He had some hope of this, since the Derry Library insisted on writing in the borrowers street address as well as his name on each books pocket card. Eddie said he was going to watch The Rock Show on TV because Neil Sedaka was going to be on and he wanted to see if Neil Sedaka was a Negro. Stan told Eddie not to be so stupid, Neil Sedaka was white, you could tell he was white just listening to him. Eddie claimed you couldnt tell anything by listening to them; until last year he had been positive Chuck Berry was white, but when he was on Bandstand he turned out to be a Negro. My mother still thinks hes white, so thats one good thing, Eddie said. If she finds out hes a Negro, she probably wont let me listen to his songs anymore. Stan bet Eddie four funnybooks that Neil Sedaka was white, and the two of them set off together for Eddies house to settle the issue. And here were Bill and Richie, headed in a direction which would bring them to Bills house after awhile, neither of them talking much. Richie found himself thinking about Bills story of the picture that had turned its head and winked. And in spite of his tiredness, an idea came to him. It was crazy ... but it also held a certain attraction. Billy me boy, he said. Lets stop for awhile. Take five. Im dead. No such 11luck, Bill said, but he stopped, laid Silver carefully down on the edge of the green Theological Seminary lawn, and the two boys sat on the wide stone steps which led up to the rambling red Victorian structure. What a ddday, Bill said glumly. There were dark purplish patches under his eyes. His face looked white and used. You better call your house when wwe get to muhmine. So your ffolks dont go bbbananas. Yeah. You bet. Listen, Bill Richie paused for a moment, thinking about Bens mummy, Eddies leper, and whatever Stan had almost told them. For a moment something swam in his own mind, something about that Paul Bunyan statue out by the City Center. But that had only been a dream, for Gods sake. He pushed away such irrelevant thoughts and plunged. Lets go up to your house, what do you say? Take a look in Georgies room. I want to see that picture. Bill looked at Richie, shocked. He tried to speak but could not; his stress was simply too great. He settled for shaking his head violently. Richie said, You heard Eddies story. And Bens. Do you believe what they said? I dont nuhnuhknow. I thhink they mmmust have suhseen suhhomething. Yeah. Me too. All the kids thatve been killed around here, I think all of them would have had stories to tell, too. The only difference between Ben and Eddie and those other kids is that Ben and Eddie didnt get caught. Bill raised his eyebrows but showed no great surprise. Richie had supposed Bill would have taken it that far himself. He couldnt talk so good, but he was no dummy. So now dig on this awhile, Big Bill, Richie said. A guy could dress up in a clown suit and kill kids. I dont know why hed want to, but nobody can tell why crazy people do things, right? RuhRuhRuh Right. Its not that much different than the Joker in a Batman funnybook. Just hearing his ideas out loud excited Richie. He wondered briefly if he was actually trying to prove something or just throwing up a smokescreen of words so he could see that room, that picture. In the end it probably didnt matter. In the end maybe just seeing Bills eyes light up with their own excitement was enough. BBBut whwhwhere does the pihhicture fit iiin? What do you think, Billy? In a low voice, not looking at Richie, Bill said he didnt think it had anything to do with the murders. I think it was Juh juhGeorgies gghost. A ghost in a picture? Bill nodded. Richie thought about it. The idea of ghosts gave his childs mind no trouble at all. He was sure there were such things. His parents were Methodists, and Richie went to church every Sunday and to Thursdaynight Methodist Youth Fellowship meetings as well. He knew a great deal of the Bible already, and he knew the Bible believed in all sorts of weird stuff. According to the Bible, God Himself was at least onethird Ghost, and that was just the beginning. You could tell the Bible believed in demons, because Jesus threw a bunch of them out of this guy. Real chuckalicious ones, too. When Jesus asked the guy who had them what his name was, the demons answered and told Him to go join the Foreign Legion. Or something like that. The Bible believed in witches, or else why would it say Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live? Some of the stuff in the Bible was even better than the stuff in the horror comics. People getting boiled in oil or hanging themselves like Judas Iscariot; the story about how wicked King Ahaz fell off the tower and all the dogs came and licked up his blood; the mass babymurders that had accompanied the births of both Moses and Jesus Christ; guys who came out of their graves or flew into the air; soldiers who witched down walls; prophets who saw the future and fought monsters. All of that was in the Bible and every word of it was trueso said Reverend Craig and so said Richies folks and so said Richie. He was perfectly willing to credit the possibility of Bills explanation; it was the logic which troubled him. But you said you were scared. Why would Georges ghost want to scare you, Bill? Bill put a hand to his mouth and wiped it. The hand was trembling slightly. HHes probably muhmuhmad at mmme. For ggetting him kihhilled. It was my fuhfuhfault. I ssent him out with the buhbuhbuh He was incapable of getting the word out, so he rocked his hand in the air instead. Richie nodded to show he understood what Bill meant ... but not to indicate agreement. I dont think so, he said. If you stabbed him in the back or shot him, that would be different. Or even if you, like, gave him a loaded gun that belonged to your dad to play with and he shot himself with it. But it wasnt a gun, it was just a boat. You didnt want to hurt him; in factRichie raised one finger and waggled it at Bill in a lawyerly wayyou just wanted the kid to have a little fun, right? Bill thought backthought desperately hard. What Richie had just said had made him feel better about Georges death for the first time in months, but there was a part of him which insisted with quiet firmness that he was not supposed to feel better. Of course it was your fault, that part of him insisted; not entirely, maybe, but at least partly. If not, how come theres that cold place on the couch between your mother and father? If not, how come no one ever says anything at the supper table anymore? Now its just knives and forks rattling until you cant take it anymore and ask if you can be ehehehexcused, please. It was as if he were the ghost, a presence that spoke and moved but was not quite heard or seen, a thing vaguely sensed but still not accepted as real. He did not like the thought that he was to blame, but the only alternative he could think of to explain their behavior was much worse that all the love and attention his parents had given him before had somehow been the result of Georges presence, and with George gone there was nothing for him ... and all of that had happened at random, for no reason at all. And if you put your ear to that door, you could hear the winds of madness blowing outside. So he went over what he had done and felt and said on the day Georgie had died, part of him hoping that what Richie had said was true, part of him hoping just as hard it was not. He hadnt been a saint of a big brother to George, that much was certain. They had had fights, plenty of them. Surely there had been one that day? No. No fight. For one thing, Bill himself had still been feeling too punk to work up a really good quarrel with George. He had been sleeping, dreaming something, dreaming about some (turtle) funny little animal, he couldnt remember just what, and he had awakened to the sound of the diminishing rain outside and George muttering unhappily to himself in the dining room. He asked George what was wrong. George came in and said he was trying to make a paper boat from the directions in his Best Book of Activities but it kept coming out wrong. Bill told George to bring his book. And sitting next to Richie on the steps leading up to the seminary, he remembered how Georgies eyes lit up when the paper boat came out right, and how good that look had made him feel, like Georgie thought he was a real hot shit, a straight shooter, the guy who could do it until it got done. Making him feel, in short, like a big brother. The boat had killed George, but Richie was rightit hadnt been like handing George a loaded gun to play with. Bill hadnt known what was going to happen. No way he could. He drew a deep, shuddering breath, feeling something like a rocksomething he hadnt even known was therego rolling off his chest. All at once he felt better, better about everything. He opened his mouth to tell Richie this and burst into tears instead. Alarmed, Richie put an arm around Bills shoulders (after taking a quick glance around to make sure no one who might mistake them for a couple of fagolas was looking). Youre okay, he said. Youre okay, Billy, right? Come on. Turn off the waterworks. I didnt wuhwuhwant hhim tto ggget kuhhilled! Bill sobbed. THTHAT WUHWUHWASNT ON MY MMMMIND AT UHUHALL! Christ, Billy, I know it wasnt, Richie said. If youd wanted to scrub him, you woulda pushed him downstairs or something. Richie patted Bills shoulder clumsily and gave him a hard little hug before letting go. Come on, quit bawlin, okay? You sound like a baby. Little by little Bill stopped. He still hurt, but this hurt seemed cleaner, as if he had cut himself open and taken out something that was rotting inside him. And that feeling of relief was still there. II didnt wwant him to get kuhkuhkilled, Bill repeated, and ihif yyyou ttell anybody I wwas cccryin, Ill bbbust your nnnose. I wont tell, Richie said, dont worry. He was your brother, for gosh sake. If my brother got killed, Id cry my fuckin head off. YuhYuhYou ddont have a buhbrother. Yeah, but if I did. YYou wwwould? Course. Richie paused, fixing Bill with a wary eye, trying to decide if Bill was really over it. He was still wiping his red eyes with his snotrag, but Richie decided he probably was. All I meant was that I dont know why George would want to haunt you. So maybe the pictures got something to do with ... well, with that other. The clown. MuhMuhMaybe GGGeorge dddoesnt nuhnuhknow. Maybe hhe ththinks Richie understood what Bill was trying to say and waved it aside. After you croak you know everything people ever thought about you, Big Bill. He spoke with the indulgent air of a great teacher correcting a country bumpkins fatuous ideas. Its in the Bible. It says, Yea, even though we cant see too much in the mirror right now, we will see through it like it was a window after we die. Thats in First Thessalonians or Second Babylonians, I forget which. It means I suhsuhsee what it mmmeans, Bill said. So what do you say? Huh? Lets go up to his room and take a look. Maybe well get a clue about whos killing all the kids. Im ssscared to. I am too, Richie said, thinking it was just more sand, something to say that would get Bill moving, and then something heavy turned over in his midsection and he discovered it was true he was scared green. 4 The two boys slipped into the Denbrough house like ghosts. Bills father was still at work. Sharon Denbrough was in the kitchen, reading a paperback at the kitchen table. The smell of suppercodfishdrifted out into the front hall. Richie called home so his mom would know he wasnt dead, just at Bills. Someone there? Mrs. Denbrough called as Richie put the phone down. They froze, eyeing each other guiltily. Then Bill called MMe, Mom. And RRRRR Richie Tozier, maam, Richie yelled. Hello, Richie, Mrs. Denbrough called back, her voice disconnected, almost not there at all. Would you like to stay for supper? Thanks, maam, but my moms gonna pick me up in half an hour or so. Tell her I said hello, wont you? Yes maam, I sure will. CCome on, Bill whispered. Thats enough ssmall talk. They went upstairs and down the hall to Bills room. It was boyneat, which meant it would have given the mother of the boy in question only a mild headache to look at. The shelves were stuffed with a helterskelter collection of books and comics. There were more comics, plus a few models and toys and a stack of 45s, on the desk. There was also an old Underwood office model typewriter on it. His folks had given it to him for Christmas two years ago, and Bill sometimes wrote stories on it. He did this a bit more frequently since Georges death. The pretending seemed to ease his mind. There was a phonograph on the floor across from the bed with a pile of folded clothes stacked on the lid. Bill put the clothes in the drawers of his bureau and then took the records from the desk. He shuffled through them, picking half a dozen. He put them on the phonographs fat spindle and turned the machine on. The Fleetwoods started singing Come Softly Darling. Richie held his nose. Bill grinned in spite of his thumping heart. ThThey ddont luhluhhike rock and rroll, he said. They ggave me this wuhone for my bbbirthday. Also two PPat BBBoone records and TuhTuhTommy Sands. I keep LLLittle RuhRichard and Scuhhreamin JJay Hawkins for when theyre not hhere. But if she hears the mmmusic shell ththink were iin mmy room. CCCome oon. Georges room was across the hall. The door was shut. Richie looked at it and licked his lips. They dont keep it locked? he whispered to Bill. Suddenly he found himself hoping it was locked. Suddenly he was having trouble believing this had been his idea. Bill, his face pale, shook his head and turned the knob. He stepped in and looked back at Richie. After a moment Richie followed. Bill shut the door behind them, muffling the Fleetwoods. Richie jumped a little at the soft snick of the latch. He looked around, fearful and intensely curious at the same time. The first thing he noticed was the dry mustiness of the airNo ones opened a window in here for a long time, he thought. Heck, no ones breathed in here for a long time. Thats really what it feels like. He shuddered a little at the thought and licked his lips again. His eye fell on Georges bed, and he thought of George sleeping now under a comforter of earth in Mount Hope Cemetery. Rotting there. His hands not folded because you needed two hands to do the old folding routine, and George had been buried with only one. A little sound escaped Richies throat. Bill turned and looked at him enquiringly. Youre right, Richie said huskily. Its spooky in here. I dont see how you could stand to come in alone. HHe was my bruhbrother, Bill said simply. Sometimes I wwwant to, is aall. There were posters on the wallslittlekid posters. One showed Tom Terrific, the cartoon character on Captain Kangaroos program. Tom was springing over the head and clutching hands of Crabby Appleton, who was, of course, Rotten to the Core. Another showed Donald Ducks nephews, Huey, Louie, and Dewie, marching off into the wilderness in their Junior Woodchucks coonskin caps. A third, which George had colored himself, showed Mr. Do holding up traffic so a bunch of little kids headed for school could cross the street. MR. DO SAYS WAIT FOR THE CROSSING GUARD!, it said underneath. Kid wasnt too cool about staying in the lines, Richie thought, and then shuddered. The kid was never going to get any better at it, either. Richie looked at the table by the window. Mrs. Denbrough had stood up all of Georges rankcards there, halfopen. Looking at them, knowing there would never be more, knowing that George had died before he could stay in the lines when he colored, knowing his life had ended irrevocably and eternally with only those few kindergarten and firstgrade rankcards, all the idiot truth of death crashed home to Richie for the first time. It was as if a large iron safe had fallen into his brain and buried itself there. I could die! his mind screamed at him suddenly in tones of betrayed horror. Anybody could! Anybody could! Boy oh boy, he said in a shaky voice. He could manage no more. Yeah, Bill said in a nearwhisper. He sat down on Georges bed. Look. Richie followed Bills pointing finger and saw the photo album lying closed on the floor. MY PHOTOGRAPHS, Richie read. GEORGE ELMER DENBROUGH, AGE 6. Age 6! his mind shrieked in those same tones of shrill betrayal. Age 6 forever! Anybody could! Shit! Fucking anybody! It was ohohopen, Bill said. BBefore. So it closed, Richie said uneasily. He sat down on the bed beside Bill and looked at the photo album. Lots of books close on their own. The pppages, maybe, but nnot the cuhcuhcover. It cclosed itself. He looked at Richie solemnly, his eyes very dark in his pale, tired face. BBut it wuhwuhwants yyou to ohopen it up again. Thats what I ththink. Richie got up and walked slowly over to the photograph album. It lay at the base of a window screened with light curtains. Looking out, he could see the apple tree in the Denbrough back yard. A swing rocked slowly back and forth from one gnarled, black limb. He looked down at Georges book again. A dried maroon stain colored the thickness of the pages in the middle of the book. It could have been old ketchup. Sure; it was easy enough to see George looking at his photo album while eating a hot dog or a big sloppy hamburger; he takes a big bite and some ketchup squirts out onto the book. Little kids were always doing spasmoid stuff like that. It could be ketchup. But Richie knew it was not. He touched the album briefly and then drew his hand away. It felt cold. It had been lying in a place where the strong summer sunlight, only slightly filtered by those light curtains, would have been falling on it all day, but it felt cold. Well, Ill just leave it alone, Richie thought. I dont want to look in his stupid old album anyway, see a lot of people I dont know. I think maybe Ill tell Bill I changed my mind, and we can go to his room and read comic books for awhile and then Ill go home and eat supper and go to bed early because Im pretty tired, and when I wake up tomorrow morning Im sure Ill be sure that stuff was just ketchup. Thats just what Ill do. Yowza. So he opened the album with hands that seemed a thousand miles away from him, at the end of long plastic arms, and he looked at the faces and places in Georges album, the aunts, the uncles, the babies, the houses, the old Fords and Studebakers, the telephone lines, the mailboxes, the picket fences, the wheelruts with muddy water in them, the Ferris wheel at the Esty County Fair, the Standpipe, the ruins of the Kitchener Ironworks His fingers flipped faster and faster and suddenly the pages were blank. He turned back, not wanting to but unable to help himself. Here was a picture of downtown Derry, Main Street and Canal Street from around 1930, and beyond it there was nothing. Theres no school picture of George in here, Richie said. He looked at Bill with a mixture of relief and exasperation. What kind of line were you handing me, Big Bill? WWWhat? This picture of downtown in the olden days is the last one in the book. All the rest of the pages are blank. Bill got off the bed and joined Richie. He looked at the picture of downtown Derry as it had been almost thirty years ago, oldfashioned cars and trucks, oldfashioned streetlights with clusters of globes like big white grapes, pedestrians by the Canal caught in midstride by the click of a shutter. He turned the page and, just as Richie had said, there was nothing. No, waitnot quite nothing. There was one studio corner, the sort of item you use to mount photographs. It wwwas here, he said, and tapped the studio corner. LLook. Jeepers! What do you think happened to it? I ddont nuhnuhknow. Bill had taken the album from Richie and was now holding it on his own lap. He turned back through the pages, looking for Georges picture. He gave up after a minute, but the pages did not. They turned themselves, flipping slowly but steadily, with big deliberate riffling sounds. Bill and Richie looked at each other, wideeyed, and then back down. It arrived at that last picture again and the pages stopped turning. Here was downtown Derry in sepia tones, the city as it had been long before either Bill or Richie had been born. Say! Richie said suddenly, and took the album back from Bill. There was no fear in his voice now, and his face was suddenly full of wonder. Holy shit! WWhat? What ihihis it? Us! Thats what it is! Holyjeezlycrow, look! Bill took one side of the book. Bent over it, sharing it, they looked like boys at choir practice. Bill drew in breath sharply, and Richie knew he had seen it too. Caught under the shiny surface of this old blackandwhite photograph two small boys were walking along Main Street toward the point where Main and Center intersectedthe point where the Canal went underground for a mile and a half or so. The two boys showed up clearly against the low concrete wall at the edge of the Canal. One was wearing knickers. The other was wearing something that looked almost like a sailor suit. A tweed cap was perched on his head. They were turned in threequarter profile toward the camera, looking at something on the far side of the street. The boy in the knickers was Richie Tozier, beyond a doubt. And the boy in the sailor suit and the tweed cap was Stuttering Bill. They stared at themselves in a picture almost three times as old as they were, hypnotized. The inside of Richies mouth suddenly felt as dry as dust and as smooth as glass. A few steps ahead of the boys in the picture there was a man holding the brim of his fedora, his topcoat frozen forever as it flapped out behind him in a sudden gust of wind. There were ModelTs on the street, a PierceArrow, Chevrolets with running boards. IIII ddont buhbuhbelieve Bill began, and that was when the picture began to move. The ModelT that should have remained eternally in the middle of the intersection (or at least until the chemicals in the old photo finally dissolved completely) passed through it, a haze of exhaust puffing out of its tailpipe. It went on toward UpMile Hill. A small white hand shot out of the drivers side window and signalled a left turn. It swung onto Court Street and passed beyond the photos white border and so out of sight. The PierceArrow, the Chevrolets, the Packardsthey all began to roll along, dodging their separate ways through the intersection. After twentyeight years or so the skirt of the mans topcoat finally finished its flap. He settled his hat more firmly on his head and walked on. The two boys completed their turn, coming fullface, and a moment later Richie saw what they had been looking at as a mangy dog came trotting across Center Street. The boy in the sailor suitBillraised two fingers to the corners of his mouth and whistled. Stunned beyond any ability to move or think, Richie realized he could hear the whistle, could hear the cars irregular sewingmachine engines. The sounds were faint, like sounds heard through thick glass, but they were there. The dog glanced toward the two boys, then trotted on. The boys glanced at each other and laughed like chipmunks. They started to walk on, and then the Richie in knickers grabbed Bills arm and pointed toward the Canal. They turned in that direction. No, Richie thought, dont do that, dont They went to the low concrete wall and suddenly the clown popped up over its edge like a horrible jackinthebox, a clown with Georgie Denbroughs face, his hair slicked back, his mouth a hideous grin full of bleeding greasepaint, his eyes black holes. One hand clutched three balloons on a string. With the other he reached for the boy in the sailor suit and seized his neck. NuhNuhNO! Bill cried, and reached for the picture. Reached into the picture. Stop it, Bill! Richie shouted, and grabbed for him. He was almost too late. He saw the tips of Bills fingers go through the surface of the photograph and into that other world. He saw the fingertips go from the warm pink of living flesh to the mummified cream color that passed for white in old photos. At the same time they became small and disconnected. It was like the peculiar optical illusion one sees when one thrusts a hand into a glass bowl of water the part of the hand underwater seems to be floating, disembodied, inches away from the part which is still out of the water. A series of diagonal cuts slashed across Bills fingers at the point where they ceased being his fingers and became photofingers; it was as if he had stuck his hand into the blades of a fan instead of into a picture. Richie seized his forearm and gave a tremendous yank. They both fell over. Georges album hit the floor and snapped itself shut with a dry clap. Bill stuck his fingers in his mouth. Tears of pain stood in his eyes. Richie could see blood running down his palm to his wrist in thin streams. Let me see, he said. HuHurts, Bill said. He held his hand out to Richie, palm down. There were ladderlike slashcuts running up his index, second, and third fingers. The pinky had barely touched the surface of the photograph (if it had a surface), and although that finger had not been cut, Bill told Richie later that the nail had been neatly clipped, as if with a pair of manicurists scissors. Jesus, Bill, Richie said. BandAids. That was all he could think of. God, they had been luckyif he hadnt pulled Bills arm when he did, his fingers might have been amputated instead of just badly cut. We got to fix those up. Your mother can Nehnehnever mmind mmy muhhuther, Bill said. He grabbed the photo album again, spilling drops of blood on the floor. Dont open that again! Richie cried, grabbing frantically at Bills shoulder. Jesus Christ, Billy, you almost lost your fingers! Bill shook him off. He flipped through the pages, and there was a grim determination on his face that scared Richie more than anything else. Bills eyes looked almost mad. His wounded fingers printed Georges album with new bloodit didnt look like ketchup yet, but when it had a little time to dry it would. Of course it would. And here was the downtown scene again. The ModelT stood in the middle of the intersection. The other cars were frozen in the places where they had been before. The man walking toward the intersection held the brim of his fedora; his coat once more belled out in midflap. The two boys were gone. There were no boys in the picture anywhere. But Look, Richie whispered, and pointed. He was careful to keep the tip of his finger well away from the picture. An arc showed just over the low concrete wall at the edge of the Canalthe top of something round. Something like a balloon. 5 They got out of Georges room just in time. Bills mother was a voice at the foot of the stairs and a shadow on the wall. Have you boys been wrestling? she asked sharply. I heard a thud. Just a lihlihlittle, MMom. Bill threw a sharp glance at Richie. Be quiet, it said. Well, I want you to stop it. I thought the ceiling was going to come right down on my head. WWWe will. They heard her go back toward the front of the house. Bill had wrapped his handkerchief around his bleeding hand; it was turning red and in a moment would start to drip. The boys went down to the bathroom, where Bill held his hand under the faucet until the bleeding stopped. Cleaned, the cuts looked thin but cruelly deep. Looking at their white lips and the red meat just inside them made Richie feel sick to his stomach. He wrapped them with BandAids as fast as he could. HHHurts like hell, Bill said. Well whyd you want to go and put your hand in there, you wet end? Bill looked solemnly at the rings of BandAids on his fingers, then up at Richie. IIIt was the cluhhown, he said. It wwwas the cclown pretending to be JuhjuhGeorge. Thats right, Richie said. Like it was the clown pretending to be the mummy when Ben saw it. Like it was the clown pretending to be that sick bum Eddie saw. The luhluhleper. Right. But ihis it rrreally a cluhcluhclown? Its a monster, Richie said flatly. Some kind of monster. Some kind of monster right here in Derry. And its killing kids. 6 On a Saturday, not long after the incident of the dam in the Barrens, Mr. Nell, and the picture that moved, Richie, Ben, and Beverly Marsh came face to face with not one monster but twoand they paid to do it. Richie did, anyway. These monsters were scary but not really dangerous; they stalked their victims on the screen of the Aladdin Theater while Richie, Ben, and Bev watched from the balcony. One of the monsters was a werewolf, played by Michael Landon, and he was cool because even when he was the werewolf he still had sort of a ducks ass haircut. The other was this smashedup hotrodder, played by Gary Conway. He was brought back to life by a descendant of Victor Frankenstein, who fed all parts he didnt need to a bunch of alligators he kept in the basement. Also on the program a Movie Tone Newsreel that showed the latest Paris fashions and the latest Vanguard rocket explosions at Cape Canaveral, two Warner Brothers cartoons, one Popeye cartoon, and a Chilly Willy cartoon (for some reason the hat Chilly Willy wore always cracked Richie up), and PREVUES OF COMING ATTRACTIONS. The coming attractions included two pictures Richie immediately put on his gottasee list I Married a Monster from Outer Space and The Blob. Ben was very quiet during the show. Ole Haystack had nearly been spotted by Henry, Belch, and Victor earlier, and Richie assumed that was all that was troubling him. Ben, however, had forgotten all about the creeps (they were sitting close to the screen down below, chucking popcorn boxes at each other and hooting). Beverly was the reason for his silence. Her nearness was so overwhelming that he was almost ill with it. His body would break out in goosebumps and then, if she should so much as shift in her seat, his skin would flash hot, as if with a tropical fever. When her hand brushed his reaching for the popcorn, he trembled with exaltation. He thought later that those three hours in the dark next to Beverly had been both the longest and shortest hours of his life. Richie, unaware that Ben was in deep throes of calflove, was feeling just as fine as paint. In his book the only thing any better than a couple of Francis the Talking Mule pictures was a couple of horror pictures in a theater filled with kids, all of them yelling and screaming at the gory parts. He certainly did not connect any of the goingsons in the two lowbudget AmericanInternational pictures they were watching with what was going on in town ... not then, at least. He had seen the Twin Shock Show Saturday Matinee ad in the News on Friday morning and had almost immediately forgotten how badly he had slept the night beforeand how he had finally gotten up and turned on the light in his closet, a real baby trick for sure, but he hadnt been able to get a wink of sleep until hed done it. But by the following morning things had seemed normal again ... well, almost. He began to think that maybe he and Bill had just shared a hallucination. Of course the cuts on Bills fingers werent a hallucination, but maybe theyd just been papercuts from some of the sheets in Georgies album. Pretty thick paper. Could of been. Maybe. Besides, there was no law saying he had to spend the next ten years thinking about it, was there? Nope. And so, following an experience that might well have sent an adult running for the nearest headshrinker, Richie Tozier got up, ate a giant pancake breakfast, saw the ad for the two horror movies on the Amusements page of the paper, checked his funds, found them a little low (well ... nonexistent might actually have been a better word), and began to pester his father for chores. His dad, who had come to the table already wearing his white dentists tunic, put down the Sports pages and poured himself a second cup of coffee. He was a pleasantlooking man with a rather thin face.


He wore steelrimmed spectacles, was developing a bald spot at the back of his head, and would die of cancer of the larynx in 1973. He looked at the ad to which Richie was pointing. Horror movies, Wentworth Tozier said. Yeah, Richie said, grinning. Feel like you have to go, Wentworth Tozier said. Yeah! Feel like youll probably die in convulsions of disappointment if you dont get to see those two trashy movies. Yeah, yeah, I would! I know I would! Graaaag! Richie fell out of his chair onto the floor, clutching his throat, his tongue sticking out. This was Richies admittedly peculiar way of turning on the charm. Oh God, Richie, will you please stop it? his mother asked him from the stove, where she was frying him a couple of eggs to top off the pancakes. Gee, Rich, his father said as Richie got back into his chair. I guess I must have forgotten to pay you your allowance on Monday. Thats the only reason I can think of for you needing more money on Friday. Well ... Gone? Well ... Thats an extremely deep subject for a boy with such a shallow mind, Wentworth Tozier said. He put his elbow on the table and then cupped his chin on the palm of his hand, regarding his only son with what appeared to be deep fascination. Whered it go? Richie immediately fell into the Voice of Toodles the English Butler. Why, I spent it, didnt I, guvnor? Pippip, cheerio, and all that rot! My part of the war effort. All got to do our bit to beat back the bloody Hun, dont we? Bit of a sticky wicket, aywot? Bit of a wet hedgehog, wotwot? Bit of a Bit of a pile of bullshit, Went said amiably, and reached for the strawberry preserves. Spare me the vulgarity at the breakfast table, if you please, Maggie Tozier said to her husband as she brought Richies eggs over to the table. And to Richie I dont know why you want to fill your head up with such awful junk anyway. Aw, Mom, Richie said. He was outwardly crushed, inwardly jubilant. He could read both of his parents like bookswellworn and wellloved booksand he was pretty sure he was going to get what he wanted chores and permission to go to the show Saturday afternoon. Went leaned forward toward Richie and smiled widely. I think I have you right where I want you, he said. Is that right, Dad? Richie said, and smiled back ... a trifle uneasily. Oh yes. You know our lawn, Richie? You are familiar with our lawn? Indeed I am, guvnor, Richie said, becoming Toodles againor trying to. Bit shaggy, aywot? Wotwot, Went agreed. And you, Richie, will remedy that condition. I will? You will. Mow it, Richie. Okay, Dad, sure, Richie said, but a terrible suspicion had suddenly blossomed in his mind. Maybe his dad didnt mean just the front lawn. Wentworth Toziers smile widened to a predatory sharks grin. All of it, O idiot child of my loins. Front. Back. Sides. And when you finish, I will cross your palm with two green pieces of paper with the likeness of George Washington on one side and a picture of a pyramid oertopped with the EverWatching Oculary on the other. I dont get you, Dad, Richie said, but he was afraid he did. Two bucks. Two bucks for the whole lawn? Richie cried, genuinely wounded. Its the biggest lawn on the block! Jeez, Dad! Went sighed and picked the paper up again. Richie could read the front page headline MISSING BOY PROMPTS NEW FEARS. He thought briefly of George Denbroughs strange scrapbookbut that had surely been a hallucination ... and even if it hadnt been, that was yesterday and this was today. Guess you didnt want to see those movies as bad as you thought, Went said from behind the paper. A moment later his eyes appeared over the top, studying Richie. Studying him a trifle smugly, in truth. Studying him the way a man with four of a kind studies his poker opponent over the fan of his cards. When the Clark twins do it all, you give them two dollars each! Thats true, Went admitted. But as far as I know, they dont want to go to the movies tomorrow. Or if they do, they must have funds sufficient to the occasion, because they havent popped by to check the state of the herbiage surrounding our domicile lately. You, on the other hand, do want to go and find yourself lacking the funds to do so. That pressure you feel in your midsection may be the five pancakes and two eggs you ate for breakfast, Richie, or it may just be the barrel I have you over. Wotwot? Wents eyes submerged behind the paper again. Hes blackmailing me, Richie said to his mother, who was eating dry toast. She was trying to lose weight again. This is blackmail, I just hope you know that. Yes, dear, I know that, his mother said. Theres egg on your chin. Richie wiped the egg off his chin. Three bucks if I have it all done when you get home tonight? he asked the newspaper. His fathers eyes appeared again briefly. Twofifty. Oh, man, Richie said. You and Jack Benny. My idol, Went said from behind the paper. Make up your mind, Richie. I want to read these box scores. Deal, Richie said, and sighed. When your folks had you by the balls, they really knew how to squeeze. It was pretty chuckalicious, when you thought it over. As he mowed, he practiced his Voices. 7 He finishedfront, back, and sidesby three oclock Friday afternoon, and began Saturday with two dollars and fifty cents in his jeans. Pretty damn near a fortune. He called Bill up, but Bill told him glumly that he had to go up to Bangor and take some kind of speechtherapy test. Richie sympathized and then added in his best Stuttering Bill Voice GGGive em hhhell, BuhBuhBig BihBill. Your ffface and my buhbuhbutt, TTTozier, Bill said, and hung up. He called Eddie Kaspbrak next, but Eddie sounded even more depressed than Billhis mother had gotten them each a fullday buspass, he said, and they were going to visit Eddies aunts in Haven and Bangor and Hampden. All three of them were fat, like Mrs. Kaspbrak, and all three of them were single. Theyll all pinch my cheek and tell me how much Ive grown, Eddie said. Thats cause they know how cute you are, Edsjust like me. I saw what a cutie you were the first time I met you. Sometimes youre really a turd, Richie. It takes one to know one, Eds, and you know em all. You gonna be down in the Barrens next week? I guess so, if you guys are. Want to play guns? Maybe. But ... I think me and Big Bill have got something to tell you. What? Its really Bills story, I guess. Ill see you. Enjoy your aunts. Very funny. His third call was to Stan the Man, but Stan was in dutch with his folks for breaking their picture window. He had been playing flyingsaucer with a pieplate and it took a bad bank. Keerash. He had to do chores all weekend, and probably next weekend, too. Richie commiserated and then asked Stan if he would be coming down to the Barrens next week. Stan said he guessed so, if his father didnt decide to ground him, or something. Jeez, Stan, it was just a window, Richie said. Yeah, but a big one, Stan said, and hung up. Richie started to leave the living room, then thought of Ben Hanscom. He thumbed through the telephone book and found a listing for an Arlene Hanscom. Since she was the only lady Hanscom among the four listed, Richie figured it had to be Bens number and called. Id like to go, but I already spent my allowance, Ben said. He sounded depressed and ashamed by the admissionhe had, in fact, spent it all on candy, soda, chips, and beefjerky strips. Richie, who was rolling in dough (and who didnt like to go to the movies alone), said I got plenty of money. You can gimme owesies. Yeah? Really? Youd do that? Sure, Richie said, puzzled. Why not? Okay! Ben said happily. Okay, thatd be great! Two horror movies! Did you say one was a werewolf picture? Yeah. Man, I love werewolf pictures! Jeez, Haystack, dont wet your pants. Ben laughed. Ill see you out in front of the Aladdin, okay? Yeah, great. Richie hung up and looked at the phone thoughtfully. It suddenly occurred to him that Ben Hanscom was lonely. And that in turn made him feel rather heroic. He was whistling as he ran upstairs to get some comics to read before the show. 8 The day was sunny, breezy, and cool. Richie jived along Center Street toward the Aladdin, popping his fingers and singing Rockin Robin under his breath. He was feeling good. Going to the movies always made him feel goodhe loved that magic world, those magic dreams. He felt sorry for anyone who had dull duties to discharge on such a dayBill with his speech therapy, Eddie with his aunts, poor old Stan the Man who would be spending the afternoon scraping down the frontporch steps or sweeping the garage because the pieplate hed been throwing around swept right when it was supposed to sweep left. Richie had his yoyo tucked in his back pocket and now he took it out and tried again to get it to sleep. This was an ability Richie lusted to acquire, but so far, no soap. The crazy lil fucker just wouldnt do it. Either it went down and popped right back up or it went down and dropped dead at the end of its string. Halfway up Center Street Hill he saw a girl in a beige pleated skirt and a white sleeveless blouse sitting on a bench outside Shooks Drug Store. She was eating what looked like a pistachio icecream cone. Bright redauburn hair, its highlights seeming coppery or sometimes almost blonde, hung down to her shoulderblades. Richie knew only one girl with hair of that particular shade. It was Beverly Marsh. Richie liked Bev a lot. Well, he liked her, but not that way. He admired her looks (and knew he wasnt alonegirls like Sally Mueller and Greta Bowie hated Beverly like fire, still too young to understand how they could have everything else so easily ... and still have to compete in the matter of looks with a girl who lived in one of those slummy apartments on Lower Main Street), but mostly he liked her because she was tough and had a really good sense of humor. Also, she usually had cigarettes. He liked her, in short, because she was a good guy. Still, he had once or twice caught himself wondering what color underwear she was wearing under her small selection of rather faded skirts, and that was not the sort of thing you wondered about the other guys, was it? And, Richie had to admit, she was one hell of a pretty guy. Approaching the bench where she sat eating her ice cream, Richie belted an invisible topcoat around his middle, pulled down an invisible slouch hat, and pretended to be Humphrey Bogart. Adding the correct Voice, he became Humphrey Bogartat least to himself. To others he would have sounded like Richie Tozier with a mild headcold. Hello, shweetheart, he said, gliding up to the bench where she was sitting and looking out at the traffic. No sensh waitin for a bus here. The Nazish have cut off our retreat. The last plane leavesh at midnight. You be on it. He needsh you, shweetheart. So do I ... but Ill get along shomehow. Hi, Richie, Bev said, and when she turned toward him he saw a purpleblackish bruise on her right cheek, like the shadow of a crows wing. He was again struck by her good looks ... only it occurred to him now that she might actually be beautiful. It had never really occurred to him until that moment that there might be beautiful girls outside of the movies, or that he himself might know one. Perhaps it was the bruise that allowed him to see the possibility of her beautyan essential contrast, a particular flaw which first drew attention to itself and then somehow defined the rest the grayblue eyes, the naturally red lips, the creamy unblemished childs skin. There was a tiny spray of freckles across her nose. See anything green? she asked, tossing her head pertly. You, shweetheart, Richie said. Youve turned green ash limberger cheese. But when we get you out of Cashablanca, youre going into the finesht hoshpital money can buy. Well turn you white again. I shwear it on my mothersh name. Youre an asshole, Richie. That doesnt sound like Humphrey Bogart at all. But she smiled a little as she said it. Richie sat down next to her. You going to the movies? I dont have any money, she said. Can I see your yoyo? He handed it over. I oughtta take it back, he told her. Its supposed to sleep but it doesnt. I got japped. She poked her finger through the loop of string and Richie pushed his glasses up on the bridge of his nose so he could watch what she was doing better. She turned her hand over, palm toward the sky, the Duncan yoyo tucked neatly into the valley of flesh formed by her cupped hand. She rolled the yoyo off her index finger. It went down to the end of its string and fell asleep. When she twitched her fingers in a comeon gesture it promptly woke up and climbed its string to her palm again. Oh bugdung, look at that, Richie said. Thats kid stuff, Bev said. Watch this. She snapped the yoyo down again. She let it sleep for a moment and then walked the dog with it in a smart series of snap jerks up the string to her hand again. Oh, stop it, Richie said. I hate showoffs. Or how about this? Bev asked, smiling sweetly. She got the yoyo going back and front, making the red wooden Duncan look like a BoLo Bouncer Richie had had once. She finished with two Around the Worlds (almost hitting a shuffling old lady, who glared at them). The yoyo ended up in her cupped palm, its string neatly rolled around its spindle. Bev handed it back to Richie and sat down on the bench again. Richie sat down next to her, his jaw hanging agape in perfectly unaffected admiration. Bev looked at him and giggled. Shut your mouth, youre drawing flies. Richie shut his mouth with a snap. Besides, that last part was just luck. First time in my life I did two Around the Worlds in a row without fizzing out. Kids were walking past them now, on their way to the show. Peter Gordon walked by with Marcia Fadden. They were supposed to be going together, but Richie figured it was just that they lived next door to each other on West Broadway and were such a couple of assholes that they needed each others support and attention. Peter Gordon was already getting a pretty good crop of acne, although he was only twelve. He sometimes hung around with Bowers, Criss, and Huggins, but he wasnt quite brave enough to try anything on his own. He glanced over at Richie and Bev sitting together on the bench and chanted, Richie and Beverly up in a tree! KayEyeEssEssEyeEnGee! First comes love, then comes marriage and here comes Richie with a baby carriage! Marcia finished, cawing laughter. Sit on this, dear heart, Bev said, and whipped the finger on them. Marcia looked away, disgusted, as if she could not believe anyone could be so uncouth. Gordon slipped an arm around her and called back over his shoulder to Richie, Maybe Ill see you later, foureyes. Maybe youll see your mothers girdle, Richie responded smartly (if a little senselessly). Beverly collapsed with laughter. She leaned against Richies shoulder for a moment and Richie had just time to reflect that her touch, and the sensation of her lightly carried weight, was not exactly unpleasant. Then she sat up again. What a pair of jerks, she said. Yeah, I think Marcia Fadden pees rosewater, Richie said, and Beverly got the giggles again. Chanel Number Five, she said, her voice muffled because her hands were over her mouth. You bet, said Richie, although he hadnt the slightest idea what Chanel Number Five was. Bev? What? Can you show me how to make it sleep? I guess so. I never tried to show anyone. How did you learn? Who showed you? She gave him a disgusted look. No one showed me. I just figured it out. Like twirling a baton. Im great at that No conceit in your family, Richie said, rolling his eyes. Well, I am, she said. But I didnt take classes, or anything. You really can twirl? Sure. Probably be a cheerleader in junior high, huh? She smiled. It was a kind of smile Richie had never seen before. It was wise, cynical, and sad all at the same time. He recoiled a little from its unknowing power, as he had recoiled from the picture of downtown in Georgies album when it had begun to move. Thats for girls like Marcia Fadden, she said. Her and Sally Mueller and Greta Bowie. Girls who pee rosewater. Their fathers help to buy the sports equipment and the uniforms. They got an in. Ill never be a cheerleader. Jeez, Bev, thats no attitude to take Sure it is, if its the truth. She shrugged. I dont care. Who wants to do somersaults and show your underwear to a million people, anyway? Look, Richie. Watch this. For the next ten minutes she worked on showing Richie how to make his yoyo sleep. Near the end, Richie actually began to get the hang of it, although he could usually only get it to come halfway up the string after waking it up. Youre not jerking your fingers hard enough, thats all, she said. Richie looked at the clock on the Merrill Trust across the street and jumped up, stuffing his yoyo into his back pocket. Jeepers, I gotta get goin, Bev. Im supposed to meet ole Haystack. Hell think I changed my mind or somethin. Whos Haystack? Oh. Ben Hanscom. I call him Haystack, though. You know, like Haystack Calhoun, the wrestler. Bev frowned at him. Thats not very nice. I like Ben. Doan whup me, massa! Richie screeched in his Pickaninny Voice, rolling his eyes and flapping his hands. Doan whup me, Ise gwineter be a good dahkie, maam, Ise Richie, Bev said thinly. Richie quit it. I like him, too, he said. We all built a dam down in the Barrens a couple of days ago and You go down there? You and Ben play down there? Sure. A bunch of us guys do. Its sorta cool down there. Richie glanced at the clock again. I really gotta split for the scene. Benll be waiting. Okay. He paused, thought, and said, If youre not doing anything, come on with me. I told you. I dont have any money. Ill pay your way. I got a couple of bucks. She tossed the remains of her icecream cone in a nearby litter barrel. Her eyes, that fine clear shade of bluegray, turned up to his. They were coolly amused. She pretended to primp her hair and asked him, Oh dear, am I being asked out on a date? For a moment Richie was uncharacteristically flustered. He actually felt a blush rising in his cheeks. He had made the offer in a perfectly natural way, just as he had made it to Ben ... except hadnt he said something to Ben about owesies? Yes. But he hadnt said anything about owesies to Beverly. Richie suddenly felt a bit weird. He had dropped his eyes, retreating from her amused glance, and realized now that her skirt had ridden up a bit when she shifted forward to drop the icecream cone in the litter barrel, and he could see her knees. He raised his eyes but that was no help; now he was looking at the beginning swells of her bosoms. Richie, as he usually did in such moments of confusion, took refuge in absurdity. Yes! A date! he screamed, throwing himself on his knees before her and holding his clasped hands up. Please come! Please come! I shall ruddy kill meself if you say no, aywot? Wotwot? Oh, Richie, youre such a fuzzbrain, she said, giggling again . . . but werent her cheeks also a trifle flushed? If so, it made her look prettier than ever. Get up before you get arrested. He got up and plopped down beside her again. He felt as if his equilibrium had returned. A little foolishness always helped when you had a dizzy spell, he believed. You wanna go? Sure, she said. Thank you very much. Think of it! My first date. Just wait until I write it in my diary tonight. She clasped her hands together between her budding breasts, fluttered her eyelashes rapidly, and then laughed. I wish youd stop calling it that, Richie said. She sighed. You dont have much romance in your soul. Damn right I dont. But he felt somehow delighted with himself. The world seemed suddenly very clear to him, and very friendly. He found himself glancing sideways at her from time to time. She was looking in the shop windowsat the dresses and nightgowns in CornellHopleys, at the towels and pots in the window of the Discount Barn, and he stole glances at her hair, the line of her jaw. He observed the way her bare arms came out of the round holes of her blouse. He saw the edge of her slip strap. All of these things delighted him. He could not have said why, but what had happened in George Denbroughs bedroom had never seemed more distant to him than it did right then. It was time to go, time to meet Ben, but he would sit here just a moment longer while her eyes windowshopped, because it was good to look at her, and be with her. 9 Kids were ponying up their quarter admissions at the Aladdins boxoffice window and going into the lobby. Looking through the bank of glass doors, Richie could see a crowd around the candy counter. The popcorn machine was in overdrive, spilling out drifts of the stuff, its greasy hinged lid jittering up and down. He didnt see Ben anywhere. He asked Beverly if she had spotted him. She shook her head. Maybe he already went in. He said he didnt have any money. And the Daughter of Frankenstein there would never let him in without a ticket. Richie cocked a thumb at Mrs. Cole, who had been the tickettaker at the Aladdin since a time well before the pictures had begun to talk. Her hair, dyed a bright red, was so thin you could see her scalp beneath. She had enormous hanging lips which she painted with plumcolored lipstick. Wild blotches of rouge covered her cheeks. Her eyebrows were drawn on in black pencil. Mrs. Cole was a perfect democrat. She hated all kids equally. Boy, I dont wanna go in without him but the shows gonna start, Richie said. Where in heck is he? You can buy him a ticket and leave it at the boxoffice, Bev said, reasonably enough. Then when he comes But just then Ben came around the corner of Center and Macklin Streets. He was puffing, and his belly joggled beneath his sweatshirt. He saw Richie and raised one hand to wave. Then he saw Bev and his hand stopped in midflap. His eyes widened momentarily. He finished his wave and then walked slowly to where they stood under the Aladdins marquee. Hi, Richie, he said, and then looked at Bev briefly. It was as if he was afraid that an overlong look might result in a flash burn. Hi, Bev. Hello, Ben, she said, and a strange silence fell between the two of themit was not precisely awkward; it was, Richie thought, almost powerful. And he felt a vague twinge of jealousy, because something had passed between them and whatever it had been, he had been excluded from it. Howdy, Haystack! he said. Thought you went chicken on me. These movies goan scare ten pounds off your pudgy body. Ah say, Ah say they goan turn your hair white, boy. When you come out of this theater, you goan need an usher to help you up the aisle, you goan be shakin so bad. Richie started for the boxoffice and Ben touched his arm. Ben started to speak, glanced at Bev, who was smiling at him, and had to start over again. I was here, he said, but I went up the street and around the corner when those guys came along. What guys? Richie asked, but he thought he already knew. Henry Bowers. Victor Criss. Belch Huggins. Some other guys, too. Richie whistled. They must have already gone inside the theater. I dont see em buying candy. Yeah. I guess so. If I was them, I wouldnt bother paying to see a couple of horror movies, Richie said. Id just stay home and look in a mirror. Save some bread. Bev laughed merrily at that, but Ben only smiled a little. Henry Bowers had maybe only started out to hurt him that day last week, but he had ended up meaning to kill him. Ben was quite sure of that. Tell you what, Richie said. Well go up in the balcony. Theyll all be sittin down in the second or third row with their feet up. You positive? Ben asked. He was not at all sure Richie understood what bad news those kids were ... Henry, of course, being the worst news of all. Richie, who had barely escaped what might have been a really bad beating at the hands of Henry and his spasmoid friends three months ago (he had managed to elude them in the toy department of Freeses Department Store, of all places), understood more about Henry and his merry crew than Ben thought he did. If I wasnt fairly positive, I wouldnt go in, he said. I want to see those movies, Haystack, but I dont want to, like, die for em. Besides, if they give us any trouble, well just tell Foxy to kick them out, Bev said. Foxy was Mr. Foxworth, the thin, sallow, glumlooking man who managed the Aladdin. He was now selling candy and popcorn, chanting his litany of Wait your turn, wait your turn, wait your turn. In his threadbare tux and yellowing boiled shirt he looked like an undertaker who had fallen on hard times. Ben looked doubtfully from Bev to Foxy to Richie. You cant let em run your life, man, Richie said softly. Dont you know that? I guess so, Ben said, and sighed. Actually, he knew no such thing ... but Beverlys being here had given the equation a crazy skew. If she hadnt come, he would have tried to persuade Richie to go to the movies another day. And if Richie had persisted, Ben might have bowed out. But Bev was here. He didnt want to look like a chicken in front of her. And the thought of being with her, in the balcony, in the dark (even if Richie was between them, as he probably would be), was a powerful attraction. Well wait until the show starts before we go in, Richie said. He grinned and punched Ben on the arm. Shit, Haystack, you wanna live forever? Bens brows drew together, and then he snorted laughter. Richie also laughed. Looking at them, Beverly laughed, too. Richie approached the ticket booth again. Liver Lips Cole looked at him sourly. Good ahfternyoon, deah lady, Richie said in his best Baron Butthole Voice. I am in diah need of three tickeytickies to youah deah old American flicktoons. Cut the crap and tell me what you want, kid! Liver Lips barked through the round hole cut in the glass, and something about the way her painted eyebrows were going up and down unsettled Richie so much that he simply pushed a rumpled dollar through the slot and muttered, Three, please. Three tickets popped out of the slot. Richie took them. Liver Lips rammed a quarter back at him. Dont be smart, dont throw popcorn boxes, dont holler, dont run in the lobby, dont run in the aisles. No, maam, Richie said, backing away to where Ben and Bev stood. He said to them, It always warms my heart to see an old fart like that who really likes kids. They stood outside awhile longer, waiting for the show to start. Liver Lips glared at them suspiciously from her glass cage. Richie regaled Bev with the story of the dam in the Barrens, trumpeting Mr. Nells lines in his new Irish Cop Voice. Beverly was giggling before long, laughing hard not long after that. Even Ben was grinning a little, although his eyes kept shifting either toward the Aladdins glass doors or to Beverlys face. 10 The balcony was okay. During the first reel of I Was a Teenage Frankenstein Richie spotted Henry Bowers and his shitkicking friends. They were down in the second row, just as he had figured they would be. There were five or six of them in allfifth, sixth, and seventhgraders, all of them with their motorhuckle boots cocked up on the seats in front of them. Foxy would come down and tell them to put their feet on the floor. They would. Foxy would leave. Up went the motorhuckle boots again as soon as he did. Five or ten minutes later Foxy would return and the entire charade would be acted out again. Foxy didnt quite have the guts to kick them out and they knew it. The movies were great. The Teenage Frankenstein was suitably gross. The Teenage Werewolf was somehow scarier, though ... perhaps because he also seemed a little sad. What had happened wasnt his own fault. There was this hypnotist who had fucked him up, but the only reason hed been able to was that the kid who turned into the werewolf was full of anger and bad feelings. Richie found himself wondering if there were many people in the world hiding bad feelings like that. Henry Bowers was just overflowing with bad feelings, but he sure didnt bother hiding them. Beverly sat between the boys, ate popcorn from their boxes, screamed, covered her eyes, sometimes laughed. When the Werewolf was stalking the girl doing exercises in the gym after school, she pressed her face against Bens arm, and Richie heard Bens gasp of surprise even over the screams of the two hundred kids below them. The Werewolf was finally killed. In the last scene one cop solemnly told another that this should teach people not to fiddle with things best left to God. The curtain came down and the lights came up. There was applause. Richie felt totally satisfied, if a little headachy. Hed probably have to go to the eyedoctor pretty soon and get his lenses changed again. He really would be wearing Coke bottles on his eyes by the time he got to high school, he thought glumly. Ben twitched at his sleeve. They saw us, Richie, he said in a dry, dismayed voice. Huh? Bowers and Criss. They looked up here on their way out. They saw us! Okay, okay, Richie said. Calm down, Haystack. Just caaalm down. Well go out the side door. Nothing to worry about. They went down the stairs, Richie in the lead, Beverly in the middle, Ben bringing up the rear and looking back over his shoulder every two steps or so. Have those guys really got it in for you, Ben? Beverly asked. Yeah, I guess they do, Ben said. I got in a fight with Henry Bowers on the last day of school. Did he beat you up? Not as much as he wanted to, Ben said. Thats why hes still mad, I guess. Ole Hank the Tank also lost a fair amount of skin, Richie murmured. Or so I heard. I dont think he was very pleased about that, either. He pushed open the exit door and the three of them stepped out into the alley that ran between the Aladdin and Nans Luncheonette. A cat which had been rooting in a garbage can hissed and ran past them down the alley, which was blocked at the far end by a board fence. The cat scrambled up and over. A trashcan lid clattered. Bev jumped, grabbed Richies arm, and then laughed nervously. I guess Im still scared from the movies, she said. You wont Richie began. Hello, fuckface, Henry Bowers said from behind them. Startled, the three of them turned around. Henry, Victor, and Belch were standing at the mouth of the alley. There were two other guys behind them. Oh shit, I knew this was going to happen, Ben moaned. Richie turned quickly back toward the Aladdin, but the exit door had closed behind them and there was no way to open it from the outside. Say goodbye, fuckface, Henry said, and suddenly ran at Ben. The things that happened next seemed to Richie both then and later like something out of a moviesuch things simply did not happen in real life. In real life the little kids took their beatings, picked up their teeth and went home. It didnt happen that way this time. Beverly stepped forward and to one side, almost as if she intended to meet Henry, perhaps shake his hand. Richie could hear the cleats on his boots rapping. Victor and Belch were coming after him; the other two boys stood at the mouth of the alley, guarding it. Leave him alone! Beverly shouted. Pick on someone your own size! Hes as big as a fucking Mack truck, bitch, Henry, no gentleman, snarled. Now get out of my Richie stuck out his foot. He didnt think he meant to. His foot went out the same way wisecracks dangerous to his health sometimes emerged, all on their own, from his mouth. Henry ran into it and fell forward. The brick surface of the alley was slippery with spilled garbage from the overflowing cans on the luncheonette side. Henry went skidding like a shuffleboard weight. He started to get up, his shirt blotched with coffee grounds, mud, and bits of lettuce. Oh you guys are gonna DIE! he screamed. Until this moment Ben had been terrified. Now something in him snapped. He let out a roar and grabbed one of the garbage cans. For just a moment, holding it up, garbage spilling everywhere, he really did look like Haystack Calhoun. His face was pale and furious. He threw the garbage can.


It struck Henry in the small of the back and knocked him flat again. Lets get out of here! Richie screamed. They ran toward the mouth of the alley. Victor Criss jumped in front of them. Bellowing, Ben lowered his head and rammed it into Victors middle. Woof! Victor grunted, and sat down. Belch grabbed a handful of Beverlys ponytail and whipped her smartly against the Aladdins brick wall. Beverly bounced off and ran down the alley, rubbing her arm. Richie ran after her, grabbing a garbagecan lid on the way. Belch Huggins swung a fist almost the size of a Daisy ham at him. Richie pistoned out the galvanized steel lid. Belchs fist met it. There was a loud bonnngg! a sound that was almost mellow. Richie felt the shock travel all the way up his arm to the shoulder. Belch screamed and began to hop up and down, holding his swelling hand. Yondah lies da tent of my faddah, Richie said confidentially, doing a very passable Tony Curtis Voice, and then ran after Ben and Beverly. One of the boys at the mouth of the alley had caught Beverly. Ben was tussling with him. The other boy began to rabbitpunch Ben in the small of the back. Richie swung his foot. It connected with the rabbitpunchers buttocks. The boy howled with pain. Richie grabbed Beverlys arm in one hand, Bens in the other. Run! he shouted. The boy Ben had been tussling with let go of Beverly and looped a punch at Richie. His ear exploded with momentary pain, then went numb and became very warm. A high whistling sound began to whine in his head. It sounded like the noise you were supposed to listen for when the school nurse put the earphones on you to test your hearing. They ran down Center Street. People turned to look at them. Bens large stomach pogoed up and down. Beverlys ponytail bounced. Richie let go of Ben and held his glasses against his forehead with his left thumb so he wouldnt lose them. His head was still ringing and he believed his ear was going to swell, but he felt wonderful. He started laughing. Beverly joined him. Soon Ben was laughing, too. They cut up Court Street and collapsed on a bench in front of the police station at that moment it seemed the only place in Derry where they might possibly be safe. Beverly looped an arm around Bens neck and Richies. She gave them a furious hug. That was great! Her eyes sparkled. Did you see those guys? Did you see them? I saw them, all right, Ben gasped. And I never want to see them again. This sent them off into another storm of hysterical laughter. Richie kept expecting Henrys gang to come around the corner onto Court Street and take after them again, police station or not. Still, he could not stop laughing. Beverly was right. It had been great. The Losers Club Gets Off A Good One! Richie yelled exuberantly. Wackawackawacka! He cupped his hands around his mouth and put on his Ben Bernie Voice YOWza YOWza YOWZA, childrens! A cop poked his head out of an open secondfloor window and shouted You kids get out of here! Right now! Take a walk! Richie opened his mouth to say something brilliantquite possibly in his brandnew Irish Cop Voiceand Ben kicked his foot. Shut up, Richie, he said, and promptly had trouble believing that he had said such a thing. Right, Richie, Bev said, looking at him fondly. Beepbeep. Okay, Richie said. What do you guys want to do? Wanna go find Henry Bowers and ask him if he wants to work it out over a game of Monopoly? Bite your tongue, Bev said. Huh? What does that mean? Never mind, Bev said. Some guys are so ignorant. Hesitantly, blushing furiously, Ben asked Did that guy hurt your hair, Beverly? She smiled at him gently, and in that moment she became sure of something she had only guessed at beforethat it had been Ben Hanscom who had sent her the postcard with the beautiful little haiku on it. No, it wasnt bad, she said. Lets go down in the Barrens, Richie proposed. And so that was where they went ... or where they escaped. Richie would think later that it set a pattern for the rest of the summer. The Barrens had become their place. Beverly, like Ben on the day of his first encounter with the big boys, had never been down there before. She walked between Richie and Ben as the three of them moved singlefile down the path. Her skirt twitched prettily, and looking at her, Ben was aware of waves of feeling, as powerful as stomach cramps. She was wearing her ankle bracelet. It flashed in the afternoon sun. They crossed the arm of the Kenduskeag the boys had dammed up (the stream divided about seventy yards farther up along its course and became one again about two hundred yards farther on toward town), using steppingstones downstream of the place where the dam had been, found another path, and eventually came out on the bank of the streams eastern fork, which was much wider than the other. It sparkled in the afternoon light. To his left, Ben could see two of those concrete cylinders with the manhole covers on top. Below them, jutting out over the stream, were large concrete pipes. Thin streams of muddy water poured over the lips of these outflow pipes and into the Kenduskeag. Someone takes a crap uptown and heres where it comes out, Ben thought, remembering Mr. Nells explanation of Derrys drainage system. He felt a dull sort of helpless anger. Once there had probably been fish in this river. Now your chances of catching a trout wouldnt be so hot. Your chances of catching a used wad of toilet paper would be better. Its so beautiful here, Bev sighed. Yeah, not bad, Richie agreed. The blackflies are gone and theres enough of a breeze to keep the mosquitoes away. He looked at her hopefully. Got any cigarettes? No, she said. I had a couple but I smoked them yesterday. Too bad, Richie said. There was the blast of an airhorn and they all watched as a long freight rumbled across the embankment on the far side of the Barrens and toward the trainyards. Jeez, if it was a passenger train theyd have a great view, Richie thought. First the poorfolks houses of the Old Cape, then the bamboo swamps on the other side of the Kenduskeag, and finally, before leaving the Barrens, the smoldering gravelpit that was the town dump. For just a moment he found himself thinking about Eddies story againthe leper under the abandoned house on Neibolt Street. He pushed it out of his mind and turned to Ben. So what was your best part, Haystack? Huh? Ben turned to him guiltily. As Bev looked out across the Kenduskeag, lost in thoughts of her own, he had been looking at her profile ... and at the bruise on her cheekbone. Of the movies, Dumbo. What was your best part? I liked it when Dr. Frankenstein started tossing the bodies to the crocodiles under his house, Ben said. That was my best part. That was gross, Beverly said, and shivered. I hate things like that. Crocodiles and piranhas and sharks. Yeah? Whats piranhas? Richie asked, immediately interested. Little tiny fish, Beverly said. And theyve got all these little tiny teeth, but theyre wicked sharp. And if you go into a river where they are, they eat you right down to the bone. Wow! I saw this movie once and these natives wanted to cross a river but the footbridge was down, she said. So they put a cow in the water on a rope, and crossed while the piranhas were eating the cow. When they pulled it out, the cow was nothing but a skeleton. I had nightmares for a week. Man, I wish I had some of those fish, Richie said happily. Id put em in Henry Bowers bathtub. Ben began to giggle. I dont think he takes baths. I dont know about that, but I do know we better watch out for those guys, Beverly said. Her fingers touched the bruise on her cheek. My dad went up the side of my head day before yesterday for breaking a pile of dishes. One a week is enough. There was a moment of silence that might have been awkward but was not. Richie broke it by saying his best part was when the Teenage Werewolf got the evil hypnotist. They talked about the moviesand other horror movies they had seen, and Alfred Hitchcock Presents on TVfor an hour or more. Bev spotted daisies growing on the riverbank and picked one. She held it first under Richies chin and then under Bens chin to see if they liked butter. She said they both did. As she held the flower under their chins, each was conscious of her light touch on their shoulders and the clean scent of her hair. Her face was close to Bens only for a moment or two, but that night he dreamed of how her eyes had looked during that brief endless span of time. Conversation was fading a little when they heard the crackling sounds of people approaching along the path. The three of them turned quickly toward the sound and Richie was suddenly, acutely aware that the river was at their backs. There was noplace to run. The voices drew closer. They got to their feet, Richie and Ben moving a little in front of Beverly without even thinking about it. The screen of bushes at the end of the path shookand suddenly Bill Denbrough emerged. Another kid was with him, a fellow Richie knew a little bit. His name was Bradley something, and he had a terrible lisp. Probably went up to Bangor with Bill for that speechtherapy thing, Richie thought. Big Bill! he said, and then in the Voice of Toodles We are glad to see you, Mr. Denbrough, mawster. Bill looked at them and grinnedand a peculiar certainty stole over Richie as Bill looked from him to Ben to Beverly and then back to Bradley WhateverHisNameWas. Beverly was a part of them. Bills eyes said so. Bradley WhatsHisName was not. He might stay for awhile today, might even come down to the Barrens againno one would tell him no, so sorry, the Losers Club membership is full, we already have our speechimpediment memberbut he was not part of it. He was not part of them. This thought led to a sudden, irrational fear. For a moment he felt the way you did when you suddenly realized you had swum out too far and the water was over your head. There was an intuitive flash Were being drawn into something. Being picked and chosen. None of this is accidental. Are we all here yet? Then the intuition fell into a meaningless jumble of thoughtlike the smash of a glass pane on a stone floor. Besides, it didnt matter. Bill was here, and Bill would take care; Bill would not let things get out of control. He was the tallest of them, and surely the most handsome. Richie only had to look sideways at Bevs eyes, fixed on Bill, and then farther, to Bens eyes, fixed knowingly and unhappily on Bevs face, to know that. Bill was also the strongest of themand not just physically. There was a good deal more to it than that, but since Richie did not know either the word charisma or the full meaning of the word magnetism, he only felt that Bills strength ran deep and might manifest itself in many ways, some of them probably unexpected. And Richie suspected if Beverly fell for him, or got a crush on him, or whatever they called it, Ben would not be jealous (like he would, Richie thought, if she got a crush on me); he would accept it as nothing but natural. And there was something else Bill was good. It was stupid to think such a thing (he did not, in fact, precisely think it; he felt it), but there it was. Goodness and strength seemed to radiate from Bill. He was like a knight in an old movie, a movie that was corny but still had the power to make you cry and cheer and clap at the end. Strong and good. And five years later, after his memories of what had happened in Derry both during and before that summer had begun to fade rapidly, it occurred to a Richie Tozier in his midteens that John Kennedy reminded him of Stuttering Bill. Who? His mind would respond. He would look up, faintly puzzled, and shake his head. Some guy I used to know, he would think, and would dismiss vague unease by pushing his glasses up on his nose and turning to his homework again. Some guy I used to know a long time ago. Bill Denbrough put his hands on his hips, smiled sunnily, and said Wuhwuhwell, hhere we aaare ... now wuhwuhwuhwhat are wwe dddoing? Got any cigarettes? Richie asked hopefully. 11 Five days later, as June drew toward its end, Bill told Richie that he wanted to go down to Neibolt Street and investigate under the porch where Eddie had seen the leper. They had just arrived back at Richies house, and Bill was walking Silver. He had ridden Richie double most of the way home, an exhilarating speedtrip across Derry, but he had been careful to let Richie dismount a block away from his house. If Richies mother saw Bill riding Richie double shed have a bird. Silvers wire basket was full of play sixshooters, two of them Bills, three of them Richies. They had been down in the Barrens for most of the afternoon, playing guns. Beverly Marsh had shown up around three oclock, wearing faded jeans and toting a very old Daisy air rifle that had lost most of its popwhen you pulled its tapewrapped trigger, it uttered a wheeze that sounded to Richie more like someone sitting on a very old Whoopee Cushion than a rifleshot. Her specialty was Japanesesniper. She was very good at climbing trees and shooting the unwary as they passed below. The bruise on her cheekbone had faded to a faint yellow. What did you say? Richie asked. He was shocked ... but also a little intrigued. I wwwant to take a llook under that puhpuhporch, Bill said. His voice was stubborn but he wouldnt look at Richie. There was a hard spot of flush high on each of his cheekbones. They had arrived in front of Richies house. Maggie Tozier was on the porch, reading a book. She waved to them and called, Hi, boys! Want some iced tea? Well be right there, Mom, Richie said, and then to Bill There isnt going to be anything there. He probably just saw a hobo and got all bent out of shape, for Gods sake. You know Eddie. YYeah, I nuhknow EEEddie. BBut ruhrememmember the pipipicture in the aalbum? Richie shifted his feet, uncomfortable. Bill raised his right hand. The BandAids were gone now, but Richie could see circlets of healing scab on Bills first three fingers. Yeah, but Luhluhhisten to meme, Bill said. He began to speak very slowly, holding Richies eyes with his own. Once more he related the similarities between Bens story and Eddies ... and tied those to what they had seen in the picture that moved. He suggested again that the clown had murdered the boys and girls who had been found dead in Derry since the previous December. AAnd muhmuhhaybe not just tthem, Bill finished. WWhat about aaall the oones who ddisappeared ? WWhat about EEEddie CuhCuhCorcoran? Shit, his stepfather scared him off, Richie said. Wwell, mmaybe he dddid, and mmaybe he dddidnt, Bill said. I knew him a llihlittle bit, ttoo, and I nuhnuhknow his ddad bbbeat him. And I aalso kknow he uuused to stay out nnuhhights ssometimes to gget awway from hhhim. So maybe the clown got him while he was staying away, Richie said thoughtfully. Is that it? Bill nodded. What do you want, then? Its autograph? If the cluhcluhcluhhown killed the ooothers, then hhe kkkilled JuhGeorgie, Bill said. His eyes caught Richies. They were like slatehard, uncompromising, unforgiving. I wwant to kkkill it. Jesus Christ, Richie said, frightened. How are you going to do that? Muhmy ddads got a pihpihpistol, Bill said. A little spittle flew from his lips but Richie barely noticed. HHe doesnt nuhknow I know, but I dddo. Its on the top shshelf in his cluhcluhhoset. Thats great if its a man, Richie said, and if we can find him sitting on a pile of kids bones I poured the tea, boys! Richies mom called cheerily. Better come and get it! Right there, Mom! Richie called again, offering a big, false smile. It disappeared immediately as he turned back to Bill. Because I wouldnt shoot a guy just because he was wearing a clown suit, Billy. Youre my best friend, but I wouldnt do it and I wouldnt let you do it if I could stop you. Whwhat iif there rreally wwas a ppile of buhbuhbones? Richie licked his lips and said nothing for a moment. Then he asked Bill, What are you going to do if its not a man, Billy? What if it really is some kind of monster? What if there really are such things? Ben Hanscom said it was the mummy and the balloons were floating against the wind and it didnt cast a shadow. The picture in Georgies album . . . either we imagined that or it was magic, and I gotta tell you, man, I dont think we just imagined it. Your fingers sure didnt imagine it, did they? Bill shook his head. So what are we going to do if its not a man, Billy? Ththen wuhwuhwell have to ffigure suhhomething eelse out. Oh yeah, Richie said. I can see it. After you shoot it four or five times and it keeps comin at us like the Teenage Werewolf in that movie me and Ben and Bev saw, you can try your Bullseye on it. And if the Bullseye doesnt work, Ill throw some of my sneezing powder at it. And if it keeps on coming after that well just call time and say, Hey now, hold on. This aint getting it, Mr. Monster. Look, I got to read up on it at the library. Ill be back. Pawdon me. Is that what youre going to say, Big Bill? He looked at his friend, his head thudding rapidly. Part of him wanted Bill to press on with his idea to check under the porch of that old house, but another part wanteddesperately wantedBill to give the idea up. In some ways all of this was like having stepped into one of those Saturdayafternoon horror movies at the Aladdin, but in another waya crucial wayit wasnt like that at all. Because this wasnt safe like a movie, where you knew everything would turn out all right and even if it didnt it was no skin off your ass. The picture in Georgies room hadnt been like a movie. He had thought he was forgetting that, but apparently he had been fooling himself because now he could see those cuts whirling up Billys fingers. If he hadnt pulled Bill back Incredibly, Bill was grinning. Actually grinning. YYYou wuhwanted mme to take yyou to luhluhlook at a ppicture, he said. NNow I wwant to ttake you to 1look at a hhouse. Tit for ttat. You got no tits, Richie said, and they both burst out laughing. TTomorrow muhmuhmorning, Bill said, as if it had been resolved. And if its a monster? Richie asked, holding Bills eyes. If your dads gun doesnt stop it, Big Bill? If it just keeps coming? Wuhwuhwell thuhthuhthink of suhhomething else, Bill said again. Well hhhave to. He threw back his head and laughed like a loon. After a moment Richie joined him. It was impossible not to. They walked up the crazypaving to Richies porch together. Maggie had set out huge glasses of iced tea with mintsprigs in them and a plate of vanilla wafers. Yuhyou wwwant ttto? Well, no, Richie said. But I will. Bill clapped him on the back, hard, and that seemed to make the fear bearablealthough Richie was suddenly sure (and he was not wrong) that sleep would be long coming that night. You boys looked like you were having a serious discussion out there, Mrs. Tozier said, sitting down with her book in one hand and a glass of iced tea in the other. She looked at the boys expectantly. Aw, Denbroughs got this crazy idea the Red Sox are going to finish in the first division, Richie said. MMe and my dddddad ththink tthey got a shshot at tthird, Bill said, and sipped his iced tea. TThis is vehvehvery gogood, MuhMrs. Tozier. Thank you, Bill. The year the Sox finish in the first division will be the year you stop stuttering, mushmouth, Richie said. Richie! Mrs. Tozier screamed, shocked. She nearly dropped her glass of iced tea. But both Richie and Bill Denbrough were laughing hysterically, totally cracked up. She looked from her son to Bill and back to her son again, touched by wonder that was mostly simple perplexity but partly a fear so thin and sharp that it found its way deep into her inner heart and vibrated there like a tuningfork made of clear ice. I dont understand either of them, she thought. Where they go, what they do, what they want ... or what will become of them. Sometimes, oh sometimes their eyes are wild, and sometimes Im afraid for them and sometimes Im afraid of them.... She found herself thinking, not for the first time, that it would have been nice if she and Went could have had a girl as well, a pretty blonde girl that she could have dressed in skirts and matching bows and black patentleather shoes on Sundays. A pretty little girl who would ask to bake cupcakes after school and who would want dolls instead of books on ventriloquism and Revell models of cars that went fast. A pretty little girl she could have understood. 12 Did you get it? Richie asked anxiously. They were walking their bikes up Kansas Street beside the Barrens at ten oclock the next morning. The sky was a dull gray. Rain had been forecast for that afternoon. Richie hadnt gotten to sleep until after midnight and he thought Denbrough looked as if he had spent a fairly restless night himself; ole Big Bill was toting a matched set of Samsonite bags, one under each eye. I ggot it, Bill said. He patted the green duffel coat he was wearing. Lemme see, Richie said, fascinated. Not now, Bill said, and then grinned. Someone ehehelse might see, too. But 11look what else I bruhbrought. He reached behind him, under the coat, and brought his Bullseye slingshot out of his back pocket. Oh shit, were in trouble, Richie said, beginning to laugh. Bill pretended to be hurt. IhIhIt was yyour idea, TTTozier. Bill had gotten the custom aluminum slingshot for his birthday the year before. It had been Zacks compromise between the .22 Bill had wanted and his mothers adamant refusal to even consider giving a boy Bills age a firearm. The instruction booklet said a slingshot could be a fine hunting weapon, once you learned to use it. In the right hands, your Bullseye Slingshot is as deadly and effective as a good ash bow or a highpowered firearm, the booklet proclaimed. With such virtues dutifully extolled, the booklet went on to warn that a slingshot could be dangerous; the owner should no more aim one of the twenty ballbearing slugs which came with it at a person than he would aim a loaded pistol at a person. Bill wasnt very good at it yet (and guessed privately he probably never would be), but he thought the booklets caution was meritedthe slingshots thick elastic had a hard pull, and when you hit a tin can with it, it made one hell of a hole. You doin any better with it, Big Bill? Richie asked. A luhluhlittle, Bill said. This was only partly true. After much study of the pictures in the booklet (which were labelled figs, as in fig 1, fig 2, and so on) and enough practice in Derry Park to lame his arm, he had gotten so he could hit the paper target which had also come with the slingshot maybe three times out of every ten tries. And once he had gotten a bullseye. Almost. Richie pulled the sling back by the cup, twanged it, then handed it back. He said nothing but privately doubted if it would count for as much as Zack Denbroughs pistol when it came to killing monsters. Yeah? he said. You brought your slingshot, okay, big deal. Thats nothing. Look what I brought, Denbrough. And from his own jacket he hauled out a packet with a cartoon picture on it of a bald man saying AhCHOO! as his cheeks puffed out like Dizzy Gillespies. DR. WACKYS SNEEZING POWDER, the packet said. ITS A LAFF RIOT! The two of them stared at each other for a long moment and then broke up, screaming with laughter and pounding each other on the back. WWWere pruhprepared for aaanything, Bill said finally, still giggling and wiping his eyes with the sleeve of his jacket. Your face and my ass, Stuttering Bill, Richie said. I thththought it wuhwas the uhuhother way aaround, Bill said. Now listen. WWere ggonna sthahash yyour bbbike down in the BBarrens. WWhere I puhput Silver when we play. YYou ride dddouble bbehind me, in ccase wwe have to make a quihhick gggetaway. Richie nodded, feeling no urge to argue. His twentytwoinch Raleigh (he sometimes whammed his kneecaps on the handlebars when he was pedalling fast) looked like a pygmy bike next to the scrawny, gantrylike edifice that was Silver. He knew that Bill was stronger and Silver was faster. They got to the little bridge and Bill helped Richie stow his bike underneath. Then they sat down, and, with the occasional rumble of traffic passing over their heads, Bill unzipped his duffel and took out his fathers pistol. YYou be goddam cccareful, Bill said, handing it over after Richie had whistled his frank approval. ThTheres nno sssafety on a pihpihstol like that. Is it loaded? Richie asked, awed. The pistol, a PPKWalther that Zack Denbrough picked up during the Occupation, seemed unbelievably heavy. NNot yyet, Bill said. He patted his pocket. I gggot some buhbuhbuhbullets in hhhere. But my dddad ssays ssometimes you 1look aand ththen, iif the ggggun ththinks yyoure not being cccareful, it lloads ihihitself. Sso it can shshhoot you. His face uttered a strange smile which said that, while he didnt believe anything so silly, he believed it completely. Richie understood. There was a caged deadliness in the thing that he had never sensed in his dads .22, .30.30, or even the shotgun (although there was something about the shotgun, wasnt there?something about the way it leaned, mute and oily, in the corner of the garage closet; as if it might say I could be mean if I wanted to; plenty mean, you bet if it could speak). But this pistol, this Walther ... it was as if it had been made for the express purpose of shooting people. With a chill Richie realized that was why it had been made. What else could you do with a pistol? Use it to light your cigarettes? He turned the muzzle toward him, being careful to keep his hands far away from the trigger. One look into the Walthers black lidless eye made him understand Bills peculiar smile perfectly. He remembered his father saying, If you remember there is no such thing as an unloaded gun, youll be okay with firearms all your life, Richie. He handed the gun back to Bill, glad to be rid of it. Bill stowed it in his duffel coat again. Suddenly the house on Neibolt Street seemed less frightening to Richie ... but the possibility that blood might actually be spilledthat seemed much stronger. He looked at Bill, perhaps meaning to appeal this idea again, but he saw Bills face, read it, and only said, You ready? 13 As always, when Bill finally pulled his second foot up from the ground, Richie felt sure that they would crash, splitting their silly skulls on unyielding cement. The big bike wavered crazily from side to side. The cards clothespinned to the fenderstruts stopped firing single shots and started machinegunning. The bikes drunken wavers became more pronounced. Richie closed his eyes and waited for the inevitable. Then Bill bellowed, Hiyo Silver, AWWAYYYYY! The bike picked up more speed and finally stopped that seasick sidetoside wavering. Richie loosened his deathgrip on Bills middle and held the front of the package carrier over the rear wheel instead. Bill crossed Kansas Street on a slant, raced down sidestreets at an everquickening pace, heading for Witcham as if racing down a set of geographical steps. They came bulleting out of Strapham Street and onto Witcham at an exorbitant rate of speed. Bill laid Silver damn near over on his side and bellowed Hiyo Silver! again. Ride it, Big Bill! Richie screamed, so scared he was nearly creaming his jeans but laughing wildly all the same. Stand on this baby! Bill suited the action to the word, getting up and leaning over the handlebars and pumping the pedals at a lunatic rate. Looking at Bills back, which was amazingly broad for a boy of elevengoingontwelve, watching it work under the duffel coat, the shoulders slanting first one way and then the other as he shifted his weight from one pedal to the other, Richie suddenly became sure that they were invulnerable ... they would live forever and ever. Well ... perhaps not they, but Bill would. Bill had no idea of how strong he was, how somehow sure and perfect. They sped along, the houses thinning out a little now, the streets crossing Witcham at longer intervals. Hiyo Silver! Bill yelled, and Richie hollered in his Nigger Jim Voice, high and shrill, Hiyo Silvuh, massa, thass raht! You is rahdin disyere bike fo sho! Lawksamussy ! Hiyo Silvuh AWWAYYY! Now they were passing green fields that looked flat and depthless under the gray sky. Richie could see the old brick train station up ahead in the distance. To the right of it quonset warehouses marched off in a row. Silver bumped over one set of train tracks, then another. And here was Neibolt Street, cutting off to the right. DERRY TRAINYARDS, a blue sign under the streetsign read. It was rusty and hung askew. Below this was a much bigger sign, yellow field, black letters. It was almost like a comment on the trainyards themselves DEAD END, it read. Bill turned onto Neibolt Street, coasted to the sidewalk, and put his foot back down. Lets wwwalk from here. Richie slipped off the package carrier with mingled feelings of relief and regret. Okay. They walked along the sidewalk, which was cracked and weedy. Up ahead of them, in the trainyards, a diesel engine revved slowly up, faded off, and then began all over again. Once or twice they heard the metallic music of couplings being smashed together. You scared? Richie asked Bill. Bill, walking Silver by the handlebars, looked over at Richie briefly and then nodded. YYeah. You? I sure am, Richie said. Bill told Richie he had asked his father about Neibolt Street the night before. His father said that a lot of trainmen had lived out this way until the end of World War IIengineers, conductors, signalmen, yardworkers, baggage handlers. The street had declined with the trainyards, and as Bill and Richie moved farther along it, the houses became farther apart, seedier, dirtier. The last three or four on both sides were empty and boarded up, their yards overgrown. A FOR SALE sign flapped forlornly from the porch of one. To Richie the sign looked about a thousand years old. The sidewalk stopped, and now they were walking along a beaten track from which weeds grew halfheartedly. Bill stopped and pointed. Ththere it iiis, he said softly. Twentynine Neibolt Street had once been a trim red Cape Cod. Maybe, Richie thought, an engineer used to live there, a bachelor with no pants but jeans and lots of those gloves with the big stiff cuffs and four or five pillowtick capsa fellow who would come home once or twice a month for stretches of three or four days and listen to the radio while he pottered in the garden; a fellow who would eat mostly fried foods (and no vegetables, although he would grow them for his friends) and who would, on windy nights, think about the Girl He Left Behind. Now the red paint had faded to a wishywashy pink that was peeling away in ugly patches that looked like sores. The windows were blind eyes, boarded up. Most of the shingles were gone. Weeds grew rankly down both sides of the house and the lawn was covered with the seasons first bumper crop of dandelions. To the left, a high board fence, perhaps once a neat white but now faded to a dull gray that almost matched the lowering sky, lurched drunkenly in and out of the dank shrubbery. About halfway down this fence Richie could see a monstrous grove of sunflowersthe tallest looked five feet tall or more. They had a bloated, nasty look he didnt like. A breeze rustled them and they seemed to nod together The boys are here, isnt that nice? More boys. Our boys. Richie shivered. While Bill leaned Silver carefully against an elm, Richie surveyed the house. He saw a wheel sticking out of the thick grass near the porch, and pointed it out to Bill. Bill nodded; it was the overturned trike Eddie had mentioned. They looked up and down Neibolt Street. The chug of the diesel engine rose and fell off, then began again. The sound seemed to hang in the overcast like a charm. The street was utterly deserted. Richie could hear occasional cars passing on Route 2, but could not see them.