Daughter of Pennywise

Derry

Aunt Tessa dumped another box on me even before I had gotten close to the moving truck. "Pick up the pace Ez. Let's try to get this done by nightfall." She said.

I nodded and got a firmer hold on the box. Derry was just like I had always imagined it. A sleepy little town. I was hot in my black sweatshirt, proof that summer wasn't quite over. Still I kept it on for the hood, no one needed to see the marks on my face until they had to.

Hefting the box, I started up the walkway to our new house. My cousin Niki was standing in the kitchen, her short hair messy from sleeping in the truck. It was sticking up like the dark tentacles of an octopus. She looked up from the box of silverware. "Hard to believe your big bad father lives in a place like this."

I shook my head slightly. "I'm not here for him."

The gray eyes that were so like Tessa's doubted me. "Then what are you here for?"

I pretended not to hear her and started up the stairs.

🤡

Late that night I laid in my bed. Funny. New room. New house. New town. Same old twin bed.

Why am I here?

A gasp tore from my throat and I bolted upright, grasping at my chest. Like a guitar string being strung, the feeling came again. Without thinking I jumped up and wrestled myself into my earlier clothes, even in the dark I could tell they were crumpled from their stay on the floor.

Trying to hurry while avoiding waking up, Tessa and Niki wasn't easy, but somehow I managed to get out the door even as the feeling made my chest vibrate. Following some instinct I couldn't understand I jogged down the street.

When I stopped somehow I knew I was at the right place. The mailbox had the name Denbrough painted on the side neatly. As I stood like a creepy stalker my eyes were drawn upward until I was staring at the upstairs window.

As I watched the curtain twitched, and I knew whoever was behind it had seen me. I ran a hand through my thick white locks, pushing them back and realized with a certain kind of horror that my hood was down.

Was it creepier to see a clown staring up at you, or a hooded figure? Neither was particularly comforting at midnight. Without knowing where I was going, I started down the sidewalk. I suppose the answer to my question would depend on the person it was posed to, and if I had to guess the person in the window would say clown. I don't know how I knew, my gut just said it was so.

I followed the road and after awhile I came to a bridge. Even in the dark I could see numerous names had been carved into the wood. Some were just initials with hearts around them, others were full first and last names scarring the weather beaten wood. I reached out and traced one with a pale finger tip. Butch Bowers. The name seemed familiar, but I couldn't place it.

The sound of the canal burbled from below. Like an old friend welcoming me home. Though this was the first time I'd ever stepped in this tiny town it felt like I belonged here. Maybe. Just maybe I did.