It

Looking at their white lips and th e red meat just inside them made Richie feel sick to his stomach. He wrapped them with Band-Aids as fast as he could.
‘H-H-Hurts like hell,’ Bill said.
‘Well, why’d you want to go and put your hand in there, you wet end?’
Bill looked solemnly at the rings of Band –Aids on his fingers, then up at Richie. ‘I-I-It was the cluh-hown,’ he said. ‘It w-w-was the c-clown pretending to be Juh-Juh-George.’
‘That’s 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 luh-luh –leper.’
‘Right.’
‘But ih-is it r-r-really a cluh-cluh-clown?’
‘It’s a monster,’ Richie said flatly. ‘Some kind of monster. Some kind of monster right here in Derry. And it’s 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 two — and 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 duck’s ass haircut. The other was this
smashed-up hotrodder, played by Gary Conway. He was brought back to life by a descendant of Victor Frankenstein, who fed all parts he didn’t need to a bunch of alligators he kept in the basement. Also on the program: a MovieTone 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 gotta-see list: I Married a Monster fromOuter 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 calf-love, 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 goings-ons in the two low-budget American-International 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 before — and how he had finally gotten up and turned on the light in his closet, a real baby trick for sure, but he hadn’ t been able to get a wink of sleep until he’d 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 Bill’s fingers weren’t a hallucination, but maybe they’d just been paper-cuts from some of the sheets in Georgie’s 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 ilttle 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 dentist’s tunic, put down the Sports pages and poured himself a second cup of coffee. He was a pleasant-looking man with a rather thin face. He wore steel-rimmed