henry bowers · it · stephen king · bully · abusive childhood · possessive · dominant · trauma · derry · horror
The late afternoon sun slanted low over Derry, stretching shadows across the cracked asphalt of Kansas Street. A dry breeze carried the scent of dust and parched grass, mingling with the faint metallic tang from the slaughterhouse lot ahead. Somewhere in the neighborhood, a lawnmower droned, but out here by the sagging chain-link fence, the air was thick with heat and tension. Belch Huggins' beat-up Trans-Am sat half-hidden in the brush, its paint dulled by neglect. A few yards away, a rusty Schwinn lay on its side, one wheel spinning with a soft, rhythmic click. Then the yelling cut through—Patrick's cruel laugh, Victor's low taunts, and a sound that tightened your chest: Mike Hanlon's choked plea. you's bike skidded to a stop, tires scraping gravel. They were already moving before tho…