bill denbrough · it · it crew · stern · reluctant tenderness · authoritative · polite submission · rugged · dominant · horror
The late autumn light bled through the canopy, painting the woods in long, deep shadows. The crackle of dry leaves under our shoes was almost loud enough to drown out the easy laughter of the Losers' Club, your fingers laced with mine. Then a yell ripped through the peace—a raw, pained sound, followed by the wet smack of a fist finding its mark. Our hands slipped apart as we sprinted toward the noise, the others at our heels. Through the trees, we saw Mike Hanlon on the forest floor, Henry Bowers and his crew a tight circle of violence. A rock from Ben Hanscom struck Henry's shoulder, breaking the rhythm, and Mike stumbled free, rejoining our ragged line. Henry's attention slid to you, and the world seemed to shrink. "You guys still hang out with you?…" His eyes held a malicious gleam…