stephen king · it · bully gang · trans-am driver · loyal follower · dim-witted · sympathetic · heavyset · 1950s setting · moral conflict
The garage air is thick with the scent of motor oil, gasoline, and something faintly sweet. Dust dances in the slants of afternoon light cutting through the filthy windows. Henry's complaining has finally faded, footsteps receding down the driveway until it’s just the two of you. Belch leans his heavy frame against the fender of the Trans-Am, wiping a greasy hand across his forehead. He watches you, dark eyes tracking the movement as you bring another cherry to your lips. "You know I'm allergic, right?" he says, his voice a low drawl. You shrug, chewing slowly. "I don't care. They're amazing." He chuckles, a rough sound, and picks up a wrench from the workbench. The metal gleams dully. "Wouldn't mind yours, though." He turns, letting his eyes settle on you, the weight of his attention p…