"I have to go,too," I spoke up, my voice barely above a whisper. "My mom's waiting for me." It was only half the truth.
I went around the circle, giving each of my friends a tight hug, saving Ben for last. I tried desperately to keep the tears from...
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•°Corinne's POV°•
The 4th of July festival was in full swing around us, a burst of joyous noise and color that felt completely at odds with the grim conversation we were having.
"They say they found part of his hand all chewed up near the standpipe," Stanley said, his voice low.
My eyes were fixed on a missing poster for Patrick Hockstetter plastered on a building wall. Not far from us, Richie was fooling around, producing a discordant blare from a tuba he’d somehow gotten ahold of.
"He asked to borrow a pencil once," Ben said quietly, his hand holding mine behind his back. His thumb rubbed small, calming circles on my skin, and I sent a grateful smile his way.
"It's like she's been forgotten because Corcoran's missing," Bill pointed out. He lifted the edge of one poster to reveal Betty Ripsom's picture underneath, half-covered and neglected.
"Is it ever gonna end?" Stanley asked, his voice heavy with despair.
"What are you guys talking about?" Eddie asked, rejoining our somber circle and handing Richie an ice cream. "What they always talk about,"Richie stated, licking his ice cream with a forced cheerfulness that didn't reach his eyes.
"I actually think it will end," Ben spoke up, drawing our surprised attention. "For a little while, at least."
"What do you mean?" Beverly asked. All eyes were on him now.
"So, Cori and I were going over all my Derry research," Ben explained, and I nodded in confirmation. "We charted out all the big events—the ironworks explosion in 1908, the Bradley Gang shootout in '35, the Black Spot fire in '62, and now kids being... taken. We realized this stuff seems to happen..." Ben trailed off, organizing his thoughts.
"Every 27 years," Bill finished, his voice full of grim realization.
It had taken us days to sift through all the stacks of paper and clippings in Ben's room, but that was the terrifying pattern we'd unearthed. A palpable tension settled over our group as the information was laid bare.
We found a place to sit and discuss our clown problem further, ending up on the base of the giant statue of Paul Bunyan, his axe held high over the celebrating town.
"Okay, so let me get this straight," Eddie said, his voice tight. "It comes out from wherever to eat kids for like a year? And then what? It goes into hibernation?" It was a surreal question, but our reality had become surreal. How had no one else in this cursed town ever noticed this pattern?
"Maybe it's like... what do you call it? Cicadas," Stanley pointed out. "You know, the bugs that come out every 17 years." It was a logical comparison, but it felt inadequate for the ancient, conscious evil we were facing.
"My grandfather thinks this town is cursed," Mike said, his eyes distant, as if seeing another time. "He says that all the bad things that happen here are because of one thing. An evil thing that feeds off the people of Derry."
"But it can't be one thing," Stanley argued. "We all saw something different." "Maybe,"Mike countered, looking up at him. "Or maybe it knows what scares us the most, and that's what we see."
The truth of that hung in the air between us. "I saw a leper,"Eddie spoke up, breaking the silence. His voice was small. "He was like a walking infection."
"But you didn't, because it isn't real!" Stanley insisted, his frustration boiling over. "None of this is! Not Eddie's leper, or Bill seeing Georgie, or the woman I keep seeing." I shook my head slightly; that giant spider-clown had felt horrifyingly real. Ben must have noticed the goosebumps on my arm because he began tracing soothing patterns on my skin with his finger.
"She hot?" Richie asked, pushing up his glasses in a weak attempt to lighten the mood.
"No, Richie. She's not hot," Stanley snapped. "Her face is all messed up. None of this makes any sense. They're all like bad dreams."
"I don't think so," Mike said, his voice firm and serious. "I know the difference between a bad dream and real life, okay?"
"What'd you see?" Eddie asked him, curiosity overriding his fear. "You saw something too?"
"Yes," Mike said, the word heavy. "Do you guys know that burned-down house on Harris Avenue? I was inside when it burned down. Before I was rescued, my mom and dad were trapped in the next room over. They were pushing and pounding on the door, trying to get to me, but it was too hot. When the firemen finally found them... the skin on their hands had melted down to the bone." He took a shaky breath. "We're all afraid of something."
"Got that right," Richie stated, but his usual bravado was gone. He was staring at nothing, his face uncharacteristically pale.
"What are you afraid of, Richie?" I asked softly, already sensing the answer.
He finally looked at us, all traces of jokes gone. "Clowns."
