Children of the Corn Page #4

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Hey hey!

There is life in Nebraska.

Are you sure anyone is here?

It doesn't matter.

I just wanna use the pay phone.

I have to report this... murder.

Are you all right?

Yeah. Yeah, I will be...

as soon as we're 1,000 miles

away from here.

Sunny and sinful California.

The Rocky Mountains

between us and Nebraska.

You got any change?

Nope.

I'll just dial the emergency operator.

We'll be in town

in a few minutes.

Looks like folks

in Gatlin got religion.

I thought all folks

in Nebraska had religion.

It sure sounds

that way from the radio.

Mm-hmm. Have you been

reading the signs?

"A cloud by day,

a pillar of fire by night."

When they called it the Bible Belt,

they sure weren't kidding.

"Take this...

and eat...

saith the Lord,

God of hosts."

It's what they say

when they give you communion.

Yeah? I bet they use cornbread

for holy wafer around these parts.

- Got it.

- Attagirl.

A shirt...

a belt...

What is this?

That's a real golden oldie.

Huh.

Anything strikes you as funny

about that radio sermon?

You were obviously never

the son of a preacher--

dragged from tent to tent,

going to meetings,

hearing every kind of evangelist

preying on the uneducated,

the lonely and the weak

instead of praying for them.

I had enough of that religious crap

to last me forever.

I told you about it.

Yeah, but didn't this preacher

sound young?

A teenager, maybe, but that's what's

so monstrous about their whole trip.

They like to get them

while their minds are still rubber,

and all the emotional checks

and balances to put in.

You should've seen

some of the ones I got saved by.

Let's see, there was...

Baby Hortense,

the singing marvel.

She was eight.

She'd come on singing

"Leaning on the Everlasting Arms"

while her daddy passed the plate,

telling everybody to

"Dig deep now, brothers and sisters.

Let's not let

this blessed child down.

She does the work of our Lord,

the son of God."

Jesus.

Oh my God!

It's just--

Wow. It's a fantastic piece

of workmanship.

Real American primitive.

It's hideous.

- It's a blasphemy. Throw it out.

- No, the police will want to see this.

- Why?

- I don't know. Evidence, maybe.

Just throw it out!

Will you do that for me?

Just throw it out.

I don't want it in the car.

All right. I'll tell you what--

we'll put it all in the back for now.

As soon as we see the cops,

we give 'em everything--

the body, the whole works.

And we'll be done with it, all right?

Do what you want, okay?

You will, anyway.

Boy preacher:

Behold...

a dream that come to me

in the night.

And in my dream

the Lord was a shadow

that walked behind the rows.

And God spoke to me as he has

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