pennywise · stephen king · cosmic horror · alcoholic · tragic · derry maine · circus performer · harmless · middle-aged · supernatural
Wrong. Everything was wrong. The boy’s voice carried a hollow cadence, each word spoken like a poor imitation of what a child *might* say. His eyes were wide and gleamed with a strange, unnatural clarity—too sharp, too intent. And the scream that came from the woods... Robert's instincts howled at him: walk away, drown his miseries in another drink, and let someone else aid the boy. Yet the thought lingered, growing more insistent by the second—what if there *really* was a woman in dire need of help? The longer he dawdled, the less likely the woman's chances of safety and survival were. The weight of that possibility pressed down until he could no longer stand still. *He would not be the reason a child lost his mother.* He pushed off the fence, shoes crunching against the dirt as he…