An Inhaler Isn't Needed

Chapter 1

It was the summer of 1987. Richie Tozier was bounding his way up the stairs to his new room. His family, which consisted only of himself, his father, and his mother, had just moved to the small town of Derry, Maine.

Now, most kids might be scared of such a big move to an entirely new town, and Richie was one of these kids. He was terrified. An entire new place! New friends to make, new jokes to adapt to the ongoings of Derry, new chicks to spy on!...though that last one might not be so bad. Most kids might try to express that fear; however, Richie hid his anxieties as much as he could with this excessive joke-making.

He pushed open the door to his assigned room with his shoulder, after the knob didn’t work so well. It almost felt like something was pushing against him. Like it didn’t want him in.

He shrugged it off as it being a result of the house itself being somewhat of an antique.

Upon entering the room, he saw it was filled with brown, cardboard boxes overflowing with his belongings, all stacked in neat, little piles of two or three. He ‘hmm’ed and spoke in one of his infamous Voices. Infamous because he was always somehow known for doing them. His Voices were one of Richie’s most notable talents.

In a Voice which he called, ‘Ol Boy From Down Unda, he commentated as he exaggeratedly walked through the piles of boxes. “See ‘ere, gals and gents, we have a dangerous mission through this ‘ere jungle.” He mimicked that of the great Indiana Jones, whose movie he’d just seen at the theater back with his old friends in, ironically, Indiana.

“‘Ol Indie’s ‘ere to get the treasure. Ah, and ‘ere the treasure is!” He laughed to himself as he flopped on his bed, already set up by the movers.

“‘Ome sweet ‘ome,” he said as he crossed his arms underneath his head.

It was then that Richie heard an odd sound. It was like a low, muffled groan coming through the walls. He dropped the Australian-like Voice to comment, “Someone getting lucky, eh?” He chuckled nervously to himself, the humour once again covering his anxiety.

He rose slowly to his feet, “Mom? Dad? You home from work, or something?”

No response except that small, strangled groan again.

Richie thought he heard it coming from inside his closet, but that’s kinda weird, isn’t it? What would be in his closet?

Either way, he shrugged and opened the closet door.

“Ah, what the fuck?!” Rich practically screeched at what he saw.

Inside the dark, slightly damp closet, he saw what appeared to be a small child or something wearing a sheet over their head.

“Dude, what? We have kids up in this place? What are you doing here with a sheet over you?”

Arms seemed to be pressing against the fabric, which he soon realized was his own sheets.

“Ugh, at least use your own sheets, man. That’s, like, a rule in the pranking code!” To further add to the point, Richie decided to yank off the sheets of the kid.

His eyes bugged, “Holy pigfucker, where’s your body, kid?”

If he squinted, Rich could only barely make out the outline of a boy about a head shorter than himself.

Richie wasn’t exactly ever a believer in the paranormal; he always played off any stories his old friends told him as a conspiracy theory against the government, or some shit like that, if only to calm himself and his friends. That group had somehow looked to him as a sort of guide, even though he never knew what to do, either.

So, naturally, he said the first sarcastic comment that rolled off his tongue, “What? Ya cover yourself in powdered donuts? Tsk, weird. Well, whatever gets your motor running, I guess. You know, I know this guy who liked to read stuff about, like, He-Man, and somehow he got off on it. I thought he was a bit of a freakshow myself, but-hey, who am I to judge?” he snorted, “Especially since I’m-”

“Oh my God, do you ever shut up?!”

Richie stared at the almost transparent boy in front of him, immediately shutting his mouth at the boy’s outburst of annoyance at him.

He crossed his arms, “Urgh! C’mon, be scared! Boo!” He wiggled his fingers to emphasize his supposed scariness.

Richie raised his eyebrow, then looked down, and saw that the boy wasn’t standing anymore; he was floating.

Rich’s eyes bugged. Once again, he didn’t believe in the paranormal whatsoever, but this was pretty damn convincing.

Rich’s mouth involuntarily dropped open, “Um, you’re floating, dude.”

One of his eyes twitched, and Rich noticed his shoulders slumped a little, “Yeah, I realized. Thanks.” It was a sarcastic statement in words, but his tone wasn’t showing it. If anything, he sounded disappointed in himself.

Was this some sort of wacked out dream? Did I fall asleep as soon as I reached my bed earlier? It was a pretty long ride from Indiana yesterday....,Rich thought, confused and a bit fearful.

“You’re not dreaming,” the ghost boy said, “I’m a ghost. An obviously unscary one.”

Rich snapped out of his thoughts, “Hey, no, you’re scary!” Rich used a quavering, higher-pitched Voice that he thought sounded a bit like Shaggy from Scooby-Doo, “O-Oh, jeez, man! I-I can’t take it! Please, d-don’t hurt me!” Rich used his arms to cover the top of his head in an attempt to look like he was trying to hide.

A short, not-quite-bitter, not-quite-carefree laugh escaped from the smaller boy, “How convincing.”

Richie felt an odd sense of pride at being able to make a ghost laugh. Sure, this was probably one of the scariest moments in his life, but he was honestly enjoying himself for the first time since he learned he had to leave his old group of friends.

He beamed, and, feeling a strange burst of confidence, he stuck his hand out to the ghost and said in his normal voice, “Name’s Richie. You?”

The ghost began to reach out his hand out of what was perhaps impulse, then pulled it back, shuffled thoughtfully for a beat or two, then decided to go ahead and shake Rich’s hand, “Eddie Kaspbrak.”

Rich honestly thought that he’d feel the other boy’s hand, but grasped nothing but air.

He looked up from his hand to see that Eddie’s small smile had fallen, “Oh yeah, I forget about that sometimes.”

Rich rubbed his forearm a little, feeling the air around them become awkward.

“Richie! Come down to help unpack!” He heard his mother call him from downstairs.

“That’s my mom. I'll, uh, see you later, okay?”

Eddie’s voice was small and weak, “Yeah, okay."