They asked me to write about it today.

For so many years, I tried to push all the memories far enough way to lessen some of the pain that rotted inside me. After a few years, I was able to sleep some nights without seeing him in my dreams, and I could go through my day without getting flashbacks of those few months that followed the tornado.

Somehow, I could never fill the emptiness in my heart that he left behind. Part of me didn’t want to, because forgetting could be just as painful as remembering and living with the ache that plagued me every day. But I needed peace. So eventually, I had to leave that place and try to get free.

The months that followed blended together as days turned into months, and nothing felt real in the aftermath of the storm that shattered Hawkins, Indiana. But it wasn’t a tornado, Dustin had said. Trying to accept the horrible reality took second place to my grief at losing him, and sometimes it felt far enough away that it seemed too eerie to be real life.

My bedroom became my tomb for weeks after he was gone. I couldn’t put the things that made me remember him away, but every time I opened my eyes, I saw something that made me think of him. His jacket flung over the chair in my room, all the Polaroid pictures I had snapped during so many opportune moments stuck in the mirror of my vanity and tacked on my closet door, and the stacks of tapes that he had given me on a pile on the floor.

Now, when I think about him, he’s like a mirage on the horizon during a hot day. I can see the outline of him: his bushy hair, his leather jacket under his denim vest, his ripped jeans, and his white Reeboks. But only when I close my eyes and force myself to remember does the image become clearer. I can see his devilish smile that I loved so much, the large rings on his fingers, the holes in his jeans, and his bat tattoos on his arms. The arms that had wrapped me in their warm embrace so many times as he kissed the top of my head and whispered, “It’s going to be okay, sweetheart.”

The ache returns to my gut, filling my brain with images of so many happy times that I could never forget, making me cry softly.

I can remember the sound of the bugs buzzing around the light outside the trailer as the boombox played his favorite songs. The way he smiled and stuck out his tongue as he played the imaginary guitar chords to the song. The heat of so many summer nights tickling my skin as we sat outside, talking and laughing and listening to music together. How he looked as the sun washed over his face when he drove the van around, a cigarette in his mouth. The way it felt to lay beside him as he slept, hearing him snore gently.

None of it seemed permanent, somehow, like every moment was fleeting and would disappear in time. Like he would disappear.  So many moments with him, I felt like I was mesmerized by how very alive he was. Maybe that’s why the hole in me that he left behind could never be filled; there was just too much in Eddie that caused a gaping chasm in the world, forever devoid of life.

They say you can never forget your first love. Although time distorts the images over the years, blurring all the colors and the sounds, there is an imprint in me that will never fade. I was seventeen when I experienced the kind of love that authors write about, but they fail to capture exactly what it’s like to fall in love when the world hasn’t yet become cruel, when death hasn’t yet begun taking everyone you love away from you, and when the world is pulsing with so much life. It’s like there are never enough hours in the day to revel in the thrills of young love, and wanting to touch him and see him and hear him every moment of every day. They never get it right when they try to capture feeling the rush of experiencing the world with your best friends, relishing the dangers of staying out late, sneaking out of the house, and stealing liquor from your parent’s cabinet. Teenage love is all of that life exploding out of you, with no regard for the things that your parents worry about: the future, making a living, making ends meet, following the rules.

When he looked me in the eyes, smiling at me, the whole world felt infinite.

As I sit and stretch my memory as far as it will go, I can almost feel the rush of running across the grass until I collapse on the ground from exhaustion. The grass tickles my bare skin as I lie there, sucking in air to catch my breath from laughing so hard and running. As he comes up beside me, he blocks the sun from my eyes, and it forms a halo around his curly hair. He plops next to me, shaking his head and laughing from chasing me. Then he picks a blade of grass and tickles my nose with it, and I playfully swat his hand away. I lean into him, feeling the sweat under his t-shirt and the warmth of his body next to me. He flings his arm lazily over my shoulder, resting his head on the top of my head and saying, you’re such a pain in the ass.

But you love it, I respond with a laugh.

You know I do, he says.

I didn’t fall in love with “the boy next door” or a sandy blonde hunk on the football team, I fell in love with Eddie. He was a DnD nerd, a metalhead with long hair, and the guitar player in a garage band. I never expected it, but the feelings he gave me don’t lie. If I could bottle the essence of young love, it would be all the butterflies rushing in my gut the first time he touched me, kissed me, when he asked me out for the first time, when he told me he liked me, when he told me he loved me. It would be the electricity that shocked me when he looked me in the eyes, his mischievous smile playing on his lips. The overall essence of him that drove me crazy: the cigarette smoke, the aged leather of his jacket, and the faint detergent smell from the cotton t-shirts he had worn a thousand times before. Normally, those little things might mean nothing. When it’s love, those little things are everything.

The ache from missing him reminds me of the aftermath when he was gone from the world. They don’t exaggerate when they say that grief makes the world seem dull, like all the colors have been zapped away. A fog consumed me for so long afterwards that the rest of the world moving around me didn’t seem real. I felt like I was floating, a ghost among people, but they could see me, and they would watch me go by. They didn’t speak, but I know what they were thinking. That was Eddie’s girl. He was the one that killed that cheerleader, right? I wonder what that’s like to date a killer.

They don’t know. They’ll never understand. And I wouldn’t be the one to try and shatter the illusion. In those moments, I was too broken up inside to even try and say the words I desperately wanted to say. You’re so fucking stupid. You don’t know anything, and you listen to whatever they tell you. You didn’t know him; not like I did. If you did, you would see how insane that idea even is.

After a few months, my family packed up and moved away from Hawkins. I was too faded to even try to argue. Even though some part of me wanted to stay where he had left a presence, like all our favorite spots: the arcade, the movie theater, and the hallway in school near his locker, the other part wanted to put this nightmare behind me forever. My eyes were so tired from crying, and my body ached from tossing and turning all night as I tried to sleep every night, that I was desperate for respite.

As I watched the town of Hawkins disappear in the rearview mirror, the tears burned my eyes as they fell down my cheeks. If my heart could break any more than it already was, it would shatter from leaving home, leaving him, behind. But as the days and months bled into years, I was able to find some peace. During the moments that I was reminded of him, like when I heard one of his favorite songs on the radio, I could feel the tears come as I smiled, holding on to the memory of him as the time passed.

I was lucky to love him. I fell for a boy with soft, brown eyes and a contagious laugh, a boy who refused to cut his hair, a boy who got a dreamy look on his face as he played his guitar. A boy who was sweet, gentle, and more loving than anyone I had ever met. A boy who defied stereotypes and shattered preconceived notions of what he should be; instead, being unashamedly himself, in all his goofy splendor. A boy who kissed my forehead and called me “sweetheart,” who wrote me funny notes on crumpled composition book paper, littered with doodles and messy handwriting, and a boy who picked wildflowers for me from the fields near his house.

No matter how many years go by, I can never forget Eddie Munson. He made me feel things that other teen girls only dream about. I experienced a world with him that will defy time and space forever, never to be replicated for anyone else. Maybe, somehow, I knew the whole time that he wouldn’t be permanent, that there would someday be a world that he wasn’t in. That simmered beneath the surface during the time that I loved him, and while that scared me sometimes, Eddie chased that away when he looked deep in my eyes and said, “It’s going to be okay, sweetheart. I’m not going anywhere.”

They asked me to write about the tornados in Hawkins, Indiana, in the year 1986. Instead, I’m writing about the boy that Hawkins forgot, but also the boy that was loved by many. Loved by me. Tonight, when I see him in my dreams, he’ll be smiling at me, holding out his arms, and he’ll say, there you are. I missed you, sweetheart.

Life is full of truths.

Some are soft; like love can find you quietly in the softest spaces.

Some are hard; like love can find you loudly, a fast train careening down the tracks.

Delightfully convoluted yet absurdly simple;

Love can find you slowly, silently, and build with ardor, devotion, and warmth.

That’s what it’s like to fall in love with your best friend.

When I realized I had fallen for him,

The truth came through tacitly, transparently, like looking in the mirror for the first time in a long time.

I started to count all the times he came to my mind first when I had big news,

I had a bad day, I had a good day, and everything in between.

Every time, no matter the reason, he always said the perfect thing.

He saw me when I was vulnerable, scared, and lost,

And he didn’t judge me or question me, he was just there.  

Conversations had over so many years with him have taught me so much,

About life, about love, about sobriety, about growth and change, and about the future.

He called me out on every little thing, never shirked the truth when I needed to hear it.

I didn’t always listen, and I learned the hard way: he’s usually right.

He knows me better than any other man does.

As the years passed, my subtle crush turned into something bigger,

Something that I had never experienced before.

A love that stemmed from a small seed, grew slowly, and never stopped.

An attraction that was based on so many things: his mind. His heart. His past. His dreams. His sorrow. His sense of humor. The way he didn’t take anything too seriously.

The way I felt heard when I spoke to him. His ease at making me laugh. How he always made me feel safe. How he always stayed true to himself, never needing to impress me.

He wasn’t trying to earn me, he already had me.

What he failed to see was how he made the ground shake underneath me.

The day came for the ultimate quandary:

Do I lay myself bare? Do I try to tell him how he makes me feel?

Or do I honor the friendship that I value so much?

Do I tell him that he makes me feel excited, nervous, happy, and brave, all at once?

How my heart jumps a little when I see him, like a high school girl with a crush,

But I don’t dare let it show?

Or how everything goes quiet when I’m around him?

My thoughts are easy, fluid, the abruptness of the world blunted,

And suddenly, I’m not a mess anymore.

Suddenly, I’m laughing. I’m teasing him. I’m telling him things I haven’t told anyone else.

I realize I love him when his happiness is more important than my desires.

Even when my feelings are unreciprocated, my heart would only truly break if he was ever unhappy.

Life is full of truths.

Love is not butterflies in the gut,

Love is not obsessive, controlling, prideful, or chaotic.

Love is simple, effortless, quiet. Love is easy laughter, love is safety. Sustainable love grows slowly. Love is fed by loyalty, support, and honesty. Love is quality time, and a lot of it.

That’s what it’s like to fall in love with your best friend.

About a week ago, I decided to write a book about the Satanic Panic. I already drafted an introduction, talking about what inspired this and what exactly I aim to accomplish with this project. But I’ve hit my first roadblock after only working at this for about a week.

A little backstory: I am a member of the Satanic Temple. I’ve attended local chapter meetings, I’ve met other members, and I’ve read every piece of literature I can find on the subject. I joined because the tenets are moralistic and align with the way I already live my life. No, I don’t worship Satan. No one in the organization does. However, I realize that this is a huge part of my bias.

As a researcher, it is my goal to only present facts. As of this writing, I have spent a good portion of my days, roughly several hours a day, researching, reading, and then writing. I have found a wealth of information on the topic, and I plan to cover as much as I possibly can. Because, ultimately, I have found the roots of the Satanic Panic to go all the way back to the 1400 and 1500’s. This is even before I’ve begun exploring the biblical history of Satan and witchcraft and all that. This doesn’t even include the events that people think of when they hear, “Satanic Panic.”

Here is the roadblock: I am fervently searching for legitimate literature on where the Christian interpretation of Satan/the devil/Lucifer/whatever comes from. I can’t find it. Plenty of interpretations have been expressed from scholarly sources that suggest that Satan has been demonized throughout history, because the original source itself doesn’t support what the Christian faith is trying to say. That original source? The Bible.

So the big questions are these: Where did it come from? How did it come this far? Why did such differing interpretations of the same material happen at all? It simply doesn’t make sense. Maybe this sentiment belongs in the book as the overall statement about the subject.

What does it say about human nature when it becomes clear that nothing but hysteria has caused the grossest misinterpretation in the entire history of mankind? It is clear reason was tossed aside during the Satanic Panic, that’s why it’s called a “panic.” The term usually doesn’t constitute a logical response to a stimulus. But could it be that the entire story that humans so fervently believe is the moral code that guides good behavior is nothing more than a complete lie? To many (myself included) this seems obvious. However, as a scholar with the intent of presenting facts, I am frustrated with the complete and utter lack of proof.

How did we get here? How has thousands of years gone by, and how have these principles shaped mankind as it is today, if it is utterly and completely baseless? Is the entire concept of Satan the same as it was during the Satanic Panic, only it happened hundreds of years ago? It is gradually getting more and more obvious that everything we think we know about religion, about the bible, about God, is wrong. So, so, wrong.

For a while, Baphomet was synonymous with the devil. Now, we know it’s not. Historical documents proves that it has nothing to do with the devil, and it only did when the Christian faith made it so. Even then, the reason behind that isn’t clear.

Some people see an upside-down cross as a symbol of the devil. It’s not. It’s called Saint Peter’s cross. The origins of it have nothing to do with anything Satanic. The Christian faith bastardized it. Why? I can’t find the answer.

All of my research thus far keeps leading to me to dead ends: religious websites that keep spewing the same nonsense, over and over it, with absolutely no established fact or logic.

My devotion to objectivity and to finding the facts continues to hit the same brick wall, no matter how many times I try to see everything with an open mind.

This book has quickly become my passion project. Everything I believe in, everything I think I know, is being put to the test. As I keep working, I will have to decide if I even include the Biblical implications of Satan. Perhaps I’ll keep blazing forward, writing about FACTS and TRUTH, because so far, they haven’t let me down yet.

I had no idea that this is where my life was going to go. But I’ll ride this train straight down to Hell itself if I have to.

Anyone else would think that this is utter madness. How could any of what Dustin Henderson said be true? It’s completely crazy. Monsters and other dimensions aren’t real.

But it isn’t crazy. It’s real. Everything that Dustin said is right here, in front of me.

It took days of pacing my room, waiting for some of the shock to wear off before I finally made the decision to see for myself.

It had been weeks since Eddie died, and the grief had only just begun to lessen its horrendous grip on the hole that was now in my heart.

But now here I was, standing in a world that reminded me of a weird, cold version of Hell.

I had searched for the portal, just where Dustin had said it would be, and there it was. It looked like it was pulsing and alive. I didn’t tell anyone where I went, or what I was doing. Dustin had said, “I just want you to know the truth about Eddie. I know it sounds crazy but hear me out.”

As I listened to his story about monsters and other dimensions, I only listened without saying a word because it was about Eddie. If someone tried to tell me this crazy story that nightmares were usually made of, I wouldn’t have believed a word. But Dustin had said Eddie.

I missed him so much, it was like a huge hole had been punched through my chest. Every time I thought of him, I felt an ache in my heart. I couldn’t listen to music, I couldn’t go near his trailer park, and I found myself confined to my room most days. Even in the usual solace of my room, I couldn’t completely escape every reminder of him that made my grief feel fresh. One of his jackets that he had loaned me months ago was draped over my desk chair, notes that he had written me were piled across the desk, and Polaroid pictures of us were tucked in the frame of the mirror above my dresser.

At the end of Dustin’s story, I didn’t know how to react. He told me that he just wanted me to know the truth, despite how crazy it sounded. He didn’t die in an earthquake. He’s a hero. He always has been.

Working up the nerve to find proof of what Dustin had said kept me deadlocked for days. On the one hand, it sounded preposterous. But why would Dustin have told me all of that if it wasn’t true? He isn’t a liar, and there would be no purpose to spinning that story if it wasn’t the truth.

My mind was made up when my brain went back to what it always did: Eddie. The boy I loved and missed so fiercely that, even in the face of danger, I would go to the ends of the earth to find again.

The ground beneath my feet seemed to pulsate, as if it contained a beating heart. There were massive vines stretched all over the earth that covered everything as far as the eye could see. The sky and the ground were the same shades of bluish grey that seemed to blanket the whole world in darkness. Intermittent flashes of lighting cracked the sky, and they appeared to strike the ground in their fury. I stood in place, breathing deeply, watching my breath turn into fog. All the hairs on my arms were standing straight up. When I rubbed my arms, I found myself trying to soothe the goosebumps my skin was covered in.

What the hell is this place? Dustin had called it the Upside Down. He told me it was a mirror of our world, only much darker and much more menacing. He told me about all kinds of monsters: some that could run on all fours and didn’t have faces and some that had wings and bit with ravaging fury.

Eddie. Eddie was here.

I stood still, listening to the sounds around me. Despite not seeing a soul, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I wasn’t alone. The strange thrumming of the earth, and the scrape of the vines across the ground as they moved, told me I wasn’t. It took a few minutes for me to gather the nerve to take a few steps, even though I still needed to force myself to breathe.

I was careful to step over the creepy vines, not wanting to know what would happen if I touched them. Despite the cold, a sheen of sweat coated my brow and trickled down my back. Everything inside me screamed to go back now, before it was too late.

But Eddie.

I forced myself to keep going forward, my eyes zeroed in on the ground, so I wouldn’t trip. I stopped to look up, watching the lighting flash across the sky and feeling the earth tremble under my feet. Keep breathing. Keep going.

After a while, I was able to keep walking while still treading carefully, as well as keeping a close eye on my surroundings. Dustin told me everything, probably never expecting that I would seek this place out myself. I tried to remember everything he told me, even though my mind was filled with fear. This nightmarish place was real, so all the monsters he told me about must be real too.

I clutched my dad’s gun tightly in my hands, hoping my sweaty palms could keep a firm grip on it. Thankfully, my dad had given me lessons on how to use it, not ever expecting I would need them. Still, I didn’t feel crazy enough to seek out this cursed dimension without protection.

Despite the fear gripping my heart, I tried to focus my thoughts and pay attention to my surroundings to see danger coming. I wasn’t sure if I would make it out of here alive. But something was driving me to keep moving, even though I wasn’t entirely sure what I was looking for.

Was it Eddie? Did some part of me think I would find his body, or maybe that I would find him alive? I didn’t know the rules of this world, and Dustin hadn’t given me details. I think he wanted to spare me from the worst. All I knew was, this is where Eddie was last. This seemed like a suicide mission, but my grief was so pronounced that I think I lost some of my logical abilities.

Suddenly, another crack of lighting split the sky, and I heard what sounded like the cries of some kind of hideous beast. Shrieking noises unlike anything I had ever heard pierced the air, and I quickly ducked down, trying to hide my head under my hands. After a moment, nothing happened to me, so I chanced a look at the skies. All I could see was a dark cloud moving across the horizon. I saw a cluster of trees to my left, so I quickly darted into them for cover. While hiding by the base of a massive tree, I glanced a peek around the trunk to see if the monsters were near me. I could only hear them from what sounded like far away.

Breathe. Just breathe. I repeated it like a mantra in my head until I could get my heartbeat back under control. My heart felt like it was going to leap out of my chest, and my knees were shaking. Trying to calm down felt like a losing battle; everywhere I looked, there was danger.

I kneeled on the ground by the tree and put my head between my knees. Keep it together, for Eddie.

After a few minutes, the shrieking sounds abated slightly. Whatever was making those noises seemed to be moving away from me. I dared to lift my head and look around again, and to my relief, I saw nothing. I still didn’t know what I was expecting to find, but I knew I never would until I got my fear under control.

I stood up and kept forcing myself to take deep breaths and stay alert for danger. After I found the strength to take a few steps, I walked further into the trees. In my utter terror, my sense of direction was skewed. I only vaguely remembered how to get back to the portal I came through. Before I could let fear paralyze me again, I decided to just keep moving.

While the woods around me was still thick, the gaps between the trees gradually began to widen. I still didn’t know where I was until I walked over a small hill and found myself at Skull Rock.

My breath caught in my throat. How did I end up here? Dustin had said this world was exactly like ours, only with the obvious creepy adornments of vines and darkness and monsters. I didn’t realize the direction I was moving in.

I walked slowly up to the rock, stepping over the vines covering the ground, and looked over it. Tears burned at the back of my eyes upon seeing this place. I had been to it before, only back in the real world.

I kept looking at it, fighting back tears, when a sound stopped my heart beating in my chest. I ducked and froze, breathing heavily. Something is here, I just heard it.

Utter terror had me locked in place as if I had been frozen. There it was again. I covered my mouth with my hand, holding back a scream, and forced myself not to move a muscle.

A few agonizing seconds ticked by, and I heard no more noises. I stayed frozen, wanting to know I was truly alone before I moved again.

Suddenly, I heard a rustling noise on the ground near me. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to will myself to not faint from utter panic. Maybe if I don’t move, whatever it is will go away.

Even if the monster couldn’t see me, I felt like it had to hear the frantic beating of my heart. I could hear it in my ears, thundering loudly. I had never been so terrified in all my life.

I could hear what sounded like something walking towards me. I clutched my gun, finger on the trigger, trying to will myself to be ready to fire. Something was here, and it was right in front of me.

A few seconds went by, and whatever it was didn’t move. I know it was standing a few feet away from me. Knowing that this might be the end, I raised my head to look at the beast…until my knees buckled beneath me and my heart stopped in my chest.

A hellish beast stood in front of me, with the overall form of a man, but with massive, bat-like wings spread out behind him. His skin was a sickly grey color, and his torso was covered in gashes and what looked like bites. It looked like old blood was still smeared over his skin around the wounds. But when my eyes moved up to its face, I felt the world shift beneath me.

This monster that looked like something dead, something completely inhuman…was Eddie.

Despite the monstrous wings and its pitch-black eyes, its hair was long, curly, and wild. The clothes that it was wearing were shredded and ripped, but I recognized what was left of his jacket and vest. He curled his lips over his teeth as he looked at me, and I saw two sharp fangs protruding from his mouth. His eyes were furious, black, and they looked sunken in their sockets…but it was him.

My hand moved to my open mouth. Utter shock had me falling to the ground, dropping my gun, and unable to look away from the great and terrible beast standing in front of me. His wings twitched slightly, his chest heaved with large breaths, and he continued to stare at me. I looked into those pitch-black eyes and saw nothing of the Eddie I knew in them. Where Eddie’s brown eyes had been so warm and filled with depth, this monster had eyes filled with bloodlust.

Tears gushed out of my eyes as I tried to catch my breath. Surely, I had fallen asleep and stumbled into a nightmare. This can’t be real. Eddie is dead.

But as I gazed at the creature, he appeared to be studying me too. It could have been days that we both just looked at each other. Time seemed to stop completely.

Somehow, I found my voice had returned. “Eddie?” I asked, my voice nothing more than a squeak.

The thing before me didn’t react, just kept standing there and looking at me.

I swallowed the fear that was gripping me and tried to say his name again.

“Eddie…it’s me.”

I swear his breath hitched slightly as he continued staring at me.

I felt like my legs had disappeared into the earth. I couldn’t move, or think, or hardly even breathe. I just kept looking at him, standing before me, somehow Eddie but not at the same time.

His wings twitched again, and he folded them into his back. His breathing slowed, and as I watched him, I saw his pupils shrink until his eyes weren’t entirely black. He had been standing tall, but I swear his shoulders dropped slightly.

Without knowing why, a force outside of me seemed to take control and had me standing up, my eyes never leaving his face. That force had to be insane, because I found myself moving closer to him. There was a voice in the back of my head that was screaming at me to run, but still, my feet took me closer and closer to him.

He continued to stand still, not moving, watching as I came closer. I reached my hand out to him and lightly touched his chest. It was as if he deflated like a balloon at my touch; he seemed to shrink a few inches as he melted into my hand. Those eyes, previously filled with bloodlust, seemed to cloud over. I fell into him, not caring if my life was over. As fresh tears ran down my cheeks, I pressed my face into his cold chest and let myself sob uncontrollably. Even though he wasn’t warm and soft like Eddie had been, smelling like he usually did, my heart began to race at our touch. I wrapped my arms around the beast, wondering if this was finally the end for me. Was I so crazed with grief that I was willing to walk into death’s arms, just because it looked like Eddie? Logic swept from my brain completely as I melted into the monster in front of me.

A few seconds later, I felt him slowly wrap his arms around me. Then, I felt him rest his head on top of mine. I gasped as fresh tears choked me. Instead of fingernails, he had claws, and I felt them as he pressed his arms into me and pulled me closer to him.

I wanted so badly to speak, to say his name, to say anything…but I was so consumed by tears that no words would come. He pulled me closer into him and pressed his face into my neck.

“How…” he started to say into my ear, but then I felt him shudder. Suddenly, before I knew what happened, he was several feet away from me. His wings were stretched fully behind him, and his eyes…they were red.

I fell to the ground and tried to level my breathing. He was gazing at me, his pulsing red eyes filled with fear. At me.

“Eddie…” I gasped, reaching for him. He was breathing heavily, his mouth open, his piercing fangs fully visible. My eyes went to his mouth, and I finally noticed what looked like dried blood around his mouth. His eyes were sunken into his skull, and his now red eyes were staring at me. The wings behind him were extended to their full length, and they were as massive as the span of an eagle, except these wings looked like the wings of a bat.

“I…oh,” I said, all the pieces of the puzzle finally coming together.

I couldn’t speak as I continued to look at him. Gradually, his pupils went from red back to black. He was breathing heavily, as if trying to control himself. Eventually, the fear in his eyes faded, only to be replaced by pain. Finally, he started to speak.

“How did you…you can’t be here, it’s not safe, it’s…” I choked back the tears that threatened to leak behind my eyes, grasping desperately at any sense of control over my senses. I had leapt into his arms, and he held me, he didn’t try to kill me…but for a second, it looked like he wanted to.

“I came looking for you,” I whispered, not able to tear my gaze from him.

The sadness in his eyes was all-consuming. His wings drooped and his shoulders sank. “It’s not safe for you. I’m not safe.”

“What…I don’t…” I tried to say, but words were continuing to fail me. He appeared to have regained control of himself as he stepped towards me, grabbing my arms with his clawed hands.

“You have to leave, now,” he said, a single tear leaking out of one eye.

I shook out of his hold on me and shook my head firmly. “I won’t leave you.”

He looked down, pain etched in every pore of his face. He tried to grab my arms again, but I flung out at him, suddenly feeling anger replace the grief that had just consumed me.

“I WON’T LEAVE YOU!” I shouted, wrathful tears leaking from my eyes. “Here you are, alive, and you’re telling me to leave! What the fuck is this place, what is happening, what…”

Before I could finish what would have been more mad ravings, he pulled me into his arms and pressed his face into my shoulder. I collapsed again as my legs seemed to melt. I clutched onto him, gasping wildly, my anger and my confusion swarming all my senses. I felt like I was going to keep sobbing, but I couldn’t produce more tears.

“Please, I don’t want to hurt you…” he whispered to me. I felt his own tears soaking my shirt as he kept pulling me closer to him, so close that I could barely breathe.

“Then don’t,” I said breathlessly. “It’s me.”

“I…I can barely control myself,” he started to say, his face still pressed into my shoulder.

I pulled away slightly so I could look at his face. Even though the being that looked back at me looked half-dead, had black eyes, and massive wings…I could still see Eddie. The past few weeks rushed through my brain, and I saw myself wrapped up in his jacket, lying on my bed, prostrate with grief. My memories had been flush with Eddie, who had been so full of life and humor. This beast in front of me was nothing like those memories I had of him before I thought he died, but it was still him. Even though his black eyes looked so different from the brown ones he had in life, there was still a fragment of the Eddie I knew, hidden deep inside.

Despite the change, he knew who I was. His nature compelled him to hurt me, but he didn’t. Some of his memories had to be intact, somehow. Had he died and somehow come back to life? Is that why he looked like a corpse fresh out of the grave?

“What happened to you?” I finally managed to ask. He leaned back far enough to meet my eyes, while still holding me tightly.

He closed his eyes as more tears fell from them. “I don’t know,” he said quietly. “Everything is a blur.”

“But you remember me. You know who I am,” I said quickly.

He nodded. “I do, but you…your smell, I…”

He was trying to say something, but words kept failing him.

“What the hell do you mean?” I asked, my frustration showing. “I don’t understand.”

He met my eyes again and slightly opened his mouth, showing me his deadly fangs. “I don’t know why, but something is driving me to hurt you, and I don’t want to…”

“Are you…some kind of…vampire?” I finally managed to spit out. “But, how…?”

He shook his head, ruffling his messy hair. “I don’t know, I don’t remember very much.”

I shook my head, squeezing my eyes shut, trying desperately to wake up if this was some kind of nightmare. All my dreams up until this point had been about Eddie in life, not as a…vampire. It seemed completely crazy and made no sense. Somehow, I was able to accept everything Dustin told me, despite how far-fetched it all sounded. But now, the Eddie I knew was still gone and had been replaced by this…I couldn’t think the word monster. This was Eddie, he couldn’t be a monster. Everything about him was warm and good, and this being was cold and looked like death rolled over…and had wings.

“Eddie, I…” I started to say before I found myself choking on my words. “I…I can’t lose you. Not again.”

Once again, he pulled me close into him. I felt his body tighten, as if holding me was causing him pain. Nonetheless, he kept his arms around me. I found myself wishing he would never let go.

“I can’t go back, not like this, and you can’t stay here. It’s too dangerous,” he said quietly.

“What am I supposed to do? I can’t go back knowing that you’re stuck here, alive.”

“You have to. Please. I can’t protect you.” He was pleading as he continued to grip me tightly in his strong arms.

I pressed my face into his chest, and for the first time, I noticed that I couldn’t hear his heart beating. It was completely silent. I sucked in a breath, trying to hold back more tears. Keeping it together was next to impossible, no matter how hard I tried.

“Eddie, I…” I started to say, then gulped as more tears built in my eyes, “I…I love you.”

His hard, cold body melted into mine again. Now, I felt like I was holding him up instead of the other way around.

“I love you. And I want to go home, but…I can’t. I can’t be responsible for anything happening to you,” he said, his black eyes meeting mine again.

“But, what about your uncle? What about…”

He stopped me by shaking his head. “They can’t know. I’d rather they think I’m dead.”

As my eyes continued to burn, a fierce headache broke into my skull. I wasn’t capable of producing any more tears. I was completely spent from the fear that had consumed me, the grief that had driven me to my knees, and all of the hurt and the confusion from everything that was happening. I understood that this wasn’t a dream, that Eddie was here, holding me…but he couldn’t come home. No one could know he was here. Even though he was alive, he wasn’t the same.

I raised my hand to his cheek and placed it there, and he closed his eyes and leaned into my touch.

“How am I supposed to go on like you’re dead, when I know you’re not?” I asked him quietly.

He opened his eyes and met mine again. “You have to. For me. I wish you hadn’t come, I wish you didn’t put yourself in danger like this, but…you reminded me that I was human. That it wasn’t all a dream.”

He leaned in and pressed a kiss to my forehead. “I don’t want to leave you, ever again, but you have to go home. At least for now. I don’t want this kind of life for you, and I don’t know what will happen if you stay here any longer…”

Before I could form a coherent thought, I launched myself at him and kissed him, viciously. As if my very life depended on it. I felt his body stiffen, but then soften as he kissed me back. He wrapped his arms around my body and I tossed my arms around his neck, bringing him closer to me. Suddenly, it felt like the last few weeks hadn’t happened, that Eddie hadn’t died. I was here, in his arms, as if my grief had been nothing more than a nightmare. As if I would wake up and feel his arms around me and hear him whispering in my ear, “It’s okay sweetheart, it was just a bad dream.”

I deepened the kiss, wanting to get lost in the hopes that were now making me feel weightless. I wanted so badly to have him back that I ached all over. I physically ached for Eddie, and I wanted to do anything and everything to have him be home again, exactly the way he always was. I fell in love with his devil-may-care attitude, his passion, his humor, and how gentle and sweet he was. Everyone else thought he was the devil, but I always knew that wasn’t even close to true. Even though he was trapped in this hell, and even though he resembled a demon in appearance, the Eddie I knew and loved still burned under that cold skin.

As we kissed, I felt his sharp fangs graze my lips. He appeared to be showing extraordinary resistance to sinking his teeth in me. His wings that had been folded tightly behind his back now wrapped around us like a protective cocoon. Eventually, he pulled back slightly and sucked in a breath.

“I’m sorry…” I said to him, seeing the pain stretched across his face. His eyes were oscillating between red and black. It almost looked like he was holding his breath.

With inhuman speed, he suddenly scooped me up into his arms and started walking away from the rock. I was stunned by his strength and his speed, but then I remembered that he wasn’t human anymore. The whole time he carried me, I looked at his face and pressed my own into his chest. Even though he didn’t look the same, I wanted to memorize every detail of his face.

Before long, I found myself back at the portal I had come through. It was still pulsing oddly, as if it was alive and breathing. I sucked in a breath as he set me down gently and then pulled me into his arms.

“I don’t ever want to let you go,” I whispered into him as fresh tears gushed from my eyes.

“I can’t go on if you’re not at home, safe. Please. Stay safe, for me.”

Agonizingly, I nodded slowly against his chest.

“I love you,” I said again.

He kissed the top of my head. “I love you,” he whispered back. Within a second, there was a mighty rush of air, and then he was gone. I blinked rapidly, trying to see through the wetness of my eyes, but he was nowhere to be seen. My breath caught in my throat as I looked around, wanting desperately to see him again. I’m not ready to let go.

Before I could think about it more, I forced myself through the quivering door and tried not to look back. As I stumbled through, I was met by warm air and the gentle hum of crickets in the night. I could only curl up on the barren ground and let more tears wash me away into agony. Everything on my body ached, my head felt like it was splitting open, and there was an all-consuming pain in my chest that had me heaving to normalize my breath.

I don’t know how long I lie there on the ground, not even remembering where I was. I had come to this place as if on auto pilot, letting my feet guide me while my head was a whirlwind of thoughts and doubts and hopes and fears. I waited until I felt strong enough to try and stand up, even though it took a few tries to get on my feet. Through the pounding of my head and the continuous flow of tears, I forced myself to try and muster the strength to get myself home and cleaned up before my parents discovered I was gone.

Nothing would ever be the same again. How could I possibly be strong enough to go on, as if Eddie was still dead? Was being trapped there a fate worse than death? Would I be strong enough to stay away, to stay safe, like he begged me to do?

I wanted so badly for that fantasy to come true: the one where I woke up, safe, in his arms. I wasn’t sure I even cared if it was warm, sweet, doe-eyed Eddie or the magnificent and terrifying creature of darkness with massive wings that I had just seen.

He remembers. He loves me. Somehow, some way, I won’t let this be the end.

That was the thought I repeated in my head, over and over again, to give me the strength to return home and keep telling the world that Eddie Munson, my Eddie, was dead.

I don’t want him to know how excited I am for this, because I worked very hard to make it seem like I was being peer pressured by my friends. I would never tell him that I was dreaming about dancing with him under the streamers of soft white lights, the same ones that currently decorate the gym as we walk in. He might think that was way too sappy.

He’s got his arm wrapped around my waist and I imagine he’s trying very hard not to roll his eyes. I know this isn’t usually his thing, I think to myself, but I can’t help it. Doesn’t every girl dream of dancing, looking like a princess, with her Prince Charming?

I grab his hand that’s wrapped around me, feeling the familiar chunky silver rings on his fingers.

My friends know how excited I am for prom. Over the last couple of weeks, I found myself guiltily indulging myself in talks of dresses and dancing. I didn’t tell my beloved, clumsy, metalhead boyfriend how excited I was, though.

“Come on, maybe it will be fun!” I said, trying to feign my own enthusiasm, throwing some false sarcasm in. He had scoffed in response.

“Hey, come on, you get to graduate this year, and we should go out with a bang!” When I said this, I saw a small smirk play on the side of his lips. He pretends that it’s not a big deal, but I know it is. Finally free from high school, I think as I look at him and smile. He can finally be released into the world in his full, goofy glory.

On second thought, maybe they’re not ready for him, I laugh as I think to myself.

Eddie Munson, the town drug dealer, the leader of a Dungeons and Dragons group, guitar extraordinaire, and twice now high school senior, was finally graduating. I mean, that’s all that everyone else knew about him, but I had come to find that he was so much more underneath that tough exterior.

I like to think I had something to do with getting him here. After all, in between the goofing around that he liked to do, I got him working on some homework here and there and improving his grades enough to graduate. I mean, he always tells me that it’s all me that got him there. I brush it off, but secretly I burn with pride inside whenever he says it.

Everything that they think about him can’t be true then. Sure, people say bad things about him, but since he’s been with me, there have been changes.

Eddie is who he is. I wouldn’t dream of changing that. However, I have succeeded in pushing him outside his comfort zone. Before me, he wouldn’t dream of going to prom.

“They don’t play Metallica and Iron Maiden at prom,” he said.

I shook my head and said, “No, probably not. But I think we should still go.”

He was quiet for a minute. Then, he finally said, “All right, I’ll do it. Just for you, though. You might have to drag me in.”

When he said that, I wrapped my arms around him and kissed him. He sighed and kissed me back, appearing completely defeated.

“I love you,” I told him. “We’ll get through it together, I promise.”

He nods and says, “Obviously I love you. I’m going to prom with you. I wouldn’t do it for anyone else.”

I kissed him again, feeling the excitement in my gut bubbling at the images of us on the dance floor together. I won’t admit it to him, but nothing thrilled me more.

Now, here we are, walking down the hallways of Hawkins High School. It has been decked out in dozens of shiny garlands, there is a long black carpet rolled down the hallway, and there are hundreds of black and white balloons all over the place. The lockers along the walls are almost invisible underneath all the streamers.

Honestly, I’m a little impressed. I expected the cheesy factor to be through the roof for the dance, but somehow, Hawkins High really came through. They decided to do a very formal black, white, and silver color palette for prom 1986.

I look up at Eddie, expecting a smirk. Instead, he looks slightly uncomfortable. I squeeze his hand to reassure him, and he meets my eyes. Then, he gives me a small smile.

When we get into the gym, I’m inundated by more decorations. This time, there are some gold garlands mixed in with the silver and black and white. The tables on the side have white tablecloths with small vases that have a few red roses in them. The amount of string lights everywhere is incredible: the normally hazy, yellow light of the gymnasium is turned off, so it’s just the silvery glow from the string lights. There is a huge disco ball hanging from the ceiling, and little circles of light are dancing all over the walls and the floors.

I look around and I find my friends at a table, and I lead Eddie over to join them. We all make small talk, mostly about how the decorations are much better than expected. Eddie is quieter than normal, and I give his hand another reassuring squeeze. He stands right beside me, clutching my hand tight.

After we hang out along the sides for a while, drinking sparkly red punch, the DJ plays “Open Arms” by Journey. I look at Eddie, he looks at me, and he rolls his eyes with a smile on his face. He takes my hand and leads me gently to the dance floor, then bends down low. I giggle as he raises my hand to his lips, kisses it, and says, “Madame, will you join me for this dance?”

I roll my eyes back at him. “You don’t have to milk it that much, darling. Just being here with you works for me.”

He chuckles, pulling me close to him. We start dancing, and we’re both laughing as we do so. He swings me around gently and pulls me back into his chest.

“Wow, I’m impressed,” I tell him. “I didn’t know you knew how to dance.”

He chuckles. “I don’t. I’m just doing what they always do in the movies.”

I kiss him and say, “Works for me.”

While the song plays, I find myself just gazing into his face. He smiles back at me, pressing his forehead against mine. Sighing, I close my eyes and get lost in the moment. There’s a whoosh of excited butterflies in my stomach, and it feels like they might lift me off the ground. This is it, I remind myself. I just wish we were alone now.

Being wrapped in his arms, my cheek brushing against the smooth leather of his jacket, I feel like everything so far has led right up to this moment, here with Eddie, and it was a perfect fit. I was never one to put much stock in fate, but something was definitely at work when we came together. Quite simply, this boy had swooped in and taken me for the ride of my life.

I remember us standing in my living room in front of the fireplace, begrudgingly standing for prom photos, and feeling a rush of so many strong emotions for Eddie. When I first went down the stairs, he gazed at me with a big smile on his face, really playing it up to make me laugh. I loved seeing his big, brown eyes melt when he looked at me. I could only hope that my blushing cheeks didn’t ruin my look. “Wow, babe,” he whispered in my ear as he pulled me into his arms, “You look incredible.”

Eddie had put together black dress slacks, a black button-up shirt, and his signature leather jacket on top of it. He was wearing black dress shoes, his favorite chunky silver rings on his fingers, and his hair was its usual, bushy self. There wasn’t much that could be done about his unruly curls. He was wearing a red tie that he borrowed from his uncle that I straightened slightly when I fell into his arms. I loved that he managed to dress up a little while still looking like himself.

I know that when I see the pictures, I won’t be able to contain my laughter at the photos of us trying to pose. We started out slightly uncomfortable from the camera in our faces and my parents gushing, but all I had to do was look in his eyes and smile at him. He smiled back at me, wrapping his arms around my waist. His humor was unparalleled: in his typical fashion, he insisted on a picture of me riding him piggyback, and even one with both of our tongues sticking out.

I loved what I saw when I got lost in his brown eyes: there was a glow that made me weak in the knees. That was why I could so easily brush the stereotypes that everyone had about Eddie aside, because they didn’t see what I saw when I looked at him. If they only could, they would know.

While dress shopping, I had been committed to finding something that I knew he would like. Since he was a guitar-playing metalhead, I hoped to find something black. Thank the prom gods, because that day I was lucky to find a long, black dress adorned with sparkling stones all over it. The top was like a strapless corset, covered with sparkly, silver stones, and the bottom of the dress was slightly flared, but didn’t look poofy. Somehow, it looked simple but decadent.

I did my hair in smooth curls with a single braid wrapped loosely around my crown. I wasn’t gifted at doing hair, but I was happy with the result when I saw it in the mirror. Somehow, the dress had fit me perfectly when I tried it on, and that’s how I knew it was the right one.

“Are you sure you want that one?” my friends had asked as they browsed other gowns, all colorful and frilly.

“No doubt in my mind,” I said, only thinking of Eddie.

After a while, I’m pulled out of my thoughts as Eddie places a kiss on my forehead. I find myself wishing we could just stay like this forever.

As the night goes on, we dance a few more times together, him exaggerating so many moves in his usual, goofy way. We chat with my friends, talking about all the fun things going on this summer. There’s an aura of excitement all around because everyone is excited to graduate, to start their summer jobs, and to get ready to move away for college. Eddie holds my hand almost the whole night, participating sporadically in conversation.

As we dance, I giggle every time he makes a misstep. He plays the role well, despite him not having dancing experience. His effort is so endearing and makes me love him so much more. I love the way the lights twinkle all around as we glide across the floor. I might be the only one wearing a black gown, and Eddie is wearing a leather jacket instead of a suit jacket, but I know neither of us care. He might be Eddie the Freak to everyone else, but to me, he’s the perfect, rugged, guitar-playing nerd with the biggest heart.

After the final slow song, everybody starts gathering up and getting ready to leave. Most of them are going off to some party, but I’m happy at the thought of just going back to Eddie’s trailer. He kept teasing me about a surprise that was waiting for me there.

After saying goodbye to my friends in the parking lot, he helps me into the passenger seat of his van.

“Thanks babe. I know you must have hated it, but I had a lot of fun,” I say as he starts the van.

He shrugs, smiling at me. “Nah, it wasn’t so bad. You in that dress was my favorite part.”

My heart races a little as he says this. “I’m glad it wasn’t too painful. Now, it’s just the two of us.”

He raises his brow suggestively and says, “Finally! I’ve wanted to be alone with you all night.”

I give him a playful smack on the shoulder. “Behave yourself.”

“How can I, with you looking like that?”

I shake my head, blushing.

As we drive down the road to his trailer, I see the porch light is on. There’s a folding table on the ground by the door, with a boombox on it, two champagne flutes, and a bottle of champagne. Eddie smiles and parks the van. I get out and rush to the table, a huge smile covering my face.

Hope you guys had fun, a note next to the champagne bottle reads. Be good, but not too good. Love, Uncle Wayne.

I cover my face with my hands, laughing and blushing like crazy. “Oh my god, what?! That’s the cutest thing I’ve ever seen!” I exclaim.

Eddie, laughing, comes up behind me and wraps his arms around me, kissing my neck. “Now we can have our own prom, just you and me.”

He goes to the table and starts unscrewing the top of the champagne bottle, aiming it away from us. It pops loudly, foam pouring out of the top. Eddie holds it like he’s playing a guitar, sticking his tongue out. As usual, I can’t contain my laughter at this.

He pours champagne into the glasses and hands me one. He holds it up to propose a toast. With the light on above the front door, it looks like he’s glowing and the champagne looks like pure gold.

“To us,” he says, smiling at me.

“To my beloved Eddie Munson, Hawkins High graduate, and to 1986. It’s your year, babe.”

He looks at the ground, smiling and shaking his head. It looks like he might cry. I wrap my arm around him and kiss him. He wraps his arms around me and kisses me back. I could do this forever.

We clink our glasses together and take a sip. The bubbles in my stomach from the champagne make me feel lighter than air. To be honest, I wouldn’t be surprised if we both floated away.

He sets his glass down and presses play on the boombox, and “Angel Flying Too Close to the Ground,” by Willie Nelson plays from the speakers. He then takes the glass from me, sets it on the table, and takes my hands, pulling me close to him.

In the little patch of dirt by the front door of his trailer, Eddie pulls me into a slow dance. I press my face into the crook of his neck, inhaling his lovely scent and drinking in the moment. He presses one hand against my lower back and is holding my other hand in his, and we sway gently to the music. He smells like smoke, a hint of cologne, and his jacket smells like weathered leather. I love the way his hand feels on my back, and how his breath feels on the skin between my shoulder and neck.

He leans in close so his mouth is right next to my ear, and he sings along quietly:

“If you had not have fallen, then I would not have found you, my angel flying too close to the ground.”

My heart leaps out of my chest and I press into him deeper, feeling happy tears well in my eyes.

As we dance together, the whole world seems to disappear. I get lost in the simple beauty of the moment, intoxicated by the champagne and the warm summer air. The song on the boombox mixes with the sounds of summer: the crickets chirping, the buzz from the light fixture on the side of the trailer, other residents of the park enjoying the weather outside, talking and laughing, and the crunch of asphalt under car tires driving through the park. 

Promise of an incredible summer is buzzing throughout the air, and I start imagining it all in my head: watching Eddie playing his guitar, a cigarette poking out of his mouth, sitting on top of the hill and looking at the stars and sharing a blunt, waking up to the sun blazing through the windows, going to the drive-in movie theater, cuddling up close and sharing beer.

“This is so much better than the prom,” I whisper to him.

I hear him chuckle. “Could have saved us both the trouble and we could have just done this instead.”

I press into him more closely. “Hmm, you might be right.”

I feel him press his lips to my collarbone. Then, he leans in close to my ear and says, “You know I’d do anything for you.”

I gasp a little, glad my face is hiding in his neck. “I know,” I whisper back.

We sway gently to the music for a while, not talking. I discover that he made a tape with nothing but slow songs on it for us to dance to. The next song is “Heaven” by Warrant, and I smile at him and kiss him when it comes on.

“If we died and went to heaven and it was like this, I’d be okay with that,” I say.

He laughs, nods, and says, “I’d be okay with that too. If only heaven would take me.”

I turn my face up to look at him and rest my hand on his cheek. “Eddie, you’re the most amazing person I’ve ever met. If heaven won’t take you, then I wouldn’t want to go there anyway. Heaven is with you.”

A big smile breaks his face. He wraps one hand around the back of my neck, buried in my hair, and kisses me deeply. I wrap myself completely around him, once again feeling myself fall under his hypnotic spell.

After a while, I hardly notice the music playing. I forget that we’re in a trailer park, dancing and drinking champagne and making out by his front door. He has the effect on me where he makes me forget anything and everything else besides him.

We dance for a while longer, sipping champagne and laughing and getting progressively clumsier. He tries to twirl me around but loses grip of my hand, so I go flying. As I land on the ground, laughing hysterically, he helps me up and brushes the dirt off my dress.

“God, I’m sorry,” he says through laughter, aggressively wiping my dress with his hands.

“Oh stop,” I say through my giggles, taking his hands in mine. We’re both trying to catch our breath from dancing and laughing, so for a few moments we just stand together, wrapped in each other’s arms, swaying softly.

The tape in the boombox runs out, and the champagne bottle is empty. Our glasses are drained, our heads are fuzzy, and a feeling of elation is coursing through the two of us. We start kissing again, and then Eddie swoops me up into his arms and carries me into the trailer. I laugh as he carries me through the living room into his bedroom, somehow navigating the small space despite the fullness of my dress. He plops me onto his bed and starts undoing the zipper on the back of the dress.

“Hang on, would ya?” I say through giggles, pushing him aside so I can take my shoes off. To show him how much he was rubbing off on me, I was wearing Converse hi-tops underneath my dress, in lieu of heels.

After I throw my shoes and socks to the ground, he resumes kissing me hungrily, saying, “God you’re perfect” in between kisses.

I laugh, pulling his jacket off him and throwing it. This becomes a kind of game as he kicks my shoes away from the bed. We’re laughing as we undress each other. He does slide my dress off with care, trying not to ruin it. To play with him a little, I very slowly undo the buttons on his shirt. He stops kissing me, looks down at the buttons, and says, “I thought you mentioned wanting to rip this off me earlier?”

I meet his eyes, smiling, and say, “It’s a nice shirt. I don’t want to ruin it.”

Just then, he sits up, shakes his hair out of his face, and grasps his shirt tightly in his fists. Then, with force, he pulls it open, busting all the buttons open. I can’t contain my laughter as he shrugs out of the shirt, now completely ruined, across the room. He does an absurd Tarzan-like impersonation, beating his fists on his now bare chest.

“Hey,” I say, pretending to pout, but failing since I can’t stop laughing. “I wanted to do that.”

He shakes his head, laughing, and rolls his eyes at me.

“What am I going to do with you?” he asks.

“Love me forever, I hope,” I say, wrapping my arms around him.

He smiles, kisses me, then leans in close to my ear.

“Already done, sweetheart,” he whispers quietly.

It’s been six years. Every day, I add one token to the bank of days it has been. After all, one day at a time is a common cliché.

When I do manage to fall asleep, most of my dreams that I remember follow a similar pattern. I’m standing on the edge of a tall place, feeling like I’m about to fall (I’m afraid of heights.) I’m looking for my classroom, lost in what seems like a maze of buildings. Sometimes the school is circular, and it feels like I’m going around for ages, until I finally find what I’m looking for. I’m trying to remember the combination for my locker. I’m trying to find my way through a house with endless rooms: no matter how many stairs I climb, no matter how many doors I go through, there is always more.

But sometimes, even six years after the end, he interrupts the comfortable chaos of my normal nightmares. I dream of him, the great and terrible what-if, the one that got away. Sometimes, days or weeks or months go by with no dreams of him, and it gives my heart and soul a blissful break. My dreams of him are almost always lucid: I’m aware that I’m dreaming while I’m with him, and I know it’s not real. Last night, he tried to tell me this time, it’s real. In the depth of my subconscious, I kept thinking: don’t wake up, don’t wake up, he’s here, don’t wake up.

This is the product of my deepest desire, the subject of my most personal wish that I don’t tell anyone. It only comes true when I’m asleep. My wakeful mind reminds me that it’s over, it’s been over for a long time, fucking move on already. Why can’t this last piece hiding in my subconscious let go, let go once and for all?

Maybe it’s because he’s the one who stole my heart, my hope.

Some people say there is a calm before the storm, but I’d like to amend that and talk about the calm after the storm. It’s unsettling and quiet, and there is an air of surrealism as I look around, seeing nothing but havoc and destruction. Trees are uprooted, there is debris everywhere, houses are massacred, and the air feels heavy. A fire is still be burning somewhere, as if it is fed by decay.

The calm after the storm is when the world is dreamlike, hazy, like being between sleep and waking.

That’s where I am now. The world is so quiet outside my window, and the skies are an overcast grey with the smallest quiver of sunlight hiding behind the clouds. You probably wouldn’t believe me if I told you the world ended a few weeks ago.

But it did.

The silence is deafening, but it is a relief against the pounding of my thoughts. They swirl around my skull like lost ghosts. Any sound, though, would make me just hide my head under my pillow. That’s where my head has been for weeks, and my body has been buried in my bed. I mean, the world ended right, so who cares if I never got up again?

The splitting headache from my tears is the only constant that exists anymore. My eyes are so dry and red that it feels like I can never cry again. But I know I will. It’s the only way I can ever fall asleep anymore.

A soft breeze ripples through the leaves on the trees that are still standing. There is no one outside at all, and it feels as silent as a graveyard. The window is open, and the breeze makes it way under the windowpane and tickles my cheek. It ruffles my hair, soft as a whisper. A single tear creeps out of my eye, and I don’t even bother wiping it away. I stopped trying to hide my tears a long time ago. Once, I used to hide them from him. I didn’t want the smile to fade from his face, not even for a second, to worry about me. I didn’t want him to know the ruinous thoughts that crept through my brain, uninvited, even though he told me I had nothing to fear. He would have held me, comforted me, and said you’re not going to lose me.

But how could he know? He would never expect to be taken from the world, taken from me, forever.

He always had this thing about “not being a hero.” He always said, there’s nothing wrong with running. He tried to tell me that that’s what he’d been doing all his life thus far. And look at me, he said, I’m still here, spreading his arms wide and smiling at me.

At this thought, I choke, seemingly forgetting how to breathe. Even taking a breath feels painful. Seeing his smile in my head makes my withered eyes burn even harder.

This is what nobody tells you when someone you love dies: how the world seems to keep turning, but somehow stops at the same time. It’s like other people are moving around you, and you’re stuck in one place. The sun goes up and then goes down, just the way it always did before, but you still don’t go anywhere. The grief keeps you locked in a vortex that you cannot escape. Others look at you with sad eyes, wishing they knew what to say, what to do, to help. But there is nothing they can do. No one can pull you out, at least not right then. For a while, it refuses to let go and it will only slightly fade as more time passes.

For now, the chasm I’m in is deep and perilous, but until the pain in my chest abates, I would rather just lie here until I get swallowed in. Maybe then, just maybe, it will stop hurting so much.

In another life, I would be wrapped in his arms, crying into his jacket, and he would be whispering, I got you, sweetheart. It’s going to be okay, I promise. In another life, I would believe him. I would believe that the pain would stop, that it would be okay.

But he doesn’t know that he’s the reason for my pain. The day he left the world, it didn’t just stop for him. It feels like it stopped for me too.

I feel like a different person now. The old me, the person I used to be when I was with him, that was my best self. Before, it always felt like I was just stepping through life, making my way as best as I could without leaving any footprints. With him, I made more strides than ever before. He led me along, arm around my waist, whispering in my ear, you got this.

He became real the first day he spoke to me. He, quite literally, crash landed into my life. Before I officially met him, he was like a mirage. I didn’t understand what I was thinking and feeling as I looked at him, that strange boy with the long hair and the ripped jeans. He seemed hazy to me, as if he only existed on the fringe of a dream, but I kept seeing him at school every day. Until, he finally spoke to me.

I had been standing at my locker at school, trying to decide if I should bring both textbooks to class instead of just one, and suddenly, I was on the floor. I blinked, dazed, looking at my books and folders all over the floor. I had felt something run into me, but I didn’t know what. Suddenly, a hand reached out to me. I looked up, and it was him. His face was bright red, and I thought he was apologizing for something.

“I am so sorry! Are you okay?” he asked. I shook my head, as if I could literally dissipate the fog in my brain that was preventing me from speaking.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” I responded, taking his hand so he could help me up. Once I was standing, he scrambled to pick up my stuff all over the ground.

“Seriously, I am so sorry,” he kept saying as he collected my things. I just nodded, still not knowing what to say. Pull it together, jeez. He’s just a guy.

“Really, it’s okay,” I said, choking out a quick laugh. Once he had my things, he stood up right in front of me. I met his eyes, and the only thought I had in that moment was how huge they were.

“I was an idiot,” he said, looking over and giving the middle finger to someone down the hallway. I turned to look, and another guy was shrugging, looking embarrassed. I looked back at him, and he shook his head.

“That little shit is so dead,” he said, “I guess he thought it would be really funny to try and headlock me in the middle of the crowded hallway, when I was least expecting it.”

I forced a laugh. “No big deal.”

He still looked at me, right at me. “You sure you’re okay?” he asked again, “You look a little dazed.”

You have no idea, dude, I thought to myself, but it’s not because I fell.

“No, I’m fine,” I said, trying to force a smile, but then I found myself smiling for real when he grinned at me.

Still holding my things in one arm, he held out his other hand. “I’m Eddie. Eddie Munson.”

I took his hand and told him my name.

“Wow, that’s beautiful,” he said, holding out my books for me to take.

I took them and rolled my eyes. “Really, you don’t have to pretend to flirt with me to make amends. It’s not a big deal.”

A crestfallen look covered his face. “I wasn’t pretending to flirt with you.”

I raised an eyebrow at him. “You weren’t?”

He shook his head, his thick, brown hair fanning around his shoulders.

“Oh,” I said simply, feeling my face turn red.

I wonder what he’d think if he knew how often I watched him at lunch, I thought.

“Can I make it up to you?” he asked.

I looked back up at him, praying my face wasn’t too terribly red.

“I know a great spot, outside of town, I’ll take you there. It’s kind of my secret.” He said the last sentence leaning in close to my ear. My stomach flung up to my throat when he got close to me.

I remember trying to think of what to say, maybe something witty, flirty, or clever, but my brain had not been working properly. What the hell is wrong with me? He’s just a guy.

But he wasn’t. I was one of the few people that ever figured that out. He was way more than just a guy.

I remember biking home after school that day, relishing the fresh air pumping into my lungs and clearing my foggy brain. There were so many things I wish I had said to him then, things that would have made me look smooth, flirtatious, and confident. But, for reasons I couldn’t explain, I felt like I couldn’t speak around him. And now I have a date with him. How did that happen?

A sob chokes through me as the spell of my memory breaks. Those memories have me trapped in that chasm of grief, because to try and escape them hurts so much more when I crash land back to reality. Now, I will never see his smile again. I will never feel his warm arms around me, kissing my forehead. Those memories are the only things that make me feel like I’m still real at all and not just a shadow in the dark.

That beautiful boy crash landed into me like a massive meteor, and now, I can never be the same again. He filled a hole in me that I didn’t even know was there, and now that he is gone, my entire core feels like it was ripped out of me.

Everyone even said I was different after meeting him. Some were concerned because of the rumors they might have heard about him, but those who understood knew that I was better than I ever had been. My dad, poor thing, will never understand teenage girls, and he didn’t try to figure out what had changed with me. My mom, with her superpower of reading me like a large-print book, started to get it. Before she had even met him, she noticed a lightness in my step that wasn’t there before. I swear, our eyes would meet, and she just knew somehow. Eventually, she insisted on meeting him. Even though his outward appearance made her wonder, all she had to do was pay attention to how I looked at him.

She had already spent almost every night the last few weeks holding me while I sobbed in her arms. If she didn’t know then, she knew now.

Only I can speak of what I saw when I looked at him. And I know now that I will always be grateful that he had me in his life, to see him in a way that no one else got to. Because what I saw, and what he was, was a gift.

The rest of the world was comfortable blaming everything on him, saying he was the leader of a devil cult. It makes sense that all of this was his fault to them. But they don’t know. How could they? They never stopped to look at him and try to see what I saw. Because if they had bothered, he might still be alive.

He was gentle, because every time he touched me, held me, his hands and his arms were soft. His huge heart practically bled out of his chest any time I didn’t look happy, because he couldn’t be happy either. He was always thinking about me and how to make me happy: picking wildflowers for me from the fields outside of town, getting my favorite movies from the video store, always having my favorite snacks at his trailer. He always knew when I needed a hug, a kiss, or even just a touch. He was a gentleman because he held every door open for me and he always made sure I was comfortable with everything we did.

He could quickly change the whole mood of the room, just with his presence. He was clumsy and goofy, and he used this to his advantage. He was funny and said ridiculous things to make people laugh, and sometimes, he didn’t even have to try. To me, he radiated light and warmth. He used his charisma to really reach people and to try and make them laugh.

His eyes held everything beautiful in the world in them. They were soft, delicate, and they always seemed to be glowing. His smile was my kryptonite: just seeing it, knowing I was the reason behind it, made all the bullshit of the world fall away. He was devilish, charming, flirtatious, and could make anybody laugh at the drop of a hat. He was whimsical and silly, never taking anything too seriously.

Above all, he was brave. He was brave to be himself in a world that hated him. Instead of hiding away like so many others, he refused to be unknown.

And it occurred to me after a few weeks, when the grief didn’t feel so gaping and fresh: I was brave to love him. At first, I was scared to. I didn’t know how to explain how I was feeling, because I had never felt anything like it before. And then, once I already loved him, I was brave to keep loving him. Because I knew we lived in a world that would never embrace him exactly as he was, and because I was always afraid of the world tearing us apart someday. I was afraid to lose him, and maybe someone other than me would have run away from that. Nothing in this life is forever. But I didn’t run away from him. I loved him too much. I didn’t care what everyone else said about him.

And he didn’t run from me. He crashed into me and saw something in me that I could never see myself. He refused to let a single day go by without telling me I was beautiful, I was strong, I could do whatever I wanted to do.

It is brave to be in love in this world, isn’t it? So many things can’t last, and I suppose parts of me worried about the day that he wouldn’t be in my life anymore. But somehow, that big oaf of a boy convinced me to take the leap and to love him, no matter what everyone else thought. Despite what I even thought. And even though he tried to sell me on how easily he could run away, I refused to believe it. Because he didn’t run away from me, from loving me, despite the world and its cruelties.

Some time goes by, I don’t know how much. Time doesn’t even seem real anymore. But eventually, I turn my tired eyes back to the window, brought back from my memories by the sunlight breaking through the clouds. A quiet titter of birds singing breaks the utter stillness of the world outside. The storm has passed, ripping up the tree roots as it went, but there is still a little bit that remains when it leaves. The world was quiet for a while, but the sound is starting to return.

My cheeks are wet from the fresh tears, and the headache that seems to constantly break open my skull feels like it’s pulsing in my brain. I take a deep breath, and I’m reminded that I need to breathe again. It’s almost like getting lost in the memories and refusing to breathe in the current reality will help me stay there, where he still exists.

It hits me again: he never ran away. He crash landed into this world, into me, and didn’t let anything, or anyone, dull his shine. All this time, he just waited for someone to see him for what he really was. And I was lucky to love him. He was brave for being himself, for loving me, and I was equally as brave to love him back.

If I knew then what I knew now, would I still have said yes? Would I still have gone out with him and let myself fall for him?

Just for a moment, it feels like he’s right next to me. And the fresh tears falling down my face, accompanied by the shadow of a sad smile, don’t burn as much as they usually do. Somehow, in the heaviness of grief, I can still be reminded of how lucky I was to love him, and how much courage we both had to love as fiercely as we did in this cynical world.

I didn’t run away this time, right?

No, my golden boy, you never did. You were always so, so brave.

This is a short essay I wrote for my Seminar in Courts and Sentencing class. My instructor asked us to write about the insanity defense, and I chose to focus on the infamous case of John Wayne Gacy.

Paper #1: Mental Health Issues

                Christmastime in Chicago in 1978 was anything but idyllic. Little did everyone know, the world was about to be turned upside down, beginning on the fateful night of December 20^th. Throughout the night, a young lawyer named Sam Amirante realized that his life was never going to be the same. Unbeknownst to him, one of the most notorious serial killers in history was now his client, a man named John Wayne Gacy. Gacy was indicated for the murders of 33 young men and was subsequently convicted in March of 1980. At the time, Gacy was the only person in history to be charged with the highest number of victims for a single individual. It was obvious to everyone that this man was not “normal,” but was he, “insane?”

                The primary strategy of the defense for John Wayne Gacy became the insanity defense, which has been controversial since John Hinckley Jr. was acquitted and found not guilty by reason of insanity. The content of the public outcry was that this was a loophole that existed in the criminal justice system that allowed a guilty person to escape punishment (Public Broadcasting Service). The M’Naughten Rule was the basis of the insanity defense after Daniel M’Naughten attempted to assassinate the prime minister in England in 1843, and it determined that, “a defendant should not be held responsible for his actions if he could not tell that his actions were wrong at the time he committed them (Public Broadcasting Service)”.

                The insanity defense has remained controversial throughout its history, but it is seldom successful. According to the Public Broadcasting Service, the insanity defense is raised in less than one percent of felony cases and is successful in only a small percent of cases. According to the Illinois statute, “A person is not criminally responsible for conduct if at the time of such conduct, as a result of mental disease or mental defect, he lacks substantial capacity to appreciate the criminality of his conduct, and a person who, at the time of the commission of a criminal offense, was not insane but was suffering from a mental illness, is not relieved of criminal responsibility for his conduct and may be found guilty but mentally ill (Illinois Statute, 720 ILCS 5/6-2).”

                Over the course of the trial, it was difficult to anyone to reasonably contest Gacy’s guilt in the murders. However, the presence of Mr. Gacy’s supposed episodes of insanity while the crimes were committed were brought to the trial by the defense. Several psychologists testified to the insanity defense of Mr. Gacy, with examples of variance in their testimony. Dr. Leonard Heston had diagnosed Gacy as an antisocial personality, but that he did not suffer from psychosis. Dr. A. Arthur Hartman testified his opinion that Gacy never suffered a disease of the psychotic type, and that he was sane, able to conform his conduct to law, and that he was able to appreciate the criminality of his actions (People of the State of Illinois vs. John Gacy: The Functioning of the Insanity Defense at the Limits of the Criminal Law, 86 W. Va. L. Rev. (1984.) According to Dr. Robert A. Reifman, Gacy had a narcissistic personality type, but that this was not a mental disease. Dr. Reifman also pointed out the evidence of planning in the crimes that does not confirm an “irresistible impulse.” Dr. David C. Garron testified that Gacy was competent in all areas and that there was limited evidence of “poorly controlled impulses.”

                John Wayne Gacy had previously alluded to an additional personality named “Jack” who had been the one to commit the crimes, but none of these statements were determined to be evidence of a psychotic disorder. According to the overall evaluation of Mr. Gacy, it had been reported that, as a child, Mr. Gacy had suffered from extreme emotional and physical abuse by his father. Instances of adverse health conditions were noted to be present throughout childhood: slower development than normal, persistent head injuries and episodes of “blackouts”, coronary insufficiency, and a convulsive disorder, among others. Instances of Mr. Gacy collecting and hoarding ladies’ undergarments, sexual exploitation by an older man, and abuse by his father were noted to have occurred in Mr. Gacy’s childhood and adolescence. He also appeared to be in denial about his sexuality and did not view those who engaged in homosexual acts as people: rather, they were “paid for,” therefore, they could be used as he pleased. It was argued that these factors contributed to Mr. Gacy not being of sound mind.

                Evidence that precluded his competence and lack of a substantial insanity defense was behaviors exhibiting planning in advance to committing the crimes, choosing victims deliberately on the assumption that they would not be missed, the sheer number of the victims, and that significant effort to cover up the crimes had been made. The closing argument for the defense had three main themes: it would not be moral to execute a sick man, the sentence of death would be an act of “mere revenge,” and that Gacy’s life should be spared for the sake of scientific study (People of the State of Illinois vs. John Gacy: The Functioning of the Insanity Defense at the Limits of the Criminal Law, 86 W. Va. L. Rev. (1984). There was not solid expert testimony that convinced the jury that Mr. Gacy was insane at the time of the crimes.

                The specificity of the insanity defense makes this is a difficult case to make for those who attempt it for their clients. In Mr. Gacy’s case, it appeared that his attorneys were not arguing his guilt per se, but that he should be committed and studied to further scientific understanding of similar offenders instead of given the death penalty. On May 10^th, 1994, John Wayne Gacy was put to death by lethal injection. His case has provided valuable insight into serial killer behavior, as well as his case being an important testament to what constitutes a successful insanity defense.

                The important takeaway from Mr. Gacy’s story, like so many habitual offenders like him, is that their behavior may be heinous, disturbing, disgusting, and in violation of every moral standing that guides good and ethical behavior, but those who would say, “the person MUST be insane and crazy,” is not accurate according to the law and the legal definition of insanity. Additionally, the presence of a mental illness is not enough in itself to substantiate an insanity defense. Even before Mr. Gacy, serial murderers have often been found to be articulate, well-spoken, intelligent, cognizant, and aware throughout the process of the trial and sentencing. Their crimes are often just as heinous as Mr. Gacy’s was, however, they are found to be competent according to the standards of the law and are not of such serious mental defect that psychosis was found to be present during their crimes.

                The terms, “crazy,” “psychotic,” and “insane” are tossed around very casually in normal conversation when it comes to this topic. After all, how does a “sane” person murder 33 young boys and bury approximately 30 of those bodies under and in their home? While it is morally objectionable behavior according to the standards of a thriving and law-abiding society, it does not make the offender “crazy.” Despite the commission of his crimes, Mr. Gacy had a history of being an upstanding citizen, participating in community events and politics, maintaining a successful business, hiring young men to give them higher-paying work, and being married and having children. It became clear that, on the surface, Mr. Gacy was not the monster that he was being accused of being at the onset of the discovery of the murdered boys. Throughout history, it has become very clear that serial killers are often complex and multi-layered individuals who can play the role of an upstanding citizen and a good neighbor while committing abhorrent crimes.

                This is what makes the phenomenon of serial murder so fascinating to the masses: the phenomenon of a wolf in sheep’s clothing. To all appearances, serial killers can be the person who is least expected to be the commissioner of the crimes that they are accused, however, that is not enough to diminish their responsibility. The lack of understanding about mental illness, insanity, and instances of psychosis perpetuates the idea that these reprehensible individuals must be “crazy” to do the things they do, however, it has been shown that this is usually not the case. An element of the insanity defense for Mr. Gacy that does have merit can be argued to be preserving his life for further study. It has become clear that the criminal justice system has a lot to learn about offenders like Mr. Gacy and understanding the psychology of a habitual offender and/or murderer can provide valuable insights into criminal behavior.

References:

Donald H. Herman, Helen L. Morrison, Yvonne Sor, Julie A. Norman & David M. Neff, People of the State of Illinois vs. John Gacy: The Functioning of the Insanity Defense at the Limits of the Criminal Law, 86 W. Va. L. Rev. (1984). Available at: https://researchrepository.wvu.edu/wvlr/vol86/iss4/8

Ott, T. (2021, August 13). John Wayne Gacy: A timeline of the ‘killer clown’ murders, trial and execution. Biography.com. Retrieved September 5, 2022, from https://www.biography.com/news/john-wayne-gacy-timeline-murders

Public Broadcasting Service. (n.d.). A crime of insanity – insanity on trial | frontline. PBS. Retrieved September 5, 2022, from https://www.pbs.org/wgbh/pages/frontline/shows/crime/trial/history.html

Illinois General Assembly Compiled Statutes. Criminal Offenses (720 ILCS 5/) Criminal Code of 2012. Retrieved September 5, 2022, from https://www.ilga.gov/legislation/ilcs/ilcs4.asp?ActID=1876&ChapterID=53&SeqStart=7800000&SeqEnd=9300000