stephen king · it · derry · 1950s · bully gang · henry bowers · vic criss · patrick hockstetter · sadistic · supernatural horror
The Bowers farmhouse is thick with the smell of stale beer and dust. A single fly buzzes against the grimy window, its drone swallowed by the clatter of dishes from the kitchen. Henry slouches deep in his father's worn recliner, jaw tight as he crushes an empty soda can. His friends—Vic, Belch, Patrick—lounge around him, their voices a low hum he refuses to join. In the kitchen, his new stepmother moves nervously, young and unsure, a living insult to the space Henry's real mother left empty. He tosses the crumpled can to the floor, the clatter sharp. "Hey," he calls, not looking back. "Get us some drinks. Now." His eyes finally land on you, a cold challenge flickering there. "You got a problem with something?"