Warnings: if you haven't seen the movie or read the book and maybe this is somehow you're first encounter with this series, this is a very graphic story and I will not be shying away from the gore as much as I want to. You really can't interact with this series without it so again, if you are unaware somehow and/or you are squeamish around graphic descriptions of violence this book is not for you. Thank you.

- 𝗢𝗖𝗧𝗢𝗕𝗘𝗥 𝟭𝟵𝟴𝟴 -

Gray skies and a thick layer of storm clouds blanket the town of Derry, Maine. Bill Denbrough sits in bed, he was tearing out a piece of paper from his sketchbook. His mother is downstairs on the piano, playing Für Elise. A song that would haunt him for the rest of his life. That song was playing the day Georgie died, he would think. Georgie, Bill's younger brother was at the window.

He had fogged up the glass with his breath, and he drew a large smiley face on the glass, just before it disappeared. He turned over his shoulder to look at his brother, who was folding a paper boat for him.

"You sure I won't get in trouble, Bill?"

"Don't be a w-wuss." Bill replied.

Bill had always had a stutter, and everyone who knew him was used to it. When he was three, he had been hit by a car and knocked into a building, and he remained unconscious for seven hours. This accident, his mother had said, caused the stutter. His stutter was light but it got worse after Georgie disappeared.

"I'd come with you if I weren't," he stopped abruptly and coughed forcefully into his hand. "dying."

Georgie stood from the window and walked over to his brother, sighing. "You're not dying!"

He hated that his brother joked about stuff like that, he'd hate it if something really happened to him.

"You didn't see the v-v-vomit coming out of my nose this morning?" He asked incredulously.

Georgie cringed. "That's disgusting."

Bill looked down at the finished paper boat. "Okay. Go get the wax."

Georgie became uneasy. He shifted on his feet. "In the cellar?"

Georgie was terrified of the cellar. He always imagined dangers of the unimaginable lurking at the bottom, waiting to snatch him up. He knew it was silly, but every time he would reach for the light, the image of long sharp talons reaching out for his tiny little hand.

"You want it to f-float, don't you?" Bill asked simply.

"Fine," he sighed.

Georgie left Bill's room, not before grabbing his walkie talkie and headed downstairs. His legs, he realized, were moving slower than normal. A fact he was fine with if it meant it took longer to get to the cellar. He passed his mother in the dining room, where she sat at the piano, her fingers dancing along the keys. The music added a chilling tone that made his nerves spike.

When Georgie reached the kitchen, he slowed. The cellar door was open and he could hear that same sinister voice in the back of his head, promising his demise. Georgie gulped, but oh, how he wanted that boat!

Bill wouldn't be scared. Bill was never scared of the cellar, so neither should he!

Georgie walked slowly over to the door, gently pushing it open. The door made a sickening creak and he crept to the edge of the stairs, hoping whatever possible creature lurked at the bottom wouldn't hear him. His breathing picked up and he gulped, he could hear something clattering down there!

A sharp, piercing beep rang in his ears, startling him.

"Georgie," It was just Bill from the walkie talkie. "Hurry up."

Struggling to regain his composure, he clung to the wall, reaching for the light and tried not to think about the claw that could take his arm. His fingers reached the switch and flicked it back and forth. Nothing. He would have to go down into the cellar. In the dark.

Georgie took several deep breaths, desperately attempting to swallow his fear.

"It's okay," he whispered under his breath. "I'm brave."

He trudges down the cellar stairs, an iron grip on the railing, letting darkness engulf him. He sighed when he reached the bottom. He had made it down the stairs. But now came the hard part. Taking a deep breath he began looking around, squinting in the dark trying to find the gulf wax and get the hell out of there.

"Where's the wax?" He mumbled. "There's the wax. Yes."

Georgie always felt that as long as he could talk, even if he was alone, he was at least somewhat safe. Perhaps hearing a voice, even his own was something to distract him from his fears. He stood on his tippy toes, extending his arm, reaching for the paraffin wax for his boat.

He got it! Now he could leave the nasty old cellar. It always smelled of sewage and gook you'd find in a gutter. It was a nasty smell. The cellar smell. But something in Georgie told him to look up, and he did. What he saw made him back up.

In the sea of darkness, he saw two bright and shiny orbs, staring at him. Stalking him. His heart beating rapidly in his chest and he stifled a gasp. The flashlight. For some unknown reason that baffled him, he hadn't grabbed the flashlight next to him on the dryer before.

He quickly grabbed it, his hands shaking as he felt for the button with his other hand. He pressed it and the light shined brightly, illuminating nothing but the same old shelf across the room. The two orbs, he realized, were just two empty jars that must have caught the light that made it through the tiny cellar windows behind him.

But he couldn't shake the feeling something had been watching him. Something that was still watching him. He needed to leave, immediately, he thought. And he did.

He heard a loud clatter near him, something he would never be able to identify, that was soon followed by a crack of thunder. He jumped into a sprint for the stairs, more words tumbling out of his mouth.

"What was that? What's that? Oh, jeez!"

He scrambled up the stairs, still clutching the flashlight firmly in his hands. The light jumped up and down the walls as he moved his arms and Georgie was certain he had never run that fast.

But it was fine now. He was out of the cellar and he had the wax for his boat.

Now, he stood next to Bill at his desk, his left arm wrapped loving around his older brother. He studied Bill's technique as he painted the paper boat - the boat now labeled the 'SS Georgie' in black marker - with paraffin wax.

Bill set the paintbrush back in the bowl of wax and picked up the boat by the edges. He turned to Georgie.

"Alright," he handed the SS Georgie to his little brother and smiled. "There you go. S-she's all ready, Captain."

Confusion and interest flickered over Georgie's face. "She?"

Bill nodded. "You always call b-b-boats 'she'."

"'She'," Georgie nodded, liking the new interesting fact. "Thanks, Billy."

Georgie extended his arms and pulled his brother in for a hug, who gladly accepted. Georgie gave him a big squeeze and Bill smiled. He gently prodded his fingers in Georgie's side, knowing just where his brother was ticklish.

Georgie giggled and pulled back, and Bill smiled. Georgie grabbed the walkie and ran skipping out of the room.

"See you later. Bye!" Georgie called disappearing into the hallway.

When he heard the front door close moments later, he rose to his feet and went to the window.

There on the sidewalk was Georgie, who was now dressed in his yellow slicker and matching rain boots. He was gleaming and sent a big happy wave to Bill, who tentatively waved back.

Bill didn't know why he felt the way he did suddenly. He felt a sense of dread, that he ignored at that moment. Something he would be kicking himself for, for the rest of his life.

But he did bring his walkie up to his lips and spoke.

"Be careful,"

He had no idea what compelled him to say that. And he remembered thinking that was something you'd usually hear from a mom or a dad. Not your brother. But he shook it off.

Bill watched as his brother placed the boat into the small stream that formed in between the curb and the street. The boat took off and so did Georgie.

That was the last time Bill ever saw Georgie alive.

He ran alongside his boat in a happy sprint. No matter how fast he ran, she was quicker. As he'd run he jump off the curb into the large puddles, watching them splash. Then he'd jump right back up and run off the grass again.

The SS Georgie sped down the street. She zipped and zoomed and Georgie watched with delight, giggling merrily. She sped right under a sawhorse on the road. Printed on it, with big black letters were the words: DERRY PUBLIC WORKS.

Georgie was sure to duck when he reached it, his boat just ahead by his feet. He was still bent over, eyes still on the boat, he failed to notice the second sawhorse just as he straightened.

THUNK!

Georgie lay on the concrete, his forehead and lower half sore from the fall and he winced. He could feel the stream of rain soaking his pants and sneaking into his boots.

The boat! The boat was still getting away. He scanned the street, squinting through the splashback of thousands of raindrops in the street, but he finally spotted the boat. She had just hit a corner, but she persisted. She had no trouble getting around the large obstacle in the street and she turned. Georgie jumped to his feet and chased after her.

His legs were small but they run fast. But not fast enough to reach the boat in time before she hit a snag and twirled into a storm drain.

"No!" He cried, kneeling down into the gutter. "No, Bill's gonna kill me!"

He peered into the gutter, squinting for the boat. Maybe it wasn't as steep as it looked, he thought. Maybe he could reach her. But his thoughts were suddenly cut short.

A pair of yellow eyes opened in the darkness. They gleamed brightly and they were fixed right on Georgie. He jumped back with a frightful yelp. A darkened figure slithered forward.

"Hiya, Georgie!"

From the small portion of the face that was showing, he could see a pale white face, with blood-red lips. The ends of the lips trailed all the way up in sharp lines and didn't seem to stop. The smile was big and cartoonish, it was unnatural and he had two large teeth that reminded Georgie of a rabbit. But if he wasn't mistaken, the figure in the storm drain was a clown?

The voice was cheerful and light, but it was gravelly and deep. Georgie didn't like this voice or the feeling it brought.

And had Georgie been wrong before? I must have, he thought because the eyes were now a bright blue. But his attention was immediately drawn to the object in the clown's hand.

"What a nice boat." The clown said, showing it the boy. "Do you want it back?"

Georgie, was still very much startled from the turn of events, frowned uneasily. Yet he nodded.

"Um, yes please."

The face tilted its head and smiled a crooked grin. "You look like a nice boy. I bet you have a lot of friends."

Georgie tilted his head, slowly his guard came down, but he couldn't quite shake the uneasy feeling in his gut. Nevertheless, he answered, timidly.

"Three. But my brother's my best best."

The face gleamed, perking up in interest.

"Where's he?"

Georgie noticed the slobber pooling in the clown's lower lip, and it dribbled over in long streams. He was drooling. Georgie tried not to stare. He had learned well and good from his mother that it was not polite to stare.

"In bed. Sick."

The shadowy face seemed to contemplate something for a brief moment.

"I bet I could cheer him up. I'll give him a balloon!"

Georgie looked away briefly, feeling very uneasy. The clown, who noticed the boy's hesitation and perked up.

"Do you want a balloon too, Georgie?"

"I'm not supposed to take stuff from strangers." The boy answered.

"Oh," He scoffed happily. "Well, I'm Pennywise the Dancing Clown!"

He shook his head, and a small flurry of jingles accompanied.

"'Pennywise?' 'Yes.'" The clown spoke to Itself and answered, feigning a conversation. "'Meet Georgie.' 'Georgie, meet Pennywise.'"

Georgie couldn't help the small chuckle that escaped his throat, and Pennywise smiled.

"Now we aren't strangers, are we?"

At that moment, the inhabitant of the house just in front of that very storm drain stepped out onto her porch. She held her coat tightly to herself and shivered. The wind chimes were waving sporadically and tapping against the outdoor blinds.

She grabbed the ropes and pulled the curtains up, surprised to see a young boy in a bright yellow raincoat leaning into the sewer. She frowned, losing interest and steeped away, her cat at her feet still watching.

"What are you doing in the sewer?" Georgie asked curiously.

"A storm blew~ me away," Pennywise drawled. "Blew the whole circus away."

Pennywise chuckled with the very same high and gravelly voice before his face fell unexpectedly. The clown stared at Georgie, his friendly mask falling briefly.

"Can you smell the circus, Georgie?"

Georgie frowned in confusion. He leaned ever so slightly forward.

"There's peanuts, cotton candy, hot dogs, and...?"

Georgie could in fact smell all those things. He could smell the sweet sugary aroma of cotton candy and he could practically taste the salty flavor of peanuts. But underneath all that, he could smell the familiar vulgar and repulsive stench. The cellar smell.

But then he got a strong burst of popcorn.

"Popcorn?"

"Popcorn!" The figure chuckled and nodded eagerly. "Is that your favorite?"

Georgie smiled for the first time in the interaction, and he nodded. "Uh-huh."

"Mine too!" Pennywise chuckled, and voice cracked. "Because they pop. Pop, pop, pop!"

Georgie giggled at the funny noise, and Pennywise continued.

"Pop, pop, pop."

"Pop," Giggled Georgie.

Pennywise cackled along with Georgie but stopped suddenly. He stared at Georgie, drool dribbling down his chin once more and he was stared at Georgie hungrily.

The uneasy feeling returned to Georgie. He could feel the pit in his stomach blooming. He forced a polite smile, unable to hide his discomfort.

"I should get going now,"

"Oh," The clown licked its lips, "Without your boat?"

Georgie frowned. He wanted to get far away from the storm drain. Run all the way home and snuggle up under the safety of Bill's covers, where he would be protected, and never look back. Never think about the creepy clown in the sewers. But something else was knawing at Georgie, a doubt deep-seeded in the back of his mind. A doubt Pennywise brought to light.

"You don't want to lose it, Georgie," the clown warned. "Bill's gonna kill you,"

Bill would. He would be very mad at Georgie. For bothering him while he was sick, goading him into making that stupid boat and to lose it. Immediately after going to all that trouble. Bill would be disappointed. That's what worried Georgie, and he didn't want his brother being mad at him.

Pennywise extended the boat, ever so slightly, and grinned. His smile looked like that of the Cheshire cat, stretching into impossible lengths.

"Here," the whisper chilled Georgie to his very bones. "Take it."

He would take the boat, and say his thanks, and leave. The voice grew impatient.

"Take it, Georgie," The voice was deep and low, but still gravelly.

The very same thoughts that he always had about the cellar, popped back into his head. Bill would take it, a small voice in his head told him, he's brave. Against his better judgment, Georgie crawled closed, reaching out for the boat. It would be just as easy as getting the gulf wax, he told himself.

The second his palm landed on the concrete, the second his fingers were within reach, the clown's eyes returned to a deep yellow. Georgie's hand was snatched, and the clown's head opened up, growing hundreds of sharp teeth and It chomped down on Georgie's arm, biting it clean off.

Georgie's terrified cries of pain echoed down the streets of Jackson and Witcham and yet the only being that heard his muffled cries of help was the neighbor's cat, still perched on the porch. Georgie did his best to crawl away from the storm drain, he wiggled himself along the street, blood pouring out of his shoulder where his right arm once was.

But it was no use. A long arm, slowly extending and protruding from the sewers came for him. Much like what he had always envisioned would happen when he used the cellar lightswitch. His small body was pulled into the storm drain, and Georgie Denbrough was no more.