“He’s the reason behind this.” My dad’s
voice sounded again. I wondered if somehow he knew I’d be in this much trouble
someday and that the only way he’d be allowed to do something would be to be a
cop. Because the police are supposed to help people, and that’s all he wants to
do. Which is funny, because I wouldn't even need his help if it hadn't been for
him being a cop in the first place. “I know what he did, and he knows where my
daughter is,” my dad continued. “He’s here, somewhere. He didn't even try to
cover his tracks.” He muttered the last part, his indignation rising. But he
was mad at the wrong person. Steven wasn't the one who hurt me; he was the one
trying to save me, and now he was unconscious beside me, inside a crawl space in an abandoned building reachable only
through the vent.
#
“I told you there’s
nothing in there,” I said, closing the door behind me and balancing a partially
eaten cupcake in my hand. Steven had left the file cabinet open, getting bored
with the data from solved cases. This wasn't even my dad’s office; it was just
where stacks and stacks of cases and important files were stored and where my
dad usually was. That was the only reason I was now looking through the files
on the desk, which happened to be open, meaning someone had obviously been
looking at them. “What are you doing?” I moved behind him, he didn't stop.
“Looking at this
case. Three unsolved murders; they all died the same day of the month, the same
way.”
“Uh, yeah. Listen,
you—”
“We should go
after it,” he interrupted me.
“Hmm?” I said, my mouth
full of frosting. I looked closer at the files, they were detailed and . . .
strange, not a case my dad would typically be on.
“Whatever it is
that did this—we should go after it.” He flipped a page, revealing photos of the
deaths. I cringed and looked away; I never had been too good with gore.
“It?” I
looked at the door, hoping no one would walk in.
“Yeah, It.
Humans don’t do stuff like this.” He held up a picture, and I blocked it with
my hand.
“Yes, yes,
actually they do. They’re called murderers and collectively they commit tons of
crimes that end up in police stations like this one. And listen, we’re not
really supposed to be in here or looking at this, so, um, we have to leave.” I opened
the door, hoping he would leave if I did. He got up and shrugged, walking out.
I sighed with relief and shut the door.
I never should’ve
gone looking for It with him.
I contemplated waking Steven up, then
decided against it. He’d just freak and ask if we had found It. It wouldn't matter what the
answer was, he’s still squawk over it like a 13-year-old fangirl. My dad gave
out more orders about where to search. I didn't know he was able to do that. It
was getting cold and it didn't matter what was going to happen next, because
either way, I needed to move. I sucked in a breath and covered Steven’s mouth
before waking him up.
“We should run. We should run and turn back—this
is the worst thing I have ever done,” I’d said just an hour or two before, the afternoon
sun in my face. We were supposed to be at school, like normal people.
“This is
the worst you've done.” Steven turned to me. “Loser,” he jeered, leading the
way through the door into the abandoned building. According to his favorite
book, this is where It would be.
“I’m not a baby,”
I protested, moving ahead of him to prove my point. The building was empty; it
was full of dust and smelled of mothballs. The smell didn't go with its
appearance. I walked into a room; it was like the hall we had come from and
just as empty. The smell was strongest right in the center of the room. I stopped,
crinkling my nose, with Steven right behind me. This was the first time he had
been silent the whole trip.
“What’s that
stuff?” Steven was looking up at the ceiling, at the sticky goo dripping down
from it. A glob landed on my feet. I screamed.
“Get it off! Help
me, just get it—” I stopped as the goo fell to the ground. I looked at my
shoes, finding no trace it had been on them at all.
“We should get out
of here,” I said, running for the exit as soon as I saw Steven nod. His eyes
were big, and even though he wasn't going to admit it, he was scared. “What are
you doing? Open it!” I said, watching him trying to open the door.
“I’m working on
that.” Steven pulled again, but the door was sticking closed. “This isn't good.
Whenever a door doesn't work, something bad happens.” He scanned the empty
building. “We’re going to get eaten, or die, or become its slaves, and then—”
“Shut up! We’ll be
fine. There’s another exit somewhere, and nothing is going to eat us—we’re just
paranoid because tree sap fell on my shoes and this door is locked.” I exhaled;
almost convincing myself it was true. He nodded and walked with me to the next
door we saw. I felt myself calming down as we approached it. “See, there’s a
door, and now we can—”
A belligerent
banging on the wall made me scream. Adrenaline pumped into my system. It pumped
into Steven’s too as he ran for the door.
I only saw its
eyes and hands after it picked me up.
My eyes shut out
the world, and my screams made up for the lack of a picture. A sharp prick
stabbed my arm. I didn't stop screaming until I was back on the ground. That’s
when the panic rose, when I saw Steven wrapped around its other hand and then,
seconds later, thrown out the now open door only to hit his head on the
pavement.
“In here,” Steven
said, running ahead of me to the door of the building. It looked like an abandoned factory or something. I followed him and
waited, nervously, before climbing into the vent after him. I don’t know how
long we traveled before we came to a stop and Steven slipped out of the vent
below us. His head collided with the brick wall before landing. When I jumped
down after him, he was unconscious.
#
When he woke up he
was still scared. And he was shaking, like I was. “Where did It go?” he said, after I was sure he wouldn't let us be heard. I shrugged, not wanting to speak. “But I mean, we
found it.” He sat up. “We found It!” He looked around at the wall.
“Where are we? What–what happened?” The excitement in his eyes faded.
“We have to leave.
The police and my dad are out there . . . It took some of my blood. They
found traces of my blood back there, and your DNA. They think you’re It,”
I whispered out everything I had heard them say.
“Why? Why did it take your blood and why am I ...?”
His question hung in the air. “Should we tell your dad? I mean we’re both here—he’ll
believe you, right? Or we could run, in the movies they always run and—” He was
cut off by a sound from outside. We heard screams and the sound of running.
When we crawled
outside, everyone was gone. Their cars and whatever else they had had with them
remained “I found his keys,” I said, holding them up and starting toward the
car.
“I think I know
where it went.” Steven stared at a trail of goo on the road.
To be continued . . .
