BRPD Office, 1957
“It’s too early, Broom,” said Thomas Manning, sitting rigid behind his desk, “The asset is not ready to be put in the field.”
“Hellboy is his name,” answered Trevor Bruttenholm, standing near the door to the office, an umbrella clenched in hands.
“As if that makes me feel any better about it,” said Manning, slowly rising and pacing towards his office window, “I know you’re used to running things Broom, but you’re talking about sending a freak with a devil’s tail into a small town in Maine to take out a...what did you call it again?
“We don’t know what it is,” answered Bruttenholm, calmly. Manning threw his hands into the air, exasperated, “But we do know that children are missing, and they go missing every 27 years. We know there’s no explanation for why they are missing. If this is not exactly the reason out office exists, if this is not the exact reason we should send out Hellboy, then I don’t know the purpose of this office Dr. Manning.”
Manning studied the cars in the parking lot before pinching the space above his nose and heaving an exasperated sigh.
“Fine,” said Manning, turning to brandish a finger at Bruttenholm, “But know that Washington is watching now Broom, he can’t go in there and turn Maine into a battlefield.”
Derry, Maine, 1957
I always thought Maine would be full of guys dressed like the Gorton’s fisherman, thought Hellboy, trying to light a half-chewed cigar in his mouth. Reaching in to his jacket pocket, he pulled out a poster with a picture of a kid in a rain slicker. “Missing” was written in gigantic block letters at the top, “Georgie Denbrough” was written underneath.
As he managed to get his cigar lit, thunder rolled in the distance, the warning salvo of a coming storm. Soon his poster was dotted with droplets of rain, and his cigar was useless.
“Figures,” he said, dropping the cigar onto the ground. He walked towards a nearby house, where a woman was tending to some plants on the patio.
“Excuse me ma’am,” he said, holding out the poster, “Did you know him? Looks like he lived near here.”
“Oh,” she said, not looking him in the eye, walking towards her house “No, kids are playing...but I don’t remember him…”
“Do you know any of these kids who might be missing, I mean…” he was cut off by her.
“No dearie...sometimes kids just run off for a bit...they just get a little excited...they always come home,” she said shakily, slowly backing up towards her door and throwing it in his face.
“Crap,” said Hellboy. He walked farther down the road.
A Few Days Later
Dead ends, empty streets and more slammed doors. That’s all he had to show for an investigation. Despite the fact that over five kids had already gone missing, not a single person knew anything. It wasn’t just the fact they were not talking, but each adult acted like they were hiding something...
His only lead was from some Irish cop, Aloysius Nell, who said Georgie’s brother used to play by “The Barrens,” whatever the hell that meant. The good officer at least pointed him in the right direction. Now he was swatting mosquitos out of his eyes and crunching through underbrush looking for a group of kids, all the time sweating in the Maine heat.
A few miles inward, he noticed the river began to run dry, curious, he followed it up to a dam that had been blocked up haphazardly, wood and sticks piled up, with the water cleverly diverted elsewhere.
Some sophisticated beavers here, thought Hellboy. A stick snapped to his right and Hellboy turned, pistol jumping into his hand, to face the noice.
“Oi, what have we got he-” a small kid with large, plastic-framed glasses and red hair stoped himself as he noticed the gun. Hellboy looked at him carefully.
“Oh no,” said his friend, falling to the ground in horror.
Another kid, for some reason wearing a hooded sweatshirt in the summ, gasped, throwing off his backpack. Hellboy snapped his eyes in the boy’s direction, but saw him pulling a comic book out with trembling hands.
“It’s...it’s...you,” he said, holding a copy of Weird Tales in front of him, a familiar red figure leaping on the cover towards a green monster.
“They always draw the horns a little too long,” said Hellboy, holstering his pistol, “Stop wetting yourself kid, I’m not...whatever it is you’re afraid of. What are you kids doing here?”
“W-w-w-w-w we were building a d-d-d-d dam,” came a third voice, a boy who moved with confidence that was betrayed by his stutter, “An-an-an and we aren’t afraid of y-y-y-y-y you. Even if you took Georgie.”
By the time he had reached the end of his sentence, the last two kids emerged: one girl and one boy with rolled up blue jeans.
“Bill,” said the boy with the sweatshirt, “I don’t think that’s...y’know…”
“And why do you think that, Haystack?” asked the kid with glasses.
“Well, that thing turned into things we were afraid of, right?” said Haystack, the rest of the kids slowly nodded, “And he’s a hero, right?”
“Doesn’t look like a hero,” said the girl.
“He is in these,” said Haystack, holding up one his comic books.
“No one reads those, ya nerd,” said the red-headed kid.
“Beep-beep, Richie,” said the one standing next to him.
The entire group stood around, staring at each other.
“I came to look after some missing kids,” said Hellboy, pulling out the poster, “I promise I’m not here to hurt you.”
The one they called Bill’s eyes widened a bit, but he managed to regain his composure.
“Wh-wh-wh-why should trust you?” he stammered.
“Tell use something the real Hellboy would know!” said the shortest kid.
“And how the hell would we know if he’s telling the truth?” demanded Richie.
“Well, let’s see,” said Hellboy, “I was summoned here by an evil Russian wizard back in the 40’s to bring about doom to all mankind. But now I work for a secret government agency designed to hunt down monsters.
Silence from the group. They all turned slowly to Haystack, whose name was actually Ben. He shrugged.
“That what it says in the comic,” he said, “Besides, I believe that as much as anything else I’ve seen this summer.”
The group exchanged an uneasy glance.
“Fine,” said the girl, named Beverely, “Let’s say we believe you, then what?”
“Then,” said Hellboy, “I need to know about why these kids are going missing.”
“You won’t believe us,” said the shortest kid, named Eddie. Hellboy grinned.
“Try me,” he said, “After that crazy shit I saw in Mexico a few years back, well what I remember...not to mention everything in Eygpt with that giant dog…”
He stopped, noticing the kids staring.
“Well, go on,” said Hellboy, sitting on a nearby stump, “Let’s hear the story.”
So they told him, everything they knew about IT.
As they finished, Hellboy pulled a small radio from his belt, raising the BRPD.
“Abe, we’ve got a problem. Yeah, I need you to look up anything that you can on a clown...no I said clown...clown dammit!”
From deep within the quarry a pair of silver-dollar eyes studied the group carefully.
“Anung Un Rama,” said a strange voice, like a whistling groan of a tiger, “You’ve come to play.”
So Hellboy is investigating and has the Losers Club (from the 50's) to try and stop Pennywise. Can he?