We Have Always Lived in the Castle

by Shirley Jackson

I decided that I would choose three powerful words, words of strong protection, and so long as these great words were never spoken aloud no change would come. I wrote the first word—melody—in the apricot jam on my toast with the handle of a spoon and then put the toast in my mouth and ate it very quickly. I was one-third safe. Constance came out of Uncle Julian’s room carrying the tray. “He’s not well this morning,” she said. “He left most of his breakfast and he’s very tired.” “If I had a winged horse I could fly him to the moon; he would be more comfortable there.” “Later I’ll take him out into the sunshine, and perhaps make him a little eggnog.” “Everything’s safe on the moon.” She looked at me distantly. “Dandelion greens,” she said. “And radishes. I thought of working in the vegetable garden this morning, but I don’t want to leave Uncle Julian. I hope that the carrots . . .” She tapped her fingers on the table, thinking. “Rhubarb,” she said. I carried my breakfast dishes over to the sink and set them down; I was deciding on my second magic word, which I thought might very well be Gloucester. It was strong, and I thought it would do, although Uncle Julian might take it into his head to say almost anything and no word was truly safe when Uncle Julian was talking. “Why not make a pie for Uncle Julian?” Constance smiled. “You mean, why not make a pie for Merricat? Shall I make a rhubarb pie?” “Jonas and I dislike rhubarb.” “But it has the prettiest colors of all; nothing ...