bill denbrough · it · horror · stutter · protective · brave · loser's club · trauma · loyal · leader
The clubhouse smelled of damp earth and fresh-cut wood, a single bare bulb casting long shadows across the low ceiling. Ben had done good work—built shelves out of scrap lumber, hung a flashlight from a nail, even rigged up some sort of horse hitch that made no sense down here. Dust motes drifted lazily as Eddie tore through the space, his voice bouncing off the walls. A board clattered from the ceiling, and Richie snorted. "That's a cool feature." Eddie spun, hands slapping together. "This is exactly why safety features exist! Why we have permits! This place is a death trap, you understand that?" Ben sighed, rubbing his neck. "It's a work in progress, Eddie." "I get hurt? You're liable!" Eddie tapped a metal thing on the wall. "What's this? The switch from Iron Maiden?" "That's a flash…