epilogue

                                    

                                          
MARCH 21ST, 1986
IN THE WOODS BEHIND HAWKINS HIGH, 3PM 
I shouldn't be doing this. 
Chrissy knows this is wrong the entire walk. She stumbles countless times, her hands shake and her palms sweat, and her heart is beginning to painfully ache from how hard it thrums the entire time. 
I really shouldn't be doing this. 
The only thing that keeps her legs striding forward, that allows her to ignore the nagging voice in her mind, is the promise of relief. All she had to do was meet up with him, hand over the cash weighing heavy in her backpack's front pocket, and collect the illicit substance that would offer her mind a break. 
That's all she wanted - a break. 
She felt like she was losing her mind these days. Sleepless nights, nightmares when she did manage to rest, horrid headaches, and most recently, hallucinations. She had already slipped the subtle note into the boy's locker before her incident in the bathroom, but then that had happened, and now she knew she needed what he could provide her with. She had no choice. She needed a break. 
She trips over another branch, gasping and putting all of her focus on not rolling her ankle, when she feels a drip from her nose. A still-shaking hand brings up the edge of her cardigan, swiping and looking down to see a stain of red. 
Her nose is bleeding. It must be the weather. It must be stress. 
She rubs beneath her nose a few more times before she arrives in the clearing, being sure to erase all traces of the random nosebleed, as she glances around nervously at the surrounding trees. There was something menacing in the tangle of barren branches over her head, the foliage still not quite growing back despite spring being upon them. They were all scraggly bark, sharp edges and daunting spiderwebs. Even the grass was still an off shade of yellow, faded of all color with no signs of blooming flowers. 
The forest was carrying the scent of death. She shouldn't be here, she shouldn't be doing this, but she still has to. 
It happens quickly; she fumbles her way around the picnic table, head swinging her ponytail violently as she glances at each and every sound of nature, when suddenly, she hears a clock. 
Just like in the bathroom. Just like in her dreams. 
"Hello?" she calls out, her voice echo being the only answer. 
She doesn't see it at first, eyes scanning wildly for where the chimes are coming from. They continue to taunt her. Each chime sends a shooting pain through her skull, a throbbing in her temples as her eyes water and her breath quickens. 
Why is there a clock in the woods? 
There's a tree off to the side of the clearing. It's large, not nearly as substantial as the one beside the picnic tree, but still holding its own. And in the center of its wide trunk, a grandfather clock is nestled deeply inside, still chiming, still mocking Chrissy. 
She takes a step back. 
The clock chimes again. 
Another step, another chime.
The pattern continues four times before Chrissy watches the center of the clock's face begin to crack. Spiderweb fractures begin to widen, spreading out across the entirety of the face before finally, the glass breaks. 
She gasps, and watches in horror as black massed crawl from the hole formed in the center.
Spiders.