Something in the air was unusually chilly, an ominous shiver crept slowly down Bev's spine as the wind nipped at her exposed arms and shoulders. She brushed the wisps of auburn hair that had fallen on either side of her face back into her haphazard ponytail, reaching into her bag for a shawl she really hadn't thought she needed, and urged her feet forward on the lonely, familiar path home.
Ten years ago to the date, Bev had fought off her own father in self defense and left him for dead in the tiny, blood soaked bathroom that she had done her best never to think about. The voices that snaked up from the grimy drain in the sink. The balloon that popped and exploded pools of blood that could never be truly cleaned. The sickening thud her father's head had made when he collapsed onto the cold tile floor. All repressed memories that came flooding back in an unwelcome rush that always seemed to greet Bev upon her return to Derry. Because despite her best efforts, and despite every attempt she had made to ensure that Alvin Marsh was truly incapable of ever hurting her again, Bev's father had miraculously clung to some small scrap of life and was able to recover almost completely. And with that recovery came an obligation. An obligation that no matter how far Beverly ran away, she would always have her dear father waiting in Maine for her to come back to.
Usually, Bev strove to avoid all but the most necessary contact with her father. A simple phone call on his birthday and perhaps a card sent during the holidays had until very recently been more than enough to suffice. About a week before her summer internship was to start, however, Alvin had called his daughter out of the blue.
"I'm sick, Bev," was all he had said when his daughter picked up the phone. He coughed once, coughed twice, and in the awkward silence that followed he added, "I'm sick and I'd like to see my girl one last time before I go."
When the call disconnected and the line went blank, Bev knew that she would have to venture back to Derry one last time. She had no desire to revisit anything or anyone from her hometown, but seeing her dying father was the right thing to do, and Beverly Marsh always did what was right.
The bus ride through the countryside should have been peaceful, but every passing hour that brought her closer to Derry filled her with dread. She had tried to read or to sleep or to daydream, anything to get her mind off of visions that returned to her after having been gone for so long. Visions of an unpleasant scene and an unpleasant someone from down in the sewers…
Bev inhaled sharply and shook her head, trying to focus on the present day and the early summer evening around her. She had gotten off the bus at a small stop near the library, marveling at the poorly drawn graffiti and the generally dilapidated state of the buildings around her. Had everything in this town always looked so depressing? Did anyone who lived here even care at all?
Once again, Bev felt a shiver and the hairs on her arms stood on edge. She wrapped her shawl tightly around her body as the faint light from the horizon faded into darkness. Cursing under her breath, she glanced around at the streets around her and came to a sickening realization; she was totally alone.
She quickened her pace, anxious to get indoors now more than ever. The fact that she couldn't physically see anyone didn't stop her from feeling as if she was being followed, as if there was someone lurking behind her unseen in the distance. She wanted to believe that her panic was unwarranted, but experiences from a past horror told her otherwise.
Because many times throughout her childhood, she had found herself walking down this very street taking this very route home from the library. She had been alone then, too, or at least she had thought she was. In those tense, uncomfortable weeks leading up to the confrontation, Bev had felt certain that someone, or something, was following her closely, watching her with great interest. She thought she was going crazy at first, until the presence of her unwanted pursuer became too unbearable to ignore. She wanted so desperately to pretend that she was merely being tormented by her overactive imagination, and perhaps, to some degree, she was. But then again, to a greater degree, perhaps she wasn't.
It was that same disquieting knowledge that had plagued her all those years ago, one that lingered in the corners of her memory only to be awakened with a vengeance now that she had returned. A part of her wondered if she would hear him calling her name as he had then from underneath the city. Or if she might find a pair of yellow eyes stealing glances of her from once more from the shadows.
He's dead, she reminded herself firmly. He's dead. And he, no - IT, can't bother you anymore.
Bev steeled herself and shook away the feelings of intense discomfort that had taken root inside of her. She was nearing the final leg of her route and could see her father's house looming in the distance at the bottom of the hill. She raced towards it, eager to get inside and away from the isolated streets, away from the looming dread gathering in the air around her.
Her father opened the door before she even had the chance to knock, and it was immediately evident that he had been drinking. His bloodshot eyes raked over her body in a most unfatherly way and his lips curled into a predatory smile as he grabbed his daughter into a suffocating embrace.
"I've missed you, my girl," he slurred into Bev's ear, his hands lazily making their way down the curve of her spine.
Bev took a step back.
"How have you been feeling, daddy?" She feigned a smile of concern and gestured to the living room so that they wouldn't have to stand so awkwardly together in the narrow entryway.
Alvin waved the question away. "I've been better, that's for damn sure," and Bev noticed for the first time how frail her father had become as he limped with great effort towards the living room. He wheezed mightily and coughed into his sleeve before collapsing into his favorite chair in front of the television.
"It was good of you to come, Bev," he turned towards his daughter, yellowing eyes glistening with tears. "Means a lot to your old man."
"Oh, daddy…" Bev looked at the pathetic excuse of a man in front of her and was surprised at the pit of genuine sadness forming in her stomach. Her relationship with her father had been far from ideal, but he was the only parent that she had. Even though she was a full grown woman, she couldn't help feeling like she would soon be orphaned.
Bev stayed awake talking with her father as long as she could stand and then, once he was truly in a stupor, began to make her way upstairs to get ready for bed. She dropped her bags in her bedroom, grabbing her toothbrush from her makeup bag and turning instinctively towards the bathroom.
She paused.
Do I really want to go back in there?
Flashbacks of blood. Blood that couldn't be cleaned. So much blood. Voices in her head clearer now than ever. The logical part of her mind told her not to worry, but panic raced through her body nonetheless.
It can't hurt you anymore. It can't hurt you anymore. She repeated the words again and again, refusing to be terrorized by her memories. Reaching out to turn the knob and open the door, unsure what might be waiting for her on the other side, Bev let out an involuntary gasp.
The bathroom was as clean, or at least as blood-free as it had ever been. Almost exactly the way she had remembered it, save for a few loose tiles from lack of repair and overuse. Bev breathed a sigh of relief, stepping into the tiny area in front of the area and resting her hands on either side of the sink. Fumbling for her toothbrush, she was on the verge of turning on the water faucet when she heard her father calling her from downstairs.
Bev….Bev…
She rolled her eyes and put her toothbrush down, turning on her heel to go see what the old man wanted.
Bev….
He began to call her louder.
Bev….BEV….
"Yes, daddy! What do you…" and before Bev could even finish her sentence, she realized, with a thrill of horror, that it wasn't her father calling her so desperately from the living room. Not because she knew for certain that he was asleep, for he could have very well woken up from his stupor. But because the voice wasn't coming from where her father had been sitting. In fact, the voice wasn't even coming from downstairs at all.
Beverly…..
There was no denying it. The voice was louder now than ever. Bev turned back to the sink, eyes opened wide in horror, and found herself staring in disbelief at the drain that connected her to her nightmares.
And then she saw it.
Just a tiny red dot at first, inching its way up and out of the drain until it was there, floating in front of her. Floating just the way they always did. An ominous, red balloon.
But this one was different. It moved unnaturally, of its own volition, and Bev realized for the first time that there was writing in big, white letters on the other side.
WELCOME BACK
Before she could even process the sick significance behind the phrase, the balloon popped, and as it did the blood contained inside it burst with tremendous force all over the mirror. All over the bathroom. All over her.
And Beverly Marsh screamed.