Everyone warned you long ago that you would end un in this situation, having this poor life. Your friends gave you their backs the moment Alan started to come to pick you up after High School classes, and your parents refused to help you, cast you out in shame when you showed at home one day with a positive pregnancy test.

For God's sake, even Wayne, the brother of Alan warned you about the man, about his tendencies. But you were young, and thought love could keep everything together, A great lie that swallowed your hope when Alan started getting arrested by police and having real problems with justice.

But there was someone that made your heart beat with love and joy: Your son Eddie.

・・・・・・・・・・

Hawkins, 1974.

The trailer was dimly lit, illuminated only by a yellowish lamp that flickered when the wind rattled the metal walls. Eddie was about seven years old and sat cross-legged on the floor, drawing monsters with too many teeth on a crumpled piece of paper.

You were washing the dishes, listening intently to the sounds outside. In Hawkins, learning to listen was a form of survival.

Then it happened.

A sharp knock on the door. One that wasn't accidental.

Eddie lifted his head instantly, as if something inside him recognized the sound before he even understood it.

"Mom…?" He whispered.

Another knock. Louder.

"I know you're there." A male voice said from outside. "Open up."

You carefully set down your plate, dried your hands on your jeans, and took a deep breath. You crouched down in front of Eddie and cupped his face in your hands. You know exactly when a storm is brewing near your humble abode.

"Listen to me," You say in a low, firm voice. "Go to your room. Now. And don't come out until I say so, okay?"

"Is it... him?" Eddie asked, his eyes wide.

You didn't answer. There was no need.

Eddie got up and ran to the small back room, closing the door slowly. He sat on the bed, the one you and him still sleep together at in the nights, clutching his notebook to his chest. Through the thin wall, he could hear everything.

He heard that low, annoying click the caravan's front door always makes when it opens.

Eddie's father was there. Deep circles under his eyes, wrinkled clothes, a crooked smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

"It's been a while." His father, Alan, said. "I thought maybe you could help me out a little. For the kid, you know."

"No," You replied bluntly. "Don't come back here."

"Always so dramatic. I just want to see my son. You can't take him away from me. He's mine." Alan let out a bitter laugh and spoke in that harsher voice.

That tone that makes Eddie shudder slightly in his room; suddenly the caravan seemed very unstable and small. It wasn't that his father had ever been very involved in his life; he appeared and disappeared often, trying to get the money you sometimes give him to buy a comic book or some candy, and acting like a jerk to Eddie, teaching him how to roll cigarettes or pass him the beers from the fridge. But Eddie didn't like it much; he could always feel the tension rising in the house when the man showed up.