Silence. Then, a choked gasp. “Will? Where are you? The signal is bouncing off a weird frequency—are you in the storm cellar?”

He scrambled forward, his knees sinking into the soft, rotten wood. He grabbed the walkie-talkie. The plastic was cold, but the speaker hummed with Mike’s voice.

He pulled the trigger. Click.

“The walls?” Mike’s voice cracked. “That doesn’t make sense. You’re in the walls ?”

Not the wet, clicking shriek of the Demogorgon. Something smaller. Something desperate.

Will squeezed his eyes shut. Behind him, he heard it. A low, rhythmic thump . Not footsteps. Something dragging. Something large.