"I've realized that..." he started, then took a shaky breath. "Earlier today, when Stanley pulled you aside... seeing you two so close and secretive, I hated it." The words tumbled out in a rush. "I don't like how others make you smile..." He traile...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
°•°Vanessa's POV°•°
"Eddie, come on. Wake up!" I whispered frantically, tapping his cheek softly. My heart was a wild drum against my ribs. He'd fainted from the pain, but my terror was a living thing, convinced that at any second the clown would emerge from the shadows to feast on our bones.
Eddie's eyes snapped open. He sat up with a sharp gasp, his good hand flying to his broken arm. A wave of relief washed over me so powerfully I felt dizzy. He was panting, his eyes wide with pain and confusion as he stared at the grotesque angle of his limb. He winced, a small, pitiful sound escaping his lips as he tried to move it.
I placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. His head snapped toward me, and I saw the tears welling in his eyes, magnified by his glasses. "Oh, Eddie. I'm so sorry," I mumbled, pulling him into a careful embrace, avoiding his injured arm.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
The sound was slow, deliberate, coming from the old, grime-encrusted fridge in the corner of the basement. We both froze.
The fridge door creaked open on its own.
Inside, folded into an impossible, bone-breaking bundle, was the clown. It was crammed into the tiny space, its head twisted to face us, that same vile grin plastered on its face.
Its laughter echoed in the small, damp space-a high, shrieking sound that was utterly devoid of mirth. It was laughing at him. Laughing at his pain. I pulled Eddie closer, my arms tightening around him protectively.
It began to untwist itself, limbs cracking and popping as it unfolded from the fridge. It stood to its full, terrifying height, its body rotating until it was facing us completely.
"Time to float," it hissed, the words slithering through the air.
Its upper body bent at an unnatural angle, bringing its painted face level with ours. With each step it took toward us, we scrambled backward on the dirty floor, until my back hit the cold, damp wall. There was nowhere left to go.
It mocked Eddie's ragged, panicked gasps, its own chest heaving in a grotesque parody. I could feel the fear, cold and sharp, creeping up my spine, freezing me in place.
It jumped, its face stopping inches from ours. We screamed, a unified sound of pure, unadulterated terror. In a blind panic, Eddie slapped it across the face.
The clown didn't even flinch. It just chuckled, low and menacing, and grabbed Eddie's wrist. It brought his hand close to its mouth, teasing us, making a show of preparing to take a bite.
I was shaking violently, tears streaming down my face. Eddie was sobbing, soft, broken whimpers that tore at my heart.
The clown laughed again, a sound like shattering glass. It placed its cold, white hands on our faces, its thumbs mimicking the path of our tears. "Tasty, tasty beautiful fear," it whispered, thick, foul-smelling drool dripping from its lipless mouth onto the floor. Its terrifying smile never wavered. The only small comfort was that I wouldn't die alone. Eddie would be by my side.
It began to growl, a deep, feral sound that vibrated in my chest. Its mouth unhinged, widening to an impossible degree, revealing row upon row of jagged, needle-sharp teeth.
"No! No, no!" Eddie whimpered, trying to shrink away.
Suddenly, the clown's head snapped to the side, its attention caught by a noise from the top of the basement stairs.
"Help! Help!" Eddie screamed, putting every ounce of his remaining strength into the cry.
The clown's hand on my cheek slid down to my throat, not squeezing, just resting there with a promise of violence. Its other hand covered Eddie's mouth, silencing him.
"Eddie! Vanessa!"
Richie's voice. It was the most beautiful sound I had ever heard. He and Bill came crashing into the basement kitchen, their faces pale with fear and determination.
The clown's focus shifted entirely to Bill. Eddie found my hand again, his grip surprisingly strong despite his injury.
"This isn't real enough for you, Billy? I'm not real enough for you?" it asked Bill, its voice suddenly adopting a fake, wounded sadness.
"Oh shit," Richie breathed.
"It was real enough for Georgie," it snarled, the mock sadness vanishing, replaced by pure venom.
It laughed, a sound that promised agony, and charged them.
Just then, Beverly flew into the room, wielding a metal spike. With a fierce cry, she drove it deep into the side of the clown's head.
It roared in surprise and pain. Eddie's grip on my hand became bone-crushing.
"Get Eddie!" Bill yelled.
"Get Eddie!" Richie echoed.
They rushed to us. I scrambled out of the way as they tried to haul Eddie to his feet. A raw, agonized scream tore from his throat as they jostled his arm, and I couldn't stop the fresh wave of tears that spilled down my cheeks. The sound was awful.
The clown growled, shaking its head, the spike still embedded in its skull. It turned its furious gaze back toward us.
"Oh, fuck! We gotta get out of here!" Richie shouted.
Beverly and I clung to each other, stepping backward as the thing took menacing steps toward us.
"Guys, watch out!" Stan's voice shouted from the doorway.
"No, no, no, no!" Eddie chanted, lost in a spiral of panic.
"Eddie, look at me!" Richie begged, trying to hold his friend's focus.
"He's gonna get us! Guys! No!" Eddie screamed, hysterical.
The clown's hand morphed, fingers elongating into a sharp, monstrous claw. It took a giant, lurching step toward us, and a chorus of terrified screams filled the room.
But then it spun around with impossible speed, its claw slashing across Ben's stomach as he tried to flank it.
"Ben!" I screamed. My heart was beating so loudly it was a thunderous roar in my ears, drowning out everything else. I was pressed against the wall, tears falling in a continuous stream.
I saw Bill, enraged, run straight at the clown, drawing its attention away from Ben.
As my hearing returned, I rushed back to Eddie's side. He was on the floor, curled into a ball, swatting away anyone who tried to touch him.
"Bill, we have to help Eddie!" Beverly screamed.
Bill ran over and knelt beside us. His face was set with a grim determination.
"I'm gonna snap your arm back into place," Richie told Eddie, his voice surprisingly steady.
Eddie shook his head wildly, his eyes wide with terror. "Rich, do not fucking touch me!" he snarled.
"Okay. One, two..." Richie counted, ignoring him.
"Do not touch me!"
I saw the resolve on Richie's face. There was no time. I grabbed Eddie's face with both hands, turned him toward me, and pressed my lips to his.
It was a desperate, clumsy kiss, born of panic and a need to distract him. At the exact same moment, Richie grabbed his arm and, with a sickening crunch, snapped it back into place.
Eddie cried out in pain against my lips, but the shock of the kiss had stolen the worst of the scream.
Without missing a beat, Richie and Bill hauled him to his feet. "Let's go! Now!" Bill yelled.
And we ran. We ran out of that cursed kitchen, out of the basement, out of the house of horrors, into the blinding, blessedly normal daylight.
