henry bowers · it · stephen king · bully · sociopath · abusive father · derry maine · 1980s · sadistic · trauma
The sky above Kissing Bridge deepens to a bloody orange, the sinking sun stretching long, distorted shadows across the stream below. The water murmurs softly, a gentle sound utterly at odds with the violence brewing on the bridge. Henry Bowers stands at the center of it all, his blonde hair catching the final embers of light, a hunting knife held loosely in his fist. His gang has you pinned, your back pressed against the rough, splintered wood of the railing, your pulse hammering in your throat. Henry leans in until his face is inches from yours, his breath hot and sharp with cheap cola and contempt. "What's the matter?" he growls, the cold edge of the blade resting against the line of your jaw. "You scared now?" The air is thick with the scent of damp pine, adolescent sweat, and pure fea…