Christine (Signet) by Stephen King

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By Stephen King

It was once love in the beginning sight. From the instant seventeen-year-old Arnie Cunningham observed Christine, he knew he might do whatever to own her. yet Christine isn't any girl. She is Stephen King's final, blackly evil car of terror.

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Rather than submit to that indignity, he had put the Plymouth up. And after that, the, car had gotten old fast. ' Arnie asked again. Oh he just couldn't wait to be slaughtered. LeBay turned his face up to the sky, appearing to consider it for rain. Then he looked down at Arnie again and gave him a large, kindly smile that was far too much like the previous shit- eating grin for me. 'I've been asking three hundred,' he said. 'But you seem a likely enough lad. ' 'Oh my Christ,' I said. But he knew who his sucker was, and he knew exactly how to drive the wedge in between us.

It was Friday afternoon, and the Block Party Weekend had started on FM-104. When I look back on that year, my senior year, it seems to me that I could measure it out in blocks of rock . . and an escalating, dreamlike sense of terror. ' I asked. ' He sat looking out at Libertyville Avenue without saying anything for a long time, and then he turned off the radio with a quick snap, cutting off Foreigner in mid-flight. 'I don't know exactly,' he said. 'Maybe it's because for the first time since I was eleven and started getting pimples, I've seen something even uglier than I am.

Don't worry,' LeBay said bridkly. 'Like to see a fellow stand up for what's his . . or what's almost his. ' 'Well, come on in the house. You and your friend both. ' 'No thanks,' I said. ' 'Suit yourself, son,' LeBay said . . and winked. To this day I have no idea exactly what that wink was supposed to mean. They went in, and the door banged shut behind them. The fish had been netted and was about to be cleaned. Feeling depressed, I walked through the breezeway to the garage and tried the door.

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