A promise made twenty-eight years ago calls seven adults to reunite in Derry, Maine, where as teenagers they battled an evil creature that preyed on the city’s children. Unsure that their Losers Club had vanquished the creature all those years ago, the seven had vowed to return to Derry if IT should ever reappear. Now, children are being murdered again and their repressed memories of that summer return as they prepare to do battle with the monster lurking in Derry’s sewers once more.
Авторы: King Stephen Edwin
playing in the Barrens. He’s got a bad assmar attack, I mean he can hardly breath. Canyon give me a refill on his asspirador?
He pushed this note across the glass-topped counter to Mr Keene, who read it, looked at Bill’s anxious blue eyes, and said, ‘Of course. Wait right here, and don’t be handling anything you shouldn’t.’
Bill shifted impatiently from one foot to the other while Mr Keene was behind the rear counter. Although he was back there less than five minutes, it seemed an age before he returned with one of Eddie’s plastic squeeze-bottles. He handed it over to Bill, smiled, and said, This should take care of the problem.’
‘Th– th– th– thanks,’ Bill said. ‘I don’t h– have a– any m-m– muh-m u h — ‘
‘That’s all right, son. Mrs Kaspbrak has an account here. I’ll just add this on. I’m sure she’ll want to thank you for your kindness.’
Bill, much relieved, thanked Mr Keene and left quickly. Mr Keene came around the counter to watch him go. He saw Bill toss the aspirator into his bike-basket and mount clumsily. Can he actually ride a bike that big? Mr Keene wondered. I doubt it. I doubt it very much. But the Denbrough kid somehow got it going without falling on his head, and pedaled slowly away. The bike, which looked to Mr Keene like somebody’s idea of a joke, wobbled madly from side to side. The aspirator rolled back and forth in the basket.
Mr Keene grinned a little. If Bill had seen that grin, it might have gone a good way toward confirming his idea that Mr Keene wa s not exactly one of the world’s champion nice guys. It was sour, the grin of a man who has found much to wonder about but almost nothing to uplift in the human condition. Yes — he would add Eddie’s asthma medication to Sonia Kaspbrak’s bill, and as always she would be surprised — and suspicious rather than grateful — at how cheap the medication was. Other drugs were so dear, she said. Mrs Kaspbrak, Mr Keene knew, was one of those people who believed nothing cheap could do a person much good. He could really have soaked her for her son’s HydrOx Mist, and there had been times when he had been tempted . . . but why should he make himself a party to the woman’s foolishness? It wasn’t as though he were going to starve.
Cheap? Oh my, yes. HydrOx Mist (Administer as needed typed neatly on the gummed label he pasted on each aspirator bottle) was wonderfully cheap, but even Mrs Kaspbrak was willing to admit that it controlled her son’s asthma quite well in spite of that fact. It was cheap because it was nothing but a combination of hydrogen and oxygen, with a dash of camphor added to give the mist a faint medicinal taste.
In other words, Eddie’s asthma medicine was tapwater.
7
It took Bill longer to get back, because he was going uphill. In several places he had to dismount and push Silver. He simply didn’t have the musclepower necessary to keep the bike going up more than mild slopes.
By the time he had stashed his bike and made his way back to the stream, it was ten past four. All sorts of black suppositions were crossing his mind. The Hanscom kid would have deserted, leaving Eddie to die. Or the bullies could have backtracked and beaten the shit out of both of them. Or . . . worst of all . . . the man whose business was murdering kids might have gotten one or both of them. As he had gotten George.
He knew there had been a great deal of gossip and speculation about that. Bill had a bad stutter, but he wasn’t deaf — although people sometimes seemed to think he must be, since he spoke only when absolutely necessary. Some people felt that the murder of his brother wasn’t related at all to the murders of Betty Ripsom, Cheryl Lamonica, Matthew Clements, and
Veronica Grogan. Others claimed that George, Ripsom, and Lamonica had been killed by one man, and the other two were the work of a ‘copy-cat killer.’ A third school of thought held that the boys had been killed by one man, the girls by another.
Bill believed they had all been killed by the same person . . . if it was a person. He sometimes wondered about that. As he sometimes wondered about his feelings concerning Derry this summer. Was it still the aftermath of George’s death, the way his parents seemed to ignore him now, so lost in their grief over their younger son that they couldn’t see the simple fact that Bill was still alive, and might be hurting himself? Those things combined with the other murders? The voices that sometimes seemed to speak in his head now, whispering to
