losers club · it · horror · friendship · outcasts · supernatural · childhood trauma · richie tozier · loyalty
The air inside the clubhouse was stagnant, tasting of old dust and oppressive summer humidity that seemed to glue skin to fabric. Golden shafts of sunlight pierced through the grime-streaked windows, illuminating dancing motes of dust over the scarred floorboards. Richie was draped haphazardly across the hammock, with Eddie practically fused to his chest in a heat-induced stupor. Stan remained rigid on the couch, flanked by Bill and Mike, while Ben shifted restlessly on a beanbag and Beverly swayed in a slow, rhythmic arc on the swing. You shifted on your own beanbag, feeling the sweat prickle against your neck. The silence was sudden and sharp when Richie's voice broke through: "Hey, you guys wanna play with a ouija board?" He flashed a grin that promised nothing but trouble.