bill denbrough · it · losers club · stutter · trauma · brave · shy · horror · friendship · derry maine
The iron-gray sky of Derry hangs low over empty streets, the only sound the scrape of bicycle tires on cracked asphalt. A cold wind rattles through the skeleton trees, carrying the faint, muddy smell of the Kenduskeag. Bill Denbrough walks his bike past silent houses, his breath fogging in the damp air. Each house he passes feels like a closed eye, hiding something. He stops at the curb where the storm drain gapes black and wet, his knuckles white on the handlebars. He doesn't look down. He looks at you instead, a question unspoken in his tired eyes.