Chapter 8
From Shadow Exploded (p. 34 )
As Carrie was in the library on Thursday afternoon when:
"Hi, Carrie," said Tommy Ross.
She looked up from her books, startled, slamming her books shut. She was looking with a startled expression.
"Hi," she said, startled.
"What you doing?"
"Um...reading."
"What are you reading?"
"Um...it's about...sewing."
"Sewing. That's cool." Changing the subject, Tommy let out a sigh and said, "Listen, if you don't have a date for the prom, would you like to go with me?" said Tommy.
She blinked, and as she did so, a strange thing happened. The time it took to happen could have been no more than the doorway to a second, but afterward he had no trouble recalling. Like déjà vu. Then, it was gone.
"What?"
"The Spring Ball," he said, a little shaken. "It's next Friday and I know it's this is late notice but..." With that, Carrie ran away. "Wait! Carrie!"
Carrie sat down all alone. Miss Collins came down the steps, seeing Carrie, moping, her mussed up, blonde hair hanging in her freckled face.
"Hey, Carrie, what's wrong?" she asked, sitting next to her.
"Nothing," said Carrie, quietly, shaking her head.
"Was it one of the girls?"
A shake of the head.
"Did one of the girls do something to you?"
Another shake of the head.
"Well, why don't you tell me what's wrong? You can trust me, Carrie."
"I got invited to the prom," she said quietly.
"Oh!" Miss Collins laughed. "That's great. But what's wrong?"
"Tommy Ross asked me."
"That's even better. He's real cute, huh?"
"I know who he goes around with. He's trying to trick me again."
"No. Maybe he meant it."
"No, he didn't."
"Listen, Carrie, there's this attitude you have about yourself. You're always walking around moping and your hair over your eyes. I mean, look at your sister. She's really pretty."
"I wish I could be as pretty as she is."
"Your sister tells me that you're even prettier than she is. Come on, let's take a look at you, you big silly."
They walked into the bathroom, looking in the mirror. Miss Collins pulled back her hair, showing her face.
"Look at yourself, Carrie," she said, smiling. "Now, that's a pretty girl. Look at your eyes. You could bring it out with a little mascara."
Carrie felt herself smiling.
"And your lips. You have such pretty lips. Maybe some lipstick."
Carrie's cheeks became warm. Beck's right, I am pretty.
"And your cheekbones. And look at your hair. You have beautiful hair. Maybe you could fix it, you know, put a little curl in it. I think that would work."
~
"So, I heard," said Becky, smiling, bouncing her bottom on the bed.
"Heard what?" Carrie said, blushing.
"You got asked to the prom by Tommy Ross, didn't you?" she smiled with glee.
"I already said no."
"What? How could you refuse? That was really nice of him..."
"There's only one problem you're forgetting: Momma."
"Oh, come on, Car! You've got to take a stand against her. If you don't go, Momma wins, you see?"
Soon, a knock at the door came. Of course, Momma was resting in her room.
"Go!" Becky whispered.
Carrie went down the stairs and answered the door while Becky listened from upstairs. The radio was on playing the religious station, choruses singing praises to God and Jesus.
"Hi, Carrie," she heard Tommy's voice.
Carrie hid in front of the door, talking through the screen.
"What are you doing here?"
"Aren't you gonna invite me in?"
Carrie shook her head.
"Why not?"
"M-m-Momma's resting."
"Oh," he said, nodding.
"So, do you still want to go to the prom with me?"
"I told you no already."
"C'mon, Carrie..."
"I can't!" Her voice was high and she shook her head violently.
"Carrie!" said Momma's voice.
"Why not, Carrie?"
"Why are you doing this to me?"
"I dunno, because you liked my poem."
"Please go!"
"Not until you say yes."
"I told you that I can't!"
"Carrie!" Momma's voice said again.
"Yes you can...and I'm not leaving until you say yes."
Carrie sighed with reluctance. "All right. Now, go, please!"
"I'll pick you up at eight," but Carrie slammed the door in his face, running.
~
She watched Carrie lying on her bed, staring at the ceiling.
Flex. Becky heard her mind say.
She saw the bureau rise into the air, trembling a bit and it rose until it touched the ceiling. She lowered it. Lifted it. Lowered it. Lifted it. Now the bed, complete with her weight. Up. Down. Up. Down. Just like an elevator. She was hardly tired at all... She communicated telepathically to Carrie:
(your powers, carrie, they're flowering)
[Make it hot, Becky]
Becky concentrated hard. Slowly, the room grew hot like a burner that had just been turned on; now, it was hotter than an oven. Beads of sweat formed at the girls' foreheads and the single window in their bedroom began to fog. There was a faint smell of steam and soon, there was a smoky smell, coming from the floorboards.
"Carrie, Becky, supper!" called Momma.
"We're coming, Momma," said Carrie. I'm not afraid of her. Her mind said.
From The Medical Files of Rebecca White: Clairvoyance or Coincidence? (p. 12)
"I don't know how I knew about it," Becky said, staring at the glass of water on the table. "I just don't know."
"So somehow, in an non-physical way, you knew about what was going to happen to Carrie on Prom Night?" said Mike.
"I did. But, I just don't know how..."
~
Becky ate her dinner, yet she felt cold again. The rain pattered down hard. She heard the sound of a car driving up a driveway...
They were flashing past the No Trespassing signs on either side of the fence. There were seven people: Chris, her boyfriend, Billy Nolan, and his friends Willie and Freddy. Billy shifted his car into neutral and turned off the ignition and pushed it up the Henty driveway. Then, shifted it with the parking brake and they got out of the car. There was now the sound of tools clinking in a toolbox.
"One hell of a risk for a joke," said Freddy.
"You want out now?" said Billy.
"No."
"The bastard's going to shit where he stands when he comes back here and gets a look," said Willie with glee.
Freddy was swinging the nine-pound sledgehammer experimentally with one hand. The other boys were gathered around Billy as he opened the trunk, taking out a gas tank. They were carrying a ladder walking along the tall wall of painted pigs.
The four of them walked towards the hog pen, their respiration shortened with excitement.
"Look at this," said Willie.
"What?" Billy demanded, annoyed.
"All these pigs."
"What?"
"All these painted pigs."
"I went out with a girl who modeled for this painting," said Freddy. "She was a real pig."
Willie and Freddie laughed.
"Shut up!" said Billy.
Once over the fence, Freddy began to laugh, scaring the pigs in the pen.
"Doan worry, piggies, doan worry, we're gonna bash your heads in and you woan have to worry about the bomb anymore." Freddy said.
Billy took the sledgehammer from him and looked at Willie questioningly, who held the long broad butcher knife.
Freddy was crooning and grinning, feeding the remains of potato chips to the pigs. He scratched the bristly hairs on his chin.
"Will you quit fooling around and get it done?" Billy yelled.
"We should give 'em time to burp," said Freddy, laughing.
"Will you shut up and get it over with?"
"I can't," he said sickly, handing him the hammer. "You."
"Oh! I knew it!" Billy said, exasperated. "Gimme that and move out of the way, you pig! You fuck up!"
The sledge came flashing down. There was a sound that reminded him of the time he and Freddy dropped a pumpkin off Clairdge Road overpass which crossed 495 west of town.
"Do it! Do it!" Chris screamed as each blow came down.
The sow dropped dead; its tongue protruding, eyes still open and potato chips stuck to its snout.
Willie giggled. "She didn't even have time to burp."
"Do it quick, Willie," said Billy.
Willie slid between the slats, lifted the pig's head—the glazing eyes looked at the crescent with blankness—and slashed.
The flow of blood was immediate and startling. The boys jumped back with cries of disgust as well as Chris.
Billy held the gas tank under the main flow. The tank filled up rapidly and he set it aside. A rank, coppery smell hung in the air and Billy was slimed with blood to the forearms.
Carrying the tank to the car, his mind made a dim, symbolic connection. Pig blood. That was good. Chris was right. It was really good.
Pig blood for a pig.
He nestled it in the trunk and slammed the lid. "Let's go."
From The Shadow and Flame Exploded (p. 30)
Thunderclaps crashed and rain pattered against the window. Candles gleamed beneath the tapestry of the Last Supper. Becky stared at her food, avoiding eye contact with Momma. She picked at her pie with her fork, her stomach feeling sick after her vision, knowing what they had in mind.
"You haven't touched your apple cake, girls," said Momma, looking up from her tract she had been perusing while she drank from her teacup. "It's homemade."
"It gives me pimples, Momma," said Carrie.
"I'm not really hungry," Becky said, quietly, playing with her food.
"Your pimples are the Lord's way of chastising you, Carrie."
Becky rolled her eyes, exasperated.
Should I tell her? Carrie mouthed, looking at her sister.
Tell her, Becky mouth quietly.
"Momma?"
"Yes?"
Carrie plunged; then looked at her sister, "Momma, please say that I got to try to get along with people." "What's this all about, Carrie? Have you been showering with the other girls again?" Her eyes became slits with dots in them.
"I've been invited to the Prom."
Momma was staring at her with those wide my-ears-are-deceiving-me eyes.
"The prom?" she said.
Carrie swallowed the obstruction and only got rid of part of it.
[I'm not afraid of her. O yes I am]
"Yes, Momma. The Senior Prom and you know everyone's going and..."
"It was that teacher that called, wasn't it?" Her voice was soft, but dangerous like a rattlesnake ready to strike.
"Please say I'm not like you. I'm funny...I mean, the kids think I'm funny, but I don't want to be. I want to be normal, like Beck..."
Mrs. White threw her tea in Carrie's face. It was lukewarm, but it couldn't shut off Carrie's words more suddenly if it had been scalding. Carrie sat numbly; Becky gasped with shock, watching the amber fluid dripping from her cheeks onto her white blouse, spreading. Carrie wiped the tea that dripped into her eyes and her drenched hair behind her ears.
"What the hell did you do that for, Momma?" Becky said, incredulously.
"His name's Tommy Ross and he's a really nice boy..."
"No."
"...He's promised to stop in and meet you before and..."
"No!"
"...I've accepted. Momma! I've already accepted!" Carrie pounded her hands on the table, causing the silverware and glasses to shake.
"No! No! No!"
Her eyes darted towards Becky.
"You poisonous, wicked, sinful child!" she screeched and delivered a blow to Becky's face with each syllable she spoke. Becky screamed loudly and a searing pain throbbed in her cheekbones and her nose began to bleed.
"Jesus, Momma, what did I do?" Becky sobbed. "I didn't say anything to her!"
Carrie sat there motionless. Becky, sitting in her chair, teary eyed and nose bleeding. The heat in the kitchen began to intensify even though it was only 8:30 at night.
Mrs. White looked at the girls with an expression half-mad of compassion mixed with hate.
"Get to your closet!" she said.
"No!" Carrie said sharply.
"After all you've been taught..."
"Not everything's bad, Momma. Not everything is a sin."
"Get to your closet and pray for forgiveness!"
"He's a nice boy, Momma. You'd like him Momma..." her voice was equivalent to a child's.
"Boy?" she said quietly, then threw her head back and laughed; this laugh was a high-pitched false laugh. "The boys. Yes, after the blood, the boys come next..." Carrie and Becky covered their ears. Momma grabbed both their wrists pulling them off. "Like sniffing dogs, grinning, slobbering, trying to find out where the smell is..."
"Shut up, Momma!" Becky said. The temperature was now 99 degrees; the butter was melting, looking like a soft bar of gold and the milk in the glasses bubbled quietly.
"You...you, the Heiress of Satan, poisonous goddess, you have poisoned your sister like Herodias did to Salome..." She clawed her daughter's thin, bony shoulder, which was sweaty and hot beneath Momma's cold hand.
"I'm not the poison, Momma," Becky said, blood scalding hot. "You are!"
Another blow to Becky's face, catching her ear and it bled. Now, the milk was boiling and the butter was now a yellow puddle in the tray.
"Leave her alone, Momma," said Carrie. "She did nothing."
Becky looked at Carrie with shock, hearing her sister stand up for her and being assertive to the crazy Gorgon.
Her entire arm swung into the blow, the sound of her palm against Carrie's face was like a flat leather belt being snapped in the air. Carrie remained seated, although her upper body swayed. The mark on her cheek was first white then blood red.
[O I am afraid now O God]
Momma's eyes were large, but blank. Her breathing was rapid, gulping breaths. The clawed hand descended on Carrie and Becky's shoulders hard.
"I've seen it, all right. Oh yes. I have..." Momma seemed in the throes to have a great revelation to destroy them.
"Momma..."
"In cars. Oh, I know where they take you in their cars. City limits. Roadhouses. Whiskey. Smelling...oh! They smell it on you!" Her voice rose to a scream. Tendons stood out in her neck and her head twisted into a question upward rotation.
"Momma, you'd better stop it!"
This seemed to snap her back into reality. Her lips twitched in a kind of elementary surprise and she halted, as if searching for old bearings in a new world.
"You tell him you're not going," she muttered.
"No!"
"You tell him you're not going or you'll never see that boy again."
The room was now 102 as it said on the kitchen thermometer; Becky could see that her sister and Momma were sweating and the candles were melting faster than they were lighted.
"Momma, please talk to me!" Carrie begged, grabbing her arm. "I'm gonna close the windows, storm's coming," she said, shoving her hand off her grip on her arm.
"Momma, sit and talk to me!"
Then, the windows slammed shut and flames on the candles rose to two feet in the air and the glasses of milk burst loudly, splashing hot milk onto the walls and glasses burst into shards. Momma's voice failed her, but she did stand up, her back flattened against the wall, her eyes wide opened.
"We're going, Momma," Carrie whispered. "And nothing you say can change my mind."
"Witches," Momma whispered. "That's Satan's power you both have..."
"It's not Satan, Momma," said Carrie.
"It's us," said Becky.
"If I concentrate hard enough, I can move things."
"And if I too, I can make heat and light fires."
"The Devil is clever..."
"It's not just me, Momma, other people can do it. I read about it."
"It took your father..."
"He left, Momma..."
"The Devil tempted him..."
"No, Momma. He left," said Becky. "With another woman."
"You must renounce this power. You must never use it."
"We're going, Momma," said Carrie quietly. "And things are going to change around here. And I don't want to talk about it anymore."
Slowly the heat began to decrease and the room was back to normal.
The girls were now in their room sat on her bed.
"Thank you, Becky," she said, hugging her tightly, "for giving me the strength."
Becky smiled. She lay on her mattress that she had placed on the floor. The bruises on her face swelled on her face. The blood from her nose dried above her lip. Becky licked her lips, tasting the combination of snot and blood.
The girls were downstairs using the mannequins to make their dresses while Momma was whispering to herself, rocking. Becky could hear her saying the Lord's Prayer on her hands and knees, eyes closed. They ignored her.
From The Medical Files of Rebecca White: Clairvoyance or Coincidence? (p. 20)
Oh! Becky could see it all...the shadows of Billy and Chris in the gym. She could see the bucket being taken out of the ice chest and the gas tank of blood. And the sounds...ah! The sounds! Hammering, squeaks of pulleys as ropes were attached, and Billy and Chris's high pitched giggles.
Billy stood on the ladder, marked an X on the dusty beams, then placed the bucket on the dusty X. Nobody would look up here because the lights would be shining on the mural and the thrones where the King and Queen would be. Chris held a flashlight and the rope as he threaded it through a pulley, down the mural, and under the stage. After threading the rope, he began to pour the blood from the gas tank into the bucket. Chris was shaking nervously.
"Hold that damn light straight," said Billy as he poured the blood into the bucket.
"Watch it, you stupid shit!" Chris exclaimed as a drop of blood fell on the flashlight. "You're getting blood all over the place."
"Well, you can't even hold that damn light straight."
"Hurry up!" said Chris, impatiently.
"Yes, boss, whatever you say," said Billy, sarcastically.
"Hurry up. I want to go home."
"Keep your tits on. If you cooperate, I'll let you pull the rope." Becky could see that nasty grin.
"I plan on it," she said, grinning back.
Billy tied the rope to the handle, threaded it in the pulley and down under the stage. What to do? How to tell Carrie? She could hear them drive away...
From Shadow Exploded (p. 34 )
As Carrie was in the library on Thursday afternoon when:
"Hi, Carrie," said Tommy Ross.
She looked up from her books, startled, slamming her books shut. She was looking with a startled expression.
"Hi," she said, startled.
"What you doing?"
"Um...reading."
"What are you reading?"
"Um...it's about...sewing."
"Sewing. That's cool." Changing the subject, Tommy let out a sigh and said, "Listen, if you don't have a date for the prom, would you like to go with me?" said Tommy.
She blinked, and as she did so, a strange thing happened. The time it took to happen could have been no more than the doorway to a second, but afterward he had no trouble recalling. Like déjà vu. Then, it was gone.
"What?"
"The Spring Ball," he said, a little shaken. "It's next Friday and I know it's this is late notice but..." With that, Carrie ran away. "Wait! Carrie!"
Carrie sat down all alone. Miss Collins came down the steps, seeing Carrie, moping, her mussed up, blonde hair hanging in her freckled face.
"Hey, Carrie, what's wrong?" she asked, sitting next to her.
"Nothing," said Carrie, quietly, shaking her head.
"Was it one of the girls?"
A shake of the head.
"Did one of the girls do something to you?"
Another shake of the head.
"Well, why don't you tell me what's wrong? You can trust me, Carrie."
"I got invited to the prom," she said quietly.
"Oh!" Miss Collins laughed. "That's great. But what's wrong?"
"Tommy Ross asked me."
"That's even better. He's real cute, huh?"
"I know who he goes around with. He's trying to trick me again."
"No. Maybe he meant it."
"No, he didn't."
"Listen, Carrie, there's this attitude you have about yourself. You're always walking around moping and your hair over your eyes. I mean, look at your sister. She's really pretty."
"I wish I could be as pretty as she is."
"Your sister tells me that you're even prettier than she is. Come on, let's take a look at you, you big silly."
They walked into the bathroom, looking in the mirror. Miss Collins pulled back her hair, showing her face.
"Look at yourself, Carrie," she said, smiling. "Now, that's a pretty girl. Look at your eyes. You could bring it out with a little mascara."
Carrie felt herself smiling.
"And your lips. You have such pretty lips. Maybe some lipstick."
Carrie's cheeks became warm. Beck's right, I am pretty.
"And your cheekbones. And look at your hair. You have beautiful hair. Maybe you could fix it, you know, put a little curl in it. I think that would work."
~
"So, I heard," said Becky, smiling, bouncing her bottom on the bed.
"Heard what?" Carrie said, blushing.
"You got asked to the prom by Tommy Ross, didn't you?" she smiled with glee.
"I already said no."
"What? How could you refuse? That was really nice of him..."
"There's only one problem you're forgetting: Momma."
"Oh, come on, Car! You've got to take a stand against her. If you don't go, Momma wins, you see?"
Soon, a knock at the door came. Of course, Momma was resting in her room.
"Go!" Becky whispered.
Carrie went down the stairs and answered the door while Becky listened from upstairs. The radio was on playing the religious station, choruses singing praises to God and Jesus.
"Hi, Carrie," she heard Tommy's voice.
Carrie hid in front of the door, talking through the screen.
"What are you doing here?"
"Aren't you gonna invite me in?"
Carrie shook her head.
"Why not?"
"M-m-Momma's resting."
"Oh," he said, nodding.
"So, do you still want to go to the prom with me?"
"I told you no already."
"C'mon, Carrie..."
"I can't!" Her voice was high and she shook her head violently.
"Carrie!" said Momma's voice.
"Why not, Carrie?"
"Why are you doing this to me?"
"I dunno, because you liked my poem."
"Please go!"
"Not until you say yes."
"I told you that I can't!"
"Carrie!" Momma's voice said again.
"Yes you can...and I'm not leaving until you say yes."
Carrie sighed with reluctance. "All right. Now, go, please!"
"I'll pick you up at eight," but Carrie slammed the door in his face, running.
~
She watched Carrie lying on her bed, staring at the ceiling.
Flex. Becky heard her mind say.
She saw the bureau rise into the air, trembling a bit and it rose until it touched the ceiling. She lowered it. Lifted it. Lowered it. Lifted it. Now the bed, complete with her weight. Up. Down. Up. Down. Just like an elevator. She was hardly tired at all... She communicated telepathically to Carrie:
(your powers, carrie, they're flowering)
[Make it hot, Becky]
Becky concentrated hard. Slowly, the room grew hot like a burner that had just been turned on; now, it was hotter than an oven. Beads of sweat formed at the girls' foreheads and the single window in their bedroom began to fog. There was a faint smell of steam and soon, there was a smoky smell, coming from the floorboards.
"Carrie, Becky, supper!" called Momma.
"We're coming, Momma," said Carrie. I'm not afraid of her. Her mind said.
From The Medical Files of Rebecca White: Clairvoyance or Coincidence? (p. 12)
"I don't know how I knew about it," Becky said, staring at the glass of water on the table. "I just don't know."
"So somehow, in an non-physical way, you knew about what was going to happen to Carrie on Prom Night?" said Mike.
"I did. But, I just don't know how..."
~
Becky ate her dinner, yet she felt cold again. The rain pattered down hard. She heard the sound of a car driving up a driveway...
They were flashing past the No Trespassing signs on either side of the fence. There were seven people: Chris, her boyfriend, Billy Nolan, and his friends Willie and Freddy. Billy shifted his car into neutral and turned off the ignition and pushed it up the Henty driveway. Then, shifted it with the parking brake and they got out of the car. There was now the sound of tools clinking in a toolbox.
"One hell of a risk for a joke," said Freddy.
"You want out now?" said Billy.
"No."
"The bastard's going to shit where he stands when he comes back here and gets a look," said Willie with glee.
Freddy was swinging the nine-pound sledgehammer experimentally with one hand. The other boys were gathered around Billy as he opened the trunk, taking out a gas tank. They were carrying a ladder walking along the tall wall of painted pigs.
The four of them walked towards the hog pen, their respiration shortened with excitement.
"Look at this," said Willie.
"What?" Billy demanded, annoyed.
"All these pigs."
"What?"
"All these painted pigs."
"I went out with a girl who modeled for this painting," said Freddy. "She was a real pig."
Willie and Freddie laughed.
"Shut up!" said Billy.
Once over the fence, Freddy began to laugh, scaring the pigs in the pen.
"Doan worry, piggies, doan worry, we're gonna bash your heads in and you woan have to worry about the bomb anymore." Freddy said.
Billy took the sledgehammer from him and looked at Willie questioningly, who held the long broad butcher knife.
Freddy was crooning and grinning, feeding the remains of potato chips to the pigs. He scratched the bristly hairs on his chin.
"Will you quit fooling around and get it done?" Billy yelled.
"We should give 'em time to burp," said Freddy, laughing.
"Will you shut up and get it over with?"
"I can't," he said sickly, handing him the hammer. "You."
"Oh! I knew it!" Billy said, exasperated. "Gimme that and move out of the way, you pig! You fuck up!"
The sledge came flashing down. There was a sound that reminded him of the time he and Freddy dropped a pumpkin off Clairdge Road overpass which crossed 495 west of town.
"Do it! Do it!" Chris screamed as each blow came down.
The sow dropped dead; its tongue protruding, eyes still open and potato chips stuck to its snout.
Willie giggled. "She didn't even have time to burp."
"Do it quick, Willie," said Billy.
Willie slid between the slats, lifted the pig's head—the glazing eyes looked at the crescent with blankness—and slashed.
The flow of blood was immediate and startling. The boys jumped back with cries of disgust as well as Chris.
Billy held the gas tank under the main flow. The tank filled up rapidly and he set it aside. A rank, coppery smell hung in the air and Billy was slimed with blood to the forearms.
Carrying the tank to the car, his mind made a dim, symbolic connection. Pig blood. That was good. Chris was right. It was really good.
Pig blood for a pig.
He nestled it in the trunk and slammed the lid. "Let's go."
From The Shadow and Flame Exploded (p. 30)
Thunderclaps crashed and rain pattered against the window. Candles gleamed beneath the tapestry of the Last Supper. Becky stared at her food, avoiding eye contact with Momma. She picked at her pie with her fork, her stomach feeling sick after her vision, knowing what they had in mind.
"You haven't touched your apple cake, girls," said Momma, looking up from her tract she had been perusing while she drank from her teacup. "It's homemade."
"It gives me pimples, Momma," said Carrie.
"I'm not really hungry," Becky said, quietly, playing with her food.
"Your pimples are the Lord's way of chastising you, Carrie."
Becky rolled her eyes, exasperated.
Should I tell her? Carrie mouthed, looking at her sister.
Tell her, Becky mouth quietly.
"Momma?"
"Yes?"
Carrie plunged; then looked at her sister, "Momma, please say that I got to try to get along with people." "What's this all about, Carrie? Have you been showering with the other girls again?" Her eyes became slits with dots in them.
"I've been invited to the Prom."
Momma was staring at her with those wide my-ears-are-deceiving-me eyes.
"The prom?" she said.
Carrie swallowed the obstruction and only got rid of part of it.
[I'm not afraid of her. O yes I am]
"Yes, Momma. The Senior Prom and you know everyone's going and..."
"It was that teacher that called, wasn't it?" Her voice was soft, but dangerous like a rattlesnake ready to strike.
"Please say I'm not like you. I'm funny...I mean, the kids think I'm funny, but I don't want to be. I want to be normal, like Beck..."
Mrs. White threw her tea in Carrie's face. It was lukewarm, but it couldn't shut off Carrie's words more suddenly if it had been scalding. Carrie sat numbly; Becky gasped with shock, watching the amber fluid dripping from her cheeks onto her white blouse, spreading. Carrie wiped the tea that dripped into her eyes and her drenched hair behind her ears.
"What the hell did you do that for, Momma?" Becky said, incredulously.
"His name's Tommy Ross and he's a really nice boy..."
"No."
"...He's promised to stop in and meet you before and..."
"No!"
"...I've accepted. Momma! I've already accepted!" Carrie pounded her hands on the table, causing the silverware and glasses to shake.
"No! No! No!"
Her eyes darted towards Becky.
"You poisonous, wicked, sinful child!" she screeched and delivered a blow to Becky's face with each syllable she spoke. Becky screamed loudly and a searing pain throbbed in her cheekbones and her nose began to bleed.
"Jesus, Momma, what did I do?" Becky sobbed. "I didn't say anything to her!"
Carrie sat there motionless. Becky, sitting in her chair, teary eyed and nose bleeding. The heat in the kitchen began to intensify even though it was only 8:30 at night.
Mrs. White looked at the girls with an expression half-mad of compassion mixed with hate.
"Get to your closet!" she said.
"No!" Carrie said sharply.
"After all you've been taught..."
"Not everything's bad, Momma. Not everything is a sin."
"Get to your closet and pray for forgiveness!"
"He's a nice boy, Momma. You'd like him Momma..." her voice was equivalent to a child's.
"Boy?" she said quietly, then threw her head back and laughed; this laugh was a high-pitched false laugh. "The boys. Yes, after the blood, the boys come next..." Carrie and Becky covered their ears. Momma grabbed both their wrists pulling them off. "Like sniffing dogs, grinning, slobbering, trying to find out where the smell is..."
"Shut up, Momma!" Becky said. The temperature was now 99 degrees; the butter was melting, looking like a soft bar of gold and the milk in the glasses bubbled quietly.
"You...you, the Heiress of Satan, poisonous goddess, you have poisoned your sister like Herodias did to Salome..." She clawed her daughter's thin, bony shoulder, which was sweaty and hot beneath Momma's cold hand.
"I'm not the poison, Momma," Becky said, blood scalding hot. "You are!"
Another blow to Becky's face, catching her ear and it bled. Now, the milk was boiling and the butter was now a yellow puddle in the tray.
"Leave her alone, Momma," said Carrie. "She did nothing."
Becky looked at Carrie with shock, hearing her sister stand up for her and being assertive to the crazy Gorgon.
Her entire arm swung into the blow, the sound of her palm against Carrie's face was like a flat leather belt being snapped in the air. Carrie remained seated, although her upper body swayed. The mark on her cheek was first white then blood red.
[O I am afraid now O God]
Momma's eyes were large, but blank. Her breathing was rapid, gulping breaths. The clawed hand descended on Carrie and Becky's shoulders hard.
"I've seen it, all right. Oh yes. I have..." Momma seemed in the throes to have a great revelation to destroy them.
"Momma..."
"In cars. Oh, I know where they take you in their cars. City limits. Roadhouses. Whiskey. Smelling...oh! They smell it on you!" Her voice rose to a scream. Tendons stood out in her neck and her head twisted into a question upward rotation.
"Momma, you'd better stop it!"
This seemed to snap her back into reality. Her lips twitched in a kind of elementary surprise and she halted, as if searching for old bearings in a new world.
"You tell him you're not going," she muttered.
"No!"
"You tell him you're not going or you'll never see that boy again."
The room was now 102 as it said on the kitchen thermometer; Becky could see that her sister and Momma were sweating and the candles were melting faster than they were lighted.
"Momma, please talk to me!" Carrie begged, grabbing her arm. "I'm gonna close the windows, storm's coming," she said, shoving her hand off her grip on her arm.
"Momma, sit and talk to me!"
Then, the windows slammed shut and flames on the candles rose to two feet in the air and the glasses of milk burst loudly, splashing hot milk onto the walls and glasses burst into shards. Momma's voice failed her, but she did stand up, her back flattened against the wall, her eyes wide opened.
"We're going, Momma," Carrie whispered. "And nothing you say can change my mind."
"Witches," Momma whispered. "That's Satan's power you both have..."
"It's not Satan, Momma," said Carrie.
"It's us," said Becky.
"If I concentrate hard enough, I can move things."
"And if I too, I can make heat and light fires."
"The Devil is clever..."
"It's not just me, Momma, other people can do it. I read about it."
"It took your father..."
"He left, Momma..."
"The Devil tempted him..."
"No, Momma. He left," said Becky. "With another woman."
"You must renounce this power. You must never use it."
"We're going, Momma," said Carrie quietly. "And things are going to change around here. And I don't want to talk about it anymore."
Slowly the heat began to decrease and the room was back to normal.
The girls were now in their room sat on her bed.
"Thank you, Becky," she said, hugging her tightly, "for giving me the strength."
Becky smiled. She lay on her mattress that she had placed on the floor. The bruises on her face swelled on her face. The blood from her nose dried above her lip. Becky licked her lips, tasting the combination of snot and blood.
The girls were downstairs using the mannequins to make their dresses while Momma was whispering to herself, rocking. Becky could hear her saying the Lord's Prayer on her hands and knees, eyes closed. They ignored her.
From The Medical Files of Rebecca White: Clairvoyance or Coincidence? (p. 20)
Oh! Becky could see it all...the shadows of Billy and Chris in the gym. She could see the bucket being taken out of the ice chest and the gas tank of blood. And the sounds...ah! The sounds! Hammering, squeaks of pulleys as ropes were attached, and Billy and Chris's high pitched giggles.
Billy stood on the ladder, marked an X on the dusty beams, then placed the bucket on the dusty X. Nobody would look up here because the lights would be shining on the mural and the thrones where the King and Queen would be. Chris held a flashlight and the rope as he threaded it through a pulley, down the mural, and under the stage. After threading the rope, he began to pour the blood from the gas tank into the bucket. Chris was shaking nervously.
"Hold that damn light straight," said Billy as he poured the blood into the bucket.
"Watch it, you stupid shit!" Chris exclaimed as a drop of blood fell on the flashlight. "You're getting blood all over the place."
"Well, you can't even hold that damn light straight."
"Hurry up!" said Chris, impatiently.
"Yes, boss, whatever you say," said Billy, sarcastically.
"Hurry up. I want to go home."
"Keep your tits on. If you cooperate, I'll let you pull the rope." Becky could see that nasty grin.
"I plan on it," she said, grinning back.
Billy tied the rope to the handle, threaded it in the pulley and down under the stage. What to do? How to tell Carrie? She could hear them drive away...