Chapter Text
As soon as the bell rang, it was as though a bomb had been set off. Bill jumped from his seat, backpack already slung over his shoulder, making a beeline for the door. His long legs and the proximity of his desk to the exit of the classroom made escape easy, getting out first, breathing a sigh of relief as he started down the hallway.
The halls weren’t completely empty, though. Somehow, ahead of him, a painfully tall and lanky kid had managed to make it out faster than he had. Bill would have recognized the wild mess of dark curls anywhere, jogging a little to catch up with him.
“R-Richie!”
“Big Bill!” Richie turned and beamed, slinging an arm around Bill’s shoulders. As teenage boys do, Bill had spent the past school year shooting up like a weed. His growth spurt had been nothing compared to Richie’s though, and the sixteen year old was now laden with limbs longer than he knew what to do with. He was taller than Bill, barely taller than Stan, and much taller than Eddie--nearly everyone was taller than Eddie--but still insisted on calling him “Big Bill”. Bill figured it would be strange if he didn’t.
“Have you seen the others yet?” Richie asked, raising his voice a bit as the racket increased with the number of students around them. Bill shook his head, but he wasn’t concerned. They would all be meeting up in the parking lot anyway, almost out through the front of the building when a classroom door opened on Richie's other side and none other than Stanley Uris stepped out. Richie jumped him almost immediately.
“Stanley the Manly!” He tucked Stan under his other arm with a bit more difficulty, Stan immediately ducking under the reaching limb to get away. He tried to look annoyed but didn't quite succeed, his lips quirked upwards the smallest bit, his smile only growing when Bill grinned in greeting.
“Eddie?” Stan asked, and both of them shook their heads.
“Probably got trampled by some freshmen in the science hallway.” Richie said. “It wouldn't take much to squash him.” Then he flung his arms wide dramatically as the three of them stepped through the school's double doors, his eyes going even bigger behind his coke-bottle glasses. “Welcome gentlemen, to the most amazing summer of our fucking lives!”
The appearance outside was incredibly lackluster, even more so after Richie's grandiose introduction. The sky was dark grey and grumbling, heavy clouds hanging low over their heads as if threatening to open up on them. The uncharacteristically stormy weather spanned away in all directions and out of sight, looking as though it not only covered all of Derry, but the entire state of Maine, too.
“Yeah.” Stan remarked dryly, Bill snorting in laughter. “Looks great.”
Richie promptly flipped him off, looking out across the parking lot. Bill followed his gaze and spotted Eddie, already standing by his secondhand Audi Quattro and fumbling around with something in his backpack.
“Eds!” Richie exclaimed, bounding to him like an over-excited puppy. Eddie smiled when he saw him, the expression turning as Richie reached out to his face, trying to get at his cheeks with both hands. Eddie anticipated the move though, and was batting Richie's grabby fingers away from him for the sixth time when Bill and Stan walked up too.
“How’d you g-g-get out here so fast?” Bill asked.
“Mr. Clarke let us out early.” Eddie said. “I told you guys he wasn’t lame.”
“He teaches Physics.” Richie countered. “That makes him lame by default. Oh no, don't look.”
He pointed as the words came out of his mouth so naturally, all of them glanced over. A fragile looking woman was standing across the street, flanked by police officers and holding a pink handkerchief so tightly that her knuckles were white. Her eyes and nose were red, and she was scanning the crowd of ecstatic kids with desperate eyes.
“Betty Ripsom’s mom.” Stan remarked grimly. “Does she really expect to see her coming out of the school?”
“As if she's been hiding in Home Ec for the past week.” Eddie said, sighing. “She's the third kid in three weeks to go missing; do you think the police will actually find her?”
“Sure.” Richie finally managed to get a pinch on Eddie's cheek, only to have his hand slapped away. “In a ditch, all decomposed and covered in worms and maggots and stuff.”
“D-d-don’t say that.” Bill reprimanded, but Richie wasn't paying attention anymore. There was a black car parked a few spaces away. It was blocked from view by one of the unused school buses, and Bill wouldn’t have seen it if not for where they’d been standing. It almost seemed inconspicuous, but the sight of it sent fear churning through Bill's stomach. He'd thought this was over, that this bullshit had ended now. Stan's eyes were wide, and Eddie cursed softly.
Richie however, walked straight up to the vehicle and kicked the front left tire.
“What the fuck is Bowers doing here?” He asked, squinting through his glasses as he looked over the convertible. “Shouldn’t he be taking McDonald's orders so he can save up enough money for a hot night with Eddie’s mom?”
“At least my mom’s more expensive than your sister.” Eddie shot back. “You should get away before they come back from wherever the hell they went. We should just go home.”
Richie disregarded him, pulling off his backpack and setting it on the hood. It clunked heavily, and Stan winced at the sound.
“What the fuck do you have in there?” He asked.
“Exactly what we need, my good fellows!” Richie exclaimed grandly. His British accent had barely improved at all over the years, but he still did it anyway. “I came prepared to do some dumb shit today, and this opportunity just presented itself on a silver platter.”
“Woke up wanting to do dumb shit? You are an unbelievable human being.” Eddie was so incredulous that Bill wasn't sure he noticed that he was walking closer to Richie, and by extension, Henry Bowers’s car. “I honestly--what the fuck is that?”
Richie pulled two oversized bags of gummy bears and four tubes of toothpaste out of his backpack.
“C’mon!” He insisted. “Let's fuck up his car!” He ripped open a bag, stuffing the colorful candy in his mouth.
“This really is a terrible idea.” Stan said, Bill about to agree when Richie spit wet, sticky gummy bears all over Bowers's windshield. The candy stuck instantly, the gusting wind drying them out and cementing them to where they had landed. Richie laughed wildly, Eddie shrieking in revulsion and jumping back.
“You are disgusting! You are so, so--”
“Come on Eds! You don't have to do the gummy bears. The toothpaste was for the seats, but I think you should squeeze it all over the steering wheel.”
Eddie yelled in protest again as Richie uncapped one of the large tubes and shoved it into his hands. Stan glanced over at Bill.
“Are we engaging in this stupidity?” He asked. Bill felt conflicted. He didn't consider himself or his friends troublemakers, per se. Sure, they weren't completely straight-laced, but they did well in school, and weren’t thieves or vandals or anything else adults thought of them when seeing a group of teenage boys walking around town.
On the other hand, Henry Bowers and his group of goons had made their lives hell all through high school, and despite having graduated by some miracle, still beat on them when opportunity arose.
“I… We’ll be dead if B-B-Bowers finds out.”
A small smile grew on Stan's face, sensing Bill's reluctance to decline outright.
“But…?” He asked.
“B-but I kinda want to.”
Grabbing him by the arm, Stan pulled him over to the black convertible. They took a tube of toothpaste each, Bill filling his mouth with gummy bears next to Richie, unable not to laugh as he spit them against the window.
Ben figured that it would come back to bite him when he'd decided to report seeing Belch Huggins stealing from the convenience store. He just didn't think it would bite him this badly.
“You wanna tattle to my father, you fat fuck?”
Bowers was yelling in his face behind the Gym building. He'd already been knocked off his feet, the heels of his palms scraped up and stinging. Then something hard hit the back of his head--a kick, he thought dimly--putting all of his energy into keeping his face from also smacking into the pavement. He was yanked up by the back of his shirt and flipped over by Huggins, a punch to the side of his head making his ears ring and knocking him onto his back. Bowers grabbed at him.
“You should feel honored, tits. We drove all the way down here just for you.” Spit sprayed down on Ben's face, and he tried to shrink away, but Bowers’s grip on him was vice-like and rough. “And we're not leaving until we're satisfied.”
“Is that a family motto, or does it only apply to you? Otherwise you'd still be in the back of your sister's car.”
Ben felt his mouth fall open as the rest of the Bowers gang turned around. Behind the hulking bullies stood Beverly Marsh, her hands curled into fists, her hair a flash of fire blazing almost as bright as her eyes. Before any of them could recover she’d run past the bullies, yanked Ben to his feet, and they ran.
Ben couldn’t help himself, staring at her. Her red hair was pulled into a low ponytail, streaks of it curling around her neck and cheek when she glanced over to beam at him. He could feel his face heating up, and knew it wasn’t just the adrenaline. Thankfully, he wasn’t the one that tripped for not looking where he was going; it was Beverly, and he grabbed her by the arm to keep her on her feet. He apologized, she thanked him, then grabbed his hand.
The Bowers gang were taller, older, and faster than them, the two of them just barely having turned to see the front of the school when a pair of hands met Ben’s back in a hard shove. He tumbled over himself onto the grass, Beverly landing hard next to him a second later. Bowers loomed over Beverly, Ben working hard to get his feet under him, fully prepared to launch himself in Henry’s direction.
“Listen up, you fucking slut--”
“Hey! You shits!”
Henry’s threat was cut off by Victor Criss’s shrill shout off towards the direction of the parking lot. They all looked up, Henry letting out an anguished yell. There was a group of kids around Henry Bowers’s car, all of whom Ben recognized from an assortment of different classes. There were gummy bears covering all of the windows and mirrors, a boy in a Hawaiian shirt and jeans having climbed onto the hood to reach the very top of the windshield. The other three were holding what looked like tubes of toothpaste, emptying them onto the car seats. At Henry’s outcry they froze and looked up, and all of them looked afraid except for the one standing on the car, who stuck up double middle fingers.
“I’m gonna kill you fucking fags!” Bowers yelled, and Ben and Beverly were promptly forgotten as the gang streaked across the lawn, the group of troublemakers scattering. Ben glanced over at Beverly, who glanced back before falling flat on her back, laughing. As the adrenaline faded, Ben began laughing back.
“We should go get our stuff.” Beverly said, pulling herself onto her feet and offering down a hand to help Ben. He accepted, and they began walking back behind the Gym.
“Wanna sign my yearbook?” Ben asked her, and she smiled.
“Fuck!” Stan hissed, and they all sprang from Bowers’s car as though it were on fire. Bill grabbed Stan around the wrist and pulled him towards his mother’s Volkswagen, hopping in and slamming the doors. Eddie grabbed Richie by the front of his tank top--the boy was still throwing up middle fingers and laughing--shoving him into his car and starting the engine. The Bowers gang were getting into their own car, which came with a whole new plethora of slurred curses when they found the monumental amount of toothpaste covering the seats and steering wheel.
Thankfully though, they only had one car. The three vehicles sped from the parking lot, and with Richie having taken his Hawaiian shirt off, spinning it wildly over his head as he yelled insults out the window (and an equally loud but much higher-pitched Eddie screaming at him to shut the fuck up) Bill wasn’t too surprised when it was their car that the gang decided to follow. As Bill turned the corner in the direction of Stan’s house Eddie’s car sped past them, with Bowers fast on his tailpipe. Stan fell back into the passenger seat, laughing.
“Not a bad first day of summer after all.” He remarked, and Bill had to grin back. He eased up on the gas, realizing that the adrenaline had him going nearly fifty in the neighborhood where anything above twenty-five was speeding.
“W-we should c-c-call them later, and make sure they d-didn’t get killed.” Bill said, Stan nodding in agreement.
“I’ll do it. You’ll probably have your hands full.”
“Thanks.”
Stan was right, Bill not remembering until his friend said so. His father had a work event tonight, and with his mother at home sick with some sort of nasty nausea-inducing head cold, it was his job to make dinner and take care of Georgie. He was used to babysitting his brother by now, but it always took up a large amount of his concentration anyways.
The rain had begun by the time Bill dropped Stan off. The drops were so heavy that by the time Stan had made it to his front door, his curls had deflated considerably. He still stopped and turned, thanking Bill for the ride. Smiling and waving, Bill waited until Stan was safely inside his house before turning in the direction of his own home.
Georgie was already there, the elementary school letting out earlier than the high school did, the bus dropping him off around the corner. Bill walked up, ruffling his hair. Georgie was hunched over a piece of paper with a pencil and a handful of crayons.
“W-what’s up Georgie?” Bill asked him, setting his backpack down on one of the table chairs.
“Making Mommy a card!” He declared proudly. “She's taking a nap. I wanna help her feel better.”
“Well t-t-that’s very nice of you.” Bill said, Georgie beaming at the praise. “I'm sure it will help.” He moved to go put his stuff in his room, peeking his head into his parents’ bedroom first to tell his mother he was home. As Georgie had said though, his mother was asleep, three types of medication on the bedside table and a trashcan overflowing with tissues next to the bed. He dumped his backpack onto his own bed before creeping quietly in and emptying the trash for her.
“Billy? How do you spell ‘beautiful’?” Georgie called, and while the question was endearing, Bill wanted desperately to hush him. His mother opened her eyes.
“I’m home.” He told her. “S-sorry.”
She gave him a small smile. “No, it’s alright; I need more meds anyways. There’s a can of soup that I put out on the kitchen counter earlier, you could make that and a few grilled cheese sandwiches for yourself and Georgie tonight, okay? The can has directions on the back.”
“Yeah, s-s-sounds great Mom.”
“Billy?” Georgie called again. He’d begun wandering the house, so Bill gave his mother another smile before slipping out, closing the door behind himself.
The rainfall grew heavier and heavier as the afternoon passed, Georgie becoming increasingly restless and upset about being cooped up inside.
“Y-you could make another card.” Bill proposed. “Or something else out of p-p-paper. Stan taught you how to make that frog once, do you remember?”
Georgie's face screwed up in thought before seemingly struck with inspiration. He returned only a couple of minutes later, a clumsily folded paper boat in hand.
“Could I go outside and sail it? Please Bill?”
Georgie's eyes were big, brown, and pleading, and Bill felt his heart melt out of his chest. He considered it for a moment. Georgie was nearly ten years old; he could take care of himself. He nodded.
“Go get the wax, so it’ll float. You’ll have to put on your rainc-c-coat and your boots too.”
Georgie beamed at him. It took only fifteen minutes for him to be completely ready to go, the S.S. Georgie held tightly in his hand, his walkie-talkie strapped safely on the waistband of his jeans, under the coat to protect it from the rain.
“Don’t go too far, okay?” Bill told him seriously. “Stay close by. Don’t b-be out too long either.”
“I’ll be fine, Billy.” Georgie promised. After a quick hug, Georgie was out in the rain, waving brightly at Bill through the living room window before splashing off down the sidewalk. Bill resisted the urge to go after him and call him back in as a sudden, unsettling feeling wrenching at his stomach. He tried to shake it off, walking back to the kitchen to start on dinner. He was being dumb, he told himself. Maybe he was just getting sick too.
Stan curled up a little tighter in his seat, leaning more heavily on the arm of the couch to his left and tucking his feet under himself. It was perfect weather for curling up with a warm drink and a good book, and that’s exactly what Stan was doing, The Hobbit propped open on his lap. The sun had set over an hour ago, as well as the end of dinner. Their phone rang, Stan simply looking at it for a moment, unwilling to move. Luckily, he didn’t have to. His dad entered the living room a moment later, picking up the receiver.
“Hello? Oh, good evening Sharon.”
Sharon. Bill’s mom. Stan sat still, listening.
“Georgie? No, he didn’t come by. He couldn’t make it this far in this weather, could he? When was the last time you saw him?”
Donald Uris’s brow furrowed in a deep frown of concern. Stan felt sick to his stomach. The Denbroughs couldn’t find Georgie?
“Have you called the police? He might be in the store down the street, or at a neighbor’s house for shelter; the rain has gotten worse since this afternoon. Of course we’ll help you. Andrea, Stanley, and I will be there as soon as we can.”
Stan was already on his feet when his father hung up the phone.
“What's going on?” He asked. His father looked solemn.
“Georgie went out to play in the rain before dinner, and he hasn't come home yet. The police have been called, and the Denbroughs have a search party going. Get your shoes on, and grab a coat.”
Nodding, Stan ran upstairs. Upon his questioning, his father admitted that he didn't know if the Toziers or the Kaspbraks had also been called.
“Eddie and Richie will want to know, Dad. They'll want to help. Could I go get them?”
After a moment of consideration, his father nodded.
“Fine. But hurry.”
Nodding, Stan ran in the direction of Richie's house. He was pink, drenched, and out of breath when he arrived, and it was obvious by Richie's face when he opened the door that he had no idea what was going on.
“Fuck Stanley, is the Boogeyman after you?”
“Georgie is missing.”
Richie's eyes looked impossibly huge behind his glasses, his expression holding an edge of terror that Stan hadn't expected.
“Missing? Like Betty Ripsom missing?”
“Maybe. There's a search party.”
Richie stepped out into the rain immediately, Stan having to shove him back into the house to get shoes and a jacket. They didn't even try knocking on Eddie's door--it was much too late for Mrs. Kaspbrak to consent to Eddie going anywhere--Stan watching as Richie climbed the white, vine-covered trellis to get to Eddie's window. He slipped twice on the wooden structure due to the rainfall before managing to reach up and knock. Eddie looked ready to step back and let Richie in until he saw Stan standing on the ground below, his expression turning to one of confusion.
“Please let me in! I’m about to break my neck out here.”
Eddie let Richie into his room, and the two of them were out of earshot. Richie must have filled Eddie in though, because the two of them climbed down less than five minutes later, Eddie completely waterproof and prepared for every possible disaster. He began listing the things he packed as they went to Bill's, counting on his fingers.
“I have extra batteries and extra flashlights, a towel, a blanket, bandages, one of those small flashlight things you can strap around your head--”
He stopped abruptly when they turned onto Bill's street. The whole neighborhood was out there with flashlights and umbrellas. Bill looked stricken, exhausted and painfully high-strung all at once.
“W-w-w-we already w-went d-d-door to door.” Bill told them when they arrived. He was shaking terribly, soaked to his knees with rainwater. “T-t-to check if h-he went i-i-inside f-from the storm. N-n-now w-we need t-to look around t-t-the neighb-borhood.”
“Okay.” Richie said instantly. His face was dead serious, and Stan didn't like it. “Lead the way.”
They headed down the block, the sound of the raindrops against the hood of Stan's raincoat echoing in his ears. They searched through every bush, under every car, screaming Georgie's name down the street. Lights clicked on as they passed, people staring out at what it was making so much noise so late at night, Stan noticing that the later and later into the night it got, the less the faces looked concerned, annoyance instead in their expressions. Either way, nobody came out to help them.
The rain stopped and the skies cleared just in time for the sun to start making its way back up into the sky. Stan felt painfully weary, but looking over at Bill's wasted expression and dragging feet kept his shoulders straight, trying not to seem too hopeless.
Eddie's eyes were still wide open and his feet were still quick, but his expression looked slightly glazed over and his movements were mechanical. Richie, whose commentary had kept them awake through the night, had fallen mostly silent aside from strange, offhand remarks. He leaned a bit on Eddie as he walked, all of them looking up when he froze in place.
“What, Richie?” Stan asked. They'd gone in a long, large circle, and were only a turn away from Bill's house now. Stan wanted very much for the night to be over; it was unlikely that any of them would be very useful until they got some sleep.
“There's something in the gutter.” He answered, all of them following him to the side of the road. He knelt, reached down, and pulled out a single black rainboot. Bill made a choked sound, snatching the shoe from Richie's hands and staring at it, and Stan could guess who it belonged to. It was Eddie that confirmed it.
“Georgie's?”
Bill nodded, and Stan's stomach clenched.
“We need to take this to your house, or the police, and show them where we found it.” He said. It took some coaxing but they got Bill moving, making it back to his home. The Denbrough parents were still awake, along with Stan's mom, but Stan's father had fallen asleep on the couch. The news of one of the galoshes being found in the sewer stirred up enough activity to wake him, and after being thanked and hugged by both of Bill's parents, Richie, Eddie, and the Urises were sent home to sleep.
“This is fucked up.” Richie said, before they parted ways. Stan and Eddie both nodded, and neither of Stan's parents told him to watch his language. “Want me to walk you home, Spaghetti Man?”
Eddie made a face at the nickname, as though he couldn't believe that Richie still had energy left in his body to annoy him with.
“No. My mom's bound to know I'm gone, and your presence won't help. I'll just… Let her yell at me and hope that's enough.”
Stan shivered. Mrs. Kaspbrak didn't yell, but he still knew what Eddie meant; her sickly sweet, I’m-not-mad-just-disappointed (but-actually-fucking-furious) voice that she used when Eddie didn't do exactly as she told him. He didn't see how his friend could stand it.
“Good luck.” Stan told him, clapping him on the shoulder. “Let us know if you get grounded, or something.”
Eddie promised he would, and after a hair rustle from Richie--Eddie really wished he could grow just a bit taller to be out of the convenient height range for that particular action--he set off in the direction of home. He glanced back at his friends in time to see Richie give Stan a quick hug before also walking off, feeling as surprised as Stan looked by the action.
Eddie had been able to tell the entire night that something was wrong with Richie. Something was off. Richie was more into physical contact than Bill or Stan were, but tonight had been on another level. He’d been even touchier than usual, his body brushing against Eddie's shoulder, or inexplicably running his fingers down Eddie's arm or back; everything short of actually just holding his hand. Richie's touchy hands had the potential to annoy him--on usual days when Richie was pinching his cheeks or tugging at his belt loops or something equally idiotic--but it had been comforting tonight.
Which meant Richie wanted comfort. Eddie instantly regretted his declination of Richie's escort offer, but it was too late. Besides, everything he'd postulated was correct; his mother was sitting at the kitchen table when he got home, looking at him over the rims of her glasses, her eyes alight and her nostrils flared.
“Oh?” She stood, a hulking mass preventing him from entering the kitchen. Eddie was suddenly reminded of an angry buffalo, a few pawings at the ground away from a charge. “Back from your midnight escapade of fun, are we?”
Her voice was quavering under a mask of calm. Eddie shook his head quickly.
“No, no, it's nothing like that. I'm sorry Mommy. Georgie is missing--you know, Bill's little brother--and there was a search party last night to find him. I had to help.”
“Well? Did you find him?”
“No.”
She didn't seem concerned by the fact that a nine year old child was somewhere, lost and alone. If anything, she looked almost satisfied.
“See? It was pointless then. It's really best you stay at home, Eddie.”
Anger flared in Eddie's stomach. He didn't know what triggered it; maybe it was the lack of sleep in his system, or the vandalization and patronization of the Bowers gang that he'd participated in earlier that day. Either way, Eddie felt his hands curl into fists.
“I was trying to do a good thing.”
“Worrying your mother out of her mind is a good thing? Giving a grieving family false hope is a good thing?” She stepped back suddenly, pointing to a kitchen chair that she'd pulled out and placed in the middle of the tile floor. “Sit.”
“I really just want to go to bed.” Was what Eddie tried to say, his mother's grip demanding as she all but dragged him into the room and pushed him down. She began examining every inch of his skin, her bifocals a magnifying glass.
“I'm fine, Mom. I didn't get hurt.”
“You have a scratch.” She told him, her voice short and matter of fact. She cupped her hand around a stretch of skin on his shin, blocked from Eddie's view as she inspected it. Nothing felt like it hurt, not even when she poured peroxide on his leg and covered the afflicted area with a bandaid, but Eddie figured he was so used to this treatment by now that perhaps he'd grown used to it.
“You can't just have open wounds, Edward. A friend of mine got AIDS--AIDS!--through a hangnail after touching a dirty pole on the subway. You don't want to die, do you?”
Eddie swallowed. “No.” He murmured. He felt a sick jolt of panic at that anecdote, suddenly infinitely glad of the bandage on his leg. He'd walked around the neighborhood for hell knows how long, a rip in his body's natural defenses simply open to the wind for any bacteria to crawl in. Another flash of fear raced up his chest.
Mrs. Kaspbrak smiled. “Good.” Seemingly satisfied, his mother let him up, and he walked up to his bedroom. His brain wanted to worry more about the possibility of having just contracted AIDS or bacteremia or septicemia or something else, but to his immense relief his body won out, physical exhaustion rushing over him as soon as he crawled in bed, sleep soon coming with it.
Mike Hanlon brought his bike to a fast stop, one hand reaching forward to cover the basket on the front. The action was a precautionary habit, but the basket was empty; he was in town to buy medication this time, not to make any deliveries. His grandfather had fallen ill, and while he insisted that he could kick the sickness on his own, Mike wasn’t taking any chances. This illness looked too like the same thing that had taken his grandmother a couple of years back, and he didn’t want it to happen again. It was just himself and his uncle trying to run the farm, and as a result his schooling had more or less ended, Mike being declared his own man now. He wasn’t sure what that meant; he didn’t feel much different.
He’d stopped because something on the brick wall ahead had caught his eye. He peered closer to look at the details--the large, black lettering spelling out “MISSING” had been easy enough to read at a distance.
POLICE DEPARTMENT
CITY OF DERRY
A black and white photograph of a young boy smiled up at Mike, who frowned back.
George Denbrough
The last seen date was two days previous, Mike feeling slightly incredulous. Another kid? He lifted the page to look at the missing poster under it, a girl named Betty Ripsom. Behind her poster was another one, for a girl named Tania McGowan. Mike traveled into town at least once a week, and he felt as though each time he came in there was another child gone, unable not to wonder if anything was actually being done.
Mike didn’t like spending too much time in Derry, putting his bike into motion again. Aside from the bigots he didn’t have time for, the town always gave him a feeling of unease. He liked to think it was simply because of how much of an outsider he felt, but he knew deep down that wasn’t it. His grandfather called the place cursed; his father had always said it housed someone--something--evil. Maybe he just knew the history of the place too well.