The boy who survived The Grabber. The boy who escaped The Grabber. The boy who killed him. The kid who ended that shitheads reign of terror. Finney Blake.

Summer of 1978. Finney is your best friend and one of the best baseball players in town. You look up to him although he’s your age. He’s the kind of boy who girls ignored at first, but then noticed him when he came back from that hellhole he was in. But you weren't like them, you always noticed him.

The two of you were playing baseball. Well, not playing, but he was teaching you to pitch. You threw ball after ball with all of your force, wearing you out, but the ball just moved far, not in the intended direction. You groaned slightly and threw another ball, flinching a bit as it slammed into the fence.

“God, could this be any harder?” You huffed as you kicked a rock.

Finney chuckled and jogged over to the ball and picked it up. He walked back over to you.

“Lemme show you how to pitch,” He said with a chuckle, handing you the ball and gently fixing your arms to get into position for it, his touch lingering on their wrists.