Alien - Series Fan Fiction ❯ Floating ❯ Prologue: Welcome to Derry ( Chapter 1 )

[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]

It had been 8 hours since we left our old house in Windham, Maine. My dad had gotten a better job In Derry, Maine. Better job equals better pay. He was a police officer and got stationed here in Derry to be the chief.

“Look, Honey,  we-” My mom stopped mid sentence and turned towards me. For some reason I got goosebumps. She finished her sentence, “are here.” She sighed, “I can already smell the circus. Paul, can you smell the circus?” I didn’t answer, I didn't know what to say. 

She just kept staring at me until my dad piped up “You better answer your damn mom, Paul.” My dad’s 1956 Chevy Sedan hit the curb and we heard the air go out of the tire.

 “God damn it.” my dad said under his breath. My father cursed a lot. I think he liked the feeling but I didn’t know for sure.

“There is no need to curse, Ron!” My dad's name was Ronald, but my mom liked to call him   Ron.

“Don't you dare tell me what to do!” He lifted his hand and backhanded her. She fell silent. My dad did not hit her often, but every once in a while he does. It was raining really hard outside so my dad grabbed his raincoat and stepped outside to change the tire. 

When I knew he could not hear us, I asked my mom, “Are you ok?” She just looked up and nodded. We sat in silence for 15 minutes until my dad finished changing the tire. He didn't say a word and started driving to our new house, to our new life, and even though I didn't know it yet, my own doom. 

We drove for a little while longer until we passed a little kid peering down in the gutter. Later I learned his name was Georgie Denbrough and we were the last people to see him. 

            Then I saw my first red balloon with the saying “Welcome to Derry, Paul.” I closed my eyes knowing that it couldn't be real. When I opened my eyes I saw him for the first time, that stupid ass clown. He was waving not to me but behind me. I looked back and saw that the kid peering down into the gutter had disappeared.

“Don’t you just love clowns, Paul?” My heart stopped for a second and I turned around. It must have just been a coincidence. 

“Mo-m, y-ou saw i-t to-oo?” I could barely get it out. I was scared half to death. 

“What are you talking about Paul?”

“W-hy we-re you talk-i-ng about clo-wns th-en?” Knowing what I had seen wasn't the thing that scared me then; it was the fact that my dad was not saying anything and that my mom hadn't answered. 

                We fell into silence and no one talked until we got home and my dad said, “We are finally here”.  My body loosened and I let out a sigh.

It was close to 6:45 when we finally got everything into our respective rooms. My room had a beige color on the walls and had a hardwood floor. I got out my memory book. I opened it, my mouth dried up and my head was pounding. I looked at the picture again. My brother who had died (two years ago, one week before my 11th birthday) in a drunk driving incident. He had been driving with his friends when a man named Lewis York hit them and killed them. My brother had been my best friend and even though he was 17, we got along pretty well. The picture was of us at his 16th birthday party. In the picture he was holding a balloon that said Happy Birthday. Something had changed the picture to say the same thing I had just seen on the balloon, “Welcome to Derry, Paul.” I closed it and threw it back in the box.

               I stood there for maybe ten minutes before my dad called “Come get your mattress, Son.” I ran to the living room as fast I could. My dad was setting up our TV when I saw my mattress. 

“Dad, do you expect me to bring this all the way upstairs by myself?”

“Give me a second,Son.” He hit the TV a couple of times until it turned on,  “Finally. Ok, you take the back of the mattress; I will take the top.” 

We started walking to my room when I passed my mom and dad's room. There laying in their bed was my dead brother, blood dripping from the big gash in his head. I dropped the mattress and screamed. But nothing came out, no scream, not even a little squeak. My dad was so oblivious that he hadn't noticed that he was the only one carrying the mattress. Nobody asked if I was ok; no one looked. I looked at my father, but by the time I looked back into their room my brother was gone. 

It was about 7:30 when we ate dinner that night. My mom made my Dad's favorite food, hot dogs and fries. My dad was not by far the most overweight man in the world but he liked non healthy food like chips, hamburgers, and fries just to name a few. Last year he was hospitalized because his heart stopped but the doctor said he should be fine. Sometimes I wish he wasn't fine. 

“Paul, are you ready for school tomorrow?” This seemed like his favorite question, he had asked it more than twice and I always had the same answer for him.


“Lets hope.” I said with a mouthful of hotdog. When I finished, the clock on the stove said 7:50 and I went to bed dreaming about what life would be if my brother was still alive. He would have been in college. A couple of months before he died he had gotten a full tuition scholarship to University of Idaho. He would have been a Vandal.