Hello Everyone!

(I am just working through the final editing and adjustments to this story before posting the final chapter. Thank you your your patience!)

Before you get started reading, please take note of a couple things:

I do not own any characters or content from the IT franchise, nor do I claim to have any part in their creation. This is simply a Fan Fiction story that I want to share with those who will enjoy it. All original characters in my story are not based off of any one living or dead. This is also not a smut story, it is closer to a slow burn if anything. :)

This is my first completed Fan Fiction adventure! And I hope you enjoy it!

Now, with out any further interruptions... WELCOME to

IT - CHAINED TO A CLOWN

Chapter 1 - A New Start

Derry; a tiny run down little town with lots of history and nothing to show for it. It's a place where young families move to in hopes of having a wonderful life, and where the defeated elderly retire; nothing else. Its' surface screams for a new coat of paint, but no one ever gives it what it needs. Most people leave this town with a bad taste in their mouth and never return.

But to me, this is my new start; a bright future against my faded grey past..

I grunted a little as I lifted another moving box and dropped it onto my 'new' old kitchen table; it was cracked and chipped, displaying its lifetime worth of stories on its surface. I slid my exacto knife along the top seem of the box as its contents came sprouting out of the growing slit, as if desperately gasping for air.

"Guess I packed this one a little too tight." I half chuckled to myself as I pried the top flaps open and reached inside.

The sudden sound of knuckles tapping on my door caught my attention, and I turned to face it as I set the knife back down on the table.

"Hello Miss Jones, are you home?" Friendly voice cooed from the other side of my apartments' door.

I hustled over to open it, and unlatched the lock. The tired door groaned as I pulled it open to see a smiling, little elderly lady dressed in an old fashioned turquoise dress. It had white frills around its neck and arms, matching buttons down the front and a thin black belt in the middle; it was Mrs. Bocswell, my landlord.

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Bocswell! Come on in - how are you?"

"Good dear, good," she hummed, as she shuffled her slip on shoes past the threshold, "How are you making out?"

"Great! I think it may take some time to finish unpacking," I joked sarcastically as I smiled and pointed to the three boxes spread about the room, "I'm not sure I will be able find space for it all." I paused and watched her smile at my boxes for a moment then, back to me; I got less of a reaction than I anticipated. I watched her head shake slightly as her earrings danced on her ear lobes. "Oh - Would you like some tea? I believe I have a kettle and some mugs in this box over here." I continued as I rushed over to the box I had just set down on my kitchen table.

"Oh, no thank you hun. I do have a few stops to make today, so I had better get moving. This old hip of mine doesn't mosey like it used to." She patted my solder and started shuffling towards the open door. "Let me know if you need anything, Miss Jones." She took my hand, as I leaned on the door jam, and gave it a pat. "You are my newest tenant, so I have to make sure that you get all comfy and settled in your new home. Oh, and don't forget about that cute little diner down the street I told you about. I know I saw that 'help wanted' sign in their window the other day." She turned and headed down the hall, waving her hand back at me. "Good Luck, dear! Have a great day!"

"Yes, thank you! You too, Mrs. Bocswell!" I smiled some more as I watched her hustle her tiny frail frame down the old, worn out and stained carpet of the hallway.

As I closed the door I thought back to her comment about me being her newest tenant. Mrs. Bocswell doesn't really know my full story, I haven't known her for very long and most of our meetings have been over the phone. In our past conversations she had mentioned how sad it was, that I was moving away from my family; most people tend to make assumptions that I came from a family, and I choose to not correct them any more..

I cleared my throat and walked over to the couch, then sat down beside a box that was propped up delicately by pillows. This box had a thick, black star drawn in sharpie on its side, and contains the most meaningful items in my life.

I have never had a real family, not in the traditional sense anyway.

I grew up in an institution called the Meadow Springs Association, an orphanage in New Orleans. As I reached my teenage years, I gave up all hope of getting adopted and finding a family of my own, so I started working there; giving hope to the younger orphans and assisting the owner, and the workers, cook and clean. Once I hit eighteen, the head of the house, Miss Ketsel, a thin, young women with a soft voice and a heart of gold, started encouraging me to move on and spread my wings beyond the orphanage. She had told me that I was not destined for a life like hers, being stuck in the MSA forever, and that I was meant for greater things.

In reality, Miss Ketsel was only sugar coating what the owner had demanded; for me to leave, and that I was dead weight. That message eventually became clear when the owner had a melt down and yelled at her for allowing me to stay longer than my welcome.. Everyone in the orphanage could hear his enraged shouting, along side the shattering of glass ordainments hitting the walls.

Meadow Springs was the only family I knew, and I felt as if I was an inconvenience. They wanted me to disappear.. I couldn't help but feel unwanted; unwelcome. Tasks were slowly taken from me as slowly I was forced out.

Feeling lost and alone, I began to explore the French Quarter and got lost in its history and its welcoming culture. I quickly started to collect small items like essential oils, candles and so on. But after a few years I dipped further into witchcraft, it comforted me, filling the spots of my soul that I felt were missing.

Eventually, I found a new 'family'.

I reached into the cardboard box and pulled out a small wooden chest engraved with sacred symbols. Inside it contained a talisman necklace, which had the same style of markings carved on its stone face, and beside it lay a small glass vial filled with a liquid that smelt like vanilla; both items where blessed by a voodoo priestess whom I had grown close to though out my years in the quarter. I placed the wooden chest on my lap, and peered back into the cardboard box to see the rest of my witchcraft items. My cards, my candles, my crystals, my blessed water, my tea set and my incense; all wrapped up in a dark silk scarf. These items were all I had left of what I had once called home.

The owner of the orphanage finally decided that enough was enough. There was too many over age orphans, and told Miss Ketsel to kick us out of Meadow Springs. There was only two of us older orphans still living there, three including Miss Ketsel, but I believe the head of the house had a thing for her; and every so often it was time to clear out the 'unwanted'.

I tried to pull my own weight by paying board with the money I had earned from the tarot card readings I did on the streets of the French Quarter, but it was never good enough.

As kind as Miss Ketsel was in assisting me leave, there was a cold door closing behind me as I left the gates; its deadbolt sliding through the lock and shutting forever. The final sound of its latch echoed in my ears, as I waited for the bus. Fear washed over me like a bad stink as I stared into the unknown.

Derry is the only place that I could afford..

BANG!

The sound of a door slamming made me jump, and pulled me violently back into the present. Muffled voices spat venomous comments back and forth to each other on the other side of in the hallway, but I couldn't quite make out what they were saying. I walked over to the front door and looked though the peep hole, but no one was in the hall. I listened for a little while longer as something smashed and rattled the door across he hall, then everything went quiet. As far I could tell from the muffled voices, it sounded like a man and a young girl, but nothing further happened.

I turned away to see what I had to do next, but I suddenly felt no motivation to unpack any more. My head felt as though it was spinning out of control, and I started to feel sick over it. So I quickly decided to return to unpacking boxes in the morning, and went to the kitchen to make a tea and go to bed.