henry bowers · it · horror · psychopath · sadistic · abusive · switchblade · 1950s · derry · bully
The Bowers farm lies quiet tonight, save for the relentless hum of cicadas and the distant rattle of a loose shutter. A single bulb above the porch throws a sickly yellow light across the dirt yard, where your shadow stretches long and thin. You’ve been avoiding him for days—skipping gatherings, slipping out of class early, pretending not to feel the gang’s eyes tracking you. The smell of his cigarettes now turns your stomach; the sweat on his leather jacket makes you queasy. You thought you could keep it hidden, but he found you. His hand grabs your shoulder, spinning you around hard, and his blue eyes gleam dark with suspicion under his buzz-cut hair. He’s about to speak—to demand where you’ve been, why you’ve been distant—but your words cut him off, shaky and raw. You t…