Pennywise's Neverland

Chapter twenty four: Bitter Treats and Sweet Tricks

Bill trudged up the steps to his house, his mind a maze of plans, half-formed ideas, and the vague but gnawing fear of what might happen next. He opened the door as quietly as he could, stepping into the dim, quiet hall. The house felt emptier than usual, the shadows stretching across the walls like something he couldn’t shake off. His father’s truck wasn’t in the driveway, and as he slipped into the living room, he found it still and silent.

He glanced around before moving toward the study. The past few nights, he’d been sneaking in here when the house was quiet, searching through his father’s collection of old maps—ones that showed Derry’s veins, the sewers and tunnels that connected the town in strange and winding paths. He pulled one out from under a stack of crumbling atlases, unfolding it carefully. The worn paper revealed a complex system of sewer lines snaking beneath Derry, connecting places he and his friends had mentioned: the quarry, the ironworks, the train yard.

He ran his finger over the faded ink, tracing lines from place to place. His friends had agreed to help him search, but the sewers—that was a different level of risk, and he knew it. What would they find down there? The thought made his stomach twist with a mixture of fear and hope. Maybe Georgie was there, hidden away in some forgotten corner, waiting for him. Or maybe there was something far worse.

He swallowed hard, steeling himself. He’d bring whoever showed up tomorrow into the sewers, and they’d search every inch until they found something. They’d face whatever dangers were waiting in the darkness, and they wouldn’t leave without answers. He could almost picture it: moving through the damp, narrow passages, flashlights cutting through the shadows, each echo of water dripping or wind howling another reminder that they weren’t supposed to be there. But he had to believe that this was the only way to get Georgie back.

A sudden scream cut through his thoughts, sharp and panicked, coming from the kitchen. Bill froze, his heart jolting as he recognized the voice—his mother. Without a second thought, he bolted down the hallway, skidding to a stop at the kitchen doorway.

There, in the harsh light, he saw his mother standing by the counter, her face pale and one hand clutched to her chest. She was staring at the windowsill, her gaze fixed and horrified.

“What happened?” Bill asked, rushing to her side, his heart hammering as he looked to where she was staring.

The window was slightly ajar, the curtains rustling as a faint breeze drifted in. And on the sill, just inside the window, was an empty pie dish, crumbs scattered across the ledge. His mother had spent the afternoon baking a strawberry pie, something she’d rarely done since Georgie disappeared. It was his favourite—one of the few things that seemed to lift his spirits, even if just a little.

But the pie was gone.

Bill’s mother shook her head slowly, her voice a whisper. “I… I saw someone,” she murmured, her eyes wide, her voice trembling. “A figure, just there by the window. Reaching in, and… and then it was gone.”

Bill’s heart pounded, his mind racing as he stepped closer to the window, looking out into the dark yard. There was no one there, just the empty street and the faint, eerie glow of the streetlights. But something in the air felt wrong, a chill creeping down his spine.

“Did you see… anything else?” Bill asked, trying to keep his voice steady.

His mother’s hands shook, her gaze still locked on the window. “He… he wore gloves,” she said quietly, almost to herself, her expression distant. “I think they were white. Like… like a magician's gloves.”

Bill’s blood ran cold, his breath catching. A gloved figure, slipping in to snatch something precious, something meant for Georgie. His mind raced, the details swirling in his head—the missing pie, the story Ben told and now this feeling of.. fear. He looked down at the empty plate, his fingers brushing the crumbs, a deep, sickening certainty blooming in his chest. This wasn't a coincidence.