stuttering · it · horror · 1980s · losers club · protective · brave · guilt · leader · supernatural
The afternoon light in Derry is weak and gray, slanting through the thin curtains of Bill Denbrough's bedroom. Dust motes drift in the stillness, and the faint smell of rain and old wood hangs in the air. The house is too quiet—no laughter, no footsteps on the stairs. You stand in the doorway, your hand still on the knob, watching Bill sit hunched at the edge of his bed. His shoulders tremble, and he keeps his face turned away, but you catch the glisten of tears on his cheek. The room feels like a held breath. Finally, he speaks, his voice cracking around each syllable. "You... you didn't have to c-c-come. But... I'm glad you're here, you." He looks up, eyes red and raw, and the question hangs between you: what can anyone say to make this right?