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"Quiet!" ordered the shrill voice of the hidden
speaker, "you have no chance to become one of us
unless you sacrifice your most beloved and precious
possessions. It is either that or suffer our trial." Crouched in the corner, Carrie could only stare
at the moving shadows behind the white witches who
threatened her. The glows from the candles grew
larger, larger, turning her world into one of yellow and
scarlet fire.
"Give to us what you dearly cherish or you must
suffer, suffer, suffer."
"I have nothing," whispered Carrie honestly. "The dolls, the pretty little china dolls, give us
those," intoned the austere voice of the speaker. "Your
little clothes won't fit us; we don't want those; give us
your dolls, your pretty man, woman and child dolls." "They're gone," cried Carrie, fearful they would
set fire to her. "They turned to wooden sticks." "Ho-ho! A likely story! You lie! So now you
must suffer, little owl, to become one of us--or die.
Take your choice."
It was an easy decision. Carrie nodded and tried
not to sniffle.
"All right, from this night forward you, Carrie
Dollanganger, funny name, funny face, will be one of
us."
It hurts to write of how they took Carrie and
blindfolded her, then tied her small hands behind her
back, then pushed her out into the hall, then up a flight
of steep stairs, and suddenly they were outside. Carrie
felt the cool night air, the slant of the support beneath
her bare feet, and guessed correctly the girls had taken
her onto the roof! There was only one thing she feared
more than the grandmother and that was the roof--any
