Chapter Text
It was around mid autumn and a chill was setting in Derry. Despite the seasons changing the leaves and trees and weather around you every day in Derry is the absolute same. You’re sitting on the curb of the sidewalk. The rain is light but unpleasantly cold. Your umbrella lays next to you, snapped in half. “Fucking Bowers…” You spit out. You’d grit your teeth at the mere thought of the name. Saying it out loud just fills you with rage. Bowers was the nightmare of every loser in Derry. If you weren’t with him and his devilspawn “gang” you might as well not even exist. Then again, you’d rather keep your head low like everyone else than have the entire town hate you behind your back.
As to why you were just sitting there, letting the rain soak your clothes, your sneakers down to your socks. At home life wasn’t much better for you. With your dad in jail and your mom inviting any stranger with money to spare into her bed. Home hadn’t been much better than the cold streets. You pick up your backpack and the two pieces of umbrella. As the thin metal ribs stick out in every direction. Your clothes shift and stick against you uncomfortably as you shuffle your way home. The rain was starting to grow heavier. Certainly your homework would be drenched too. Sighing loudly you weren’t exactly excited to head home but it was getting late. You didn't want to give your mother another reason to crash out on you. But seeing the state of your umbrella you were sure it’d be an unavoidable fate.
You take your key from your pocket. The soft tickling rain had gone from a drizzle to a storm by the time you reached your doorstep. As soon as you close the door behind you you're immediately hit with the smell of incense and strong herbic smells. It was a small little house. However it was still insanely unusual. The type of strange where you’d rather not have your friends come over anymore. Not that you have any. You see, outside of your mothers whorish desires she claimed herself a spirit medium. Some kind of weird obsession with natural healing and yoga with whale noises. You take off your shoes and place them near the heater to dry.
Walking in towards the kitchen you smell something else amongst the strong scents of medicinal herbs and all that hippie shit. Something coalish and burning. You gasp as you see a pot on the hot stove. Boiling and foaming so hard the lid rattles. Its contents spilled over the edge. You rush to it and turn off the stove quickly. Taking a dishwashing rag to safely remove the pot and placing it in the sink. You remove the lid to find the charred bubbling remains of spaghetti sauce.
“Mom?” You yell out. “Mom, you forgot to turn off the stove… again…” You mutter that last part to yourself. You make your way upstairs. It was then that you heard why. From your mothers room came the sounds of lustfull, shameless, fucking. The moans of your mother sounding muffled through the door. Followed by the groans of who the fuck cares… You felt disgusted, gross. Your bedroom was just on the other side of your mothers.
“nghh.. ahhh…mmm…y/n? Are you home already?” Your mother yells through the door, gasping and moaning in between as she struggles to get the words out. You shut your eyes and clench your fists. You really didn’t feel like conversing with your mother while she was ‘working’. You decide to swallow your pride “...yeah i-i’m home.”
“There’s-oh god, oh god, yes! YES! I-i made spaghetti.” She continues to moan through her words. You felt a tinge of anger. You wanted to yell at your mother for her incompetence. “UH NO MOM, YOU FORGOT ABOUT YOUR DINNER AND ALSO YOU ALMOST BURNED THE ENTIRE HOUSE DOWN… AGAIN!” You screamed at her from inside your head instead you just responded with “Thank you mom.” With a low, disappointed tone.
You enter your room. It stood out from the rest of the house. It was fairly simple. A desk, a bookshelf, your bed and your plushies. Some posters of things you liked on the wall. Things in your favorite color in between the decor here and there. You sigh in relief as you let your backpack slump down from your shoulders and hit the floor with a wet thud. You grab a towel from your closet and dry off your hair. Opening up your backpack you find exactly what you expected. Soaking homework and books. “Ugh… no…” You carefully pick it up and lay it all out and open on the floor, hoping it’d dry sooner.
Luckily your mom didn’t forget to turn on the heater in the house. It made your room warm and cozy. You reach into your closet for a set of dry clothes. You lay down on your bed. Seeking some calm for only a moment. Drowning out the disgusting sounds of love being made. You felt so tired. Like your muscles were about to melt. 6:30 pm. You were so close to closing your eyes. The softness and warmth of your bed soothing your aching soul. The pain of today slowly fading as you let yourself sink into the mattress. It was almo-
Suddenly the door opens. Your eyes shoot open wide. Your entire body goes into fight or flight. On the edge of some complex trauma induced panic attack. You expect the worst but instead you are faced with an unknown old gross man. Standing there, completely naked, sweating and red. He looks just as shocked as you are. Your shock however immediately turns into disgust and annoyance. “Shit, i-i thought this was the bathroom, S-sorry.” He stutters and laughs awkwardly. You meet his tone with one full off spite. Your lip curls up. “Fucking disgusting sex obsessed pig, go spread your disease somewhere else.” But of course you only think those words. “End of the hallway, to the right.” You say instead, through your flawless emotional masking. “Thank you! Again so sorry.” He responded. The fact this worthless waste didn’t have the courtesy of knocking. Then again he couldn’t have known. Either way, your moment of peace has been ruined… as always.
Your stomach rumbles. You think back on the burned spaghetti sauce. With a sigh and a grunt you drag yourself out of your bed. Down the stairs and you return to the kitchen. Opening the fridge you take some left overs from the day before. It was just okay. Ever since dad was sent to the slammer it’s like your mom seemed to have simply stopped trying. Stopped trying to be this perfect wife. You don’t recall a single moment where she was a perfect mother though… Let alone a decent mother. It made things so complicated. Despite you feeling so neglected at times, the fact your mom and dad loved each other was something to be happy about. But hearing the sounds of some stranger fucking your mom upstairs. Knowing he’ll leave but a mere 10 bucks or so on her nightstand in the morning before leaving without a word, You began to wonder if your mom really valued her marriage. You take your leftovers and move yourself to the couch. Turning on the tv. The first channel to catch your attention is the news.
“It’s been almost a week since 7 year old Georgie Denbrough, 14 year old Betty Ripsom and 17 year old Patrick Hockstetter have gone missing.” The news anchor tells. Her face is stoic and motionless as she clearly reads it from the teleprompt. You take a bite from your food. It is hot on the outside and nearly frozen on the inside. Shitty fucking microwave. The news anchor continues “There have been no further updates on this case but the police will continue to investigate the situation. We have interviewed some of the mourning parents dealing with this tragedy.”. On screen they’re showing a crying mother. She looks terrible. Eyes puffy and red, the dark bags under her eyes could go for miles. She’s sobbing and screaming, reaching greedily for the mic as she yells out “Patrick! Baby, come home! Come home Patrick, please, please, we miss you! We miss yooouuuu!” She is inconsolable and this was hardly an interview. She is clearly in no state to have a functioning conversation. You felt some shame at the fact you found yourself scoffing and chuckling at this poor woman crying out for her child for you couldn’t help but think about how your own mom would react if YOU were to go missing. Maybe she’d forget to even forget to report it in the first place, you thought. “We’re so sorry mam, the police are working very hard to-” “NO, NO THEY AREN’T, IT TOOK THEM, IT TOOK THEM!” The woman interrupts the interviewer. She clings onto him for dear life as she screams and yells and cries. He pushes her off of him, motioning for security to take her out of frame. “S-sorry, back to the studio?” He says, straightening out his shirt. You began to lose interest. Zapping through the channels till you found something you liked when
“WHAT THE FUCK?! WHAT IS THIS?!” Your mother suddenly screams. You snap your head towards the kitchen and you tense up immediately. “Y/N! WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO TO THE SPAGHETTI SAUCE?! LOOK AT THIS FUCKING MESS!” She stood there, half naked, only covered up with her coffee stained bathrobe. Her eyes are as wide as they are sunken in. The bathrobe drapes lazily over her anorexic frame. It was clear that your mother was back on it again. The stench of marijuana and meth and whatever other toxic shit your mom loved to fuck herself over with was all over her. You hated it. Just a constant reminder on why your dad wasn’t here right now. At the moment though, none of that mattered. “What the fuck did you do?! Are you stupid? How could you forget to turn the stove off?” You stand there in the doorway of the kitchen. Absolutely baffled and shaking from pent up anger while your mother berates and accuses you of something you didn’t do. It wasn’t the first time your mother acted like this, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last time.
“You left the stove on, it was still on when I got home.”
“No, you came home and turned on the stove and got distracted by the fucking tv, i swear you’re addicted to that thing.” Your mother takes a big hit from her cigarette.
You bite the inside of your cheek. Holding yourself back. The things you wanted to say, the things you wanted to do. It plays inside your head over and over. You had to physically and mentally stop yourself from just letting yourself crash out. It’d only make everything worse. Just let it go. “Pick your battles” You repeat to yourself. You breathe in and hold your breath. Feeling your heartbeat slow down before breathing back out. Watching your mother take another hit from the cigarette. She turns her back to you, turning on the old coffee machine. She mumbles something about how you dared to accuse her, and how she must be the worst mother in the world. Classic emotionally immature parent type stuff. Always guilt tripping you and making you feel shitty for calling her out even if things really were her fault. You have simply learned to deal with it. Taught yourself when to back off rather than stand your ground. You had tried standing up for yourself over and over against your mother and every time she’d just double down on her points and stomp your confidence and feelings deeper down into the dirty floor. You fucking hated adults. They were all like this. You hadn’t met a single adult in your lifetime that had treated you with the same respect they all expected from you. The saying of “Respect is to be earned.” Is one you tossed on the mental trashpile. “‘I’ll clean it later, I'm sorry mom.” You say knowing you didn’t mean a single goddamn word of that sentence. “Yeah, you better be.” Your mother spits back. Raising her eyebrows and cocking her head. Adding some unwanted sass to the acid spilling from her mouth. The appetite had left your body by this point so you toss the rest of your leftovers in the trash.
“Oh by the way” You mom continues. Your heart bounces up one more time as she speaks. “Your father sent a letter, it’s on the table.”
“Oh, okay…” You say. Not feeling any sort of way about it. Your mom wouldn’t allow you to ever write back to him anyway. So receiving a letter from him just hurt you more. Sometimes it was better if you didn’t even read them in the first place. Your mother takes her coffee and heads back upstairs. You stand there in silence, looking over at the envelope on the kitchen table. It had your name on it. This was a letter for you. You contemplated throwing it in the trash. You didn’t hate your dad, but he had been in prison for dealing drugs around. It was a little side job and we all knew about it. It was a little family secret. It paid the bills, the presents on christmas, the cake on your birthday. But also if your dad was able to just get a normal job like everyone else then maybe your mom wouldn’t have ended up the way she did. After the drug dealing started, so did doing the drugs. Mostly your mom, even more so now that dad wasn’t there to keep her somewhat in check. What’s even worse was that without dad, there was no stable income of money. Hence why your mom has fucked the entire neighbourhood and more by now. You tried excusing it, ignoring it, we needed the money is what you try to frame it as. The worse option is that she only wanted to cheat on him. That she really was the sex hungry whore she frames herself as. Or maybe, with the little hope you had left, you’d like to believe it was because deep down, she still cared. That she was trying to get by with the little bits of money she could make with it. It was difficult to truly despise your parents, you were disgusted by them and they treated you like you didn’t even exist most of the time. But sometimes…sometimes you’d feel like it served you right. You had seen the pictures, the family photos before they were a real family. Just the two of them and they looked happy back then. That was before you were born. Would they be happy if you didn’t exist anymore? Am I the reason my parents are miserable? You wipe your face and with it the dark thoughts from your minds.
You take your dads letter and carefully open it.
“Hey champ,”
“I hope you’re doing well. I’ve been hearing about these kids going missing all over town and it worried me sick. I haven’t heard back from you yet and-” You feel the tears prick at your eyes. You’re starting to regret reading the letter. You continue reading anyway. “Your mother hasn’t called me or come to visit in awhile either. Writing this letter is about the only way to keep in contact. What is your mother up to these days? I hope she’s doing well. I know she won’t read my letters. I’ve gotten them sent back multiple times so that message was pretty clear. Life in prison is pretty slow but I'm okay. I made some friends and even though the food isn’t great, it beats your mothers lasagna.” A small smile crept on your face. “How is school? I hope you’re keeping your grades up. I’m counting on you. Do your homework! It’s important! You don’t wanna end up like your old man now do you? Just kidding. Only 2 more years kid. I miss you.
Love, dad”
By the end your cheeks are stained with small tears but a small smile on your face. You neatly fold the letter and pocket it. Your mother would probably toss it out if you left it anywhere else. You felt good. Like waking up from a good night's sleep or when your energy drink hits just right. It fills you with a new motivation, energetic. You haven’t given up just yet and tomorrow will be another battle. After reading your dads letter that battle seemed a little less daunting now.
You rush upstairs and find it pleasantly quiet. You hadn’t heard anyone leave so you assumed your mother and her “customer” both fell asleep. It wasn’t that late yet, only 8 pm. This probably meant they were only taking a nap and no doubt the relentless fucking would continue later tonight. You go to your room and take your homework. It was actually somewhat dry now. Only the corners here and there would feel a little moist. But it was good enough for you. Now that you had your momentary silence you take your pen, pencil and eraser and begin your homework. You liked studying, especially when it was quiet. You had a knack for figuring things out. Most people didn’t enjoy doing their homework but you never seemed to mind. It felt like solving a puzzle and that was incredibly satisfying to you. The feeling of progress and then tomorrow at school you’d show it to your teacher who’d compliment you on it. It was always something you’d look forward to. The little pieces of positivity in your life was something you had held on to dearly. They felt like an anchor to your sanity. Like the tiny stars in the night that proved there was always some light in even the darkest nights. Tomorrow… you thought. Finishing up your homework.
-
You check the time. It had barely been an hour but your mother had started again. You groan. You say goodbye to the peace and quiet and close your books and notebooks. You’d just get up earlier tomorrow. Get to school early so you can finish it there. This wasn’t unusual. You liked getting up early. That way you could be out of the house before mom woke up. You wanted to return your books to your bag but your backpack was still damp inside. You take your backpack and place it directly on the radiator. Leaving your books on your desk. The energy you felt earlier was slowly reaching its end. It had died down and left you drowsy. The feeling of a slight headache coming up. You could have caught a cold. Your heart sank at the thought. Just imagining being home sick. Your mother would berate and shame you all day long. And if she didn’t do it then your brain was so hard wired in a way where you would beat yourself up for it instead. You rub your forehead and slide your hands down over your eyes and down your cheeks. Wiping your eyes again for good measure. You’re fine. It’s all fine. You feel the exhaustion setting in. You look out the window into the sky. Full moon. You scan the darkness and for a second you feel anxious. Your heart beating a little faster for it had taken awhile before you finally found a star shining. It was only one but you needed that light. It meant a little bit of hope for you. A little light amongst everything else. After finding your light, only then you felt safe going to sleep. You lay down on your bed, drowning out everything else. You sink into your mattress and easily feel yourself slipping into a dream.
-
The blearing ear piercing sound of your alarm clock invades your eardrums. It’s still dark outside. 5 AM. You squeeze your eyes and furrow your eyebrows before waking up. You rub the sleep from your eyes before opening them and then immediately slamming the alarm shut. It’s quiet and cold. The window had some frost on it. Despite the chill in the room you had no problem getting up. You were quiet and merely thinking about how shitty school would be. Henry Bowers…. You thought to yourself. He has been targeting you a lot lately. Maybe he’d be sick today or maybe his car would crash and explode into flames. Who the fuck even allowes Henry to have a car? The more you thought of the name Henry Bowers the more it was starting to sour your mood. You quickly get yourself dressed and ready. Heading to the bathroom to do your make-up and hair. It feels kinda pointless, knowing that at the end of the school day the tears would just wash your pretty eyeliner away anyway. Maybe you’d hop by the store and check out the waterproof ones. Not that you had the money to buy any but sometimes you’d be lucky enough to snatch one or two. Granted the store clerk wasn’t paying attention.
You check yourself out in the bathroom mirror. “Not bad, not bad at all” You think to yourself. Yes, it was rather important to not let go of such traditions. Even if they’d matter not at the end of the day. It showed that you still had spirit. Rushing back to your room to take your homework from the desk and pack your bag with all the learning essentials a student could need. Your bag was still a little damp around the edges but it was good enough. Putting on your shoes and walking down those stairs. You feel good. Well, maybe a little unsure with the false hope that it won’t be as bad as you expect but hopeful either way. You go to the kitchen and prepare the coffee machine. Filling the filter and setting up the water. Not just for yourself but for your mother once she would wake up too. The amount of times you’d come home to your mother being mad about something so small had happened enough that it had just become part of the routine. Even if you didn’t feel like having coffee at all. It takes a little extra time but it beats being called arrogant and selfish. The coffee machine begins to drip into the coffee pot with a little ‘tink’ everytime it hits the glass bottom. You stretch yourself. Simply waiting for the coffee pot to fill up. You already take your thermos from the cabinet. It was old and it used to be your dads but it still kept your coffee warm throughout the entire day. The coffee pot was half full. You take the bread from the other cabinet and a variety of jams from the fridge. Preparing yourself some lunch for today. Jelly sandwich. It was simple but always nice. You take the tinfoil from those roll holders and wrap up your sandwiches and neatly fold them shut. The coffee pot had reached its limit. Steaming and hot you take the filled coffee pot from its stand and fill up your thermos. Close the thermos tightly. You don’t want another accident like last time. Before putting the thermos in your bag also you set up the coffee machine again. Dripping to fill the coffee pot once again. You hope that your mother will be awake on time. Sometimes the coffee would be cold by the time she got up and that would somehow also be your fault. Another reason for her to be mad.
It didn’t matter right now. That is something to worry about after school. It was time to get going and to focus on the day ahead. You could deal with your mother later. You took your coat from the rack and were about to reach for your umbrella. Fuck, right, Bowers broke it. Another reason to hope, hope it stays dry today. Hoisting your backpack onto your shoulders and taking your set of housekeys from the little hanger on the wall. It had a little keychain on it of a girl with big blue pigtails. It was your favorite. Opening the door your face is hit with the autumn wind in the early morning. It felt really refreshing and chilly but in a good way. Closing the door behind you softly. You walk your way to school like you always did. Sometimes a kid who had the same idea of being early would pass you on their bike. You always felt a little jealous of that. Surely if you got yourself a parttime job in a couple months you could easily get yourself a bike. Then again school was only a 15 minute walk. It was about a little over 7 am right now and the school was showing itself at the end of the street. A looming dark prison for the youth. Class wouldn’t start till 8:30 but you were allowed to enter the building after 7. So you were right on time. There were already some bikes on the bikerack and some teachers' cars that were parked in the lot. You slump your way up the stairs and through the door. Shuffling through the hall till you reach your locker. It had a big dent in the middle from when Bowers had thrown another kid against it. Literally just picked him up and tossed him like it was nothing. It was okay, as long as you could still lock it. However opening it required you to push up against it with your arm and wiggle the door a little bit. Otherwise it’d get stuck. You got used to it though. It actually made your locker feel more secure. You place your books neatly inside your locker and you hang your coat on the hanger inside. The inside of your locker was pretty personalized. Little doodles and drawings you drew on the inside of the door made it look a lot nicer even with the giant dent weirdly warping some of the decorations. Maybe someday you’d put some pretty pictures inside. For now the doodles will have to do and they are fine. You get your backpack and walk to the library. It was always open, even after school hours. A good place to finish the last bits of your homework before class starts. You try hard to focus but the ticking of the clock and knowing when the bell of hell would ring. So aware of the quiet time you have left just fills you with anxiety.