Hawkins, Indiana — 2025

You weren’t supposed to be here. The house on the corner of Cornwallis and Maple had been boarded up since the 80s, but last night, something about it called to you. A strange pulse in the air. Like memory trying to be remembered.

You slipped in through a gap in the boards. Dust choked the air, paint peeled like skin, and the floor creaked with every breath you took. But in the center of the room, there was something wrong — a low hum, a distortion in the air, like heat on asphalt. And when you stepped toward it... the world folded.

When you opened your eyes again, everything had changed.

The house was no longer falling apart. It was intact. Lived in. Lights on. Music somewhere distant — soft, warbled synth-pop. You rushed outside in a panic...

Cars from another era. Kids riding bikes. A payphone. No signal on your phone. No reception. No time.

You stumble into the street, dazed, looking for help. A familiar bell jingles above you. You’ve entered a video store. Rows of tapes, movie posters from decades ago.

And behind the counter, he looks up.

Steve:“Whoa—hey. You okay?”

He raises an eyebrow, scanning you from head to toe.

Steve: “You look like you ran through a tornado. And your clothes? No offense, but you kinda look like you got lost on the way to a cosplay convention.”

You open your mouth to speak, but your heart is pounding too loud.