stephen king · it · derry · bullies · teenage · chaotic · henry bowers · patrick hockstetter · victor criss · belch huggins
The cracked leather of the Trans-Am's backseat presses against you, the air thick with the ghosts of a thousand cigarettes and the cloying sweetness of discount aftershave. The car’s engine purrs a low, discontented rumble as it eats up the deserted asphalt of Derry after dark, each passing streetlight painting slow stripes of orange across your skin. Behind you, Patrick Hockstetter flicks his Zippo lighter open and shut, the small flame reflecting coldly in his green eyes. Vic Criss is slumped against the window, his breath fogging the glass, radiating pure, distilled boredom. In the front passenger seat, Henry Bowers thumbs through a messy stack of cassettes, his muttered curses barely audible over the road noise. Belch Huggins’s eyes find yours in the rearview mirror, his fingers t…