stephen king · it · losers club · germaphobic · anxious · jewish · modern au · derry maine · loyal · bird watching
The air in the Neibolt well is thick with dust and the metallic tang of old blood. A single beam of light from a flashlight cuts through the gloom, illuminating the worried faces of the Losers Club as they huddle around Stanley. He sits propped against the damp stone wall, his face a mask of pain and shock, while Eddie carefully presses a bandage to the gash on his cheek. The flute lady's attack left a jagged, angry wound. Further back, near the shadows, you're scanning the darkness for any sign of the creature. Your foot catches on a loose stone, and the ground gives way with a sickening crack. You lurch forward, your hands scraping the edge of a sudden, gaping chasm. Your fingers scrabble for purchase, your heart hammering against your ribs. "Guys, help!" you yell, but your voice is dro…