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'But nothing； nothing that wasn't on their property was hit。'
She stops and turns from the window to look at me； and her face is haggard from remembering all that。 One hand plays forgetfully with her casually stylish shag haircut。 'Not much of it got into the local paper。 By the time Billy Harris came around … he reported the Chamberlain news … she had already gotten the roof fixed； and when people told him the stones had gone right through it； I think he thought we were pulling his leg。
'Nobody wants to believe it； not even now。 You and all the people who'll read what you write will wish they could laugh it of and call me just another nut who's been out here in the sun too long。 But it happened。 There were lots of people on the block who saw it happen； and it was just as real as that drunk leading the little girl with the bloody nose。 And now there's this other thing。 No one can laugh that of； either。 Too many people are dead。
'And it's not just on the Whites' property any more。'
She smiles； but there's not a drop of humour in it。 She says： 'Ralph White was insured； and Margaret got a lot of money when he died 。。。 double indemnity。 He left the house insured； too； but she never got a penny of that。 The damage was caused by an act of God。 Poetic justice； huh？'
She laughs a little； but there's no humour in that； either 。。。
Found written repeatedly on one page of a Ewen Consolidated High School notebook owned by Carrie White：
Everybody's guessed/that baby can't be blessed/'til she finally sees that she's like all the rest 。。。
Carrie went into the house and closed the door behind her。 Bright daylight disappeared and was replaced by brown shadows； coolness； and the oppressive smell of talcum powder。 The only sound was the ticking of the Black Forest cuckoo clock in the living room。 Momma had gotten the cuckoo clock with Green Stamps。 Once； in the sixth grade； Carrie had set out to ask Momma if Green Stamps weren't sinful； but her nerve had failed her。
She walked up the hall and put her coat in the closet。 A luminous picture above the coathooks limned a ghostly Jesus hovering grimly over a family seated at the kitchen table。 Beneath was the caption （also luminous）： The Unseen Guest。
She went into the living room and stood in the middle of the faded； starting…to…be…threadbare rug。 She closed her eyes and watched the little dots flash by in the darkness。 Her headache thumped queasily behind her temples。
Alone。
Momma worked on the speed ironer and folder down at the Blue Ribbon Laundry in Chamberlain Centre。 She had worked there since Carrie was five； when the pensation and insurance that had resulted from her father's accident had begun to run out。 Her hours were from seven…thirty in the morning until four in the afternoon。 The laundry was Godless。 Momma had told her so many times。 The foreman； Mr Elton Mott； was especially Godless。 Momma said that Satan had reserved a special blue corner of Hell for Elt； as he was called at the Blue Ribbon。
Alone。
She opened her eyes。 The living room contained two chairs with straight backs。 There was a sewing table with a light where Carrie sometimes made dresses in the evening while Momma tatted doilies and talked about The ing。 The Black Forest cuckoo clock was on the far wall。
There were many religious pictures； but the one Carrie liked best was on the wall above her chair。 It was Jesus leading lambs on a hill that was as green and smooth as the Riverside golf course。 The others were not as tranquil： Jesus turning the money…changers from the temple； Moses throwing the Tablets down upon the worshippers of the golden calf； Thomas the Doubter putting his hand on Christ's wounded side （oh； the horrified fascination of that one and the nightmares it had given her as a girl！）； Noah's ark floating above the agonized； drowning sinners； Lot and his family fleeing the great burning of Sodom and Gomorrah。
On a small deal table there were a lamp and a stack of tracts。 The top pamphlet showed a sinner （his spiritual status was obvious from the agonized expression on his face） trying to crawl beneath a large boulder。 The title blared： Neither shall the rock hide him ON THAT DAY！
But the room was actually dominated by a huge plaster crucifix on the far wall； fully four feet high。 Momma had mail…ordered it special from St Louis。 The Jesus impaled upon it was frozen in a grotesque； muscle…straining rictus of pain； mouth drawn down in a groaning curve。 His crown of thorns bled scarlet streams down temples and forehead。 The eyes were turned up in a medieval expression of slanted agony。 Both hands were also drenched with blood and the feet were nailed to a small plaster platform。 This corpus had also given Carrie endless nightmares in which the mutilated Christ chased her through dream corridors； holding a mallet and nails； begging her to take up her cross and follow Him。 Just lately these dreams had evolved into something less understandable but more sinister。 The object did not seem to be murder but something even more awful。
Alone。
The pain in her legs and belly and privates had drained away a little。 She no longer thought she was bleeding to death。 The word was menstruation； and all at once it seemed logical and inevitable。 It was her Time of the Month。 She giggled a strange； affrighted giggle in the solemn stillness of the flying room。 It sounded like a quiz show。 You too can win an all…expenses…paid trip to Bermuda on Time of the Month。 Like the memory of the stones； the knowledge of menstruation seemed always to have been there； blocked but waiting。
She turned and walked heavily upstairs。 The bathroom had a wooden floor that had been scrubbed nearly white （Cleanliness is next to Godliness） and a tub on claw feet。 Rust stains dripped down the porcelain below the chrome spout； and there was no shower attachment。 Momma said showers were sinful。
Carrie went in； opened the towel cabinet； and began to hunt purposefully but carefully； not leaving anything out of place。 Momma's eyes were sharp。
The blue box was in the very back； behind the old towels they didn't use any more。 There was a fuzzily silhouetted woman in a long； filmy gown on the side。
She took one of the napkins out and looked at it curiously。 She had blotted the lipstick she stuck into her purse quite openly with these … once on a street corner。 Now she remembered （or imagined she did） quizzical； shocked looks。 Her face flamed。 They had told her。 The flush faded to a milky anger。
She went into her tiny bedroom。 There were many more religious pictures here； but there were more lambs and fewer scenes of righteous wrath。 A Ewen pennant was tacked over the dresser。 On the dresser itself was a Bible and a plastic Jesus that glowed in the dark。
She undressed … first her blouse； then her hateful kneelength skirt； her slip； her girdle； her pettipants； her garter belt； her stockings； She looked at the pile of heavy clothes； their buttons and rubber； with an expression of fierce wretchedness。 In the school library there was a stack of back issues of Seventeen and often she leafed through them； pasting an expression of idiotic casualness on her face。 The models looked so easy and smooth in their short； kicky skirts； pantyhose； and frilly underwear with patterns on them。 Of course easy was one of Momma's pet words （she knew what Momma would say to a question） to describe them。 And it would make her dreadfully self…conscious； she knew that。 Naked； evil； blackened with the sin of exhibitionism； the breeze blowing lewdly up the backs of her legs； inciting lust。 And she knew that they would know how she felt。 They always did。 They would embarrass her somehow； push her savagely back into clowndom。 It was their way。
She could； she knew she could be
（what）
in another place。 She was thick through the waist only because sometimes she felt so miserable； empty； bored； that the only way to fill that gaping； whistling hole was to eat and eat and eat…but she was not that thick through the middle。 Her body chemistry would not allow her to go beyond a certain point。 And she thought her legs were actually pretty； almost as pretty as Sue Snell's or Vicky Hans's。 She could be
（what o what o what）
could stop the chocolates and her pimples would go down。 They alw