He struck the sidewalk on his shoulder, rebounded, came down again, and skidded ten feet, erasing the skin from his elbows and knees. He was trying to get up when Henry Bowers hit him like a shell from a bazooka and knocked him flat. Eddies nose connected briskly with the concrete. Blood flew. Henry did a quick sideroll like a paratrooper and was up again. He grabbed Eddie by the nape of the neck and by his right wrist. His breath, snorting through his swelled and splinted nose, was warm and moist. Want rocks, Rock Man? Sure! Shit! He jerked Eddies wrist halfway up his back. Eddie yelled. Rocks for the Rock Man, right, Rock Man? He jerked Eddies wrist up even higher. Eddie screamed. Behind him, dimly, he could hear the others approaching, and the little kid on the trike starting to bawl. Join the club, kid, he thought, and in spite of the pain, in spite of the tears and the fear, he brayed a huge donkeylike heehaw of laughter. You think this is funny? Henry asked, sounding suddenly astounded rather than furious. You think this is funny? And did Henry also sound scared? Years later Eddie would think Yes, scared, he sounded scared. Eddie twisted his wrist in Henrys grip. He was slick with sweat and he almost got away. Perhaps that was why Henry shoved Eddies wrist up harder this time than before. Eddie heard a crack in his arm like the sound of winterwood giving under an accumulated plate of ice. The pain that rolled out of his fractured arm was gray and huge. He shrieked, but the sound seemed distant. The color was washing out of the world, and when Henry let go of him and pushed, he seemed to float toward the sidewalk. It took a long time to get down to that old sidewalk. He had a good look at every single crack in it as he glided down. He had a chance to admire the way the July sun glinted off the flecks of mica in that old sidewalk. He had a chance to note the remains of a very old hopscotch grid that had been done in pink chalk on that old sidewalk. Then, for just a moment, it swam and looked like something else. It looked like a turtle. He might have fainted then, but he struck on his newly broken arm, and this fresh pain was sharp, bright, hot, terrible. He felt the splintered ends of the greenstick fracture grind together. He bit his tongue, bringing fresh blood. He rolled over on his back and saw Henry, Victor, Moose, and Patrick standing over him. They looked impossibly tall, impossibly high up, like pallbearers peering into a grave. You like that, Rock Man? Henry asked, his voice drifting down over a distance, floating through clouds of pain. You like that action, Rock Man? You like that jobbanobba? Patrick Hockstetter giggled. Your fathers crazy, Eddie heard himself say, and so are you. Henrys grin faded so fast it might have been slapped off his face. He drew his foot back to kick ... and then a siren rose in the still hot afternoon. Henry paused. Victor and Moose looked around uneasily. Henry, I think we better get out of here, Moose said. I know damn well Im getting out of here, Victor said. How far away their voices seemed! Like the clowns balloons, they seemed to float. Victor took off toward the library, cutting into McCarron Park to get off the street. Henry hesitated a moment longer, perhaps hoping the copcar was on some other business and he could continue with his own. But the siren rose again, closer. You got lucky, fuckface, he said. He and Moose took off after Victor. Patrick Hockstetter waited for a moment. Heres a little something extra for you, he whispered in his low, husky voice. He inhaled and spat a large green lunger into Eddies upturned, sweating, bloody face. Splat. Dont eat it all at once if you dont want, Patrick said, smiling his liverish unsettling smile. Save some for later, if you want. Then he turned slowly and was also gone. Eddie tried to wipe the lunger off with his good arm, but even that little movement made the pain flare again. Now when you started off for the drugstore, you never thought youd end up on the Costello Avenue sidewalk with a busted arm and Patrick Hockstetters snot running down your face, did you? You never even got to drink your Pepsi. Lifes full of surprises, isnt it? Incredibly, he laughed again. It was a weak sound, and it hurt his broken arm to laugh, but it felt good. And there was something else no asthma. His breathing was okay, at least for now. A good thing, too. He never would have been able to get to his aspirator. Never in a thousand years. The siren was very close now, whooping and whooping. Eddie closed his eyes and saw red under his eyelids. Then the red turned black as a shadow fell over him. It was the little kid with the trike. You okay? the little kid asked. Do I look okay? Eddie asked. No, you look terrible, the little kid said, and pedaled off, singing The Farmer in the Dell. Eddie began to giggle. Here was the copcar; he could hear the squeal of its brakes. He found himself hoping vaguely that Mr. Nell would be in it, even though he knew Mr. Nell was a foot patrolman. Why in the name of God are you giggling? He didnt know, any more than he knew why he should feel, in spite of the pain, such intense relief. Was it maybe just because he was still alive, that the worst he had suffered was a broken arm, and there were still some pieces to pick up? He settled for that, but years later, sitting in the Derry Library with a glass of gin and prune juice in front of him and his aspirator near at hand, he told the others he thought it was something more than that; he had been old enough to feel that something more, but not to understand or define it. I think it was the first real pain I ever felt in my life, he would tell the others. It wasnt what I thought it would be at all. It didnt put an end to me as a person. I think ... it gave me a basis for comparison, finding out you could still exist inside the pain, in spite of the pain. Eddie turned his head weakly to the right and saw large black Firestone tires, blinding chrome hubcaps, and pulsing blue lights. He heard Mr. Nells voice then, thickly Irish, impossibly Irish, more like Richies Irish Cop Voice than Mr. Nells real voice ... but perhaps that was the distance Holy Jaysus, its the Kaspbrak bye! At this point Eddie floated away. 4 And, with one exception, stayed away for quite awhile. There was a brief period of consciousness in the ambulance. He saw Mr. Nell sitting across from him, tipping a drink from his little brown bottle and reading a paperback called I the Jury. The girl on the cover had the biggest bosoms Eddie had ever seen. His eyes shifted past Mr. Nell to the driver up front. The driver peered around at Eddie with a big leering grin, his skin livid with greasepaint and talcum powder, his eyes shiny as new quarters. It was Pennywise. Mr. Nell, Eddie husked. Mr. Nell looked up and smiled. How are you feelin, me bye? ... driver ... the driver ... Yes, well be there in a jig, Mr. Nell said, and handed him the little brown bottle. Suck some of this. Itll make ye feel better. Eddie drank what tasted like liquid fire. He coughed, hurting his arm. He looked toward the front and saw the driver again. Just some guy with a crewcut. No clown. He drifted off again. Much later there was the Mergency Room and a nurse wiping blood and dirt and snot and gravel off his face with a cold cloth. It stung, but it felt wonderful at the same time. He heard his mother bugling and clarioning outside, and he tried to tell the nurse not to let her in, but no words would come out, no matter how hard he tried. ... if hes dying, I want to know! his mother was bellowing. You hear me? Its my right to know, and its my right to see him! I can sue you, you know! I know lawyers, plenty of lawyers! Some of my best friends are lawyers! Dont try to talk, the nurse said to Eddie. She was young, and he could feel her bosoms pressing against his arm. For a moment he had this crazy idea that the nurse was Beverly Marsh, and then he drifted away again. When he came back his mother was in the room, talking to Dr. Handor at a mileaminute clip. Sonia Kaspbrak was a huge woman. Her legs, encased in support hose, were trunklike but weirdly smooth. Her face was pale now except for hectic flaring blots of rouge. Ma, Eddie managed, ... all right ... Im all right Youre not, youre not, Mrs. Kaspbrak moaned. She wrung her hands. Eddie heard her knuckles crack and grind. He began to feel his breath shorten up as he looked at her, seeing what a state she was in, how this latest escapade of his had hurt her. He wanted to tell her to take it easy or shed have a heart attack, but he couldnt. His throat was too dry. Youre not all right, youve had a serious accident, a very serious accident, but you will be all right, I promise you that, Eddie, you will be all right, even if we need to bring in every specialist in the book, oh Eddie ... Eddie ... your poor arm ... She burst into honking sobs. Eddie saw that the nurse who had washed his face was looking at her without much sympathy. All through this aria, Dr. Handor had been stuttering, Sonia ... please, Sonia ... Sonia ... ? He was a skinny, limplooking man with a little mustache that hadnt grown very well and which, in addition, had been clipped unevenly, so it was longer on the left side than on the right. He looked nervous. Eddie remembered what Mr. Keene had told him that morning and felt a certain sorrow for Dr. Handor. At last, gathering himself, Russ Handor managed to say If you cant control yourself, youll have to leave, Sonia. She whirled on him and he drew back. Ill do no such thing! Dont you even suggest it! This is my son lying here in agony! My son lying here on his bed of pain! Eddie astounded them all by finding his voice. I want you to leave, Ma. If theyre going to do something thatll make me yell, and I think they are, youll feel better if you go. She turned to him, astonished ... and hurt. At the sight of the hurt on her face, he felt his chest begin to tighten down inexorably. I certainly will not! she cried. What an awful thing to say, Eddie! Youre delirious! You dont understand what youre saying, thats the only explanation! I dont know what the explanation is, and I dont care, the nurse said. All I know is that were standing here doing nothing while we should be setting your sons arm. Are you suggesting Sonia began, her voice rising toward the high, bugling note it took on when she was most upset. Please, Sonia, Dr. Handor said. Lets not have an argument here. Lets help Eddie. Sonia stood back, but her glowering eyesthe eyes of a mother bear whose cub has been threatenedpromised the nurse that there would be trouble later. Possibly even a suit. Then her eyes misted, extinguishing the glower or at least hiding it. She took Eddies good hand and squeezed it so painfully that he winced. Its bad, but youll be well again soon, she said. Well again soon, I promise you that. Sure, Ma, Eddie wheezed. Could I have my aspirator? Of course, she said. Sonia Kaspbrak looked at the nurse triumphantly, as if vindicated of some ridiculous criminal charge. My son has asthma, she said. Its quite serious, but he copes with it beautifully. Good, the nurse said flatly. His ma held the aspirator for him so he could inhale. A moment later Dr. Handor was feeling Eddies broken arm. He was as gentle as possible but the pain was still enormous. Eddie felt like screaming and gritted his teeth against it. He was afraid if he screamed his mother would scream, too. Sweat stood out on his forehead in large clear drops. Youre hurting him, Mrs. Kaspbrak said. I know you are! Theres no need of that! Stop it! Theres no need for you to hurt him! Hes very delcate, he cant stand that sort of pain! Eddie saw the nurse lock her furious eyes with Dr. Handors tired, worried ones. He saw the wordless conversation that passed between them Send that woman out of here, doctor. And in the drop of his eyes I cant. I dont dare. There was great clarity inside the pain (although, in truth, this was not a clarity that Eddie would want to experience often the price was too high), and in that unspoken conversation, Eddie accepted everything Mr. Keene had told him. His HydrOx aspirator was filled with nothing more than flavored water. The asthma wasnt in his throat or his chest or his lungs but in his head. Somehow or other he was going to have to deal with that truth. He looked at his mother, seeing her clear in his pain each flower on her Lane Bryant dress, the sweatstains under her arms where the pads she wore had soaked through, the scuffmarks on her shoes. He saw how small her eyes were in their pockets of flesh, and now a terrible thought came to him those eyes were almost predatory, like the eyes of the leper that had crawled out of the basement at 29 Neibolt Street. Here I come, thats all right ... it wont do you any good to run, Eddie.... Dr. Handor put his hands gently around Eddies broken arm and squeezed. The pain exploded. Eddie drifted away. 5 They gave him some liquid to drink and Dr. Handor set the fracture. He heard Dr. Handor telling his ma that it was a greenstick fracture, no more serious than any childhood break Its the sort of break kids get falling out of trees, he said, and Eddie heard his ma respond furiously Eddie doesnt climb trees! Now I want the truth! How bad is he? Then the nurse was giving him a pill. He felt her bosoms against his shoulder again and was grateful for their comforting pressure. Even through the haze he could see that the nurse was angry and he thought he said, Shes not the leper, please dont think that, shes only eating me because she loves me, but perhaps nothing came out because the nurses angry face didnt change. He had a faint recollection of being pushed up a corridor in a wheelchair and his mothers voice somewhere behind, fading What do you mean, visiting hours? Dont talk to me about visiting hours, thats my son! Fading. He was glad she was fading, glad he was fading. The pain was gone and the clarity was gone with it. He didnt want to think. He wanted to drift. He was aware that his right arm felt very heavy. He wondered if they had put it in a cast yet. He couldnt seem to see if they had or not. He was vaguely aware of radios playing from rooms, of patients who looked like ghosts in their hospital johnnies walking up and down the wide halls, and that it was hot ... so very hot. When he was wheeled into his room, he could see the sun going down in an angry orange boil of blood and thought incoherently Like a great big clownbutton. Come on, Eddie, you can walk, a voice was saying, and he found that he could. He was slid between crisp cool sheets. The voice told him that he would have some pain in the night, but not to ring for a painkiller unless it got very bad. Eddie asked if he could have a drink of water. The water came with a straw that had an accordion middle so you could bend it. It was cool and good. He drank it all. There was pain in the night, a good deal of it. He lay awake in bed, holding the callbutton in his left hand but not pressing it. A thunderstorm was going on outside, and when the lightning flashed bluewhite, he turned his head away from the windows, afraid he might see a monstrous, grinning face etched across the sky in that electric fire. At last he slept again, and in his sleep he had a dream. In it he saw Bill, Ben, Richie, Stan, Mike, and Bevhis friendsarriving at the hospital on their bikes (Bill was riding Richie double on Silver). He was surprised to see that Beverly was wearing a dressit was a lovely green, the color of the Caribbean in a National Geographic plate. He couldnt remember if he had ever seen her in a dress before; all he remembered were jeans and pedalpushers and what the girls called schoolsets skirts and blouses, the blouses usually white with round collars, the skirts usually brown and pleated and hemmed at midshin, so that the scabs on their knees didnt show. In the dream he saw them coming in for the 200 P.M. visiting hours and his mother, who had been waiting patiently since eleven, shouting so loudly at them that everyone turned to look at her. If you think youre going to go in there, youve got another think coming! Eddies mother shouted, and now the clown, who had been sitting here in the waiting room all along (but way back in one corner, with a copy of Look magazine held up in front of his face until now), jumped up and mimed applause, patting his whitegloved hands together rapidly. He capered and danced, now turning a cartwheel, now executing a neat backover flip, as Mrs. Kaspbrak ranted at Eddies fellow Losers and as they shrank, one by one, behind Bill, who only stood there, pale but outwardly calm, his hands stuffed deep into the pockets of his jeans (maybe so no one, including Bill himself, would be able to see if they were shaking or not). No one saw the clown except Eddie ... although a baby who had been sleeping peacefully in his mothers arms awoke and began to cry lustily. Youve done enough damage! Eddies ma shouted. I know who those boys were! Theyve been in trouble at school, theyve even been in trouble with the police! And just because those boys have something against you is no reason for them to have something against him. I told him so, and he agrees with me. He wants me to tell you to go away, hes done with you, he never wants to see any of you again. He doesnt want your socalled friendship anymore! Any of you! I knew it would lead to trouble, and look at this! My Eddie in the hospital! A boy as delicate as he is ... The clown capered and jumped and did splits and stood on one hand. Its smile was real enough now, and in his dream Eddie realized that this was of course what the clown wanted, a nice big wedge to drive among them, splitting them apart and destroying any chance of concerted action. In a kind of filthy ecstasy, the clown did a double barrelroll and burlesqued kissing his mothers cheek. ThThThose bbbhoys who dihdid itBill began. Dont you speak back to me! Mrs. Kaspbrak shrieked. Dont you dare speak back to me! Hes done with you, I say! Done! Then an intern came running into the waiting room and told Eddies ma she would have to be quiet or leave the hospital. The clown started to fade, started to wash out, and as it did it began to change. Eddie saw the leper, the mummy, the bird; he saw the werewolf, and a vampire whose teeth were Gillette BlueBlades set at crazy angles like mirrors in a carnival mirrormaze; he saw Frankenstein, the creature, and something fleshy and shelllike that opened and closed like a mouth; he saw a dozen other terrible things, a hundred. But just before the clown washed out completely, he saw the most terrible thing of all his mas face. No! he tried to scream. No! No! Not her! Not my ma! But no one looked around; no one heard. And in the dreams fading moments, he realized with a cold and wormy horror that they couldnt hear him. He was dead. It had killed him and he was dead. He was a ghost. 6 Sonia Kaspbraks soursweet triumph at sending Eddies socalled friends away evaporated almost as soon as she stepped into Eddies private room the next afternoon, on the 21st of July. She could not tell exactly why the feeling of triumph should fade like that, or why it should be displaced by an unfocused fear; it was something in her sons pale face, which was not blurred with pain or anxiety but instead bore an expression she could not remember ever having seen there before. It was sharp, somehow. Sharp and alert and set. The confrontation between Eddies friends and Eddies ma had not occurred in the waiting room, as in Eddies dream; she had known they would be comingEddies friends, who were probably teaching him to smoke cigarettes in spite of his asthma, his friends who had such an unhealthy hold over him that they were all he talked about when he came home for the evening, his friends who got his arm broken. She had told all of this to Mrs. Van Prett next door. The time has come, Mrs. Kaspbrak had said grimly, to slap a few cards down on the table. Mrs. Van Prett, who had horrible skinproblems and who could almost always be counted upon to agree eagerly, almost pathetically, with everything Sonia Kaspbrak said, in this case had the temerity to disagree. I should think youd be glad hes made some friends, Mrs. Van Prett said as they hung out their washes in the earlymorning cool before workthis had been during the first week of July. And hes safer if hes with other children, Mrs. Kaspbrak, dont you think so? With all thats going on in this town, and all the poor children that have been murdered? Mrs. Kaspbraks only reply had been an angry sniff (in fact, she couldnt just then think of an adequate verbal response, although she thought of dozenssome of them extremely cuttinglater on), and when Mrs. Van Prett called her that evening, sounding rather anxious, to ask if Mrs. Kaspbrak would be going to the Beano down at Saint Marys with her like usual, Mrs. Kaspbrak had replied coldly that she believed she would just stay home that evening and put her feet up instead. Well, she hoped Mrs. Van Prett was satisfied now. She hoped Mrs. Van Prett saw now that the only danger abroad in Derry this summer wasnt the sexmaniac killing children and babies. Here was her son, lying on his bed of pain in Derry Home Hospital, he might never be able to use his good right arm again, she had heard of such things, or, God forbid, loose splinters from the break might work through his bloodstream to his heart and puncture it and kill him, oh of course God would never allow that to happen, but she had heard of it happening, so that meant God could allow such a thing to happen. In certain cases. So she lingered on the Home Hospitals long and shady front porch, knowing they would show up, coldly determined to put paid to this socalled friendship, this camaraderie that ended in broken arms and beds of pain, once and for all. Eventually they came, as she had known they would, and to her horror she saw that one of them was a nigger. Not that she had anything against niggers; she thought they had every right to ride where they wanted to on the buses down south, and eat at white lunchcounters, and should not be made to sit in nigger heaven at the movies unless they bothered white (women) people, but she also believed firmly in what she called the Bird Theory Blackbirds flew with other blackbirds, not with the robins. Grackles roosted with grackles; they did not mix in with the bluebirds or the nightingales. To each his own was her motto, and seeing Mike Hanlon pedal up with the others just as if he belonged there caused her resolution, like her anger and her dismay, to grow apace. She thought reproachfully, as if Eddie were here and could listen to her You never told me that one of your friends was a nigger. Well, she thought, twenty minutes later, stepping into the hospital room where her son lay with his arm in a huge cast that was strapped to his chest (it hurt her heart just to look at it), she had sent them packing in jig time ... no pun intended. None of them except for the Denbrough boy, the one who had such a horrible stutter, had had the nerve to so much as speak back to her. The girl, whoever she was, had flashed a pair of decidedly slutty jades eyes at Soniafrom Lower Main Street or someplace even worse, had been Sonia Kaspbraks opinionbut she had wisely kept her mouth shut. If she had dared so much as to let out a peep, Sonia would have given her a piece of her mind; would have told her what sort of girls ran with the boys. There were names for girls like that, and she would not have her son associated, now or ever, with the girls who bore them. The others had done no more than look down at their shuffling feet. That was about what she had expected. When she was done saying what she had to say, they had gotten on their bikes and ridden away. The Denbrough boy had the Tozier boy riding double behind him on a huge, unsafelooking bike, and with an interior shudder Mrs. Kaspbrak had wondered how many times her Eddie had ridden on that dangerous bike, risking his arms and his legs and his neck and his life. I did this for you, Eddie, she thought as she walked into the hospital with her head firmly up. I know you may feel a bit disappointed at first; thats natural enough. But parents know better than their children; the reason God made parents in the first place was to guide, instruct ... and protect. After his initial disappointment, he would understand. And if she felt a certain relief now, it was of course on Eddies behalf and not on her own. Relief was only to be expected when you had saved your son from bad companions. Except that her sense of relief was marred by fresh unease now, looking into Eddies face. He was not asleep, as she had thought he would be. Instead of a drugged doze from which he would wake disoriented, dimwitted, and psychologically vulnerable, there was this sharp, watchful look, so different from Eddies usual soft tentative glance. Like Ben Hanscom (although Sonia did not know this), Eddie was the sort of boy who would look quickly into a face, as if to test the emotional weather brewing there, and glance just as quickly away. But he was looking at her steadily now (perhaps its the medication, she thought, of course thats it; Ill have to consult with Dr. Handor about his medication), and she was the one who felt a need to glance aside. He looks like hes been waiting for me, she thought, and it was a thought that should have made her happya boy waiting for his mother must surely be one of Gods most favored creations You sent my friends away. The words came out flatly, with no doubt or question in them. She flinched almost guiltily, and certainly the first thought to flash through her mind was a guilty oneHow does he know that? He cant know that! and she was immediately furious with herself (and him) for feeling that way. So she smiled at him. How are we feeling today, Eddie? That was the right response. Someonesome foolish candystriper, or perhaps even that incompetent and antagonistic nurse from the day beforehad been carrying tales. Someone. How are we feeling? she asked again when he didnt respond. She thought he hadnt heard her. Shed never read in any of her medical literature of a broken bone affecting the sense of hearing, but she supposed it was possible, anything was possible. Eddie still didnt respond. She came farther into the room, hating the tentative, almost timid feeling inside her, dstrusting it because she had never felt tentative or timid around Eddie before. She felt anger as well, although that was still nascent. What right did he have to make her feel that way, after all she had done for him, after all she had sacrificed for him? Ive talked to Dr. Handor, and he assures me that youre going to be perfectly all right, Sonia said briskly, sitting down in the straightbacked wooden chair by the bed. Of course if theres the slightest problem, well go to see a specialist in Portland. In Boston, if thats what it takes. She smiled, as if conferring a great favor. Eddie did not smile back. And still he did not reply. Eddie, are you hearing me? You sent my friends away, he repeated. Yes, she said, dropping the pretense, and said no more. Two could play at that game. She simply looked back at him. But a strange thing happened; a terrible thing, really. Eddies eyes seemed to ... to grow, somehow. The flecks of gray in them seemed actually to be moving, like racing stormclouds. She became aware suddenly that he was not in a snit, or having a poopie, or any of those things. He was furious with her ... and Sonia was suddenly scared, because something more than her son seemed to be in this room. She dropped her eyes and fumbled her purse open. She began searching for a Kleenex. Yes, I sent them away, she said, and found that her voice was strong enough and steady enough ... as long as she wasnt looking at him. Youve been seriously injured, Eddie. You dont need any visitors right now except for your own ma, and you dont need visitors like that, ever. If it hadnt been for them, youd be home watching the TV right now, or building on your soapbox racer in the garage. It was Eddies dream to build a soapbox racer and take it to Bangor. If he won there, he would be awarded an allexpensespaid trip to Akron, Ohio, for the National Soapbox Derby. Sonia was perfectly willing to allow him this dream as long as it seemed to her that completion of the racer, which was made out of orange crates and the wheels from a ChooChoo Flyer wagon, was just thata dream. She certainly had no intention of letting Eddie risk his life in such a dangerous contraption, not in Derry, not in Bangor, and certainly not in Akron, which (Eddie had informed her) would mean riding in an airplane as well as making a suicidal run down a steep hill in a wheeled orange crate with no brakes. But, as her own mother had often said, what a person didnt know couldnt hurt him (her mother had also been fond of saying Tell the truth and shame the devil, but when it came to the recollection of aphorisms Sonia, like most people, could be remarkably selective). My friends didnt break my arm, Eddie said in that same flat voice. I told Dr. Handor last night and I told Mr. Nell when he came in this morning. Henry Bowers broke my arm. Some other kids were with him, but Henry did it. If Id been with my friends, it never would have happened. It happened because I was alone. This made Sonia think of Mrs. Van Pretts comment about how it was safer to have friends, and that brought the rage back like a tiger. She snapped her head up. That doesnt matter and you know it! What do you think, Eddie? That your ma fell off a hay truck yesterday? Is that what you think? I know well enough why the Bowers boy broke your arm. That Paddy cop was at our house, too. That big boy broke your arm because you and your friends crossed him somehow. Now do you think that would have happened if youd listened to me and stayed away from them in the first place? NoI think that something even worse might have happened, Eddie said. Eddie, you dont mean that. I mean it, he said, and she felt that power coming off him, coming out of him, in waves. Bill and the rest of my friends will be back, Ma. Thats something I know. And when they come, youre not going to stop them. Youre not going to say a word to them. Theyre my friends, and youre not going to steal my friends just because youre scared of being alone. She stared at him, flabbergasted and terrified. Tears filled her eyes and spilled down her cheeks, wetting the powder there. This is how you talk to your mother now, I guess, she said through her sobs. Maybe this is the way your friends talk to their folks. I guess you learned it from them. She felt safer in her tears. Usually when she cried Eddie cried, too. A low weapon, some might say, but were there really any low weapons when it came to protecting her son? She thought not. She looked up, the tears streaming from her eyes, feeling both unutterably sad, bereft, betrayed ... and sure. Eddie would not be able to stand against such a flood of tears and sorrow. That cold sharp look would leave his face. Perhaps he would begin to gasp and wheeze a little bit, and that would be a sign, as it was always a sign, that the fight was over and that she had won another victory ... for him, of course. Always for him. She was so shocked to see that same expression on his faceit had, if anything, deepenedthat her voice caught in midsob. There was sorrow under his expression, but even that was frightening it struck her in some way as an adult sorrow, and thinking of Eddie as adult in any way always caused a panicky little bird to flutter inside her mind.


This was how she felt on the infrequent occasions when she wondered what would happen to her if Eddie didnt want to go to Derry Business College or the University of Maine in Orono or Husson in Bangor so he could come home every day after his classes were done, what would happen if he met a girl, fell in love, wanted to get married. Wheres the place for me in any of that? the panicky birdvoice would cry when these strange, almost nightmarish thoughts came. Where would my place be in a life like that? I love you, Eddie! I love you! I take care of you and I love you! You dont know how to cook, or change your sheets, or wash your underwear! Why should you? I know those things for you! I know because I love you! He said it himself now I love you, Ma. But I love my friends, too. I think ... I think youre making yourself cry. Eddie, you hurt me so much, she whispered, and fresh tears doubled his pale face, trebled it. If her tears a few moments ago had been calculated, these were not. In her own peculiar way she was toughshe had seen her husband into his grave without cracking up, she had gotten a job in a depressed jobmarket where it wasnt easy to get a job, she had raised her son, and when it had been necessary, she had fought for him. These were the first totally unaffected and uncalculated tears she had wept in years, perhaps since Eddie had gotten the bronchitis when he was five and she had been so sure he would die as he lay there in his bed of pain, glowing bright with fever, whooping and coughing and gasping for breath. She wept now because of that terribly adult, somehow alien expression on his face. She was afraid for him, but she was also, in some way, afraid of him, afraid of that aura that seemed to surround him ... which seemed to demand something of her. Dont make me have to choose between you and my friends, Ma, Eddie said. His voice was uneven, strained, but still under control. Because thats not fair. Theyre bad friends, Eddie! she cried in a nearfrenzy. I know that, I feel that with all my heart, theyll bring you nothing but pain and grief! And the most horrible thing of all was that she did sense that; some part of her had intuited it in the eyes of the Denbrough boy, who had stood before her with his hands in his pockets, his red hair flaming in the summer sun. His eyes had been so grave, so strange and distant ... like Eddies eyes now. And hadnt that same aura been around him as was around Eddie now? The same, but even stronger? She thought yes. Ma She stood up so suddenly she almost knocked the straightbacked chair over. Ill come back this evening, she said. Its the shock, the accident, the pain, those things, that make you talk this way. I know it. You ... you ... She groped, and found her original text in the flying confusion of her mind. Youve had a bad accident, but youre going to be just fine. And youll see Im right, Eddie. Theyre bad friends. Not our sort. Not for you. You think it over and ask yourself if your ma ever told you wrong before. You think about it and ... and ... Im running! she thought with a sick and hurtful dismay. Im running away from my own son! Oh God, please dont let this be! Ma. For a moment she almost fled anyway, scared of him now, oh yes, he was more than Eddie; she sensed the others in him, his friends and something else, something that was beyond even them, and she was afraid it might flash out at her. It was as if he were in the grip of something, some dreadful fever, as he had been in the grip of the bronchitis that time when he was five, when he had almost died. She paused, her hand on the doorknob, not wanting to hear what he might say ... and when he said it, it was so unexpected that for a moment she didnt really understand it. When comprehension crashed down, it came like a loose load of cement, and for a moment she thought she would faint. Eddie said Mr. Keene said my asthma medicine is just water. What? What? She turned blazing eyes on him. Just water. With some stuff added to make it taste like medicine. He said it was a placeebo. Thats a lie! That is nothing but a solid lie! Why would Mr. Keene want to tell you a lie like that? Well, there are other drugstores in Derry, I guess. I guess Ive had time to think about it, Eddie said, softly and implacably, his eyes never leaving hers, and I think hes telling the truth. Eddie, I tell you hes not! The panic was back, fluttering. What I think, Eddie said, is that it must be the truth or there would be some kind of warning on the bottle, like if you take too much it will kill you or at least make you sick. Even Eddie, I dont want to hear this! she cried, and clapped her hands to her ears. Youre ... youre ... youre just not yourself and thats all that it is! Even if its something you can just go in and buy without a prescription, they put special instructions on it, he went on, not raising his voice. His gray eyes lay on hers, and she couldnt seem to drop her gaze, or even move it. Even if its just Vicks cough syrup ... or your Geritol. He paused for a moment. Her hands dropped from her ears; it seemed too much work to hold them up. They seemed very heavy. And its like ... you must have known that, too, Ma. Eddie! She nearly wailed it. Because, he went on, as if she had not spoken at allhe was frowning now, concentrating on the problem, because your folks are supposed to know about medicines. Why, I use that aspirator five, sometimes six times a day. And you wouldnt let me do that if you thought it could, like, hurt me. Because its your job to protect me. I know it is, because thats what you always say. So ... did you know, Ma? Did you know it was just water? She said nothing. Her lips were trembling. It felt as if her whole face was trembling. She was no longer crying. She felt too scared to cry. Because if you did, Eddie said, still frowning, if you did know, Id want to know why. I can figure some things out, but not why my ma would want me to think water was medicine ... or that I had asthma herehe pointed to his chestwhen Mr. Keene says I only have it up here and he pointed to his head. She thought she would explain everything then. She would explain it quietly and logically. How she had thought he was going to die when he was five, and how that would have driven her crazy after losing Frank only two years before. How she came to understand that you could only protect your child through watchfulness and love, that you must tend a child as you tended a garden, fertilizing, weeding, and yes, occasionally pruning and thinning, as much as that hurt. She would tell him that sometimes it was better for a childparticularly a delicate child like Eddieto think he was sick than to really get sick. And she would finish by talking to him about the deadly foolishness of doctors and the wonderful power of love; she would tell him that she knew he had asthma, and it didnt matter what the doctors thought or what they gave him for it. She would tell him you could make medicine with more than a malicious meddling druggists mortar and pestle. Eddie, she would say, its medicine because your mothers love makes it medicine, and in just that way, for as long as you want me and let me, I can do that. This is a power that God gives to loving caring mothers. Please, Eddie, please, my hearts own love, you must believe me. But in the end she said nothing. Her fright was too great. But maybe we dont even have to talk about it, Eddie went on. Mr. Keene might have been joking with me. Sometimes grownups ... you know, they like to play jokes on kids. Because kids believe almost anything. Its mean to do that to kids, but sometimes grownups do it. Yes, Sonia Kaspbrak said eagerly. They like to joke and sometimes theyre stupid ... mean ... and ... and... So Ill kind of keep an eye out for Bill and the rest of my friends, Eddie said, and keep right on using my asthma medicine. Thats probably best, dont you think? She realized only now, when it was too late, how neatlyhow cruellyshe had been trapped. What he was doing was almost blackmail, but what choice did she have? She wanted to ask him how he could be so calculating, so manipulative. She opened her mouth to ask ... and then closed it again. It was too likely that, in his present mood, he might answer. But she knew one thing. Yes. One thing for sure she would never never never set foot into Mr. NosyParker Keenes drugstore again in her life. His voice, oddly shy now, interrupted her thoughts. Ma? She looked up and saw it was Eddie again, just Eddie, and she went to him gladly. Can I have a hug, Ma? She hugged him, but carefully, so as not to hurt his broken arm (or dislodge any loose bonefragments so they could run an evil race around his bloodstream and then lodge in his heartwhat mother would kill her son with love?), and Eddie hugged her back. 7 As far as Eddie was concerned, his ma left just in time. During the horrible confrontation with her he had felt his breath piling up and up and up in his lungs and throat, still and tideless, stale and brackish, threatening to poison him. He held on until the door had snicked shut behind her and then he began to gasp and wheeze. The sour air working in his tight throat jabbed up and down like a warm poker. He grabbed for his aspirator, hurting his arm but not caring. He triggered a long blast down his throat. He breathed deep of the camphor taste, thinking It doesnt matter if its a placeebo, words dont matter if a thing works. He lay back against his pillows, eyes closed, breathing freely for the first time since she had come in. He was scared, plenty scared. The things he had said to her, the way he had actedit had been him and yet it hadnt been him at all. There had been something working in him, working through him, some force ... and his mother had felt it, too. He had seen it in her eyes and in her trembling lips. He had no sense that this power was an evil one, but its enormous strength was frightening. It was like getting on an amusementpark ride that was really dangerous and realizing you couldnt get off until it was over, come what might. No turning around, Eddie thought, feeling the hot, itchy weight of the cast that encased his broken arm. No one goes home until we get to the end. But God Im so scared, so scared. And he knew that the truest reason for demanding she not cut him off from his friends was something he could never have told her I cant face this alone. He cried a little then, and then drifted off into a restless sleep. He dreamed of a darkness in which machinerypumping machineryran on and on. 8 It was threatening showers again that evening when Bill and the rest of the Losers returned to the hospital. Eddie was not surprised to see them come filing in. He had known they would be back. It had been hot all dayit was generally agreed later that that third week of July was the hottest of an exceptionally hot summerand the thunderheads began to build up around four in the afternoon, purpleblack and colossal, pregnant with rain, loaded with lightnings. People went about their errands quickly and a little uneasily, with one eye always cocked at the sky. Most agreed it would rain good and hard by dinnertime, washing some of the thick humidity out of the air. Derrys parks and playgrounds, underpopulated all summer, were totally deserted that evening by six. The rain had still not fallen, and the swings hung moveless and shadeless in a light that was a queer flat yellow. Thunder rumbled thicklythat, a barking dog, and the low mutter of traffic on Outer Main Street were the only sounds that drifted in through Eddies window until the Losers came. Bill was first, followed by Richie. Beverly and Stan followed them, then Mike. Ben came last. He looked excruciatingly uncomfortable in a white turtleneck sweater. They came to his bed, solemn. Not even Richie was smiling. Their faces, Eddie thought, fascinated. Jeezumcrow, their faces! He was seeing in them what his mother had seen in him that afternoon that odd combination of power and helplessness. The yellow stormlight lay on their skins, making their faces seem ghostlike, distant, shadowy. Were passing over, Eddie thought. Passing over into something newwere on the border. But whats on the other side? Where are we going? Where? HhHello, EhEhEddie, Bill said. How you dddoin? Okay, Big Bill, Eddie said, and tried to smile. Had a day yesterday, I guess, Mike said. Thunder rumbled behind his voice. Neither the overhead light nor the bedside lamp was on in Eddies room, and all of them seemed to fade in and out of the bruised light. Eddie thought of that light all over Derry right now, lying long and still across McCarron Park, falling through the holes in the roof of the Kissing Bridge in smudged lackadaisical rays, making the Kenduskeag look like smoky glass as it cut its broad shallow path through the Barrens; he thought of seesaws standing at dead angles behind Derry Elementary as the thunderheads piled up and up; he thought of this thundery yellow light, and the stillness, as if the whole town had fallen asleep ... or died. Yes, he said. It was a big day. My ffolks are ggoing out to a muhmuhmovie the night aaafter nnext, Bill said. When the ppichictures change. Were ggoing to mmake them then. The suhsuhsuh Silver balls, Richie said. I thought Its better this way, Ben said quietly. I still think we could have made the bullets, but thinking isnt good enough. If we were grownups Oh yeah, the world would be peachy if we were grownups, Beverly said. Grownups can make anything they want, cant they? Grownups can do anything they want, and it always comes out right. She laughed, a jagged nervous sound. Bill wants me to shoot It. Can you feature that, Eddie? Just call me Beverly Oakley. I dont know what youre talking about, Eddie said, but he thought he didhe was getting some kind of picture, anyway. Ben explained. They would melt down one of his silver dollars and make two silver balls a little smaller than ballbearings. And then, if there really was a werewolf residing at 29 Neibolt Street, Beverly would put a silver ball into Its head with Bills Bullseye slingshot. Goodbye werewolf. And if they were right about one creature who wore many faces, goodbye It. There must have been some sort of expression on Eddies face, because Richie laughed and nodded. I know how you feel, man. I thought Bill must have lost his few remaining marbles when he started talking about using his slingshot instead of his dads gun. But this afternoon He stopped and cleared his throat. This afternoon after your ma blew us out of the water was how he had been about to start, and that obviously wouldnt do. This afternoon we went down to the dump. Bill brought his Bullseye. Look. From his back pocket Richie took a flattened can which had once held Del Monte pineapple chunks. There was a ragged hole about two inches in diameter through the middle of it. Beverly did that with a rock, from twenty feet away. Looks like a .38 to me. De Trashmouth was convinced. And when de Trashmouth is convinced, de Trashmouth is convinced. Killing cans is one thing, Beverly said. If it was something else ... something alive ... Bill, you should be the one. Really. Nno, Bill said. We aaall ttook turns. You suhsuhsaw how it wwwent. How did it go? Eddie asked. Bill explained, slowly and haltingly, while Beverly looked out the window with her lips pressed so tightly together they were white. She was, for reasons she could not explain even to herself, more than afraid she was deeply embarrassed by what had happened today. On the way over here tonight she had argued again, passionately, that they try to make the bullets after all ... not because she was any more sure than Bill or Richie that they would actually work when the time came, but becauseif something did happen out at that housethe weapon would be in (Bills) someone elses hands. But facts were facts. They had each taken ten rocks and shot the Bullseye at ten cans set up twenty feet away. Richie had gotten one out of ten (and his one hit was really only a nick), Ben had gotten two, Bill four, Mike five. Beverly, shooting almost casually and appearing to aim not at all, had banged nine of the ten cans dead center. The tenth fell over when the rock she fired bounced off the rim. But first wwwwe ggotta make the uhuhammo. Night after next? I should be out by then, Eddie said. His mother would protest that ... but he didnt think she would protest too much. Not after this afternoon. Does your arm hurt? Beverly asked. She was wearing a pink dress (not the dress he had seen in his dream; perhaps she had worn that this afternoon, when Ma sent them away) on which she had appliqud small flowers. And silk or nylon hose; she looked very adult but also somehow very childlike, like a girl playing dressup. Her expression was dreamy and distant. Eddie thought I bet thats how she looks when shes sleeping. Not too much, he said. They talked for awhile, their voices punctuated by thunder. Eddie did not ask them about what had happened when they came to the hospital earlier that day, and none of them mentioned it. Richie took out his yoyo, made it sleep once or twice, then put it back. Conversation lagged, and in one of the pauses there was a brief click that made Eddie look around. Bill had something in his hand, and for a moment Eddie felt his heart speed up in alarm. For that brief moment he thought it was a knife. But then Stan turned on the rooms overhead, dispelling the gloom, and he saw it was only a ballpoint pen. In the light they all looked natural again, real, only his friends. I thought we ought to sign your cast, Bill said. His eyes met Eddies squarely. But thats not it, Eddie thought with sudden and alarming clarity. Its a contract. Its a contract, Big Bill, isnt it, or the closest well ever get to one. He was frightened ... and then ashamed and angry at himself. If he had broken his arm before this summer, who would have signed the cast? Anyone besides his mother, and perhaps Dr. Handor? His aunts in Haven? These were his friends, and his mother was wrong they werent bad friends. Maybe, he thought, there arent any such things as good friends or bad friendsmaybe there are just friends, people who stand by you when youre hurt and who help you feel not so lonely. Maybe theyre always worth being scared for, and hoping for, and living for. Maybe worth dying for, too, if thats what has to be. No good friends. No bad friends. Only people you want, need to be with; people who build their houses in your heart. Okay, Eddie said, a little hoarsely. Okay, thatd be real good, Big Bill. So Bill leaned solemnly over his bed and wrote his name on the hillocky plaster of Paris that encased Eddies mending arm, the letters large and looping. Richie signed with a flourish. Bens handwriting was as narrow as he was wide, the letters slanting backward. They looked ready to fall over at the slightest push. Mike Hanlons writing was large and awkward because he was lefthanded and the angle was bad for him. He signed above Eddies elbow and circled his name. When Beverly bent over him, he could smell some light flowery perfume on her. She signed in a round Palmermethod script. Stan came last, and wrote his name in tightpacked little letters by Eddies wrist. They all stepped back then, as if aware of what they had done. Outside, thunder muttered heavily again. Lightning washed the hospitals wooden exterior in brief stuttering light. Thats it? Eddie asked. Bill nodded. CCCome ohohover to my hhouse aafter suhhupper day aaafter ttomorrow if you cccan, ookay? Eddie nodded, and the subject was closed. There was another period of desultory, almost aimless conversation. Some of it was about the dominant topic in Derry that Julythe trial of Richard Macklin for the bludgeonmurder of his stepson Dorsey, and the disappearance of Dorseys older brother, Eddie Corcoran. Macklin would not break down and confess, weeping, on the witness stand for another two days, but the Losers were in agreement that Macklin probably had nothing to do with Eddies disappearance. The boy had either run away ... or It had gotten him. They left around quarter of seven, and the rain still had not fallen. It continued to threaten until long after Eddies ma had come, made her visit, and gone home again (she had been horrified at the signatures on Eddies cast, and even more horrified at his determination to leave the hospital the following dayshe had been envisioning a stay of a week or more in absolute quiet, so that the ends of the break could set together, as she said). Eventually the stormclouds broke apart and drifted away. Not so much as a drop of rain had fallen in Derry. The humidity remained, and people slept on porches and on lawns and in sleeping bags in back fields that night. The rain came the next day, not long after Beverly saw something terrible happen to Patrick Hockstetter. CHAPTER 17 Another One of the Missing The Death of Patrick Hockstetter 1 When he finishes, Eddie pours himself another drink with a hand not completely steady. He looks at Beverly and says, You saw It, didnt you? You saw It take Patrick Hockstetter the day after you all signed my cast. The others lean forward. Beverly pushes her hair back in a reddish cloud. Beneath it her face looks extraordinarily pale. She fumbles a fresh cigarette out of her packthe last oneand flicks her Bic. She cant seem to guide the flame to the tip of her cigarette. After a moment Bill holds her wrist lightly but firmly and puts the flame where its supposed to go. Beverly looks at him gratefully and exhales a cloud of bluishgray smoke. Yeah, she says. I saw that happen. She shivers. He was cruhcruhcrazy, Bill says, and thinks Just the fact that Henry let a flako like Patrick Hockstetter hang around as that summer wore on ... that says something, doesnt it? Either that Henry was losing some of his charm, some of his attraction, or that Henrys own craziness had progressed far enough so that the Hockstetter kid seemed okay to him. Both came to the same thingHenrys increasing ... what? degeneration? Is that the word? Yes, in light of what happened to him, where he ended up, I think it is. Theres something else to support the idea, too, Bill thinks, but as yet he can only remember it vaguely. He and Richie and Beverly had been down at Tracker Brothersearly August by then, and the summerschool that had kept Henry out of their hair for most of the summer was just about to endand hadnt Victor Criss approached them? A very frightened Victor Criss? Yes, that had happened. Things had been rapidly approaching the end by then, and Bill thinks now that every kid in Derry had sensed itthe Losers and Henrys group most of all. But that had been later. Oh yeah you got that right,  Beverly says flatly. Patrick Hockstetter was crazy. None of the girls would sit in front of him in school. Youd be sitting there, doing your arithmetic or writing a story or a composition, and all at once youd feel this hand ... almost as light as a feather, but warm and sweaty. Meaty. She swallows, and there is a small click in her throat. The others watch her solemnly from around the table. Youd feel it on your side, or maybe on your breast. Not that any of us had much in the way of breasts back then. But Patrick didnt seem to care about that. Youd feel that ... that touch, and youd jerk away from it, and turn around, and there Patrick would be, grinning with those big rubbery lips. He had a pencil box Full of flies, Richie says suddenly. Sure. Hed kill em with this green ruler he had and then put em in his pencil box. I even remember what it looked likered, with a wavy white plastic cover that slid open and closed. Eddie is nodding. Youd jerk away and hed grin and then maybe hed open his pencil box so you could see the dead flies inside, Beverly says. And the worst thingthe horrible thingwas the way hed smile and never say anything. Mrs. Douglas knew. Greta Bowie told on him, and I think Sally Mueller said something once, too. But ... I think Mrs. Douglas was scared of him, too. Ben has rocked back on the rear legs of his chair, and his hands are laced behind his neck. She still cannot believe how lean he is. Im pretty sure youre right, he says. WhWhat hhappened to hhhim, Beverly? Bill asks. She swallows again, trying to fight off the nightmarish power of what she saw that day in the Barrens, her roller skates tied together and hung over her shoulder, one knee a stinging net of pain from a fall she had taken on Saint Crispins Lane, another of the short treelined streets that deadended where the land fell (and still falls) sharply into the Barrens. She remembers (oh these memories, when they come, are so clear and so powerful) that she was wearing a pair of denim shortsreally too short, they came only to just below the hem of her panties. She had become more conscious of her body over the last yearover the last six months, actually, as it began to curve and become more womanly. The mirror was one reason for this heightened consciousness, of course, but not the main one; the main one was that her father seemed even sharper just lately, more apt to use his slapping hand or even his fists. He seemed restless, almost caged, and she was more and more nervous when she was around him, more and more on her mark. It was as if there was a smell they made between them, a smell that wasnt there when she was in the apartment alone, one that had never been there when they were in it togethernot until this summer. And when Mom was gone it was worse. If there was a smell, some smell, then he knew it too, maybe, because Bev saw less and less of him as the hot weather wore on, partly because of his summer bowling league, partly because he was helping his friend Joe Tammerly fix cars ... but she suspects it was partly that smell, the one they made between them, neither of them meaning to but making it just the same, as helpless to stop it as either was helpless to stop sweating in July. The vision of the birds, hundreds and thousands of them, descending on the roofpeaks of houses, on telephone wires, on TV aerials, intervenes again. And poison ivy, she says aloud. WWWhat? Bill asks. Something about poison ivy, she says slowly, looking at him. But it wasnt. It just felt like poison ivy. Mike? Never mind, Mike says. It will come. Tell us what you do remember, Bev.  I remember the blue shorts, she would tell them, and how faded they were getting; how tight around my hips and butt. I had half a pack of Lucky Strikes in one pocket and the Bullseye in the other Do you remember the Bullseye? she asks Richie, but they all nod. Bill gave it to me,  she says. I didnt want it, but it...he ... She smiles at Bill, a little wanly. You couldnt say no to Big Bill, that was all. So I had it and thats why I was out by myself that day. To practice. I still didnt think Id have the guts to use it when the time came. Except ... I used it that day. I had to. I killed one of them ... one of the parts of It. It was terrible. Even now its hard for me to think of. And one of the others got me. Look. She raises her arm and turns it over so they can all see a puckery scar on the roundest part of her upper forearm. It looks as if a hot circular object about the size of a Havana cigar had been pressed against her skin. It is slightly sunken, and looking at it gives Mike Hanlon a chill. This is one of the parts of the story which, like Eddies unwilling hearttoheart with Keene, he has suspected but never actually heard. You were right about one thing, Richie,  she says. That Bullseye was a killer. I was scared of it, but I sorta loved it, too. Richie laughs and claps her on the back. Shit, I knew that back then, you stupid skirt.  You did? Really? Yeah, really, he says. It was something in your eyes, Bevvie.  I mean, it looked like a toy, but it was real. You could blow holes in things. And you blew a hole in something with it that day,  Ben muses. She nods. Was it Patrick you No, God no! Beverly says. It was the other ... wait. She crushes out her cigarette, sips her drink, and gets herself under control again. Finally she is. Well ... no. But she has a feeling its the closest shes going to get tonight. I was rollerskating, you see, and I fell down and gave myself a good scrape. Then I decided Id go down to the Barrens and practice. I went by the clubhouse first to see if you guys were there. You werent. Just that smoky smell. You guys remember how long that place went on smelling of smoke? They all nod, smiling. We never really did get the smell out, did we? Ben says. So then I headed down to the dump,  she says, because thats where we had the ... the tryouts, I guess youd call them, and I knew thered be lots of things to shoot at. Maybe even, you know, rats.  She pauses. Theres a fine misty sweat on her forehead now. Thats what I really wanted to shoot at,  she says finally. Something that was alive. Not a seagullI knew I couldnt shoot a gullbut a rat ... I wanted to see if I could. Im glad I came from the Kansas Street side instead of the Old Cape side, though, because there wasnt much cover over there by the railroad embankment. They would have seen me and God knows what would have happened the. Who would have suhsuhseen yyou? Them, Beverly says. Henry Bowers, Victor Criss, Belch Huggins, and Patrick Hockstetter. They were down in the dump and Suddenly, amazing all of them, she begins to giggle like a child, her cheeks turning rosered. She giggles until tears stand in her eyes. What the hell, Bev,  Richie says. Let us in on the joke. Oh it was a joke, all right,  she says. It was a joke, but I think they might have killed me if they knew Id seen.  I remember now! Ben cries, and he begins to laugh, too. I remember you telling us! Giggling wildly, Beverly says, They had their pants down and they were lighting farts.  There is an instant of thunderstruck silence and then they all begin to laughthe sound echoes through the library. Thinking of exactly how to tell them of Patrick Hockstetters death, the thing she fixes on first is how approaching the town dump from the Kansas Street side was like entering some weird asteroid belt. There was a rutted dirt track (a town road, actually; it even had a name, Old Lyme Street) that ran from Kansas Street to the dump, the only actual road into the Barrensthe citys dump trucks used it. Beverly walked near Old Lyme Street but didnt take itshe had grown more cautiousshe supposed all of them hadsince Eddies arm had been broken. Especially when she was alone. She wove her way through the heavy undergrowth, skirting a patch of poison ivy with its reddish oily leaves, smelling the dumps smoky rot, hearing the seagulls. On her left, through occasional breaks in the foliage, she could see Old Lyme Street. The others are looking at her, waiting. She checks her cigarette pack and finds it empty. Wordlessly, Richie tosses her one of his. She lights up, looks around at them, and says Heading toward the dump from the Kansas Street side was a little like 2 entering some weird asteroid belt. The dumpoid belt. At first there was nothing but the underbrush growing from the spongy ground underfoot, and then you would see your first dumpoid a rusty can that had once contained Prince Spaghetti Sauce, maybe, or an SOK soda bottle crawling with bugs attracted by the sweetsticky remains of cream soda or birch beer. Then there would be a bright wink of sun kicking off a scrap of tinfoil caught in a tree. You might see a bedspring (or trip over it, if you werent watching where you were going) or a bone some dog had carried away, gnawed, dropped. The dump itself wasnt so badwas, in fact, sort of interesting, Beverly thought. What was nasty (and sort of creepy) was the way it had of spreading. Of creating this dumpoid belt. She was getting closer now; the trees were bigger, mostly firs, and the bushes were thinning out.


The gulls cheeped and cried in their shrill querulous voices, and the air was smudgy with the smell of burning. Now, on Beverlys right, leaning at an angle against the base of a spruce tree, was a rusty Amana refrigerator. Beverly glanced at it, thinking vaguely of the state policeman who had visited her class when she had been in the third grade. He had told them that such things as discarded refrigerators were dangerousa kid could climb into one while playing hideandgoseek, for instance, and smother to death inside. Although why anyone would want to get in a scroungy old She heard a shout, so close it made her jump, followed by laughter. Beverly grinned. So they were here. They had left the clubhouse because of the smoky smell and had come down here. They were maybe breaking bottles with rocks, maybe just dumppicking. She began to walk a little faster, the nasty scrape she had gotten earlier now forgotten in her eagerness to see them ... to see him, with his red hair so much like hers, to see if he would smile at her in that oddly endearing onesided way of his. She knew she was too young to love a boy, too young to have anything but crushes, but she loved Bill just the same. And she walked a little faster, her skates swinging heavily from her shoulder, the sling of his Bullseye beating soft time against her left buttock. She almost walked into them before realizing it wasnt her gang at all, but Bowerss. She walked out of the screening bushes and the dumps steepest side lay about seventy yards ahead, a twinkling avalanche of junk lying along the high angle of the gravelpit. Mandy Fazios bulldozer was off to the left. Much closer in front of her was a wilderness of junked cars. At the end of each month these were crushed and hauled off to Portland for scrap, but now there were a dozen or more, some sitting on bare wheelrims, some on their sides, one or two lying on their roofs like dead dogs. They were arranged in two rows and Beverly walked down the rough trashlittered aisle between them like some punk bride of the future, wondering idly if she could break a windshield with the Bullseye. One of the pockets of her blue shorts bulged with the small ballbearings that were her practice ammo. The voices and laughter were coming from beyond the junkedout cars and to the left, at the edge of the dump proper. Beverly rounded the last one, a Studebaker with its entire front end missing. Her hail of greeting died on her lips. The hand she had put up to wave did not exactly fall back to her side; it seemed to wilt. Her first furiously embarrassed thought was Oh dear God, why are they all naked? This was followed by the scary realization of who they were. She froze there in front of the halfStudebaker with her shadow stapled to the heels of her lowtopped sneakers. For that one moment she was totally visible to them; if any of the four had looked up from the circle they were squatting in, he could not have missed her, a girl of slightly more than medium height, a pair of skates over one shoulder, the knee of one long coltish leg still oozing blood, her mouth slackjawed, her cheeks scarlet. Before darting back behind the Studebaker she saw that they werent entirely naked after all; they had their shirts on, and their pants and underpants were simply pulled down to their shoetops, as if they had to Go Number Two (in her shock, Beverlys mind had automatically reverted to the euphemism she had been taught as a toddler)except whoever heard of four boys Going Number Two at the same time? Once out of sight again, her first thought was to get awayget away fast. Her heart was pumping hard, her muscles heavy with adrenaline. She looked around, seeing what she hadnt bothered to notice walking up here, when she had thought the voices she heard belonged to her friends. The row of junked cars on her left was really pretty thinthey were by no means packed in door to door as they would be in the week or so before the crusher came to turn them into rough blocks of twinkling metal. She had been exposed to the boys several times walking up to where she was now; if she retreated, she would be exposed again, and this time she might be seen. Also, she felt a certain shameful curiosity what in the world could they be doing? Carefully, she peeked around the Studebaker. Henry and Victor Criss were more or less facing in her direction. Patrick Hockstetter was on Henrys left. Belch Huggins had his back to her. She observed the fact that Belch had an extremely large, extremely hairy ass, and halfhysterical giggles suddenly bubbled up her throat like the head on a glass of ginger ale. She had to clap both hands over her mouth and withdraw behind the Studebaker again, struggling to hold the giggles in. Youve got to get out of here, Beverly. If they catch you She looked back down between the junked cars, still holding her hands over her mouth. The aisle was maybe ten feet wide, littered with cans, twinkling with little jigsaw pieces of SafTGlas, scruffy with weeds. If she so much as made a sound, they might hear her ... particularly if their absorption in whatever strange thing they were doing flagged. When she thought of how casually she had walked up here, her blood ran cold. Also ... What in the world can they be doing? She peeked again, seeing more of the details this time. There was a careless scatter of books and papers nearbyschoolbooks. They had just come from their summer classes, then, what most of the kids called Dummy School or Makeup School. And, because Henry and Victor were facing her way, she could see their things. They were the first things she had ever seen in her life, other than pictures in a smudgy little book that Brenda Arrowsmith had showed her the year before, and in those pictures you really couldnt see very much. Bev observed now that their things were little tubes that hung down between their legs. Henrys was small and hairless, but Victors was quite big, and there was a cloudy fuzz of fine black hair just over it. Bill has one of those, she thought, and suddenly her whole body seemed to flush at onceheat rushed through her in a wave that made her feel giddy and faint and almost sick to her stomach. In that moment she felt much the way Ben Hanscom had felt on the last day of school, looking down at her ankle bracelet and observing the way it flashed in the sun ... but he had not felt the intermixed sense of terror she felt now. She looked behind her once more. Now the pathway between the cars leading to the shelter of the Barrens seemed much longer. She was scared to move. If they knew she had seen their things, they would probably hurt her. And not just a little. They would hurt her badly. Belch Huggins bellowed suddenly, making her jump, and Henry yelled Three feet! No shit, Belch! It was three feet! Wasnt it, Vic? Vic agreed it was, and they all roared with trolllike laughter. Beverly tried another look around the junked Studebaker. Patrick Hockstetter had turned and halfrisen so that his butt was nearly in Henrys face. In Henrys hand was a silvery, glinting object. After a moments study she made it out as a lighter. I thought you said you felt one coming on, Henry said. I do, Patrick said. Ill tell you when. Get ready! ... Get ready, its coming! Get ... now! Henry flicked the lighter. At the same moment there was the unmistakable ripping sound of a really good fart. There was no mistaking that sound; Beverly had heard it enough in her own house, usually on Saturday night, after the beans and franks. A regular bear for his beans was her father. As Patrick blew off and Henry flicked the lighter, she saw something that made her jaw drop. A bright blue jet of flame appeared to roar directly out of Patricks bum. To Bev it looked like the pilotlight on a gasburner. The boys roared their trolllike laughter and Beverly withdrew behind the sheltering car, stifling mad giggles again. She was laughing, but not because she was amused. In some very weird way it was funny, yes, but mostly she was laughing because she felt a deep revulsion accompanied by a sort of horror. She was laughing because she knew of no other way to cope with what she had seen. It had something to do with seeing the boys things, but that was by no means all or even the great part of what she felt. She had known, after all, that boys had things, the same way she knew that girls had different things; this was only what you might call a confirmed sighting. But the rest of what they were doing seemed so strange, so ludicrous and yet at the same time so deadlyprimitive that she found herself, in spite of the giggling fit, groping for the core of herself with some desperation. Stop, she thought, as if this were the answer, stop, theyll hear you, so just you stop it, Bevvie! But that was impossible. The best she could do was to laugh without engaging her vocal cords, so that the sounds came out of her in a series of almost inaudible chuffs, her hands pasted over her mouth, her cheeks as red as Mac apples, her eyes swimming with tears. Holy shit, that hurts! Victor roared. Twelve feet! Henry bellowed. I swear to God, Vic, twelve fuckin feet! I swear it on my mothers name! I dont care if it was twenty fuckin feet, you burned my ass off! Victor howled, and there was more bellowing laughter ; still trying to giggle silently from behind the sheltering car, Beverly thought of a movie she had seen on TV. Jon Hall had been in it. It was about this jungle tribe, they had a secret rite, and if you saw it, you got sacrificed to their god, which was this big stone idol. This did not stop her giggles, but infused them with a nearly frantic quality. They were becoming more and more like silent screams. Her belly hurt. Tears streamed down her face. 3 Henry, Victor, Belch, and Patrick Hockstetter ended up in the dump lighting each others farts on that hot July afternoon because of Rena Davenport. Henry knew what resulted from consuming large amounts of baked beans. This result was perhaps best expressed in a little ditty he had learned at his fathers knee when he was still in short pants Beans, beans, the musical fruit! The more you eat, the more you toot! The more you toot, the better you feel! Then youre ready for another meal! Rena Davenport and his father had been courting for nearly eight years. She was fat, forty, and usually filthy. Henry supposed that Rena and his father sometimes fucked, although he could not imagine anyone squashing his body down on Rena Davenports. Renas beans were her pride. She soaked them Saturday nights and baked them over a slow fire all day Sunday. Henry supposed they were okaythey were something to shovel into your mouth and chew up, anywaybut after eight years anything lost its charm. Nor was Rena content to make just a few beans; she cooked them in job lots. When she turned up Sunday evenings in her old green De Soto (a naked rubber babydoll hung from the rearview mirror, looking like the worlds youngest lynchmob victim), she usually had the Bowerses beans steaming on the seat beside her in a twelvegallon galvanizedsteel pail. The three of them would eat the beans that night (Rena raving about her own cooking all the while, crazy Butch Bowers grunting and mopping up beanjuice with a piece of Sonny Boy bread or simply telling her to shut up if there was a ballgame on the radio, Henry just eating, staring out the window, thinking his own thoughtsit was over a plate of Sundaynight beans that he had conceived the idea of poisoning Mike Hanlons dog Mr. Chips), and Butch would reheat a mess of them the next night. On Tuesdays and Wednesdays Henry would take a Tupperware box full of them to school. By Thursday or Friday, neither Henry nor his father could eat any more. The houses two bedrooms would smell of stale farts in spite of the open windows. Butch would take the remains and mix them into the other slops and feed them to Bip and Bop, the Bowerses two pigs. Rena would like as not show up the following Sunday with another steaming pail, and the cycle would start all over again. That morning Henry had put up an enormous quantity of leftover beans, and the four of them had eaten the whole lot at noon, sitting out on the playground in the shade of a big old elm. They had eaten until they were nearly bursting. It had been Patrick who suggested they go down to the dump, which would be fairly quiet in the middle of a workingday summer afternoon. By the time they arrived, the beans were doing their work quite nicely. 4 Little by little, Beverly got herself under control again. She knew she had to get out; beating a retreat was ultimately less dangerous than hanging around. They were absorbed in what they were doing, and even if worse came to worst, she could get a headstart (and in the back of her mind she had also decided that, if worst came to terrible, a few shots from the Bullseye might discourage them). She was about to begin creeping away when Victor said, I gotta go, Henry. My dad wants me to help him pick corn this afternoon. Oh shit, Henry said. Hell live. No, hes mad at me. Because of what happened the other day. Fuck him if he cant take a joke. Beverly listened more closely now, suspecting it might be the scuffle which had ended with Eddies broken arm that they were talking about. No, I gotta go. I think his ass hurts, Patrick said. Watch your mouth, fuckface, Victor said. It might grow on you. I got to go too, Belch said. Your father want you to pick corn? Henry asked angrily. This was what might have passed for a jest in Henrys mind; Belchs father was dead. No. But I got a job delivering the Weekly Shopper. I gotta do that tonight. Whats this Weekly Shopper crap? Henry asked, now sounding upset as well as angry. Its a job,  Belch said with ponderous patience. I make money.  Henry made a disgusted sound, and Beverly risked another peek around the car. Victor and Belch were standing, buckling their belts. Henry and Patrick were still squatting with their pants down. The lighter glinted in Henrys hand. Youre not chickening out, are you? Henry asked Patrick. Nope, Patrick said. You dont have to pick corn or go do some pussy job? Nope, Patrick said again. Well, Belch said uncertainly, see you around, Henry. Sure, Henry said, and spat near one of Belchs clodhopping workshoes. Vic and Belch started off together toward the two rows of wrecked cars ... toward the Studebaker behind which Beverly was crouching. At first she could only cringe, frozen with fear like a rabbit. Then she slid around the left side of the Studebaker and backed down the gap between it and the battered, doorless Ford next to it. For a moment she paused, looking from side to side, hearing them approach. She hesitated, her mouth cottonydry, her back itchy with sweat; a part of her mind was numbly wondering how shed look in a cast like Eddies, with the Losers names signed on it. Then she dived into the Ford on the passenger side. She curled up on the filthy floormat, making herself as small as possible. It was boiling hot inside the junkedout Ford, and it smelled so thickly of dust, rotting upholstery, and elderly ratcrap that she had to struggle grimly to keep from sneezing or coughing. She heard Belch and Victor pass close by, talking in low voices. Then they were gone. She sneezed three times, quickly and quietly, into her cupped hands. She supposed she could go now, if she was careful. The best way to do it would be to shift over to the drivers side of the Ford, sneak back to the aisle, and then just do a fade. She believed she could manage it, but the shock of almost being discovered had robbed her of her courage, at least for the time being. She felt safer here in the Ford. And maybe, now that Victor and Belch had gone, the other two would also go soon. Then she could go back to the clubhouse. She had lost all interest in targetshooting. Also, she had to pee. Come on, she thought. Come on, hurry up and go, hurry up and go, puhLEEZE! A moment later she heard Patrick roar with mixed laughter and pain. Six feet! Henry bellowed. Just like a fuckin blowtorch! Swear to God! Silence then for awhile. Sweat trickling down her back. The sun beating through the Fords cracked windshield on the nape of her neck. Heaviness in her bladder. Henry bellowed so loud that Beverly, who had been close to dozing in spite of her discomfort, almost cried out herself. Damn it, Hockstetter! You burned my frigging ass! What are you doing with that lighter? Ten feet, Patrick giggled (just the sound of it made Bev feel cold and revolted, as if she had seen a worm squirm its way out of her salad). Ten feet if it was an inch, Henry. Bright blue. Ten feet if it was an inch. Swear to God! Gimme that, Henry grunted. Come on, come on, you stupidniks, go, get out! When Patrick spoke again his voice was so low Bev could barely hear it. If there had been the slightest breath of wind on the air that baking afternoon, she would not have done. Let me show you something, Patrick said. What? Henry asked. Just something. Patrick paused. It feels good. What? Henry asked again. Then there was silence. I dont want to look, I dont want to see what theyre doing now, and besides, they might see me, in fact they probably will because youve used up all your luck today, girlyo. So just stay right here. No peeking ... But her curiosity had overcome her good sense. There was something strange in that silence, something a little bit scary. She raised her head inch by inch until she could look through the Fords cracked cloudy windshield. She neednt have worried about being seen; both of the boys were concentrating on what Patrick was doing. She didnt understand what she was seeing, but she knew it was nasty ... not that she would have expected anything else from Patrick, who was just so weird. He had one hand between Henrys thighs and one hand between his own. One hand was flogging Henrys thing gently; with his other hand Patrick was rubbing his own. Except he wasnt exactly rubbing ithe was kind of ... squoozing it, pulling it, letting it flop back down. What is he doing? Beverly wondered, dismayed. She didnt know, not for sure, but it scared her. She didnt think she had been this scared since the blood had vomited out of the bathroom drain and splattered all over everything. Some deep part of her cried out that if they discovered she had seen this, whatever it was, they might do more than hurt her; they might actually kill her. Still, she couldnt look away. She saw that Patricks thing had gotten a little longer, but not much; it still dangled between his legs like a snake with no backbone. Henrys, however, had grown amazingly. It stood up stiff and hard, almost poking his bellybutton. Patricks hand went up and down, up and down, sometimes pausing to squeeze, sometimes tickling that odd, heavy sac under Henrys thing. Those are his balls, Beverly thought. Do boys have to go around with those all the time? God, Id go crazy! Another part of her mind then whispered Bill has those. On its own, her mind visualized her holding them, cupping them in her hand, testing their texture ... and that hot feeling raced through her again, sparking off a furious blush. Henry stared at Patricks hand as if hypnotized. His lighter lay on the rocky scree beside him, reflecting hot afternoon sun. Want me to put it in my mouth? Patrick asked. His big, livery lips smiled complacently. Huh? Henry asked, as if startled from some deep dream. Ill put it in my mouth if you want. I dont m Henrys hand flashed out, halfcurled, not quite a fist. Patrick was knocked sprawling. His head thudded on the gravel. Beverly dived down again, her heart crashing in her chest, her teeth locked against a little whimpering moan. After knocking Patrick down, Henry had turned and for a moment, just before she dropped back into her little huddled ball on the passenger side of the driveshaft hump, it seemed that her eyes and Henrys had locked. Please God the sun was in his eyes, she prayed. Please God Im sorry I peeked. Please God. There was an agonizing pause then. Her white blouse was plastered to her body with sweat. Droplets like seed pearls gleamed on her tanned arms. Her bladder throbbed painfully. She felt that very soon she would wet her pants. She waited for Henrys furious crazy face to appear in the opening where the Fords passenger door had been, sure it was going to happenhow could he have missed seeing her? He would drag her out and hurt her. He would A new and even more terrible thought now occurred to her, and once again she had to engage in a painful, crampy struggle to keep from wetting her pants. Suppose he did something to her with his thing? Suppose he wanted her to put it in her somewhere? She knew where it was supposed to go, all right; it seemed that knowledge had suddenly sprung into her mind fullblown. She thought that if Henry tried to put his thing in her she would go crazy. Please no, please God dont let him have seen me, please, okay? Then Henry spoke, and to her growing horror his voice was coming from someplace much closer. I dont go for that queer stuff. From farther off, Patricks voice You liked it. I didnt like it! Henry shouted. And if you tell anyone I did, Ill kill you, you fucking little pansy! You got a boner, Patrick said. He sounded like he was smiling. As much as she feared Henry Bowers, the smile would not have surprised Beverly. Patrick was crazy, crazier than Henry, maybe, and people that crazy werent afraid of anything. I saw it. Footsteps crunched over the gravelcloser and closer. Beverly looked up, her eyes bulging. Through the Fords old windshield she could now see the back of Henrys head. He was looking toward Patrick now, but if he turned around If you tell anyone, Ill say youre a cocksucker, Henry said. Then Ill kill you. You dont scare me, Henry, Patrick said, and giggled. But I might not tell if you gave me a dollar. Henry shifted restlessly. He turned slightly; Beverly could now see onequarter of his profile instead of just the back of his head. Please God please God, she begged incoherently, and her bladder throbbed more strongly. If you tell, Henry said, his voice low and deliberate, Ill tell what youve been doing with the cats. With the dogs, too. Ill tell them about your refrigerator. You know whatll happen, Hockstetter? Theyll come and take you away and put you into the fuckingA looneybin. Silence from Patrick. Henry drummed his fingers on the hood of the Ford Beverly was hiding in. Do you hear me? I hear you. Patrick sounded sullen now. Sullen and a little scared. He burst out You liked it! You got a boner! Biggest boner I ever saw! Yeah, I bet you seen a lot of em, you fuckin little homo faggot. You just remember what I said about the refrigerator. Your refrigerator. And if I see you around again, Ill knock your block off. More silence from Patrick. Henry moved away. Beverly turned her head and saw him pass by the drivers side of the Ford. If he had looked to his left even a little bit, he would have seen her. But he didnt look. A moment later she heard him heading off the way Victor and Belch had gone. Now there was just Patrick. Beverly waited, but nothing happened. Five minutes dragged by. Her need to urinate was now desperate. She might be able to hold out for another two or three minutes, but no more. And it made her uneasy not to know for sure where Patrick was. She peeked through the windshield again and saw him just sitting there. Henry had forgotten his lighter. Patrick had put his schoolbooks back into a small canvas carrier sack and had slung it around his neck like a newsboys, but his pants and underpants were still down around his ankles. He was playing with the lighter. He would spin the wheel, produce a flame that was almost invisible in the bright day, snap the lighter closed, and then start all over again. He seemed hypnotized. A line of blood ran from the corner of his mouth to his chin, and his lips were swelling up on the right side. He seemed not to notice, and once again Beverly felt a squirmy sort of revulsion. Patrick was crazy, all right; she had never in her life wanted so badly to get away from someone. Moving very carefully, she crawled backward over the Fords driveshaft hump and squeezed under the steering wheel. She put her feet out on the ground and crept to the back of the Ford. Then she ran quickly back the way she had come. When she had entered the pines beyond the junked cars, she looked back over her shoulder. No one was there. The dump dozed in the sun. She felt the bands of tension around her chest and stomach loosen with relief, and all that was left was the need to urinate, so great that she now felt sick with it. She hurried down the path a short way and then ducked off to the right. She had her shorts unsnapped almost before the underbrush had closed behind her again. She took a quick look around to make sure there was no poison ivy at hand; then she squatted, holding the tough trunk of a bush for balance. She was pulling her shorts up again when she heard approaching footsteps from the dump. All she could see through the bushes were flashes of blue denim and the faded plaid of a schoolshirt. It was Patrick. She ducked down, waiting for him to pass by toward Kansas Street. She was more sanguine about her position here. The cover was good, she no longer had to pee, and Patrick was off in his own cuckoo world. When he was gone she would double back and head for the clubhouse. But Patrick didnt pass by. He stopped on the path almost directly opposite her and stood looking at the rusting Amana refrigerator. Beverly could observe Patrick along a natural sightline in the bushes without too much chance of being seen. Now that she was relieved, she found she was curious againand if Patrick did happen to see her, she felt certain she could outrun him. He wasnt as fat as Ben, but he was podgy. She pulled the Bullseye out of her back pocket, however, and put half a dozen steel pellets in the breast pocket of her old Ship n Shore. Crazy or not, a good one to the knee might discourage the likes of Patrick Hockstetter in a hurry. She remembered the refrigerator well enough now. There were lots of discarded fridges at the dump, but it suddenly occurred to her that this was the only one shed seen which Mandy Fazio hadnt disarmed by either tearing out the latching mechanism with pliers or simply removing the door altogether. Patrick began to hum and sway back and forth in front of the rusty old refrigerator, and Beverly felt a fresh chill course through her. He was like a guy in a horror movie trying to summon a dead body out of a crypt. Whats he up to? But if she had known that, or what was going to happen when Patrick finished his private ritual and opened the dead Amanas rusty door, she would have run away as fast as she could. 5 No onenot even Mike Hanlonhad the slightest idea of how crazy Patrick Hockstetter really was. He was twelve, the son of a paint salesman. His mother was a devout Catholic who would die of breast cancer in 1962, four years after Patrick was consumed by the dark entity which existed in and below Derry. Although his IQ tested out as low normal, Patrick had already repeated two grades, the first and third. He was taking summer classes this year so he would not have to repeat the fifth as well. His teachers found him an apathetic student (this several of them noted on the bare six lines of the Derry Elementary Schools report cards reserved for TEACHERS COMMENTS) and a rather disturbing one as well (which none notedtheir feelings were too vague, too diffuse, to be expressed in sixty lines, let alone six). If he had been born ten years later, a guidance counsellor might have steered him toward a child psychologist who might (or might not; Patrick was far more clever than his lackluster IQ results indicated) have realized the frightening depths behind that slack and pallid moonface. He was a sociopath, and perhaps, by that hot July in 1958, he had become a fullfledged psychopath. He could not remember a time when he had believed that other peopleany other living creatures, for that matterwere real. He believed himself to be an actual creature, probably the only one in the universe, but was by no means convinced that his actuality made him real. He had no sense of hurting, exactly, and no real sense of being hurt (his indifference to being struck in the mouth by Henry in the dump was a case in point). But while he found reality a totally meaningless concept, he understood the concept of rules perfectly. And while all of his teachers had found him odd (both Mrs. Douglas, his fifthgrade teacher, and Mrs. Weems, who had had Patrick in the third grade, knew about the pencilbox full of flies, and while neither of them totally ignored the implications, each had between twenty and twentyeight other students, each with problems of his or her own), none of them had serious disciplinary problems with him. He might turn in test papers that were utterly blankor blank except for a large, decorative questionmarkand Mrs. Douglas had discovered it was best to keep him away from the girls because of his Roman hands and Russian fingers, but he was quiet, so quiet that there were times when he might have been taken for a big lump of clay that had been crudely fashioned to look like a boy. It was easy to ignore a Patrick, who failed quietly, when you had to cope with boys like Henry Bowers and Victor Criss, who were actively disruptive and insolent, boys who would steal milkmoney or happily deface school property if given a chance, and girls like the unfortunately named Elizabeth Taylor, who was epileptic and whose few poor braincells worked only sporadically and who had to be discouraged from pulling her dresses up in the playyard to show off a new pair of panties. In other words, Derry Elementary School was the typical confused educational carnival, a circus with so many rings that Pennywise himself might have gone unnoticed. Certainly none of Patricks teachers (or his parents, for that matter) suspected that, when he was five, Patrick had murdered his baby brother Avery. Patrick had not liked it when his mother brought Avery home from the hospital. He didnt care (or so he at first told himself) if his parents had two kids, five kids, or five dozen kids, as long as the kid or kids didnt alter his own schedule. But he found that Avery did. Meals came late. The baby cried in the night and woke him up. It seemed that his parents were always hanging over its crib, and often when he tried to get their attention he found that he could not. For one of the few times in his life, Patrick became frightened. It occurred to him that if his parents had brought him, Patrick, home from the hospital, and if he was real, then Avery might be real, too. It might even be that, when Avery got big enough to walk and talk, to bring in his fathers copy of the Derry News from the front step and to hand his mother the bowls when she baked bread, they might decide to get rid of Patrick altogether. It was not that he feared they loved Avery more (although it was obvious to Patrick that they did love him more, and in this case his judgment was probably correct). What he cared about was (1) the rules that were being broken or had changed since Averys arrival, (2) Averys possible reality, and (3) the possibility that they might throw him out in favor of Avery. Patrick went into Averys room one afternoon around twothirty, shortly after the schoolbus had dropped him off from his afternoon kindergarten session. It was January. Outside, snow was beginning to fall. A powerful wind boomed across McCarron Park and rattled the frosty upstairs storm windows. His mother was napping in her bedroom; Avery had been fussy all the previous night. His father was at work. Avery was sleeping on his stomach, his head turned to one side.