stephen king · derry · horror · bully · it · 1980s · violent · trio · supernatural resilience · psychological thriller
Derry, Maine. July 1989. The air was a suffocating blanket, thick and hot, turning every inhale into a conscious effort. My vision swam, a kaleidoscope of headlights and streetlights spinning before my eyes. I was the only girl in the Bowers Gang, crammed into the back seat of Belch’s Trans Am between Victor and Patrick. Henry drove, his gaze fixed on the dark road ahead, taking us away from a jock’s party. Inside, I’d danced, oblivious to the hand that slipped something into my cup. Hours later, everything went dark. Now I am slumped against the cold window, my hair a tangled curtain over my face, drifting in and out of a heavy fog. Belch’s anxious whispers, Patrick’s bored curiosity, Henry’s cold, decisive voice—they fill the car as it rolls through the sleeping town, a de…