Title: IT
Chapter: One/Seventeen
Rating: R
Spoilers: Up to and including the last season shown.
Beta Reader: Scotty Welles
Shadow Welles

Summary: Alt-Buffy/IT verse and crossover. What if Willow was the
seventh member of the choosen group instead of Ben.

Disclaimer: Nope, don't belong to me. IT belongs to Stephan King, so do all of his most
cool characters. So on with the story.


Summer of 1989

She ran past the small downtown section, her legs pumping impossibly
down the steepest hills in Derry. Her lungs were burning, sharp pains
shooting through her sides, as she tried to run even harder. She could
hear them behind her, gaining on her even with her agile frame.
Mentally she cursed herself for not exercising regularly.

She sped sharply around the curve leading down towards the barrens,
skidding to the left. She grunted as she used her right hand to keep
herself from falling and kept going without losing stride. The long
white fence began to her left giving her the strength to keep going.
If she could just make it to the barrens then she could...

She screamed out as a large filthy hand grabbed her long red hair,
dragging her to a stop.

"Hold her."

Vic nodded vigorously. "Sure, Henry, anything you say. Red isn't
going anywhere. Is she?"

"No, we've got the little bitch," Belch answered.

The Guns Roses wannabes held her arms while Henry stepped in front of
her. His slashed black concert shirt was stained horribly with dried
food and condiments. The longhaired boy held up the science book she'd
been reading just minutes before in the only fast food place in Derry.
The smirk on his face widened at the horror she knew she was projecting
for her book. He dropped the book to the ground and kicked it, sending
the precious gift into the sewer drain.

"NO!!" She scowled at Henry with unshed tears in her eyes. "You
bastard..."

"Oh man, Red's got spirit."

"Tell you what, nerd. Since you seem to like learning so much, why
don't we give you a lesson you won't forget?" Henry held up a long
switchblade, the slightly rusted blade popping up. "Lesson one: who do
you belong to bitch?"

"I'll never belong to you."

The smirk left his face, leaving the dark emotions, glaring at his two
laughing friends. "Shut up or you'll be next"

Belch swallowed his laughter, but Vic snorted one last time.

"You will if you're marked." He yanked her shirt up, his knife
centimeters from her skin.

She spit in his face and stomped on Belch's foot.

Henry grabbed her head, forcing it down as he sliced the first line of
an H into her stomach. The pain roared in her head, demanding that she
try harder to get away.

Using the pain to clear her head, she drove her knee up into Henry's
crotch and threw herself backwards. Belch and Vic's grips loosened,
causing her to crash through the brittle fence.

The briars and thorns of the thickened underbrush snagged at her skin,
drawing long, thin lines of blood. She tried to control her rolling,
but the steep hill forced her to go faster, mowing down baby trees.
She barely stifled the horrid cry as a fallen trunk stopped her fall.

Tired and sore, she lay there, until the loud howl of anger shot
through the quiet forest. A spike of fear forced her to her feet,
getting a small glimpse of the three bullies sliding down the hill.
She took off into another run, slower than before, leaving her little
chance of getting away.

Oh her parents were just going to love this. They send their nerd
daughter to Derry for the summer to get her away from Cordy and her
flunkies, only to end up dealing with Henry and his groupies. She
could just hear her mother now. 'Willow, why can't you just be a good
little girl and play nice?'

"Where'd she go?"

"I don't see her."

"She couldn't have gone far."

"WILLOW!! YOU COME OUT HERE, LITTLE GIRL, AND MAYBE I'LL LET YOU
LIVE!"

She snorted softly to herself. 'Oh yeah, that was really motivating.'
She glanced over her shoulder to see if they were behind her.

In the distance she could hear the sound of trickling water and sped
up, her eyes searching for the source. She almost missed the sewer
pipe sticking out of the hillside. The smelly, gray water pooling down
the muddy stream and into the creek. Behind her, she could hear the
stooges catching up, leaving her no other choice if she wanted to live.

She cautiously climbed into the drain and scooted back far enough to be
hidden by the shadows. Her breathing sped up as her instincts screamed
at her to get the hell out of the pipe. Fear gripped her heart, worse
than any fear she'd experienced before. The cold draft of wind touched
her bruised and bloody skin, wrapping her a deep-set, petrifying
emotion. The horrid smell of the gray water was now undetectable under
a new smell filtering past her.

Her brow wrinkled in confusion. She took in a large breath trying to
determine that she wasn't losing her mind. The drain now smelled
like...cotton candy, elephants, hay, popcorn. She nearly lost her
lunch as she was engulfed by the strongest of the smells. Death.

She was vaguely aware that Henry and his friends had bypassed her
several minutes ago, but her need to know what was happening was
strong. Ignoring the voice in her mind telling her to get out now, she
slowing turned to look into the darkness.

A dim glow of light filled the pipe, just enough so she could see, but
still giving it the darkness it had. Her eyes strained trying to
find...something. She swore slightly under breath, backing up slowly,
as she spotted two silver colored eyes staring at her. Gradually, she
began to see more of it, leaving her on the verge of hysterical
laughter.

She felt the edge of the pipe, as her brain registered what she was
seeing. A clown, dressed in a silver clown suit, with orange pom-poms.
White makeup, and blood red painted mouth. Two orange tufts stuck out
from his bald head like large horns. A small, fearful sob escaped her
mouth.

"Oh, you're not leaving so soon, are you? Don't you want a balloon?
They float down here, they all float down here. Try one. You'll love
it down here. It's like Never Never Land and Pleasure Island and the
Land of Oz and Narnia. You don't grow up here, you remain a child
forever, just like all kiddies want. You can feed the elephants and
ponies and watch all the clowns. You can sweets and popcorn and cotton
candy until you're sick."

She carefully dropped out of the pipe, her eyes locked on It. "No,
thanks, I-I'm not supposed to talk to strangers, and you're a stranger,
but then again I'm talking to you, so I'd better shut up now. Besides,
and no offense, Mr. Clown Guy...uh, Person, but I don't like balloons,
because even if they are floaty goodness on a string, they make those
horrible noises when they rub together, and then it's like, ugh, you
know what I mean? Of course you know what I mean, after all you are a
clown...of some sort, so you should know. Come to think of it, I don't
like clowns very much either, I mean it's sort of spooky to watch guys
wearing this makeup that makes them look so fake and scary-like. And
what's with all the hitting and chasing and fascination with fire and
heights? I mean, it's just not kosher, and trust me I know what kosher
is, being Jewish and all. Does that bother you, because it bothers
some people and they get all 'you're a Christ-Killer!' and all that?
Oh wait, is that my mother calling? My mother's calling, so I'd better
go, because you know how parents are when you disobey them. So it was
nice...er...well, it was unique meeting you, but I seriously hope we
don't meet again, because any grownup that dresses like that and goes
crawling around in sewers is seriously screwed up, not that you are. I
mean, I'm sure you're a very nice man once people get to know, although
I have the strangest feeling that you don't really have any friends..."

She stopped backing away, and gulped at the look of the clown climbing
out of the pipe. "Uh, bye."

Fear drove her to run faster and faster, barely hearing the inhuman
voice laughing crazily.

"Oh, don't worry, we'll be friends. And when we are, you'll float,
too."

Somehow, that was not comforting. She had never been one of those
children that was scared of the monster under the bed, or in the
closet. She was usually the one to comfort her best friends, Jesse and
Xander, when they got freaked. Not that they would ever admit it, most
of the time they both were trying to act like posturing men. It always
made her laugh when, on sleepovers, the two posturing males would be
jittery and scared after hours of watching gory, dark horror movies,
while she would simply watch them like the fake gore they were.

Now, while her eyes told her that it was only a clown, her mind and
instincts told her she was faced with the very monster she'd always
laughed at. She wanted to go home, back to Sunnydale. She was even
wanting to Cordy again, if it meant getting away from this.

"Oof!" Some obstruction in her path collapsed under her, bringing her
down as well.

She blinked into the eyes of an auburn haired girl her age. "Um...hi?"

The auburn haired girl smiled slightly up at her. "Hi. Uh, could you
get up?"

A deep blush covered her face as she rolled off the girl. "I'm sorry,
I didn't see you and this evil clown dude in the sewer was chasing me
a-and laughing and talking about things floating, a-and Henry was after
me, and I'm being forced to stay with my nutso uncle who thinks he's
the Phantom of the Opera and runs around wearing a cape and singing,
and I just want to go home."

"It's okay, trust me. I know what Henry is capable of." The auburn
haired girl smiled shyly.

"Oh, I'm Willow."

"Beverly. Your uncle's Ol' Man Greg?"

Willow nodded pitifully. She loved her uncle, but spending the summer
with him was too much for even her to handle. "Yeah. I've been having
some problems with bullies at home, and my parents blame it on me, so
they sent me out here until school starts."

Beverly nervously glanced around the barrens, swallowing hard. "I'm on
my way to Bill and Eddie's. We're trying to build a dam. Would you
like to join us?"

Willow relaxed and nodded, helping the other girl to her feet. "I'd
love to."

Her cheeks tinted red as Beverly hooked their arms together. "Welcome
to the Losers' Club."

Chapter: Two

Summer Of 1989

The Barrens were used as a sanctuary from the town. The people who
lived there were good at ignoring what was happening around them. They
were even better at pretending nothing was wrong. Whenever Henry and
his groupies would start their terrorizing the adults would turn their
heads to it, or simply tell both Henry and his victim to take it
outside.

Parents were great at living in an imaginary world where tragedy was
ignored, and their children were raised the same way. The town acted
as though no crime ever took place, and when it did they brushed it
off. They just looked through what was happening.

The truth was hard to handle. Tragedy was an everyday occurrence,
every thirty years something would happen that would devastate the
town. Crime was worse there than in most large cities. Bigotry was as
bad as it was in the forties and fifties.

But in the Barrens, they were able to escape the nightmare of
day-to-day life. Here they could be the children they wanted to be
without worry of criticism or fear of being bullied. Here they could
explore the depths of the Congo, cross the most dangerous rivers, and
go to war with whatever country that was declaring war.

Now, Willow found herself a part of the group. The Losers' Club, as
they lovingly referred to it. On some level she knew she should be
wary of Bev and the friends that she kept talking about, but it felt
right, like she was meant to meet Bev, meant to be a part of the group.

It felt serious, as though she was needed for some major problem, and
it scared her. But the loyal instincts were proud of the idea, and if
they needed her for some reason than she was in it to the end. She
leaned into a giggling Bev.

"...so Richie mashed his tray into Henry's chest. You should've seen
the look on his face."

Willow snickered at the image her new friend had painted. "He sounds
just like my best friend Xander."

"Ugh, I'm sorry. No one deserves that."

Both girls burst into fresh giggles. They both cared for their friends
no matter what they were like. "Maybe this summer won't be so bad
after all."

"B-B-B-Bev-v-v-vy. W-w-w-who's y-y-you're fr-fr-fr-friend?"

"Willow. You could say we ran into each other."

Willow elbowed the giddy girl, and waved to the tall, lean boy and his
friend.

The shorter, pale boy gripped an inhaler in his hand, and studied her
for a second before giving a wry smile. "I-I'm B-B-Bill and this is
E-E-E-E-..."

"Eddie. Jeez, Bill you know I hate it when you stutter my name. You
sound like Porky Pig."

"W-w-what were y-y-you r-r-uning fr-from?"

Willow clenched her jaw slightly, trying to stop the babble she knew
was coming. "Henry and his stooges."

"Why were they chasing you?"

Bill shook his head sadly. "Th-those guys a-a-are a-always chasing
someone."

"Henry came onto me and I refused."

Beverly cocked an eyebrow at her. "That's all?"

"HealsograbbedmybreastandImight'vedumpedmyfoodonhim."

Bill whistled softly. "M-m-man, y-you m-m-must h-have a death w-wish."

Eddie snorted and chuckled at her. "Yeah, you want to die young or
something?"

"No, but I also don't want to get felt up by some greasy haired,
smelly, Kizz wannabe."

Eddie clapped her on the back. "You know what? You're not so bad."

"Gee, thanks," she said dryly. "I'm honored." She turned to the grey
and brown creek running beside her. Thin, trashy boards, poorly put
together, were placed across the creek in a makeshift dam. Even a
hacker like her could tell that it wouldn't hold up long.

"W-w-we're building a d-dam."

"It won't hold like that," she muttered, just loud enough for them to
hear her. "There's no support to keep the boards from washing away."

"How do you know this?"

She bowed her head with shame, doubting they would still like her if
she told them the truth, but knowing that she was incapable of lying.
"I spend a lot of time on my computer and in the library."

Bill's hand came to rest on her left shoulder, while Bev rehooked her
arm into her right. Eddie stood next to Bill, all of them watching the
spiraling water pound against the boards, bending and pushing them past
their abilities.

"Then what do we do to make it work?"

Willow smiled evilly at Bev and cocked her head. "I'll show you."

"Now what?"

"Now we work." Willow grabbed the jumbo rectangular board and dragged
it towards the creek. "Take off your shoes, because you're going to
get wet."

She picked up the sledgehammer that she'd borrowed from her uncle and
waited for Bill and Eddie to place the board. Bev moved in between the
two boys to help hold it, and nodded to Willow that they were ready.
She carefully lifted the sledgehammer to her shoulder and brought in
down on the edge of the thick board, driving it into the wet mud.

Time after time, she grunted as she brought the heavy tool down onto
the board. The water pooled over the embankment, over her bare feet
and rushing over the grass. She brought the hammer down one last time,
satisfied that the board was secure.

"Bill, you hold the board into place. Bev, you and Eddie get the other
board." Willow jumped down beside Bill and placed the two shorter
boards against it, wedging them into the dirt. She smiled at Bev as
they placed the board on the other side, leaving a foot of space.
"Come on, Bev, let's start digging."

The auburn haired girl grinned at her as she picked up the second
shovel. She found herself smiling back at her. She just couldn't
understand the feelings this girl was bringing out in her. It was a
struggle not to blush in her presence.

"So where are you from?"

"Sunnydale, California." Willow threw a large shovelful of mud into
the space, aiming for Bev's feet. The dark wet mud splashed on Bev's
bare legs. "Um, oops?"

"Oooh, you're in for it now." Bev threw her own shovelful towards her,
with the same result. "Do you have a lot of friends?"

"Only Jesse and Xander."

Bev smiled with understanding, reassuring her that not being the Drama
Queen wasn't so bad. "The important thing is you have two close
friends, that you can depend on."

Willow dumped another shovel full of dirt in, adding rocks and gravel
this time. "No, the important thing is I have five close friends that
I can depend on."

Bev flushed with a beaming smile, her eyes glimmering with
something...unfamiliar to her. The urge to say something else, to get
her to continue looking at her like that was unbearable.

"I wonder were Richie and Stan are."

"Who?"

Bill grinned up at her. "R-r-r-r-r-ichie To-o-zier. H-h-h-he's..."

"Here." Bev sighed, pointing to the skinny boy walking up.

His black glasses were taped together in several places, and his arm
was slung over the shoulders of another boy, wearing a Boy Scout
uniform. The boy kept shooting scowls at Richie and trying to pull
away, but the Richie would simply laugh and reach up to give him a
noogie. Finally, the other boy managed to duck away, trying to
straighten his hair.

"Ohhhh, who's the babe?" Richie sauntered up, letting out a wolf
whistle. "Oh baby, light my fire. So tell me, Red, what's a fine
looking hunk of skin doing in a place like this?"

Willow nearly winced at the horrible accent coming from the red haired
boy. "Uh, well..."

"Hallelujah, I finally left a woman speechless." The freckled joker
leaned in closer, waggling his eyebrows. "Whattya say we go someplace
dark and private so we can get to know each other better? If ya know
what I mean."

She rolled her eyes at his antics. Sidling up closer, she whispered,
"Why don't you go on ahead without me, after all you're probably an
expert at it by now. Babe."

"Beep beep, Richie," Bev called through her laughter.

Richie grinned at her with adoring eyes. "I think I'm in luvvvv..."

"Great, I leave one jackass to end up with another."

Richie bowed deeply. "I may be a jackass but you may call me by my
middle name. Oz."

"Tell you what, 'Wiz', why don't you make yourself useful and grab a
shovel."

"Yeahhss, ma'am."

Willow snorted at him. She hated to admit it, but she liked Oz. Stan
sat on the bank, talking with the others. She wondered briefly why he
wasn't willing to help, but shoved the thought away.


Chapter: Three

Summer Of 1989

Willow ate the sandwich Bill gave her greedily. Every muscle in her
body hurt from the last two days, and if felt great. She leaned into
Bev and grinned at Oz as he went into another outrageous tale. The
creek below them slapped over the bank, running along it, spreading out
over the ground below the hill they were sitting on. Dark brown water
spun in a cyclone, splashing over the dam.

"Red, youse is a genius! Why, we can flood out the entire Barrens and
holds it for hostage!"

Stan snorted at Oz. "Hostage for what?"

"Why, for chocolate, of course! It's the drug of choice, the food of
the century, the greatest invention ever."

"Uh-huh, and just how would you go about this?"

Oz bounced to his feet and puffed out his chest. He opened his mouth
and began a speech.

"R-R-R-Richie, I-I-I need t-to t-t-tell y-y-you so-so-something."

Oz sat back down, all joking forgotten. Everyone could feel the shift
in the air. They were no longer 11-year-olds, carefree and playful.
Now they were mature people, having to be serious and take charge of
something that no one else seemed to know.

"A-a-after my bro-ther d-died, I went i-into his
r-room a-a-a-nd started to l-look t-t-through h-his
ph-ph-ph...pic-t-t-ture album. H-h-h-his school
p-p-p-pict-ture, i-i-i-t m-m-m-moved." Bill took a deep breath,
clenching his fists as he tried to force the words out. "H-he
m-m-moved his he-he-head and w-winked at me. W-when I
t-threw it away, t-the album s-s-s-star-r-r-rted
f-f-f-flipping and b-began tto ble-ble-ble-bleed. M-m-my
p-parents ccouldn't s-s-s-see it."

Eddie gasped for breath and closed his eyes, the story triggering
something he'd rather forget. Most Saturdays he didn't have anyone to
hang out with, so he'd ride his bike around the old train yards by
Neibolt Street. He was fascinated with the trains that would come by.
The speed and the slick build of the machines. He loved the way the
six tracks weaved in and out of the yards. Trains would fly by, so
fast that they were a blur of whistles and metal. Sometimes crates
would fall off, or the workers would throw them off. Once a worker had
thrown a large crate of lobsters off, yelling at him to take them home
to his momma.

The only thing that really scared him about the train yards were the
hobos. They would ride in on the trains and jump off for a few days.
Their skin was dried and sunken in. Always drunk and asking for
cigarettes. Begging for food and drink.

There was a house next to the train yards. It had been abandoned for a
number of years. The paint was chipped and rusted. The windows so
dirty they were black from years of neglect. The rickety porch was
gaped with broken boards. The yard was overgrown with weeds and crab
grass, almost as tall as Eddie. The porch stood three feet off the
ground, leaving a gap under the porch where people could see the
basement windows.

One particular day, the sky had grayed as though a storm was coming.
The quiet was deafening, nothing brave enough to break it. He'd
wandered over to the house, curiosity piquing his interest. He'd seen
the house before, always wondering about its history.

The porch creaked in warning as an old hobo crawled out from under it.
He smiled through browned checkered teeth, his face splitting
sickeningly through the dried disease that covered it. Eddie had begun
to back away nervously from him. His nose was missing one nostril,
letting him see right into the red, scabby channel.

"I'll give you a blow job for a quarter."

Eddie felt his stomach churning dangerously. "I don't have a quarter."

"I'll do it for a dime." The hobo cackled, reaching down to the
disgusting lime green flannel pants, torn and stained, with dried vomit
on his crotch. He unzipped his fly, and reached in.

"I don't have a dime either." Eddie glanced back, trying to project
himself to his bike. He swallowed through a dry throat as he realized
that the hobo had leprosy. He gagged and ran for his bike, jumping on
it chaotically.

He felt the hobo on his rear and pedaled even faster. "Come here, kid,
don't you want a blow job? I'll even give it for free."

His chest tightened, warning him of the oncoming asthma attack, yet he
pedaled even faster. If he could just make it to the Barrens...

Oz snorted at him. "He didn't have no Leprosy, he had syph."

"Is there such a thing?"

Bill nodded solemnly. "Y-y-yeah, i-i-i-t's a f-f-f-ucking
d-d-disease."

Eddie looked to Willow for confirmation. The redhead nodded slyly, and
leaned closer to Bev.

"But what does it do?"

Oz grinned evilly at him. "It makes your body rot. Your nose goes
first, sometimes it falls off completely. Then your cock..."

"D-d-d-do y-y-you m-m-m-ind? I j-j-j-just ate."

Oz held up his hands up in mock surrender, but the look on his face was
anything but sorry.

"There's more."

Six weeks after the run in he'd found himself standing outside the
house, held by a sick fascination with the house. He sensed something
inherently wrong with it, and despite his fear, he wanted to know what.
He wanted to run, he wanted to just flee and never come back, but some
force outside himself was pushing him here, and here he was. Waiting
for something to happen.

He stood still in the yard, gripping his inhaler against his chest as
he watched the house slide toward him. He stared down at his feet just
to make sure he hadn't moved, and looked back up, to see the house
still coming towards him.

Curiosity took over and he bent over to look under the porch, not
surprisingly there was no one there. The hobos that came to Derry
rarely stayed beyond the September to November months. During the
summers it was too hot for them here, and during the winter it was too
cold. Usually covered in snow throughout the season.

The only signs of any occupation were the dirty, broken, bottles of
booze. Shredded, stiff blankets that were covered in bodily waste and
vomit. A shoe that lay on its side. The sole half hanging off, with
shoelaces that were frayed beyond use.

Unwittingly, he crawled under the porch, gasping until he saw lights in
his eyes. His hands splayed over faded newspapers, straw and leaves
that had been used for bedding. They crinkled with no sound under his
weight. Pausing by the blanket, he picked it up, wrinkling his nose at
the sewer smell, and tossed it aside, giving him a view of the basement
window.

The window was cracked, spidered out in a web. The dark brown dirt,
sour waste and booze kept him from seeing inside. His chest tightened,
sending him into a spin of wheezing breaths. He reached forward, using
his long sleeve to wipe at the window. The thick covering smeared and
moved, turning the navy blue sleeve black. The small circle he'd
managed to get halfway clear let him see only pitch black. Sighing
with relief, he started to back up.

Unsure why, he paused by the porch exit and peered at the window.

Screaming out in a wheezing breath as a face appeared.

Whatever it was it had assumed the hobo's gut-wrenching appearance,
turning it into a nightmarish vision. Skin split wide open around its
face, in some places showing the dirty, yellowish-white bone
underneath. Its lips were cracked, and chunks were missing from the
thin layers of tissue. A gaping hole stood out in its left cheek,
where he could see teeth and his sick, yellow, pus-leaking tongue. His
nose was now entirely missing, snot and boogers dropped down onto his
mouth. His tongue slurped out every few seconds to lick at his lips.
Silver eyes stared back at him, winking as a large grin covered what
was left of his face. He could tell that whatever this thing was it
wasn't human; it just wasn't possible. Any human in that condition
would be dead.

The glass of the window burst towards him, the creature twisting
through the window towards him. A deep-throated, scraping, inhuman
voice made him scream inside that it was only a dream.

"Ya want a blow job, Eddie? Ol' Bob Gray does it for a dime, fifteen
for overtime, but I'm willing to do it anytime. Whattya say, Eddie?"
The creature crawled towards him, wearing some sort of silver clown
suit, beetles falling down onto his hands. His eyeball popped out of
his right eye, the nerves decayed, hanging onto it by strands. The
silver eye bobbed and bounced against his cheek. "Oops. Could ya help
me, Eddie? Just pop it right back in there."

Eddie pushed away from the porch, blindly walking backwards towards his
bike. As scared and disgusted as he was, he just couldn't drag his
eyes away.

"Come with me, Eddie, it's fun down here. Your friends are waiting for
you..."

Gasping out, he sprinted towards his bike, leaping onto it and pedaling
as fast as his short legs could handle it. Tears sat unshed in his
eyes as he raced through the streets, too scared to stop, and even more
scared to look back.

The front wheel slammed into a stump, sending him to ground. Crying in
earnest, he curled into a ball.

The others sat around staring at the ground, each lost in their own
fear.

"It's real," Eddie whispered.

"I-i-it's r-r-real. I-I-I-I d-d-didn't i-i-imagine it."

Bev looked up at them. "I saw it, too."

Chapter: Four

Summer Of 1989

Beverly Marsh had been out running an errand for her father. With the
curfew, she didn't want to risk being out past seven. For the last few
months, newborn babies and children from ages ranging up to 16 were
disappearing in rapid succession, only to reappear days or weeks later
eaten and mutilated. That is, the bodies they'd managed to find.

The police didn't seem to be to inclined to help, coming up with
outrageous theories. Ranging from a stranger kidnapping theory to
"they just wandered off somewhere". The curfew was more of a way to
make less work for the police investigators than it was out of concern.

But she feared her father more. She learned over the years that
disobeying him was a painful mistake.

She hugged her oversized coat closer to her body and sped up her pace.
She was already an hour over the curfew and the rapidly darkening sky
was making it harder to stay calm.

"Beverly..."

She faltered, in the middle of the canal bridge, at the spine-chilling
voice going against the wind. Her eyes were drawn to the clown
standing on the frozen river. His hand was filled with strings leading
up to a large cluster of balloons. They danced around, floating
against the wind. His silver eyes seemed unnaturally bright against
the dull, bone-white and blood-red makeup.

"Come here, Bevy, and I'll give you a balloon. They float, Bevy, they
all float; take one and see."

She stared with wide eyes at the clown as it became the Mummy. Its
bandages were beige and hanging. They were loose in some places,
leaving his face exposed in areas. Embalmed skin stretched across his
face. He had no visible lips, leaving his teeth showing. Shallow eye
sockets were dark and bare. It still wore the clown suit.

She felt frozen in place as the Clown Mummy grew closer and closer, but
his feet weren't moving. Her eyes widened as she noticed that, while
the ice seemed to glow under the street lamps, the clown cast no
shadows.

A loud car horn in the distance broke the daze. Startling the clown,
and giving her the chance to take off in a run.

"Balloons don't float against the wind."

"Yeah, and pictures don't bleed," Bev snapped back to Oz.

Richie dropped his gaze and shifted nervously. "I, uh...I saw it too.
You remember that day I ended up splattering Henry and old Stoneface with
my lunch?"

"Y-y-yeah. H-h-h-he s-s-sent y-y-you down t-t-to the b-b-b-basement
f-f-f-or a m-m-mop."

Saturday found him broke and desperate. He'd spent breakfast begging
his father for some money, just enough for him to go the old theater to
watch a horror double feature.

His father had sat there, calmly turning the page of the newspaper.
"Did I give you your allowance this week?"

"Yeeeeaaaaah."

His father turned another page, reading through the reading glasses
perched on his nose. "Why don't you use that?"

Oz smiled brightly at his old man. "I tell ya, sir, it's such a tale
that even the Devil wouldn't believe it. Whys, I wuz going..."

"Richie," his father warned. The gray-haired man folded the paper and
turned his attention to him. "This means a lot to you?"

"Yes sir, I'll die if I don't go. My tongue will swell up and I'll
choke to death." Richie grabbed his throat, making a gagging noise,
his tongue hanging out of the corner of his mouth. When his mother
glanced over to glare at him, he fell backwards off his chair,
twitching and convulsing.

"Richie Oswald Tozier, if you don't get off my clean floor right this
minute..."

Richie hopped up onto the chair and beamed at his father.

"Tell you what. I'll give you five dollars once you've cut the grass,
and I mean the front AND the back."

"But Daaad, that'll take all day, and it wouldn't even be enough to get
in!"

His father cracked a smile that sent chills through him. 'Oh oh...'
"When you finish, you can clean your room and I'll give you another
ten."

Richie was rendered speechless. His father had trapped him, he was
checkmated and had no way out. 'Oh mannn...'

It had taken the entire morning and most of the afternoon to get
everything finished. The only reason he'd managed to make it out of
there with the money had been his sweep-and-hide technique.
Finely-tuned over the years. But now, he was free.

Waltzing happily through the downtown area, he'd spotted Bill already
in line. The two boys had decided that, with Eddie out of town and
Stan on a camping trip, today would be a good day to bond over a horror
movie, the only way two boys can.

That Monday was the problem. After smashing his tray into Henry, he'd
made a run in the other direction, ending up slamming head first into
the assistant principal, Stoneface Jackson. The elder man had taken
one look at the retreating figures of Henry, Belch, and Victor and
ordered him to go get a mop from the Janitor.

He was too happy over being let off the hook to even think of
protesting. Instead, he'd hurried out of there as fast as he could
without running, before Stoneface could change his mind. Jumping off
the lower steps to the lower level of the school, he began the futile
search for Beverly's father.

"Mr. Marshal? Stonef...uh, Mr. Jackson sent me down here for a mop."
He pushed his way into the basement, where the dark, damp
cement-floored area held a reek of alcohol and disinfectant. The water
pipes banged loudly, while the hot water heater churned and spluttered.
"Mr. Marshal...?!"

He walked deeper into the dimly-lit room, hearing a shuffling from
behind one of the boilers. "Mr. Marshal? It's Richie, I need to
borro..."

He sputtered as his throat went suddenly and painfully dry. His knees
shook, slamming into each other.

The tall, muscular, hairy beast stepped out into the light, roaring at
him. He numbly took a step away from the werewolf. His worst, most
secret fear. He'd always been scared of becoming one. Being a
creature overtaken by animal instincts and uncontrollable killing.

"No, no, no. Man, this is one hunt I want no part of." Richie spun
around on his heels and ran.

Willow closed her eyes and sighed. "It's taking the form of our worst
fears. For me, it's a clown, for Bev it's the Mummy, for Eddie the
leper."

"That's what's happening to all the children," Bev whispered.

"But why hasn't it killed any of us yet?" Eddie asked.

"I don't know."

Willow looked over to Stan, who'd remained unnaturally still. "What
about you?"

Stan stared her right in the eyes, his statement stony. "He isn't
real. You're all crazy. There's no such thing as monsters."

"It is real."

"No it isn't."

Bev took her hand. "Yes it is."

Eddie took Bev's hand. "Yes."

Bill gripped Eddie's hand and nodded. "Y-y-y-yes."

Richie plopped down next to Willow and took her hand. "Lords, yes."

Stan clamped his hands over his ears, rocking back in forth. "No,
please, no. I can't..."

"Come on and tell grandpa Richie all about the bad, nasty clown.
What'd he do to you? Honk your nose, spank you for saying a bad word?"

"SHUT UP!!!"

Willow walked over to the trembling boy and wrapped him into her arms,
gently shushing him. He hiccupped loudly as the last of his tears fell
from his eyes. "It wasn't a clown..." he whispered.

"Jay seus and Johosaphates, look at this bloody mess, my saints be
praised," a voice interrupted. "What the hell happened down here?"

They looked up with a start at the cops looming nearby.

Chapter: Five

Summer Of 1989

Willow stood up to the elder Irish cop, her body showing bravery that
she didn't feel. "I-it's my fault sir, I showed them how to do it."

The tall cop pushed his cap back on his head, scratching his bangs as
he looked from the dam back to Willow. The muscular cop looked gravely
at her, his lips thin and white.

"I-i-it w-w-w-was m-m-my i-i-idea...s-s-ir."

Eddie walked up solemnly, triggering his inhaler before speaking. "Me
too."

Bev nodded, throwing her arm around Willow's shoulder and giving her a
sideways hug. "I'm in."

Stan sighed, and shrugged in surrender. "I guess I am too."

Officer Nell shook his head, muttering under his breath. He narrowed
his eyes at Richie as he took a position on Willow's other side. He
opened his mouth, but clenched it shut when the redhead elbowed him in
the stomach, whispering softly. "Beep-beep, Oz."

Oz nodded to her. "I was in on it also."

"I see. So you're all 'Spartacus'." The senior cop scowled at them.
"Anyone else here want to confess or shall we leave that for another
time?" Officer Nell pursed his lips together and stared out over the
flooded Barrens. "Do you realize what you've done, lass?"

Willow kicked her foot against the ground. "Backed up the sewers?"

"Aye, lass. This here grey water is dirty water, and the brown...
Well, let's just say that it's raw sewage." He eyed the group
carefully. "And from the looks of things, I'd say you've been wading
around in shit. Now, do yer parents know you play down here?"

"N-n-no, sir."

"I see. Well, I suppose I should tell them about this..."

"No, please."

Nell nodded to Bev in understanding. "But if ye take down that dam,
then I'll simply report that there was another fallen tree and ye
helped move it. However, if ye keep coming down here, promise me that
ye'll come in groups. With that killer on the loose, it isn't safe."

"Yes sir, we promise," Willow said softly.

Richie entered the house with Bill, feeling excited and anxious. The
house was strangely void of emotions, as though they were drained.

Bill took a quick glance around. "M-m-my p-p-parents s-s-should be
gone a w-w-while."

Richie followed the taller boy upstairs to the closed room, eyeing the
door like it led to hell. "Well, what're we waiting for, Big Bill?
Let's go in."

"M-m-m-maybe w-w-we sh-sh-shouldn't."

Richie clapped his friend on the back. "Look, Billy, I know how you
feel, but that clown might have something to do with all these
killings. And if he's haunting Georgie's picture, then we need to
know."

Bill swallowed and pushed the door open. Both boys stood inside the
doorway, neither wanting to make the first move. The room that had
once been so full of life, toys and books scattered around the hardwood
floor, was now tidy and dust free, giving it a surreal effect.

"Is that it?" Richie pointed to the book in the corner, stained with
blood

"Y-y-yeah, 'cept it w-was open be-before."

"That doesn't mean anything, it closed on its own. Lotsa books do it."
Richie sat next to the book and opened it, flipping through each page
slowly. Past aunts and uncles, birthday parties and... The pages
abruptly became blank.

Curious, he flipped backwards. All the pictures were gone, leaving
only one picture. A picture of downtown Derry in the 30's. He jerked
his hand away at the brittle cold of the album. "Listen, Billie, I
don't know what kind of crap you're trying to feed us, but there isn't
any picture in here."

Bill took the album from him and started to flip through it himself.
He stopped on the next page behind the single picture. It had one slip
triangle to hold a picture. "I-i-i-it w-w-was h-h-h-here, s-s-see?"

Richie frowned at the blank place, barely able to make out a faded
outline where a picture would've been.

He jumped back as the pages began to flip back and forth by themselves,
stopping on the page with the single photo. He leaned forward
excitedly to see the picture better. "Look, it's us."

Bill looked closely at the two boys in the picture, seeing that they
could've been their twins. The figures began to walk towards the
canal, ignoring the Plymouth, making a u-turn on the street. The Bill
in the picture looked over his shoulder and whistled to a mutt dog that
went running past them without a second glance.

The Richie in the picture grabbed Bill and dragged him towards the
canal bridge.

"No, don't go there."

The two figures were halfway across it, when the clown popped over the
side, his face now resembling Georgie. Blood dripped from his mouth,
his teeth growing sharper and longer.

"NOOO!" Bill reached for the photo, his hand disappearing into it up
to his fingertips.

Richie grabbed him and pulled him away, gaping at the now bloody
fingers. Miniature paper cuts covering his four fingers in thick
shifts. The album slammed shut in an angry motion. Bill wrenched away
from him and grabbed the album back up.

"Bill, don't. We have no idea what else could happen. Do you want to
get hurt?"

Bill ignored him, flipping through the pages, leaving bloody
fingerprints behind. He pointed to the picture of the canal.
"L-l-l-look."

The two boys in the photo were gone, but under the bridge was a single
balloon.

On Saturday, Richie found himself sitting in the balcony of the Aladdin
Theatre, beside two red-haired women. Both of whom had spent most of
the movie chancing lovesick looks at each other when the other was
looking. Like always, Oz was clueless.

Willow smiled happily as Bev laid her head on her shoulder and propped
her legs up on the railing...knocking the enormous tube of
extra-buttered popcorn over the edge.

All three of them leaned over and watched in horror as it landed upside
down on Henry's head. Of all people to be sitting directly under
them...

The three bullies turned to look up at them, yelling curses that were
drowned out by the vampire movie playing on the screen.

"Red got one over. Now let's see if the Oz Man can match her?"

Both girls gulped as he picked up the jumbo-sized Cherry Dr. Pepper and
held it out over the edge.

"Oz..."

He tilted his hand and a long soda fall drenched the three males under
them, sending them into loud rants of rage. Henry pointed up at them
and made a run down the aisle with both his friends behind him.

"Now what?" Richie asked.

Willow slapped him across the back of the head, and sighed. "Now we
run like hell and pray that we get away alive!"

They darted for the nearby stairs, flying down them and out the
emergency exit. Willow slid to a stop in the alley and groaned. It
was a dead end, and if they didn't high tail it, then...

"Well, if it isn't my future wife," she heard the hated voice.

'And here we go.' Willow gritted her teeth. "I'd die before I'd marry
you."

"That can be arranged."

She rolled his eyes at him, unable to play nice with the moron. "By
you? Ha! You're not even potty-trained yet."

Henry bellowed and charged her, his fist drawn back. She grinned
evilly and lifted the metal lid off the trash can next to her. His
fist bounced off it with a sickening TANG! He bent over to cradle the
injured hand, and she kicked him in the butt, sending him face-first
into the pavement. More angry than before, he started to get up, but
she clocked him over the head with the same lid. He swayed for a moment
before falling unconscious at her feet.

She turned to his two friends with a cocked eyebrow and mischievous
grin. "Anyone else want to mess with me?"

Vic and Belch walked away with studied casualness, leaving their
so-called 'leader' laying in trash.

Bev hugged her tightly, pecking her on the cheek with a deep blush. Oz
laughed heartily and slapped her on the back. "Come on, Red, let's go
get you some ice cream. My treat."

Chapter: Six


Summer Of 1989

"Why are we here again?" Willow asked nervously from her place beside
Bill.

"B-b-because I w-w-want t-t-to c-check u-under t-t-the p-p-p-porch."

Willow cocked her head at him, quietly studying the young boy. It had
been five days since their run in with Henry at the Aladdin, and she'd
thought she was going to spend a nice peaceful day down in the Barrens,
but did she? No. Bill had to show up looking for Eddie, and when he
couldn't find him, he'd latched onto her to help him with a mission.

Now, here they were standing in front of the house on Neibolt Street.
"You won't find anything. The hobo's probably long gone."

"N-n-not i-i-i-if i-i-i-its t-t-the c-c-clown."

"And if it is the clown, then what?"

Bill clenched his jaw grimly. "T-t-t-then w-w-we k-k-kill i-i-it."

"How?"

Bill pulled a pistol from the waistband of his jeans. "I-i-i-it's
m-m-my D-d-dad's."

"What if it's some sort of monster? The picture and balloons...none of
it's normal."

"T-t-then w-w-we'll f-f-find s-s-some o-o-o-other w-w-w-way."

Willow sighed as Bill started towards the house, and slowly followed
him. She had a very bad feeling about this whole thing. The kind of
feeling that you had when you knew you were facing your own death. She
watched wearily as he climbed under the porch. They weren't going to
just look, no matter how much Bill assured her.

"Here goes nothing." She got down and crawled under the smelly porch.
Her hands crushed the splinters of wood and glass scattered across the
entire area under the porch. "Um, somehow I get the idea that whatever
did this isn't something we want to be messing with?"

Bill looked over his shoulder at her. "I-I-I'm s-s-scared t-too,
b-b-but w-w-we h-h-h-have t-t-t-to d-d-do s-s-something."

"If I didn't believe that I wouldn't be here." She slipped in beside
him to get a look at what used to be a window. The window frame was
now mostly gone, and the walls on all sides were bent outward like it
had been the victims of an explosion. "Let's go kill ourselves a
clown."

Bill smiled grimly as he turned and lowered himself through the window.
When he stood back some in the dark basement, she went through. Her
Reeboks sneaker running shoes made soft crunches on the bits and pieces
of coal.

Bill pulled the pistol from his belt, slinking carefully towards the
far coal stale. Willow stayed right behind him, grabbing a thick
broomstick as she passed. She pulled the heavy stick over her
shoulder, launching herself around the stale with Bill...

Both relaxed slightly seeing that there was nothing but coal. "Well,
that was productive..."

They both whirled around in fright as the tattered old wooden door at
the top of the basement stairs flung open, slamming into the wall and
causing layers of coal dust to fall on them. A deafening howl of rage
splintered the room, loud bands occupying each haired paw that banged
onto the stairs. They made out torn jeans on the furry thick legs,
tighter than should be possible. She could make out the thick
misshapen paws of the beast wearing a torn Derry High letterman jacket,
black and orange. Silver eyes scowled at them over his snarling
muzzle.

Bill fired the gun at it, the suffocating smell of gunpowder filling
the basement as the bullet tore through the werewolf's head. It seemed
to laugh at them as it continued towards them, unaffected.

She desperately scanned the room for a way out, the window they came
through too high off the ground for them to reach. "Bill, the coals!
Climb the coals!"

"W-w-what?"

Willow forcefully took the gun from him, ignoring the burn on her hand
from touching the barrel. "Climb the coals and get the damned
window open. NOW!!"

She spun on the surprised werewolf and took a mincing step forward.
"You wanna mess with me? Huh? First you kill Bill's brother, then you
go on some homicidal rampage, and now you're screwing with our heads!"

The werewolf growled low in its throat, making a noise somewhere
between human speech and a rapid dog going berserk. But it didn't
matter; she heard what it was saying clear as day. 'I'll kill you...'

She smirked darkly as it jerked its head down at the loud click of the
hammer being drawn back. She raised the pistol up, the heaviness
resting naturally in her hands. She knew it had been ineffective when
Bill fired it, but that was because you couldn't hurt a werewolf with
regular bullets. Everyone knew that. No, she thought in a flash, what
you really needed was...

She fired the gun, watching a brighter missile streaking across the
room, and taking dark pleasure in the squeal of pain the creature let
out. "The joy of silver bullets," she said with a grin. "Light, fast,
and they burn like hell."

"C-c-c-come on!" Bill yelled at her.

She scrambled up the coal and dived headfirst out of the open window,
rolling through the overgrown grass. She came up on her knees and held
the gun in front of her, watching the window patiently. The sound of
panting and coal falling alerted her.

Once more she drove the hammer back and fired as its head appeared in
the window. "GO!!" she screamed, racing beside Bill towards his bike.

He jumped onto the ancient silver bike, three times his size, waiting
until she'd leaped onto the long rack over the rear tire before pushing
off. It wobbled dangerously as he gained speed, the bike cutting
neatly through the street.

She chanced a look back and gulped back a scream at the enormous
werebeast raced after them. "Faster!!"

Bill half stood, grunting in effort as he pedaled harder, turning
sharply off the street. She gripped his waist harder, breathing a sigh
of relief as the werewolf stopped at the corner like a dog at the end
of its chain, turning to disappear back into the shadows.

"H-h-how-how'd y-y-y-y-you d-d-d-d-" Bill's exertions as he pedaled,
combined with his fear, were making him almost impossible to
understand.

"Slow down," she told him, meaning both the bike and his speech. And
preferably his heart rate.

He slowed, trying to breathe deeper. "H-h-how d-did y-y-you...d-d-do
th-that?" he got out at last.

"Do what?"

"Th-the b-b-b-b-"

"Oh, the bullets?" Now that she had a second, that puzzled her, too.
"I dunno, I just thought about silver bullets, you know, like when
you're dreaming and you think of something you want, or someplace you'd
like to be, and you've got it, or you're there. I didn't have time to
think about it, or anything. Hey, maybe that means that if you try
hard enough, you can affect It based on whatever shape it takes. Like
if It uses your own fears to change into different things, then you can
fight those shapes the same way you fight your own fear. Wow, that's
useful to know, even if it does sound like a bad 'after school special'
moral or something..."

Willow broke off, aware that she was babbling again. She'd just
learned something valuable, now if only she knew more about It or what
to do about It.

'I think it's time for some research.'

Beverly closed the bathroom door, leaning against it to try and get a
grasp on her feelings. She loved her father, but she wished more than
anything he wasn't so violent. He was usually fine when he was sober,
but it was rare when he was. She couldn't wait until she could finally
get away from him.

"Help me..." a faint voice whispered.

She slowly approached the sink, staring at the drain. "Hello, is
someone there?"

"Help me, Beverly..."

She shivered at the babylike voice, which sounded as though it had just
started to learn to talk. A smell of death and sewers filled the room,
making her stomach tighten. "W-who's there?" She leaned closer to the
drain, listening for the voice again.

"Come down and play with me, Bevy. I want to meet you, we all want to
meet you."

She jerked back. There was something moving down there. She nervously
stared at the black hole, swearing she could see a clown down in there.
Almost like looking in one of those long kaleidoscopes at a picture.

"Beverly, help me. It's so dark down here." The sobs of a baby echoed
out of the drain.

"Who is this?"

The voice sniffled. "Matthew Clemens. The mean ol' clown came and got
me, and brought me down here. He's going to come for you too, and
Willow, and Bill, and Eddie..." The voice gradually turned into the
Clown's. "...and Stan. And oh, do we float down here. Bevy, say
hello to old Billy boy for Georgie. He's having a swell time. He
practices his piano like a good boy, and one night when Bill is tucked
into his nice warm bed, Georgie will be there to shove piano wire into
his fucking eyes!!! Then I'll come after you and rip your head off
your shoulders and stuff your body into the blender."

A dark red bubble poked out of the drain, growing bigger and bigger.
She took an unsteady step back as it burst, splattering blood over
everything, including her.

"DADDDDDYYY!!!!"

The door burst open as the tall, sickly, thin man swaggered into the
room, cold rage dripping from him. "What is it Bevy? What's
happened?"

She pointed to the sink. "Don't you see...?"

"See what? My god, girl, what the hell are you going on about? I was
in the middle of my baseball game." He grabbed the sink examining it,
his hands sliding over the slick blood.

He couldn't see it. He couldn't see the blood...

"I-i-it w-was a spider, daddy," she mumbled. "It must've gone back
down the drain."

Her father lightly patted her cheek, and brushed his fingers through
her hair. "I worry 'bout you sometimes, Bevy. I worry a lot." He
left the bathroom. "Now you get on to bed, and don't give me no more
trouble, you hear?"

"Yes, daddy."

Chapter: Seven

Summer Of 1989

She tenderly placed the last book on the copier, then started it,
absently glancing at her watch. She'd been in the small library for
the last five hours, looking for any information on the Clown. She'd run
across sentences mentioning a clown named Pennywise, and a couple of
paragraphs here and there about a mysterious clown that would show up
in Derry every thirty years. Nothing very solid.

But where the Derry history lacked, the books describing myths and
legends were helpful. She'd found a lot of valuable information, and
had finally figured out just what they were dealing with. It was all
there, just waiting for someone to come along and figure it out,
someone with an inquisitive mind and the sense to put it all together.
The hacker's mind, in short.

The bad part was that if she was right, then they were in a lot more
trouble than they'd originally though.

She grabbed the last of the copies and folded them into the black
canvas shoulder army bag, dumping the stack of books on the nearby book
cart. She walked through the library, trying to decide whether to risk
the walk home so late at night, or to call her Uncle and hope that she
survived the suicidal drive.

Shaking off the thought of her Uncle, she decided that she'd rather
deal with the Clown again. She pushed her way out into the eight
o'clock night and walked briskly down the sidewalk. Her long red hair
was tied up in a braid, swinging back and forth.

"Willow..."

She glanced around for the owner of the voice, her eyes freezing on the
image of herself standing at the corner. She knew it was the Clown
from the silver eyes that blazed back at her. Black leather covered
its body, the long red hair looking distinctly punkish.

"You're such a bad girl, Willow. Your thoughts are naughty, killing
and sex. What would you parents think? Their daughter a fag, and we
all know what happens to fags, don't we? They all go to hell."

The image of herself changed into her mother, silver eyes fading away.
"Do you know what we've sacrificed for you? And this is how you repay
us? You're nothing but a spawn of the devil. You need help, it's just
not normal, not normal at all. I guess I'll just have to teach you a
lesson."

Willow backed away from the steadily approaching figure of her mother.
"You're not my mother, and what I do is none of your damned business."
She gathered up her courage and turned to walk away.

A sharp burning pain engulfed her back.

She tried to run, but a claw grabbed her hair and yanked so hard that
she fell flat onto her back. She stared up at the werewolf standing
over her. Strands of her hair hung from his blood-soaked paws. A
sticky, thick liquid soaked through the back of her shirt, reminding
her of exactly what she'd gotten herself into.

Pushing away the fear that threatened to take over, she rolled away,
coming up on her feet and ran. Her sneakers padded onto the pavement
in soft thumping motions, her legs stretching out until her muscles
ached with tension. She concentrated on her breathing, keeping it slow
and steady.

Behind her, she could sense the creature keeping up with her, but not
close enough to reach her. Pushing her limits once again, she sped up,
her hands flat, the fingers tight together as she cut the through the
air. The red umbros she'd decided to wear, in case she needed to get
away fast, swooshed around her thighs.

She spotted Richie up ahead, whistling and waltzing down the sidewalk,
less than a block from his house. She gritted her teeth and pushed her
body as hard as it would go, opening up in a way she didn't know she
was capable of. "RUN!!!" she screamed.

Richie's head snapped around, gaping at the werewolf.

She reached out and hooked her hand into his arm, spinning him around
as she passed. Keeping a tight grip on his hand, she pulled him out of
his fear.
Together they ran into his yard and onto the porch, colliding with the
front door and slamming it shut behind them.

The creature, like a bad dream, vanished as soon as it was out of
sight.

Willow leaned back against the door trying to get her breath back.
"What the hell were you doing out there?"

Richie glanced over at her with a nervous smirk. "Your face and my
ass, Rosenburg."

"Beep Beep, Richie." She laughed and clapped him on his shoulder.
"Can you do me a favor?"

He cocked his eyes at her, confused but curious. "Whattya have in
mind, my mistress?" He swept down in a bow, kissing the back of her
hand in mockery.

In turn she pecked him on the cheek, and softly muttered, "You're about
to find out."

She chuckled as he blushed deeply.

Beverly scrubbed at the last spot of blood on the sink, feeling
exhausted but better, no longer having to see the stains. She wrung
out the sponge in the sink and turned to replace it in the side
cabinet.

A deep, throaty chuckle filled the room.

She slowly pivoted around, and swallowed.

All the blood she'd spent hours cleaning up had reappeared.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"It's just that this is a major life change. You need to be sure."

"I know what I'm doing."

"It might hurt?"

"Oz..."

"I'm just saying..." Richie gulped nervously under her gaze. "I'm not
sure you're ready."

"If you don't do it right now..."

"Alright, alright, jeez. Look, close your eyes, and I'll try to make
this quick and painless."

Willow shut her eyes and nervously took a breath. She liked Richie,
but allowing him to do this to her was...well, it was more intimate
than she had planned to get with him. Blocking out her discomfort, she
held still and tried to ignore what he was doing to her. It's nothing,
she told herself. Women let men do this to them all the time...

"Okay, it's done."

"That was quick," she said with some surprise.

"Yeah, well..."

She opened her eyes and grinned broadly into the mirror. Her hair was
now an inch over her jaw line.

She grabbed the scared boy and hugged him tightly, affectionately
ruffling his hair. "You're a genius. Now I don't have to worry about
anybody using my hair to yank me around." Plus, she had to admit, she
looked damn good!

Richie ducked his head slightly, turning a dark purple. "I-it's
nothing."

"Oh relax, willya! It's not like I said you should open a salon and
change your name to 'Mr. Ricky' or anything. Anyway, I should get home
before my uncle actually notices that I'm missing."

"Maybe I should walk you..."

"It's only three houses over, I'm pretty sure I can make it by myself."
She glared at him threateningly.

"Yes, mistress. Please accept my humble apologizes." He bowed deeply
as though worshipping a queen.

Sighing at his performance, she brushed past him. "I'll see you
tomorrow, Oz."

He sighed dreamily at the closing front door, touching the cheek she'd
kissed with light fingertips. "Tomorrow."

Beverly kept her arm hooked through Willow's, gripping her hand as the
group followed her into the bathroom. She looked only at Willow, who
was paling.

"It looks like someone was murdered in here," Willow whispered.

"Anyone you know, Red?" Richie asked on her other side.

"I-i-i-it w-w-was P-p-p-pennywise."

Everyone jumped as Eddie triggered his inhaler. "Sorry," he said.

"I don't know how I'll ever be able to come in here again."

Stan pressed through them, looking over the bathroom critically.
"We'll help you clean it up. With all of us working it won't take
long."

"Yep, we'll just clean this right up, then we can go down to the
Barrens, or we could go to a movie, or maybe we could..." Willow broke
off, blushing at the adoring look Beverly was giving her. "Or maybe we
should clean this up first and decide what to do later."

Beverly took one of the washcloths that Bill handed her and they began
to scrub.

Stan shifted his position on the bank of the Barrens, staring hard at
the wide creek. "I saw it, but it wasn't a clown."

The others sat in a loose semicircle around him, staying quiet, afraid
that if they broke the silence he'd lose his nerve. Willow reached out
and took his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.

He glanced up at her, managing a small smile, and began the story he'd
balked at telling the first time. "It was over by the stand pipe in
the park..."

"Whoa, you actually go over there?" Richie shivered, shaking his head
solemnly. "That place is haunted."

Stan stared at him sharply. "Wait, what are you talking about?"

"Don't you know anything? A number of kids drowned in there."

Stan began to hyperventilate, his skin turning sickly grey. Eddie
reached over and jammed his inhaler into his mouth, triggering it.

Stan fell back, coughing and making retching noises. "What the hell
was that?"

"My inhaler."

"How can you stand that stuff? It tastes like cold shit."

Richie cracked up. "You would know, wouldn't you, Stannie?"

"Fuck you, trash mouth."

"No thanks, I ain't no fag."

Willow glared over at them darkly. "What's wrong with being gay?"

Richie flushed under her gaze and shifted uncomfortably. "N-nothing.
I didn't mean it like that."

"Well, just don't use that word, okay? I don't like it." Willow still
remembered the way the Clown's words had burned inside her.

"W-w-what w-w-were y-y-you s-s-saying a-a-a-bout t-t-t-t-t-t-t-"

"The stand pipe," Eddie finished.

Richie nodded. "Right. Well, according to the old man, the stand pipe
was used as the town's main source of water up until about a century
ago. It holds two million gallons of water, and it has a gallery right
below the roof where you can get one of the best views of the town.
Families used to go up there on the weekends for picnics and family
outings.

"Stairs wound around it between the outside of the pipe and the inner
sleeve. The pipe was measured at a hundred and six feet tall, allowing
people to see it from anywhere in the town. Below the roof is a wooden
door leading to a railless small platform over the black water. The
only lights in there are naked yellow bulbs in reflective hoods. The
bottom is over a hundred feet deep.

"Back before the 1930's, the wooden door was left unlocked. Then one
night, a group of high schoolers found the ground floor door unlocked
and went up on a dare. But when they opened the door they thought led
to the gallery, they found themselves on the platform. It was too dark
to see and they fell into the water. As the night went by, they
struggled to stay above the water, screaming for help, and clawing at
the slick steel walls. They even tried to reach the platform to pull
themselves out, but it was just out of reach. Before morning had come,
they had become too tired to tread water anymore. The next morning,
the grounds keeper found their bodies."

Beverly swallowed back her tears and spoke. "They didn't close it off
until later. This woman had gone out onto the platform with her baby
and it squirmed out of her arms. Some guy dived in after him, but with
all his clothes he was dragged under."

"What did you see there?" Willow asked quietly.

Stan wrapped his arms around himself. "I'm a bird watcher, it's my
hobby. The same as collecting stamps or comics..."

It had been a thickly fogged rainy morning that previous April. The
park was empty except for the joggers that came by every once in a
while. Sometimes he'd see a couple or two walking their dog, or a
straggler running through there as a short cut.

He loved to sit on one particular bench close to the canal. He could
easily see the entire park from there, and some times he just loved to
watch the canal water lazily running by. He'd use his binoculars to
watch out for birds, making sure to keep his pocket-sized bird
encyclopedia next to him, and a journal to keep track of sightings.

The old stand pipe stood nearby, breaking through the fog, the faded
white paint glaring out. He had began to search for a new species of
bird that he could enter into his journal. He wasn't sure how long
he'd sat there, he was too concerned with keeping an eye on the large
birdbath, but his clothes had become damp and heavy from the light
drizzle and fog.

He frowned deeply in concentration as a red and black bird landed on
the bath. It folded its wings onto its sides and bent over to take a
drink. He reached down for his bird album, a loud thunderous BANG shot
through the park, startling the bird.

He scowled as it flew off and quickly shoved his stuff into his
backpack. He slowly spun in a circle, looking for the person who'd
dare disturb his hobby. He decided to go to his left, based on the
sound and started to walk. Another thud broke through the fog and he
picked up his pace.

He stopped a few yards from the pipe and stared in shock as he saw the
ground level door swinging in the wind. The only problem was that
there wasn't any wind.

His sense of duty over rode his fear. He couldn't just leave the door
like that, anyone could wander in there, and who knew what could
happen. As he walked up to the door and stuck his head in, the muffled
sound of footsteps fluttered down the stairs to him.

"Hello? Is anyone in here?"

He stepped into the doorway and strained to see up the stairs. He
jumped around as the door slammed shut on him. In a dazed panic, he
grabbed the knob and tried in useless desperation to open it. No
matter how hard he tried, he couldn't get the damned knob to move.

Above him, the slow weighty footsteps grew louder. He glanced up
through the spiral stairs gaps and saw a bandage draping one through
one of the gaps, then slowly pulled out and down onto the next step.
His panic increased and he slammed his shoulder into the door again and
again.

Tears streamed down his cheeks, and he pulled the bird album from his
backpack, holding it up in front of him like a bible. He nervously
gripped his left ear and started shouting out the names of birds.

The footsteps faltered, and a single blue balloon drifted down.

He screamed even louder, yelling out any species that came to mind.

He fell backwards as the door opened.

Losing no time he did the only thing he could think of. He ran.


Chapter: Eight


Summer Of 1989

Willow stood slightly away from the other five, watching them absently
from her own position under the gigantic tree. They'd come down into
the Barrens after lunch hoping to talk, but the bright sun had been too
much even for their young bodies.

She frowned softly as they waited quietly for Big Bill to tell them
what to do.

This clown business had them all on edge and they were now looking for
guidance from the one of them who had lost the most to the monster.
Bill was standing with his back to them, staring off into the distance.

She wanted to tell them what she knew about Pennywise, but something
inside her was saying that it wasn't time yet. So she waited, for
what, she didn't know.

"W-w-w-we c-can't t-t-tell t-t-the p-police, o-o-or o-our p-p-parents,"
he reasoned, as they listened patiently. "T-t-they're t-t-too
o-o-o-old t-t-to u-un-understand." He looked over at them, trying to
see if they understood what he was saying.

Willow nodded thoughtfully. "It's like Peter Pan. As you get older,
your imagination shrinks, suddenly you don't believe in Santa Claus, or
the Easter Bunny, or faeries anymore, and you can never go back to
Never Never Land. Well, unless you want to be a stinky, mean ol'
pirate."

"Ex-ex-xactly."

Mike was from the only black family in Derry, and a small town whose
mentality still lived in the early 50's wasn't a good place for them to
live. For the most part, people in the town were at least polite, but
then there were the Bowers. Mike's family lived in the farm next to
the Bowers, a family that was crazy and violent - a bad combination,
all in all.

Mike's father was blamed for any bad occurrence that happened to
Bowers, and their animals had paid the price for most of it. They'd
lost a number of chickens a while back, when Bowers killed them and
left them on their doorstep as a 'present'. The sheriff had tried to
get Bowers to pay for the damages he'd caused, but that had been
futile, one man's word against another's, with no evidence of guilt.
Instead, they'd had to turn to their insurance.

The worst blow had been a year earlier when they'd found their family
dog dead. The vet said that Mr. Chips had been fed meat laced with
insect poison. Mr. Patterson had assured Mike that his dog hadn't
suffered, but when the vet had taken his father into the back, he'd
overheard the truth. Mr. Chips had died a slow, painful death.

The worst of it was the tearful rage he'd felt towards Henry ever
since. He had been after Mike ever since, probably trying to get his
father's approval in some twisted way. Now was no exception. He had
been heading home with his father's photo album, having gone to the
library to try and find more history on each of the historical
pictures. That's where his trouble had started.

As he was getting ready to leave he'd spotted the four boys that
followed Henry. Vic, Belch, Moose, and Peter. All of whom were known
for their tendency for violence.

"There's the nigger. Get him!!"

That was all the incentive that he needed, and before the muscular but
slower boys had taken one step, he was off and running. He kept the
thick album in his hands as he raced through the streets of Derry.

Mike knew from experience that the people in Derry had a talent for
turning their eyes from anything that threatened to put them in the
middle. He had no choice but to try to get back to the safety of his
house, fast, which meant a short cut through the coal pit. He turned
into the train yard, winded and tired. He knew he wouldn't last much
longer, and he was still a good mile from home.

"I kn-know w-w-where t-t-the b-b-bastard l-lives."

"The sewers," Beverly said from her spot next to Willow.

"I asked m-my f-f-father ab-bout th-them."

"What'd he say, Big Bill?" Richie asked, plopping down on Willow's
other side, winking at her.

"The c-c-canal h-h-holds t-t-the K-k-k..."

"Kenduxkeag?" Stan asked.

Bill nodded. "But i-i-it's a d-d-drain, for w-w-when it
floods a-a-and during s-s-storms. The m-m-m-morlock
h-holes d-d-down her a-are sump pumps t-t-that control t-t-the
d-drainage.

"T-t-the m-main pipes a-a-are anywhere from s-s-ix f-f-feet
t-to three feet in d-d-diameter. He s-s-said that w-w-when
they put in th-the n-n-new system that t-t-they built
it o-over t-t-the old ones. B-b-but the blueprints d-d-disappeared
i-i-in n-nineteen thirty-s-seven, so they h-h-have n-no
idea w-where any of t-t-them g-g-go."

Stan shook his head in his usual serious demeanor. "Man, one wrong
turn down there and you could get lost for good. Probably end up
wandering around down there in the dark until ya die of starvation or
something." He glared at them, coming back to himself. "What makes
you think it lives in the sewer, anyway?"

Willow sighed loudly, knowing it was now or never. "Because that's
where everything goes back to in one way or another. Don't you see,
when Bill's brother was killed, they found him halfway into the sewer
drain on their street, the arm in the drain ripped clean off to his
shoulder. The mummy Bev saw was standing on the canal, the one Stan
saw was at the stand pipe, which is also connected to the sewers and
close to the canal. The werewolf that Oz saw was in the basement where
all the plumbing is. Even the werewolf that was after me and Oz the
other night was across from here where all the pump stations are."

"Wait. What were you doing out at night?" Beverly asked sharply.

"I was doing research on our friend."

Bill leaned forward with a triumphant sparkle in his eyes. "A-a-and?"

"It's a Glamour. At least that's the Gaelic name for it. What we're
dealing with is well known throughout several cultures and countries.
Different names and ideas, but the facts are the same. It was known to
have evil magic. It would read the victim's mind to find out what he
or she was most afraid of and assume that shape. However, he also had
a main form which he took most often."

"Like a default shape?"

She nodded at Bev. "Right. In the ancient societies that believed in
gods taking shapes of animals, he would pick an animal and use it's
shape. Like the Trickster from old Indian myths. There were even
stories of it possessing grownups that were too naive to believe
anymore. It was the originator of the vampire and were-beast myths."

"H-h-how d-d-do w-w-we k-k-kill it?"

Willow slumped back and glared up at the bright sky. "One of the
websites I found was documenting the life a shaman from the Navaho
tribe. During his lifetime, his tribe was the target of a Glamour. He
was a boy at the time, 11 years old. Him and six others his age had to
find their way before they were able to destroy it."

"H-how?"

"They went on a vision quest, but in the end they used an ancient
ritual. The Chud."

"W-w-what do w-we n-n-need t-t-to d-d-do?"

"One of us has to bite its tongue while it's biting ours, and then you
tell jokes until one of you lets go." Willow's brow furrowed in
concentration. "At least that's what I think the translation says."

"EEWWW!!" Richie jumped up and hopped around making spitting noises.
"I do NOT want any monster spit in my mouth! And do you realize what
would happen if you stuck your tongue down it's throat?" Oz glared at
her with concern. "With those teeth it would bite your tongue off,
then what would you do."

"W-w-what h-happens i-if y-you l-l-lose?"

"Then the Glamour gets to eat your soul," Willow said calmly.

Oz puffed out his chest and planted his fists on his waist. "This
sounds like a job for...The Trash Mouth!" His voice sounded like the
announcer on an old Superman series. "The Man of Two Thousand Jokes
and Pranks! But I only work from three to four."

"Oz, sweetie, if we send you down there, you'll get us all killed."
Willow made a face. "A loooooong, torturous, painful death."

The others laughed at the pout on Oz's face, but Willow took note of
the flush on his face. She couldn't help it, it seemed like every time
she hugged him, or gave him a peck, or even just referred to him by
cute little nicknames, that he would blush a deep red from his neck to
his ears and become shy. "Hey, don't you have some firecrackers?" she
added, taking pity on him.

Oz grinned at her, forgetting his embarrassment. "Yeah. Come on,
let's go up to the old coal pits and shoot them off."

Willow let him and Bevy to help her up, and fell back in between them.

She glanced around with a frown as she felt an unpleasant tingling
sensation in her mind. The only other times she'd felt it was when she
had a run in with Pennywise... She slowed down and scanned the
Barrens.

"Hey, are you coming?" Oz asked.

She started to nod, but stopped as she noticed the morlock hole fifty
yards down. The lid was pushed up and she could see two yellow eyes
staring at them. The thing that unnerved her was that there was two
feet between the eyes. 'My god, just how large is the damned thing?'

She ran to catch up with the others, but she kept her eyes on the pump
until it was out of sight.

Mike made it to Neibolt Street and sped up. He couldn't understand
what the hell was going on. Yes, Henry and the others hated him. Yes,
they had on occasion taken a few swings at him. But usually by now
they would've given up the chase. It was like something was driving
them to catch him.

He flew towards the ten-foot-tall metal fence blocking off the coal
pits, and threw the album on the ground so that it slid under the
fence. He leaped up as high as he could and began to climb up. He
gripped the thick metal pole at the top, and rolled over it, landing on
his feet on the other side. He gritted his teeth against the sharp
aching in his ankles and grabbed his book, taking off in a slow sprint.
It was all his tired body was capable of.

He missed the slope into the deep pit, and found himself in a painful
roll. The coal darkened his skin and clothes, scraping at his exposed
skin. He struggled onto his knees and looked up at the other side, the
way he needed to go.

Six shadows were standing there, side by side, facing Henry and his
friends as they slid down into the pit after him.

"Help me... Please..." He scrambled up the side, too weak to scream as
someone grabbed his hand and hauled him up.

Bev smiled kindly at him. "Get behind us."

Stan grabbed his other arm and helped him the rest of the way up.
Together they all turned back to face Bowers and the others at the
bottom of the pit.

Henry glared up at them coldly. "We're only after the nigger. You
stay out of this, and we'll let you walk away. At least for today."

His groupies laughed, as Vic spoke up. "Yeah, we want to see how a
nigger dances with a couple Black Cats in his shoes."

Bill stepped protectively in front of Mike. "N-n-no. T-t-there are
s-s-six o-of us a-a-and o-o-only f-f-five o-o-of y-y-you."

Mike threw his album a few feet away, where it'd be out of the way.
"Seven."

Everyone looked at him solemnly, feeling complete all of a sudden.
Willow smiled darkly at Henry. "If you walk away now, then maybe we
won't have to put you in the hospital."

Henry racked his eyes over her body and snorted. "Damn, bitch, why'd
you cut your hair? It was sexier long."

Willow laughed. "Exactly, pig fucker." She pulled her arm back and
bulleted the large chunk of rock, hitting Henry in the left shoulder,
sending him reeling back a few steps. Beside her, Richie let out a
loud sow's squeal, letting lose his own rock.

In seconds the two groups were in an all-out rock fight. Rocks hit the
seven in their arms, legs, knees, and shoulders, but they didn't
notice, too intent on a battle. It didn't feel like they were fighting
a town bully, but like they were battling the Glamour.

Willow's daze was broken by the tear-filled cry of pain from Beverly,
and she stormed silently in a blinding rage at the fist-sized rock that
hit Bev in the arm, drawing a long thick line of blood, dripping down
her arm to the gravel.

She spun around letting lose a bellow, freezing everyone mid-throw.
Without regard to her own safety, she charged down the slope towards
Henry like a ticked-off defensive linebacker, ignoring the numerous
rocks being thrown directly at her. They bounced off, unnoticed, as
she leaped two feet from Henry, tackling him around the waist to the
gravel floor.

The painful whimper that escaped his lips as the coal and gravel dug
into his back reinforced her rage, and soon she was on him, punching
him in the face over and over again. She felt hands on her arms trying
to pull her off, but she struck out, sending the grabbers falling back
out of range, only to go back to hitting a now bruised, bloody Henry.
Her fist connected with his nose in a sickening crack that caused a
joyful voice in her head to celebrate.

She felt punches connecting with her chest and face, but was too
engulfed to notice. She saw the swings Henry threw in futile hope, but
she knew nothing else. Blood ran down her face, dripping onto him; dim
thoughts recognized it as her own, but she didn't care. He'd messed
with Bev, and he was going to pay.

"Willow...!"

Oz clamped a hand on her elbow, stopping her mid-punch. "Hey, it's
over. We won."

Willow blinked up at him, her rage still demanding justice. Bev
kneeled down beside her and smiled, giving her a quick peek on the
cheek. "Thank you."

The rage melted away, and she allowed Bev and Oz to lift her off the
badly beaten Henry. She laughed through the tears now running down her
cheek. Scrawny little Willow had done that without any help.

"Come on, let's go." Bev gently led her away from the scene, with Oz
strutting protectively on her other side.

"It's a good thing you got to him before me," he declared loudly. "I
would've killed the son of a bitch." Everyone giggled as he weakly
punched his left hand and shook his right out in pain. "Okay, so I
would've noogied him to death. You go with what works."

Willow leaned onto them, feeling the pain she was in. It was more than
the beating and pelting she'd taken, it was the recognition that Mike's
addition to their little group meant that matters were drawing to a
head.

She'd mentioned that the boy from the Navajo tribe had six others with
him, but hadn't really stated that seven was the required number for
such rituals. For a while, the fact that the Losers' Club had only six
members had been a comfort to her, as it meant they didn't have to go
through the ritual just yet.

But this was it, all of them were here, which meant time was running
out.

Chapter: Nine


Summer Of 1989

Willow squinted at the ground, eyeing the pegged strings she'd
stretched out to outline the underground clubhouse she was going to
build. On the outside she'd suggested it in case they needed to hide.
All they had to do was glue leaves and grass and shrubbery onto the top
and no one would ever know the difference. But inside, she realized,
it was for a different purpose.

When they were ready, when things had finally reached the climax, they
were going to have to use it as a smoke hut. The vision quest was
their only real hope of getting positive answers, or to at least direct
them in the right direction. Right now they were scattered
chaotically, with no real path to follow.

Under the Godzilla-sized tree that was their shade, she could hear
Richie babbling in his 'southern hick' voice. Bill was ignoring him,
watching the clouds go by. Beverly was sitting against the tree,
watching her work. Stan and Eddie were reading some old comics that
Stan had brought down.

She picked up the measuring tape and remeasured the diameter.
Satisfied that it was small, but would hold the seven of them
comfortably, she picked up the shovel. Richie was beside her in an
instant, picking up another shovel and helping her dig.

Soon all of them were pitching in, digging where she directed. She
followed behind them taking her shovel and evening out the sides of the
square. Constantly taking her measuring tape and walking around
mumbling to herself. Within the hour she'd called a hold, double- and
triple-checking the measurements.

Her brow was furrowed, her tongue sticking out of the corner of her
mouth as she squinted up at the sun. After a long moment, she muttered
under her breath and nodded once. "That's it."

Bill grinned widely and whooped excitedly. Every inch of
accomplishment they made was exciting, reinvigorating all of them.

They glanced over wearily as they heard someone approaching. The lean
figure burst out of the bushes and dropped a picture album to the
ground under the tree.

"Hey, Mikey." Richie grinned widely. "What are you standing there
for? Get over here and give us a hand."

Mike relaxed and returned the grin. "What do I do?"

Richie cocked his head at Willow, a tinge of red coloring his ears.
"What do we do, mistress?"

She snorted at the laughing group, and sauntered over to Oz, running
her fingertips through his spiky red hair. Her left arm draped loosely
around his shoulder. "If you're a good boy, maybe I'll tell you."

Wolf whistles and yips of laughter broke her carefully controlled face.
She grinned widely, enjoying her ability to make him blush so easily,
and threw a couple of boards down to Stan. "Let's get the floor
built."

They fell into an easy rhythm; boards were placed, hardware fastened
tightly on them, directions called out with confidence. The boys had
long since shed their shirts, sweat dripping from their summer-tanned
chests.

Willow gritted her teeth as they put the last of the thick boards on
for the roof, staring at it wearily she walked onto it, bouncing on her
feet to test the strength of them. The others had backed away to give
her space, waiting for her go ahead.

The wood was solid under her feet, but still she walked over every inch
of it, searching for any sign of weakness. There were none. She
turned to the trap door leading into the pit, and cautiously stepped
onto it. The wood held under her, no give at all.

She finally looked up at them and smiled. "We did it."

Richie did a jig around the group, scooping Willow up and swinging her
sweat-soaked body around as he passed her. She squeaked indignantly as
he squeezed her in a death grip, and he buried his nose in her hair.
'Okay, this is weird.'

He sat her back down and danced her around the clubhouse, humming
loudly and sourly. She threw her head back and laughed, winking over
at Beverly as she glared jealously at Oz. Beverly grinned sheepishly
back at her.

She managed to pry away from Oz, and used her arm to pull his head down
playfully. "So now what?"

Bill became deathly serious, sneaking a look at Mike. The group's
cheer gave way to a maturity that they shouldn't have known at such a
young age. They sat down under the tree as Stan caught Mike up.
Telling him about Pennywise, and the murders.

Mike looked up from the ground when Stan was finished and nodded in
acknowledgement. "I saw him twice, once on the fourth of July and the
other...he was a bird."

His father was a man of history. When they'd moved to Derry, he'd
started to collect old photos of the town, reading up on the history,
getting copies of old newspaper clips of stories that especially struck
him. Putting them all neatly and lovingly into a large photo album.

One of the stories he was most interested in was the old ironworks
plant. On Easter Sunday of 1890, they held an Easter egg hunt for all
the children in Derry. After the year of murders and disappearances
they had hoped it would be good for the town.

For the hunt inside the gigantic plant, they'd taken the precautions of
putting up barriers on all the dangerous areas, putting employees at
each one to make sure that no one that tried to get in anyway. The
plant was filled with over five hundred boys and girls, all looking for
the candy-filled eggs. Mothers and fathers trailed after them,
gossiping and laughing.

An hour into the hunt something went wrong, blowing up the plant and
everyone in it. Twisted metal and shrapnel shot out over the town.
Blood and pieces of bodies sprayed into back yards, onto houses, and
the head of a young boy landed in the front passenger seat of a
convertible driving by.

For hours, rescue workers shifted through the rubble, searching
desperately trying to find some sign of life. They found themselves
working from late morning well into the night, and they'd only sorted
through a fourth of the demolished building. Any hope of survivors had
died long before they'd called it quits for the night. Body parts
strewn in bloody messes, they were having trouble finding any bodies
that were still in one piece.

In the end they recovered all the bodies, except for eight children and
one adult.

Eddie shivered. "My mother told me about that. The explosion wiped
out half the town."

Mike had found a note one morning from his father. He'd done all his
chores, and his father had to go to town for some meeting. His dad had
suggested that he ride over to the ironworks, and chose a souvenir.
The excitement of exploring the old ruins was enough to make the
mile-long trip seem longer, but when he finally got there he changed
his mind.

The enormous spread of dirt and rubble went back farther than he could
see. The land was eerily silent and gave the impression of being
haunted. Wind danced through the metal and pipes, creating a thick
whistling to pierce through the quiet.

He stepped carefully around splintered drawers from old desks; legs
from chairs lay split in two sticking out of the ground. Metal twisted
in spirals that shouldn't have been possible, burnt and charred,
sharpened into a razor-edged point. Pipes stuck out of the ground at
slants, cracked, and one pipe about sixty feet long and four feet in
diameter laid on its side, the bottom end sticking our of the side of a
hill. Tiles were scattered around in slivers and cracks.

Mike swallowed back his fear, feeling the presence of the dead around
him. He leaned over and picked up a gauge, stuffing it into his
pocket. He'd found a souvenir, now he wanted to get the hell out of
there.

An inhuman squawk came from behind him.

Instinctively he ducked to the ground. Then, when nothing appeared, he
quickly got back to his feet and ran, hard.

Behind him, the orange-chested robin the size of a horse trailer soared
towards him, its claws extended.

Mike sped up and dived towards the pipe as claws ripped into his shirt.
He screamed out from clenched teeth as he slid into the pipe, then
scrambled deeper into it over broken tile.

Getting to his knees, he turned back to the entrance, staring at the
beak that was stuck in the hole, snapping at him. The bird's tongue was
black, with an orange pom-pom on it. He backed away until he hit the
dirt keeping him about four feet from the bird's snapping beak.

In the dark, he reached around him for something to use, and his hand
scraped across a sharp edge of tile. His instinct was to jerk away,
but he latched onto it, pulling his hand back and throwing it. The
sharp edge flew into its mouth, slicing the tongue until black blood
poured out.

It screeched, hurting his ears inside the pipe. Again he reached for a
piece of tile, grabbing a handful of them this time. He threw them one
after another, hitting the bird's mouth, part of its head, and with the
last tile, its eye. The eyeball popped in a sickening squash that made
the bird reel back.

He grabbed more tile and waited for it to come back. He had no idea
how long he sat there waiting, but by the time he'd gotten home, five
hours had passed.

Willow asked quietly, "What about the other time?"

"It happened during the July fourth parade, I'm in the school band.
While we were marching through downtown, I saw him. He was standing on
the corner in this silver suit with orange pom-poms, and his makeup
was..." He shivered. "He was handing out balloons to all these babies
and little kids, except they
were bawling like they were scared.

"Then, when we went around the next block, I saw him again. I thought
it was a different guy, but he looked exactly the same. Then as we
passed, he looked up, right at me. He blinked and his teeth seemed to
grow into two-inch long, razor-sharp fangs. He gave me the finger."

"I don't get it." Stan glared harshly at them. "If this clown is the
killer, than why the hell doesn't he just kill us? Why would he spend
so much time trying to scare us?"

Willow shook her head in frustration. "Don't you get it? Every time a
Glamour has been around, seven children who were chosen battled it.
Those seven were the only ones that could kill it. We are those
seven."

Stan paled, his face a bright white, and shook his head rapidly. "No,
I won't do it. I won't. I can't."

Willow sharply cut him off. "It knows. It knows who we are, it knows
we can kill it, and it's scared. Which means we're going to have to
act soon. Now, shut up and sit there, unless you have something
productive to say!"

Stan stared at her, stunned, and nodded. "Yeah, all right."

Willow sighed, wondering how the hell were they going to pull this one
off?

"I-I-I w-w-was thinking."

Willow glanced over at Oz for some clue as to what Bill was talking
about, but he simply shrugged. They had gone decided to go over to the
park and look around. The others had already left for home, so it was
just the three of them.

"W-w-when y-y-you s-s-shot i-i-it i-i-in w-w-were-w-wolf f-f-form
a-a-and s-s-said t-t-they w-w-were s-s-silver..."

"Bullets, it screamed out in pain," she finished, catching onto the
idea. "But where are we going to get any? We can't walk into a store
and buy any."

Bill grinned a shit-eating grin and slapped her on the back.
"Y-y-you'll m-m-make t-t-them."

Willow stopped staring at the two boys in shock. "You're kidding,
right?" she burst out. "What do I look like, the Lone Ranger? Hey, I
want to help, and I'm a really smart girl and all, but making bullets
is a little beyond me! I mean, that involves ballistics and armoring
and metallurgy and all kindsa things don't anything about!" She
snorted. Even if she got it slightly wrong, they might not fire...or
worse, they might blow up in the hand of whoever tried to shoot them.

Hell no, as Stan would say. Uh-uh, no way in hell. Too dangerous.
Hell would freeze over first, pigs would fly, mules would...

"L-l-looks g-good, K-k-kemo-s-sabe," Bill said, admiring her handiwork.

She glared up at Bill as she opened the first mold. The silver ball
bearing rolled out onto the table. They'd all agreed that making
silver bullets wasn't going to happen, and in their minds silver ball
bearings were the second best thing.

Tossing the light silver ball over to Bill, watching amusedly as he
bounced it from hand to hand trying to catch it, she asked smugly, "So
now what, Big Bill?"

"N-n-now, w-w-we k-k-k-kill t-t-the s-s-son of a b-b-bitch."

Chapter: Ten


Summer Of 1989

It had been a month since they'd built the underground club house, and
two weeks since they'd made the silver balls. Last week they'd each
taken a turn with Bill's slingshot, and Bev had been the only one to
hit all ten targets. They'd all agreed that it would be best to wait a
while before going after It.

They were doing their best to relax and regroup, and it seemed that
Pennywise was doing the same. He'd appeared to them once or twice more
during the three weeks, but for the most part there seemed to be a
temporary truce between them.

On some level, though, Willow could sense the up coming weeks were
going to be worse than ever. An out-and-out battle between them, to
the death. The thought wasn't comforting, and she'd spent the last few
nights writing notes to Jesse and Xander. If she didn't make it, then
she wanted them to know it wasn't their fault.

When she'd left for the summer, both boys had been panicked. Xander
had come running over from the library with Jesse in tow, waving a
Maine newspaper under her nose, screaming, "I won't let you go! Do you
know that there's some crazy running around in Derry killing off the
kids? It's been over a year and they still haven't caught the sicko!"

When she'd refused to listen to him, he and Jesse had shared a nod.
Jesse had thrown her over his shoulder and they ran out of the house
with her, taking her to their semi-secret 'hideout' and tying her up.
Both boys had sat there, apologizing profusely, explaining that they
loved her too much to sit by while she got killed. Of course, an hour
later, Cordy had burst in on them with their parents in tow. The
aftermath had NOT been pretty.

Mike sat down in the middle of the group, opening his father's album.
"I found a picture of Pennywise in here." He held the album spread in
his lap so that they could see.

The picture was an old, thin piece of wood, carved in the image of the
town. It was standing in the middle of the dirt street where the
downtown area was now located; the canal was behind him, but that was
the only thing they could recognize. "My father says it's over two
hundred years old." He turned to another page, showing a black and
white picture from 1856 that had been colored in for a cartoonish
feeling. Again, it showed Pennywise in the background.

"H-h-how o-o-old i-i-is h-h-he?"

Mike looked over at him. "A lot older than two hundred. I was looking
through the history my father has found out, and there's a cycle.
Every 28-30 years, there are a serious of murders and disappearances of
children. Followed by a catastrophe, ending the cycle. It goes back
as far as the first settlers."

The smell of yeast and popcorn filled their noses. In the distance
they could hear laughter and music; as one they looked at the picture.
The political parade was walking away, disappearing around the corner
with the crowd following. Willow thought that Pennywise was going to
follow, but he turned around, the makeup that looked like skin glaring
horribly in the picture.

He ran at them, climbing up the old street lamp, and reaching out, the
plastic over the picture stretching as a human-sized hand pushed out
against it. "I'm going to kill you all. I'm going to rip you apart
piece by piece while you're still alive, and make you drink your own
fucking blood, then I'll pop your eyeballs out and..."

Mike shrieked and shut the album, throwing it away.

"It's scared of us," Willow said, more sure than she was before. "It's
scared, and it wants us to be scared, too."

Stan stared at the album, shaking. "Well, it worked. I'm petrified."

"Beep beep, Stan, beep beep," she muttered.

Bill and Richie walked over the place they thought the clubhouse was
supposed to be, but no matter how hard they tried they just couldn't be
sure. 'Damn, Willow did too good a job of camouflage.'

They stopped and raised their eyebrows at each other as they heard soft
giggles coming from below their feet. Bill raised his hands and jumped
over to the trap door.

"It's 'em redskins. They's been-a scalping mah dog again. They must
die." Richie spoke in a thick southern accent, spitting out an
invisible black string of spit from a plug of tobacco. "Come out with
yer hands up, or's I'll shoot ya."

A deep voice yelled out at them, "Never, ya white-skinned murderer!"

"If ya's ain't out by the time I count ta three I'll shoot." Richie
stomped around on the roof. "One...three! Ya time's up, ya primitive
beasts!"

He smirked at the sigh he heard below. Beverly muttered just loud
enough for him to hear, "You better let Tweeledum and Tweedledee in
before they make this whole thing collapse."

The trap door popped open and green eyes glared out at them. Bill
jumped down, and snickered at what he found. Willow and Beverly were
the only ones here, but they were sitting next to each other. Their
faces were flushed, their lips swollen, and their clothes seemed to be
crooked. Something had been going on down here...

Richie dropped down next to him and immediately plopped down on
Willow's other side, shooting a disapproving glare at Bev, or at least
he tried to make it disapproving. It seemed more jealous than
anything.

Willow smiled over at him and pecked his forehead, calming the young
boy down. "I was thinking, we should use this as a steam hut."

"You mean like that vision quest you were talking about?" Richie asked.

"If we plan on going after It, then we need to explore every
possibility."

"I-I-I a-a-gr-ree."

The others nodded. When Big Bill said something you listened. He was
the leader, the one that made the finally choice, and could veto any
idea. If he agreed with her idea, then they were going to do it.

"W-w-what d-d-do w-w-we d-d-do?"

"Richie, you get a number of big rocks." She drew an invisible circle
in the middle of the floor. "Make an outline of a circle with them,
then fill it in. The rest of us will gather all the green wood we can
find. Pile it up in the corner. The others should be getting back
from lunch soon, so we'd better get started."

By the time the others had arrived they had everything set up. The
only thing they had left to do was light the fire.

Bill stopped Willow and Bevy before they could drop into the clubhouse.
"Y-y-you t-t-two s-s-should s-s-stay u-u-up h-h-h-here."

Willow narrowed her eyes at Bill and scanned the others, until they had
dropped their heads. "And just who the hell is going to stop us, Big
Bill?" The sarcasm dripped around his name, making him flinch under
her scrutiny.

"W-w-we n-need t-to have s-s-someone u-up here, j-j-just in c-c-case."

"Fine, then you can stay and we'll go." She tried to move past him,
but he grabbed her arm. "Look, either you let me go down, female or
not..."

Again, he flinched in guilt.

"...or I'll leave. And if I leave..." She stabbed her finger into his
chest backing him up. "...then I won't be coming back."

"Um, y'know," Stan said from behind Bill, "Willow's the one who knows
about this stuff. She'd probably be more help down here than pulling
guard duty."

"W-w-w-willow..." Bill was considering Stan's point, but he didn't
like his decisions being contradicted.

"I've got an idea." They turned to an angry Beverly, who was glaring
at the guys. "We'll drew matches, and the one who gets the one with a
burnt head stays up here." When everyone nodded agreement, she turned
her back.

Willow glared harshly at Oz as he ducked his head.

"Draw."

One by one they drew, and one by one they held up unlit matches.
Willow saddened as Beverly held the last match. Carefully she
unclenched her fist, and held up the last match, unburned.

"You tricked us!!"

"What the hell are you trying to do, Bev?"

"I did light it. See?" She held up her hand so they could see the ash
covering the spot where the match had been pressed. A wind chilled
them, with the feeling that this was beyond their control. Someone
wanted all of them down there.

"C-c-come on," Bill said impatiently. "W-w-we're w-w-wasting
t-t-t-time."

Willow leaned her head against Oz's shoulder and breathed deeply. The
small beam of light coming from the five-by-five-inch square was above
the smoky fire. The clubhouse was filled with thick, stinging smoke,
scraping her throat and lungs. Beverly had left already, along with
Eddie and Stan. The smoke seemed to be causing her eyes to play tricks
on her, because it felt like the room was getting bigger.

She hooked her arm through Oz's and held tight, as the fire moved
father away. She could feel the effects of the smoke taking effect.
She waited for the moment she knew was coming.

A blinding light shot through the dark, bringing her back to reality.

The trap door slammed back shut as Bill and Mike climbed out in
coughing fits. She could hear the sound of someone retching above.
Closing her eyes, she snuggled her head into Oz's neck, enjoying the
presence of him beside her.

She felt a shift in the room and opened her eyes, gasping at what she
saw. "What the...?"

She kept a tight grip on Oz's arm as they stood in a living room of
some house. She could see an older version of herself sitting close to
a blonde girl looking tired and worn. On her other side was an older
version of Oz, wearing goth-style clothes, his hair bleached. Looking
the same way she did.

Xander was seated in one of the chairs, with a blonde curled up in his
lap. A bleached blonde with an English accent was by the window,
looking slightly scared. In a chair in front of them was an older man
who bore the air of a librarian.

"...records say that this Glamour was around during the age of
dinosaurs. It was asexual and spawned a number of children that spread
out around the world, creating all the different myths and legends.
According the Watcher's diaries I've read, only the Chosen Seven can
kill it, even then they must perform an ancient ritual...it's, uh..."
He began to flip through a book, muttering quietly.

"How do we find these seven, and am I one of them?" The blonde next to
herself asked.

The older version of herself sighed in surrender. "It's the ritual
Chud, and no, you aren't one of the seven. In fact, there's nothing
you can do it this case."

Everyone stared at her as she rubbed her eyes tiredly. The librarian
cleared his throat. "And how, may I ask, do you know all this?"

"Because me and Oz are two of the chosen, and we've battled this thing
before," said the older Willow. "I thought we'd killed it. That's how
we knew each other before he moved here."

Willow closed her eyes and began to retch...

She opened her eyes as Bev called to her, rolled onto her back,
coughing, and reached over to grab Oz's hand. They looked into each
other's eyes with understanding. Their future depended on what
happened next.

Chapter: Eleven


Summer Of 1989

Eddie took the new inhaler out of the prescription bag and tossed it
into the nearby trashcan. He tucked it into his back pocket, and
started to head down the street.

The stray voice of his mother entered his mind. 'Eddie, what are you
doing? Eddie, how many have I told you, always get a receipt, and a
good boy always does what he's told, doesn't he?'

He turned back and entered the drug store, waving absently at the young
girl behind the register, and leaned against the counter to peer into
the back, trying to catch Mr. Keene. Spotting the man through the
cracked office door, he walked around the counter, willing to face the
man's wrath.

"...poor Eddie, if it wasn't for his damned mother he'd be fine."

"What do you mean, dad?"

"His mother is crazy, always forcing the idea of being sickly on him.
There's not a thing wrong with that boy, at least nothing some time in
the sun and a little exercise wouldn't cure."

"Surely it isn't that bad?"

"If that boy even bumps his shoulder, she rushes him to the emergency
room, insisting that his arm's broken..."

He backed away shaking his head. It wasn't true, it couldn't be true.
His mother wouldn't do that to him, would she?

He bolted out of the store, running headlong into someone; landing on
his butt, he looked up and started to scream.

A large hand shot out, punching him in the jaw, he rolled onto his
stomach and tried to get to his knees, but Henry was on him, slamming
him down onto the sidewalk. His arm making a loud sickingly snap was
the last thing he heard before he blacked out...

'Damn my uncle, why do all the members in my family have to be
obsessively religious, physically and emotionally abusive bastards?'
She sped up her pace, tucking the paper bag of liquor into her black
canvas army bag. She'd been through this procedure enough to know what
to do. Her father was the same, get stinking drunk every Friday night,
Saturday, and Sunday. Unfortunately, he sometimes forgot to restock,
which meant her running to the local store, where her father's close
friend was manager, to get his alcohol. Her uncle was the same.

Instead of being bothered with letting her observe curfew, he sent her
out in the middle of the night to run his errand.

"Look what we have here, Barn? Dinner."

"As long as it's fresh."

She sighed at the two men who stepped in front of her, noting the
ridges on their foreheads, yellow eyes and fangs. "I don't have time
for this." She walked between them without any reaction. Somehow,
after having to put up with Pennywise in the last two months she just
couldn't bring herself to be scared or even surprised by a couple of
vampires.

"Hey, don't you know who we are?" one of them called, indignant at
being ignored.

She glanced over at them, smirking. "A couple of vampish James Dean,
Freddy Krugger wannabes?"

They shifted uncomfortably under her gaze. "How'd ya know that?"

"Simple." She reached into her canvass bag and pulled out the two
Number Two pencils she kept for emergencies. Holding one in each hand,
she fully turned and smiled. "Now, are you going to walk away, or will
I have to beat you up?"

They looked at each other, then grinned, charging her together.

As they got within a foot of her, she thrust her hands out, the pencils
going into their hearts and splintering.

Two piles of dust blew away, leaving her thinking to herself. 'I'd
better get some stakes made.'

Willow leaned against the wall of the hospital wall between Bev and Oz,
a position that seemed to have become natural for the three. She
remained quiet as the large woman moved in front of them, as though to
protect a dozing Eddie from them. She didn't allow herself to wince at
the high-pitched voice of the hysterical woman.

"GET OUT!! Eddie doesn't want to see again. He doesn't need you, he
has me. You're the little devils that put him here to begin with.
Because of you, he's laying here in paralyzing agony. He may never be
able to use his arm again. He could even be dying. All because of you
little terrors."

"B-b-b-but m-m-ma'am..."

The large woman jiggled as she waved her finger into his face. "Don't
talk to me, don't you dare talk to me! You think I don't know about
your little group? Well I do, I've heard the stories. Trying to
corrupt my little Eddie, well it won't work! I won't let it. Juvenile
delinquents is what you are! You and your two slut-fags."

Oz growled at her, standing up tall. "Don't you ever refer to them as
sluts. Apologize right now."

"I notice you didn't deny the fact that they're dykes," the woman
sneered. "Probably daughters of Satan, and we all know what dykes are
like. With their diseases, trying to infect all the good, heaven-going,
god-abiding people of this world. I'm already having Eddie checked,
the poor guy probably has some leprosy disease because of you little
bitches..."

"Get. Out."

They stared at the bed, where a pale Eddie was glaring coldly at his
mother. "Get. The. Hell. Out. Of. My. Room. Now."

"Eddie, don't you talk back to your mother! I know it hurts, but it's
for your own safety. Now, don't you worry your head, I'll have
security kick these nasty little demons thrown out."

"You leave them alone, before I tell the doctor to take away your
visiting privileges! They're my friends and I want to see them."

"Eddie, you don't know what your saying. Your arm's affected your
mind. But don't you worry, I'll take care of you and..."

"No."

"You listen to me, Eddie..."

"I know about my inhaler."

She watched as Eddie's mother froze in horror. The large woman slowly
stepped back from the bed and suddenly regained control. "I don't know
what you're talking about."

"I know about it being a placebo. I also know that you need me to be
sick."

"Eddie, NO!! You are sick, you have asthma, bad, and..."

"Leave my friends alone, Ma."

They stared at each other for a long minute, and then the mother
sniffed and left the room fast.

Willow smiled at the boy and bound over to him, but refrained from
leaping onto the bed for fear of aggravating his injuries. "How're you
feeling?"

"Fine. It hurts some, but not too bad."

Bill pulled out a pen and signed the cast, his writing clear and
eloquent in contrast to his speech. He handed it to Willow and she
signed her name in small, neat writing and kissed his forehead
affectionately.

Oz scowled playfully at the hospitalized boy. "Hey, that's my girl you
be a-kissing."

Eddie met his scowl with one of his own. "She's my girl now."

"Oh, them's fighting words."

"Hey now, boys, there's no need to fight. After all, we know what
dykes are like."

They laughed at her impression, and one by one signed his cast.
"Listen guys, I had a little run in last night," Willow added.

"I-i-it?"

She rolled her eyes and snorted. "Two vampires."

The others gaped at her, before laughing even harder. She leaned down
to see Richie rolling around on the floor gripping his sides.

"Yeah, well, I just thought I should warn you. You guys might want to
start carrying stakes around. One good shot in the heart and they turn
to dust."

Stan hit his forehead. "Oh, great! First we find out that the monster
under our bed is real, now we find out so are vampires! What next,
mummies and werewolves?"

Oz popped his head up, all laughter gone. "Oh man, you don't think...
I mean it can't... It couldn't... No. I refuse to believe it."

Willow patted his head like a dog. "Now now, boy, Mistress Willow will
protect you from the big bad monsters."

Oz rubbed his head against her leg and panted, barking and growling.

"Great, I just created a monster," she muttered.

Victor was known for following Henry around. A flunky, a groupie, but
the truth was he was as crazy as -- if not crazier than -- Henry. He
stood in front of the old beaten refrigerator and listened to the
scratching and feeble barks inside.

Back when he was five, his parents had brought home a new baby boy, his
brother. For the first month he put up with crying at all times of the
night, late meals because of his brother, late night feedings, but the
thing that really hurt was that his parents didn't have any more time
for him. A couple of times Victor went into the nursery and just stood
there staring at the little troublemaker, trying to figure out what his
parents could possibly see in him. He cried, complained, whimpered,
and stunk. But Victor could never figure out the solution to the
problem, so he would leave and go watch television for a while.

One night, he'd lain awake listening to the soft whimpers of his
brother down stairs. Frustrated at being kept awake, he quietly made
his way downstairs. The baby sitter lay over the couch, snoring, and
the baby was trying to get to a quarter that lay a few feet away.

Victor grabbed the silver coin and gave it to him, watching as the boy
placed it in his mouth. He cocked his head curiously at the noises the
boy began to make, his lips were turning a dusky gray, growing darker
and darker. The boy was trying to cry out, but couldn't. He reached
out and took one of the little hands, fascinated by the way they lost
they strength, and became still. He stood satisfied that he could get
some sleep and went back upstairs.

Since then he'd grown increasingly obsessed with death, feeding poison
to dogs and cats, starting to kidnap animals to torture and watch die
slowly. Then lately he'd found this refrigerator. He'd stuffed the
animals in it, and timed how long it took them to die.

He opened the rusted door to see what the puppy was like...and
screamed.

Thousands of flying leeches swarmed him, latching on and sucking at his
skin. He swatted at them, but found himself growing weaker and weaker.
His legs collapsed under him and he fell back, unable to do anything
but lay there in pain. Blood made them grow bigger like a balloon,
until they would burst and start over.

He tried to scream again as a clown kneeled over him, a long set of
fangs sinking into his stomach.

He tried to pass out, he wanted the pain to end, but something kept him
awake to feel the blinding white pain.

Beverly raced down the path, horrified by what she'd seen. She
couldn't believe it, Vic was dead, or at least dying.

She burst through the bushes at a full run, as everyone looked up she
pointed to the direction she'd come from.
"It..pant...Vic...pant...dead...pant..."

She groaned as Willow latched onto her hand and pulled her after the
others without another word.

The trip back seemed too short, but they stopped a few yards from the
now closed door and where the body used to be. A large puddle of blood
was covering a five-foot-diameter circle.

"Whoa..." Richie muttered.

They registered Stan leaning over to throw up, but no one moved to help
him. Bill walked over to the refrigerator and opened the door.

Balloons poured out of it, floating up and around them.

"L-l-l-look," he said, grabbing one by the string to hold it still.
Words were written on the balloon in letters that were at once ghoulish
and cartoonish:

'Walk away before it's too late. Pennywise.'

"Great, another greeting card." Richie pushed his broken glasses up on
his nose. "Looks like we're in for one hell of a ride."

Chapter: Twelve


Summer Of 1989

"You know, I thought you'd be taller."

Willow grabbed the thick wooden pole next to her bed and swung around,
ready to pound in the head of that blasted clown. The fear she had
felt dissolved into curiosity and disgust. The man before her was
wearing a mismatched suit and a hat that was barely covering two short
horns on his head.

"You're a demon," she muttered, the pole still held up while she tried
to decide to pummel the guy or not.

"Yep, but of the good variety. Name's Whistler, by the way."

"A good demon? Isn't that a contradiction in terms?" She lowered the
pole but kept her grip on it, just in case. "If you're good, then what
are you doing in my room? Because last time I checked, men don't enter
girls' room at night, at least not if their intentions are good, and
you say your intentions are, so start talking before I pound your head
in, because I am soooo not in the mood."

"The Powers That Be have been keeping an eye on you and your friends,"
the unimpressive demon informed her. "Almost everything has been going
as it should, however..." He paused. "You, my red-haired friend,
haven't."

"Uh, what do you mean?"

"Simple. You have a talent that's needed to defeat your friend
Pennywise, and you were supposed to discover it right after you got
here. But apparently you didn't. Typical teenager, doesn't do her
homework," he muttered.

"Okay, one more crack like that, and I'll pound you on general
principle!"

He sighed. "Sure, clobber the messenger. Pennywise and
pound-foolish..."

"I mean it, Demon Boy, get to the point or it's 'batter up' time." She
hefted the pole again. "I was supposed to discover this 'talent', but
I've been kinda busy. So...?"

"So, I end up having to play delivery boy before you get yourself
killed." He threw a thick, ancient leather-bound book onto the bed and
dropped a paper sack.

"What talent? Why is it so important that I don't get killed, not that
I want to, mind you?"

"Magic," he said bluntly, "and if you get killed then the future Slayer
will get killed. You're an important supporting player in her life,
and there's a lot riding on her destiny."

Willow blinked and lowered the pole. "Hold on, the future what?"

"Try to keep up, willya, kid? I'm on a tight schedule here. Look,
this Clown you're tussling with is small potatoes compared to the stuff
the Slayer will be up against, and she can't tackle it all without you.
You are the to her ," he pronounced, using a couple of
mystical words that skittered over her consciousness without sinking
in.

"I'm the what, to her...huh?"

Whistler groaned. "Um, the, uh...the Spock to her Kirk, okay? Sheez,
you kids and your pop-culture. I'd say the Gabby to her Xena, or the
Seven to her Janeway, but this is only eighty-nine, so you haven't seen
them yet."

She shook her head, now even more confused.

"Now THAT is a spell book," he added, pointing, "and THAT is a bag of
all the supplies you'll need for tomorrow. I suggest that you get
prepared. Now, if you'll excuse me..."

She frowned as he disappeared into the shadows, vanishing out of her
plane of reality. Would things ever go back to normal for her?

Sighing, she sat down on her bed and opened the book. If what that
demon said was even half right, then she had a lot of reading to do
before morning.

Willow stood across from the house next to the others, simply watching
it. None of them wanted to be here, none of them wanted this
responsibility on their shoulders, but they had no choice. Everyone
was dressed in expandable play clothes. Lots of sweats and loose tee
shirts. Bev, who had her hand in a death grip, had her hair
French-braided so that it was out of the way.

"H-how are y-you d-d-doing t-t-today, Ed-d-die?"

Eddie glared at him, trying to keep up the playful banter, no matter
how strained. "Jesus, Bill, how many times do I have to tell you not
to stutter my name?"

"Y-your f-f-face a-a-and m-m-my a-a-ass."

Eddie punched him lightly on the shoulder. "And have to go to the
doctor for a rabies shot? No thanks."

Everyone forced themselves to laugh, scared to drop the act of a group
of children having fun. Bill stepped towards the house, signaling that
it was time. One by one, they dropped to their knees and climbed under
the porch. Bill went first, dropping down into the basement.

Richie kissed Willow's hand and winked as he dropped through next. She
snorted softly and followed him, thumping him soundly on the back as
Eddie followed. Together they grabbed his dangling legs and lifted him
through. The others followed faster.

She adjusted her canvass bag on her hip, loosening the strap threaded
through the dark metal buckle at the bottom front of the army bag, so
that she could get into it with little trouble. She walked away from
the others, looking around the dusty basement. She bent down by the
coal pile ended and the bottom of the stairs and picked up the dirty
black clown glove. Kneeling further down, she peeked under the stairs
and laughed darkly as she caught a glimpse of the overflowing orange
pom-poms.

"Well, you can say this for the guy, he isn't very subtle."

Willow grinned at Mike crookedly. "Whatever he is, he needs a
makeover."

"Yeah, maybe we can get Elizabeth Taylor to do it." Richie put his
hand on his waist, his hand up as though holding a cigarette holder.
"All you have to do is purse you lips together and blow."

"That's Lauren Bacall, dipstick." Willow went up the stairs behind a
tight-lipped Bill. She walked out into the hall.

The light pink and flowered wallpaper had turned brown, hanging by
tattered strips that swayed in non-existent wind. The wooden floor was
cracked and uneven. She moved towards the dining room, a small, long
room that felt larger than a house that size could hold.

A hand latched onto hers, and she looked over at Bev, who gave her a
shaky smile. Richie grabbed the strap to her army bag, staying right
with them. The alabaster room soared over their heads, and crumbling
small pieces of paint and dust fell into their hair.

She glanced over and gasped at the Playboy magazine layout pinned to
the wall. The blonde muscular woman was gorgeous; the long, thick,
wavy hair cascaded over the side of her face; medium-perky, firm,
grapefruit-sized breasts were barely covered by a deep green thong that
only seemed to hide her nipples. The deep green bottom wasn't even a
string running down and between her legs.

The blue-eyed goddess on the pages came to life, wiggled her chest at
them, and winked, the slim, pierced tongue licking over her lush,
swollen red lips. She arched down and ran her long hands up the
insides of her legs, over her mound, her trim stomach, and breasts,
giving them a good squeeze.

"Whoa," she muttered with Richie.

Beverly reached over and shut their slack jaws with a glare at her.
"Pennywise, remember?"

"It's not that," she covered. "But who would ever stick something like
that through their tongue? I mean, ewww, gross..."

They both looked back at the picture to see the centerfold with silver
eyes and orange pom-poms where her breasts had been.

Willow shivered slightly. "I think I just lost all interest in
blondes."

"You and me both, toots."

They walked back into the hall, taking soft steps, super-sensitive to
everything around them. Muffled thumps and soft squeaks came from the
kitchen. Letting Beverly take the lead, slingshot loaded and drawn
back, they entered.

Mike reached up to the cabinet and yanked it open. Beverly aimed,
tightening her grip on the sling.

"DON'T SHOOT!!!" Eddie screamed as the bats flew out.

Beverly nodded and lowered it. "He wants me to use up the bearings."

Mike slammed the door shut onto the overcrowded cabinet. Bill clenched
his jaw angrily. " L-l-l-lets g-g-go o-o-on."

They walked further down the hall were four more doors. The first was
cracked down the middle, the doorknob missing. Voices and laughter
came from the second one. Bill walked over to the first door, drawing
back his foot to kick it in.

"No." Willow swallowed the tingling sensation invading her mind again.
"It's the last one."

Bill stepped back and approached the last door. When Beverly was
beside him, he threw it open, then they walked cautiously into the
room.

"Man oh man, someone had one hell of a shit in here," Richie exclaimed.

The toilet was gone, the porcelain buried into the walls, having
shattered what was once the sink, fragments laying in the old fashioned
bath tub. Water sheeted the tiled floor in a thin blanket. A large
three-foot-wide hole was where the toilet used to be, the pipe going
down into the sewers.

She approached the hole, hearing a deep rumble like a train going too
fast. She could see a blur of white and black coming toward her. "Uh,
guys, I think we're about to have company..."

"Let's kill the son of a bitch," Stan said, shocking himself with the
strength in his voice.

Willow backed to Beverly's side, daring someone to try and hurt her.
Richie nodded to her and stood on Bev's other side, willing to protect
her if that's what she wanted. They found themselves standing in a
half-circle around the pipe as the silver light appeared, shifting
chaotically.

Richie screamed and fell against the wall, his eyes wide with terror.
"NOOOOOO!!! It's the werewolf, don't let it get me, please..." Tears
fell down his cheeks as he held back sobs.

It locked into the werewolf form as Beverly fired the first bearing.
She flinched as the silver ball scraped by Its head and burrowed into
the wall behind him. It let out a fierce howl and charged.

Willow reacted on instinct, jumping in front of Bev and meeting its
charge.

The giant creature slashed Its large claw in a downward diagonal swipe.
Hot fire flared through her chest, blinding her momentarily, giving
the beast a chance to lift her up into Its arms.

She came back to herself to see the deadly jaws wide open.

Yelling at the top of her voice, she thrust her fingers at It, feeling
the sicking pop as Its eye gave way. She stopped yelling as she flew
across the room, slamming into the wall above the tub, and falling into
it.

She felt lightheaded, hearing the screams of her friends telling Bev to
fire. The angry bawl of hatred retched from Its throat.

She groaned with effort, getting up from the tub; her left hand and
lower arm burned an angry red as it began to swell around the deep,
bloody scratch. She reached into her bag with her right hand, sighing
with relief as she felt the glass tube was unbroken.

She threw the vial onto the floor by Its feet, shattering it to
liberate its vapors. The sound, unnaturally loud, caused everything to
stop.

It glared at her, wincing under the hail of silver bearings fired by
the others to minimal effect, Its one yellow eye turning nervous as it
recognized the scent of the mystic potion.

Richie skidded to a stop were he was about to tackle the thing. Bev
was still aiming the sling shot, but everyone else was waiting.

She yelled at the top of her lungs in Latin, the two words making the
werewolf whimper. It screeched out in pain as Bev's bearing hit Its
other eye. The long deep yowl of rage and pain echoed throughout the
shaking house as It retreated, vanishing into the pipe again, Its form
dissolving.

She sighed and half-fell out of the tub, into Richie's waiting arms.
"Are you okay? Gods, I could've killed that bastard for that."

She swallowed as she looked down at her now-red shirt, the whole front
sticking to her chest. Carefully she examined the four long slashes
that ran from her right shoulder down to her left hip. The cuts were
deep and bleeding profusely, but far less than she might have expected.
That werewolf's claws could have cut a large man in half...if he'd
believed the illusion had substance. Her own awareness of the
creature's true nature, and her own internal fortitude, had prevented
serious injury. They would probably need stitches, but she doubted
they were life threatening. "I'll live," she muttered tiredly, not
wanting to admit how much pain she was in. 'It's a good thing I don't
have any breasts yet...'

Beverly hugged her, kissing her gently on the lips. "Thank you for
saving my life."

She blushed a deep red, and glared at a smirking Richie.

"W-w-what d-d-did y-y-you d-d-do?"

"It was a banishing spell, it isn't very strong but I figured if we
lost control of the fight it might come in handy. You know, so we can
regroup, or whatever. Plus, it was the first spell I've ever done so I
wasn't even sure if it would work. I mean, that demon dude said it's
my talent but you can't always trust strange demons." She ran out of
breath and gasped slightly.

"Ooooohhhh. Do you leave in a bottle and wear a stringy bikini too?"

She leaned into Richie and let him help her out of the bathroom. "Beep
beep, Richie."