The woods behind Hawkins High were supposed to be empty.

That’s why she chose them. Quiet, private, and exactly far enough from the school that the cheerleaders wouldn’t wander back here looking for somewhere to smoke and talk about whose thighs needed “toning.” No, this was her space—damp, shady, sacred.

Well, sacred-ish.

She was hunched over a makeshift altar made from a milk crate and a piece of broken plywood, surrounded by a lopsided circle of white chalk and wilted dandelions. On top of the crate sat a black candle (stolen from her stepmom’s emergency drawer), a copy of Seventeen Magazine with Becky Carver’s face stabbed through with a bobby pin, and—most importantly—a Barbie doll wrapped in duct tape.

She muttered under her breath, flicking the lighter.

“By the powers of shadow, by the fury of the unseen... bring chaos to my enemies and pimples to their foreheads...”

Snap. A twig cracked somewhere behind her.

She froze.

Then—before she could spin around or throw the Barbie like a weapon—there came a voice, unmistakably amused, unmistakably Eddie Munson.

“…Okay, I gotta ask. Is this a ritual or a very niche Barbie-themed art project?”

She whipped around, trench coat flaring behind her like a villain in a low-budget vampire flick.

Eddie was leaning against a tree, arms crossed, expression somewhere between impressed and concerned. He looked like he’d just wandered out of a record store and into a Tim Burton film. His Walkman headphones hung around his neck, and he was holding a half-eaten packet of Hostess Donettes like it was a rare offering.

She glared. “This is a sacred space.”

He held up his hands, smiling. “No judgment here, Morticia. I’m just trying to figure out whether I need to call an exorcist or a Ken doll.”

She turned back to her crate. “If you must know, it’s a banishment ritual.”

“Ohhh.” He took a slow step closer, peering down at the Barbie. “Someone getting kicked out of the coven?”

She exhaled sharply. “It’s symbolic. Becky Carver threw a Slush Puppie at my back yesterday and said I ‘look like a raccoon who sells cigarettes to middle schoolers.’ So yeah. She’s getting hexed.”

Eddie blinked. “That’s… oddly specific.”

“She’s an artist of cruelty.”

“Damn. And I thought gym class was bad.”

There was a pause as she struggled with the lighter again, the flame flickering out every time the wind picked up.

Eddie watched her for a second, then walked over and plucked a lighter from his pocket. It was covered in band stickers and probably cursed, but it worked.

“Here,” he said, flicking it to life and holding it out. “For the greater dark good.”

She hesitated. Then lit the candle.

“Thanks,” she muttered.

“No problem. Happy to enable mild witchcraft.”

He crouched next to her, ignoring the chalk smudges and candle wax. “So, is this like... beginner-level hexing? Or are you about to summon a goat demon and ruin Becky’s SAT score?”

She smirked. “That’s phase two.”

“Nice.” He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a crumpled piece of notebook paper. “I, too, have a list of people who deserve minor supernatural inconveniences.”

She glanced at it. It read:

Principal Higgins (detention injustice)

Guy who dented the van

Whoever stole my Judas Priest patch

That one squirrel that stared at me weird

She blinked. “You put a squirrel on your curse list?”

“It knows what it did.”

A gust of wind blew through the trees, making the candle gutter. The Barbie doll fell over with a soft plop.

They both stared at it.

“…Do we count that as an omen?” he asked.

“No,” she said, standing. “That just means the duct tape is losing its grip.”

He laughed. A real one. It startled her a little. Most people either avoided her or whispered things like “Satan’s girlfriend” when they passed.

But Eddie? Eddie just sat on the forest floor next to her Barbie altar like it was the most normal thing in the world.

She looked at him.

He looked back.

“Wanna help me bury her?” she asked casually.

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”