Candy and popcorn... And something else rotten.
AU story, based on episode 7 of the first season of It: Welcome to Derry.
Tags: Pennywise x FemReader! , It is feeding , Death of the main character , Quite a mess , The protagonist is dying , Being eaten alive , Pennywise is female here , There's nothing sexual about it, I'm sorry , References to blood, organs, and other disturbing things.
Words: 2.477
Warnings: References to violence, death of the main character, blood and organs, body being dismembered, human agony, being eaten alive, creature feeding on human flesh, person happy to receive death, etc., etc.
Derry, 1962.
That night at the Black Spot, nothing would be the same. In fact, something felt different that day when I opened my eyes to the sound of the alarm, as if I had somehow sensed something that hadn't happened yet.
I was a blues singer who had landed a series of nighttime gigs at that club. It wasn't the best place to make money, but, to be honest, none of us were there for the money. Oh no, ours was pure passion and a desire to feel drunk and free, even if only for a few hours at night. In the afternoon, after finishing dinner at home, I started reading the manuscript with some of the songs I would sing today and spent most of my time studying. I took the shows very seriously because I started from the bottom, but I wanted to be a star in the world of jazz. I combed my black hair and made a small bun to hold it up, nothing too elaborate; I put on a pearl-colored silk dress and some beautiful heels of the same color, or at least similar. That night was different. I didn't know why, I just had a feeling. For some reason, I thought it would be a good idea to keep one of the small knives I collected with me in case of an emergency. I hid it in the inner thigh of my stocking, which I had made myself out of thick leather. In the afternoon, after finishing dinner at home, I started reading the manuscript with some of the songs I would sing today and spent most of my time studying. I took the shows very seriously because I started from the bottom, but I wanted to be a star in the world of jazz. I combed my black hair and made a small bun to hold it up, nothing too elaborate. I put on a pearl-colored silk dress and some beautiful heels of the same color, or at least similar. That night was different. I didn't know why, I just had a feeling. For some reason, I thought it would be a good idea to keep one of the small knives I collected with me in case of an emergency. I hid it in the inner thigh of my stocking, which I had made myself out of thick leather.
Around 9 p.m., I called a taxi to take me to the place in question. I sat quietly in the back seat, but the driver made strange comments about how much he disliked those kinds of clubs or meeting places. You didn't have to be a fortune teller to notice how stupid and racist he was, insisting that a place like that was not “suitable” for someone as brilliant and sophisticated as me, who in reality had nothing sophisticated about her except for a fancy tiara I had invested in for my hair three years earlier. Anyway, we arrived at the Black Spot and I got out, annoyed, but grateful for the ride. I knocked twice and then once more softly, so they would know it was me, and they opened the door, smiling and pleased to have me there again. The cook shouted a friendly “hello” and the others in the place greeted me with good fortune. I was truly welcome whenever I went there.
After a few songs by the previous band, I sang some songs from my repertoire and other more popular ones to lighten the mood and get the more uninhibited people dancing. With cheers and applause, I ended up grateful and exhausted from so much singing, dancing, and jumping. I even received some tips and a cheeky compliment from one of my suitors, who always came to hear me sing. After a few hours, the place was more relaxed, we all shared stories and listened to a song or two from the small guest band; later, they even let a talented little boy play the acclaimed drums. He was in the tavern with some friends. It was unusual to see children here, but I knew it was the “Grogan” affair, so it was better not to ask any further questions. But again, as I sipped my martini, the heavy feeling came back to me, a kind of premonition that something horrible was going to happen. It wasn't normal for me to feel that kind of anxiety, so it made me quite uneasy. I decided not to give it any importance, because it would be silly to ruin the night with my womanly nonsense, right? Sometimes it's better to keep premonitions to yourself. No one wants to upset people when they're having a good time, especially in a club where they come to relax and relieve the stresses of everyday life.
But then, fate took its course. As soon as one of us went out to the front yard, he encountered a group of individuals getting out of their cars, wearing masks to cover their faces and armed to the teeth, ready to destroy everything... and everyone. Several of those who came out tried to reason with these thugs, but in fact, they weren't here to talk. When they finally “surrendered” and promised to leave, the tension grew because we noticed that the sons of bitches had locked us in from the outside, preventing us from opening any doors, and as far as we knew, there were no extra exits. Then I stifled a scream when the first Molotov cocktail crashed into one of the windows, then another and another, starting small fires that spread as the seconds ticked by. We all began to panic, desperately looking for a way to escape, and the fact that the club was packed with people made everything worse. There was no order or organization, only screams, fear, and growing madness. Running, I tried to get to safety near some thick wooden tables that had not yet been touched by the fire. Several minutes passed, everything inside was smoke and flames, covering everything in a strong, bright orange color—the color of the beast's eyes—I suddenly said to myself internally, like an intrusive thought that pops into your head from time to time.
At one point, most people had passed out from toxic fumes, others broke windows to escape, but the truth is that most had died, unfortunately. It had been a horrific attack and they seemed to have achieved their goal; people were the worst kind of monster when they set their minds to it.
At night, still in the fire, approaching 3 a.m.
The smoke was filling my lungs, and I couldn't stop it. The thick wood had helped, but not enough to keep me from breathing. Frightened, my heart began to pound frantically, then a terrible tachycardia began to take hold of me. It was so strong that I put my hand on my chest. I was really afraid of this... I was really afraid of dying. I was young, I had an uncertain future, yes, but a future nonetheless, and I didn't want to lose the opportunities ahead of me because of a damn random fire, although it was clearly set with sinister intentions, of course. As soon as I began to feel dizzy, I managed to make out a silhouette that contrasted sharply with the large flames in the tavern. It looked like a man, or something like that. the truth is that I couldn't make him out clearly. His soft but deep voice echoed amid the crackling flames, and then I saw a hand reaching out to me, pale, gloved, with long, generous fingers offering me help. That silhouette spoke sarcastically, but in a way that seemed kind. I heard him say my name as he reached out his hand and said something like, “This way... take my hand, I know a way out...” And I... I trusted him. I reached out my hand toward him, and when he finally took it, I felt strangely secure, getting up off the ground and following him. Walking through the black smoke, past bodies that were charred and others mutilated, for some reason I didn't know, maybe one of the white enemies had come in to kill them in a more cruel way, who knows. I didn't stop to think, I just moved forward, following that strange thing that offered me salvation, it seemed to be the only thing that mattered right now. We made our way through the path littered with wood, soot, and debris until I could see the exit door in the distance; as we walked, I had that strange feeling again, that sense of enveloping hostility, of horror. But there was also another feeling, a deeper one, telling me that this would be my last night in existence... We finally left the Black Spot, and I could see who “the person” was who had gotten me out of there. It was a strange clown in a white suit with red tassels and orange hair curled upward, with a pale face and strange, absurdly thick makeup... He didn't look human in the slightest, he only appeared to be. We walked forward, right to where the forest began. I said to myself, am I really going to go deep into a forest with that thing? Well, it's not like I could answer that self-imposed question, I just walked, silently, surrendered to whatever would happen, as if hypnotized.
In the forest
About ten minutes had passed since we started walking, and my initial confusion and dizziness had dissipated. I now knew that I was on my way to an uncertain destination and didn't seem to have the strength to stop myself. Until I realized, upon seeing its vibrant yellow eyes and disturbing mouth with a row of sharp teeth, that it was smiling at me as if we were old friends. Something told me to stop dead in my tracks, and I realized the situation.
“Wait...” I cleared my throat awkwardly, speaking to it as if it were just an acquaintance. “What are we doing here...? Who are you?”
The creature barely flinched, but seemed amused by the situation, laughing inwardly and sounding mocking. At one point, he looked at me sideways from his height and I felt intimidated, trying to walk backwards, but his hand, which had been holding mine friendly before, now squeezed my wrist tightly.
“For now, I am your salvation,” he said in a deep voice.
I wanted to break free, I wanted to slip away, but it was impossible. I was still somewhat weak and, in any case, I couldn't fight against such foreign strength. The warm breeze and the persistent grove of trees crushed me and enveloped me with force, like a gravitational force that forced me to remain docile, crushed.
“Let go of me. I don't want help, I want to go home!” I began to despair, but it didn't let go of me.
In fact, it got worse, its grip tightened, now grabbing my arm, forcing me to walk faster, not caring how hard I dug my feet into the ground, not caring about my frustrated screams. I wanted to break free, I wanted to run and get out of the forest, anything to get away from that disturbing creature that smelled like popcorn butter and fresh blood, as if it were some kind of circus-slaughterhouse. As we walked, my head began to hurt. I didn't know how long we had been walking, but it seemed like it would never end, until suddenly we did, we stopped. But I didn't have time to think. As soon as we were still and near some bushes, that clown pushed me carelessly to the ground, scraping my knees and palms, further dirtying my pearl dress covered in soot.
As soon as I touched the ground, I managed to stand up, but again, he moved me against the spot.
“What the hell...?” I complained. But then that thing pounced on me, pinning me down.
“I have a new song for you, you'll love it!” he sang as he immobilized my wrists.
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“We'll make beautiful music together...” “Promise.”
In a matter of microseconds, I felt a strong burning sensation and excruciating pain in my abdomen when this beast looming over me scratched me with its sharp black claws. I'm sure my scream could be heard all the way to the road, even though no one was there to help me.
“What are you?” I whimpered as it sank its claw into me, stirring everything inside. It made no sense that I was still alive, but I was, like some cruel joke.
It smiled, showing a kind of restrained happiness, and as it looked at me with its enveloping eyes, it replied:
“I'll tell you... I'm Pennywise, your biggest fan, little singer!” It flattered me, its soft, ambivalent voice sounding sweet and conciliatory to me. There was a certain feminine candor in it that terrified and rocked me at the same time.
As tears bathed my cheeks, neck, nostrils, and the skin on my face turned aggressively pale, the monster above me lowered his head to thrust his wide, long tongue into me to taste my warm, young blood. I no longer had the spirit to scream, but even so, the horror was still there, unrestrained, in fact, overflowing in my eyes, and Pennywise tasted it. He savored my vital fluids, biting through the flesh and tasting every solid and soft thing he found. He was feeding on me left and right, slowly dismantling me, eating me alive.
It didn't matter what I thought anymore, my upcoming shows didn't matter, nor did the costumes I would wear or the rehearsal afternoons at my old friend Booker's house. No, none of that mattered anymore. I was dying, and I found myself thinking about how interesting and terrifying the moment was. The way I felt my liver burst between the teeth of this animal. It hurt and burned, I think I could feel the fluid from my gallbladder dripping and mixing with the blood that was overflowing from the soft hollow that was now my body. I saw the face of my attacker, her lips, nose, and chin had the slimy sheen of my reddish-blue liquid, and she was no longer smiling, no. Now she was completely animalistic, eating, licking, and burping every so often from the satiating and filling sensation that my flesh provided her.
In an attempt to do something—anything—I reached out my arm to try to push it away, but that beast touched my arm from one end to the other, until it took my hand, almost affectionately, looked at me for a moment, and opened its lips.
–You are privileged to have the fortune of living within something greater, human. You don't know how much I enjoy this feast you have given me, I am grateful. –She communicated, affirming that faint, strong, and subtle energy of a female beast. Astonishing me and still causing me fear, I tilt my head back as she approaches my neck, then let out a sigh, prepared for whatever was to come next. And so she did, without complaint, with my permission, welcoming Death as if it were the most beautiful thing I was about to witness. Then she bit, tearing the smoothness of my dark neck, opening the soft surface completely, which began to gush blood, while It consumed her with devotion. As it remained there, attached to me like some kind of parasitic tick, I wondered if I had lived a good life, if perhaps I could have gone far with the Blues, if I could have left Derry and traveled to London or even to the Capital City... I wondered if this monster had found what it was looking for, if I had given it something pure, something important. I didn't want to believe that my death was worth shit. I really wanted to believe that she came to me with a great, unspoken purpose.
“Now we are one,” he swore.
As the blood drained completely from my throat and one of her hands tore off one of my arms with hostile determination, I sighed for the last time and tasted my own blood spilled on my wide lips, then I looked into the blue, enormous eyes of my monster, who smiled with satisfaction; and I faded away into the grass and smoke.
The End.
