Hello, everyone! I am new to being an author here, but have been a long- time reader. I have to say that all of the COTC stories that I have read are great! I love Children of the Corn, especially Malachai...hence, here is how I would continue with the anthology that is COTC. Of course, as is mentioned in all stories, I do not own Malachai, Isaac, Sarah, Job, or any of the other original characters from the movie; they are all owned by the wonderful and talented Stephen King and the screenplay writer, George Goldsmith. I do own Christine and any other character that I decide to introduce in further chapters. Thanks for reading and please be kind and review!

Christine drove into the one-stoplight town not expecting much.except maybe some answers.or at least some clues. On the right was a long abandoned gas station and on the left, acres and acres of corn. Christine squinted against the late morning sun. Ahead was Main Street, or at least what had been main street at one time. Of course the town was as rundown and abandoned as the gas station she had passed. Christine parked in front of the old post office. A rusted newspaper vending machine stood in front of it. A tattered and yellow newspaper pressed up against its glass. Christine approached it and looked at it more closely. Gatlin Centennial, September 6, 1984. Yes, this was one clue that she had needed.

Christine and her mother had fled Gatlin when she was only 4 years old. She didn't remember much. Her mother refused to speak of that past like even saying the name of the town would poison her tongue. She refused to speak of the father that Christine barely knew.all she had were memories.

Christine turned away from the vending machine for a moment and looked across the street. Hansen's. She remembered that place. Her mother had taken her there on Sundays after the mass in the cornfield. Christine always told her grandmother that she was a lucky girl because she got to attend church twice on Sundays. Her grandmother would frown at this.she never knew why but her mother would always change the subject at that time. A tear formed in her left blue eye at this thought. She had been at the house the day her grandmother had been murdered.

Christine looked back to the newspaper. Drought to cause loss in corn crop this year - Farmers expect small harvest. More memories flooding back. She was surprised how easily they came. A boy in a dark minister's suit speaking in the cornfield. Preaching about the evil that had befallen the corn. The drought. Something to do with the drought. Christine tried to remember more but could not.

She looked back over at Hansen's. Curiosity pulled her there. It was here that one of the strongest memories came flooding back to her. Her mother had had her baptized at the only church in Gatlin, Grace Baptist Church. The scary boy with the long red hair had found out about it and had confronted her mother angrily in front of this café one evening. Christine remembered the boy's name now. Malachai. Christine's mother had told Malachai that they would run away if Isaac found out about it. Isaac must have been the preacher boy. It had been shortly after that incident that they had fled.

She looked again to Hansen's. Something was pulling her there. She started to walk across the street without even realizing it. The wooden and glass door was warped and dusty. Christine noticed that the glass was scratched into a pattern. She peered closer. In jagged, child-like script were the words 'HE WHO WALKS BEHIND THE ROWS'. The words sent chills down her spine. She took a step back from the door and let out a ragged breath. She didn't know who 'He' was, but she had a feeling she didn't want to know. Then she told herself she was just being self conscience and above all, plain silly.

The wind picked up just then and made her look down the street. The warm air made her cough and close her eyes. When she opened her eyes she noticed that the shadows were getting longer and she decided it was now or never. She took a deep breath and moved again to the door. She pushed it open with a faint creak.the smell of mildew and grease met her immediately. She stepped up into the entryway. It was dim but she could still make out the dust and deterioration of the once quaint café. She walked slowly across the floor to the counter. Bang! Christine whirled around at the sound and jumped at the same time. She thought she had seen someone. 'That's impossible.', she told herself. But in her mind's eye she knew she had seen the morning sun glimmering on copper hair outside of the dirty window. The bang had been the door in the now even stronger wind.she hadn't closed it all the way. The door stood open, the doorknob clanging noisily against the building in the wind. Curiosity pulled her to the doorway. She looked both ways down the street but saw no one. The wind made her duck back inside. A wind storm was starting up and she decided to stay here until it was over.

Christine sat down in one of the booths. The chipped and worn tabletop was stained with coffee and something darker. She shrank out of the booth immediately when she realized what it was. Blood. She started to feel dizzy and didn't even know why. She sat down instead on one of the stools...and soon slid off to the floor. She laid her head down on it and closed her eyes. 'Too much...too soon...when I wake up, I'll try to find that person I saw....or thought I saw....', Christine drifted into sleep and her sudden drained energy welcomed it.

Oh what a beginning! When Christine wakes up, what will she find? Who is stalking her? Remember to review!