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Title: IT Chapter: Four/? Rating: R Spoilers: Up to and including the last season shown. Beta Reader: Scotty Welles Shadow Mage Summary: Alt-Buffy/IT verse and crossover. What if Willow was the seventh member of the choosen group instead of Ben. Disclaimer: Nope, don't belong to me. It belongs to Stephan King. <><><><><><><> Summer Of 1989 <><><><><><><> Beverly Marsh had been out running an errand for her father. With the curfew, she didn't want to risk being out past seven. For the last few months, newborn babies and children from ages ranging up to 16 were disappearing in rapid succession, only to reappear days or weeks later eaten and mutilated. That is, the bodies they'd managed to find. The police didn't seem to be to inclined to help, coming up with outrageous theories. Ranging from a stranger kidnapping theory to "they just wandered off somewhere". The curfew was more of a way to make less work for the police investigators than it was out of concern. But she feared her father more. She learned over the years that disobeying him was a painful mistake. She hugged her oversized coat closer to her body and sped up her pace. She was already an hour over the curfew and the rapidly darkening sky was making it harder to stay calm. "Beverly...." She faltered, in the middle of the canal bridge, at the spine-chilling voice going against the wind. Her eyes were drawn to the clown standing on the frozen river. His hand was filled with strings leading up to a large cluster of balloons. They danced around, floating against the wind. His silver eyes seemed unnaturally bright against the dull, bone-white and blood-red makeup. "Come here, Bevy, and I'll give you a balloon. They float, Bevy, they all float; take one and see." She stared with wide eyes at the clown as it became the Mummy. Its bandages were beige and hanging. They were loose in some places, leaving his face exposed in areas. Embalmed skin stretched across his face. He had no visible lips, leaving his teeth showing. Shallow eye sockets were dark and bare. It still wore the clown suit. She felt frozen in place as the Clown Mummy grew closer and closer, but his feet weren't moving. Her eyes widened as she noticed that, while the ice seemed to glow under the street lamps, the clown cast no shadows. A loud car horn in the distance broke the daze. Startling the clown, and giving her the chance to take off in a run. "Balloons don't float against the wind." "Yeah, and pictures don't bleed," Bev snapped back to Oz. Richie dropped his gaze and shifted nervously. "I, uh...I saw it too. You remember that day I ended up splattering Henry and old Stoneface with my lunch?" "Y-y-yeah. H-h-h-he s-s-sent y-y-you down t-t-to the b-b-b-basement f-f-f-or a m-m-mop." Saturday found him broke and desperate. He'd spent breakfast begging his father for some money, just enough for him to go the old theater to watch a horror double feature. His father had sat there, calmly turning the page of the newspaper. "Did I give you your allowance this week?" "Yeeeeaaaaah." His father turned another page, reading through the reading glasses perched on his nose. "Why don't you use that?" Oz smiled brightly at his old man. "I tell ya, sir, it's such a tale that even the Devil wouldn't believe it. Whys, I wuz going..." "Richie," his father warned. The gray-haired man folded the paper and turned his attention to him. "This means a lot to you?" "Yes sir, I'll die if I don't go. My tongue will swell up and I'll choke to death." Richie grabbed his throat, making a gagging noise, his tongue hanging out of the corner of his mouth. When his mother glanced over to glare at him, he fell backwards off his chair, twitching and convulsing. "Richie Oswald Tozier, if you don't get off my clean floor right this minute..." Richie hopped up onto the chair and beamed at his father. "Tell you what. I'll give you five dollars once you've cut the grass, and I mean the front AND the back." "But Daaad, that'll take all day, and it wouldn't even be enough to get in!" His father cracked a smile that sent chills through him. 'Oh oh...' "When you finish, you can clean your room and I'll give you another ten." Richie was rendered speechless. His father had trapped him, he was checkmated and had no way out. 'Oh mannn...' It had taken the entire morning and most of the afternoon to get everything finished. The only reason he'd managed to make it out of there with the money had been his sweep-and-hide technique. Finely-tuned over the years. But now, he was free. Waltzing happily through the downtown area, he'd spotted Bill already in line. The two boys had decided that, with Eddie out of town and Stan on a camping trip, today would be a good day to bond over a horror movie, the only way two boys can. That Monday was the problem. After smashing his tray into Henry, he'd made a run in the other direction, ending up slamming head first into the assistant principal, Stoneface Jackson. The elder man had taken one look at the retreating figures of Henry, Belch, and Victor and ordered him to go get a mop from the Janitor. He was too happy over being let off the hook to even think of protesting. Instead, he'd hurried out of there as fast as he could without running, before Stoneface could change his mind. Jumping off the lower steps to the lower level of the school, he began the futile search for Beverly's father. "Mr. Marshal? Stonef...uh, Mr. Jackson sent me down here for a mop." He pushed his way into the basement, where the dark, damp cement-floored area held a reek of alcohol and disinfectant. The water pipes banged loudly, while the hot water heater churned and spluttered. "Mr. Marshal...?!" He walked deeper into the dimly-lit room, hearing a shuffling from behind one of the boilers. "Mr. Marshal? It's Richie, I need to borro..." He sputtered as his throat went suddenly and painfully dry. His knees shook, slamming into each other. The tall, muscular, hairy beast stepped out into the light, roaring at him. He numbly took a step away from the werewolf. His worst, most secret fear. He'd always been scared of becoming one. Being a creature overtaken by animal instincts and uncontrollable killing. "No, no, no. Man, this is one hunt I want no part of." Richie spun around on his heels and ran. Willow closed her eyes and sighed. "It's taking the form of our worst fears. For me, it's a clown, for Bev it's the Mummy, for Eddie the leper." "That's what's happening to all the children," Bev whispered. "But why hasn't it killed any of us yet?" Eddie asked. "I don't know." Willow looked over to Stan, who'd remained unnaturally still. "What about you?" Stan stared her right in the eyes, his statement stony. "He isn't real. You're all crazy. There's no such thing as monsters." "It is real." "No it isn't." Bev took her hand. "Yes it is." Eddie took Bev's hand. "Yes." Bill gripped Eddie's hand and nodded. "Y-y-y-yes." Richie plopped down next to Willow and took her hand. "Lords, yes." Stan clamped his hands over his ears, rocking back in forth. "No, please, no. I can't..." "Come on and tell grandpa Richie all about the bad, nasty clown. What'd he do to you? Honk your nose, spank you for saying a bad word?" "SHUT UP!!!" Willow walked over to the trembling boy and wrapped him into her arms, gently shushing him. He hiccupped loudly as the last of his tears fell from his eyes. "It wasn't a clown..." he whispered. "Jay seus and Johosaphates, look at this bloody mess, my saints be praised," a voice interrupted. "What the hell happened down here?" They looked up with a start at the cops looming nearby. " I signed the release waiver, so feel free to put things in my slot anytime." - Charles Angels. Odo: Madam Ambassodor, I'm not like you. Every sixteen hours I revert to a liqiud. 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