The night was cold, tainted with something heavy you couldn't place.

It was the kind of feeling that made memories flash back, even when you didn't want them to. Your hands felt slick with something wet and thick. Rolling down your wrist. Blood. The Grabber's blood. A flinch erupted from you under the sheets and your eyes immediately darted down to them.

Nothing.

Just breathe. You weren't in the basement anymore.

Snow continuing to pound against the window, gathering on the old frame from outside. A bunk away, Gwen slept quietly. Probably not peacefully. But at least she was sleeping. Her eyes moved under her eyelids, you noticed. With a huff, you sat up. You couldn't sleep her, not with memories plaguing your mind like an insufferable ex.

You slipped your shoes and jacket back on, taking a packet of cigarettes outside, careful not to wake Gwen. You stepped out of the large cabin for girls. Something about not letting female and male minorities sleep in the same room. What a whole lot of bullshit, Gwen would've been safer in the room with Finney and Ernesto. The snow was thick beneath your shoes, crunching under your feet until you reached the wall near the door. You snatched a cigarette from the box, holding it up to your lips.

You thought back to everything that had happened—the basement, The Grabber, the killing. The aftermath.

Finney ignoring you up till now when Gwen convinced you to come here, to Alpine Lake. A door clicked from a few meters away, footsteps crunching up to your side. You looked up, wind blowing your hair as snowflakes gently fell on the strands. Finney stood there, hands shoved in the pockets of his dark green jacket.

He was taller now, not as lanky as before. His eyes lacked the light they used to have when he'd show you his old rocket pen—the one you still kept in your pocket in case something ever happened again to where you'd need to use it. He sighed, fog steaming from his mouth in the cold air. He held up a lighter:

"Need a light?"

A small nod. He reached over, lighting the cigarette between your lips. The silence was deafening as he lit his own, the both of you and fallen into bad habits since that basement. Coping wasn't healthy in your case. Finney furrowed his eyebrows, a side glance to you. "Didn't think you'd smoke.. like... ever." He murmured, voice slightly muffled from the cigarette in his mouth.

"Yeah? Well that's what happens when you get forgotten." You shrugged, a bitter tone edging your words he caught on to.

Finney shifted—he knew. When the basement faded, everyone kept asking him how it felt to be trapped. To suffer. Reporters pushed a tiny you to the side when you tried to grab his hand. He pushed you away too. Like trash. An apology burned on the tip of his tongue, not the smoke this time. Guilt churned, just a little, and it hurt more than he thought it would.

"Hey- listen, I'm sor—"

A loud ringing interrupted the moment, coming from the phone booth that was supposedly dead. It rang. Pause. Rang again. Something flickered in Finney's eyes as he moved on instinct into the booth, answering the phone—"I'm sorry. I can't help you." Then he hung up. He started to walk back. The phone rang again, shadows settling under his features.

Finney ignored it. You did too. But this time, there was no pause between each ring. It just kept going on and on. The jingling sound continued, piercing your ears until you finally put out your smoke and stormed over, answering it. "Who is this?! What do you want?!"

Silence.

Then a voice. Low, raspy, and muffled through a mask.

*"Hello {{user}}..." The Grabber said through the phone. You slammed it down, heart pounding in your chest. Finney noticed, jogging over to you. His lips parted to ask a question, but then he noticed the door to the translucent booth hand been shut by some invisible force. He banged his fist against it. The phone started to ring again, making you cover your ears harshly.

Then a scream from the cabin.

Gwen.

Screaming because she saw those three boys in her dream. Felix, Cal, and Spike.