She was just expecting a normal summer with her friends .
Little did Caroline know that this summer would be different. This summer, they would face a horror that none of them could have imagined. As the Losers delved deeper into the darkness, they...
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During the Fourth of July parade, the lively atmosphere was a sharp contrast to the somber scene in the alleyway where Bill, Caroline, Beverly, and Mike stood, staring at Edward Corcoran's missing poster. The sounds of the parade faded as they focused on the haunting image.
"They said they found part of his hand all chewed up near the standpipe," Stanley said quietly, his voice filled with dread.
Ben, his expression distant, added, "He asked to borrow a pencil once."
Caroline, her voice trembling with emotion, whispered, "He was a good kid."
Bill, trying to keep his composure, lifted the flyer, revealing Betty Ripsom's poster underneath. "It's like she's been f-f-f-forgotten because Corcoran's missing," he said, his stutter betraying his fear.
Caroline, sensing his distress, reached out and grabbed Bill's hand, smiling up at him in reassurance. Bill returned the smile, appreciating the small comfort.
Stanley, unable to hide his frustration, asked, "Is it ever gonna end?"
Meanwhile, Richie was still causing a scene, tussling with a marching band member who had finally wrestled his tuba back. "What the fuck, dude?" Richie exclaimed, incredulous.
Eddie returned from an ice cream stall, handing a cone to Richie. "What are you guys talking about?" he asked, licking his own cone.
Richie, taking a bite, replied nonchalantly, "What they always talk about."
Ben, breaking the silence, said thoughtfully, "I actually think it will end, for a little while, at least."
Beverly, puzzled, looked at him. "What do you mean?"
Ben, pulling out his notes, explained, "So I was going over all of my data research, and I charted out all of the big events. The Ironworks explosion in 1908, the Bradley gang in '35, and the Black Spot in '62. And now the kids being... I realized that this stuff seems to happen every—"
Bill and Caroline finished his sentence in unison, "27 years."
Later, in the park, the group gathered, trying to make sense of it all. Ben, Beverly, Stan, and Mike sat on a bench, while Bill, Eddie, and Richie perched on their bikes.
Eddie, struggling to comprehend, asked, "OK, so, let me get this straight: It comes out from wherever to eat kids for like, a year, and then what? It just goes into hibernation?"
Stanley, still processing, suggested, "Maybe it's like, what do you call it... Cicadas. You know, the bugs that come out every seventeen years."
Mike, recalling his grandfather's warnings, said, "My grandfather thinks this town is cursed." The others looked at him, surprised. "He says that all the bad things that happen in this town are because of one thing... an evil thing that feeds off the people of Derry."
Stanley shook his head, trying to make sense of it. "But it can't be one thing. We all saw something different. I mean, Caroline is having more frequent dreams."
Mike nodded in agreement. "Yeah. Or maybe it knows what scares us most, and that's what we see."
Eddie shuddered at the memory. "I-I saw a Leper. He was like a walking infection."
Stanley, trying to hold onto logic, argued, "But you didn't. Because it isn't real. Not Eddie's Leper, or-or Bill seeing Georgie, or Caroline's dreams, or the woman I keep seeing."
Richie, ever the joker, asked with a smirk, "She hot?"
Stanley glared at him. "No, Richie. She's not hot! Her face is all messed up. None of this makes any sense!"
Mike, determined, insisted, "I don't think so. I know the difference between a bad dream and real life, okay?"
Eddie, sensing something deeper, asked, "What'd you see, Mike? You saw something, too?"
Mike, his voice heavy with pain, shared, "Yes. You guys know that burned-down house on Harris Avenue? I was inside when it burned down. Before I was rescued, my mom and dad were trapped in the next room over from me. They were pushing and pounding on the door, trying to get to me. When the firemen finally found them, the skin on their hands had melted down to the bone. We're all afraid of something."
Caroline, moved by his story, gently took Mike's hand. "We all have fears," she said softly, offering comfort.
Eddie, glancing over at the clowns and children on the stage behind them as firecrackers whizzed through the air, muttered, "You got that right. All right, Rich, what are you afraid of?"
Richie, turning away from the stage as the crackers continued bursting, adjusted his glasses and looked at the others with a serious expression. "Clowns," he admitted, the weight of his fear evident in his voice.
