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."
