A/N: So, apologies on the massive delay here, but I was finally able to replace my computer's dying PSU a few weeks ago. With a new PSU finally supplying enough power to the graphics card, I was able to use this computer for its intended purpose – gaming. I spent some quality time with some of my favorite PC games, and only then was I able to focus on writing again.

HowlynMad: On one hand, I am really enjoying writing with one of my favorite villains, even if it's not the POV character. On the other hand, I feel absolutely horrible about what I'm putting poor Bob Gray through. The knowledge that what It probably did in the backstory of the book and movies is likely much, much nastier, doesn't make me feel better. The fact that movie Pennywise, the version that I am using, is a total sadist, even more so than his book counterpart, just makes it worse.

Day Five
April 5, 1906

Bob kept himself wedged against the door until he heard the crowds leave, the cleanup finish, and everyone bed down for the night. The light faded as the sun vanished below the horizon, and only then did he drag himself across the floor to slump against the leg of his dressing table. He made no attempt to use the wash basin in the corner to clean off the remnant's of the crowd's anger, nor did he get out of costume. He knew, in the back of his mind, that the stains would set, forever ruining his hard work, if he didn't wash the costume, but doing so required more effort and energy than he was willing to muster.

Besides, he thought, the people had made their opinion clear. They no longer wanted to see Pennywise the Dancing Clown. They didn't like him anymore. They hated him.

They don't love me.

For the second time, he heard the rumbling in his ears as pain echoed across the left side of his chest, and he drew his knees up, wrapped his arms around them, and cried once more.

OOOOOO

His tears were tapering off when he heard the wagon's outer door open and shut, followed by footsteps across the stage. He curled up even tighter and held his breath as he watched the inner door. Who would come through it? Was it Mr. Shrine again, ready to yell and hit? Was it the thing that had been stalking him? Was it -?

"Papa?" came Wilhelmina's voice as the door slowly swung open, and he felt the tension leave his body in an instant as she stepped into the silvery bar of moonlight that shone in through the window. Her hair was a mess, her clothes were rumpled and wrinkled, and she looked as tired as he felt as she crossed the short distance between them and threw herself into his arms.

"Wills?" he asked as he realized that his daughter was crying. "What's wrong?"

"It won't leave me alone." she whimpered into his ruffles.

"What are you talking about?"

oh you know, bob, don't you?

"It talks to me through the drain. It's never the same voice twice. I hear it when I dream, and I keep seeing it watching me! It won't go away!"

Bob didn't ask her what she was talking about; he knew. He knew that more than he knew anything else. Whatever was tormenting him was also tormenting her.

And true to his usual form, he hadn't noticed.

brilliant parenting, bobbo!

Shut up, he mentally told the voice as he stood up, pulling Wilhelmina up with him. He gave her a gentle push towards her bunk. "Go, gather your things."

She didn't question him. She went straight over and began pulling her clothes out of the little cubby they were stored in. He pulled a satchel out of one of the trunks and tossed it at her. "Put them in there. Take only what you'll really need."

"What about you, Papa?"

"Don't worry about me right now."

He needed to get out of his (now ruined) costume, but he couldn't undress with her in the room. But he didn't want to send her out of the room either, since that would put her out of his sight. Maybe he could just have her climb up in her bunk and close her curtain while he changed.

who said anything about a 23-skidoo?

The inner door slammed shut.

Wilhelmina let out a small scream as she jumped and spun around to look at the door, while Bob just stared at it. His heart hammered up in his throat as he stepped up to it and reached out to the doorknob. It wouldn't turn. The door that had no lock was locked. Again.

He swallowed and backed away from it. He moved back to the bunks, and urged Wilhelmina up onto his. She pressed herself against the wall, still looking at the door with wide eyes.

"Papa...?" Her voice quavered as he sat down on the edge of the bunk, facing away from her. Her hand crept into his, and he gently squeezed it.

"It doesn't want us to leave." he said in a whisper that still seemed loud in the silent wagon.

that's right, ya goop!

Wilhelmina whimpered again. "What are we going to do, Papa?"

He only shook his head. He didn't know, but he didn't want to say that out loud. He felt her press herself against his back. "I'm scared, Papa."

Laughter drifted in from outside, and Bob felt his skin break out in goosebumps as sweat popped out on his forehead. He clutched Wilhelmina's hand in his and kept his good eye on the door.

OOOOOO

The night seemed to be the longest of Bob's life, and he was just beginning to worry that the creature had somehow stopped the sun from rising when the chirps of birds fell on his ears. He sighed and let his shoulders slump.

"Papa?" came Wilhelmina's sleepy voice from behind him, and he felt her sit up. He hadn't noticed that she'd fallen asleep. She wiggled out from behind him to sit on his left. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders without taking his gaze away from the door. She leaned into him.

"I'm hungry, Papa."

He didn't answer her. Faint sunlight began to shine into the wagon from the window behind them, and he stood up and moved to the door.

He paused in front of it, swallowed, and then reached out to the knob with a trembling hand. The metal was cold as he wrapped his fingers around it, and gave it a twist. It turned easily, followed by the click of the latch retracting. It then swung open with a small squeak of the hinges. On the other side was the stage, and it was completely swallowed by darkness and gloom. None of the slowly brightening light from the window reached beyond the door.

Bob swallowed again and stepped back. He gestured for Wilhelmina to come to him, and she gathered up her satchel of clothes and crossed the floor. Her hand slipped into his.

"What about your costume, Papa?"

Bob shook his head; he no longer cared about changing. He just wanted out of Derry. He squeezed Wilhelmina's hand, and then he stepped into the open doorway and onto the stage.

He felt as though someone had dumped a bucket of freezing water over his head. He shivered, feeling chilled down to his bones, and his heart began to hammer in his ears. He stopped so abruptly that Wilhelmina bumped into him, but she didn't say anything in response.

Bob squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep, shaking breath. For a moment, he heard the mocking of the crowd -

Freak!

No one wants you!

Why don't you kill yourself!

- and he pressed his lips closed against the whimper that wanted to slip out. He felt Wills' free hand grab the back of his costume, while her other hand squeezed his hard enough to almost hurt.

"Bad dog," he heard her say in a voice that was barely a whisper. "Go away."

"Wills?"

"It sounds like there are dogs outside the wagon, Papa." she whimpered. "Big ones."

He didn't hear dogs.

No one wants you around anyway!

Buzzing filled his ears, and he squeezed Wilhelmina's hand in warning before he lurched forward and ran for the outside door. He vaguely heard Wilhelmina stumbling along before he hit the door and shoved it open. Weak sunlight spilled into the room, but the bone deep chill -

Retard!

Get out of our town!

- and the voices remained until he stumbled down the steps to the grass.

Then they vanished completely.

Bob paused as Wilhelmina pressed herself against his side, but the voices stayed blissfully silent.

"Let's go, Wills."

Bob led her away from the wagon, towards the treeline at the edge of the clearing. The road was closer, but walking down it would increase the chances that someone would see them. He knew – he didn't know how he knew – but he knew that if someone else from the circus saw them, they would be prevented from leaving.

The frosted grass crunched under their shoes as they weaved between the wagons that housed sleeping circus members and their families. Behind then, near the big top, horses whinnied, and Bob wondered for a moment if it would be a good idea to go get one. Having a mount would certainly make it easier to get out of town, and they could sell it later, once they were far enough away to get some easy money.

He felt like slapping himself then; they'd forgotten the lock box with the money from his act in it. Well, too late to worry about it now. Going back to get it would certainly get them caught. Nothing to do but -

Papa...?" came a fearful whine from Wilhelmina, and Bob broke from his thoughts just in time to see a large, black shape emerge from the treeline. It moved towards them, moving impossibly fast, and it resolved into a dog.

But it was unlike any dog he had ever seen. It was easily the size of a pony, and its fur was so dark that it made it difficult to make out its exact shape. He heard its enormous paws flattening the grass as it streaked towards them, and Wilhelmina shrieked, wrenched her hand out of his, and started to run away, back towards the wagon.

She was scared of dogs, Bob vaguely remembered as he heard her footsteps retreating. The black, somewhat dog shaped thing streaked past him, and he noted the bright orange fire of its eyes. He turned to watch it and saw Wilhelmina fleeing back in the direction they had come. The dog had already caught up to her, and Bob stood and watched as it leapt at her.

She screamed as she vanished underneath it, and the sound seemed muffled, distant.

It's just a dog. Nothing to worry about, right?

He should really go after it, shouldn't he? His daughter was somewhere under it, screaming for him to save her.

Nothing to worry about.

Surely someone else would deal with it.

Scraps of bloody cloth were flying up, torn from Wilhelmina's dress, and he could see her hands flailing at the thing, trying to land a hit on it. Those little hands were also bloody.

Bob's ears rang, so he just barely heard the anguished "Papa!" from his little girl. His heart jumped at the sound, but the ringing grew louder, drowning out all of the sound around him. He wasn't really there anymore. He was just watching it, like he was watching an animated song at a Nickelodeon, that was all. Nothing to do but watch.

He felt something warm trickling from his nose and dripping from his lip, but it wasn't any more important than the scene in front of him. Another scream pierced through the ringing, and he managed to lift one foot and take a half-step forward. That foot seemed to weight as much as an elephant, and it wasn't worth the effort to try and lift it again.

nothing to worry about, right bobbo?

Right, nothing to worry about.

The dog yanked its head back, chomping heavily on something, and there was a spray of blood that colored the grass red. It looked back at him then, orange eyes glowing, bloodied teeth bared in a grin that was too large for the canine face that it occupied.

And then it was gone.

There was the snap of inrushing air, and Bob felt the strange apathy lift from his head. His eyes immediately found sought out the bloody, mangled form lying several feet away. He ran forward, stumbled, fell to his knees, got to his feet, and finally made it the rest of the way to.. to...

… what was left of Wilhelmina. He didn't see anything that could tell him for certain that it was her lying there. That thing – IT – had torn her to pieces.

Bob spun away as his stomach twisted and spasmed, and he dropped to the ground on his hands and knees and was sick on the grass.

And then he began to scream.

Around him, he faintly heard doors slamming open, voices yelling, footsteps running towards him. Arms came around him, more voices shrieked and yelled behind him, and a blanket was draped around his shoulders just before he was pulled to his feet. His screaming ran out of air, he took a breath, and started to wail as his heart shattered into pieces.

Over the shouts and yells, over his own sobbing, as he was led away from where his daughter's shredded remains lay, laughter, high pitched and gleeful, echoed through the chilly air.