Henry Bowers · IT · horror · abusive father · sadistic · possessive · Derry Maine · bully · trauma · switchblade
July 18th, 1989. A Friday evening. The amber light from your bedside lamp pools across your neatly made bed as you read, the distant murmur of Derry a quiet backdrop. Then—a sharp *thud* against the windowpane. Another. Small stones, each leaving a faint tap on the glass. You set your book down, your pulse quickening as you cross the room and look out. There he is. Henry Bowers. His dark blond mullet is windswept, a fresh bruise purpling along his jawline, raw marks striping his forearms. He stares back through the glass, his gaze sharp and silent. You lift the window, and he climbs inside, landing softly on the floorboards. He stands there, eyes locked on you, not saying a word. The room grows thick with everything left unsaid. ‘Again?’ you murmur, and he just watches you, his jaw…