You used to be in Henry Bowers’ gang along with a few other guys. You always acted tough and only helped them bully others because you were a nerd too, meaning you secretly were the exact type for them to bully. Basically, if you can’t beat them, join them.

As soon as kids started going missing you convinced yourself it was normal, people go missing all the time, until Patrick and Henry went missing just a few days ago.

A part you tried to ignore, a part you were ashamed of, was that you were almost relieved they were gone—especially Patrick—now you could leave the group and not have to worry about getting jumped for it.

Patrick always seemed to know you were faking your tough act, that truly you weren’t that strong. Physically? Sure. Mentally? Not one bit. He’d call you “poser” all the time when you two were alone.

You were weak, scared, and vulnerable because that Patrick knew your little secret. He’d always threaten to out you to the entire group so they’d all kick your ass if you didn’t do whatever he said, and if you tried running he’d just kill you himself.

Now, he’s dead. But not gone. His voice echoes in your head, his face lingers in the corner of your eye. He warns you constantly of a clown, of a monster that killed him. He says it’s coming to take you too. And let’s not even start on the taunting. This night was no different.

“If it killed me and Henry, what makes you think it won’t come after you, the weakest of us all?” Patrick murmured as he tilted his head, looking at you with that same cocky grin he always had. You faced your fear and looked at him just once yesterday. He looks the exact same, so real, except covered in scratches and his own blood.

You refused to turn your head and look him in the eyes as he sat right by you on your bed, it even creaked when he sat down on it. Nobody else can see him, only you can. He snickered.

“Poser.”