Dwight stayed huddled in his bed. His eyes sealed shut. His warm wad of blankets unable to stop his body from shivering. He wanted to hear the beep of the alarm more than anything. The beep telling him that the night was long gone and it was safe again. When he worked the courage to open his eyes again he wanted to only see the dawning sun.
Beep beep. Beep beep. Beep beep.
The clock sang. Dwight took a calming breath, exhaling slowly through his nose. He bundled the sheets in his fists, holding on like a drowning man on a sinking ship. "You'll wake up and see the sun. You'll wake up and see the sun. You'll wake up and see the sun." He assured himself. "You'll wake up and see the…" Dwight's eyes flew open. The bedroom window painted a portrait he needed to see. "The sun."
The sun peeked over the horizon, hurling its golden rays through Dwight's window. Morning dew glinted off the leaves like gemstones. He'd seen it before, a couple times since his return and still he was awestruck by its majesty. He watched even as he's eyes burned. It's true what they say, absence makes the heart grow fonder.
Dwight reached for his sunglasses and slid them onto his face. He marveled the morning dawn. Staring at the sun, eyes like pilot lights, sunken and dull in comparison. Another sleepless night over and done.
Dwight collapsed back onto the warmth of his bed. His heart pounding in his chest. He put one calm hand over his chest in an attempt to sooth the vital organ. He felt the blood racing beneath this fingertips. Countless red streams rushing beneath this skin.
He told himself that he was still here. That he hadn't been sucked back down the guttural void of the nightmare. He drew another breath, savoring the taste of freshly vacuumed carpet and warm pancakes. Dwight's mother has been cooking breakfast for a few days straight and the smell has purmiated the house, not that Dwight was complaining.
He flopped to his side. The bedroom door was slightly opened allowing the warm whiffs of the morning greet him. A scene with his family gathered around a small wooden table, plates full of pancakes and warm syrup waited for him at the bottom of the stairs. And he dreaded it.
There was nothing wrong with the scene itself, just the people in it. Dwight could feel a distance between everyone that they could never understand. His parents wore their smiles as flimsy rubber masks, pretending that the following year has never happened. Everyday it's "Morning son," this or "Hey sport," that. Every sad day, every painful memory they endured in his absent scrubbed away.
Derek's smile was the only genuine one in the house. Despite being kicked out of his room he still found time to show off his pearly whites. Guilt gnawed at Dwight's very being. Like his mere presence has robbed his step-sibling of something important. A life maybe? A full happy life with parents that loved you and only you unconditionally? Dwight couldn't help but think that he was inadvertently stealing that away from Derek.
"I wonder when I'll get my own room now that your back." He asked Dwight the other day. He spoke with such certainty that made Dwight envious. Certainty was something he has been estranged for the apparently year long nightmare. Hearing it now felt like cheating in the game he escaped from.
They had redecorated his bedroom to make it Dwight's. Painted the walls a calming blue, torn down the trophies and the photos and stuffed them to some hidden corner of the house. The signed jersey remained at Dwight's behest. Even now Derek gazed upon the cheap cloth with an undeserved reverence that melted away any content Dwight had.
The growl of his stomach told Dwight it was time to eat. He was slowly getting use to normal things. In the… place he never had to eat, drink or general take care of himself outside of dodging flying hatchets and rusty blades. He never realized he had lost those common habits until now. Another thing that It stole from him. What terrified Dwight, was that he didn't even notice for the longest time.
What else could It have taken?
Dragging his feet across the carpet, Dwight walked downstairs to the kitchen. The smell of warm pancakes filled his nostrils and churned his stomach. His mother was standing over the stove wearing an apron that was too ugly to be anything other than a gift from Dwight's father.
"Dwight!" She exclaimed as if seeing him for the first time in years! "Good morning sweetie! How did you sleep?"
Her overly cheery nature has since overstayed its welcome. Dwight could see her lips twitch to force a smile. Her eyes two flashlights turned on bright. Her whole face was positively beaming, making Dwight squint and want to grab a second pair of sunglasses.
"I'm fine, mom." Dwight lied through his teeth. "Pancakes again?"
Dwight's mother nodded her head. "Just the way you like them dear!"
Dwight grabbed a plate and offered it to the self proclaimed chief. She scooped up the pancake and flopped it onto his plate.
"Your brother is sitting by the table. He's already taken out the syrup and orange juice." She turned her head. "Derek! Share the syrup with your brother!" She cheered.
"Yes mom!" Derek replied in a much quieter voice.
"That's good deary. Enjoy your pancakes son!"
Derek was sitting alone with his stack of syrup soaked flapjacks. He's seat was pushed to the far end of the table, far away from where their mother and father would be eating. His father waved him over.
"Right here, son! Come sit by your old man!" He called as he set his plate down on the old oak table.
Dwight sat down beside him. He tried not to look at the horrible forced smile. His ears winced every time the middle aged man spoke.
"Did you sleep well, sport? Have any good dreams?" he asked.
"No, I'm fine." Dwight said dryly.
Dwight couldn't find it in himself to break the picturesque scene. Compared to the place it was perfect. No one swinging from bloody hooks or crouched knee deep in dirt and mud. He was home, but it didn't feel like home.
Dwight was being pulled by an invisible string. The shock of leaving helped him ignore it, but lately he felt the draw of that place. It felt wrong to be here, like he didn't belong. An incoherent whisper telling him that being happy, being here will never be rightfully his. He belonged somewhere else.
"Good to hear! Say," his father leaned in close. "Your mother and I have been talking and we think it would be a good idea for you to go back to school soon."
"What?" Dwight almost fell out of his chair, catching himself just short of falling over. The bottle of syrup next to him fell over, oozing a puddle of dark amber in Dwight's plate.
"We knew you'd be excited!" His mother chirped from the kitchen.
"That's our Dwight! Ready to get back in action after his break! You have studies to keep up with! A lot of catching up to do!"
"Dad, you want me to go back there after-"
"After your break!" Dwight's father stuffed another mouthful of pancakes into his mouth. "You want to get back to work as soon as possible to catch up on your studies."
"Your father's right sweetie!" His mother chirped. "You don't want to fall behind, do you?"
"Could we talk about-" Dwight began before his father swallowed his meal and cut him off.
"Talk about your future? Of course! You're going to need a job for valuable work experience. You know they won't hire anybody with job experience. A young man such as yourself will need to start from the bottom and work your way up!"
"Oh sweetie, I bet everyone at your old job misses you! You should apply for your old job at the PizzaWhat!"
The PizzaWhat. The last place he went to before his "break"; as his parents put it. Dwight was shaking just thinking about it. The dark sky, the long stretching branches, the smell of moonshine over the roaring campfire. One sip was enough to send Dwight tumbling into that nightmare. Blades cut through flesh, beads of blood soaks the wound, and the cries of fresh victims on the meat hook! An endless slaughter almost comical in its absurdity made reality. His reality.
"No!" Dwight suddenly screamed a blood curdling scream. He could taste the moonshine on his lips. He could see the darkness shrouding his vision and the claws of that terrible nameless thing drag him away into the fog shrouded trees. He fell back in his chair, banging his head on the dull smelling carpet.
His father jumped from his chair, his mother rushed from the kitchen still holding a pan of half cooked batter. Derek nearly fell out of his chair. He coughed up a small sip of milk he was in the middle of swallowing all over his pancakes.
All eyes were on him. The immense weight of expectation crushed Dwight further down into the floor as if to bury him. He pulled himself up. The sleeve around his arms fell back to reveal the grand collection of scars he earned in Its realm. His parents shied away, advertising their gaze to the table and the now syrup soaked pancakes clumped together in a soggy stack.
"I don't think I should focus on… a jobrightnowthankyou!" He threw his grenade of words and sealed his mouth shut. He wrapped his arms around himself and forced a slow steady breath against his panicked heart.
His mother hugged her trembling child. His father put his hand on his shoulder and Derek got up to stand beside him. Dwight flinched at their touch. It was too warm and compassionate to be real.
"Honey," his mother began "We know what you've been through. But we need you to get your life back on track. It's time to move on."
"Your mother is right, son. You can't dwell on this forever."
They're lying to him. They don't know a damn thing. They weren't there. They didn't have to leave their loved ones bleeding and dying at the hands of those things. They never felt the cold embrace of death or to be the plaything of It.
They clung desperately for a sense of normality. They want Dwight to swallow his pain and wear the same mask they do. Bury it so far down that they hope he forgets about. But he won't. Its memory stained Dwight's brain as a permanent scar.
"I'm sorry. I can't." Dwight ran from the scene, up the stairs and closed his bedroom door behind him. He barricaded himself on to the door and waited. He waited for his family to come and plead for him to come out. He waited for his friends to knock on the door and tell him that they're okay. He waited for Meg to tell him to get ready for the killer's chase. He waited for Jake to tell him how to escape with a bear trap around you leg. He waited for Claudette to remind him of what plants treat burns and which treat cuts. He waited for the three of them to help him back up and assure him that they would escape together. He waited for the fog to roll him to remind Dwight that there is no escape.
"Holy shit! I'm lost!" Frank cursed to himself. "It's a straight line. One road from there," He briefly looks back to where he believed the town of Weeks to be "and there!" He turns back ahead of him, where hopefully Fairfield would be.
Frank's necessity to stay off the road proved to be a pain in the ass. He lost track of the days spent wandering these woods. Again he was reminded of Susie. She wouldn't have gotten lost. Julie and Joey would be laughing if they were here. Big bad Frank lost in the woods like a lost child. If Frank could be thankful for anything, it would be that they couldn't witness his blunders.
You idiot. You had one job! Go in a straight line! And you somehow found a way to mess it up!
It didn't help Frank that his head was throbbing. His stomach did back flips with every step. Frank held his swollen shoulder, poorly bandaged with scraps of clothing. Not the best, but considering the nearest hospital was miles away and the ones that won't ask questions even farther; he was content to keep going like this.
No. No this won't do at all! Where's a convenient car when you need one? Hell, I'd settle for some poor kid's bike. Knock the little twerp over and ride away!
A trail of blood snaked down his side and soaking the side of his hoodie. The scarlet serpent trailed down and forked off into tendrils of red down his pants leg. An invisible leech draining him of every last drop.
Frank's legs turned to rubber and he fell face first on the forest floor. The world was spinning. Frank's head felt like it was full of hot air. He was sweating buckets.
"I don't need them…" He muttered to no one. "I don't need any of them…"
Frank wrapped the lie around himself like a child to his blanket. He didn't need any of them. He didn't need them to deal with the guards. He didn't need them to get information from that nurse lady. Frank did all of that himself and was still kicking to show for it!
The stubborn teenager refused to close his eyes. That's what they'd want him to do: lie down and die. They'd want him to be the failure they always saw him as. They'd find his body on the cold dirt and laugh at him.
He could hear them now. Susie would cackle in that banshee voice of hers. Joey would pity him, but he was good at keeping his thoughts to himself like a good little dog. Julie… Julie might be the only one that would weep for him. Not in front of the others, but in those sparse, private moments they use to share. Surely she'd miss him, right? Or if It hasn't taken them away.
Frank laid down in the dirt. His eyes grew heavier with each passing moment. Right then and there, he knew that he failed It. He wasn't worthy. He couldn't even cross the street without fucking it up somehow. He was nothing without his Legion and they were gone.
Dwight waited for his parents to run out of steam. They talked to him for hours while he said nothing. There was nothing to say. Behind muffled wood they pleaded and they begged until the day grew long and they returned to their mundane routines. Dwight found himself in a familiar setting: alone.
The sun sank behind the trees in a pool of pink and amber lights. The last rays of light reached out for Dwight to fruitlessly hold. He almost thought to wave goodbye to his bright yellow friend. The only reminder that this wasn't some sick dream that he'd wake up from. The only thing keeping him tethered to reality.
"Dwight?" Derek whispered in the dark. "Are you there?" He didn't answer. Dwight couldn't form the words to speak, much less to him. "Can I ask you something? Why are Mom and Dad acting weird?"
Wait? He saw it too? It wasn't just the paranoid remnants he brought back from before? Dwight opened the door just a crack. Derek's small round face on the other side. Somehow Dwight could see that smile even in the dark.
"You've noticed it too?" He asked in a near inaudible whisper. Derek nodded his head.
Dwight opened the door further. No one was watching. No one was listening.
"Get in." He said as he ushered Derek in his room. Dwight returned to his position as a barricade to the bedroom door.
"They've been acting funny."
"I know! You see it too?" Dwight asked.
"Uh-huh. They keep smiling all the time, they're always talking about how nice the day is and Mom won't stop making pancakes for breakfast!"
Dwight's stomach groaned at the mere mention of another grueling stack of pancakes.
"Did they act differently before I… I came back?"
Derek nodded his head.
"They were always sad. They didn't talk as much as they do now. Mom always made me bagged lunch for school and Dad would always drive me to my games. There was always something to do. We played a lot of games."
Dwight remembered taking trips like those. When he was about Derek's age, his father did his damndest to get Dwight into sports; any sport. He tried them all: basketball, football, lacrosse and Dwight didn't last long in any of them. Not for his lack of trying, in fact he gave it his all in every single game. For one reason or another he failed every single one.
"I bet that was fun." Dwight sighed. "I'm sure Dad is really proud of you."
Derek leaned on the bed frame beside Dwight. "He was. He likes to brag to people about my games. I just want to have fun, but he really cares about winning."
Winning. Dwight hasn't heard that word in so long. The very idea was almost foreign to him now. Winning. There was no winning in that place. You either got out or you ended up on a hook.
Dwight cradled his head in his hands. The slightest thought provoking horrible memories he'd sooner forget. The sharp shadow drifting off the window took the form of a razor kitchen knife. The slight whistle of the wind left Dwight expecting to hear a familiar wailing bell. The boy couldn't even escape in silence. His ears attuned to hear a certain lullaby from the faintest of whispers.
Like a soldier back from war, part of him was still there. Trapped entirely in a prison of his own creation. A padded cell stuffed with memories that any sane psychologist would offer all sorts of medicine and therapies to forget.
"Dwight?" Derek asked with soft boiled eyes. "You okay? You're just staring at me? Did I say something bad?"
Derek. The boy was innocent and kind. If only he knew. Dwight opened his mouth as if to say something, but the words never reached his lips. There was an openness about Derek. Something vulnerable and naive on how he shared his thoughts and feelings. He seemed happy enough to do so. This was Dwight's chance to ease the burden. To tell someone, anyone and maybe he'd believe him. A real living being that would believe him.
He felt that supernatural pull from the corner of the room. Like a string pulling at the base of his skull to the corner of the room. The corner where he hid that journal burdened with the worst he'd witnessed and experienced. It would be so easy to dig it out of the wall and just give it to Derek. Have him read it, have him understand it, then maybe… maybe…
Dwight didn't know what would happen. This need to share his pain, he didn't know if it would ease it or make it better. All he knew was that he had to share it. Perhaps in telling someone, simply talking about it would justify Dwight's feelings on the matter. If someone else knew, then he wouldn't be looked at with wide eyes and nervous glances. So he wouldn't be seen as a piece out of place.
But if he did chose to show Derek the journal, if he chose to imitate that openness his step brother is always flaunting; would he believe him?
"Um, Derek, could I ask you something?"
"Yea? What do you need?"
"What did Mom and Dad say why I was gone for so long? What did they tell you?"
Derek's happy demeanor crumbled. His eyes grew wet with tears as they held back the puddles behind them. "They said… they said you got lost in the woods and never came back. How'd you get lost for so long?"
"It's a… a long story…" Dwight said, a little deflated.
"And those scars, did you get those in the woods?"
The woods. It was always in the woods. Every place It created, every twisted sandbox made was always nestled deep in a thick layer of dead trees. Even in the supposed buildings you could catch glimpses of the outside to revealing nothing but an endless plane of forest surrounding you.
Like bars in a jail cell they kept you trapped, caged to Its whim. Run all you want, you can't escape it. There were always something in your way and something close behind ready to drag you back kicking, screaming and bleeding.
"Yes…" Dwight confessed. He kept his gaze straight ahead of him, unable to look down at his own arms. The memories were flooding his brain so fast that Dwight feared he'd drown in them. "I don't want to talk about it."
"Okay." Derek sighed. "Do you think I can sleep here tonight? I got practice tomorrow and I can't sleep well on the couch." The little athlete rubbed his back, arching it back to a loud audible crack.
"Sure, Derek. You can sleep in the bed, I'm just going to stay down here on the floor."
Derek lifted himself up to the bed. The window giving him a full view of the dusk outside. He swaddled himself in the bed sheets, but not before letting his gaze drifted over the hung jersey proudly printed with the Fairfield name.
"Goodnight, bro." Derek said as he drifted off to sleep.
Dwight was taken aback by this. His heart stopped for a brief moment. Bro. The word seemed right. They were brothers after all, regardless of blood relations.
"Goodnight… bro." Dwight smiled as night fell upon them. For some reason it didn't seem that bad this time. The night was calm and the terror was somewhere far away. For the first time in a long while, Dwight felt anchored. He was here.
Frank laid down in the dirt. The forest swirling around him. He felt colder than he ever did on the slopes of Ormond. He was in the eye of a tornado that he couldn't control. Self deprecating words burned into his brain.
Failure. Loser. Vermin. Pathetic.
He couldn't escape them. They taunted him in their voices. His Legion taunting him.
You couldn't even chase down a loser like Fairfield.
"That voice…" Frank muttered. His voice weak. A small puff of steam puffed off his breath and abandon him only in the night
I can't believe I ever fell for something as pathetic as you.
"Julie…" The quiet girl in a small town and a tough thug from the outside. Something straight out of a fairy-tale. They were made for each other, right?
What happened to me was all your fault!
"No…" Frank moaned. "There was nothing I could do…. How was I supposed to know..?"
The sun was swallowed up by the trees. The open night sky held countless stars all staring down at him. The cool night air wrapped around his already numb, blood soaked fingers. The memory of their first kill that fateful night still fresh in his head.
No. He refused it. He refused to lay down and die. A fire burned at his very core, stoked by a dark fury buried within him.
Frank felt a bolt of lightning shot through him. This energy, this adrenaline he hasn't felt since that one fateful night. He remembered it clearly as if it were yesterday. The store, the cleaner's body laying limb on the floor, the car drive up to the Mount Ormond and the horrible storm. The violent cocktail of fear, rage with a dash of thrill.
He yearned for that feeling again. That storm of emotions; he wanted more than anything in the world. That the sleeping beast will wake up.
Frank pushed himself up. Brittle branches and old leaves crushed under his shoe with a deep crunch. The pain in his shoulder reduced to an inconvenient numbness. Any worries of blood loss or infection were dashed away. He had one goal, one mission. Everything, even his own body was of no consequence.
Something tugged from inside his skull. This invisible pull setting him on the right path. Frank smiled beneath his mask.
It was here, that faceless entity. It had to be. Nothing else could explain this tugging inside Frank's head. He let out a silent cheer. He knew it wouldn't abandon him. It wouldn't leave him for dead. He was worthy.
He marched forth. The world was still spinning. His head felt an odd weightlessness like it was replaced by a balloon without Frank noticing. How long was he out? How much blood did he lose?
Frank heard the distant whoosh of passing cars and honking trucks. He was close to the road. In the veil of night he could get away with getting closer. The teenager's very blood acting as a twisted camouflage. Perfect.
Frank crept closer to the sparse road. He crouched down in the tall grass. Bright cones of light all flying by in one direction: away from Weeks.
Filled with renewed vigor, Frank melted back into the dark woods. He hid behind the trees to be just out of sight from any passing vehicle and started walking. He could see the faint lights of the suburban town in the distance. The town where Fairfield supposedly resided.
Frank's heart pounded in his chest like a war drum. He's chance of proving himself was near. He would show them. He'd show them all! He'd prove himself to It, he'd prove himself to his Legion that Frank didn't need any of them!
Frank's walk broke out into a mad sprint. Brittle, low hanging branches shattered in the wake of his path. He was a shark that smelled blood in the water. Nothing would stop him or stand in his way. He'd make it by dawn.