Chapter 9: The Reaping Of Sorrows

The month of February dragged on slowly in Derry as the overall atmosphere of negativity mixed with the biting cold of winter's fury made everyday life for most of the locals an exercise in quiet misery and suffering. Thomas felt that his circle of trust had dwindled to include only his parents and Franklin, but he was happy to have at least them if nothing else. Franklin and Thomas became inseparable for the most part to the point that Franklin had received permission from his parents to spend a week with Thomas and his family at their cabin. It gave the two boys an opportunity to watch out for each other and keep an eye out for any signs of Pennywise, and luckily for them the sightings of the evil clown had dwindled down greatly. The boys were very concerned however, because they both suspected that Pennywise was plotting and devising his grand appearance. The boys did not know where or when Pennywise would strike again, but they both knew deep down that it would be some kind of animalistic act of violence, and they genuinely feared for their fellow citizens of Derry.

On the night of February 23rd, the town constable was alerted to an incident that was in progress at the Silver Dollar tavern. The constable, a balding man in his 40's named William Grenier, rushed to the tavern with his shotgun loaded and his anger boiling due to the almost nightly fistfights and mischief that had become the pattern for the Silver Dollar. Constable Grenier had grown tired of being the de-facto babysitter of a bunch of brawling drunkards who should have been at home with their families rather than in a grimy tavern. Ever since the Derry Town Council had been influenced by the mob of citizens to reorganize the police force, Grenier and his assistant deputy had been working 12 hour shifts daily and it was starting to take a toll on the mental health and stability of both men. And with John Markson and his mob of vigilantes being so prone to violence towards others, the town's problems only became worse. With no suspects being caught linked to the string of child disappearances and murders, the people of Derry were at the breaking point. Constable Grenier felt a sense of foreboding as he neared the front door of the Silver Dollar, wondering if tonight would be the incident that caused the powder keg that was the town to explode in terrible violence.

When he walked into the tavern and saw what was unfolding, Constable Grenier immediately drew his shotgun to his shoulder and in a booming voice ordered everyone to halt. Standing at the bar were the two men involved in the confrontation, and sure enough John Markson was one of them. The other man, and the one who drew most of Constable Grenier's attention was a younger and slightly overweight man in his 30's that Grenier recognized as Otis Worthington. Worthington was usually a cheerful and caring man who was well liked in Derry. He was a slow man and a bit mentally retarded, but he excelled in his trade as a carpenter and many families in town had furniture made by him in their homes. But his demeanor on this night was the opposite, as he stood in front of Markson with a revolver pointed at him and a heartbreaking look of fear and sadness on his face. Markson had his hands up but he towered over Worthington with a devilishly cunning and beady look in his eyes that reminded Constable Grenier of the look of a hungry wolf stalking its prey. Around the two men in a loose circle stood the rest of the patrons in the tavern, all with a eager look in their eyes that gave the impression that they were somehow enjoying the situation.

Constable Grenier leveled the shotgun and said, "Alright now Mr. Markson if you don't slowly take three steps back away right this second, I will blow your head in pieces all over the ceiling of this shithole, as God is my witness. Do you understand me? Do I make myself clear?" Markson turned towards the constable with a hardened expression on his face and an evil fire in his eyes, but kept his hands up and said, "Certainly" and with a devilish smile now spreading across his face, he took three steps back away from Worthington. Keeping his eye on Markson, the constable now spoke to Worthington in a gentle tone and said, "okay Otis let's calm down and tell me what's going on. I'm here to help you friend and I need you to be calm and tell me why you are pointing that gun at Mr. Markson." Worthington looked at Constable Grenier with tears in his eyes, and in a stuttering and shaky voice he said, "M-Mr. Markson s-said I was a no good son-of-a-bitch who s-s-should be f-fucked in the ass by a b-big cotton p-pickin' n-ni-nigger. He says t-that my momma w-w-whores herself o-out to niggers. He says I-I'm nothin' but a d-dirty Sodomite a-and I'm d-d-di-diseased in my head. Said I w-was a piece of r-rat filth and t-that he th-thinks I k-killed all those children. He said only an o-oddball like me c-c-could do it. But I haven't done nothin' M-Mr. Grenier!" And with that, Worthington began to sob even harder.

Constable Grenier turned back to Markson and said in a low but scathing voice, "Mr. Markson, you had best get yourself out of this tavern and back home to your family in a moments haste, and if I catch you or any of your little crusty bitches on the streets of Derry trying to use vigilante justice to intimidate others, I swear to God I'll put all of you under the jail for as long as I please. I enforce the law in this town, not you or your little band of rag-tag pussyfoot bullies. Now all of you will go home and put away your guns and cease and desist from this heathen behavior!" With his words spoken as if they were set in stone, Constable Grenier motioned for John Markson to leave the tavern, and with a huff and a mumbling, Markson complied and departed.

With the sound of Worthington's continued sobbing filling the air, someone from the crowd of patrons exclaimed, "you really going to sympathize with that Sodomite weakling there, constable?" And with that an enormous and howling laughter erupted from the others in the tavern. Constable Grenier scanned the crowd of patrons with disgusted and incredulous eyes, a crowd of men who he knew were normally respectful and honorable, who would not have been the type of men to engage in such foul language and boorish behavior. He scanned the crowd back and forth with his eyes, seeing before him men he had grown up with and had at one time shared friendship with. They were all men he knew well, except for obviously the stranger in the very back. The man in the white jumpsuit and what looked like a large ruffled collar. He appeared to have red hair and a white painted face with red markings. The strange man was all the way in the back and Constable Grenier could barely see him, but he thought for a moment that the man almost looked like a damn circus clown. The constable laughed to himself in a sarcastic manner at the thought, finding it ironic because enforcing the law in Derry was beginning to resemble some kind of twisted and deranged circus. Constable Grenier's attention was quickly drawn back to Worthington, who now held the revolver to his right temple and continued to shake with sobs.

At the sight of Otis Worthington standing there with a gun to his head and crying, the crowd of patrons erupted in even more laughter, as if they were a flock of demons watching a twisted comedy show on Hell's theater stage. Constable Grenier tried to speak to Worthington, but he felt his voice caught like a lump in his throat. He felt heartbroken for the innocent man standing in front of him being made fun of by a crowd of once honorable men who now resembled maniacal lunatics from the bowels of the darkest pit. He felt disgust and revulsion toward the howling crowd, ashamed that his fellow man could stoop so low to mistreat another man who had never done any of them any harm or meant them any ill-will, a mentally handicapped man who had the innocence of a child. And lastly, he felt a sense of defeat and failure in his duties as the town constable, feeling powerless to stop the depravity and negativity that had swept over Derry like an onrushing tide.

Constable Grenier was startled out of his thoughts as the crowd now began to chant obscenities at Worthington as they continued their maniacal taunting and jeering. They chanted at the top of their lungs, "Sodomite! Sodomite! Sodomite!.." and finally came the breaking point Worthington, who with tears streaming down his face, pulled the trigger and blew his brains out of the side of his head. At the sound of the gunshot, the laughter and chanting instantly ceased, and the only sound in the tavern was that of Worthington's body slumping over on the floor. At that instant, Constable Grenier thought he heard the sound of a satisfied soft moan from a single individual at the very back of the crowd, the type of sound a man makes after he releases his seed in a woman during lovemaking. The constable looked away from the body of Worthington, looked away as a pool of blood began to spread out from what was left of Worthington's head. Constable Grenier slowly looked at the faces of the men in the crowd, seeing looks of shame and disbelief, looks of deep guilt and hurt. And just like that, at the instant Worthington committed suicide, the evil and maniacal depravity that had possessed the crowd evaporated and disappeared like smoke. As Constable Grenier tried to get his composure back and process everything that had happened, he could no longer hold back and he broke down in tears and sobs of his own. He cried for everyone in Derry, for the children who had been murdered and their heartbroken and grief-stricken families, for Otis Worthington, an innocent and gentle soul who had been wrongfully accused and driven to suicide by the wickedness of his peers, and most of all for Derry itself and the nightmare which had seized it like a hungry lion. As Constable Grenier continued to weep and the crowd began to join him, a low and sinister chuckle could be heard from the back of the crowd.