"Kid Fears"

Part I:

"Alone. Yes, that's the key word, the most awful word in the English tongue. Murder doesn't hold a candle to it and hell is only a poor synonym."

-Stephen King

Chapter 1: Life Is Never Kind

"Friday night and everyone's moving

I can feel the heat but it's soothing, heading down

I search for the beat in this dirty town."

-Kim Wilde, "Kids In America"

Tick. Tick. Tick.

The clock was mounted high upon the wall, glaring down mockingly at the impatient cluster of two dozen children who were fidgeting in their seats, frustrated that the time seemed to pass by in slow motion. Every passing minute felt like five as they listened to their instructor, yet they were ecstatic at the prospect that they would soon be free of it finally in all due time.

Up in the front row, two seats from the door, sat Carol Chamblers, an average face amongst an average class in a white trash school in a dying American town. She sat in her seat, silently and annoyed, as she listened to their Social Studies teacher drone on and on, unimpressed. She could detect the sound of her classmates' excited and anticipated whispers as the clock read 2:55 P.M. However, it was the sound of the ticking that resonated the loudest in her ears.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

"I hope you all have a wonderful vacation," she vaguely heard Mrs. Watson saying. Wonderful? That would be an overstatement. Surely she could see that things in Derry were not even remotely wonderful at all? But no, Mrs. Watson was an adult, and like all other adults in their rotten town, they either couldn't care less or they kept on smiling.

She overheard that four-eyed Tozier what's-his-face make some wisecrack joke to a kid next to him, presumably on the comment, which didn't earn as much as a snicker. The ticking of the second hand seemed to thunder in the compact classroom.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

"Carol?" She raised her head up slightly as Mrs. Watson stared at her expectantly. "What are you doing for summer vacation?"

She was aware that several eyes in her vicinity were glued to her. Shit. Not wanting to attract any more attention to herself, she mumbled, "I don't know."

Either Mrs. Watson was satisfied with her answer, or she just didn't care, because she moved on to badgering the next person about their vacation plans. Carol had already glanced back down at her notebook, which lay open in front of her, the current page peppered with the lead of her pencil as she tapped it up and down.

A rapid finger prodded her from behind, and she rotated to be face to face with her friend Marcella Stebbins, who was making several hand gestures and mouthing words that Carol didn't understand. Craning her head toward the back of the classroom, she tried to catch the eye of her other friend, Priscilla Petrie, for some kind of explanation, but the girl just shrugged and returned to fidgeting with her wristbands.

Marcie, growing impatient, took out a post-it note and scribbled something on it, then passed it to Carol. It read: "Betty Ripsom's mom is here."

She turned around again and gave her a quizzical look, incredulous at how she could have attained such information at the moment. Marcie pointed to the window on the other end of the classroom, which had a clear view of the street, where a familiar Mrs. Ripsom was exiting her vehicle.

Oh.

It wasn't the first time Betty's mom had ever come to the school of her missing daughter, who had disappeared back in December. It was sad, she supposed. Betty had sat next to her in English, and she had been nice enough. But it had become old news by then. Carol shrugged her shoulders in a "so what?" motion before facing the front of the room again.

She went back to her notebook where, amidst her doodles, notes, and excerpts from favorite tunes, she began to jot down the lyrics to Bananarama's "Cruel Summer".

Hot summer streets

And the pavements are burning

I sit around

Trying to smile but

The air is so heavy and dry

The clock continued to tick, the minute hand moving as slow as molasses in January. She tried to drag her focus away from the time and onto the lyrics pouring out of her pencil onto her paper, hours of listening to her Walkman and radio engraving the words into her brain.

Strange voices are saying

Things I can't understand

It's too close for comfort

This heat has got

Right out of hand

To her left, the boy next to her was anxiously thrumming his fingers against the wooden desktop. It was quick, urgent, and completely out of tempo with the beat reverberating in Carol's mind. She did her best to blot out the noise and retreat into her own world as she reached the chorus.

It's a cruel, cruel summer

Leaving me here on my own

It's a cruel, cruel summer

Now you're gone

Carol enjoyed music, and had a profound love for writing down the lyrics of the songs she had memorized. There was something poetic about the wordings, always a deeper meaning. Whenever she got a song stuck in her head it would stay there, crying to be let out and replaying like a broken record until she caved and recited the words on paper. They were scrawled throughout her notebook, along with several drawings that she had created during class time when she was in danger of falling unconscious. Most of the time, the songs stuck in her head reflected on the thoughts and emotions she was perceiving at the time.

"Cruel Summer" echoed in her mind because in only a few minutes, school would conclude and she would leave the seventh grade forever. Although she couldn't deny Derry Middle was a literal hellhole, she hated summer with a passion and out of all of the seasons, it was her least favorite. It was a time where every street corner was bustling with activity, places of entertainment became hangout centers for kids with no schoolwork to hold them back, and insects clouded the muggy air. Most parents practically locked their kids outdoors in the overwhelming heat to play, which might have been more tolerable if you actually had friends to play with. And if you were lucky enough to stay indoors, more often than not you would find yourself bored out of your mind.

That was how most of Carol's summers went. The only things she had to look forward to in the insufferable weather were the occasional get togethers with her friends and the freedom of the burdens of school. To her, it was just another intolerable three months before the law demanded that she plop her ass back down in her seat at school and have monotone, stern faced teachers shove piles of papers into her hands.

Oh, but ain't that America? Wasn't that how that John Mellencamp song went?

It was going to be a cruel, cruel summer indeed. And Carol predicted it would be the loneliest one yet.

As she finished recording the lyrics, Carol risked a glance up at the taunting hands of the wall clock, which displayed that it was 2:59 P.M. School would be concluding in less than a minute. Unfortunately, it did little to remedy her dampened spirits or relieve the burdensome pressure from her shoulders.

She returned to the pages of her notebook, taking in her random drawings and songs for a final time. Although she'd probably never trash the material, she would most likely stash it in the depths of her closet, within the shadows where she would close the door and have it enveloped in darkness. To be forgotten.

When the bell did ring, it blared throughout the building with shrill finality, bringing joy and relief to the ears of many. Carol simply gathered her books and walked out the classroom door, never bothering to say goodbye or wish a good summer to any of her peers. She never interacted with her grade much, or any kids for that matter, only trusting and conversing with the small group of friends she committed herself to.

Carol survived school by following a simple rule she had obeyed since early childhood: don't take any risks. She chose to isolate herself from her schoolmates because social interaction meant attention, and not all attention was welcome. Unwanted attention meant the spread of demeaning rumors throughout the school that caught on like wildfire. She knew how such fires ruined people's reputations, just ask the Marsh girl. (There was a rumor halfway through the school year that Carol and the members of her particular friend group were all involved in a polyamorous relationship, but it had started as a joke and that fire had died out as quickly as it had caught on).

Carol had also managed to avert ever been bullied. She had never once been targeted because she never gave a reason to have a target put on her back. She avoided drama, involving herself in business that didn't concern her or her clique, and never put herself out there. Her reasoning behind her logic was that she was never going to talk to any of these people or even remember them in her adult life except for her friends, so why bother interacting with them? So what if it didn't make her popular? It wasn't like her status was going to be on her job application someday, so she was perfectly content on being on one of the lower rungs of the popularity ladder.

When in doubt, it was always safer to stick to the shadows.

In fact, Carol had been so successful in following her rule that anyone outside her social circle barely even registered her existence half the time. She never really had a reason for people to remember her; she was quite average looking and never hung with any of the popular folk. It was actually quite a relief, because this meant she could be as herself as she wanted to be, and nobody would even care. She was free of peer pressure and the need for conformity that most teenagers and prepubescent children were burdened with.

Carol maneuvered her way through the crowded, bustling hallway until she managed to reach her locker. Inside were her plethora of school books and binders, of which she would either discard or pack away once she got home. She began shoving said items into her bookbag when she noticed another of her friends, Estelle White, come up from her peripheral vision.

"Hey," she greeted, never taking her mind off her task.

"Hey Carol," Estelle replied, all smiles as usual. "I was wondering if you might be doing anything this weekend? Marcie, Priscilla, and I were all thinking of going to see a movie Sunday."

Zipping up her bookbag and slinging it over her shoulder, Carol asked, "What about Tabitha and Debs? Are they coming too?"

Estelle's happy demeanor dissipated, worry and guilt clouding over her soft brown eyes at the mention of the other two girls. "I already talked to Tabs," she replied hesitantly, "and she says she doesn't know. I mean, I get it if she doesn't wanna, and I get it with Deborah too." She perked up as an idea evidently came to mind. "Maybe you can talk Debs into coming?"

She shrugged. "I can try." But something inside her told her that Deborah Reese would not want to. Her friend had been a shell of her former self for the past three months. And as for Tabitha Amherst… she still avoided interaction within their social circle whenever possible. They were all affected by the events that plagued Derry for the past few months, but Tabitha and Deborah most of all.

She didn't know if the others felt it, but Carol could sense her and her friends slowly drifting apart. Even though they were going to see a movie Sunday, they wouldn't all be united. The fact that the group were doing activities incomplete was just one of the warning signs, and over the last half of the semester, she felt the rifts continue to grow. Now, with summer upon them and not being able to see each other every day, she foresaw the already feeble bonds binding them together finally breaking. And when the bonds broke, the walls Carol and her friends built up around them to protect themselves would also crumble.

And it terrified her.

Estelle said, "Alrighty, we'll be outside by the front when you're ready to come out."

Carol nodded as her friend walked away. "See you later, Stelle." She slammed her newly emptied locker shut and marched down the hall, barely registering when someone bumped into her accidentally. Further along, she noticed a quartet of older boys lingering on her left, and her heart pounded in her chest as she recognized Derry's most feared group of baddies: Bowers and his gang.

Almost everyone in school had been bullied by the infamous Bowers Gang at one point or the other. There, standing against some lockers and eyeing each passerby like vultures hovering over a dying animal, were the Big Bad Four. The whole nasty box set: Henry Bowers, the head honcho himself, from whom the gang earned their name (how humble); Reginald "Belch" Huggins, the brute force who provided the getaway car; Victor Criss, the wannabe greaser who carried out his boss's dirty work in silence; and Patrick Hockstetter, Derry's resident pyromaniac and psychopath, the creepy kid who kept dead flies in his pencil box.

Although Carol had never been personally targeted by the gang before, she certainly did not want that to change. The most interaction she ever had with any of Bowers & Co. was leaving school one day, when she had unintentionally made eye contact with Hockstetter. The elder boy's face erupted into a disturbing, chilling grin, leading Carol to look away immediately and keep walking as if that brief moment had never occurred. It wasn't just his smile that put her on edge, for his eyes were beady, glinting maliciously, and she had felt them on her back as she had departed.

None of them were right in the head, but Henry and Patrick were the most messed up of all.

Cautious as she passed, she carefully maintained her pace, focusing her sights straight ahead and avoiding any eye contact. Luckily, Henry and his goons never cast so much as a small glance in her direction. She wasn't worth their while, and she was perfectly content with that.

Her interest piqued when she noticed Greta Bowie make a beeline for the girls' bathroom, looking royally ticked off. She wondered what was the Queen Bee's mission of the day. Probably to trample some little girl's sandcastle with her best friend, Sally Mueller. Whatever dirty business it was, Carol made a mental note not to get involved in whatever drama was stirring up in the bathroom stalls and strolled right on past. It didn't concern her.

Upon exiting the school, Carol quickly found the faces of Marcie, Estelle, and Priscilla waiting amidst the throng of students. Her friends, like herself, were also not particularly popular in Derry, mostly sticking to themselves and hanging out only with each other. None of them had ever really dated, except for Tabitha, who went out on a date with Ted Harris once, and Estelle, who ended a turbulent three day relationship she had with Bradley Donovan (Stelle had called him "a real jackass" after that).

As for herself, she had never been romantically involved with anyone, and at the moment, she wasn't especially interested in pursuing a relationship. The most serious crush she ever had was back in early elementary on Roderick Everly, and she had carved RE + CC in a heart on a light pole near Derry Elementary, running away with electric butterflies in her stomach.

She hastily made her way toward them, just as she spotted Tabitha stepping outside the front doors. Her friend was looking particularly sullen, her brown eyes hollow and a discouraged frown on her face as she joined them.

"Hey Tabs," Carol greeted. "You good?"

Tabs didn't even force a smile, instead just staring down as she murmured, "I'm fine." Bologna. That was a lie if Carol had ever heard one. She would know, she used it almost every day.

Priscilla glanced around, puzzled. "Where's Deborah?" There was concern apparent in her voice for her absent friend.

"I think she already went home," Tabitha answered, taking a sip from the Coca Cola she clutched in her hand. None of them were too surprised, but were disappointed all the same.

"There's Betty's mom," Marcie stated out of the blue, gesturing over to where the tired, drained woman was standing by two police cars in front of the school with a hopeful look in her eyes. "This is the third day in a row she's come to the school."

Tabby glanced in the direction with a despondent expression. "That's so sad," she whispered.

"I feel so bad for all the missing kids," Pris added, sympathetic. "Betty, Matthew Clements, that little boy George-"

"If you're gonna list off all the names of the missing kids, it'll be sunrise when you finish," Carol interrupted dryly. They all knew who had disappeared and did not need to be reminded, especially when some names hit too close to home for a few. Usually, she used her sarcasm and dry sense of humor to smooth over tense or edgy situations.

"By the way Tabs," Estelle started as they walked away from the building, "could you or Carol try to talk Deborah into coming to the Aladdin Sunday to see a movie with us? You know, so the whole group can be together and stuff?"

The silence that ensued was thick and heavy as the increasing humidity of approaching summer; Carol was practically choking on it. She and Priscilla shared an awkward glance, each silently affirming to the other the thought that must've been processing through each of their minds at the moment. Priscilla finally said, "Maybe we could maybe hang out sooner. Is anyone free tonight?"

Carol, Tabitha, and Marcie all shook their heads, Estelle being the only one who was not occupied. "I just feel like going home, guys," Tabitha muttered. "I'll see you Sunday." The others said goodbye, but their friend was already walking off in the direction of her house by herself.

With their group gradually drifting apart, it was terrifying to see Tabitha slipping away from them. Tabs, in a sense, was like their leader. She was the glue of the group, the person the others looked up to in times of doubt. Deborah isolating herself from the others already left a deep enough gouge in the frail, feebly beating heart that their circle of seven had become, but now…

"I should probably get going, too," Carol informed the others, desperate to escape the discomfort she was perceiving and changing her direction to the bike rack, where she had parked hers. "See y'all Sunday."

"Bye Carol," the remaining three called in unison.

As she walked off, she couldn't help but feel guilty and yet simultaneously relieved at abandoning her friends like that. Their companionship dated back all the way to their elementary school days, when Carol had first moved to Derry, but she was made uncomfortable by the brokenness of the group. She guessed it just wasn't the same without the whole gang there.

She reached the bike rack and freed her means of transportation. Her bike, which she called "Stardust", had been a beloved possession of hers since she was eleven. It was a faded pastel red color, the leather seat worn down by years of riding and the metal parts only sporting a dusting of rust. Many kids said that the stuttering Denbrough kid had the fastest bike in all of Derry. Bologna to Carol, hers was the speediest of demons. And if her bike wasn't faster than Denbrough's, she could probably beat him on foot.

The only thing she was remotely known for in school was for being the fastest girl in town. During P.E. class, when the teacher had them do a jog around the track, Carol outdistanced them all. She could have gone faster, but she didn't want too many kids to notice her talent. It was the only time when people who didn't normally give a second thought about her watched her in a mixture of awe and envy.

While changing after one of these classes, Carol overheard some girls- Betty Ripsom and Veronica Grogan, she believed- whispering about her.

"Why is that one girl so fast?"

"She's not that fast…"

"Seriously? Did you see her? She was running with the boys!"

"Wait… who is this?"

"Carol. Carol Chamblers, I think."

"Oh, you mean Carolyn?"

"No, Carol."

"Carol can be short for Carolyn."

"I'm pretty sure it's just Carol."

It was the only time she ever felt grateful for people gossiping about her. Then again, it was the only time she had ever eavesdropped on someone gossiping about her. After gym class ended though, she continued to simply go on existing as she had never received the attention in the first place.

Hopping on Stardust and pushing on the pedals, she began to ride out of the school parking lot. She barely made it ten feet before she almost engaged in a head on collision when a boy walking his bike stepped out in front of her. Carol instinctively skidded to a halt before plowing him over, almost exclaiming oh shit! in surprise.

The kid nearly leaped out of his own skin, almost dropping his bike and whatever he was holding as he reacted to the close call. His eyes were wide with stunned terror as she was only inches away from him.

Carol exhaled deeply from relief, startled as well. She did not want to cause an accident in the school parking lot not even ten minutes after school had ended. "Jesus, kid," she muttered to herself.

"Sorry," the boy apologized hurriedly, fumbling with the cords of a Walkman. It looked very similar to her own, except his was a more dull red and appeared slightly beat up and scratched. "I wasn't paying attention."

"Obviously," she agreed sarcastically, looking at him closely. He was about her age and vaguely familiar, but she couldn't place a name to his face. He was on the chubby side, had light brown hair, and was a few inches shorter than her. Yeah, she definitely didn't know him very well. His eyes were alert, as if he were abruptly jerked out of a daze. "Try not to daydream where there's moving vehicles next time, kid."

The boy blushed a furious shade of red, and his mouth opened and closed like a fish's. Bingo, she had struck home. "I- I won't," he spluttered, openly embarrassed and nervous.

"Stellar," she said, suddenly wondering why she was talking to some random kid she didn't even know in the first place. There was something about the boy with the Walkman that caught her interest. She better leave though, before she violated Her Rule any further. "Drive safe." Before he could answer, she swerved around him and pedalled down the street in the direction of her house.

Since November, Carol chose biking home rather than walking. She preferred it anyway, having her long brown hair tousled by the wind as she flew past, buildings, cars, and pedestrians whizzing by. Plus, it meant she got home quicker, even though she secretly enjoyed riding around Derry. It was a favorite outdoor pastime of hers when she had nothing to do.

Not far from the school, a telephone pole with a sheet of paper posted to it caught Carol's attention. Pulling herself over for a closer look, she noted that it was a missing child poster, a girl's face in black and white in the center under the dreaded bold words that seemed to echo around the streets of Derry for the past few months. Recognizing the child fully, she pulled up to a complete stop and walked her bike over to the pole. The girl's smiling, colorless face beamed back at her without emotion. It was a poster she had seen much too often before:

POLICE DEPARTMENT

CITY OF DERRY

MISSING

DONNA REESE

13 YEARS OLD

LAST SEEN APRIL 4

Description: Born July 4, 1975 Female, 13 yrs. Height: 62 inches Weight: 101 lbs. Blonde hair, blue eyes. Wearing navy blue striped t-shirt, denim shorts, gray sneakers.

Donna Reese, the seventh member of their circle. Deborah's twin. She had went with her sister down to the Barrens, forgot her bike there, went back, and never came home in time for supper, or any meal after that. The police had searched for her before giving up about three weeks in and, like all other children that vanished in their small town, were seemingly forgotten and discarded like old toys.

She supposed Donna's sudden disappearance was the cause of all the complications occurring within their clique currently. The news of her vanishing had left Deborah in a rigid state of shock, from which she never fully recovered, and Tabitha had fallen into a hopeless, almost depressed mood that she struggled to pull herself out of. With one member missing, it had ripped a vital artery, leaving the other damaged six to support a weakened heart.

Carol missed her. She missed the others. And she missed the way things used to be, when everything was simpler and there was no danger of her being alone. Tearing her gaze away from the bold words and a presumably dead girl's face, she continued her long ride home.

It was about a ten minute journey from the school to Carol's house by bike, cutting the time walking the distance by well over fifteen minutes. She turned left onto the street where she lived and continued to pedal down until a familiar home appeared. She pulled up into the driveway, her mood slightly uplifted by the sight of the house. It was a modest residence, nothing too spacious or elegant, yet not like the dingy apartments on the other side of town. She walked Stardust up to the porch before letting it crash down, climbing the steps and entering the house through the front door.

After locking the door behind her, Carol set down her bookbag in the corner where she always kept it. She noticed her dog, a bull terrier named Spock, resting in his usual spot in front of the television set. Glancing around, she searched around the living room and surrounding areas for her grandmother.

Carol's parents, Daniel and Lucille Chamblers, travelled often for their work. Born in Bangor and spending her earliest childhood years in Castle Rock, she did not cope well with the constant change of scenery as her parents dragged her along with them as they were always relocating. Eventually, they left her with Lucille's mother, Ethel, more and more often. As Carol grew older, they discussed what would be best for her: moving with them every few months or so, or staying with Lucy's mom in Derry. After many talks and arguments, they reached the conclusion that it was healthier for their daughter to settle down somewhere and make some real friends for a change. So, when she was eight, Carol moved in with her grandmother permanently, only visiting her parents for breaks and holidays. Due to complications with work, however, this was going to be the first summer she spent without ever seeing her mother and father.

She made her way into the kitchen where her grandmother was washing some dishes in the sink. Ethel Perkins appeared how most people would imagine a grandma to be: curly gray hair, a smiling face and eyes, rather large glasses, etc. However, unlike most women her age, Ethel was unusually tall, hovering over her granddaughter at five feet, eight inches.

Carol always wondered why her parents sent her to live with Grandma Ethel rather than her grandparents in Ludlow. Their town was mostly country, with beautiful scenery and retro houses that had large properties surrounded by dense forests. She supposed it was because ever since her Grandpa Eustace died, her grandmother had been rather lonely. And anyway, her Grandma Florence and Grandpa Norman were frequently down at their summer house in the Carolinas.

"Hey Grandma," she greeted upon entering the kitchen.

She turned around from the sink to face her granddaughter, a naturally maternal smile on her face. "Hi Carol. How was school today?"

This was a conversation that grandmother and granddaughter recited after the latter came home every day. The elder would ask her how her day went, and the younger would say it was okay. The elder would ask her again if she was okay, and the younger would say that yes, she was. It was almost as if their lines had been rehearsed.

She shrugged dismissively. "It was okay."

"Really?" She sounded surprised. Or maybe it was because she felt she had to be surprised. "Nothing happened on the last day?"

"No, not really," Carol replied.

Ethel fixed the teenager with a quizzical look. "Are you okay, Carol Denise?"

Out of her mouth, she repeated the worn out excuse that Tabitha had used earlier that day. "Yeah, I'm fine."

Her grandmother nodded, accepting the answer as she finished cleaning the dishes. "Okay, sweetie. Dinner will be ready at five-thirty; I'm making grilled cheeses and and tomato soup. After that, you can watch one of your movies."

Carol and her grandmother had an easy, simple relationship. Grandma Ethel never bothered her, always stayed out her business, and never involved herself too much into her "social life". But she also didn't realize when there was something wrong with her granddaughter, or perhaps she didn't want to believe there was. She sensed Ethel Perkins still saw her as her precious, innocent, joyful little Carol Denise, even when she had reached thirteen years of age. She loved her grandma, and the feeling was mutual, but she worried that she was one of the half of Derry adults who pretended that all its problems weren't there. The ones that kept on smiling.

"Okay. I was actually wondering if I could call Deborah right now?" Estelle's request rang in her ears, and she really did want to see how she was doing.

"Oh, of course!" Ethel replied. "That Deborah is such a nice girl." Then, almost as an afterthought, she added, "So was Donna." She gave Carol another smile, more sympathetic this time, before brightening and heading to the laundry room.

Carol, however, stared off in the direction the older woman had gone, reflecting on the last thing she had said.

"That Deborah is such a nice girl. So was Donna."

Was. That dreaded word that she heard more and more as the months past. Was.

Turning around, she made her way over to the opposite end if the kitchen, where the phone hung mounted on the wall behind the table where the two residents ate their meals. Originally, they had a phone on the other side of the room, but the position was relocated because Carol made a habit out of sitting on the counter as she conversed ("Don't do that, Carol Denise. That's not good for the countertop."). She dialed the Reese's phone number and put the piece up to her ear, leaning against the wall as she waited for someone to answer.

"Reese residence, Barbara speaking."

"Hey Barb, it's Carol," she informed. "Is Deborah there?"

"Yeah, just wait a second." Through the phone, she could hear Barbara yelling for the younger Reese to come to the phone, Carol was there. She waited patiently for a few seconds until another person grabbed the phone and said, "Hello?"

"Hi Debs. We missed you after school today."

"Oh yeah, sorry." She noted the exhaustion and slight confusion in her voice, as if she were dazed or extremely tired. "I just kinda wanted to get home as soon as I could."

"It's okay," she said. "Listen, Estelle mentioned to me that we were all going to the Aladdin Sunday to see a movie, and I wondered if you'd be interested?"

There was a thick pause that ensued, and for a moment she thought that maybe Deborah had left the phone entirely. After several painful seconds, she heard the voice on the other end say, "I can try to be there, but… I don't know, I might have stuff to do that day."

A few miles away from where her friend stood, Carol narrowed her eyes. "But… it's summer."

"I told you, I'll try to make it. It just… won't really be all of us, will it?"

Carol understood what Deborah was trying to explain. She didn't enjoy hanging out with the gang because Donna wouldn't be there with them, and it hurt having a gaping hole in their group. Plus, there would just be too many memories of when Donna was with them, and of course it would be hard on her sister. On her twin sister, at that. Sometimes, some scars just didn't fade.

Inside, Carol was glad at least someone was remembering Donna, when so many others locked her up and pushed her aside, as if she was just some sort of bad memory. In a way, she guessed she was.

"Oh, okay. I completely get it," Carol assured. "You don't have to come if you don't want to. I don't think Tabitha has completely made up her mind yet, either. Talk to you again?"

"Sure."

"Alrighty then, bye."

"Bye."

She hung up the phone, putting it back in the cradle, and gently hugged her stomach. She was feeling quite queasy at the moment, her insides uncomfortably light and fuzzy. Floating, a voice in her head suggested, although Carol was not sure where she got that comparison from. Lately, she had been experiencing feelings of nausea and even threw up on occasion, although she knew for a fact that she wasn't sick. She decided to go to her room, where she could lie down and hope that the feeling would pass.

Carol entered her bedroom, shut the door, and plopped down onto her bed. Her Walkman, journal, and The Beatles t-shirt were cast carelessly on the soft surface, and she planned to put them away in their correct positions when she got up again. As she lay on the bed, she grabbed her favorite childhood toy, a stuffed badger named Frances, and gazed around the walls of her room.

It was a simple, modest bedroom for a young teenager. The plain colored walls were decorated with posters of The Breakfast Club, David Bowie, Star Trek, and other singers, movies, and shows that she enjoyed. Her cluttered desk was on the other wall opposite of her bed, several drawings she had spent dedicated time on pinned to the wall above. She had a miniature bookshelf where she kept her literature, which consisted of an even amount of fiction and nonfiction. A radio, alarm clock, and framed photo of her family sat on the nightstand next to her bed, and her mirror was adorned with many Poloroids of herself and her friends. As her vision zoned out, Carol got to thinking.

As her group gradually fell apart, she was dawning upon an increasingly clear realization. Soon enough, everyone in their little clique would go their own separate ways, willingly or not, and Carol would be left alone. The thought of it terrified her beyond perception. Her friends were her safety net, the only thing that kept her from being lost in the shadows of her own self-isolation. In this case, her careful rule of stick to the shadows and don't take any risks was going to backfire on her, as her friends were the only people in Derry, beside her grandmother, that actually appreciated her existence. And she couldn't open herself up to her other peers, because that would be violating the very rule that had saved her skin through all the years. No matter what she did or tried to do in the end, she would end up alone, all by herself with no one and nothing to protect her from the cruelties of the outside world that she had barricaded herself from. She would wander the world as a ghost, just existing and soon forgotten like the children that seemed to vanish off the face of the Earth every other day.

What would happen if she went missing? Would her friends fall apart, or would they go to the movies and pretend she was still with them? Would Grandma Ethel stash her away as a bad memory, or would she wait for her outside the school doors, a pathetically optimistic gleam in her eyes as she clung to a strand of hope that she was in there the whole time? Or would she be forgotten by all of them as she suffered whatever fate had befallen her, left out in the woods somewhere to die an unknown death alone?

The queasiness that had bedridden her developed into nausea, the coils of her intestines and her stomach twisting in a sickening manner. Sweat beaded upon the surface of her undoubtedly paling face as bitter bile rose in her throat. Clutching her stomach, she stumbled out the door hastily to the bathroom across the hall, closed the door, and dropped to her knees in front of the toilet as if it were her shrine. She raised the lid and, pulling her hair back away from her face, retched into the toilet until the disintegrated remains of her lunch spewed into the previously pristine waters of the bowl.

Carol sat there, crouched over the toilet, her breathing heavy and unstable as tears moistened her eyes. She never cried though, just stared down in the once clean water as she flushed it down, watching as her vomit was sucked out of sight. The thundering sound of the flush reverberated in her head and ears painfully as she still didn't budge, trying to steady her breathing and regain control of her senses.

As the water returned from the drain, she noticed that it wasn't clear and clean like it should've been, and her immediate thought was, I clogged the toilet with my own vomit. But as her head cleared, it took her less than a second to realize what it actually was.

The water that was rising was mixed heavily with blood, deep crimson plumes blossoming out of the dark hole of the drain and up to the surface, where it ballooned out like a mushroom cloud. More and more kept entering the bowl until the water was thick with it, the liquid a dark red, almost a maroon color. The roaring sound of the flushed toilet was deafening and morbid as the bloody, contaminated water swirled around, staining the porcelain white interior scarlet…

…The fuck?

Carol didn't hesitate as she slammed her hand down on the handle again, desperate to flush the crimson horror back to wherever it came from. She didn't even wait to see if the blood went down, finding the strength in her legs and bolting out of the bathroom. She dashed through the house until she reached the laundry room, where her grandmother was prepping damp clothes that had just come out of the washer for hanging up on the backyard clothesline to dry.

"Goodness gracious, honey!" Grandma Ethel exclaimed, looking up in stunned surprise at her granddaughter's horrified face. "You look like you've seen a ghost!"

I am a ghost, a voice echoed in the back of Carol's mind, and the random thought jolted her out of her speechless state. Rediscovering her voice, she said, "I was lying in bed and my body did that fake fall thing." She vaguely wondered why she was lying, but went with it anyway; it came easy to her and flowed freely off her tongue without much thought. She forced a shaky laugh, but there was not an ounce of humor in it. "It scared the bejeezus out of me."

Her grandma, still shocked, smiled nervously. "Oh, if that's what it was. Jesus hon, you startled me! Don't scare your old Gran like that, or you'll give her a heart attack."

"Sorry," she apologized. Her heart was still racing at an impossible speed in her chest, thumping so intensely she feared the organ would burst and she would be the one with the heart attack. "What time is it?"

Her grandma fixed her with a puzzled look. "Well, it's only been twenty or so minutes since you came home, dear. After the laundry is done, I will start on dinner, if you're that hungry."

"Okay, thanks." Although despite throwing up what remained of her lunch, she really wasn't starving at all. She really just wished for something to distract herself from the bizarre horror she had just witnessed not even minutes before. "I guess I'll be in my room again."

"Okay sweetie, just make sure you don't do the fake fall again," Ethel joked.

She promised "I won't" before heading back to her bedroom. That time when she shut the door, she locked it, still shaken by the bathroom incident. Blood didn't just rise up out of the toilet, did it? She supposed it wasn't impossible, but it was still a disturbing and rather gross experience. Where did all that blood come from anyway? The sewers? That seemed to be the only logical explanation. Nothing about this seems logical at all, though, she thought, becoming more perplexed the more she lingered on it.

Maybe that's why adults tried to pretend things were all fantastic when they weren't. Because they couldn't understand it.

Sitting down on her bed, she grasped her red Walkman and plugged her earbuds in, hoping that music would chase her troubles and fears away. She turned the volume up to stifle the sound of the thunderous beating of her heart, which seemed to rack her entire body with shivers. Curling up into a ball, she listened with her eyes wide open as "Cruel Summer" by Bananarama drifted from the speakers and echoed in her mind.

AN: I hope you all have enjoyed the first chapter! This took over a week of revising and proof reading, but it was worth it. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I did writing it. Regardless of how this story is received, I plan on continuing it, because I enjoy writing it that much.

This story will be based off the 2017 adaptation and its sequel, but I will also be incorporating what I remember from the novel and 1990 miniseries as well. Of course, it centers around my OC, Carol Chamblers, although I will include other perspectives as well.

I first conceived the idea of writing an It fanfic around September when It: Chapter Two was coming out, but never started writing this until the very beginning of the month. Originally, I first conceived my OC Carol when planning a different It fanfic called "The Missing" which consisted of several OC oneshots. I got really into writing her character and began to wonder what her life would've been like upon befriending the Losers. Thus, "Kid Fears" came to mind.

While I got the idea in September, I didn't start writing for months because I thought I could do better. There are several OC stories in this fandom and I wanted to conjure something more original. However, stories containing OCs seem to be heavily accepted in this community, and several stories inspired me to write my own. These stories include, but are not limited to: Winchestergirl123's "Floating On Air", i am cloud's "Bright", Connie Hooper's "Inevitable", Hermione Romanoff's "Dealing With Being A Loser", and Harleyqinnzelz's "Mad World". Check their stories out, they're amazing!

If you have made it this far in this ridiculously long author's note, warnings for this story include: Death, violence, gore, explicit language, bullying, racism, homophobia, sexism, different forms of abuse, suicide, and homicide. If any of these topics make you uncomfortable in any way, I highly recommend not reading this story.

While this chapter is rated Teen, it may change to Mature later on. Additional information on "Kid Fears" will be posted under "News" on my Bio.

Disclaimer: I do not own It, which belongs to Stephen King. I only own my character Carol Chamblers and the other original characters I create along the way.

~ Robin M.