Rituals

by spikedaft

Summary:

AU wherein the Losers reunite, but things diverge from canon from there. A teaser for a fic I've been thinking about for years but would love to gauge my reader interaction before I decide to expand upon this thing or not.

The Ritual of Chud has trapped the deadlights in the form of the 8 foot tall clown monster. The Losers are now bound to IT, and IT to them. Together they must fight a new evil that has come to Derry, but will they destroy themselves before they can?

Notes:

Sending some literary tentacles out to see how much interest this story gains to decide whether to expand upon it. All interaction is gratefully received.

Chapter 1: The Fallout

Summary:

Wherein our entity, and our Losers, change scenery.

Notes:

First chapter out! I have edited it significantly from the first teaser. I hope you enjoy. Please leave kudos and/or a review if you liked it!

Mike Hanlon bought his house in Derry from his grandfather when he was twenty-five. It was a good house, sturdy even in the worst windstorm, warm in winter and tepid in the summer, modest in size but not small, and stood on a medium-sized patch of land where, once upon his childhood, sheep had been raised and slaughtered. It had nearly been his father’s house; he never got the chance to change hands with his own father before fate intervened and Mike’s parents were wiped from history. His grandfather shared the house with him until his death when Mike was 27. Life had been hard then; far harder than his life now, at thirty-five. He worked for the Derry Public Library, made enough to get by. Life was quiet in Derry...or had been, until recently.

Children were disappearing again. Not only children, as adults were vanishing too. As it had been before, however, the missing children outnumbered the adults by three to one. At first, Mike had chalked it up to coincidence, his mind automatically rejecting the truth he knew was there, as much as he tried to push it away in favor of simple excuses. But after the city had become littered with missing posters just as they had when he was twelve, and they shuffled about the streets and gutters in the Autumn wind like restless leaves, Mike could no longer ignore what he was seeing, and what it meant.

He met with the tribe that had long occupied Derry and who witnessed the first hunger of the entity. He learned of The Turtle; as much as they knew. He became a trusted friend of the Elders, who had never seen another person from Derry who had witnessed Pennywise and survived. And so in this way Mike Hanlon learned of the Ritual of Chud.

Not long after he had learned as much as a person could know, he summoned the others. Those phone calls were bittersweet. It was so good to hear each of their voices, but he knew what he had brought upon each of them. Eventually, after each Loser had engaged in serious personal struggle, they all agreed to come.

The reunification had been bliss in the face of dread. They had met at the Greek restaurant that had recently been opened downtown. Stories and memories kept them there for hours, regardless of the exasperated staff. Nothing hunted them there; the creature must be busy.

When they left they agreed to meet at Mike's house, and convened there as dread wound its tendrils around each of their hearts. Mike wasted no time, and had shared what he had learned from the tribal elders, and the Losers had held rapt attention, though Richie could not help but nervously make jokes every few minutes. Stan, too, was having a difficult time, and he rarely spoke, standing at the edge of the commotion and watching with dark, haunted eyes.

It wasn't fun for anyone. It had been devastating to learn that their first attempt to destroy the clown had failed. They grieved for the loss their peace, each one of them, and no one was jumping at the chance to confront the thing that had haunted their live since childhood.

But it happened. As soon as the reunited Losers could manage it, they again walked into the sewers to find Pennywise.

How the Ritual unfolded is a story for another time. Needless to say, the battle of wits was long, slogging, but the power the Loser's held in the presence of one another again proved invincible to the eldritch being. Ultimately it was Mike who bit into the creature's silver tongue, biting his lips in the process and mingling his blood with the entity's own.

In that moment, a strange bond had been created. To Mike's mind it was like another lobe of consciousness had just birthed itself into being, linking him to Pennywise inextricably. The creature had screeched inside his head, blotting out all his senses for nearly a minute, as It resisted the bindings of the connection which held It fast.

It lost consciousness then. Together, they dragged Pennywise through the sewers, out of the Barrens, and ultimately into Mike's basement, and somehow no one had seen them. They had met no other people on their painful slog back to the house where Pennywise would now be held.

It is here that our story begins.

***

Pennywise the Dancing Clown lay motionless, Its eight foot tall form crumpled on the basement floor. The only sign of It being alive was the ragged gasp of Its breath, a function It should not normally need to perform. The cold in the basement of Mike's house was strangely piercing, and as It shuddered and growled the two members of The Losers Club that had stayed in the basement jumped back, wary. The creature remained unconscious, thpugh fitful

"F-Fuck!" cried Bill. "Is...is it awake? Why isn't it trying to sh-shapeshift?"

"I...I think It's stuck in the clown form," breathed Mike, daring to break the silence between them. "It can't shapeshift; if It could It would be far away by now. It's what the old natives told me. I think they were spot on."

"Y-you mean it's trapped?" asked Bill. "Like th-this?"

'i don't know for sure," Mike said, "but I think so."

"W-we can't just trust that i-it worked."

Rivulets of blood seeped from the Clown's mouth, face, and markings, drifting upward into the air like something in a dream. It had been beaten by the Losers, bearing damage, but if it had not been for the Ritual It would have easily vanished, off to lick its wounds in peace, and then sleep. Healing, blissful, uneventful sleep. Plenty of time to recover, to regenerate any damage sustained while awake in Derry.

But now, no sleep would be coming. The Ritual of Chüd was complete.

***

"It's waking up," said Bill, who had ventured upstairs to bring the others, knowing strength in numbers was best lest something go awry. He informed the other Losers in a tone most people saved for terrible news; the Losers who were clustered in Mike's kitchen with Ritchie pawing through the cupboards for a drink.

Beverly was the first to stand up. "Let's go, then."

They followed.

***

The monster came to consciousness with a loud snarl and a gasp of ragged breath. Its eyes snapped open, yellow and baleful, but it made no move to rise, squinting and blinking and looking around Itself, seemingly weak and trying to get Its bearings in this unfamiliar environment. The Losers watched the clown, not daring to breathe, hoping against hope that the monster could no longer harm them, that the natives-and Mike- had been correct.

Only one way to tell. And Mike, not Bill, was the least afraid of the Losers this time. He stepped forward, up to the creature on the floor; slowly reaching his hand out to touch the clown on the leg.

Instantly, Pennywise reacted, and Mike felt the hot flare of pain as razor sharp claws raked across his forearm.

The ritual didn’t work, he thought, horror temporarily obscuring his logic. He pulled back and as he went to turn away and flee, the clown suddenly let out an unearthly wail, freezing Mike and the rest of the Losers in their tracks. He spun back toward the creature, baser instincts flaring but ultimately overcome by a reckless kind of curiosity. He could hear the others shouting, but they seemed far away and unimportant. He held his gaze as the creature stopped wailing to inspect Itself.

Pennywise held up his arm- the right one- and gaped at the blood that was leaking from four parallel slices across the forearm, mirroring Mike’s wounds. But as Mike’s wounds dripped onto the floor, the clown’s blood streamed upwards like smoke from a holy cistern. Another strange, keening wail escaped Pennywise and he retreated against the back wall of the basement as though the shadows could protect him.

“What is this magic?” he hissed. “What sorcery is this?”

"It's the Ritual of Chud, fucker," Ritchie blurted. "You're cooked."

"Beep beep, Ritchie," Stan said warily. "Just fucking beep beep till we know what we're facing."

"Pennywise," Mike said firmly. One of the clown's eyes rotated to face him, the other still fixed balefully on Ritchie. "Can you heal yourself?"

The look in the clown's eyes turned into something inwardly focused, and after ten or so seconds it became focused on them again. Frowning sullenly, looking as though he had smelled something unpleasant, Pennywise shook his head, bells jingling as he did. The blood continued to flow, though perhaps less so than when they had first deposited the creature onto Mike's basement floor.

The room erupted in yelling while Pennywise cringed against the wall, still examining his arm, blinking slowly as though he could not believe his eyes.

Eddie was nearly hiding behind Ritchie as he watched Its blood drift upward. "Mike," he moaned. "Mike, how're we gonna clean this? It's puddling on the fucking ceiling!"

"Eddie, for fuck's sake?" Ritchie. "How is that the top of your worries, you woman?!"

Suddenly and in a flash, the clown was up, heaving forward and grabbing Bill by the jacket and yanking him close. The yelling intensified from the Losers, all but Mike, who was watching Pennywise and Bill with a rapt stare.

Everyone froze, not knowing what was going to happen. Even Bill himself stopped his cried of terror to study what Pennywise was doing.

"Let him go, clown!" yelled Ritchie. "Drop him!"

It took Bill by the forearm, much as It had to Eddie years ago in the Neibolt house, but this time it was not mocking or teasing. Slowly, Pennywise stuck a clawed finger out to deliberately cut a line on the flesh of Bill's arm. He sucked in a breath as he pain lanced through his arm, but Pennywise stopped there. He merely held the arm, staring as blood began to flow. The creature then looked back at Its own arm, and sure enough there was blood soaking the grayed fabric, precisely where It had cut Bill. With a rush of air that ended in a hiss, the clown flung Bill away from him. Bill stumbled back, Ben and Beverly catching him before he could sprawl onto the concrete floor.

"Does this..." ventured Mike, "does this mean it gets hurt if it hurts us?"

There was a collective intake of breath. "Holy shit," Eddie breathed. "This..."

"This is insane," muttered Stan. "I'm not volunteering to see if it happens to me."

"Shit, me either," said Ritchie.

Beverly had remained silent this whole time, watching with wide eyes, but now she ventured forward, closer to Pennywise, peering at him as he still stared at the cuts on his arm as though he could still not understand why.

"Hey, Pennywise. You okay?"

"What're you asking him that for?" cried Ritchie. "Back away Bev!"

"I think," said Mike, "that maybe we should go to the living room for drinks and leave It alone for a while. We're all...a little shocked. It can't leave us; the Ritual has bound it to us."

"I'll dress your arm," said Bev. "It's pretty bad. Bill, you too."

The Losers trumped up the stairs together, leaving Pennywise in the shadows as the day lengthened.

Chapter 2: Chapter Two: Plans

Summary:

The Losers try to figure out how to move forward.

Notes:

A/N: this is primarily a story about Mike and Pennywise and Bill, who in the AU is still a successful author but is unmarried, with less ties to life outside his chosen bubble. Possibly Mike/Bill in later chapters. Mike, whose family had been a stable, loving one before the tragedy, chose to stay in Derry; unlike the others he does not have a life elsewhere; has not made many connections outside his home town. Derry never caused him to feel like he had to escape, even with the odd and terrible things that happened there. And he is the only one who can keep Pennywise because he is within the bounds of the Pillars. The entity cannot physically travel beyond the Pillars.

***

The drinks were plentiful that night, but no one got drunk. The presence in the basement was sobering enough for them all, and no match for the beers Mike had provided. Local swill. It wasn't the best tasting beer in all the world, but it was plentiful and usually did the job.

They all sat in the living room, Ritchie and Eddie standing in the kitchen, bickering but always close, and as they drank the cold beer they brainstormed how to deal with their new situation, ears on alert for any noise from the basement. So fat there had been none; one could hear a mouse fart behind a baseboard in Mike's house this night.

"I thought the Ritual...I thought i-it would destroy It, not b-b-bind It to us," Bill mused after a long silence between them. "How are we going to m-manage this?"

"Maybe we can stab it to death now?" Ritchie asked hopefully. "Maybe that'll kill it?"

Ben had been quiet much of the evening, both hands curled around his beer, but he spoke up after Ritchie's plea. "If it survived the Ritual we can't kill it. It's possible that if we try to harm it, we might be the ones getting hurt; the opposite of what happened down in the basement."

"He's got a point," said Stan. "I don't think it would be wise to try to harm it either way. How's your arm, Mike?"

Mike nodded dismissively. His arm stung, but it wasn't too bad in terms of pain. What it meant, though, was overwhelming. "We still can't trust Pennywise," he said, "but I think we may have him in hand because of this. But..."

They all looked at him, suspenseful, and he shook his head. "You will have to go back to your lives at some point. I'm going to take on Pennywise when the time comes. I've...made up my mind. You can't stay here and leave your lives behind; then It wins again."

As the night wore on, the Losers made their plans clear: they would stay in the only hotel Derry had to offer, and part ways in the coming weeks. Ben and Bev were on serious terms now, and were eager to explore life as a couple; it seemed as though Stan and Eddie might be feeling in a similar way. The Loser's time together as adults had been rewarding and wonderful... as much as it had been terrible because of the reason they had to reunite.

Back to their lives, their haaappy little liiives, until they went back to the weeds.

***

In the basement, in the dark, Pennywise the Dancing Clown tried to lick his wounds as he kept his place cringing on the back wall for what seemed like ages.

Things after the Losers had blessedly departed had spun into a dizzying whirl of time, pain, resistance, and unyielding boundaries; like walls trapping him in from all sides. His ears longed for the sound of chiming water; the smells of rot and ruin and filth. His fear frightened him even more and for a while Pennywise found himself frozen, almost unable to move, though not once did it cross his mind that he instilled the same suffering into his food. The irony was lost on the creature, who shuddered and wheezed in distress.

This was the Turtle's handiwork, It was sure of it. None but a Guardian could entrap It; bind It as it had. The feeling of the Ritual was invasive, sharp and painful in Its mind and body. It reeled in dismay, and yet again never gave a thought as to how It had forcefully invaded the minds of Its prey. It was all alient to Pennywise, who fought panic harder than he had ever fought an enemy.

After a few hours had passed, It tried to push the boundaries of the basement, trying to get back to the sewers even if It had to fight Its way out. Hesitating, unsure, Pennywise let his curiosity overcome his better senses and he crossed the room to the basement door, creeping up the steps as though every movement pained him. At last, at last, It reached the door and placed a clawed hand upon it

The shock through his arm sent Pennywise reeling, skittering back to the farthest wall in the basement, fangs bared as he tried to find his bearings.

Everything hurt. Everything felt out of place, not Its usual location and schedule. Pennywise could no longer seek Its peace and solitude in the winding, echoing tunnels of the sewers. As much as he tried to stay alert, sleep was pulling at him. Nourishing, healing sleep. But...for how long? Would the humans finish him off as he slept? He hoped he would live to feed again, and the crash of unexpected emotions at the thought of starving into oblivion drained him.

I am the Eater of Worlds...

A small whine escaped him at the thought of his newfound helplessness, and he sat in the quiet dark and tried to think of what to do before sleep finally pulled him under, into the cozy dark abyss he dwelt in every twenty seven years.

***

"I t-think It's asleep," breathed Bill.

He had quietly joined Mike to check on the clown after the others retired to the hotel, not knowing if they should be concerned at the seeming lack of activity. Together they saw the quiet form huddled against the wall, and slowly, footsteps quiet, padded down the stairs. Pennywise did not stir, his knees drawn up protectively as his unnaturally long arms wrapped around his legs. His breathing was shallow but regular; but who knew what was "normal" for the creature in this form.

"Should we try and wake it?"

"No," Mike said quietly. "The longer Its asleep the less trouble we have to deal with."

"And if It's...r-recharging Its strength?"

Mike shook his head. "I don't know."

There was a beat of silence, and then Bill spoke up again. "I-I'm staying," he said. "I don't want to go back to England. Not while this thing lives and breathes in your house."

"Wow, Bill. You didn't stutter."

Bill raised his brows, surprised. "Well..I g-guess I m-m-meant it."

"I can't ask you to do that."

"You d-don't have to. I'm doing it. I'm a grown a-ass m-man, Mike. You get me whether you want to or n-not. Not while It's...like th-this.

I can't leave you al-alone with Pennywise. Not till we know what we're facing."

Mike nodded soberly, then gave a half-grin. "Thanks, Big Bill. The others would have stayed but I couldn't let them."

Bill put a hand on Mike's shoulder and squeezed. "Agreed."

Chapter 3: Waiting

Summary:

It must sleep to repair the damage from the Ritual, but what happens upon waking?

Notes:

Slow burn. Chapters are slow to come out but I'm writing as much as I feel inspired. Thank you for your kudos and comments; keep 'em coming if you like it. Constructive criticism gratefully received. I hope you enjoy.

Pennywise ended up sleeping in the basement for days.

His body, now bound to a (albeit huge) physical form, needed time to heal itself from the damage the Ritual had inflicted. All eight feet of him ached and protested unlike anything he had ever felt. Pennywise was exhausted and overwhelmed, but had long since lost the energy to panic. The damage was done and sleep had overwhelmed him despite his protests after that first encounter in Mike's basement, and when he slept he did not dream. Not this time. Usually, It slept to dream; dreaming was Its most favorable pastime, with eating being but a close second.

While It slept, the Losers began to fragment. Ben and Beverly left after the third day, promising to return should anything change. Bill and Mike ushered them along, knowing that there was no point in all of them sitting around for who knew how long. Richie and Eddie stayed longer, but ultimately left on the sixth day. What more could they do?

Mike and Bill began taking turns keeping watch in the basement, wanting to be present when (if?) Pennywise awoke. Often they sat together, playing cards and conversing about the past and how life had changed so much after they all grew up. When night came, they took turns watching the enormous clown sleep, curled up into Itself defensively, breathing rapid and shallow and not very restfully, in Mike's opinion.

It was Mike, only Mike, who was there on the ninth night when Pennywise awoke. It's breathing suddenly hitched, and Mike looked up from his phone, alert and watching. After a few tense moments, he saw two glowing eyes slowly open in the shadows, and had to steel himself against the unpleasant clench of familiar fear that arose in the pit of his stomach.

The clown creature's eyes locked on Mike's after a few seconds of looking around independently to get his bearings, and he growled, low and dangerous.

“WhAt HAve yOu dOnE?!" rasped Pennywise. "WHaT iS THis?"

Mike wasn't sure what to say, but frantically messaged Bill that the clown was awake. "I...I'm Mike. You're here because of the Ritual of Chud. We beat you at the game, Pennywise. From what I understand, you're bound to us now."

He suddenly stopped, as a smell began to overcome him. The smell of fire, smoke. It grew stronger, threating to pull him into a horrific flashback, but Mike steeled himself, somehow knowing what the clown was trying to do.

"You can't scare me anymore," Mike whispered. "I'm not a little boy anymore. And I'm in control now. I mean...we are. All of us, and not you." Where the hell was Bill?

Pennywise merely stared at Mike, drool dripping from his lower lip, mind working. How could these humans have bound him so? Unless...

"THe tURtLe!" It hissed. "It SPokE to yOu!"

"No. I spoke to the tribe that lived here prior to Derry. I think the Turtle spoke to them, and told them how to capture you. They showed me. I saw you, way back then. I saw you with my own eyes."

The clown had no words for this; he could only bare his teeth at the Loser, warning him to stay away. But this stalemate could not last.

Mike had always felt compassion for helpless creatures. He tended songbirds that would collide with the windows in his grandfathers house, helped raise countless kittens that lived in the barns, helped ewes deliver their young and watched over many farm dogs and their puppies. He could never dispatch sheep like his grandfather and uncle did; he could never forget the panicked, rolling eyes, the cries of fear, the final clunk of the bolts. It sickened him.

He lived for life, not for promoting death like his family seemed doomed to continue lest he break the cycle. Which he intended to do. He could not bear the shadows that haunted his kinfolk; he could not hold back in fear as atrocities were abound.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Mike murmured in a quiet voice. “Neither of us are going to hurt you.”

Fangs bared again. Mike was not deterred. "Is there anything I can do to help?" he asked. "It's very cold down here. I can give you a blanket to keep the cold off."

Pennywise was flabbergasted; he had never felt cold before, had never needed a blanket. He had liked the cold, but for some reason now he felt the chill in the February basement air and found it rather unpleasant. Still, he resisted the Loser's words and hissed. "I nEEd noTHing FRom yOu."

"Nothing? Your arm is still bleeding even though you've been asleep. Maybe I can bandage it and stop it from doing that."

"WHat GoOd wouLD It dO?" sneered Pennywise.

Mike held out his own arm, mostly healed over, scabs nearly gone. "I bandaged mine. See? It got better."

The clown stared blankly at his arm, and then one of his eyes fixed on his own arm. He appeared at a loss as to what to say. When Mike asked if he could dress it, Pennywise merely looked at him, unable to think of what to say.

"Hang on. I'll be right back."

When Mike returned with the gauze, Neosporin, and tape, Pennywise was still staring blankly, gripping Its dripping arm, as though It wasn't sure anything was real. Its eyes glowed balefully, but none of the energy It usually exuded was present now. Mike wasn't sure if the Neosporin would help the clown, but it was part of the ritual of dressing wounds, so it would have to do.

He descended the stairs carefully, slowly, keeping his hands, which gripped his supplies, in full view of the clown entity. It began to shrink back as Mike cleared the bottom step and started slowly toward It.

"Hold out your arm," Mike said cautiously. "I'm not going to hurt you."

At first, Pennywise made no move to comply. But as he watched his blood stream upwards, he felt it draining him as it had been since the day he arrived in the basement. Something had to be done; he wasn't able to heal himself quickly as he had in the past.

Mike approached him, every sense screaming at him to turn back and flee the basement; flee Derry even. But he steeled himself and kept approaching until the clown was pressed again against the back wall. Slowly, he reached for the injured arm, panting with fear that his head would end up across the room at any point, but when he at last grasped the surprisingly thin wrist Pennywise did not pull back. He growled softly in warning, but seemed lost in what Mike intended to do.

"I'm just gonna dress it," Mike said softly. "I won't hurt you, I promise."

The clown started to laugh, but bit it back, unsure. It wanted to taunt Mike, to frighten him as much as he could in this form (which would be easy, It surmised), but for some reason baser instincts held him back and he let Mike pull the billowy sleeve up his forearm to expose the cuts.

When Mike carefully took the glove of the clown suit off and pushed up the sleeve, he saw that the skin on Pennywise's hands was coal black, fading gradually to white up his arm. Mike shivered; it was painfully obvious that Pennywise was not human. The black pointed claws on the tips of his impossibly long fingers was obvious enough without him needing to threaten Mike. Higher up on the long forearm, the three deep slashes wept floating blood, mirroring the slashes that Beverly had dressed on Mike's arm days ago. But his were scabbed over and healing well; the cuts on Pennywise still looked fresh.

Slowly, deliberately, he took the roll of gauze and began applying ointment (though Mike wasn't sure it would have any effect) to the clown's arm, gently wrapping and taping, careful not to move too fast and spook the creature. Only a few minutes had elapsed when Mike finished, and dropped his hands to his sides to show he was done.

Pennywise inspected his arm for several seconds, then lowered it carefully, looking back at Mike. His face was unreadable; blank.

Mike remained on his knees near Pennywise. He gave the clown a wan smile. "Are you cold? Can I give you a blanket?"

After several seconds of staring, Pennywise finally turned from Mike, curled into himself again and laid his head on his shoulder, eyes drooping as healing sleep once again threatened to take him under. As he watched Mike ascend the basement stairs his eyes closed, and he found himself wishing that the Losers had killed him in the cistern all those days ago.

Chapter 4: Chapter 4: Figuring Things Out

Summary:

Mike and Bill have something to discuss with Pennywise after a visit from the Elders.

Notes:

Slowly but surely, Friends. Please be patient with my intermittent inspirations.

Pennywise did not sleep long after his arm had been bandaged; by morning he was awake again. Eyes open but body remaining still, he carefully looked around, cataloguing every detail of the basement in which he was held. Rafters, walls, the cement floor...Finally, both eyes focused on the stairs, and the tall, handsome figure sitting on the top step.

Bill.

He was reading a book, engrossed, when the clown awoke. He sat, unnoticing, as the clown slowly began to sit up. The silence lasted until Pennywise suddenly shook himself all over like a dog, as if trying to shed something pesky that had settled on him. This time Bill jumped about a mile, nearly dropping his book, gasping as though he'd been goosed. Pennywise couldn't help but giggle a little, knowing he'd nearly caused Bill a heart attack, but as soon as Bill began to descend the stairs his expression darkened and he once again became guarded and watchful, wondering what he would do if the human tried to touch him.

"I-I didn't know h-how much l-longer you were going to sleep," Bill said, his words calm and careful despite the scare he had just endured. A second shock went through him when he realized he was again face to face with Georgie's killer, looking into Its glowing, angry eyes, and for some reason the feelings of rage he expected to experience fell flat...and instead he found himself with a pang of...what was it? Sympathy? Empathy? Maybe a bit of both? Surely the creature had never before been placed into such a dire situation, had never been caged like this. In the years before, Bill had come to accept that Pennywise was just doing what It was made to do: consume. It felt terrible hunger when it awoke; Its cruelty still had a purpose, which was to flavor its meals. Not exactly forgivable, but it was possible for Bill to understand Its motives.

Something dawned on him at that and he drew a bit closer to the clown. "You have a ph-physical form n-now...you, you need to eat d-d-don't you?"

The golden eyes widened at the mention of food and Pennywise grunted in affirmation.

Bill knew he had to wake Mike and talk to him about the issue. "Hold on," he said, mounting the stairs. "I need to talk to Mike."

The door creaked open and then slammed shut and Bill made his exit. Pennywise flinched at the sound, cursing himself for feeing so weak. He knew the Losers would never let him feed on humans. In his head he wailed with despair. Must he go back to those times before man appeared on the cursed land? He would not gain nearly as much power should he have to substitute for humans.

Pennywise, not for the first time in this accursed basement, felt hopeless, afraid. Despicable. Hungry. When he knew he was alone he permitted himself a worried whine, and waited for the Losers to come back to him.

***

Mike awoke to a knock on his door. He opened his eyes to see Bill in the doorway, face grave, and he felt a jolt go up his spine. "What? What is it?"

Bill grimaced. "It's...he's...huh-hungry."

Of course. Of course It was hungry. That was practically Its' whole basis for existing.

The Shokopiwah. The may know clues as to how to feed it without human sacrifice. Mike sat up and rubbed his eyes, sighing. "I have an idea. We need to visit some people wo may be able to help us figure this out."

***

The tribe made immediate arrangements when Mike called, and asked if some of the Shokopiwah elders could come to the house. Of course Mike agreed, feeling some sense of relief that he was not exactly alone in dealing with this situation, and the tribe was one of his best bets to figure out how to keep It contained.

That afternoon, two old men arrived on Mike's doorstep, knocking softly as though they were afraid they might wake the beast. In the basement, Pennywise growled at the sound, unsure of what might transpire in the company of these unknown other humans. They smelled different than most of the Derry townsfolk. A familiar smell that It hated. The original food source; the one that learned how to keep him contained.

Pennywise hissed, hearing the thump of Mike's footsteps as he went to answer the door. There was no way he would allow them down in the basement with him; he made up his mind to attack them if they tried, and maybe get a decent meal in as well. After all, Pennywise was bonded to the Losers, not to the tribe.

But the elders were wise, and knew that Pennywise would try to hurt them if they inspected him too closely. They opened the basement door and stood on the landing far above the basement floor, and were gone with a slam of the door as soon as the clown had reached the bottom stair, snarling.

The elders did not stay long, but expressed concern that the creature may still be dangerous. Bill and Mike listened to their warnings and took any advice they could. First: what to feed the thing. They knew It came to earth before humans had settled on the land, and the elders advised that it could subsist on animal meat if it could not get human, but it would be unpleasant tasting for the creature. They warned that Pennywise may try to trick the Losers in a bid for freedom. Nobody had ever completed the Ritual before; they were in uncharted territory.

When the old men finally left, Mike and Bil opened a couple beers and sat together on the upper landing of the basement staircase.

"Pennywise.

"ThE WEaK olD MeN knOW NothInG."

"They know enough," Mike said. "They contained you, they know how to help us."

Bill abruptly started down the stairs, hand outstretched. "L-let me s-see your arm. It should be he-healed by now."

Pennywise knew he was trapped, and had no choice but to comply. He himself was curious as to how a human treatment would effect him. As Bill approached the bottom land and held out both hands, Pennywise allowed him to come forward (how brave he must be, It mused) and gently take his long arm, deftly unwrapping he bandage that had been placed there days earlier, fingers gentle but trembling slightly.

"Th-there," Bill said, triumph in his voice. "It's nothing buh-but scratches n-now."

The clown looked at his arm and then back to Bill, yellow eyes meeting blue. As if on cue, It's stomach growled loudly. Pennywise pooched out his lower lip, unhappy, and looked at Bill, and then at Mike. He needn't say anything; they knew what to say.

"You were here before humans, surely you can subsist on animal meat. It may not be as good, or as nourishing, but it will have to do. There is no other choice. You cannot feed on humans any longer, Pennywise."

The clown's eye glowed balefully as it bared sharklike teeth at them, thoughts reeling. Surely they could not take its main pleasure on this earth?

They left him then. Mike told Bill that he had a phone call to make, and they went into the house together, ready for beers and decompression

Meanwhile, the thing in the basement wailed.