It

His bluejeans dragged painfully up into his crotch, squashing his balls. The top of the window rucked his shin all the way up to his shoulderblades. Now his gut was stuck.
‘Suck in, Haystack,’ Richie said, giggling hysterically. ‘You better suck in or we’ll have to send Mike after his dad’s chainfall to pull you out again.’
‘Beep-beep, Richie,’ Ben said through gritted teeth. He sucked his belly in as much as he could. He had never really realized just how big his stupid stomach was until this supremely embarrassing moment. He moved a little further, then stopped again.
He turned his head as far as he could, fighting panic and claustrophobia. His face had gone a bright sweaty red. The sour smell of the leaves was heavy in his nostrils, cloying. ‘Bill! Can you guys pull me?’
He felt Bill grasp one of his ankles, Beverly the other. He sucked his belly in as far as he could. A moment later he came tumbling through the window. Bill grabbed him. Both of them almost fell over. Ben couldn’t look at Bev. He had never in his life been as embarrassed as he was at that moment.
‘Y-Y-You okay, m-m-man?’
‘Yeah.’
Bill laughed shakily. Beverly joined him, and then Ben was able to laugh a little too, although it would be years before he could see anything remotely funny in what had happened.
‘Hey!’ Richie called down. ‘Eddie needs help, okay?’
‘O-O-Okay.’ Bill and Ben took up positions below the window. Eddie came through on his back. Bill got his legs just above the knees.
‘Watch what you’re doing,’ Eddie said in a querulous, nervous voice. ‘I’m ticklish.’
‘Ramon ees plenny teekeleesh, senhorr,’ Richie’s voice called down.
Ben got Eddie around the waist, trying to keep his hand away from the cast and the sling. The two of them manhandled Eddie through the cellar window like a corpse. Eddie cried out once, but that was all.
‘Eh-Eh –Eddie?’
‘Yeah,’ Eddie said, ‘okay. No big deal.’ But large drops of sweat stood out on his forehead and he was breathing in quick rasps. His eyes darted around the cellar.
Bill stepped back again. Beverly stood near him, now holding the Bullseye by the shaft and the cup, ready to fire if necessary. Her eyes swept the cellar constantly. Richie came through next, followed by Stan and Mike. Both of the latter moved with a smooth grace that Ben deeply envied. Then they were all down, down in the cellar where Bill and Richie had seen It only a month before.
The room was dim, but not dark. Dusky light shafted in through the windows and pooled on the dirt floor. The cellar seemed very big to Ben, almost too big, as if he were witnessing an optical illusion of some sort. Dusty rafters crisscrossed overhead. The furnace-pipes were rusty. Some sort of duty white cloth hung from the water-pipes in dirty strings and strands. The smell was down here too. A dirty yellow smell. Ben thought: It’s here, all right. Oh yeah.
Bill started toward the stairs. The others fell in behind him. He halted at their foot and glanced underneath. He reached under with one foot and kick-pawed something out. They looked at it wordlessly. It was a white clown-glove, now streaked with dirt and dust.
‘Uh-uh-upstairs,’ he said.
They went up and emerged into a dirty kitchen. One plain straight-backed chair stood marooned in the center of the humped hillocky linoleum. That was it for furniture. There were empty liquor bottles in one corner. Ben could see others in the pantry. He could smell booze — wine, mostly — and old stale cigarettes. Those smells were dominant, but that other smell was there, too. It was getting stronger all the time.
Beverly went to the cupboards and opened one of them. She screamed piercingly as a blackish-brown Norway rat tumbled out almost into her face. It struck the counter with a plop and glared around at them with its black eyes. Still screaming, Beverly raised the Bullseye and pulled the sling back.
‘NO!’ Bill roared.
She turned her pale terrified face toward him. Then she nodded and relaxed her arm, the silver ball unfired — but Ben thought she had been very, very close. She backed up slowly, ran into Ben, jumped. He put an arm around her, tight.
The rat scurried down the length of the counter, jumped to the floor, ran into the pantry, and was gone.
‘It wanted me to shoot at it,’ Beverly said in a faint voice. ‘Use up half of our ammunition on it.’
‘Yes,’ Bill said. ‘It’s l-l-like the FBI training r-range at Quh-Quh-Quantico, in a w-w-way. They seh-send y-you down this f-f-hake street and p-pop up tuh-hargets. If you shuh –shoot any honest citizens ih-instead of just cruh-crooks, you l-lose puh-hoints.’
‘I can’t do this, Bill,’