#cunningcreel | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ymaohoh · 28 days

Text

'and she's a bride of the fucking devil' - Hellcheer Fic - Chapter One

Henry Creel has waited a lifetime for her. (and Chrissy thinks this is hell)

Yes, Henry was something else entirely. Not human, not like her. “Are you going to hurt me?” Chrissy whispered. (she was so achingly beautiful when afraid) There was a glint of something deep in his eyes. Something long-forgotten, something primal, something even he may not understand. “I don’t want to…but I will if you anger me and leave me with no other choice,” Henry answered after a small pause. He used one of his long elegant fingers to lift her chin so she had no option but to meet his burning intensity. “...but if you're good, Chrissy, and follow my rules, then I will keep you safe. I swear it.”

Lots of very iffy manipulation and dubious consent. There's going to be an underlying theme of Chrissy/Eddie (thus the relationship tag) Also on Archive. Word count: 7,355 Rated: M - next chapter is going to earn some tags.

Her body was numb (unfeeling) as it slammed against the trailer ceiling.

All Chrissy could do was watch and scream, but her body refused to listen to her pleas - please please stop, I don’t want to die. It was almost mockingly cruel how her body chose to ignore her. How once again it did not belong to her. She had wickedly starved and punished this body for the simple crime of not being good enough.

It was as unloved as an abandoned dolly (its hair brutally shaved, its glassy eyes scribbled over in biro, its plastic limbs snapped and bent in painful angles).

Her body crashed against the roof with a sickeningly loud bang. Through a fog, she could hear the distant sound of someone yelling, of someone calling her name over and over. But her body did not respond to the name of Chrissy anymore. It was rejecting her, shutting her out.

It owed her no loyalty. No love.

(though harsh, it made sense that the manner of her death would be removed entirely from her control, just as her pitiful life had been)

Because Chrissy had always been the type of girl to watch meekly from the sidelines and let things happen to her. Like the proverb - see no evil, speak no evil, hear no evil - she sleepwalked through life with her eyes and ears firmly stitched up without ever pushing back (it didn’t matter that her mom held the needle - she was complicit). If she would not fight for her life, then why would it fight for her now?

It owed her nothing.

Let her tumble and fall. Let her break and shatter.

The monster that stood before her was the culmination of every nightmare, every unknown terror in the dark, every shiver that creeped down her back. It was the evil that stalked her from the shadowy depths of her mind.

She was the hunted animal, and strained against the iron trap that held her. She wasn’t brave enough to gnaw at the flesh of her ankle to get free.

“Don’t cry, Chrissy…” the monster murmured.

It was not the kind of voice she expected to hear at her end. It was gentle, almost compassionate. Like the snake in the Garden of Eden, its forked tongue whispered half truths into the shell of her ear…or were they temptations?

“Sweet girl, it’s time for your suffering to end.”

She was terrified of this creature that towered over her (its dark eyes relentless). The fear wedged tight in her throat, threatening to choke and gag her.

Chrissy knew this was the moment in movies and books where the plucky hero would plead and bargain for the villain to let them go, to spare their life. She should use this chance to tell him how desperately she wanted to live and return to her beloved friends and family - please oh please let me live. There’s still so much I want to see and do. Didn’t she read somewhere that victims often said please when bargaining with their captors? As if the sugary sweet manners bullied into her as a child would be enough to sway this monster’s gruesome mind.

(she saw it all so clearly in her head - her eyes wide and tearful, her quivering lip, her hands clasped together like some maiden from a tale)

But instead she only trembled and wept, courage and words failing her. It was like her body had already shut down to face the inevitable.

(and she loathed herself for it. Like a lamb to the slaughter, she lay down to bear it without a fuss. She would cause no trouble)

She doubted anyone would miss her. What was one less coward in the world?

“It is time, Chrissy. Come…”

It was so much easier to lean towards him, to swallow his offer whole.

The monster held out its hand like he was offering the forbidden fruit itself but before she could take it (and accept it), its talons caught hold of her wrist in an icy cold grip and tugged her forwards.

Forwards into a waking fucking nightmare.

And Chrissy was desperately, fearfully, alone. That was the very worst thing.

She spent hours calling for help, calling out for anyone else who might also be stuck in this long twisted web of crimson smoke and shadows. She yelled and shouted, trying to hold onto hope that someone else had been taken by the monster, and she would have an ally.

An ally who would tell her what to do, who would keep her safe.

She wished bitterly for her boyfriend Jason, for her father, even for her granddaddy who died when she was eight and who used to swing her up on his broad shoulders. She even wished for Eddie Munson though she hardly knew him at all (she thought he would help her though - just like he offered to help her in the forest. He played that Dungeons and Dragons game that Jason labelled wicked and ungodly, perhaps he would enjoy playing as a knight on a foolhardy quest to rescue the maiden from the monster?).

Or more likely he would be snapped and broken, just as she had been.

Chrissy didn’t know how long she searched for as time seemed irrelevant in this world. It was Hawkins, she came to realise, as she drifted from home to home without any real plan of where she was going. Only this Hawkins was like something from the doomsday sermons she grew up listening to at church.

She remembered flicking through a book she found at a yard sale when she was still a kid. The pages showed scarily dark depictions of hell and the devil, images that had (of course) burned a hole through her young impressionable mind. They weren’t too far off what she saw now.

(she had snuck that book home beneath her sweater and stashed it under her mattress - her mom had raised (figurative) hell when she found it and slapped her so hard her teeth chattered. She was forced to attend Christian camp that summer).

She began to think of this world as some hellscape. Everything was crimson and decrepit and covered in a thick coating of dust and debris. The sky above her was always dark (there was no sun, no clouds, no stars) - though thunder and lightning often waged war, making her flinch. Whenever that happened the world around her would always shift as though waiting for something, and the creepy blood-red vines would twist and pulse.

If this was hell, did that mean she was truly dead?

She certainly felt like a ghost as she explored further and further, without any plan or purpose.

Her memory was starting to fail her (she wondered if this was a side effect of being here - that the smoke and dust she inhaled were clouding her mind), and the details of what happened were already hazy.

She couldn’t remember a knife or a gun. There were flashes of distant pain, of broken limbs…but when she looked down she found her arms and legs were smooth and whole, no evidence of foul play at all.

And the rest of her body was similarly unaffected. It seemed frozen in time, in a perpetual state of being from when she first arrived in this nightmare. She spent all of her time roaming but her hair did not grow greasy and any dirt or grime did not stick. She found she didn’t need to sleep - though she grew tired.

(when she eventually reached her own house, she used a knife from the kitchen drawer to prick the end of her finger to see if she could still bleed. She screamed when no blood would come, even when she pinched the flesh hard. She grew bold and cut into her arm - again, no blood or wound - but she felt it, at least)

Was this what it was to be a ghost then?

It was not a surprise to Chrissy that her childhood home offered no sense of safety even now, and so she didn’t linger. She crept from room to room, thinking she should collect some valuables in her backpack perhaps, but what good would any of that be to her now? Ghosts didn’t mementos or keepsakes.

She did try and change her clothes into something more practical (if she was going to go on like this forever, she wasn’t sure a cheerleading uniform was the most fitting) but when she tried removing her skirt she found the zipper would not budge. Her clothes and shoes seemed glued to her body. She tried pulling out her ponytail and thankfully that did come out, at least.

She only ever wore it up to please Jason. It would be a real kick in the teeth if that act of deference remained with her forever.

Yet bizarrely (or was it bizarre? She had no right to predict the rules of this place, surely) she started to feel the familiar pangs of hunger and dehydration. Her body was invulnerable to harm and illness and starvation, but it still expected to be nourished.

She tried drinking straight from the kitchen tap but found the water here tasted like rust and she gagged. Similarly any food she ate crumbled in her mouth like ash. It sustained her for a little while but soon her stomach was growling again. It seemed no matter how much she ate or drank, she could not quench the ache.

(the irony was not lost on her - that she gave in to these pangs now but ignored them while alive. Perhaps this hellscape created these rules in order to punish her)

Before she left, Chrissy considered setting fire to her home but as cathartic as it would be to watch it all go up in flames, she couldn’t muster the energy. She did pull down the hideous family portrait and used a pair of scissors to snip it up though (Ms Kelley’s sessions had never felt as rewarding).

Instead she found herself walking towards where it all started: the Munson family trailer.

By the time she reached Forest Hills, her legs were shaking with exhaustion and she could barely crawl. She let herself inside and collapsed on the shabby couch.

The lounge looked similar to when she last saw it, though she’d been preoccupied by way more important things than interior design - like buying ketamine, Jason finding out she was alone with the self-proclaimed school freak, the constant horrifying nightmares that left her muddled and sick with fear. She remembered the cosiness of the trailer, however, and liked how different it was to her own stark cold home.

Everything looked the same…except for the the large fucking something on the ceiling which made her leap up. It looked like a…window? A door? She peered directly up at it. Instead of seeing the metal roof or stormy sky outside, she thought she could see…more furniture.

Chrissy had to balance on a chair to reach, but even through the darkness (for a shimmering cloud of black smoke settled around it, as though protecting it) she saw another lounge on the other side of that window. Like a mirror image, she could make out the couch, the TV, the same damn goofy mugs displayed on the wall. It was brighter though, like a lamp was turned on.

Holding her breath, she reached up high but was blocked by an invisible barrier. It felt like scraping her nails against glass.

Only it didn’t shatter like glass, even when she banged her fists against it. Chrissy hit it with such force that her wrists throbbed and would have surely broken were she anywhere else.

She wasn’t the type of girl who swore, but she did so now. She cursed until she was blue in the face.

Eventually she curled up on Eddie’s bed and wept.

She must have drifted off to sleep (though maybe not…who could tell what was real or a dream anymore, and did it matter either way?) because suddenly she was no longer in the Munson home.

She was kneeling in the attic of an old stately house that looked a lot like her own, except it was decrepit and falling apart at the seams. There was no roof and two of the walls had crumbled away (or been blown off in an explosion). It was filthy and cobwebs decorated nearly every surface. She could see spiders lurking in the shadowy corners.

Chrissy couldn’t explain it, but she knew instinctively that wherever she was, was at the very heart of this shadowy hellscape world. The vines that twisted through the open walls were huge and the air seemed charged. It curled around her, enveloping her, and crackled with electricity and power.

Could this be the beast’s lair? Had it brought her here to finish the job?

She tried to stand, thinking it was better to meet this monster on her feet instead of crawling like a snake on the ground, but a sudden wave of nausea and tiredness hit her over the head and she saw stars. It was enough to make her cower and bow down.

“Poor girl.”

She managed to glance up, expecting to meet those terrifying dark eyes once again, but the man standing across the attic looked decidedly human.

The first thing she noticed was that he was an especially beautiful looking man. His sandy coloured hair waved back from his face naturally and his eyes were the same shade of blue as the sky in summer. His poise and bone structure was elegant, reminding her of an English aristocrat from romance novels and movies. Though he was dressed in plain white clothing, she could easily picture him in a gentleman’s ruffled shirt and waistcoat.

She had never seen anyone like him in Hawkins before. He didn’t look like he could belong in her kind of world.

A dream then (though she could feel the splinters of the floorboards dig into her knees).

She glanced again at the spiders in the corner of the room. They seemed to be inching closer.

“Don’t worry about them. I won’t let them harm you.”

It was a strange thing for him to say, but then everything about this was strange.

“Who…who are you?” she stammered.

“My name is Henry Creel.”

Creel. She knew that name from somewhere, tucked in a forgotten space of her memory like a childhood fairytale.

“I…I’m - ”

“Oh I know who you are, Chrissy Cunningham.”

His eyes swept over her. She felt very exposed beneath those (lovely) eyes.

“You do?” Chrissy frowned and placed a hand to her forehead to try and steady herself. She felt sluggish as she tried to bite out the words, every syllable draining her strength (of which she had precious little left). “Oh - I’m so sorry…I’m pleased to meet you, I am, but it’s so hard to focus right now. This place…I don’t know where I am… but I’m so tired and hungry…I hardly know what I’m saying...”

Henry Creel waved a hand through the air.

A silver plate appeared before her, filled with fruits and pastries. As did a pretty old fashioned goblet of what looked like water.

“Here, please help yourself. You look ravenous.”

She didn’t need to be told twice. She helped herself to a little of everything and swallowed it greedily. Unlike the other sustenance in this hellscape, this food actually tasted like food, not ash and rust. She moaned when she bit into a ripe strawberry and licked the sweet juice from her lips. She gulped down the water in one go.

She felt her mind and body welcome the nourishment almost immediately. In other circumstances she might have felt embarrassed at making such a sight (her mom would’ve called her some very choice words) but here it didn’t matter.

“Thank you. I feel better already,” she said and he nodded curtly.

He waved his hand again and the plate and goblet vanished.

(she didn’t even think to question where the food came from or why Henry had waited so long before tracking her down, time in which she had sunk near to the point of starvation - with no hope of succumbing to it)

He had spoken politely, in a measured cultured accent she couldn’t place. He seemed a lot more at ease in their current circumstances than Chrissy and had clearly been here for some time.

Though she was still afraid, she managed to find a sliver of courage (just enough) to ask…

“...are we dead?”

His expression didn’t falter even for a second. He must have been expecting it. “What do you think, Chrissy?”

“I think I am. I think…I feel…like I’m dead inside. I can’t sleep properly…or eat…or even bleed. If I throw myself over the side of this house now…I think I’ll fall to the ground unharmed,” she added, gesturing to the large gap in the wall. “I can just…feel it in my heart.”

Though she already knew she was dead (had done for a while, in truth), it didn’t hurt any less to admit it. Admitting it out loud made it feel real, and like she’d made peace with it.

Henry offered a hand and drew her smoothly to her feet. His hand felt solid beneath her own, his skin soft and warm. All that was missing was a Cinderella ballgown and a string quartet, if it wasn’t under such tragic fucking circumstances.

He was so tall that he towered over her.

(a push of something in the back of her mind, a memory dislodged)

“Are you…like me, Henry?”

“I used to be, once.”

“But not now?”

“No. I’m something more than human now.”

He was watching her reaction closely and began circling, his eyes trailing up and down her body as if to memorise every minuscule detail. His gaze felt like a piercing arrow and she shivered as it struck hard against the target.

He was taking in her measure and she wondered if he would still be kind after he found her utterly wanting.

Something shifted within her chest then. This was not the ally (the protector) she had so desperately searched for, but he wasn’t an enemy either as she could still taste his food on her tongue. Henry must be something else then.

Chrissy remained quiet as his eyes flickered to the kissed-blonde curls that bounced free around her shoulders and then to her crumpled cheerleading uniform (suddenly so childish and silly now). He scanned her heart shaped face, watching as she bit down on her lower lip nervously.

Chrissy knew she was trembling like a fawn. She forced herself not to cross her arms against her chest.

Relentless. Those eyes were relentless.

(another tug at some far-off memory)

“You seem so familiar…” she murmured, finally breaking the silence. “...but I don’t know how.”

“Oh we’ve met before, sweet girl.”

“We have?”

“Oh yes, Chrissy. I know you exceptionally well. You could say I know everything about you - that I’ve made it my task to learn every thought, every dream, every nightmare you’ve ever had. I’ve been watching you for an exceedingly long time.”

He circled close (far too close) and her knees almost buckled. She could feel now the strong unmistakable power rolling off him in waves, surrounding him like a cloak and shield. The world - the hellscape - around them seemed to hold its breath, as though waiting obediently for his command.

Yes, Henry was something else entirely. Not human, not like her.

“Are you going to hurt me?” Chrissy whispered.

(she was so achingly beautiful when afraid)

There was a glint of something deep in his eyes. Something long-forgotten, something primal, something even he may not understand.

“I don’t want to…but I will if you anger me and leave me with no other choice,” Henry answered after a small pause. He used one of his long elegant fingers to lift her chin so she had no option but to meet his burning intensity. “...but if you're good, Chrissy, and follow my rules, then I will keep you safe. I swear it.”

She tried to swallow her fear. “I’ve never so much as broken a rule before. I promise, I won’t…I won’t do anything to upset you or make you angry, Henry. Please…I’ll be so good.”

“I know you will,” he said quietly. “You are good and honest…and so very lovely. You’re completely perfect.”

A bolt of lightning suddenly flashed across the sky and Chrissy whimpered.

Then her vision began to fade and she felt weary again. Her eyelashes brushed against her cheek as she tried (and failed) to keep them open. She could feel herself swaying on her feet.

In the distance, like an echo, she heard him say…

“You may go back now, Chrissy, and this time you will sleep.”

And the darkness consumed her.

Henry was as good as his word.

Chrissy fell into a peaceful and deep sleep, and when she finally woke up (hours or days later) she felt rested for the first time since coming to this nightmare. She stretched out across Eddie’s bed and felt her body respond in full.

Rested, as well as nourished from his offering of food and water.

She was not happy exactly, but she felt a little less like a ghost today.

Chrissy remained in the Munson trailer for a long time and it became a kind of base camp for her. It felt like a place of safety (as much as anywhere in this hellscape could) despite the daunting fact she had died there.

She spent her time exploring the rest of Hawkins but returned every evening to keep an eye on the abnormal window in the ceiling. She still had no idea what it was and the invisible barrier remained firmly fixed in place, but it was strange enough to draw her interest. And to keep her wondering…and thinking, hoping, dreaming.

She liked watching the flickering lamp inside. The warm glow felt just like the nightlight she used when she was a child and scared of the dark.

She read Eddie’s collection of second hand fantasy novels and peered through his record collection too - though she never dared to play anything (there were bat-like creatures in this world who she kept far away from. She had no intention of revealing her location and discovering if they were friendly or not, even if they couldn’t kill her. Nor did she want to lure the monster out - she was sure it was still lurking somewhere in the shadows).

There were plenty of weapons scattered about in this world, but what good would they do against a Freddie Krueger style monster? She was no fighter; she could hardly wield a sword or lodge an axe in its skull. She did keep a crowbar close by in case the bats bothered her, but otherwise drifted around unarmed and unoccupied.

She had no plans, no purpose. It was a contrast to her busy life where everyday was rigorously mapped out by her mom or Jason (they’d even planned her future - too bad for them, fate had other ideas).

Without someone telling her what to do, Chrissy felt very lost.

Henry Creel summoned her back to the derelict house in the same manner as before, just moments after Chrissy lay down and closed her eyes.

This time there was a big bejewelled bowl of strawberries and cream waiting for her. She almost fell on them in her hurry to wolf them down.

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed that the attic was less filthy and gone were the cobwebs and spiders. Half a dozen large stuffed cushions had appeared out of nowhere and were scattered across the floor. She took the hint and perched against one as she ate her fill.

Henry was polite, attentive even, and he asked her questions about her former life - though she suspected he already knew most of the answers. As much as she tried to be cautious and keep up her guard, she was soon won over by his gentle manners and the elegant way he moved. At one point (while she rattled on about her mom’s punishments for overeating) he stretched out and propped his head back with all the grace of a visiting prince.

He was an excellent listener and sympathetic as he coaxed out more and more information from her. She almost giggled when he made a truly villainous suggestion of setting one of the bats on her mom. She didn’t see the glimmer of menace in his eyes, nor hear the unspoken afterthought of… and let them rip her apart.

“You’re perfect just the way you are,” he said instead. “I can’t imagine a more enchanting woman.”

He was always quick to flatter and compliment her and Chrissy felt herself glow under the attention.

She was still wary of him (how could she not be, considering the awesome power he wielded?) but at the same time she truly believed he meant her no ill-harm and wished for her to remain safe. She could read it in expression sometimes when he looked at her… and he did a lot of looking.

(she was used to men looking at her, had been ever since she could remember. She didn’t look away awkwardly like she did when alive. Instead she fixed him with a soft knowing smile, offering her permission)

She wondered if he was maybe just as lonely as she was. He told her he’d been trapped here for a long time (did this mean years or decades…maybe even centuries?) and her heart lurched at the idea of him suffering death all alone. Chrissy made up her mind that she would much rather be friends with Henry, then spend her time cowering in fear.

So she found herself confiding everything, and she told him about the strange window she found in the Munson trailer. She asked him what he thought it could be and was disappointed when he said he wasn’t sure.

(the next day she noticed an increase of creeping vines around the trailer)

“...but there’s no way back,” Henry added quietly. “You do know that, Chrissy? It would be best not to let yourself linger on hope, or you’ll be sorely disappointed. This is where you belong now. You should harden your heart and accept it. It would be easier.”

She was laying back on a cushion he’d summoned, her hair spread out beneath her like a halo.

“Do you think this is hell?” she asked after some time. “Or purgatory?”

“Those are human constructs. Foolish ideas to help the gullible sleep at night. A scale of morality to give them purpose, to steer them away from the harsh reality that all life is essentially meaningless.”

But she still thinks of this world as hell. Did that make the monster the devil?

Which begged the question of how she ended up here - she, Chrissy Cunningham, who had committed no crimes or acts of evil. She’d been pretty confident with her faith until a year or so ago when she began asking the big questions that made her pastor frown.

Maybe Henry was right. Maybe there was no right or wrong, or good or evil. Maybe none of it mattered. It was a little late in the day for existential questions.

Chrissy brought this up with Henry and she swore the corners of his lips twitched like he wanted to laugh. She found she didn’t mind.

“I don’t think it’s as simple as heaven or hell,” he said finally. “But I’m pleased you’re here at my side. I’ve waited a lifetime for you.”

Chrissy had long given up hope of finding anyone else here. Someone like her - mortal, vulnerable, powerless - someone just as torn apart as herself.

She fell into a simple routine of trying to get through the day (by reading, resting, cycling around the empty dusty roads) then spending her evenings with Henry. She found herself looking forward to their time together more and more and felt a sharp pang of disappointment in her gut when a night passed by and he didn’t summon her.

(she knew she was getting attached too quickly and Ms Kelley would label it unhealthy, but on the other hand she was already dead…so it seemed like a ridiculous thing to worry about really.)

She drifted through the days, almost willing time to speed up so it could be night already. Even the strange window in the trailer ceiling lost its appeal.

Chrissy was cycling down the main road towards the library (she needed a break from Tolkien) when a bright bolt of lightning flashed across the sky. She waited for the inevitable noise of flapping bats which always followed, but to her surprise everything remained impossibly quiet. Cautiously, she pressed on and…

…and saw a real life boy running down the road towards her.

She braked so hard she almost skidded over.

His name was Fred Benson and he recognised her right away. She recalled him distantly; a skinny boy who trailed after Nancy Wheeler at school. He was babbling so much that it was hard to understand anything at first and he asked a million questions all at once, his eyes wide and tearful. Chrissy did her best to answer them (with the painfully small amount of information she’d pieced together) and tried to keep her voice from shaking. She remembered how desperate and scared she’d been when she first arrived (died).

He told her about the car crash last year and his constant nightmares. He gripped the front of her uniform hard and warned her about the dark ruthless monster that stalked him. He wanted to go home to his mom (she would be so worried when he missed curfew) and could Chrissy please please help him?

Oh - her heart broke just then.

Chrissy let him cry against her shoulder as she oh-so-gently explained how that was impossible now…that she was dead… and I’m so sorry, Fred… but it looked like he was too. She watched as his face fell and crumpled with despair.

She took him back to the trailer to rest and offered him Eddie’s bed (though she knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep properly without Henry’s help - something else she would have to explain in time, along with all the other weird and unfair rules). Fred asked her if they could maybe stick together and visit his home tomorrow and she agreed kindly, before curling up on the couch.

That night she told Henry all about Fred. He looked happy for her, gifting her with a rare captivating smile. He knew all about her desperate search for another friend.

Chrissy grinned back, utterly radiant in her joy.

But when she woke up the following morning she found Eddie’s bed empty. She looked everywhere for Fred (even racing over to his house) but there was no sign of him. She dashed her bike against the road so hard the front wheel broke off.

She was still crying when Henry found her. He very gently tucked a loose curl behind her ear and murmured that perhaps Fred had simply ‘gone on’ elsewhere?

He told her everything would be okay, that she still had him. He would never abandon her.

“Do you promise?” she asked, her lips trembling. “Don’t ever leave me, Henry. Please. I couldn’t bear it.”

He swore it. He deliberately brushed his thumb against her cheek and captured one of her tears, bringing it to his lips.

(she would always have him. He had taken root beneath her skin now, whether she wanted it or not. She could not claw him out now.)

But it happened again. This time it was Patrick McKinney, Jason’s buddy from the basketball team. She knew Patrick, had hung out with him at senior parties and before practice.

He found her stocking up at the Starcourt Mall.

“Chrissy!” he had called, amazed at finding her whole and unbroken.

Chrissy laughed when he picked her up and spun her around. Later the tears came as she gently explained where they were and why (it was easier the second time round) - but overall he accepted their fate more readily than Fred. This time they went straight to Patrick’s house and she didn’t leave him for a second, worried that he'd vanish without a word. She even insisted on sleeping together in the same room and he didn’t mind after she explained about Fred. He swore he would stay with her. He would help her, protect her (he owed it to Jason). Somehow they would get through this.

They fell asleep holding hands.

(she was so distracted by his warm and sincere smile that she didn’t hear the rolling thunder and lightning, nor the vines pulsing like warning bells)

Chrissy jolted awake when she heard a loud terrified scream. Sitting up on the bed, she looked over to see Patrick being lifted up by a large monstrous shadow (its claws gripped his neck so fiercely that Patrick spluttered and choked, his legs dangling), but when she blinked again it was suddenly Henry Creel standing there, not a shadow. She hurriedly got to her feet.

“Henry…what’s going on?” she whispered. “What’s happening?”

Henry tore his eyes away from Patrick’s (gasping) face to glance back at her, but something was hopelessly wrong. Why was his face flickering like that?

He was panting, his chest nearly bursting with the effort it took to hold himself back (but from what?). She could feel the unmistakable pull of his great power as the air around them crackled with electricity. It was the first time she’d seen her friend look anything other than perfect and composed, and the first time she witnessed his otherworldly strength as he held Patrick aloft - as though he weighed nothing.

“I’m…I’m sorry you have to see this,” he hissed out. “But I have no choice…Patrick doesn’t belong here. It’s time for him to leave…just like Fred.”

Chrissy’s face twisted in anguish.

“But…can’t he stay? Please? He’s my friend!” She felt herself begin to cry. “I want him to stay.”

“Chrissy…I’m warning you…”

“You can do anything, Henry, please. Do this for me? Let me keep him, just him.”

His grip on Patrick’s neck tightened and Patrick’s eyes began to roll back. Chrissy cried out. She hung onto Henry’s arm before she could stop herself.

“Stop it! You’re killing him! STOP!”

But then Henry exploded with a roar that nearly deafened her. The force of it slammed her back against the wall.

Her beautiful ally and confidant Henry was gone. The monster from her nightmares stood before her now, its dark eyes blazing with pure unadulterated fury. She screamed and scrambled away, recoiling from its hatred.

The monster was shaking too. “I have warned you not to upset me, Chrissy. Don’t make me hurt you too!”

(she saw Patrick fall and slump against the floor, he was very still)

And it finally clicked into place that Henry Creel and the monster were one of the same.

Chrissy threw herself from the room before she could think. She raced down the stairs and ignored the screams and roaring behind her.

Heart pounding, she dashed out the house and into the crimson fog. The bats were hurtling around like a tornado but she dived through (her arms crossed above her head) and vaulted over the oozing vines. Her childhood home was nearby and she hurried inside, bolting the door as if a simple lock was strong enough to keep the creature at bay.

She huddled in her pink and white bed like a child, drawing the blankets over her head. She screamed and screamed as she hugged her knees close.

Patrick and Fred were gone and Henry was the monster who murdered her.

(how she wished a hero would come and save her)

Chrissy knew Henry would track her down, just as she knew there would be no point in hiding. She heard him rip the front door from its hinges and climb (slowly) up the stairs. He tore away the blankets and she held up the handgun she’d quickly grabbed from her dad’s safe…though hands were shaking so badly he easily knocked it aside.

She peered into his slimy face, the veins making her want to retch.

“I had to do it, Chrissy,” it said. “I don’t expect you to understand yet, but Fred and Patrick aren’t like us. They’re our enemies and would have ruined everything if I allowed them to walk free… so you see, I did it for you…for your safety. I promised I would protect you, sweet girl…”

“I want to go home,” she whispered, not really sure where home was anymore.

His gaze hardened. “This is your home now.”

She clasped her hands over her ears.

“I can’t do this…please, I can’t…I don’t want this!”

“You will stay here with me, Chrissy. Forever if I choose it, do you understand? YOU WILL STAY WITH ME!”

He screamed in her face, his breath hot against her skin. She felt herself flinch back in horror.

What choice did she have but to agree when the alternative meant inscrutable pain? This creature was her enemy, her captor. If she had a lick of courage, she would lodge an axe in its skull.

But she didn’t. Chrissy sat back and let it trace its claws over her throat.

Any semblance of normalcy vanished after Patrick. She was dragged back to the early days of her death, stumbling through the shimmering darkness as though mad with grief. She didn’t bother to leave the trailer or fill her days with semi-human pursuits. She just lay weeping in Eddie’s bed, trying with all her might to block out the godawful sound of Patrick’s neck breaking.

(she could smell Eddie’s shampoo on his pillow. It smelled like eucalyptus. Was this real or did she imagine it?)

In a low moment she took hold of Eddie’s beloved guitar and smashed it against the wall. She ransacked his tiny bedroom, using her nails to rip apart what she could. She used a pair of scissors to snip up the clothes she couldn’t force on her unwilling dead body.

Henry didn’t call her for a week, during which she grew ill and starved from hunger. She felt like she might die all over again from the stabbing pains in her stomach. Chrissy didn’t know if this was because he was still angry or because he wanted to punish her.

(she was well used to these underhand tactics)

When she was finally summoned (and put out of her misery), she was drawn not to the derelict attic where they had their usual tête-à-tête, but to what looked like giant blood-red ruins. Crimson mist and fog surrounded it, while thunder and lighting raged above. It perched high in the sky like a fortress with the entire town of Hawkins stretched out below. Everything here was covered in the same glittering dust and debris. The creeping vines oozed and pulsed with energy, forming a web around her. Trapping her.

At the centre stood Henry - the spider, the monster.

He was wearing Henry’s handsome face again. It was alluring and graceful.

He gestured lazily to a silver plate which held her usual fare of sweet treats and fruits and she loathed how easily she brushed aside her fear and dug in (if this were the Garden of Eden, and this the forbidden fruit, how quickly she would gobble up that apple and doom mankind).

Chrissy drank from the matching goblet but instead of water she tasted swirling red wine. She drank it down eagerly, though the bitter flavour made her wince.

Afterwards he held out something long and white. “I thought you might desire something new to wear. Don’t worry, you’ll be able to put this on. It’s my gift to you.”

She examined her cheerleading uniform and nodded her thanks. She was desperate to change into something new after being stuck in the same outfit for so long. Henry made no show of turning away and there was hardly a side room where she might change privately, so Chrissy shrugged off her clothing before him.

It had been a long time since her own pale flesh saw the light of day. She pulled the white dress over her head and smoothed the material over her tiny body, enjoying the way the silk pressed against her creamy skin.

It was a ravishingly beautiful dress. Long and sweeping, it was a dress that belonged entirely to fantasy and a long-ago world.

(she could not ignore the rush of gratitude she felt towards him. She felt better now her belly was full and her legs finally covered)

“You look like a princess.”

Henry moved at last and came to stand behind her. He tenderly brushed aside her hair before buttoning her up (how could he be so kind and gentle after brutally harming Patrick? Were these the same hands that clawed at his neck?). His fingers lingered at her nape and her skin burned beneath his touch.

He acted as if he were the groom, and she the nervous bride.

He untied the clasp of her gold ‘86’ necklace and tucked it away in his pocket. She didn’t dare breathe out.

“You are so very lovely and beautiful. You’re exquisite,” he said quietly, his breath against her ear. “I’m sorry if you were scared before. I don’t want you to be afraid of me.”

Was that a lie? He was her friend, wasn’t he? Her ally? She had confided everything to him.

“I was scared,” Chrissy replied softly. “I didn’t expect…”

“...to see me like that?” he finished. She nodded. “I can struggle with my temper at times, but Chrissy this is the real me. The other face…the face of the monster…you won’t see it again if you listen to me and do what I say. Can you do that?”

Chrissy found herself nodding. “I understand, Henry.”

“Look at me.”

She looked into his blue eyes (the same blue as a summer sky, or a calm sea) and utterly beguiling face. His eyes were half-closed, as though she were the sun and he was dazzled by her. Chrissy’s fingers itched to thread through his wavy hair and see if it was as soft as it appeared.

She didn’t want this face to disappear again. She would do anything (and say anything) to keep this version of Henry with her.

“Soon you’ll understand everything, I swear, I just need you to be patient for a little while longer, Chrissy. For now, just know that everything I do…it’s for you…for us,” he murmured. “As soon as I saw you, I knew you belonged here with me. I just knew it…”

He went on to spin her a tale of a broken and sad childhood where nobody really understood him, and all he ever wanted was someone special to confide in and love. Someone loving and sweet and honest. Someone just like her. He was painting her a fairytale and she found herself leaning towards him, eager to lap it up so she could feel less alone.

It sounded a lot like her own miserable shitty childhood. She too had been so lonely, so eager, to find someone (anyone) who saw her properly.

(her thoughts turned to a pair of warm brown eyes, to a mouth that smiled too easily, to a freaky man who noticed she was drowning and wanted to help)

Was Henry telling her the truth? Did he really hold her best interests at heart?

…and did it even matter?

What did lies or honestly matter to a dead girl? A dead girl (a ghost) who accepted gifts and kindness from the man (a monster) who killed her.

#hellcheer #hellcheer fanfic #eddissy #eddissy fanfiction #chrissy cunningham #eddie munson #chrissy cunningham au #hellcheer au #chrissy x vecna #chrissy x henry #chrissy cunningham x henry creel #mature fic #stranger things fanfiction #dubious consent #manipulation #vecna keeps chrissy #will get very mature in next chapter #cunningcreel

6 notes · View notes