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SHE CHIRPED UP, "I don't fuck with creepy old wellhouses," she paused to sneer, "Or clowns."
Fucking idiots, fucking fucking fucking idiots. She squeezed the rubber grips on her handlebars hard, if I die before summer ends, I'm gonna kill them myself — she ought to have spent her summer on a light up floor, dancing to Culture Club; not finding out that her aunt was her mother and being trapped in a constant game of cat-and-mousewith a stupid fucking shapeshifting clown thing.
Neilbolt Street was just three cul-de-sacs past her own avenue. They passed the little sign for Moore Street and she glanced down towards her house longingly. And all of a sudden, she was imagining her father and how he used to compulsively rake the leaves off of the front lawn, and then her mother and how she used to watch him from her bedroom window with a leer and a pursed frown.
She thought about her family as she road to Neilbolt. Could she ... die there? Would IT be able to kill her? She thought about her own funeral. Would Meg and Ted be able to pay for it? Could they scrounge up enough money to hold a funeral for herself as well as Patrick? Ted? How long would it be until Meg was completely alone again? She felt guilty, even at the thought.
"Bill, you can't go in there," Beverly demanded as they all stumbled over Bill's bike "Silver" to get to Bill as he walked up to the porch, knowing that entering wouldn't lend any answers, "Romy's right, this is crazy."
"L-look, you don't have to come in with me," Bill claimed adamantly, "B-but what happens when another Georgie goes missing? Or another Betty? Or Ed Corcoran, or one of us? Are we just going to pretend it isn't happening like everyone else in this town? Because I can't. When I go home, all I see is that Georgie isn't there; his clothes, his toys, his stupid stuffed animals, but ... he isn't. So walking into this house, for me, it's easier than walking into my home."
He wiped the underneath of his eye with his finger and turned on his heel, ascending the staircase up towards certain death/the wellhouse.
"Wow," Richie muttered, glancing across the group of loser kids, "He didn't stutter once," he then broke into stride to catch up with Bill, Eddie following suit behind the both of them.
"Wait!" Stan objected from where he stood a little behind the other members of the Losers Club, as Bill reached for the door. "Shouldn't we have some people keep watch? You know, just incase something bad happens?"
Bill turned, "W-who wants to stay out here?"
And though her elbow stung as she did so, Romy's hand shot upwards, along with a few of the others, by the sound of the rustle of clothing behind her. She had no intent on entering the shoddy old structure by any means, and hoped that her friends would have enough sense not to go inside seeking something that might not even be there.
