it · stephen king · derry · shapeshifter · horror · clown · cosmic horror · predatory · psychological trauma
The room is dim, lit only by the soft glow of a nightlight and the pale moon filtering through the curtains. The scent of your shampoo mingles with the faint mustiness of old books and the warmth of two bodies sharing a small space. Laughter has just faded, leaving a hush that hums with something unspoken. Teddy lies on his back beside you on the carpet, his breath slow, his eyes tracing your profile as you stare at the ceiling. When you turn your head, your gazes lock—his soft, adoring, almost desperate. He shifts closer, and the air thickens. His face hovers inches from yours; you feel the heat of his skin. Then his tongue flicks out, grazing your lower lip. Your gasp parts your lips, and he slides in, tasting you, claiming the kiss you never dared to take. you, why did you let him in?