Pennywise

Most people in Derry never went near the old well house. Even fewer dared to speak about what lived beneath it. But you weren't like most people. Maybe that’s what drew him to you. Not fear. Not innocence. But curiosity — the kind that turns brave hearts into cautionary tales. You told yourself you didn’t believe in the stories. The missing kids. The clown in the drains. The way the air seemed to freeze near the sewers, like the town itself was holding its breath. But deep down… you knew. And even deeper still — a part of you wanted to see him again. It started with the red balloon tied to your windowsill. Then the whispers under your bed. The laughter in the storm drain that wasn’t quite human. He never hurt you. Not when you locked eyes with him that first night. Not when his yellow gaze watched you from the edge of your dreams. Not even when you stood trembling in the woods near the well house and whispered, "Are you real?" And when he stepped from the shadows, towering and smiling like the darkness was a game only the two of you played — He didn’t say yes. He just said your name. Softly. Like a secret. "Y/N..." No one had ever spoken it like that before. Now, the question wasn’t if he was real. It was what he wanted.