chapter six
insist on your cup of stars

☼ ☽

          Sometimes Jill Samson thought she was living in some kind of movie. Now, don't go rolling your eyes. At least hear her out. Because you see, Jill could complain and complain about how boringly ordinary she was, but she'd still be a cliche—a trope in some movie. After all, she was head over fucking heels for her best friend who only had eyes for the boy next door. That was a cliche.

If she were in a movie, she'd have to guess it wouldn't turn out exactly how the audience hoped it would. Deep down, she knew movies were just movies and in the end the actors didn't stay kissing in the rain, they walked off the set and drove home. She wanted her life to end as the credits rolled, but she knew better than that. She had wished on too many shooting stars to know exactly how fair the world was to girls like her. She knew she wasn't the lucky one, she was the one that got shoved to the side; she was the forgotten one. And she was certainly not the one going to get the girl.

The movies lied to you, the girl didn't end up with the best friend, she ended up with the hero. Jill Samson was not a hero in any sense. If anything, she knew she was more of a villain than a knight in shining armor. Bill Denbrough, on the other hand, was the golden boy; the boy you rooted for; the one that got the girl. His name would be remembered while Jill's would be lost somewhere at the bottom of the credits.

Jill felt like a supporting character in some film from the sixties as the group peddled closer to the Hanscom residence. She hated that feeling. But at that exact moment, Beverly glanced over her shoulder and gave her a smile, so she didn't feel completely awful. Bill, on the other hand, seemed to be displeased with this and took it upon himself to peddle closer to Beverly. Jill narrowed her eyes at him. What a dick.

Ben interrupted her glare as he yelled over his shoulder, "Here it is."

A quaint house came into their view as they peddled closer to their destination. Bill was the first to arrive seeing as he peddled faster than Ben just to get to the house faster. His long legs carried him up to the Hanscom residence's front porch as he waited for the rest of the group to hop off their bikes and join him. One by one the rest of the group hopped off their bikes and trickled into the small house. Jill was the last to throw her bike onto the sidewalk, alongside Stan, who had waited for her before hopping off his bike and kicking out the stand to stabilize it.

Jill pinched her brows together. That was odd. "How come you do that with your bike? Is it broken?" she asked, gesturing to his bike.

Stan shrugged. "I don't know," he breathed, his face stern. "If I don't do it, it's all I'll be thinking about. I guess it's a habit."

Jill nodded and shrugged. It sounded about right. Plus, she wasn't going to question Stanley Uris when he clearly was the smartest boy out of the group, and obviously the most sensible. Instead, she carried on her way and walked up the stairs until she crossed over the threshold of the entrance. Stan followed behind her, warily stepping inside a few seconds after.

"It smells like lemon," Stan observed, scrunching his nose.

Jill breathed in. "Yeah, it does." She honestly had no idea how to respond to anything Stan said, but she didn't mind. Half the time she thought it was just her being out of touch with communicating with people, but then again, she was sure Stanley Uris wasn't exactly the most normal person she had ever met.

The two caught up with the rest of the group and ascended the staircase. Jill extended her hand to the railing as she walked up the stairs. She didn't necessarily need to hold on for support because Jill Samson was not an elderly person unable to walk up the stairs. Actually, it had become a habit she had adopted. Every time she entered a house like a real house with two or three stories and not one of those bungalows or her dingy apartment, she always extended her hand on the railing when she walked up the stairs. She thought possibly she did it because she didn't have stairs of her own (unless you counted the fire escape). And in a way, she kind of wished she did have a house of her own to call home. But Jill Samson was a child born to parents who barely made ends meet and with her mother gone, they didn't have enough money to afford to pay for all the bills at once. She wished she could, though.

She knew it was wrong of her to wish such things especially when she knew she'd never make it far enough in the world to be considered well off. Her grades were shit, she had a horrible memory, and a non-existent work ethic. There was no way Jill would ever own a house of her own. Instead, she fantasized. She imagined she was living with her mom in some place in Florida where the seawater could cool her burning skin and she didn't feel like she was being dissected by her peers because she was different. She knew it was wrong to wish things were different, especially if she had no idea if it would actually be better, but she couldn't help herself. It had been ingrained into her. You want what you can't have and you don't appreciate what you do. But she didn't like to think of that, so she settled for admiring the Hanscoms' house and pretending it was her own.

Jill snapped her hand from the railing and cradled it as the group inched closer to Ben's room. She reached the top of the stairs this time with Stan in front of her. She didn't need to peer over him, she was already tall enough to see into the room without standing on her toes. She noticed how Ben was heaving against his closet door which she thought was odd but everyone had skeletons in their closet so she didn't dwell on it. Her eyes averted to his walls, taking in the articles torn out from old newspapers to history books. All were in black-and-white, adding to the ominous aroma hanging in the air.

Her lip turned up automatically. "What the fuck?" Jill exclaimed as her brown eyes darted around the room, her mouth slightly open in shock.

The rest of the group swiveled to look at Jill who was still observing the room. Ben took his hand off his closet and pointed at his walls. "Cool, huh?" he asked, a smile forming on his round face.

Jill flicked her eyes to him and scoffed. "I think your cool and my cool are very different, bud," she said, shaking her head. She turned around and inched closer to one of the walls, inspecting the torn articles. Something about the whole thing made shivers run down her spine, but she would never admit it.

"She's lying. This is cool," Richie piped up, pointing to a photo on the wall while adjusting his oversized glasses on his face. He put his finger on his chin and squinted his eyes, inspecting it closer. "Wait—" he pointed at it while he shook his head—" no it's not."

Eddie rolled his eyes and Jill followed his lead. She turned back to the walls, tilting her head to take in everything when she felt someone approach her. She glanced at the person out of the corner of her eye, only to see Beverly. Instantly, her heart beat faster and she felt herself smile. The redhead was staring at the walls in adoration, a slight smile on her freckled face as she gently caressed the wall with her fingertips.

"Hey," Jill whispered.

The ginger smiled with gleaming eyes. "Hi."

It seemed almost impossible mere hours ago Jill had been so close to kissing Beverly like there was no tomorrow. Yet, somehow, it was almost as if nothing had ever happened. Beverly still looked at her with those eyes, those same eyes that had called her just a friend, those same eyes that had stared at her like she was nothing more than a shoulder to cry on. Fuck.

Jill sighed and turned her attention to the rest of the group. She made eye contact with Stan who pointed at the stack of newspapers in his hands and sent her a quizzical look. The girl squinted at it then shrugged. Stan seemed to be content with her answer because the next second he was setting down the papers and moving on to the next thing. "What's that?" Stan asked, pointing to a document with signatures at the bottom.

"That?" Ben questioned, turning his attention to the document. "That's the charter for Derry Township."

"Nerd alert," Richie snorted as he shoved his glasses up the bridge of his nose. From beside him, Eddie rolled his eyes.

"Actually, it's really interesting," Ben defended, his brows pinched together. "Derry started as a beaver trapping camp."

"Still is, am I right, boys?" Richie interrupted, holding up his hand for one of the boys to high five him. Stan shot him a blank look and shook his head. Jill smirked at this, which Stan saw. That made him smile. Eddie also gave Richie a look of disapproval, his eyes burning a hole into the back of his head. Richie, on the other hand, stayed completely oblivious as he looked around the room. "What? No one? Come on, that was a good one!"

Jill gave a loud scoff. Maybe it was a little too loud, but she didn't care. She was so fucking tired of Richie Tozier and all of his stupidity. How an idiot like him survived this long in life was unbeknownst to her.

Richie noticed Jill's displeasure and smirked. "What's your damage, pretty thing?" he asked, smugly.

Jill rolled her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest. "My damage is you're a fucking idiot," she spat, raising a brow at him.

"Well—" Richie laughed, looking around the room— "somebody woke up on the wrong side of the bed today."

Jill groaned, shaking her head and opening her mouth to respond, but Ben interrupted her. He acted like the two loudest people of the group hadn't spoken and continued with his research. "Ninety-one people signed the charter that made Derry," he explained, clearing the air of all the bad blood Jill had for Richie. "But later that winter, they all disappeared without a trace."

"All of them?" Eddie asked, his eyes as wide as saucers.

Ben nodded, solemnly. "There were rumors of Indians . . . but no sign of an attack. Everyone thought it was a plague or something. But it's like . . . one day they just woke up and left. The only clue was a trail of clothes leading to the well-house."

Jill felt her anger dissipate, fear replacing it. Everyone else mirrored her reaction, except for Richie Tozier . . . of course. Richie, on the other hand, said, "Wow I guess this means we can go on 'Unsolved Mysteries.'" A laugh escaped his lips, but it was strained. "Quick! Somebody call them up. I wanna' be famous!"

Jill scoffed. "I have a feeling you'll find a way to be in the spotlight no matter what you do," she said, her voice dripping with venom. "It's a shame it'll be you getting the attention, instead of . . . you know . . . someone trying to make a difference."

Richie grinned, widely. "Thank you, Jilly!"

Jill recoiled, scrunching her nose. "Ew, don't call me that," she spat, giving him a look. "Also, that wasn't a fucking compliment."

"Uh . . . it was to me."

Jill glared at him. "Are you fucking stupid?"

Richie opened his mouth to retort, but Bill interrupted the two. "Ben . . . where was the well house?" he asked, his voice low and solemn. His eyes were trained on the walls in front of him as if he were trying to encode everything in sight.

He looks so stupid, Jill observed. But there was something about the way his face drained of color, paling to the shade of ivory as he stared at the articles that resonated with her. She wondered if he knew something more. Because maybe if he did, then she'd figure out this whole thing was connected to her weird dream. But that was wishful thinking and Jill Samson had learned long ago not to wish on shooting stars.

"I don't know." Ben shrugged. "Somewhere in town, I guess."

The Hanscom boy went on about his discoveries, but something caught Jill's eye and she couldn't focus on the words spewing from his lips. Everything seemed to fade, and all voices were muffled as her eyes connected with a small article pinned to Ben's museum of a bedroom wall. The picture wasn't too big or noticeable to the eye, but for some reason, Jill felt it was calling her name; like it was entrancing her under its spell. There were people in the picture, all content and laughing as they conversed, but that wasn't the peculiar part; the clown with a smile like the devil that was hiding in the crowd of people was what the young girl feared.

She wouldn't have caught that small detail if the smile wasn't so eerily similar to the grin photo-Beverly gave her in her nightmare. It was impossible to forget the sneer that was presented on her face that night. Sometimes, she still saw it when she closed her eyes. She had tried to forget the events of that horrid night. She didn't want to remember it because she feared if she accepted what happened to her, it would mean it wasn't a nightmare at all but a cruel reality.

"Bev?" Jill questioned, darting her wide eyes to the ginger who was still standing beside her.

Beverly glanced at her frightened friend, furrowing her thin brows when she saw the terrified look on her face. "Yeah?"

"Do you see that?" Jill hesitantly asked, pointing to the clown present in the old document.

Bev squinted her eyes, nodding when she saw the clown but furrowing her brows when she questioned herself why Jill was overreacting. The Samson girl had a deep love for all things gore and horror, so naturally, the redhead had no idea why her friend's heart skipped a beat in fear.

Jill's eyes grew wider just as Bev's curiosity deepened. Jill hastily whipped her head to meet the watchful eyes of Ben Hanscom. He wasn't looking at her; he was staring straight at Beverly. She grumbled and brought him out of his trance with the snap of her fingers in front of his face."Ben, what's this? There's a clown? Why is there a clown in the courtroom?" she inquired, her blood heating up as the seconds of silence passed.

Ben rapidly blinked, shooting his attention to Jill and following her outstretched hand to the small picture on his wall. He nervously smiled once he realized all the attention in the room had been directed to him once again. "I don't know." He cleared his throat and peered closer at the article. "That's a drawing. Maybe the artist—"

Jill shook her head so hard Ben swore it would snap right off, but it didn't and she interrupted with her usual hoarse and frantic voice, "But this is a historical document, why draw a clown? Why was a clown even necessary in a courtroom? Isn't that . . . I don't know . . . kinda stupid?"

Ben shrugged. "Beats me, Jill."

The other kids continued on with their conversations as Jill stood still, trying to calm her heart. She didn't want to look at the drawing anymore, in fact, she wanted to go home. She just wanted to go home no matter how nice Ben's house was. She missed her turtle stuffed animals and her bed. Oh god, she just wanted to take a nap on her bed and forget all about Derry's fucked up history.

A hand on her shoulder brought her out of her trance, making her jump in response. Beverly brought her hand back to her side with a quizzical look on her face. "You okay?" she asked, hesitantly.

Jill stole a glance at the drawing, but she immediately shut her eyes. The smile was too haunting to stare at for a second longer. "Yeah, fine," she breathed out, slowly opening her eyes. "I just . . . don't like clowns."

Beverly nodded, but she didn't believe her completely.

"Hey, can we go home?" Jill asked, tapping her foot on the ground. She was trying to calm herself down, but she didn't have an outlet to take her emotions out on. She needed to scream or cry or do anything else other than standing there like a statue. "I just don't feel good. I think it might be a heat stroke or whatever."

Beverly's face softened. "Yeah, don't sweat it. We can all hang out some other time," she said quietly so only Jill could hear.

Jill resisted the urge to roll her eyes. She didn't want to hang out with any of them except for Beverly. She was so tired of boys and she hadn't even started with them. Only Stan seemed to be all right, but she had only met him a few hours ago, so it wasn't like she could judge his entire character. The others, on the other hand, like Richie . . . and Bill, she hated them the most.

"Hey, guys, we're gonna' head out. See ya later," Beverly said to the boys, giving them a two-finger salute. "Thanks for showing this to us, new kid." Jill gave them a quick nod, resisting the urge to flip them off.

A chorus of farewells were sent their way as the two girls headed to the door with Beverly walking in front of Jill, taking her time as she reached the stairs. "Maybe we can hang out with them tomorrow," she said, her voice dripping with hope.

Jill squeezed her eyes shut until stars appeared. No, no, no, no, and fuck no! "Yeah, sure." Fuck.

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Jill arrived back to her apartment with a wildfire burning in her lungs. Her throat filled with smoke, causing her to erupt into a coughing fit. She pressed a hand to her throat as she shuffled toward her kitchen sink. She turned on the faucet and dipped her head under it, opening her mouth to welcome the water. Water trickled down her throat, extinguishing the fire burning within her chest. A cough tickled her throat and she cleared her throat, turning off the faucet and standing straight.

That was odd. The heat must have been getting to her. Yeah, that was it. The heat. The fact that she had been out in the sun all day and only arrived back home a few minutes before dark was probably the reason behind her dry throat. If not that, then she had no idea what could have caused the outburst. Or maybe Bill was getting to her. But that couldn't be. He had already gotten to her and apparently to Beverly, who decided to head home instead of coming over to Jill's for a snack. After all, they hadn't eaten all day except a few breakfast bars. But maybe Beverly wasn't thinking with her stomach. Maybe she had gone home to call Bill up on the landline.

A fire ignited in Jill's chest again. She groaned and went to her cabinets to find a suitable cup. She decided if she was going to erupt into a coughing fit again, she might as well pour herself a glass of water. But as soon as she opened the first cabinet, her gaze landed on a small cup she hadn't seen in years.

There sitting front and center on the second shelf of the cabinet was her cup of stars. It was a small dingy mug with stars painted on the bottom of the inside of the cup. It was a token of her childhood—a token she had long forgotten. She had almost convinced herself it was a figment of her imagination that she conjured up when she was a child, but seeing it brought back all the memories along with the realization the little cup was very, very real.

When the Samsons had first moved to Derry with their hopes high for a future they had yet to craft, Elizabeth Phenny (Samson back then) went shopping in town. She came back home with a little cup adorned with stars and gifted it to her daughter, Jill. Even back then, Jill adored the cup. She called it her cup of stars and never went anywhere without it in her hands. She wouldn't even take a sip of anything to quench her thirst unless it was out of her cup of stars.

Jill blinked away the fog clouding her eyes and reached for the cup with a gentle grasp. She wrapped her hands around the cup with minimal pressure. The fear of breaking it under her harsh grasp was too immense in her mind not to listen to reason. This little cup was too valuable to Jill Samson to even risk the chance of cracking it. This little cup that held all her hopes and dreams. The only cup she would ever dare to drink from. Her little cup of stars.

She remembered a time when this measly cup meant everything to her. When she would throw tantrums if it wasn't in her grasp. When she'd refuse to even look at a glass of water unless it was contained in her cup of stars. And she had forgotten it along with all the memories it held. Except for now. She remembered now; actually, she remembered a specific memory attached to the token.

In a small diner just on the outskirts of Derry, Jill Samson sat impatiently at the edge of a booth, her arms crossed stubbornly over her chest and a scowl on her face. She had just turned six and her parents decided a birthday treat would do for the time being. Although they were short on money, they still wanted to spare some change on their daughter. But Jill Samson was not having it.

Their meals had arrived a few minutes ago, but when Jill took a sip from the restaurant's cup, she immediately spat it back out and claimed it tasted like sewer water. She insisted on her cup of stars, explaining that every other cup made the apple juice taste bad. So she sat there, her arms crossed over her chest and a sour look plaguing her face. Elizabeth sat there calmly, combing her daughter's hair with her fingers while David Samson remained displeased with the little girl's behavior and tried to convince her to cooperate, but Jill refused every time.

"No," Jill shook her head, "it tastes like toilet water."

The waitress raised a brow as she impatiently tapped her pen on her notepad. David Samson nervously chuckled, waving off his daughter's attitude. "Oh, don't be like that, munchkin," he said, quietly so wandering ears couldn't hear their conversation. "The nice lady's just trying to do her job. Can you just drink out of the cup, please? For me?"

Jill huffed and vigorously shook her head.

Elizabeth swatted her husband's arm. "Dave, shush, she just wants her cup of stars," she explained, a pleasant smile kissing her lips.

David turned a light shade of red, bringing a hand to his face to rub his temples. He let out a heavy sigh and said, "I thought we agreed we weren't going to feed into this anymore." His face was solemn as he spoke, but his voice was laced with anger. "It's not healthy to let her—"

"It's her little cup," Elizabeth interrupted her husband with a firm tone. To any eavesdroppers, the scene would have looked normal, nothing particularly special about the family or the argument. But if one were to look close; to peel back a piece of Elizabeth's brain, they'd see the meaning behind her words. To her, this little cup wasn't just any cup. And if she let her daughter give up the cup of stars so easily, Jill would never see it again. Once Jill let go of her hold on the cup, she'd be trapped like everyone else and her little cup of stars would amount to nothing more than a memory. Elizabeth couldn't let that happen. Not yet.

"Is everything all right?" the waitress asked in a monotone voice. She was obviously bored and clearly had better things to do than sit around and wait for a little girl to suck it up and drink out of a cup.

Elizabeth tore her eyes from her husband's and fixated them on the waitress. "Yes, it's just she has this cup at home with stars on the bottom. She always, always, always drinks from it. She calls it her cup of stars because she can see the stars at the bottom while she drinks. She says it makes everything taste better."

"That's because it does!" Jill shouted, her voice abrupt and whiney. "It's magic, mommy."

Elizabeth glanced down at her daughter who was seated beside her. "I know, baby—" she leaned down close enough so only Jill could hear the words coming from her mother's mouth— "but if people knew of its magic they'd try to steal it." She ran a hand through her daughter's mangled brown hair and caressed her chubby cheek. "So, don't you see, we have to keep that a secret, all right?"

Jill's brown eyes grew wide with excitement. "We?"

"Yes—" Elizabeth scrunched her nose and pinched her daughter's cheek— "it'll be our little secret."

"Promise?"

Elizabeth held out her hand, sticking out her pinky toward her daughter. "Pinky promise," she said, softly. Jill grinned widely as she interlocked her pinky with her mother's. "And remember . . . insist on your cup of stars. No one can take it from you if you do."

Her mother turned back to the waitress and nodded. "I think we're fine now," she affirmed, glancing at her daughter out of the corner of her eye. "Isn't that right, Jilly Bean?"

Jill beamed, grinning widely at her mother as she nodded her head. Elizabeth winked and reached out to tap her daughter's nose. And with that wink, the deal was sealed. It was their little secret now. It still was. It always had been.

Jill blinked herself back to reality. Something wet dripped onto her hand and her cheek felt moist. She pressed a finger to her cheek, and rubbed the substance between her fingertips. She was crying, and she hadn't even noticed. She flicked away the tears, wiping the wet liquid onto the collar of her dress.

A sigh escaped her lips as she drew her attention back to the small cup in her calloused hands. Her mother's voice infiltrated her consciousness at that moment. Insist on your cup of stars, she whispered.

Jill nodded although she was sure it was all in her head. Oh, who was she kidding? Of course, it was in her head. Her mother was gone. She had left without her and she hated that, but she couldn't bring herself to hate her. So instead, anger took its toll on the girl. Its scorching arms wrapped around her frame, forging their bodies together. Jill felt the flames lick her skin and how it made her body ache, but she couldn't bring herself to scream. She wanted to. Believe her she just wanted to scream and cry until all the anger dissipated, but she couldn't. All she could do was sit there and stare at her cup of stars, wishing that Elizabeth Phenny would walk through the front door and tell her everything would be all right. But no footsteps sounded from the door, and Jill Samson was left to stand in her kitchen alone with her cup of stars in her hands.

Jill sniffled, trying to contain the electric current coursing through her veins. Insist on your cup of stars, she repeated in her head until she was sure the words were engraved into her skull. But she didn't cry. She refused to. Instead, she let the anger run its course, then she headed for the sink and turned on the faucet. Once the tap water filled her cup of stars to the brim, she brought it to her lips, closed her eyes, and took a sip.

Shit. It tasted like shit.

The brunette spat out the water and poured the rest down the drain. She watched in disgust as it was swallowed by the drain. She could have sworn she was actually drinking shit water from the sewers or the toilet. The water filters in Derry weren't the best which she knew, so it could have been that. Or maybe the cup had lost its magic. Maybe when Elizabeth left, the magic went with her and left Jill with shit water. But something told her that there was more to the story; something to do with all the weird shit going on in Derry like the stuff Ben showed her earlier that day.

Jill shook her head and laughed. No, it couldn't be. Nothing was going on in Derry. Nothing out of the ordinary. She was just having some bad dreams. That was all.

She bent over the counter to place the cup on the windowsill so it couldn't be broken, but before she could, a voice whispered her name. "Jilly."

Jill retreated, holding the cup close to her chest as she looked around the room to see if there were any intruders or if her father had arrived home from work. But no one was in sight.

"Jilly," the voice whispered again. This time Jill was able to detect where the voice was coming from—the drain.

Her brown eyes snapped to the drain in the sink, and she peered over the edge to get a closer look. Nothing seemed to be down there except for food particles and germs. "Uh . . . hello?" she asked, loudly. Maybe it was a rat stuck in the drain and she had mistaken the squeaks for a human voice.

"Jilly Bean, insist on your cup of stars," another voice spoke from the drain, but she recognized this one. She wasn't sure she could ever forget it no matter how many years it had been since she last heard it.

Tears fogged her vision. "Mom?" she spoke barely above a whisper, her voice fragile and unsteady.

"You told her didn't you?" her mother's voice asked, maliciously. "You told her about your cup. You broke our promise. You told her our secret."

"No." Jill shook her head, unaware of the lies seeping through her teeth. She had forgotten when they were kids, she told Beverly about the cup and how she believed it had magic beyond their imagination. It sounded stupid now, but maybe it wasn't. Maybe breaking that secret somehow impacted the timeline and pushed her mother one step closer to abandoning her family. Maybe it was all Jill's fault.

"I should have known you would," the voice went on, hissing through clenched teeth. "You're useless; a waste of space. And you told our secret to a girl who will never love you. How pathetic."

Jill blinked away her tears, ignoring their cold touch as they landed on her cheeks. "No, mom, you don't understand. It's Beverly. She would never tell anyone. She's my friend."

The voice scoffed. "Is that what she tells you? That you're her friend? She's lying, Jilly. She only wants to use you so she can steal your cup and then she'll leave," it went on, its voice like poison in Jill's veins. "She'll leave you for Bill or any of the other boys. Anyone is better than you, she said."

Jill shook her head. "You're lying. Beverly wouldn't. She'd not like that," she insisted, clutching the cup closer to her chest as if her life depended on it.

"But she is, Jilly," the voice explained in a softer tone, but it still had a way of sending shivers down Jill's spine. "She'll grow to hate you and then she'll leave you just like everyone else."

"No, Beverly wouldn't. She wouldn't leave me. She's my best friend." Jill couldn't breathe, her lungs felt like they were on fire. She needed water, anything to extinguish the fire, but she couldn't resort to the water in the tap. It would only add to the fire. She just needed the voice . . . or her mom . . . to tell her Beverly would never leave her. If she did, Jill didn't know what she'd do. She'd sooner die than think about a world without Beverly Marsh. "She wouldn't leave. You-You're the one who left me."

The voice—her mother's voice—laughed—it was mocking and laced with venom. "But don't you see? I had to, but I'm back now and I've come to get you." A hand slowly emerged from the drain, reaching out for Jill. Jill jumped back, still clutching the cup. "So take my hand and we can run away together where no one can ever leave you again. Come float with me and your cup of stars will be safe."

Jill roamed her eyes over the hand. Her heart felt heavy as she took in the elegant curve of the wrist—similar to her mother's, but something was off. Something about this hand wasn't completely identical to that of her mother. Somewhere in the chemical makeup, there was an error and Jill knew it. "No," she finally breathed out, taking a cautious step back from the hand. If she was dreaming then the hand would disappear and she'd wake up in her bed. "You're not you. I don't know how to explain it, but you're not her. You're someone else. You're—"

The hand shot forward, wrapping around Jill's neck and tugging her toward the sink. She barely had enough time to gasp before the hand unleashed its wrath on her throat. She barely even noticed the cup slip from her grasp, she only heard it shatter on the floor.

"You should have taken my hand, Jilly," the voice, now nothing like her mother's, spat. "You could have floated peacefully." Its grip on her neck tightened, digging its fingernails into her skin. Jill fought against it, trying to pry its hand from around her throat, but she couldn't think properly enough to manage anything past that. "Haven't you ever wondered why your mother never came back? It's because she never wanted you. She'd forgotten about you just like you forgot about your cup of stars." Jill tried to scream, but nothing came out. She could feel her face turning red as her airways were crushed under the hand's grasp. "Beverly will forget about you, too, and then you'll be alone. You'll always be alone, Jilly. So, give in. Give in and come float with me."

The ringing in her ears was all she could hear past that. She stopped trying to listen to the voice and listened to the white noise infiltrating her senses. Her vision blurred as she tried gasping for air, all she felt was a thick pain in her throat. And for a second, she gave in to the pain. She felt her body being slowly pulled closer to the drain, but she couldn't register the events occurring. She expected everything to go dark, but before her vision could fade away, her body was flung against something hard and oxygen entered her burning lungs.

She lied there in the white noise, drifting in and out of consciousness as she tried to catch her breath. The pain was still there but it was more of a numbing ache. Then came her hearing and she found herself wishing she had lost it altogether.

"Jill, honey, are you okay?" her father's voice infiltrated her senses, bringing her back to reality, but she refused to open her eyes. "Jill? Jill?" She felt his hands on her arms as he tried to gather her in his arms. He might have been crying, but Jill couldn't tell. She didn't care.

Jill welcomed the darkness, wallowing in its cold embrace. It made her burning skin feel cool and calmed her senses. That was what she wanted—peace from her burning anger. But she couldn't stay floating in limbo for eternity, she had to come back to reality. What she felt now was nothing more than a bad dream turned into bliss. She was almost certain that something was up with Derry and it was causing her to have these visions or dreams or whatever they might be called. But she couldn't believe that they were real. She'd be considered crazy if she did. So they had to be dreams. They just had to be or else Jill Samson wasn't sure she was going to survive the summer being haunted by this thing.

Her eyes snapped open just as David returned with a cold towel to place on her forehead. Jill swallowed a few times before she sat up and rubbed her throat. It felt raw and maybe it was, so she kept her hand covering the skin. "I just slipped," she whispered, but her voice came out weak and raspy. Maybe the dream was more real than she thought. Or maybe she did this to herself. It wouldn't be too uncommon. She had heard of people doing such things. Maybe she had become one of those people.

David sat down on the kitchen floor in front of her and searched her face. He worried about her, but he knew when not to push. So instead of pestering his daughter, he held out the cold towel as an offering. A smile was on his face. Jill didn't return the smile, but she did reluctantly take the towel from him to press it around her throat.

A few seconds of silence passed as the two sat on the floor like fallen dominos. David's head was filled with questions he wanted to ask his daughter, but he knew better. If he asked, she'd leave, and he didn't want her to leave. He wanted her to stay right there where he could protect her from every bad thing the world had in store for her. So instead, he settled for watching her in silence as she tore through her mind.

He tore his eyes from his daughter and observed the rest of the room. His gaze landed on the small broken cup. "Your cup . . . it's broken," he said, his voice solemn and filled with an emotion Jill couldn't detect. Maybe Elizabeth Phenny had become his ghost too and the cup had brought it all back.

Jill turned her attention to the mess and nearly let a sob escape her lips. Her cup. Her cup of stars was broken.

Insist on your cup of stars.

But how could she insist on it when it was in a million pieces? Her cup was broken. And her mother was gone. So what was the point? "It's just a stupid cup," she whispered with a shrug, but her eyes still filled with tears.

It wasn't just a stupid cup. It was hers—her cup of stars and it was broken. And who was to say she wasn't, too?

a/n: hello i absolutely hate this chapter but it's okay!! i literally wrote this in one sitting and you can tell i got bored toward the end oops!! anyways yeah i'm totally using inspiration from haunting of hill house because i miss the crain siblings????? but for real, jill 2.0 is lowkey inspired by a lot of the characters! mostly luke & nell, though. you'll see how in the future!

RANDOM question but what do you think jill's hogwarts house is?

thanks for reading!