Chapter Text
Dad was gone again before dinner, radio crackling about “expanding the search grid.” I left a plate of meatloaf in the microwave with a note that said I was at Nancy’s studying. A tiny white lie. He’d lose his mind if he knew I was going to King Steve’s empty mansion.
Barb’s mom’s volkswagen smelled like stale cigarettes and the strawberry air freshener that never quite won the fight. Barb picked me up first, then Nancy, who slid into the front seat already fidgeting with her hair.
Three blocks from Steve’s house, Nancy suddenly grabbed the dash. “Pull over here.”
Barb braked harder than necessary. “Seriously?”
“I don’t want the neighbors seeing the car,” Nancy muttered, already digging in her bag for the outfit she’d hidden.
I sat in the back, knees pulled to my chest, watching them argue through the rear-view mirror.
“He just wants to get in your pants, Nancy,” Barb said, voice flat.
Nancy rolled her eyes. “You don’t know that.”
Barb looked at me like I was supposed to back her up. I opened my mouth, closed it again. Because Barb wasn’t wrong. Steve wasn’t evil or anything—he’d once helped me carry groceries when my bike chain snapped—but he wasn’t who I pictured when I thought about the kind of guy Nancy deserved. And lately she laughed louder, wore tighter sweaters, stayed out later. I couldn’t tell if Steve was changing her or if she was just… leaving the old version of herself behind and taking me with her.
Nancy wriggled into a different top right there in the front seat. I glanced down at my own corduroy skirt and the cat sweater Mom knitted me three Christmases ago. I looked like a librarian who got lost on the way to a slumber party.
We walked the last three blocks listening to the bass thump grow louder. When Steve opened the door, his smile went straight to Nancy like the rest of us were furniture.
Steve’s house was ridiculous, huge, all glass and perfect furniture that looked like nobody ever sat on it.
The “small get-together” was exactly five people and a lot of beer. Tommy and Carol were already loud and wet from the second we stepped onto the patio. Steve kept trying tricks—flipping bottle caps into cups, telling stories everyone had heard a hundred times—eyes flicking to Nancy every time to see if she was impressed.
I tried to make it fun. “Look, if we clink these together hard enough maybe they’ll turn into root beer.”
Barb laughed once, then stared at the dark trees past the fence. “Something feels wrong tonight, Mags.”
I was about to answer when Nancy came stumbling back out, giggling, Steve’s arm slung around her shoulders.
Then came the shotgun thing. Nancy actually did it, coughing and laughing while beer foam ran down her chin. Steve whooped like she’d won the Olympics. When they turned to Barb, I saw her whole face shut down.
Barb fumbled the tab, sliced her thumb. Blood welled bright and sudden.
“I’ve got it,” I said quickly, steering her inside before anyone could make fun of her.
Steve’s bathroom was too clean, like a hotel. I wet paper towels while Barb leaned against the counter, pale.
“You okay?” I asked.
She stared at the cut. “I just want to go home.”
She looked so small in the mirror. So scared.
I stepped out for barely thirty seconds—curiosity pulling me toward Steve’s room. Steve Harrington’s bedroom was basically a museum exhibit of rich-boy mystery. Trophies, Farrah Fawcett hairspray, a stack of Playboys he definitely thought were hidden. I drifted to the window.
Down by the pool everyone was splashing, laughing. Then something moved in the bushes beyond the fence.
“Maggie?” Barb called, voice thin.
When I turned back she was already heading for the door.
By the time I got downstairs, Nancy was following Steve up to his room. Barb stood at the bottom of the stairs calling after her, soft and hurt.
“Nance, come on. Let’s just go.”
Nancy looked down at us, cheeks flushed, hair messy. “You guys can go, if you want. I’ll get a ride later.”
I felt it like a slap. Barb’s eyes filled, but she blinked it away fast.
We ended up on the edge of the pool, shoes off, legs dangling in the cold water. Barb talked about fourth grade, about the fort we built in my backyard, about how everything used to feel safe. I nodded along.
Her cut had started bleeding again. A single drop slid off her finger and bloomed scarlet in the underwater lights.
“I’ll get napkins,” I said, hopping up.
When I got into the kitchen, it happened again.
The air around me went cold—colder than outside, colder than the water.
The kitchen lights above my head flickered once, twice, then dimmed.
I blinked and I was back at the pool’s edge.
Except I wasn’t alone.
Something wrapped around my ankles. Strong. Icy. Wrong.
I was yanked down—water swallowing me whole—but when I opened my eyes, I wasn’t in the pool anymore.
I was somewhere else.
Somewhere I recognized from the other night.
Dark. Silent. Endless. A place where the sky didn’t exist and the air tasted like metal.
I screamed for help.
I screamed for Nancy.
Nothing answered.
I blinked again—and reality slammed back in.
I staggered, gripping the counter, heart clawing its way up my throat. I snatched the paper towels and ran outside.
When I came back out Barb was gone. Glasses folded neatly on the tile. One sneaker on its side like she’d just stepped out of it.
“Barb?”
Nothing.
I checked the pool—clear water, nobody on the bottom. I ran the perimeter yelling her name until my throat tasted like copper.
The pool lights flickered. The yard stretched farther than it should have, black trees leaning in like they were listening.
I bolted inside. “Nancy! Steve! Barb’s gone!”
No answer. Music still pounded. I took the stairs two at a time and shoved open Steve’s bedroom door without knocking.
Steve was shirtless, on top of Nancy, her sweater off. They both froze.
I didn’t even feel embarrassed—just cold, sharp terror.
“Barb’s gone,” I said again, voice cracking like thin ice.
They thought I was drunk or joking until they saw my face. Then we all ran back out, calling her name until our throats were raw.
Nothing.
Just the wind, and somewhere far away, a dog barking like it had seen a ghost.
We searched the house, the yard, the street. Her car still sat three blocks away, doors locked.
Steve drove us home in the BMW, heat blasting, nobody speaking. Nancy stared out the window with wet eyes. I sat in the back again, knees to my chest, watching streetlights slide over the glass like police flashers.
When he pulled up to my house I didn’t say thank you. I just got out and walked inside without looking back.
Dad’s cruiser wasn’t in the driveway.
I locked the door behind me, every light in the house blazing, and sat on the stairs with the phone in my lap. I called Barb’s house. No answer. I called Nancy. Her mom said she was already asleep.
Two people missing now.