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
is the only one I remember clearly and I’m convinced that I’m the only one he remembers clearly. Because we are both still here in Derry, I suppose.
‘All right,’ he said. ‘By tomorrow we’ll be out of your hair.’
‘You still got your idea?’
‘Yeah. Looks like it’s time to try it.’
‘Be careful.’
He laughed and said something I both do and don’t understand: ‘You can’t be c-c-careful on a skuh-hateboard, man.’
‘How will I know how it turned out, Bill?’
‘You’ll know,’ he said, and hung up.
My heart’s with you, Bill, no matter how it turns out. My heart is with all of them, and I think that, even if we forget each other, we’ll remember in our dreams.
I’m almost done with this diary now — and I suppose a diary is all that it will ever be, and that the story of Derry’s old scandals and eccentricities has no place outside these pages. That’s fine with me; I think that, when they let me out of here tomorrow, it might finally be time to start thinking about some sort of new life . . . although just what that might be is unclear to me.
I loved you guys, you know.
I loved you so much.
‘I knew the bride when she used to do the Pony, I knew the bride when she used to do the Stroll. I knew the bride when she used to wanna party, I knew the bride when she used to rock and roll.’
— Nick Lowe
‘You can’t be careful on a skateboard man’
— some kid
1
Noon of a summer day.
Bill stood naked in Mike Hanlon’s bedroom, looking at his lean body in the mirror on the door. His bald head gleamed in the light which fell through the window and cast his shadow along the floor and up the wall. His chest was hairless, his thighs and shanks skinny but overlaid with ropes of muscle. Still, he thought, it’s an adult’s body we got here, no question about that. There’s the pot belly that comes with a few too many good steaks, a few too many bottles of Kirin beer, a few too many poolside lunches where you had the Reuben or the French dip instead of the diet plate. Your seat’s dropped, too, Bill old buddy. You can still serve an ace if you’re not too hung over and if your eye’s in, but you can’t hustle after the old Dunlop the way you could when you were seventeen. You got love handles and your balls are starting to get that middle-aged dangly look. There’s lines on your face that weren’t there when you were seventeen . . . Hell, they weren’t there on your first author photo, the one where you tried so hard to look as if you knew something . . . anything. You’re too old for what you’ve got in mind, Billy-boy. You’ll kill both of you.
He put on his underpants.
If we’d believed that, we never could have . . . have done whatever it was we did.
Because he didn’t really remember what it was they had done, or what had happened to turn Audra into a catatonic wreck. He only knew what he was supposed to do now, and he knew that if he didn’t do it now, he would forget that, too. Audra was sitting downstairs in Mike’s easy chair, her hair hanging lankly to her shoulders, staring with rapt attention at the TV, which was currently showing Dialing for Dollars. She didn’t speak and would only move if you led her.
This is different. You’re just too old, man. Believe it.
I won’t.
Then die here in Derry. Big fucking deal.
He put on athletic socks, the one pair of jeans he had brought, the tank top he’d bought at the Shirt Shack in Bangor the day before. The tank was bright orange. Across the front it said WHERE THE HELL IS DERRY, MAINE?
