"You're almost as crazy as I am!" the voice laughed. Patrick let me go and I fell to the floor with a gasp of relief. I couldn't get enough oxygen into my lungs and the alleviation of my breathing brought back the pain of my nose and missing tooth. But they were the least of my worries.

"I don't... What?" Patrick spluttered. I forced myself to sit up and lean against the wall, but kept my head down.

"Now do you understand why I've been doing this to you, Patty? So I can come home to see this! It was almost enough for me to eat you right there and then... Almost." the clown laughed, and I turned my head to look at it.

The creature looked the same as I had always seen it - when it was in this form, at least. It was dressed in its usual abundance of ruffles with a blood-red grin, contrasted against its stark white skin. It was holding a weirdly shaped balloon that almost looked like it was covered in some sort of cloth, by a string. It cocked its head to its side, looking at me with yellow eyes.

"Ohh, you got her good! A broken nose, a missing tooth... You've done my job for me!" the clown tittered and Patrick gaped.

"I thought... No. No!" Patrick said, shaking his head as he pulled his hair.

"What's that story called again? You know, the one that your mother used to read to you when you were a little tyke?" the clown asked. I watched as dribble rolled down his chin in fear and disgust.

The clown waited for Patrick's reply, but it never came. "The Girl Who Cried Wolf! That's it. Didn't you use to love that story, Patty? Didn't you just love it?"

"Stop." Patrick whispered, still gripping his hair. I wanted to comfort him, even though I had no idea what was going on.

Even though he might try to kill me again.

The thought dawned on me, and the full realisation of what had happened sunk in. Patrick lied, asked me to help him, and then proceeded to strangle me! I didn't understand. I felt like I never understood anything, ever. What did I do wrong? Why did he all of a sudden hate me so much?

"Raise your hand if you're confused!" the clown said gleefully, as if he had read my thoughts. Nobody raised their hand; I was too exhausted to; but all of a sudden, the ribbon from the balloon shot out of its grip and wrapped around my wrist. I let out a shriek as it forced my arm to raise.

"Do you want to fill her in, Patty?" it asked, once again using its nickname for Patrick. Patrick didn't respond, he didn't even move. He looked like a statue.

"Well that's alright. I wanted to tell her anyway." the clown giggled and looked to me. "Let me introduce myself. I'm Pennywise, the dancing clown! And this is Patrick, the really messed up teenager with homicidal tendencies!" he let out a burst of laughter, but neither Patrick nor I joined in. He stopped abruptly, his gaze turning dark.

"One day, I was really hungry. I had just finished eating Betty's last leg, when Patrick came strolling along! Kids in Derry these days, they're practically begging to be eaten."

I felt the string tighten around my wrist and I winced.

"So you know, I did the usual. I took Patrick back here and expected to have a hearty meal, but he wasn't scared of me! Somehow, this human could tell when it wasn't real. I tried so hard to trick him, pretending that you had come to save him, but it never worked! He saw right through me." Pennywise laughed, but it was a dark laugh. The sound of it sent shivers down my spine. I looked back to Patrick, who hadn't moved an inch.

"I knew it couldn't last. So I just had to weaken him for a few days, until I brought you back here to give him a real good fright. For a human that's scared of so little, his fear of you is the strongest I've ever smelt. I can't wait to get a taste."

His fear of me? What did that mean? I felt Patrick shift and I tensed. He wasn't scared of me, he couldn't be. If anything, it should be me that was scared of him!

"I didn't know it was her! I didn't know!" Patrick yelled. I jumped and tried to scuttle away, but the string from the balloon held me back. The best I could do was angle my lower-half away from him.

"I wouldn't have done that if I'd known it was you, Lara. Please, believe me!" Patrick cried, looking to me desperately.

"I don't understand. Why are you afraid of me?" I whispered, trying to piece things together. Either my brain sucked or I had missed something; things weren't adding up.

"I'm not afraid of you! I swear!" he yelled. His eyes were wide and angry, contradicting the words coming out of his mouth. I looked away from him unsurely, my eyes landing back on Pennywise. I felt a shiver go through me as my eyes met his. I was cold, tired, and afraid.

"Patrick, you can tell her, you know. Better lay everything out on the table now, since you're going to die!" the clown burst into a fit of laughter.

"I'm not afraid of her! I'm not!" Patrick yelled. "And I'm not afraid of you!" he glared at Pennywise, who let a line of dribble drop off his chin in reply. He reminded me of a hungry cartoon character, but more scary.

"That's partially true, I guess." the clown replied, starting to go wall-eyed. "But I can be anything! So I should be able to scare you, but somehow you can see right through me. Guess you couldn't see through her, though." Pennywise let out a high-pitched giggle at his joke.

Patrick let out a low groan as he strained his arms against the chains. It wasn't a groan of pain, though. It was a groan of exhaustion.

The balloon string on my wrist tightened even more. Any tighter, and it would draw blood.

"Fine, Patty, Ignore me." Pennywise said. All of a sudden, the string yanked me forward and pulled me towards him. I hit the ground and felt the concrete graze my legs as I was dragged to his feet. I tried to keep my face off of the ground, not wanting to make my wounds any worse than they already were. When I finally came to a stop, I was met with the bright red pompoms of his shoes.

I was feeling so much pain in that moment, that I almost felt none at all. It was like the individual voices of a choir, and how they merged into one, becoming a soothing sound that enveloped me like a blanket. A blanket I knew would be ripped from me as soon as I tried to move.

To my horror, the balloon string continued to tighten and my blanket was indeed ripped from me. I screamed and writhed as I started to lift up, my shoulder burning from the strain. First, I was raised onto my knees. Then, I was barely grazing the ground with my toes.

The clown looked at me with an impossibly large smile. I was now eye-to-eye with him, a couple of feet off of the floor. I could hear Patrick saying something in the background, but the words wouldn't process.

I was in a trance. All I could see was the clown's yellow eyes, staring into my soul as I stared into Its. Fear consumed every inch of my body. I could even feel it in my toes.

Unwillingly, I was forced to look up. It was as if something had taken control of my body, and was moving it for me. I tried to move on my own accord, but I couldn't even twitch my fingers. A scream died in my throat.

I was forced to look up, up at the string that bound me and up at the balloon that carried me.

Except I realised it wasn't a balloon at all. It was Beverly.

She was curled up into a ball, which was why I had thought it had looked so unusual. Her knees tucked into her chest and arms locking them in place, yet somehow looking extremely limp at the same time. Her eyes were white and staring down at me, but without seeing at me at all. She looked dead.

I wanted to cry out to her. What I would have said if I could, I never knew. But in that moment, I knew there was no hope. No hope for me, no hope for Beverly, no hope for Patrick, and no hope for Derry.

We were doomed. We were all going to die.

The clown didn't have a smell, didn't breathe, had no warmth whatsoever. So how I could feel its lips at my ear, I didn't know, but I wasn't surprised when I heard it speak.

"He's scared that I'll eat you. That I'll feast on your flesh and feed on your fear, and that you'll leave him all alone. He's scared for you." the clown whispered. "Time to eat."

My head was forced to turn and look at him

At his open mouth with rows upon rows of sharp teeth

And beyond that, into the back of his throat

Where the deadlights lay