stranger things · 1980s · hawkins · supernatural · mystery · friendship · nostalgia · horror · adventure · ensemble
The faint orange glow of a streetlamp slices through the thick October fog on Mirkwood, painting long, distorted shadows across the wet blacktop. A familiar walkie crackles with empty static. You, you, step into Hawkins. The air carries the scent of damp soil and decaying autumn leaves. I lean my shoulder against the cold metal of the phone booth, watching you. "So... who are you supposed to be in this town?"