𝙡𝙚𝙩𝙝𝙤•𝙗𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙨 // n. the habit of forgetting how important someone is to you until you see them again in person

- dictionary of obscure sorrows

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- 𝐌𝐚𝐲 𝟐𝟎𝟏𝟔 -

     𝕀𝕥 𝕚𝕤 𝕟𝕠𝕥 𝕠𝕗𝕥𝕖𝕟 the streets of Derry Maine catch a glimpse of Mike Hanlon roaming its streets. The older folks in the community - who had been around when he was young -  remembered him as that orphan boy of the "crackhead kook" that burned down Harris Avenue. But the false rumors had fizzled, slowly dying out with the older population that had started them. Nowadays, he was known by most as the recluse librarian, the one who spent most of his days holed up inside the loft above the Derry Public Library working on who knows what. No one really knew, of course, no one ever bothered to ask.

     Mike didn't know many people, and yet everyone seemed to know Mike. He did know a great deal about the town and its residents, more so than any other citizen of Derry. When he wasn't holed up inside, he was gathering information. Information from the townsfolk, their stories. He conducted many interviews over town as a part of his research on his own existing knowledge of the town's darkest secret. Yes, Derry knew Mike, and Mike knew Derry. The history of the town and its people, that is. And yet, no one truly knew Mike Hanlon.

     Nobody that lived in Derry at least. There was one person that knew Mike like the back of her hand, and she was the only person he knew more than anything. But she was miles away, and any memory of Mike was fuzzy and unclear, and if she thought hard enough she would find nothing more than a blurry shape on the other side of that foggy windowpane of her memories. And no matter how hard he tried, he could never shake her from his mind permanently. She visited his thoughts often, and not a single one of his efforts to rid her from his conscious once and for all proved fruitful.

     To him, she was every catchy song on the radio. The tune you could never drown out no matter what else you played, the picture that never quite faded. Decades of his life were spent trying to forget her, and while he had eventually learned how to cast her from his mind for periods of time, she always had a way of sneaking back in. They were cursed, she was doomed to forget, and he was doomed to remember.

     When she had left Derry at the age of seventeen, she had taken his heart with him. Of course, it was never his, to begin with. It was hers since that humid June day all those years ago when they first met. How important that day would come to be he had no clue, but it didn't matter now. She was long gone, and as Mike had quickly come to learn, he and Derry had been stripped from her memories not long after her departure. People who leave Derry, he discovered, don't return. Derry in itself was cursed, a mere bubble out of time that brought nothing but foggy memories and sorrowful voids in the hearts of those who left. And for some, like Mike, who has stayed.

     A low grunt rumbles through his chest and he shakes the thoughts away. Instead, he turns his attention to the details surrounding him on his walk. Every independent crack in the pavement below his shoes, and the vibrant blades of grass - no, it was moss, he realizes - growing up from in between. The wind picked up from a subtle breeze to a small burst of air that carried with it the overwhelming but intoxicating smells from the bakery down the street. And despite the warm air, the wind had been a refreshing burst that cooled his skin that was covered in the thin layer of sweat on his brow. The pleasant sounds of a wooden wind chime rang through the air that brought his attention to the streets.

     It was only then when his eyes landed on the familiar lamppost with the chipped paint on the base, and the overpowering fragrance mix in the air did he realize where he had wandered. Costello Avenue Market. Despite the small changes in one or two venues, it was almost identical to how it stood 27 years ago. The savory smells of the bakery around the block were snuffed out in the unusually pleasant blend of popcorn from the Capitol Theater and the faint hint of chocolate and sweets from the new ice cream shop across the street. Well, newish... It wasn't new at all.

     Derry Scoops was one of few selected venue changes in Costello Markets and while it had felt to Mike as only a mere few years ago, it had truly been decades. As long as Mike had been around, it had changed from place to place. It was a flower shop, shoe store, even a small book shop at one point; Derry's Book Nook. But Mike would always know it as Quality Meats. He had been employed there in the summer of '88 delivering meat from his family's farm. That's when he met her.

     No, he told himself as he shakes his head, he couldn't keep doing this to himself. It wasn't healthy. Besides, he had bigger things to worry about, much bigger things! The pattern was starting up again, the pattern he studied and memorized over the past thirty years or so but he wasn't completely certain. Not yet, but then again this wasn't something to wait around for. Mike is suddenly overwhelmed with gratitude he had decided to go for a walk to clear his head.

     The fresh air was certainly, well, a breath of fresh air, he realizes. The combined hours he had spent in that damn loft in the past week alone was enough to drive him mad. With no company other than his books and sketches, every scrap of research he had compiled in the past few decades was bouncing around his mind and had turned into white noise. Nothing but static. And all he could focus on was every creak in the floorboards, funny enough, he knew exactly where they were, given the time spent inside. Another reason to be grateful for the outdoors; unpredictability.

     Mike took a long deep breath, letting the warm summer air fill his lungs as his chest swelled. He can feel the clouds over his mind start to blow away like a small fan against a tide of fog, slowly draining his mind of the heavy thoughts that have plagued him the past few weeks. The ritual, the rising number of missing person reports, even the turtle; but he was no help to Mike now. And as he's done a million times before, with a deep breath and his heart open wide he allows the scents of the city mix with the scent of freshly cut grass and he is transported back to the simpler times as his legs continue to carry him across town.

     Mike almost laughs at the thought. 'Simple' was far from the right word to describe his youth. Things were never simple in Derry, no matter how happy or complicit anyone seemed it was always a mask. Everyone had their secrets, their demons. After all, Derry was the town of such creatures, the birthplace of true evil and it was this very plague on the town that had weighed Mike down. Kept him tied here. And even though Mike had dedicated his entire life to the research and observation of the town - the plague he was tasked with keeping at bay - he hardly dared to even think of Its name.

     It was truly an evil thing, just maybe evilness in and of itself. It wasn't quite a monster, no, a monster would be far kinder than this. It was a presence, a dark and cruel presence that you could never quite escape. It was an entity that fed on your darkest fears, using your deepest, darkest secrets against you in the most twisted ways possible. And It thrived on it. Fear. What It did with you after was far more gruesome if at all possible, and it was the reason behind all the missing person cases in Derry. Mostly young children. They were the easiest to scare.

     It appeared in many different forms. To some, It presented Itself as a frightening figure you'd find in a children's fable. The big bad wolf, the monster lurking under your bed or in your closet, like the boogieman. For others, people like Mike who have faced great trauma before, It would present itself as a memory. A cruel reminder that they could never escape the past, nothing but a cheap trick to throw them back into what could truly hurt them, to scare them. But of course, It didn't mind using this to Its advantage.

     But It's favorite form, the one shape it took most of all was that of Pennywise, the Dancing Clown.

     And Mike knew all of this. He knew more about this entity than just about anybody, not only for his dedicated research. But his experience. Billions of years ago, this entity landed in what would come to be named the town of Derry Maine. Derry had never existed without It lurking beneath its earth. For roughly one year every twenty-seven years it would emerge from a deep sleep, a hibernation, and feed off the people that inhabited the town before returning to Its cavern far beneath the surface. And yet, in all the centuries It has lived on earth, only eight people in existence had faced It, fought It and survived It. And Mike was one of them.

     They were young, just a bunch of kids. The Losers, they called themselves. They were each branded with this name, but when they found each other, it became a symbol of pride. Because as long as they had each other, they were safe. Safe from the bullies that had casted them out, the parents they rebelled against, and of course the evil presence lurking around every corner. Days after they emerged from the sewers, after their defeat against the evil - scraped knees, bruises, new traumas and all - they made a vow. A vow to come back and fight should It ever return.

     Mike remembered that day very clearly. He certainly remembered that summer clearly, but that day... That day was special. He remembered the warm breeze and grass tickling his ankles. The bleeding hands he held in his own - one in particular - as they spoke the words that would bring them back. He remembered how nervous he felt despite seeing It die. It didn't feel real. It didn't feel permanent. Watching It disappear into the black abyss, while it was a great relief, it felt... incomplete. Almost like listening to a song and it all comes to a sudden halt, it's over before it's finished and you're waiting for the final note.

     Maybe this is why he was the only one to remain in Derry. He always knew things were never quite finished. The final note had yet to play. Things did, of course, slow down after that fateful day in the cistern, and the Losers spent several weeks in a true state of summer bliss. Especially Mike and Y/n. They had found each other along the way, before their defeat against Pennywise and they were stronger together because of it. But after their oath, one by one the Losers club of eight became six, then three, and then it was just the two of them.

     While they missed their friends terribly, they were thankful for each other and they never took a moment for granted. It truly was bliss. At least until that gloomy day at that damn train station. It's not long before the heavy weight returns to his shoulders, he can feel the tension in all his muscles and the sickly black sludge stewing in his stomach and he knew.

     He had been denying it for so long but he just can't anymore. It's back. Or at the very least, It's rising again. Testing the waters. He knows this in his heart of hearts. He's always known. Since that day in the cistern, since the day of the oath, and the day he found the first missing child flyer last month. And he could almost hear it, he could certainly feel it. The final notes of the unfinished song beating in his chest. This is why he was the one to stay in Derry, he was never too scared to leave. No, he was the bravest because he stayed. The guardian of Derry. And this meant one thing.

     The phone call. The return of the infamous Losers Club. But how would he face them? It seemed far too cruel to simply pick up the phone and call them home, cause doing so would inevitably change their lives in the worst way possible. It would destroy them. The new lives they built for themselves, away from their dark pasts they didn't even remember. There was no telling what they'd do.

     And yet, a tiny voice in his head was telling him - pleading with him to stop and think. To wait. The logical side of his brain, he first assumed it was but it was truly the small part of him that wanted to leave. Abandoned the town he begrudgingly called home and the oath him and his friends had made. The voice that reminded him that there was nothing stopping him from dropping everything and buying the first ticket to Florida he could find. Or any other goddamn place on planet earth cause he knew anywhere was better than Derry.

     You don't know, the voice said. Not really, not for sure. For all you know it could stop tomorrow and you would have been worrying for nothing. You're paranoid.

     Mike sighs once more, leaning forward and resting his head in his hands and it is only then he realizes he has ventured to the park, now occupying a bench. The heels of his palms dig further into his eyes and he only stops when he notices the spots forming behind his eyelids. His fingers part and his eyes flutter open, his gaze falling to the concrete as his eyes readjust to the slight but sudden change in brightness. He blinks away the blurry lens in his vision and that's when he feels the wind pick up once more.

     He can hear it shift the trees and the rest of the world around him and for a brief moment, he relishes in the stimulation, the connection to the outside world he has been missing. He can feel the collar of his worn-out beige flannel shift in the wind and his ears perk when he hears a weak and delicate scrape on the concrete. Curiously, his eyes follow the noise and he spots a crumpled stray flyer tumbling against the pavement and come to a stop when it catches on his foot.

     Wearily, he reaches for the paper. The dog-eared corner catches between his two forefingers and it moves frantically in the wind as he raises it into his grasp. Flipping over the paper, he half expects to find another missing person flyer or even an older one. Lord knows they had plenty around town. But to his surprise and great disdain, he finds an advertisement for the upcoming Derry Canal Days Festival. He can feel his heart sink and yet it still manages to pound horribly against his chest. The all too familiar image depicted as the entrance to the funhouse of mirrors.

     The cookie-cutter child that seemed far too happy in his surroundings at the fair, a seemingly normal thing but to Mike it set his teeth on edge. The blood-red clouds looming over the fair - meant to coordinate with the fun color scheme of this years fair - but to Mike, it was only a visual aid in the depiction of his darkest nightmare. His past, taunting him. The giant pale white clown carved into the entrance, it's mouth the very mouth of the entrance to the funhouse that casts a shadow that seems to loom over his heart.

     Mike felt his mouth run dry, his tongue almost felt like sandpaper against the roof of his mouth and he could feel his stomach plummet. The words printed at the bottom of the page only taunted him more, and he could feel the painful twinge in his heart at the words. It was the medicine he was dreading to swallow, the task he had hoped he would never have to take on.

     As he read the three simple words it felt as if even he were a stranger to himself, that after all this time in this godforsaken town he lost himself in it. He was no more than the rotted, virus inflicted town that he feared in for forty years. It was three words that put the task at hand, the only three words that could simplify the phonecall the Losers would be receiving if Mike picked up the phone.

     Derry Is Calling!

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An: sorry if this is not what you expected right now, it's still early and I'm still setting things up so this is more of a jumpstart for now.