Chapter Text
Bill Denbrough was the last to arrive at the diner in Chicago. Everyone else was already talking, catching up. Ben Hanscom was whispering something into Beverly Marsh’s ear behind his cupped hand, causing her to laugh. Eddie Kaspbrak and Mike Hanlon were conversing in low tones about something serious, if Bill could trust his ability to read expressions. The stock market, perhaps? There were two vacant seats, one clearly for himself. Bill had this sinking feeling that the other chair would not be filled tonight, nor any other night, for that matter. There was that intuition.
The low buzz of multiple conversations came to an abrupt end as all heads turned towards this new arrival, their leader. Bill walked in impressively, head high and eyes looking down, as if he were some noble written in one of his novels chancing upon a few peasant children rolling in the dirt. There was silence as he stood, waiting for a reaction, anything, while they waited for him to say something. Perhaps five seconds was a tad bit too long for someone like Richie Tozier to have to sit through in silence, and so, he broke it.
“Well oh well oh well oh well oh well. Maybe Big Bill isn’t getting as bald as he looks on his author portraits after all,” said Richie, slyly.
“Buh-Buh-Beep beep, Richie,” Bill replied, and there is a moment of silence. And then everyone was smiling nostalgically and laughing and Bill was shaking everyone’s (except for Bev’s. No, she got a hug. No, nothing ought to be made of it) hands. He shook Mike’s last.
He gestured at Mike, the host, as they all moved around the cramped space of the table, as if to let him call the order. Mike’s eyes widened and he shook his head, smiling. Bill sighed but, smiling as well, looked around the table at all the familiar faces he’d known and loved from his youth, and said, “Luh-het’s eat, sh-sh-shall we?”
“So s-Stan cuh-cuh-couldn’t make it tonight?” Bill asked wearily, looking at Mike. Richie beat Mike to it.
“Yeah, I know, it’s the second time now! The first time was just annoying, but now it’s getting fucked up! I mean, does he think accounting is more interesting than us or something?” Richie whispered that last question as quietly as he could, for he was getting glares from a man sitting a few tables away with his children for standing up at the table and saying “fucked” at the top of his voice.
“Oh come on Richie, I’m sure it’s not like tha-” began Ben (who was now ripped and not fat at all) comfortingly, but Richie did not want to be comforted.
“No! I’m done with his excuses! We promised to do our best not to drift apart and he isn’t doing his part! I mean look at Bill! He crossed the fucking Atla—sorry!—freaking Atlantic!”
Mike made the “sit down” motion with his hands, as Richie was standing again. Richie blushed and sat down. “Stan is Stan. He has his way of doing things and I’m sure there was a better reason for not being here than just that he was busy.”
“Yeah ‘cause he likes making money. Jews, am I right, fellas?” Richie was standing once again, looking down hopefully at his friends, who were all smiling and giggling. The father a few tables down looked at him in disgust.
“Beep beep Richie,” said Bev fondly, pulling him down by his arm.
“Ah-Alright guys let's nuh-not talk about s-s-Stan too much tonight. I’m p-p-pissed t-too r-r-Richie but talking uh-uh-about him will only m-m-make us more mad.” said Bill, and everyone nodded along.
They ate their food slowly, all the while talking about nothings and somethings and just things that happened since their last meeting, only a few months ago.
After all the things that happened with It, things had gone on normally for all of them, more or less. Beverly was adopted by a kind family that lived in Derry. Stan made amends with his father after his fiasco of a bar mitzvah. And Bill accepted the fact that his parents would never love him like they did before Georgie died. After graduating high school together, and realizing that only Bill, Ben, and Stan were going to college, they all pledged to meet four times a year, every three months, and each time they would all fly or go through whichever mode of transportation they wanted to the home of a member of the Losers’ Club. Said member would have to pay for every expense, which was alright, considering they were all rather well-off.
In some far-off place in his mind, cordoned off with yellow tape saying Caution! Depressing Thoughts Ahead! Bill imagined them growing apart, and slowly forgetting about their childhoods and the people with whom they shared them. He used such an idea in his book They, a New York Times bestseller, and he shuddered to think that it should ever happen to them.
And while the memory of his childhood was fuzzy with age, Bill never forgot. Not really. He could remember watching his mother be sedated by doctors after Georgie’s death, Beverly’s bloody bathroom, his fight with Richie, and the clowns, the blood, the spider, and everything. But there was something that was bothering him, as he watched his friends talk cheerfully without taking anything they said in. He could just barely pick out this forgotten collection of memories from the many layers of his mind. What was it? He remembered it happened after the fight in the sewers, after he had put a bolt in not-Georgie’s beautiful head. Yes, but it was far after that. Was it after they made the vow with the broken glass, and Bill kissed Beverly near the Kissing Bridge, and she left? Yes, it seemed to be. He remembered standing
1
for a long time with his hands on the rickety white fence, looking down into the Barrens as, overhead, the first stars seed the summer sky. He stands under the blue and over the black and watches the Barrens fill up with darkness.
I never want to play down there again, he thinks suddenly and is amazed to find the thought is not terrible or distressing but tremendously liberating.
He stands there a moment longer and then turns away from the Barrens and starts home, walking along the dark sidewalk with his hands in his pockets, glancing from time to time and the houses of Derry, warmly lit against the night.
After a block or two he begins to walk faster, thinking of supper…and a block or two after that, he begins to whistle.
2
Bill sat on the living room couch, watching the television. He sat squashed between his parents. Zack was reading a magazine while Sharon was reading another one of her novels. They paid no heed to Bill as he watched the news, glued to the screen. The only words uttered from the parents was from Zack, being: “Aren’t you a bit too young to be watching the news?” which caused Bill to swell with resentment.
But that was alright. Bill quickly forgot his irritation and even the chilliness of being between the two refrigerators known as his parents as he finds the live broadcast of the press conference President Reagan called for a few days ago. He knew all his friends were watching or listening as well. It was about Derry. Finally, an adult had noticed.
“I come before you today with grave tidings.
“Just a month ago, I received word of a town named Derry in the state of Maine, in which twenty-seven children disappeared in the span of a year, with half of them coming up as dead with their bodies heavily mutilated.
“It began with the disappearance of a seven-year-old boy named George Denbrough, in the fall of 1986. He disappeared leaving not a trace but a trail of blood to the sewers.
“He has not yet been found.”
At this point Bill had his mouth hanging open, in shock and grief. Here was the most powerful man in the world, the wielder of the mightiest military known in history, giving an elegy to his little brother, who was taken by It. Both his parents were no longer engrossed in whatever they had been reading. They too stared at the screen in wonder.
"After George disappeared, more children began doing so as well, some in manners more gruesome than poor George’s. Many children were found, their bodies mutilated and eaten and disfigured almost beyond recognition.
“Now, I will not go into any more detail. There is nothing you need to know other than the fact that there is some sick, twisted creature haunting Derry, Maine, and children are dying in pain and anguish.
“Yes, I said ‘creature.’ Many people believe it is some child predator, or a serial killer. Something human. I don’t think so. While those are possible, what is probable is that it is some fearsome animal, a puma or a wolf or perhaps some undocumented abomination, that is causing all this death and suffering.
“I cannot allow in good conscience the deaths to continue. I do not know why the mayor of Derry has done nothing about the situation, and frankly I feel quite embarrassed on his behalf.
“Today America puts its foot down. No more children will die in Derry, Maine while I have anything to say about it.
“That is why I am issuing an executive order that requires the evacuation of all Derry reside-” here the voices of the news reporters grew louder as they all stood and waved their microphones, all hoping to get a question through to the president, who now had his eyes closed and head bowed, as if in prayer.
Now all three Denbrough’s (not counting the portrait of Georgie, which had its mouth in a smile where it hadn’t before) were gaping at the camera as chaos reigned in the White House many miles down in Washington. They all waited eagerly as the reporters quieted after realizing the president had not finished speaking and was not ready for questions.
“I have spoken to John McKernan, the governor of Maine, and he has been agreed with me on the immediate dismissal of the mayor of Derry. He has also been working tirelessly for the past two months to find a safe, suitable home for all the displaced people of Derry who need one.
“He has found that home in the town of Hawkins, Indiana, a town with beautiful views and vacant houses waiting to be called homes.
“Mr. McKernan has taken the liberty to meet with the mayor of Hawkins, Larry Kline, an honest and intelligent leader, by Mr. McKernan’s accounts. They have come to their agreements on housing and the transfer of Derry business and services.
“Maine state officials will begin handing out information on housing arrangements and other matters beginning at the start of August.
“Movement will begin on September 13, and will continue until September 19. After midnight on September 19, the town of Derry, Maine, will fall under federal jurisdiction as we try to capture the creature and slay that beast which haunts this town. If we cannot find the creature in the time of one year, a thought I find quite unlikely, on September 19, 1988, we will seal off the town permanently and that will be the end of it.
“Remember to keep the residents of Derry in your prayers, especially the families of the victims; their pain and suffering was needless and terrible.
“I promise to all those in Derry watching: we’re gonna kill that son of a bitch.”
A cheer erupted in the White House and it echoed all the way up the East Coast.
3
“Can you believe this shit, Eds? Yowza, yowza, YOWZA!” cried Richie as the Losers’ Club sat at the quarry.
“Yeah, okay Einstein. You’ve been talking about this for the past fifteen minutes. And don’t call me ‘Eds.’”
“Seriously, Ronald McDonald thinks it’s an animal? C’mon that’s just ridiculous,” said Richie, now ignoring Eddie.
“He’s pretty close if you think about it. I mean, he’s had no prior knowledge or anything. I think it’s pretty impressive how close to It he got,” said Stan.
“Alright, Pinocchio,” Richie muttered.
“What’s gonna happen? What are y’all’s parents saying?” asked Mike.
“I dunno. I know Martha, y’know, my adopter, isn’t exactly wealthy, so she probably doesn’t have another house lying around or something,” said Beverly.
“Meaning…?” said Richie slowly, turning his hand in a “go on” gesture.
“I’m probably moving,” said Beverly.
Richie let out a deep breath. “Yeah, me too. My parents were talking about it at breakfast.”
Beverly graced him with a smile, one which quickly disappeared when she heard Richie say, in his terrible Irish cop voice, “Oi think the ladies at Hawkins will be a foine picking, eh, Bev?”
Bill snorted, and the frown on Beverly’s face disappeared as she looked at him.
There was something in the air. Nobody knew what it was, but everyone knew what it meant: Big Bill was about to speak, and that meant nobody else was going to until he finished. Everyone looked at him while he tried to gather his thoughts.
Finally, he said, “Muh-My puh-puh-parents are gonna guh-go to Hawkins” here he looked so proud when he spat out the name completely “too.”
“What?! Your parents are loaded, Bill! You could move to California or something!” cried Richie.
Bill leveled Richie with a flat look that silenced his sputtering. “I-I-If my puh-parents were l-loaded I would’ve guh-gotten outta th-th-this sh-hithole al-al-already.”
“Fair enough,” Richie said mildly. “Well I’m happy you’re gonna be with me and Bevvie out there in the middle of nowhere. What about you Eddie Spaghetti? Are you joining in our Trail of Tears? I sure hope so, ‘cause if you’re going that means your mom’s going, and that means we’re totally gonna fu-”
“Beep beep Richie,” Eddie said, unamused.
“Aw, c’mon Eds, don’t be jealous! I would love your company too. Y’know you’re my best friend” Eddie smiled, ignoring the name, “and my stepson.” Eddie scowled.
“Yeah okay I am going. My mom really likes it. Apparently Hawkins is listed at number sixty two in ‘100 Cleanest Towns in America’ and Derry doesn’t even make the list because of the Barrens and I honestly think that it’ll be a good-”
“Yeesh, okay, sorry I asked,” said Richie, leaving Stan snorting with his peculiar laughter. Eddie glared at him but said nothing.
“Wuh-What ab-b-bout you, buh-Ben?” asked Bill.
“Oh, I’m moving. My mom always wanted to get out of here after everything that’s happened, but she didn’t have the money. I think she’s relieved that President Reagan is doing this,” said Ben.
Bill nodded. “Mike?”
“I don’t know man. I don’t think my uncle’s happy about this, but we don’t have much of a choice on it either. I mean, it’s a free move, y’know? And a free house. So yeah, I think we’re moving,” said Mike.
Bill nodded again. “Wh-hat about y-you s-Stan?”
“We’re moving. They’ve got a synagogue in Hawkins, not that I’m gonna attend. Also they have these really cool birds there tha-”
“Nerd alert! Nerd alert! Stan the Man is a total nerd! Everyone grab your pennies and hide them!” cried Richie.
“That last one made no sense, Richie.”
“And you don’t like it because it made no cents.”
There was a pause.
“Ha. Funny.”
“Did that give you a good chuck?”
“Sure it did.”
“Oh-okay so it s-s-sounds like w-we’re all guh-going, huh?” asked Bill, sounding relieved.
“Sure does, Big Bill,” said Beverly happily.
“Luh-Looks l-like the l-Losers are s-sticking to-to-together.”
“Ah say, ah say, boy, das right! The Losers, ah say, are sticking together like a couple of flies on a strip of tape!” said Richie.
“Y-You guys wuh-wuh-wanna puh-play ch-hiken?” asked Bill.
4
The Losers were splashing around in the water, with Beverly sitting on Bill’s shoulders (both tried their hardest not to blush at this, while Ben looked on in dismay) and Eddie sitting on Mike’s. They were playing chicken.
“Holy shit Eds stop being such a baby! She’s not gonna sue you if you touch her tits or something!” screamed Richie.
Eddie, who had been thinking about the potential number of germs that could inhabit Beverly’s skin, and not at all about the anatomical differences in the male and female bodies, turned around and snapped, “Stop talki—glug!”
Beverly managed to push Eddie off Mike’s shoulders while his back was to her, and the final part of his retort to Richie was spoken underwater.
Eddie pushed his way onto the surface, gasping and sputtering. He quickly turned to Richie and glared. Richie shrugged guiltily.
Bill and Beverly were busy celebrating. Beverly had gotten off Bill’s shoulders and the two of them were chumming around, meaning, essentially, that they were touching each other as much as possible while under the guise of “celebration.”
The kiss they shared near the Kissing Bridge burned brightly in both their minds, leaving Beverly a bright red and Bill glad that the water came up to his stomach. They hadn’t talked about it at all since the incident, and while they both really wanted to, both were afraid the other had meant nothing of it, and that talking about it would make an already tense relationship even more awkward. And so things stalled.
Now they both stood calmly in a brief moment of clarity, looking at each other. Beverly looked at Bill through her lashes, uncharacteristically shy, and Bill couldn’t breathe because Oh God she’s so beautiful I can’t even handle it and aw jeez is she leaning in? Oh shit, she’s totally leaning in. Okay, remember, Bill, you’re just reciprocating—oh who am I kidding? I sound like such a pussy. Okay just…oh what the fuck.
Thoughts like these whirred through Bill’s head as he and Beverly leaned in towards each other, drawn together as if there was a magnet on each pair of lips. The world suddenly slipped out from under Bill’s feet, and it was just him and Beverly. No Losers, nobody else. Just them. And they were getting closer, and
“Oh man is that a turtle?” cried Ben, looking down into the water.
And the spell was broken, and Bill and Beverly looked away awkwardly, while Stan and Mike shared a knowing glance, Richie coughed into his fist, and Eddie glared at Ben disapprovingly.
The sound of a revving engine filled the quarry, causing the Losers to freeze. They knew that sound.
“Buh-Bowers!” Bill whispered urgently, and they got out of the water as quickly and with as little splashing as possible.
“How the fuck did he get his car out here?” hissed Richie as he picked up his glasses from the bank and fixed them onto his face. “Ah that’s better.”
“Doesn’t matter. We have to get outta here,” said Beverly nervously. They reached their bikes, where their clothes lay in a pile.
“Bev, turn around!” Richie hissed.
“Nuh-Nuh-No t-time! Wuh-Wet un-underwear!” Bill whispered urgently.
“Oh fuck me,” Richie muttered as he put his shirt on. He grimaced as he put his pants over his wet underwear. Everyone else dressed in silence.
The engine revved again, this time closer. “Oh shit,” Eddie whimpered. The sound of “Eyes Without a Face” by Billy Idol was now audible to the Losers.
“Autobots, roll out!” said Bill softly in his best Peter Cullen impression once they were all on their bikes.
They bike slowly, carefully. The sound of the engine had come from the East. That much was clear. Unfortunately town was also Eastward.
Bill was riding in the front, and he was going around the quarry. He planned to go around and hopefully Bowers’ car tried to tail them. Then there would be a farther distance between them.
They rode slowly, quietly, trying not to make a sound. Bill knew this was probably the most ridiculous he had ever looked on his oversized bike. But no matter. As long as they got away, everything would be fine.
Of course, that was wishful thinking. Ben was unused to riding a bike. His mother always encouraged him to walk more, hoping beyond hope he might take a few steps away from a premature death. And so, despite knowing full well biking was also a form of exercise, Mrs. Hanscom never bought a bike for her son until recently, when he had begged her for one, as he needed a way to get to his friends. She managed to get a good deal off the same man who sold Silver to Bill. She bought it for ten dollars, an absolute steal. It was an old Schwinn, whose color had been long lost through time. It was a bit small for Ben, who practically flowed over the seat, but it was better than nothing. The Losers taught him how to ride it, and only a few weeks ago did he finally get the hang of it. But he was used to riding quickly, with lots of momentum. He didn’t know how to keep balance on his Schwinn when he was going more slowly than his walking pace, and so he fell over on his side and onto a bush, causing a deafening rustle.
For a brief moment there was only silence, as Ben lay in the bush, trying not to make any more noise, and the Losers stared at him in horror.
Then the engine revved for the third time, and this time it didn’t stop. They could hear the sound of a dirt crunching under the tires. Henry Bowers was coming for them.
“Holy shit! Benhurryupgetupyoufatlump get the FUCK UP!” screamed Richie as he watched Ben scramble up from the bush. Bill dismounted and manhandled Ben because he got stuck. Stan was already riding away.
Ben finally got on his bike, with Bill mounting Silver less than a second later. Bill turned around and saw the telltale glint of blue in the distance. “GO!” Bill bellowed.
And they were riding for their lives.
5
Henry Bowers was alive. He was insane, but he was alive.
After being thrown into the well, a fall that would have taken sixteen minutes had there not been some divine intervention, Henry was sure he was dead.
Well, it was a good run, old Henry boy, he thought dryly.
He thought of his friends Belch and Victor Criss, sitting back in his car with their throats slit, and chuckled. Maybe I do deserve this. Yeah, I guess I do .
He fell for a continuous nine minutes after that thought, each minute being a layer of hell for him to experience. And then he stopped. It was abrupt and he felt some intense whiplash. He knew for a fact he had broken some ribs.
“What the-” he gasped.
Then he shot up. Up, up, up, past the hole and to the top, and out of the well. He walked around the house. I’ve seen this one. It’s the one on Neibolt Street! he thought triumphantly. He remembered walking in, and finding the well easily. The way out would just be the same way, but in reverse. Or so he thought. And he walked, and walked, and walked, and walked, and walked, and had it been ten hours or ten minutes? He did not know. It must have been ten seconds. Yes, certainly. Or ten days? Years? He was not so certain about those.
After what had in reality been a day and a half of wandering in the well house, during which the exit was always less than ten feet away at all times, Henry Bowers stumbled out of the house in the dead of night a new man, or the shell of one.
He looked up and saw the moon. It was big and round and full and slightly yellow, like it got sometimes on those nights. He saw the beautiful moon, and suddenly pop! an eye appeared on it. Startled, but intrigued, Henry kept staring. Another eye appeared, and then a nose, and a mouth. There was makeup and dry, flaky, white skin on the moon. It was the face of It.
Hello there, Henry Flowers.
“Who the fuck are You?”
Why, I’m the man on the moon! I glow and make things alight. I am beautiful.
“You’re one ugly fucker, I can tell You that.”
Oh. Haw haw haw. Well that’s too bad. Boo hoo. THAT’S TOO BAD.
Suddenly Henry fell to his knees in the dead grass. A knife appeared in his hand. It was his father’s switchblade.
I could make your hand slip, Henry. Plunge! goes the weasel, into the dark abyss. Yes, you’d like that, huh Henry? I’ll make you carve into your own stomach. What’s a good thing to carve? Maybe “Ben?”
“N-no please.” Henry was crying in fear now.
Hmm. Funny, funny, frightful, funny. Funny. Fear. I gotta bounce. I gotta bounce to the other side. The other side needs Me! I’ll see ya tomorrow eh? Be good in the meantime. Be a good boy, Henry boy.
Henry sat there in the yard outside 29 Neibolt Street in the early dawn, with nothing in his hands, feeling something wet in his jeans. Until tomorrow, Moon Man.
6
The Losers quickly caught up to Stan, who was never a fast rider. He gasped in panic as Bill overtook him. The blue was getting bigger now, the revving louder.
They were almost at town. Bill’s house was only a few minutes away, but they needed Bowers off their tails.
“R-Richie!” Bill cried over the wind, not daring to glance around for fear of hitting something. They were going well over the twenties now.
“What?!” Richie yelled.
“Muh-my house! T-take th-them th-there!”
“What are you planning?!”
“W-watch.”
Bill slowed a bit, falling behind everyone except for Ben.
“Bill, what are you doing?!” Beverly screamed.
Bill ignored her and turned to Ben, who was now level and gasping for breath.
“Ride f-for your l-life, Huh-Haystack,” Bill said to Ben, who could only nod.
Alright Bowers, let’s try something.
The others were far ahead now, and they followed Richie as he turned to the left towards Bill’s house. He gave one glance behind him, at Bill, who now seemed almost level with the car. He saw Bill’s head, tiny in the distance, give a little nod. And that was all he needed.
“Alright ese’s! Let's make-uh Beeg Beel proud!” he cried. The others followed behind closely.
Bowers’ car was really close to Bill now. He could hear it, almost feel the heat coming off it. And he was scared. This better work.
Bill leaned down on his bike, his brown hair whipping wildly around him, easily going thirty, and showing no signs of slowing down. He shot out of the woods, and now he was on paved road. Henry was only seconds behind.
Come on, c’mon, gotta go faster. Go faster!
“Hi yo Silver!” Bill cried.
Faster.
“Hi yo Silver!”
Now do the thing, Big Bill.
“Hi yo Silver, AWWAYYYYYY!”
And Bill was riding faster than he ever had in his life. He was riding faster than when he had to get medicine for Eddie out in the Barrens. He was doing it again. Bill Denbrough was riding to beat the devil.
7
The other Losers managed to race their way to Bill’s house without any mishaps, unless one counted the instance in which Richie’s dry underwear, which he had packed to change into after being in the water, and which was sitting in the basket in the front of his bike during the entire ride, got blown behind him in the wind and hit Stan solidly in the face.
Richie all but jumped off his bike while the others dismounted and pulled up the garage door by the bottom and ushered them all in quickly.
“Take your bikes inside! Bowers will know!” he hissed at them.
They hurried inside with their bikes, dropping them while Richie looked outside, glancing left and right, and pulled the door down.
Once he did a quick headcount and was sure all of them but Bill was there, he sighed in relief. “Yowza, yowza, YOWZA! That was insane! Insane!”
“What do you think Bill is doing?” Mike asked breathlessly, as Eddie took a puff from his aspirator. Richie quickly sobered.
“He looked like he had a plan,” he said.
“And his plans usually work,” Ben gasped in an attempt to reassure Beverly, who paced in the garage, worrying her bottom lip and looking harassed. Good job Ben. You just shot yourself in the foot.
“Honestly, though, I have no clue what he wanted to do,” said Richie thoughtfully. “I mean he-”
Richie was interrupted by a distant cry. Everyone quieted.
“Hi yo Silver!”
Grinning, Richie pulled up the garage door to see Bill with his hair wild and eyes bright. He was standing on the pedals and smiling triumphantly.
“Atta boy, Big Bill!” Richie cried, his hands on his hips. He mimed wiping away a tear. “You sure know how to make Mama proud!”
Still grinning, perhaps a little crazily from all the adrenaline, Bill said, “Oh s-s-stuff it r-Richie. But th-thanks for l-leading thuh-hem here.”
Bill dismounted, and found his legs to be a bit wobbly. Maybe very wobbly. Richie caught him as his knees buckled. “Woah thar, cowboy. Yer knees are a bit wobbly-knobbly after a long byke ryde.”
Beverly rushed over to help. Of course she just wanted to help a friend, and not just have an excuse to touch Bill, even if it’s under the armpit. Honestly, the armpit sounds fine to me, she thought as they helped him hobble up the stairs and to the living room. The other Losers followed behind closely, giving a chant of “Big Bill, Big Bill, Big Bill.”
Richie and Beverly set him down on the couch, where he sat, looking at them all, still grinning sunnily. “Suh-So I’ve g-got my own aw-honor g-guard, huh?”
Beverly dropped down beside him. “I can’t believe you have the nerve to laugh about the whole thing. I was worried sick you know? You know Henry is a sick bastard and you could’ve died and-”
Bill took her hands in his. She gulped when she looked in his warm, blue eyes. “I’m al-alright, Bev. Uh-Honest. Y-You sh-sh-shouldn’t wuh-worry about muh-me,” he said calmly, and Beverly felt all the worry and anger and everything negative flowing out of her.
“Oh get a room, you two. You make me sick,” said Richie, miming clawing his throat, and immediately Bill and Beverly turned pink at the face.
“C’mon Bill, tell us what happened!” cried Eddie.
“Yeah, c’mon Big Bill!”
“Yeah!”
Bill looked a bit embarrassed but pleased at their attention. “Guh-Guys i-it’s really nuh-not muh-much…”
“Oh, go on, Bill!” this was Stan. If Stan the Man was interested enough to speak up then Bill just had to.
“Oh-Oh-Okay. So I wuh-was r-riding and s-screaming
8
“Hi yo Silver, AWWAYYYYYY!”
Bill was now approaching main street. He had a plan. A simple one, one with few moving parts, but still a plan.
Good, he was almost there, now there's gotta be a brick wall somewhere…
There!
Bill sped towards it, with Bowers not far behind him. He could hear his taunts.
“Hey b-b-b-b-b-Billy! S-S-S-S-S-So good to s-s-s-s-s-see you!” Henry screamed.
C’mon, keep him distracted.
“Huh-Huh-Huh.” Bill almost screamed in frustration at his stutter. He had so little time left! He needed to say it, and say it audibly.
Then Bill remembered, in the far reaches of his memory, from what felt like a long time ago, Richie’s words:
“You don’t know you don’t always.”
“What?”
“You should be the one doing the impressions.”
Bill closed his eyes. What was a movie character with a loud voice that carried? Emperor Palpatine? It was worth a shot, he supposed.
In his best Emperor Palpatine impression, which was just cackling and croaking and pushing his voice to the limits, Bill screamed, “How’re Belch and Criss?!” Oh shit, it works!
Bowers, stupefied for a moment, and more surprised Bill would say anything at all rather than by the content of his sentence, barely noticed as Bill took a hard left, nearly throwing himself off Silver. Bowers’ eyes widened. Before him was a massive brick wall, rushing towards him at forty miles an hour. He tried to turn quickly but…
Bang!
Bill stopped and stared in shock as Bowers’ car swerve and hit the wall dead-on on the passenger side. Oh shit! Did I kill him? he thought in panic. He rode to Bowers’ side, and Bowers groaned. “Henry?” Bill asked timidly.
“Wha-?” Bowers muttered. Bill looked down. Nothing was thrust against or impaling Bowers, so he was fine. Just stunned.
Bill looked around. People were gathering.
Time to get the hell out of here.
“Nuh-Nothing. Juh-Just wi-wishing you a p-p-p-pleasant d-day,” Bill said cheerfully, and he wheeled off.
9
Everyone stared at Bill in stunned silence. Bill, who was growing uncomfortable under their gazes, muttered, “What?”
Then Richie exploded. “Holy shit! That’s so sick! So sick! You just went reee! and he went vroom! reee! and then he went ka-bang! and holy shit!”
Mike was shaking his head and smiling, “That’s pretty badass, Bill.”
Bill turned pink at the praise, “Nuh-Nah. It’s ah-ah-alright…”
Eddie stared at Bill with unadulterated adoration. “Bill that’s so cool!”
“Why’d you check if he’s okay, though? Honestly I would’ve been fine if he’d splattered on the wall and looked like Eddie’s mom’s vagina on the fifth of every month,” said Richie, drawing a disgusted noise from Eddie.
“Ew, what the fuck? How the hell do you know it’s the fifth—actually DON’T answer that,” cried Eddie.
“I-I h-have a heart y-you nuh-know,” Bill protested, to which Richie snorted.
“Okay, alright Bill. Alright. Forget that. I am beyond touched and slightly aroused you took the time and effort to remember one of my passing comments.”
“Oh th-that. Yeah. I-It wuh-worked.”
“Let’s hear it, Bill. Let’s hear the Emperor,” said Richie.
“Uh…it’s nuh-not r-really guh-good…” Bill began, a bit nervous. Be more like Richie. Learn to let go.
“C’mon Bill!”
“Bill Palpatine!”
“That just sounds stupid, Eds.”
“Shut up Richie. And don’t call me ‘Eds.’”
“Beep beep Richie,” croaked Bill in his best Palpatine impression. Everyone was silent for a moment, and then they all exploded in laughter.
“Wuh-What?!” Bill cried, but laughed along nonetheless.
“Hah! Bill that was hah! terrible!” Richie managed through his laughs.
“Luh-Let’s hear a guh-good p-Palpatine im-impression th-th-then, ch-Trashmouth,” Bill challenged.
“Okay, okay. Whoo! Alright, that was a good laugh. Bill just let out a good one! Sorry, everyone: you won’t be laughing after this one. This is gonna be serious. Seriously awesome. Okay. Here it goes,” said Richie, closing his eyes, taking a deep breath. Everyone waited excitedly.
“Good. I can feel your ange—Hack!”
That last noise was caused by Richie’s strained vocals. It was a massive cough, the first of many, leaving Richie doubled over and wheezing. All the other Losers roared with laughter.
“Ugh, alright, you got me Bill. I’m never doing that again,” gasped Richie.
Everyone laughed until the sound of a car pulling into the driveway filled the room. Everyone but Bill moved to the window to look.
“Bill, it’s your parents,” said Beverly.
Bill, whose face had soured slightly, nodded. “Luh-Let’s go.”
They left through the back door, going off to do whatever other adventure Bill could imagine for them.
It was the last day of July.
10
The state officials arrived at each house in Derry the next day. Bill watched by the stairs as his parents received pamphlets. They were asked if they were going to Hawkins. His parents said “yes,” and the official marked it down on a spreadsheet he had carried with him all day. He handed Sharon a slip of paper with an address and a date.
“You are going to be moving out on the fourteenth. Don’t want to be clogging up the highways, y’know?” said the official.
“Can’t we just pack and leave before any of the designated moving days to beat the traffic?” asked Zack, with a raised eyebrow.
The official smiled and said, “I suppose you could, but the house in Hawkins might not be ready yet. People there are cleaning them up and everything.”
“Ah.”
“Yes. Ah.”
And so the rest of August went by in a blur for the Losers. They rushed to whichever stores they could to try to salvage something from the clearance sales.
Beverly got a pack of gum. Stan got a new shoelace. And Richie got a lifetime ban from Keene’s Pharmacy after marking each available box of pads “I love Mrs. K.” with a Sharpie.
At home, things were even more chaotic. There was packing to be done. Things to be thrown out. And that caused the first fight Bill and his mom had in a long time.
“Nuh-no! I’m not th-throwing away muh-muh-my cuh-comics!” cried Bill in dismay.
“No, Bill. How many times do I have to tell you? There’s not enough room in the van!” said Sharon angrily.
“No! I-If you cuh-can keep y-your books I duh-dunno why-”
“Because we’re different Bill! I’m paying for the moving van, so I get to keep what I want. And there is no room for anything more!” Sharon felt a bit guilty for the lie.
“Puh-President r-Reagan is p-paying for the v-van.”
Dammit.
“Okay then, I’m throwing them away myself.”
“No!”
Bill tried to grab onto Sharon, who shrugged off his skinny self easily. She grabbed a lighter from the counter.
“Nuh-No p-please! I c-can ask s-s-someone if th-they have room on th-their vans!” Bill said desperately.
Sharon paused, as if thinking, and then put the flame down on the paper. The comics lit up immediately.
There was a heavy silence in the kitchen broken only by the cackling sound of fire as Bill and his mother stared at each other.
“This is why you don’t talk back to me, Bill. This was an option the whole time but you got smart with me. I had to do this, you know? I-”
Bill didn’t hear the rest of what she said as he stormed up the stairs towards his room, angry tears burning in his eyes. He turned around at the top. “Fuck you!”
Sharon stood in shock and stared at where he stood just seconds ago. She felt a prickly sort of fear all over her body. She was both afraid for and afraid of her son. When did he change so much, so that she now didn’t even recognize her oldest? Once again she wished Bill was just a bit more like Georgie, so cheerful and happy and not at all like an adult. That Bill could just act his age. Sometimes she wished it had been Bill who-
No! How could you think that? He’s your son!
Sobbing miserably, Sharon watched as the flames consumed the pages.
11
Bill sat in family’s station wagon, looking outside the window. They were on the outskirts of Derry, and he saw his friends all gathered, mingling with all the other onlookers and wellwishers. As his name, “Denbrough” was the first alphabetically among his friends’, his family was the first of theirs’ to go.
Their predictions made at the quarry had been correct: they were all moving to Hawkins. Even grizzled old Phil Hanlon of Hanlon Farms said so.
There was a cold sort of tension in the wagon. Sharon and Bill had yet to say anything to each other since their fight, and that was fine by both of them.
We’ll see who bends first.
But Bill could not feel upset at all. Here they were: the Losers’ Club, in all their misfit glory, standing on the right side of the road. Eddie was waving solemnly at Bill, as if he would never see him again. Stan and Mike were smiling, with Mike yelling “We’re gonna miss you, Bill! Two days is a long time!” causing Ben to giggle. Beverly was grinning toothily and waving, and Richie was waving his handkerchief in the air and not blinking, so his eyes were uncomfortable and overflowing with tears.
“You go get those Japs, Big Bill! And you better come back home! I won’t forgive you if Little Timmy has to grow up not knowing his father!” he cried.
Bill guffawed at the last one. He rolled down the window. “Buh-Beep beep r-Richie! I’ll s-see y’all s-s-soon!”
Now all the Losers were grinning and waving. “See ya, Bill!”
“We’ll be there soon!”
“Stay cool, Big Bill!”
“Stay in school!”
“The fuck was that supposed to mean, Stanley?”
Bill rolled up the window, still grinning. He took one last look behind him. His friends were pinpricks in the distance. The town of Derry loomed in the distance, like some grinning spectre, with its arms wide open in invitation, as if to say come back, I won’t hurt you. Bill looked at the town, and thought of all his memories here. He thought about the Barrens, the clubhouse, and the quarry. It finally struck him that he was about to leave and probably never return to this hell.
Excellent.
He leaned back in his seat, ignoring the frigid feeling of sitting behind his parents in a car. He closed his eyes and began to sleep.
They stopped multiple times along the way, as the entire ride would take about eighteen hours without stops. They stopped at a gas station in Albany, then Buffalo, and then spent the night in Cleveland. They never stopped long enough to take in the city; they just stayed to get gas, maybe get some food, use the restroom. That was all.
At the motel, Bill refused to get under the covers. They were old and gross and Oh God, I sound like Eddie. But there was no way he was going to, no way. Zack just shrugged, and Sharon ignored him.
They fell asleep quickly and easily, the parents, and were soon snoring away. But Bill, bundled up in many layers of jackets, as the autumn chill began to fall in, and lying on top of his blankets, could not. He had lain there for almost four hours, unable to even close his eyes, when he heard it.
Bill shot up in his bed, eyes darting around wildly. There it was again! There was a scuffling sound, the sound of feet walking quickly on hardwood. It was coming from outside the door.
Carefully and quietly, Bill got up from his bed. It was a bit awkward, as he was unusually heavy with all his layers, but he managed. He crept towards the door, hand outstretched, grabbing the room key on the way. He turned the handle and pulled inwards slightly. He stuffed his face in the gap.
Nothing. But there was the sound again, coming from down the stairs. It was from the lobby. Bill got out of the room fully, and closed the door silently behind him. He walked down the hall, taking the left to go down the stairs, and stopped. The stairs bent around so he would have to turn around to walk to the lobby. He crept forward and turned slowly.
Standing in the middle of the lobby was a man, probably the receptionist. Bill and the man made eye contact. Then the man was suddenly wreathed in tongues of fire, lighting up the entire lobby.
Bill watched in horror as the man opened his mouth to scream, but no sound ever came out. He fell to his knees, face screwed in obvious pain. He watched as the man’s skin cracked, burned, blackened, and as the man fell forward, dead, Bill did not notice he was crying.
The flames died immediately after the man fell. There was only silence. There was silence for a long time. Bill had no idea what to do.
He thrusts his fists against the posts.
He almost screamed when he heard the voice. It was that voice. It was the voice he hated the most in the world, and probably, though he loathed to think it, the last voice Georgie ever heard. The voice of It.
And still insists he sees the ghosts.
Bill scrambled up the stairs, hearing loud, twisted laughter following him. Oh, Billy. This isn’t how you greet old friends, is it? What are your parents teaching you?
His hands shaking, he fumbled in his pocket for the room key, and found that it wasn’t there. Oh shit.
Oh, looking for this?
Bill closed his eyes in dread, and turned around. There, standing in all Its demented glory, was Pennywise the Dancing Clown. In Its right hand was the hotel key.
C’mon Billy. I know you want it. You want to get away from Me. What are you going to do?
“Y-You’re not r-r-real. Y-Y-Y-You’re nuh-not real! Wuh-we killed y-You.”
I’m not real? Pennywise put a hand on Its chest. Oh I’m plenty real. Plenty. Bountifully. And I’m not dead. Oh no. Things have changed, Billy boy.
Bill breathed hard now. Pennywise walked forward. Bill tried to take a step back, but forgot the door was right behind him, and he fell on his butt.
So you’re a paper man too, huh? Like old Henry boy. “Nothing like a little fear to make a paper man crumble.” That’s what the butcher said. You’re different without your ittle wittle tasty friends.
“Guh-Get ou-out.”
What’s the magic word, Billy?
“I-I s-s-said, ‘Guh-Get out!”
“William Denbrough! Do you know what time it is, young man?!”
Bill whipped around. Face hidden in shadow and standing in the doorway, towering over Bill, who was now sitting on the floor, was Sharon Denbrough.
Bill almost smiled in relief. “Muh-Mom! Oh th-thank guh-God! Luh-lobby!” he said.
Sharon frowned. “Bill, it’s two o’clock in the morning.”
“Look!”
Sharon sighed and walked towards the stairs. Bill trailed not far behind, stopping to pick up the hotel key lying in the middle of the hallway.
“Down there?” Sharon asked, pointing down. Bill nodded.
They walked down the stairs together, and at the turn Sharon sighed. "There's nothing there." And there really was nobody there. The man who'd gone up in flame had just vanished.
Bill didn’t sleep well that night.
The Denbroughs reached Hawkins that afternoon. The van was already waiting at the house. It was at the end of a cul-de-sac.
Bill had heavy bags under their eyes as they drove in. They got out of the car and walked inside the house tiredly. The movers began moving all the boxes into the house through the front door. The Denbroughs watched them, and Zack thanked them once they were done.
The rest of the afternoon was spent unpacking. Bill got a nice, big room with a bed already in there. There was a closet, and when Bill opened the door, he was met with the widest array of golf balls he had ever seen.
The hell?
The golf balls were stuffed in cups, and there were at least fifty full ones. Bill looked at them again, and shrugged.
He began unpacking all his belongings. His toys, his books, his posters, his drawing paper. Once he was finished he stood back and admired his work.
The room was large, larger than his room in Derry. All his possessions, which made the room in Derry feel cozy and warm, felt small and inadequate in the large space of this new room. He shrugged again.
Suddenly, the doorbell rang. Bill knew both his parents were expecting him to get it, and he sighed, hurrying over to the door.
Bill opened the door to reveal a boy and a girl. The girl was holding a sealed tupperware container. The boy, looking fairly unenthusiastic, and remarkably like Richie, stepped forward and said, “Hi, um, welcome to Hawkins.”