SIX >> LOLITA AND THE CLOWN

They all rode their bikes down the road, Lola off in her own head as Richie ranted out of anger.

"No, it's fine, I love being your personal doorman! Could you have taken any longer?" He burst, riding in circles around the slower-moving teenagers. Snorting unhappily, he continued, "But hey, I'm not mad! At least I wasn't pretending to scrub a bathroom that looked like Eddie's mom's vagina on Halloween!"

Bill came to a stop at the front of the group. "I s-s-saw it," he spoke, stumbling over the words.

"Yeah," Lola broke her previous silence. "I saw it, too. It was real."

Eddie grimaced, looking from Lola to Beverly to Bill. "I saw, it too. Not blood, but... but a leper." He sucked in a nervous breath. "It was like a walking infection. And a clown, too." The smaller boy was terrified.

The brunette gripped the handles of her bike. "I saw something, too. My brother. It was awful, like my worst nightmare come to life." She said. She twisted a piece of hair around her finger, tucking it behind her ear. Her eye twitched out of nerves.

"Like the woman I saw." Stan blurted.

Richie raised his eyebrows. "Was she hot?" He asked. Lola swatted him on the back of the head, shaking her head.

Stan's mouth fell open, and he gaped at the boy. "No, Richie, she wasn't hot!"

"Can only virgins see this stuff?" Richie questioned to the group. "'Is that why I'm not seeing this shit?" No one responded.

When silence fell over the group, Lola's gaze drifted to the side of the road, where a familiar blue convertible was parked. Her eyes widened. "Shit, that's Belch's car," she declared.

"And isn't that the homeschooled kid's bike?" Eddie asked, pointing to a bicycle that was tipped over near the car.

Lola nodded, taking a deep breath. "Yeah, that's Mike's." She said. She had known Mike Hanlon since she was young; their families had been close before his parents died. "Shit, guys, we need to help him!"

Without waiting for a response, she dumped her bike and ran into the trees.

"Lola, wait!"

She didn't wait; she just dashed through the trees, dodging loose branches, until she broke out into a clearing.

What she found was Henry Bowers holding Mike down, a rock held over the dark-skinned boy's head, prepared to bring it down with fury. Bowers's friends stood behind him, each with their arms crossed and mean smiles on their faces.

"Hey, asshole!" Lola shouted, storming across the stream, over to the boy with the mullet. She shoved him off of her friend, giving Mike time to escape.

Before Mike could make it to the other side of the stream, Henry had swung the fist with a rock in it towards her, and it hit her hard in the temple. She went down, hitting the ground hard. He was on top of her before she could blink, and his hand closed around her throat.

He seethed in her face, spitting slightly. "Listen, little bitch, I told you you weren't getting off easy because of your brother anymore. You can't keep blaming what he did on me." He growled, hand tightening.

She wheezed as her airway was cut off, and she felt something dripping down her temple—blood, most likely, from the pain pounding in her forehead. Her hands came up to where his fingers were closed around her throat; she clawed at him, fingernails digging into his skin. "But," She wheezed, "It was your fault."

Spots began to dance in front the girl's vision, and, just before her consciousness ebbed away completely, she saw something fly into the side of Henry's head, and he fell to the ground beside her.

Lola rolled onto her side, retching and gasping. She distantly heard footsteps approach her, and felt a pair of arms wrap around her and drag her through the stream, to the other side. Her ears were ringing, and through the throbbing of her own blood gushing around her brain, she heard a war cry.

Her eyes came into focus, locking on something in the grass behind her friends—a Victorian-era-looking clown, holding a detached, bloodied arm in its hand, with even more blood dripping down its chin. The clown waved the arm wildly at her, as if it knew she saw it.

She let out a groan, rolling over; Great, she thought, I'm hallucinating.

Finally, when her ears stopped ringing, she heard Richie's unmistakeable voice: "Go blow your dad, you mullet-wearing asshole!" The boy screamed.

Suddenly, his coke-bottle glasses floated in front of her vision, and he said, "Come on, Sunshine Girl. Let's go." He helped her up, an arm wrapping securely around her waist as her own settled around his shoulders, and half-carried her away from the stream; she saw him throw a middle finger up out of the corner of her eye.

They joined the rest of the group, and everyone rode their bikes back into town, except for Lola, who rode on the back of Richie's, clinging to him.

When they reached the town square, which was filled with people attending the fair, Richie got a wet rag from the cotton candy vendor. He sat the brunette down on a bench and stooped to look at the gash on her temple, squinting through his coke bottle glasses.

"Damn, Lola, he rocked your shit good," Richie muttered, and brushed her dark hair back so he could see her better.

She rolled her eyes, wincing as he pressed the rag to the wound. "Fuck, Richie," she gasped.

He grinned maniacally, and she immediately regretted what she said. "Yeah, baby, I love it when you moan my name." He teased. He waggled his eyebrows up and down, trying to be silly, and he used his free hand to tickle her ribs.

The girl punched him on the arm. "Shut up, Richie. It fucking hurts." She grumbled. He continued to clean the cut, and she grabbed his hand when her temple flared up in pain again.

A few minutes later, her forehead was clean of any blood, and she was frowning. The rest of the group had gathered around them, except for Eddie, who was standing in line at an ice cream cart.

"Hold on," Richie said, grinning, as he stood up from the bench and ran over to a tuba-carrying member of the Derry Band. The boy wrenched the instrument from the musician and began to play it himself, loudly and horribly.

Lola laughed, shaking her head. "Dumbass," she said to herself. She watched him intently as he struggled with the tuba player and giggled when the instrument was ripped out of his hands.

"What the fuck, man?" She heard Richie shout, throwing his hands up in disbelief. He stalked back over to the group, being intercepted by Eddie, who offered him an ice cream cone. He took the cold treat and sat down next to Lola, wearing a grumpy expression.

Richie held out the cone to Lola, and the girl accepted his offer and licked the ice cream carefully; she ignored the pleased look on his face.

Lola turned her attention to Bill, who was looking at a missing person's poster for Edward Corcoran taped to a brick wall. He was frowning as he lifted up the paper with Edward's picture. Under it was Betty Ripsom's missing poster.

"It's l-l-l-like she's b-been forgotten. Like p-p-p-people don't c-c-care that she's m-m-missing anymore." He tripped over his words, gesturing to the paper.

Ben sighed and glanced around to the rest of the group. "This town—it isn't like any other I've ever been in." He announced.

"My grandfather says this town is cursed." Mike spoke quietly from his seat next to Lola. "He says that all the bad things that happen are all because of one thing, an evil thing, that feeds off the people of Derry." She looked at him, and the ends of her hair brushed Richie's arm as she turned to Mike.

Raising her eyebrows, Lola said, "Your grandfather is also insane."

Mike laughed. "You only hate him because he called you a brat when we were six."

"I don't hate him!"

Stan coughed, interrupting her. "But it can't just be one thing. The stuff we've seen—none of it is real. Like Lola said, it's all just like a nightmare. We're just imagining it to cope with all the awful shit that's happening in this town." He glanced, almost nervously, at the girl he mentioned. "Lola didn't really see Charlie. He's dead. It's impossible."

Lola pursed her lips. "It's more than just a bad dream. I'm not making it up, Stanley. It's real. And I want to figure what the fuck all of it means."

"No, but Lola, it's not plausible. If whatever this is is real, then it'd have to be able to shift into your worst fears. It's not just improbable—it's literally impossible. It's not real." He argued in reply.

Beverly, previously silent, interrupted, "I'm not crazy. Whatever is snatching and killing these kids is taking the shape of our fears."

Lola looked at Mike. "You saw something, too, didn't you? What do you see?" She asked.

Mike nodded. "Do you remember that burnt down house on Harris Avenue?" He questioned. He was asking the group, for Lola already knew; she had been at the funeral. "I was inside when it burnt down. Before I was rescued, my mom and dad were trapped in the next room over, pounding on the door, trying to get to me. But it was too hot." He took a deep breath. "By the time the firemen found them, their skin had literally melted down to the bone. That's what I see."

Bill sighed. "Everyone's afraid of s-something." He said.

"What are you afraid of, Richie?" Lola asked, looking at the boy.

He adjusted his glasses, pushing them farther up his nose, and looked off into the distance, at the stage in the center of the town square.

Taking a deep breath, he muttered, "Clowns."

🎈

Everyone but Richie and Lola went home, with promises of meeting at Bill's house the next day. The two who remained decided to enjoy the Derry fair, but only because the boy swore to buy her cotton candy and ride the Ferris wheel with her.

They stood in line for the cotton candy booth, Lola bouncing on her toes as she fidgeted with the hem of her skirt—she had dashed home with her four-eyed best friend before they agreed to stay at the fair in order to change out of her blood-stained clothes. Now, instead of a frilly yellow dress, she wore an auburn brown corduroy skirt, a plain white tee shirt, a pair of military boots, and her favorite blue sweater.

When they reached the front of the line, Richie, ever the gentleman, paid a quarter for a giant cloud of pink and blue cotton candy, then handed it to her with a grin.

"For the lady," he said in a silly British accent, bowing deeply. He then straightened, pushing his glasses farther up his nose.

She laughed at him, making him smile in return, and took the cotton candy from him. "Thank you, my darling," she mimicked, and did a curtsy. She pushed the hair that had fallen in her face behind her ear and smiled at him widely.

He glanced from the grin on her face to the small butterfly bandage that covered the gash on her temple. His hand lifted to it, and, touching it lightly, he asked, "It doesn't hurt, does it?"

Lola shrugged. "No, not really. I just wish I could've hit Bowers back." She ran a hand through her hair, pulling it back and securing it with a blue scrunchie. Her fingers brushed what was certain to be a bruise in the morning, and she grimaced.

"Hey, if it makes you feel any better, I hit him in the face with a rock in your honor." He told her, holding an arm out for her to take.

She looped her arm around his elbow and allowed him to lead her around the fair, from booth to booth. By the end of the night, her tongue was purple from the cotton candy, her cheeks hurt from smiling so hard, and her arms were weighed down by a large stuffed bear Richie had somehow won for her in the beanbag toss game.

Lola was tired by the time they got into the cart for the Ferris wheel, so much so that every time she blinked, she found it hard to keep her eyes open. But she was still having fun, and so was Richie, so she told herself that they would go home after the ride.

She clutched the stuffed bear in her lap as she looked over the side of the cart, down at the town below. The higher she got, the more she could see, to the point where she could see her house.

"Hey, Sunshine Girl, smile!" Richie said, making her look away from the view. He was holding his old, beat up Polaroid camera, pointing it at her with a laugh.

She did as he said and forced a cheesy, toothy grin. The flash went off, and she heard a click; the camera spit out a rectangle of film paper, and, after Richie shook it for a moment, the picture began to form.

He looked at the photo with wide eyes. "Damn, Lola, you're fucking beautiful." He said, almost like he was just realizing the fact.

She scoffed, rolling her eyes. "I look gross, dumbass."

"No, you don't. You look like you belong in a magazine."

hello friends!!! college is difficult but im in between classes so tell me about how yalls days have been!!