Just an Ordinary Day: The Uncollected Stories of Shirley Jackson Read Free Page A

said.
    “No.” I showed him the contract. “Where you signed, it says you give me your soul for the sum of one dollar, also other unnamed considerations. Those would be the cigarettes of mine you smoked.”
    “And getting me out of bed,” Bobbie added.
    The devil read the contract again. Then he began to stamp his feet, and flames came out of his mouth. Bobbie and I looked at each other.
    “Golly,” she said. “What a date this guy would be!”
    Just then the devil seemed to get a little pale, and he backed up against the wall, staring in back of us. Bobbie and I turned around, and there was the housemother. She stood in the doorway, in a bathrobe, with curlpapers on her hair, and she was an awe-inspiring sight.
    She looked at the devil. “Young man,” she said, “what are you doing here?”
    “Ma’am…” the devil began.
    “You’re a fire hazard,” she snapped.
    “Yes’m,” the devil said.
    “Leave at once,” she said ominously, “before I report you to the dean of women.”
    The devil cast one dreadful look at Bobbie and me, and then tried to vanish in a puff of smoke. All he succeeded in, however, was a weak sizzle, and then he was gone.
    “All right,” said the housemother. Then she turned to Bobbie and me.
    “Well?” she said.
    “Look,” Bobbie began.
    “You see, it was like this—” I said.
    “Hmph,” said the housemother. “Devils, indeed!” And she went back to bed.

I D ON ’ T K ISS S TRANGERS

    E VERY TIME HE CAME over to where she was sitting he would start to say something and then decide not to; there were too many people around for him to say anything sentimental, and her attitude discouraged whatever humorous comments the situation suggested. Once he sat down next to her and took hold of her hand, but she only smiled at him vaguely and went on staring straight in front of her.
    The room was so full of people and there was so much noise and he wanted to get her outside somewhere into the night, but there was nothing to say to her to get her there. He told someone about it, somewhere along in the evening. “You can’t just go up to a girl in the middle of a party and say ‘come on outside into the air, we gotta say goodbye somehow.’”
    But the guy he told about it said only, “For Christ sake take her in the bedroom, it’s empty now,” and wandered away.
    Finally, when the party was good and drunk, and the singing was loud enough to cover most conversations, he went over and sat down next to her again.
    “Look,” he said, “I’d sort of like to talk to you.”
    “Sure,” she said. “I’m listening.”
    There wasn’t anything to say from there; he thought of reminding her that this was their last evening together, but discarded that as tactless; he also wanted to ask her why their last time together should be spent with the two of them out of joint, but knew he could never get an answer. He said: “I keep looking at you all the time.”
    “I don’t want to look at you now,” she said very quickly, “I’ve got enough to remember you now.”
    “You’ll come see me, won’t you?” He grabbed her hand and tugged at it, trying to make her look at him. “You’ll come be a camp follower, won’t you?”
    “Nope,” she said. “I’m going home. To mother.”
    “And you’ll spend all day sitting in a nice cool bridge luncheon while I slave away over a hot Garand rifle.”
    “Shut up,” she said.
    Now was the time, and he said it. “Come away. Let’s get out of here.”
    “I don’t want to get too far from the liquor,” she said.
    “Just outside for a few minutes.”
    “No.” Then she said, “Wait a minute. Come on.” She picked up her drink and a box of cigarettes and waved at him to follow her. She took him into the bathroom and locked the door.
    “Here,” she said. “Now we aren’t too far away and there aren’t any people.”
    “Suppose someone wants to come in,” he said, sitting on the edge of the bathtub.
    “Let them wait. We