FF: It: Chapter Seven

[aerisjade@xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx]

Title: IT 
Chapter: Seven/? 
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. 

<><><><><><><> 
Summer Of 1989 
<><><><><><><> 

She tenderly placed the last book on the copier, then started it,
absently glancing at her watch. She'd been in the small library for
the last five hours, looking for any information on the Clown. She'd run
across sentences mentioning a clown named Pennywise, and a couple of
paragraphs here and there about a mysterious clown that would show up
in Derry every thirty years. Nothing very solid.

But where the Derry history lacked, the books describing myths and
legends were helpful. She'd found a lot of valuable information, and
had finally figured out just what they were dealing with. It was all
there, just waiting for someone to come along and figure it out,
someone with an inquisitive mind and the sense to put it all together. 
The hacker's mind, in short. 

The bad part was that if she was right, then they were in a lot more
trouble than they'd originally though. 

She grabbed the last of the copies and folded them into the black
canvas shoulder army bag, dumping the stack of books on the nearby book
cart. She walked through the library, trying to decide whether to risk
the walk home so late at night, or to call her Uncle and hope that she
survived the suicidal drive. 

Shaking off the thought of her Uncle, she decided that she'd rather
deal with the Clown again. She pushed her way out into the eight
o'clock night and walked briskly down the sidewalk. Her long red hair
was tied up in a braid, swinging back and forth. 

"Willow..." 

She glanced around for the owner of the voice, her eyes freezing on the
image of herself standing at the corner. She knew it was the Clown
from the silver eyes that blazed back at her. Black leather covered
its body, the long red hair looking distinctly punkish. 

"You're such a bad girl, Willow. Your thoughts are naughty, killing
and sex. What would you parents think? Their daughter a fag, and we
all know what happens to fags, don't we? They all go to hell." 

The image of herself changed into her mother, silver eyes fading away. 
"Do you know what we've sacrificed for you? And this is how you repay
us? You're nothing but a spawn of the devil. You need help, it's just
not normal, not normal at all. I guess I'll just have to teach you a
lesson." 

Willow backed away from the steadily approaching figure of her mother. 
"You're not my mother, and what I do is none of your damned business." 
She gathered up her courage and turned to walk away. 

A sharp burning pain engulfed her back. 

She tried to run, but a claw grabbed her hair and yanked so hard that
she fell flat onto her back. She stared up at the werewolf standing
over her. Strands of her hair hung from his blood-soaked paws. A
sticky, thick liquid soaked through the back of her shirt, reminding
her of exactly what she'd gotten herself into. 

Pushing away the fear that threatened to take over, she rolled away,
coming up on her feet and ran. Her sneakers padded onto the pavement
in soft thumping motions, her legs stretching out until her muscles
ached with tension. She concentrated on her breathing, keeping it slow
and steady. 

Behind her, she could sense the creature keeping up with her, but not
close enough to reach her. Pushing her limits once again, she sped up,
her hands flat, the fingers tight together as she cut the through the
air. The red umbros she'd decided to wear, in case she needed to get
away fast, swooshed around her thighs. 

She spotted Richie up ahead, whistling and waltzing down the sidewalk,
less than a block from his house. She gritted her teeth and pushed her
body as hard as it would go, opening up in a way she didn't know she
was capable of. "RUN!!!" she screamed.

Richie's head snapped around, gaping at the werewolf. 

She reached out and hooked her hand into his arm, spinning him around
as she passed. Keeping a tight grip on his hand, she pulled him out of
his fear. 
Together they ran into his yard and onto the porch, colliding with the
front door and slamming it shut behind them. 

The creature, like a bad dream, vanished as soon as it was out of
sight.

Willow leaned back against the door trying to get her breath back. 
"What the hell were you doing out there?" 

Richie glanced over at her with a nervous smirk. "Your face and my
ass, Rosenburg." 

"Beep Beep, Richie." She laughed and clapped him on his shoulder. 
"Can you do me a favor?" 

He cocked his eyes at her, confused but curious. "Whattya have in
mind, my mistress?" He swept down in a bow, kissing the back of her
hand in mockery. 

In turn she pecked him on the cheek, and softly muttered, "You're about
to find out." 

She chuckled as he blushed deeply. 

<><><><><><><> 

Beverly scrubbed at the last spot of blood on the sink, feeling
exhausted but better, no longer having to see the stains. She wrung
out the sponge in the sink and turned to replace it in the side
cabinet. 

A deep, throaty chuckle filled the room. 

She slowly pivoted around, and swallowed. 

All the blood she'd spent hours cleaning up had reappeared. 

<><><><><><><> 

"Are you sure?" 

"Yes." 

"It's just that this is a major life change. You need to be sure." 

"I know what I'm doing." 

"It might hurt?" 

"Oz..." 

"I'm just saying..." Richie gulped nervously under her gaze. "I'm not
sure you're ready." 

"If you don't do it right now..." 

"Alright, alright, jeez. Look, close your eyes, and I'll try to make
this quick and painless." 

Willow shut her eyes and nervously took a breath. She liked Richie,
but allowing him to do this to her was...well, it was more intimate
than she had planned to get with him. Blocking out her discomfort, she
held still and tried to ignore what he was doing to her. It's nothing,
she told herself. Women let men do this to them all the time...

"Okay, it's done." 

"That was quick," she said with some surprise.

"Yeah, well..."

She opened her eyes and grinned broadly into the mirror. Her hair was
now an inch over her jaw line. 

She grabbed the scared boy and hugged him tightly, affectionately
ruffling his hair. "You're a genius. Now I don't have to worry about
anybody using my hair to yank me around." Plus, she had to admit, she
looked damn good!

Richie ducked his head slightly, turning a dark purple. "I-it's
nothing." 

"Oh relax, willya! It's not like I said you should open a salon and
change your name to 'Mr. Ricky' or anything. Anyway, I should get home
before my uncle actually notices that I'm missing." 

"Maybe I should walk you..." 

"It's only three houses over, I'm pretty sure I can make it by myself."
She glared at him threateningly. 

"Yes, mistress. Please accept my humble apologizes." He bowed deeply
as though worshipping a queen. 

Sighing at his performance, she brushed past him. "I'll see you
tomorrow, Oz." 

He sighed dreamily at the closing front door, touching the cheek she'd
kissed with light fingertips. "Tomorrow." 

<><><><><><><> 

Beverly kept her arm hooked through Willow's, gripping her hand as the
group followed her into the bathroom. She looked only at Willow, who
was paling. 

"It looks like someone was murdered in here," Willow whispered. 

"Anyone you know, Red?" Richie asked on her other side. 

"I-i-i-it w-w-was P-p-p-pennywise." 

Everyone jumped as Eddie triggered his inhaler. "Sorry," he said.

"I don't know how I'll ever be able to come in here again." 

Stan pressed through them, looking over the bathroom critically. 
"We'll help you clean it up. With all of us working it won't take
long." 

"Yep, we'll just clean this right up, then we can go down to the
Barrens, or we could go to a movie, or maybe we could..." Willow broke
off, blushing at the adoring look Beverly was giving her. "Or maybe we
should clean this up first and decide what to do later." 

Beverly took one of the washcloths that Bill handed her and they began
to scrub. 

<><><><><><><> 

Stan shifted his position on the bank of the Barrens, staring hard at
the wide creek. "I saw it, but it wasn't a clown." 

The others sat in a loose semicircle around him, staying quiet, afraid
that if they broke the silence he'd lose his nerve. Willow reached out
and took his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. 

He glanced up at her, managing a small smile, and began the story he'd
balked at telling the first time. "It was over by the stand pipe in
the park..." 

"Whoa, you actually go over there?" Richie shivered, shaking his head
solemnly. "That place is haunted." 

Stan stared at him sharply. "Wait, what are you talking about?" 

"Don't you know anything? A number of kids drowned in there." 

Stan began to hyperventilate, his skin turning sickly grey. Eddie
reached over and jammed his inhaler into his mouth, triggering it. 

Stan fell back, coughing and making retching noises. "What the hell
was that?" 

"My inhaler." 

"How can you stand that stuff? It tastes like cold shit." 

Richie cracked up. "You would know, wouldn't you, Stannie?" 

"Fuck you, trash mouth." 

"No thanks, I ain't no fag." 

Willow glared over at them darkly. "What's wrong with being gay?" 

Richie flushed under her gaze and shifted uncomfortably. "N-nothing. 
I didn't mean it like that." 

"Well, just don't use that word, okay? I don't like it." Willow still
remembered the way the Clown's words had burned inside her.

"W-w-what w-w-were y-y-you s-s-saying a-a-a-bout t-t-t-t-t-t-t-" 

"The stand pipe," Eddie finished. 

Richie nodded. "Right. Well, according to the old man, the stand pipe
was used as the town's main source of water up until about a century
ago. It holds two million gallons of water, and it has a gallery right
below the roof where you can get one of the best views of the town. 
Families used to go up there on the weekends for picnics and family
outings. 

"Stairs wound around it between the outside of the pipe and the inner
sleeve. The pipe was measured at a hundred and six feet tall, allowing
people to see it from anywhere in the town. Below the roof is a wooden
door leading to a railless small platform over the black water. The
only lights in there are naked yellow bulbs in reflective hoods. The
bottom is over a hundred feet deep. 

"Back before the 1930's, the wooden door was left unlocked. Then one
night, a group of high schoolers found the ground floor door unlocked
and went up on a dare. But when they opened the door they thought led
to the gallery, they found themselves on the platform. It was too dark
to see and they fell into the water. As the night went by, they
struggled to stay above the water, screaming for help, and clawing at
the slick steel walls. They even tried to reach the platform to pull
themselves out, but it was just out of reach. Before morning had come,
they had become too tired to tread water anymore. The next morning,
the grounds keeper found their bodies." 

Beverly swallowed back her tears and spoke. "They didn't close it off
until later. This woman had gone out onto the platform with her baby
and it squirmed out of her arms. Some guy dived in after him, but with
all his clothes he was dragged under." 

"What did you see there?" Willow asked quietly. 

Stan wrapped his arms around himself. "I'm a bird watcher, it's my
hobby. The same as collecting stamps or comics..." 

It had been a thickly fogged rainy morning that previous April. The
park was empty except for the joggers that came by every once in a
while. Sometimes he'd see a couple or two walking their dog, or a
straggler running through there as a short cut. 

He loved to sit on one particular bench close to the canal. He could
easily see the entire park from there, and some times he just loved to
watch the canal water lazily running by. He'd use his binoculars to
watch out for birds, making sure to keep his pocket-sized bird
encyclopedia next to him, and a journal to keep track of sightings. 

The old stand pipe stood nearby, breaking through the fog, the faded
white paint glaring out. He had began to search for a new species of
bird that he could enter into his journal. He wasn't sure how long
he'd sat there, he was too concerned with keeping an eye on the large
birdbath, but his clothes had become damp and heavy from the light
drizzle and fog. 

He frowned deeply in concentration as a red and black bird landed on
the bath. It folded its wings onto its sides and bent over to take a
drink. He reached down for his bird album, a loud thunderous BANG shot
through the park, startling the bird. 

He scowled as it flew off and quickly shoved his stuff into his
backpack. He slowly spun in a circle, looking for the person who'd
dare disturb his hobby. He decided to go to his left, based on the
sound and started to walk. Another thud broke through the fog and he
picked up his pace. 

He stopped a few yards from the pipe and stared in shock as he saw the
ground level door swinging in the wind. The only problem was that
there wasn't any wind. 

His sense of duty over rode his fear. He couldn't just leave the door
like that, anyone could wander in there, and who knew what could
happen. As he walked up to the door and stuck his head in, the muffled
sound of footsteps fluttered down the stairs to him. 

"Hello? Is anyone in here?" 

He stepped into the doorway and strained to see up the stairs. He
jumped around as the door slammed shut on him. In a dazed panic, he
grabbed the knob and tried in useless desperation to open it. No
matter how hard he tried, he couldn't get the damned knob to move. 

Above him, the slow weighty footsteps grew louder. He glanced up
through the spiral stairs gaps and saw a bandage draping one through
one of the gaps, then slowly pulled out and down onto the next step. 
His panic increased and he slammed his shoulder into the door again and
again. 

Tears streamed down his cheeks, and he pulled the bird album from his
backpack, holding it up in front of him like a bible. He nervously
gripped his left ear and started shouting out the names of birds. 

The footsteps faltered, and a single blue balloon drifted down. 

He screamed even louder, yelling out any species that came to mind. 

He fell backwards as the door opened. 

Losing no time he did the only thing he could think of. He ran. 

<><><><><><><> 



" 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.

Lwaxana Troi: I can swim.

- DS9: The Forsaken.

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