Boy, I guess everybodys asleep, Richie said, tossing his empty Rockettube nonchalantly into the gutter. You ever see it so quiet? What, did everbody go to Bar Harbor for the day? HHHHey you guhguhguys! Bill Denbrough shouted from behind them. WuhWuhhait up! Eddie turned, delighted as always to hear Big Bills voice. He was wheeling Silver around the corner of Costello Avenue, outdistancing Mike, although Mikes Schwinn was almost brandnew. Hiyo Silver, AWAYYYY! Bill yelled. He rolled up to them doing perhaps twenty miles an hour, the playing cards clothespinned to the fenderstruts roaring. Then he backpedalled, locked the brakes, and produced an admirably long skidmark. Stuttering Bill! Richie said. Howaya, boy? Ah say . . . Ah say . . . how aw you, boy? Im oookay, Bill said. Seen Ben or BuhBuhheverly? Mike rode up and joined them. Sweat stood out on his face in little drops. How fast does that bike go, anyway? Bill laughed. I dddont nuhknow, eexactly. Pretty fffast. I havent seen them, Richie said. Theyre probably down there, hanging out. Singing twopart harmony. Shboom, shboom ... yadadadadadada ... you look like a dream, shweetheart. Stan Uris made throwingup noises. Hes just jealous, Richie said to Mike. Jews cant sing. Buhbuhbuh Beepbeep, Richie,  Richie said for him, and they all laughed. They started toward the Barrens again, Mike and Bill pushing their bikes. Conversation was brisk at first, but then it lagged. Looking at Bill, Eddie saw an uneasy look on his face, and he thought that maybe the quiet was getting to him, too. He knew Richie had meant it as a joke, but it really did seem that everyone in Derry had gone to Bar Harbor for the day . . . to somewhere. Not a car moved on the street; there wasnt a single old lady pushing a carrier full of groceries back to her house or apartment. Sure is quiet, isnt it? Eddie ventured, but Bill only nodded. They crossed to the Barrens side of Kansas Street, and then they saw Ben and Beverly, running toward them, shouting. Eddie was shocked by Beverlys appearance; she was usually so neat and clean, her hair always washed and tied back in a ponytail. Now she was streaked with what looked like every kind of gluck in the universe. Her eyes were wide and wild. There was a scratch on one cheek. Her jeans were caked with crap and her blouse was torn. Ben fell behind her, puffing, his stomach wobbling. Cant go down in the Barrens, Beverly was panting. The boys . . . Henry . . . Victor . . . theyre down there somewhere . . . the knife . . . he has a knife. . . . Sluhslow down, Bill said, taking charge at once in that effortless, almost unconscious way of his. He glanced at Ben as he ran up, his cheeks flushed bright, his considerable chest heaving. She says Henrys gone crazy, Big Bill, Ben said. Shit, you mean he used to be sane? Richie asked, and spat between his teeth. ShShut uhup, RuhRichie, Bill said, and then looked back at Beverly. TehTell, he said. Eddies hand crept into his pocket and touched his aspirator. He didnt know what all this was, but he already knew it wasnt good. Forcing herself to speak as calmly as possible, Beverly managed to get out an edited version of the storya version that began with Henry, Victor, and Belch catching up to her on the street. She didnt tell them about her fathershe was desperately ashamed of that. When she was finished Bill stood silent for a moment, hands in his pockets, chin down, Silvers handlebars leaning against his chest. The others waited, throwing frequent glances at the railing that ran along the edge of the dropoff. Bill thought for a long time, and no one interrupted him. Eddie became aware, suddenly and effortlessly, that this might be the final act. That was how the days silence felt, wasnt it? The feeling that the whole town had up and left, leaving only the deserted husks of buildings behind. Richie was thinking about the picture in Georges album that had suddenly come to life. Beverly was thinking about her father, how pale his eyes had been. Mike was thinking about the bird. Ben was thinking about the mummy, and a smell like dead cinnamon. Stan Uris was thinking of bluejeans, black and dripping, and hands as white as wrinkled paper, also dripping. CuhCuhCome ohohon, Bill said at last. WWere going dddown. Bill Ben said. His face was troubled. Beverly said Henry was really crazy. That he meant to kill IhIts nuhnot theirs, Bill said, gesturing at the green daggershaped slash of the Barrens to their right and below themthe underbrush, the choked groves of trees, the bamboo, the glint of water. IhIhIts not their pruhpruhhopperty. He looked around at them, his face grim. Im tttired of bbeing scuhschuhhared by them. We bbbeat them in the ruhrockfight, and if we hhhave to beat them aaagain, well duhduhdo it. But Bill, Eddie said, what if its not just them? Bill turned to Eddie, and with real shock Eddie saw how tired and drawn Bills face wasthere was something frightening about that face, but it wasnt until much, much later, as an adult drifting toward sleep after the meeting at the library, that he understood what that frightening thing was it was the face of a boy driven close to the brink of madness, a boy who was perhaps ultimately no more sane or in control of his own decisions than Henry was. Yet the essential Bill was still there, looking out of those haunted scarified eyes ... an angry, determined Bill. Well, he said, whuhwhuhwhat if its nuhnuhnot? No one answered him. Thunder boomed, closer now. Eddie looked at the sky and saw the stormclouds moving in from the west in black thunderheads. It was going to rain a bitch, as his mother sometimes said. Nuhnuhhow Ill tttell you what, Bill said, looking at them. None of you have to guhguhgo wwith me if you ddont want to. Thats uhuhup to you. Ill go along, Big Bill, Richie said quietly. Me too, Ben said. Sure, Mike said with a shrug. Beverly and Stan agreed, and Eddie last. I dont think so, Eddie, Richie said. Your arms not, you know, looking too cool. Eddie looked at Bill. I wwwant hhim, Bill said. You wwwalk with muhmuhme, EhEhEddie. Ill keep an eye on yuhyou. Thanks, Bill, Eddie said. Bills tired, halfcrazy face seemed suddenly lovely to himlovely and well loved. He felt a dim sense of amazement. Id die for him, I guess, if he told me to. What kind of power is that? If it makes you look like Bill looks now, its maybe not such a good power to have. Yeah, Bills got the ultimate weapon, Richie said. B.O. bombs. He raised his left arm and fluttered his right hand under the exposed armpit. Ben and Mike laughed a little, and Eddie smiled. Thunder boomed again, close and loud enough this time to make them jump and huddle closer together. The wind was picking up, rattling trash around in the gutter. The first of the dark clouds sailed over the hazy ringed disc of the sun, and their shadows melted away. The wind was cold, chilling the sweat on Eddies uncovered arm. He shivered. Bill looked at Stan and said a peculiar thing then. You got your bbbirdbook, Stan? Stan tapped his hip pocket. Bill looked at them again. Lets gggo down, he said. They went down the embankment singlefile except for Bill, who stayed with Eddie as he had promised. He allowed Richie to push Silver down, and when they had reached the bottom, Bill put his bike in its accustomed place under the bridge. Then they stood together, looking around. The coming storm did not produce a darkness; not even, precisely, a dimness. But the quality of the light had changed, and things stood out in a kind of dreamlike steely relief shadowless, clear, chiselled. Eddie felt a sinking of horror and apprehension in his guts as he realized why the quality of this light seemed so familiarit was the same sort of light he remembered from the house at 29 Neibolt Street. A streak of lightning tattooed the clouds, bright enough to make him wince. He put a hand up to his face and found himself counting One . . . two . . . three . . . And then the thunder came in a single coughing bark, an explosive sound, a sound like an M80 firecracker, and they drew even closer together. Wasnt any rain forecast this morning, Ben said uneasily. The paper said hot and hazy. Mike was scanning the sky. The clouds up there were blackbottomed keelboats, high and heavy, swiftly overrunning the blue haze that had covered the sky from horizon to horizon when he and Bill came out of the Denbrough house after lunch. Its comin fast, he said. Never saw a storm come so fast. And as if in confirmation, thunder whacked again. CCCome on, Bill said. LLets put EhEhEddies Parcheeheesi board in the cluhcluhclubhouse. They started along the path they had beaten in the weeks since the incident of the dam. Bill and Eddie were at the head of the line, their shoulders brushing the broad green leaves of the shrubs, the others behind them. The wind gusted again, making the leaves on the trees and bushes whisper together. Farther ahead, the bamboo rattled eerily, like drums in a jungle tale. Bill? Eddie said in a low voice. What? I thought this was just in the movies, but . . . Eddie laughed a little. I feel like somebodys watching me. Oh, theyre thththere, all rrright, Bill said. Eddie looked around nervously and held his Parcheesi board a little tighter. He 11 Eddies Room305 A.M. opened the door on a monster from a horror comic. A gorestreaked apparition stood there and it could only be Henry Bowers. Henry looked like a corpse which has returned from the grave. Henrys face was a frozen witchdoctors mask of hate and murder. His right hand was cocked at cheeklevel, and even as Eddies eyes widened and he began to draw in his first shocked breath, the hand pistoned forward, the switchblade glittering like silk. With no thoughtthere was no time; if he had stopped to think he would have diedEddie slammed the door closed. It struck Henrys forearm, deflecting the knifes course so that it swung in a savage sidetoside arc less than an inch from Eddies neck. There was a crunch as the door pinched Henrys arm against the jamb. Henry uttered a muffled cry. His hand opened. The knife clattered to the floor. Eddie kicked it. It skittered under the TV. Henry threw his weight against the door. He outweighed Eddie by over a hundred pounds and Eddie was driven back like a doll; his knees struck the bed and he fell on it. Henry came into the room and swept the door shut behind him. He twisted the thumbbolt as Eddie sat up, wideeyed, his throat already starting to whistle. Okay, fag, Henry said. His eyes dropped momentarily to the floor, hunting for the knife. He didnt see it. Eddie groped on the nighttable and found one of the two bottles of Perrier water he had ordered earlier that day. This was the full one; he had drunk the other before going to the library because his nerves were shot and he had a bad case of acidburn. Perrier was very good for the digestion. As Henry dismissed the knife and started toward him, Eddie gripped the green pearshaped bottle by the neck and smashed it on the edge of the nighttable. Perrier foamed and fizzed across it, flooding out most of the pillbottles that stood there. Henrys shirt and pants were heavy with blood, both fresh and semidried. His right hand now hung at a strange angle. Babyfag, Henry said, teach you to throw rocks. He made it to the bed and reached for Eddie, who still hardly realized what was happening. No more than forty seconds had elapsed since he had opened the door. Henry grabbed for him. Eddie thrust the ragged base of the Perrier bottle at him. It ripped into Henrys face, pulling open his right cheek in a twisted flap and puncturing Henrys right eye. Henry uttered a breathless scream and staggered backward. His slit eye, leaking whitishyellow fluid, hung loosely from its socket. His cheek sprayed blood in a gaudy fountain. Eddies own cry was louder. He got off the bed and went toward Henryto help him, perhaps, he wasnt really sureand Henry lurched at him again. Eddie thrust with the Perrier bottle as if with a fencing sword, and this time the jagged points of green glass punched deep into Henrys left hand and sawed at his fingers. Fresh blood flowed. Henry made a thick grunting noise, the sound, almost, of a man clearing his throat, and shoved Eddie with his right hand. Eddie flew back and struck the writingdesk. His left arm twisted behind him somehow and he fell on it heavily. The pain was a sudden sickening flare. He felt the bone go along the faultline of that old break, and he had to clench his teeth against a scream of agony. A shadow blotted out the light. Henry Bowers was standing over him, swaying back and forth. His knees buckled. His left hand was dripping blood on the front of Eddies robe. Eddie had held onto the stump of the Perrier bottle and now, as Henrys knees came completely unhinged, he got it in front of him, jagged base pointing upward, the cap braced against his sternum. Henry came down like a tree, impaling himself on the bottle. Eddie felt it shatter in his hand and a fresh bolt of grinding agony shuddered through his left arm, which was still trapped under his body. Fresh warmth cascaded over him. He wasnt sure if this batch was Henrys blood or his. Henry twitched like a landed trout. His shoes rattled an almost syncopated beat on the carpet. Eddie could smell his rotten breath. Then Henry stiffened and rolled over. The bottle protruded grotesquely from his midsection, capped end pointing toward the ceiling, as if it had grown there. Gug, Henry said, and said no more. He looked up at the ceiling. Eddie thought he might be dead. Eddie fought off the waves of faintness that wanted to cover him over and drag him down. He got to his knees, and finally to his feet. There was fresh pain as his broken arm swung out in front of him and that cleared his head a little. Wheezing, fighting for breath, he made it to the nighttable. He picked his aspirator out of a puddle of carbonated water, stuck it in his mouth, and triggered it off. He shuddered at the taste, then gave himself another blast. He looked around at the body on the carpetcould that be Henry? could it possibly be? It was. Grown old, his crewcut more gray than black, his body now fat and white and sluglike, it was still Henry. And Henry was dead. At long last, Henry was Gug,Henry said, and sat up. His hands clawed at the air, as if for holds which only Henry could see. His gouged eye leaked and dribbled; its bottom arc now bulged pregnantly down onto his cheek. He looked around, saw Eddie shrinking back against the wall, and tried to get up. He opened his mouth and a stream of blood gushed out. Henry collapsed again. Heart racing, Eddie fumbled for the telephone and succeeded only in knocking it off the table and onto the bed. He snatched it up and dialed 0. The phone rang again and again and again. Come on, Eddie thought, what are you doing down there, jacking off? Come on, please, answer the frigging phone! It rang again and again. Eddie kept his eyes on Henry, expecting him to start trying to gain his feet again at any moment. Blood. Dear God, so much blood. Desk, a fuzzy, resentful voice said at last. Ring Mr. Denbroughs room, Eddie said. Quick as you can. With his other ear he was now listening to the rooms around him. How loud had they been? Was someone going to pound on the door and ask if everything was all right in there? You sure you want me to ring? the clerk asked. Its ten after three. Yes, do it! Eddie nearly screamed. The hand holding the phone was trembling in convulsive little bursts. There was a nest of waspy, rottenugly singing in his other arm. Had Henry moved again? No; surely not. Okay, okay, the clerk said. Cool your jets, my friend. There was a click, and then the hoarse burr of a roomphone ringing. Come on, Bill, come on, c A sudden thought, gruesomely plausible, occurred to him. Suppose Henry had visited Bills room first? Or Richies? Bens? Bevs? Or had Henry perhaps paid a visit to the library? Surely he had been somewhere else first; if someone hadnt softened Henry up, it would have been Eddie lying dead on the floor, with a switchblade growing out of his chest the way the neck of the Perrier bottle was growing out of Henrys gut. Or suppose Henry had visited all the others first, catching them bleary and halfasleep, as Henry had caught him? Suppose they were all dead? And that thought was so awful Eddie believed he would soon begin screaming if someone didnt answer the phone in Bills room. Please, Big Bill, Eddie whispered. Please be there, man. The phone was picked up and Bills voice, uncharacteristically cautious, said HHHello? Bill, Eddie said . . . almost babbled. Bill, thank God. Eddie? Bills voice grew momentarily fainter, speaking to someone else, telling the someone who it was. Then he was back strong. WWhats the muhhatter, Eddie? Its Henry Bowers, Eddie said. He looked at the body on the floor again. Had it changed position? This time it was not so easy to persuade himself it hadnt. Bill, he came here . . . and I killed him. He had a knife. I think . . . He lowered his voice. I think it was the same knife he had that day. When we went into the sewers. Do you remember? I rrremember, Bill said grimly. Eddie, listen to me. I want you to 12 The Barrens155 P.M. gggo back and tell BBBen to ccome up hhhere. Okay, Eddie said, and dropped back at once. They were approaching the clearing now. Thunder rumbled in the overcast sky, and the bushes sighed in the rising breeze. Ben joined him as they came into the clearing. The trapdoor to the clubhouse stood open, an improbable square of blackness in the green. The sound of the river was very clear, and Bill was suddenly struck by a crazy certainty that he was experiencing that sound, and this place, for the last time in his childhood. He drew a deep breath, smelling earth and air and the distant sooty dump, fuming like a sullen volcano that cannot quite make up its mind to erupt. He saw a flock of birds fly off the railroad trestle and toward the Old Cape. He looked up at the boiling clouds. What is it? Ben asked. Why hhhavent they tried to guhguhhet uus? Bill asked. Theyre ththere. EhEhEddie was ruhhight about that. I can fuhfuhheel them. Yeah, Ben said. I guess they might be stupid enough to think were going back into the clubhouse. Then theyd have us trapped. Muhmuhmaybe, Bill said, and he felt a sudden helpless fury at his stutter, which made it impossible for him to talk fast. Perhaps they were things he would have found impossible to say anywayhow he felt he could almost see through Henry Bowerss eyes, how he felt that, although on opposite sides, pawns controlled by opposing forces, he and Henry had grown very close. Henry expected them to stand and fight. It expected them to stand and fight. And be killed. A chilly explosion of white light seemed to fill his head. They would be victims of the killer that had been stalking Derry ever since Georges deathall seven of them. Perhaps their bodies would be found, perhaps not. It all depended on whether or not It could or would protect Henryand, to a lesser degree, Belch and Victor. Yes. To the outside, to the rest of this town, well have been victims of the killer. And thats right, in a funny sort of way that really is right. It wants us dead. Henrys the tool to get it done so It doesnt have to come out. Me first, I thinkBeverly and Richie might be able to hold the others, or Mike, but Stans scared, and sos Ben, although I think hes stronger than Stan. And Eddies got a broken arm. Why did I lead them down here? Christ! Why did I? Bill? Ben said anxiously. The others joined them beside the clubhouse. Thunder whacked again, and the bushes began to rustle more urgently. The bamboo rattled on in the fading stormy light. Bill It was Richie now. Shhh! The others fell uneasily silent under his blazing haunted eyes. He stared at the underbrush, at the path twisting away through it and back toward Kansas Street, and felt his mind suddenly go up another notch, as if to a higher plane. There was no stuttering in his mind; he felt as if his thoughts had been borne away on a mad flow of intuitionas if everything were coming to him. George at one end, me and my friends at the other. And then it will stop (again) again, yes, again, because this has happened before and there always has to be some sacrifice at the end, some terrible thing to stop it, I dont know how I can know that but I do . . . and they . . . they . . . They luhluhlet it happen, Bill muttered, staring wideeyed at the ratty pigtail of path. ShuhShuhSure they dddo. Bill? Bev asked, pleading. Stan stood on one side of her, small and neat in a blue polo shirt and chinos. Mike stood on the other, looking at Bill intensely, as if reading his thoughts. They let it happen, they always do, and things quiet down, things go on, It ... It ... (sleeps) sleeps . . . or hibernates like a bear . . . and then it starts again, and they know . . . people know . . . they know it has to be so It can be. I luhluhluhlll Oh please God oh please God he thrusts his fists please God against the posts let me get this out the posts and still insists oh God oh Christ OH PLEASE LET ME BE ABLE TO TALK! I 11led you ddown huhhere bbbbbecause nuhnuhnoplace is sssafe, Bill said. Spittle blabbered from his lips; he wiped them with the back of one hand. DuhDuhDerry is It. DDDo you uhuhunderstand mmme? He glared at them; they drew away a little, their eyes shiny, almost thanotropic with fright. Duhherry is IhIhIt! EhEhhennyppplace we gggo ... when IhIhIt ggggets uhus, they wwwuhhont suhsuhsee, they wwwont huhhuhhear, they wwwont nuhnuhknow. He looked at them, pleading. Duhdont yyyou suhsee hhow it ihihis? AAAll we cccan duhduhdo is to tttry and fuhhinish wwhat wwwwe stuhharted. Beverly saw Mr. Ross getting up, looking at her, folding his paper, and simply going into his house. They wont see, they wont hear, they wont know. And my father (take those pants off slutchild) had meant to kill her. Mike thought of lunch with Bill. Bills mother had been off in her own dreamy world, seeming not to see either of them, reading a Henry James novel while the boys made sandwiches and gobbled them standing at the counter. Richie thought of Stans neat but utterly empty house. Stan had been a little surprised; his mother was almost always home at lunchtime. On the few occasions when she wasnt, she left a note saying where she could be reached. But there had been no note today. The car was gone, and that was all. Probably went shopping with her friend Debbie, Stan said, frowning a little, and had set to work making eggsalad sandwiches. Richie had forgotten about it. Until now. Eddie thought of his mother. When he had gone out with his Parcheesi board there had been none of the usual cautions Be careful, Eddie, get under cover if it rains, Eddie, dont you dare play any rough games, Eddie. She hadnt asked if he had his aspirator, hadnt told him what time to be home, hadnt warned him against those rough boys you play with. She had simply gone on watching her soapopera story on TV, as if he didnt exist. As if he didnt exist. A version of the same thought went through all of the boys minds they had, at some point between getting up this morning and lunchtime, simply become ghosts. Ghosts. Bill, Stan said harshly, if we cut across? Through the Old Cape? Bill shook his head. I dont thuhthuhhink ssso. Wed ggget cccaught in the buhbuhbambbboo ... the quhquhquickmmud . . . or thered bbbe ruhruhreal ppppirahna fuhfuhfish in the KKKenduskeag ... ooor suhsuhhomething eeelse. Each had his or her own different vision of the same end. Ben saw bushes which suddenly became maneating plants. Beverly saw flying leeches like the ones that had come out of that old refrigerator. Stan saw the mucky ground in the bamboo vomiting up the living corpses of children caught in there by the fabled quickmud. Mike Hanlon imagined small Jurassic reptiles with horrid sawteeth suddenly boiling out of the cleft of a rotten tree, attacking them, biting them to pieces. Richie saw the Crawling Eye oozing down on top of them as they ran under the railroad trestle. And Eddie saw them climbing the Old Cape embankment only to look up and see the leper standing at the top, his sagging flesh acrawl with beetles and maggots, waiting for them. If we could get out of town somehow . . . Richie muttered, then winced as thunder shouted a furious negative from the sky. More rain fellit was still only squalling, but soon it would begin to come down seriously, in sheets and torrents. The days hazy peace was now utterly gone, as if it had never been at all. Wed be safe if we could just get out of this fucking town. Beverly began Beepb And then a rock came flying out of the shaggy bushes and struck Mike on the side of the head. He staggered backward, blood flowing through the tight cap of his hair, and would have fallen if Bill hadnt caught him. Teach you to throw rocks! Henrys voice floated mockingly to them. Bill could see the others looking around, wildeyed, ready to bolt in six different directions. And if they did that, it really would be over. BBBen! he said sharply. Ben looked at him. Bill, we gotta run. They Two more rocks flew out of the bushes. One struck Stan on the upper thigh. He yelled, more surprised than hurt. Beverly sidestepped the second. It struck the ground and rolled through the clubhouse trapdoor. DDDo you rrruhremember the fffirst duhday you cccame ddown here? Bill shouted over the thunder. The dddday schuhhool llet owout? Bill Richie shouted. Bill thrust a shushing hand at him; his eyes remained fixed on Ben, pinning him to the spot. Sure, Ben said, miserably trying to look in all directions at once. The bushes were now wavering and dancing wildly, their motion nearly tidal. The druhdruhdrain, Bill said. The pppumpingstuhhation. Thahthats where were suhsuhhupposed to gggo. Take us there! But Tuhtuhtake us ththere! A fusillade of rocks whizzed out of the bushes and for a moment Bill saw Victor Crisss face, somehow frightened, drugged, and avid all at the same time. Then a rock smashed into his cheekbone and it was Mikes turn to keep Bill from falling down. For a moment he couldnt see straight. His cheek felt numb. Then sensation returned in painful throbs and he felt blood running down his face. He swiped at his cheek, wincing at the painful knob that was rising there, looked at the blood, wiped it on his jeans. His hair whipped wildly in the freshening wind. Teach you to throw rocks, you stuttering asshole! Henry halflaughed, halfscreamed. TuhTuhTake us! Bill yelled. He understood now why he had sent Eddie back to get Ben; it was that pumpingstation they were supposed to go to, that very one, and only Ben knew exactly which one it wasthey ran along both banks of the Kenduskeag at irregular intervals. Ihihhits the pluhpluhhace! The wwway ihin! The wuhwuhwuhway to It! Bill, you cant know that! Beverly cried. He shouted furiously at herat all of them I know! Ben stood there for a moment, wetting his lips, looking at Bill. Then he struck off across the clearing, heading toward the river. A brilliant bolt of lightning streaked across the sky, purplishwhite, followed by a rip of thunder that made Bill reel on his feet. A fistsized chunk of rock sailed past his nose and struck Bens buttocks. He yipped with pain and his hand went to the spot. Yaah, fatboy! Henry cried in that same halflaughing, halfscreaming voice. The bushes rustled and crashed and Henry appeared as the rain stopped fooling around and came in a downpour. Water ran in Henrys crewcut, in his eyebrows, down his cheeks. His grin showed all his teeth. Teach you to throw r Mike had found one of the pieces of scrapwood left over from building the clubhouse roof and now he threw it. It flipped over twice and struck Henrys forehead. He screamed, clapped one hand to the spot like a man whos just had one hell of a good idea, and sat down hard. Ruhruhrun! Bill hollered. AAfter BuhBuhBen! More crashings and stumblings in the bushes, and as the rest of the Losers ran after Ben Hanscom, Victor and Belch appeared, Henry stood up, and the three of them gave chase. Even later, when the rest of that day had come back to Ben, he recalled only jumbled images of their run through the bushes. He remembered branches overloaded with dripping leaves slapping against his face, dousing him with cold water; he remembered that the thunder and lightning seemed to have become almost constant, and he remembered that Henrys screams for them to come back and fight seemed to merge with the sound of the Kenduskeag as they drew closer to it. Every time he slowed, Bill would whack him on the back to make him hurry up. What if I cant find it? What if I cant find that particular pumpingstation? The breath tore in and out of his lungs, hot and bloodytasting in the back of his throat. A stitch was sinking into his side. His buttocks sang where the rock had hit him. Beverly had said Henry and his friends meant to kill them, and Ben believed it now, yes he did. He came to the Kenduskeags bank so suddenly that he nearly plunged over the edge. He managed to get his balance, and then the embankment, undercut by the spring runoff, collapsed and he went tumbling over anyway, skidding all the way to the edge of the fastrunning water, his shirt rucking up in the back, clayey mud streaking and sticking to his skin. Bill piled into him and yanked him to his feet. The others burst out of the bushes which overhung the bank one after the other. Richie and Eddie were last, Richie with one arm slung around Eddies waist, his dripping specs clinging precariously to the end of his nose. WuhWuhWhere? Bill shouted. Ben looked first left and then right, aware that the time was suicidally short. The river seemed higher already, and the raindark sky had given it a dangerous slategray color as it boiled its way along. Its banks were choked with underbrush and stunted trees, all of them now dancing to the winds tune. He could hear Eddie sobbing for breath. Wuhwuhwhere? I dont kn he began, and then he saw the leaning tree and the eroded cave beneath it. That was where he had hidden that first day. He had dozed off, and when he woke up he had heard Bill and Eddie goofing around. Then the big boys had come . . . seen . . . conquered. Tata, boys, it was a real baby dam, believe me. There! he shouted. That way! Lightning flashed again and this time Ben could hear it, a buzzing noise like an overloaded Lionel traintransformer. It struck the tree and bluewhite electric fire sizzled its gnarly base into splinters and toothpicks sized for a fairytale giant. It fell toward the river with a rending crash, driving spray high into the air. Ben drew in a dismayed gasp and smelled something hot and punky and wild. A fireball rolled up the bole of the downed tree, seemed to flash brighter, and went out. Thunder exploded, not above them but around them, as if they stood in the center of the thunderclap. The rain sheeted down. Bill thumped him on the back, awaking him from his dazed contemplation of these things. GuhguhGO! Ben went, splashing and stumbling along the verge of the river, his hair hanging in his eyes. He reached the tree he little rootcave beneath it had been obliteratedand climbe over it, digging his toes into its wet hide, scraping his hands and forearms. Bill and Richie manhandled Eddie over, and as he stumbled off the treetrunk, Ben caught him. They both went tumbling to the ground. Eddie cried out. You all right? Ben shouted. I guess so, Eddie shouted back, getting to his feet. He fumbled for his aspirator and almost dropped it. Ben grabbed it for him and Eddie gave him a grateful look as he stuffed it into his mouth and triggered it. Richie came over, then Stan and Mike. Bill boosted Beverly up onto the tree and Ben and Richie caught her coming down on the far side, her hair plastered to her head, her bluejeans now black.


Bill came last, pulling himself onto the trunk and swinging his legs around. He saw Henry and the other two splashing down the river toward them, and as he slid off the fallen tree he shouted Ruhruhrocks! Throw rocks! There were plenty of them here on the bank, and the lightningstruck tree made a perfect barricade. In a moment or two all seven of them were chucking rocks at Henry and his pals. They had nearly reached the tree; the range was pointblank. They were driven back, yelling with pain and fury, as rocks struck their faces, their chests, their arms and legs. Teach us to throw rocks! Richie shouted, and chucked one the size of a hens egg at Victor. It struck his shoulder and bounced almost straight up into the air. Victor howled. Ah say . . . Ah say . . . go on an teach us, boy! We learn good! Yeeeehaaaah! Mike screamed. How do you like it? How do you like it? The answer was not much. They retreated until they were out of range and huddled together. A moment later they climbed the bank, slipping and stumbling on the slick wet earth, which was already honeycombed with little running streamlets, holding onto branches to stay upright. They disappeared into the underbrush. Theyre gonna go around us, Big Bill, Richie said, pushing his glasses up on his nose. Thats ohohokay, Bill said. GGo on, BBBen. Well fuhfuhfollow yyou. Ben trotted along the embankment, paused (expecting that Henry and the others would burst out into his face at any moment), and saw the pumpingstation twenty yards farther down the streambed. The others followed him to it. They could see other cylinders on the opposite bank, one fairly close, the other forty yards upstream. Those two were both shooting torrents of muddy water into the Kenduskeag, but only a trickle was coming from the pipe sticking out of the embankment below this one. It wasnt humming, either, Ben noticed. The pumping machinery had broken down. He looked at Bill thoughtfully . . . and with some fright. Bill was looking at Richie, Stan, and Mike. WWWe gguhhotta get the lllid ohohoff, he said. HHHelp mmme. There were handholds in the iron, but the rain had made them slippery and the lid itself was incredibly heavy. Ben moved in next to Bill, and Bill shifted his hands a little to make room. Ben could hear water dripping insidean echoey, unpleasant sound, like water dripping into a well. NuhnuhNOW! Bill shouted, and the five of them heaved in unison. The lid moved with an ugly grating sound. Beverly grabbed on beside Richie and Eddie pushed with his good arm. One, two, three, push! Richie chanted. The lid grated a little farther off the top of the cylinder. Now a crescent of darkness showed. One, two, three, push! The crescent fattened. One, two, three, push! Ben shoved until red spots danced in front of his eyes. Stand back! Mike shouted. There it goes, there it goes! They stood away and watched as the big circular cap overbalanced, then fell. It dug a slash in the wet earth and landed upsidedown, like an oversized checker. Beetles scurried off its surface and into the matted grass. Uck, Eddie said. Bill peered inside. Iron rungs descended to a circular pool of black water, its surface now pocked with raindrops. The silent pump brooded in the middle of this, halfsubmerged. He could see water flowing into the pumpingstation from the mouth of its inflow pipe, and with a sinking in his guts he thought Thats where we have to go. In there. EhEhEhEddie. GGrab on to mmme. Eddie looked at him, uncomprehending. Like a puhpuhpiggerback. Hold on with yyour gggood ahaharm. He demonstrated. Eddie understood but was reluctant. Quick! Bill snapped. ThThTheyll bbbe here! Eddie grabbed on around Bills neck; Stan and Mike boosted him up so he could hook his legs around Bills midsection. As Bill swung clumsily over the lip of the cylinder, Ben saw that Eddies eyes were tightly shut. Over the rain, he could hear another sound whipping branches, snapping twigs, voices. Henry, Victor, and Belch. The worlds ugliest cavalry charge. Bill gripped the rough concrete lip of the cylinder and felt his way down, step by careful step. The iron rungs were slippery. Eddie had him in what was almost a deathgrip, and Bill supposed he was getting a pretty graphic demonstration of what Eddies asthma was really all about. Im scared, Bill, Eddie whispered. III am, too. He let go of the concrete rim and grabbed the topmost rung. Although Eddie was nearly choking him and felt as if he had already gained forty pounds, Bill paused a moment, looking at the Barrens, the Kenduskeag, the racing clouds. A voice insidenot a frightened voice, just a firm onehad told him to take a good look, in case he never saw the upper world again. So he looked, then began to descend with Eddie clinging to his back. I cant hold on much longer, Eddie managed. You wwwont have to, Bill said. Were almost duhhown. One of his feet went into chilly water. He felt for the next rung and found it. There was another below that and then the ladder ended. He was standing in kneedeep water beside the pump. He squatted, wincing as the cold water soaked his pants, and let Eddie off. He drew a deep breath. The smell wasnt so hot, but it was great not to have Eddies arm wrapped around his throat. He looked up at the cylinders mouth. It was about ten feet over his head. The others were grouped around the rim, looking down. CCCome on! he shouted. Wuhone at a tttime! Be quick! Beverly came first, swinging easily over the rim and grabbing the ladder, and Stan next. The others followed. Richie came last, pausing to listen to the progress of Henry and friends. He thought, from the sound of their blundering progress, that they would probably pass a little to the left of this pumpingstation, but almost certainly not by enough to make a difference. At that moment Victor bellowed Henry! There! Tozier! Richie looked around and saw them rushing toward him. Victor was in the lead . . . and then Henry pushed him aside so savagely that Victor skidded to his knees. Henry had a knife, all right, a regular pigsticker. Drops of water were falling from the blade. Richie glanced into the cylinder, saw Ben and Stan helping Mike off the ladder, and swung over himself. Henry understood what he was doing and screamed at him. Richie, laughing crazily, slammed his left hand in the crook of his right elbow and stuck his forearm skyward, his hand fisted in what may be the worlds oldest gesture. To be sure Henry got the point, he popped his middle finger up. Youll die down there! Henry shouted. Prove it! Richie shouted, laughing. He was terrified of going into this concrete throat, but he still couldnt stop laughing. And in his Irish Cops Voice he bugled Sure an begorrah, the luck of the Irish nivver runs out, me foine lad! Henry slipped on the wet grass and went sprawling on his butt less than twenty feet from where Richie stood, his feet on the top rung of the ladder bolted to the inner curve of the pumpingstation, his head and chest out. Hey, bananaheels! Richie shouted, delirious with triumph, and then scooted down the ladder. The iron rungs were slick and once he almost fell. Then Bill and Mike grabbed him and he was standing up to his knees in water with the rest of them in a loose circle around the pump. He was trembling all over, he felt hot and cold chills chasing each other up his back, and still he couldnt stop laughing. You should have seen him, Big Bill, clumsy as ever, still cant get out of his own frockin way Henrys head appeared in the circular opening at the top. Scratches from branches and brambles crisscrossed his cheeks. His mouth was working, and his eyes blazed. Okay, he shouted down at them. His words had a flat resonance inside the concrete cylinder, not quite an echo. Here I come. Got you now. He swung one leg over, felt for the topmost rung with his foot, found it, swung the other one over. Speaking loud, Bill said WWhen hhhe guhgets dddown cluhhose eeenough, wwwe all gruhgruhgrab hhim. PPPull hhim dddown. DuhDuhDuck him uhunder. GGGot iit? Righto, guvnor, Richie said, and snapped a salute with one trembling hand. Got you, Ben said. Stan tipped a wink at Eddie, who didnt understand what was going onexcept it seemed to him that Richie had gone crazy. He was laughing like a loon while Henry Bowersthe dreaded Henry Bowersprepared to come down and kill them all like rats in a rainbarrel. All ready for him, Bill! Stan cried. Henry froze three rungs down. He looked down at the Losers over his shoulder. His face seemed, for the first time, doubtful. Eddie suddenly got it. If they came down, they would have to come one at a time. It was too high to jump, especially with the pumping machinery to land on, and here they were, the seven of them, waiting in a tight little circle. Cuhcuhhome ohon, HHenry, Bill said pleasantly. Wuhwuhwhat are you wwwaiting for? Thats right, Richie chimed in. You like to beat up little kids, right? Come on, Henry. Were waiting, Henry, Bev said sweetly. I dont think youll like it when you get down here, but come on if you want to. Unless youre chicken, Ben added. He began to make chicken sounds. Richie joined him at once and soon all of them were doing it. The derisive clucking rebounded between the damp, trickling walls. Henry looked down at them, the knife clutched in his left hand, his face the color of old bricks. He put up with perhaps thirty seconds of it and then climbed out again. The Losers sent up catcalls and insults. OOOkay, Bill said. He spoke in a lower voice. WWe guhgot to get ihihinto that druhhain. Quhquhquick. Why? Beverly asked, but Bill was spared the effort of an answer. Henry reappeared at the rim of the pumpingstation and dropped a rock the size of a soccer ball into the pipe. Beverly screamed and Stan pulled Eddie against the circular wall with a hoarse yell. The rock struck the pumping machinerys rusty housing and produced a musical bonggg! It ricocheted left and struck the concrete wall, missing Eddie by less than half a foot. A chip of concrete flicked painfully against his cheek. The rock fell into the water with a splash. Quhquhquick! Bill shouted again, and they crowded around the pumpingstations inflow pipe. Its bore was about five feet in diameter. Bill sent them in one after another (a vague circus imageall the big clowns coming out of the little carpassed across his consciousness in a meteoric flash; years later he would use the same image in a book called The Black Rapids), and climbed in last, after ducking another rock. As they watched, more rocks flew down, most striking the pump housing and rebounding at crazy angles. When they stopped falling, Bill looked out and saw Henry coming down the ladder again, as quick as he could. GGGet hhhim! he shouted to the others. Richie, Ben, and Mike floundered out behind Bill. Richie leaped high and grabbed Henrys ankle. Henry cursed and shook his leg as if trying to kick away a small dog with big teetha terrier, perhaps, or a Pekinese. Richie grabbed a rung, scrabbled up even higher, and actually did manage to sink his teeth into Henrys ankle. Henry screamed and pulled himself up quickly. One of his loafers came off and splashed into the water, where it sank with no ado at all. Bit me! Henry was screaming. Bit me! Cocksucker bit me! Yeah, good thing I had a tetanus shot this spring! Richie flung at him. Bash them! Henry was raving. Bash them, bomb them back to the stone age, bash their brains in! More rocks flew. The boys backed into the drain again quickly. Mike was struck on the arm by a small rock and he held it tight, wincing, until the pain began to abate. Its a standoff, Ben said. They cant get down and we cant get up. Were not ssupposed to get up, Bill said quietly, and yyyou all know it. WWere nuhhot eever supposed to ggget up aagain. They looked at him, their eyes hurt and afraid. No one said anything. Henrys voice, fury masquerading as mockery, floated down We can wait up here all day, you guys! Beverly had turned away and was looking back along the bore of the inflow pipe. The light grew diffuse quickly, and she could not see much. What she could see was a concrete tunnel, its lower third filled with rushing water. It was higher on her now than it had been when they first squeezed in here, she realized; that would be because this pump wasnt working and only some of the water was exiting on the Kenduskeag side. She felt claustrophobia touch her throat, turning the skin there to something that felt like flannel. If the water rose enough, they would drown. Bill, do we have to? He shrugged. It said everything. Yeah, they had to; what else was there? Be killed by Henry, Victor, and Belch in the Barrens? Or by something elsemaybe something worsein town? She understood his thought well enough now; there was no stutter in his shrug. Better for them to go to It. Have it out, like the showdown in a Western movie. Cleaner. Braver. Richie said What was that ritual you told us about, Big Bill? The one in the library book? ChChChd, Bill said, smiling a little. Chd. Richie nodded. You bite Its tongue and It bites yours, right? Ruhruhright. Then you tell jokes. Bill nodded. Funny, Richie said, looking into the dark pipe, I cant think of a single one. Me either, Ben said. The fear was heavy in his chest, almost suffocating. He felt that the only thing keeping him from just sitting down in the water and blubbering like a babyor just going crazywas Bills calm, sure presence . . . and Beverly. He felt he would rather die than show Beverly how afraid he was. Do you know where this pipe goes? Stan asked Bill. Bill shook his head. Do you know how to find It? Bill shook his head again. Well know when were getting close, Richie said suddenly. He drew a deep, trembling breath. If we have to do it, then lets go. Bill nodded. Ill be fffirst. Then EhEddie. BBBen. Bev. Stuhhan the MMMan. MMMike. You luhlast, RihRichie. EEveryone kkkeep one hhhand on the shuhhoulder of the ppperson in fruhfruhfront of yyyou. Its gonna be ddark. You coming out? Henry Bowers shrieked down at them. Were gonna come out somewhere, Richie muttered. I guess. They formed up like a procession of blindmen. Bill looked back once, confirming that each had a hand on the shoulder of the person ahead. Then, bending forward slightly against the rush of the current, Bill Denbrough led his friends into the dark where the boat he had made for his brother had gone almost a year before. CHAPTER 20 The Circle Closes 1 Tom Tom Rogan was having one fuck of a crazy dream. In it he was killing his father. Part of his mind understood how crazy this was; his father had died when Tom was only in the third grade. Well . . . maybe died wasnt such a good word. Maybe committed suicide was actually the truth. Ralph Rogan had made himself a ginandlye cocktail. One for the road, you might say. Tom had been put in nominal charge of his brother and sisters, and he began to receive whuppins if anything went wrong with them. So he couldnt have killed his father . . . except there he was, in this frightening dream, holding what looked like a harmless handle of some sort to his fathers neck . . . only it wasnt really harmless, was it? There was a button in the end of the handle, and if he pushed it a blade would pop out and go right through his fathers neck. Im not going to do anything like that, Daddy, dont worry, his dreaming mind thought just before his finger jammed down on the button and the blade popped out. His fathers sleeping eyes opened and stared up at the ceiling; his fathers mouth opened and a bloody gargling sound came out. Daddy, I didnt do it! his mind screamed. Someone else He struggled to wake up and couldnt. The best he could do (and it turned out to be not very good at all) was to fade into a new dream. In this one he was splashing and slogging his way down a long dark tunnel. His balls hurt and his face stung because it was crisscrossed with scratches. There were others with him, but he could only make out vague shapes. It didnt matter, anyway. What mattered were the kids somewhere up ahead. They needed to pay. They needed (a whuppin) to be punished. Whatever purgatory this was, it was a smelly one. Water dripped and echoed. His shoes and pants were soaked. The little shitpots were somewhere up ahead in this maze of tunnels, and perhaps they thought (Henry) Tom and his friends would get lost, but the joke was on them (haha all over you!) because he had another friend, oh yes, a special friend, and this friend had marked the path they were to take with . . . with . . . (MoonBalloons) thingamajigs that were big and round and somehow lighted from within so that they shed a glow like that which falls mysteriously from oldfashioned streetlamps. One of these balloons floated and drifted at each intersection, and on the side of each was an arrow, pointing the way into the tunnelbranch he and (Belch and Victor) his unseen friends were to take. And it was the right path, oh yes he could hear the others ahead, their splashing progress echoing back, the distorted murmurs of their voices. They were getting closer, catching up. And when they did ... Tom looked down and saw that he still had the switchknife in his hand. For a moment he was frightenedthis was like one of those crazy astral experiences he sometimes read about in the weekly tabloids, when your spirit left your body and entered someone elses. The shape of his body felt different to him, as if he were not Tom but (Henry) someone else, someone younger. He began to fight his way out of the dream, panicked, and then a voice was talking to him, a soothing voice, whispering in his ear It doesnt matter when this is, and it doesnt matter who you are. What matters is that Beverly is up there, shes with them, my good friend, and do you know what? Shes been doing something one hell of a lot worse than sneaking smokes. You know what? Shes been fucking her old friend Bill Denbrough! Yes indeed! She and that stuttering freak, going right at it! They Thats a lie! he tried to scream. She wouldnt dare! But he knew it was no lie. She had used a belt on his (kicked me in the) balls and run off and she now had cheated on him, the slutty (child) little roundheels bitch had actually cheated on him, and oh dear friends, oh good neighbors, she was going to get the whuppin of all whuppinsfirst her and then Denbrough, her novelwriting friend. And anyone who tried to get in his way, you could count them in for a piece of the action, too. He stepped up his pace, although the breath was already whistling in and out of his throat. Up ahead he could see another luminous circle bobbing in the darknessanother MoonBalloon. He could hear the voices of the people ahead of him, and the fact that they were childish voices no longer bothered him. It was as the voice said it didnt matter where, when or who. Beverly was up there, and oh dear friends, oh good neighbors Come on, you guys, move your asses, he said, and it didnt even matter that his voice wasnt his own but the voice of a boy. Then, as they approached the MoonBalloon, he looked around and saw his companions for the first time. Both of them were dead. One was headless. The face of the other had been split open, as if by a great talon. Were moving as fast as we can, Henry, the boy with the split face said, and his lips moved in two pieces, grotesquely out of sync with each other, and that was when Tom shrieked the dream to pieces and came back to himself, tottering on the brink of what felt like some great empty space. He struggled to keep his balance, lost it, and tumbled to the floor. The floor was carpeted but the fall still sent a sickening burst of pain through his hurt knee and he stifled another cry against his forearm. Where am I? Where the fuck am I? He became aware of a faint but clear white light, and for a frightening moment he thought he was back in the dream again, that it was light cast by one of those crazy balloons. Then he remembered leaving the bathroom door partially open and the fluorescent light in there on. He always left the light on when staying in a strange place; it saved you barking your shins if you had to get up in the night to pee. That clicked reality into place. It had been a dream, all some crazy dream. He was in a Holiday Inn. This was Derry, Maine. He had chased his wife here, and, in the middle of a crazy nightmare, he had fallen out of bed. That was all; that was the long and the short of it. That wasnt just a nightmare. He jumped as if the words had been spoken beside his ear instead of inside his own mind. It didnt seem like his own interior voice at allit was cold, alien . . . but somehow hypnotic and believable. He got up slowly, fumbled a glass of water off the table beside the bed, and drank it down. He ran shaky hands through his hair. The clock on the table said ten past three. Go back to sleep. Wait until morning. That alien voice answered But there will be people around in the morningtoo many people. And besides, you can beat them down there this time. This time you can be first. Down there? He thought of his dream the water, the dripping dark. The light suddenly seemed brighter. He turned his head, not wanting to but helpless to stop. A groan slipped out of his mouth. A balloon was tied to the knob of the bathroom door. It floated at the end of a string about three feet long. The balloon glowed, full of a ghostly white light; it looked like a willothewisp glimpsed in a swamp, floating dreamily between trees overhung with gray ropes of moss. An arrow was printed on the balloons gently bulging skin, an arrow that was bloodscarlet. It was pointing at the door leading out into the hall. It doesnt really matter who I am, the voice said soothingly, and Tom realized now that it wasnt coming from either his own head or from beside his ear; it was coming from the balloon, from the center of that strange lovely white light. All that matters is that I am going to see that everything turns out to your satisfaction, Tom. I want to see her take a whuppin; I want to see them all take a whuppin. Theyve crossed my path once too often . . . and much too late in the day for them. So listen, Tom. Listen very carefully. All together now . . . follow the bouncing ball . . . Tom listened. The voice from the balloon explained. It explained everything. When it was done, it popped in one final flash of light and Tom began to dress. 2 Audra Audra also had nightmares. She awoke with a start, sitting boltupright in bed, the sheet pulled around her waist, her small breasts moving with her quick, agitated breathing. Like Toms, her dreaming had been a jumbled, distressful experience. Like Tom, she had had the sensation of being someone elseor rather, of having her own consciousness deposited (and partially submerged) in another body and another mind. She had been in a dark place with a number of others around her, and she had been aware of an oppressive sensation of dangerthey were going into the danger deliberately and she wanted to scream at them to stop, to explain to her what was happening . . . but the person with whom she had merged seemed to know, and to believe it was necessary. She was also aware that they were being chased, and that their pursuers were catching up, little by little. Bill had been in the dream, but his story about how he had forgotten his childhood must have been on her mind, because in her dream Bill was only a boy, ten or twelve years oldhe still had all his hair! She was holding his hand, and was dimly aware that she loved him very much, and that her willingness to go on was based on the rocksolid belief that Bill would protect her and all of them, that Bill, Big Bill, would somehow bring them through this and back into the daylight again. Oh but she was so terrified. They came to a branching of many tunnels and Bill stood there, looking from one to the next, and one of the othersa boy with his arm in a cast which glimmered a ghostlywhite in the darknessspoke up That one, Bill. The bottom one. YYYoure sssure? Yes. And so they had gone that way and then there had been a door, a wee wooden door no more than three feet high, the sort of door you might see in a fairytale book, and there had been a mark on the door. She could not remember what that mark had been, what strange rune or symbol. But it had brought all her terror to a focusingpoint and she had yanked herself out of that other body, that girls body, whoever (BeverlyBeverly) she might have been. She awoke boltupright in a strange bed, sweaty, wideeyed, gasping as if she had just run a race. Her hands flew to her legs, halfexpecting to find them wet and cold with the water she had been walking through in her head. But she was dry. Disorientation followedthis was not their home in Topanga Canyon or the rented house in Fleet. It was noplacelimbo furnished with a bed, a dresser, two chairs, and a TV. Oh God, come on, Audra She scrubbed her hands viciously across her face and that sickening feeling of mental vertigo receded. She was in Derry. Derry, Maine, where her husband had grown through a childhood he claimed no longer to remember. Not a familiar place to her, or a particularly good place by its feel, but at least a known place. She was here because Bill was here, and she would see him tomorrow, at the Derry Town House. Whatever terrible thing was wrong here, whatever those new scars on his hands meant, they would face it together. She would call him, tell him she was here, then join him. After that . . . well . . . Actually, she had no idea what came after that. The vertigo, that sense of being in a place that was really noplace, was threatening again. When she was nineteen she had done a whistlestop tour with a scraggy little production company, forty notsowonderful performances of Arsenic and Old Lace in forty notsowonderful towns and small cities. All of this in fortyseven notsowonderful days. They began at the Peabody Dinner Theater in Massachusetts and ended at Play It Again Sam in Sausalito. And somewhere in between, in some Midwestern town like Ames Iowa or Grand Isle Nebraska or maybe Jubilee North Dakota, she had awakened like this in the middle of the night, panicked by disorientation, unsure what town she was in, what day it was, or why she was wherever she was. Even her name seemed unreal to her. That feeling was back now. Her bad dreams had carried over into her waking and she felt a nightmarish freefloating terror. The town seemed to have wrapped itself around her like a python. She could sense it, and the feelings it produced were not good. She found herself wishing that she had heeded Freddies advice and stayed away. Her mind fixed on Bill, grasping at the thought of him the way a drowning woman would grip at a spar, a lifepreserver, anything that (we all float down here, Audra) floats. A chill raced through her and she crisscrossed her arms across her naked breasts. She shivered and saw goosebumps ripple their way up her flesh. For a moment it seemed to her that a voice had spoken aloud, but inside her head. As if there was an alien presence in there. Am I going crazy? God, is that it? No, her mind responded. Its just disorientation . . . jetlag . . . worry over your man. Nobodys talking inside your head. Nobody We all float down here, Audra, a voice said from the bathroom. It was a real voice, real as houses. And sly. Sly and dirty and evil. Youll float, too. The voice uttered a fruity little giggle that dropped in pitch until it sounded like a clogged drain bubbling thickly. Audra cried out . . . then pressed her hands against her mouth. I didnt hear that. She said it out loud, daring the voice to contradict her. It didnt. The room was silent. Somewhere, far away, a train whistled in the night. Suddenly she needed Bill so badly that waiting until daylight seemed impossible. She was in a standardized motel room exactly like the other thirtynine units in the place, but suddenly it was too much. Everything. When you started hearing voices, it was just too much. Too creepy. She seemed to be slipping back into the nightmare shed so lately escaped. She felt scared and terribly alone. Its worse than that, she thought. I feel dead. Her heart suddenly skipped two beats in her chest, making her gasp and utter a startled cough. She felt an instant of prisonpanic, claustrophobia inside her own body, and wondered if all this terror didnt have a stupidly ordinary physical root after all maybe she was going to have a heart attack. Or was already having one. Her heart settled, but uneasily. Audra turned on the light by the bedtable and looked at her watch. Twelve past three. He would be sleeping, but that didnt matter to her nownothing mattered except hearing his voice. She wanted to finish the night with him. If Bill was beside her, her clockwork would fall in sync with his and settle down. The nightmares would stay away. He sold nightmares to othersthat was his tradebut to her he had never given anything but peace. Outside that odd cold nut imbedded in his imagination, peace seemed to be all he was made for or meant for. She got the Yellow Pages, found the number for the Derry Town House, and dialed it. Derry Town House. Would you please ring Mr. Denbroughs room? Mr. William Denbrough? Does that guy ever get any calls in the daytime? the clerk said, and before she could think to ask what that was supposed to mean, he had plugged her call through. The phone burred once, twice, three times. She could imagine him, sleeping with everything under the covers except the top of his head; she could imagine one hand coming out, feeling for the phone. She had seen him do it before, and a fond little smile touched her lips. It faded as the phone rang a fourth time . . . and a fifth, and a sixth. Halfway through the seventh ring, the connection was broken. That room does not answer. No shit, Sherlock, Audra said, more upset and frightened than ever. Are you sure you rang the right room? Ayup, the clerk said. Mr. Denbrough had an interroom call not five minutes ago. I know he answered that one, because the light stayed on the switchboard a minute or two. He must have gone to the persons room. Well, which room was it? I dont remember. Sixth floor, I think. But She dropped the phone back into its cradle. A queer disheartening certainty came to her. It was a woman. Some woman had called him . . . and he had gone to her. Well, what now, Audra? How do we handle this? She felt tears threaten. They stung her eyes and her nose; she could feel the lump of a sob in the back of her throat. No anger, at least not yet . . . only a sick sense of loss and abandonment. Audra, get hold of yourself. Youre jumping to conclusions. Its the middle of the night and you had a bad dream and now youve got Bill with some other woman. But it aint necessarily so. What youre going to do is sit upyoull never get back to sleep now anyway. Turn on some lights and finish the novel you brought to read on the plane. Remember what Bill says? Finest kind of dope. BookValium. No more heebiejeebies. No more whimwhams and hearing voices. Dorothy Sayers and Lord Peter, thats the ticket. The Nine Tailors. Thatll take you through to dawn. Thatll The bathroom light suddenly went on; she could see it under the door. Then the latch clicked and the door juddered open. She stared at this, eyes widening, arms instinctively crossing over her breasts again. Her heart began to slam against her ribcage and the sour taste of adrenaline flooded her mouth. That voice, low and dragging, said We all float down here, Audra. The last word became a long, low, fading screamAudraaaaathat ended once again in that sick, clogged, bubbly sound that was so much like laughter. Whos there? she cried, backing away. That wasnt my imagination, no way, youre not going to tell me that The TV clicked on.


She whirled around and saw a clown in a silvery suit with big orange buttons capering around on the screen. There were black sockets where its eyes should have been, and when its madeup lips stretched even wider in a grin, she saw teeth like razors. It held up a dripping, severed head. Its eyes were turned up to the whites and the mouth sagged open, but she could see well enough that it was Freddie Firestones head. The clown laughed and danced. It swung the head around and drops of blood splashed against the inside of the TV screen. She could hear them sizzling in there. Audra tried to scream and nothing came out but a little whine. She grabbed blindly for the dress lying over the back of the chair, and for her purse. She bolted into the hall and slammed the door behind her, gasping, her face paperwhite. She dropped the purse between her feet and slipped the dress over her head. Float, a low, chuckling voice said from behind her, and she felt a cold finger caress her bare heel. She uttered another high outofbreath scream and danced away from the door. White corpsefingers were seeking back and forth under it, the nails peeled away to show purplishwhite bloodless quicks. They made hoarse whispering noises on the rough nap of the hall carpet. Audra snagged the strap of her purse and ran barefooted for the door at the end of the corridor. She was in a blind panic now, her only thought that she had to find the Derry Town House, and Bill. It didnt matter if he was in bed with enough other women to make up a harem. She would find him and get him to take her away from whatever unspeakable thing there was in this town. She fled down the walkway and into the parkinglot, looking around wildly for her car. For a moment her mind froze and she couldnt even remember what she had been driving. Then it came Datsun, tobaccobrown. She spotted it standing hubcapdeep in the still, curdled groundmist, and hurried over to it. She couldnt find the keys in her purse. She swept through it with steadily increasing panic, shuffling Kleenex, cosmetics, change, sunglasses, and sticks of gum into a meaningless jumble. She didnt notice the battered LTD wagon parked nosetonose with her rented car, or the man sitting behind the wheel. She didnt notice when the LTDs door opened and the man got out; she was trying to cope with the growing certainty that she had left the Datsuns keys in the room. She couldnt go back in there; she couldnt. Her fingers touched hard serrated metal under a box of Altoid mints and she seized at it with a little cry of triumph. For a terrible moment she thought it might be the key to their Rover, now sitting in the Fleet railway stations carpark three thousand miles away, and then she felt the lucite rentalcar tab. She fumbled the key into the doorlock, breathing in harsh little gasps, and turned it. That was when a hand fell on her shoulder, and she screamed . . . screamed loudly this time. Somewhere a dog barked in answer, but that was all. The hand, as hard as steel, bit cruelly in and forced her around. The face she saw looming over hers was puffed and lumpy. The eyes glittered. When the swelled lips spread in a grotesque smile, she saw that some of the mans front teeth had been broken. The stumps looked jagged and savage. She tried to speak and could not. The hand squeezed tighter, digging in. Havent I seen you in the movies? Tom Rogan whispered. 3 Eddies Room Beverly and Bill dressed quickly, without speaking, and went up to Eddies room. On their way to the elevator they heard a phonebell begin somewhere behind them. It was muffled, a somewhereelse sound. Bill, was that yours? CCould have bbbeen, he said. One of the uhothers ccalling, muhhaybe. He punched the UP button. Eddie opened the door for them, his face white and strained. His left arm was at an angle both peculiar and weirdly evocative of old times. Im okay, he said. I took two Darvon. Pains not bad right now. But it was clearly not good, either. His lips, pressed so tightly together they had almost disappeared, were purple with shock. Bill looked past him and saw the body on the floor. One look was enough to satisfy him of two thingsit was Henry Bowers, and he was dead. He moved past Eddie and knelt by the body. The neck of a Perrier bottle had been driven into Henrys midsection, pulling the tatters of his shirt in after it. Henrys eyes were halfopen, glazed. His mouth, filled with coagulating blood, snarled. His hands were claws. A shadow fell over him and Bill looked up. It was Beverly. She looked down at Henry with no expression at all. All the times he chchchased us, Bill said. She nodded. He doesnt look old. You know that, Bill? He doesnt look old at all. Abruptly she looked back at Eddie, who was sitting on the bed. Eddie looked old; old and haggard. His arm lay in his lap, useless. Weve got to call the doctor for Eddie. No, Bill and Eddie said in unison. But hes hurt! His arm Its the same as luhluhlast tttime, Bill said. He got to his feet and held her by the arms, looking into her face. Once we ggo outside . . . once wwwe ihinvvholve the tttown Theyll arrest me for murder, Eddie said dully. Or theyll arrest all of us. Or theyll detain us. Or something. Then therell be an accident. One of the special accidents that only happen in Derry. Maybe theyll stick us in jail and a deputy sheriff will go berserk and shoot us all. Maybe well all die of ptomaine, or decide to hang ourselves in our cells. Eddie, thats crazy! Thats Is it? he asked. Remember, this is Derry. But were grownups now! Surely you dont think . . . I mean, he came here in the middle of the night . . . attacked you . . . WWith what? Bill said. Wheres the nuhnuhknife? She looked around, didnt see it, and dropped on her knees to look under the bed. Dont bother, Eddie said in that same faint, whistly voice. I slammed the door on his arm when he tried to stick me with it. He dropped it and I kicked it under the TV. Its gone now. I already looked. BBBeheverly, ccall the others, Bill said. I can spuhsplint EEEddies arm, I thhink. She looked at him for a long moment, then she looked down at the body on the floor again. She thought that the picture this room presented should tell a perfectly clear story to any policeman with half a brain. The place was a mess. Eddies arm was broken. This man was dead. It was a clear case of selfdefense against a nightprowler. And then she remembered Mr. Ross. Mr. Ross getting up and looking and then simply folding his newspaper and going back into the house. Once we go outside . . . once we involve the town . . . That made her remember Bill as a kid, his face white and tired and halfcrazy, Bill saying Derry is It. Do you understand me? ... Anyplace we go ... when It gets us, they wont see, they wont hear, they wont know. Dont you see how it is? All we can do is to try and finish what we started. Standing here now, looking down at Henrys corpse, Beverly thought Theyre both saying weve all become ghosts again. That its started to repeat. All of it. As a kid I could accept that, because kids almost are ghosts. But Are you sure? she asked desperately. Bill, are you sure? He was sitting on the bed with Eddie, gently touching his arm. AAArent yyou? he asked. After aaall thats huhhappened ttoday? Yes. All that had happened. The gruesome mess at the end of their reunion. The beautiful old woman who had turned into a crone before her eyes, (my fadder was also my mudder) the round of stories at the library tonight with the accompanying phenomena. All of those things. And still . . . her mind shouted at her desperately to stop this now, to spike it with sanity, because if she did not they were surely going to finish up this night by going down to the Barrens and finding a certain pumpingstation and I dont know, she said. I just . . . I dont know. Even after everything thats happened, Bill, it seems to me that we could call the police. Maybe. CCCall the uhothers, he said again. Well sssee what they ththink. All right. She called Richie first, then Ben. Both agreed to come right away. Neither asked what had happened. She found Mikes telephone number in the book and dialed it. There was no answer; after a dozen rings she hung up. TTTry the luhluhhibrary, Bill said. He had taken the short curtain rods down from the smaller of the two windows in Eddies room and was binding them firmly to Eddies arm with the belt of his bathrobe and the drawstring from his pajamas. Before she could find the number there was a knock at the door. Ben and Richie had arrived together, Ben in jeans and an untucked shirt, Richie in a pair of smart gray cotton trousers and his pajama top. His eyes looked warily around the room from behind his glasses. Christ, Eddie, what happened to Oh my God! Ben cried. He had seen Henry on the floor. BBBe quhhiet! Bill said sharply. And close ththe ddoor! Richie did it, his eyes fixed on the body. Henry? Ben took three steps toward the corpse and then stopped, as if afraid it might bite him. He looked helplessly at Bill. YYYou ttell, he said to Eddie. GGGoddam stuhhuhhutter is ggetting wuhwuhworse all the tttime. Eddie sketched in what had happened while Beverly hunted up the number for the Derry Public Library and called it. She expected that perhaps Mike had fallen asleep therehe might even have a bunk in his office. What she did not expect was what happened the phone was picked up on the second ring and a voice she had never heard before said hello. Hello, she answered, looking toward the others and making a shushing gesture with one hand. Is Mr. Hanlon there? Whos this? the voice asked. She wet her lips with her tongue. Bill was looking at her piercingly. Ben and Richie had looked around. The beginnings of real alarm stirred inside her. Who are you? she countered. Youre not Mr. Hanlon. Im Derry Chief of Police Andrew Rademacher, the voice said. Mr. Hanlon is at the Derry Home Hospital right now. He was assaulted and badly wounded a short time ago. Now who are you, please? I want your name. But she barely heard this last. Waves of shock rode through her, lifting her dizzily up and up, outside of herself. The muscles in her stomach and legs and crotch all went loose and numb, and she thought in a detached way This must be how it happens, when people get so scared they wet their pants. Sure. You just lose control of those muscles How badly has he been hurt? she heard herself asking in a papery voice, and then Bill was beside her, his hand on her shoulder, and Ben was there, and Richie, and she felt such a rush of gratitude for them. She held her free hand out and Bill took it. Richie placed his hand over Bills and Ben put his over Richies. Eddie had come over, and now he put his good hand on top. I want your name, please, Rademacher said briskly, and for a moment the skittering little craven inside of her, the one that had been bred by her father and cared for by her husband, almost answered Im Beverly Marsh and Im at the Derry Town House. Please send Mr. Nell over. Theres a dead man here whos still half a boy and were all very frightened. She said I ... Im afraid I cant tell you. Not just yet. What do you know about this? Nothing, she said, shocked. What makes you think I do? Jesus Christ! You just make a habit of calling the library every morning about threethirty, Rademacher said, is that it? Can the bullshit, young lady. This is assault, and the way the guy looks, it could be murder by the time the sun comes up. Ill ask you again who are you and how much do you know about this? Closing her eyes, gripping Bills hand with all her strength, she asked again He might die? Youre not just saying that to scare me? He really might die? Please tell me. Hes very badly hurt. And if that doesnt scare you, miss, it ought to. Now I want to know who you are and why As if in a dream she watched her hand float through space and drop the phone back into the cradle. She looked over at Henry and felt shock as keen as a slap from a cold hand. One of Henrys eyes had closed. The other one, the shattered one, oozed as nakedly as before. Henry seemed to be winking at her. 4 Richie called the hospital. Bill led Beverly over to the bed, where she sat with Eddie, looking off into space. She thought she would cry, but no tears came. The only feeling she was strongly and immediately aware of was a wish that someone would cover Henry Bowers. That winky look was really not cool at all. In one giddy instant Richie became a reporter from the Derry News. He understood that Mr. Michael Hanlon, the towns head librarian, had been assaulted while working late. Did the hospital have any word on Mr. Hanlons condition? Richie listened, nodding. I understand, Mr. Kerpaskiando you spell that with two ks? You do. Okay. And you are He listened, now enough into his own fiction to make doodling motions with one finger, as if writing on a pad. Uhhuh ... uhhuh ... yes. Yes, I understand. Well, what we usually do in cases like this is to quote you as a source. Then, later on, we can . . . uhhuh ... right! Just right! Richie laughed heartily and armed a film of sweat from his forehead. He listened again. Okay, Mr. Kerpaskian. Yes. Ill ... yes, I got it, KERPASKIAN, right! Czech Jewish, is it? Really! Thats ... thats most unusual. Yes, I will. Goodnight. Thank you. He hung up and closed his eyes. Jesus! he cried in a thick, low voice. Jesus! Jesus! Jesus! He made as if to shove the phone off the table and then simply let his hand fall. He took his glasses off and wiped them on his pajama top. Hes alive, but in grave condition, he told the others. Henry sliced him up like a Christmas turkey. One of the cuts chopped into his femoral artery and hes lost all the blood a man can and still stay alive. Mike managed to get some kind of tourniquet on it, or he would have been dead when they found him. Beverly began to cry. She did it like a child, with both hands plastered to her face. For a little while her hitching sobs and the rapid whistle of Eddies breathing were the only sounds in the room. Mike wasnt the only one who got sliced up like a Christmas turkey, Eddie said at last. Henry looked like he just went twelve rounds with Rocky Balboa in a Cuisinart. DDo you still wwwant to gggo to the pppolice, Bev? There were Kleenex on the nighttable but they were a caked and sodden mass in the middle of a puddle of Perrier. She went into the bathroom, making a wide circle around Henry, got a washcloth, and ran cool water on it. It felt delicious against her hot puffy face. She felt that she could think clearly againnot rationally but clearly. She was suddenly sure that rationality would kill them if they tried to use it now. That cop. Rademacher. He had been suspicious. Why not? People didnt call the library at threethirty in the morning. He had assumed some guilty knowledge. What would he assume if he found out that she had called him from a room where there was a dead man on the floor with a jagged bottleneck planted in his guts? That she and four other strangers had just come into town the day before for a little reunion and this guy just happened to drop by? Would she buy the tale if the shoe were on the other foot? Would anyone? Of course, they could buttress their tale by adding that they had come back to finish the monster that lived in the drains under the city. That would certainly add a convincing note of gritty realism. She came out of the bathroom and looked at Bill. No, she said. I dont want to go to the police. I think Eddies rightsomething might happen to us. Something final. But that isnt the real reason. She looked at the four of them. We swore it, she said. We swore. Bills brother ... Stan ... all the others ... and now Mike. Im ready, Bill. Bill looked at the others. Richie nodded. Okay, Big Bill. Lets try. Ben said, The odds look worse. than ever. Were two short now. Bill said nothing. Okay. Ben nodded. Shes right. We swore. EEEddie? Eddie smiled wanly. I guess I get another piggerback down that ladder, huh? If the ladders still there. No one throwing rocks this time, though, Beverly said. Theyre dead. All three of them. Do we do it now, Bill? Richie asked. YYYes, Bill said. I ththink this is the tttime. Can I say something? Ben asked abruptly. Bill looked at him and grinned a little. AAAny time. You guys are still the best friends I ever had, Ben said. No matter how this turns out. I just . . . you know, wanted to tell you that. He looked around at them, and they looked solemnly back at him. Im glad I remembered you, he added. Richie snorted. Beverly giggled. Then they were all laughing, looking at each other in the old way, in spite of the fact that Mike was in the hospital, perhaps dying or already dead, in spite of the fact that Eddies arm was broken (again), in spite of the fact that it was the deepest ditch of the morning. Haystack, you have such a way with words, Richie said, laughing and wiping his eyes. He should have been the writer, Big Bill. Still smiling a little, Bill said And on that nuhnuhnote 5 They took Eddies borrowed limo. Richie drove. The groundfog was thicker now, drifting through the streets like cigarette smoke, not quite reaching the hooded streetlamps. The stars overhead were bright chips of ice, spring stars ... but by cocking his head to the halfopen window on the passenger side, Bill thought he could hear summer thunder in the distance. Rain was being ordered up somewhere over the horizon. Richie turned on the radio and there was Gene Vincent singing BeBopALula. He hit one of the other buttons and got Buddy Holly. A third punch brought Eddie Cochran singing Summertime Blues. Id like to help you, son, but youre too young to vote, a deep voice said. Turn it off, Richie, Beverly said softly. He reached for it, and then his hand froze. Stay tuned for more of the Richie Tozier AllDead Rock Show! the clowns laughing, screaming voice cried over the fingerpops and guitarchops of the Eddie Cochran tune. Dont touch that dial, keep it tuned to the rockpile, theyre gone from the charts but not from our hearts and you keep coming, come right along, come on everybody! We play aaaalll the hits down here! Aaallllll the hits! And if you dont believe me, just listen to this mornings graveyardshift guest deejay, Georgie Denbrough! Tell em, Georgie! And suddenly Bills brother was wailing out of the radio. You sent me out and It killed me! I thought It was in the cellar, Big Bill, I thought It was in the cellar but It was in the drain, It was in the drain and It killed me, you let It kill me, Big Bill, you let It Richie snapped the radio off so hard the knob spun away and hit the floormat. Rock and roll in the sticks really sucks, he said. His voice was not quite steady. Bevs right, well leave it off, what do you say? No one replied. Bills face was pale and still and thoughtful under the glow of the passing streetlamps, and when the thunder muttered again in the west they all heard it. 6 In the Barrens Same old bridge. Richie parked beside it and they got out and moved to the railingsame old railingand looked down. Same old Barrens. It seemed untouched by the last twentyseven years; to Bill the turnpike overpass, which was the only new feature, looked unreal, something as ephemeral as a matte painting or a rearscreen projection effect in a movie. Cruddy little trees and scrub bushes glimmered in the twining fog and Bill thought I guess this is what we mean when we talk about the persistence of memory, this or something like this, something you see at the right time and from the right angle, image that kicks off emotion like a jet engine. You see it so clear that all the things which happened in between are gone. If desire is what closes the circle between world and want, then the circle has closed. CuhCuhCome on, he said, and climbed over the railing. They followed him down the embankment in a scatter of scree and pebbles. When they reached the bottom Bill checked automatically for Silver and then laughed at himself. Silver was leaning against the wall of Mikes garage. It seemed Silver had no part to play in this at all, although that was strange, after the way it had turned up. TuhTake us there, Bill told Ben. Ben looked at him and Bill read the thought in his eyesIts been twentyseven years, Bill, dream onand then he nodded and headed into the undergrowth. The paththeir pathhad long since grown over, and they had to force themselves through tangles of thornbushes, prickers, and wild hydrangea so fragrant it was cloying. Crickets sang somnolently all around them, and a few lightningbugs, early arrivals at summers luscious party, poked at the dark. Bill supposed kids still played down here, but they had made their own runs and secret ways. They came to the clearing where the clubhouse had been, but now there was no clearing here at all. Bushes and lackluster scrub pines had reclaimed it all. Look, Ben whispered, and crossed the clearing (in their memories it was still here, simply overlaid with another of those matte paintings). He yanked at something. It was the mahogany door they had found on the edge of the dump, the one they had used to finish off the clubhouse roof. It had been cast aside here and looked as if it hadnt been touched in a dozen years or more. Creepers were firmly entrenched across its dirty surface. Leave it alone, Haystack, Richie murmured. Its old. TuhTuhTake us ththere, BBen, Bill repeated from behind them. So they went down to the Kenduskeag following him, bearing left away from the clearing that didnt exist anymore. The sound of running water grew steadily louder, but they still almost fell into the Kenduskeag before any of them saw it the foliage had grown up in a tangled wall on the edge of the embankment. The edge broke off under the heels of Bens cowboy boots and Bill yanked him back by the scruff of the neck. Thanks, Ben said. De nada. In the oold ddays, you wuhhould have puhpulled me ihin aaafter you. DDown this wuhway? Ben nodded and led them along the overgrown bank, fighting through the tangles of bushes and brambles, thinking how much easier this was when you were only four feet five and able to go under most tangles (those in your mind as well as those in your path, he supposed) in one nonchalant duck. Well, everything changed. Our lesson for today, boys and girls, is the more things change, the more things change. Whoever said the more things change the more things stay the same was obviously suffering severe mental retardation. Because His foot hooked under something and he fell over with a thud, nearly striking his head on the pumpingstations concrete cylinder. It was almost completely buried in a wallow of blackberry bushes. As he got to his feet again he realized that his face and arms and hands had been striped by blackberry thorns in two dozen places. Make that three dozen, he said, feeling thin blood running down his cheeks. What? Eddie asked. Nothing. He bent down to see what he had tripped over. A root, probably. But it wasnt a root. It was the iron manhole cover. Someone had pushed it off. Of course, Ben thought. We did. Twentyseven years ago. But he realized that was crazy even before he saw fresh metal twinkling through the rust in parallel scrapemarks. The pump hadnt been working that day. Sooner or later someone would have come down to fix it, and would have replaced the cover in the bargain. He stood up and the five of them gathered around the cylinder and looked in. They could hear the faint sound of dripping water. That was all. Richie had brought all the matches from Eddies room. Now he lit an entire book of them and tossed it in. For a moment they could see the cylinders damp inner sleeve and the silent bulk of the pumping machinery. That was all. Could have been off for a long time, Richie said uneasily. Didnt necessarily have to happen t Its happened fairly recently, Ben said. Since the last rain, anyway. He took another book of matches from Richie, lit one, and pointed out the fresh scratches. Theres suhsuhsomething uhunder it, Bill said as Ben shook out the match. What? Ben asked. CCCouldnt tuhtuhtell. Looked like a struhstruhstrap. You and RihRichie help me ttturn it oover. They grabbed the cover and flipped it like a giant coin. This time Beverly lit the match and Ben cautiously picked up the purse which had been under the manhole cover. He held it up by the strap. Beverly started to shake out the match and then looked at Bills face. She froze until the flame touched the ends of her fingers and then dropped it with a little gasp. Bill? What is it? Whats wrong? Bills eyes felt too heavy. They couldnt leave that scuffed leather bag with its long leather strap. Suddenly he could remember the name of the song which had been playing on the radio in the back room of the leathergoods shop when he had bought it for her. Sausalito Summer Nights. It was the surpassing weirdism. All the spit was gone out of his mouth, leaving his tongue and inner cheeks as smooth and dry as chrome. He could hear the crickets and see the lightningbugs and smell big green dark growing out of control all around him and he thought Its another trick another illusion shes in England and this is just a cheap shot because Its scared, oh yes, Its maybe not as sure as It was when It called us all back, and really, Bill, get serioushow many scuffed leather purses with long straps do you think there are in the world? A million? Ten million? Probably more. But only one like this. He had bought it for Audra in a Burbank leathergoods store while Sausalito Summer Nights played on the radio in the back room. Bill? Beverlys hand on his shoulder, shaking him. Far away. Twentyseven leagues under the sea. What was the name of the group that sang Sausalito Summer Nights? Richie would know. I know, Bill said calmly into Richies scared, wideeyed face, and smiled. It was Diesel. Hows that for total recall? Bill, whats wrong? Richie whispered. Bill screamed. He snatched the matches out of Beverlys hand, lit one, and then yanked the purse away from Ben. Bill, Jesus, what He unzipped the purse and turned it over. What fell out was so much Audra that for a moment he was too unmanned to scream again. Amid the Kleenex, sticks of chewing gum, and items of makeup, he saw a tin of Altoid mints ... and the jewelled compact Freddie Firestone had given her when she signed for Attic Room. My wuhwuhwifes down there, he said, and fell on his knees and began pushing her things back into the purse. He brushed hair that no longer existed out of his eyes without even thinking about it. Your wife? Audra? Beverlys face was shocked, her eyes huge. Her pppurse. Her ththings. Jesus, Bill, Richie muttered. That cant be, you know th He had found her alligator wallet. He opened it and held it up. Richie lit another match and was looking at a face he had seen in half a dozen movies. The picture on Audras California drivers license was less glamorous but completely conclusive. But HuhHuhHenrys dead, and Victor, and BBBelch ... so whos got her? He stood up, staring around at them with febrile intensity. Whos got her? Ben put a hand on Bills shoulder. I guess we better go down and find out, huh? Bill looked around at him, as if unsure of who Ben might be, and then his eyes cleared. YYeah, he said. EhEhEddie? Bill, Im sorry. Can you cluhclimb on? I did once. Bill bent over and Eddie hooked his right arm around Bills neck. Ben and Richie boosted him up until he could hook his legs around Bills midsection. As Bill swung one leg clumsily over the lip of the cylinder, Ben saw that Eddies eyes were tightly shut ... and for a moment he thought he heard the worlds ugliest cavalry charge bashing its way through the bushes. He turned, expecting to see the three of them come out of the fog and the brambles, but all he had heard was the rising breeze rattling the bamboo a quarter of a mile or so from here. Their old enemies were all gone now. Bill gripped the rough concrete lip of the cylinder and felt his way down, step by step and rung by rung. Eddie had him in a deathgrip and Bill could barely breathe. Her purse, dear God, how did her purse get here? Doesnt matter. But if Youre there, God, and if Youre taking requests, let her be all right, dont let her suffer for what Bev and I did tonight or for what I did one summer when I was a boy .. and was it the clown? Was it Bob Gray who got her? If it was, I dont know if even God can help her. Im scared, Bill, Eddie said in a thin voice. Bills foot touched cold standing water. He lowered himself into it, remembering the feel and the dank smell, remembering the claustrophobic way this place had made him feel ... and, just by the way, what had happened to them? How had they fared down in these drains and tunnels? Where exactly had they gone, and how exactly had they gotten out again? He still couldnt remember any of that; all he could think of was Audra. I am tttoo. He halfsquatted, wincing as the cold water ran into his pants and over his balls, and let Eddie off. They stood shindeep in the water and watched the others descend the ladder. CHAPTER 21 Under the City 1 ItAugust 1958 Something new had happened. For the first time in forever, something new. Before the universe there had been only two things. One was Itself and the other was the Turtle. The Turtle was a stupid old thing that never came out of its shell. It thought that maybe the Turtle was dead, had been dead for the last billion years or so. Even if it wasnt, it was still a stupid old thing, and even if the Turtle had vomited the universe out whole, that didnt change the fact of its stupidity. It had come here long after the Turtle withdrew into its shell, here to Earth, and It had discovered a depth of imagination here that was almost new, almost of concern. This quality of imagination made the food very rich. Its teeth rent flesh gone stiff with exotic terrors and voluptuous fears they dreamed of nightbeasts and moving muds; against their will they contemplated endless gulphs. Upon this rich food It existed in a simple cycle of waking to eat and sleeping to dream. It had created a place in Its own image, and It looked upon this place with favor from the deadlights which were Its eyes. Derry was Its killingpen, the people of Derry Its sheep. Things had gone on. Then ... these children. Something new. For the first time in forever. When It had burst up into the house on Neibolt Street, meaning to kill them all, vaguely uneasy that It had not been able to do so already (and surely that unease had been the first new thing), something had happened which was totally unexpected, utterly unthought of, and there had been pain, pain, great roaring pain all through the shape it had taken, and for one moment there had also been fear, because the only thing It had in common with the stupid old Turtle and the cosmology of the macroverse outside the puny egg of this universe was just this all living things must abide by the laws of the shape they inhabit. For the first time It realized that perhaps Its ability to change Its shapes might work against It as well as for It. There had never been pain before, there had never been fear before, and for a moment It had thought It might dieoh Its head had been filled with a great white silver pain, and it had roared and mewled and bellowed and somehow the children had escaped. But now they were coming. They had entered Its domain under the city, seven foolish children blandering through the darkness without lights or weapons. It would kill them now, surely. It had made a great selfdiscovery It did not want change or surprise. It did not want new things, ever. It wanted only to eat and sleep and dream and eat again. Following the pain and that brief bright fear, another new emotion had arisen (as all genuine emotions were new to It, although It was a great mocker of emotions) anger. It would kill the children because they had, by some amazing accident, hurt It.