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HAUNT 1989

Rating: Mature (For Violence, Blood, Crude Language, ukw kind of like PG-13 but more gore is allowed.

Archive Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death

Categories: F/M, Other

Fandoms: IT - Stephen King, IT (Movies - Muschietti)

Relationships: Stanley Uris/Original Female Character(s), The Losers Club (IT) & Original Female Character(s)

Characters: Original Hanlon Character(s), Original Female Character(s), Original Female Character(s) of Color, Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak, Beverly Marsh, Stanley Uris, Mike Hanlon, Ben Hanscom, Minor Characters, Bill Denbrough, Pennywise (IT), The Losers Club (IT), Henry Bowers, Henry Bowers's Gang (IT)

Additional Tags: Childhood Trauma, Childhood Friends, Childhood, First Love, Murder, Death, Canonical Character Death, Friendship, Siblings, Protective Siblings, 1980s, Adaptation, Wordcount: 10.000-30.000, Complete, Horror, Body Horror

Language:English

Summary: Shanice Hanlon and Her Brother Mike move to Derry after the death of their parents and encounter something that will change their lives forever.

IT.

As she navigates newfound friendship, deals with grief and trauma she tries her damnedest to survive this inhuman cause of the children of Derry disappearing.

William Hanlon was a murderer.

Shanice wanted to not believe it. She hoped it was a nightmare of some kind, a really messed up one. The day he was arrested, it’d been a particularly nice day; she remembered watching fondly at her parents as they danced to Prince. Mike had out in the park playing with neighborhood boys.

She sat to herself, on a brown, suede sofa, reading the newest issue of JET Magazine when she heard a knock--one that only she seemed to hear. Tossing her reading material to the floor, she walked from the living room to the front door, leaning up to look through the peephole.

Two officers, both white, looking very cold. Tilting her head curiously, she opened the door as the warm summer air hit her body. A brisk, balmy breeze blew her beaded hair, a feeling of nausea washed over her.

Shanice’s gaze diverts from their path with a small voice she replies, “What’s up, Officer?”

“Hey, Sweetheart. Do you know William Hanlon?”

“Yeah, that’s my Daddy. What’s this about?”

Something wasn’t right.

She could feel it.

She didn’t answer but her eyes darted to her parents who were laughing and smiling. When she doesn’t say anything, the officers glance over her shoulder at the cheery couple.

“If you stand there and stall you for his protection, you’ll be obstructing justice, young lady.”

“What, you can’t--”

She feels her body shoved out of view as the men rushed into their small two-room apartment. She could feel her mother yelling and her father suddenly burst into a rage. The sound of rushing blood flooded her ears, her wide, dark eyes glued on her father’s figure.

Chaos, pure chaos.

The memory she had of her father was nothing but a mask, a cover-up to who he was outside of their safe apartment.

Everything is a lie, nothing but lies!

“I ain’t goin’ to jail--that, that thing told me to do it. I ain't no murderer!” Tears started to stream down her cheek as--she wanted to holler, but she couldn’t utter a word or a sound.

“William!”

“William stop it, put down that gun!” Her mother runs over trying to wrestle the gun out of her father’s hands, which eventually goes off and causes a stillness to go over the room.

Her mother’s body fell first, her eyes wide and petrified. Her breaths were shallow-- her body twitched as she bled out on the floor. She seemed to mumble something, something Shanice couldn’t make out.

Then, she was gone just like that.

It was surreal, phantasmal to her eyes.

“Sir put down the weapon.” As the officers urged him to stop, her father just stood there with a smile on his face.

“Ain’t no way I’m goin’ down without my Baby Girl." His arms stretched out, he calls out to her.

"Shanice, Baby girl. Come on to Daddy, everything’s gonna be okay. We're gonna be--” With her body trembling, the teenage girl rushes out the door in a sprint, screaming. As she dashes through her neighborhood, she flags down her brother on his way back down the street.

“Hey, Shay, what’s up? Why are there a bunch of cop cars out here? Why--Shay? Shay, what’s wrong?”

“Daddy he...he shot mom, h-he’s coming for us--we gotta run--”

A resonating gunshot fills their ears before Shanice could finish her sentence. She dropped to her knees, not caring about the harsh sting on the sidewalk.

When she saw the officers rush out, she knew one thing--her father was dead. Unknown if by himself or by an officer

He was dead.

When it was discovered that her father murdered twelve children during his twenties--and more that investigators speculate, whose bodies hadn’t been found. Missing children, that will never see their families again.

Shanice and her brother Mike were another set of victims that suffered due to his crimes.

A man died the day her father was arrested, not William Hanlon, the murderer, but the man she thought was her father along with her mother.

Moving to Derry from North Carolina was a lot for a fourteen-year-old who experienced the tragedy of seeing both of her parents and a thirteen-year-old who feels he should’ve been there.

It was a place they'd spent their early years at, it is held with some sort of nostalgia.

After climbing herself into the bed of her grandfather's truck, Shanice peered over at her brother with a small smile.

“It’s gonna be okay Mike--alright?” The young boy nods--Shanice wonders if she said the words only to comfort Mike or herself. After a month of being in state custody, being petrified and scarred was the least of her worries.

She was afraid. She hated that part of her, the part that made her human.

Being afraid is time-consuming; being afraid gives way to cowardice. Being afraid stopped her from being by her mother’s side, being afraid stopped her from confronting her father.

Moreover, she’d be the one to look after Mike when her grandfather eventually dies too.

Shanice was wearing jean shorts and a white, polo shirt, indicative of the springtime, transitioning summertime heat. She hangs her head between her legs, the heaviness of her braids connected with her heart. Feeling emotional exhaustion, she curls up and forces herself to sleep on the bed of the hot truck bed.

For the first time in a long time, she didn’t have a dream or a nightmare. What wakes her up is the sharp jerk of her grandfather’s truck and she finds him grinning a toothy grin at her.

“Alright Baby Girl, we’re here!”

A farmhouse, one she remembered playing in as a kid. Chasing around pigs and playing in the creek--she’d be happier to be there if it wasn’t for the circumstances. She quietly descends from the back of the truck, taking the bulk of their things. Her brother was as her grandfather described as ‘soft’ and the aforementioned man was already in his sixties, worn down from working diligently for years--she felt it was more than necessary.

“You shouldn’t be carrying all those things, let Granddad take it.” Shanice waves off her grandfather’s helping hand.

“It’s cool, Texas built me well. I’ve got it.”

“Go on now. Pull it.”

“I don’t want to do this.”

“People need to eat.”

“But how would you feel? Raised for food...” Shanice, who was drinking a glass of Kool-Aid watched as her grandfather attempted to teach her brother how--slaughter a sheep. She frowned. Her brother was such a sweet boy, couldn’t harm a fly even if he was forced to--and this was the exact opposite of the Patriarch.

“Like I’d want you to get it over with is how I’d feel... Remember what I told you? You gotta do this quick. If the animal senses what you’re about to do, if it starts to fear you, adrenaline courses through its body and changes the taste and the meat winds up tough.” Drinking the rest of the red liquid, Shanice sets her glass down and makes her way over to the barn.

“Granddaddy, forcing him ain’t gonna do you no good.”

“Babying the boy ain’t gonna do you no good.” He then turns to the machine and without an inkling of hesitation pulling the trigger, killing the sheep it was aiming for.

“You need to start taking more responsibility around here, Mike. Your Dad was younger than you when he took this over--”

“But what if I can’t? What if I don’t want to do this, be here.” His words made Shanice frown--Watching silently as their grandfather spoke on.

“Look at me--you too Baby Girl.” The old man points to the sheep lined up to be slaughtered--quietly, patiently.

Waiting to be consumed.

“Let me y’all about being here. ‘Cuz you two need to understand something. There are two places you can be in this world. You can be out here, like us. Or you can be in there, like those eager bastards right there”

He continues with, “And if you waste too much time hemming and hawing, that choice is gonna be made for you. ‘Cept you won’t know it 'til you feel the bolt blast right between your eyes.” Shanice blankly stares at him, unaffected by the words while her brother trembles in fear.

“Ok, ok. Here." She hands then both sandwiches wrapped in saran wrap.

"A cheese sandwich on wheat bread for Mike and a Ham sandwich on rye for you, Granddaddy.”

....

‘ Van Gogh, and Rembrandt, don't be uptight, cause here comes KID DYNOMITE. ’

While the two men in her life sitting in the living room watching the Good Times , Shanice looks outside, at the forest outlining their house.

She didn’t hate Derry but something about Derry left her feeling like there was something outlining--maybe she thought too much.

A few weeks passed, today was Shanice’s last day of class. Mike remained home, homeschooled by their Granddaddy who said, "The boy needs to learn about the land."

Her baby’s face contorted, yet she doesn’t follow up his answer with another question.

Finishing off her bowl of cereal, her brother appears from his room.

“Remember to do that test so we wrap stuff off it mail it off, ok? I'll see you when I get home.” Shanice mutters to her little brother, giving him a tight hug.

“Ride safe--don’t speak to strangers.” Shanice blinks at her grandfather who has her blocked from leaving the driveway. It’s been a minute since they moved to Derry, but he still went over the same Spiel to her every morning.

“Granddaddy I’m already fourteen, you know?" Shanice groans, feeling as if she was practically ancient at that age, "You’ve been saying that since we got here.”

“And? You’re prey to anything out there.” Shanice rolls her eyes, beginning to ride away.

“I’ll keep that in mind!”

Shanice arrived at the school--preteens, teenagers fill the entrance like crowded in herds like those doomed sheep at the farm. She gripped her backpack, it being empty--her knowing it was the last day and that she wouldn't bother trying to stay in class.

Watching students dispersing in to clear out their lockers, walking, she overhears a group of boys talking.

“How’s it work?”

“They slice part of his penis off.”

“That can’t be true. He’d have nothing left...”

She grimaces.

Boys discussing circumcision.

Nice.

Shaking her head, she gets to the girl’s bathroom, where she planned to attempt to wait until the bell rung.

She pauses when she hears a commotion coming from the lockers around the corner.

“...I think I can handle this.”

There’s a bang as if something or someone slammed against it followed by mocking laughter.

“Sure know how to spread ‘em, slut!”

Her face tenses up. She quickly debates whether or not to get herself involved-- resigning to help the girl. She slams open the door she's cooped up, letting her presence known. At her reveal, the girls stiffen--one, in particular, stood with a hockey stick in her hand. Her eyes glance at another girl, a redhead who seemed to be shaking. Her pale knees were bruised, purple, and blue.

She glares at the girls, who quickly leave, like a gaggle of hens.

“Hey, you okay?”

When the girl nods, Shanice lets out a sigh of relief.

The last thing she could make out on the girl was her fiery hair as she ran off in the opposite direction, making her way to her destination.

It’s around four by the time Shanice leaves school. After picking up Mike and dropping off his test materials at the post office--she calls her grandfather at a payphone in advance that they’d be a little late.

Stopping and parking the car on the side of the street, there’s a woman frantically stapling a poster to a light post. It was a missing child flyer for a kid named Dorsey Corcoran. Right beside it is a sign that says, ‘REMEMBER THE CURFEW, 7 P.M.’

She spots the two siblings running over to hand the older of the two.

"Please tell me if you've seen my son. Please."

Both of the siblings stare at her retreating figure in silent sympathy, heading into the grocery store after a beat.

It was such a sign of fleeting hope.

“What’s up?” He asks her brother as they make their way through the small grocery store. He seemed to be off in his thoughts, so she felt like something was wrong. Ever since the accident, he’d gotten quieter, and quieter.

It was concerning.

The boy looks the other way and mutters, “Nothing.” and she drops it, for now.

Riding home, she glances over at her brother.

“Try to put up with Granddaddy this summer, ok?” ‘We’re the only people he has left.’ She wanted to add but decided against it.

He nods and she adds, “I’ll do the farm work too.”

His face brightens up and it cheers her up as well.

The next day, Shanice decides to look for work and to drop off meat at the Butcher’s with Mike after he insisted on going--probably because he didn’t feel comfortable alone with their grandfather.

After finishing those duties they head out on her bike, Shanice has a feeling she can’t shake.

The feel of being followed.

“I think someone’s following us.” She could feel her brother’s confused expression through his voice.

“Who?” He turns around. She sees some sort of sports car--it starts honking at them, not letting off. It starts to increase in speed, edging on them as if to swallow them whole. Her brother frantically goes faster and faster until they manage to crash into a tree.

Laughter and mischievous hollering emerge from the car, as well as a taunt.

“Stay the fuck out of my town!”

“Hey! What the fuck is wrong with y'all?” Shanice yells at the car as it flies away, helping her brother to his feet. She looks at themselves--he wasn't hurt too bad, neither was she.

The real damage was her bike--it mangled beyond recognition.

“Let’s just carry this thing to the house, Mike.” She says, turning to her brother, who seems to be locked in a trance by something.

“Mike?”

“Huh?”

She frowns.

“Let’s go home.”

....

The two get home, both weathered and tired. Leroy spots them and smiles at them like an old, amused tabby.

“Long day, you two?” The two siblings stay quiet, sitting at the dining table in mutual silence.

“Something happened while y’all two were out on collections?”

He pauses as if he knew the answer once the question flew from his mouth and onto the cold, wooden table. Shanice’s and Mike’s eyes dart from each other to the elderly man.

“Saw Baby Girl’s bike. Y’all have a run-in with the Bowers boy?” Mike gazes at his grandfather, then nods.

“Yeah.”

“That’s it? Hmmm, thought it was something else...”

“Something else like what?” His words catch Shanice’s attention.

“Dunno. Y’all tell me.” Shanice holds his gaze, clearly unhappy that he might be hiding something from her, but doesn’t question further--hell, she wouldn’t even know where to start if anything. Instead, she elaborates on the whole Bowers interaction.

“He mangled up my bike and almost killed us with his car--he’s a total psychopath."

“Is that why do we live outside of town? Is it because of the Bowers?” Mike follows up, with questions of his own.

'Stay the fuck of out of my town!’ His words echo through her head, her hand makes fists. Licking her she asks,

"Granddaddy, are we outsiders?"

“No. We live out here because I want the best for my grandchildren." He says to his grandson, patting his shoulder before sighing at his granddaughter. "We're not outsiders. See, it’s not just the Bowers that ain’t right. It’s that whole town that’s wrong...”

Silence once again overtakes the three.

Inching, aching, catching them by the throat.

“Do y’all know what a haunt is?”

An unknown fear.

....

Shanice had dreamed later that night. It was seven years ago.

She still had her family together.

She was at a grocery store, with her mother, their hands clasped--her mother was glowing, her toothy smile made her so happy she was speechless.

As she reached out to hold her mother, everything disappeared around her--her mother glanced at her with crimson hands. She wore horror on her round face, her hands trembling, shaking with fright.

Her mother looks at her.

“My baby, why didn’t you save me?”

Then, she smiles. Her grin wide, unsettling--yet, it drew her in.

The false sense of comfort that caressed her, that infantile warmth.

Shanice, grounded, shakes her head.

“Mama I--” Her mother holds her face in her hands--dirty metal and aging rust fill Shanice’s senses, and she closes her eyes.

“Mama, I’m so sorry. I was so scared.” Her mother laughed, bringing Shanice's head to her chest--the smell of Swisher Sweets, the ones her Mama used to smoke, calmed her down--she breathes in, wailing as she stroked her hair.

"There ain't no reason to be scared."

Shanice weeps, now alone with nothing but a bright, red balloon in her mother’s place--yet, her voice is still heard light, her soft giggle giddy.

"Eventually, we all float, baby."

....

There was something strange about Derry that Shanice couldn’t quite put her finger on. As she stood in the kitchen, frying eggs and stirring a pot of grits, she felt complex. She couldn’t sleep, the bags under her eyes were evidence of that. On top of everything, her monthly friend came around to give her terrible cramps. She’d be good for a day or before the red flood starts, but probably be better off She tries to get stuff off her mind by turning on her off-white boombox, with a New Edition song playing.

Mike appears. He looks as weathered as her.

“Hey, Mikey.” She finds herself calling him what she did when they were much younger. When everything had a sense of normality.

Shanice gives him a quick hug, planting a quick kiss on top of his head.

“You look like shit.”

“...you do too, Shay.” She shakes her head, tittering as a distant rooster sounds off.

“Imma go to the pharmacy--wanna come?”

When Mike shakes his head, she makes her way upstairs to change and go out. Her beaded, braided hair clinking and shaking as she looked around. settling on a pair of black shorts and a white t-shirt. After lacing up her red converses, she waves her brother goodbye with a gap-toothed smile.

She takes the long walk into town.

When she makes it to Keene’s Pharmacy, she’s sweating, a bit fatigued. She notices a familiar head of ginger hair and notices the girl she’d seen while working at the school looking at a shelf of tampons and pads like it was a guillotine.

“Hey.” She looks startled, turning her sight at the small yet imposing girl. She's short than her--her dark eyes are big, deep-set--her grin makes her seem approachable, her head cocked to the side with her hands in her pockets.

"Thanks, I'm Bev."

“Shanice. Periods, they suck right? You look a little overwhelmed. Your Mama never told you about them?” At the mention of a mother, the girl shifts in a pretty floral dress.

“My...my mom’s not here anymore.”

She gives her a small, toothy smile.

“Mine isn't either. Good thing she taught me about that stuff. You’re looking at a five-year veteran.” She watches the girl’s face pale.

“Five years...” The girl trails off, before looking and hiding behind Shanice. Shanice looks in the direction that she glances at and recognizes the girl’s voice--the girl from the bathroom. She finds a haughty-looking chewing gum quiet-loud before she explains, “Watch it, losers!” at a group of boys who pass her and her way out.

Glancing around the girl trembling behind her, with her voice dropped down to a whisper she asks, “Was that one of the girls from the bathroom”

She nods, only sighing relief when she realizes she’s gone.

“Are you ok?”

“Uh...I’m fine. So...when did you get it?”

Shanice gives her a confused look.

“Oh, the thing. Nine.”

“Really? I didn’t know people got it that early, that's gotta suck.”

They continue to talk until she notices the girl glance at the boys coming in. They’re all chattering, inspecting each other's monetary means.

An older man stares at them sharply--then, locks eyes with Shanice before grumbling.

Shanice finds some products with good absorption levels, the group of boys staring at her with curiosity.

“Who are you?” Shanice smiles at Richie who seems to size her up.

"The name's Shanice. SHA-Niece. You can call me Shay." she says with emphasis, adding. "My family used to live here, before...”

“I’m Richie, that’s Bill, Stan, Eddie, Ben--and she’s--”

"Bev, I know. We met earlier."

The teenager nods, looking over as the aforementioned girl knocks down a cigarette display--the next thing she knows they’ve run out of the pharmacy, like bandits. Shanice finds herself following them into an alleyway, where Ben is being patched up due to a gnarly injury.

"W-We're going the quarry, wanna come?" She looks over at Bill, who asks the question to Beverly, but sheepishly looks back at her

“Y-you should come too.”

Beverly smiles.

“Sure. See you around.” The two girls walk out of the alleyway, into the main street.

“Want me to walk you home?” Beverly looked at her with a flash of concern before nodding.

“Where do you live?” A breeze past them as they walk--as they stroll deeper, houses become noticeably different. A lot of them are older, abandoned, or hadn't been repairs in years.

It's a run-down area, neglected by the rest of the town.

“The outskirts.” She frowns.

“Why?”

“Dunno. The people in the town think my Granddaddy’s strange--but you know what I think? This weird town is mistaking who and what is really strange.”

....

The teenagers make it out to the quarry the next day. Shanice finds Beverly standing off to the side, now sporting a bob.

“New Haircut?” Bev, hearing her voice putting her hand to her hair absentmindedly.

“Yeah.”

“It suits you, I think it’s cool. You look a lot like Molly Ringwald.”

The boys, who have stripped to their underwear, are contemplating who should jump first.

“Who’s first?” Bill inquiries.

“Eddie?” The fourteen-year-old rebuttals, “Screw that.”

Shanice and Bev who stand off the shadow look at each other.

“They’re a gang of wusses.” Shanice stifles her laughter, before doubling over.

“Right? Inviting us over and acting like a bunch of wusses!” For a moment, silence befalls the girls, only the boy’s chatter can be heard--then, Beverly gives the girl a look, a wild one, dripping with adrenaline.

“Hey, wanna jump?”

Shanice grins.

“Why not?”

The two quickly discard their clothing--a pair of denim overalls and plain summer dress--before bolting as fast as their legs could muster, their hands clasped, jumping into the murky waters below.

After a while, everyone is out of the water, resting on rocks while Shanice finds solace in the sort of cool temperature of the water. On Richie’s boombox, a song, one that made her bob her head slightly, she finds herself singing along in a small voice,

“I’m alive, huh, huh, so alive...”

Her body goes deeper, the sound of the music becomes muted. She felt like she was being tugged, something was her pulling away--when she realizes, it's too late. She's seized, water begins filing her mouth, nose, the sight of a balloon rising above her field of underwater vision--Shanice wakes up, coughing up violently.

Her body’s laid flat out on a scalding rock, all around her are the teenagers, still soaking wet in their undergarments. Dread overcomes, her throat burns as if it’s been choked--the Stan looks over at her concerned, his curly hair puffy, tangled like a bird’s nest.

His cheeks are flushed--he looks frazzled if anything.

“What the fuck...” She mutters before coughing up more water.

“Are you ok?”--Stan asks, his face inches away from hers--they lock eyes for a moment before he looks away, even more flustered--the chain event leaves her puzzled as she tries to catch her breath.

“Not bad for almost dying,” She jokes, sitting up. Her head feels heavy as she’s coughing up more water, taking a few breathes before sighing in relief.

“Did you guys drag me out?”

"Nope, Stan the Man dived in when he saw you were gone." Richie quips--Shanice gives Stan a jovial smile.

After she pulls away and walks over to her backpack to pull out her bottled water.

“So? Aren’t we gonna talk about how Stan slobbered all over her li--” Shanice stops and looks over Richie with a raised brow.

“What?”

“Nothing--it’s nothing,” Richie says, drawing his attention to something else--with that something else being Ben’s backpack. Shuffle through it, he pulls out books--lots of them.

“You went to the library? On your own? For fun?”

“Oh, uh, when I moved here I didn’t have anyone to hang out with or anything, so I just started spending time in the library.” Shanice grins while Richie frowns.

“Seriously? You went to the library? On your own? For fun?”

“He's 'cultured' or whatever,” Shanice notes, shaking her drenched hair before continuing, “girls like that kinda stuff sometimes.” She gestures to him inches in for a better look at the copies of newspaper stories Ben had gathered.

“Derry’s not like any town I moved to. And we’ve moved a lot. Did you guys know people die violently here or disappear like six times the national average?” Ben states, gaining the wide eyes of the teens in the process.

“That’s just adults. Kids are worse. Way worse.”

“You know, my granddaddy said that.” The group's eyes glance at their oldest, with morbidly curious stares.

“Said what?” Beverly asks--Shanice reminds her of what they talked about on the way to her house.

“Like I said yesterday ...that this whole town’s wrong. He’s been here for a while. Seen things, probably.”

A unanimous shiver occurs.

“I’ve got more stuff if you wanna see it...at home.”

Shanice could call his room one thing. Messy--indicative of a boy. Covering every inch of his bedroom walls were more newspaper clippings--some dating back a whole century.

“This is pretty impressive,” Shanice croons, amazed, sipping on her bottle of water.

“Cool, huh?” Ben replies.

“No!” Richie yells with immediate denial.

Bill's off in a corner, looking at an ‘ancient’ paper--as Shanice looks closer, she sees it says ‘INCORPORATION OF THE TOWNSHIP OF DERRY’.

“What’s this, Ben?

“The charter for Derry Township--it’s kind of interesting, actually. Derry started as a beaver trapping camp.”

“Still is. Am I right, boys?” Everyone looks at Richie who grins--it’s quiet until Shanice retorts with a snort “That joke is almost as funny drying paint.” Beverly shakes her head, hiding her smile while everyone has a good laugh at his expense.

“So it’s a record of them coming over here--what makes it so special.” Ben raises his eyebrows, almost relieved the conversation managed to get back to its original point.

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

Everyone stops--the only sound that could be heard was the breeze from out the house. Ninety-one people--gone, just like that. In Shanice’s head, possibilities run. Diseases? Famine? Sure, that can happen--but everyone--every last, single person?

Eddie looks particularly spooked by the information, cautiously asking “The entire camp?”

“There were rumors of Indians but no sign of an attack. Others thought it was a plague or something. It was like everyone just woke up one day and left. The only clue was a big hole in the ground where the wellhouse was.”

“Jesus, we could get Derry on unsolved mysteries!” Ignoring Richie’s quip, Bill asks “Wh-where was the wellhouse?”

“Somewhere in town, I guess...”

“What’s the point of all this? What are you gonna do with it?” Stan asks--Shanice herself wondered it too.

Truthfully, he shrugs, saying “Dunno. Just killing time I guess.”

....

“Can you do the deliveries by yourself today?” Shanice asks her brother, she stood beside the bathroom, brushing her teeth. The teenager gives her a glance, then nods his head. She smiles, taking her tired body back to the room, quickly slipping on her white summer dress and her sneakers--making her way down the stairs, stops her in her tracks at the sound of her grandfather's weary voice.

“Baby Girl?”

“Yeah, Grandaddy?”

“Be safe.” Shanice looks at him, before pecking his cheeks, hugging him tightly.

“Ok, I love you.”

“Love you too, Shanice.”

Later on that day, Shanice finds herself going about absent-mindedly. She had nightmares again--so many more since she moved to Derry--since everything happened.

There was a common theme with her nightmares--the inclusion of a red balloon--but what did it mean?

She follows until he finds herself in the neighborhood where Bev lived, when--she notices the whole group gathers on the sidewalk, in front of her place.

“Hey...what’s going on?”

“Bev called. She’s freaked out about something... Sh-sh-she told us to wait out here until--”

A door bursts open--it’s Beverly, out of breath, spooked.

“You made it. I need to show you guys something...Shanice you--”

“Uh, hey. I ran into the guys while I was out. What’s up?”

Ben follows her question with, “Yeah, what is it?”

“Did we just win the Publisher's Clearinghouse ten million dollar sweepstakes? If Ed McMahon is in there I’m going to lose my sh--” Shanice glances before giving him a sharp punch in the arm.

“Read the room, Richie!”

“I just need to know I’m not crazy. But my Dad will kill me if he finds out I had you guys over.”

“We’ll leave a lookout. Richie?” Bill says as he looks at the teen who’s still rubbing his arm.

“Yeah, whatever. Ed McMahon can wait...”

Shanice gives him a look before they head inside her house. The light shines through the desolate feeling house as they follow her--farther into the house--until she stops in front of a door.

“In there,” Beverly says, her voice a fine to a whisper. Stan, who was beside Shanice asks, “What are we about to walk into?”

“You’ll see.” She doesn’t open the door--she seems rooted in her place--instead, it’s Bill who opens the door with her and Eddie following after --and the smell hits Shanice like a slap to the face. Her eyes were wide, visibly shaken. She doubles back until her back is against the wall and she falls on her bottom.

“You see it?” Beverly asks Bill.

“What happened?”

“The sink. It came out from there. My Dad couldn’t see it. I thought I was going crazy...” Shanice looks over at Bill, breathing heavily.

“You’re not going crazy. I saw something too. I-I, I saw Georgie.”

“Like a ghost?” Eddie asks, trying to avoid looking into the room again.

“N-no. He tried to get me to go into the basement with him. It wasn’t just him either. I saw this other... I don’t know."

“What’d you see, Bill?” Stan presses,

“The Clown?”

“And red balloons?” Shanice says immediately after Eddie, loud enough for everyone to hear. Bill doesn’t have a thing to say, only his silence the answer. They both shake, Shanice is trying to keep calm, while Eddie full-on freaks out.

“Are you two okay?” Beverly asks, concerned.

“Go outside. Keep Richie company, okay?” Eddie nods, Shanice shakes her head.

“I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine.”

“I am. Look, let’s just focus on cleaning this blood up.”

“R-Right, we can’t leave it like this.”

....

Cleaning--cleaning, cleaning, covered in blood.

Bill, Ben, Beverly, Stan, and Shanice spent time cleaning the bathroom, full of blood only they could see. Stan crouches next to her and asks, “Are you really, ok?” the sixteen-year-old glances over him, continuing to clean.

“I’m ok, I said before. I’m just...tired. This town makes me tired.”

Soon after they’re finished and exit the building, going down to Kansas Street.

“All that blood at your place and you s-say your folks didn’t see any of it... Last night at my house, with Georgie and the water, my Dad just acted like everything was normal--I think if you’re a grown-up...” Bill trails off, looking off into the distance.

“They can’t see it.” Eddie chimes in, which in turn Richie questions: “Can’t see what?”

“It.” Beverly answers.

“That’s why the cops won’t help, our parents, teachers...”

The group of kids stops, while Shanice continues to walk until she sees it--her brother’s mangled bike in a bush.

“...that’s my brother’s bike.” She looks over at Bill, her face in a deep frown, rage bubbling in her chest.

"It’s..it's that Bowers guy again, that’s why y'all stopped, right?”

“We have to help him,” Beverly says, seeing Shanice runoff, already in hot pursuit of her brother and the gang of high-schoolers.

“We do?” Richie snorts, watching the same, to which Bill replies, “If we don’t, who will? That could be any one of us.”

Shanice runs and runs, only stopping when she’s greeted by the sight of her brother's face being shoved in the same meat they deliver every week.

“Hey, you fuck faces!” Shanice yells, her voice being drowned out by their laughter and tithers, she meets her brother's eyes as he tries to crawl to her--only yanked back by the boys crowding him. He’s the ground, one of their sneakers dig into the boy’s skull, then--

CRACK!

A rather large rock first hits one of the boys, straight in the face, leaving blood gushing from his face. The assailant is Shanice, who's backup came in the form of Beverly, Bill, Richie, Eddie, and Stan.

“Holy shit!” Richie exclaimed, staring at the girl who was still throwing blows.

“Nice throw.” Stan compliments, although the armed girl hadn’t heard him--she was busy trying to save her brother.

Seeing the bullies distracted, she hurriedly yelled, “Mike, run!”

The boy scrambles to his feet, into the arms of his sister, who squeezes him tight.

The two siblings seemed to have reunited, beside them was an all-out rock war.

Rocks fly in the air, everyone ducks, hoping not to get hit by the hail of fire. When they realize they’ve been outmanned, Bill, their unassigned leader, screams for them to run.

“Mike, get on my back.”

“But--”

“I said get on my back, come on!"

They race until they find themselves back on a residential street. Everyone’s catching their breaths, tired from the sudden encounter.

Mike looks at the teenager whilst standing beside his sister relenting, “Thanks but you shouldn’t have done that. He’ll be after you guys now too.”

“Bowers? He’s always after us.” Eddie says and the rest shrugs in reply.

“I-I guess that’s one thing we all have in common,” Bill remarks, almost with a bit of sarcasm, while Richie full-on deadpans.

“Yeah, welcome to the Losers Club.”

....

“I was thinking about It. Ironworks explosion in 1904. Bradley Gang in ‘32. The Black Spot in ‘59. And now with Georgie, Dorsey, and the rest--it seems like this bad stuff happens nearly every thirty years.”

Time’s passed, and the fourth of July is right around the corner--the town of Derry takes things quite seriously--patriotic imagery scattered everywhere, vendors selling brightly labeled fireworks. Her grandfather would probably be out at the farmhouse on the outskirts, burning meat while they celebrated in their own way.

The self-proclaimed, ‘Losers Club’ members sit near the Paul Bunyan statue in the central square. Stan rests his head on her shoulder, listening to Ben’s Ominous rambling with her. Her brother on the other side with a complicated expression, sunglasses perched on her head through her bushy hair.

Stan raises his head from its place with uncertain eyes trained on Ben.

“So what, this town is cursed?”

“That’s what my grandfather thinks...”

Stan questions and Mike answers--Shanice glances at Stan, thinking back to her grandfather’s choice words for the Town.

She glances at the rest of the ‘Losers’, raising the question, “Y’all know what a haunt is?” her voice is soft, childish but it gathers the group’s attention.

“You mean like in a ‘who-ya-gonna-call’ sense?” Shanice shifts her eyes to Richie, shaking her head.

“Nah, not like that. Haunt can also mean like a feeding ground for animals--or for something else. My grandfather told me he thinks all the bad things that happen in this town are caused by one thing. An evil thing, that feeds off the people of Derry--one that fed off of him.”

Feeling all eyes on her and Mike, urging her to continue.

“After that run-in with Bower’s gang--”

--Mike and Shanice make it home, black and blue.

The two siblings look as if they’d been run through the wringer--or under the siege of rocks and boot soles.

Their Grandfather, who was sitting in the living, itching to chew them out stops and rushes over to them after seeing Mike’s bruises.

“What in God’s name--”

“--it’s Bowers, again,” Shanice mutters, spitting out the name without reluctance.

Sighing, her grandfather states, “...at least you two came home in one piece. That’s all I care for at the moment.”

She nods, heading to the kitchen for a glass of lemonade while Mike quietly sits at the table. Her grandfather takes off his farming gloves, taking a seat next to his grandson.

“Aside from that, Granddaddy, you’ve lived here for a while, right?” Shanice asks, after a beat of silence, handing him a drink after she’d already poured her.

After another beat, he answers before downing the drink in his hands, “About my whole life.”

The siblings, Mike now taking a bit more confidence, “Granddaddy, have you seen the clown?”

He pauses but lets out an uncharacteristically jovial laugh.

“What clown are you talking about, boy?”

Mike glances at his sister, Shanice before nudging her.

“Granddaddy, we wanna know if you know ‘It’?”

The glass in his hand had fallen to the ground, shattering--the sound made Shanice flinches, unknowingly, goosebumps litter her skin. The Hanlon Patriarch sits, shaking a bit--Shanice quickly looks to see if he’s ok but stops after seeing his face. He shook, he looked, spooked--haunted, repulsed at the very mention of ‘ It ’.

“Now y’all listen to me and listen to me good. There’s a reason why I tell y’all this town is strange.” As the three of them sat down at the dining table their grandfather lifted his pants leg to reveal—a wooden leg. It was smooth, oak-toned, and worn down by time. As he silently lets his pants leg, his voice begins to tremble, deep and strained.

“Sixty-six years ago, I lost my leg to It. I was only a boy, a year younger than Baby Girl.”

The children clutch either, Shanice holds Mike close as they both sat in shock.

“He was right. It--It is somethin’ evil.” Shanice finally whispers, her eyes narrow, like slits to a dark abyss. The mood chills amongst the teenagers when they realize they’re dealing with big--that seemed to be after kids.

....

The teens sit in the Monument, they glanced at her with startled eyes.

“But It can’t be one thing. We’re all seeing something different...”

“Yeah, but I think that’s because It uses our worst fears to scare us...”

Bill begins to speculate, “I guess that’s why I’m seeing Georgie.” Eddie follows him by saying, “I saw a walking infection. What’d about you, Richie? What are you afraid of?”

Richie frowns.

“Clowns.”

....

Shanice yawns.

It was a Thursday, ten in the morning.

‘The Losers Club’ sat in Denbrough's garage. Facing Shanice is a map of the sewers, projected on the wall in front of her and the rest of the ‘Losers’. The lights illuminate the room, almost as if they were telling ghost stories under a flashlight. Bill looks over to Ben, questioning if he brought ‘the map’; that map being an old map to Derry.

“Look.” Bill addresses the rest of the group, “Th-there’s the Ironworks. There’s the B-black Spot. Everywhere It happened to be is all c-connected by the sewers and they all meet up at.”

“The wheelhouse,” Ben notes.

“It’s in the house on Neibolt street.” Shanice furrows in curiosity her brows at Eddie’s words.

“Neibolt Street?”

“You mean that creepy-ass house where all the junkies and hobos like to sleep?”

“I hate that place.” Beverly says with a frown, adding, “It always feels like it’s watching you.”

“That’s where It lives,” Bill murmurs, staring at the image projection, until--Eddie, wheezing, rips the map clean off the wall.

“Can we stop talking about this? This is summer -- we’re kids -- we’re supposed to be--” He says through pants with Richie gets up abruptly adding, “I agree with Eds.”

“No...put the map back, Eddie--”

Suddenly, the light isn’t shining against the wall, nor is projecting the map of Derry either--instead, it shines bright in Eddie’s face, like a truck's headlights with Eddie mirror the look of a Deer caught in them.

“What happened?” Bill begins to get up from his seat when he stops to stare at the image projected.

It’s vacation photos, showing a happy family. Shanice recognizes Bill in it, smiling, in what seems like hiking clothes. Beside him is a boy that looks about 70% similar to him--a lot like him, but not entirely. She could only guess it was Georgie, Bill’s younger brother that died.

The projector keeps going.

Next photo there’s one of the family swimming--then, the boy--Georgie is standing at the edge of the lake. When Shanice is morbidly expecting it to switch to another photo, it doesn’t.

It shows the same picture, of the same boy--again, and again, and again.

But, there’s something different--it was as if the boy was moving, like a video. And slowly, Georgie turns his face to view his audience--them--with his face is painted with terror.

“Georgie?” Bill implores, almost in a whisper as Richie mutters, probably to himself, “What the fuck?”

“Somebody, turn this shit off,” Shanice begs, her voice shaking as she locks eyes with the child. He begins to run to the camera as if to leap out to them. Tears run down her face, she feels rooted in her place.

She can’t move, she’s paralyzed with fear.

“I SAID TURN IT OFF!” Again, everyone is fixated on the projection--he looks as if he wants to plead for help--moving his mouth rapidly--but he can’t; there’s no sound.

Stan runs to unplug the machine--it doesn’t do anything--it was like it was being controlled by some sort of specter; a supernatural force. It's presence lights up the dark garage, illuminating with a forthright glow incandesce in combination with the flickering photos.

“Georgie!” Bill screams.

Almost immediately, Georgie ran out of the frame.

Then, what the boy seemed to have been running from appears.

A clown, standing in the water. A macabre figure off the shore, staring at the group of teenagers.

One with receding ginger hair, staring at them, the ‘Losers’ with the biggest smile on its face. Waving at them, holding an oddly familiar red balloon.

“It’s fucking looking at us. What the fuck.” Shanice mumbles her face still that of disbelief, not feeling Richie squeeze her arm.

“Holy shit...”

“That’s It. That’s him.” Stan declares, as if confirmation for their separate, yet united experiences. That the threat that terrorized the teens was real, and that it was out to get them--a vengeful spirit beyond their dreams and glimpses.

Its face grows more fluid, closer and closer--

When It appears right in front of the camera, contiguous and menacing.

Various high-pitched screams echo throughout the garage, the teenagers scattering farther from the wall--Mike runs up, kicking the projector off of its box-structured stand. Shanice follows her brother’s lead, as his action snaps her out of whatever hold It had on her--she grabs a baseball bat--a steel one leaning against the wall, grabbing it and smashing the vessel of their collective fear.

Over and over and over until there was nothing else projected.

Stan looks at Shanice, both amazed and terrified at the amount of strength shown in her short, stout body. Quickly, he seizes her arms, causing her to stop her movement--she stands, frozen, still holding the means of destruction in her hand. Her eyes have grown wide from shock. Teardrops still fell from her watery, dark eyes as she shook in the boy’s arms. Her throat felt raw, from her fright-filled vocalized pleads.

Her face the color of cool, raw umber--still plump from baby fat, emitting a dark russet-colored rogue flushed with dread.

She was shaken, and Stan in his own way attempted to comfort her. He, with as much compassion a thirteen-year-old could muster awkwardly pats her back before letting go.

He couldn’t help but question wearily, “How’d that even happen?”

Eddie, still scared, replies “It saw us. It knows who we are now.”

“It’s always known who we were, Eddie. That’s how It knows how to scare us.” Shanice says, panting.

“Yeah, it always did,” Bill agreed, his voice unusually rough and strained.

“--at least It’s gone now.”

Bev speaks, soft as a rushed whisper, “Uh, guys?” but no one’s paying attention.

They all were trying to process what they all just saw.

The Hanlon siblings stare at the smashed projector, then at each other--their expression complex as they ask, “Yeah, but for how long?”

“Guys?”

Silence befell them, only Bev’s voice remains.

“GUYS!”

Her abrupt scream got the group to turn their attention to her. They follow her eyes to the ceiling, where she’s gazing at something above. The smashed--almost obliterated projector, much wider the image that’s shown to them.

It.

Staring at them, with a hate-filled growl stirring from its throat. It’s fast at first, as instant as polaroid, then slow, as he was creeping up on them-- It’s white, gloved hand tick out as if to grasp Bev by her neck--Bill pulls her away, but Its arm seems to stretch, determined of Its target.

His hold tightens on Bev, with his resolve to not let It take her.

The room is suddenly flooded with sunlight--the garage door opens, with Ben ultimately being the one who deters It away from them. The image of It disappears, the two kids let out a sigh of relief.

For now.

“Yeah. Thanks, Ben, Bill. Good, uh thinking.”

Bill lets go of Bev, turning to the rest of them.

No one says anything. Everyone’s processing things, trying to process that what they saw was real. Richie looks particularly unresponsive--no snide remarks or quick jokes with god-awful punchlines. Just a pale face, his mouth open and aghast--the fact that his ultimate fear came to life clear as day.

“No jokes this time, Rich?” Stan’s question is as awkward as it sounds, in this kind of environment, but it cuts the tension, slowly.

“Not today Stan, please,” Shanice warns, watching Richie slowly shake his head.

Despite the summer sunshine, the mood in the room was heavy.

“Okay so...” Bill begins, making everyone look his way, “Let’s go.”

“Go? Where?” Ben, asking the question of everyone’s mind.

“Neibolt. That’s where Georgie is. We have to go--” Shanice cuts him off, still shaken by what she just saw.

“Are you shitting me, Bill? After what just happened? It’s real. It is going to fucking kill us!” Everyone nods, Stan mimicking her thoughts saying, “Shay’s right. After that? No. No way.”

“Yeah...I’m with them.” Richie says, still sounding small, defeated.

“Fine. Then don’t.”

Mike looks at his sister and Bill, shaking his head.

“Wait, Bill--”

His words don’t reach him.

Bill hops on his bike, already getting ready to head to Neibolt.

“That thing took my brother. I’m going.”

The remaining ‘Losers’ watch as his figure gets smaller and smaller.

“He’s going to get himself killed,” Shanice says, biting her lips, not releasing the hold till she tastes the iron of her own blood. Letting out a scream of frustration, she tosses the bat she used to crush the projector to Beverly, grabbing her brother's hand.

“Mike, let’s go get this boy before gets himself hurt.” Mike nods his head and the siblings heading off on his bike.

Stan casts looks at their fleeing figure, and makes up his mind to go after them.

Beverly and the rest of the ‘Losers’ follow suit, leading the way to the Neibolt house--an old, terrifying house, completely alien to all the other residences on the street.

“Bill!” Beverly yells after she spots him in front of the house, Shanice follows with, “What the hell are you doing, a suicide mission? Come back before you or someone else gets hurt!”

“Look, I already said you don’t have to come in with me. But what happens when another Georgie goes missing? Or another Dorsey? Or one of us? Are you just going to pretend it isn’t happening like everyone else in this town?”

“You know can’t. But this thing is going to hunt us down. Your parents only have one child, are you gonna take that away from them?” Shanice says, her voice cracking a bit. Shanice was small, about the same height as Eddie. But, she seemed mature, like an adult talking their child down from doing something idiotic.

“Y-You don’t know how it is...” Bill swallows his tears before continuing, “I-I go home and all I see is that G-Georgie isn’t there. H-His clothes, his toys, his stupid stuffed animals--e-everything but Georgie.” He turns away from Shanice, closing his eyes before opening them again.

“So, walking into that house--for me, it’s easier than walking into my own.” Bill’s voice was even, his normal stutter gone--he was serious, like dead serious.

“Wow...”

“What?”

“He didn’t even stutter. Not once.” Shanice glares at Richie, her expression only softening while she watches him follow after Bill, despite his words. Taking the bat she’d tossed in the basket of Beverly's bike, so does she, then Mike.

“Didn’t you hear him? Why are you following him?” Stan asked, to which she frowns.

“We’re just kids, Stanley. I’m the oldest, and it doesn’t change the fact that I’m still one. Bill is too. We all are. We gotta team up if we don’t wanna die.”

Stan runs to her side, with reluctance clear on his face. His Adam's apple bobbled, his heart raced loudly.

“We should just turn around. Bill’s he’s braver than us--”

“Brave? Bill’s not brave. He’s just dumb, Derry-dumb--and my mama used to always say if you’re gonna be dumb, you gotta be tough.” She says, dragging her sneaker-bound feet as she went up the steps. Stan didn’t say a thing back, choosing to stand closer to her to calm his nerves.

“I ain't the sharpest knife in the drawer, I was taught enough to know that much.”

All of them, one by one--until every ‘Loser’s Club’ member was on the porch of the ‘29 Neibolt Street’.

Dark and eerie, that’s what Shanice described as the small opening of the house as she stood on the porch. As if he was reading her thoughts, Richie whispers, “I can’t see shit.”

She looks over at him, frowning as she watches him take a huff of Eddie’s inhaler.

“Tastes like battery acid.”

“Really, Richie? Is this this time to swab spit with the remains of Eddie’s inhaler?”

“What no I wasn’t. That gros--”

Shanice rolls her eyes, snatching the inhaler back and tossing it to Eddie.

Just as he goes to open a door, she stops when a thought occurs to her.

“Wait,” She says, holding up the bat she’d snagged from his garage, “If we’re trying to go in there, everybody needs something to defend themselves with. Even Batman can’t fight bad guys without something.”

Everyone scatters, looking for anything to use as a weapon

For instance, Mike at his sister’s word, goes for an old, rusted wrench, holding it with a tight grip.

Shanice hears something shatter--turning around looking back at the yard, she sees Richie with a dumbstruck expression as she looks at the beer bottle he just shattered, perhaps hoping to be like those action stars whose scenes involve bar fights.

She blinks before shaking her head.

‘Idiot. ’

His eyes locked with her gaze and he quickly rushed up behind her.

“I’ll just stand behind you.”

After some time, the group of teens fully reunite with their various choices of defensive means. Shanice jerks her head in the direction of the underworld-like entrance saying to Bill, “Now, or never.”

Slowly, but surely, the vengeful boy opens the door.

....

A dump.

The Neibolt house was an absolute fucking dump.

Trash everywhere, graffiti covering the walls--magazines, newspapers what have you, stacked and towering at every corner like a hoarder’s paradise.

“This is some kinda hell...” Shanice says, her frown seemed to deepen as she took in her surroundings and the smell that came with it.

“This place stinks. I can smell it.” Beverly remarks, disgust in her voice.

“I smell it too.” Her brother agrees--Richie pinches his nose, warning “Don’t breathe through your mouth. It’s like eating shit.”

Shanice punches him in the arm.

“You fucking tell me AFTER I’ve already got the taste on my tongue!”

They continue to journey through the abandoned house, passing different gross and odd things. Bev finds a lantern, surprisingly which aids in their sight.

“If there’s a well here it’d have to be in the basement, right?” Ben says. Stan gives him a look, looking mortified to even be in a house this filthy. Shanice nudges him before taking his hand with the one not occupied with her stolen means of protection, giving a small smile.

“Come on, I’ll protect you from this big, stinking house.” He smiles at her, still distressed by the way he squeezes her hand.

“Does this place even have a basement?”

“I hope not.” Eddie chimes in.

“L-let’s find out.”

Bill heads in the direction of the kitchen--however, the group hears something that stops them dead in their tracks.

“Hello? Is someone here?”

A child’s voice--coming from upstairs.

“Georgie?” Ben whispers, casting a glance towards Bill, to which he denies.

“This is a fucking trap, don’t fall for it, Bill.” Shanice starts, hearing the child’s voice become louder.

“HELLO?!”

“Down here! We’re down here!” Shanice’s eyes give Bev a look of utter disbelief, hushing her with a ‘shhh!’.

“Help me, please...” The child’s voice a whimper--Bev moves, with the lantern in hand, up the stairs. The remaining ‘Losers’ climb the stairs after her.

“Bev, she’s right. We need to be cautious.” Shanice gave him a heated glance.

“Now you listen to me when we’re already knee-deep in this trash heap--”

“Hello?” The child’s voice continues, coming from down the hall. The floorboards whine and groan under their combined weight. Shanice hopes it wouldn’t fail them.

Not with how far they’ve ventured. Almost at the end of the hall, Mike pauses.

“You guys hear that?”

Shanice stays in place, contracting--when she hears it. A light hum, a buzz. Coming from a damaged outlet, near the direction of another hallway, their intended target is the door at the end of it.

Only their breathing could be heard as they ventured on--with something troubling following it.

Squeaking, almost like--a clown horn.

“ It. ” Shanice says, gripping onto the bat for dear life. It stops, before smiling at her, with a shit-eating buck-toothed grin.

“Why, I’m not ‘ It ’. My dear, I’m Pennywise, the dancing clown!”

Bill braces, angry flooding his haunted features.

“WHERE’S G-G-GEORGIE?!”

It--Pennywise, tilts his head asking in a childish voice, “Who’s Geor-- oh -- sor--” letting out a giggle before changing back to his original voice.

“-ry, who’s Georgie?” He laughs again, watching them--no, hunting them. Counting them.

“Boy meat. Boy meat. Boy meat. Boy meat. Boy meat. Boy meat.” He chants, salivating, casting a hungry look at Bev.

“Girl meat. Yes. Sweet, salty blood-engorged girl meat...”

He stops, glancing at Shanice, who’s struggling to calm down her heart.

Leaning in close enough, close enough for their hairs to touch.

“Oh? When did Maturin cough up something that smelled so--delicious! You smell much better than your brother. You’re just like little Willy, filled with so much tasty fear!” Shanice screams, swinging her bat as she backed away as quickly as she could.

“Sweet, tasty child...do you know what I’d like to do? Use your thin blue veins like straws, little ears like spoons...” The chaotic plug sparks, Pennywise casts a wayward glance before going on.

“...armpits and cowlicks, freckles and dimples, peachy fuzz, scabbed knees, squeals, and screams!” The spark continues with a similar hum from earlier, however, the Clown ignores it.

“They all reek so good.”

Only when the sound grows louder does he consider acting upon it. The group watches on, seeing him pull out a small screwdriver, attempting to repair it.

Nothing.

Squinting at it, Pennywise snaps his fingers, as if to say, ‘ aha ’--grabbing a bigger screwdriver, jamming it into the socket--electrocuting himself and committing self-immolation. His laughs become manic, demonic, staring at his prey. His eyes like liquid lava, his teeth sharp and multiple spikes.

“Shay!” The girl looks at Stan who’s still holding her hand and her brother who’s inching to join her.

She shakes her head.

“Go, Stanley. You too Mike.”

“But--” Her brother begins--heavily breathing, she pushes the two boys away.

“I’m older. It’s my job to protect you. NOW GO!” With hesitation, the teens run to the rest of the feeling kids.

Shanice holds up the bat, glaring at his face, feigning fright--finally, she starts landing blows on him. Striking over and over, the rest of the losers fled as the floor seemed to crumble under them.

While the others make it, Shanice falls--passing out after she knocks her head into the tiled floor of the kitchen.

The other Losers yell her name while she lies limp, her sticky blood calling the name of a certain predator.

....

“Wakey, wakey Tasty.” Shanice’s eyes flutter open to a horrifying site--Pennywise and his bashed-in the skull and looking at her body propped on an old stool. Her head throbs, she touches it gingerly--only to find blood gushing from it. Her heart is racing, she vomits at the right of the mangled clown in front of her.

What happened?

The buzzing of the broken outlet, the fiery terror, the ground shattering under them.

Her falling, passing out.

And now, she’s confronted by a salivating, deranged nightmare of a clown.

This whole house--this whole town was a haunt--a feeding ground. The missing kids, the missing settlers. All of them, devoured--used to satisfy the diet of It.

“--it’s as if you’re marinated in it, aren’t my dear? Aged and rare, just for ol’ Pennywise!” As her head throbbed, she still tries to defend herself, rising her feet, unsteady. Her glaring vision shows a grinning Pennywise.

He takes a hold of her finger, still covering her, lapping at, nibbling on it--eventually gnawing off her finger, crunching on it like a treat. As if a child with a delicious treat, his teeth bloody, settled a delighted grin.

Her slurred hollering echos through the old, decaying room

“That’s it, scream more. GIVE ME MORE OF YOUR FEAR!”

“Get...away...from...me! Someone...help...me..."

She cries in agony--her fourth finger, gone, only a blood-gushing stump remains. Her fresh blood running down her palm as she yells, still trying to get away, somehow, back to her brother and the people she saw as first friends visiting Derry.

Her fellow ‘Losers’.

Shanice drags herself up, to a direction of an opening, feeling It catching her retreating legs, dragging her back. Her nails scraped against the floor, tearing off as she clung on for dear life.

“That’s it, scream more. GIVE ME MORE OF YOUR FEAR!”

Her feet, scratched and bruised, she twists and kicks sluggishly, until her body stops. She felt her dragged back, propped up against the wall.

This was it, this was how she’d die--being eaten, in some decrepit house. Her body--anything left of it would be buried under the crumbling house. She’d be the model for a missing kid’s poster, her grandfather would be like that mother she saw desperately going around, asking where her child was.

Everyone but her brother, Stan, and the rest of them would know the truth.

She’d die, just like that.

“Hey! Get away from my sister!”

Mike was there thrusting the wrench in his head, completely splitting his head--behind him where the rest of the ‘Losers’, with their teeth, bared. Pennywise lets go of her, howling in pain. Shanice falls limp to the ground, the smell of blood in the air.

Mike grabs his sister, and the rest of the gang hauls ass into the living room, her brother and Stan dragging her body as they run from the Neibolt house, the gapping door vaguely taunting them as they escape it.

....

Beep, beep. The squeaking sound of slip-resistant shoes worn by nurses echoes throughout. Beeps, finger-hitting keyboard, the occasional laughter, and conversation.

Shanice lay unconscious in the hospital bed.

Their grandfather silently stared out the window while touching his wooden leg.

This girl--she was his first grandchild. Born premature, didn’t come home until much later. Yet, she looked so much smaller laying there than she did inside of an incubator. She was hard-headed--but he didn’t think she would seek It after he warned the two kids.

The gash on her head wasn’t deep. Between the mental trauma and her blood loss--the doctors aren’t sure when she’d wake up.

It was troubling.

Mike’s silent as he sits beside the bed and stares at the slow breathing girl. Her skin is black and blue, she looks more than worse for wear.

The rest, the loser club--minus Eddie who had suffered a sprained arm, stood outside the door looking in.

“We’ll need to go back. Prepared this time...” Bill begins, Stan cuts him off, his voice squeaking with accusation.

“Will you shut the fuck up, Bill--she’s in there not waking up because she tried to save you from your shitty choices!”

Beverly, in the defense of Bill counters, with “...he’s right. No one else is going to do anything.”

“Face it! Shay almost got eaten, fuck she did get eaten--” He looks into the paneled window the door at her hand, wrapped up and traumatized--

“--by some shapeshifting demon monster that almost killed Eddie and Shay!”

Bill counters with, “But she hurt him, we hurt him. That’s something, right?”

“What kind of bullshit consolation prize is that?” Richies says with a scoff, rolling his eyes.

“Great, so next time it will just be madder and bigger and not mess around to kill us. That’s why I’ll go away, and not come back. Not my problem anymore. You can’t wait to get out of this town either, you said --” Ben mutters, while Beverly gives him a sharp look.

“I want to run towards something. Not run away. That’s what cowards do.” Everyone is looking amongst themselves when Richie addresses Bill again, however, he stares at him with a pissed-off glance.

There’s a beat.

And another.

“Let’s face facts. Real-world. Georgie's dead. And you killed him.”

Bill flinches--the words cut deep, like a razor blade. Was that the truth? Did he send his brother out in the rain to die

“I didn’t get my brother killed--”

“You sent him out there by himself. And he died. Either way, you’re just a bunch of losers and you’ll get yourselves killed trying to stop this stupid killer when none of it makes any difference.”

As the bespeckled teen begins his departure, Bill moves to block his path. They stare down at each other. With a frown Richie, irritatingly yells, “Out of my way, Bill! You couldn’t save him but you can still save yourself.”

“I didn’t get my brother killed.”

The hospital room door swings open, it’s Mike. Everyone grows quiet as he stalks up to Bill, and punches Bill square in the jaw--hard enough that he falls onto the cold tiled floors.

“You don’t care about any but yourself. We all have shit going on. My sister was smart enough to try and stop you and you didn’t appreciate that.” Mike says, calmly, a bit too calm as it scares the rest of the ‘Losers.’

Beverly, helping Bill says with a shaky voice, “This, this is what It wants. It wants us divided. That’s what it was doing in Neibolt--separating us.”

Richie snorted, retorting, “Well It got what it wants. But at least I’m alive. And I plan on staying that way.” Richie walks off, Stan and Ben follow. Mike focuses his gaze on Bill.

“Shanice and I are outsiders. We don’t belong here and today proved that.”

Bill, wincing as he holds his jaw, shakes his head.

“B-But, we’re all outsiders.”

Mike turned his back to him. His eyes shifted to his sister, bandaged up, lying still.

“No, you’re not. None of you are.”

....

“--may’ansho sheh’la’zeh.”

Inside of a synagogue, a bat mitzvah is held for Stan--none of his fellow ‘Loser’ club members, including Shanice’s who’s still deemed as comatose. Stan, who had been preparing for the day, couldn’t help but feel driven by his nerves.

Dealing with trauma, barely coping on his own--the day they went to the Neibolt house, the blood he couldn’t forget that on his hand--her blood for that matter.

Scrubbing his skin, throwing the clothes he’d worn that day.

Nothing worked

He glances at his mother, who’s looking quite stone-friendly--his eyes then glance to Richie, seated far in the back--then to the Rabbi, his father who gives a nod to go on with his reciting.

Stan nervously begins, “Um, reflecting on what I just read, I like what it says about indifference. When you’re a kid...” he stalls, the air turns into thick scrutiny.

“Stanley,” His father warns, his tone deep and authoritative.

He can feel the sharp looks his parents are starting to give.

It was suffocating almost.

He takes a deep breath.

Slowly, he recalls the advice Shanice had given to him while devouring an ice cream cone.

“I’m nervous about this whole thing. It’s like my dad’s waiting for me to mess up the whole thing.” Shanice looked up at him, her eyes big and curious. Stanley felt his heart pound--he averts his gaze, his flushed face instead focused on his frozen. They sat inside of an ice cream shop, both eating rocky road and chocolate chip ice cream respectively. He explains his trouble, which mainly stem from his problem regarding his speech and his fears of fucking the whole thing up.

“Well, if you’re scared that you’ll mess up--just wing it.”

“Just wing it?” She nods.

“Just wing it and say how you feel. If all else fails, at least you won’t be up there, saying nothing--you wouldn’t wanna look foolish, would you?”

And so, he does just that--he speaks what he feels, in his heart.

“Well, when you’re a kid you think the universe revolves around you. That you’ll always be protected and cared for. Then one day, something bad happens and you realize that’s not true.”

After her hospitalization, Mike took up his sister’s farming duties. Partially out of obligation, partially out of guilt. He watches a sheep in it’s pen with his grandfather--it was separated from his herd, vulnerable. His grandfather hands him the stun bolt gun again, urging him to take his shot.

Stans takes a breath before speaking once more.

“Suns go out and animals go extinct and whole nations go crazy and kill people they don’t like and none of it seems to matter.”

Mike aims, shoots--and instantly, the sheep falls to the ground.

Bev stands in her bathroom, brushing her hair--from the corner of her eye, she can’t turn her gaze out of the window, in the direction to Neibolt street.

Her heartaches.

A tear falls down her cheek.

“That’s why our friends and faith and family are so important.”

Bill sits at the dining table at his house, alone-- as always, thinking--about a lot of things.

Things he can’t do over, mistakes he’s made trying to be brave. Not actually being courageous, but faking it and hoping somehow that everything would end, and they’d make it out alive.

But, like wanting to see his brother again, those thoughts were wistful feelings of a boy.

“We matter. Even if, to the universe--”

In the library, Ben studies a painting of the First Settlement of Dairy. At first glance, it’d seem the men in it--the fur trapper was in position. However, as he looks closer, he realizes something both morbid and fascinating.

They were dead, only positioned as if they were alive.

A chill ran through him as he stared wide-eyed at it.

“--we’re too small to notice.”

Unknowingly, before they could even scream, they had become the prey instead.

....

Lucid, yet anchored.

Shanice was awake--but her body wasn’t.

Her mind ran, she felt so alone in a black space--she felt cold, down to her blood and her bone.

At that moment, she finally managed to open her eyes--to a white, bubbled ceiling. The first thing she notices is the scent of artificial cleanliness, a smell that’s almost sickening.

It’s a constant beep followed by the sounds of a new report.

“Good morning. Today is July 18th, 1985. In today’s news...”

The IV runs with a soft, slow drip.

She breathes slowly and calmly under her oxygen mask.

Shanice feels a dull, aching pain and her body reacts and stirs.

She hears the door open--it’s her Grandfather, with Mike and a familiar face following.

Stanley, looking at her with the worst kind of look on his face. In his neat clothes, his shirt buttons up all the way despite the heat of the summer. His big, brown eyes heavy, gaunt with dark, purplish bags.

“You look like shit.” She mutters, her voice small and raspy--at that moment, she’s overcome with a tight embrace, followed by a wailing cry--by Stan. Her hospital gown had become damp from those tears, his head inside the crook of her neck.

“I thought you were going to die.”

“But I didn’t. This kinda thing ain't gonna kill me.

Her response only has him sobbing harder inside her grasp.

When he looks at her, she gives him a gap-tooth grin, brushing his curly hair off his face. Stan, who seemed to have short-fused at the sight, ducked his head once against her chest. The adolescent, the one-sided moment was broken up from the older, impatient man in the doorway.

“Come on boy, you're getting your snot everywhere. You don't want the girl you like to see you with like some sap, do ya?” Her grandfather says, glaring down at Stan until he moves far away.

Shanice raises her brow at the last bit of the statement but decides she's too tried to investigate at that point.

The patriarch sits down, with Mike opposite of him--his face is grave.

“I thought I warned ya’ll of It--and yet you sought It out.” Shanice, groggy, still flinches at his words.

“Granddaddy, it’s killing people!”

“Which is why you should stay away! You got out this time, but what about the next time? Are you willing to die?” The girl and her Grandfather stared in silence, them being the only two in the room after a weeping Stan was ushered out by Mike. She struggles to keep up with the staredown, her eyes lowered, swollen and throbbing.

She began to cry.

An aching sob, rattling her sore back and chest, rough on her throat.

“Now, why the hell are you crying girl?”

Grandpa Hanlon asks, careful taking her small hand into his larger, calloused one. He, with the gentleness of a grandfather, lends her his shoulder.

“If we don’t do this, who’s gonna save us? Every adult here except you act like ain’t nothing going on. It’s It versus Us.”

William purses his lips, stroking his granddaughter’s coiled hair.

“I know what it feels like to be helpless. Against that thing, against Derry. You're alone, fighting against something much bigger than you. You kids... I don’t know what to say. I ain’t gonna stop you, am I?”

He looks down at his granddaughter’s snot, tear-covered face, and decides he should go ahead and lend her his handkerchief.

He held it up to Shanice's face.

“Gon ‘head and blow.”

After cleaning up her face, her grandfather pats her shoulder.

“Whatever you chose to do, I’ll support you and help you the best I can, Baby Girl.”

....

After a week, Shanice was released from the hospital, back home to an unsure reality.

Later that day, missing digits, left still tired and out of it--dressed in a pair of overalls and Adidas, she planned on trying to find something to do to keep her anxiety at bay. She approaches the local arcade, with intentions of seeing if they had a Pac-Man machine in it.

Then, she realizes she’s missing, certain required parts to play a hands-on game.

Nevertheless, she still enters, hoping to kill a bit of time.

She encounters a familiar bespeckled boy, he seems completely focused on the at hand.

“Finally! Anyone wanna watch me--”

Shanice obviously doesn’t care about the fact.

“Yo, Rich!”

Richie’s eyes, a bit annoyed, slowly widens when he recognizes the voice calling for him. He envelopes her into a friendly embrace, almost knocking the breath out of her when he did.

“Dude! You’re alive!”

“Of course I am. A little banged up, that’s all.” She uses her good hand to high-five him.

“So...” He glances at her bandaged hand and forehead.

“How are you...feeling?”

She laughs.

“Richie, I’m as good as a girl can be with her fingers missing.”

Richie snorts.

“Richie!” The two teenagers pause, looking at the other familiar voice--they’re met with Bill, who’s running over to them, huffing.

“It got Bev!”

Shanice frowns, suddenly feeling fidgety.

“What do you mean ‘It got Bev’?” Bill whose face is panicked and flushed finally notices Shanice, now out of the hospital staring at him.

“Shay, I--”

“Bill. We can talk later. We need to get her back, right?”

He nods, the three teenagers look amongst each other, a beat passes, and Richie speaks up.

“I’ll call Eddie and Stanley. You get Ben--and Shanice go get your brother. We’ll meet up at the standpipe.”

The boy and girl nod, with the feeling of dread hanging in the air.

“Th-thanks.”

Richie gives him a shit-eating grin.

“Hey, what are friends for, right?”

The three split ways.

Shanice arrives home, she spots her grandfather in the living room, watching an episode of Sanford and Sons.

“Remember when you said you’d help, Granddaddy?”

The older man, with a Budweiser in his hand, looks a bit off in the distance.

“Alright. Get your brother.”

With them all together, Shanice gives them both a brief rundown of the situation at hand.

He gives Mike the stun bolt gun, and her a hunting knife. It’s larger than her hands, and it’s metal cool to the touch. She glances at its gleaming nature before folding it and putting it in her pocket.

“Now, ya’ll sure you want to do this?” Mike doesn’t say much, only glaring at the ground.

“Why should we help them?”

Shanice knows what he means--of course, she does.

Why should we, when we’re just outsiders.

Did they ever fit into this mess? They were never supposed to be here in the first place.

But things happened, and now they are.

“Friends help friends, Mike.”

The siblings walk in silence as they approach the monument square, as they all did before. The dire situation at hand, bringing them together again--minus Beverly. While her grandfather’s hunting knife was tucked in the pocket of her shorts, Mike clenched onto the stun bolt in his hands.

Richie’s eyes are glued to it.

Mike rolls his eyes.

“Better than a broken bottle.”

Ignoring the boy and her brother’s interactions, Shanice turns to look at Bill as he begins to speak.

“If anyone wants to back out, now’s the time.”

Ben shakes his head.

“No. Remember what Beverly said. We all go or none of us do. That’s the only way we can defeat It.”

“Then...let’s go to Neibolt.”

....

The group of teenagers arrives at the still decaying house. It seems much more frightening than their first venture there. Shanice feels trepidation, thinking back to their first time being there. But now, they know what’s there. That thing was there.

She feels something tug at her hand.

Mike grabs her hand, squeezing it tight.

Her brother and Stan give her wan appearance mirroring nervous glances.

“You good?”

Not really.

She felt like puking.

But she couldn’t tell Mike that.

So, she nodded her head.

“No, let’s go ahead.”

After a while, they enter, standing in the living room. Shanice scrunches her nose as the smell of rot and scum hits her again.

“Where do you think she’ll be?” Mike turns and asks Bill.

“B-Basement. The well. That’s where he was going to take Eds, right?”

The teen casts a glance at the aforementioned ‘Loser’ visibly shakes, the only one still standing at the entrance. Letting of her brother’s hand, trying to shake off her own fear, goes over to him.

Shanice pauses, her hand frozen in the stifling air.

Was she reassuring him, or herself?

She didn’t know.

She was confident in her decision at home, but now she felt the situation weigh on thick. Her body is rattled with tremors. She recalls her howls, trying to crawl away, trying to get away from It.

Her, ultimately failing.

Subsequently, while the girl’s heart felt contemplation, Bill’s voice disrupted her thoughts.

Without pause or stutter, addresses Eddie and the rest of the group.

“As long as we don’t let fear overtake us we can do it. But we have to do it together.”

She nods.

“Hey, you got all your fingers, don’t you?”

Taking a quick glance at her bandaged hand, bobbing his head quickly.

“Exactly. He’s not gonna get you--or us, today. You gotta be strong--we have to be strong; together.” Shanice says, trying not to let her voice betray her words.

She pats him on the shoulder, like something her father used to do to comfort her, albeit brashly.

Eddie with resolve as he looks amongst his fellow losers makes his way into the house with her.

The floors creak as they champion on--as if to say they were intruding on it’s space.

Suddenly, there’s a loud commotion coming from the kitchen.

Following it was a similar sound coming from the other side, coming from the basement.

Bills rush over to the direction, much to the dismay of the other ‘Losers’ in the house.

“Wait--” Eddie warns from beside Shanice.

Bill responds stubbornly, “It could be her.”

And immediately after tries to open the door. At first, it doesn’t budge, persisting in its door frame. Looking amongst, themselves, wondering if it could be Beverly, go over to try and help. With a reverberating clang, the door is forced open. Shanice stumbles back with the rest of them, falling back, looking back in horror at what emerges from it.

Bright, red balloons.

And beyond them, lingering darkness.

Almost inaudibly, Shanice mutters “Not her...it’s It trying to scare us...”

Bill takes in a deep, sharp breath, rising to his feet.

“C’mon. Stay close.”

With those words, he takes the plunge into the vantablack nihility. With uncertainty, they follow after him. The stairs wobble with their combined weight--Shanice, thinking back to when the floor stares into the darkness with her heart pounding.

Only, then, does she realize she doesn’t seem to notice where Bill anymore, even squinting.

“I can’t find Bill.”

Meanwhile, Bill is leered from above through the sewer gate, by Pennywise. Blood drips from his sharp, barred teeth, onto Bill’s face. Determined not to seem intimidating, he stares back at him as fiercely as he could with the clown drooling at the sight of him.

“Not yet seasoned. But I know some girl meat, that I’ve sampled--and boy meat that is fresh with fear--that is...”

While he walks away with his own giddy laughter, Bill’s eyes widen in realization.

Shanice, back the stairs, wonders if she’s imagining things when she hears the line.

“Shay!” Her suspicions are furthered when she hears him call out to her.

“...Bill?” She questions, cutting herself off as the floor below her opens up like a trap door.

She drops with a harsh thud--onto the rough carpet, the beige color evoking memories.

It was her parent’s old apartment. The old, brown recliner, which was her favorite place to sit was still there.

She looks down, her bandages were gone, her hand and finger intact.

Was everything just a dream?

A long, sick dream?

“Shanice, baby?”

Standing in the living room, she’s met by her mother.

With her arms crossed standing in her pink, satin robe, her mother calls out to her. Her voice to grown rough by nicotine, her tone concerned and maternal.

“Sweetheart, why aren’t you in bed?” Her mother questions, cupping her face. Shanice leans into it, soaking in the maternal warmth she’s missed during this nightmare. At the sight of her mother, alive and well, Shanice hugs her tight.

“Mama, mama. I was so scared...” She mutters in a silent chant, burying her face into her bosom. The smell of swishers fills her senses, mixed in with her mother’s soft rose-scented perfume.

It assured her that she was home.

“What’s wrong baby? Had a bad dream?”

The teenager nods, replying, “I really bad one. The...the police came to our house, and Daddy was gonna get arrested. I...I thought you died.”

Her mother laughs--no giggles, with fancy.

“But baby, I’m already dead. Don't you remember? You were the one who let me die.”

Suddenly, she starts to smell rust, while blood begins to smear on her childish face. She jerks away, looking at something, that her mother, smiling back at her, bleeding from the chest.

She starts to holler, uncontrollably, scrambling for exit away from the nightmare she was facing.

Meanwhile, her brother, who notices both Eddie and Shanice gone, with his thoughts mimicked by Mike.

“Where’s Eddie and Shay? They were just here.”

Stanley couldn’t help but reply, “It’s separating us. We need to get help for them and Bill...”

The four boys, Richie included, decide to move back the stairs, away from the pit below. Just before they reach upstairs, they see a figure of a person on top.

Mike, squint, clutching then stun bolt gun in his hand.

It was Henry Bowers.

Baaing like a sheep, holding a knife.

Unexpected, with a bit of lunacy.

“ Guys, it’s never good when the person with the knife starts making animal noises, especially--”

Mike glares at him reprimanding him--

“Now isn’t the time to be fucking making a joke, Richie!”’

--a bit like his missing sister.

They all freeze, trying to find a way away from the older teen a knife he planned to use on them.

“Here! Climb up!” Ben, who seemed to have found some sort of escape tunnel among debris and calls them over to it. Mike, being the only person of the group armed, guards the entrance as the others made their way in

“Mike! Let’s go!” Ben yells--with his eyes on Henry, he slowly climbs in--the others not fully out yet.

“Shit, Mike,” Stan says, the second to last of the escapees, looking at him with worry filling his chest.

The others have stopped as well, their movement stalling.

“Just go. Find the others--find my sister. I’ll hold Bowers off.”

Richie shakes his head his words, “Mike--”

Lifting the gun that never left his hand since they arrived at the decrepit house, he remarks with steady, surprisingly cooled confidence, “I came prepared, remember?”

With that, the teenager turns to face the boy who’s been taunting him since he came to town.

....

Shanice watches with her hand clenched as the illusion fades and her ‘mother’ transmutes into Pennywise. They’re kitchen, like before. She even sees her blood on the tiled floor, dried--having left a trail to where she tried to save herself.

“You’re not real, none of this real.”

The clown smiles at her, with its bloody buck-teeth.

“Your missing fingers beg to differ, do they not?”

In a soft, flamboyant tone he mockingly continues in reply, “ ‘Mama, Mama, I was so scared!’ The big bad pennywise was gonna eat meeeeee.”

She narrows her black, pit-filled eyes, her pounding heart betrays her defiant expression.

She clenches her teeth, remembering her knife that was thankfully still hidden in her pocket.

She convulses, choking back her trepidation. Her skin was covered in sweat, she felt as if she wanted to throw up.

Her heart is in her throat. Throbbing, pulsing.

This could be the reason for her death.

But she can’t go back now.

Not now, she wasn’t a coward, nor was she someone who would abandon her friends.

Taking a breath, she rushes and lunges at the clown in front of her. She impales the space of the creature’s skull once with the weapon in her hand--piercing it as blood-splattered and flowed--not waiting as she dashed away, using the distraction to escape. down to the uncertainty of the basement.

Shanice races, in pursuit of Bev, her brother, Stan--hell, anyone to make sure they were at least still alive.

She dashes down the stairs, feels her short legs trip and tumble--and despite pain, she continues. She pursues until she’s limping to the sound of voices. Shanice sees her brother--and Henry Bowers standing over him. It’s a scuffle, and her brother was obviously losing.

“I told you to stay the fuck out my town, didn’t I?” His voice drips with disgust, kicking Mike in the chest as he produces a knife with no gleam. She chokes down a sob before a scream rips through her chest.

“Hey Bowers!”

Henry’s head whips over to her, her brother’s eyes glued to her.

It didn’t matter if she was a girl who stood at only 4 ft 10 or if she was even smaller than Eddie, Henry had one thought on his mind.

Again, again, again, she’s knocked around and beat with persistent fists.

Kill her, get her out the way, and then finish off Mike.

Her breaths are shallow, her body feels ravaged.

He takes a boot-clad foot and kicks her in the chest to throw her back.

“You aren’t so tough now, are you?”

His wicked grin spreads as approaches her with her brother’s stun bolt gun in one hand, aiming right between her eyes.

“I’m going to kill you and your wuss brother and then I’m going to kill all your friends.”

“No...No, you won’t!”

There’s not even a whole beat before another voice interrupts the bully's speech. The rest is like a blood-soaked haze--Mike grabs the bully, away from his sister down the darkness of a well behind them.

“Mike!”

Shanice is panting, dragging herself against the structure, hoping to see what was occurring--not suspect she’s fallen herself to a harsh, bone-rattling thud. She watches in a daze as Henry lies still, seemingly rendered unconscious. Her brother, and the newly reunited Losers club attempt to help her up.

“Michael, why don’t you come with your old pops?” The teenage boy stops in his tracks as a hand jerks him away from his sister’s grasp. Roughly handling him is something that looks like his father, but not him.

“Let me go!”

He’s being pulled closer, into a mass of Dead Lights, a stunning death wish. He struggled, thrashing at the man’s grasp, letting out a voice cracking scream. He believes that isn’t his father, he knows that isn’t his father. Determined for it to not get him, he looks away from the illuminating accumulation, every word like a thrown dagger.

“Let! Me! Go!”

Only after that, is he truly free and brought back into the safety of his friends, his fellow losers.

Shanice, with a strained voice, weakly asks, “Bill...where’s Bill?” Beverly, who stood beside Stan holding the injured girl in his arms, looked around alarmed.

“We have to find Bill.” Stan, who opted to piggy-back Shanice, Mike searches for their leader who disappears. The room around them shakes and quakes, their calling becoming louder as the chaotic finally hits its peak until--Shanice sees a body drop from the squint of her drooping eyes.

It’s Bill.

Foolish, stuttering Bill.

“Are you okay?” Beverly asks.

The boy nods.

Shanice lets out a weak laugh.

She watches from over the shoulder of Stan’s shoulder, gripping tighter onto his clothing when he hands his gun to Bill.

Bill begins walking, stopping to turn to the Losers. His eyes are bright and determined.

Slowly, but with a common aim in mind, they hunt for Pennywise. All along the way they are faced with their fears. The Losers, ignore them, as if they didn’t exist--Bill who stands in front of them with his head held high.

“A truce to be true. A deal to be struck. Ignore this, forget me, and I will let you all grow and thrive, living happy lives until you die happy deaths at age hundred and one.” Pennywise’s voice offers, clear and dark as if it were speaking directly to them--but, the clown was nowhere in sight.

Bill’s stuttering voice follows soon after.

“N-NO! No more...”

Silence follows it.

“Maybe we should have at least discussed the deal first...” Richie murmurs as they leave in the fright of the dark unknown.

The sewer gates, behind it was a child’s crying face.

Georgie, Bill’s brother, wearing a yellow raincoat.

Holding a soaked paper boat.

“Let him go, Bill. He said I could come back if you let him go... please, Bill!”

Bill hesitates. There his brother was, looking like he did before he disappeared. The same, childish smile.

“I want you back more than anything else--”

Georgie smiles, calling out him, “Hug me,”

He turns around. He sees the two Hanlon siblings, he glances at Shanice’s batter form, slowly trying to stand on her own--Mike’s steel gaze watching his every move.

He turns back to face his “brother”, stepping forward--and instead, raises Mike’s gun to him.

“But you’re not Georgie.”

Suddenly, enraged, the boy’s figure quickly turns Pennywise--whose teeth are bared like a rabid animal. As fast the Losers can blink, there’s seven of them instead of eight. They all are faced with a sight that churns their stomachs--the creature grins with bloody teeth as he gnaws once again at the girl’s injured hand--only spitting out non-tasty things like bandages.

Bill panics, looking between the girl and clown before he finally takes a breath and fires a shot. It lands right between its eyes, where Bowers had intended to shoot Shanice.

It lets out a shriek, engulfing itself as it transforms into something akin to a black hole...with the girl and boy she held to, following it into its abyss.

#IT #stephen king's it #fanfiction #fanfic #slashing in color

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