There’s something quietly profound about the way Stranger Things blends pop culture, supernatural thrills, and cerebral storytelling, and it becomes evident in one subtle but striking Easter egg in Season 1, Episode 4. As the camera pans through Nancy Wheeler’s English classroom, viewers are greeted with a seemingly mundane lesson that cleverly foreshadows the darkness lurking both in Hawkins and in the characters themselves.
The teacher reads from Joseph Conrad’s seminal novella Heart of Darkness, choosing a passage from Chapter 3: “The brown current ran swiftly out of the heart of darkness, bearing us down towards the sea with twice the speed of our upward progress; and Kurtz’s life was running swiftly, too…” Even if you’re not a literature buff, the words carry a chilling resonance. The passage reflects existential turbulence, the overwhelming pull of forces beyond our control, and the moral ambiguity that defines Conrad’s work.
On the blackboard, the haunting question, “What is evil?” stares back at the students, a prompt that feels less like an assignment and more like a direct challenge to the audience. The line encapsulates Stranger Things’ genius: in a show that revels in Demogorgons, Upside Down horrors, and shadowy government labs, the most terrifying elements are often moral and psychological. Nancy and her friends confront questions of loyalty, sacrifice, and courage every time they step into danger, and the classroom scene foreshadows this intellectual and emotional terrain with subtlety and style.
By placing Conrad’s words in a high school setting, the Duffer Brothers elegantly juxtapose innocence and horror. The young protagonists, much like Marlow in Heart of Darkness, are propelled toward confrontation with forces that test their integrity and courage. The classroom, usually a safe space for learning, becomes a symbolic launching pad for Nancy and the others to navigate Hawkins’ literal and metaphorical darkness.
The inclusion of Heart of Darkness is not mere decorative symbolism; it’s a thematic compass guiding viewers through the show’s moral labyrinth. Conrad’s novella examines the darkness at the core of human nature, the choices that define morality, and the consequences of unchecked ambition. Stranger Things mirrors this through its narrative architecture. Hawkins, with its sinister experiments, shadowy Upside Down, and morally ambiguous adults, becomes a microcosm where good and evil collide, forcing the protagonists to confront both external monsters and internal fears.
Nancy’s arc exemplifies this beautifully. Initially focused on rescuing her friends, she is quickly drawn into a labyrinth of ethical and emotional complexity. The Demogorgon and the secretive Hawkins Lab are terrifying, yes, but her deeper struggles revolve around courage, responsibility, and the blurry boundaries between right and wrong. The question “What is evil?” resonates at every turn: is evil the supernatural entity from the Upside Down, the manipulative adults around her, or the darkness that exists within human hearts?
In this sense, the Easter egg elevates Stranger Things from mere homage to 1980s pop culture into a narrative that invites contemplation. The Duffer Brothers are essentially telling their audience, sometimes implicitly, that heroism is defined not just by facing monsters but by confronting the shadows within oneself. By embedding Conrad’s text in the storyline, they allow literary and philosophical inquiry to coexist with monster-chase tension, nostalgia, and suspense.
This thematic layering deepens the show’s narrative appeal for older audiences who appreciate the nuanced reflection on morality and human nature, while simultaneously maintaining the excitement and accessibility that younger viewers crave.
Few contemporary creators wield symbolism with the deftness of Matt and Ross Duffer. By incorporating a reference to Heart of Darkness, they showcase an understanding of horror that transcends jump scares and shadowy antagonists. True fear, as their work demonstrates, emerges from moral ambiguity, internal conflict, and the vulnerability inherent in human choices.
The Duffer Brothers’ approach also rewards multiple viewings. On first watch, the classroom scene might feel like atmospheric filler or a nod to high school realism, but on closer inspection, it reveals a profound alignment between literature and the Upside Down. By drawing a parallel between Marlow’s journey through the Congo and Nancy’s—and indeed Hawkins’—journey through peril and moral uncertainty, the show affirms its narrative ambition: horror is as much about ethical darkness as it is about monstrous flesh.
The layering doesn’t stop there. By positioning such literary Easter eggs alongside 1980s references, supernatural terror, and coming-of-age arcs, the Duffer Brothers construct a storytelling ecosystem that appeals on multiple levels. It is this sophisticated interweaving of pop culture, literature, and emotional resonance that sets Stranger Things apart from other nostalgic horror series. Each episode, each detail, is deliberately crafted to resonate intellectually and emotionally.
Viewers are thus invited into a richer dialogue with the material. While Eleven levitates Eggo Waffles and Dustin quips about Star Wars, Nancy contemplates the philosophical weight of evil, subtly reinforcing that Stranger Things thrives in tension between light-hearted adventure and the psychological and moral challenges that define true courage.
As the countdown to Season 5 begins, Easter eggs like the Heart of Darkness reference exemplify why the show has maintained cultural relevance beyond its aesthetic nostalgia. The Duffer Brothers have carefully ensured that every frame, every line, and every classroom blackboard question contributes to a layered, immersive universe where fans are encouraged to look deeper. The Upside Down is frightening, yes, but the darkness within humanity—and the choices characters must make—adds depth, sophistication, and lasting impact to the series.
For fans revisiting Season 1 or exploring the series for the first time in anticipation of the finale, scenes like Nancy’s English lesson offer a new lens for engagement. They encourage viewers to interrogate the narrative, connect literature with television, and appreciate the ways in which horror, coming-of-age storytelling, and philosophical inquiry can coexist seamlessly.
Whether you’re a fan of supernatural chills, 1980s nostalgia, or layered character development, the inclusion of Conrad’s text underscores a fundamental truth about Stranger Things: it’s a show that understands fear in all its forms, from external monsters to the internal moral quandaries that challenge every character.
So next time you wander the eerie streets of Hawkins, or watch Eleven confront a Demogorgon, spare a thought for the literary shadows lurking in the background. The darkness has many forms, and the Duffer Brothers’ genius lies in revealing them with subtlety, wit, and emotional resonance. Each reference, each Easter egg, each philosophical nod invites audiences to peer deeper into the narrative, asking questions that linger long after the credits roll: what is evil, who defines it, and how does confronting it shape who we are?
