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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