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
alone.’
She stared at him, flabbergasted and terrified. Tears filled her eyes and spilled down her cheeks, wetting the powder there. ‘This is how you talk to your mother now, I guess,’ she said through her sobs. ‘Maybe this is the way your «friends» talk to their folks. I guess you learned it from them.’
She felt safer in her tears. Usually when she cried Eddie cried, too. A low weapon, some might say, but were there really any low weapons when it came to protecting her son? She thought not.
She looked up, the tears streaming from her eyes, feeling both unutterably sad, bereft, betrayed . . . and sure. Eddie would not be able to stand against such a flood of tears and sorrow. That cold sharp look would leave his face. Perhaps he would begin to gasp and wheeze a little bit, and that would be a sign, as it was always a sign, that the fight was over and that she had won another victory . . . for him, of course. Always for him.
She was so shocked to see that same expression on his face — it had, if anything, deepened — that her voice caught in mid-sob. There was sorrow under his expression, but even that was frightening: it struck her in some way as an adult sorrow, and thinking of Eddie as adult in any way always caused a panicky little bird to flutter inside her mind. This was how sh e felt on the infrequent occasions when she wondered what would happen to her if Eddie didn’t want to go to Derry Business College or the University of Maine in Orono or Husson in Bangor so he could come home every day after his classes were done, what would happen if he met a girl, fell in love, wanted to get married. Where’s the place for me in any of that? the panicky bird-voice would cry when these strange, almost nightmarish thoughts came. Wherewould my place be in a life like that? I love you, Eddie! I love you! I take care of you and I love you! You don’t know how to cook, or change your sheets, or wash your underwear! Why should you? I know those things for you! I know because I love you!
He said it himself now: ‘I love you, Ma. But I love my friends, too. I think . . . I think you’re making yourself cry.’
‘Eddie, you hurt me so much,’ she whispered, and fresh tears doubled his pale face, trebled it. If her tears a few moments ago had been calculated, these were not. In her own peculiar way she was tough — she had seen her husband into his grave without cracking up, she had gotten a job in a depressed job-market where it wasn’t easy to get a job, she had raised her son, and when it had been necessary, she had fought for him. These were the fi rst totally unaffected and uncalculated tears she had wept in years, perhaps since Eddie had gotten the bronchitis when he was five and she had been so sure he would die as he lay there in his bed of pain, glowing bright with fever, whooping and coughing and gasping for breath. She wept now because of that terribly adult, somehow alien expression on his face. She was afraid for him, but she was also, in some way, afraid of him, afraid of that aura that seemed to surround him . . . which seemed to demand something of her.
‘Don’t make me have to choose between you and my friends, Ma,’ Eddie said. His voice was uneven, strained, but still under control. ‘Because that’s not fair.’
‘They’re bad friends, Eddie!’ she cried in a near-frenzy. ‘I know that, I feel that with all my heart, they’ll bring you nothing but pain and grief!’ And the most horrible thing of all was that she did sense that; some part of her had intuited it in the eyes of the Denbrough boy, who had stood before her with his hands in his pockets, his red hair flaming in the summer sun. His eyes had been so grave, so strange and distant . . . like Eddie’s eyes now.
And hadn’t that same aura been around him as was around Eddie now? The same, but even stronger? She thought yes.
‘Ma — ‘
She stood up so suddenly she almost knocked the straight-backed chair over. ‘I’ll come back this evening,’ she said. ‘It’s the shock, the accident, the pain, those things, that make you talk this way. I know it. You . . . you . . . ‘ She groped, and found her original text in the flying confusion of her mind. ‘You’ve had a bad accident, but you’re going to be just fine. And you’ll see I’m right, Eddie. They’re bad friends. Not our sort. Not for you. You think it over and ask
