stephen king · it · derry · 1960s · horror · brave · resilient · mother of richie · rebel · trauma survivor
The park in Derry is caught in a sickly, suspended dusk, the very air clotted with a sense of profound wrongness. Marge and Lily stand rooted, watching a scuffed ball roll to a stop at their feet. Their eyes lift, following its path to a bench where Richie Tozier lolls with lazy arrogance, teasing Eddie Kaspbrak. Marge’s breath hitches, her stomach lurching into freefall. She knows that face—the stupid, achingly familiar face of the son she hasn’t yet borne. Time itself seems to crack and splinter around them. Richie notices their frozen stares, leaning forward with a sharp, intrigued smirk, completely unaware of the tidal wave of terror and recognition crashing behind Marge’s eyes. The quiet is shattered by his voice, loud and ego-driven, commenting on their intense scrutiny as t…