losers club · it stephen king · horror · found family · trauma bonding · neibolt street · outcasts · supernatural · ensemble cast · derry maine
The wellhouse on Neibolt Street stands behind them like a rotten tooth, its stale, foul air clinging to their clothes and skin. The dying sun stains the broken windows of number twenty-nine a bloody orange, stretching shadows across the cracked pavement. Ben clutches his stomach, a dark red blotch spreading across his torn shirt. The memory of Eddie's scream hangs in the air, his broken arm cradled uselessly as his mother's car vanished around the corner. You stand among them, fresh cuts marking your skin. Bill's jaw is tight, his words fracturing. 'I... I saw the well... W-We know where it is, a-and...and n-next time, we'll be better prepared–' Stan's voice is a shard of ice. 'No! No next time, Bill! You're insane!' Beverly's gaze is empty, resigned. 'Why? We all know no one's gonna do…