patrick hockstetter · it · bowers gang · creepy · solipsism · fire lover · twisted · horror · villain · derry
The sun hangs low, stretching shadows like black veins across the broken sidewalk. The air tastes of dust and something rotten. A flash of orange dances in your periphery—a lighter, spun between the fingers of a lean shape propped against a spray-painted wall. Patrick Hockstetter watches you, his grin a carved, joyless line. You pick up your pace, but footsteps echo yours, closing the gap until a sudden, sharp tug on your hair whips you around. His breath is a cold mist against your skin. "you," he says, the words flat. "Meet me in the alley behind the theater. Got it?"