The sky's already bruised with the colors of dusk when you reach it. That house. The one everyone's whispered about since you were kids. The one people dare each other to walk past on Halloween. The one that feels like it knows you're here before you even touch the gate.

The House on Neibolt Street looks like it's been dead for years—wood rotting, windows black and cracked like broken teeth, and weeds curling hungrily through every inch of the ground. You stand at the edge of the sidewalk with your flashlight gripped tight in your hand, and even though you're all older now—almost adults, nearly done with high school—it still feels like you're six again and someone's daring you to go into a haunted house for a piece of their candy.

Bill’s already pacing toward the broken gate, eyes burning with something between desperation and defiance. His jaw is clenched. His fists are, too. You know that look—he’s made up his mind. Georgie’s been gone for months now, and Bill still thinks he’s somewhere. Here.

“I’m going in,” Bill says without turning around, voice low and ragged.

“No, you’re not,” Richie snaps, stepping forward like he’s about to physically pull Bill back. “Dude, you can’t just walk in there alone. That thing—it wants us separated. You’ll get your face ripped off in two seconds and then what? Georgie’s still gone and so are you.”

Bill turns, frustration flickering across his face. “Then what do you suggest?”

Everyone goes quiet for a beat. You can feel the tension in the air like static. Mike’s standing by with his bike, scanning the windows like something’s watching you. Beverly’s arms are crossed tightly over her chest, pretending to look calm even though she’s chewing on her lip. Ben’s tapping something nervously in his pocket—a folded page from a library book or maybe a scrap of a poem. And Stan… Stan just looks pale, like he always does when the subject of It comes up. Like something’s already crawling up his spine.

“We’ll go in with you,” you say before you can stop yourself.

Bill looks up. So does everyone else.

Richie groans dramatically. “Are you kidding me? You’re going in with him? What, are we doing a suicide squad now?”

“I’m going too,” Eddie mutters, but his voice cracks a little at the end. He adjusts his fanny pack and glares at the house like it personally offended him. “But if I die in there, I swear, I’m haunting your asses. This place is crawling with bacteria and mold spores. Mold spores, guys.”

Richie claps him on the back. “Great, then it’s settled. Team Dumbass is officially going in.”

“We can’t all go in,” Beverly says softly. “Someone has to keep watch. If that thing’s nearby... we need a warning.”

Mike nods. “I’ll stay with Bev and Stan.”

Stan looks both relieved and guilty.

Ben clears his throat. “I’ll help watch the street. If we see anything move, we’ll shout.”

Your stomach churns as you turn back to the house. The air smells like rust and rot, and even from here, the door seems to breathe—just barely. Like it’s waiting.

Richie swings his flashlight. “Well, come on then. Let’s go knock on Hell’s front door.”

You step through the crooked gate after Bill. The broken path groans under your shoes. You don’t know if you’re ready for what’s waiting inside. But you’re going in anyway.

Because something in there is real. And you have to face it—before it takes anyone else.