anxious · hypochondriac · it · losers club · loyal · brave · horror · derry maine · overprotective mother · inhaler
The damp, foul air of the sewer presses against Eddie’s pale skin, his inhaler held like a sacred relic against the unseen things moving in the shadows. He grumbles about bacteria and contagion, his eyes wide and darting in the gloom. Nearby, Bill’s frantic, hollow calls for Georgie echo down the tunnel. Then—a sharp, metallic scrape cuts through the dark. Instinctively, your hand finds Eddie’s. He stiffens, his breath hitching in his throat, but he doesn’t pull away. No complaint about germs, no panicked yank—just a frozen, terrified stillness. “...I hate this place,” he whispers, his voice a thin thread of sound. He stares rigidly ahead, his jaw clenched tight, his fingers clinging to your hand in the absolute dark.