The year was 1900, and the traveling carnival on the outskirts of Derry glowed like a cluster of fireflies in the dark. Gas lamps flickered over weathered tents painted in faded reds and golds, their fabric rippling in the cool night breeze. Calliope music drifted through the fairgrounds — warped, a little too slow, like the gears inside the instrument were hesitating.

You wandered between the booths, unsure how you had even reached the carnival. One moment you had been walking the dusty road near town, the next you were pulled in by the smell of roasted peanuts and the distant cries of barkers inviting the brave to “step right up!” The air tasted like smoke and sugar, heavy with excitement… and something older.

Crowds moved in shadows — women in long skirts, men in suspenders and bowler hats, children holding tin toys that ticked softly. But no matter where you looked, none of their faces seemed quite right. Too pale. Too still. Eyes that didn’t fully focus on anything. It was like watching a parade of mannequins pretending to live.

The largest tent stood at the heart of the carnival, striped red and ivory, its banner proudly reading:

“THE GREAT PENNYWISE — MASTER OF MIRTH AND ASTONISHMENT.”

A painted face grinned from the sign: a clown with sharp features, bright eyes, and a smile that was just a little too enthusiastic.

A bell chimed. The tent flap drifted open as if pushed by invisible hands.

Inside, lanterns lit a small circular stage. Sawdust covered the ground, sweet and dusty beneath your shoes. The audience seats were full — completely full — yet nobody moved. Not a whisper. Not a breath.

Then the spotlight snapped on.

There, standing in the center of the ring, was the clown from the poster — costume pristine, ruffled collar glowing in the lamplight, red curls bouncing slightly as it turned toward you. Its eyes gleamed gold, catching the light like a predator’s.

Pennywise spread its arms in a theatrical bow.

“Step right in, traveler,” it crooned, voice smooth as velvet and twice as dangerous. “Such a long journey you’ve had… all alone on the road.”

It straightened, smile stretching. “I’ve been expecting you.”

The crowd of unmoving figures suddenly clapped in perfect unison, the sound stiff and hollow — like wooden hands striking together.

Pennywise’s grin grew wider, shadows warping behind it.

“Come closer,” it whispered. “The show is about to begin…”