Reap What You Sow

They Grew from the Cracks

Okay. Richie thought as calmly as he possibly could. That's a fucking monster.

And it was definitely not a monster like they were used to. It wasn't an image of their fear, it didn't lurk in darkness and the corner of their eyes—it was right there, and it was hunting.

If Richie really wanted to pretend that it wasn't a monster, he could say it was a lion. If he really wanted to, he could desperately cling to that—it had a face like a lion, it had a mane. What else do you need?

But Richie wasn't so close-minded to try and deny it. Lions were not that big, their torsos didn't stretch that long. Lions didn't have streaks of rustic reds, golds, and what seemed to be even hues of purples buried within their manes—and said manes didn't hold themselves up and out like flowers around the lions' heads. Lions did not have fangs like saber teeth tigers or dark, twisted horns. Lions did not have fur this golden or thick; their fur didn't catch the sun and throw it right back at them like it was reflecting off something glass. Lions did not look like this.

"We're all seeing this right?" Stan whispered, but no one had the chance to answer him before their new lion-like friend let out another roar that made the support of the clubhouse shake and the Loser's scream.

It hesitated when they screamed, looking frustrated. It took an impatient step backwards, then forwards again, and Richie only just now noticed how unimaginably huge those claws were.

The fear seemed to be buried deep in his bones, his blood stream—he could feel it travelling through him, setting his cells alive like a current. He'd never felt anything like this, like fear so strong it was static.

Yet behind it all, he could feel Eddie still holding onto him, keeping him grounded.

Bill, on the other hand, was not so grounded. He stumbled and he would've hit the ground if Richie hadn't grabbed him, forced to his knees with the momentum of Bill's dead weight—he was out cold.

Richie knew it right away; the movement of them dropping was too sudden. It set the monster off, it lunged right for them.

Though, something happened that Richie wasn't really entirely sure of—it was right there, jaw open wide, its teeth were too big and stained a faded red on the tips. Richie was sure of all of that.

But then there was fire. So close Richie had to turn away, the heat too much on his skin. But it hadn't been aimed at him, and it didn't come from the monster.

It came from Bev.

Richie didn't have time to question it; their monster wasn't very fond of fire. Richie only got a small glimpse of the burnt spot on its muzzle—all singed fur and pink, irritated flesh now exposed underneath—before the monster let out the most unbearable screech Richie had ever heard and panicked.

It thrashed and turned hard, trying to retrace its steps out. It was too big and not nearly graceful enough at the moment—its hips took out an entire pillar as it swung around. Thankfully, it was a pillar in the corner farthest from them, because it collapsed without the slightest hesitation and that whole area caved in.

The chaos was dizzying—dirt, blood, heat, screams. There was too much going on, Richie couldn't think straight. Not to mention Bill out cold in his arms, maybe even dead, he had no idea what was going on with him.

He felt hands fearfully gripping the back of his jacket. He knew who it was, he was too used to that grip to ever be mistaken. Once again, Eddie managed to clear his mind, quieted it down.