The Replacement One Shot

Patrick Hockstetter was born on the 23rd July, 1946. His younger brother Avery, was born just five years later in October 1951. Mr and Mrs Hockstetter couldn’t be more pleased with the family they had raised - Patrick was a very handsome boy (maybe verging on the pudgy side, but who cares?) at the age of five, and Avery received lots of attention at the ladies club, being called the cutest baby in the whole of Derry. From the outside, they looked like a perfectly happy family; normal, loving, care-free and attentive. Many people admired them, especially the other young women at the local ladies club Josephine Hockstetter attended, and some even called them sublime.

Of course, like any family, they had their flaws. Nobody could imagine the disaster brewing beneath the surface of the Hockstetter family. Underneath those smiles lay something disturbing - most notably in the eldest son, Patrick.

That boy was later to be discovered as a Sociopath verging on Psychopathy. His parents weren’t to know until just after his twelfth birthday in the summer of 1958. Every day, he would take great joy in stabbing the beetles outside with his mother’s sewing needles, or, perhaps slowly watching flies dying slowly after being sprayed with poisonous chemicals. Each kill gave him a satisfaction normal childhood activities could never fulfil. Each kill made the world seem not so black and white anymore. His heart would race, his eyes would turn buggy, and sweat would bead on his forehead as he watched the grasshopper curl up feebly in its last throws of agony. Surprisingly, in Patrick’s case, killing people came much before killing animals, something unusual in the world of Psychopaths. He had a very dizzy grip on reality, only viewing the world from his own perspective and believing himself to be the only “real” being in existence.

Patrick’s brother never made it past the early stages of childhood. It wouldn’t take a genius to guess why; however, Avery was diagnosed with unexplained crib death syndrome whilst his hysterical mother wailed and refused to be comforted. Only the father came close to brushing past the truth. Before the thought had even registered, as blue and red florescent lights from the ambulance coursed the parlour, Ronald Hockstetter could only watch in despair as his wife sobbed against the wall, clutching at her hair and kicking the skirting in her own open tantrum. Inspecting the obvious serene aura Patrick was displaying despite all the chaos in the family home, what with all the paramedics and Josephine’s hysteria, the man watched as he was handed a single white pill — the doctors obviously thinking he was still in shock from finding his baby brother dead. In the midst of it all, instead of distracting his wife from pulling her hair out, he stormed from the room, slamming the door so hard it splintered in its frame. Patrick simply watched the whole world go by, swinging his legs cheerfully and sipping on a root beer.

When Avery was born, everything went out of whack. Patrick’s schedule was ruined, he never got his meals on time and he couldn’t sleep at night for the constant crying. Strong, not-so-cheerful emotions stabbed at his heart like tiny, persistent needles whenever he saw his mother cradling Avery in her arms, or perhaps his father giving him a brief smile before rushing down to work. The green-eyed monster consumed him entirely, and before he knew it, his only brother was gone…

Feeling unloved and unwanted, Patrick had trailed to the bus shelter with a heavy heart. Usually his mother would escort him to the shelter. Not today, though. She was too busy fussing over Avery. Patrick knew.

Thoughts of being replaced filled his young brain like angry hornets in a broken hive. Delusions after delusions whipped around as violent and cold as the December wind on his pallid cheeks. The child almost considered running away, just before realising, that way, his brother would have beaten him before he even knew it.

Waiting for the bus as a snowstorm was about to start up, Patrick risked a glance back at the front porch, almost although saying a final goodbye to his childhood home. His green eyes widened as he caught sight of his mother standing bare-footed on the frosty planks of wood, hugging herself for warmth and shaking so hard she looked although she had caught hypothermia.

‘Patrick?’ she called, eyes narrowing to find her boy without her spectacles, ‘You forgot your scarf, Patrick. I don’t want you to catch your death.’

‘I don’t want it,’ Patrick said darkly, his tone hardly above a whisper.

His mother, of course, didn’t hear and yelled harder, ‘Patrick, come get your scarf, sweetie!’

Patrick ignored her this time and simply clenched his little hands into fists. It’s too late for that, mommy, he thought, you already replaced me. It’s all your fault.

The bus collected the boy and his disheartened mother retreated back inside, wrapping her hands inside the red wool to warm them. Never for a second did the woman pick up that her son was angry at her. Nor did she know that the cuddle she had with Avery this morning would be the last he’d ever have.

‘Children, I want you to tidy up all the mess you’ve made, now,’ Mrs Black, the kindergarten teacher, said to all the five year olds in her care.

Around the tall woman, it looked although World War III had started and she was the lone survivor. A few good little girls began to scout about the room, picking up hurled rag dolls and train sets left by the boys. Soon enough, the children began to clear up the mess, all except one. Patrick.

He sat crouched and hunched over in the corner, almost although he were in a lot of pain. Mrs Black started to pet Patrick on the head, thinking something had happened at home to upset him, or perhaps he wasn’t feeling too well, but the boy gave her such a ferocious look that made her pull back her hand before she might have lost it. His little mouth was pulled down at the corners, and his eyes had something in them that made his teacher’s heart feel although an icy fist had seized it. Inside the dusty swirls of green and grey, there was no sparkle, no light that assured of life, and certainly no happiness nor hope.

The usually pale skin had a sickly pallor to it and his hands trembled either side of his small body. Noticing that his teacher was watching him, Patrick withdrew his hands from the floor and put one of them in his mouth and sucked it, his eyes the whole time in a glower trained at Mrs Black. When she once again attempted to get closer, he scuttled back although fearing she would hurt him. With his back pressed against the wall, his unblinking eyes moved away from Black (much to her relief) and fell on a group of girls tidying.

‘Patrick?’ she asked quietly, ‘Is everything okay?’

He ignored her, but went back to glaring in her direction.

‘Are you sick?’

He continued to suck on his hand.

‘Do you want me to call your mommy?’

‘No!’ he yelled suddenly, his voice anguished. The pure rage on his face was frightening.

‘Patrick,’ she said, her voice in what you’d call a “warning tone”, ‘Don’t speak to your teacher that way…’

Her hard tone didn’t match the softened features of her face nor the gentle sympathy in her gaze. Ah, so that’s where the problem lies, she thought sadly. There was nothing she could do but let him be. The look on his face clearly said he wouldn’t co-operate either way. She let him do his own thing until home time.

‘I’m home, mom,’ came a quiet little voice from the hallway. The voice was so quiet, in fact, that it didn’t even make the sleeping baby stir.

A reply never came (his mother was napping in her own room after the bad night she’d had with Avery) so Patrick poured himself a glass of milk and a plate of cookies all by himself. The anger from earlier in the morning wasn’t forgotten, not even for a second; and the fact that his mother wasn’t there to greet him after school just deepened the upset between mother and son.

With a pout on his lips, Patrick flung himself down on the sofa besides his younger brother, the milk slopping over the edge of the glass and down his shirt. He threw his wet wellington boots onto the floor and curled up his legs underneath him. Not even a muscle twitched from Avery. Patrick’s moody eyes fell to his younger sibling, watching the slow rise and fall of his tiny chest, the shallow noises he made when he breathed, and the warm puffs of air in the stone cold sitting area.

Patrick leaned a little closer. Before he knew what he was doing, Avery was dead. The deed was done. No more meals late on time. No more being kept up late at night. Avery was gone. Patrick wouldn’t be replaced after all… And the cheap thrill he got from murder inspired the boy to keep right on killing; beetles, katydids, cicadas, flies, mice, rabbits, dogs, cats… Patrick never stopped killing.

Going Soft One Shot

1

Being the type of boy to hardly say a word and follow other kids around aimlessly with his facial expression a sombre mask, even Patrick was surprised to find himself inviting his sometimes-friend Henry Bowers round to play. Not only was Henry a complete polar opposite to himself, but he was also a bully and a delinquent - most of the time lost in his own little bubble of self-hatred and the lack of compassion for others. Patrick had to admit he was fascinated by the older boy sitting two seats behind himself. Henry was a sadist, Patrick knew that at least (spending a lot of his time sitting alone on a bench in the playground had made him rather observant and knowing of others). The way he often gave those little shits Chinese burns, or perhaps threatening some poor, unfortunate classmate with the promise of a cherry bomb down their pants had thrilled Patrick to say the least. Not even deep down did Patrick know the things Henry Bowers does are wrong and immoral. All he could see was that Henry was powerful and energetic with rather the fascinating twist of a sadist - and that was why he found himself approach Henry and his greaser gang in the playground on that particularly warm home-time of May, 1958. Patrick felt the eyes of almost a hundred boys and girls bore into his, and only his back. It was a good thing he was a dizzy, self-confident boy with very little grip on reality; all those pairs of eyes were enough to send anyone into a fluster. Immediately, everybody had stopped talking. There was complete and utter silence that was almost suffocating in nature.

The words had escaped his livery lips before he could save himself:

‘Would you like to come round and play, Henry?’

The silence carried on for only a few moments, giving the confused Henry a chance to register just what that looney-bin Patrick had said. And just like that, Henry and his large gang had spluttered into malicious, jeering, crowing laughter. Patrick Hockstetter stood for a moment, swaying uneasily on the spot, a complacent smile plastered across his pale and sun-burnt face. He wasn’t entirely sure what to do. After all, he only asked Henry a simple question, right? They were both speaking plain old English, so why was there almost a language barrier between the pair? What on earth made those guys laugh like that, Patrick had no idea as he only asked a straight-forward, un-amusing question that wasn’t weird nor too personal…

‘What’s so fucking funny…?’

Henry’s face was what Patrick knew was a disguised smirk. He was trying to act all big and mighty by pretending he was disgusted by the idea, and Patrick wouldn’t be taken as a fool.

‘It’s just you in general, Hockstetter,’ the older boy scoffed, rolling his eyes and swinging his arm over Victor Criss’ shoulder. After he had spoken, Henry slowly unwrapped a bubble gum (keeping his eyes locked stonily with Patrick’s the entire time) and popped it in his mouth. ‘I mean, even the way you speak is so fucking embarrassing! “Would you like to come out and plaaayyy?”’ He imitated Patrick in a simper-y, high-pitched squeal and waved his hands about in mockery.

Again with the humiliating laughter in the background. This time, it wasn’t just Henry’s gang, it was most of the kids in the Derry Elementary playground. If Patrick wasn’t so in love with himself, his cheeks would be flaming right now.

‘Well… would you? I’m still waiting for an answer,’ Patrick whispered huskily in return, his dusty green eyes still boring into Henry’s and as wide as saucers.

Henry lunged until he was two inches from Patrick’s face. Patrick could feel Henry’s fruity breath tickle his face - they were close enough to kiss. Patrick giggled at this thought, causing Henry to grow more agitated by the second. Blowing a big pink bubble of his gum into Patrick’s shrinking-away face until it was large enough to pop, Henry chewed it back into his mouth and stepped back, grinning devilishly to all his greaser companions. Each boy had the cynically amused expression of somebody who had just been told that dinosaurs were still alive by some small child.

Still laughing slightly and making his voice come out shakily, Henry addressed all his gang; ‘Did you hear Hockstetter? He asked me if I wanted to play…’

Eddie Corcoran clasped a hand to his mouth and spluttered until his olive skin had turned the colour of tomato soup. Tears sparkled in Victor’s blue eyes and Belch was doubled over in laughter. A nearby group of girls from their homeroom (Patrick could tell they were those rich bitches Veronica Grogan and Greta Bowie) were giggling slightly, although, like Patrick himself, they were secretly rather confused and were wondering what could be so funny to Henry.

‘So?’ Patrick replied confidently, now feeling better from having more personal space.

‘So, it makes you sound like one of those baby-fags. Try repeating after me, okay, Hockstetter?’ Henry drawled cockily, still chewing his gum with his mouth wide open.

‘Fine…’ Patrick wasn’t entirely sure he liked this…

‘I, Patrick Hockstetter, am a pansy,’ Henry laughed, causing his peers to burst out into fresh hysterics.

‘”I, Patrick Hockstetter, am a pansy,”’ Patrick sighed.

‘Patrick Hockstetter is a homo,’

‘”Patrick Hockstetter is a homo,”’ Patrick was starting to feel ashamed…

‘Henry Bowers is the best!’

‘”Henry Bowers is the best…”’

‘You didn’t sound like you meant it!’

‘”Henry Bowers is the best!”’ Patrick yelled, alerting the whole playground to what was going on.

‘That’s it. Good boy,’ the eldest smirked in his typical self-satisfied manner. He approached Patrick in a few quick strides and shoved his backpack over Patrick’s shoulders. ‘Alright, I’ll come home with you after you amused me like that. I hope you enjoyed our little joke as much as I did… I wasn’t planning on fuckin’ going home anyway - the old man’s mad with me.’ With that last line, Eddie, Victor and Belch all chuckled together darkly - each one of them inwardly glad they weren’t Patrick Hockstetter.

Patrick smiled dotingly up at Henry, his green eyes shining with the thought of having Henry Bowers in his own home. Henry glared down at him and then turned to his friends, ‘Well, I’ll be seeing you. If I haven’t been murdered by crazy-ass Patrick that is!’

His friends gave one final laugh before dispersing off to make their own ways home. Belch lived up near the large houses along with Veronica and Greta, and Victor lived just a few roads down from Henry’s and Mike Hanlon’s, whereas Eddie was situated in the ‘poor’ side of Derry along with Beverly Marsh and would rather his friends didn’t know where he lived… This left Henry and Patrick alone - and Henry wasn’t entirely pleased with the situation. He didn’t know Patrick all that well. In fact, the only time they had spoken was in the first few weeks of September when he had swore at Patrick for running his hand up and down his thigh when they had temporarily sat together. Patrick, in his own little way, was completely satisfied. What could be better than having your idol in your own home?

‘Do you have extra money for the bus?’Henry asked.

‘Yeah, I’ll pay for ya if you want…’

‘Good, because I don’t have any money today. My fuckin’ dad took my lunch money to buy a Budweiser,’ Henry grumbled bitterly, cursing his father inwardly. ‘Usually I just walk home. It’s a real long way and that stupid Hanlon always gets out before me, so I have to creep behind him the whole time to avoid talking to him…’

Patrick smiled at the thought of Henry sneaking up on Mike and handed the bus conductor the money for two tickets. Without thanking the man, he grabbed Henry’s wrist and dragged him to a seat near the back, both backpacks still swung over each shoulder. Henry stumbled along behind him and tripped down the last couple of steps to the back of the bus.

‘Hey, watch it, Hockstetter!’

Patrick didn’t bother apologising and simply threw himself down on the nearest seat. Seeing as it was the neighbouring seat to the aisle down the middle, this caused Henry to awkwardly shuffle sideways past Patrick to get to the window seat in the tight space provided. The backs of Henry’s legs brushed against Patrick’s own as he went, and Patrick had to use every cell in his body to resist from grabbing Henry from behind whilst he moved. After squeezing his way past the younger boy, Henry flung his exhausted body down into the seat provided and sat slumped with his legs spread far apart. Both the smell and feel of the air-conditioner cooling his flushed face was pleasing, and Henry grew relaxed as the school bus slowly wound its way around the many blocks of Derry, every so often some kid hopping off and rushing into their homes. As it was a Friday - Henry’s favourite day of the week - many of those children jumped off accompanied by a friend or two. For once in his life, Patrick Hockstetter was one of those kids that took friends home with him or her! That same pride from earlier filled his typically empty and un-feeling chest, making him grin from ear to ear the whole journey home. Henry glanced every so often at his younger friend’s face, each time feeling as equally disturbed as the previous time he risked peering at his pallid profile.

‘So, you’re Patrick Hockstetter right?’

Feeling miffed that Henry didn’t even know his name in confidence, Patrick turned to him, his smile faltering for just a fraction of a second before he burst out; ‘Yeah! And you’re Henrietta Bowers, aren’t you?!’

‘You little-’ Henry was cut off by the bus stopping abruptly outside what Henry presumed was Patrick’s house, as when it stopped, Patrick shot up like a jack in a box and raced down the aisle, once again dragging Henry by the wrist as he went.

The hot air from outside hit Henry’s face as he was forced out the comforting cool of the bus. Outside, the sky was the perfect shade of almost cyan blue and not one lone cloud tainted what both boys could honestly call a perfect day. As the bus departed, Henry and Patrick were left to stand on the curb, school bags trailing onto the pavement in the great weight of the homework. A strange woman seated on the porch that reminded Henry a little of Audrey Hepburn was dressed in a pretty, pink and white striped dress and reclined on a rocking chair, sunning herself whilst reading some old romance novel. She sprung up immediately at the sight of Patrick and waved energetically over to him, beaming in the way somebody would although they knew they were extraordinarily lucky. Patrick raised one hand in greeting and called over to her; ‘Hey, mommy! I’ve brought a friend home!’ He rushed over to the porch’s front door and leaned against the balcony’s railings, leaving Henry to trail after him stiffly.

‘That’s great, Patty!’ She beamed, then turning to Henry she added, ‘What’s your name, sweetheart?’

Henry blinked at her term of affectionate address (he’s never been called sweetheart before!) before mumbling, ‘Henry Bowers…’ and ducking his head.

The woman smiled in welcome and led the pair into the house. Inside, it looked although Mrs Hockstetter had a strong say in the decor - it was fresh-looking and girly, just like the way she was presented. ‘Just tell me if you need any snacks, boys. I’ll be outside reading.’ With that, she left the two boys alone.

Henry’s eyes widened at the look Patrick was giving him. ‘What, man? You’re giving me the creeps.’

‘Nothing, Henry. I’m just so happy to have you in my home!’

‘Well, whatever… Just please don’t do anything weird.’

‘I won’t!’ Patrick chirruped cheerfully and bounded up the stairs, gesturing for Henry to follow. Henry sighed. He could tell it was going to be the longest fucking day of his life…

2

After briefly showing Henry his odd little room (Henry was still shuddering from memories of all those creepy taxidermy beetles he had on display), Patrick bopped excitedly outside into the back garden, obviously still very jubilant at having his almost-idol inside his very own house.

In the garden was a swing set. However, this very same swing set gave Henry a hollow feeling inside his chest. Somewhat, the swing set looked like it had been frozen in time, the seat swaying and swinging like a ghost child was playing on it; flowers, weeds and overgrown grass curling around the stainless steel legs of the set.

‘My little brother and I play here,’ Patrick smiled up at Henry, noticing the forlorn expression on his face.

‘Where’s your brother? Is he getting home from school now?’ Henry asked, not particularly interested in the answer he was anticipating. He was only making small talk…

‘Avery won’t ever be getting home from school,’ Patrick shot back, his tone taking on an anguished, almost dangerous, dark tone.

‘Um, what do you mean?’

‘Dead.’

‘Oh…’

Of course Henry wasn’t to know this. Today was, in fact, the only time he had chatted to Patrick properly. As insensitive as he is, even Henry felt bad for bringing up this topic, and to be respectable, he added: ‘I’m sorry.’

Patrick paused, the same, complacent smile reappearing on his moon-face, ‘Don’t be… We never agreed with each other. I prefer it this way.’

Henry seemed confused and almost sickened as he came close to brushing past the truth. Quickly, the younger boy added, ‘Let’s go back inside. Mommy will get mad with us for being out here. It makes her all fuckin’ depressed.’

Henry nodded once in agreement. After all, he wanted to get in somebody’s good books for once, and it would give Josephine Hockstetter a bad first impression of him if he made her feel sad by opening old wounds.

For a while, the two boys sat curled up on Patrick’s bedroom floor, alternating between playing Monopoly and pouring over Patrick’s collection of vinyl records. Before they knew it, two hours had already passed. The clock read 6:34, and Patrick knew his father would be getting home from work any minute. Before the thought had barely left his confused little head, he could hear keys turning in the lock of the front door.

Leaving Henry to steal an extra $500 note from the ‘bank’, Patrick rushed downstairs to greet his father. ‘Dad!’ He ran into him and wrapped him in a clingy embrace, clutching at his tan trench coat. Taking the briefcase out of his hands, Patrick shoved it to one side and hugged him closer. At this moment, Henry was loitering around the staircase uncomfortably, sadly watching the whole scene take place. Deep down, Henry badly wished that this could be himself and his own dad - but even deeper down, he knew that would never happen. His dad hated him. And he knew it. Oh, how he knew it.

As the father and son separated themselves, Henry averted his eyes, not wishing for Patrick to smugly know what he was thinking by the desperate glint in his brown eyes.

‘Did you have a nice day at school?’

‘Yes I did, daddy. Guess what! Henry’s here!’Patrick chortled, jabbing his left index finger over at Henry who was currently not knowing what to do with himself, swaying confusedly on the top of the staircase.

‘Oh hi, umm…’

‘Henry. Henry Bowers, sir.’

‘Nice to meet you, Henry,’ Patrick’s dad beamed, just as friendly as his wife. He took off his bowler hat and placed it on the coat rack. Patrick’s mom came rushing out the kitchen to greet him and peck him on the cheek. Henry had to admit they were like the perfect family. Jealousy clutched at his chest.

‘Well, Henry and I are-’

‘Don’t go anywhere yet,’ Mrs Hockstetter piped in before her son could finish his sentence, ‘Dinner’s ready.’

‘Great!’ Patrick replied cheerfully, ‘What’s for dinner?’

‘I made some pizza. That okay?’

‘Sounds delicious,’ her husband said and seated himself at the table. Patrick and Henry joined him - Henry all the time taking envious mental notes on how phonily perfect the Hockstetter’s seemed. Surely nobody else’s family is so obviously staged? It seemed like there was some underlying layer of poison underneath all that lovey-dovey, gooey, sickening, saccharine sweetness the Hockstetter’s displayed. Henry knew it. He was positive. Of course his family was a million miles from perfect or loving, and he would give anything to be a part of the Hockstetter’s false caring facade, but he couldn’t help but feel there was something not quite right in the atmosphere…

Mrs Hockstetter had handed out plates to the three men and delivered the burnt pepperoni pizza to the table. After saying grace, she cut it into slithers and told everybody to tuck in. Before Henry had even finished his first slice, he had found himself choking on a mouthful as soon as his friend had opened his mouth; ‘Can Henry stay over night for a sleepover?’ Patrick enquired sweetly, cocking his head to the side slightly like a confused dog. On his face was a plastered-on simper that was supposed to appear innocent. Well, it seemed that way to Patrick. He probably practised it in the mirror every day.

His parents exchanged glances before turning to Patrick.

‘Well, why not?’ Ronald Hockstetter grinned at his son. Back in the 30s, he had enjoyed having sleepover parties with his two friends. In fact, Ronald had always wished for Patrick to have real friends like he used to, so why say no at a time like this? Friends were rare for his son.

Henry’s eyes bulged.

‘I can’t think of reason why not…’ Patrick’s mom shrugged and smiled over at Henry, obviously not sensing the complete and utter discomfort displayed on his paling face. ‘You’re welcome to stay the night, Henry.’

‘Well… Um-’

‘Yay! Thanks mom and dad!’ Patrick yelled before Henry could get a word out, ‘Henry, this is gonna be so much fuckin’ fun!’ His father cleared his throat, so Patrick quickly added a garbled, ‘Sorry for swearing, dad…’

Eating as fast as he could manage, Henry attempted to make an excuse to go back home away from Patrick. As much as he liked it at the Hockstetter’s house, he had to admit, spending a night with screwy Patrick Hockstetter would be just as painful as torture! He could already feel a migraine beginning at the base of his skull. Okay, he could admit he was enjoying himself… and a sleepover would be an excellent opportunity to get away from his father for a while… But, was it worth risking being murdered by Patrick? He’d just have to take a chance. Typically Henry wouldn’t bother with manners, but today he felt they’d really come in handy.

‘Thank you for inviting me round for the night, Mrs and Mr Hockstetter.’

3

It was rare that Patrick’s family would leave him alone in the house, but it was even rarer that his parents got the chance to go out for the evening. Feeling bad for using Henry Bowers as a kind of odd babysitter for their son, Mr and Mrs Hockstetter waved to the boys from the car and drove off to catch a movie at the Aladdin Theatre. Henry admitted that the situation just got a whole lot worse. He didn’t even know it could - but it did. He was alone. With Hockstetter… His eyes narrowed as he watched Patrick’s parents race down Maple Oaks Avenue, certain of the fact he had been tricked into looking after their deranged son.

‘This is the best! I can’t believe my parents left us alone.’

‘What are you talking about?’ Henry hissed, the hurt evident in his voice, ‘Now I have to babysit you for the rest of the night!’

‘And how is that a bad thing?’ Patrick questioned, his eyes boring into Henry’s with a fierce intensity.

‘Well, for one, you’re completely insane. Secondly, I think you’re a homo. Don’t try anything funny with me because it won’t work. Thirdly, your bedroom creeps me out so bad! Why do you keep animal fur and beetles? That’s just crazy!’

After saying all this, Henry sunk to the floor with his head in his hands. He couldn’t believe he’d been hoodwinked so easily. Despite being insulted; Patrick felt he needed to comfort Henry somehow, but he wasn’t sure why, or how.

‘Don’t be sad…’ Patrick said softly, running a hand gently through his hair, ‘Look, my parents have beer down in the kitchen. I’ll fetch you some if you want. If it would make it all better, I mean…’

Henry glanced up. ‘Really? You really fuckin mean it? Don’t go playin’ tricks on me, Hockstetter. I’ll fuck you up.’

‘Yeah, really. I’ll get it for you now, if it would make you happy,’ Patrick leered, rolling his eyes.

‘Fuck yeah! Thanks, Patrick, you’re so fuckin amazing.’

After rolling his eyes one final time, Patrick grabbed a bubble gum out of Henry’s outstretched hand and shoved it in his mouth. He disappeared downstairs. Two minutes. Five. Henry was growing tense. Paranoid. What if he ain’t really grabbing a pack of beer? What if it’s a knife? A gun? The eldest boy was relieved when Patrick returned with Budweisers in hand.

‘Great. That didn’t take you long.’

Patrick tilted his head in confusion. ‘What do you mean?’

‘I got so scared waiting for you. For all I knew, you could have been preparing to kill me or something!’

The youngest greaser made a gun with his fingers and aimed it in between Henry’s eyes. ‘Bang!’

Henry laughed darkly, suddenly growing relaxed. The kid’s harmless! Why people think Patrick Hockstetter is bat-shit crazy, I’ll never know. He couldn’t be more wrong. Taking Patrick’s double barrelled ‘gun’ away from his forehead, Henry caught a Budweiser from Patrick’s left-handed throw and cracked it open, grinning widely. At home, if his father caught him doing anything out of line, he’d be beaten to a pulp. Even if he just toed the line from time to time…

‘Would I kill you?’ Patrick teased.

‘Hmm, I really don’t know,’ Henry shrugged, raising his eyebrows, ‘You’re supposedly fucking-A crazy-town, so you tell me.’

Patrick giggled, and soon enough he felt he wouldn’t be able to stop. Henry smiled his devilish, awful smile; slightly alarmed at how the subject of death could make Patrick so hysterical.

‘Quit laughing, tits. You’re really bugging me out!’

‘Aww, Henry, I’m sorry,’ the youngest laughed airily, his voice sounding like a bell caught in the wind, ‘I wouldn’t do anything to hurt you. Sincerely. And I’m not crazy.’

The greaser boy flashed his teeth in a sullen smile, quickly taking a sip of the beer and reclined against the wall adjacent to Patrick’s bed. ‘You couldn’t hurt me anyway, Hockstetter. You’re too much of a pansy.’

In reality, Patrick had no sense of hurting or being hurt. He could really mutilate anybody he pleases and not feel a jot of guilt. Not realising that ‘pansy’ was meant as an insult, Patrick thanked his friend, much to Henry’s amusement.

Patrick took a swig of his beer, wrinkled his nose, then drank the whole bottle down in one.

‘You’re not supposed to drink it like that!’

The youngest laughed and soon hicupped afterwards. He really had never drunk alcohol before - Henry could tell. The way he was going, he was going to be pissed within a half hour. Thinking back to the time he got drunk with Vic and Belch down at the dump, Henry realised that it would be best to drink as much as he could, when he could. Vic and Belch can get weird when they’re intoxicated. Hopefully Patrick wouldn’t be the same, but Henry really doubted it. He was one weird cookie even when sober…

About one hour later, both boys had consumed the whole six pack of Budweisers between them, and Patrick’s parents had called to say they were going to visit Patrick’s grandmother for the evening as they were in the area. They had trusted Henry and Patrick to be responsible, and when Patrick answered the phone, not even the sharp Ronald could detect the slurring in Patrick’s voice. It was eleven o'clock when his parents got back, and in that time the two boys were completely drunk.

‘Hey, Henry, I’m real tired, you know.’

Even in Henry’s drunken state, he could tell his friend was trying to discreetly seduce him into getting into bed with him; and there was no way he was ever going to let that happen.

‘Go to bed then.’

‘But… what about you?’

‘I’ll be fine waiting for your parents to get back.’

Patrick rubbed his eyes for good measure. ‘Where will you sleep though?’ A complacent smile worked it’s way onto his cadaverous face. Henry hadn’t realised up until now, but there was only one single bed between the two of them. He could have slapped himself for being so stupid.

A moan escaped Henry’s lips, ‘Ugh, fine then. I guess I’ll have to sleep with you.’

Patrick’s livery lips formed a cruel smirk. He tore off his school clothes (a sweater vest, checked shirt, knee-length shorts and ankle socks with creepers), not caring that Henry was watching and pulled on his blue and white striped pyjamas. Folding them neatly and placing them over his desk chair, Patrick hopped into bed and under the covers. Green eyes blinking, he waited for Henry to do the same.

‘No, Patrick. I’m not doing this.’

Patrick’s eyes looked pleading yet at the same time, they had a glint of pure malice that clearly said, ‘if you don’t do this, you’re obviously pussy.’

‘Fine.’ Instead of going to change in the bathroom like he first intended, Henry saw the look in Patrick’s eyes as a challenge and refused to back down. He had a competitive spirit and didn’t like to lose. No longer caring that he didn’t have any bedclothes to change into (why should it matter? We’re both boys) Henry took off his jeans and threw them onto the floor, his cheeks not flaming as he expected them to. They remained a dull pink as always. Wearing just his thankfully too long and baggy T-shirt and underpants, Henry threw back the covers and told Patrick to budge over. The smell of sweat and fruity bubble gum from Henry wasn’t entirely unpleasant to Patrick as he shifted over against the cool of the wall. The room was now cast in a dark shadow from the setting summer sun, and the curtains billowed with every slight breeze. Henry was thankful for the lack of the ghost moon in the night’s sky. However; he also had to confide to himself that he was actually gratified by the comfort of having somebody to sleep with, in the most innocent sense of the term. Sure it was hot having Hockstetter cramped up beside him. Sure it was slightly uncomfortable… But Henry was also sure that he would feel safe to wake up in the dark with somebody beside him.

IT Character Designs - Henry and Patrick

I've decided to redesign all of my favourite characters lately, so, starting with IT - here's Henry Bowers and Patrick Hockstetter! This is exactly how I imagined them to look whilst writing Funhouse and the Summertime Blues. :3

 

Henry's obviously a greaser and I wanted Patrick to lean slightly towards the Teddy Boy style. I'm going to do the Losers Club, Pennywise, Vic and Belch soon! 

Funhouse and the Summertime Blues

Well, this has been the first story/fanfiction I've written properly, so I guess I'm actually pretty proud of it! IT by Stephen King is one of my favourite books of all time - and I could write LOTS about it. All the characters, their lives, the town of Derry and even the way King describes everything just intrigues me.

Maybe someday I'll write more about Stephen King's IT; but I think it would be good to write some of my own stuff in future despite how much I love IT. There was so much more I wanted to include!

Anyway, I've finished the writing part; now to redesign the characters from when I drew them in the comic!

Summertime Blues Chapter 5 - Final Chapter

WARNING: SOME PARTS MAY BE NSFW!

Chapter 5

Eddie could have screamed when he realised where he was, where he’d always been and where he may remain for as long as he keeps going. The shriek worked it’s way up in his throat but died and came out as a low, miserable groan. His head felt like he had been beaten half to death and his face was black and blue with green thrown in for good measure. Darkness swirled around him almost nauseatingly. It felt almost although the tunnel was shaking and rolling, but Eddie knew it was just his tired eyes playing tricks on him. That, he was used to down here. After all, how does an evil clown work it’s way into a sewer?

Only in Derry! Came a shrill, amused voice from Eddie’s left, forcing him to turn and face his worst nightmare. We all float! Here in Derry, we’ll all float and you will too! Only in Derry will you see-

Pennywise’s voice was cut off my Eddie’s blood-curding scream. Just moments before he was back home with his mother watching TV. How did he get back here? Scratch that! When did he get back here?

A hooked claw grabbed onto Eddie’s right leg and refused to let go despite how much he kicked, screamed and struggled. The sounds of laughing rang throughout the tunnels like a terrible chanting nursery rhyme, reminding the boy that he would never make it out alive. If he’d been to this awful place once before with no memory of ever getting there, then maybe he was stuck in limbo; and this was Hell, or the afterlife or whatever you’d like to call it. Eddie knew he was dead. When he rang the doorbell, nobody answered so he had to crawl his way in through the upstairs bathroom window by climbing up onto the roof (scraping his already bloodied knees and collecting more bruises along the way). He had ran into his sitting room where his mother was sat watching TV, crying. Eddie remembered yelling ‘Mom!’ as loud as his lungs could bear, but she hadn’t even batted an eyelid in response, simply continuing to weep. He had felt like a ghost boy. Nobody could see or hear him, only just feeling his presence when he threw a book across the room in despair. To Eddie’s mother, it was like somebody had strode past as she got a prickly, chilled feeling; the hairs standing up on the back of her neck as the smell of the sewers came flooding in like disease.

You’ll die if you try, Eddie. You’ll DIE IF YOU TRY!

His mother had looked surprised for a second, but soon went back to focusing on American Bandstand. The sadness Eddie had felt in that moment was overwhelming. He hadn’t known what he had expected to happen, but it certainly wasn’t that. Eddie was crushed.

We’re coming for you, Eddie! We’re going to punish you for running away, Eddie! Came a familiar voice. Eddie wasn’t quite sure who it was in his confused and panicky state of mind, but he knew later on it was actually Matthew Clements, a little boy a few years below him from Derry Elementary.

Eddie picked himself up from the wet floor and ran for his life (if he was even living). His eyes bugged out his face as he sprinted, greased hair flying and arms pumping as fast as they could. He wanted to know how he had gotten back in this monster-infested corridor of Hell - he certainly hadn’t waltzed here of his own doing - that would be insanity in it’s purest form, my dear. The children down here certainly were odd. They always stood in pairs of two, expressions exactly mirroring their partners. Lined up like dolls on a dusty shelf, the children of the sewers were not living, but you couldn’t exactly call them dead either - they were far too animated and sprightly for that what with their constant chants of ‘Kill him!’ and ‘Make him float with us, Pennywise!’. Their hearts had pumped it’s last round of blood around their pallid, grimy bodies a long, long time ago; maybe even before Eddie was born? Maybe even before America was discovered?! That claw that had wrapped itself around Eddie’s ankle whilst dragging him away from his home via the storm drain had left bloody wells and two bruises the shape of kidneys. Eddie felt like it was broken despite being so certain he was as dead as the doll-like children chasing after him.

Water splashed everywhere as eleven pairs of rotten feet flew through the sewers, each pair getting closer and closer to the terrified Eddie Corcoran.

‘Help! Help!’ Eddie cried, ‘Veronica, please help me! Veronica!’

More childish laughter erupted around him, causing him to almost stop in his confusion. He wondered if the kids were laughing at him for calling for the help of a twelve year-old girl.

‘I’m not going to help you, Eddie,’ Came an embarrassed, haughty voice from directly behind Eddie, ‘Grow a pair and help yourself. Besides, stop screaming my name like that, it’s humiliating and makes you sound like a whiny baby!’

Eddie whipped directly around and came face to face with the smirking Veronica Grogan. She had held of a girl and a boy’s hand, her pretty yet dirty face half illuminated in the dull lighting. Her long hair was crusted over with grime and mold from slipping over at some point. They had stopped chasing after him like a gang of foxes after a rabbit, and Eddie had that to be grateful for at least. Much to Eddie’s disgust, she was still wearing the same yellow and white gingham dress she was wearing the last time he saw her (since the day she disappeared and died).

‘Nice to see you too! I thought I told you to go home!’

‘I thought you were going home,’ she shot back, ‘but obviously it seems that you’re so obsessed with me that you just can’t leave me alone!’ A chorus of giggling echoed throughout the place, causing a pipe overhead to quiver slightly.

Eddie felt slightly disgraced, his cheeks flaming but his fear seemingly evaporating. His mother always taught him that if you couldn’t say anything nice, don’t say anything at all. He couldn’t trust himself to say anything nice to the girl mocking him for showing compassion and common decency; that he cared for her, his classmate and nothing more.

‘Well, you might as well remain here along with us,’ she said flatly, her own cheeks blushing at how cheeky she was being, ‘The real world isn’t ideal for you anymore, Eddie. That’s the reason I prefer it a whole lot more down here… Mommy and daddy wouldn’t know I was still alive even if I screamed in their faces. Stay with us. It’s beautiful down here.’

Eddie almost laughed, ‘Beautiful?! Veronica, it’s disgusting.’

‘Don’t you say that! Don’t you dare, Eddie Corcoran! I can’t believe you!’

‘Look, I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings, but look around you: it’s filthy.’

Eddie should have known that as soon as he said that, the sewers would prove him wrong and make a mockery of him. More panned laughter rang in his ears and Eddie was persuaded by a voice in the back of his mind that the laughter was like the ones you’d hear in a bad comedy film, put in just to force a laugh out of the audience even when the scene they’re watching is deadly serious. Eddie wasn’t laughing. No, not even a smile touched his lips as the sewers transformed before his very eyes. This wasn’t funny - it was sick. A sick, sick trick that somebody just loved to play on him. Somebody as sick and disturbing as the trick itself it seemed. Only a freak would get a kick out of scaring children like this.

The ceramic walls shook before discharging a whole rainbow variety of colour from it’s very core. Eddie’s eyes started to bug again before he reminded himself he had company. He forced himself not to exclaim as flowers snaked and curled themselves around the tubes and wires, in every colour of flower you could imagine. It was like watching as the whole world as he knew it changed for the better. The white dead-lights forced their way to Eddie’s brown eyes and he knew he wouldn’t ever like to leave this place with the sweetest smile imaginable. Not now, not for anybody. Feeling so elated and happy, the nervous nagging in the back of his head was muted to a mere whisper. Never again would Eddie feels so anxious and worried - the sewers persuaded him of that much.

‘Alright, I guess I’ll stay, Veronica,’ Eddie smiled, taking the dead girl by the hand.

‘I’m glad,’ she replied, returning his boyish smile and leading him off to play with all the other dead kids under Derry.

Anybody else would have thought the boy had taken something - Hallucinogens, perhaps - to wind up so horribly, pathetically confused about the world around him. Whenever an adult of Derry went down to work in the sewers, they couldn’t see the dead children play and dance; they couldn’t see the kid’s wonderland around them, nor predict the cold, clammy hands to clasp around their legs before being dragged down into the sewage water to be eaten alive. To this day their skeletons lay like trophies in the chambers of Pennywise’s Funhouse along with the children that ate them.

Summertime Blues Chapter 4

WARNING: SOME PARTS MAY BE NSFW!

 Chapter 4

Eddie’s heart flipped as he lay sprawled on the ground. He wasn’t quite sure if he was feeling particularly happy, sad, or anxious - but somehow he felt although something heavy were sat on his chest, suffocating him slowly. His eyes were glued together with something coppery and sticky, and his limbs felt like they were on an entirely different planet altogether. Giving small, shaky gasps as if he were a woman in labour, or perhaps having an asthma attack, he whimpered as he found he couldn’t open his eyes to see where he was. This hadn’t been part of the plan! Why was I stupid as to run away? I should have known it would’ve failed! God, now my step-dad’s probably killed me and this is Hell - where I belong for thinking such evil thoughts about him. Mom always told me I’d go to Hell for thinking bad thoughts. Well, I guess I’ll meet my step-dad when he eventually dies.

As Eddie couldn’t see his surroundings, he allowed himself to find his way around by his other senses. The scent of stale cotton candy washed over him, and it was then he realised how hungry he was. Stomach growling, Eddie attempted to sit up from his broken-doll position. No such luck. Eddie’s fingers gave little twitches as his frayed nerves and broken bones screamed with agony; resisting screams that would alert his presence, he clamped a clammy, shattered hand against his slack jaw, fractured bones grinding. He felt broken all over as though he’d taken a stumble down one hundred flights of steps. God, he’s really fucked me up this time. But where am I?

His brown eyes flew open in the darkness, brimming with tears and sparkling with a new found insanity. All of a sudden he found himself choking back a manic laugh as the blood - his blood - ran down his face. His severely deformed arm found it’s own way to his backpack and rested itself against his step-father’s -30-30. At that moment Eddie vowed to himself that he’d shoot his step-father on first sight. Surely he’d come back to finish his job killing me, just like he did with my baby brother?

Tuning in even more carefully to his surroundings, Eddie could hear a steady dripping, dropping sound. The liquid landed on something metallic with a small ‘ploosh!’ every two seconds or so. He guessed his surroundings as either his step-father’s garage, or some small outdoor nook and cranny out in the pine forests. That would make sense for the pitch-blackness if it were night time, but why on earth can I smell cotton candy? I really wish I could see right now- I’m cold and scared. My body really hurts. This must be what Dorsey felt like when step-father killed him. Now I’m going to die the same way… I’ll die of blood-loss. From being beaten to death with step-father’s hammer. Why did I deserve this? Mom was so stupid to marry this man. Didn’t she know he was mad?

Again, his stomach growled miserably with the thought of cotton candy. How long had it been since he last ate? The last time Eddie could remember eating was when he was packing a bag to run away with - he had stuffed two Tootsie Rolls, three sets of candy buttons and five red vines into the folds of his spare clothes - and had eaten them all at once upon entering the Memorial Park gates. Lamenting himself inwardly, Eddie attempted to crawl onto his belly and scrabble in the darkness for his backpack. If it weren’t for the agony crawling up and down his limbs, Eddie thought he could’ve found his pack a hundred times easier. Eventually his left calf skimmed the scratchy polyester of his backpack strap. Giving blind fumbles in the dark, Eddie attacked the zipper and groped his way inside for something to help him see.

He hissed curse words under his shaking, close to tears voice as the match he was attempting to light got blown out by a sudden draft. In surprise, he dropped his burnt-out match stick and let out a small sob. His own voice echoed all around him, bouncing of the walls of the cave and repeating and over and over. Somewhere in the dark, Eddie was sure he could hear murmured taunts of other children - laughing at him for being so childish. Mingled fear of both the dark and his step-father caught up to him and he drew his knees back up to his chest. In his foetal position, Eddie felt just a little better. Well, his agonised stomach did anyway. The rest of his body was currently giving him silent screams of protest.

Tears collected in his eyes and rolled backwards down to the hard ground, collecting on his ears and lashes. The cold salt water made his scratched-up face sting with faint pain. Eddie scrunched up his face in effort not to sob loudly like a little baby - Henry would make fun of him otherwise. Why am I worrying about what Henry would think?! He’s not even here, but God, I wish he was! He’d know how to get out of this situation. He was so brave…

Turning over on his left slightly in aid of a more comfortable position, Eddie’s hand fell into something icy cold and wet. Along with that water came a terrible smell. It was an awful stench that smelt somewhat like a blocked storm drain. Images of bloated corpses and the Creature From The Black Lagoon danced inside Eddie’s mind, driving his knees even closer to his face. Right now, he really wished he could be at home watching TV with his mom, instead of half-dead and trapped in a stinky little tunnel where his step-dad would find him and murder him. Suddenly, he had an idea; to follow the stream of water would perhaps lead to the outside world? If I can crawl along the same direction as the stream then maybe I’ll end up somewhere outside the Barrens? Then, I can run to the cops and say my step-father’s tried to murder me and bury me alive inside the sewers… As if anybody would believe that! Spitting disgustedly to the floor and adjusting to his hands and knees, Eddie let out a wince as his legs almost gave way. Trailing miserably along the floor although he were only a toddler, he spent what felt like a decade attempting to navigate the horrific underground world of the sewers. As he saw some kind of light in the oh-so far away distance, circus music began to ring teasingly in his ears. Surely he must be imagining things? What kind of sewer plays circus music? What kind of sewer sells cotton candy?!

Eddie stopped in his tracks. His eyes froze with a pure white-hot terror. A whimper escalated in his throat but he found himself too stricken with terror to even voice it. There in the dim light of the sewer’s tunnel was a clown grinning from ear to ear. Clutched in his claw-like gloved hands were a cluster of balloons not unlike those you’d see in a circus. Eddie found himself horribly defenceless, broken and on his hands and knees whereas the clown-man just stood there swaying, it’s jagged and crooked teeth bared in a sick, bloodied smile.

‘Hey there, bucko!’ the clown screeched, yellow eyes glinting like a cat’s in the dark. ‘Like it down here? We float down here… We ALL float! And now you’re here - you’ll float too!!’

Eddie’s eyes bulged.

‘We all float!’the clown repeated, eyes ablaze and wild with fury.

A scream rose in Eddie’s throat, but he felt to drained and almost fatigued with fear.He wasn’t quite sure if he were going mad, or if he were in Hell… or even if this clown was his step-father in some terrible nightmare.

The clown continued, his voice now echoing powerfully all around, ‘If it’s not to your liking, Eddie Corcoran, it could always change.’

‘Hunh?’Eddie slurred, his jaw slack with numb terror. Beads of sweat were now standing out on his paled forehead, many of them falling down into the stream of excrement in his effort to save himself from collapsing.

As if the clown had never even been there - only a mirage - Eddie found himself gazing glassily at the darkened concrete wall of the sewer pipe, hands still trailing in the filthy water. Steadily, he blinked. No, no, I’m just being stupid, Ed. There was no clown here! What the fuck would a clown be doing in the sewers?! You’re just hallucinating from lack of food… Or… or driving yourself mad with worry about the step-father. There’s no such thing as monsters!

Eddie’s stomach gave another growl in the dark. Sighing, forgetting about the clown, and maybe feeling a little faint, Eddie unzipped his pack again. He desperately hoped he hadn’t eaten all his candy on the way. Although, he had to admit he had a bit of a sweet-tooth. Unfortunately Eddie’s backpack was empty except for some stupid, old pairs of underpants! Letting out an angry groan of despair, Eddie clutched at his hair and threw his backpack across the space of the tunnel. Somewhere nearby it landed with a rather loud splash.

As if to taunt the boy, the smell of candy floss became overpowering. Everywhere Eddie could smell the candy; soft on his skin, in the filthy water, tangled in his hair, being carried in the air… He felt he would go mad if he stayed there any longer. Yet he was lost. Attempting a weak spin on his knees, Eddie was humiliated to find himself salivating at the thought of the cotton candy; his stomach cramped up and his head span at the very thought of leaving it alone. How long can I survive under here? Better question yet, exactly how long have I already been here?

The darkness rippled in his eyes, and Eddie slumped to the ground, his face half-submerged under the water’s filth.

2

With a blink, Eddie’s eyes came back into focus. Somewhat, he wished they hadn’t. He was still stuck in these nightmarish sewers! Mixed scents filled his nostrils and churned his stomach. Thankfully he wasn’t hungry anymore - the smell of the raw sewage had fixed that.

God I want to go home…

3

‘Mom! Mom!’ Eddie flinched from his nightmare, eyes rimmed with fat tears and half his face still coated with dried blood. He slapped a dazed hand to his cheek and realised with a bitterness that he was still underneath Derry. In his dream, Eddie was back home with his mother and stepfather. It was so awful that Eddie felt himself ashamedly breakdown and cry. His stepfather had been beating on his mom, and he could do nothing to stop him. Zilch. Nada. He was dead. How could a dead boy stop his father from beating on his mother? It was too late. Eddie was already gone and forgotten. Of course they’d made and raised other kids - and who could blame them? I was a terrible son. But none of them could stop Zack either… Truth be told I don’t even think they cared like I do. …Did.

I hope they’re happy now I’m dead. I hope they’re happy stepfather killed me. I deserved it. Really, truly I did. I couldn’t stick up for mom. Fuck - I couldn’t even stick up for myself - Zack was just too strong… But, I wonder if mom’s looking for me? She didn’t look for baby Dorsey. The cops found him out in our back yard. Shows how much she cares, huh? Wait… What am I talking about? I’m not really dead! Eddie, you’re just being silly and overly sensitive! Show some common sense.

‘Well,’ Eddie announced loudly to the empty sewers, ‘I don’t care if she cares. She’s nothing to me anymore.’

Somewhere along the pipes Eddie could hear laughing. He decided he was going mad.

‘Mommy, if you’re there - I’m having the best sleep I’ve ever had! Six feet underground!’

More laughing… God, what are these sewers? It’s more of a circus or a mental asylum than an underground system!

‘Hey, Zack. Come and get me! I’m waiting for you to finish me off, you pussy!’

Footsteps splashed out of Eddie’s line of vision. His heart began to palpitate, worrying it actually was his stepfather coming to kill him. ‘Daddy? A-are you there?’

As sudden as a gunshot, and probably as loud as one, came a laugh. It was a child’s laugh - gleeful and innocent, reminding Eddie of hot summer afternoons, ice cream sundaes and making mud pies at kindergarten. He shot up from his broken position, eyes darting in alarm from left to right, up and down. Who else could be lost in these sewers? Doesn’t sound like anybody I know.

‘Hello. Who is that?’ Eddie called, disgusted at how weedy and girly his voice had just sounded.

The laughing stopped. A little too quickly in Eddie’s opinion. It was almost eerie, the sudden silence. With a sudden draught, Eddie’s heart skipped a beat and he almost laughed with relief when he saw who had laughed. Still, it didn’t make the situation any less weird.

Two boys (Eddie guessed their ages at either five or six and two or three) were stood side by side, hands clasped and grinning although it were Christmas. One wore a shiny yellow raincoat, and looking closer, it seemed he only had one arm, and that was the one the other boy was holding. Eddie shuddered. He had ruddy, healthy-looking cheeks dusted with light freckles and brunette hair hidden beneath a matching yellow rain hat. His friend, it seemed, reminded Eddie of somebody a lot, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on who it was. He was a few years younger than the one-armed boy and beamed up at him although he were his older brother. Their small hands knotted together reminded Eddie of his younger sibling, Dorsey, and he felt himself swallow harshly. Now was no time to be blubbering!

‘Umm uh,’ began Eddie, suddenly lost for words. What do you say to somebody in this situation?! ‘Are you boys lost?’ The two boys glanced at each other cheekily and the youngest one with two arms snickered, pasting his spare hand across his mouth. ‘Boy, I sure am!’ Eddie added, wanting to seem more informal and approachable to the children. They might be scared, Eddie figured.

Instead of saying anything, the eldest gave a shy, almost mysterious smile. To Eddie, the smile clearly said ‘Not telling. You have to guess! Play our game, Eddie! Play our guessing game, it’s fun!’

Annoyed, ravenous and in a lot of pain, Eddie felt all these things add up and force him to explode; ‘Look, kid. Just tell me where the fucking exit is to this looney bin. I’ll give you a dollar.’

The youngest tittered, and Eddie finally realised exactly who the boy reminded him of. Patrick Hockstetter. A bit stupid really, Patrick didn’t have a brother as far as I know.

Still, they ignored him in a sly silence. Both were smiling coyly although they knew something Eddie didn’t, and Eddie was just too stupid a big kid to know it. Tears sprung to Eddie’s eyes as he considered begging. He opened his mouth to bark an order - after all, when you were that age, being the eldest gave you a certain kind of authority - and all that would come out was a mousy squeak and howls of sadness. Both boys smiles widened. The one-armed boy looked although he wanted to burst out laughing, and very nearly did if it weren’t for the youngest boy speaking; ‘We don’t tell cry babies,’ he taunted, waggling his finger in jest.

‘Hehehe!’ the eldest giggled, again reminding Eddie of Dorsey, ‘Yeah~ Act like your age, Eddie!’

Eddie was surprised that the boy knew his name. So surprised that he stopped weeping. He couldn’t ever recall seeing this boy before, yet, like the other, he seemed just so familiar! Maybe I know his older sibling or something?

The pair turned to leave - ‘Wait!’ Eddie hollered, his voice echoing all around, ‘Stay with me please!’ His dark, wet eyes widened in the dark as the two boys turned to him. He saw something, that in all honesty, he really did not want to see. Ever.

Those boys were as dead as he was.

4

A kind of smile formed on Eddie’s face. It was murky, yet all so clear. So muddled, yet almost logical in Eddie’s deeply confused mindset. The sewers was a circus. Not the kind where you’d sit down in some grand tent where the ringmaster would introduce daring, death-defying tightrope walkers and fearless animal tamers - no - not that kind of circus. This was just pure craziness. The kind of circus where every act was staged for disaster and all sideshows ended in certain death. In a way, Eddie supposed he knew it already. Derry was a dangerous, dark, poisoned little town filled with shitty people who were filled with shitty hate about shitty things.

Could these dead boys truly exist? Who knew? Eddie knew, and the answer was almost certainly yes. Anything could happen in Derry. He’d seen it all before in one of those double creature features he’d seen with Henry Bowers. The zombies had taken over and only wanted one thing - brains.

But that was crazy… Eddie decided he was getting too paranoid again and simply decided to ignore the boys - they were just stupid little kids, and perhaps it was the constant darkness that had led to fearing these kids.

‘We’re not going to eat you,’ Came a sweet voice from somewhere in the sewers. Choking, Eddie thought it sounded something like Veronica Grogan used to. But that would be absurd.

A girl stepped out from behind the two boys, long hair swinging with exaggerated movement, arms crossed behind her back.

‘Oh my-’

‘Hi, Eddie,’ simpered Veronica shyly, ‘It’s been a while since I last saw you.’

Forgetting about the two ‘un-dead’ boys, forgetting that he was lost in the pitch black, smelly underground system of Derry, forgetting that Veronica’s mauled, dead body had been found just a few weeks earlier, forgetting that said body disappeared soon after the crime, nowhere to be seen but with a puddle of blood left behind - Eddie could only think how lucky he was to see her again. ‘Ronnie!’ He cried, almost going to hug the girl.

‘No, don’t hug me. Don’t call me ‘Ronnie’. It’s ‘Veronica’ to you.’ Veronica snapped, suddenly irritated about how forward her classmate was being right now. ‘I don’t want to be touched by somebody like you.’

Eddie’s eyes narrowed. Why was Veronica being such a bitch all of a sudden? Didn’t she know that he had almost died and could use all the kindness he could get? She never used to be so snappy, and that was one of the many reasons Eddie had felt himself falling for her. Now he could see her in a better light, he saw that her yellow and white gingham dress was torn and muddied with something a deep dark brown. That’s probably why, he thought. Nothing annoys Veronica more that having her clothes ruined. She was prissy like that.

‘Well, umm, okay. Sorry,’Eddie found himself apologising, feeling dumb in front of his crush, ‘Well, um, do you perhaps know where we are, Veronica? I’ve been lost for a while now and these stupid kids won’t tell me the way out.’

Veronica smiled. Oh god, not her too.

‘How cute!’ Veronica taunted, twirling a strand of hair around her forefinger, ‘Tell me, Eddie. Don’t you think if I knew the way out, I’d still be in this horrible place?’

Eddie said nothing. He felt too stupid. A minute passed, then finally he said something just to break the giddy silence creeping between the four, ‘Well, how long have you been here then?’

‘Weeks. I just can’t escape. It’s useless.’ Veronica sighed, tossing a sheet of brunette hair over her shoulder. ‘I want to leave. I want my daddy. But, I’ve been wondering round for days on end, and I just can’t find the exit. It’s a labyrinth in here.’

Eddie felt butterflies in his stomach. ‘I could help you… If you want, that is.’

Veronica blinked, unsure whether to trust the boy or not ‘Fine,’ She mumbled, ‘Just don’t be mean to the kids.’

In all honesty, Veronica knew exactly what had happened to end her up in the sewers - she just wanted to keep the game going was all. Hey, if she didn’t have Greta Bowie to mess around with, who else would she have to wind up? If she were to be completely honest, Veronica would admit she quite likes to see Eddie all anxious over her. She knew he had a crush on her; she knew he would do anything to please her and get in her good books, but what she didn’t know was that Eddie himself was in a particularly foul mood at this moment in time. He was on the brink of a breakdown, and not even himself knew that.

A few hours passed of useless fumbling around in the dark, muffled swearing and snarky comments. If Eddie was tired before, now he was positively dead on his feet.

‘If you don’t mind me asking, exactly why did you runaway, Veronica?’

‘Runaway?’ Veronica laughed a chime-like laugh, ‘Why would I run away, Eddie? I loved my life above the sewers.’

‘So… You didn’t run away then?’ Eddie whispered, confused, ‘Then what happened?’

Veronica grinned, her eyes glinting mischievously in the dark. They were a baby blue, and Eddie thought they looked both intelligent and calculating, although she was keeping something from him just to be malicious. Despite the beautiful colour, Veronica’s eyes were also frosty and harsh. She shook her head grimly.

‘God!’ Eddie exclaimed, just about stopping himself from stomping his foot in irritation, ‘Why won’t any of you guys tell me anything?! I’m so confused!’

Veronica kept her eyes trained on the dirty porcelain tunnel floor as she followed the path. Just then, Eddie thought he saw something a little more tender in her face. Was it sadness? Possibly.

‘I’m sorry, Eddie.’ She deadpanned, ‘It’s just… Pennywise. We aren’t supposed to tell you just yet.’ The two boys (which Eddie had forgotten about in his haste to greet Veronica) nodded their heads in agreement, each keeping close to Veronica’s side.

What’s Pennywise? Is she fucking mad?

‘I see. Okay then…’Eddie murmured, feeling rather put-out, ‘I won’t press for details then.’

‘Thank you,’Veronica said with a tight-lipped smile.’Y’know, I actually think you can be a gentleman sometimes, but don’t get too carried away with yourself.’ Eddie laughed - he wasn’t quite sure if that was a compliment or not. Perhaps it was a backhanded compliment?

Eddie felt so overjoyed with Veronica’s comment that he hadn’t noticed she had stopped directly in front of him. He stumbled into her, almost knocking her flying. She gave him a quick quizzical glare, then paused, hands on hips. Her brown hair was illuminated warmly in the sudden evening sun, casting four long shadows across the barren floor, painting the sky with shades of fiery red and filling Eddie with an amazing recovery of zest - finally, they were above ground. And God, Eddie was happy. He had never been so afraid of such a silly thing as the dark, even as a young child! But how long had he been there? He must have been out cold for some while before. Bit by bit, Eddie realised how selfish he’d been - Veronica must have been down there longer… She must have been so cold and lonely for weeks on end. How did she keep from going crazy? No wonder she was so short with me earlier. God, I’m such a jerk! I could’ve at least offered her my jacket!

Nobody said anything. Both pre-teens just took in the scenery, feeling relaxed and calm for the first time in some while. There was no noise, and nobody spoke. Only the sound of the stream trickling around their legs and the seabirds crying in the distance could be heard. The smell of the pines was fresh and welcome to Eddie. On any other day, he wouldn’t have enjoyed the scent, but after spending some age trapped in a tunnel smelling of sewage water, it was better than anything he’d ever smelt before. Eddie closed his eyes. Just to Veronica’s left, there was a flash of pale toffee brown - Veronica blinked - it was a doe! Never before had she seen something so beautiful. Giving Eddie a small nudge with her elbow, she pointed him in it’s direction with an eager smile. The doe crept past them timidly, then stopped frozen in their path, bright, dewy eyes wide with fear of the human race. It seemed to tremble like a leaf caught in wind, then her eyes connected with the children. There was a crack somewhere nearby and she was gone as fleetingly as she’d arrived.

‘This must be a good luck charm,’ Veronica whispered, beaming genuinely, ‘I think we’re going to be so lucky right now.’

Eddie turned to her, sharing her excitement. ‘She was beautiful,’ he agreed. For a moment he paused. His lower lip trembled, and then; ‘I’m so glad you’re not dead, Veronica.’

‘Excuse me?’

‘I-I said, ‘I’m so glad you’re not dead, Veronica.’’Eddie grimaced, suddenly feeling uneasy. Am I going mad, or does something seem not quite right?

Again, what was with that secretive smile?

‘Come again?’

‘You heard me,’ Eddie shot back defensively, ‘And I’m not saying it again. It’s embarrassing.’

Veronica’s simper didn’t waver once, ‘Oh, well that’s very sweet of you. But…’ suddenly she burst out in a fit of the giggles. Eddie’s heart started sinking and he broke out in a cold sweat. God, she really has gone crazy…

‘But,’ she repeated, louder this time, ‘Eddie!’ she cried, eyes wide, ‘I am dead!’

Oh God! I’m stuck here with a mad woman! She’s gone fucking mental!

‘Veronica,’ Eddie said in his best psychiatrist voice. His tone was calming and clearly stated, “speak to me. You can tell me anything, you know.” ‘As far as I can see, you’re pretty much alive and kicking. I really don’t think you’re dead.’ He added a charming giggle for good measure.

Veronica’s face fell. Eddie couldn’t help but feel bad for the girl - she’d obviously been lost down there in the dark for weeks and had gone insane.

‘Do you think I’m really stupid?’ Veronica hissed, face scrunching up in annoyance.

‘W-well, you’re not stupid,’ Eddie said, playing his words carefully, ‘I think you’re confused. And I can understand th-’

‘You’re wrong!’ the girl snarled, stomping her 4-cm high-heeled shoe, ‘I really am dead, and you’re just ignorant!’

With that, Eddie really had no idea what to say, what to do. Briefly he wondered how Mrs Reichs would react in this kind of situation, or Isabelle, the guidance councillor’s really pretty secretary.

He stared at Veronica, his dark eyes searching and at the same time, attempting to soothe. She was obviously very upset, and almost on the verge of being hysterical. Veronica had been wondering these empty black tunnels of Hell far longer than he had. Heck! She’d probably been here ever since the day she’d ‘died’. Just what could have happened to the poor girl?

In the sunsets warmth, Eddie noticed how feeble and skinny she’d gotten. Her skin was both paper white and paper thin, and veins stood out in her temple. Her eyes looked shrunken in their sockets, but there was no way Veronica Grogan would ever cry - she had pride!

‘C’mon. Let’s get outta here, you need to go home and rest.’Eddie said, smoothing her hair behind her ears, forgetting how she hated to be touched, ‘Your parents are probably worried sick.’ That last sentence was a lie - the Grogan family had already had a funeral, and a small casket with a bouquet of English roses and a picture of Veronica was buried - there was no body, just a lot of blood and a pair of underwear identified by laundry mark as property of Veronica Grogan.

When it seemed Veronica was frozen to the spot, Eddie made as if to grab her hand - ‘What are you doing?’ she asked, regaining her composure, eyes bright with confusion.

‘I’m taking you home, silly. You live up near all those big lardy-dar houses don’t you?’

Veronica’s face fell again, and Eddie’s heart felt crushed with sadness.

‘Why would I want to go home? It’s wonderful here!’ She yelled, grinning from ear to ear. With a little skip and a curtsy, she bounced back into the mouth of the tunnel. Her petticoats ruffled in the wind, and her waist-length hair was carried with along with it. Veronica Grogan was beautiful, no doubt, but she was screwy.

Eddie Corcoran sighed; ‘Fine, suit yourself, Ronnie. I’m going home. Please be safe here, and do think about going back home sometime - if I were your daddy, I’d be so, so worried about you.’ He turned his back on her, and set off home. But don’t worry, Eddie wouldn’t really leave her to struggle all by herself - as soon as got home the first thing he would do would be to call the police and tell them he’d just found a missing person out in the barrens.

‘It’s ‘Veronica’ not ‘Ronnie’!’ came an angry voice from ten feet away. Eddie laughed humorlessly.

5

Veronica watched impassively as her ex-classmate turned his back on her. Her lower lip trembled as she stomped her foot again in a sudden temper. How dare he just barge in here and declare her crazy?! Veronica wasn’t pleased - in fact, she would be in a sour mood for the rest of the day. Sadly, she didn’t have anybody to take it out on. Georgie Denbrough and Avery Hockstetter were already gone. Turning heel and splashing back into the sewer tunnel, even more mud caking against her legs and staining her dress, Veronica decided to get back to her friends. The two little boys were the only real companions she’d made down there. Everybody else was a little cold and distant, almost although they ruled the place; Veronica supposed a lot like herself, but that suited her just fine. If they wanted to be all funny about it then that was just peachy… But God, she missed Greta Bowie! The young girl half wondered if her friend missed her as they were always at odds, always arguing, but in the end she supposed they were actually great friends. She debated what Greta was doing right now (judging by the time she was either brushing her hair 100 times before she went to bed, or playing on her mother’s rocking chair, reading by sunset on her back porch) and whether she missed her as much as Veronica missed her.

Shaking her head miserably of the memories and carrying on with her seemingly endless journey, Veronica traced the edge of the tunnel with her forefinger and gave a shaky smile. It won’t be so bad forever! Hey, maybe Greta will be here soon? It’s pretty pathetic having a six and a two year old as friends. They’re more like little, annoying brothers. After all, they can’t talk about boys or party dresses!

The further she got in the sewers, the more the scenery changed.From ebony to steel and eventually a rainbow variety of colours, the crumbling claustrophobic walls transformed. Almost like a picture book, almost like a horror movie, the sewers could be anything you wanted - it all depended on your frame of mind. To Veronica, it was although she lived in Cinderella’s castle; for the narrow pitch black entrance morphed into something beautiful, something magical. Turrets, bunting and baroque-esque balconies sprouted from the ever widening walls and maze-like tunnels reminding Veronica of the time she went to Versailles with her parents. Purples, pinks, pastel blues and white erupted from the base of the walls, spreading and painting the place with colour from top to bottom. Veronica’s jaw went slack. She had never seen anything like this happen before. Not in reality, anyway. Pondering if she’d somehow slipped outside the sewers and hit her head rather hard, Veronica stopped to catch her breath. It was simply gorgeous but the girl couldn’t help but feel something was wrong... Her vision was blurry and everything felt although it was being viewed through a gauze veil. As her eyes fell in and out of focus, Veronica could distantly recognise that somebody was watching her closely.

At the sudden sound of music, Veronica flinched back to the real world, her tearful eyes wide with fear. She wished Eddie was still here. Sure, he was stupid… Sure, he was poor - but he had made her feel safe, even just for a little while. The music sounded either very European or very circus-y to Veronica. She racked her brains back to those many boring music lessons at Derry Elementary and could recognise an accordion and a xylophone somewhere in there. Straining her eyes to see where the melody could be coming from, Veronica knew it was all in vain. She knew deep down she was going as mad as Henry Bowers used to be… Either that, or the place was haunted! The girl kicked herself for thinking that, suddenly becoming very afraid.

‘Georgie?’ she called half-heartedly, simply hearing multiples of herself chanting through the structure. ‘Avery?’

Giggling rang maddeningly through the sewers, bouncing off the walls and vibrating through the place, causing Veronica to jump in surprise. She still wasn’t properly used to this place. Letting out a little cry as a hand fell on her shoulder, Veronica’s eyes darted to the left to see a gloved hand pressing against her. She whipped around, eyes wider than ever before and caught sight of a clown hovering less than two metres from her face, it’s ghastly hand detached from it’s body. Veronica clutched her paling face in pure white-hot terror, not quite sure if her mind was playing tricks on her.

I don’t want to be insane, her mind raced. I don’t want to be insane. I don’t want to be insane. I don’t want to be insane! I don’t want to be insane! I don’t want to be insane!!

The clown gave a roar of high-pitched laughter with sickening, childish glee, it’s eyes almost luminescent in the sudden darkness and it’s face mere inches away from Veronica’s. Like a candle being blown out, the clown faded away into a smoke screen.

Hello there, Veronica! Veronica could hear a voice although she wasn’t entirely sure if it was just in her head or if she was actually listening to somebody speaking. We all float down here, and now you do too! The voice was more of a shriek-ish gargle than like any human voice Veronica had ever heard before. Just the sound of it made her skin burst out in goosebumps.

‘Who are you?’

I am Pennywise the Dancing Clown. I am eternal child.

‘Oh…’Veronica wasn’t entirely certain of what to say next. Sure she was terrified. She couldn’t even see who she was speaking too and half wondered if she really had gone insane.

‘Well, why am I here?’

You can’t escape, child. Even if you find the exit you won’t ever want to leave.

Annoyed that the clown hadn’t even answered her question, Veronica pressed on; ‘How do you know I won’t want to leave? You don’t know what I’m thinking.’

A terrible choking laugh rang through Veronica’s ears. Oh, but I know everything you’re thinking. I know everything! There is nothing I don’t know about you! This statement gave Veronica the chills. She decided to say nothing after that.

It was true that something down here had stopped Veronica from leaving... That was what disturbed her most of all. Not only that, but Veronica was finding her family to be nothing more than a distant memory. Eddie had said that they’d missed her something awful - Eddie had said they were worried about her; what a lie. How could he be so cruel? Had her family even bothered looking for her? Veronica doubted it as much as she doubted Beverly Marsh was a secret millionaire.

‘You still haven’t answered my question, Pennywise. Why am I down here?’

More freakish laughter. This time it made her feel belittled and stupid rather than intimidated. ‘Tell me!’

Oh what a poor little rich girl… So sad and lonely despite her luxuries. Poor little tyke had no true friends, she was only forced to be with Greta Bowie at her mother’s Ladies Club… How sad for you!

Veronica’s cheeks flushed with anger. ‘This place isn’t as great as you think! It’s real disgusting and such a cheap knockoff from the real Versailles!’

Suddenly the girl wished she hadn’t said that. As fast as the scenery had changed earlier, the paint came seeping back into the walls, leaving the world in black and white once again. The turrets exploded; the bunting got torn down in a sudden gust, the balconies crumbled and faded, landing in the murky stream with a large splash. Surrounded by complete darkness, Veronica wondered where the ghastly clown had disappeared to. The rotten, dank smell of the sewers filled her nostrils and made her gag as sewer water gushed around her legs. Slowly the water rose to the middle of her calves, forcing her to raise her dress a little to keep it from getting even more wet and filthy. Losing her navigation, the young girl dizzily waded her way over to the ceramic tube walls. It was so hard to keep her balance as the water was running so fast. Small lumps of something pale and cold kept hitting her legs and getting tangled with the hem of her dress. Wondering what they were, Veronica scooped one up in her cupped hands and cleared the muck from the lump with her fingertips.

‘Oh! Oh my goodness!’ She dropped the lump in horror. It was a lump of flesh! Vomit ran through the girls fingers as she heaved, hands covering her paled face. Veronica just couldn’t believe this place. Apparently there was no way out either… She’d found the exit earlier with Eddie but why hadn’t she been able to leave? It was almost although somebody had taken over her mind as she stood in the tunnels mouth side-by-side with Eddie Corcoran. It didn’t take a genius to realise who. Pennywise. Veronica wished she hadn’t ever gone to the corner shop that day back in early May. That day had changed everything - one minute she was buying ice cream from some old man in the store - the next, she was lying face-first in filth, her dress completely ruined and hopelessly lost. Best to just suck up to this Pennywise character and do whatever he says. He could be dangerous. He sounds as mad as Henry Bowers!

With Veronica, pride always breaks through her mother’s mentality to be impassive and sweet to everybody. Veronica was no doormat. When Patrick Hockstetter pulled her hair during Algebra, she had yelled at him to stop and caused a commotion with stupid Mrs Reichs. When Trashmouth loudly called her a ‘rich-bitch’ in front of Beverly Marsh, causing her to giggle like the little piglet she was, did you expect Veronica Grogan to simply smile and nod? That time when Bowers had given Greta an Indian-burn, Veronica had very nearly kicked him where it hurts. All of those times Veronica had proved to both herself and her parents that she could be independent and stand up for herself when others weren’t quite so kind and gentle. Today she felt as submissive and powerless as a rag doll. Pennywise had gotten deep into her psyche and Veronica found she would do anything he said, anything at all. Even if it’s just to stay alive in this dark and frightening place.

My, my… This certainly is no place for a princess like you, Ronnie.

‘Don’t… don’t call me ‘Ronnie’. I hate that.’

Ah, but don’t you secretly love it when Eddie Corcoran calls you that?

Veronica flushed at this lie, ‘No way! Not at all!’

It was all silent for a minute and then… Aren’t you lonely down here all lonesome on your ownsome? Veronica could almost hear the amusement in the clown’s high-pitched wheeze.

‘I don’t think so. I have Georgie and Avery if I want them.’

Veronica couldn’t even see her hand in front of her face anymore, it was that dark. Briefly she knew it was night outside, guessing the time from 10pm-1 or 2am. As her sense of sight was now disabled by her permanent state of darkness, Veronica found she could no longer move about the place without getting hurt. Was this what it was like to go mad? Veronica sometimes heard of some horrible cases in the newspapers where some poor girl or woman had been kidnapped by a mad-man - forced to live forever in constant darkness in a small box or coffin, taken out every once in a while to be tortured and tormented. Maybe this is an exaggeration, but that is how Veronica feels right now.

Do you really? Where are they now, bucko?! Hmm?

‘Well… They’re just over there of course.’ Veronica had no idea where ‘just over there’ was - she had no idea where she was herself with the place being so suffocatingly dark. She didn’t want to cry for fear that the clown would take advantage of that and make her situation a whole lot worse. What made matters worse was that Veronica didn’t want to go home anymore; she didn’t want to be anywhere but the false wonderland that Pennywise had shown her earlier. She’d been bad by snapping at him, and this darkness was her punishment. How long would it last before she could be back there again? Veronica was sick of standing in one spot for hours, unable to look at anything but the colour black and forced to wade around in the murky sewage water. ‘Um, Pennywise? Look, I’m sorry I made you mad. I do really like it down here.’

Lights flashed in Veronica’s eyes, dazzling and fazing her both at the same time. The sewers erupted with a bright white light almost like a car’s headlights. Feeling giddy and elated, Veronica began to giggle quietly to herself, feeling her grip on reality slide even further down hill. These were the dead-lights she often heard Georgie murmur about to his younger friend.

This what you wanted, Ronnie?