"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°•
I watched as Bill, Richie, and Eddie disappeared into the gaping maw of the house on Neibolt Street. My stomach was a tight knot of dread. I rubbed my clammy hands on my jeans, my heart hammering against my ribs. We who stayed behind—Beverly, Ben, Stanley, Mike, and I—didn't speak a word. We just stared at the silent, ominous house, listening for any sound.
The silence was oppressive, broken only by the rustle of leaves and the frantic beating of my own heart. I couldn't stand still. I paced the overgrown lawn, my eyes glued to the door they’d vanished through.
"This is torture," I finally whispered, my voice sounding too loud in the quiet. "Just waiting out here."
"What else can we do?" Mike asked, his voice low and pragmatic. "Bill said to keep watch."
"Watch for what?" Stanley countered, wringing his hands. "The clown? The police? If something happens in there, what are we supposed to do? Yell a warning?"
"We're the backup," Ben said, though he sounded like he was trying to convince himself. "If they need us, they'll yell. Or we'll hear something."
"When we hear something, it'll probably be them screaming," Beverly said grimly, hugging herself. She was right. The not knowing was the worst part.
My legs ached from the nervous pacing. I finally gave up and sat down on the creaking old porch stairs, my head in my hands. Ben joined me, the step groaning under our combined weight. He laid his head on my shoulder, and I leaned into him, taking a small comfort in his presence. Beverly sat on my other side, a silent pillar of shared anxiety. Stanley and Mike remained on the ground in front of us, cross-legged, their postures rigid as they stared ahead at the house as if they could see straight through its walls.
The conversation died again, smothered by fear. Minutes felt like hours.
Then it came.
A scream. High-pitched and raw with terror. Eddie.
I was on my feet in an instant, every nerve ending firing. "That's Eddie!" I gasped.
Before anyone could stop me or form a plan, I acted. I grabbed one of the rusty iron spikes from the broken fence, its weight solid and deadly in my hand, and I ran. I didn't think; I just charged into the house, following the sound of his screams.
They led me to the kitchen—a nightmare scene. It was there, advancing on Richie and Bill, who were cornered near the door. Eddie was on the floor, clutching his arm.
