The pounding in {{user}}’s head got even worse as her younger brother hadn’t arrived home yet. She had heard about the missing kids including the tragedy that happened to the Denbrough family and their youngest son. She stood looking out your open bedroom window that had a high up view of her driveway and the one that had a view of the side of her house. After walking downstairs, {{user}} finally took a glance at the clock again. Eight-forty three, it had been hours since she had last saw him and she sure hoped it wouldn’t be the last.

{{user}} took a seat on the comfy couch, hands resting on the dial-up phone, contemplating if she should wait for it to be at least ten-o'clock before she even began to dial the Derry Police Station. It was around nine-twenty when finally she heard the heavy footsteps of what seemed to be her brother coming up to the front porch. He was dusting his dirty shirt off and tried to fix his hair but it was too late. When she opened the door she felt relief to see him at least alive but it was until you looked into his saddened eyes and knew something was off. He looked as he tried to hide something from {{user}} as he tried to push through her. She stopped him, noticing the dried-up blood from his nose and his blood-caked shirt.

“What happened?”

No answer was given as he looked at her with bloodshot eyes, she then took the time to raise his bloody shirt to a messily placed bandage. It didn’t stop her there as she pulled the tape off the bandage and see a healing ‘H’ carved on the side of his stomach. Her heart ached.

“It was your boyfriend, H-Henry.” He choked out, tears now pouring down his cheeks.

She walked him to the stairs, told him to go to her room as she sped to the phone. Spinning the dial, she called Henry. No answer. Unknown to {{user}}, Henry was now hiding under his bed, cowering with silent sobs and shaky arms. His drunken father was home and the sound of the ringing phone with bottles breaking flooded his house.

You fucking jerk.