy Wheeler with a gun, so perhaps the town would never find out that one of its residents had autism.

        Reloading the gun one last time, they gathered their essentials and set off on their mission.

AMARA WASN'T EXACTLY SURE WHAT she was expecting to find.

        Despite knowing for certain that the creature resided within several distinct locations, nothing seemed to catch her eye. The only noises she heard were that of owls and other nocturnal animals as the sun dipped below the horizon, and the trees hid nothing sinister in their elongated shadows cast by the moon. Her flashlight remained unblinking as the trio wandered aimlessly in circles, Amara trailing ahead to avoid the tension festering between her companions. None of them had spoken since an argument had broken out between Nancy and Jonathan, resulting in Amara impulsively talking over their quarrel and reminding them of the mission at hand. She had almost regretted involving herself in what appeared to be a personal matter, but it had been enough to get them moving again.

        Nancy abruptly stopped in her tracks. The rustling of the leaves caused Amara to halt as well, arching an eyebrow at her peer in confusion. Jonathan soon became aware of the fact that the only footsteps he was hearing were his own, and he too came to a standstill.

        "What? Are you tired?" he snapped, more at Nancy than Amara. They were far too close to finding Will to go home now and he was so sure Nancy wouldn't turn her back on her best friend, but perhaps she wasn't as perfect as he envisioned her to be.

        "Shut up." Nancy immediately responded, her tone one more of anxiety than aggravation. Amara took note of the urgency displayed in her delicate features and realized that her fight with Jonathan was the last thing on her mind at the present moment. Something more powerful had broken through the tension, making the atmosphere more breathable but the situation conceivably dangerous.

        "What is it?" Amara whispered so that Jonathan barely heard her, not wanting to draw what could potentially be the creature without a face to their location.

        "I heard something," Nancy replied just as quietly.

        The trio remained stationary, and Amara raised her crowbar as she prepared once again to confront the source of Will and Barb's disappearances. The chance that she wouldn't escape unscathed this time crossed her mind. However, the noise that greeted them was not the heavy shifting of leaves nor an animalistic growl, but the cry of a wounded animal. A plea for help.

        They silently made their way through the woods to pinpoint the origin of the whimpering, which was steadily becoming more desperate. When Nancy stopped again she was hovering over a deer sprawled on the ground, blood staining its neck and the leaves underneath. It was dying.

        "Oh, God," Nancy muttered, collapsing to her knees as she reached forward, tentatively brushing her fingers over the fur below the wound. "It's been hit by a car."

        As the deer let out another noise of agony, Amara recalled the pain her grandfather had experienced moments before succumbing to leukemia. As the heart monitor declined, as the paramedics attempted and failed to save his life, his death was one of torture that had stretched on for hours until his heart ceased beating. Though her mother had been the most affected, she was the first to rise to her feet and acknowledge that her father was no longer suffering. Amara saw the same pain in the deer's eyes as it fought to live. She couldn't let another creature die this way.

        "We can't just leave it," she stated. Nancy nodded in agreement, lifting the gun in her hand as she prepared to perform a mercy kill. Jonathan held out his hand to stop her though, wishing to spare her from the guilt that came from killing an innocent animal, the same guilt his father had inflicted upon him.

        Nancy was shocked. "I thought you said – "

        "I'm not nine anymore," Jonathan insisted. Nancy gave in and the three of them stood up, moving away from the deer as Jonathan turned the safety off of the gun and aimed it at the pained animal. Amara closed her eyes and ducked her head, unable to watch.

        The next noise she heard was not the bang of a gun, but the presence of something else in the woods. Amara opened her eyes long enough to witness the deer yanked beyond the nearby shrubbery by something or someone she didn't get the chance to see clearly. It was so sudden that the three of them reflexively jumped back, partially out of shock, partially out of fear of the same thing happening to them.

        "What was that?" Nancy exclaimed, hoping that Jonathan or Amara could somehow explain what had happened, but they were just as confused. They wordlessly followed the trail of blood the deer had left behind in its wake, not traveling far before it too vanished without a trace.

        "Where'd it go?" Nancy whispered, not wanting to face whatever circumstances the deer was in right now. Amara could only suspect that it had become prey to something more painful than a bullet to the head, but what?

        "I don't know," Jonathan responded, equally apprehensive. "Do you see any more blood?"

        "No." Amara and Nancy answered simultaneously, frantically waving their flashlights for something, any sign that could point them in the right direction.

        Amara would always regret letting Nancy and Jonathan out of her field of view. It was the one mistake in every horror book or movie that led to someone's death. They drifted apart as they attempted to find more blood, or the deer, or what had taken it. The woods were silent to the point where Amara felt uneasy, her hands shaking as she tightly gripped her flashlight.

        The silence was ruptured by a sound that tore