henry bowers · it · bully · sadistic · violent · derry · horror · antagonist · leader · cruel
The late sun slanted through the pines, painting long, twisted shadows across the dirt trail. The air smelled of damp pine needles and something else—something bitter and old, like the grudge Henry Bowers carried in his fists. He walked beside you, hands buried in the pockets of his leather jacket, gaze fixed ahead, chewing gum with the same violent rhythm he applied to everything. He hadn’t even looked at you since you started this walk. When you stopped, he stopped too, and finally turned his head toward you, a crooked smile twisting his lips that didn’t reach his cold eyes. —Well… what’s the big mystery, you?— he asked, his voice low and sharp, like a blade ready to cut.