Lydia and the losers club fought pennywise back in the summer of 1988.
They were done.
Or so they believed.
27 years later they had all moved on in life, separating from each other along the way and forgetting all the troubles they had that summ...
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The door let out a loud squeak as Lydia pushed it open, having to push it hard near the end as it was stiff from not being moved in so long.
Surprisingly, the walls had no spray paint on them, something Lydia had expected to see from the teenagers in the town, possibly using the house as a spot to hang out, although, she figured the fact a death had happened in it and the very dull, spooky appearance it had on the outside, only those who were dared to go in would step foot inside the house.
If she had the choice, she wouldn't go in either.
She walked into the house, moving as slowly as possible, as if the floor would cave in any second. She took her time examining the walls, looking at the ripped wallpaper on the walls of the hall.
Although you could barely see it due to the dust and filth having gathered up over the years, changing the colour of it, Lydia could still remember what it looked like before.
A table with two drawers sat on the left side of the hall, a broken vase and dead flowers sat on top, as well as a photo frame.
Lydia lifted the photo frame, rubbing her thumb over the glass to wipe away the dust.
Inside the frame was a photo of her father. It had only been taken a year before his death, on Christmas.
He was sitting on a armchair, beside the Christmas tree in the living room. He had a cup of what Lydia assumed to be coffee in his hand, a Santa hat on his head and a huge smile on his face.
He hadn't been looking at the camera, instead looking down at where Lydia was sat in front of the tree, opening her presents.
Lydia smiled at the photo, thankful that it hadn't been lost over the years, before gently setting it back down, remembering to pick it up before she left the house.
She then walked further into the house, to where the living room was. It looked much more empty than Lydia had remembered growing up with.
A ripped up couch sat in the middle of the floor, facing the wall where the television would have sat and a equally destroyed armchair sat beside it.
The house looked so... dull. It was like slowly over the years every bit of lightness had been drained from the house.
Lydia looked around the kitchen a bit before making her way back to the living room, deciding to search some of the remaining desks and drawers for anything she could use as her 'token' before searching upstairs.
She checked in the drawers by the front door first, only finding piles of paper, mostly receipts, overdue bills from when they lived there, letters from Lydia's school about parent teacher meetings, only some of which her mom had showed up to in an attempt to make herself seem a good mother.
