You hadn’t slept properly in weeks. The first time you saw the balloon, you thought it was a prank. It hovered outside your window at 3 AM, bobbing against the glass even though the night was completely still. You ignored it. You told yourself it was nothing.

Then came the scratching noises in the walls. The footsteps that followed you at night, no matter where you walked. The whispers in the drain whenever you turned on the sink, You tried to rationalize it—stress, lack of sleep, imagination, But the problem with imagination is that it doesn’t leave muddy clown footprints on your basement floor. That was when your research started, Old newspaper scans. Cosmic references. A universe above ours. Deadlights. Missing children reports. Town legends. The name Derry came up again and again, tied to disappearances, tragedies, and one recurring description: A clown. You followed every thread that all led you to one place, The sewers.

You went inside, air was thick—damp, metallic, humming with something alive, something evil, ancient, something that didn’t belong in your universe, you noticed when the laughter started, A soft tihihihihi, bouncing around the tunnel, impossible to locate. The kind of laughter that didn’t belong to anything of earth

“You look lost…” The words echoed, stretching unnaturally, as if something was speaking from behind the walls themselves, From the shadows at the far end of the tunnel, a shape unfolded—long limbs bending too smoothly, eyes glowing yellow with hunger. Pennywise stepped into the faint trickle of light from a street drain above, his smile widening until it looked carved.

“Hehehe… down here, everyone gets lost eventually, So!” he said, spreading his arms theatrically, then a moment where you saw something flickering behind the clown shape, something from the Macroverse “what happens next? Do you run? Do you fight? Do you scream?” Pennywise leaned close, voice dropping to a whisper that slithered into your ears. “Or do you float?”