Raising Demons by Shirley Jackson Page B

“When?”
    â€œI don’t remember,” Jannie said, pleased.
    â€œYour own name?” Laurie asked with interest. “Because it’s Jannie.”
    â€œHow old are you?” Sally asked.
    Jannie giggled. “Now I don’t even remember
that
,” she said.
    â€œWhat were you playing on the woodpile?” I asked.
    Jannie took a deep breath. “Well,” she said, “I was playing on the woodpile with Laura and Laura’s brother Johnnie and we were playing pirate ship and Laura was the captain and Johnnie was the first mate and I was the shrew—”
    â€œCrew.”
    â€œShrew. And I was the shrew, and I said I was going to dive overboard looking for fish and Laura said that was no way to catch fish you had to use a spear and
Johnnie
said—”
    â€œAnd then you fell?”
    â€œNot
yet.
And Johnnie said I was supposed to dive overboard to be dead, see, because I was a captured maiden and so I said I would only pretend to dive overboard because even if you were captured maidens you
couldn’t
go jumping off the woodpile. Could you?” she appealed to Laurie.
    â€œDepends,” Laurie said judiciously. “I know that ole horse Buddy—”
    â€œAnyway,” Jannie said, “Laura said I had to jump and Johnnie said he would if I would and so then I fell.”
    â€œBut you can’t remember anything about it?”
    â€œWell,” Jannie said doubtfully, “I
do
remember a little bit about playing on the woodpile. But now I think I
have
forgotten my name.”
    â€œIt’s Jannie,” Laurie said.
    I glanced, frowning, at my husband, and he shook his head and shrugged. “It was all on television, all,” Sally said suddenly. “We saw it at Amy’s house, Uncle Bob’s program, Amy’s, and the little cow that laughs all the time, cow, he fell and hit his head and then he couldn’t remember all about Uncle Bob and the trip to the moon, moon.”
    â€œIt was
not
,” Jannie said, “it wasn’t, it wasn’t.”
    â€œAnd we all said we couldn’t remember,” Sally said. “Can we go swimming now, swimming?”
    â€œNow,” Jannie said reproachfully, “now I can’t even remember your name.”
    â€œIt’s Sally,” Laurie said.
    â€œShall I put a cold cloth on your head?” I asked solicitously.
    â€œPerhaps I better go lie down for a minute,” Jannie said, her voice noticeably weaker. “I’ll just leave my bread and mayonnaise.”
    â€œSuppose,” I said, “you go lie down for a minute and take your bread and mayonnaise with you, since you seem to have made four slices of bread and mayonnaise and I do not see that you have eaten more than half of one.”
    â€œBut I don’t feel—”
    â€œIf you are too ill to have your nice bread and mayonnaise, then you are too ill to go swimming.”
    Jannie sighed, and thought, and sighed again. “This is not very fair,” she pointed out. “Swimming might be very good for my poor head.”
    â€œSay, kid,” Laurie said to me, “how about some sandwiches to take down to the stable?”
    â€œMake them yourself,” I said, reaching for the coffeepot.
    â€œNo woman knows how to cook, anyway,” Laurie said. “Jerry says,” he told his father, “that the worst thing about having a wife is she does the cooking.” His father nodded bleakly.
    â€œIf any big-mouthed brother of a horse cares to take over the cooking in
this
house—” I began indignantly.
    â€œBut if I eat
all
my bread and mayonnaise, then I will be—”
    Laurie guffawed. “If I’m a brother of a horse then what’s Jannie?” he demanded, and then, without waiting for the indignant answer Jannie was opening her mouth to deliver, he remarked, “Here comes Amy, simple.”
    â€œAmy?” said Sally, just as I was