Tychon Feld, a young boy in second grade who lived in a more higher-class household than most others in Derry, was often home alone. This was one of those days. If his parents had known that, leaving that afternoon would be the last time their son was seen alive, maybe they wouldn't have left. Maybe they would have stayed by his side, to fight whatever horrible fate awaited their child. But how could they of known that, when they arrived home at near midnight, they would both both their children's beds empty? Or that they would find Tychon's body on their bathroom floor, cold to the touch, with his eyes bulging and mouth hanging open in a silenced scream. Some would have said the young boy died of fright, had it not been for the multiple lacerations lining his little body, or the flesh of his arm stripped down to the bone. And yet, some would argue that the most unnerving of that nights events was young Torsti Feld, a three year old who had just started preschool that year, completely unharmed and sitting in the bloodied bathtub, holding the string of a silver balloon with the print "PENNYWISE LIVES" painted onto its surface with the older boy's blood.
It all started when the second grader was sat watching Land Before Time with his brother. The clock struck eight, but the boy barely noticed the chimes he had grown up with. His mind was elsewhere, barely taking in the cartoon as images of hungry tigers and trapped girls danced in his mind. What had been the title of that movie? For the life of him, he couldn't remember. He hadn't even meant to see it; he had just been flicking through the channels, looking for something worthwhile to watch, when he came to the channel that was showing that particular part of the movie. For whatever reason, a girl and her younger brother (or had she been a babysitter?) had been trapped in the house with the tiger, hungry for human flesh. He had wanted to continue clicking through the stations, to search for something better, something nicer, but his hand had hovered over the button for almost five minutes before he finally worked up the courage to continue searching for the kids network.
The scene had been flashing through his mind when it began. At the door, as if perfectly in sync with movie as the Sharp-Tooth appeared, came a bang. And another. Another still; louder and louder. The door moved forward and back on his hinges, as if breathing, and the wood began to splinter as whatever was on the other side of the door started to win the battle. Oversized white paws reached under, with claws as sharp as steak knives, and clawed for a purchase on the hardwood floor.
In a moment, the wood would splinter, and the tiger would be free to roam the house. He had seen it in the movie!
I have to hide.
The crash came again, and the door cracked down the middle, like that scene from Ice Age with the squirrel. Tychon couldn't remember it's name, but it hardly mattered. He had to get out of there before the tiger got in.
Grabbing his brother (Torsti screamed a high pitched tantrum-scream, not seeming to understand the danger he was in), Tychon rushed to his parents room; it was the only room with a lock, besides the bathroom, but it didn't occur to him that the latter may be safer, with a sturdier door and a window he could easily fit out of.
He closed and locked his parent's door, and not a moment too soon. The crash from the front of the house was loud enough to shake the building on its foundations. A scream of terror escaped the boy's lips before he could stop himself, and then the banging started again, this time at the bedroom door that acted as his protector.
Still holding Torsti (the preschooler had calmed down from his tantrum and was now wiping his eyes) Tychon ran to the window. He could get it open, it was a simple task he had done several times before when it was nice outside. But he couldn't do it one-handed, so he sat the younger boy on the floor.
Tychon fiddled with the latches; his hands were slick with sweat and it made it difficult to get a grip on the smooth surface. He wiped his hands on his pants, but it didn't help much. The ceaseless banging behind him stopped abruptly.
Hey there.
Tychon froze, his hands still glued to the latches.
"Hello." Came the squeaky voice of Torsti.
Tychon felt his heart drop into his stomach. The voice wasn't in the room with them, or even on the other side of the door. It was inside him. Inside his head.
Open the door. The voice came again. Right there, that little lock. Twist it~
"Okay." Torsti responded, and reached tiny hands up toward the lock.
"NO!" Tychon lunged for his brother.
Torsti's hand fell just short of reaching the lock. The 3 year old stopped, frightened, like a deer in headlights.
The bigger brother seized the little one and pulled him back just as the crash of weight against wood sounded again, and the door gave way.
Tychon didn't look back; he didn't have to. He knew what he would see standing in that doorway, with black stripes and teeth like knives. A massive beast mocking the shape of an innocent little housecat. The beast he knew as Tiger. What he did see of the beast was a flash of yellow irises, blazing with hunger and cruelty.
The next moment, Tychon had barricaded himself in the enjoining bathroom (he had never been in there before, and he had to stop himself from staring in awe at the size of it), locking the door once more. Then it occurred to him that he was trapped; the only window was the skylight, and there was no way he could reach it.
He could hear the creature pacing on the other side of the door, its heavy breaths coming out as more of a hiss. It sounded… frustrated. Or perhaps tired. And when the banging didn't repeat itself, the thought occurred to him that the beast had tired itself out. All that clawing and banging and growling had to be tiring. Maybe he would be safe, hiding in here until his parents came home and rescued him.
He felt his brothers grip slacken a bit, and, thinking that Torsti was trying to pull away, the child held on tighter. His eyes were still fixed on the door. He was scared to move, as if that would somehow trigger the beast to resume its attack.
Then Torsti screamed.
Tychon turned around, and came to face the beast.
It was huge, bigger than he was' it's great jaws lined with rows of sharp teeth, and its mouth pulled back in a growl. Powerful muscles rippled under its stripped pelt, and unsheathed black claws dragged across the floor.
For a moment, he could of almost laughed. It looked just like a big pet cat, ready to pounce. But this wasn't a small house cat, who at worse could scratch you up something fierce. This was a predator, a hunter. And he realized with a sense of dread that he was the prey.
The last thing he saw before a pressure on his neck and chest pushed him into darkness were two orange pom-poms tied around the killer's neck.