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ad feeling was churning inside her。 Ivy had crawled up the west side of the bungalow （they always called it the bungalow because the White house sounded like a political joke and Momma said all politicians were crooks and sinners and would eventually give the country over to the Godless Reds who would put all the believers of Jesus … even the Catholics … up against the wall）； and the ivy was picturesque； she knew it was； but sometimes she hated it。 Sometimes； like now； the ivy looked like a grotesque giant hand ridged with great veins which had sprung up out of the ground to grip the building。 She approached it with dragging feet。
Of course； there had been the stones。
She stopped again； blinking vapidly at the day。 The stones。 Momma never talked about that； Carrie didn't even know if her momma still remembered the day of the stones。 It was surprising that she herself still remembered it。 She had been a very little girl then。 How old？ Three？ Four？ There had been the girl in the white bathing suit； and then the stones came。 And things had flown in the house。 Here the memory was； suddenly bright and clear。 As if it had been here all along； just below the surface； waiting for a kind of mental puberty。
Waiting； maybe； for today。
From Carrie： The Black Dawn of T。K。 （Esquire Magazine； September 12； 1980） by Jack Gaver：
Estelle Horan had lived in the neat San Diego suburb of Parrish for twelve years； and outwardly she is typical Mrs California： She wears bright print shifts and smoked amber sunglasses； her hair is black…streaked blonde； she drives a neat maroon Volkswagen Formula Vee with a smile decal on the petrol cap and a green…flag ecology sticker on the back window。 Her husband is an executive at the Parrish branch of the Bank of America； her son and daughter are certified members of the Southern California Sun 'n Fun Crowd； burnished…brown beach creatures。 There is a hibachi in the small； beautifully kept back yard； and the door chimes play a tinkly phrase from the refrain of 'Hey； Jude。'
But Mrs Horan still carries the thin； difficult soil of New England somewhere inside her； and when she talks of Carrie White her face takes on an odd； pinched look that is more like Lovecraft out of Arkham than Kerouac out of Southern Cat。
'Of course she was strange；' Estelle Horan tells me。 lighting a second Virginia Slim a moment after stubbing out her first。 'The whole family was strange。 Ralph was a construction worker； and people on the street said he carried a Bible and a 。38 revolver to work with him every day。 The Bible was for his coffee break and lunch。 The 。38 was in case he met Antichrist on the job； I can remember the Bible myself。 The revolver 。。。 who knows？ He was a big olive…skinned man with his hair always shaved into a flattop crewcut。 He always looked mean。 And you didn't meet his eyes； not ever。 They were so intense they actually seemed to glow。 When you saw him ing you crossed the street and you never stuck out your tongue at his back； not ever。 That's how spooky he was。'
She pauses； puffing clouds of cigarette smoke toward the pseudo…redwood beams that cross the ceiling。 Stella Horan lived on Carlin Street until she was twenty； muting to day classes at Lewin Business College in Motton。 But she remembers the incidents of the stones very clearly。
'There are times；' she says； 'when I wonder if I might have caused it。 Their back yard was next to ours； and Mrs White had put in a hedge but it hadn't grown out yet。 She'd called my mother dozens of times about 〃the show〃 I was putting on in my back yard。 Well； my bathing suit was perfectly decent … prudish by today's standards … nothing but a plain old one…piece Jantzen。 Mrs White used to go on and on about what a scandal it was for 〃her baby。〃 My mother。。…。 well； she tries to be polite； but her temper is so quick。 I don't know what Margaret White did to finally push her over the edge … called me the Whore of Babylon； I suppose … but my mother told her our yard was our yard and I'd go out and dance the hootchie…kootchie buck naked if that was her pleasure and mine。 She also told her that she was a dirty old woman with a can of worms for a mind。 There was a lot more shouting； but that was the upshot of it。
'I wanted to stop sunbathing right then。 I hate trouble。 It upsets my stomach。 But Mom…when she gets a case； she's a terror。 She came home from Jordan Marsh with a little white bikini。 Told me I might as well get all the sun I could。 〃After all；〃 she said； 〃the privacy of our own back yard and all。〃
Stella Horan smiles a little at the memory and crushes out her cigarette。
'I tried to argue with her； tell her I didn't want any more trouble； didn't want to be a pawn in their back…fence war。 Didn't do a bit of good。 Trying to stop my mum when she' gets a bee in her hat is like trying to stop a Mack truck going downhill with no brakes。 Actually； there was more to it。 I was scared of the Whites。 Real religious nuts are nothing to fool with。 Sure； Ralph White was dead； but what if Margaret still had that 。38 around？
'But there I was on Saturday afternoon； spread out ' on a blanket in the back yard； covered with suntan lotion and listening to Top Forty on the radio。 Mom hated that stuff and usually she'd yell out at least twice for me to turn it down before she went nuts。 But that day she turned it up twice herself。 I started to feel like the Whore of Babylon myself
'But nobody came out of the Whites' place。 Not even the old lady to hang her wash。 That's something else … she never hung any undies on the back line。 Not even Carrie's； and she was only three back then。 Always in the house。
'I started to relax。 I guess I was thinking Margaret must have taken Carrie to the park to worship God in the raw or something。 Anyway； after a little while I rolled on my back； put one arm over my eyes； and dozed off。
'When I woke up； Carrie was standing next to me and looking down at my body。'
She breaks off； frowning into space。 Outside； the cars are whizzzing by endlessly。 I can hear the steady little whine my tape recorder makes。 But it all seems a little too brittle； too glossy； just a cheap patina over a darker world … a real world where nightmares happen。
'She was such a pretty girl；' Stella Horan resumes； fighting another cigarette。 'I've seen some high school pictures of her； and that horrible fuzzy black…and…white photo on the cover of Newsweek。 I look at them and all I can think is； Dear God； where did she go？ What did that woman do to her？ Then I feel sick and sorry。 She was so pretty； with pink cheeks and bright brown eyes； and her hair the shade of blonde you know will darken and get mousy。 Sweet is the only word that fits。 Sweet and bright and innocent。 Her mother's sickness hadn't touched her very deeply； not then。
'I kind of started up awake and tried to smile。 It was hard to think what to do。 I was logy from the sun and my mind felt sticky and slow。 I said 〃Hi。〃 She was wearing a little yellow dress； sort of cute but awfully long for a little girl in the summer。 It came down to her shins。
'She didn't smile back。 She just pointed and said； 〃What are those？〃
'I looked down and saw that my top had slipped while I was asleep。 So I fixed it and said； 〃Those are my breasts； Carrie；〃
'Then she said…very solemnly： 〃I wish I had some。〃
'I said： 〃You have to wait； Carrie。 You won't start to get them for another 。。。 oh。 eight or nine years。〃
〃'No； I won't；〃 she said。 〃Momma says good girls don't。〃 She looked strange for a little girl； half sad and half self…righteous。
'I could hardly believe it； and the first thing that popped into my mind also popped right out of my mouth。 I said： 〃Well； I'm a good girl。 And doesn't your mother have breasts？〃
'She lowered her head and said something so softly I couldn't hear it。 When I asked her to repeat it； she looked at me defiantly and said that her momma had been bad when she made her and that was why she had them。 She called them dirtypillows； as if it was all one word。
'I couldn't believe it。 I was just dumbfounded。 There was nothing at all I could think to say。 We just stared at each other； and what I wanted to do was grab that sad little scrap of a girl and run away with her。
'And that was when Margaret White came out of her back do