Raising Demons by Shirley Jackson Page A

drop to the river on the right; I said “Floor” loudly, and hoped the children would understand; I tried to pull over to the left onto a broad lawn on that side of the road, and my car still would neither stop nor turn. I saw briefly that the driver of the other car was leaning far back in his seat, as though he, too, had his feet pressed down flat on the floor, and I braced myself against the back of the seat and put one foot on top of the other on the brake pedal, as though some kind of force might prevail upon the car to stop.
    It was perfectly clear that the two cars were going to hit, skidding into each other, and I told myself firmly, there is plenty of time to stop, plenty of time. From a great distance I could hear the children’s voices raised in what seemed to be enthusiastic cheering. The only question in my mind was perhaps a little academic: I was wondering how hard we were going to come together, and I was impatient at the ponderous independent movement of my car; if it was going to go off and smack into another car I wanted to get it over with. During the interminable moment between my putting my foot on the brake and the crash, I even had time to comprehend that none of us would be hurt, and then the long familiar nose of my car, intent upon destruction, swung itself with a shattering impact into the other car. Fantastic, I thought, sitting there for the first silent second, and that coffee cooking away at home.
    â€œCookie?” said Mr. Beekman into the silence.
    â€œYou all right?” I took my elbow out of Mr. Beekman’s stomach. “Children, are you all right?”
    â€œSure,” said Laurie. “Say, that was a
good
one.” He sounded pleased.
    â€œ
I
got on the floor,” Sally said, “and I found a penny.”
    â€œWe all got on the floor, except Laurie peeked,” Jannie said.
    â€œCan I keep it?” Sally asked. “The penny?”
    â€œBoy,” Laurie said with relish, “was
Mom
ever scared. You hurt or something?” he asked me.
    â€œI’m not hurt,” I said. “I was
not
scared.” I felt very calm, sitting there comfortably, and then I realized that we were all talking with excited speed, that the echoes of the crash were still sounding along the country road, and that the doors of the other car were slamming open; the other driver stumbled out, his legs shaking and his face white, and he yelled at me, “What you think you’re
doing
?”
    Deliberately I unclenched my left hand from the wheel and opened the door and climbed out; it was not until this moment that it had occurred to me that we were extraordinarily lucky that I, at least, had been going slowly, and it was at that moment only the thought of my innocent little children in the car which prevented me from speaking my mind fully. “What,” I said, snarling, “do you think
you
are doing? Coming around a turn like that at that speed on a slippery road and we could all have been killed?” My voice began to quaver suddenly, and I stopped and counted ten. “At that speed,” I said, through my teeth.
    â€œYou insured?” he asked.
    â€œCertainly I’m insured. Coming around a curve like—”
    â€œMom,” Laurie said from the back window, “can we get out?”
    â€œNo,” I said, not turning. “Now listen here,” I began to the other driver, and then the woman who was standing by his car, who had gotten out when he had and was standing there rubbing her forehead, took a step forward and said, “Nearly killed
me.
” “Now listen here,” I said again, and Laurie leaned out the back window and said, “Mom, can we get
out
? You all right?”
    â€œThe steering wheel hit me in the stomach,” I said, realizing then why I was standing as though I had just been kicked by a horse. I straightened up with an effort and said, “Now listen here—”
    â€œI wonder