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freshlyjuicedbeetles · 7 years

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Part Four IT Microfiction!

Pennywise is never far from my mind. He is a fascinating, annoying, and terrifying presence in my life. I never had this close of contact with a subject and he alludes to the idea that there are more like him. I want to understand him and where he comes from. I only know the bare basics about him. He’s an alien from another dimension. His name is not pronounceable with human vocal cords. Technically, he is not a he, just that the closest representation of his true self is a male by human standards. He is millions of years old. Something about being pure energy and a giant spider… He had some sort of quarrel with a turtle?

When he’s not with me (which is 99% of his time), he’s in the sewers hiding or doing whatever aliens do. He used to also hide in an old house and scare anyone who dared come within his reach, but it was torn down in ’95. Inside was the old well that supplied the city in its first few years. It was sealed during the demolition. He would often use that well as access to and from the sewers. I’d never venture to either one or want think of all the places my mouth has been on the body of something that spends it’s time in the sewers.

I think he liked having that house, he still complains about a kid who insulted it.

“He called it a crack house! I know what crack is!” He exclaims, indignantly.

“Well, you did live in a crack house.” I reply.

“That’s not the point!” He huffs and pouts.

I try to puzzle him out. Are we talking Mass Effect like aliens who are civilized or xenomorphs that are more animalistic? He’s obviously intelligent and sentient so the rest of his species must be too. Did he come from an established society? Did he have parents or some sort of family line?

I decided to try to interview him one day. I expected it to be like herding squirrels. He doesn’t have the greatest attention span. I wasn’t sure what I would do with the information, I couldn’t slap it on my blog proclaiming I had managed to interview a cryptid. No one would take me seriously ever again. It’s ironic, I run a paranormal blog were my readers want this kind of contact, but the minute I make real and tangible contact with a subject like I have with Pennywise and put it out there, I’d be fitted for a strait jacket.

“Where are you from?” I asked, my phone recording us. Most paranormal phenomenon messed with electronics. His presence never caused such a thing.

He thought for a moment, then grabbed my hand and led me outside. He looked up at the sky, spun in a half circle and moved a few feet past my house.

“Right there,” He said pointing to a spot in the sky.

For all I knew, he could be pointing to an arbitrary spot.

Suddenly, he starts sniffing like a bloodhound, creeping up on a scent.

“I can smell the internet.” He says and is gone.

I am left there trying to understand his thought process but decide it’s better not to.

A few days later, I was able to understand what he meant. Prior to the ‘I smell the internet’ thing, I had gotten a hate comment on one of my posts. It was the same dribble most women get when taking up space online, ‘I’ll rape you till you die cunt’ and mansplaining how I was wrong about everything. It was an unfortunately common occurrence.

I thought nothing of it, that it was just some guy who was angry that he couldn’t get off. I deleted the comment and reported it to my hosting domain.

The next day, I was at the grocery store stocking up for the week. A fat hand reached for the same box of cereal I was grabbing for and we both knocked it to the ground. I bent to pick up when I noticed this person had a literal bite mark in his chubby, hairy calf. I stood thinking that maybe he ran into a grumpy dog. He looked at me like most people look at Pennywise.

“Are you okay, dude?” I asked.

“I’m sorry!” He exclaimed, running out of the store.

Later that day, I got an email about the comment from my host saying the user had lost their account privileges. It displayed the comment in question and the user’s avatar. It was the man from the grocery store.

Just looking at this slovenly and sweaty guy, I could see why Pennywise only took a chunk of his leg. He does have some dietary standards it seems.

Living with him has been a weird experience. It’s like living with a komodo dragon. It could probably kill you. He may humanoid, but he was still a bit feral. Yeah, I have a feral clown living with me.

Most of his knowledge about humans is outdated or he simply has no concept of something. His contact with humans was limited to stalking and eating them before he met me. He knew what sex was, it’s purpose and how humans do it. He had the broad strokes, but not the fine details. I’d thought he die of an orgasm when I introduced him to period sex.

He understands most human limitations (and disregards or exploits them), that when we’re born, we’re more or else stuck with our appearance. I found him watching shows about plastic surgery on my laptop and the only word that seemingly encapsulates his feelings towards surgery is: barbaric; that humans, sometimes electively, will let other humans tear us open, move stuff around, add something new or take something away completely. More irony. I would assume the healthcare system where he’s from is quite different. Not all of us are shapeshifters like you are, Penn.

He’s not actually a clown, he knows just as much about the persona to lure victims in. A clown is just the form he likes the best; it helps him catch his meals and scares people, a win-win for him. Kids (an easy target) like clowns and people fear them.

An annoying thing he does is taking my things. I lost so many pairs of panties to that dumb clown alien. He took my fluffy makeup powder brush AND my favorite highlighters (as in the writing utensil and makeup product). He even stole my favorite blanket. What will he take next? My favorite novel? Can he even read English? Does his species have a writing system?

He likes to watch me cook, which is funny since he lives on a raw diet. I probably should detest him, but obviously, his species is higher on the food chain than humans. Maybe I’m rationalizing it. We shouldn’t mess with the natural order of things. I am rationalizing it.

I gave him War Heads candy once and he has been constantly sucking on one or six, grimacing at the sourness and drooling. I want to give him Pop Rocks next. I plan to actually cook a simple meal for him, just to see what’ll happen.

He drank one of my perfumes, too, thinking it was potable. Maybe it was to him, it didn’t seem to bother him.

I watched in horror as a $90 liquid slid down his throat.

“That was Marc Jacobs, you idiot!” I screeched.

He didn’t understand.

“You spray it on yourself to smell good.” I explained, tersely.

“You smell tasty to me without it.” He shrugged.

I took the bottle from his gloved hand, cradling it like an injured bird. “It wasn’t for you to enjoy.”

He took my phone while I was napping. He found YouTube watched four cat videos, three Lady Gaga music videos (good taste, my clown alien), one and half makeup tutorials and seven from NASA about aliens and our galaxy. In between videos, he texted my mom for an hour.

Mom: Hi, honey, are you still in Maine?

Pennywise: The main Maine mane!!!!!!!!

Mom: Clever. How is your article coming?

Pennywise: Stupendously!!!!!!!

Mom: That’s good, Dad and I were getting curious, you’ve never stayed somewhere this long before.

Pennywise: I met someone!!!!

Mom: Really?

Pennywise: He’s a real looker, too!!1!1

Mom: Is he from Maine?

Pennywise: Sort of!!!! :D

Mom: You’re acting strange, are you drunk?

Pennywise: What’s drunk? That sounds fun!!

I started to wake up around this point and haven’t heard back from Mom. I have no idea how I’ll explain this. Guess he can read English.

He may take my stuff, but he’ll also bring me stuff. He’s brought me a beautiful and ornate vintage jewelry box that was probably made before my grandparents were born; a handful of marbles, a key that is probably older than the country, a freshly molted feather from a raven, a raw amethyst and a single earring that looked like it was from the 80s.

I think he sees me as his human, someone worthy of his attention and protection (while still wanting to eat me. That’s the ultimate possession, I guess?). I think his gifts are endearing, but the second he brings a snack with him and/or one for me, we’re going to have issues.

It all leaves me wondering is this how his species shows romantic affection. How does his species mark their loved ones to show the rest of society that they are off the market? Bringing gifts, spending a lot of time with their significant other and a possessive protection while still wanting to eat me is my best guess.

I am protected by a bucktooth, feral clown.

Yep.

#long post #pennywise fanfiction #it 2017 #microfiction #pennywise

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