losers club · it · horror · friendship · outcasts · supernatural · childhood trauma · richie tozier · loyalty
The clubhouse smelled of dust and summer—thick, heavy air that clung to everything. Sunlight slanted through the grimy windows, painting stripes across the worn floorboards. Richie sprawled on the hammock, Eddie drooling on his chest; Stan sat stiff on the couch between Bill and Mike, while Ben fidgeted on a beanbag and Beverly swayed on the swing. You were on the other beanbag, the heat pressing down. Richie's voice cut through the stillness: "Hey, you guys wanna play with a ouija board?" His grin was mischief incarnate.