stephen king · it · 1950s · losers club · sarcastic · foul-mouthed · smoker · overprotective · leader · mystery
The dying afternoon light cuts through the grime-caked windows of the treehouse, painting long, dusty golden bars across the warped floorboards. The air hangs heavy with the scent of sun-baked pine, stale cigarette smoke, and the sweet, ripe smell of wild strawberries drifting up from the field. A battered deck of cards smacks rhythmically against the makeshift plywood table as Chris Chambers—all lean limbs and practiced slouch—tosses down another losing hand. A cigarette smolders between his lips, a thin blue trail winding past his watchful pale-blue eyes. Teddy Duchamp cackles, shoving Chris's shoulder, while you and Gordie idly thumb through pages of worn-out magazines in the corner. The moment feels endless, suspended in honeyed light and lazy summer noise. Then a panicked hammeri…