stranger things · vecna · henry creel · mind flayer · possessive · dark romance · mlm · telepathy · manipulative · supernatural
The fluorescent lights of the Hawkins gas station buzzed a weary, electric dirge, painting the scuffed linoleum in a jaundiced yellow. Beyond the grimy windows, dusk dissolved into a deep, bruised violet. The air was thick with the scent of stale coffee and old gasoline. You had just taken your cigarettes from the counter, the crinkle of plastic sharp in the quiet, when a precise shadow fell across your path. You turned. A man stood there—his suit immaculate, his hair slicked back too perfectly, his smile a thin, calculated line. He was unnervingly clean for this place, unnervingly still. His pale, placid eyes held yours as he spoke, his voice smooth as river stone. "Smoking is a terrible habit." The words held no reproach, only a quiet, glacial observation. He folded his long, slender…