Richie Tozier's hand slipped around Sarah Thompson's waist as they approached the old Santos house on the outskirts of Derry. The abandoned mansion loomed before them, its paint peeling, windows boarded up, the front yard overgrown with weeds and choked with dead leaves.

"You sure about this, Richie?" Sarah asked, looking up at the dilapidated building with an expression of fear. "It got a bit of a reputation. Haunted, some folks say."

Richie grinned, pulling her close. "Aw, don't tell me a smart girl like you believes in ghosts! Nah, it's just what we need - a little privacy, away from the prying eyes of our parents and the rest of this gossipy little town."

Sarah smiled, rolling her eyes. "Well, when you put it that way..."

They climbed the crumbling steps to the front porch, and Richie tried the door. To their surprise, it swung open with a prolonged creak. Richie waggled his eyebrows at Sarah. "Looks like it was meant to be, babe."

Inside, shafts of light speared down through gaps in the boarded-up windows, illuminating lazy swirls of dust. A musty smell hung in the air, mingled with something else - the faint odor of cigarette smoke. But Richie barely noticed, his attention fixed on Sarah as he pulled her to him, their lips meeting in a deep, hungry kiss.

They stumbled into what had once been the living room, a room that might have been grand decades ago but now stood as a decaying monument to the passage of time. Richie barely registered the faded floral wallpaper, peeling away in long strips, or the worm-eaten furniture scattered haphazardly across the dusty hardwood floor. His senses were filled with Sarah - the warmth of her skin, the sweet scent of her hair, the soft urgency of her lips against his.

They collapsed onto a moth-eaten old sofa, a cloud of dust puffing up around them like the ghostly exhale of the long-dead. Sarah's hands slides under Richie's shirt, her fingers trailing fire across his skin. He groaned into her mouth, his own hands roaming the curves of her body, slipping beneath the hem of her sundress to stroke the smooth expanse of her thighs.

There was a hunger in their kisses, a desperate, clawing need. At that moment, the world outside the Santos house ceased to exist. There was only the two of them, the heat building between them, the press of skin against skin. Richie nipped at Sarah's lower lip, eliciting a breathy moan that sent a jolt of electricity straight to his core.

Sarah tugged impatiently at Richie's shirt, and he broke away just long enough to yank it over his head and toss it aside. Her dress soon followed, puddling on the floor beside the couch. Richie drank in the sight of her, all smooth expanses of skin and delicate lace. He lowered his head to press hot, open-mouthed kisses along the column of her throat, reveling in the way she arched against him, her fingers tangling in his hair.

But then, cutting through the haze of lust like a knife through a scream, came a sound from above. A thump, heavy and deliberate, from the room directly overhead. Richie froze, his lips still pressed against Sarah's racing pulse. She stiffened beneath him, her nails digging into his shoulders.

"What was that?" Her whisper was barely audible, little more than a breath against his ear. But he could hear the fear in it, a cold thread winding through the heat of passion.

Richie swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. "I don't know," he murmured, his own voice sounding strange and distant to his ears. "Probably just the house settling. You know how old places like this are."

Sarah nodded, though her face remained pale. Richie leaned back, studying her carefully. She looked frightened, but there was also a spark of curiosity in her eyes. "Do you want to keep going?" he asked softly.

She hesitated for a moment, biting her lip, before finally giving him a small smile. "Yeah," she whispered. "Just... be careful, okay?"

Richie nodded, and they resumed their frantic, desperate kisses. But the sound upstairs continued - footsteps, the rustle of paper, muffled voices. And every time it happened, Richie felt a shiver run down his spine. He pushed it to the back of his mind, focused on Sarah, on the heat of her skin against his.

But as the afternoon wore on, the noises became louder, more insistent. Richie found himself growing increasingly distracted, unable to shake the feeling that they weren't alone in the house. Finally, he sat up, pulling away from Sarah.

"Hey," he said softly. "Maybe we should go."

Sarah looked up at him, a frown creasing her brow. "What's wrong?"

Richie hesitated for a moment, unsure of how to explain. "I don't know," he admitted. "It just feels... weird, I guess. Like someone else is here with us."

Sarah's frown deepened. "That's crazy, Richie. This place has been abandoned for years. There's no one else here."

Richie shook his head. "I dunno, Sal. I can't shake the feeling that there's someone else here, watching us."

Sarah rolled her eyes. "You're letting your imagination get the best of you. Come on, let's finish what we started, okay?"

Richie sighed, knowing she was right. But still, the hairs on the back of his neck prickled, and he couldn't quite shake the feeling of unease.

They resumed their frantic kissing, their bodies pressing against each other. Richie reached down to cup Sarah's breast, his thumb teasing her nipple, sending a ripple of pleasure through her. But even as he lost himself in the sensation, the sounds upstairs seemed to grow louder, more insistent. He could hear footsteps, the scrape of metal against wood, a low mutter of unintelligible words.

Sarah began to move against him, her hips grinding against his, and Richie closed his eyes, trying to push away the feeling of unease that threatened to intrude on their passion. But it was too late. Something inside him snapped, and he suddenly jerked upright, his eyes wide, his heart pounding.

Sarah stared at him, her eyes wide with confusion and concern. "What's wrong?" she asked.

Richie struggled to find the words, his mind reeling. "I... I think there's someone else in the house," he managed to say.

Sarah shook her head, her voice firm and resolute. "No, Richie. That's just your imagination running wild. There's no one else here."

Richie hesitated for a moment, torn between the pull of desire and the growing sense of unease. Finally, he made his decision. "Okay, fine," he said, his voice tight. "But if I hear anything else, I'm getting us both out of here, understood?"

Sarah gave him a small nod, and they returned to their frenzied embrace. But even as he kissed her, Richie found himself listening intently for any sign of movement. And as the minutes ticked by, he realized with increasing horror that the sounds were getting closer, more distinct.

Finally, he heard the unmistakable creak of footsteps on the stairs leading down to the main floor. He tensed, his heart hammering in his chest. "Sal," he whispered urgently. "We need to leave. Now."

Sarah stared at him, her eyes wide with disbelief. "Are you serious? What do you mean?"

Richie shook his head, struggling to find the words. "I don't know, Sal. But there's someone else here, and they're coming downstairs. We need to get out of here."

Sarah hesitated for a moment, clearly torn between her desire to stay and the growing sense of danger. Finally, she nodded, and they scrambled to their feet, gathering their clothes hastily. But as Richie turned toward the front door, he caught sight of a figure standing at the top of the stairs, staring down at them with a look of utter hatred. The man was tall and gaunt, with wild eyes that gleamed with a dangerous intensity.

He screamed, grabbing Sarah's arm and pulling her toward the exit. But the man moved quickly, blocking their path. Its arms stretched out towards them, grasping tendrils reaching out to ensnare them.

At that moment, Richie knew they were doomed.