"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...
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°•Vanessa's POV•°
I woke to a slow, cold drip on my forehead. Plink. Plink. Plink. Each drop was a tiny hammer against my skull, which throbbed with a deep, sickening pain. My eyelids felt heavy as I forced them open, greeted only by a pervasive, oppressive darkness.
Slowly, painfully, I pushed myself up to a sitting position. The world swam nauseatingly for a moment before it settled into a nightmare. I was surrounded by mountains of junk-broken furniture, rusted bicycles, rotting piles of things that were once treasures. The air was thick and foul, a putrid cocktail of stagnant water, rust, and a sweet, meaty decay that coated the back of my throat. I gagged, my empty stomach clenching.
A soft groan came from a few feet away. Beverly. She was lying unconscious, her red hair fanned out around her pale face like a bloody halo.
My legs felt like they were made of wet sand. Every movement was a monumental effort, as if my bones had been replaced with lead. I crawled to her side, my limbs trembling with the strain.
"Bev," I whispered, my voice raspy and raw. I shook her shoulder lightly. "Beverly, wake up."
Her eyes snapped open, wide with instant, disoriented terror. They focused on me, and a sliver of recognition cut through the panic.
"Vanessa?"
"Yeah, it's me," I whispered, putting a finger to my lips. "Come on. We need to find a way out of here."
We helped each other stand, our bodies leaning heavily against one another. Our legs buckled, refusing to hold our weight properly. It was like waking up from a poison, our muscles useless and uncoordinated. What had It done to us? We stumbled forward, into the shallow, foul-smelling grey water that covered the floor. The cold seeped through my shoes instantly. We fell, splashing into the muck, and a wave of despair washed over me. This was useless.
Gritting my teeth, I forced myself back up, hauling Beverly with me. We took another stumbling step and then froze.
Above us, suspended in the gloom like grotesque party decorations, were the children. Dozens of them. Their bodies were limp and pale, floating in the stagnant air, their faces frozen in final, silent screams. Betty Ripsom. Georgie Denbrough. Ed Corcoran. All the missing. They formed a grisly constellation in the cavernous space.
A choked sob escaped Beverly's lips. We backed away, our terrified gazes locked on the horrific display, until our backs hit a cold, slimy wall.
We turned and ran, or rather, we shambled-a pathetic, lurching flight through the ankle-deep water. We found a heavy, rusted metal door and threw our weight against it, our weakened bodies straining. The door groaned in protest but didn't budge. The sound of metal grinding against metal echoed through the tunnels, a dinner bell ringing in the dark.
"Step right up, Beverly, Vanessa. Step right up."
The voice was a singsong mockery, echoing from everywhere and nowhere. A tinny, off-key circus melody began to play, the cheerful tune horribly distorted in the sewer's expanse.
The music sputtered and died. Our eyes were dragged, against our will, toward a garishly painted trailer parked absurdly in the middle of the filth. A jack-in-the-box sat on a barrel next to it. Its handle began to turn on its own.
Pop.
The clown's head sprang out, but it wasn't plastic. It was real. Its eyes rolled madly, and it let out a robotic, maniacal laugh that grated against my nerves.
The trailer doors burst open with a shower of cheap, sparking fireworks. The circus music swelled once more, now deafeningly loud.
And there It was. Pennywise. Standing center stage under a single, glaring spotlight. It didn't move. It just stared at us, its painted smile a cruel, static gash across its face.
Then It began to dance. A jerky, unnatural marionette's dance, all sharp angles and impossible contortions. My skin crawled. I tore my eyes away, scanning the other side of the chamber for an escape.
And I felt them. Its demonic yellow eyes, even when I wasn't looking directly at It. I felt them piercing through me, into my soul, rifling through my deepest fears.
"Run!" I gasped, grabbing Beverly's ice-cold hand.
We stumbled backward, but It was faster. It leaped from the stage, not with a jump, but a lurch, covering the distance between us in an instant. Two white hands shot out, clamping around our throars and lifting us effortlessly into the air.
We choked, our feet kicking uselessly above the murky water. We beat at Its arms, but they were like iron. Our struggles only made Its laughter boom louder, echoing off the tunnel walls, a sound of pure, unadulterated joy at our suffering.
"We're not afraid of you," Beverly rasped, the defiance in her voice a stark contrast to the terror in her eyes.
It pulled us closer, until Its face was inches from ours. It sniffed us, a long, deep inhalation. Then It grunted in disgust, as if we smelled bad. Its glare intensified, the yellow eyes burning with ancient malice.
"You will be," It promised, Its voice dropping to a guttural whisper.
Its mouth began to open. Not like a human mouth, but like a flower made of flesh, peeling back to reveal a bottomless black throat. And from that darkness came a sound-a thousand voices, a chorus of all the children It had ever taken, screaming for help, begging for their mothers, crying in utter despair.
Deep within that terrifying abyss, three lights appeared. They swirled, drawing closer, pulling at my mind, my will, my very sense of self. I felt a strange, heavy lassitude wash over me. The screaming faded. The fear melted away. The world grew dim, and then darker, until there was nothing left but a silent, welcoming blackness.
