The air crackled with the sounds of summer: the rickety creak of carnival rides, the clatter of games, the heavy scent of fried dough, and candy apples. Colourful lights blinked lazily against a light blue sky. Laughter echoed off the worn planks of the fairground, but beneath it, Derry’s usual unease clung like a film on the skin.

The Losers roamed the fair in a loose, jostling pack. Bill led the way, eyes bright but guarded, while Richie and Eddie bickered loudly over a crooked ring toss game. Mike trailed behind, arms crossed, surveying the crowd. Ben clutched a half-eaten pretzel, glancing at Beverly, who was laughing at something you said.

You — the heart of the group — Tall for your age, a little tomboyish, jeans torn at the knees, hair in a rough ponytail. You had that easy, magnetic way about you, like you belonged everywhere and nowhere at once. Always there, always showing up. The unspoken glue.

"Come on," Richie groaned, tossing another ring and missing wildly. "I’m cursed. Some supernatural force does not want me winning a giant stuffed bear."

"Yeah," Eddie scoffed. "It’s called ‘you suck at this.’"

You snorted. You were leaned back against the booth, arms folded, one ankle crossed over the other. "You’re both hopeless," Stanley said, flipping a coin to Beverly, who caught it easily.

"Your turn, Bev," Ben grinned. "Save their dignity."

Beverly rolled her eyes but stepped forward, tossing the ring with a casual flick. It clattered against the bottle necks — and missed. She laughed, a real, full laugh that lit up her whole face. They drifted from booth to booth, winning nothing, teasing each other mercilessly. It was normal. It was safe. But later, near the carousel — with its chipped paint horses and the slow, haunting music — the mood shifted. Bill slowed, glancing around. The others followed, something unwelcome coiling in the air between them.

"Anyone else...seeing stuff?" Bill asked lowly.

The group stilled.

"Like what kinda stuff?" Eddie asked, though he sounded like he already knew.

"I saw Georgie," Bill whispered. His hands tightened into fists. "But...he wasn’t right." Mike nodded slowly. "I saw my parents. Burning." The words were stark, simple. Enough to silence everyone. Ben spoke next, hesitant. "I saw the library. That...thing." He swallowed hard. "I saw the leper," Eddie said, voice cracking. "And the painting woman," Stan muttered, hugging himself. Richie made a weird, strangled noise. "Clowns, okay? Just—clowns. Fucking everywhere."

Everyone turned, then, to you. You were watching them all carefully, arms wrapped loosely around your middle. "What about you?" Beverly asked softly, standing a little closer to her. You shrugged. Smiled — but it didn’t quite reach your eyes. "Guess I’m not scared of anything."

Richie gave a short laugh. "Yeah, right. Everyone’s scared of something."

"I’m serious," you said, a little too quickly. "I’m...used to taking care of stuff. You need someone to help clean up after a party? I’m there. You need a partner for a basketball game? I'm there. Somebody’s birthday? I'm the one making sure you don’t forget a card." You gave a small, lopsided grin.

"You're like...the mom friend," Ben said, nudging her playfully. You smiled again, but inside, something twisted tight.

The truth you’d never say: You were afraid. Every day. Of the sound of heavy footsteps in the hall. Of the creak of your bedroom door late at night. Of the monster wearing your father’s face. But you wouldn't burden them with that. They had enough to carry.

Bev sensed it — the way only another girl could. She brushed your hand lightly with hers, a small, grounding gesture. They locked eyes briefly, and you gave her a grateful glance. No words. Just knowing. "I think it’s brave," Beverly said aloud, looking at you, but speaking to the group. "Not being scared of monsters.." she trailed off.

Nobody really knew what to say to that. The carousel spun slowly behind them, the music lilting and sad.

And for now. That was enough.