Posted Oct 6. 2021 - Quick Disclaimer: This was written the day this trailer premiered, I obviously have have no real knowledge of the s4 plot but I do have my own plans for y/n I hope I can incorporate depending on where the show goes! Clearly, things can change and might not match whatever premieres in 2022, but hopefully I won't have to change much!

And no, I'm sorry, I don't know when the next chapter of Cosmic 3 will be out but this is why I'm posting this now. As a little thank you for being so patient. If you're worried about Cosmic 3 spoilers, no need! This is spoiler free!

UPDATE: This is no longer canon and will not be anything you see in book 4 of cosmic. As of new years 2023, planning is nearing its end. But a lot of work has yet to be done. This chapter will remain published, however, for your viewing pleasure. I hope you enjoy!

📝:I know my onomatopoeias are bad, especially at the end but it's not my fault they made this trailer so dependent on sound and grandfather clocks are difficult lol 😩💀

⚠️: brief but intense, one-sentence description of animal death. If you wish to skip it's in the paragraph between "birds singing in the sycamore tree" and "dream a little dream of me". Also allusion to child death, I tried to make it open to interpretation: I didn't explicitly say anything though like the rabbit so technically it can be read as them unconscious??

|| 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐇 𝟏𝟗𝟓𝟗 ||

Autumn leaves are scattered on the lawn like golden confetti reigning in the homeowners coming up the drive. Standing tall and grand at the height of the hill, a royal blue victorian mansion - ready to welcome its new owners.

One by one, filing out of their glimmering turquoise Chevy is the nuclear family in question.

Together they huddle in, suitcases in hand, pearly white smiles on their doll-like faces as they peer up at their new home.

A seemingly picturesque family.

🎶 "Stars shining bright above you," 🎶

The Creels.

Two rambunctious pairs of feet are the first to fill the home. Each child, a sister and a brother, racing for the stairs no doubt each in an attempt at a head start for who gets the better room. A chiding smile graces the mother's face as she shakes her head, crossing the threshold and dismissing the chill racing up her spine as nothing but a cold room.

"Children, no running!" She calls, knowing her words were of no use.

Her usual frustrations failed to arise, and she so chose to see the silver lining among their stressful move. It would be a happy moment, as it should be. After all, there wouldn't be many left. But none of them knew that.

🎶 "Night breezes seem to whisper 'I love you'" 🎶

Piled in his evening chair, the father glances up from his book in concern.

The lights had begun to flicker.

The Creel boy senses this. Curious, like his father, he looks up from his drawing. Crayon still in hand, his eyes trail the wall of humming sconces as the room begins to strobe around him.

🎶 "Birds singing in the sycamore tree~" 🎶

With her mother, Mrs. Creel busy tending to the plants, the girl's hollow smile falls from her face when her eyes spot something across her lawn. Her toys are already forgotten on the steps she's now descending. With each step, she grows closer, and the heavier the dread weighs on her young heart. For there before her feet is the rotting corpse of a rabbit, its insides slowly staining the lawn.

🎶 "Dream a little dream of me," 🎶

Forced smiles are worn all around the dinner table as the Creels dig into dinner.

All is well for the picture-perfect family.
For one, fleeting moment.
But that's the thing about photographs.
They're eventually lost to time.

🎶 "say~

The chill returns faster than the hum of the lights. Beside them the stereo comes to life with a buzz, drowning the air in an ear-splitting hiss as the strobes take steady hold of their minds. It doesn't seem to stop.

Not even when Mr. Creel slowly cranes his head away from the front door to lay his eyes upon his two children, cold on the floor.

*TICK*

It's quiet.

*TOCK*

The faint sound of a grandfather clock is all that can be heard in the decaying shell of the Creel house.

*TICK*

All that's left is dust and shadow of old life.

*TOCK*

Through the dirtied window pane shines the morning light bursting through the thickly hung air.

*TICK*

On the floor, a perfect crimson flower cast in light from the window are now cast in shadow as a figure looms across the front porch.

Time itself seems to come to a standstill; the grandfather clock that sits in waiting for the intruder holds its breath.

Sudden thunder swallows the silence and takes the mosaic window with it in hundreds of pieces that now scattered the fraying floorboards. There's a harsh ringing left in the air that fizzles out into nothing.

The bright light of day floods through the small square in the door; and yet it's more than these walls have seen in decades. Emerging from the rectangular portal of white light is a single hand; slinking past the shattered window and curling around the brass doorknob.

A shuddering creak peels the door open, disturbing the otherwise silence and flooding the entrance with the remainder of the windows promised light.

The figure, at first glance, is indistinguishable.

But as the dust dancing in the air finally settles, and the light finally adjusts, the Creel House gets its first glimpse of its supposed next victim;

Chin pulled from her chest, and her sunken e/c eyes easing from their concentrated glare, she straightens.

Y/n Henderson.

*TOCK*

Hands still hot to the touch, she is the first to cross the threshold.

"Subtle," comes a slightly lisped voice we all know and love.

He is the next figure to follow; her brother. Clad in an all-new hat and hoodie.

*TICK*

His backpack meets the ground with a muted thud as the others pool inside. Among them, all familiar faces.

*TOCK*

"Could you maybe clarify," comes the weary voice of Steve Harrington as the flashlight in his hands comes to life with a resounding click. "what sort of clues we're supposed to be looking for here?"

*TICK*

A hum above their heads beings their attention to the flickering cobwebbed chandelier, bringing to them a looming sense of dread they know all too well.

"The world is full of obvious things,"

Together, the heroes of Hawkins zip up the rickety wood of the old staircase. Unknowningly, their reflections undisturbed in the pristine glass of the grandfather clock seems to watch them.

*TOCK*

It's the only thing in the house completely untouched by dust; by time.

*TICK*

"which nobody by any chance ever observes." Dustin proclaims, his lips hooked into a smile.

*TOCK*

Around him, a few uneasy glances go unnoticed. Those especially exchanged by two of his best friends; Lucas Sinclair and Max Mayfield.

*TICK*

"Sherlock Holmes," Dustin clarifies to an unresponsive Steve. Used to the young man's behavior, he just scoffs before continuing his search.

*TOCK*

All is silent again.

*TICK*
*TOCK*
*TICK*
*TOCK*
*TICK*
*TOCK*

The attic, unlike the rest of the Creel house, sat stewing in light. Filtering in from many broken slats in the roof-

*TICK*
*TOCK*
*TICK*
*TOCK*
*TICK*
*TOCK*
*TICK*
*TOCK*

-bathing the floorboards, empty bassinets, broken mirrors-

*TICK*
*TOCK*
*TICK*
*TOCK*
*TICK*
*TOCK*
*TICK*
*TOCK*
*TICK*
*TOCK*

-and the grandfather clock. The ticking comes to a sudden halt to chime out its hourly cry-

*BRONG*

-just as a flash of scarlet lightning swallows the attic into darkness.

*BRONG*

Standing tall in the Nether, ensnared in the growing vines of the decaying mirror realm stands the ticking grandfather clock.

*BRONG-BRONG*

A crack in the perfect glass. Like the rot in Hawkins, it spreads and spreads until finally, at its heart...

The pressure finally gives.

*BRONG*

The icy depths that spread like mold, feeding off of death - this Nether, this supposed Vale of Shadows - no longer reins in silence. Instead, filling it with its steady ticking is the grandfather clock, standing tall in The Upside Down.