"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°•°
Eddie's hand clamped around my arm, pulling me tight against his side as we crossed the threshold into the house. It was worse than I remembered-a festering wound of a place where the darkness itself felt alive. Our flashlights did little to push back the oppressive gloom, carving out mere pockets of visibility that only served to highlight the decay. It was a gallery of nightmares, and we were walking right into it.
A river of thick, black liquid oozed down the staircase, sizzling as it ate into the wood, a vile welcome mat meant to terrify. "Hmm. Well, I love what he's done with the place," Richie quipped, his voice strained, the sarcasm a thin veil over his raw fear.
"Beep-beep, Richie," Beverly muttered, her own voice tight.
"All right."
Bill led the way, his flashlight beam cutting a path toward the kitchen-the gateway to the basement, to the well, to It. We moved as one entity, a terrified, determined organism. No one wanted to be the one left behind.
"Hey, hey. That's the basement, right?" Richie asked, his light illuminating an open doorway with stairs descending into pure black.
Before Bill could confirm, a pained groan echoed from the back of our group. Ben.
"Ben?" Beverly asked, her voice laced with alarm.
The door to the kitchen slammed shut with a deafening finality, separating us. Trapped in the kitchen were me, Bill, Richie, and Eddie. On the other side, Ben, Beverly, and Mike.
"Ben!" Eddie and Bill yelled in unison, throwing their shoulders against the unyielding door. I stood frozen, a bitter thought screaming in my head: Why can't anything ever just be easy?
"Ben!"
A new sound cut through our panic-a low, rattling shudder coming from the ancient refrigerator. We all fell silent, our lights swinging toward the noise.
"Okay, that can't be good, right?" Richie whispered, his bravado completely gone.
Thump. Thump. THUMP.
Something was pounding against the fridge door from the inside. With a shriek of rusted hinges, the door burst open.
"Ugh."
Inside was a grotesque sculpture of a human body, contorted and crammed into the small space. It was a decaying, twisted mockery of Stanley.
