October 16th, 1988

Pain woke Georgie again, although this time it was less severe. This time he could think. A dull, throbbing ache radiated from his elbow, the muscles of his upper arm and shoulder giving little involuntary jerks in response. He was sweating, hot and cold at the same time. He felt a pressure behind his eyeballs. His mouth was dry, and his stomach pinched. Maybe he had caught what Billy had.

Billy was sick. That was why he hadn't come outside with Georgie. That was why he wasn't there when something bad happened. Something bad had happened.

Georgie opened his eyes. He was in a tall, dimly-lit red and white striped tent lit with tiny yellow string lights and filled with supplies and show props, not his room. He was lying on a prickly pile of hay, not his bed. He sat up, raincoat squeaking. There had been a clown. Then pain, and darkness. Then he had seen the clown again? But he couldn't quite remember what they had talked about.

His arm. Something had happened to his arm. Georgie looked down. His arm was gone, the sleeve of his raincoat torn and ragged. He had forgotten. Disbelievingly, he poked at the angry pink and red flesh where his elbow should have been. A lightning bolt of pain shot up to his collarbone, and he bit back a whimper.

A set of yellow eyes watched the child from the top of a fifteen-foot stack of hay bales.

Georgie had to get home. He scrambled to his feet, boots rustling in the hay. Dizziness almost tipped him back to the ground headfirst. Panting, he spun in a circle. There was no exit in the tent that he could see. Shadows filled the spaces between a plinth painted with faded silver and red diamonds, a mannequin wearing a decaying pair of suspenders, a cluster of barrels, an empty cage. He smelled popcorn and cotton candy, and he could hear faint music and laughter. The show was going on elsewhere, it seemed. But there was no way out. He was trapped.

"Is something the matter?"

Georgie whipped around with a yelp, subconsciously cradling his injured arm to his chest.

The clown stood before him, hands on his knees and bending down so he could look into Georgie's eyes. No, not he, It. The clown wasn't right, wasn't normal. Its eyes too blue, Its hair too orange. He had a vague, hazy memory of speaking to the clown while he had been playing in the street, and again afterward. It had been dark, and he couldn't really remember what had been said…

"I'm hurt, real bad."

"Yesss…"

"I need –" Georgie croaked, broke off, and licked his lips. His mouth was unbearably dry. "I need to get help."

"I can help. Already did. I stopped the bleeding." The clown's ruby lips pulled back in a chipper smile. It slid a tiny telepathic tendril into Georgie's mind, calming him. Just a bit.

"Well, thanks, but I need an adult."

Its sudden caw of laughter made Georgie jerk back. "Someone older than me, you mean? Good luck with that, kid."

The lightheadedness was making it hard to think. The clown looked like a grown-up. "Well, a parent."

"There's nothing a parent can do for you that I can't do, Georgie."

"Where am I?"

It let out a rough giggle that reminded Georgie of a donkey. "Where does it look like, you silly goose?"

"The circus… but where is the circus?"

Its face pulled down into an exaggerated frown, white paint flaking around Its brow and mouth. "We've been over this before." It supposed It couldn't fully blame the kid. Shock and trauma had a way of knocking memories right out of humans' ears.

"I don't remember." The dizziness had become too much. He felt hot, too hot to puzzle all this out. Georgie sat down and took off his raincoat.

"Think." The clown's smiling, unblinking stare made him fidget.

"The sewer? We're in the sewer?"

"Yes."

"The whole circus?"

"Yessss."

"The wind blew it away."

It swallowed a gob of saliva. "The wind blew you away too, it seems."

"I don't… I don't remember your name."

"Pennywise. Do you remember what happened to your arm?"

Georgie's face screwed up in concentration. "An accident?"

"That's right."

That didn't seem quite right to Georgie, somehow, but he decided not to press the issue. "I don't feel good."

"Well," It tittered, "It would be funny if you did."

Pennywise's large head tilted to the side. The boy was no longer in imminent danger of bleeding out, but he was weak. He'd been lying in the sewer for almost twelve hours. And It could smell the fever rolling off him, taste the droplets of sweat forming on his skin and dampening his hair. Quite a bit of greywater had been sloshed into Georgie's open wound before Pennywise had cauterized it. Unsurprising that he would fall ill.

"You're hungry and thirsty, I'd imagine."

"Yes."

"Feeling a little peaky?"

"Maybe I'm getting what Bill has." At the thought of Bill, Georgie's hysteria began to bubble back up.

A grin split Its face. "Maybe…" It pressed a hand to Georgie's warm forehead. Another gentle pulse of influence to calm him just a bit, like a mild tranquilizer. Before his fear made both of them lose their heads. "Hmmm, you seem warm." It knelt down so It was eye level with him and pursed Its crimson lips in a dramatic pout. "I think I know what will make you feel better."

It reached behind Its back and produced a paper cup of water and a foil-wrapped hotdog. Genuine circus fare. The display unsettled Georgie. He didn't like being alone with the clown. He wanted Billy.

One of Its eyes drifted to the side. "Did you notice who we have joining us?"

Georgie turned and saw a grey goat tethered to the ground next to him.

"It's a billy goat!"

The goat bleated, and Georgie started.

"He doesn't bite." Pennywise reached around Georgie's shoulder, impossibly far, and gave the goat a solid pat on the back with Its noticeably empty hand. When Georgie whipped around, It was still kneeling in the same spot, hands full. Saliva dripped onto Its faded, frilled collar. Georgie looked back at the goat. The goat's tail wiggled and the one bright blue eye that he could see winked.

Georgie took the cup from the clown with a trembling hand and sipped. It was cold and clear. It made him feel a little better, rinsed the taste of grit and greywater from his mouth. He drained the cup and set it by his feet.

"What's his name?"

"He doesn't have one. Yet. If you like him, maybe he'll come around more. Maybe he'll need a name." Pennywise waved the hotdog. "Here. Eat up. So you get big and strong."

Nausea pinched Georgie's stomach, but he didn't want to make Pennywise upset. He sensed that would be a mistake. And It was right, he needed to eat. Georgie took the hotdog from Pennywise, maneuvering it awkwardly with one hand, and took a small bite. It was good. Warm, and with only ketchup. Just the way he liked it. He might have appreciated it under different circumstances. He nibbled slowly.

"Feeling better?" Pennywise asked, with a trace of impatience that escaped Georgie's notice. Humans were so fragile. It could have regrown a dozen arms by now.

"A little."

It touched Its knuckles to Georgie's cheek and pretended to consider. "I think I can fix this." Georgie's fear and discomfort was giving It quite the kick indeed. It had more than enough juice to help his body tackle the infection spreading through his veins.

Pennywise gripped the top of Georgie's skull with Its long, spidery fingers and flattened Its other hand against his chest, feeling the flutter of his feverish heart. Its eyes melted into a venomous yellow, Its face going slack and eerily still. It searched through Georgie's body, stamping out the invading bacteria clustered in his arm and creeping up his shoulder. Georgie felt pins and needles spread down from his head to his toes, building in intensity until his bones seemed to vibrate. Then It released him, and his ears rang with the silence. The only place the vibrating didn't seem to stop was in his brain.

"Wh – what?" The blood drained from Georgie's face and he fell back in a faint, hotdog tumbling to the hay.

That should help, at least.


It could have prevented Georgie's fever, made him forget about his missing arm and see a phantom limb in its place. But he would be a lot less insistent on leaving if he thought Pennywise was the only thing keeping him from the dark, smelly sewer, if he saw It as his rescuer from hurt and cold. Keeping the boy's pain and illness at bay and the circus present was a matter of simple but constant influence. Well within Its power.

It could have given Georgie a peek of Its deadlights and put him into a permanently tranquil, agreeable state. But where would be the fun in that?

The kid needed to be gently brought to understand his situation. He was in the freezing, maze-like bowels of Derry, and the only thing keeping him alive was Pennywise.


A/N: I like goats.