It

Slightly to his left he could see a cloud of circling, diving seagulls: the dump. Their cries reached him faintly. Across the way he could see Derry Heights, and the low roofs of the Old
Cape houses closest to the Barrens. To the right of Old Cape, pointing skyward like a squat white finger, was the Derry Standpipe. Directly below him a rusty culvert stuck out of the earth, spilling discolored water down the hill in a glimmering little stream which disappeared into the tangled trees and bushes.
Ben’s pleasant fantasy of Beverly was suddenly broken by one far more grim: what if a dead hand flopped out of that culvert right now, right this second, while he was looking? And suppose that when he turned to find a phone and call the police, a clown was standing there? A funny clown wearing a baggy suit with big orange puffs for buttons? Suppose —
A hand fell on Ben’s shoulder, and he screamed.
There was laughter. He whirled around, shrinking against the white fence separating the safe, sane sidewalk of Kansas Street from the wildly undisciplined Barrens (the railing creaked audibly), and saw Henry Bowers, Belch Huggins, and Victor Criss standing there.
‘Hi, Tits,’ Henry said.
‘What do you want?’ Ben asked, trying to sound brave.
‘I want to beat you up,’ Henry said. He seemed to contemplate this prospect soberly, even gravely. But oh, his black eyes sparkled. ‘I got to teach you something, Tits. You won’t mind. You like to learn new things, don’tcha?’
He reached for Ben. Ben ducked away.
‘Hold him, you guys.’
Belch and Victor seized his arms. Ben squealed. It was a cowardly sound, rabbity and weak, but he couldn’t help it. Please God don’t let them make me cry and don’t let them break my watch, Ben thought wildly. He didn’t know if they would get around to breaking his watch or not, but he was pretty sure he would cry. He was pretty sure he would cry plenty before they were through with him.
‘Jeezum, he sounds jus t like a pig,’ Victor said. He twisted Ben’s wrist. ‘Don’t he sound like a pig?’
‘He sure do,’ Belch giggled.
Ben lunged first one way and then the other. Belch and Victor went with him easily, letting him lunge, then yanking him back.
Henry grabbed the front of Ben’s sweatshirt and yanked it upward, exposing his belly. It hung over his belt in a swollen droop.
‘Lookit that gut!’ Henry cried in amazed disgust. ‘Jesus-please-us!’
Victor and Belch laughed some more. Ben looked around wildly for help. He could see no one. Behind him, down in the Barrens, crickets drowsed and seagulls screamed.
‘You just better quit!’ he said. He wasn’t blubbering yet but was close to it. ‘You just better!’
‘Or what?’ Henry asked as if he was honestly interested. ‘Or what, Tits? Or what, huh?’
Ben suddenly found himself thinking of Broderick Crawford, who played Dan Matthews on Highway Patrol — that bastard was tough, that bastard was mean, that bastard took zero shit from anybody — and then he bur st into tears. Dan Matthews would have belted these guys right through the fence, down the embankment, and into the puckerbrush. He would have done it with his belly.
‘Oh boy, lookit the baby!’ Victor chortled. Belch joined in. Henry smiled a little, bu t his face still held that grave, reflective cast — that look that was somehow almost sad. It frightened Ben. It suggested he might be in for more than just a beating.
As if to confirm this idea, Henry reached into his jeans pocket and brought out a Buck knife.
Ben’s terror exploded. He had been whipsawing his body futilely to either side; now he suddenly lunged straight forward. There was an instant when he believed he was going to get away. He was sweating heavily, and the boys holding his arms ha d greasy grips at best. Belch
managed to hold on to his right wrist, but just barely. He pulled entirely free of Victor. Another lunge —
Before he could make it, Henry stepped forward and gave him a shove. Ben flew backward. The railing creaked more loudly this tune, and he felt it give a little under his weight. Belch and Victor grabbed him again.
‘Now you hold him,’ Henry said. ‘You hear me?’
‘Sure, Henry,’ Belch said. He sounded a trifle uneasy. ‘He ain’t gonna get away. Don’t worry.’
Henry stepped forward until his flat stomach almost touched Ben’s belly. Ben stared at him, tears spilling helplessly out of his wide eyes. Caught! I’m caught! a part of his mind yammered. He tried to stop it — he couldn’t think at all with that yammering going on — but it wouldn’t stop. Caught! Caught! Caught!