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The house on 29 Neibolt Street had never felt more intimidating.
Standing tall against a cloudless sky, a stray scrap of crumpled newspaper rolling down the street like a tumbleweed, Chris knew that the real showdown had begun the moment they came back together again. Tossing her bike on the side of the street with the others, she followed Bill's lead, bones buzzing with trepidation.
"G-G-Guys, spikes." Bill said, grabbing one of the dismembered fence poles and stuffing it in his backpack. Ben handed him another.
Chris took the knife from her boot and stuffed it into her front pocket, letting the weight of it ground her. Behind her, Eddie tore off his fanny pack and threw it into the sun-dried bushes, and Mike busied himself with loading the bolt gun. Richie walked ahead of them, bending down to a patch of brown grass by the stairs and picking up a frosted bottle. He stared at it for a moment before smashing it against the crumbling handrail, flinching at the sharp sound of glass shattering to pieces.
Everyone turned to the source of the commotion, but Richie simply turned around, holding the now useless nose of the bottle. He threw it over his shoulder.
"Everyone ready?" Bill asked.
They all nodded, wordlessly following him up the stairs.
"Just stick with the spikes." passing Richie, she pat his shoulder.
The sun's light disappeared as they entered the house, if it could even be called that anymore. They each pulled out their flashlights. That rancid, musty smell hit them like a brick wall, and Chris couldn't stop her nose from scrunching up in disgust. The air was thick with dust, and somewhere in one of the adjoining rooms she heard the squeak of a rat.
"Stan?" Eddie spoke softly.
Everyone turned around.
Stan hadn't even made it past the short hall leading into the foyer, seemingly glued to the porch. Bill pushed past the other boys.
"St-S-Stan, we all have to go. Beverly was right."
There was a blank look on the other boy's face, and he looked caught between wanting to cry and wanting to run. Or both.
"If we split up like last time, that cl-clown will kill us one by one. But if we s-stick together, all of us..we'll win."
He looked swayed, somewhat. A part of Chris wanted to march over there and drag him inside. Stan had always been this way, and she wasn't surprised that all this had silently affected him the most. In a way, she knew exactly how he felt. But now wasn't the time for hesitation.
"I promise." Bill said, eyes wordlessly pleading with Stan's.
Taking a deep breath, he stepped inside, ducking under the boards nailed before the door. Carefully stepping over dead leaves and broken pieces of drywall, he joined the group.
