"…Worse than perfect, better than okay.
Someone asked 'What's wrong with kids these days?'
…Wonder why am I like this?
We love an extensional crisis…"—What's Wrong with Kids these Days, Kira Kosarin

When the tears finally subsided and the snot was wiped away, Katherine just sat and stared at the remains of the Bowers house. It hadn't changed much since the last time she had been here. Much like the Neibolt house that many of Derry's homeless and vandals inhabited, the Bowers home soon became a well-known place for the undesirables to hang out.

Following the defeat of IT in the sewers, it had been revealed that Henry Bowers—at the instruction of IT—had brutally murdered both his father and his sister. Not much information had been revealed to the public, only stating who was responsible (after Henry had returned to the scene of the crime) and the very basic details of what happened to the victims. Katherine would later search the police records for what had happened, only to find out the truly horrible things that the Bowers boy had done to his family. It still turned her stomach, all these years later.

The whitewashed two-storey farmhouse still stood amongst the overgrown garden; although the boards of the house seemed to have weathered so much by this point that a single breath could knock the structure over. The door had been busted in and was barely hanging onto the frame by its hinges and the brick chimney had crumbled long ago; the result of drunk teenagers with steel pipes and sledgehammers.

With a heavy sigh, Katherine turned on her lights and removed herself from the Jeep, traipsing through the long swishy grass over to where a large bramble of blackberries sat clustered off to the side of the house. With Henry admitted into an asylum, there was no other family to confirm or remove the bodies from the morgue and so they had rotted away in the little fridges beneath Derry Home Hospital for several years. Bill was right. Now that she was back home, she could remember it almost like it was yesterday.


Bowers Farmhouse, 1996

When she had woken up that morning, this was not what she had planned: at the ripe old age of fifteen, Katherine Agnes Ursa had stolen two bodies from the morgue. It had been eight years since the murder of Evelyn Bowers and Officer Butch Bowers, and subsequently, the defeat of IT. Although the people of Derry didn't really take notice of these events, nor did they seem to care.

It had been surprisingly easy to enter the morgue and subsequently, steal the bodies. I s'pose no one expects a fifteen year old to break into the morgue to steal two unwanted bodies in the dead of night. Katherine mused as she rifled through the glovebox for the old head torch and box of matches she had stuffed in there. Hopping out of the red pick-up truck she had borrowed from her boyfriend, Katherine squelched through the mud to the bed of the truck where the two wrapped bodies, a can of gasoline, a small bag of rock salt and a shovel lay waiting.

The weak beam of light barely pierced the darkness of night, but provided just enough light for her to drag the bodies over to the spot next to the house which she had picked out earlier. Thankfully, the house was bare of any squatters on this still night, allowing Katherine to move about without fear of being caught. After not-so-gracefully dropping the bodies to the ground next to her feet, Katherine set about digging the large hole for the two decomposing bodies to go in.

At first, Katherine hadn't wanted anything to do with the Bowers—dead or alive—which was understandable considering what her classmate had done to her. Some part of her, she was ashamed to say, had been relieved when Evelyn had died—no more gum on her chair or dirt in her bag—and she thought that she'd finally, finally be done with the torturous ways of her and her cronies. And she had been for a little while, at least until Evelyn had popped back up again.

The hauntings had started out sparse at first. The seven year-old would pop up in the middle of class and scream insults at one of her ignorant classmates or the exhausted teacher. Other times she would appear in some of her favourite haunts from when she was alive.

Mostly Katherine would ignore her as best she could when Evelyn just floated around the space or when she'd scream at a random person. But soon enough these sparse visits became a constancy that Katherine would've rather lived without. It didn't take long for the first grader to realise who could see her & who couldn't and she had discovered who could…well, Katherine had wanted to scream bloody murder, but that's not something you do in a library.

There were days when Evelyn would just stand next to her and scream ghastly noises into her ears, where her features would morph into monstrous nightmares that haunted Katherine for days afterwards. Even in death, Evelyn bullied Katherine to her wits end. Eventually, she had had enough.

Now Katherine would never call herself any kind of…supernatural expert. But she knew she had a problem and she needed to get rid of it. And so like most children, she had turned to library for help, not that that had really helped. Oh sure, there had been a large supernatural/science-fiction section in the library, but it had been labelled as 'fiction'.

And of those books she had trudged through, Katherine found that most of them had been silly romance novels between star-crossed lovers of both the supernatural and natural worlds. One new series in particular had portrayed a pair of brothers who hunted the things that go bump in the night. They had been portrayed as hunky men who got both the monster of the week and the lady on the side; like they were God-graced men with a cool car.

Despite the cheesiness of the series, Katherine had found herself rather liking a couple of the characters—both good and bad—easily picturing a couple of the Losers in their places. It was also in these books where she found half-decent information on how to rid herself of her current problem (after cross-referencing it on one of the library computers of course).

Cooking up a half-baked plan, Katherine had borrowed her boyfriend's car saying she needed to move something for the orphanage. Instead she had slunk into Derry Home Hospital, and down into the morgue where she nabbed both of the decaying Bowers' bodies before skedaddling into the cover of night. And now here she was chest-deep in grave dirt.

Having deemed the hole to be deep enough, Katherine had to jump and scrabble at the upturned roots of a nearby blueberry bush to pull herself out of the hole. Didn't…think that…through! Katherine puffed, afraid of what would happen should she speak aloud. It didn't matter that she was alone, she would take no chances.

Brushing off a couple clumps of dirt, Katherine grabbed Butch Bowers by his ankles, first. Alright…here we go! With an almighty heave, she dragged the body as close to the edge of the grave as she could, before stepping over the body and unceremoniously pushing it into the deep hole. A quick douse of gasoline showered the large body, before she moved onto Evelyn's small form.

It was much easier to pick up the small body, though walking with it was less than pretty. Katherine all but shuffled over to the grave where she then tipped the body out of her arms and watched it fall onto the body already there. The rest of the gasoline was poured over the bodies, drenching them until they stank to high heaven; after that, both bodies were encrusted with the bag of rock salt like fish before a fry-up.

It took her a few tries to get the match to light, and stay lit before she dropped it in. Emotionlessly watching the flames dance and flicker over the wrapped corpses, Katherine buried her nose into the top of her turtleneck sweater and let the night wash over her. The smell of burning rotten flesh permeated the air and Katherine was once again thankful that the Bowers had lived so far out of town, away from everyone else. Occasionally, a faint moo would sound from the paddocks off to the right, or an owl would break the silence with their eerie hoot, letting her know she wasn't alone.

She stayed there, with head bowed until the bodies had turned to ash, lighting match after match until the deed was done. Not once did she move from her silent vigil. When the sun began to peek over the horizon, she picked up the shovel and replaced the upturned dirt in the grave, covering the sin within before cleaning up and moving back to the pick-up. No second glances were spared as she drove away, finally leaving her bully behind her.


Bowers Farmhouse, Present Day

Tear-stained and silent, Katherine stood at the edge of the unmarked gravesite, now overrun by the wild blackberry bush. Munching on the sweet fruit as the juice dripped down from the corners of her mouth, standing in the same place and pose that she had all those years ago. Has it really been twenty years? It sure doesn't feel like it. Is this what you felt like, Stan? When Mike called you, is this what you felt like? Like Pandora had just opened her damned box once again.

CRUNCH! SNAP!

The sound of approaching footsteps in the dark caused Katherine to spin on her heel just in time to see the glint of a knife coming for her. Instinctively raising an arm up to block the incoming weapon, she hissed through her teeth when the blade sliced through her skin, drawing a line of blood across her wrist.

Maniacal laughter followed the blade and out of the shadows stepped a crazed Henry Bowers. It seemed the years had not been kind to the eldest Bowers child. Where he was once a wiry teen with waxy blonde hair, he was now a pudgy man with crazed eyes and greasy hair still cut into the same mullet.

"You bastard!" Katherine growled. Lashing out with her leg, she hit him right in the crotch. Dropping his knife, Bowers fell like a sack of groaning potatoes, right into the line of Katherine's incoming knee which nailed him in the face. Even when he was lying on the floor with knife strewn off of the side, Katherine raised her foot above his head and kicked him so hard, she felt her steel-covered toes ring with the force of it.

That'll hurt tomorrow. Katherine thought victoriously as she stood over the unconscious form of Henry Bowers. Serves him right. Quickly clamping her other hand over the bleeding wrist, Katherine turned back to her truck and pulled out the first-aid kit she kept in the glovebox. With practised hands, she set about cleaning and bandaging the wound, before she got in and left the farmhouse behind her.


Derry Townhouse, Present Day

"Why didn't you tell me Stan died?" Katherine asked the Reaper in her passenger seat as they sat outside the Derry Townhouse.

"It wasn't my place" Georgie replied quietly, legs swinging.

"Wasn't your place?! He was the closest thing I had to a brother! And now he's gone! And you're saying it wasn't your place?!"

"I didn't escort his soul, Katherine. I wanted to, but Death had already assigned me to the Derry case. She wanted me out here first before the others arrived"

"Others? This is gonna be one big shit show, innit?"

"…" Georgie didn't say anything in reply, but grimaced as he turned to stare out the window at the figures moving around inside.

"Thanks, great talk" Katherine sassed, climbing out of the vehicle and heading inside.

Inside, Katherine made a beeline for the bar that stood in the room adjacent to the hall. Peeling off her peacoat and hanging it over the back of one of the chairs, she moved soundlessly between the scattered chairs and Losers to where the spirits were stored behind the bar.

"Where were you?" Ben asked when Katherine stalked in through the door and made a beeline for the bar.

"Out" Katherine replied shortly.

"What happened to you?" Eddie questioned, his eagle eyes zoning in on the bandage wrapped around her wrist.

"I ran into Bowers" Katherine replied absentmindedly as she stepped around Richie at the counter and browsed the choice spirits, "Do we have any whiskey?"

"Whisk—Are you okay?" Beverly asked concerned.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Barely nicked me" Katherine replied, before her eyes lit up at the bottle of Tidewalker Bourbon sitting in front of her. Plucking the bottle from the shelf, Katherine pulled the cork out with her teeth, before spitting it out and drinking straight from the bottle.

She easily gulped down at least a quarter of the bottle before she came up for air, letting go of the bottle neck with a 'pop'. The bourbon was pleasantly smooth with hints of oak & caramel, and went down like water. "What?" Katherine asked when she turned to find all eyes on her.

"Nothing" Eddie muttered.

"That's impressive" Commented Richie.

"Thanks" Katherine saluted him with the bottle as she leant on the countertop and turned her attention back to the others,"Now what's the problem? Why're you all gathered 'round here like the Mystery Inc?"

"Beverly said she'd seen Stan die before it happened" Ben supplied.

"What?" Katherine turned to him, "Like…what's it called? A prophet?"

"Uh…"

"Yeah, actually—" Eddie piped up, "—What do you mean you've seen us all die?"

"Yeah, 'cause I gotta be honest, that's a pretty fucked up thing to just drop on somebody" Richie added.

Beverly hastily wiped away her tears before she replied, "…Every night since Derry, I've…been having these nightmares. People in pain, people dying, people…"

"So you have nightmares? I have nightmares, people have nightmares. But that doesn't mean that your visions are true" Eddie rationalised.

"I've watched every single one of us as we've…"

"You've seen every single one of us what?" Bill entered the room with Mike in tow.

"…It's the place where Stanley wound up…That's how we end" Beverly whimpered.

"Okay, how come the rest of us aren't seeing that shit? I mean what makes her so different?" Richie piped up.

"The Deadlights" Mike supplied. Katherine's blood ran cold. Flashes of spinning lights and gaping galaxies hidden behind swirling shark teeth burned in her mind.

"Deadlights?" Bill questioned, his thoughts going back to that day. "She was the only one of us who got c-caught in the Deadlights that day!"

"We were all touched by IT—" Mike continued on feverishly, "—Changed. Deep down, like an infection or a virus. A virus! You understand! The virus, it's been growing for twenty-seven years! This whole time: metastasising. It just got to Stan first because—"

"—Because he was the weakest" Richie ended.

"Jesus Christ, Rich!" Bill cursed, Katherine sharing his sentiments.

"I'm just saying what everyone else is thinking, man"

"I mean, Rich, c'me on"

"What Beverly sees, it will come to pass" Mike pushed on, "It's what'll happen to all of us eventually. Unless we stop it"

"How the hell are supposed to do that?!" Eddie demanded.

"The ritual of Chüd—the native people, the first ones who fought IT, they have a saying: All living things must abide by the laws of the shape they inhabit—"

"A tribal ritual?!" Said Richie, "Are you fucking kidding me, man?! Alright, there's gotta be another way. C'me on, Midget you studied this stuff!"

"Funnily enough, we didn't cover homicidal inter-dimensional shapeshifting clowns" Katherine replied tartly.

"Alright, then this thing comes back every what? Twenty-seven years? Just kick the can down the road and do it then" Richie suggested.

"Wait we'll be seventy years old, asshole" Eddie retorted.

"…It doesn't work that way" Beverly protested, "None of us make it another twenty years and the way it happens…"

"So if we don't beat it at this cycle…" Ben started.

"We die" Bill ended.

"Horribly" Eddie tacked on.

"Yeah, I don't need the 'horribly' part" Richie muttered.

"I didn't say it! She said it, not me!"

"Alright guys, I've seen w-w-what he's talking about and it's a-a-all true. It's the only way. If we want this ritual to work…" Bill spoke up.

"We have to remember" Mike ended.

"Remember what?" Katherine asked, taking another swig of the bourbon.