listless-prince - Tumblr blog

listless-prince · 1 year ago

Text

as long as we’re together, the rest can go to hell

My submission for my Spooktacular project — HallowRen 4: The Final Chapter

Ever since the sewers, Eddie's been sick.

Eddie's been different. Since the black vomit spewed from the Leper's mouth, dripping into the corners of Eddie's lips and touching the tip of his tongue. The smallest drop. Slowly it festered and spread and seeped into his veins.

Eddie becomes a marionette for this new evil. It pushes him out, burying the true Eddie into a sunken, dark place.

Click the link for Ao3 or read below:

Ever since the sewers, Eddie’s been sick.

“He looks worse every time we stop by,” Stan tells Richie.

“That doesn’t necessarily mean he’s sick,” Richie argues for the two-hundredth time. “Or maybe, maybe if he is sick, she’s making him sick. I’ve seen that kind of shit on the news. Munchinhouse or something like that.”

“Maybe, Rich. But we can’t just go jumping down his throat over it. We’re going to push him away more than anything. This is a delicate situation.”

“He’s not delicate.”

“You know that’s not what I meant.”

“Buh-both of you, stuh-stop,” Bill intrudes. As he stutters, his fingers slip trying to light his cigarette in the breeze. He stops on the sidewalk, cupping his hand over the flame of his match just before it blows out.

Frustrated, Richie expertly uses his Bic to light it before taking care of his own. Before he goes to light Stan’s, Bill gently swipes it away.

“The-the-three on a muh-muh-match,” he says. “Buh-bad luh-luh-luck.”

“It’s a lighter, not a match.”

“Nuh-not risking it.”

“I still want my damn cigarette,” Stan grunts, snatching the Bic from Richie’s hands. He cups the Winston jutted between his teeth, lighting the cherry at the end.

Recent times have gotten some of the other Losers to share in Richie’s deadly vice. The nicotine seemed to calm Bill’s nerves. Richie suspects Stan only started smoking to piss off his father. As Richie exhales his smoke, he silently wonders what Eddie would have to say about two more of his friends sucking on those “cancer sticks.”

Stan is one of the few of them who is adamant that Eddie is ill. He reasons that Eddie’s behavior wouldn’t have changed so drastically had he not been suffering something grave. Richie, however, just doesn’t buy it. The timing of when this all started is too coincidental. He’s come to the conclusion that either Sonia is feeding Eddie poison, or she’s gone off the deep end with her brainwashing.

The only few times any of them have seen Eddie over the last few months was to bring him homework. Even then, it was usually just a glimpse of him sprawled on the couch just before Sonia slammed the door in their faces. From what they could notice, he was pale and weak, struggling to maintain any composure.

After failing to attend the final exams of his sophomore year, Eddie was left behind in Stan’s grade now. Whatever is happening at home is proving to be serious.

Sonia won’t even answer the phone as of recent; the house has seemed dead for a week.

“You don’t think she ran off with him, do you?”

“Shut the fuck up, Stan.”

“It’s plausible; that’s all I’m saying. If he’s sick with something serious, she may have had to take him to see a specialist.”

If that bitch did take Eddie away, she’s dead.

By now, the other Losers have figured out that Richie is sick, too. Lovesick and absolutely hopeless.

Over the time of Eddie’s slow descent, he began making disparaging remarks towards Richie. Not the usual, flippant retaliations to Richie’s banter. Instead, it was slow hints of his disgust over what Richie might be. It started off with comments of sickness, of disease, comments about the ever so damning them. The big Them that Richie was a part of, who Eddie began speaking not so flatteringly of. Things quite like his mother would say, now coming out of Eddie’s own mouth.

It was manageable, something Richie could handle. Until that day.

Not too long ago, they had gathered around for a group call and overheard Eddie snap at Richie, calling him what Richie feared Eddie saying for years.

“Stop bothering me while I’m sick, you filthy faggot!”

Eddie’s said some unintentionally cruel things before out of pure naivety, but this one hurt. The phone slipped out of Richie’s hand as he began to actually cry. As if it wasn’t embarrassing enough to be called out as a queer around all of his other friends. By the way the others all assured him they saw him no differently, it was clear that his dirty little secret was out.

Still, none of them could explain or even fathom how their friend, their sweet albeit feisty Eddie, could have said something that was so abrupt and revolting.

“He probably didn’t mean it,” Stan had assured him, trying to find a logical explanation without damning Eddie too much. “It’s probably his reaction to a bad fever.”

“It could be his mom,” Mike offered. “If she was near him, he might want to put on a show for her, maybe?”

“Thuh-this suh-seems like suh-something else,” Bill said quietly.

Bill shared his confusion with the others about how, just the day before, he had caught Eddie in an uncharacteristically honest mood. Sonia had been out at the shop, likely giving Eddie the freedom to speak to Bill sincerely over the phone. Eddie had explained to Bill that he tried to hide his deteriorating condition from them all, fearing their reactions and the inevitable danger he posed to them.

He went on to share that he had been experiencing nightmares and hallucinations ever since their battle with Pennywise.

“We’re all huh-having nuh-nightmares, Eddie,” Bill had offered. He couldn’t buy that Eddie Kaspbrak, the boy obsessed with cars and trains, who still said words like apple-solutely, who used to follow Bill around like a little duckling, posed any sort of threat or danger to the Losers.

“Not like this,” Eddie had said, a menacing darkness laced into his voice. He told Bill that something had taken root deep inside him.

Mike delved into research, seeking answers in forgotten and ancient texts. He had hunted for any clue that might aid them in understanding Eddie's condition. Nothing pointed to anything from It’s history. Something must have changed in Sonia’s already strict parenting from the moment Eddie came home that morning, covered in the Leper’s vomit.

Ben and Bill sided with Mike, thinking that Eddie was experiencing some extreme sort of supernatural PTSD. Something went understandably wrong with him after that summer, as it did with them all. He was likely just more sensitive to the effects. Meanwhile, Stan remained adamant that Eddie was sick with something, that his sudden stop of taking his pills and inhaler could have had detrimental effects. Richie thought otherwise.

“It has to be Sonia. He’s never been sick. His medicine wasn’t real.”

Though she did so more quietly, Bev supported Richie’s argument. But nothing quite explained the way Eddie had snapped at Richie. It didn’t make any sense. It only got worse as Eddie began to lash out at all the Losers, no matter who would call, spitting out the most vile things they could imagine. Once Bill got an earful, Richie was certain it was something more than the medications. Eddie never spoke to Big Bill like that. Sonia was likely wearing on him mentally, doing some sick psychological workup on him while he spent all this time in the house.

Richie hadn’t spoken directly to Eddie since the incident at the start of the school term. He had once thought Eddie calling him braceface was the worst thing in the world. Now he genuinely feels like Eddie is disgusted in him.

If Sonia is manipulating him in some way, they’ll have to put a stop to it.

The Losers Club couldn't ignore the signs any longer. Eddie's deteriorating condition, combined with his sudden outbursts and strained interactions, painted a bleak picture. Richie's heart ached with each passing day, torn between his love for Eddie and the fear that his friend might be lost forever.

Determined to uncover the truth and put an end to Sonia's influence, the Losers devised a simple plan. They would confront Eddie directly, away from the eyes and potential manipulation of his mother. Trying to sneak him out hadn’t worked in the recent past, so they were willing to fight against Sonia’s wrath and drag Eddie out of the house themselves. It was a risky move, but they knew they had to try.

It’s nearing Halloween; a cold, cloudy twilight in the final days of October.

In just over a week, Eddie will be the first of them to turn seventeen.

They can’t wait another year for Eddie to become an adult and pry him from his mother’s grip.

Deep down, Richie worries that it may already be too late.

A shiver shakes Richie from head to toe, tingling with anticipation. His nerves feel like live wires under his skin. He can’t remember the last time he felt so anxious. Even his cigarette doesn’t help. Part of him wonders if he doesn’t want to know the truth.

The three of them put out their cigarettes before walking through the front lawn. Carefully, Richie approaches the front door of the Kaspbrak household and knocks, Stan and Bill standing just behind him. There’s no light coming through any of the windows, the house seeming lifeless and abandoned.

The seconds stretch into an agonizing silence before the door unlocks. To all of their surprise, the door creaks open, revealing just part of Eddie's pale face. His eyes are hollow, lacking the spark of life they once held. The interior of the house behind him is pure darkness, covering him in shadow. He doesn’t even turn the porch light on.

"Eddie," Stan sighs, relieved that it isn’t Sonia to answer. "We need to talk. We're worried about you."

Eddie's gaze flickers between the three Losers, confusion evident in his expression. "What... What are you doing here?"

"We know something's wrong, Eddie," Richie says, his voice gentle but firm. "We can't stand by and watch you suffer. We're here to help."

Eddie hesitates, suspicion clouding his features. "You can't help me. No one can."

It’s direct. Not an ounce of denial that something is wrong. Richie takes a step forward, his heart pounding in his ears. "We're your friends, Eddie. We've been through hell and back. We won't abandon you now, no matter what."

For a moment, Eddie's defensive posture falters. "It’s too late. It’s already done."

“Wuh-what’s done, Eddie?” Bill asks hesitantly.

They collectively gasp as the door swings wide open. Eddie steps aside, his figure hidden behind the door as he peers at them from behind. Only his gaunt eyes are visible under his dark fringe.

Despite the feeling of dread in his stomach, Richie tentatively steps inside with the others. All the lights are off, and it almost goes completely black after Eddie closes the door behind them.

“Is your mom not home?” Richie asks, because why would Eddie so readily let them in otherwise. He turns and sees Eddie, slight frame barely visible in the darkness.

“What’s that smell?” Stan says quietly. There’s a slight quake in his voice. “Is there rust in your pipes or something?”

It hits Richie then, an awful, metallic odor. It makes him want to retch, but he swallows it down and breathes through his mouth. It brings him back to Neibolt, to the sewers. The foul stench that had overwhelmed him when the bodies of missing children sunk down from where they were floating in the cistern.

A bright light startles him, but he realizes quickly that Bill had pulled out his flashlight. It illuminates the spot where Richie and Stan are standing, before Bill aims it across from them, towards the stairs.

“Is yuh-your mom sleeping?” he asks. His voice is strained, like he’s trying not to breathe.

“You could say that,” Eddie replies in a sing-song tone.

“What do you mean, Eds?” Richie turns, following Bill’s flashlight as it shines over Eddie.

Richie recoils at the sight of what appears to be vomit on Eddie’s front. A large blotch stains the collar of his white t-shirt, splattering down his torso. It looks as if he did a rough job of trying to clean off his neck and chin, leaving traces behind. Like he just took a dry towel and wiped at it once before opening the door to let them in.

“Christ, Eds, do you need a doctor–?”

Richie is stopped from approaching Eddie, Stan’s grip suddenly on his wrist. It’s twisted so harshly that Richie can feel Stan’s fingers bruising his skin. Briefly, Richie wonders if Stan is trying to stop Richie from triggering Eddie, by suggesting a doctor just like Sonia would.

Then he sees Stanley’s face. His pupils are so blown out that there’s just a thin green ring of his irises. He’s stiff as a board, breathing shallow. Bill, on the other hand, looks just as confused as Richie feels. After all, wasn’t it Stan who suggested Eddie was actually sick?

“Eddie… what did you do?” Stan says breathlessly.

“He’s clearly having a rough day,” Richie scoffs, trying in vain to relinquish his wrist from Stan’s tight grasp. “I’d throw up, too, if I had to eat all of Sonia’s cooking every day.”

“That’s not vomit, is it, Eddie?”

The implications make Richie nearly heave again, though he’s not sure why. Not at first.

Then that metallic smell catches Richie’s attention.

Instinctively, his lips part, inhaling solely through his mouth. He turns back to where Bill is shining his now shaking light at Eddie.

Still standing there.

Smiling.

It starts off as a small simper, the corners of his lips ever so slightly turned up. There’s just the subtle glint of his teeth as his face stretches into a grin.

The redness of the copper stains on his shirt becomes more noticeable. More sinister. The room feels cold. A shiver runs through Richie’s spine as if ice is dripping down his back. Stan doesn’t relinquish his grip, and Richie doesn’t want him to.

Something is terribly, terribly wrong with Eddie. Something that Richie suddenly doesn’t want to see anymore.

A sharp inhale of breath makes the three intruders collectively jump. Eddie’s head rocks back and forward as he seems to be catching his breath, something that looks like an all too familiar asthma attack. It briefly sparks back that initial concern, that instinct to rush forward and make sure Eddie is alright. That concern doesn’t burden him long.

Not when Eddie throws his head far back with an ear-splitting cackle.

The sound of his guffawing swells in the air around them, echoing against the plain wallpapered walls of the dark house. It makes Richie’s skin crawl, goosebumps prickling against the inside of his flannel sleeve. There is a good amount of blood stained on Eddie’s clothes and wiped from his face, and here he is just hee-hawing, knee-slapping, finding this absurdly ludicrous. Some sort of in-joke only he’s involved in, the rest of them as unwilling participants to this sudden madness.

The Bad Break comes to mind. The recollection Eddie told them all of how he laughed in Henry’s face as Henry broke his arm right there on the sidewalk, rolling around in hysterics. He had said Henry seemed scared. What was it that Henry could find so terrifying?

Richie understands now. He’s sure as hell scared. He doesn’t know if he’s more scared for himself or for Eddie, but he’s scared alright. Scared shitless.

Whatever it may be that he’s so frightened of, it pushes him back a step or two, because he doesn’t want to be near whatever this is in front of him. Stan does not waver in his grip on Richie’s wrist, simply stumbling back along with him.

The sole of Richie’s shoe catches on something, probably the edge of Sonia’s ugly living room rug. He staggers clumsily back, finally ripping himself away from the safety of Stan’s grasp. Struggling, flailing helplessly for something to grab hold of, Richie falls back with a pathetic squeak of a sound.

Whatever catches his fall near the floor is not as harsh as the floor. It’s strangely cold and awkward shaped, Richie’s ass pressing into a bit that's somewhat soft that squelches under his weight. The thing is certainly solid and static, but he scrambles away from it as if it’s a dangerous animal that he’s disturbed.

As he gets to his feet, Richie is momentarily blinded by Bill’s flashlight, shining down at the object Richie just stumbled into. Briefly ignoring the giggling lunatic that was once Eddie, Richie follows the light, immediately regretting it.

There’s no stopping the vomit now. The sting of the acid hits the back of his tongue, before Richie turns and spews his school lunch onto the Kaspbrak’s carpet. He’s staring down into darkness, but the image of Sonia’s body is burned into his brain.

Sprawled just in front of the La-Z-Boy she spent most of her time sat in, those same stains from Eddie’s shirt and skin splattered along her face and left thigh. Chunks were missing, the white of her bone bright even under Bill’s dull light.

“Jesus fuck,” Bill gasps from somewhere above Richie’s head while he’s still keeled over his knees. “Eddie, what the fuck.”

“That is not sleeping,” Stan says matter-of-factly.

Richie finally straightens himself up, daring to express a feeling deep down that he’s more terrified for Eddie than he is of the body behind him. Because as often as Richie has imagined her dead, he always knew it would break Eddie apart. Not throw him into a fit of laughter.

“Eds?” he croaks.

“Richie?”

All the howling laughter echoing around them has stopped. All the silence following is loud. Eddie’s voice is now a mere whisper. It sounds pathetic and terrified, igniting all of Richie’s protective instincts once again.

When the light hits Edde’s face again, it’s a completely different person than who answered the door. It’s apparent now that his hair is drenched, skin shining from sweat. The dark circles under his eyes are nearly as black as his hair. He’s standing there, trembling, tears filling those large brown eyes.

“Eddie…” Bill tentatively reaches a hand toward Eddie. “It’s okay. Juh-just take a deep bruh-breath. We’re huh-huh-here. You cuh-can talk to us.”

Eddie’s eyes flicker between the three of them. They finally land on Richie, who feels his chest seize up. Can Eddie sense him there in the dark?

Eyes still locked on his, Eddie lets out a small, breathy plea.

“Help me.”

#(laughing like a madman) yes. yeeeSSSSSSS #clown movie #I’m fine. I’m fine. I’m gonna explode

49 notes · View notes