Corn Stalked (Children Of The Corn)

Chapter #6: Bad Blood

He Who Walks Behind the Rows.

The term played itself over and over in my head like a broken record. What had Joseph meant? Was this a part of the 'religion'?

Curious, I went over to the small bookshelf I had in the room. There had to be a bible in it somewhere. Aha! Found it!

Taking it back to my bed, I flipped through the pages, skimming the words. Looking for even the slightest mention of a cornfield or someone called He Who Walks Behind the Rows. But nothing. The only peculiar thing I noticed was a few familiar names, all names I'd heard since I'd arrived at my grandparent's house.

Joseph

Issac

...Malachai

Were they all named after some biblical character? I though Malachai said their religion was different than Catholic or Christianity?

But then, what the hell was it?

I had almost gone through the entire Bible when I came across a folded piece of white paper stuffed in between two of the pages. Taking it, I unfolded the paper and it revealed itself to be some sort of drawing, done by a child, no doubt. It was a bunch of cornstalks, crudely drawn in crayon, with some kind of all black smoke or...presence behind them. At the bottom of the page, something was written in a blood red colored crayon.

'He Who Walks Behind the Rows'.

    "What the...?" I whispered to myself, staring hard at the drawing. I leaned back against the iron headboard of the bed.

I studied the picture for what seemed like hours, but I couldn't make heads or tails of it. Clearly whatever this....thing....person, was, it had something to do with the corn. Which was odd, but then again, nothing on this damn farm made sense anymore.

Eventually, I fell asleep, the picture resting face down on my chest.

That night, I had a nightmare, different from before. I was in the cornfield, running, I kept looking behind me at something. The wind was howling, whipping my hair and the corn every which way. But then, the corn seemed to grow a mind of its own and it wrapped its leaves around my arms and ankles. It held me in place even though I fought against it. I stopped struggling after a few seconds and looked up, my eyes filling with dread. The wind seemed to roar and scream amidst its howling and I shrieked. I turned my face away from whatever it was and braced myself for what was coming. After another few seconds, I screamed again, this time in pain.

    "Outlander!" Barked a hushed voice that sounded so familiar, but I couldn't tell why because it sounded so ghostly.

That's when I woke up. When I opened my eyes, I came face to face with my grandmother, who was standing over me and staring me down nervously. I sat up, causing the picture to slide down my chest and flip over.

    "Grandma? What are you doing in he-" I started to ask, but my grandmother shrieked suddenly. Her face paled and her eyes widened as she looked at something. She reached for what it was.

The picture.

My grandmother snatched the drawing off my stomach and stared at it, her hands shook so much that the paper rustled in her grip. She turned her eyes to me, her breathing had gotten heavier and more staggered. Grandma Joan backed towards the door.

    "Grandma...?" I defused, slowly beginning to stand up.

She took off then, whimpering in fear, she still clutched the picture.

    "Grandma Joan! Come back!" I called, jumping up and running after her.

I chased after her, down the stairs and through the kitchen, where my grandpa was eating cereal at the table. When my grandma went running by with me close behind, he stopped me.