Unwritten 🎈Ben Hanscom Fanfiction🎈

~🎈33🎈~

🎈CHAPTER 33🎈

•°Corinne's POV°•

Setting foot into that house again was like stepping into a tomb that had only grown more malevolent with time. There simply weren't words to describe the cold, primal dread that coiled in my stomach. The air was thicker, the shadows deeper, and the layers of dust and decay were punctuated by a terrifying new feature: countless, thick spiderwebs. The thought of what might be lurking in them made my skin crawl. My only instinct was to reach out and cling to the person closest to me, which happened to be Ben's solid arm.

On the staircase, a thick, black goo oozed down from above, sizzling and burning anything it touched. "Hmm.Well, I love what he's done with the place," Richie stated, sarcasm dripping from every word. "Beep-beep,Richie," I shot back, my eyes scanning the oppressive darkness around us. "All right."

Bill, Eddie, and Richie cautiously moved toward the kitchen while the rest of us hung back, trying to scan the foyer for any immediate threats. But the entire house was a threat; nothing about it was normal.

"You okay?" Ben whispered, his voice so low only I could hear it. I gave him a small,tight nod, but he kept looking at me, his eyes filled with a worry that saw right through my brave facade. I had to look away, not wanting him to know just how terrified I truly was.

Suddenly, Ben let out a sharp, pained gasp. I snapped my attention back to him just as the kitchen door slammed shut with a deafening crash, separating the others from us.

"Ben? Ben? What's wrong?" I asked, rushing to his side. He was groaning in agony, and before my eyes, blood began to bloom through the fabric of his shirt.

"Ben!" Bill shouted from the other side of the door, his voice muffled but frantic.

Ben ripped up his shirt, and a scream caught in my throat. An 'H' was being carved into the skin of his stomach as if by an invisible knife. He cried out and collapsed to the floor. I dropped to my knees beside him, my hands hovering uselessly.

"Hey! Help!" Beverly shouted, banging on the door.

I felt utterly helpless. I could only watch in horror as the word 'HOME' was carved letter by letter into his abdomen, each cut accompanied by his ragged, pain-filled screams. Tears streamed down my face. "This can't be real," I sobbed.

'AT LAST' finished the gruesome message. All I could do was cradle his cheek as his screams echoed around the decaying foyer, a sound of pure torment.

"Corinne! Beverly!" Mike shouted. But his attention wasn't on us; he was staring, horrified, at something in front of us.

I followed his gaze to an old, grimy mirror. Reflected in it were the four of us-and Pennywise, standing right behind Ben, that damnable creepy smile plastered on his face. He was laughing soundlessly at us, a bloody knife held in his gloved hand.

In the reflection, he moved the knife toward Ben's exposed throat.

A white-hot rage, fiercer than any fear, surged through me. My eyes darted around and landed on a rusty spike lying on the floor. Without a second thought, I grabbed it and hurled it at the mirror with all my strength.

The glass shattered into a thousand pieces, the horrific image exploding into nothingness.

I whirled back to Ben. He was on the floor, gasping, but completely unharmed. No wounds. No blood. Just the memory of the pain etched on his face. I fell to my knees and pulled him into a crushing hug, tears of relief now mixing with the tears of fear. He didn't hesitate, his arms wrapping around me tightly.

But our moment was shattered by the panicked screams of our friends from the kitchen.

"Richie!"

"Richie!Hey!"

We scrambled to our feet and ran to the door, yanking on the handle, but it was stuck fast. Ben pushed Beverly and me aside, then threw his full weight against it. The door burst open.

The scene inside was chaos. Bill was yelling at Eddie to get a knife. A monstrous thing-a grotesque fusion of a younger Stanley with multi-jointed legs sprouting from the sides of its head-was on top of Richie, trying to eat his face.

Ben didn't hesitate. He grabbed a knife from the counter and launched himself at the creature, stabbing it over and over with furious, desperate strength. Its grip on Richie loosened, and Bill seized the opportunity, pulling the shrieking thing off and throwing it against the wall.

It scrambled, twisted its body toward the door, and then skittered out into the hall, its laughter echoing behind it.

"Is everybody okay?" Beverly asked, her voice shaking as she crouched next to Richie, slipping her jacket under his head as a pillow.

"You all right?" Bill asked Richie, then his attention snapped to Eddie, who was frozen against the wall, pale and trembling. "H-he could have fucking died, man. You know that, right?" Bill yelled, grabbing a fistful of Eddie's shirt.

"I can't see," Richie moaned from the floor.

"Georgie's dead. The kid's dead. Stanley's dead. You want Richie, too?" Bill shouted, his voice cracking with a mixture of fury and grief. "You want Richie, too?"

"I don't want Richie, too! I don't! I don't!" Eddie cried, tears streaming down his face. "Please don't be mad, Bill. I was just scared."

"That's what he wants, right?" Bill said, his voice dropping to a strained whisper. He released Eddie's shirt. "Don't give it to him."

I looked over at Ben, who was already watching me, his expression a mirror of my own exhaustion and resolve.

After a few minutes to ensure everyone was as ready as they could ever be, we moved toward the basement-toward the well. The descent was worse than the foyer; the air was choked with the smell of damp earth and decay, and the walls were draped with even more spiderwebs. I stayed glued to Ben's side.

"A lot of memories, huh?" Ben questioned softly as we stared into the dark mouth of the well.

"A whole lot of bad memories," I muttered, following him down the rickety stairs into the heart of the nightmare.

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