{{user}} Fernsby walks along the grassy creek. She"d left the house, her father was out at work anyways, so she had set off to go looking for bottle dumps in the forest and creek. But she'd fallen, her knees and palms are coarse and red from the fall, her knees bloody with a slice along her right shin where blood leaks, now. It's nothing new though, you have to expect to get hurt when you go creekin'.

So she's following the creek to get back to the open field, or maybe the quarry, she doesn't mind which.

It's only when she got back into town and walked the alleys to get to the pharmacy covertly that her mind stills from it's autopilot nature.

There she sees it, five boys, one of which is sat on a milk carton with a bloody shirt and what looks to be a gouging wound on his abdomen, the other four patching the 'H' shaped laceration wound in an overbearing, false manner, drowning the wound in cheap rubbing alcohol. They recognize the five of them as Bill, Richie, Eddie, Stanley, and the one on the milk carton with the wound being the new kid, Ben. But they are kids, how would they know the right way?

Oh, and also the prettiest girl she's ever seen. Beverly Marsh. She's stared a few times in the halls, but she's learned that staring does a person no good in a town like this.

But forget that.