Date: Early September 1983 Location: Rural Oregon (near Castle Rock)
The pickup truck dropped me off at the dusty edge of a long-abandoned highway, the late afternoon sun already casting long shadows across the fields.
I was hundreds of miles from the bloody farmhouse, but the phantom stench of fear still clung to me. My black hair was matted, my glasses askew, and my clothes felt stiff with dried sweat and the residue of what I'd witnessed.
The human evil I'd encountered was a raw, visceral wound on my soul, far more unsettling than the theoretical horrors of the Upside Down.
I was exhausted, body and mind, and just wanted oblivion. I stumbled onto a set of railroad tracks, stretching endlessly into the horizon.
They felt like a forgotten artery of America, a path to nowhere, or everywhere. As I trudged along the creosote-scented ties, my empathic senses, though still frayed from overuse and trauma, began to pick up a faint, distant signal.
Not the chilling malice of the farm, but something else entirely: a complex blend of adolescent yearning, fierce loyalty, simmering anger, and a curious, morbid excitement.
As I rounded a bend, the source of the psychic hum came into view. Four boys, no older than myself, were walking the tracks ahead, their silhouettes distinct against the setting sun.
One, slight with an air of quiet contemplation, was lagging slightly behind. Another, with a powerful presence even from a distance, carried himself with a protective swagger.
The third radiated a manic, almost volatile energy. And the fourth, pudgy and a little breathless, emanated a clear sense of apprehension. I slowed my pace, wary.
My internal alarms, thankfully, weren't blaring danger, but curiosity. These weren't adults, weren't threats, but something about their collective purpose called to me.
They were on a mission. It was the volatile one, Teddy, who spotted me first. "Hey! Who's that?" he yelled, his voice carrying easily in the stillness. The others turned.
The protective one, Chris, narrowed his eyes. "Just a kid, Teddy. Lost, maybe?" The quiet one, Gordie, stared, a thoughtful, almost solemn expression on his face. He sensed something about me, I realized. Not my powers, but the unspoken weight I carried.
I stopped, shoving my hands into my pockets, trying to project harmlessness.
"Just walking the tracks," I offered, my voice raspy.
"Didn't expect company." Vern, the pudgy boy, gulped.
"You're not, like, one of Ace Merrill's gang, are you?"
His mind was a mix of genuine fear and a desperate longing for reassurance. Chris stepped forward, his gaze steady.
"What are you doing out here, kid? This ain't exactly a public park." "Looking for… something," I replied, the truth of it resonating deeply.
"Heard whispers about… something being out here. Figured it was worth a look." It was vague enough, true enough. I could feel their shared secret, their own morbid quest, radiating from them.
My curiosity, and a strange sense of kinship with their outsider status, pulled me in. Chris exchanged a look with Gordie.
"We're looking for something too. Ray Brower."
My eyes widened. Ray Brower. The missing boy from the news reports I'd occasionally picked up in diners during my hitchhiking.
A gruesome, tragic story, easily dismissed by most, but now given horrifying context by their direct involvement. This was it. Another thread in the strange tapestry of America.
"You found anything?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper. Gordie stepped forward.
"Not yet. You got a name?"
"Rupert," I said, offering the only truth I could. Chris seemed to make a decision.
"Alright, Rupert. You can walk with us. But you stay out of trouble. And you don't say anything to anybody about what we're doing out here. Understand?"
I nodded. Understand? I understood more than they could possibly imagine. I was drawn into their innocent, yet profound, adventure, a stark contrast to the darkness I'd just escaped.
Four outsiders, walking a rail line, each searching for something. I, too, was seeking answers, and perhaps, a fleeting moment of peace in their camaraderie.