"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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°•°Third Person's POV°•°
"Stanley!"
The whisper was faint, a ghost of a sound that slithered through the dripping silence of the sewers. Stanley Uris stopped walking, his heart seizing in his chest. It sounded like a girl's voice.
"Vanessa? Beverly? Is that you?" he called out, his own voice echoing back at him in a taunting murmur. He took a hesitant step away from the group, peering into a dark, gaping pipe. "Guys?"
The sound came again, this time accompanied by a soft, tinkling laugh that was unmistakably the clown's. It was a lure, and he was the fish. He took another step, then another, drawn by the desperate, pleading cries for help that now seemed to be coming from everywhere at once.
"Guys?" Stanley called again, his voice weaker this time. When he turned around, the beam of his flashlight illuminated only empty, dripping tunnel. He was alone.
"Stan?" Eddie asked, looking behind him. The circle of light from their flashlights was one short. "Guys, where's Stan?" Richie's question was sharp with a panic that instantly infected them all.
"Stanley!" Bill's voice boomed through the tunnels. "Stanley!"
Their calls were met with nothing but the drip of water and the oppressive silence. Then a scream tore through the darkness, high-pitched and utterly terrified. It was Stan.
"Oh, shit. Grey water," Richie muttered as they plunged into the murky, knee-deep flow, wading as fast as they could toward the sound of their friend's terror.
They rounded a bend and skidded to a halt in front of a rusted, industrial metal door. From the other side, they could hear Stan's muffled, frantic screams.
It took all five of them, heaving with every ounce of their strength, to wrench the heavy door open with a shriek of tortured metal. They spilled through into a large, circular chamber, their lights stabbing into the gloom.
"Stan?" Bill called, sweeping his flashlight beam around.
"Stanley! Stan!" Eddie yelled, his voice cracking.
A glint of metal on the wet floor caught Ben's eye. He bent down and picked it up. It was Stanley's flashlight. And a few feet away, they found Stanley himself.
He was on his knees, frozen in place. Crouched over him, its limbs wrapped around him like a possessive lover, was a woman. Her face was a ruined mess, her features distorted and stretched. Her head was tilted at an impossible angle, and her mouth-a gaping maw of darkness-was pressed against the side of Stanley's face, not kissing, but biting, her sunken, rotten teeth buried deep in his cheek.
