Disclaimer: I don't own anything.

Hampstead Heath, England 1990

Tagert steps onto the Moors as the fog curls around his ankles. He shivers, buttons his coat, and walks on; disappearing into the mist.

A shadowy figure lurches into frame; dripping with foul water and dark oozing mud.

Finn Hudson looks up from his computer, "Yeah…yeah that works."

Finn Hudson was a famous author. He had originally gone to school for a teaching degree, but had rediscovered his love for creating stories in a Literature class he had taken for an extracurricular. The tall man was famous for horror stories, and one of them was being turned into a movie, which he was currently working on the screenplay for.

He had started to type again when there was a knock to his study door.

"Finn, for the last time," his wife, Rachel, called through the door, annoyed.

"In a minute!" Finn responded.

"That's what you said a half an hour ago. And the half hour before that!"

With a frustrated roll of his eyes, Finn said, "Okay!" he quickly saved his work and left for the dining room.

Finn entered the dining room to find Rachel sitting in front of a cold plate of food, reading the script. She was a famous actress he had met while he was attending NYU and she had been a struggling Broadway actress. That had been fifteen years ago. They had been married for ten after moving to England after Rachel failed to make it in Hollywood. She had been plain in LA but was considered exotic in England. That, combined with her obvious talent, made her a star.

"It's cold," Rachel said as Finn sat down, "I like the changes, Finn," she said, putting the script down, "They're wonderful."

"I wish you'd tell that idiot, Jesse," Finn said.

"I do, every day," when Finn didn't say anything, Rachel went on, "You didn't have to take this job, you know. It's not as if we need the money."

"In case you've forgotten, I took the job to be with you," he said with a crooked smile, "besides if they're just going to hire someone to mangle one of my books, it might as well be me."

"Of course, the idea of actually taking a vacation didn't even occur to you."

"So I could hang around set with a bunch of actors? It's not what I do, Rachel. Writing is what I do, it's what I like to do," this had become a common argument around their dinner table. His refusal to spend time on set, and her inability to understand why anyone would willingly seclude themselves. Rachel just shook her head.

"At least when you're writing a novel you're in a good mood," she said, sadly. She hated that he was doing something he didn't like just to spend time with her and all it was doing was making them argue.

"Rachel, can't we just—" He was cut off by the sound of the phone ringing. He looked at Rachel, the only one who actually got phone calls, in a silent question.

"I'm asleep," she said with a shake of her head, before amending, "Unless it's Jesse."

"Jesse," Finn said mockingly before going to answer the phone, "Hello," he said.

"Finn, is that you?" asked a voice Finn didn't recognize.

"Sorry, fella, do I know you?" he asked a little curtly.

"This is David Sullivan, Finn…From Derry." The name of his old friend and the town he had grown up in made him remember…

"Swear to me," Finn had said when he was eleven, standing by the old sewers, "Swear to me that if IT isn't dead we'll all come back."

Finn came back to the present, "Sorry, David. For a minute, there…" he trailed off.

"You didn't know who I was," David completed, as if he had been expecting that.

"For a minute, there I didn't," Finn confirmed.

David didn't waste any time on pleasantries, "Finn…IT's back."

Finn felt a lurch in his stomach, "You're s-s-sure," he stuttered, something he hadn't done since he was a child.

"Yeah," David paused, not wanting to bring it up, but knowing he had to in order to make Finn believe, "I found a photograph of Joseph"

"Joe," Finn whispered.

Rachel was still sitting at the dining room table, waiting for Finn to finish his phone call. When he stepped back in, there was something in his eyes that immediately made her worried.

"What is it?" she asked, concerned, "Who was on the phone?"

"Nobody," Finn didn't elaborate, he simply turned and went to leave the dining room.

"Finn," Rachel said, stopping him. She was concerned. Finn looked genuinely scared, but he wasn't going to tell her how to help him.

"I have to go back to work," and with that, Finn locked himself back in his study, ignoring the sound of Rachel calling after him. When he was alone again, he leaned up against the door, "I forgot," he said to himself, "How could I forget?" he allowed himself to remember what had happened 30 years ago.

Derry, Maine 1960

"Please Finn," Finn's little brother, Joe, begged, "tell me a story."

Finn, who was lying sick in bed, stuttered, "M-maybe later."

"Please Finn, the magic stone story. Please Finn, pleeease," Joe continued to beg.

"B-bug somebody else, you little cootie I don't feel so hot," Finn felt guilty when Joe's face fell, and so he called him back when he began to leave his brother's room, "J-J-Joe!"

When the younger boy turned back to Finn, the older brother pulled a small boat made out of newspaper from his nightstand and held it out to Joe.

"For me?" the young boy asked happily, thrilled when his big brother nodded, "You made it for me? Can I go sail it?" he asked eagerly.

"W-we have to s-s-seal it f-first with p-p-paraffin."

"What's that?" Joe asked, excited, "Where is it?"

"I-in the cellar," Finn said, suppressing a smirk when Joe's brown eyes widened and he gulped. Like most kids his age, Joe was scared of what might live in the cellar. But he wanted to sail his boat, and so the seven-year-old gathered his courage and bravely descended the stairs to the cellar. If he raced down the stairs and up again as fast as he could, nobody needed to know.

By the time Finn had painted a fine layer of paraffin onto the newspaper, Joe was prepared to sail in his raincoat and boots.

"I wish you could come too, Finn. She's really your boat," when Finn didn't respond, Joe leaned up to give his eleven-year-old brother a kiss on the cheek, "Thanks Finn."

"Gross!" Finn yelled, pulling back, "You got your cooties all over me!" he rolled his eyes and handed Joe the dried boat. Before his little brother could leave, Finn called out, "J-J-Joe!" when he gave Finn his attention, the older boy said, "Don't stay out too long, or mom will have a bird," he warned.

"I won't," Joe promised, turning to leave when his brother's voice stopped him once more.

"A-and Joe, be careful."

Joe looked confused by the added warning, but nodded anyway, "Sure."

Finn watched him leave. Not knowing that that was the last time he was going to talk to his brother.

Joe was running after the boat that was merrily making its way in the gutter. Proudly announcing the journey of the 'S.S. Joe'. His game was ended, however, when the small paper boat disappeared down a drain in the gutter.

"No, no please no!" he cried when his boat started to fall. He was too late to grab the boat and it fell. He knelt at the drain, but when he couldn't see anything, he gave a disheartened shrug and went to go back home when he heard a rough voice coming from the drain.

"Hiya, Joey," the trusting seven-year-old looked down into the drain and saw a clown holding a yellow balloon. The clown gave a friendly smile and continued, "Aren't you gonna say, 'hello'?" he asked. Joe shook his head, "Aww come on, bucko…don't you want a balloon?" he asked offering the yellow balloon.

Joe went to take it, but stopped himself, "I'm not supposed to take stuff from strangers. My dad said so."

The clown nodded, "Very wise of your dad, Joey, very wise indeed. I, Joey, am Pennywise, the dancing clown. And you," he said motioning at Joe, "Are Joe. So now we know each other. Correct," Pennywise finished with a laugh.

Joe smiled at the clown's logic, "I guess so. I gotta go," he started to get up when the clown's voice stopped him, once more.

"Go!? Without this?" he asked, holding up the boat.

"My boat!" Joe yelled happily.

"Exactly! Go on, kiddo, take it," he said, making no move to hand it to the young boy. But Joe was apprehensive. The clown was making him nervous. Pennywise noticed his reluctance and continued speaking, "You want it, don't you Joey? Oh, of course you do," as the clown continued to talk, Joe noticed colorful lights flashing in the drain, and what sounded like carnival music. The clown went on, "There's lots of cotton candy and rides and games down here. And balloons too! All colors."

"Do they float?" Joe asked innocently.

"Oh yes. They float," the clown had lost his smile and his voice had lost its cheer. But Joe didn't notice and he reached his small hand down into the drain to grab his boat, "And when you're down here with me…you'll float too!" he yelled, pulling the boat away, and grabbing onto Joe's wrist with powerful force, drawing a scream from the young boy as his arm was roughly pulled towards a mouth full of sharp, yellow fangs.

Joe's funeral was one week later. A neighbor had heard the boy screaming and came out to find him in the gutter, missing his right arm.

Joseph Hudson had bled to death.

The day after the funeral, Finn went into Joe's room. He found Joe's scrapbook and opened it, fully expecting the pain that shot through him at the pictures of his brother. He flipped through the pages, past pictures of Joe and his friends, their parents, and a painful one of a four-year-old Finn holding his new baby brother.

Halfway through the scrapbook, he came across Joe's most recent school photo, "Joe," he said softly, trying not to cry. He was about to turn the page when one of the photographed eyes winked.

Finn screamed and threw the book, causing it to land closed in the far corner of the room. He watched with shock as the scrapbook flew open. Pages flipping back to the picture of Joe. As he looked on, blood began to spill over the picture before the book slammed itself shut. Finn screamed, drawing the attention of his parents, Carole, and Christopher, and causing them to run into the room.

"Finn! Are you all right!?" his mother asked.

"The p-p-picture. Joe's p-picture," he stuttered out. His mother turned to see the scrapbook lying on the floor. Finn waited for her to scream, but she only walked over and picked it up. Going back to the bookcase to put it away, "Mom… don't you see?" Finn asked, confused. She didn't respond, just stared at the book, "Mom—" he tried again, but was cut off when his dad roughly grabbed ahold of his shoulders.

"What were you doing in Joe's room?" his father demanded.

"Nothing," Finn said, distracted, "Dad, listen!" but he was cut off again.

"I don't want you ever coming in here again, son. Do you understand?" his father's voice was cold.

"But, dad," Finn said weakly, unsure if what he saw was real and why his parents couldn't see it if it was.

"I mean it, Finn," Christopher said in that same cold voice. Finn nodded, looking over at his mother once more. She gently caressed the book, before running out of the room, oblivious to the blood on her hands. With one last look at Finn, his father was running out of the room after her. Leaving Finn in shock as he stared at the puddle of blood that was still on the floor.

Hampstead Heath, England 1990

"Leave?" she said, shocked, "Have you lost your mind? We're in the middle of making a movie."

Finn had told Rachel that he was going to Maine right away, and while she tried to make sense of what he was doing, he was packing a duffle bag and reserving a flight.

"They can replace me," he said, walking over to the front door, "This is something I have to do."

Rachel watched him, thinking over the evening, and wondering what had happened, "Who was that on the phone?" she asked, stopping him as he reached for the doorknob. He turned back to her before replying.

"A man named David Sullivan. I haven't heard from him in almost thirty years, not since we were kids. Rachel…my brother who died…"

"Yes, Joe," she said, trying to figure out what that had to do with anything.

"He didn't just die…he was m- " Finn was cut off by his own voice as he tried to stutter out the word, "m-m-murdered."

Rachel gasped, covering her mouth with one small hand before stepping closer to Finn, "Why didn't you ever— "

"Tell you?" Finn interrupted, "Because I forgot. Because I forgot, almost as if it never happened. I know this doesn't make any sense, but I have to go."

"For God's sake, why?" Rachel asked desperately.

"Because we made a p-promise."

"Why are you stuttering like that?" Rachel asked.

"I don't know!" Finn said, frustrated, "I used to stutter when I was a kid."

"What happened? Tell me," Finn said nothing, "Damn it, Finn! Talk to me! Let me help," Finn was still silent. Rachel tried a different approach, "If you're going back, I'm going too."

The words were barely out of her mouth when Finn grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her close, "Don't even think that," he said, panicked.

"Why not! You're scaring— "

"Just promise me you'll stay here! Promise me!" Finn said, shaking her.

"You're crazy! This is crazy!" Rachel said, a little frightened as Finn tried to speak, but was held back by his stutter. Finn gave up and pulled Rachel into a tight hug.

"I love you," he whispered softly. And with that, he left the house.

Back in Derry, David was searching for the next name on his list. Blaine Anderson.