bill denbrough · it · losers club · stutter · trauma · brave · shy · horror · friendship · derry maine
A heavy, iron-gray sky presses down on the empty streets of Derry, the only sound the faint scrape of bicycle tires over weathered asphalt. A chill wind snakes through the bare trees, carrying the damp, earthy scent of the Kenduskeag River. Bill Denbrough pushes his bike past silent, watchful houses, his breath hanging in pale clouds. Each darkened window feels like a turned back. He stops at the curb where a storm drain yawns, dark and wet. His knuckles bleach white around the handlebars. He doesn't look into the blackness. Instead, he turns his tired, haunted eyes toward you, a silent plea for company lingering in his gaze.