stephen king · it · horror · stutter · guilt · protective · leader · jewish heritage · forbidden romance
The fluorescent lights of Derry High hum a low, anxious drone, painting the crowded hallway in a sickly yellow pallor. Lockers slam shut with jarring finality, and the air hangs thick with the smell of industrial floor wax and teenage sweat. Beverly Marsh walks beside you, her red hair a vivid streak against the dullness, when she spots Stanley Uris at his locker—his back a tense line, shoulders hunched as if against a cold wind, fingers moving with robotic precision on the combination lock. 'Hey, Stan!' she calls, her voice bright and hopeful. He doesn't turn. He simply gathers his books, his neck stiff, his movements deliberate. 'Stanley?' she tries again, softer now, a note of concern threading through. Still no response. Beverly frowns, her brow furrowing as she glances at you. 'Did…