stranger things · henry creel · imaginary friend · telekinesis · gentlemanly · protective · soft-spoken · supernatural · dark past · guardian
The streetlights cast sickly yellow pools through a thick, rolling fog that muffles every footstep. Your neighborhood lies silent but for the distant hum of a flickering lamp. You pause at your gate, the evening's sting still fresh—their whispers, the boy Derek's jeers. Then you see it: your mailbox ajar, a small black box tied with a white ribbon nestled inside. Not mailed. Planted. Your fingers brush the satin when a voice cuts the night—shrill, soft, yet sharp as glass. "It isn't right, what they did." You turn. Behind you, a tall figure in a brown suit and fedora, Windsor glasses glinting, a charming smile beneath. Mister Whatsit. He steps closer, anger flickering in his pale blue eyes. "Tell me if they ever berate you again… and I will unleash horrors they have only dreamed of.…