The Sea and the Sun ━━━━ Beverly Marsh︱✓

𝙭𝙫𝙞𝙞. the bitter taste of honey

Jill Samson was definitely not the bravest of the bunch. She wasn't born brave or strong, she was born to fight. Her blood flowed with grit and fire and steel. Maybe it wasn't the life she would have chosen, but it was what she knew how to do. It was what she knew best. It was all she could do. And she was the first to dismount her bike and throw it onto the street before she marched up to the Well House and glared at its pale skin, beckoning for it to stare back at her.

The other six boys dismounted their bikes and piled into the yard covered in dead, yellow grass almost the consistency of hay. Bill stepped right up beside Jill and stared at the side of her strained face before he glanced over his shoulder and nodded at the other boys. Then he caught sight of two metal poles with spikes on the ends hidden in the yellow grass, and went for them.

"Guys, spikes," Bill muttered as he picked up the two metal poles and put them together to make a double spiked pole. Jill looked at him and pursed her lips. She didn't know if that would be enough to take down It. She worried it wouldn't be.

The rest of the group began looking for more weapons on the ground because they had so conveniently forgotten to grab any before they came, despite Jill and Bill instructing them to do so. Well . . . except for Mike. Mike was smart enough to bring along the gun that he said he used for killing sheep at his work. Jill didn't need to search for a weapon either. She had grabbed a sharp knife before she left Stan's house to go retrieve Mike. She tightened her grip around the knife and clenched her jaw.

But the other boys weren't as prepared. Eddie removed his fanny pack and threw it aside before he resumed searching for a weapon. Bill quickly stopped him in his search and handed him the scissors he had pocketed earlier. Eddie clutched them in his grasp and looked to Stan who seemed to be frozen in place, his face withered with fear. And Ben, well, Ben seemed to be too inside his own head to notice anything happening around him. Then there was Richie, who grabbed a beer bottle and smashed it against the stairs, causing everyone to turn to look at him.

Richie looked down at the beer bottle and shrugged. "Maybe not," he muttered as he threw it aside.

Bill sighed and stood up with the pole attached to his backpack. He moved past the other preteens and walked up the creaky stairs, glancing over his shoulder to gesture to the others to follow him. Jill pursed her lips and joined him at the top of the stairs. The two of them shared a look before they both pushed open the withered front door, watching as it creaked open and revealed the inside of the monster.

Jill sighed, shaking her head. "Well . . . welcome back to Hell," she bitterly muttered as she stepped inside the monster's mouth. But as soon as her foot pressed against the withered floorboards, she began to feel every pain It had inflicted on her. Her throat felt strained and sore like a noose wrapped around her neck, and she had to fight the urge to yelp out in pain.

"Stan?" Ben suddenly muttered in a hushed tone, causing everyone to glance over to see Stan standing in the doorway.

Stan looked at each of them, his face growing paler by the second. He showed no sign of moving. He just stood there as pale as a ghost with his arms glued to his sides and his feet frozen to the floor. Jill's heart swelled in her chest at the sight. She knew what he was feeling. Hell, she thought she might bend over and hurl any second. She wasn't sure if she could calm his senses, especially since hers were in sensory overload.

But Bill beat her to it. "Stuh—Stan, we all have to go," he said, his voice calm and collected almost like silk. He always had the right words; a silver tongue if you will. "Beverly was right. If wuh—we split up like last time, that clown will kuh—kill us one by one. But if we stick together, all of us, we'll win. I pruh—promise."