Bruised 🎈Eddie Kaspbrak Fanfiction 🎈

°🎈13🎈°

🎈CHAPTER 13🎈

°•°Vanessa's POV°•°

I held Eddie's hand in a death grip, my palm slick with sweat as we crossed the threshold into the house on Neibolt Street. The air was thick and heavy, tasting of dust, decay, and something else-something metallic and foul.

"I can't believe I pulled the short straw," Richie muttered behind us, his voice uncharacteristically small. "You guys are so lucky you're not measuring dicks."

"Shut up, Richie," Eddie whispered, his voice tight. His eyes were wide behind his glasses, scanning the oppressive darkness of the foyer. The place was a tomb, frozen in time. Peeling wallpaper hung in strips, and the floorboards were warped and splintered, groaning under our weight.

"I can smell it," Eddie whispered, his nose wrinkling. The stench was a physical presence-a cloying mix of rot, mold, and the unmistakable reek of the sewer.

"Don't breathe through your mouth," Richie warned, taking a cautious step further into the gloom.

"How come?" Eddie asked, his voice thin with anxiety.

"Because then you're eating it," Richie stated matter-of-factly.

Eddie immediately started to gag, fumbling for his inhaler. I rubbed slow, steady circles on his back, my own heart hammering against my ribs. The gesture was as much for my comfort as it was for his.

A sound from another room made Eddie and me turn, but Bill's voice pulled our attention back.

"What?" Bill asked.

Eddie pulled me closer to where Richie was standing, frozen, holding a piece of yellowed paper. His face had lost all color.

"It... it says I'm missing," Richie stammered, staring at the paper as if it were a venomous snake.

"You're not missing, Richie," Bill said, his voice soft but firm.

"Police department. City of Derry!" Richie's voice rose in pitch, edging toward hysteria. "That's my shirt. That's my hair. That's my face!" He thrust the paper toward us. The crude drawing was undeniably him. "Calm down, this isn't real," Bill said, reaching for the paper.

"That's my name. That's my age. That's the date!" Richie was hyperventilating now, his chest heaving. "It can't be real, Richie."

"No, it says it! What the fuck? Am I missing? Am I gonna go missing?" The raw terror in his voice was unbearable. I looked away, pressing closer to Eddie, who had his free hand clamped over his own mouth.

Bill grabbed Richie by the shoulders, forcing him to make eye contact. "Calm down. Look at me, Richie. Look at me. That... that isn't real. It's playing tricks on you."

"Hello?"

The voice was small, plaintive, and it came from the top of the stairs. We all fell silent, our heads snapping toward the sound.

"Hello?" it called again, a little girl's voice, trembling and afraid.

Without a word, Bill started up the staircase. We followed, a tight, terrified knot. I held onto Eddie's hand like a lifeline. Each step groaned and protested under our feet, the sound echoing in the dead silence of the house.

"Help me, please!" the voice cried, leading us down a dark hallway to a half-open door.

Inside, a girl was sprawled on the floor. It was Betty Ripsom. Her eyes were wide with terror, her mouth working soundlessly as dark, thick blood bubbled from her lips and pooled beneath her head.

"Betty?" Bill breathed.

"Ripsom?" Richie echoed, his previous panic forgotten in the face of this new horror.

Eddie's fingers dug into my arm. He was staring at something behind us, his body rigid. "Eddie? What are you looking for?" a new voice rasped from the shadows. It was wet, sickly, and utterly wrong.

"Guys? Can you hear that?" Eddie questioned, his voice barely a whisper.

But Bill and Richie were still fixated on the ghastly scene in the room. Eddie's breathing hitched, becoming ragged and wet. He fought to get his inhaler out, his hands shaking so badly he could barely grip it. He took a sharp, desperate pull.

"Guys..." he tried again.

A door down the hall creaked open. A low, guttural growl rumbled from the darkness within.

Eddie was gasping beside me, each breath a struggle. I stood frozen, torn between the horror in front of me and the one taking shape behind us.

"Oh my..." I whispered.

"Guys..."

Eddie turned. In the periphery of my vision, I saw the bedroom door-the one with Bill and Richie-slam shut with a definitive, echoing thud that shook the entire hallway.

"Guys! Guys!" Eddie yelled, lunging for the door.

We weren't fast enough. The floorboards directly in front of us erupted downward, splintering into a gaping, black hole that blocked our path. A cloud of dust and decay billowed up.

"What the fuck?!" Eddie screamed, throwing an arm out to stop me from stumbling forward.

Then I felt it-a cold, clammy hand on my shoulder. I spun around.

The leper stood there. It was exactly as Eddie had described: a walking infection. Its skin was a mottled, weeping landscape of sores and yellow pus. It ignored me completely, its sunken, milky eyes fixed on Eddie.

"Time to take your pills, Eddie," it rasped, its breath a foul blast of disease and rot.

Eddie looked up, his eyes meeting the creature's. A strangled sound escaped his throat. The leper began to growl, a deep, hungry sound that didn't belong in a human throat.

In his terror, Eddie scrambled backward-right through the hole in the floor.

"EDDIE!" I screamed.

Without thinking, I lashed out, my foot connecting with the leper's chest. It felt spongy and wrong. The creature stumbled back with a wet, surprised grunt.

I didn't wait. I turned and jumped through the hole after him.

I landed hard on a ruined table below, the wood cracking and splintering under our combined weight. Pain shot up my ankles, but I ignored it, scrambling toward Eddie.

He was lying on his back amidst the wreckage, unconscious. His face was pale. And his arm-his arm was bent at a grotesque, impossible angle.

I crouched beside him, my hands hovering over him, afraid to touch him and cause more pain. "Eddie?" I whispered, my voice breaking. "Eds, please, wake up." A choked gasp escaped my lips. He was so still. The only sound was the frantic, terrified hammering of my own heart.

*~🎈~*