Chapter 6: Tristan Takes a Swim

Co-writer: Trevor the Enchanter

Reminder: Please reread the first two chapters for they've been heavily edited/changed. Thank you.

"Just for once, I wish she'd do her own damn homework," Tristan Harris sighed while finishing his sister's 3-page reading assignment.

He had helped her all the time in Elementary and Middle School, and had thought it would be different now that they were both in High School. But, no matter how tempting it was, he couldn't just let her fail…and trying to teach her was an utter nightmare, so here he was.

He pushed himself out of his chair, being careful not to wake anyone else in the house. It was past midnight, after all; a time when most 17-year-olds would have been snoring away. Tristan, on the other hand, had always been a night-owl. He knew school was tomorrow, but it wouldn't be the first sleepy day he'd go through and it wouldn't be the last.

He sneaked down the dark hallway as quietly as he could, but wasn't easy with his heavy tread. Tristan looked down at his stomach and scowled with disgust. He was a heavyset young man, and continuing to grow, despite all of his attempts to lose weight.

"Disgusting," he muttered to himself.

His sigh soon turned into muffled curses as his foot banged onto the couch that he had not noticed until it was too late.

Absently, he checked his phone to see if either Vicki or Robert had responded to his recent messages. It had been over 4 hours, and while they had been read, there was no response. Are they forgetting about me? He couldn't help but worry. He'd been close with those two siblings all his life and didn't want to lose them now. Not after the "move," where he desperately needed company.

From what he had seen so far of New York City, Tristan utterly despised living here and was not shy about making his feelings known on that.

He had spent most of his life in a small town in Maine, thus living in the largest city in the nation had proven to be a massive adjustment for him. Whereas, his younger sister, Kelsey, had already made herself a group of friends, while his Mother was beginning a teaching job.

They had moved in the first place because his father had been offered a job at a computer company in New York City. At first, Tristan had been excited, having never been to a large city. The thrill quickly faded as he realized that he would end up leaving his friends, Robert and Vicki, behind. He had never been able to form social connections easily, but Robert and Vicki had always been alongside him.

He sat down on the left side of the living-room couch, feeling upset.

At first, he had talked to them constantly, and it seemed like he had never left home. Over time, their communication became more distant. Tristan deeply worried that they were forgetting about him; worse...they might actually be glad to be rid of him. He knew he could be difficult to deal with at times.

In the three months of living here, he has yet to make a single friend in New York. He hated the crowds, hated the lack of space, but hoped it would at least mean that he could make friends...perhaps even a romantic relationship. So far, though, he had been completely unsuccessful.

However, he had managed to paint a giant target on his back for the bullies at school.

He hadn't mentioned any of it to his parents. While being bullied was nothing new for Tristan, he at least had his friends beside him in the past. His parents...they loved him, he knew, but they had a lot of difficulty understanding him. To both of them, being happy and making friends was something that came natural to them. Neither of them could understand why Tristan had so much difficulty, and sometimes told him that he wasn't trying hard enough.

Whenever he complained about it, he was told: "Just think positive!","Just be happy!","Put yourself out there and meet people!" None of it was in the least helpful, so recently he'd just been keeping his mouth shut.

Tristan looked down at his cell phone; 12:17pm. "Really ought to get to bed," he groaned.

His thoughts wouldn't let him rest, though. He was slowly falling into a depressive spiral, asking himself what more he could do to make friends. He thought he was making the right moves, but clearly they disagreed. The one bit of good news he had since moving to a new school was that his grades were doing well, a mixture of As and Bs. His only C was in English, as he had difficulty understanding the symbolism.

He felt tired and wanted to sleep, but his brain still wouldn't cooperate with him.

Still trying to keep from waking anyone else, he walked over to the kitchen to prepare his lunch for tomorrow.

"Well, technically, today," Tristan mumbled.

He did his best to choose healthy, yet filling foods. It would get him through the day...assuming someone didn't throw his lunch in the toilet, something that was becoming a regular occurrence.

"Bunch of cowards," Tristan snarled to himself.

He might have been fat, but he was still strong and those who tormented him were not willing to do so alone. He'd love nothing more than to find one of them alone and break every bone in...violence is wrong.

He felt more resigned than anything else. Since his home-schooling had ended, his parents taught him to simply ignore them, that in fighting back, he would be reducing himself to their level. It clearly didn't work.

He didn't dare turn on any of the lights, so he was unable to at least entertain himself with one of the history books on the shelves. His computer was very tempting, though Tristan was well aware that he would be up all night if he turned it on.

Maybe a walk would do me some good, he thought while rubbing his eyes. He was concerned about walking around in the city at night, even if they lived in a mostly decent neighborhood. Still, he couldn't spend his entire life living in fear. What's the worst that could happen?

Before leaving, Tristan made sure to have his house key, his phone, and a small amount of money in case he was inclined to buy anything. It was the city that never slept, after all.

It was around 40 degrees outside, but Tristan didn't so much as shiver, despite wearing only a t-shirt and shorts. Cold rarely fazed him, except on the worst days in Maine. His classmates frequently looked at him like he was insane. On one occasion, his parents had been accused of neglecting him because he rarely brought a coat to school until at least December...and at times not even then.

Although it was midnight, he was far from the only one out walking, but everyone was simply minding their own business. It was yet another act that he had been forced to become accustomed to in the big city; he couldn't greet everyone. Back where he lived, if someone walked by and ignored you, they were frequently considered rude. Here, there was no way to say hello to them all, especially during rush-hour.

However bad an idea it might have been, at least considering his dire need of sleep, he stopped by a nearby convenience store and bought himself a soda.

He leaned against the small, stone, wall of the store as he popped open the drink. The lights shined through the window, illuminating him and a few other strangers. They're not judging you...they're not judging you, Tristan repeated to himself over and over again. He'd had enough comments about his weight that whenever he indulged, it seemed as if bystanders were looking down his nose at him. It wasn't true, at least most of the time, but the perception was there.

He shivered; he knew it wasn't a good idea to stay outside for too long. Even now, it was far too easy for him to get lost in the neighborhood, especially at night. Unlike his sister, Tristan rarely wandered outside the house, or even his room, thus had less opportunity to explore.

To his right, he saw a homeless man sleeping on a bench. Even in a middle-class neighborhood, they were a common sight. Had it been the daytime, Tristan would have slipped him a couple bucks. As it stood now, he looked at him with a mixture of wariness and pity.

From where he stood, he could hear the roars of the crowds on the streets of Manhattan. Speaking of Manhattan, the skyscrapers towered his neighborhood, even though they were decently far.

He continued his walk throughout the neighborhood. Block after block. Getting more confused as the night got darker.

Nearly 1:00. I definitely need to get to sleep. Tristan checked his watch and quickened his pace. Was it just him or were things beginning to look...different? He attributed it merely to his growing weariness.

This was definitely not something he could tell either of his parents about. From the very first day they moved, both warned him not to wander around on his own at night. Considering he would be 18 years old in January (in 3 months), there was a part of Tristan that resented the warning. At the same time...New York City was very different from the part of town he grew up in. Just the neighborhood alone probably had over triple the people, let alone the city as a whole.

He took a giant gulp of his soda and sighed. Caffeine wasn't the best thing for him right now, but he was severely on edge. Tristan reminded himself not to look like an easy target to anyone looking for victims on the street. He'd already had to deal with too much of that at school.

"Two more years and I'll finally be out of there." Tristan rubbed his eyes in exhaustion.

Admittedly, his family was probably just nervous about the recent murders. The odds of him being a victim were extremely low, but it worried him anyway.

Two weeks; six victims so far...that they know of, at least. All of them children, ranging from a 5-year-old to a 16-year-old. The most recent one being two days ago; the 16-year-old.

What really scared him was the fact that all the bodies were extremely mutilated, almost as if they were literally ripped to shreds. Tristan couldn't think, or believe, of any serial killer that would behave like that.

Ok, this is the way home, right? He asked himself while entering a new block.

He stood under a street sign that read "Hamlet Street". He's made it back home safe and sound. Well, the street at least.

The street had only one streetlight, which was blinking orange light. And Tristan saw, whenever the light blinked bright enough for a few seconds, the picket fence of his home. It was a sight for sore eyes.

But he also saw something catching his attention. There was a drooped paper attached to the streetlight. He found himself to be almost drawn to it, and as he walked closer, he realized it was a "Missing" flier.

"Another one..." Tristan sighed. For these fliers had literally been posted all around the neighborhood. Along with the six murdered children, there were others, adults even, that had simply disappeared without a trace. This poster was likely another one.

I don't remember seeing this when I left home, he thought.

He lifted the drooped part of the flier and held it in place with his left hand. He took a sip of his soda as he read the flier, which was hard from the constantly blinking light just above him.

His head spun when he read the poster, causing him to spit his soda all over the paper and pole. He only read it in small bursts because of the flickering light.

"Missing: Tristan Harris. Age 17. Last seen: October 16."

"Shit!" Tristan swore, tearing the poster down and dropping it onto the sidewalk.

Was he delusional? That couldn't be real! Probably just some stupid prank, Tristan tried to convince himself. But from who?

Then he noticed something. The flickering orange light was no more. Like the power went out.

He raised his head up to see that he wasn't even in his street anymore, or even in his neighborhood. Instead, Tristan found himself standing about 10 feet away from a pond, surrounded by thick grass and weeds, enclosed by slender trees. He bit his lip to keep from crying out. He saw the skyscrapers of Manhattan completely tower over him, now. Am I in Central Park? It sure didn't sound like it. He heard the sounds of Manhattan all the way from his neighborhood (crowds of people, honking cars, concerts, parties, etc), so why didn't he hear them now?

"This can't be real," Tristan tried to reassure himself.

"What can't be real, Tristy?" He heard a voice call out to him.

Tristan turned around, his heart pounding, trying to locate the voice. He was just tired after a long day, that's it. That was the only logical explanation for all this. Either that, or he's dreaming.

He moved back from the pond as quickly as he could. Tristan had numerous fears, but his fear of drowning was by far the greatest.

When he was eight years old, during a party, the neighborhood teenagers threw him into their swimming pool as a joke, despite knowing that he was unable to swim. Tristan had splashed and struggled, swallowing gulps of water, before, finally, managing to crawl out, crying and shaking. The neighbors howled with laughter as he ran home, bawling for his parents.

Since then, he had been nervous even being near a swimming pool. When his father had signed him up for swimming lessons, he was unable to enter water deeper than his stomach, despite being the oldest of the boys. No matter how much the instructor tried to encourage him, Tristan absolutely refused. He had always avoided bodies of water, terrified that it would happen again. He had made efforts to overcome his fear over the years, but it had never done any good. That's one of the major reasons he hated New York City; it was surrounded by water.

This...this could not be possible! I was just standing in a neighborhood! How could I be standing in front of a...pond? Tristan had no idea what was going on, but had no intentions of finding out.

"Leaving so soon, boy?" The voice spoke to him again. Tristan was now close to hyperventilating.

"Where the hell are you, and what do you want?!" Tristan demanded, attempting to sound brave...and failing badly.

"Right here!"

Tristan threw his head around in the direction of the pond to see a figure appear on the other side of it. And as his eyes squinted to get a better look, he realized he was staring at a clown. It was hard to see through the vegetation of the bushes and ferns, but it didn't look like anyone he'd ever met. But it knew his name. Maybe it knew his fear of drowning? However insane he might have sounded, Tristan doubted it was even human at all.

The only thing he knew for sure was that the clown was dangerous, and the grin he wore boded nothing good. He backed away, looking for an escape route.

"What do you want from me?" Tristan glared.

His only chance, he knew, was to run, run at full speed in the opposite direction. He didn't know how to fight, and doubted it would do him any good even if he did. Run and flee was his only option.

Yet his legs refused to obey him. In fact, at the moment, they were barely able to support his weight.

"That's rude. We haven't even introduced ourselves yet!" The clown chuckled, stepping out of the dark trees, shined on by the moonlight.

"I'm Pennywise the Dancing Clown. Good to make your acquaintance, Tristy."

"I don't care who you are!" Tristan exclaimed.

"I don't want anything to do with you!" He dropped his soda in panic, searching his pocket for something to defend himself with, anything...there was nothing.

"That's rude of you, Tristy," Pennywise smiled.

"We all float down here...and you will too!" The clown cheered.

And with that said, unbelievably, bodies had rose to the top of the pond. Dead...human...bodies.

Tristan's legs regained some of their strength and he turned around to run, only to see over a dozen other figures around him. In his panic, it took several moments to recognize them. They were children. Although they were mostly covered in darkness, Tristan saw that all of them had pieces missing; one of the girls had her jaw torn off, but she was still able to speak.

"You'll float too!" she giggled, waving at him. Tristan quickly found himself trapped between...Pennywise...and...whoever they happened to be.

"You'll float too!" The youngest of them proclaimed. He couldn't have been older than 6, but looked just as terrifying as the others.

"No, no, this isn't real!" Tristan screamed, falling to the ground. He hurriedly pushed himself to his feet.

"Join us, Tristan," one of the boys asked him with an evil smile. His arms were both missing, with blood still dripping from them. His clothes had been reduced to a few fragments, blood leaking from his blackened eyes.

Tristan felt something grab him and jumped higher than a young man of his weight should ever have been able to. He began sprinting left, but was not able to get more than a few feet before something grabbed his ankle and sent him down to the ground. The girl with the missing jaw crouched down next to him, looked at him in his watery eyes, and giggled.

After hearing bubbles from the pond, he turned around to see the, once, dead bodies simultaneously come to life. They all began to swim in his direction, with their hands extending out.

Without processing what was going on, he immediately attempted to lift himself up from the floor, shaking the jawless girl off of him. But he was pulled back down roughly. Not from the little girl, or any of the other children. But from a bloody hand that emerged out of the grassy ground.

"You'll float too! You'll float too!" All of the children chanted, Pennywise guiding them as if he was a composer at an orchestra. And, in a way, he was.

As the lifeless bodies made their way to his feet, more hands emerged from the ground, pulling him down. So not only was he forced to stay down on the mud, the dead bodies were pulling him into the pond.

He was pulled in slowly, as if..."It"...was savoring the moment. He steeled himself, tried to make himself heavier, kicked the grasping hands behind him, and whack-a-moled the hands under him...anything to keep from entering the water, but after a while his body was covered in bloody hands; around 20 in total.

With one final shock, Pennywise had appeared out of the group of chanting children, kneeled right in front of Tristan's struggling face, and opened his mouth, revealing hundreds—no, thousands—of rows of teeth.

"AAAHHHHHH!" Tristan bellowed, swinging his fist in Pennywise's direction with his eyes shut.

When that "attack" failed, he continued to struggle through these bloody hands and evil children. He was truly going to die. He hoped, he prayed, for someone to come and save him. His parents, a police officer, a bystander, anyone!

His legs were now drenched in the water.

In sheer desperation, Tristan began biting the hands that wrapped around his neck, for his legs and arms were deemed useless since they were covered in the bloody hands that popped out of the dirt as fast as an ant-hill would when pouring water on it.

He knew he was a goner as the children joined in on the fun and began pulling him in faster. All the while, Pennywise laughed an evil clown laugh as his mouth formed itself back to normal, luckily, closing the void of teeth from Tristan's view.

The bloody hands now released as their job was done (sinking back into the grassy ground), letting the bodies finish their job of dragging Tristan into the pond. They yanked his hair and flesh as his whole body was soaked with water.

His screams were now the sounds of bubbles as he was pulled down, down into the abyss of water.