Unwritten 🎈Ben Hanscom Fanfiction🎈

~🎈7🎈~

🎈CHAPTER 7🎈

•°Ben's POV°•

The bike ride towards my house was surprisingly nice. I spent most of it watching Corinne. She kept deliberately swerving her bike to bump into Richie, getting right on his nerves, which only made her laugh that unapologetic, free laugh of hers. She really was something else. That’s what I liked most about her; she never pretended to be anything she wasn't.

But as we got closer to my street, a cold dread started to seep in. I remembered the state of my room—the underwear on the floor, the magazines stashed under the bed. The sheer, overwhelming nerdiness of it all. The embarrassment would be lethal.

I started pedaling faster, leaving the group behind. I threw my bike on the front lawn, burst through the front door, and took the stairs two at a time. I couldn't care if they thought it was weird that I'd just bolted. I'd rather have them call me a freak than die of humiliation.

I dove into my room, scooping up stray clothes and shoving them—along with a few incriminating magazines—into my closet. I slammed the door shut and leaned against it, breathing heavily, just as everyone filed into my room.

Corinne was staring at me with a suspicious, amused glint in her eyes. I could only offer a sheepish smile, hoping my body was effectively blocking the closet of shame.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Wow." Richie was the first to speak, pushing his glasses up his nose as he took in the walls I'd plastered with maps, charts, and old newspaper articles. My entire room was a shrine to Derry's dark history. "Cool, huh?" I asked, but my eyes were on Corinne, who was silently reading a clipping on the wall opposite my bed.

"This is cool, right here. Wait, no, it's not cool," Richie said, pointing randomly at an old, grainy photo of the town founders. I knew he was just trying to act aloof; it was his defense mechanism. I didn't take it to heart.

"What's that?" Stanley asked, pointing at the large, framed document in the center of it all.

"Oh, that? That's the original charter for Derry Township," I told him, a flicker of pride cutting through my nerves. "Nerd alert,"Richie stated flatly.

"No, actually, it's really interesting," I countered, looking at the three boys near me. "Derry started as a beaver trapping camp." "Still is,am I right, boys?" Richie quipped, holding his hand up for a high-five nobody returned. Stanley just shook his head in exasperation.

"Ninety-one people signed that charter," I continued. "But later that winter, they all disappeared without a trace."

"The entire camp?" Eddie asked, his curiosity overriding his usual anxiety.

"There were rumors of Indians, but no sign of an attack. Everybody just thought it was a plague or something. But it's like one day, everybody just woke up and left. The only clue was a trail of bloody clothes leading to the well house."

"Jesus. We can get Derry on Unsolved Mysteries," Richie said.

A soft creak made my heart leap into my throat. I froze, then turned slowly to see Corinne. She had opened my door and was now looking at the New Kids on the Block poster I’d taped behind it—my deepest, dorkiest secret. She looked from the poster to me, a grin spreading from ear to ear. She opened the door wider, then closed it again, just to look at the poster one more time, her smile never fading.

My cheeks burned, but I couldn't help the stupid, happy smile that spread across my own face. The others' bickering faded into a dull hum. She'd seen it, and she wasn't making fun of me.

"Where was the well house?" Bill asked, pulling me from my daze. He was staring intently at the wall, his mind clearly working overtime.

"I don't know. Somewhere in town, I guess. Why?" I asked. "Nothing,"he muttered, but his eyes were still fixed on the maps, lost in thought.

As the sky began to darken, the group started to trickle out. Corinne was the last to leave. As she shouldered her bag, I acted on a sudden impulse. I quickly slipped the postcard I’d been saving—the one with the forest and the stars—into the outer pocket of her backpack without her noticing.

Finally alone, I sat down at my desk, staring blankly at my lamp. My gaze then fell to my yearbook. In all the excitement, I’d forgotten to look at what they’d written.

I took the book in my hands, my heart thumping a little harder. I opened it to the signatures. Beverly's name was at the very top, neat and friendly.

And at the very bottom, in Corinne's familiar, looping handwriting, was a message. I read it, and then I read it again. And again.

"Meet me at midnight in the forest of my dreams. We'll make a fire and count the stars that shimmer above the trees.

Corinne. ♡♡"

The smile on my face didn't fade for the rest of the night. I kept tracing the words with my finger, rereading the small poem over and over until I finally fell asleep, my dreams full of forests and starlight.

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