10
10th November, 1985.
Eleven walked through the Barrens, wriggling her shoulders in the new jacket she'd got. It was a hand-me-down from Beverly, like with everything else, but new to her. The kids didn't go to school, because it was still shut after the spate of murders Pennywise had created.
Deep in the forest was her home. A fort that all the boys (apart from Eddie, who plead asthma) had built for her as a surprise. Beverly had kept her busy at her grandmother's house, teaching her ABCs.
Eleven sang the song under her breath in rhythm to her feet. It was a source of endless pride that she could now read. Bill kept her supplied with basic books from his brother Georgie's room. Knowing about Georgie, Eleven was careful to keep them clean and safe. Considering where she lived, it was no easy task.
A lot had changed in the two and a bit months since Beverly had found her. For instance, Eleven had hair. She'd been surprised to find out her hair was as curly as Dustin's. When she thought about what it had looked like shaved, Eleven had expected it to come out like Mike's.
The downside to it being so springy was it was impossible to clip anything into it. They always fell out within minutes.
Eleven was on her way to Mike H's farm. When Mike H was sick with flu, he'd invited her to feed the animals and milk the cows.
`He's only doing it because he knows the rest of us'll say no,' Eddie told her. `Cows give you TB.'
For the first month, Eddie had given Eleven a wide berth- She's not had any vaccines!- But eventually warmed up to her. In fact, when she herself caught the flu after seeing Mike H, he'd been the one to bring round an entire thermos of soup.
`Mom usually makes it, but she'd freak if I said I was going near someone with flu. I tried to follow the recipe, I didn't want to give you salmonella or something like that.'
Then he'd scarpered after Eleven sneezed. She'd poured some into a bowl that Beverly brought round. True to his word, the chicken was cooked dry just in case, and the sauce was disgusting, but it was warm and the thought counted.
The walk to the Hanlon's was long, but definitely worth it. She'd volunteered permanently to feed and milk the cows. They were her favourite animals on the farm.
A few miles later, she had arrived.
`Hey, sweetheart!' Called Mike H's grandfather, dropping the pitchfork and waving at her. Eleven waved back.
`Hi, Mr Hanlon! Warm today, light wind heading southeast.' She'd gone to Bill's for breakfast and he'd had the weather report on.
`Yep. Quite mild. Cow's are in there, same as always.'
`Thanks!' Eleven walked to the barn as Mr Hanlon started shifting hay again. The cows looked up at her when she came in. She'd named them after characters in Georgie's books, and TV shows; Spot, Mr and Mrs Huxtable, and Bear. Obviously those names were private, only for her and the cows.
Mr Huxtable first. Eleven milked her, leaning her forehead against the cow's warm flank. It had taken her a while to get a grasp on gender, but by the time she'd figured out a cow couldn't be called Mr Huxtable it was too late.
An hour later, she came out, washed her hands at the pump, and went to call on Mike H. Him and Beverly were her favourites. Eddie was too skittish, Stan still didn't trust her, Bill and Ben were nice but a little stand-offish. And Eleven couldn't even look at Richie without feeling a small tug. Eventually she'd decided to stay in Derry; something was coming, every Loser knew that; Eleven could sense if she left, they'd all be doomed. Still, in her weaker moments she'd been strongly tempted to run away back to Hawkins. One time she'd even got as far as packing her Hogwarts school shirt (which she'd turned into a bag) with some food only to take it all out after thirty seconds.
Eleven knocked on the door, then stepped back. Mike H had a bad habit of opening doors rather… forcefully. That was her first experience with a broken nose, and blood leaking out of it not caused by her powers. She touched the slight bend when the door banged open, and Mike H stood there, wiping his hands with a towel.
`Hi, El. I'm goin' out to the Ironworks for scrap. Wanna come? I'm trying to build a little sculpture of something.'
`Yes, please.'
They headed down the road. Mike H walked ahead with long strides, Eleven having to run a little at times to catch up. He was pretty good company. The Ironworks was a good seven or eight miles away. Eleven's stamina had picked up considerably since her arrival at Derry. She could easily run a mile or so without getting out of breath, and jog four. A recent growth spurt had left her three inches or so taller than she had been in August.
Eleven felt happy here.
It was a permanent sadness to know that that would change.
