It

you don’t sound like that if you’re on your way to a sock hop, It was dying, I’m sure of it!’
Richie’s hands groped out of the darkness, seized Bill, and pulled him into a rough embrace. He began to pound Bill’s back ecstatically. ‘I heard It, too — It was dying, Big Bill! It was dying . . . and you’re not stuttering! Not at all! Howdja do it? How in the hell — ?’
Bill’s brain was whirling. Exhaustion tugged at him with thick and clumsy hands. He could not remember ever feeling this tired . . . but in his mind he heard the drawling, almost weary voice of the Turtle: I’d finish it now; don’t let It get away . . . what can be done when you’re eleven can often never be done again.
‘But we have to be sure — ‘
The shadows were joining hands and now the darkness was almost complete. But before the light failed utterly, he thought he saw the same hellish doubt on Beverly’s face . . . and in Stan’s eyes. And still, as the last of the light gave way, they could hear the tenebrous whisper-shudder-thump of Its unspeakable web falling to pieces.
3
Bill in the Void / Late
— well here you are again, Little Buddy! but what’s happened to your hair? you’re just as
bald as a cueball! sad! what sad, short lives humans live! each life a short pamphlet written
by an idiot! tut-tut, and all that
I’m still Bill Denbrough. You killed my brother and you killed Stan the Man you tried to kill Mike. And I’m going to tell you something: this time I’m not going to stop until the job’s done
— the Turtle was stupid, too stupid to lie. he told you the truth, Little Buddy . . . the time
only comes around once, you hurt me . . . you surprised me. never again. I am the one who
called you back. I.
You called, all right, but You weren’t the only one
— your friend the Turtle . . . he died a few years ago. the old idiot puked inside his shell
and choked to death on a galaxy or two. very sad, don’t you think? but also quite bizarre,
deserves a place in Ripley’s Believe It or Not, that’s what I think, happened right around the same time you had that writer’s block, you must have felt him go, Little Buddy
I don’t believe that, either
— oh you’ll believe . . . you’ll see. this time, Little Buddy, I intend you to see everything, including the deadlights
He sensed Its voice rising, buzzing and racketing — at last he sensed the full extent of Its fury, and he was terrified. He reached for the tongue of Its mind, concentrating, trying desperately to recapture the full extent of that childish belief, understanding at the same time that there was a deadly truth in what It had said: last time It had been unprepared. This time . . . well, even if It had not been the only one to call them, It sure had been waiting.
But still —
He felt his own fury, clean and singing, as his eyes fixed on Its eyes. He sensed Its old scars, sensed that It had truly been hurt, and that It was still hurt.
And as It threw him, as he felt his mind swatted out of his body, he concentrated all of his being on seizing Its tongue . . . and missed his grip.
4
Richie
The other four watched, paralyzed. It was an exact replay of what had happened before — at first. The Spider, which seemed about to seize Bill and gobble him up, grew suddenly still. Bill’s eyes locked with Its ruby ones. There was a sense of contact . . . a contact just beyond their ability to divine. But they felt the struggle, the clash of wills.
Then Richie glanced up into the new web, and saw the first difference.
There were bodies there, some half-eaten and half-rotted, and that was the same . . . but high up, in one corner, was another body, and Richie was sure this one was still fresh, possibly even still alive. Beverly had not looked up — her eyes were fixed on Bill and the Spider — but even in his terror, Richie saw