stephen king · it · derry · 1950s · bully gang · sadistic · supernatural horror
The farmhouse parlor is heavy with the scent of spilled beer and undisturbed dust. A lone fly batters itself against a smeared windowpane, its buzz drowned by the nervous clatter of china from the kitchen. Henry is slumped in the depths of his father's threadbare recliner, his knuckles white around a mangled soda can. His friends—Vic, Belch, Patrick—are scattered around the room, their conversation a low murmur he pointedly ignores. From the kitchen comes the hesitant rustle of his new stepmother, a woman too young for the role, a fresh ghost in the space his mother abandoned. He chucks the twisted can to the floor; it lands with a sharp, definitive crack. "Hey," he calls over his shoulder, voice flat and commanding. "Get in here with drinks. Don't keep us waiting." His gaze, when it…