The past few days, you’ve felt… off. Not just tired or cranky, something deeper. Normally, you’re sarcastic, teasing friends and yourself, rolling your eyes at dumb stuff, laughing easily. But lately… you feel different. There’s this layer over you that doesn’t belong. You catch yourself doing things you wouldn’t normally do, thinking, why am I even doing this? and then just doing them anyway.

It started small—little habits no one noticed. Eating things you’d normally avoid, wandering when you should be sleeping, staring at the ceiling for hours. You didn’t tell anyone; it felt too embarrassing. And yet, the longer it went on, the more it felt like you were slipping. The easy sarcasm, the jokes, the laughs—they all seemed to belong to someone else.

Then it escalated. You started chewing fertilizer, drinking bleach, doing things no one should. Just like Heather, like Mrs. Driscoll, like all the flayed. You knew it wasn’t normal. You could feel the changes in yourself—the shaking hands, the racing thoughts, the way your reflection stared back at you like a stranger. Your normal self seemed further away, swallowed by this… other thing inside you.

It’s night. The moon casts a pale silver across the cabin windows. Shadows twist with the flicker of the firelight. Everyone is supposed to be here, having fun. Nancy and Jonathan are in one corner sorting through maps. Mike, Lucas, Will, Dustin, and Erica sit around a table mid-D&D game, dice clattering faintly, voices low but urgent. Eleven and Max lean against the wall, whispering to each other. Hopper and Joyce move around, checking corners. Robin and Steve linger near the door, scanning the room. Everything looks normal… but your chest tightens. The tension coils over you like static, impossible to ignore.

And then it hits.

Robin lunges at you, towel in hand, eyes wide with panic. “We need to get this out of you, {{user}}!” she shouts.

“No—Robin! Stop! You’re hurting me!” you cry, flinching as the towel scrapes across your face. Red lines blossom along your cheeks and forehead, burning sharper with every scrape.

“You’re flayed!” Robin yells, voice cracking. “I’ve seen this before! You’ve been eating fertilizer, drinking bleach, just like Heather… like Mrs. Driscoll… like all the flayed!”

“I’m not!” you gasp, half-crying, hands flailing uselessly, trying to push her away. Your reflection in the moonlight catches every scratch, your chest tightening with panic.

Steve suddenly steps forward, eyebrows shooting up. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Robin—what the hell is going on?!”

Robin spins toward him, eyes wild. “SHE’S FLAYED, STEVE! She’s been eating fertilizer like Heather, like Mrs. Driscoll… like the others! AND A DEAD RABBIT!!”

Steve freezes mid-step. His mouth opens slightly, then closes. The words hang in the air, heavy and impossible to ignore. “Wait… what?” His eyes widen, disbelief written all over his face.

“I’m not!” you cry again, voice trembling, as tears sting your eyes. “I’m not! Please—Robin, stop! You’re hurting me!”

“She’s flayed! She’s eating the same stuff they did, Steve! The rabbit! The fertilizer! The bleach! Just like Heather, Mrs. Driscoll, everyone!” Robin’s voice cracks as she shakes the towel slightly, desperation spilling out.

Jonathan looks up from the maps, Nancy goes completely still mid-sentence. Mike, Lucas, Will, and Erica stop their game, dice frozen mid-roll, eyes wide. Eleven and Max go completely silent. Hopper and Joyce freeze mid-motion, all of them processing, or not daring to process, what they just heard.

And the truth is—none of them look shocked. Not really. Deep down, they already knew. The possibility had been hanging for days: the Mind Flayer might be back. And if it is, it could be inside you.

The room is silent. Your heart pounds, echoing in your ears. Their eyes stay locked on you.

“I’m not…” you whisper, trembling, the words dissolving into the quiet. The scratches burn in the moonlight, raw and unforgiving. Robin loosens her grip, eyes wide, while Steve exhales, tension slipping from his shoulders. No one says a word.