Carrie

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CARRIE

_________________

STEPHEN KING

DOUBLEDAY

NEW YORK LONDON TORONTO SYDNEY AUCKLAND

Published by Doubleday, a division of

Bantam Doubleday Dell Publishing Group, Inc.

666 Fifth Avenue, New York, New York 10103

DOUBLEDAY and the portrayal of an anchor with a dolphin

are trademarks of Doubleday, a division of

Bantam Doubleday Dell Publishing Group, Inc.

ISBN: 0-385-08695-4

LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOG CARD NUMBER: 73-9037

PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

FIRST EDITION

This is for Tabby, who got me into it-----

And then bailed me out of it.

CARRIE

Part One

____________

Blood Sport

News item from the Westover (Me.) weekly Enterprise, August

19, 1966:

RAIN OF STONES REPORTED

It was reliably reported by several persons that a rain of stones fell

from a clear blue sky on Carlin Street in the town of Chamberlain on

August 17th. The stones fell principally on the home of Mrs.

Margaret White, damaging the roof extensively and ruining two

gutters and a downspout valued at approximately $25. Mrs. White, a

widow, lives with her three-year-old daughter, Carietta.

Mrs. White could not he reached for comment.

Nobody was really surprised when it happened, not really, not at the

subconscious level where savage things grow. On the surface, all the

girls in the shower room were shocked, thrilled, ashamed, or simply

glad that the White bitch had taken it in the mouth again. Some of

~hem might also have claimed surprise, but of course their claim was

untrue. Carrie had been going to school with some of them since the

first grade, and this had been building since that time, building slowly

and immutably, in accordance with all the laws that govern human

nature, building with all the steadiness of a chain reaction approaching

critical mass.

What none of them knew, of course, was that Carrie White was

telekinetic.

Graffiti scratched on a desk of the Barker Street Grammar School in

Chamberlain:

Carrie White eats shit.

The locker room was filled with shouts, echoes, and the subterranean

sound of showers ~plashing on tile. The girls had been playing

volleyball in Period One, and their morning sweat was light and eager.

Girls stretched and writhed under the hot water, squalling, flicking

water, squirting white bars of soap from hand to hand. Carrie stood

among them stolidly, a frog among swans. She was a chunky girl with

pimples on her neck and back and buttocks, her wet hair completely

without color. It rested against her face with dispirited sogginess and

she simply stood, head slightly bent, letting the water splat against her

flesh and roll off. She looked the part of the sacrificial goat, the

constant butt, believer in left-handed monkey wrenches, perpetual foul-

up, and she was. She wished forlornly and constantly that Ewen High

had individual-and thus private-showers, like the high schools at

Westover or Lewiston. They stared. They always stared.

Showers turning off one by one, girls stepping out, removing pastel

bathing caps, toweling, spraying deodorant, checking the clock over the

door. Bras were hooked, underpants stepped into. Steam hung in the

air; the place might have been an Egyptian bathhouse except for the

constant rumble of the Jacuzzi whirlpool in the corner. Calls and

catcalls rebounded with all the snap and flicker of billiard balls after a

hard break.

"-so Tommy said he hated it on me and I-"

"-I'm going with my sister and her husband. He picks his nose but so

does she, so they're very-"-shower after school and-"

"-too cheap to spend a goddam penny so Cindi and I-"

Miss Desjardin, their slim, nonbreasted gym teacher, stepped in,

craned her neck around briefly, and slapped her hands together once,

smartly. "What are you waiting for, Carrie? Doom? Bell in five

minutes." Her shorts were blinding white, her legs not too curved but

striking in their unobtrusive muscularity. A silver whistle, won in

college archery competition, hung around her neck.

The girls giggled and Carrie looked up, her eyes slow and dazed

from the heat and the steady, pounding roar of the water. "Ohuh?"

It was a strangely froggy sound, grotesquely apt, and the girls

giggled again. Sue Snell had whipped a towel from her hair with the

speed of a magician embarking on a wondrous feat and began to comb

rapidly. Miss Desjardin made an irritated cranking gesture at Carrie and

stepped out.

Carrie turned off the shower. It died in a drip and a gurgle.

It wasn't until she stepped out that they all saw the blood running

down her leg.

From The Shadow Exploded: Documented Facts and Specific

Conclusions Derived from the Case of Carietta White, by David R.

Congress (Tulane University Press: 1981), p.34:

It can hardly be disputed that failure to note specific instances of

telekinesis during the White girl's earlier years must be attributed to the

conclusion offered by White and Stearns in their paper Telekinesis: A

Wild Talent Revisited-that the ability to move objects by effort of the

will alone comes to the fore only in moments of extreme personal

stress. The talent is well hidden indeed; how else could it have

remained submerged for centuries with only the tip of the iceberg

showing above a sea of quackery?

We have only skimpy hearsay evidence upon which to lay our

foundation in this case, but even this is enough to indicate that a "TK"

potential of immense magnitude existed within Carrie White. The great

tragedy is that we are now all Monday morning quarterbacks ...

"Per-iod!"

The catcall came first from Chris Hargensen. It struck the tiled

walls, rebounded, and struck again. Sue Snell gasped laughter from her

nose and felt an odd, vexing mixture of hate, revulsion, exasperation,

and pity. She just looked so dumb, standing there, not knowing what

was going on. God, you'd think she never-"PERiod!"

It was becoming a chant, an incantation. Someone in the

background (perhaps Hargensen again, Sue couldn't tell in the jungle of

echoes) was yelling, "Plug it up!" with hoarse, uninhibited abandon.

"PER-jod, PER-iod, PER-iod!"

Carrie stood dumbly in the center of a forming circle, water rolling

from her skin in beads. She stood like a patient ox, aware that the joke

was on her (as always), dumbly embarrassed but unsurprised.

Sue felt welling disgust as the first dark drops of menstrual blood

struck the tile in dime-sized drops. "For God's sake, Carrie, you got

your period!" she cried. "Clean yourself up!"

"Ohuh?"

She looked around bovinely. Her hair stuck to her cheeks in a

curving helmet shape. There was a cluster of acne on one shoulder. At

sixteen, the elusive stamp of hurt was already marked clearly in her

eyes.

"She thinks they're for lipstick!" Ruth Gogan suddenly shouted with

cryptic glee, and then burst into a shriek of laughter. Sue

remembered the comment later and fitted it into a general picture,

but now it was only another senseless sound in the confusion.

Sixteen? She was thinking. She must know what's happening, she-

More droplets of blood. Carrie still blinked around at her

classmates in slow bewilderment.

Helen Shyres turned around and made mock throwing-up gestures.

"You're bleeding!" Sue yelled suddenly, furiously. "You're

bleeding, you big dumb pudding!"

Carrie looked down at herself.

She shrieked.

The sound was very loud in the humid locker room.

A tampon suddenly struck her in the chest and fell with a plop at

her feet. A red flower stained the absorbent cotton and spread.

Then the laughter, disgusted, contemptuous, horrified, seemed to

rise and bloom into something jagged and ugly, and the girls were

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CARRIE_________________STEPHENKINGDOUBLEDAYNEWYORKLONDONTORONTOSYDNEYAUCKLANDPublishedbyDoubleday,adivisionofBantamDoubledayDellPublishingGroup,Inc.666FifthAvenue,NewYork,NewYork10103DOUBLEDAYandtheportrayalofananchorwithadolphinaretrademarksofDoubleday,adivisionofBantamDoubledayDellPublishingGroup,...

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Carrie

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