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
‘O’Hare’s lousy with security people, dear,’ she said. ‘You don’t have to worry about him. If he comes near you, what you do is scream your fucking head off.’
Beverly shook her head. ‘I want to avoid him altogether. This is the way to do it.’
Kay looked at her shrewdly. ‘You’re afraid he might talk you out of it, aren’t you?’
Beverly thought of the seven of them standing in the stream, of Stanley and his piece of broken Coke bottle glinting greenly in the sun; she thought of the thin pain as he cut her palm lightly on a slant, she thought of them clasping hands in a children’s circle, promising to come back if it ever started again . . . to come back and kill it for good.
‘No,’ she said. ‘He couldn’t talk me out of this. But he might hurt me, security guards or not. You didn’t see him last night, Kay.’
‘I’ve seen him enough on other occasions,’ Kay said, her brows drawing together. ‘The asshole that walks like a man.’
‘He was crazy,’ Bev said. ‘Security guards might not stop him. This is better. Believe me.’
‘All right,’ Kay said reluctantly, and Bev thought with some amusement that Kay was disappointed that there was going to be no confrontation, no big blowoff.
‘Cash the check quick,’ Beverly told her again, ‘before he can think to freeze the accounts. He will, you know.’
‘Sure,’ Kay said. ‘If he does that, I’ll go see the son of a bitch with a horsewhip and take it out in trade.’
‘You stay away from him,’ Beverly said sharply. ‘He’s dangerous, Kay. Believe me. He was like — ‘ Like my father was what trembled on her lips. Instead she said, ‘He was like a wildman.’
‘Okay,’ Kay said. ‘Be easy in your mind, dear. Go keep your promise. And do some thinking about what comes after.’
‘I will,’ Bev said, but that was a lie. She had too many other things to think about: what had happened the summer she was eleven, for instance. Showing Richie Tozier how to make his yo-yo sleep, for instance. Voices from the drain, for instance. And something she had seen, something so horrible that even then, embracing Kay for the last time by the long silvery side of the grumbling Greyhound bus, her mind would not quite let her see it.
Now, as the plane with the duck on the side begins its long descent into the Boston area, her mind turns to that again . . . and to Stan Uris . . . and to an unsigned poem that came on a postcard . . . and the voices . . . and to those few seconds when she had been eye to eye with something that was perhaps infinite.
