Awakening

Chapter 23

Sinless?

Senior Year; May, 201-; - Prom Week

Margaret White

"Oh, she was an odd one. In the past, I've tried to talk to her y'know, like neighbors are supposed to, but she wouldn't have it. She might have had a couple of people over every now and then – probably to have some sort of spur of the moment revival – but she generally kept to herself. That's why back sixteen or so years ago, no one called 911 when the screaming started. We all figured it was her own business and that we should just mind ours. I thought she was holy rolling – she tended to do a lot of that. I had no clue she was in labor. What I don't understand is that there's a good hospital over in Castle Rock, so why on earth didn't she call an ambulance? It doesn't take a genius to figure out why that daughter of hers flew off the handle."

-Statement by Mrs. Georgia McLaughlin reprinted in "The Shadow Exploded" (Pg. 233 David R Congress, 201-)

Silence, Margaret thought to herself as she set her well-used Bible down on the dining room table. Silent judgment. That's what this is.

Lost. We're both lost.

The entire house was quiet, save for the steady ticking of the Black Forest cuckoo clock in the living room. The still air smelled faintly of the roast chicken they had had for dinner and Pine Sol. Margaret yawned and attempted to roll the knots out of her shoulders. Her back ached and it was becoming more difficult to force her eyes to focus in the bright yellow light cast by the fixture overhead. It had been a rough shift at Elt's, and she was getting older, but there seemed to be more to it. Lately, she was always tired and sore, even on her days off. Everything seemed to hurt this evening.

"Ohuh," she groaned softly as she shut her bloodshot, sunken eyes and gently rubbed her temples. Margaret took a sip of tepid tea from the mug set in front of her. "I'm getting old. That must be it."

Is it? She mused silently to herself as she stifled a yawn. You're lying to yourself. You know exactly what the trouble is. She's upstairs, alone and unsupervised.

She remembers.

As Eve fell, so did I. As I fell, so will Carrie. It's already begun.

"I'll make the stones come again, Momma," Margaret whispered thickly. The words caught in her throat as if she was trying to utter some awful truth. "I didn't sin, Momma. You sinned."

I've sinned. I've tried to lead a life of grace and virtue, but I've failed. I've tried to guide her and teach her right from wrong, but I haven't even been able to live up to my own standards. Time and time again, I've failed. Now it's too late for her. She was born in sin and it was all my fault.

She remembers now. It's too late.

Monster.

Hellspawn.

Witch.

Thou shall not suffer a witch to live.

"No!" Margaret gasped. She felt her gorge rise and for a brief, dizzying moment, thought she was about to be violently ill. Surely, that wasn't the answer, was it? It was a prospect that was almost too horrible to comprehend.

This isn't the first time I've thought about it, is it? I nearly did it after I gave birth to her and again when I saw what she was doing with her bottle. That was right after my grandmother away passed and I knew immediately that she had been marked. It was the right thing to do, but I loved her and couldn't bring myself to do it. If she had died then, as an innocent, she wouldn't have to face what I know is waiting for her. I was weak, and now the blood has come. It's too late.

First comes the blood…

As a little girl, Margaret dreaded spending time with her grandmother Sadie. There was something wrong with her that instinctively made Margaret uncomfortable. She hated being left alone with the older woman, and would fight and carry on whenever her parent's decided to leave her in her grandmother's care. Even back then, she recognized that there was something at play that was worthy of fear. There was something unnatural and unholy about how she could move things without touching them. It went without saying that normal people weren't able to do that – or at the very least, shouldn't be able to do that. It wasn't until later on that Margaret was given the tools to fully comprehend what she saw.

Witch. She was cursed and so is Carrie. The blood is a sign that he has found a way in. It's too late…

Although she had become spiritual before meeting him, it was Ralph White who had opened Margaret's eyes to the reality of things. As a child, she lived a rough and ready existence with relatively little supervision and almost no guidance. Her parents ran a nightspot that was little more than a dingy roadhouse on the outskirts of Motton, and had little time for and even less interest in her. Margaret was desperately lonely, and as a result, turned towards religion as a way to fill the void left by her absentee caregivers. As young and unaware as she was, she recognized that her mother and father weren't living virtuously.

Daddy's death was what woke me up. The wages of sin is death. I was surrounded by sin; I was drowning in it. Ralph found me and opened my eyes. He understood sin and knew how to conquer it. He was righteous and we promised that we would live righteously. He promised me.

He promised. He was weak and so was I.

Carrie was born in sin. Born of what Ralph and I did. Sin always finds its way home.

I knew this would happen. I prayed and prayed that I would be able to teach her better – to be a better mother. I prayed that somehow it would pass over her and that she wouldn't bear the same mark my Grandmother bore. I've failed. I prayed that that day would never come.

Everything came to the fore with one single phone call. It would be putting it mildly to say that things at 47 Carlin Street had been stressful over the past several days. Things, however, took a turn for the worse when Margaret received an unexpected call from her daughter's gym teacher. Part of her, buried deeply and actively suppressed, knew that this day would come. Although the levitating bottle, self-rocking chair or falling stones never truly slipped her mind, she managed to keep those thoughts shunted off to the side. Margaret believed in her heart that she, by strength of will and faith alone, could help steer Carrie down the right path. Up until that Friday morning, she thought she had succeeded.

Blood. The curse of blood marks those who have sinned or have born lustful thoughts.

Margaret doubted that she would ever forget that particular call. She had never cared much for Carrie's gym teacher, Miss Desjardin, and suspected that not only was she willfully ignorant about how her daughter was treated by her peers, but probably some sort of pervert as well. Although she was sorely tempted to say so, she had learned early on that it wasn't a good idea to make all of her opinions about her daughter's teachers publically known. In this case, it was a moot point as she was practically struck dumb by what she was hearing. She didn't notice it at the time, but thinking back, it sounded as if this vapid, glorified babysitter's voice actually had an accusatory tone to it. Had this been any other topic, it would be unlikely that Margaret would have let her go without laying into her over the phone. At the time, she was barely able to acknowledge that she understood what she was being told.

'You really need to sit down and have a thorough conversation with Carrie', Margaret recalled Miss Desjardin telling her. 'She was terrified. Perhaps it's time to consult a doctor? It's unusual for a girl to have her first period this late. All of this could have been cleared up with a conversation.'

The gym teacher seemed to be even more concerned about the behavior of the other students then she was about Carrie bleeding. It didn't surprise Margaret one bit that this was the case. There was no way that some secularist would have any comprehension of what truly had happened. Sure, she could quote from her State-approved text books, but that meant very little. Miss Desjardin was out of her depth and her after-the-fact compassion was insulting. She had no idea what the blood meant.

First comes the blood.

She was amazed that she was able to set the phone down and inform Elt that she would need to leave early without being ill and breaking down in tears. She was desperately tempted to do both, and had she not had other obligations, Margaret might very well have done both. It was all too much.

And Eve was weak and loosed the raven of sin upon the world. The sin was the sin of intercourse and the sinner was marked by the curse of blood. I've sinned and Carrie is the product of that sin.

It's too late.

"I wasn't able to stop her," Margaret muttered as she wrung her hands. "The blood is only the beginning. She's already gone astray. As I fell…"

As I fell, Carrie will fall.

This is all my fault. Carrie is the living embodiment of my sin. She is a living reminder of my weakness. The curse of blood is proof that she's already accepted sin – embraced it. She remembers the stones, and heaven knows what else.

She'll fall just as I did.

"All this is my fault. The sins of the mother," Margaret said softly, neither needing nor caring to elaborate further on the topic. Without thinking, she reached up and dug her fingernails into her forehead right below her scalp line. Typically, she'd try her best to avoid harming herself in a visible way; she'd normally focus her attention on her upper arms or thighs – areas that could be readily concealed by her clothing. Although Margaret generally didn't concern herself too much about the opinions of others, she recognized that it would be problematic for her coworkers and neighbors to find out that she scourged herself. They wouldn't understand. They never understood. Tonight, however, she was just too tired and the urge was too strong. She had to do it.

I knew it would come to this sooner or later. I might not have wanted to believe it, but I always knew. Ever since she was a little girl, I knew that he would come to claim what is his. I was too weak to do what I had to do for her sake. I've sinned and if I can't find a way to do what is right, she'll suffer.

"As Eve fell, so did I," she muttered as she worked her nails deeper. "Eve was weak and so am I. As Eve fell, so did I and as I fell… as I fell…"

As I fell, so will Carrie. My little girl will fall just as I did. I tried so hard to walk the straight and narrow, but I was weak. I wasn't strong enough, and now sin has found me. I reek of it – of him.

Him. Ralph promised me. He promised, but I was weak. He was tempted and succumbed. He tempted me and when I refused, he… he…

Ralph wasn't an acceptable topic of discussion and Margaret seldom tolerated questions about her husband – especially not from Carrie. There were certain things that good, pious young women simply didn't need to know about. All she was concerned about was the need – the imperative – for her not to deviate. It only took the slightest step off of the path to fall, and it was far too easy to put a foot wrong. While they had been together, she and Ralph had adhered strictly to the Word, but what resonated the deepest with her were the times when Ralph's resolve had failed. That stuck with her and taught her that the only way to truly be safe was to be disciplined. When Carrie was born, she vowed to be strict – to even be harsh. There was simply too much at stake for her not to be. Margaret hoped and prayed time and time again that her daughter – her little girl – would understand.

It's been such a struggle to keep her safe; to ensure that she doesn't make the same mistakes I've made. I couldn't bring myself to tell her about what Ralph did to me – how he took me that night she was conceived, or the time before we were even married. Both times I fought him, but he was drunk and so much stronger than I was. I was so frightened. All of the awful, lascivious things I've overheard my classmates say about it were simultaneously right and wrong. It was horrible and dirty. It hurt so much and I remember screaming and crying and…

And moaning.

I moaned because I liked it. Part of me actually liked it. I hated myself ever since that day, but I liked it. It was dirty and he reeked of cheep alcohol, but I liked it. That was when I fell. I knew it in no uncertain terms. I had sinned and there would never be any absolution. I am supposed to be Carrie's guardian – her moral guide. How can I even think about explaining this to her; explaining that I'm the reason she bears the mark. How can I explain to her how I accepted sin and passed it on to her? I liked it. I embraced it. I knew it was wrong, but I let it in. How can I explain that I could feel it spread within me? That I bled…

Blood. .

Margaret felt her stomach clench as a deep, painful shudder tore through her in much the same way it had that Friday morning. Everything suddenly seemed clear to her – far too clear. The evidence had been in front of her all along, and she failed to piece it together. Even worse was the fact that she might not have figured it out for some time to come if that gym teacher hadn't called her.

I've been blind. I should have figured it long before that vile gym teacher called me. I should have seen it. I told her of the raven – of the multitude of curses that impurity and sin bring. I didn't want to see it and now it's too late.

"Is it too late? There's too much at stake. Too much."

Blood. First comes the blood, then the boys. As Eve fell, so did I. As I fell, so shall Carrie. I've loosed this sin upon the world – upon my daughter.

"Blood. First comes the blood."

Blood. Blood expiates sin. Blood and pain. It may be too late for me, but there is still a chance for her. There is still a chance for her to escape what I'm bound to. Only blood can expiate mortal sin. Only through sacrifice can a sinner gain absolution.

Is there? Margaret thought to herself. It's too late for her, too. It's been too late for her from the moment I gave birth to her. She was the product of my sin – my weakness.

"Blood expiates sin," she muttered as she slumped forward, resting her elbows on the cherry wood table. Margaret's auburn hair, now flecked with grey, draped across the furniture's spotless surface. Her head felt as if it weighed several tons, and her vision was becoming increasingly fuzzy. She hadn't slept much in the past couple of days, and with a full work load, fatigue was taking its toll. In this position, it seemed as if it was easier to marshal her thoughts. It also enabled her to gain better purchase on her skin. The tearing hurt, but not enough. It wasn't painful enough to silence the guilt and worry gnawing away inside of her.

It used to work. It used to make me feel better; as if I was accomplishing something. Now, it no longer helps. I'm too far gone. She is too far gone. My little girl…

No.

A familiar and unsettling combination of adoration and revulsion seeped through her insides. As much as she loved Carrie, that feeling of disgust and fear never strayed too far away. It would creep up upon without warning ever since the incident with the bottle. She had tried to fight it – to deny it – but it was hopeless. By the time Carrie made the stones fall, it was almost as natural a part of life as day turning to night. The best Margaret could do was to resist until her resolve collapsed. At first it was a rare occurrence, but as the years went by, it became far more frequent. Throughout it all, she told herself that she loved Carrie and wanted her to be safe and that the only way to do that was by not sparing the rod. All of the pain, the screaming and fights over the prayer closet were meant to protect her daughter – her little girl – from things far too awful to comprehend.

My little girl…

Her train of thought was interrupted by a faint thud overhead. Dinner that evening had been tense, and apart from grace, Carrie had barely looked up from her plate. Since the previous Friday, most of their dinners together had been silent, with only the bare minimum of communication between them. After clearing the table, Carrie had excused herself and trudged upstairs to do her homework. That in of itself wasn't particularly odd, given how Margaret had made it clear what she thought about the curriculum at Ewen and the secularists that taught it. As far as she was concerned, the entire Maine state board of education was useless and pretty much hell bound. Besides, it wasn't as if she'd be much help. She never attended college and only had vague recollection of much of what she had learned in High School. In fact, a part of her was actually kind of relieved that Carrie had opted to sequester herself in her room, rather than do her work downstairs. She needed to think, and that would be impossible to do while Carrie was in her presence.

"It was corrupt; for all flesh had corrupted his way upon the earth," Margaret recited from memory. "And God said unto Noah, The end of all flesh is come before me; for the earth is filled with violence through them; and, behold, I will destroy them with the earth.

Corrupted. It's too late. It's always been too late. She was born in sin – born of sin. I brought her into this world bearing the mark and I failed to do what I knew I had to. It was a test and I failed it.

"I failed," Margaret choked. "O Lord, my spirit faileth. Hide not your face from me, lest I be like unto them that go down into the p-p-pit."

As I fell, so shall Carrie. It's too late. She'll sin just as I had and she'll be lost.

I'll make the stones come again!

Thou shall not suffer a witch to live.

You sinned! You knew and you didn't tell me!

Thou shall not suffer a witch to live.

NO!

Off in the distance she could faintly hear kids playing outside, seemingly miles and millennia away. It was dark out, and Margaret was willing to wager that they were unsupervised. There was a time when she'd grouse to herself at length about how parents no longer cared about what their children were doing, but she couldn't muster the strength. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered anymore.

I was weak and now there's no other option. The blood. Carrie remembering. The curse. I could have put a stop to this long ago, but now it's too late. She might not have taken the mark willingly, but she bears it all the same. All of this is happening because I was weak. Because I was weak and backsliding, my little girl is made to suffer – will be made to suffer for eternity. Sin has come home and if I fail again, she'll be lost to God.

As I fell, so shall Carrie.

Forever.

"I have no other choice," Margaret sniffled. Her nose always seemed to run whenever she cried, and for some odd reason, she wondered if it was the same for Carrie. I occurred to her, that as her mother – her momma – it was one of those things she ought to have known. "If she doesn't renounce it, I'll have to. For my sake. For her sake I have to."

It's the only way. As Abraham made his offering, so shall I. Blood expiates sin and I will make my offering. There are things worse than death and that's what's at stake.

"There are things more precious than mortal life. An innocent death… an innocent death begets eternal life."

If she doesn't reject it. She has already used it before – she's already embraced it once. If she doesn't turn away from it and denounce it, then I'll have no other choice.

Thou shall not suffer a witch to live.

She is my mark. My mark.

Please come back to me. Please…

"Momma, is everything OK?" Margaret hadn't heard Carrie descend the stairs or enter the kitchen. For a sickening second she was terrified that her daughter had been listening to her. "Is everything all right?"

"Everything's fine," she said. The words scraped through her mouth like sand paper. "Did you finish your homework?"

"I'm almost done," Carrie murmured as she made her way to the counter. "I-I just came down to get a cookie."

Carrie looked at her in silence for a heartbeat or two. Her brown eyes were wide and dark with concern. It might have been a trick of the overhead light, or the lack of sleep, but at that moment, Margaret could have sworn that she was looking at the innocent little girl she always imagined.

Without sin. Without corruption. Without the Mark.

Sinless.

Margaret felt her stomach hitch as she pushed her chair back and stood. The fear – the hate – was still there, throbbing in the background of her thoughts, but love was there, too. She did love Carrie, and knew at that moment she would do whatever she had to do to protect her from the darkness that was lying in wait. She vowed silently to herself that she would watch and guide, and if it became apparent that Carrie was giving in, she would intervene.

Some things are just too precious. It would be an act of devotion – of love. I may be lost, but she'll be safe. I might not be able to keep her safe from temptation, but I can stop her before she goes too far. I won't let her fall.

Margaret embraced her daughter in a tight hug and, after a moment of hesitation, Carrie returned the gesture.

I won't let him have you, she thought as she gently brushed a lock of hair out of her daughter's face. I won't let the darkness swallow you the way it will swallow me. There are things worse than death and there are things more precious than mortal life.

It would be an act of devotion, if it comes down to it. I will not jeopardize my little girl's eternal soul. It would be an act of love…

"I love you."

"I love you, too, Momma."

Notes: I thought it would be interesting to flesh out what was going on in Margaret's head before she eventually decides to "take care of things." The impression that I got from the book and movies is of a very sick woman who, in spite of doing horrible things and being horrifically abusive, actually loved her daughter in a warped sort of way. I kind of view Margaret as pitiful rather than monstrous. In terms of her relationship with Ralph, much of it is based on the book and fleshed out with speculation here and there. This is the fourth version of this chapter (the first two I didn't like and scrapped and the third was way, way into M or MA territory.)

I'm going to leave it somewhat up in the air as to what actually happened to Ralph (King wrote that he had died at a construction site before Carrie was born, but later stated that he stopped Margaret from killing her in her crib.) He's definitely out of the picture in Awakening, although much of what Margaret thinks and feels is colored by her time with him.

I'm thinking about doing a short side-story based on their relationship after Awakening is finished.

I still think Margaret is the hardest character to write. I've been trying to find some sort of middle ground between the four different and distinct versions of her floating around, and it's been difficult. I tried to balance some of the craziness and abusiveness from the book/1976 movie with some of the humanity in the 2013 film.

I'm not sure if I've succeeded in capturing her mental illness – it's been a bit of a struggle.

Next up is Judas? and Freak?