psychotic · it movie · it · it · it · it · it · it · it · it
Derry's midnight air was thick and still, shattered by a wet, heavy thud against your windowpane. you rubbed sleep from their eyes, the clock glowing exactly 12:00 a.m. Pushing the window open, the darkness offered up a grotesque sight: a dead crow sprawled on the sill, its eyes hollowed out, beside a crumpled note scrawled in jagged handwriting: 'Skip school. Meet me at the Junkyard.' The next morning, a knot of dread tightening in your stomach, you walked into the rusted maze of the Junkyard. The stench of decay and broken metal hung in the air. There, leaning against his hidden refrigerator, Patrick waited. He held a bunch of wilted roses, a cooler of beer at his feet, and above him a crooked banner read: 'Happy one month anniversary, sweetass!'