𝐅𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 (𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭)
𝐖𝐡𝐨'𝐬 𝐢𝐭 𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐛𝐞 𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭
𝐋𝐨𝐜𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐝𝐨𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐬 𝐭𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭
𝐒𝐨𝐨𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐥𝐥 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐢'𝐦 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭
𝐖𝐞'𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐢𝐧 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚 𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭

- Fright Night, J. Geils Band

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

     The children, all seven of them now dry and dressed, coast down the street on their bikes, Ben in the lead.

     Ben, Y/n noticed, seemed in an awfully big hurry to get inside first. They had all ditched their bikes on the front lawn of the Hanscom residence and sped inside after Ben, eager not to lose his trail. Though Y/n and Richie lingered behind when Eddie had tripped and fallen over Richie's bike. Each of them had been in such a hurry of their own to catch up with the rest, they had failed to notice the woman on the corner of the street, who was stapling a missing poster of Patrick Hockstetter to the telephone pole.

     When the kids reached the open door at the end of the hall, they could only assume it belonged to Ben. As they entered, their previous conversations died down as their eyes fell on his walls. Dozens upon dozens of pages, much like the ones in his folder littered each wall.

     "Wow," Richie breathed.

     Ben smiled, shifting on his feet excitedly with pride swelling in his chest. "Cool, huh?"

     Richie reached the end of the room, readjusting his glasses with a thoughtful look on his face.

     "No, no, nothing cool," Y/n felt guilty for the quiet chuckle she released at Richie's remark. "There's nothing cool."

     Richie stepped closer to the wall, adjusting his glasses squinting over so slightly.

     "This is cool, right here," he feigned a sigh. "Wait, no. No, it's not cool,"

     Y/n chuckled once more, lightly whacking Richie on the arm as she joined him and Eddie by the wall. Ben stepped out of the way to make room for her and he looked across the room at Beverly, who was mindfully traveling the walls, soaking up all the information provided.

     Stan had joined Y/n, Richie, and Eddie by Ben's dresser, a curious look on his face. He gestured to a particularly long piece of copy paper, with several things circled and written in red ink.

     Ben returned his gaze to the wall, and back at Stan.

     "Oh, that? That's the charter for Derry Township."

     Richie scoffed, smirking at Eddie and Y/n.

     "Nerd alert."

     Ben simply shrugged it off. "No, actually, it's pretty interesting."

     Y/n smiled at this and nodded impressed with Ben.

     "Derry started as a beaver trapping camp,"

     "Still is, am I right fellas?" Richie asked, a smirk on his lips and his hand outstretched waiting for a high five.

     No one reciprocated, though Stan did give him a disapproving shake of the head.

     Her eyes scanned the walls, and she felt the mood shift to that of uncertainty and she could almost feel a weight sitting upon her shoulders. Y/n hadn't realized just how many missing kid posters were hung up and she felt herself grow uneasy, and the pit in her stomach only grew as Ben continued unfazed by Richie.

     "Ninety-one people signed the charter that made Derry. But, later that winter, they all disappeared without a trace."

     "The entire camp?" Eddie asked in disbelief.

     Y/n was still transfixed on the papers tacked onto the wall, though still very much tuned into the conversation.

     "There were rumors of Indians, but no signs of an attack."

     The rag clad girl gulped as her eyes landed on illustration depicting the signing of the town charter. The knot in her stomach tightened and she felt a wave of nerves and nausea though she could not say why. Something about the illustration bothered her and made her hair stand on end. Something that churned her stomach and drained the color from her skin. Something, she still could quite put her finger on.

     "Everybody just thought it was a plague or something. But it's like, one day everybody just woke up and left. The only clue was a trail of bloody clothes leading to the well house,"

     Y/n's eyes flickered to the illustration of the wellhouse, but they didn't linger long. Her attention returned to the signing of the town charter when Richie spoke up.

     "Jesus. We can get Derry on Unsolved Mysteries."

     Ben thought he heard the creaking of a door and he turned around quickly. Sure enough, Beverly had nearly closed his bedroom door, silently revealing his New Kids On The Block poster and he felt as if he might die. He sent her a pleading look, almost certain his face was completely pink, and a small smirk found its way onto her face. She returned the door to its original position without another word, hiding the poster where it would remain their little secret.

     Taking advantage of Ben's diverted attention, Stan turned to Richie, Eddie and Y/n in a hushed whisper.

     "Why is he showing us this stuff?"

     Y/n was finally pulled from her quizzical trance and directed her attention back to the boys. Richie shrugged, also speaking in something of a whisper.

     "Maybe he's just trying to make some friends, Stanley."

     Bill, who had been drawn in by a small selection of slides on Ben's desk, spoke up for the first time since they had arrived.

     "Where was the well house?"

     Everyone turned to face Ben. Y/n noticed that Eddie had picked up a bottle of what must have been cologne, and took a big whiff. The strong smell caught him off guard and Y/n smiled mischievously. She quickly and lightly smacked her palm against the bottom of the bottle, bumping it against his face and nearly knocking it out of his grasp. Some of its contents flew up against the glass and splashed his nose leaving droplets on his face as well as the rim of the bottle and she snickered.

     "I don't know," Ben answered, shrugging. "Somewhere in town, I guess. Why?"

     Feverishly, Eddie wiped his face. His nose was scrunched up in disgust, unable to escape the strong and overpowering musk that clung to his nose.

     Bill, who like the other kids - save for Richie who caught the tail end of Y/n's little trick and was hiding laughter of his own - had not noticed Eddie's discomfort. His lips pressed into a firm line and he looked away distracted with thoughts of his own.

· · ─── ·𖥸· ─── · ·

     Eddie turned the corner passing the old church, his feet carrying him down Neibolt Street. His backpack clutched tight, he brought his hands up to his mouth, hoping he could still do the trick he had been so proud to learn.

     Sure enough, he managed a few discernible notes. But the tune he held and all desire to practice the skill died down as he approached the familiar broken down house at the end of the block. Everything around it was either dead or dying and if one were to look at that and only that lot they'd think it was mid-October. His Mama always warned him against that house and going anywhere near it.

     No good could come from it Eddie Bear, no good. God forbid you ever find yourself around that house, or any one like it, you just keep to yourself and you keep on walking, you hear me, Eddie? You keep on walking. Places like that are a hotspot for death and disease and you'd be making a fool outta me if you do otherwise. Now tell me, is your mama a fool Eddie?

     "No, Ma."

     "Good boy,"

     He could hear her scolding him even now as clear as if she was standing next to him. He could not say why he had stopped just outside the house, perhaps it was the memory of her warning him against such things or the way the house seemed to cast a shadow over the whole street but he found himself in a daze unable to move.

     Channeling his mother and her fearful worried cries, the stopwatch beeped rhythmically on his wrist as if telling him, "Keep on walking! Keep on walking! Keep on walking!" He brought himself out of his trance and the stopwatch, not unlike his mother, was now wailing at him, reminding him it was time for his afternoon pill.

     He unzipped his fanny pack, his small hands dug through its contents for the familiar plastic container. Popping open the cap, he grabbed the pill in his hands and raised it to his lips but he felt himself stiffen at the creek of an old door. He watched frozen as the front door of the dreaded house on Neibolt sat wide open.

     He knew it wasn't open before, he was sure of it. Nevertheless, it was wide open and it was so dark inside the house it seemed to swallow up all light that entered. He could hear a bone-chilling voice echoing in the back of his mind, calling out to him.

     Eddie.

     His eyes remained on the front door, almost too afraid that if he looked away something would swallow him up. The voice he believed to be from the darkest depths of his twisted imagination continued.

     What are you looking for?

     But his mother's shrill voice was louder in his subconscious and he had never been so thankful.

     No good can come from it, Eddie Bear. No good. Keep on walking!

     Thankful to be pulled from his trance he tore his gaze away from the house and continued on. He opened up his fanny pack, his hands still trembling. Unfortunately, the container slipped from his sweaty hands and hit the pavement cracking it open. All his meds spilled out onto the dirty concrete and he cursed himself.

     "Fuck. Mom's gonna fucking flip."

     Eddie picked up far too many pills to carry and he quickly crawled forward, grabbing the blue container to hold them all. He could already hear his mother's lecture that would come.

     Do you have any idea how expensive these are Eddie? And you might as well have chucked 'em down the drain! You need them, Eddie! You know how fragile you are, how could you be so careless?

     Nine, ten, eleven, twelve, he had picked up nearly all of his pills, not bothering to sort them in the container. He followed them like a trail of breadcrumbs, plucking them up and quickly discarding them into the container one by one. He reached for the last remaining capsule, it's bright red hue making it easy to spot on the grey concrete.

     The last thing he expected was a long, discolored and bony hand with blackened nails wrap around the pill. The hand was shaking as much Eddie's was and it slowly raised the capsule in front of his face. The hand was wrapped poorly in a dirty cloth, and Eddie realized it wasn't just the fingernails that were black but nearly all of the fingers. It was curled around the pill, and Eddie could swear he saw every bone.

     The same raspy voice from before was now loud and clear.

     "Do you think this will help me, Eddie?"

     The figure attached to the hand leaned forward suddenly, giving Eddie a look at Its horribly disfigured face for the first time. It was a leper, Eddie recognized. Its face was a sickly grey, bulbous pink warts bubbled on the grey skin that hung off Its face. One of Its eyes was completely rotted and drool dribbled from Its chin and if Eddie had to pick what was most jarring to see, it was the shriveled up slit where Its nose was supposed to be.

     The first breath of air Eddie managed to get was the sharp gasp that left his mouth. He tumbled onto his back, his pills now completely forgotten. He scrambled away though his limbs felt like they were made of lead and no matter how much he tried he couldn't seem to go fast enough. The leper could barely balance properly, and It's twig thin legs wobbled as It walked. He charged forward after Eddie. Eddie hadn't realized he had been heading in the direction of the Neibolt house until he felt the crunch of dead grass beneath his palms.

     All he could see apart from the drooling figure was the blinding sun poking from behind the leper's head. Scrounging up every ounce of energy he could muster Eddie jumped back, somehow able to mind the rusted iron gate.

     The leper lurched for Eddie once more, swiping Its frail arm at him. Miraculously, Eddie was able to dodge the attack and he scrambled to his feet. He had to pull his legs up high as he ran to keep from tripping over the tall grass. The leper growled and Eddie zipped through the yard at a speed he didn't know he had. But it didn't matter, the leper was still hot on his trail, swinging Its arms back and forth as he sped after him.

     His fearful cries ripped from his throat as he ran around the side of the house.

     "Help! Help!"

     Much to his horror, Eddie felt himself lose his balance and he tumbled to the ground and the momentum rolled him forward across the grass. The leper was closing in and he scrambled to his feet once more, he risked the chance of capture and spared a glance behind him. The leper swiped at him and Eddie yelped in fear.

     Eddie thought he spotted a small hole in the fence just behind the shrubbery and he thanked any all-knowing force in the universe he had an exit. He feverishly swiped at the shrubbery, trying desperately to get by. But the leper must be inches away from him by now, his head whipped around and he unexpectedly stopped. What he saw made him stop in his tracks even though everything in screamed to move but the sight was all too strange he wasn't sure if he was hallucinating or not.

     The leper was gone and just across the yard a tall and lanky figure. It was dressed in a silver puffy suit, with bright orange pom-poms and it looked to be from across many different decades. But of course, the shocking image that mystified Eddie was the array of blood-red balloons that formed an upside-down triangle that defied the laws of physics. Its head was hidden behind the singular balloon at the base of the pyramid.

     The balloon simultaneously slowly rose, revealing the face of a clown. It was pale white apart from his lips that were painted blood red and the edge of his lips trailed up all the way above his brows, bisecting each yellow eye. He had three large tufts of orange hair and his forehead was chipped and cracking like cheap paint. The clown stared at Eddie, hatred in his eyes.

     And yet, the clown's lips curled up into a smile, his bottom lip making a sharp 'v' revealing large buck teeth that reminded Eddie of a rabbit's.

     "Where ya goin' Eds? If you lived here, you'd be home by now."

     When the clown spoke, Eddie felt as if all that was good and pure in the world had shriveled up and died and he felt his stomach plummet. It was a gravelly and squeaky voice, a voice that chilled him to the bone.

     He gulped in fear and Eddie felt the absence of air in his lungs and he had no idea if it was his asthma or the fear that gripped his heart. As if sensing this, the clown's smile grew, a feat Eddie hadn't previously thought possible.

     "Come and join the clown, Eds. You'll float down here. We all float down here. Yes, we do."

     The clown shook It's head, speaking in a voice that might remind one of someone speaking down to a dog. A sharp and squeaky cackle left the clown's mouth, startling Eddie out of his trance. He returned his attention to the shrubbery, desperately swiping aside the thin branches blocking him from the fence. A scream ripped from his throat in a combination of fear and hope that someone would hear him.

     Eddie scrambled for the hole in the fence, for once in his life not concerned about the possibility of any damage he might take in the process. He felt dirt and pebbles wedge into his the creases of his knees but nothing compared to the dangerous hammering of his heart against his chest. The sounds of thousands of balloons popping grabbed his attention once more and he glanced over his shoulder to see nothing but an empty yard.

· · ─── ·𖥸· ─── · ·

     Beverly closed the front door behind her, she made her way to the end of the hallway towards her bedroom. The entire apartment was quiet, and the only sounds that carried down the halls were the rattling of the old fan in the living room. She took a seat on her bed, opening up her bag she had taken to the quarry. She unzipped the main pocket and began sifting through her belongings when she heard something tumble to the ground. Curious, she picked it up.

     It was a postcard of Derry. Someone must have slipped it into her bag at the quarry. Beverly flipped the postcard over to find a little note etched in pencil.

     To: Beverly
     From: Secret Admirer

     That was all she allowed herself to read before she stood from her bed and retreated to the bathroom, the only safe space in the house. Her heart was aflutter as she closed the door behind her, locking it.

     Bev took another lingering look at the front of the postcard and the sound of her boot heels clicked against the tile as she headed for the bathtub. She lowered herself into the mint green tub, her legs dangling over the side and she rested her back against the other side.

     She held the postcard up to the light, excitedly. A smile tugged at her lips as she read the scratchy handwriting. She read aloud in a quiet whisper, and she felt a warmth spread through her chest and her stomach did flips. Not the kind she was used to, this was a giddy feeling and she never knew she could experience such a beautiful feeling.

     "Your hair is winter fire, January Embers, My heart burns there too,"

     Beverly was certain she had never smiled so hard. She read the poem once more, making sure she wasn't imagining it and she brought it close to her heart, where it would remain forever.

     "Beverly,"

     Bev frowned, and her attention was drawn across the room. All she could hear at the moment was the sound water droplets falling from the faucet and into the drain. She couldn't help but wonder if she had imagined it. Right on cue, the voice spoke again, calling out her name and she was almost certain it was coming from the drain in the sink.

     "Help me,"

     It sounded like a familiar female voice. Y/n? No, it couldn't be, that wouldn't make any sense. Then again, none of this did. Cautiously, she rose from the tub and inched towards the sink.

     "Help me, please" the voice spoke again, this time in a harsh whisper.

     She slowly approached the sink to examine it. Her heartbeat was still fairly slow, though it pounded against her ribcage and it was forceful. The voice from the drain continued, though now it was accompanied by a few other voices, all of which sounded fairly young.

     "We all want to meet you, Beverly. We all float down here"

     Maybe this was all a dream. She was imagining the whole thing, including the postcard. The poem seemed much too good to be true anyway. And yet, curiosity still drew her in.

     "Hello? Who are you?" She asked, peering down the drain.

     "I'm Veronica."

     "Betty Ripsom."

     "Patrick Hockstetter."

     She leaned closer, racking her brain for some kind of explanation as to what could possibly explain this. Maybe if she could see them. Maybe they got stuck below the apartment building somehow and were communicating through the pipes? It was a long shot and it didn't make much sense, but again, none of this did. The voices seemed to have read her mind and they spoke once more, encouraging her.

     "Come closer." One said.

     "Wanna see?" Another asked.

     "We float."

     "We change." The last voice grew deep and hoarse, and it let out a distorted giggle that echoed through the pipes.

     A tape measure, it just might work. Beverly thought she last saw it in the living room. Where her father was. Well, hopefully, she could sneak in and grab it without him waking up. The last thing she needed was being bombarded with a bunch of questions she herself couldn't answer.

     Beverly crept into the hallway, careful to avoid the squeaky floorboard near the corner's edge. When she approached the living room, the sound of the rattling fan and the static of the television set grew louder. Her father was still fast asleep, past out in front of the TV, beer cans on the side table. But just across the room sat the tape measure.

     When she returned to the bathroom, she closed the door behind her gently once more, neglecting to lock it. She stood above the sink, tape measure in hand, and the bathroom now silent as a tomb. Extending the end of the yellow coil, it snaked further and further down the drain. She extended the measure until her fingers touched the sink, expecting a dull thud from the curve of the pipes but none came. Further and further down it went, defying the shape of the pipes. Finally, to her relief, she felt a thud, and a small metallic clang echoed up the drain.

     Beverly sighed and began reeling in the tape, up and up, and up some more. It had nearly reached the rim of the drain when Beverly noticed a change in color. The yellow strip blended into a bright red hue and she grimaced when she found the tape measure was now covered in blood. It was restricted by a thick rope of hair that was tangled around the lip, making it harder for Beverly to retract it and she grimaced at the ugly sight.

     Clumps of blood were threaded through the strands and it knotted at the ends where it gripped the blade. Beverly was too slow and vastly unprepared to rip her hand away from the unexpected attack. Strands of hair whipped out and curled around her hand and wrist. The tape measure dropped into the sink making a loud clang, though it was quickly drowned out by Beverly's frightened screams.

     Beverly was pulled closed to the sink no matter how hard she fought. Her other wrist was quickly restrained in another lock of sentient hair and she grunted trying to escape its strength. Bev felt her throat grow raw from the screams that erupted from her throat. Twines of hair coiled around her neck, pulling her closer. Thick tendrils of hair burst from the drain and wrapped firmly around her head and curling around her face. She felt the hair grow and wrap around her body, restraining her legs so it was impossible to run away.

     "Daddy! Help!"

     Her words were barely discernible as they were lost in her screams but she knew that didn't matter. The hair pulled tighter and she was jerked harshly towards the drain. The hair was now sprawled all across her face like roots spreading in every direction. Her voice never wavered and her screams grew harsher if at all possible.

     A dark red substance bubbled up from the drain and oozed out into the sink. It was blood so dark it was almost black and it was thick and slow but it bubbled like a stew being brought to a boil. Before her brain could instruct her mouth to close, gallons and gallons of blood spewed from the drain like a guiser. Her mouth was filled with the metallic taste and she felt every inch of her skin soaked in blood. It splashed off her face and hit the walls around her.

     It reached every corner and crevice of the room, it even splattered across her poem. The current of blood was so strong it moved the glass lampshade of the light above the sink. The pressure of the blast stung her face and the blood stung her eyes.

     Finally, the grip on her body loosened and she was able to wiggle free. She stumbled back and crashed on the slippery floor. Her screams withered into weak whimpers of fear and she felt her feet and hands slipped out from under her several times. Her heart felt as if it would explode in her chest and she never stopped scrambling until she felt her back hit the wall. She cowered in fear, her whole body was trembling and the blood was still gushing from the sink like a hose.

     Beverly closed her eyes and sobs shook her body. The blood had finally stopped and she barely registered the sound of the hair slithering back down the drain. Her sobs turned into weak screams and she was still wailing when her father swung the down open.

     "The hell's going on?" He asked.

     He looked more annoyed than concerned and he looked at her, waiting for an answer.

     "T-t-the sink..." her lips quivered and she looked desperately around the room. "And the b-b-blood... I-it's..."

     "What blood?"

     She gaped at him and she tried not to open her eyes too wide, lest more blood sting her eyes.

     "T-the s-sink. You d-don't see it?"

     Her words were lost in her shaky breaths. No matter how hard she tried to get the words out, only incoherent mumbles tumbled out.

     Her father knelt down before her, and he tilted his head.

     "You worry me, Bevvie." He looked her up and down, and he clicked his tongue. "You worry me a lot."

     She stared at him astonished, thankful she had gathered enough composure to get a sentence out. Her voice quivered and it came out in a hoarse whisper, sore from the screaming.

     "But don't you see?"

     He frowned distastefully and brushed away her bangs.

     "Why'd you do this to your hair? Makes you look like a boy."

     His voice was filled with disappointment and disgust. He gave her one more once over. He rose to his feet and left the bathroom, closing the door behind him and leaving behind a sobbing Beverly.

· · ─── ·𖥸· ─── · ·

     All was quiet in the Denbrough residence. The only signs of life came from Bill's room, his small bedside lamp was on and he lays in bed, watercolor pencil in hand. The leak in his ceiling had dampened once more and droplets of rainwater fell onto his sketchbook. It was opened next to his pillow where he had created a rough but accurate sketch of Beverly Marsh with her new haircut.

     The rainwater had landed on the shading of her hair created a small red splatter that reminded Bill of blood. He frowned, knowing he had to get up from his warm bed and go across the hall to retrieve the bucket they kept in the closet for these such occasions. The soft lamplight poured lightly into the hallway becoming his only source of light. Thankfully though, Bill's eyes had somewhat adjusted to the dark.

     Bill felt the familiar dull ache in his heart when his eyes flickered to his brother's bedroom door. It had not been touched since Georgie's disappearance, apart from the times Bill had come in to silently grieve. It was still open a crack just as he had left it from his last visit. He cast the saddening thoughts from his brain, not allowing himself the emotional toll.

     Bill retrieved the bucket from the lower shelf, remembering where he had placed it from the last leak. He was sure to close the closet door quietly as to not wake his parents and he heard his feet patter against the hardwood floor.

     CLICK

     Bill froze. He recognized the sound as Georgie's bedside lamp but it took seconds for his brain to register that as unusual. Bill looked over his shoulder to find a soft light flooding out into the hall from his brother's room. He set the metal bucket down, it made a quiet clang, and cautiously he crept forward. Perhaps one of his parents had come to grieve? That couldn't be. To Bill, that was just as likely as flying pigs, because ever since Georgie's disappearance, both of his parents refused to talk about him. It's like they had always had just one child.

     With cautious steps, he entered his brother's room. He felt the heavy weight settle back onto his heart and chest, the room looked exactly how Georgie had left it. Bill felt all sense of caution and tension vanish as he stepped into his brother's room. All of Georgie's toys and trinkets where right where he left them. Even the turtle he built with Bill.

     With a heavy heart, Bill crossed the room to pick up the turtle and he took a seat on his brother's bed. He felt a familiar lump in his throat and sting in his eyes, and yet no tears came. Bill had shed them all. He was so swept up in the overwhelming floodgate memories of his younger brother, he failed to notice the silhouette of Georgie being cast onto the door from the hall, watching him. It turned and fled and only then was Bill pulled from his thoughts when he heard the sound of wet galoshes scurrying down the hall.

     The boy rose to his feet, the turtle still clutched tightly in his hands. It gave him an odd sense of comfort that he could not explain and he followed the footsteps all the way downstairs. When he reached the entryway Bill tensed when he saw the living room light had been on, like it had been waiting for him. He stood across from the kitchen, moonlight was spilling from the skylight and it cast a pale green light on the tile floor. The sound of squeaky footsteps had stopped and so did he.

     A sharp, piercing beep rang in his ears, startling him, much like it had for Georgie the day that he died. But Bill saw a small figure, dressed in a familiar yellow rain slicker dart across the end of the kitchen and into the cellar. The sudden sight startled Bill and the plastic turtle he forgot he had been carrying fell to the floor, shattering into its original pieces.

     "G-Georgie." The name left his tongue in a weak whisper and yet it felt foreign.

     Like it didn't belong to the youngest Denbrough boy.

     Bill could hear the blood pounding in his ears but he followed the figure. He hesitated when he reached the cellar door, his gut screaming at him to turn around and go to bed and forget the whole thing. But Bill couldn't, not when there was even a chance he could see Georgie again.

     Bill tried not to let the creaking of the old cellar stairs add to his nerves, though it didn't help. The basement had flooded, Bill realized. Moonlight from the cellar windows had spilled into the room, hitting the water and casting an ominous glow that danced along the walls. Bill heard a disturbance in the water, he could hear the water sloshing around and the noise brought his attention to the sight of his little brother hiding behind a shelf.

     Bill couldn't believe it. Georgie looked exactly as Bill remembered, the very same bright yellow rain slicker and matching galoshes. Even his hood was up, just as it had been when he waved Bill goodbye. Georgie looked to Bill, with the very same big doe eyes and spoke in a whisper Bill could barely hear.

     "I lost it, Billy. Don't be mad."

     Bill felt the grip on his heart grow tighter and he struggled to swallow the lump forming in his throat. He knew, even if by some chance he had never left his bed and he was still curled up safe and sound, dreaming he was seeing Georgie again, he would regret not speaking to him.

     "I-I'm not mad at you."

      The moonlight bouncing off the surface of the water illuminated Georgie's paled face in waves. He was hugging the wall, and his head was tilted down like he had been gazing at the reflecting pool. He wore a smirk but it didn't look or feel right to Bill. His brother's eyes were dark and the smirk held a malicious glint. Bill could see that this Georgie was as real as he was but when he looked at him, he felt as if he was looking at a ghost.

     In a way, he was.

     Georgie stalked forward, creeping around the corner of the shelf.

     "It just floated off." His voice was barely audible above his breath and he stared at Bill. "But, Bill, if you'll come with me, you'll float, too."

     "Georgie,"

     Bill's voice came out in a weak plea, though he did not know what he was pleading for. Georgie's smile widened and it didn't sit well with Bill.

     "You'll float, too." Georgie giggled, and his voice began increasingly gradually in volume. "You'll float, too. You'll float, too. You'll float, too. You'll float, too."

     His entire demeanor changed, he wore a scowl and his face began to rot. His voice deepened into a demonic growl and his chanting increased.

     "You'll float, too. You'll float, too." A large bulbous head emerged from the water beside Georgie's feet that Bill almost missed. "You'll float, too. You'll float, too. You'll float, too! You'll float, too!"

     The large swollen head now had it's pointed chin just above the water. Dark hair clung to its distorted forehead, it's glowing eyes were pointed in different directions, one eye on the fake Georgie and one on Bill. It was mouthing along to Georgie's unsettling chant as one might lip-sync to their favorite song. It was mocking Bill.

     "You'll float, too! You'll float, too! You'll float, too! You'll float, too!"

     The clown, Bill realized it was, had an arm up Georgie's back, much like a puppeteer would on its puppet. The next words to be spoken came from the clown, in a shrill demented shriek and he shoved Georgie into the water as he did so.

     "You'll float, too!"

     Georgie's tiny, now rotted body, hit the surface of the water with a giant splash. The face glared at Bill for a brief fleeting moment, before it burst forth from the water, charging after him. A terrible shriek erupted from the clown and it twisted violently as it flew after Bill.

     Not daring to waste another precious second, Bill turned and sped up the cellar stairs. He ripped open the door and slammed it shut after him, not caring if the noise woke his parents.

     The clown landed on the cellar landing, grinning maliciously up at where Bill disappeared. With one last hungry look, Its eyes rolled back into Its head and It slithered back into the murky depths of the basement.

· · ─── ·𖥸· ─── · ·

     Y/n's head shot up for the fourth time in the past hour, and she blinked several times. She lay on her couch, her favorite quilt draped around her shoulders. Y/n looked at the ticking clock on the wall above the TV and sighed, rubbing her eyes and the dark circles underneath them. The moment she feared had come.

     She had put off her attempts at sleep for as long as she could in front of the TV. She now feared sleep, afraid of allowing herself the vulnerability she was in when she was attacked. She had nodded off a few times on the couch, her head rolling on her shoulders only to be awakened by the cheering of the audience as Johnny Carson welcomed a new guest to the stage. Fearing the possibility of another nightmare like the one only nights earlier - a lie she told herself to stay sane, even though she knew deep down it had been very real - she rose from the couch and crossed the living room to turn up the volume hoping it would keep her from drifting.

     It didn't, had she not adjusted the set, Beverly's screams from upstairs would have woken her. Instead, she had nodded off, her feet tucked tightly under the quilt, and the blood-curdling screams were drowned out by the bustling late-night television program and her unconscious mind. That was until roughly an hour later she had been woken up by a sharp whistled from the cheering crowd as Johnny Carson signed off.

     Y/n switched off the TV set, the low hum brought a quiet ambiance to the room as the screen dimmed. She stood on the tips of her toes, ignoring the dull throbbing in her left ankle as she reached for the metal chain of the ceiling fan light. She cursed herself for not leaving the hall light on before turning everything off in the living room, now she had to rush down the hall to the safety of her room before her imagination got the best of her.

     Lights now on and the door shut tight, Y/n trudged across her room to her bed and shed her clothes. She had completely forgotten that she had been wearing her bathing suit underneath and she was reminded of the day's events. Her eyes wandered to the mirror across the room and she found that she had been smiling. Y/n had not expected to have as much fun as she did. And it had not been Beverly so much as it was the Tozier boy who had brought her out of her shell.

     While it was true they had known one another for at least a year, and they only just really interacted, it felt as if she knew him a lifetime. In fact, during her time at the quarry, she felt as if she had known each of them for a lifetime. Like some cosmic force in the universe had always meant for these seven misfits - these losers - to meet and form an unbreakable bond. And yet, it felt as if there was something - or someone - was missing like the last piece of the puzzle and it filled Y/n with a sense of hope. Hope for good things to come - new memories to be made.

     Y/n, who had peeled off her bathing suit and exchanged it for a fresh pair of underwear and an oversized t-shirt, slipped under her covers and snuggled into her pillow. And it was the new and budding sense of warmth spreading in her chest that replaced the icy grip of fear that allowed her to turn off her bedside lamp in peace. A darkness fell over her room, and her mind replayed the joyous memories of the day like a slideshow in her mind.

     The chicken fight with Richie "the trash mouth" Tozier and his cheeky remarks. The new kid, Ben Hanscom, and his kind and soft-spoken nature that brought a peaceful presence to the energetic group dynamic. She enjoyed the sarcastic remarks of Stan Uris and getting to know him and watch as walls of his own slowly came down throughout the day. The effect of comradery that Bill Denbrough so effortlessly instilled into the group. And of course, she enjoyed the company and stable feeling Beverly gifted to her, grateful she had overcome her fears and joined the fun, defying the little green monster that loved to tear her down.

     And of course, the kind and quirky boy, Eddie Kaspbrak, who had been nice enough to bandage her leg that day in the alley. She could tell he was a very hyper boy, with a great deal of energy bouncing around in that unusually small stature of his. And he had a very odd habit of staring, she noticed. But nevertheless, he had a knack for making her smile. She was smiling even now, eyes closed and curled under her blankets - despite it being another hot summer night, she made sure to take extra precaution, toes tucked in and safe, just in case.

     A weak laugh escaped her, though her body had grown so tired one might have mistaken it for an exhale. Her mind had wandered to the little prank she had pulled and how enduring Eddie had looked when his nose was scrunched up from the splash of cologne. And she was of course very grateful he was willing to jump with her when she was hesitant. And something she had not admitted to herself until now was the small flutter in her stomach when she interacted with Eddie. From his kind offer of taking the leap together, to the sportsmanship exchanged between them during the chicken fight. And though she had pretended not to have noticed, she had, in fact, caught the glimpses the hypochondriac boy had stolen while she had been sunbathing.

     The way he looked at her gave her butterflies, not while sunbathing, but innocent moments that made up the bliss of childhood. While she had been caught in an unflattering belly laugh from one of Richie's jokes, he smiled fondly at her. Or even after she had snuck up on him in the water and splashed him, he still had beaming smile and mischief in his eyes.

     The way Eddie Kaspbrak looked at Y/n L/n was very different from the way most boys looked at Beverly Marsh.

     It was never out of lust, nor was it out of obsession, but admiration. The way one might watch the fireworks on a warm night in July. It was quick and it was fleeting, and you had to be looking at the right moment to catch him, for you see, his adoration for her soon would quickly be replaced by irritation at Richie, or a witty comeback to mask his feelings that even he was denying seeing as it was a foreign concept to him. But Y/n noticed it anyway, and while she brushed it off in the moment, it was times like these in the dead of night and the safety of her own mind that she allowed herself to consider these feelings.

     Only once more did she think of the safe feeling Eddie and the other losers brought her before sleep blanketed her conscious. And thus was the first time since her traumatic encounter and her injury that she had enjoyed a peaceful night's sleep.