Hello, and welcome to my IT fic!
Back in 2017, I began writing the first chapter of this story, but stopped about halfway through because I couldn't figure out what to do with it. That changed when I read WinchesterGirl123's Floating on Air and decided to see what I could come up with. This is what eventually led to me publishing the original version of Bright, which I took down earlier this year because I knew that I could do better. Finally, after months of putting it on the backburner, I've managed to begin editing what I've written over the past couple years!
A few more things before we begin:
1.) In addition to the book and miniseries, there will be a lot of references to some of Stephen King's other works, as well as a few fan theories.
2.) Currently, Bright is rated M for: strong language, body horror, violence, blood, gore, death, abuse, suicide, suicidal intent, suicidal thoughts, underaged smoking, underaged drinking, and underaged partying. If a chapter has any triggering content, I will list it in the first author's note.
3.) Disclaimer: I do not own the IT novel, movies, or miniseries.
Trigger Warnings: violence, blood, gore, abuse, and the death of a child.
IT awoke to the perfect alarm: the sharp echo of anguished cries.
For twenty-seven years, IT had slept far below the rancid sewers of Derry, Maine - a dark place littered with a seemingly endless maze of tunnels that possessed a dizzying feeling of helplessness. Not a soul had dared come near the belly of ITs dwellings since they'd been built, too stricken with dread to go past the areas that needed to be glanced at for their yearly inspections. Indeed, it was the ultimate dwellings for something that thrived from a copious amount of panic and pain.
Rivers of clear drool sloppily dripped onto the ground in a pitter-patter rhythm when IT stretched ITs massive maw, mentally searching for the delectable sound's source.
It wasn't long before IT zeroed in on the wails of a boy; the rush of terror he possessed hitting IT full force, drawing unbridled giggles of glee from IT. With each hit the boy took from his stepfather's unforgiving hammer, IT could feel the piercing pulse - an overheated space heater ready to catch fire - that radiated from his fragile body in immense waves.
"Stop it," he squeaked, his small fist weakly attempting to grip the older man's sweat-stained T-shirt. "Stop it, Daddy. I'm sorry. I love you."
Not a moment later, what little energy the boy had left greatly weakened. Unable to do anything more than lie motionless on the speckled linoleum, he soon took a final, shallow breath - bringing his short life to an end that had arrived much too soon.
It took the stepfather several minutes to realize that he'd been beating a corpse, a shout of shock leaving him when it finally clicked that there was nothing that could be done to bring the boy back. His fists trembled, the tool he'd once gripped so tightly thudding to his side, when his gaze managed to focus on the pools of gore that crept across his kitchen floor; a glistening, violent red laced with the oh-so-sweet scent of horror. (How IT longed to slurp it up, to feel its warmth beneath ITs tongue.)
Had the stepfather been alone, IT would have gone after him first. But he wasn't.
Hidden beneath the chaos that was still unfolding, IT could faintly hear the sobs of another boy who wasn't much older than the child who had passed on; the guilt he felt for hiding in his room while his baby brother suffered beautifully ate away his heart.
"I'm sorry, Dorey," he whispered, tears trickling down his ashen cheeks. "I'm so, so sorry."
The hunger IT felt intensified, screaming at IT to begin ITs killings; to take a bite of ITs delicious treat known as Eddie Corcoran. IT decided that IT deserved a feast that stank of juicy torment - a glorious start to an exciting twelve months filled with chases galore and the yummiest of snacks.
Knowing that IT had much work to do, IT shifted from ITs true form into that of Pennywise the Dancing Clown - shaking with familiarity as ITs body finished morphing into the lanky mess of limbs that IT was accustomed to. IT took a moment to relish what it felt like to be in ITs preferred shape, a thrilled shiver tingling across ITs spine.
With a chortle that resembled wailing funeral bells that could be heard ringing in the early hours of a dreary morning, IT began to put the next phase of ITs plan into action.
Time to dine.
From another part of the multiverse, comfortably nestled in a pocket of sky that was unreachable to all but three, Maturin watched IT wake once more.
Something had stirred within the Turtle, an urgency that begged them to pay attention to what was to come - its suddenness stubbornly having long since latched onto their focus.
In the past, the Turtle had been restrained during ITs year-long feedings, for there hadn't been much that they could have done, leaving the fate of ITs victims - for the most part - in their own hands. Silence and solitude were how Maturin preferred to spend their existence - to remain within their shell, hidden from those who would otherwise bother them.
And yet. . . .
A familiar presence, powerful enough to make even the bravest of men tremble before their sheer grandness, settled beside Maturin – their luminous gaze unwaveringly focused on the swirling distance.
"It seems our friend has finished their slumber," remarked Gan.
The Turtle languidly blinked in response, the temptation of sleep sweetly calling out to them. "What woke them this time?"
This wasn't the first time the lesser cosmic being had terrorized Derry, nor would it be anywhere near the last that the survivors would rather forget than remember. Maturin could not fault them for pretending as if nothing happened or want to face the truth. A creature that devoured their young and haunted their dreams was enough to drive any mortal mad.
"The murder of a boy named Dorsey Corcoran," the Other solemnly replied. "It appears that the quick burial his stepfather did was what led to our friend's first meal."
IT did tend to hibernate until a catastrophic tragedy occurred, but there were also events of a far lesser degree that were enough to pull IT from ITs hibernation. To say that the murder, one that had not been caused by the doing of IT, of Dorsey was gruesome enough to do just that. . . .
Maturin closed their gaze in sympathy for the life that had been snuffed out, and for the lives that would soon follow Dorsey's lead. Many had perished to satiate ITs hunger and cruel games. If only IT could exist without the need for the suffering of others. Then, maybe then, they wouldn't have to worry about IT upsetting the balance of the Macroverse.
"Perhaps we should keep a close watch on them."
"As we always have," the Turtle pointed out. "But can we condemn them for listening to their instincts?"
Though the Turtle did not agree with ITs killings, it did respect IT - only holding a higher regard for Gan. Despite being in possession of different levels of power, they were all one in the same - individual parts of a whole, greater presence. It wasn't as if the Turtle wished to ignore the grisly events that were soon to come. (Maturin did vomit out the universe that the humans inhabited, and therefore had a grandfatherly fondness for their creation, for it was the only place that the Other had little to no doing in bringing into existence.) Because of this, the Turtle did what it could to look after those who found misery during ITs horrible reign.
"No. We cannot," agreed Gan. "However, it is important that we make sure our friend is kept in check. The less lives they take, the better. Besides," Gan paused, increasing the Turtle's interest, "I have a feeling that their time is soon coming to a close."
The Turtle focused their sight upon what the Other had seen: children, eight of them, brought together during a life-changing summer. The gift they held within themselves filled their mind; their past, present, and future blurring into a singular - yet separate - moment. Maturin knew that their lights, bright as the midmorning sun, would someday become a powerful force that would surpass an infinity.
Such a wondrous talent.
But they were also young, tiptoeing the line between childhood and adulthood. They needed someone to guide them, to watch over them as they grew into the people they were destined to become.
"It would appear so," the Turtle hummed. "How great a burden they must carry."
"All must meet their fate, no matter how heavy it may be."
Maturin peeked at Gan. "If they perish before their biggest battle. . . ."
A heaviness settled upon the all-powerful beings as what could come to pass flashed before them: bellowing screams filled with immeasurable loss, streams of crimson seeping from piles of rotting carnage, mocking laughter bouncing throughout their friend's den as the group's sole survivor wept –
"Our friend will win," added the Other when the agonizing images came to an abrupt stop, "and will continue their feedings until your universe comes to an end."