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maidenjediTITLE: You Never Close Your Eyes
AUTHOR: Maidenjedi
RATING: Strong R, warnings for gore and non-con sex (not graphic).
ARCHIVE: List archives, otherwise please ask.
SPOILERS: Whole series is up for grabs.
DISCLAIMER: I don't own it. Or It, for that matter.
SUMMARY: The Derry High Senior Prom, Class of 1965.
--
AUTHOR'S NOTES: The title and preceeding lyrics are from "You've Lost That Lovin' Feelin," which was a 2-week #1 hit in February 1965. I would have to assume it got major play at the prom in Derry. Just a shame Richie Tozier couldn't be there to serenade Bev with it! I have to assume that Richie, though, was more of a Herman's Hermits fan in '65, wherever he was.
Written for flyakate for NYR 2011.
***
"Now there's no welcome look in your eyes
when I reach for you.
And now you're starting to criticize little things I do.
It makes me just feel like crying, (baby).
'Cause baby, something in you is dying."
- Barry Mann, Phil Spector and Cynthia Weil
*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*
He was very taken aback when Lila Kitchener said "yes," because Mike always figured he'd end up sitting at home, listening to the radio in his room while studying for finals. He hadn't wanted to go to the prom, he always thought. He wasn't the type.
But Lila was in the cafeteria one day, in her Derry High School cheerleading uniform, and her hair was shining, actually shining, underneath those horrible school cafeteria lights. Mike was smitten, and went right over to ask. He didn't think about it. He just did it.
This was also very unlike Mike Hanlon.
He pulled on his suit coat (he couldn't afford a tuxedo) and his mother gushed and exclaimed over how handsome he looked. She pressed the corsage she had bought for him to take into his hand (he still didn't understand why it had been in the refrigerator, but he didn't question his mother on this kind of thing).
His father, of course, only looked down from his permanent place on the mantel, in a gilt frame. That was a face Mike only just recently recognized, because the picture was of his father as a much younger man than Mike had ever known him to be. And Mike was getting to be the spitting image of his dad - so said his mother, anyway.
Mike climbed into the Buick and waved to his handkerchief-clutching mama on the porch. The moon was on the rise while he drove over to Lila's house; it was going to be full tonight, just right for romance, if the poets were to be believed.
Lila's mother did the same handkerchief-wringing routine that Mrs. Hanlon had done, and her father took pictures. Lila was wearing - wow, she was wearing something that showed off a lot of curve. Mike had trouble keeping his eyes level, especially when she pinned on his boutonnière and stood so close to him he was sure her father would object.
Once they made it to the high school, she commented on the full moon as Mike held out a hand to help her out of the car.
"Isn't it lovely?" she sighed.
Mike nodded, and looked up. He immediately wished he hadn't, for it wasn't the contours of the moon that shone back at him, but Pennywise's eye. A shining penny, it appeared to be, and it winked at him. And maybe it was the wind that blew ever so gently in that moment, but all Mike heard was a Voice. Richie Tozier's bad, stuttering Porky Pig Voice.
"Buh-dee, buh-dee, buh-dee, d-duh-don't kn-knock her up, Mikey!"
And Pennywise's eye became Pennywise's face, grinning and rotting.
Mike swallowed the lump in his throat. Lila was looking at him, her face clouded for just a moment. She took him for nervous about dancing. "Come on, Mike. Let's go inside."
Mike focused on her, looked in her eyes, tried to tell if she'd seen what he did. And all he read there was impatience, a touch of concern, and (surely he imagined this) regret.
He forced a smile. Not a grin, just a pleasant smile. "Yes. Let's go inside."
--
His forehead was beaded in sweat. The moon was full, already shining in his window. He was late - his mother had phoned Leslie's mother to let them know Stan would be there soon, he could hear the conversation down the hall. No, nothing to worry about, he just had a late afternoon and would be there just as soon as he finished cleaning up.
Cleaning up, yes, that was a good excuse. Leslie knew he'd had practice today, maybe she'd believe him if he told her a story about sliding into third and getting his ass chewed out for it by Coach Dougherty, because he knew he wasn't supposed to slide during practice and what if he'd gotten hurt and then his mother saw the state of him and it was one more lecture before hitting the showers and....
Shit. He clapped his hand over his mouth, determined not to puke.
Would Leslie expect him to kiss her, really *kiss* her, tonight?
Would he be able to dance in these ridiculous shoes?
Worse than all of it - did Jews even go to prom?
That's what Tozier would have asked. Though Stan wasn't sure who Tozier was, really. A kid he knew back in the eighth grade, maybe. Someone from chess? Scouts? No, someplace else.
Stan closed his eyes. He didn't know what was wrong with him. He'd been getting dressed, and suddenly felt nauseous, and here he was in the bathroom, asking himself all kinds of nutty questions.
But, no, seriously Stan. Is this kosher?
Tozier's voice was ringing in his ears. He couldn't figure out why - he couldn't remember the last time he'd even thought of that kid (was he the fat one? Or the wheezy one?). Stan splashed water on his face for the third time. "Get a grip, Stan," he said, gritting his teeth. This was a fine time to have a breakdown, oh yes, a mighty fine time.
He wrenched the window open; they never did that in this room, so it was tough. Worth it, though, for the fresh air.
The moon was huge. It didn't look natural to Stan, sitting just above the horizon like that, taking up half the sky.
"I can take up more than that if I like."
Stan blanched. That was an altogether different voice. And not in his head. He didn't think.
"I can take it all up, Stan the Man, that's right, I can OWN it," said It. Singing, "This land is my land, this sky is my sky...."
You are not real, Stan thought, though even to him, it sounded scared, weak.
"That's because you ARE, Stan! Scared, and weak, and it will end for you, sooner or later, and I will own you, too."
Stan shut the window. Pulled over the curtain. His dinner sat in his stomach like lead, but it didn't move. He tried hard not to just run out of the bathroom, but he didn't want to be in there. He almost ran over his mother.
"Mom, I'm late."
"I know, dear, but you should slow down. Gracious, you're pale! Drink a glass of water before you go."
He did. Obediently. Mechanically.
By the time Stan and Leslie arrived at the gym together, Stan had forgotten it all, even Tozier's voice. He could dance, it turned out, and Leslie was placated by his smooth manner and his soft kisses.
Enough that he got to second base that night.
And from the woods, Pennywise watched, and laughed. "You didn't even have to slide, keed."
--
Of course, Eddie wasn't going to the prom.
"You don't need a date to the prom to have a good time, Eddie dear. You and your dear old mama can have fun on our own, can't we?" She dragged him to see [i]The Sound of Music[/i]. For the third time.
Eddie didn't feel like going to the prom anyway. He had told himself that enough times that he really did believe it, and he had spent the last week at school closing his ears to the locker room banter about virginity and who was going to lose it to whom. He'd ignored every pretty girl he saw (not hard to do - they were all spoken for by that point) and he sat with his chemistry lab partner, Lloyd, at lunch. Lloyd only ever wanted to talk about chemistry, or physics, or one of the other subjects at which they both excelled. And Lloyd probably didn't even know there was a prom to miss.
Eddie nodded in satisfaction as the curtain rolled back and the film began. It was horribly familiar to him by now - he almost mouthed the words to the opening song right along with Julie Andrews.
He didn't really see what charm Julie Andrews brought to the screen. She was a blond, after all, and her hair was terribly boyish. Eddie liked girls with red hair, the flaming auburn color that movie stars so rarely had. He'd said something about this once to his ma, and she scoffed at him. "You mean like that slutty minx Rita Hayworth. All the men would like her. You would like her." That was said in a mostly resentful tone. He didn't exactly know what she meant by "slutty minx" but he could guess, and if that was what Rita Hayworth was, well, Eddie was seventeen. He didn't much care.
He did like the girl playing Liesl, though, and though that if he could take a girl that pretty to the prom, maybe he would have gone. If his ma had let him, if she'd approved. Liesl was no redhead. She might have passed muster.
He yawned when the curtains closed, and his ma heaved a happy sigh. She was content, so he would have a quieter night of it. She would want a gin and tonic at home, and she'd put on a record, and she'd sink into the couch and daydream before nodding off. Meaning Eddie would be left to his own devices, such as they were.
They drove home (Eddie's ma drove, anyway - she never let him behind the wheel, even if he did have his license). The ride was silent, as Mrs. Kaspbrak did not approve of late-night radio shows. The moon was bright and full, climbing the sky. Eddie stared at it, awed as he always was. He didn't have to provide conversation, so he was free to do his own daydreaming.
At home, Eddie's ma fixed her gin and tonic and settled into her routine, and Eddie was all but forgotten. He still said, "Well, g'night, Ma," as he walked down the hall to his room, and she was humming along to Judy Garland and waved her hand lazily at her son. "'Night," she said, not really noticing him at all.
Eddie grabbed a flashlight and his bag; hidden in the leaves of his physics test was an unread issue of [i]Spider-Man[/i]. He figured he could walk down to the park, maybe, read by flashlight. Of course, his natural fear of the night got the better of him, and he sat in the backyard instead, on a wicker chair near the back fence, so the light wouldn't disturb his mother.
He read maybe three pages before the whispering began.
"Eds....hey Eds. Eddie Kaspbrak. Whatcha doin', Eddie?"
Not now, oh please, not now, not ever....
The voice sounded like Richie. Richie hadn't been in Eddie's thoughts for what, two years, maybe three? Longer. But why was he hearing it now?
"Because I want you to, Eds."
He nearly pissed himself. "Ma..." he whispered.
"She's inside. Snoring, you know how she does, deep and disgusting snores. Woman oughta blow her nose more, you know what I mean?"
Eddie shut his eyes. He pressed the heels of his hands against them. "Not real. Not real. NOT FUCKING REAL."
"Now, Eds, is there a need for that language? Tsk, tsk."
And It kept talking. It talked about the prom. "All your friends were there, you know." And It described Stan Uris' hand creeping up Leslie Stein's skirt and how she was all wet, oh she was, but she didn't want Stan to know it. Then It talked about Bev Marsh, and how she was getting laid in the backseat of a Ford Fairlane and oh, she liked it rough, and Eddie bit his lip to keep from reprimanding the voice, the Voice of It. "Bev wouldn't want you, you know. Too skinny, too weak, too sickly. Your ma never would let a tramp like that through the front door...."
"SHUT UP!" Eddie tried not to yell. He really tried. But the back porch light came on and Eddie knew he'd be in for it, she'd want to know why he was outside at all in this damp air, and she'd make him come inside, and he would not get to sleep because she would fret and she would preach.
She didn't come outside. The light was turned off after a moment. She must have thought it was the neighbors again, having one of their rows.
"Shut up," he whispered. He trained his flashlight along the fence, over it. There was no one there.
He waited a few moments to let his ma settle back down, get distracted again, and then he snuck back inside. He contented himself with reading the comic under his covers with the flashlight instead. And he didn't think (much) about the description of Leslie Stein's panties, and no, he really didn't jack off a little while later thinking of Bev Marsh in a similar state of arousal. He didn't.
"I know you did, though, Eds." The Voice was in the drain the next morning. Or maybe not. Eddie shook his head, violently enough that he got dizzy, and he climbed into the shower.
The next day in chem lab, he and Lloyd discussed [i]Spider-Man[/i].
--
If she were honest, she wanted to be at the prom with that boy over there. The tall one who stuttered all the time in their debate club. She thought he was adorable.
She knew she'd known him forever, but she always forgot his name. Bill! That was it. Bill Hanscom.
No, Bill...Denbrough. That was his name.
But he and Bev moved in different circles now. If they'd ever really moved in the same ones. He was the ace student and probably going to college. She was, well, a failed cheerleader (she'd made the squad freshman year, then had to drop out when she broke her ankle falling down the stoop at home). She was a failed flute player (her lip was busted just once too often for her to practice well, and she'd given it up just before sophomore year). She was a failed field hockey player (let's just say you couldn't run down the field on crutches, which she was using for the fourth time in two years just when the season began her junior year, that time because she twisted her knee after falling on a wet
kitchen floor).
Beverly Marsh was more or less a failure at everything, except for being beautiful and not knowing it. Every guy in her class had wanted to ask her out at one point or another, and a couple of them had, but she often faded next to more interesting girls whose fathers would actually let them accept a date or two. Bev's would not, and there ended most affairs.
She ended up at the prom using a combination of techniques. She'd cajoled, fibbed, and weaseled her father into letting her go if she made her own dress, and then she'd given him all her tip money from two months' waiting tables at the French restaurant on Sixth. Told him to buy himself something nice, and he was impressed, and said she could go, if she worked hard to make twice as much in the next two months.
The flaw in her plan was that she hadn't found a way around his fists, and he'd landed one on her cheekbone on Wednesday before school, so her face was a lovely shade of purplish yellow under the heavy make-up she'd smuggled.
Her date? A guy named Fred Fisher, who didn't go to Derry High School at all but worked over at Ed's Autos fixing brakes and rotating tires. He was nice, and nice-looking. Even if he didn't quite look like Bill.
Who was staring at her. Would he come ask her to dance? Her heart jumped at the idea.
Fred was taking a bathroom break. He hadn't actually asked her to dance all night. They'd sat near the door, in a dark spot where the chaperones weren't watching, and he kept groping her leg under the table. She supposed she liked it, liked what he was trying to do. She wasn't sure. She barely knew him, after all, and he'd been almost impatient with her all evening, kind of pushy, and she knew he would want more from her before the end of the night. But he'd finally gotten up and now they were playing a song, a really good song the Righteous Brothers had come out with that winter, and she wished so much that she could slow dance. Bev thought that if Fred came back in time, she might let him French kiss her if they could dance to this song.
But it wasn't Fred who came up to her. It was Bill Denbrough.
His red hair was the same shade as hers, especially in the dim light. He kind of grinned, and shuffled his left foot.
"Care for a dance?"
No stutter at all. He spoke clearly, slowly. Not like she remembered. What she maybe, kind of remembered. She bet it was someone else with the stutter.
She nodded up at him, eyes shining, and took his hand. He led her to the floor, put his hands around her waist. Her dress was thin, a gossamer material she'd gotten in the bargain bin, and she could feel how warm his fingers were. She felt like she could faint, but at the same time, so light.
Bev linked her hands behind Bill's neck, and they didn't dance so much as they swayed. Bill was humming the song, and he leaned in to whisper along with the lyrics as the chorus rose.
"You've lost that lovin' feelin'...whoa-oh that lovin' feelin'...."
She was in heaven. Absolutely in heaven.
The song came to an end and the DJ announced a short break. Bev didn't want to move, and Bill didn't seem to want to, either. He brought a hand up to her cheek.
"What's your name?"
"Beverly. You're Bill."
He nodded.
"Where did this come from?" His hand rested on the bruised cheek. She blushed - she thought she'd hidden it.
She shrugged. "I fell."
He frowned, and rubbed his thumb over her cheekbone. "I would hit him back, if I knew who he was."
Bev sighed, closed her eyes.
"I should get back. I'm here...I have a date."
Bill nodded, leaned forward a little so their foreheads were very nearly touching.
"You are beautiful, Beverly. I wish I had known you - I feel like, maybe I do."
He planted a soft kiss on her forehead and let her go, walking away. She shook herself, not wanting to attract any more attention than she was already sure she had. Of course, they hadn't been the only couple lingering on the dance floor, and it was still dark enough that she could dash back to her seat unnoticed.
Fred Fisher was sitting there, waiting for her. "Where'd you go?" he asked, his voice playful. Kinda rough, too.
"I...someone asked me to dance. I didn't think you'd mind."
Fred laughed. "Long as you're comin' home with me." He tugged her hand, pulled her down. A little too hard.
They didn't stay long. Fred had a 1956 Ford Fairlane (painted red and white, with whitewalled tires) and the backseat was where they ended up. Parked on a stretch of road Bev was somehow unfamiliar with, not near where anyone else had gone parking for the night.
Fred was rough. He was good-looking, yes, and his breath thankfully did not smell like alcohol as she had almost feared it would, but he didn't listen to "No" and "Not there" and "Please, slower" or even "I'm not...I haven't done...don't...". Fred paid no attention to her at all, and he got his way. Men like him always get their way, Bev thought, as she tried guiding his hands to less sensitive places, tried kissing him, tried to get at least a little pleasure out of it.
He simply pushed and he pinched and he rode, and her head was rather awkwardly pressed against the door. She could look up, out the window, and the moon was so bright. So very big and bright over Derry that night.
And, to Bev's frightened and resigned eyes, it was blood red.
--
Bill didn't have a date to the senior prom. He didn't really see a girl who caught his eye. But he figured he would go anyway, he had nothing better to do. Besides, he might find a story there. Something that didn't end in a sewer, for a change.
He got dressed up, at least in his best suit and a tie he filched from his dad's closet. He shined his shoes. He combed his hair, frowning at the strands that came off on his comb.
"Bye Mom, see ya Dad."
They sort of waved at him, and went back to staring at the television. Like they almost always did, and had, since George.
Bill didn't sigh or show any other sign that he felt their neglect. He'd become numb to it, really, over the years. That was how they dealt with it. He chose to deal with it in other ways. He wrote, and he studied, and he was actually doing well enough that he figured he had a decent shot at salutatorian, at least. One of his stories was getting published, too, in a rag based out of Bangor. They weren't paying, but it was going to be in print. He thought.
Bill was doing okay.
He drove over to the high school and pulled in next to a red and white Ford Fairlane. Gorgeous car, really. There was a couple sitting in it, and it looked like they might not make it inside. The guy's face seem glued to the girl's, though she was pushing on his chest a little, pulling away as if to say "enough for now, I want to dance." Bill made himself stop writing their story in his head and got out of his own Chevy, his dad's, and started walking up to the school.
The couple from the Fairlane weren't far behind him, as it turned out. The guy bumped into Bill as they caught up to the crowd at the door. "Sorry, man." Bill shrugged. The guy wasn't familiar at all, he looked older than everyone around him.
Bill faced the door again, and heard a voice behind him say "We don't have to stay long, I just want to dance. You don't have to look impatient like that."
It was a great voice, kind of husky but sweet all the same, a voice that made Bill's skin tingle. He knew that voice.
"I'm not impatient, doll. I just have other plans." That voice, the voice of the guy from the Fairlane, was deep. The kind of voice that could be quite menacing, if so employed.
Bill turned a little, and the girl's red hair caught his eye. He knew her, he did. Did he?
The crowd finally loosened and they spilled into the gym, which was low-lit and decorated like a night sky. Glitter rained in places from cardboard stars, and "A Night Under the Stars" spelled out the obvious theme on a banner above the stage in case anyone didn't quite get it. Bill saw a face he knew - Stan Uris - and inclined his head in greeting. Stan shot him a salute, and his date waved at Bill, a Leslie-somebody that Bill recognized from junior-year trig class. The DJ was set up on the stage. The class prom committee had decided a DJ was less expensive, and they'd get the music they wanted instead of badly-covered Beatles songs, and Bill saw immediately that the choice was a good one, as the DJ announced the opening song - "Game of Love."
"Oh the purpose of a woman is to love a man / and the purpose of a man is to love a woman...."
Not bad. A few girls screeched in excitement, dragging their dates behind them, and the floor was flooded within the first few lines.
Bill was amused. He tapped his foot along with the song, leaned up against a wall. He knew he'd want to dance, but not just yet. He wanted to watch for a bit first.
Lila Kitchener from his English class was out there, in a yellow dress that really showed off her curves. She was dancing with a guy who was also in their English class, the one who had a particular love for the poetry they studied. Bill couldn't think of his name. They were really cutting a rug, to use Bill's dad's expression.
The night was going well, Bill thought around the fifth song, "Love Me Do" by the Beatles. Everyone was having a good time, and Bill had gotten in a dance with Lila, whose date had laughed and gallantly said "Go ahead, she's wearin' me out at this rate!" when Bill asked permission. Bill figured there had to be punch, so he went off in search of it, not inclined to dance to the awkward rhythm of this Beatles song.
"How's it goin', Denbrough?" said a voice beside him at the table.
"Oh, it's..." Bill turned to answer the questioner, and stared into a dead face, one he could almost recognize.
"Don't scream, now. Never could stand it when they scream." The person, if that's what it was, leaned over and got a glass of punch. It poured the drink down its throat and Bill could see it go through its esophagus. He hitched in a breath and closed his eyes.
Not real, right? Not real. He was hallucinating. It was hot in here, maybe he needed fresh air. He opened his eyes. The dead guy was gone.
Bill put down the cup he was holding and pushed his way to the doors, and stumbled a little past one necking couple to the parking lot. He took a deep breath and bent over. Another breath.
He hadn't seen that face in a long time. If he was right, it had looked like Eddie Corcoran, or Eddie as he might have looked had he been allowed to become a teenager. Eddie was dead, though, had been dead for ages.
"Yes, I have been dead for ages."
Bill whipped around, nearly losing his balance.
"Don't listen to It, Bill. It wants you to listen, and It will try, but don't."
"Wh-what the f-f-fh-uck?" Bill's stutter always came back when he was upset. When he was scared.
"St-st-stuttering Bill D-de-de-den-buh-brough!" This time, from behind. Dead!Eddie shook his head.
"Don't listen!"
And vanished.
Bill shut his eyes, clapped his hands over his ears.
"Boo!"
His eyes flew open. It was in front of him. Wearing a bloody Derry High School letterjacket. '65 on one lapel. "Tozier" on the other. It had a face, a werewolf face, a zombie face, maybe both or neither but Bill didn't care, whatever it was scared the shit out of him.
"Aren'tcha glad to see me, old buddy, old pal, old scrub?" The thing laughed. "It's just me, your old pal."
"Richie," Bill breathed out, not knowing where that came from. "You're really not him, you know."
"Oh, I know. I'm just pulling your leg. You know, like I did to what was his name. Georgie. Or was it his arm?"
It changed, morphed into something else entirely, and Bill didn't stop to look and see what. He swung his arm out, like he was trying to hit It, and It disappeared.
"Right behind you, stud!"
Bill turned, his reaction slower this time. The voice was muffled, sounding like a girl's voice, a Natalie Wood Voice if you would. That was because It was now in the backseat of the Ford Fairlane. A girl's shape was next to the werewolf-zombie in the letterjacket.
"I'm going to have her tonight, you know, Bill. I'm going to fuck her, and I will enjoy it. You can't stop me." It petted the hair of the girl-shape, which Bill saw was red hair. He blinked, smacked his face. What the hell was wrong with him?
And the werewolf-zombie licked the girl-shape's face and Bill screamed with her.
He ran to the car, but even before he'd moved, the scene had vanished, and the moonlight shone down on the back window of the Ford Fairlane so brightly that Bill knew, he just knew, there was no way he could have seen all that detail with the reflection of the light from the glass.
His keys were in his pocket. He should have just gotten in the car and driven home. Snuck some of his dad's whiskey and called it a night.
But as he stood in the parking lot, his heart slowed down and he gulped for air, and the scene began to fade from his mind, the episode over.
A totally different kind of voice spoke behind him.
"You okay, man? You want some water, or something?"
Stan Uris was standing there, hands out, a deeply concerned look on his face. Bill shook his head. "I'm okay. I think...I'm okay."
Stan frowned. "You sure?"
Bill nodded. He looked up at Stan, who was a good three inches taller than Bill even when Bill wasn't bent over. "Yeah, I'm good."
"It's a weird night," Stan said.
"It's the moon," Bill replied.
They walked back in together. The DJ was now spinning the Beach Boys' "I Get Around," and it was just fading when Bill caught sight once again of the lovely redhead he swore he knew. He felt a surge of protectiveness, he couldn't say why.
"Who is that?" Bill asked Stan, pointing.
Stan looked, and shook his head. "Been trying to think of her name all night."
"I'm going to ask her to dance."
Stan laughed. "Are you kidding? See that neanderthal she's with?"
The Fairlane guy. "Yeah, well. I'll wait till he goes to take a piss or something."
Stan shook his head. "Good luck. I'm supposed to be getting punch for Leslie. See ya."
"See ya." Bill didn't watch Stan go. The song changed, and it was "My Girl."
Bill settled to a new place along the wall, and watched, and waited for his chance to ask the redhead to dance.
------
end
AUTHOR: Maidenjedi
RATING: Strong R, warnings for gore and non-con sex (not graphic).
ARCHIVE: List archives, otherwise please ask.
SPOILERS: Whole series is up for grabs.
DISCLAIMER: I don't own it. Or It, for that matter.
SUMMARY: The Derry High Senior Prom, Class of 1965.
--
AUTHOR'S NOTES: The title and preceeding lyrics are from "You've Lost That Lovin' Feelin," which was a 2-week #1 hit in February 1965. I would have to assume it got major play at the prom in Derry. Just a shame Richie Tozier couldn't be there to serenade Bev with it! I have to assume that Richie, though, was more of a Herman's Hermits fan in '65, wherever he was.
Written for flyakate for NYR 2011.
***
"Now there's no welcome look in your eyes
when I reach for you.
And now you're starting to criticize little things I do.
It makes me just feel like crying, (baby).
'Cause baby, something in you is dying."
- Barry Mann, Phil Spector and Cynthia Weil
*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*
He was very taken aback when Lila Kitchener said "yes," because Mike always figured he'd end up sitting at home, listening to the radio in his room while studying for finals. He hadn't wanted to go to the prom, he always thought. He wasn't the type.
But Lila was in the cafeteria one day, in her Derry High School cheerleading uniform, and her hair was shining, actually shining, underneath those horrible school cafeteria lights. Mike was smitten, and went right over to ask. He didn't think about it. He just did it.
This was also very unlike Mike Hanlon.
He pulled on his suit coat (he couldn't afford a tuxedo) and his mother gushed and exclaimed over how handsome he looked. She pressed the corsage she had bought for him to take into his hand (he still didn't understand why it had been in the refrigerator, but he didn't question his mother on this kind of thing).
His father, of course, only looked down from his permanent place on the mantel, in a gilt frame. That was a face Mike only just recently recognized, because the picture was of his father as a much younger man than Mike had ever known him to be. And Mike was getting to be the spitting image of his dad - so said his mother, anyway.
Mike climbed into the Buick and waved to his handkerchief-clutching mama on the porch. The moon was on the rise while he drove over to Lila's house; it was going to be full tonight, just right for romance, if the poets were to be believed.
Lila's mother did the same handkerchief-wringing routine that Mrs. Hanlon had done, and her father took pictures. Lila was wearing - wow, she was wearing something that showed off a lot of curve. Mike had trouble keeping his eyes level, especially when she pinned on his boutonnière and stood so close to him he was sure her father would object.
Once they made it to the high school, she commented on the full moon as Mike held out a hand to help her out of the car.
"Isn't it lovely?" she sighed.
Mike nodded, and looked up. He immediately wished he hadn't, for it wasn't the contours of the moon that shone back at him, but Pennywise's eye. A shining penny, it appeared to be, and it winked at him. And maybe it was the wind that blew ever so gently in that moment, but all Mike heard was a Voice. Richie Tozier's bad, stuttering Porky Pig Voice.
"Buh-dee, buh-dee, buh-dee, d-duh-don't kn-knock her up, Mikey!"
And Pennywise's eye became Pennywise's face, grinning and rotting.
Mike swallowed the lump in his throat. Lila was looking at him, her face clouded for just a moment. She took him for nervous about dancing. "Come on, Mike. Let's go inside."
Mike focused on her, looked in her eyes, tried to tell if she'd seen what he did. And all he read there was impatience, a touch of concern, and (surely he imagined this) regret.
He forced a smile. Not a grin, just a pleasant smile. "Yes. Let's go inside."
--
His forehead was beaded in sweat. The moon was full, already shining in his window. He was late - his mother had phoned Leslie's mother to let them know Stan would be there soon, he could hear the conversation down the hall. No, nothing to worry about, he just had a late afternoon and would be there just as soon as he finished cleaning up.
Cleaning up, yes, that was a good excuse. Leslie knew he'd had practice today, maybe she'd believe him if he told her a story about sliding into third and getting his ass chewed out for it by Coach Dougherty, because he knew he wasn't supposed to slide during practice and what if he'd gotten hurt and then his mother saw the state of him and it was one more lecture before hitting the showers and....
Shit. He clapped his hand over his mouth, determined not to puke.
Would Leslie expect him to kiss her, really *kiss* her, tonight?
Would he be able to dance in these ridiculous shoes?
Worse than all of it - did Jews even go to prom?
That's what Tozier would have asked. Though Stan wasn't sure who Tozier was, really. A kid he knew back in the eighth grade, maybe. Someone from chess? Scouts? No, someplace else.
Stan closed his eyes. He didn't know what was wrong with him. He'd been getting dressed, and suddenly felt nauseous, and here he was in the bathroom, asking himself all kinds of nutty questions.
But, no, seriously Stan. Is this kosher?
Tozier's voice was ringing in his ears. He couldn't figure out why - he couldn't remember the last time he'd even thought of that kid (was he the fat one? Or the wheezy one?). Stan splashed water on his face for the third time. "Get a grip, Stan," he said, gritting his teeth. This was a fine time to have a breakdown, oh yes, a mighty fine time.
He wrenched the window open; they never did that in this room, so it was tough. Worth it, though, for the fresh air.
The moon was huge. It didn't look natural to Stan, sitting just above the horizon like that, taking up half the sky.
"I can take up more than that if I like."
Stan blanched. That was an altogether different voice. And not in his head. He didn't think.
"I can take it all up, Stan the Man, that's right, I can OWN it," said It. Singing, "This land is my land, this sky is my sky...."
You are not real, Stan thought, though even to him, it sounded scared, weak.
"That's because you ARE, Stan! Scared, and weak, and it will end for you, sooner or later, and I will own you, too."
Stan shut the window. Pulled over the curtain. His dinner sat in his stomach like lead, but it didn't move. He tried hard not to just run out of the bathroom, but he didn't want to be in there. He almost ran over his mother.
"Mom, I'm late."
"I know, dear, but you should slow down. Gracious, you're pale! Drink a glass of water before you go."
He did. Obediently. Mechanically.
By the time Stan and Leslie arrived at the gym together, Stan had forgotten it all, even Tozier's voice. He could dance, it turned out, and Leslie was placated by his smooth manner and his soft kisses.
Enough that he got to second base that night.
And from the woods, Pennywise watched, and laughed. "You didn't even have to slide, keed."
--
Of course, Eddie wasn't going to the prom.
"You don't need a date to the prom to have a good time, Eddie dear. You and your dear old mama can have fun on our own, can't we?" She dragged him to see [i]The Sound of Music[/i]. For the third time.
Eddie didn't feel like going to the prom anyway. He had told himself that enough times that he really did believe it, and he had spent the last week at school closing his ears to the locker room banter about virginity and who was going to lose it to whom. He'd ignored every pretty girl he saw (not hard to do - they were all spoken for by that point) and he sat with his chemistry lab partner, Lloyd, at lunch. Lloyd only ever wanted to talk about chemistry, or physics, or one of the other subjects at which they both excelled. And Lloyd probably didn't even know there was a prom to miss.
Eddie nodded in satisfaction as the curtain rolled back and the film began. It was horribly familiar to him by now - he almost mouthed the words to the opening song right along with Julie Andrews.
He didn't really see what charm Julie Andrews brought to the screen. She was a blond, after all, and her hair was terribly boyish. Eddie liked girls with red hair, the flaming auburn color that movie stars so rarely had. He'd said something about this once to his ma, and she scoffed at him. "You mean like that slutty minx Rita Hayworth. All the men would like her. You would like her." That was said in a mostly resentful tone. He didn't exactly know what she meant by "slutty minx" but he could guess, and if that was what Rita Hayworth was, well, Eddie was seventeen. He didn't much care.
He did like the girl playing Liesl, though, and though that if he could take a girl that pretty to the prom, maybe he would have gone. If his ma had let him, if she'd approved. Liesl was no redhead. She might have passed muster.
He yawned when the curtains closed, and his ma heaved a happy sigh. She was content, so he would have a quieter night of it. She would want a gin and tonic at home, and she'd put on a record, and she'd sink into the couch and daydream before nodding off. Meaning Eddie would be left to his own devices, such as they were.
They drove home (Eddie's ma drove, anyway - she never let him behind the wheel, even if he did have his license). The ride was silent, as Mrs. Kaspbrak did not approve of late-night radio shows. The moon was bright and full, climbing the sky. Eddie stared at it, awed as he always was. He didn't have to provide conversation, so he was free to do his own daydreaming.
At home, Eddie's ma fixed her gin and tonic and settled into her routine, and Eddie was all but forgotten. He still said, "Well, g'night, Ma," as he walked down the hall to his room, and she was humming along to Judy Garland and waved her hand lazily at her son. "'Night," she said, not really noticing him at all.
Eddie grabbed a flashlight and his bag; hidden in the leaves of his physics test was an unread issue of [i]Spider-Man[/i]. He figured he could walk down to the park, maybe, read by flashlight. Of course, his natural fear of the night got the better of him, and he sat in the backyard instead, on a wicker chair near the back fence, so the light wouldn't disturb his mother.
He read maybe three pages before the whispering began.
"Eds....hey Eds. Eddie Kaspbrak. Whatcha doin', Eddie?"
Not now, oh please, not now, not ever....
The voice sounded like Richie. Richie hadn't been in Eddie's thoughts for what, two years, maybe three? Longer. But why was he hearing it now?
"Because I want you to, Eds."
He nearly pissed himself. "Ma..." he whispered.
"She's inside. Snoring, you know how she does, deep and disgusting snores. Woman oughta blow her nose more, you know what I mean?"
Eddie shut his eyes. He pressed the heels of his hands against them. "Not real. Not real. NOT FUCKING REAL."
"Now, Eds, is there a need for that language? Tsk, tsk."
And It kept talking. It talked about the prom. "All your friends were there, you know." And It described Stan Uris' hand creeping up Leslie Stein's skirt and how she was all wet, oh she was, but she didn't want Stan to know it. Then It talked about Bev Marsh, and how she was getting laid in the backseat of a Ford Fairlane and oh, she liked it rough, and Eddie bit his lip to keep from reprimanding the voice, the Voice of It. "Bev wouldn't want you, you know. Too skinny, too weak, too sickly. Your ma never would let a tramp like that through the front door...."
"SHUT UP!" Eddie tried not to yell. He really tried. But the back porch light came on and Eddie knew he'd be in for it, she'd want to know why he was outside at all in this damp air, and she'd make him come inside, and he would not get to sleep because she would fret and she would preach.
She didn't come outside. The light was turned off after a moment. She must have thought it was the neighbors again, having one of their rows.
"Shut up," he whispered. He trained his flashlight along the fence, over it. There was no one there.
He waited a few moments to let his ma settle back down, get distracted again, and then he snuck back inside. He contented himself with reading the comic under his covers with the flashlight instead. And he didn't think (much) about the description of Leslie Stein's panties, and no, he really didn't jack off a little while later thinking of Bev Marsh in a similar state of arousal. He didn't.
"I know you did, though, Eds." The Voice was in the drain the next morning. Or maybe not. Eddie shook his head, violently enough that he got dizzy, and he climbed into the shower.
The next day in chem lab, he and Lloyd discussed [i]Spider-Man[/i].
--
If she were honest, she wanted to be at the prom with that boy over there. The tall one who stuttered all the time in their debate club. She thought he was adorable.
She knew she'd known him forever, but she always forgot his name. Bill! That was it. Bill Hanscom.
No, Bill...Denbrough. That was his name.
But he and Bev moved in different circles now. If they'd ever really moved in the same ones. He was the ace student and probably going to college. She was, well, a failed cheerleader (she'd made the squad freshman year, then had to drop out when she broke her ankle falling down the stoop at home). She was a failed flute player (her lip was busted just once too often for her to practice well, and she'd given it up just before sophomore year). She was a failed field hockey player (let's just say you couldn't run down the field on crutches, which she was using for the fourth time in two years just when the season began her junior year, that time because she twisted her knee after falling on a wet
kitchen floor).
Beverly Marsh was more or less a failure at everything, except for being beautiful and not knowing it. Every guy in her class had wanted to ask her out at one point or another, and a couple of them had, but she often faded next to more interesting girls whose fathers would actually let them accept a date or two. Bev's would not, and there ended most affairs.
She ended up at the prom using a combination of techniques. She'd cajoled, fibbed, and weaseled her father into letting her go if she made her own dress, and then she'd given him all her tip money from two months' waiting tables at the French restaurant on Sixth. Told him to buy himself something nice, and he was impressed, and said she could go, if she worked hard to make twice as much in the next two months.
The flaw in her plan was that she hadn't found a way around his fists, and he'd landed one on her cheekbone on Wednesday before school, so her face was a lovely shade of purplish yellow under the heavy make-up she'd smuggled.
Her date? A guy named Fred Fisher, who didn't go to Derry High School at all but worked over at Ed's Autos fixing brakes and rotating tires. He was nice, and nice-looking. Even if he didn't quite look like Bill.
Who was staring at her. Would he come ask her to dance? Her heart jumped at the idea.
Fred was taking a bathroom break. He hadn't actually asked her to dance all night. They'd sat near the door, in a dark spot where the chaperones weren't watching, and he kept groping her leg under the table. She supposed she liked it, liked what he was trying to do. She wasn't sure. She barely knew him, after all, and he'd been almost impatient with her all evening, kind of pushy, and she knew he would want more from her before the end of the night. But he'd finally gotten up and now they were playing a song, a really good song the Righteous Brothers had come out with that winter, and she wished so much that she could slow dance. Bev thought that if Fred came back in time, she might let him French kiss her if they could dance to this song.
But it wasn't Fred who came up to her. It was Bill Denbrough.
His red hair was the same shade as hers, especially in the dim light. He kind of grinned, and shuffled his left foot.
"Care for a dance?"
No stutter at all. He spoke clearly, slowly. Not like she remembered. What she maybe, kind of remembered. She bet it was someone else with the stutter.
She nodded up at him, eyes shining, and took his hand. He led her to the floor, put his hands around her waist. Her dress was thin, a gossamer material she'd gotten in the bargain bin, and she could feel how warm his fingers were. She felt like she could faint, but at the same time, so light.
Bev linked her hands behind Bill's neck, and they didn't dance so much as they swayed. Bill was humming the song, and he leaned in to whisper along with the lyrics as the chorus rose.
"You've lost that lovin' feelin'...whoa-oh that lovin' feelin'...."
She was in heaven. Absolutely in heaven.
The song came to an end and the DJ announced a short break. Bev didn't want to move, and Bill didn't seem to want to, either. He brought a hand up to her cheek.
"What's your name?"
"Beverly. You're Bill."
He nodded.
"Where did this come from?" His hand rested on the bruised cheek. She blushed - she thought she'd hidden it.
She shrugged. "I fell."
He frowned, and rubbed his thumb over her cheekbone. "I would hit him back, if I knew who he was."
Bev sighed, closed her eyes.
"I should get back. I'm here...I have a date."
Bill nodded, leaned forward a little so their foreheads were very nearly touching.
"You are beautiful, Beverly. I wish I had known you - I feel like, maybe I do."
He planted a soft kiss on her forehead and let her go, walking away. She shook herself, not wanting to attract any more attention than she was already sure she had. Of course, they hadn't been the only couple lingering on the dance floor, and it was still dark enough that she could dash back to her seat unnoticed.
Fred Fisher was sitting there, waiting for her. "Where'd you go?" he asked, his voice playful. Kinda rough, too.
"I...someone asked me to dance. I didn't think you'd mind."
Fred laughed. "Long as you're comin' home with me." He tugged her hand, pulled her down. A little too hard.
They didn't stay long. Fred had a 1956 Ford Fairlane (painted red and white, with whitewalled tires) and the backseat was where they ended up. Parked on a stretch of road Bev was somehow unfamiliar with, not near where anyone else had gone parking for the night.
Fred was rough. He was good-looking, yes, and his breath thankfully did not smell like alcohol as she had almost feared it would, but he didn't listen to "No" and "Not there" and "Please, slower" or even "I'm not...I haven't done...don't...". Fred paid no attention to her at all, and he got his way. Men like him always get their way, Bev thought, as she tried guiding his hands to less sensitive places, tried kissing him, tried to get at least a little pleasure out of it.
He simply pushed and he pinched and he rode, and her head was rather awkwardly pressed against the door. She could look up, out the window, and the moon was so bright. So very big and bright over Derry that night.
And, to Bev's frightened and resigned eyes, it was blood red.
--
Bill didn't have a date to the senior prom. He didn't really see a girl who caught his eye. But he figured he would go anyway, he had nothing better to do. Besides, he might find a story there. Something that didn't end in a sewer, for a change.
He got dressed up, at least in his best suit and a tie he filched from his dad's closet. He shined his shoes. He combed his hair, frowning at the strands that came off on his comb.
"Bye Mom, see ya Dad."
They sort of waved at him, and went back to staring at the television. Like they almost always did, and had, since George.
Bill didn't sigh or show any other sign that he felt their neglect. He'd become numb to it, really, over the years. That was how they dealt with it. He chose to deal with it in other ways. He wrote, and he studied, and he was actually doing well enough that he figured he had a decent shot at salutatorian, at least. One of his stories was getting published, too, in a rag based out of Bangor. They weren't paying, but it was going to be in print. He thought.
Bill was doing okay.
He drove over to the high school and pulled in next to a red and white Ford Fairlane. Gorgeous car, really. There was a couple sitting in it, and it looked like they might not make it inside. The guy's face seem glued to the girl's, though she was pushing on his chest a little, pulling away as if to say "enough for now, I want to dance." Bill made himself stop writing their story in his head and got out of his own Chevy, his dad's, and started walking up to the school.
The couple from the Fairlane weren't far behind him, as it turned out. The guy bumped into Bill as they caught up to the crowd at the door. "Sorry, man." Bill shrugged. The guy wasn't familiar at all, he looked older than everyone around him.
Bill faced the door again, and heard a voice behind him say "We don't have to stay long, I just want to dance. You don't have to look impatient like that."
It was a great voice, kind of husky but sweet all the same, a voice that made Bill's skin tingle. He knew that voice.
"I'm not impatient, doll. I just have other plans." That voice, the voice of the guy from the Fairlane, was deep. The kind of voice that could be quite menacing, if so employed.
Bill turned a little, and the girl's red hair caught his eye. He knew her, he did. Did he?
The crowd finally loosened and they spilled into the gym, which was low-lit and decorated like a night sky. Glitter rained in places from cardboard stars, and "A Night Under the Stars" spelled out the obvious theme on a banner above the stage in case anyone didn't quite get it. Bill saw a face he knew - Stan Uris - and inclined his head in greeting. Stan shot him a salute, and his date waved at Bill, a Leslie-somebody that Bill recognized from junior-year trig class. The DJ was set up on the stage. The class prom committee had decided a DJ was less expensive, and they'd get the music they wanted instead of badly-covered Beatles songs, and Bill saw immediately that the choice was a good one, as the DJ announced the opening song - "Game of Love."
"Oh the purpose of a woman is to love a man / and the purpose of a man is to love a woman...."
Not bad. A few girls screeched in excitement, dragging their dates behind them, and the floor was flooded within the first few lines.
Bill was amused. He tapped his foot along with the song, leaned up against a wall. He knew he'd want to dance, but not just yet. He wanted to watch for a bit first.
Lila Kitchener from his English class was out there, in a yellow dress that really showed off her curves. She was dancing with a guy who was also in their English class, the one who had a particular love for the poetry they studied. Bill couldn't think of his name. They were really cutting a rug, to use Bill's dad's expression.
The night was going well, Bill thought around the fifth song, "Love Me Do" by the Beatles. Everyone was having a good time, and Bill had gotten in a dance with Lila, whose date had laughed and gallantly said "Go ahead, she's wearin' me out at this rate!" when Bill asked permission. Bill figured there had to be punch, so he went off in search of it, not inclined to dance to the awkward rhythm of this Beatles song.
"How's it goin', Denbrough?" said a voice beside him at the table.
"Oh, it's..." Bill turned to answer the questioner, and stared into a dead face, one he could almost recognize.
"Don't scream, now. Never could stand it when they scream." The person, if that's what it was, leaned over and got a glass of punch. It poured the drink down its throat and Bill could see it go through its esophagus. He hitched in a breath and closed his eyes.
Not real, right? Not real. He was hallucinating. It was hot in here, maybe he needed fresh air. He opened his eyes. The dead guy was gone.
Bill put down the cup he was holding and pushed his way to the doors, and stumbled a little past one necking couple to the parking lot. He took a deep breath and bent over. Another breath.
He hadn't seen that face in a long time. If he was right, it had looked like Eddie Corcoran, or Eddie as he might have looked had he been allowed to become a teenager. Eddie was dead, though, had been dead for ages.
"Yes, I have been dead for ages."
Bill whipped around, nearly losing his balance.
"Don't listen to It, Bill. It wants you to listen, and It will try, but don't."
"Wh-what the f-f-fh-uck?" Bill's stutter always came back when he was upset. When he was scared.
"St-st-stuttering Bill D-de-de-den-buh-brough!" This time, from behind. Dead!Eddie shook his head.
"Don't listen!"
And vanished.
Bill shut his eyes, clapped his hands over his ears.
"Boo!"
His eyes flew open. It was in front of him. Wearing a bloody Derry High School letterjacket. '65 on one lapel. "Tozier" on the other. It had a face, a werewolf face, a zombie face, maybe both or neither but Bill didn't care, whatever it was scared the shit out of him.
"Aren'tcha glad to see me, old buddy, old pal, old scrub?" The thing laughed. "It's just me, your old pal."
"Richie," Bill breathed out, not knowing where that came from. "You're really not him, you know."
"Oh, I know. I'm just pulling your leg. You know, like I did to what was his name. Georgie. Or was it his arm?"
It changed, morphed into something else entirely, and Bill didn't stop to look and see what. He swung his arm out, like he was trying to hit It, and It disappeared.
"Right behind you, stud!"
Bill turned, his reaction slower this time. The voice was muffled, sounding like a girl's voice, a Natalie Wood Voice if you would. That was because It was now in the backseat of the Ford Fairlane. A girl's shape was next to the werewolf-zombie in the letterjacket.
"I'm going to have her tonight, you know, Bill. I'm going to fuck her, and I will enjoy it. You can't stop me." It petted the hair of the girl-shape, which Bill saw was red hair. He blinked, smacked his face. What the hell was wrong with him?
And the werewolf-zombie licked the girl-shape's face and Bill screamed with her.
He ran to the car, but even before he'd moved, the scene had vanished, and the moonlight shone down on the back window of the Ford Fairlane so brightly that Bill knew, he just knew, there was no way he could have seen all that detail with the reflection of the light from the glass.
His keys were in his pocket. He should have just gotten in the car and driven home. Snuck some of his dad's whiskey and called it a night.
But as he stood in the parking lot, his heart slowed down and he gulped for air, and the scene began to fade from his mind, the episode over.
A totally different kind of voice spoke behind him.
"You okay, man? You want some water, or something?"
Stan Uris was standing there, hands out, a deeply concerned look on his face. Bill shook his head. "I'm okay. I think...I'm okay."
Stan frowned. "You sure?"
Bill nodded. He looked up at Stan, who was a good three inches taller than Bill even when Bill wasn't bent over. "Yeah, I'm good."
"It's a weird night," Stan said.
"It's the moon," Bill replied.
They walked back in together. The DJ was now spinning the Beach Boys' "I Get Around," and it was just fading when Bill caught sight once again of the lovely redhead he swore he knew. He felt a surge of protectiveness, he couldn't say why.
"Who is that?" Bill asked Stan, pointing.
Stan looked, and shook his head. "Been trying to think of her name all night."
"I'm going to ask her to dance."
Stan laughed. "Are you kidding? See that neanderthal she's with?"
The Fairlane guy. "Yeah, well. I'll wait till he goes to take a piss or something."
Stan shook his head. "Good luck. I'm supposed to be getting punch for Leslie. See ya."
"See ya." Bill didn't watch Stan go. The song changed, and it was "My Girl."
Bill settled to a new place along the wall, and watched, and waited for his chance to ask the redhead to dance.
------
end
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2011-11-03 10:11 am (UTC)It's been so long since I read the book that I couldn't remember who had stayed in Derry through the end of high school, so it was lovely anticipating and being pleasantly surprised at the familiar faces. And gah, how sad that those faces were barely familiar to each other.
(no subject)
Date: 2011-11-04 01:31 am (UTC)I had to keep my copy of the book next to me while writing - I'm still not 100% sure if I got it right about who lived in Derry and who didn't, so, if it's AU, oh well :-). I know Ben moved, and Richie, and I've written a high school story for Richie that suggests he, Bev, Mike, and Eddie were the only ones left in Derry by the time they all turned 13 or so. But it was definitely difficult to track the canon on that.
Really, really glad you liked this!!!
(no subject)
Date: 2011-11-04 12:49 am (UTC)That said,
(no subject)
Date: 2011-11-04 01:36 am (UTC)Glad you liked it :-)