A/N: Hello, everyone. I hope you are all doing well and staying safe out there.

About several weeks ago, I decided to share Safe's original storyline as a rewrite/repost. However, this version doesn't involve any bizarre subplots like magic, witchcraft, or a hidden villain. Well, there is a plot twist later in the story. This is simply Ruth's journey searching for safety and worth in her dark world. Some of the chapters will seem similar, but I reverted back to a lot of original content that I omitted from the first draft. There is also new material that is intermingled.

The title "Terrified" is a song by Atreyu. I was listening to my music on shuffle, and this caught my attention. While listening to the lyrics and the chorus, it made me think about my OC's situation and desires. I was already struggling with a title as I had a list of fifteen possible names until I came across this and felt strongly about it.

Anyway, enjoy the read!

Reviews are always appreciated.

What is it like to be safe? And what would it feel like?

There are plenty of places you could probably call your safe place, you know, your sanctuary.

Your bedroom is one of them. You can easily lock the door to keep your problems and everyone in your life out.

Your friend's house is another. They will have a better chance to console you and provide false beliefs things will get better.

A relative's house would be the perfect place, too. At least they will keep you safe from everything if they could, that is.

The school will be an exceptional place if you don't get caught sneaking in, of course. One of the classrooms could be your bedroom for the night or maybe even more.

But what if you didn't have a place?

You will be vulnerable to the world for your bruises and scars left exposed for everyone to see. Those saline tears of yours never seem to stop falling from your eyes as the world lashes at you without any remorse. They wouldn't care about the emotional or physical pain you're in. Where would you go if this were the case?

That's how Ruth Greyson feels. The physical and emotional torment is evident upon her soft, delicate features. Her shoulder-length strawberry blonde hair is a matted mess, and fair creamy skin is covered in red welts and scars along her arms. What little skin was visible of her legs has blotches of palm-sized red marks. These red marks are more so located at her ankles and are slightly swollen.

Ruth is thirteen years of age and a victim of child abuse for a long time now. It's pushing fourteen years. During the years she could remember, not once was she able to find her safe place. She always ran. Ruth would disappear for hours only to return to the hell hole called home.

Now, here's a stickler of a question. Do you think someone like Ruth is worth your time?

Just so you know, she's known as the Bastard Kid here in Derry.

Why is that, you ask?

Well, here's a quick and blunt fact. Here mother, Jordan, is a whore. She was sleeping around with several men during her prime years and wound up pregnant with Ruth. As you would have guessed, Jordan didn't know who the father was when she found out. So, her poor life choices are why poor Ruth has this callous title to her name.

Because of this sobriquet title, Ruth is also bullied by her peers. It's relentless at times, too. There hasn't been a single day where Ruth is not subjected to torment from others. It doesn't matter if it is cruel namecalling or pushing her around to the point of scathing her flesh. There were occasions Ruth was pranked or heinous acts that left her in tears.

In short, Ruth Greyson is shunned by her community, an outcast confined within these four invisible walls.

What's worse, she can't turn to anyone for comfort.

She goes through her misfortunes alone.

Its near sundown. The orange glow from the big ball at the horizon blazed in the distance, illuminating Ruth's hair like fire. It's a stark contrast from the massive black shadow of the Neibolt House behind her, which made Ruth feel out of place and vulnerable. Even when she found a place to possibly hide from all the bullshit temporarily, something always made her stand out.

Ruth sat on the steps of the brooding house, hugging herself tightly from the most recent outburst from her supposed father, lashing out at her. The muscles of her arms are still sore from his massive fists pounding at her. Her throat is still scratchy from screaming, but the one thing that bothers Ruth the most is her head. Her father, Jonathan, harshly slammed her head onto the living room floor. He even landed a punch, which should have knocked her out. Except, her willingness to fight him off was greater and gave him a good swift kick to his groin. Ruth then momentarily thrown him off, punted him in the stomach for good measure before escaping and came here of all places.

Usually, people avoided this house at all costs. It is sinister to be around. Ruth didn't see it that way, at least not anymore. She, too, found the home on 29 Neibolt Street to be eerie and foreboding. Now it seems to be the one place she could hide from the world and stay there, at least for a while. Her tears finally ceased, and all that remained was the puffy redness around her eyes. A sudden shaky sigh escaped her lips as an attempt to calm herself after what had happened. She must calm down and quickly, for that matter, as the events that led up to this point is beginning to alter her mindset.

Has this gone far enough? Ruth thought to herself.

Her head hung low to rid herself of these dark thoughts consuming her mind. She wants it all to end. How can she go about in ending it all, though? The cop way out or fight through it and talk to someone who might help her. She thought the first option was better of the two. Who would want to listen to her and help the girl out anyway? What exactly can she do to rid herself of these dark and selfish thoughts?

A thought did come to mind, but a sudden creak from a floorboard alerted Ruth. She snapped her jeweled eyes of amber and hazel to the house behind her, scanning for a possible intruder.

"Hello?" Ruth called.

Her voice is low, refined, and silvery. It's a bit mature for her age. She even looks a couple of years older upon first glance. She has freckles adorning the bridge of her nose and dusted along her cheekbones. Her thin pink lips parted slightly as she gazed into shadows. When Ruth saw nothing, she shrugged then turned her attention back to the blazing orange ball.

She heaves a heavy sigh from her lungs before Ruth came to the conclusion that she should probably start heading back to her supposed home. Her father should have recovered by now and is most likely drunk from drinking away his pain and problems. Her mother should be returning home, too, and is probably loaded with more drugs or doped up to the point of killing herself. Oh, what a beautiful place to be.

Ruth gulped slightly before standing from the rickety step with some difficulty. The welts on her ankles throbbed still from Jonathan's large hands holding her down. She heaves a sigh then started forwards when the floor inside the house groaned unpleasantly, making her stop. Her chest constricted to hold back a breath as Ruth remained still in her spot. She listened to the noises coming from behind her.

Ruth is not alone.

She slowly glances over her shoulder to the dark open door, making it difficult to see in. After a moment, a figure crept out from the shadows and towards Ruth. Alarmed but not quite frightened, she watched the large shape come closer. By the time they stood in the doorway, Ruth's just stares at them blankly.

"Hello Ruthie," a low baritone voice that was of her father's echoed in her eardrums. He stared at Ruth with a mocking grin that seemed like his own.

Ruth inwardly cringed at the name her father had given her. She hates that name. Ruth dared not to say anything in return, though, and remained quiet.

"Aww, what's the matter, Ruthie," he started again as he took a step out of the dark home in an odd fashion, which Ruth noticed.

She watched him step onto the porch with the same grin plastered on his face. He bent low to come eye level of the unaffected teenager, showing off his teeth that looked different than what they were supposed to be. She can tell from their mannerisms and how they spoke the person is attempting to impersonate Jonathan.

"Cat got your tongue?"

Typically, when children encounter something they can't quite explain, they have one of two options: flight or fight. If she screamed, someone would be alerted of her trespassing and that Ruth is in some form of danger. Ruth didn't want to draw unnecessary attention or run like a bat out of hell. Without warning, Ruth slugs him, popping the imposter in the mouth and nose. They grunted in surprise from impact and doubled over while covering their face.

"Ow! What the hell, kid?"

Ruth ignores them with a sharp turn of her heel. She doesn't want to deal with them or whatever consequences Ruth might face. She already had a run-in with her father, who gave her some bruises and doesn't want anymore. So, maybe hitting the guy who impersonated Jonathan wasn't the best idea. For all Ruth knew, he could come up from behind and attack her, which didn't happen surprisingly.

Nonetheless, it happened, and she doesn't feel sorry. They tried to frighten her when Ruth is not easily scared anymore and is not stupid. Ruth knows Jonathan won't come out looking for her, especially since she saw him at home. There is no way he will get here before Ruth did. The only way he could is to drive at an illegal speed and took a different route, which would take a little longer, as well.

She stumped down the worn-out steps with ease then stormed down the weed-covered walkway to the wrought iron fence that is supposed to guard the house. Once she stepped on the pavement, Ruth stops to peer over her shoulder at the impersonator with a scowl. It falls once her eyes land on the open doorway, and saw someone else standing on the rotted black porch. Confusion overwhelmed Ruth as she fixated her gaze on a clown. He looked like the lovechild of Clarabelle from the Howdy Doody Show and Bozo the Clown. His ginger hair blazed a fire engine red against the setting sun and wore in an old Victorian silver clown suit with furry red pom-poms for buttons and a frilly collar. There is a forced smile on his face and is wide enough for her to see his buck teeth against his crimson lips. His gloved right hand has a dozen or more bright red balloons, floating gently above his bulbous head.

Hmm, I wonder who that could be, she pondered.

Ruth couldn't help but stare at the clown, genuinely confused and strangely fascinated by his appearance. Her head tilted slightly when she acknowledged the clown is eyeing her hungrily. A thin eyebrow quirked up at this, too, but Ruth remained rooted to her spot while watching the stranger. As Ruth observed him from afar, she got this odd feeling running through her bones. This sense of tranquility clouded her mind as if trying to lure her back to the house. She wasn't quite sure why.

"What's the matter, Ruthie? Am I not real enough for you?" the clown asked as it shook his head, causing bells that Ruth couldn't see to jingle.

For some strange reason, Ruth liked the sound of those invisible bells. There may be something disturbing about this clown where she feels slightly intimidated by him, but he also seems approachable. It must be this particular childlike demeanor about him. She quickly scans the road for anyone watching her before regarding the clown. He remained to stand on the porch with his forced goofy smile.

"No, you're real, and my name is Ruth. May I ask who you are?" Ruth asked as she crept back towards the house.

She is cautious not to get too close if the clown decided to go all maniac on her. Ruth noticed his eyes went from a menacing gold to a sparkling blue like tropical waters. His goofy yet devious smile became extra jovial as if he is putting on an act to entice the child.

"Who am I? Why I'm Pennywise the Dancing the Clown." The clown named Pennywise replied with a little skip. He mimics a little dance, which made the invisible bells to jingle again.

A faint, bashful smile formed on Ruth's lips as she again hesitantly approaches Pennywise.

Pennywise noticed but is quick to ease her discomfort. "You can come closer, I won't bite."

Hard, Pennywise thought to himself as he watched the girl approach.

"I have a balloon for you. Maybe even two if you come just a little further," Pennywise added.

He watched Ruth take a step forward but instead sat down on the walkway with her knees up to her chest. Pennywise inwardly growled, frustrated with the girl. Although he had to give the girl Ruth credit as she seemed smarter and audacious. He's never been hit by a kid who had a good right hook before. Typically, children are naïve and would listen to the stranger than their own self-consciousness. Not this one, though, so this Ruth girl is going to be a challenge.

Ruth eyed Pennywise from a fair distance as she settled herself down on the pavement, watching every move he made. She's intelligent enough to know the clown is trying to lure her into coming close for a reason. Ruth made it apparent she is not like the others.

"Sorry, but if you don't mind, I'm going to sit here. I'm not too trusting of people." Ruth explained halfheartedly.

"Sage advice, indeed. I suppose your parents taught you well."

Ruth's features hardened. Her parents never gave her any lick of advice, let alone taught her anything about life. The only thing they taught her is to stay still when there were beating up on her.

"No, it's my own." She answered tightly. Ruth hugged herself close as if she were trying to hide the scars that adorned her heart.

Pennywise noted the tightness in her voice. He also noticed the bruises and scars on her arms, even her bloodied lip.

An abused child, Pennywise thought.

He studied the girl thoughtfully for a moment, noticing how small and frail she appeared. He could use what little he knows about Ruth to his advantage. He could give her an alternative that she would not be able to refuse. Before he could open his mouth, Ruth spoke again that snapped him out of his thoughts.

"Do you actually live here?" Ruth asked him curiously.

She looked up at the dark wooden house then back at Pennywise, who seemed confused with the question from his almost nonexistent perked brow.

"The house has been vacant for years. I didn't think anyone lived here anymore. So, I apologize if I intruded as I needed someplace to hide for a while. And I'm sorry for striking you, I shouldn't have done that. I react differently when it comes to being uneasily frightened."

"Why?" Pennywise asked, truly confused with this exchange.

Well, this is interesting, Pennywise thought.

"Why, what?"

For not being easily frightened, that's why! Pennywise wanted to blurt but thought better of it. He needs to get Ruth more comfortable, not guarded.

"Why are you hiding?"

Ruth's features harden again, and bottom lip trembled, the events from earlier replayed through her mind again. She can't even rub away the feel of Jonathan's hands on her ankles as they burned still.

"I really don't want to talk about it. I just needed to get away."

Strangely, Pennywise didn't like the tone she gave off. There is a lot of hurt and anger laced in her voice and lacked life. He observed her some more, noticing the lone tear trailing down her swollen and bruised cheek, causing her to wince. He thought back to helping the girl escape it all. Pennywise smiles softly then slowly held a red balloon out for Ruth, who looked upon him again glumly and curiously.

"It can all go away. Have a balloon, it floats."

Ruth stares at him with a frown. She didn't have to ask what he was implying because she knew. Ruth had thought about ending it all on many occasions, so she had to wonder if the clown had read her mind. The offer sounded too good not to pass up, but is it really the answer?

She intensely eyed the balloon as it started towards her, creeping close that she could see her reflection. The longer Ruth sat there, the offer became so much easier to accept, especially since she could smell something salty like the ocean. She began to hear seagulls squawking and waves crashing on the sandy beach. Is that really what Ruth wants? A place where she could actually see and feel freedom from her horrid life? A small exhale escaped her lungs as she slowly reached for the white string that dragged along the walkway.

Ruth focused on the balloon in front of her, oblivious of the excited glee on Pennywise's face and the bright gold eyes. He watched as the transfixed Ruth reached for the string, readying himself to pounce on the girl and drag her into the depths of the house. Pennywise will make her scared and devour her whole, ending that horrid life she has been living for who knows how long. He anticipated the taste of her fear that he couldn't contain himself much longer. Pennywise crotched low like a lion on the hunt and was about to spring forward when there was a sudden beeping sound.

Confused, maybe even a little curious and irritated, he searched for the source. Pennywise eventually located the beeping sound coming from the child. He could have leaped at her, but Pennywise noticed Ruth blinking herself out of the trance. She looked perplexed for a moment before realization crept on her features. She glances down at her left wrist and curses. Ruth quickly stood then looked over in his direction, finding him in his crouched position.

When Ruth heard something beeping, she immediately returned to the present by blinking away the feeling of peace. Of course, Ruth was confused but realized quickly that it was the watch on her wrist. Once she looked down and saw the time of six forty-five, Ruth abruptly stood.

"Shit," she mutters under her breath.

She needs to leave and quick.

Ruth looked over at the house towards the clown to say goodbye to him. She is taken aback to find Pennywise in his crouched position who looked rather comical than intimidating and has this deer caught in the headlights expression on him. She couldn't help but stare at him the same way while trying to fight an amused smirk and giggle. Ruth breathed heavily to shove it away before she speaking.

"Oh, um, sorry, but I need to get going. There's a seven o'clock curfew because of all the missing children, and I would hate to be caught out here. It was nice meeting you, Pennywise. Hopefully, I will get to see you again." Ruth replied, then started for the street, already dreading going back home.

She glanced over her shoulder at the clown, remembering every thread and detail about him from the wild orange hairs on his head to the black laced and silver boots. Ruth scanned his form then flashed him an approving, friendly smile.

"Awesome costume, by the way. It's pretty freaky and cool as hell. Bye now!"

Ruth turns with a wave then rushed down the street.

Pennywise puckers his lips, and barely noticeable brows scrunched. He snapped to his feet with hands balled at his side, growling. He opened his mouth to yell out, but the girl disappeared from view within minutes.

Pennywise fumed that he didn't get to pounce on the girl when he had the chance. He would just have to find another child to prey on for his next meal. He eyed the empty street with a curious thought running through his mind. Why did the girl say it was nice meeting him? Why would she even want to see him again? And she liked his disguise?

He looks down at himself, frowning that the girl Ruth wasn't frightened by his clown form. Pennywise hopes that if she does show up back here, he would need to be in a different disguise and do her in. That is if this was the only time he would ever see Ruth. Even though he saw the landscape of scars on her flesh, with the amount of dread and lack of life in her eyes, the girl will do the deed herself. With that disturbing thought plaguing his mind, Pennywise drifted back into the darkness.

Darkness had fallen by the time Ruth returned home. She cautiously inched the front door open, trying her best not to make a sound. Ruth knows her parents are asleep after inducing themselves with alcohol or something that gave them a high, and it's best not to wake them. It does help that Ruth memorized their patterns over the years yet also remembered where in the house they laid.

Jonathan would be drunk and passed out across the bed in the master bedroom, which is at the end. Jordan would be drugged up with some sort of narcotic, maybe even drunk, and possibly passed out in the living room. Which the living room is just off to the right of the front entryway. Ruth has to pass the living room to get to her bedroom, which is adjacent to a small bathroom, the kitchen, and the dining room, not like they ever eat together.

Ruth slipped through the narrow opening then gently closed it behind her. She peers around the corner, looking into the living room to find her lump of a mother passed out on the dirty couch. Her mother's dingy and food-stained pink blouse is covered at the front with a putrid yellowish-tan vomit. A cigarette still burned in between her fingers in one hand while the other rested on the armrest.

Ruth waited a moment to make sure the woman is indeed asleep. When there was no sign of movement, Ruth then looked down at her watch to see that it was fifteen minutes after seven. She's late getting back. If her mother were awake, she would have a bird. Ruth did not intend to arrive this late. If she hadn't taken a detour to avoid being seen by Henry Bowers and his gang, let alone the police patrolling the streets, Ruth would have been home on time. She looked over the sleeping form of her mother again before silently making her way towards her room.

She wasn't three feet from the opening when Ruth heard a female call out to her in a very groggy tone.

"Ruth?"

Ruth stiffens with dread overwhelming her to the point of shutting her eyes tightly.

Damnit! She yelled to herself.

She thought her mother was completely asleep but thought wrong. Ruth slowly backed up to the opening of the living room then gazed inside to see her mother sluggishly sitting up.

"Come here," her mother demanded groggily.

Ruth compliantly started forwards, gulping panic down that bubbled in her stomach. When she approached the couch, Ruth stood inches away from the edge as she could smell the vomit ridden blouse.

"You're late getting home. Why is that?"

"I'm sorry, I lost track of time," she responded quickly.

Ruth is not stupid. If she told Jordan about the clown and talked to them, it would be a backhand to the mouth. She also didn't want to say anything about taking a detour to avoid Henry Bowers and his lackeys, Belch and Victor. Granted, Ruth doesn't have a problem with Belch since he treats her like a brother should. He at least looks out for her when others don't.

"Lost track of time, my ass."

Jordan leaned forward then grabbed Ruth's arm, gripping it harshly to pull her forwards. She forced Ruth closer to her blouse that is covered in vomit, making the girl inwardly gag.

"Let's try this again, shall we? Why are you late?" Jordan demanded again, her groggy tone slowly returning to her normal fruity yet orotund voice. It's quite soothing, honestly.

"I had to make a detour." Ruth quickly replied, trying her very best not to throw up on her mother.

"Why?"

"To avoid being seen by Henry Bowers and his goons, along with not being seen by the police."

"The Mullet Head," Jordan paused for a moment to look Ruth over, examining her for any marks that might have been caused by the boy.

She knows Henry Bowers has an odd attraction towards Ruth and heard through the grapevine that he groped Ruth, which he also attempted to leave his mark on her. Needless to say, Jordan hates the kid.

"He didn't see you, right?"

"He didn't see me."

"That's a smart girl," Jordan complimented for once. "He and his father are the worse."

Maybe not as a much as you and Jonathan, Ruth thought to herself.

"The cops didn't see you either, right?"

"Right."

"Good girl," Jordan replied rather softly.

She shoved Ruth away from her blouse, forcing her to stand slightly bent forward now.

Jordan watched Ruth for a moment through thick strands of her flaxen blonde hair. She waited to see if Ruth would falter in relief from not being punished. However, Ruth remained stone-faced. Wanting to make Ruth cringe, Jordan brought her still burning cigarette up to her daughter's arm and smothered it into her flesh.

The burning sensation did hurt, but Ruth kept her poker face from faltering to not show any sign of discomfort or pain. She knows her mother gets joy out of her pain and would only feel satisfied if she let out a whimper or at least a strangled scream. This, however, is nothing compared to all the other times, Jordan tortured her. Her mother has a pocketknife that she keeps on hand and has actually used it on her.

Jordan frowned when she didn't get the result she wanted. She pulled the cigarette away from Ruth's creamy flesh and tossed it onto the floor. She continued to grip Ruth's arm as she rummaged through her pockets for her knife. When she finally located it and sprung the blade out, she slid the knife across Ruth's right wrist, carefully avoiding any major arteries. Ruth gulped hardly before a small whimper escaped her lips when the blade was close to her thumb.

Jordan smiled crookedly when she heard Ruth make that sound. It is more intoxicating than the narcotics she consumed earlier and the three beers on top of it. Jordan could tell from how tense Ruth is that the girl is resisting in pulling away from her. Its something she has caught on over the years. Whenever her daughter had enough pain being inflicted upon her, she would want to pull away. But that always meant more torment on her person. If Jordan doesn't retract her blade from Ruth, she will eventually slide the metal blade across the girl's wrist. She may desire to harm the girl, but she will never want to kill her unless she absolutely had to. That thought alone made Jordan pull her blade back then released Ruth's arm.

Ruth slowly drew her arm back, fighting the urge to hold onto her wounded hand as it brought Jordan pleasure. She learned over the years of what not to do. One of those being is to not quickly grab at the wound. It will only make her mother want to put more harm on Ruth, and pulling back quickly is just as bad. Ruth watched her mother lean back on the couch with her pocketknife at her lips, just barely licking the blood. Ruth again fought the urge to throw up. This always disgusted her.

An antagonizing minute went by until Jordan regarded her fully, watching Ruth if she will fold and start showing her moment of weakness. It never came, and it disappointed her.

Oh well, she thought then turned her gaze away from her.

"Go patch yourself up and find something to eat, too. You look like you're anorexic. I swear, you're a fucking worthless, hopeless child," Jordan ordered.

She rolls onto her side to sleep off the high that returned. Jordan doesn't see Ruth's tears threatening to fall from her insensitive remark.

Ruth watches Jordan for a second then dejectedly turns. She lazily walks out of the room and down the small hallway to the bathroom, fighting hard to keep a sob from escaping her throat. After her earlier encounter with Jonathan and this incident with her mother, she wondered when it would be enough.

Ruth lives in this dark fear of dying one day by the hands of her mother or Jonathan's. There is so much abuse that it is starting to take a toll on her. It is not just the physical abuse from both her mother and Jonathan; its also emotional, even sexual. It happens daily, and you really have to wonder why Ruth doesn't just leave to go to a better place. Because there really isn't anywhere else for her to go. No one wants her, really.

The handful of times she tried leaving Derry for good, something always held her back or turn around. Ruth would feel this strange pull in the pit of her stomach and loveless heart to stay. She can't tell if it is because Ruth is meant to be punished and die in Derry or if something much better is waiting for her here. What would that be? Ruth wished she knew.

She sighed heavily, then forced herself into the bathroom to tend to the cut on her hand. Ruth worked quickly to gather the supplies she needed and then sat on the edge of the bathtub. She is swift in cleaning the wound, applied ointment along the cut line, and then placed butterfly bandages to seal the cut to heal correctly. Ruth momentarily put a gauze pad on it then promptly wrapped it. She looked down at her handy work, actually proud of herself that she successfully bandaged her right hand. She read plenty of medical books at the library on properly bandaging her wounds and expanding her mind.

Ruth is relatively smart. She has found herself at the library in town more often than the library at her school, mostly because she just wanted to avoid all the kids. She loves to read, and it really doesn't matter what genre either. It would either be science fiction novels or historical, even classic literature. Ruth also enjoys reading up on subjects such as psychology, medicine, criminology, and law. On the other hand, she has an odd fascination for horror and thrillers. It invigorates her.

Maybe I should spend the day at the library tomorrow, Ruth thought.

It's a much better place to be than here, especially when Jonathan recovers from his drunken state. Ruth usually tries to avoid him the next day as he gets very hostile after she fights him off. Her thoughts were disturbed when her stomach grumbled unhappily, reminding her that she hasn't eaten anything.

She hasn't had a proper meal in several days, mostly because her mother used up all the money again to purchase drugs. Jonathan doesn't make that much money either with him being a contractor. He brings in just enough to pay for the bills and some groceries. Her mother works at a diner, making little income, and doesn't work hard for tips. So they are always hurting for money.

Ruth headed out of the bathroom to the kitchen to find something to eat. As she entered the room, Ruth can hear her mother snoring loudly in the living room. It sounded like a chainsaw was attempting to rev up. Ruth rolled her eyes in exasperation then started looking through the cabinets and refrigerator. There really isn't much in the fridge: several cases of beer, milk that looked like it has expired from the thick lumps, a half carton of eggs, a jar of disgusting pickles, and pizza that is probably a week old. Ruth sighed then turned her attention to the cabinets again. She saw a box of Cheerios, surprisingly still fresh and about a cup and a half left, several cans of chicken noodle soup, peas, corn, a can of SPAM, or shit posing as meat, and what looked like a tin box of cookies.

Ruth didn't hesitate to snatch the cookies, peering inside to make sure if it was real. She hid a smile before grabbing them and one of the soups. Ruth needed the protein anyway. The cookies were just a lucky find, but she is smart enough to leave the tin box behind. If anything, Jonathan will believe that Jordan ate them when she was high off her kite, especially when it came to marijuana. Ruth has seen her mother munch on anything within eyesight whenever she consumed the drug and has, in the past, ate stuff that belonged to Jonathan. These cookies, however, Ruth realized were not Jonathan's. She may hate him, but she has learned that he hates chocolate chip cookies, and her mother is actually allergic to chocolate. Ruth had seen it happen once, which Jonathan was quick enough to get Jordan medical attention before her throat swelled up to the point of blocking the airway. Ruth questions if she should even take them now. What if this was just a trap? Or is Jonathan not as bad he seems?

Fuck it, Ruth said to herself then turned on her heel to leave the kitchen.

She looked down the hallway towards the master, the door is ajar slightly with Jonathan's snoring filling in her ears. Ruth then directed her attention in the direction of the chainsaw. Jordan is sound asleep. Satisfied, Ruth crept into her bedroom, completely missing the dark shadow that stood in the bathroom.

It's dark in the room except for the light from the moon that shone outside Ruth's window. It's peaceful and quiet in here, for the time being, the only sound is the occasional clanging of the spoon hitting the soup can. She sat on her bed with her back resting on the headboard and staring out into the night. This is the only time of day where she can get any kind of peace and quiet, but how long will it take for Jonathan to intrude and disturb it. She has seen the way he's been looking at her lately, and it is quite unnerving. Ruth finally figured out that those cookies she found were a gift for her from him, as if he's trying to get into her good graces and seduce her into submission.

She now wished that she didn't take them, but it is rare for her to get anything sweet, especially cookies. Jonathan may have gotten them specifically for her, so he could try something with her, or maybe asking for forgiveness from her for putting up a fight earlier, Ruth will still enjoy them. Only for her satisfaction, not his. If he ever asks about it, she knows how to lie to him and find a way to slam an object up against his skull if he even attempted something.

She may look frail to some, but the reality is, Ruth is a determined fighter in physical combat. Ruth studied self-defense through self-taught books and has a pretty good memory of performing the moves without consulting the manual for guidance. Has she ever used them to her advantage? Not entirely, the only person that has is Jonathan, but he doesn't know the extent of her ability. Ruth will exhibit the full degree of this knowledge when she absolutely needs to. It's best to keep it under wraps, anyway.

Once Ruth finished up the soup and set it aside on her nightstand, she immediately reached for the cookies. Ruth returns to stare out into the night. She thought back to her encounter with Pennywise earlier as she munched on the scrumptious baked desert, really curious now as to why he was inside that house. Ruth knows what goes on in that house, but does he actually live in it? It would consider him a crack head like all the others. She found that possibility unlikely as she remembered that Jonathan was supposed to be standing in the same spot when she saw the clown. So, Ruth had to wonder if Pennywise the Clown was some sort of entity that shifted its appearance to best suit its circumstances. Now that is a highly unlikely scenario. She doesn't believe in ghosts or otherworldly beings, so that can't be the case. There must be a logical explanation for it. Maybe Ruth thought she saw Jonathan there and was just a figment of her imagination. Or perhaps the guy really is a crack head dressed as a clown and was just looking for some entertainment.

Yeah, that has to be it, Ruth thought to herself.

She sighed heavily as sleep slowly started to settle in. Ruth knew that if she succumbed to sleep now, the possibility of intrusion is high. She knows that Jonathan eventually wakes in the evening after their encounters, and Ruth does not want to get caught in this vulnerable state. She would not be able to fight him off. Ruth fought the sleepiness away then stretched over to her nightstand to grab her journal to occupy herself. Besides, she needed to get a lot off her chest. Ruth believes writing is necessary, as it can be therapeutic to the mind, but it can also be used as substantial evidence for the authorities if something happened to her.

As she started to write her first thought, drowsiness overwhelmed her vision. She fought it off once again only to feel it return just as fast.

I'm so tired, but I don't want to sleep, Ruth thought when her eyes closed briefly.

In the silence of her mind, the bells she heard from Pennywise started to chime like a lullaby. It started out as a whisper then slowly escalated in volume as it became a soft and soothing melody.

ting-a-ling, ting-a-ling, ting-a-ling

The sound is hypnotic. She can feel her eyelids grow heavy as exhaustion hit her like a freight train. Ruth wanted to ignore the light music and focus on the house settling. She can hear the creaks and groans with the occasional chainsaw snore of her mother. She would have fought the tiredness off if a yawn hadn't escaped her lips, causing her eyes to water.

ting-a-ling, ting-a-ling, ting-a-ling

Ruth sighed heavily in defeat, knowing full well she can't fight the exhaustion any longer. The sounds of unseen bells played softly in her mind, lulling Ruth into a sound slumber within minutes. Her head lolled sideways, the off-balance caused her to slide from the headboard toward the windowsill edge and banged with a soft thud. Her journal long forgotten in her lap.

The only words that she could write on paper were, "I met a clown today."

ting-a-ling, ting-a-ling

The unseen bells made one last chime as Ruth falls into a deep sleep, her vulnerability exposed. Luckily for her, Jonathan won't wake until early dawn, and neither would Jordan, as she would wake when the sun rose from the horizon. The only person who could take this opportunity of Ruth's weakness is the clown standing in the shadows.

IT eyed Ruth's sleeping form with glee.

"Oh, what kind of deep-rooted fears do you have, Ruthie?"