005 Monster
'Foreign freak, come out if you've got the guts—stop hiding!'
Before they knew it, Tommy and the others had lost track of Richard. Their pace slowed to a labored jog; some simply quit, bracing themselves against tree trunks while they gasped for air. Tommy hit his limit too, face flushed crimson as he shouted into the forest.
Whoosh!
A fist-sized stone flew out of nowhere and slammed into a chubby kid in the group. The boy had no time to defend himself. All that bulk looked tough but proved useless—his skin was soft as pudding. One hit and he screamed, clutching an arm that was already purple and swelling as he dropped to his knees.
'Fuck, he's ambushing us!' a burly guy yelled. He spun around, but before he could spot Richard another stone clipped his shoulder. He howled, kneeling and clutching the joint.
After that it wasn't just stones; pinecones came whizzing in like artillery shells. One after another they smacked the group. Several more kids collapsed; the rest dove for cover, yelping each time something struck.
Tommy squealed in pain, rage boiling over. Just then a companion pointed and shouted, 'I see him—over there!'
Tommy followed the finger and spotted Richard, both hands flinging whatever he could grab. Furious, Tommy bellowed, 'Coward! Fight me face-to-face!'
'Funny—you didn't want a fair fight when you brought your whole crew,' Richard sneered. 'Come on, Tommy. Show me what you've got. Can't out-talk me, can't out-fight me—trash.'
Trash? He actually said it!
The word detonated in Tommy's skull—especially coming from someone he looked down on. Snatching up a fallen branch, he roared and charged.
The idiot tried zig-zagging like he was dodging dodgeballs, but running a serpentine only makes your path predictable.
With his enhanced vision, Richard found it child's play. The unripe pinecones in his hand were as hard as gravel; he snapped off several shots that landed dead-on Tommy's joints.
Barely ten meters in, Tommy crashed to the ground. No amount of fury could withstand Richard's arm.
Seeing their leader drop, the others decided Richard was some kind of demon and bolted.
'Huh... looks like you don't have many friends.' Richard stepped out of the brush and strolled toward the fallen Tommy. 'Pathetic. The kids you bully have thicker skin. All I asked was a public apology for what you did, and you can't handle a little embarrassment? Compared to what you put others through, this is nothing—trash.'
Two days at Hawkins High had already told Richard plenty about the reign of school-bully Tommy.
High school bullying wasn't just insults; Tommy probably started more brawls in the cafeteria than classes he attended in three years.
When the tide turned, nobody lifted a finger for him—exactly what he deserved.
As Richard drew close, Tommy lurched up swinging.
Richard wasn't some green kid; growing up an orphan he'd learned to fight early. To his strengthened body the attack looked clumsy. He sidestepped, landed a flurry of body shots, then pinned Tommy's head and hammered fists down.
Moments later Tommy lay motionless, whimpering.
Richard knew the drill: open-hand slaps to the face, moderate force—no clear bruises; real punches went to the body. Tommy could limp home looking only disheveled, too proud to tell his parents he'd been thrashed.
After the beating Tommy begged for mercy, staring up in terror—Richard might as well have been the devil himself.
'Listen, moron—I've got no interest in you. Wanna keep playing king of the school? Fine. But come near me or my friends again and I'll kick your ass so hard you won't sit for a week. Got it?' Richard's cold eyes froze Tommy in place.
'I—I swear, I won't,' Tommy stammered.
'Good. Now get lost—crawl away nice and slow.' Richard rose, gave Tommy's rear a parting kick, then added with a smirk, 'Better run before I change my mind.'
The words shot adrenaline through the battered boy; shrieking, he scrambled away.
'That should settle it—hope he learns,' Richard muttered. He walked back to where the chase had started, collected his bike—frame bent from a fall—and headed home.
The frame was shot; fixing it was more trouble than it was worth. It had already groaned with rust anyway, and he'd meant to buy a new ride.
He got off work two hours early and told Benny he was heading into town for a replacement. Benny waved him off, only worried the seven-p.m. trip might bring him back too late.
Seven o'clock struck just as the radio show signed off.
Seeing the diner's only young kitchen hand already out of his apron and ready to clock out, a paunchy, bearded regular ribbed him, "Well, well, Richard, knocking off early today for a hot date with some pretty girl?"
"Nope, just heading into town to buy a bike," Richard replied with a small smile at the customer's gap-toothed grin.
"Richard, hold up!" Benny called from the back kitchen, hustling out to give the boy a friendly slap on the shoulder. "Hang on a minute—I've got a buddy who got stuck on the night shift and has to drive into town. He'll give you a lift."
Richard blinked, then grinned. "That'd be great—thanks, Benny."
"Come back soon; you've got school tomorrow." Benny smiled. The new kid was everything he liked: punctual, careful, and—according to the customers—his burgers were better than Benny's own. A dent to his pride, maybe, but it sure sold more food.
In this easy-going little town, you didn't meet many youngsters so steady and thorough.
Beep-beep!
A car horn sounded outside. Seated at the counter, Richard looked through the glass door: a Hawkins Police Department cruiser.
"That's your ride," Benny said, hurrying out with a paper bag of burgers, fries, and a Coke. He walked Richard over and introduced him.
"Evenin', Jim," Benny greeted the burly Chief Hopper, passing him the bag. "This is my new hire, Richard. Richard, my good friend Jim Hopper."
"Good evening, Chief Hopper," Richard said with a smile.
Chief Hopper gave a nod and waved him in. "Hop in, kid."
Hopper wasn't much of a talker. They traded a few casual remarks while the Chief worked through his burger.
He dropped Richard near the town's bike shop and stopped.
"Enjoy your shift, Chief Hopper," Richard said, stepping out. The Chief answered with a sauce-smeared smile that looked comical under his mustache.
"Enjoy yourself too, kid," Hopper muttered, driving off.
[Relationship established with core character Jim Hopper. Plot Points +10]
Looks like I made a decent impression, Richard thought, turning into the shop.
The owner was a bald, muscular man. Richard wondered if baldness was just a strong local gene—most middle-aged men he'd seen sported shiny domes.
The man straightened a row of bikes, glancing over. "Hey, need something?"
"Uh, yeah—I need a bicycle," Richard said straight out.
The owner wiped his hands on a hanging towel. "Check these out—popular with the younger crowd these past few years."
"I just need a practical family model with a big basket," Richard said, eyeing the mountain bikes. No rear rack, no way to give someone a ride.
The man gave him an odd look. Kids these days usually wanted the flashy stuff.
"Then try these." He led Richard to several commuter bikes.
Richard liked them, but spied a few motorized bikes. "How much for the motorized ones?"
"Only one extra digit," the owner deadpanned.
Richard shook his head. "Young people should exercise more—this one will do."
He chose a classic high-frame bike with a deep basket, roomy rear rack, and light frame—perfect for groceries or bags.
Wheeling his new purchase, Richard cruised happily along the cross-shaped main street. Days after arriving in town, he finally had time to look around.
Hawkins really was peaceful; at night he saw no muggers or thieves, let alone daily crime. The place hadn't had a major case in decades.
Yet that calm would be shattered in two months.
After a loop, Richard headed home, leaving the bright town center behind.
Bang!
As he turned onto Mirkwood, a loud crash echoed from the woods. Two flickering lights—he recognized the van.
"Isn't that Tommy's van?" he wondered. A frantic figure burst out and sprinted toward him.
As the face came into view, he saw it was Tommy, wild with relief.
Only hours ago Tommy had called him a devil; now the boy looked like an angel.
Blood-smeared and terrified, Tommy leapt onto the rear rack, clutched Richard's waist, and yelled, "Please, Richard, let's get out of here—there's a monster in the woods!"
Monster?
Richard pushed off, pedaling for his life.