It

by Stephen King

‘By now you prob’ly think I’m as crazy as a bedbug,’

The words had run out. There was a brick of feeling inside him, almost choking him, and he could not get it out of his throat. Neat as he was, sure as he was, he was still only an eleven-year-old boy who had that year finished the fourth grade.

But God favors drunks, small children, and the cataclysmically stoned;