Hello all! Looks like we're in the same weird-as-hell boat, aren't we? Honestly didn't think I'd be here, with the hots for a murderous cosmic clown… What is my life? Well, embracing it helps (not embracing It, I don't trust him that much…) and I hoped that getting this idea out of my system would be good. Maybe you'll dig it too. Look at me, trying to emulate King's writing XD That being said, some of this will deviate from the 2017 film and incorporate scenes from the book.

Anyway, the main character is inspired by a person from the books but she's only mentioned once in passing. I've decided to give her a personality/ history/ first name lol/ and an unfortunate story with our dear, Pennywise. Let me know your thoughts :]

Summary: Fear was a flavor. Phobia, a marinade. But trauma was a delicacy. Trauma left behind a special Taste.

It took one rainy evening to stir up forgotten memories in the young librarian's mind. Something was lurking just out of sight, something that brought a sting of dread to her skin and a cold weight to her stomach. What had she seen? What had seen her? And why now, of all times, did she feel like it was closing in?

Savor the Moment

Chapter One

Julie Takes the Long Way Home

1

Julie Davies hung back in the glass corridor connecting the Children's Library to the Old Building, watching the rain continue to patter against the glass. The normally warm walkway was chilled, thanks to the storm that decided to take residence in Derry for the past week or so. She rubbed her arms, her plastic parka crinkling at her touch. A frown pulled at her lips, not that she was aware, but the flood had been bothering her ever since the weathermen had warned of it. She liked the rain, could enjoy it smattering her umbrella on her walks to and from work in Derry Library. But too much of it… enough to clog the gutters and make people slosh through the streets and sidewalks made her uneasy. Brought back things she'd wished to forget. Too much rain was dangerous. Too easy to slip, to slide, to

She stood there with her rain boots on and her practical work shoes dangling in one hand, having just changed them. It'd be pointless to attempt to go out in anything but rubber or plastic. She'd be soaked to the bones and come down with a cold, her luck, and that wouldn't do. Not when she was the Reading Lady and prided herself on managing very convincing voices for her stories. It simply wouldn't work if the princesses and fairies and little heroes sounded just as raspy and old like the frogs and dragons and monst

"Not waiting for me, are you?"

Julie jumped and turned to see Mrs. Starrett, the head librarian, locking the doors to the Children's section behind her. She smiled at the older woman. "Not entirely, Barbara," she said. "I honestly don't know what's holding me back."

Mrs. Starrett looked at the rainstorm outside and pulled a face that said yikes. "Hardly inviting, isn't it? It's all cats and dogs out there. Not as bad as last year though."

Julie shrugged and almost shook her head. That wasn't it. "No, I suppose not… Hopefully it won't flood that badly anyway. They've said another few days of rain on the news."

"Trust the weathermen to tell you wrong."

Julie smiled. "I hope."

"Well, let's get a move on, shall we?" Mrs. Starrett said brightly. "The rain isn't going to stop for us anytime soon, and I'd like to get home in time for Jeopardy."

"Not to mention the curfew."

"Oh, yes, of course." Her voice was suddenly solemn. The curfew wasn't to be taken lightly, what with all the missing persons reports. There were too many to be coincidental, to be all runaways, to be gone without a trace.

The pair came to the main entrance and got their umbrellas ready and rainhoods up. Mrs. Starrett cracked the door slightly, the sound of rain intensifying. She hesitated and Julia thought at first that she was reluctant to step into the deluge. She wouldn't blame her. Mrs. Starrett turned back to her. "Will you be alright on your own?"

Julia's brows rose. "I have been for the past few years," she smiled.

Mrs. Starrett remained serious. "I'm not trying to mother you," she said defensively. "I just worry. It's gotten dark and with what the police have warned us of… disappearances… and you're a young woman. A pretty young woman."

"Oh, Barbara!" Julia laughed, shaking her head.

"I just worry, that's all!"

"Well, don't. Not about me."

"If you wait a moment, I could see if Caleb is still here," Mrs. Starrett suggested. Caleb was the head maintenance man. Middle aged, always cheerful. Had quite a scare the last month when his daughter hadn't come home from school on time. Fortunately, she'd only gone over a friend's house without phoning. Julie never saw him cry before that. "He doesn't live far from you. I'm sure he wouldn't mind walking you home."

"Thank you for the concern, Barbara," Julie said patiently. "But I'll be fine on my own. If I run into any strange character's, I have Mr. Hemmingway to protect me." She pulled a thick hardback book from her purse, smiling.

Mrs. Starrett laughed, "Well, I see you're in good hands then... Good night."

"See you tomorrow."

Once outside, taking cover from the wind and rain, Julie felt the world grow louder and crisper. She squinted into the storm, the heavy pattering of raindrops filling her thoughts. While Mrs. Starrett's figure disappeared around the side of the building, Julie didn't move. It was as if she were waiting for something. Waiting for herself to do something. She glanced down Costello Ave, her usual route home, and on a strange urge, decided not to take it. Despite the uneasiness of the absent sun. Despite the rain trying to shred her parka. Despite her mounting exhaustion from the day. Despite the lack of reason for the decision. She continued straight, walking the sidewalk that ran along the park and canal.

And while Julie was still thinking over her sudden change in direction, she felt with a certainty that once she'd passed her usual turn, there was no bother turning back.

It was only a small detour. Wouldn't put her out of the way no more than ten, fifteen minutes. No harm done.

Except for the rain and the puddles and the wind helping the rain.

She was annoyed at her decision now, or more so how the street sloped downwards which made turning back uphill a struggle on the rain slicked road. She'd have to keep going. No harm done.

2

She paused as she walked the path that ran beside Bassey Park, her eyes settling on the bridge. The Kissing Bridge. Now the flooded Kenduskeag ran under it, washing away anything that were to fall into its path. Washed away. Why was it washed? Swept away, carried away, but why washed? The branches, trash, windblown objects, poor little animals that couldn't get away weren't washed by the river, were they? In water, yes, but, washed? It was too kind a word.

Worn was the word. Eroded was the word. Battered. Stripped. Drowned.

Drowned.

Not washed.

Julie Davies stared at the bridge from the sidewalk. Unmoving. She wanted to move, to go towards it, stand on it, despite knowing better. The Kissing Bridge was never a good place to be, least of all in the pouring rain when the boards would be slick, least of all when the clouds made it seem like night was a few ticks away. But Julie stood rooted to the sidewalk, her eyes fixed on the graffiti-covered bridge. She turned fully towards it, one foot resting on its toes as if she meant to take a step, and then quickly came to her senses and her heel touched cement.

The curfew.

She sighed, meaning it to sound like relief but it didn't. She forced herself to smile and shake her head. How silly of her, what was she thinking. Clearly, I've had too long a day, she thought, wanting to say it aloud but not having the courage to talk to herself in public, even if alone. How silly.

Julie continued down the block, attempting to shake the unnerving feeling growing on her. She cast looks back to the bridge, as if expecting something. An answer? A question? Even after turning onto Kansas St. and the bridge far out of sight, she glanced over her shoulder. As if the bridge would be right behind her no matter how far from the park she went.

And it was. In feeling. She looked back and felt the bridge, its image tickling the sleeping parts of her mind. Like searching for a term when doing a crossword. Or waking up from a dream that's slipping away.

Drowned.

No, that wasn't it anymore. It wasn't a word. It wasn't that simple. It was a feeling, almost nostalgic but… not. Not because it didn't sit right with her. Intuition, perhaps? Like meeting someone new but knowing better than to let your guard down. The bridge isn't someone, she reminded herself.

"Well, no," she let slip out, not noticing. Places weren't people but they were almost. Places shared memories and feelings and while they couldn't speak, they did have much to tell. If you knew how to listen.

But the bridge hadn't any significance to her, aside from being a place to avoid. Then why did she look at it like an old acquaintance? Like a nasty ex. Why did she still feel it looming behind her as she came up to the old covered bridge at the bottom of the sloped Kansas street.

Now see, this bridge gave her no severe reactions. Under the wooden cover, the rain sounded farther away and she could hear herself think louder. This was only a bridge, part of the town, nothing terribly special or nefarious. Was that it? It wasn't it. The reputation of the Kissing Bridge and how young folk would often be caught fighting or vandalizing it? No, it wasn't it.

From under the protection of the bridge's roof, the rain resumed pattering heavily on the hood of her parka. Almost home, she thought, turning onto West Broadway. The fourth house from the block was hers now. But even as she drew nearer to home, her mind stayed behind, standing on the sidewalk, staring at the Kissing bridge in the rain.

She was still there…

Even with eyes open, she could see the Kissing Bridge clearly, see herself on it, in the heavy rain. Just like this evening. Only she hadn't been on the bridge before. Had she?

Then she began to remember, like a scab starting to itch after weeks of inactivity, begging to be ripped off, to expose the pink unhealed wound. It hurt to remember. It made her head pound even before full thoughts could form, the memory just bobbed at the surface of her mind, bringing back the itch itch itch and the rush of panic and pain. She wanted to keep it forgotten but the itch itch itch begged for scratching. It wasn't going away until it was scratched raw again. Itch itch itch. It wasn't going away, no matter how much she shook her head to clear it, if she sat down to calm the dizziness fogging in, the itch itch itch was unceasing. Julie braced herself on a lamppost, spotlighted on the dark street. Just as she thought she would collapse from the stream of memory, so close to her home, it sprang up to the forefront of her mind. Her eyes widened, the itch itch itch settling to a dull throb.

How could she have forgotten…? Something so…

As the memory began to solidify, she knew why it would have been repressed, something so awful. Disturbing. Even now, after searching for it, she wanted it gone.

It wasn't going away.

It

3

was a fall day, almost a year ago. How many months had it been? She'd have to know how many if it were that important. It was so long ago though. Or felt like it. Seven or eight? It was during the horrible flood. Worse than now but it felt the same to her. She hated when the Kenduskeag flooded and the rain wouldn't stop.

It was such a low time for her then. And the timing! It was like she was reliving it all over again. So low, so low. Worse than she'd ever been in her whole adult life. It was the first time in a long time that she couldn't distract herself with work, since the flooding made the library-goers, children especially, scarce, and Mrs. Starrett, bless her, kept sending her home early as a nice gesture. But Julie hated being alone. With only herself and her empty home.

It was such a low time for her.

The six years she had lived in Derry, she hadn't gotten incredibly close to anyone. She was friendly and had gone to a few of the local festivals and events but. Well, Julie had trouble opening up and talking about herself when the point of moving was to get a fresh start, to start over, and forget about the things that she left behind. That left her behind.

The Kissing Bridge had been deserted. She'd waited for the rowdy teenagers to leave and finally she wandered onto it. Her modest one inch heels stepped carefully to not draw attention. She wanted now to be alone, in her private moment. Her last

It was a very low time for her. She didn't want to think. Didn't want to remember.

But how could she forget it? Did she block it out to prevent another reoccurrence or

That wasn't it. It wasn't the bridge itself. It was what had happened there. What had almost happened.

And why she stopped.

Was stopped.

By what? Who?

What.

Regret fluttered in her chest. She'd been given the chance to rethink her actions although now… it wasn't… it wasn't what she did (almost did) that filled her with dread but something else that had occurred.

Something.

An image rose up before her mind. Rose up. And hovered. Red.

She'd been so careful in lifting one leg then the other over the railing of the Kissing Bridge, holding onto it for dear life despite her intentions meaning the opposite. The rain made her so heavy. Her parka hood had fallen, drenching her hair before she could right it. There was no point. Rain in her eyes, clinging to lashes like tears. Cold tears. There was no point.

Julie slowly pivoted, her back to the bridge, and faced the engorged Kenduskeag beneath her. The sight made her sick. So numb. Why like this? Why did it have to be like this? Is there any other way?

This was how it was supposed to be.

Like it should have been before.

Oh, the thought made her gag. The truth of it all. This was always it.

Her heels dug into the narrow ledge like anchors, her toes scarily touching air. She could hear the river rushing but couldn't see it well. The darkness made it less horrifying and she was thankful. Three times tis said the sinking man/ Comes up to face the skies. Julie cracked a miserable smile at her own mind, conjuring up morbidly relevant Emily Dickinson lines. Of course. Even now, her authors were with her. When she needed them. Maybe if she stayed here long enough, and thought of enough encouraging poems, she could wait out the night and let cowardice take her home.

The wind blew back her hair and she turned her face upwards. She made sure of the wood grain beneath her cold fingers. Her grip was numb but sure. The dark clouds on the dark sky rushed past overheard. This was the last she'd see until she went under. Be quick. At least it isn't daylight. And you didn't have to see. Let go. Be quick.

"Psst."

Her head snapped back down, looking around frantically.

No. No one can see. Not like this. She needed to be alone.

She saw no one around. Had it been the wind whistling? She couldn't see anyone. It was her nervousness, her imagina

"Psst! Bookworm!"

Someone touched the back of her head and she yelped, trying to duck away from the contact. With a start, she saw that it was a something, not someone. A balloon. A red balloon that hadn't been there when she came. It was tied to the rail she was holding onto, directly behind her. Someone had been here. The voice she'd heard was real then. And so close. But why? Why would they leave a balloon? Julie scanned the area again, afraid. They couldn't be far. They must be hiding. But why?

The balloon's string was knotted in a simple bow, inches from her fingers. Someone had been right here! Someone was right here!

Where?

Why?

Fingers were numb. Julie wrapped her arm around the wooden rail for added security, now more worried about a spectator than what she had been about to do. And as she leaned over, some of the markings on the rail caught her attention. While the bridge was carved up and vandalized beyond the point of repair, this particular etching stood out. Bright raw wood flashed in the grooves of the letters. This was a new addition. It was fresh.

"I can't move my legs, darling, you have to"

Julie felt the icy wind creep into her veins. That line she recognized. But. How. How would anyone know…?

Had it been there before? It must have been. She'd only been hanging onto that bridge no more than a few minutes. Had it been longer? It was hard enough to think someone had crept behind her and strung a balloon but to carve those words

Those words

Who else could know those words?

Terror beyond the fright of death shook her. Clinging to the rainy bridge, she searched for ghosts lurking in the park, watching with their knowing eyes. Was it their eyes? Was it them?

Shame crept upon her and paranoia followed. Who was watching her? Who?

Was it them?

Was this a sign? An omen? Was it to condone or condemn her?

Tears warmed her eyes but were quickly lost to the rain and wind. She didn't dare call out to the darkness. She was afraid someone would answer. And what that answer would be.

But why a balloon? What had that to do with her if this was some ghostly intervention? She looked up at it and only then did her sense allow her to notice how wrong it was. It was barely moving, just gently swaying in the terrible wind that was whipping her hair in every direction. How was that possible?

It unnerved her. Almost as much the carving on the railing. Both impossible.

She was offended by the sight of the balloon, looming over her like a red phantom. It was wrong. She hated it. Hastily, she pulled the string to undo the bow, wanting the wind to carry it far away from her. But once the string was loose, the balloon hung in the air, wavering only slightly in the storm. It also floated no higher despite being free of its tether, nor lower, like week-old balloons whose helium leaked out. Julie stared at the thing in abject horror. The utter wrongness of the balloon clogged up the rational workings of her mind and she could think of nothing more than fleeing.

Were they still here? Watching? Would they see her j

What she was about to do?

Would it really matter?

Julie couldn't take her eyes from the balloon. For some reason, she knew that if she were to look away then back, it would be right in front of her face. The thought of accidentally letting go of the bridge didn't sit right with her. Does it really matter? She had to choose it. And she did. Even with this thing urging her away, she had chosen it before and it

It

Bookworm.

A distinct shiver ran down her spine, unrelated to the sheets of rain pelting her. They had called her bookworm. They knew her.

Knew her.

Julie glanced around the bridge and into the darkened park, an unnatural calmness settling over her, brought on by the sheer amount of terror that rendered her into a zombie-like state. Her mind was only processing facts now. One: there was someone here. Two: that someone knew who she was. Three: they were no friend of hers. Four: there was something very wrong happening. Five: she did not want to stay here.

Escape was her goal now. Not from this life, just from this bridge, this place, this anomaly, this person in the shadows.

She edged sideways, away from the balloon as if it were a rabid animal. No sudden movements. Don't take your eyes off it. When she finally climbed back over the rail, Julie felt more vulnerable than before. Now there wasn't a barrier between them. Them? Her and it. And also the person watching from somewhere dark. Could have left, she hoped. Might have stayed.

I can't stay.

Her trek back through Bassey Park seemed triple in length, with frequent and frantic looks behind, left, right, in front, behind… Nothing sprang out at her. Nothing moved from what she could see in the pouring rain. No one spoke again. She considered going to the police, making up a story to mask her intentions because someone had to know

About her ghosts?

This was real.

Her ghosts were real.

No, that wasn't it. Wasn't them. It didn't feel right, not like them.

Julie wasn't able to convince herself to go to the station, instead stumbling back to West Broadway with a new desperate weight. But even as she did so, no sense of relief arose, but the feeling of being watched remained strong and she feared that she'd led something awful to her home.

4

Now, months later, the same dread filled her, as she stood seemingly alone on her street. With cold shaking hands, Julie undid the locks to her front door, casting another glance behind her, and down the sides of the streets. She pushed down the worry that what had been watching her was now doing so from inside her home and turned on the nearest lamp. Empty. Safe. It felt like a lie but it was one she so needed.

She hung her parka and rain boots by the hooks at the entryway to drip dry and shuffled cautiously into the living room. She wanted to tell herself that she was being silly, walking through her house expecting a burglar of some kind but didn't. Because a burglar, she could deal with. A burglar she could understand. They wanted valuables and that was a simple human motivation. But what would someone want if they only crept close to stare, to poke fun into another's private moments?

What would they want?

For the first time in a long time, Julie Davies checked behind every closed door and curtain, keeping the lights on in the rooms as she left. It was like a child needing proof that a monster wasn't hiding in their closet. And even with the dark banished from her small home, it didn't seem like proof enough for her. Because she feared what she couldn't see.

She changed into dry, comfortable clothes, and blow-dried her hair, forcing herself into normalcy. Or trying to. She made herself a bowl of Cambell's condensed chicken noodle and curled up on the couch with a quilt just in time to catch the last of Jeopardy. She thought of Barbara momentarily and wondered if she'd be talking about what she learned the next day. Probably.

It wasn't working. Distracting herself.

Julie sighed. "Alright." When she was particularly stressed, she often spoke aloud, giving herself pep talks in the voices she did for the children. "What exactly is wrong right now...? I… remembered something awful, something dreadful… Okay. But, it's been months anyway and nothing bad has come of it since, right? So what harm can come from it now?"

Nothing.

Anything.

Julie shook her head. "There… could be… a number of reasons that that balloon didn't blow away…" It felt wrong acknowledging it aloud. "I'm not the most scientific person but, I'm sure there's a reasonable explanation. S-something with density?"

And as for the person who had been lurking by the bridge…

"A teenager, perhaps? Or… perhaps one of the poor homeless fellows who come off the trains…"

But she knew it was unlikely to be either. They called her bookworm, so they must know her from the library. And the voice… It's strange... but she couldn't quite remember the sound of the voice as if it had only been the wind talking and not a person.

And then, of course, the writing.

That was the most impossible of all.

Only three people could have known those words, herself included. And there was no way the others…

Julie flung the quilt off her, switched off the TV and went to set her empty bowl in the kitchen sink. She felt too restless. Her own reassurances seemed to be making things worse. Her reasoning fell apart at the seams when she thought too much about what had happened.

A dream. She wasn't in her right mind then. Who's to say she hadn't imagined it all?

How could she have forgotten it all?

Julie brushed her teeth, deciding to go to bed early. She braced one hand on the sink, scrutinizing her reflection. "Gour got cway see," she told herself, mouth full of toothpaste. You're not crazy. She spat out the foam, noticing a streak of pink in it. She examined her teeth, a line of blood ran between her canine and incisor, and rinsed it down the drain. The minty taste overpowered the tang of iron that surfaced when her tongue subconsciously brushed over the small cut.

With the light still on, she climbed into her bed, then out of bed again to check beneath it. There was nothing there save for a lone sock. She felt a mix of relief and resentment. Had there been a little goblin under the bed, at least she could know for sure that she wasn't imagining things.

Whether it was real or not, it behaved like a dream, surfacing later and leaving no traces in a shoddy memory. "Or did it leave something..?" Sure, the balloon had long disappeared; she'd seen the bridge empty tonight, and the mysterious person was as good as gone since their identity was hidden but the writing. If she went to the Kissing bridge and those words were there…

Julie made up her mind. Tomorrow before work, she'd check it out and see once and for all, if it had been only a terrible hallucination from a terrible point in her life.

In the back of her mind, she wasn't sure which was preferable. Having scared herself silly over nothing, or having a real tangible reason to be scared silly.

How could she have forgotten?! Real or not. How?

Julie shook her head, sinking lower into her covers. When her own mind was fighting against her, how could she win? How could she piece together what was wrong when she forgot such important things? What scared her most was not what she had remembered, although undeniably frightening, but what else could she have forgotten along with it. How long would it take to detect all the gaps in her memory, if there were more to be found?

She glanced at her bedside table, eyes not really seeing the bent and broken cover of a hardback bird-watching book. She'd read the title only once when she'd received it and placed it on her nightstand without clearly thinking. She hadn't touched or thought of it since, aside from lifting it to dust. She kept her bedside lamp on and slept; the sound of the rain hitting her window was a constant reminder that raging storm wasn't planning on leaving soon.