sk.carrie-第1部分

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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　be　reached　for　ment。
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　them　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　splashing　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　pletely　without　colour。　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　Andover　or　Boxford。　They　stared。　They　always　stared。
Showers　turning　off　one　by　one；　girls　stepping　out；　removing　pastel　bathing　caps；　towelling；　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　bath　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　petition；　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　b　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　conclusions　offered　by　White　and　Steams　in　their　paper　Telekinesis：　A　Wild　Talent　Revisited…that　the　ability　to　move　objects　by　effort　of　the　will　alone　es　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
'PER…iod！'
It　was　being　a　chant；　an　incantation。　Someone　in　the　back…ground　（perhaps　Hargensen　again；　Sue　couldn't　tell　in　the　jungle　of　echoes）　was　yelling　'Plug　it　up！'　with　hoarse；　uninhibited　abandon。
'PER…iod；　PER…iod；　PER…iod！'
Carrie　stood　dumbly　in　the　centre　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！'　Sue　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　Grogan　suddenly　shouted　with　cryptic　glee；　and　then　burst　into　a　shriek　of　laughter。　Sue　remembered　the　ment　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　throwingup　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　bombarding　her　with　tampons　and　sanitary　napkins；　some　from　purses；　some　from　the　broken　dispenser　on　the　wall。　They　flew　like　snow　and　the　chant　became：　'Plug　it　up。　Plug　it　up。　Plug　it…'
Sue　was　throwing　them　too；　throwing　and　chanting　with　the　rest；　not　really　sure　what　she　was　doing　…　a　charm　had　occurred　to　her　mind　and　it　glowed　there　like　neon：　There's　no　harm　in　it　really　no　harm　in　it　really　no　harm…It　was　still　flashing　and　glowing；　reassuringly；　when　Carrie　suddenly　began　to　howl　and　back　away；　flailing　her　arms　and　grunting　and　gobbling。
The　girls　stopped；　realizing　that　fission　and　explosion　had　finally　been　reached。　It　was　at　this　point；　when　looking　back；　that　some　of　them　would　claim　surprise。　Yet　there　had　been　all　these　years；　all　these　years　of　let's　short…sheet　Carrie's　bed　at　Christian　Youth　Camp　and　I　found　this　love　letter　from　Carrie　to　Flash　Bobby　Pickett　let's　copy　it　and　pass　it　around　and　hide　her　underpants　somewhere　and　put　this　snake　in　her　shoe　and　duck　her　again；　duck　her　again：　Carrie　tagging　along　stubbornly　on　biking　trips；　known　one　year　as　pudd'n　and　the　next　year　as　truck…face；　always　smelling　sweaty；　not　able　to　catch　up；　catching　poison　ivy　from　urinating　in　the　bushes　and　everyone　finding　out　（hey；　scratch…ass；　your　bum　itch？）。　Billy　Preston　putting　peanut　butter　in　he