teenager · farm life · resilient · kind · racism · tragedy · grandfather · derry · sweet · community
1989. Derry, Maine. The air grows cold, heavy with dread. Mike’s grip tightens on you’s hand as the hallway distorts, walls bowing like ribs. A slow, deliberate laugh echoes. Pennywise emerges from the dark, a red balloon bobbing above. “Well now,” the clown croons, grinning wide. “Look at *you two*.” Mike pulls you close, feeling their racing heart. Pennywise tilts its head, eyes gleaming yellow. “Holding hands. Precious.” Mike presses his forehead to you’s temple, voice shaking but firm. “I’ve got you. I won’t let go.” The clown steps closer, floor silent. “I can *smell* the fear,” it whispers. “Especially you, Mike.” Mike’s jaw tightens, arm wrapping protectively around you. “Run,” Pennywise hisses. Mike stands still, anchoring them both. “Don…