The Demon Clown

Derry, Maine.

No one had lived there for centuries, but IT kept coming. And IT's enemy kept coming, too. IT stood in IT's Pennywise form, holding a bundle of balloons and perched atop the rubble of IT's old lair. He had destroyed IT's lair. He had killed IT twice.

He stood a few meters away, disgust clear upon his handsome green face. He was a child, but of a different sort. Powerful. But still a child. He could feel fear, and pain. IT wanted to teach him much of fear and pain . . .

"Why do you keep coming back, Torren?" IT knew the boy hated to be called by only half his name, "The kiddies are gone. My prey is gone." IT frowned, "There's no one to play with anymore." IT said in the manner of a petulant child. "Unless you want to play . . . Do you want to play?"

Torren-Wraeth regarded it with utter loathing. A clown. A friendly, ordinary circus clown with bright red hair and a handful of balloons. That was the disguise. The lure. Come play with me, IT said. But he had seen the demon's other form, too, the monstrous thing from beyond reason. An unspeakable evil from The Spaces Between who murdered children and laughed as they died.

"Well, what is it?!" Pennywise demanded. Was he just going to stand there and stare him to death?

"Who are you?" He asked simply.

"I'm Pennywise, The Dancing Clown. All the kiddies love me when I come to town -"

"Who are you really?" Torren-Wraeth barked, "You are just a part of something bigger. Some powerful being of evil -"

"Evil is in the eye of the beholder, son of Cthulhu." There was a shift in tone on the demon's part. It no longer sounded playful. So, the boy wanted to know IT's secrets. Perhaps he hoped to destroy IT at the source.

The little fool.

"You torture and murder children. That is evil." His voice was full of righteous indignation.

"That is play. I'd like to play with you, Torren," IT held out a blue balloon, "I'd like to play with you for a long, long time."

The Half-Spawn snarled at The Clown.

"You're angry. Oooh. I like that. You're a very bad boy, aren't you? Picking on me." The clown pouted, "Why don't you pick on He Who Walks Behind The Rows?"

"WHO ARE YOU?!"

Pennywise laughed, revealing pointed yellow fangs, "Do you really want to know, little boy? Say 'pretty please'."

IT considered showing the little bastard what he really was. Taking him to The Deadlights, breaking his little mind. But IT recognized that would anger both The Outer and The Elder Gods. He could only harm IT's physical form, they could reach IT's true self. Even IT recognized powers superior to ITSELF, and had no desire to feel their wrath.

But IT could not avoid fighting this fool in the mortal realms. He had sought IT out. Cthulhu could complain, but whatever happened was on the boy's head. Even if the demon lost, IT still lived on in many other forms, in many other places.

"Answer the question." There was nothing but steel and hatred in the boy's voice.

Pennywise shook his head, "So rude! Who am I? What am I?" IT's voice grew as cold and deep a a freshly dug grave, "I come from The Deadlights. The places even your father fears. I am as old as time. I am a force of nature but I am not of nature. I am all of your childhood fears, all of the fears of every child who has ever lived. I am The Devourer of Innocence. I am undying. You can kill this form, but you will never kill me." IT hissed defiantly at Torren-Wraeth, "To see me as I am would drive even you insane." IT spread his arms wide, "What am I? You'll never know." IT grinned wickedly, "Yes, I kill children. They taste the best, their fears are so strong, so sweet. I enjoy watching them beg and blubber and scream and squirm - "

He took the bait. He wasn't very hard to anger, this self-righteous, sentimental little boy who would be a hero. Some of IT's victims where like that, trying to fight IT. That made it so much more enjoyable. Giving them hope of escape before snatching it away . . . Pennywise twisted and warped, long, impossibly sharp limbs sprouting from that clownish disguise and mouth widening, cracking, teeth became knives, then swords. All the color was sucked away from The Clown, leaving a spectral abyss that drew in light and warmth, leaving the air cold and dead around it. In The Clown's place crouched a monstrous creature impossible to fully comprehend with the mortal mind. IT's many limbs and exoskeleton called to mind a spider, yet IT was clearly not a spider. IT had many eyes, eyes that drew upon some unspeakable darkness and burned with a light that was not light.

Toward this Torren-Wraeth rushed headlong in blind fury.

A sharp limb slashed through Torren-Wraeth's left wing as another slashed at his eyes. He was agile, able to avoid most of the limbs, but he could not counter-attack while defending himself with both hands.

"Why didn't you bring your pale new friend along to play? I'd like to meet him!" IT asked as Torren-Wraeth grappled with IT's many limbs. A sharp taloned foot rammed into one of the demon's large eyes, and IT screamed in pain and flung him bodily away. A limb, grasped firmly in the boy's hand, ripped free in a fountain of black blood. IT took a certain satisfaction as the Half-Spawn struck a tree, breaking both the tree and his wings. "It's all fun and games until somebody loses an eye!" IT shrieked, wiping the black ichor from the ruined eye. Torren-Wraeth stood, shaken, scratched and gouged and dripping blue blood. He wiped the blood from his eyes as the abomination charged him.

"You miss your little slut, don't you? I'll send you to join him!"

No one, No one ever used that word around Torren-Wraeth. No one spoke of Goro like that. Yellow eyes narrowed in a dark fury that made even IT's blood run cold. There was the absolute darkness of infinite hate in his glare. No mortal eye could produce such a look of pure malice. For the first time, IT could actually see his father's blood in the boy.

The demon knew in that moment that IT had gone too far.

Torren-Wraeth began to scream. It was not the sweet, savory scream of terror, however. IT knew what the cry meant, and could not believe that a son of Cthulhu would use this spell. The Song of Hastur. IT's screams mingled with the boy's as the wailing song struck the demon. IT's flesh began to boil and bubble, and IT writhed in agony as the beast began to expand, to bloat. The horror tried to scramble away, to escape, but IT's limbs flailed helplessly. IT's exoskeleton began to crack and split as flesh ran rampant and blood boiled. The demon let out a final, terrible wail that chilled Torren-Wraeth's bones to the marrow before exploding in a shower of chitin and gore.

Sickened, Torren-Wraeth began to wipe the vile blood and viscera from his body. He would have to bathe. There was a river nearby, but he wanted to be far away from this cursed place as soon as possible. His wounds were already regenerating as he cast Create Gate and stumbled off to a more suitable location to bathe and heal. He would return later to place stronger Wards on the unholy ground.

A half-dozen brightly colored balloons drifted in the breeze and off into the sunny sky.

The End

Notes:

I keep mentioning Torren-Wraeth having battled IT, but this is the first attempt at depicting such a conflict. And, for the record, Torren-Wraeth has fought He Who Walks Behind The Rows, the story just hasn't been told yet.

Song of Hastur is a very, very nasty spell and an awful way to die.

I do NOT own IT, Pennywise, He Who Walks Behind The Rows, Derry or The Deadlights. Stephen King does, and I hope he doesn't sue me.