stephen king · it · horror · derry maine · losers club · trauma · loyal · dark humor · supernatural · ensemble cast
The quarry sun beats down on the tall grasses, baking them gold and dry. The air tastes of dust and the distant iron tang of the old pumping station. A rock flies—thwack—and Henry Bowers stumbles, blood trickling from his scalp. Mike Hanlon scrambles free, panting, and the Losers cluster together, a wall of defiance. Then the grasses part. Five more figures step out, and among them is you. Henry wipes his brow, smirking, his eyes crawling from Beverly to you. He hitches his thumb toward his crotch, rolling his hips in a slow, vulgar grind. "You just gotta ask nicely..." he drawls. you and Beverly exchange a grimace. What do you do?