Tears are More Deafening than Screams

Rating: 5/10 (22 September 2017)

The aqueducts of Derry fester with ugly history. A community oblivious to correlated vanishings and newspaper horrors. The new kid in town, Ben, braves the bowels of the library with fresh eyes. The first day of summer is spent perplexing the nosy librarian, and encountering the settlement's fiend. Ben's fascination with the historical march of carnage provides an in with the Losers.
The Losers are self-titled, and thus self-defaming. The adhesive to their club is fear. Fear of bullies, germs, Torah readings, and the harsh reality of death. Their stature laughable and their eloquence shaky, the Losers operate with an awareness of their limitations.
This collective are the blood-bonded guardians of Derry's youth, because they see the wadding evil in the highest clarity. Their fragility paints crimson crosses upon their foreheads, and the enemy locks in on the prey. No one has trekked this close to pure demonic fervor, and now some teenage bandits must attempt to defeat their inner demons before facing the flamboyant one lurking below.
Evil feasts on insecurity. Disbelief in one's self is a death sentence when in the vicinity of evil. Personal confidence and communal affirmation are the tactical counter weapons deployed in the war of introspective terrorism. The Losers are poorly equipped for this combat. Pickering is their go-to defense mechanism; mom insults their greatest pastime.
Luckily for them, the addition of a girl to the gang might expand their sensibilities. Beverly is the catalyst for empathy among the boys. She challenges the Losers by shattering preconceptions. The risks she submits to by teaching these stubborn fellas are unfathomable, so she never speaks of the terrors covering her body. Defiance cascades over her scalp. Her mother sheds hearty tears from afar.
The creature plaguing the town is a mere manifestation. It is brittle and easily compromised, but only for those impervious to sorrow. Unfortunately, sorrow is a super-cell that devastates all indiscriminately. Sorrow feels like swallowing yourself from inside; an overactive gag reflex purging all traces contentment. The creature sells discomfort, but you must be prepared to make your bed in the sewers.