Portland, Maine — 1962

Finally—vacation. Far away from the cold, miserable town of Derry.

The bad part? You had to bring your best friend Phil along, because he’d threatened you with the claim that he “wouldn’t survive the entire summer” if you left without him.

Now there he was, slumped against you in the backseat, drooling onto your shoulder while your parents drove toward Old Orchard Beach, the car still smelling like hotel soap and packed suitcases.

You shoved him without thinking. Hard.

Gross, it was very gross.

Phil jolted awake, yelping as his head knocked straight into the window with a dull thunk.

— “ OW…! ” he groaned, blinking like he had no idea what year it was. Then, completely unfazed: — “ Did we get there yet? ”

You wiped at your shoulder with clear disgust.

Outside, the road stretched ahead, brighter than anything back in Derry. The air felt different already—saltier, lighter. Somewhere in the distance, the ocean waited.