Daughter of Pennywise

Switchblade

Who do you guys ship together if anyone? Thx for all your amazing comments!

"You okay Henry?" Vic called out from the hood of the car.

I watched Henry Bowers ignore his so called friend, and make his way down the driveway. Whether it was due to wet spot on his crouch or to an overdose in adrenaline, his steps were stiff and robotic. Not entirely unlike a duck. The snort of laughter died in my throat when I saw the red balloon, hovering over the Bowers mailbox.

My stomach twisted and knotted, whether from excitement or fear it was hard to tell. I sniffed at the air like a blood hound, catching only a small whiff of nervousness from the other three boys leaning against the car. I pushed myself from my belly to my knees as Henry pulled a package from the mailbox. Even from my vantage point in the grass I could see the youngest Bowers hands shake.

I heard the distinctive click of a switchblade. I kept low to the ground and began slowly sneaking towards the house, even as Henry half waddled half, walked towards the front door.

I waited until he went through the door to step onto the porch's painted wood. I needn't have bothered to be so stealthy, 3/4 of the Bowers gang was talking among themselves and I was following the rest of the equation. But I still creeped under the window before entering the house.

The red of Henry's muscle shirt caught my eye instantly. His broad back was to me and he was looking down on his father. Butch was snoring in his recliner, a half full beer sitting on the table next to him. My eyes were then attracted to the switchblade.

Henry was holding it loosely, the blade closed. My breath came quicker as what he was planning on doing sunk into my brain. "Henry."

He flipped around at my small whisper. "Get the fuck out of here clown freak." He whispered fiercely, but there was something different about him. I could tell he was still Henry Bowers, but it was like he was following something. Some mad feeling. Maybe in his chest. Perhaps it hurt. I can relate.

"Henry, you don't wanna do this." But I want you to. I shook my head slightly, trying to get the toxic thoughts out of my brain.

Henry stepped a little closer to me. "Oh but I do. You don't know the pain I've endured at the hands of this fucker." He jabbed a finger towards Butch.

My throat clogged with sadness. Unsure what I was going to say I opened my mouth- "Make it a wonderful day Henry!"

We both turned to the screen wide eyed. The host of a children's looked out at us, as her face seemed to stretch into a menacing grin. "Kill him. Kill him!" The kids around her picked up the chant as Henry pressed the switch blade against his father's throat, finger on the button.

I jumped forward, preparing to rip his hand away and was too slow. Time seemed to stop, as there was the all too distinctive sound of a switchblade, and the wet squelch of a blade entering flesh, even as I latched onto Henry's wrist.

Butch's eyes flew open as a speaker on the tv exclaimed "Oh no! Give him a big round of applause!"

Butch began to thrash weakly as we stood dumbly, my hand still on Henry's warm wrist. Blood squirted from the wound on his neck and landed on our faces and clothes, a new chant vibrating the air around us. "Kill them all! Kill them all!"

We looked toward the screen and my own father grinned out at us with red lips. Reacting with half a plan, I grabbed the bottle from the table and smashed it over the crown of Henry's head.

He dropped like a sack of bricks and the tv switched off. The sudden quiet was deafening as I vigorously wiped the blood off my face. Whimpering I looked at my bloody hands. I wonder what blood tastes like. The little voice in my mind whispered.

I ran for the kitchen sink and hurriedly washed the blood from my face and hands. I pulled my clothes off, praying the boys wouldn't pick this moment to investigate, and slipped into my Christmas present. It fit snugly in all the right places, while flaring out at the hips and sleeves.

I tried not to think too much about the message I sent by wearing it, or the dead body in the recliner, or the unconscious boy on the floor, or the fact that my father was behind it all. Breath Ezra.

I found some zip ties in a drawer and went back out into the living room, wet rag in one hand and the ties in the other. I gently cleaned Henry's face and zip tied his hands and feet together, grabbing the switchblade as I went. I wiped it down and stuck it in my bag.

I tossed both the rag and the zip ties in my bag, with the switchblade and my old clothes. Then I wiped down everything I'd touched. I started to step out the back door and hesitated.

Sighing, I walked back into the living room and knelt beside the infamous Henry Bowers. I laid my hand on his forehead and focused. I don't know how I knew to alter his memory, but I did.

All he'd remember was walking in and seeing his dead father, before being attacked from behind, and I have to get to the lair before the losers do.

This is where the second ending I promised picks up later. Don't worry I'll put up a reminder.