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
But in the end she said nothing. Her fright was too great.
‘But ma ybe we don’t even have to talk about it,’ Eddie went on. ‘Mr Keene might have been joking with me. Sometimes grownups . . . you know, they like to play jokes on kids. Because kids believe almost anything. It’s mean to do that to kids, but sometimes grownups do it.’
‘Yes,’ Sonia Kaspbrak said eagerly. ‘They like to joke and sometimes they’re stupid . . . mean . . . and . . . and . . . ‘
‘So I’ll kind of keep an eye out for Bill and the rest of my friends,’ Eddie said, ‘and keep right on using my asthma medicine. That’s probably best, don’t you think?’
She realized only now, when it was too late, how neatly — h o w c r u e l l y — she had been trapped. What he was doing was almost blackmail, but what choice did she have? She wanted to ask him how he could be so calculating, so manipulative. She opened her mouth to ask . . . and then closed it again. It was too likely that, in his present mood, he might answer.
But she knew one thing. Yes. One thing for sure: she would never never never set foot into Mr Nosy-Parker Keene’s drugstore again in her life.
His voice, oddly shy now, interrupted her thoughts. ‘Ma?’
She looked up and saw it was Eddie again, just Eddie, and she went to him gladly.
‘Can I have a hug, Ma?’
She hugged him, but carefully, so as not to hurt his broken arm (or dislodge any loose bone-fragments so they could run an evil race around his bloodstream and then lodge in his heart — what mother would kill her son with love?), and Eddie hugged her back.
7
As far as Eddie was concerned, his ma left just in time. During the horrible confrontation with her he had felt his breath piling up and up and up in his lungs and throat, still and tideless, stale and brackish, threatening to poison him.
He held on until the door had snicked shut behind her and then he began to gasp and wheeze. The sour air working in his tight throat jabbed up and down like a warm poker. He grabbed for his aspirator, hurting his arm but not caring. He triggered a long blast down his throat. He breathed deep of the camphor taste, thinking: It doesn’t matter if it’s a pla-cee-bo,words don’t matter if a thing works.
He lay back against his pillows, eyes closed, breathing freely for the first time since she had come in. He was scared, plenty scared. The things he had said to her, the way he had acted — it had been him and yet it hadn’t been him at all. There had been something working in him, working through him, some force . . . and his mother had felt it, too. He had seen it in her eyes and in her trembling lips. He had no sense that this power was an evil one, but its enormous strength was frightening. It was like getting on an amusement-park ride that was really dangerous and realizing you couldn’t get off until it was over, come what might.
No turning around, Eddie thought, feeling the hot, itchy weight of the cast that encased his broken arm. No one goes home until we get to the end. But God I’m so scared, so scared. And he knew that the truest reason for demanding she not cut him off from his friends was something he could never have told her: I can’t face this alone.
He cried a little then, and then drifted off into a restless sleep. He dreamed of a darkness in which machinery — pumping machinery — ran on and on.
8
It was threatening showers again that evening when Bill and the rest of the Losers returned to the hospital. Eddie was not surprised to see them come filing in. He had known they would be back.
It had been hot all day — it was generally agreed later that that third week of July was the hottest of an exceptionally hot summer — and the thunderheads began to build up around four in the afternoon, purple-black and colossal, pregnant with rain, loaded with lightnings. People went about their errands quickly and a little uneasily, with one eye always cocked at the sky. Most agreed it would rain good and hard by dinnertime, washing some of the thick humidity out of the ear. Derry’s parks and playgrounds, underpopulated all summer, were totally deserted that evening by six. The rain had still not fallen, and the ‘swings hung moveless and shadeless in a light that was a queer flat yellow. Thunder rumbled thickly — that, a barking dog, and the low mutter of traffic on Outer Main Street were the only sounds that drifted in through Eddie’s window until the Losers came.
Bill was first, followed by Richie. Beverly and Stan followed
