You walked wearily beside Hanna as you both made your way through yet another dense forest. It had been nearly two weeks since Lily went missing. Missing, only missing. She wasn't dead. You refused to even let that dirty word touch your tongue even once. You couldn't even think it. Death is horrible. It can't happen to Lily, not Lily. Lily's not dead. But there was nothing that could distract you from the truth.
Gone. Lily was gone.
Now she was part of the long list of unfortunate people who mysteriously went missing in Derry.
Every moment that passed felt like a waking nightmare.
The reality was almost too much to bear and you twisted away from the thoughts but like any of your personal demons, they curled back toward you, taunting you. You couldn't assume the worst. You couldn't. You wouldn't dare. The clown had nothing to do with this. He could torment you all day, just as long as he didn't...
No, you couldn't even think it.
In the time that passed you and Hanna had hardly spoken; as if leaving your grief unnamed could make it disappear. Or make Lily reappear. So far, it hadn't been working.
What little sunlight that filtered through the trees began to dim and you knew that it wouldn't be long before you would have to head back to an empty home.
When you discovered she was missing, you were in a state of shock; you couldn't even fully grasp what had happened. The loss wasn't something you could touch or see — Lily just wasn't there anymore — so how were you supposed to come to terms with it? How were you supposed to mourn something that had slipped through your fingers and when there was no proof? How were you supposed to accept it when you still found yourself looking for her, as soon as you turned your head?
It was agony waking up, as you found, lying in your bed as the chirping of birds sounded through the morning air. You were a complete mess, refusing to move if you could help it, staring vacantly at the opposite wall or ceiling, barely eating or sleeping. It just didn't seem to matter. It felt as if a relentless, merciless weight was pushing you against the mattress, and it didn't matter that you knew that the pressure wasn't physical — you still couldn't move. Your limbs were locked in place, while your head felt heavy and sluggish enough to leave you disoriented and increasingly alarmed. Your heart clenched as your mind trailed off to the thought of your sister, and the light in her eyes.
She's only nine. Nine. She's just a little girl.
You couldn't move unless you were searching for her. You could hardly speak about her, because then that would only make the situation feel even more real. You just couldn't.
You felt disconnected — adrift, somehow — as if you weren't fully attached to your skin anymore, and just existed where you had no influence over your own body or what happened to it. You weren't even sure if you cared. The only thing that mattered now was finding Lily and bringing her back home.
Whatever strength you managed to gather was spent on curling up and burying your face in your pillow. After a couple of agonizingly long minutes the tension in your body and growing thickness in your throat became too much. One hitched, trembling breath was all it took for you to start crying.
At first you had no idea why. Your thoughts were too muddled and hazy for anything to make sense. All you knew was that your chest was constricting to the point of pain and in your desperation you clung to the sheets like a lifeline, pathetically hoping it would make you less likely to break.
It didn't.
The loss paralyzed you in a way that would have terrified you, had you been present enough to actually realize what was going on. But while in the middle of it, you just couldn't see that far. You barely even managed to contemplate what would happen the coming hour, let alone your own deteriorating mental state.
Everything was heavy, your body, your mind, your emotions. Losing her was so raw it felt hollow; feelings rolling over you in waves. Lost could be an apt way to describe it. Emptiness echoed from your heart.
You were exhausted; physically and emotionally drained, it had been another full day of searching for your little sister.
You hung up countless missing flyers with her face on it all over town and no one had seen where she had went.
You searched every nook and cranny in Derry with no luck. Day after day, it was the same thing. You and your friends would search for her in a place you hadn't looked yet (many days you went venture out by yourself even after dark), without any idea where she would be. You thought about how scared she must be, about how much you wished that there was some way you could know she was still out there. There was no way you were giving up on her. You were supposed to protect her from the monsters.
After another long, tiring day, you and Hanna went your separate ways. Tomorrow would be the same. You would miss school and go looking for her once again. It didn't matter how long it took, you were willing to risk it all to find her.
With a frustrated sigh, you closed the door behind you, coming back to an empty, lonely home. All you had was despair, and it followed you around like a shadow. You were walking down the hallway to where your room was, but then you found yourself backtracking and moving in the direction of your sister's room.
For the first time since her disappearance, you entered her room. You sucked in a sharp, shaky breath.
You were immediately greeted with bright hues of pink and yellow coming from the walls and the rest of the room. The bed is empty, save for the numerous dolls and stuffed animals. So is the chair. You looked over the room, stunned, speechless. The bed is still a mess, unmade, the duvet pulled to one side.
You stepped in slowly despite yourself. You shouldn't be in here. It would only make you feel worse, if that was even possible at this point. You sat down on her bed, the mattress dipping once you did. The room was incredibly quiet, horrifically so. You stared up at the ceiling with sightless eyes for a lot longer than you should have, too numb to cry, but wishing that you could.
Your eyes then wandered around for a few moments until you spotted Lily's sketchbook lying on the floor under the chair, open to the last page she had been working on—a drawing of you and her. You were both smiling and you were holding her hand. It's half-finished. You could tell she was coloring it with crayons.
A chill enveloped your body and you flipped to the next page, finding a picture of a puppy. She always wanted one. You turned it again, only to find a drawing of the clown, Pennywise, holding a red balloon. His face was unsmiling. Involuntarily, you dropped the sketchbook in your shock, shrieking.
No, it couldn't be. A series of shudders went through your body. You couldn't believe it. No, no, no, no.
You reached down to pick the sketchbook back up and when you looked at it, Pennywise's expression changed. He was grinning wide now, looking devilishly proud. Your whole body felt like it was paralyzed. Everything was hitting you all at once. Lily was seeing him too. And how did the sketch's features changed just like that?
You swallowed thickly, body violently shaking. You went to the next page.
You found a picture of a rotting corpse who resembled a zombie, an eye dangling out of its socket, devouring a brain in its hand.
You flipped again. It was a drawing of a man in a black suit with his eyes gouged out, streaks of crimson red running down his face, his mouth wide open like he was screaming. A twisted knot built up in the pit of your stomach.
Then in the next page there was a gigantic black spider using his legs to tear the flesh of an older woman's body on the ground.
You kept going through the pages only to find more disturbing drawings but eventually it stopped until there was only pictures of the clown left. There was so many of him grinning wickedly, so much so that the pictures seemed to be in motion, and they started to look like he was laughing maniacally. You were flipping through the sketchbook rapidly just to find anything other than the clown, but it didn't stop. He was mocking you with his laughter. In a panic, you kept going and the pictures only continued to depict him taunting you in the same way.
In your frustration, you tossed the sketchbook across the room and it hit the wall before it fell onto the ground with a thud.
"Goddammit!" you cried out.
Head in hands, you rocked back and forth in your anger and despair. Your next breath came in on a trembling gasp and your muscles wind tight to the bone. Your body tried to curl in, but you forced yourself still and focused on your breath. The breath, not the shuddering. The terror will pass, just like it has every other time. Breathe. Just breathe. You told yourself over and over again, like a mantra. Exhale to make room, slow inhale, slow, feel the breath, push the air out with your stomach. Again.
Then you heard it, a childish giggle, haunting and terrifying.
"Kill Lily!" a cheerful yet robotic voice spoke from behind you.
Your head slowly turned to the sound, fearful of where it came from. Your eyes darted around the room, examining your surroundings. You found a doll with short black hair and a red smile painted on her lips facing you from the corner of the bed along with all the other toys. She wasn't looking at you before. But it couldn't have moved on its own. When you turned away from its sinister stare, you heard her voice again.
"Kill Lily!" the doll repeated.
You looked back at the doll again, she was completely still.
Then you heard another voice, one that was deeper, raspier. "Murder Lily!"
You turned your head to look where it came from once again, and the second you did you heard another voice, one that was eerily soft yet forbidding. The toy said, "Bury Lily!"
Then coming all at once, they chanted together again and again, "Kill Lily! Murder Lily! Bury Lily!"
To shut out the noise, you covered your ears and closed your eyes, refusing to hear or look at them.
It wouldn't stop. The toys only became louder in their unforgiving taunts. Their eyes were glowing and their mouths unmoving as they shouted at you. You were sure every single one was coming at you now with the same threats.
Your shoulders trembled with silent sobs, and you could feel the heat on your cheeks as your tears ran down your face. You kept your eyes closed, taking deep breaths, and there was a strangled scream on your lips as you feverishly shook your head.
Too much. It was all too much. You could hear their hissing in your ears, and the endless mockery was playing on a loop, echoing. Your heart started to beat fast and so hard that it hurt. You were hunched over on the end of the bed. You gritted your teeth, swallowing around the lump that threatened to rise in your throat.
More tears spilled down your cheeks as you took rapid, ragged breaths. You couldn't take it anymore.
You snatched one of the stuffed animals, trying to search for an off button but when you found that there wasn't one, you tore open the fabric of their stomach feverishly with your hands. The material flying about the room. The voices didn't stop, and you weren't sure if it was your imagination or not but the other toys seemed to have gotten louder. You grabbed a doll and smashed its head against the bed board. Even without the doll's head attached to its body, she was still repeating herself. You tossed the head against the wall and it shattered to pieces.
With shaky hands, you broke whatever menacing toy you could get a hold of. In their sing-song voices they continued and only became louder, their chorus of derision was deafening. It was another nightmare come to life. Another taste of hell.
You kept your mouth closed a moment longer, before it tore out of you. "Please stop! Please!" you begged in a scream. You had to fight not to empty the contents right then and there, pressing a hand to your mouth to hold back the small keening sound that would otherwise escape. Your shoulders were shaking and they would occasionally hitch with a hiccup or gasp for air as your body broke out in gooseflesh.
"Sweetheart?"
You turned around to find the source of that gentle, familiar voice. It was your mother. She was leaning against the doorway with a concerned look marring her features.
You froze and dropped the doll you were about to break next. The sound echoing across the walls.
"Mom," you started but you couldn't string together a coherent sentence, and you could only stare back, mouth agape. You felt your face crumple. You knew this looked bad. Really bad. You were tearing apart your missing sister's room and screaming.
"Oh baby," your mom said sadly. She rushed over to you and opened her arms to bring you into a warm embrace.
You couldn't get a word out at first, not with how tight your throat was. Mom took note of this and hushed you.
"I miss her so much, mom," you sobbed brokenly.
"I know it hurts, love, I miss her too," she whispered lovingly and tightened her arms around you. "I'm here. I've got you."
You buried your face into her shoulder as you wept. A hiccup caught your throat, then another, and more tears fell. "I don't know what to do. I don't know where else to look," you wailed helplessly, your voice muffled.
"Shhh, I know, I know," she replied in a soft whisper as she pressed you closer to her chest. "We'll find her. She's out there. It's going to be okay."
"How can you be so sure?" you questioned.
"It will be, trust me, I promise you," she told you. She pulled back and wiped the tears away from your eyes with her hand. "Have you eaten yet?"
"No," you mumbled.
"I'm gonna make you something to eat, love, I'll be right back," she promised and leaned in to kiss your forehead before she left the room.
You simply nodded your head in response and sank back on your little sister's bed, feeling too exhausted and drained to continue standing. It all came crushing down and you curled up on the sheets, weeping. In an empty, cold room. Your crying was oddly silent. No noisy gasping, dramatic sobs, just a quiet shaking rattle of pain. A large lump had formed in your throat as you tried to keep your breath strong and even. Tears leaked down the sides of your face, leaving streaks in their wake.
"It should have been me," you muttered to yourself. "It should have been me. I'm so so sorry, Lily."
You buried your face in your hands as you continued to weep silently. It wasn't fair. She had her whole life ahead of her.
"It's all my fault."
It wasn't said verbally. But it radiated like poison in your head. You don't know how you could have stopped any of it, what you could have done to prevent it, but you blamed yourself for what happened to her. A wave of nausea hits you so hard that you can't tell whether it's the sickness or the grief that makes you double over, incoherent mumbles of Lily's name crossing your lips.
Then in the midst of your pity party, you heard your phone ring. You grabbed it from your pocket and quickly answered. It was Tyler.
"Hello?" you said around a sniffle.
"I saw him. I know exactly what you're talking about now," Tyler replied.
"You saw who?" you questioned, and you sat up on the bed.
"The clown. He came to me."
Your heart sank.