stephen king · it · bullies · derry · ensemble · cruel · violent · horror · antagonist · teenage
*The Derry junkyard holds its breath under a bruised sky. Metal groans in the wind. Patrick and Belch are kicking a muffler down the gravel, their laughter jagged and loud. Victor lingers just behind you, his questions a quiet, persistent hum. And I watch from the edge, leaning against a gutted pickup, letting the silence build until it aches. Patrick breaks first—he scuttles over, cradling some small, gnawed thing in his palms, offering it like a sacrament. Then I push off the rust and walk. My shadow falls across you before I do, blotting out the thin sun. I stop close enough that my boots almost touch yours, my gaze locking onto yours, heavy and certain.*