PREFACE

"We'd stared into the face of Death, and Death blinked first. You'd think that would make us feel brave and invincible. It didn't."

Rick Yancy, The 5th Wave

THEN

Annie knew what it was like to live in a graveyard, a place haunted by ghosts. It was like the entirety of the continent of Antarctica had settled into her home, covering everything inside in a thick level of frost. There was no peace there, only cold misery and anger. And it had been that way, ever since Amy died.

Poor Amy who had tried to stay optimistic until the very end, but the sickness had ravaged her body leaving her as nothing more than a shell. She had been sick for a long time, for as long as Annie could remember. They had known for weeks that Amy was going to die very soon, had known for years before that that she likely would not survive the sickness that had taken hold of her. But then it had happened and there wasn't any sort of mental preparation that they could have done to prepare them for that. She was just gone, and what she left in her wake was a stifling lack of existing. Her absence felt like a noose tightening around Annie's neck, threatening to choke. Threatening to kill.

That had been months ago, and at least Annie was able to breath again, when she stepped outside of the confines of her house, away from her parents harsh words to each other, each tossing blame when neither of them could have done anything about it in the first place. Perhaps, if she had felt comfortable in her own home, Annie wouldn't have found herself leaving at every available opportunity that summer. If her parents hadn't been so caught up in the grief and anger of losing their youngest daughter then maybe they would have noticed that their remaining daughter was building brick walls between them, closing herself off from them. If they had noticed, if they had shared their grief with each other, perhaps than the events of that summer would have gone differently.

Amy Jackson was not one of the children that went missing that year, a string of disappearances that started with little Georgie Denbrough. Amy wasn't one of them, but she likely came very close to being one. Sometimes the thought of how close her baby sister got to ending up just like Georgie terrified Annie. Not that she would ever say it out loud, least of all around Bill Denbrough.

Amy had told her about the voice she had heard echoing from the hospital corridor one night, had told her in a hushed voice about how the voice had giggled and asked Amy to come with him.

You'll float, the voice had said. We all float down here. You'll float too.

Amy had said that floating sounded very fun but she had been so tired and had drifted off to sleep. Annie had simply thought that it was a hallucination brought on from the effects of the medications that they had her on.

It wasn't until later that Annie realized that it hadn't been any sort of hallucination. Whatever had spoken to Amy that night had been very real and very dangerous and It had been after her little sister.

It went after a lot of kids that summer, and Annie thought it was some sick, twisted sense of irony that Amy died of natural causes before the monster could get to her. She was torn apart from the inside, from the monster of a disease that had been laying waste to her body for as long as Annie could remember.

Maybe Amy was lucky, maybe she wasn't. But Annie was always thankful that her poor baby sister didn't end up like little Georgie Denbrough.

NOW

Annabel Jackson had always enjoyed cooking. There was just something lethargic about the process of mixing and creating something completely new. She didn't even mind really that most of the time she ended up cooking just for herself. Nevermind the fact that she always seemed to make way too much, as if she was cooking for multiple people instead of just for her. She never thought about that, choosing instead to think about how she would have to make room in the fridge for leftovers.

The warm, comforting smell of beef stew filled her kitchen. Annie had been craving it for weeks and she could hardly wait for it to be done as she stood over the large silver pot, stirring the contents. Her german shepherd Renly lay at her feet, peering up at her hopefully for any sign that she was going to drop something. Usually if he looked up at her long enough with his pleading stare, Annie would relent and give him something to snack on.

She glanced down, a smile lighting her face. "Sorry Ren, if I try dropping anything out of this pot for you it'll just make a big ol' mess. If you're a good boy, maybe you'll get a bowl."

Despite the fact that Renly likely had no idea what his master was saying, he raised his head, wagging his tail happily.

"Yeah, a whole bowl to yourself. You'd better be a very good bo-"

Her cellphone ringing from it's spot on the counter made her stop, blinking in surprise. The only person who ever called her at this time was Charnelle, usually talking about a piece of Annie's that she had sold or how she was in touch with someone who wanted to commission one. But Charnelle was on vacation now, with her family, and Annie could think of no good reason why her friend/manager would call her.

She reached forward, furrowing her brow at the unknown number displayed across her screen. The area code was from Maine, she decided, but that made no sense. She didn't know anyone in Maine anymore, not since her mother had died, and even then her mother had never called her.

"Hello?" She asked, balancing the phone between her ear and shoulder.

"Is this Annabel Jackson?" An unfamiliar voice spoke, making her frown. She didn't recognize the voice and yet...there was just something about it…

"Yes." She said after a moment.

"Annie." The voice sounded almost relieved. "It's Mike Hanlon."

She frowned slightly at the mention of the name. Mike Hanlon? A face immediately surfaced in her memory of a thirteen year old boy that she had played with once upon a time, back when she had lived in Maine. But that had been a long time ago. Certainly too long to justify a call out of nowhere. And yet...something about this conversation seemed important. There was something about it that filled her with anticipation.

"Hi Mikey." Annie said softly. Her heart thudded in her chest rapidly, and for a moment, Annie thought she might be sick. Despite the fact that they were both forty now, the old nickname came easily to her. She used to call him that, once upon a time, back when they were children.

"It's happening again." Mike said, his voice was low, resigned. "Do you remember the first time?"

She didn't. But whatever Mike Hanlon was willing her to remember was important. And dangerous. It had been a long time since Annie had even thought of Derry, Maine. And yet…

"We made a promise, didn't we?" She asked, her heart skipping a beat as the words fell from her mouth. "All those years ago. An important promise."

"Yes." Mike said. "And that promise is why you have to come back, Annie."

His words filled her with dread, a shiver running up her spine. Going back meant going back to something bad. Annie wasn't sure how she knew that, but she did. "I don't want to." she breathed. "Mikey, I really don't want to."

"Nobody will, Annie." Mike told her patiently.

Annie sucked in a breath. "But we have to, don't we?"

"Yeah, Annie. You do." Mike said. "You really do."

Author's Note: Okay so this is the Preface to my new It story. Let me just say that I am like...ridiculously in love with both the movie and the novel and so like...it was inevitable that I would start this story. I can already say that I was be taking events from both the movie and book but as far as getting into them being adults...well, I'd like to say that I'll be patient enough to wait until the second movie comes out but that doesn't seem very likely. I'm already working on the first chapter but I just couldn't wait to post this!