Carrie

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 house 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- years-old daughter, Carrietta Mrs. White. Mrs. White could not be reached for comment.

Nobody was really surprised when it happened, not really, not at 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 have been going 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 Barker Street Grammar School in Chamberlain: Carrie White eats shit.

The loker room was filled with shouts, echoes and subterranean sound of shower ~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 stodily, 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 soggines, she simply stood, head slightly bent, letting water splash against her flesh and roll off. She look the part of the sacrificial goat, the constant butt, the believer of the left-handed monkey wrenches, perpetual foul up, and she was. She wished forlornly and constantly that Ewen High School had individual-and thus private-shower, like high schools of Westover or Lewiston. They stared. They always stared. Showers turning off one by one, the girls stepping out, removing pastel bathing caps, toweling, sprying deodorant, checking the clock over the door. Bras were hooked, underpants stepped into. Steam hung the air, the place might be an Egyptian bathhouse, except for the constant ramble of the jacuzzi in the corner. Calls and catcalls rebounded with all the snap and flicker of billiard balls after a hard break.

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

"-I'm going with my sister and her husband. He picks his nose up but so does she, so they're very-"-shower after school and-"

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

Miss Desjardin, their slim, nobreasted gym teacher stepped in, cranes 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 nit too curved but striking in their unobtrusive muscolarity. A silver whistle, won in college archery competition, hung around her neck. The girls giggled and Carrie looked up, her eyes dazed from the heat and the steady, pounding roar of the water. "Ohuh?" It was a strangely foggy 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 die 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 early years must be attributed to the conclusion offered by White and Stearns in their paper Telekinesis: A Wild Talent Revisited-that the ability of moving objects efforts of the will alone come to the fore in moments of extreme personal stress. The talent is well hidden indeed; how else could it be remained hidden from centuries with only the tip of the iceberg showing Above the sea of quackery? We have only skimpy hearsay of evidence upon to 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 that we are now all Monday morning quarterbacks...

"Per-iod!"

The catcall comes 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, do you'd think she never-"Period!". It was becoming a chant, an incantation. Someone in the background (maybe 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 center of a forming circle, water rolling from her skin in beads. She stood like a patient oax, 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 look 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 shout with cryptic glee, and then burst in a shriek of laughter. Sue remembered the comment later and fit it into a general picture, but for now it was another senseless sound in the confusion. Sixteen? She was thinking. She must know what's happening. She- More droplets of blood. Carrie blinked at her classmates in slow bewilderment. Helen Syres turn around and make mock throwingup gestures. "You're bleeding!" Sue suddenly yelled suddenly, furious. "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, seems to rise and bloom into something jagged and ugly, and girls were bombarding her with tampons and sanitary napkins, some from purses, some from the broken dispenser in the wall. They flew like snow and the chant become "Plug it up, 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 in it really no harm It was still flashing and glowing, reassuringly, when Carrie begun 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 this years, all this years off let's short-sheet Carrie's bed at Christian Yuth Camp and I found this live letter from Carrie to Flash Bobby Picket 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 tugging 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 found out, (hey scratch-ass, your bum itch?!?); Billy Preston putting peanut butter in her hair that time she fell asleep in study hall; the pinches, the legs outstretched in school aisles to trip her up, the books knocked from her desk, the obscene postcard tucked in her purse; Carrie on the church pick nick and kneeling clumsily to pray and the seam of her old madra skirt splitting along the zipper like the sound of a huge wind-breakage; Carrie always missing the ball, even in kickball, falling on her face in Modern Dance during their sophomore year and chipping a tooth, running into the net during volleyball; wearing stockings that were always run, running or about to run, always showing sweat stains under the arms of her blouses; even the time that Chris Hargensen called up after school from the Kelly Fruit Company downtown to ask if she knew that pig poop was spelled C-A-R-R-I-E: Suddenly all this and the critical mass was reached. The ultimately shit-on, gross-out, put-down, long searched for, was found. Fission. She backed away, howling in the new silence, fat forearms crossing her face, a tampon stucked in the middle of her public hair. The girls watched her, their eyes shining solemnly. Carrie backed into the side of one of thee four large shower compartments, and slowly collapsed into a sitting position. Slow, helpless groan jerked out of her. Her eyes rolled with wet whiteness, like the eyes of a hog in a slaughtering pen. Sue said slowly, hesitantly: "I think this must her first time she ever-". That was when the door pumped open with a flat and hurried bang and Miss Desjardin burst in to see what the matter was.

From The Shadow Exploded (p. 40):

Both medical and psychological writers on the subject are in agreement that Carrie White's exceptionally late and traumatic commencement of menstrual cycle might well have provided the trigger for her latent talents. It seems incredible that, as late as 1979, Carrie knew nothing of mature woman's monthly cycle. It is nearly as incredible to believe that the girl's mother permit her daughter to reach the age of nearly seventeen without consulting a gynecologist concerning her daughter failure tu menstruate. Yet, the fact are incontrovertible. When Carrie White realized she was bleeding from the vaginal opening, she had no idea of what was taking place. She was innocent to the whole concept of menstruation. One of her surviving classmates, Ruth Gogan, tells of entering the girl's locker room at Ewen High School the year the events we are concerned with and seeing Carrie using a tampon to blot her lipstick with. At the time Miss Gogan said: "What the hell are you up to?" Miss White replied: "Isn't this right?" Miss Gogan then replied: "Sure. Sure it is." Ruth Gogan let a number of her girl friends in on this (she later told this interviewer she thought it was "sorta cute"), and if anyone tried in the future to inform Carrie of the true purpose of what she was using to makeup with, she apparently dismissed the explanation as an attempt to pull her leg. This was a facet if her life she has become exceedingly wary of...

When the girls were gone to their Period Two classes and bell had been silenced, some of them had been slipped quietly out the back door before Miss Desjardin could begun to take names), Miss Desjardin employed the standard tactics for hysterics: she slapped Carrie smartly across the face. She hardly would have admitted the pleasure the act gave her, she certainly would have denied that she regarded Carrie as a fat, whiny bag of lard. As a first-year teacher, she still believe that she thought all children were good. Carrie looked at her dumbly, face still contorted and working. "M-M-Miss D-D-Des-D-" "Get up." Miss Desjardin said dispassionate. "Get up and tend to yourself.". "I'm bleeding to death!" Carrie screamed and one blind, searching hand clutched Miss Desjardin's white shorts. It left a bloody handprint. "I...You..." The gym teacher face contorted into a pucker of disgust and she suddenly hurled Carrie, stumbling, to her feet. "Get over there!". Carry stood swaying between the showers and the wall with its dime, sanitary-napkin dispenser, slumped over, breasts pointing to the floor, her arms dangling limply. She looked like an ape. Her eyes were shiny and blank. "Now, " Miss Desjardin said with hissing, deadly, emphasis, "You take one of those napkins out...no, never mind the coin slot, it's broken anyway...take one and...damn it, will you do it! You act as if you never had a period before. " "Period?" Carrie said. Her expression of pure unbelief was too genuine, too full of dumb and hopeless horror, to be ignored or denied. A terrible and bladeck foreknowledge grew in Rita Desjardin'S mind. Itt was incredible, could not be. He herself had begun menstruation shortly after her eleventh birthday and had gone to the head of the stairs to yell down excitedly: "Heymum, I'm on the rag!". "Carrie?" he said now. She advanced toward the girl. "Carrie?". Carrie flinched away. At the same instant, a rack of softball bat's in the corner fell over with large, echoing bang. They rolled every wich way, making Desjardin jump. "Carrie, is this your first period?" But now that the thought has been admitted, she hardly had to ask. The blood was dark and flowing with terrible heaviness. Both of Carrie's legs were smeared and splattered with it, as though she had waved through a river of blood. "It hurts, " Carrie groaned. "My stomach...". "That passes," Miss Desjardin said. Pity and self-shame met in her and mixed uneasily. "You have to...uh, stop the flow of blood. You-" There was a right flash overhead, followed by a flash gun-like pop as a light bulb sizzled and went out. Miss Desjardin cried out and it occurred to her (the wole damn place is falling in) that this kind of thing seemed to happen around Carrie when she was upset, as if bad luck dogged her every step. The thought was gone almost as quickly as it had come. He took one of the sanitary napkins from the broken dispenser and unwrapped it. "Look," she said. "Like this-"