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
A few more of the trees were gone, probably elms felled by disease. The houses looked a little tackier; broken windows seemed slightly more common than they had been when she was a girl. Some of the broken panes had been replaced with cardboard. Some hadn’t.
And here she stood in front of the apartment house, 127 Lower Main Street. Still here. The peeling white she remembered had become a peeling chocolate brown at some point during the years between, but it was still unmistakable. There was the window which looked in on what had been their kitchen; there was the window of her bedroom.
(Jim Doyon, you come out of that road! Come out right now, you want to get run over and killed?)
She shivered, hugging her arms across her breasts in an X, cupping her elbows in her palms.
Daddy could still be living here; oh yes he could. He wouldn’t move unless he had to. Just walk on up there, Beverly. Look at the mailboxes. Three boxes for three apartments, just like in the old days. And if there’s one which says MARSH, you can ring the bell and pretty soon there’ll be the shuffle of slippers down the hall and the door will open and you can look at him, the man whose sperm made you redheaded and lefthanded and gave you the ability to draw . . . remember how he used to draw? He could draw anything he wanted. If he felt like it, that is. He didn’t feel like it often. I guess he had too many things to worry about. But when he did, you used to sit for hours and watch while he drew cats and dogs and horses and cows with MOO coming out of their mouths in balloons. You’d laugh and he’d laugh and then he’d say Now you, Bevvie, and when you held the pen he’d guide your hand and you’d see the cow or the cat or the smiling man unspooling beneath your own fingers while you smelled his Mennen Skin Bracer and the warmth of his skin. Go on up, Beverly. Ring the bell. He’ll come and he’ll be old, the lines will be drawn deep in his face and his teeth — those that are left — will be yellow, and he’ll look at you, and he’ll say Why it’s Bevvie, Bevvie’s come home to see her old dad, come on in Bevvie, I’m so glad to see you, I’m glad because I worry about you Bevvie, I worry a LOT.
She walked slowly up the path, and the weeds growing up between the cracked concrete sections brushe d at the legs of her jeans. She looked closely at the first-floor windows, but they were curtained off. She looked at the mailboxes. Third floor, STARK-WEATHER. Second floor, BURKE. First floor — her breath caught — MARSH.
But I won’t ring. I don’t want to see him. I won’t ring the bell.
This was a firm decision, at last! The decision that opened the gate to a full and useful lifetime of firm decisions! She walked down the path! Back to downtown! Up to the Derry Town House! Packed! Cabbed! Flew! Told Tom to bug out! Lived successfully! Died happily!
Rang the bell.
She heard the familiar chimes
