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It’s almost time. It’s almost time. 11:54 P.M. It’s almost time.

My mother told us what to do during the time It is here. “Keep your heads down, cover your ears, and no matter what, no matter how curious you are and no matter what It tells you, do not look at It." Now it’s 11:55 P.M

It comes once every thirty-three years. “Every third day of the third month of every thirty-third year” as the old folks say. They talk about how their parents told them the same things ours are telling us now. “Keep your head down, cover your ears…” and all that. They say how they got really close to looking the first time.

They said It whispers to you, telling you things nobody else could ever possibly know, saying that It won’t tell anybody else if you just look It in the eye and say you’re sorry for whatever sins you’ve committed that It tells you It knows you’ve done. Of course, they were never stupid enough to actually fall for it, but they had a few friends who did. Some of the kids who got into more trouble than is usual for a kid and couldn’t risk their parents finding out about It. But, when I ask what happened to their friends, they just kind of shiver and say I’d be better off not knowing. 11:56 P.M. now.

I can see the dull greyness of what must be storm clouds starting to form off in the distance. My father said that at first he thought It wasn’t going to come that first time when he was little, because of how few clouds there were. It’s always preceded by clouds. Doesn’t like starlight, even when it’s full on nighttime like this. Something about how even the sparkling glimmers of the stars are too bright for It. 11:57 P.M.

He said that the clouds don’t really start until 11:58, and at 11:59 they just spill over the mountains into the city like some gigantic, hungry mist, just starving for a morsel of human meat that It was restrained from having, expect maybe a lone mountain climber or two. He said that before the clouds had enough time to come swallow his house, his parents had already grabbed him and pulled him down to the basement before taping the door shut. He says that It moves through the clouds, being anywhere and everywhere at once, searching through them to try to find an unguarded human who was naïve enough to look at It. 11:58 P.M.

Wow. Dad was right. It looks like those clouds just exploded out of nothing. Anyway, before I have to go down to the basement, I should tell you that I managed to convince my grandfather to tell me what happened when you look at It, in case you happen to live in one of the cities that It visits every thirty-three years: You become a part of It. He was little and it was the first time It came.

They hadn’t managed to seal up the house very well and the clouds crept in. You stay looking, transfixed at Its hungry, evil eyes, or whatever It has in place of them. Then you start to shake. You try to look away, but you can’t. Granddad says that he heard his friend, Noah, squeaking out through his permanently awe-stuck mouth something that sounded like “Help me.” 11:59 P.M.

Thunderstorm On Mountain


Jeez. It really does just tidal wave over the mountains. Oh, my parents are telling me it is time to come to the basement, so I’d better finish this quickly. Granddad said that he risked opening his eyes a fraction of a millimeter to see what was happening to Noah. And, while he couldn’t see anything in front of Noah, it was pretty obvious that he sure did.

Okay, I’m going to have to run while saying this last part; the storm’s almost to my house. He said that Noah started to shake even harder, so hard that he could hear his teeth rattle. Then Noah’s clothes started to collapse, and he could clearly see scarlet stains appearing in places where his clothes were falling in the deepest. Then, Noah’s face started to melt, but as It did, It also filled with that cloud.

Blood and grey, cold wetness poured from every orifice in his skull as his clothes continued to sink even farther down. Now, Granddad could see clouds pouring through his shirt as well. Shaking and melting and transforming, with one final, ear-piercing screech, Noah was gone, only his blood drenched clothes remaining. Okay, here’s where I leave you. Just remember: Keep your heads down, cover your ears, and no matter what, no matter how curious you are and no matter what It tells you, do not look at It. 12:00 A.M.

By Noah Wilmore (The-Sublime-One)

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