𝔸 ℝ𝕠𝕤𝕖 𝔹𝕪 𝔸𝕟𝕪 𝕆𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕣 ℕ𝕒𝕞𝕖 - reddie

#𝟙𝟝: 𝕀𝕥 𝔾𝕠𝕥 𝕄𝕖, 𝔹𝕖𝕟

"He t-thrusts his fists against the p-posts and still insists he sees the ghosts.." Bill whispered. "He thrusts his fists against the posts and still insists he sees the g-ghosts- god f-fucking dammit!" he angrily kicked a rock that flew to one side of the sewer tunnel, echoing as it eventually rolled to a stop. Bill took another deep breath. "He thrusts his fists against the fucking posts and still insists he sees the ghosts..."

All of the losers didn't intervene, we simply let Bill get out most of what he wanted to; we were used to it at this point.

This phrase was something Bill's parents and speech therapist had told him to say when he needed to get his stutter under control; Bill had always practiced, and was determined to get it completely right one day. Then, he thought his parents would feel proud of him. He had always blamed himself for Georgie's death; and a small little evil part of his parents did too. 

He assumed deep down that his brother's disappearance was the exact reason his family, specifically his mother and father, had drifted apart from each other. He wanted to get it right. Even as an adult, he wanted to make them proud.

"He thrusts his fists against the posts and still insists he sees the ghosts," I watched as Bill closed his eyes tightly to focus on the sentence. It almost seemed to calm him, but also brought a sense of urgency and pressure. His voice got quieter as he continued to rehearse it, almost until you couldn't hear him anymore. "He thrusts his fists against the posts..."

Eddie didn't let go of my hand as we all descended further into the barren portion of the sewer, flashlights drawn and weapons ready. Mike had brought some tools from his family's old farm, mostly old shit that no one used anymore. The rustier the better.

I remembered the time when Eddie wouldn't even dream of coming into water like this; he was plagued by his mother's perception of the dirty world and how it worked. He had been fed so many lies as a child that he was basically choking on the bone of it all. He was paying the price. He was walking feet first in a shit ton of Derry piss. And not enjoying it, either.

No one had spoken for a good five minutes worth of walking; it had appeared that we were all so terrified that everyone was holding their breath, waiting for something to happen. I continued my walking pace and seemed to loosen up a bit when the tunnel size expanded.

The smell worsened the farther down we walked; and it smelt like death. There was no better way to sugar-coat it.

Even though there was plenty of room for all of us, and lots more, Eddie kept his body practically pushed up against mine. It was as if we were two high school students, linked arm-in-arm and attempting to get through a sea of rushing students in the halls. I would have been used to seeing younger, 13-year-old Eddie Kaspbrak as scared as this. Not adult, responsible Eddie Kaspbrak.

All of us were repulsed to see animals drifting by in the current and gray water. I saw the remains of a kitten, a large, bloated seagull, and what appeared to be a gopher, or a large rat. The smell seemed to strengthen when each creature passed; and then it died down again once they had drifted far enough away.

The only sound to be heard was the splashing of our pacing feet, and distant drips that were anonymous and coordinated. They could have been coming from anywhere in the sewer, miles away, even, but this place was so long and hollow that you could hear the dripping anyway.

I wished none of my sense were heightened, to be honest; all of them seemed to suffer. It was dark and it hurt my eyes to strain them. My nose began to numb from the scent. My mouth was dry and hoarse from breathing the air in. My ears were practically standing on the edge in expectation. I grasped Eddie's hand firmly with one hand, and in the other, I kept a tight grip on my shirt. I was disgusted enough by the amount of water that had soaked my shoes.