Horror Story . You Pick Up A Hitchhiker . Write About The Drive [ RF ]

The stranger pulled wide my side door and slumped into the passenger seat, pulling down the hood on his red rain jacket as he shut the door after him, revealing a mop of messy brown hair. He smiled through his week's worth of beard growth, stretching out a hand in greeting. 
 
 `` Hey, thanks man, my name's Ted.'' He chuckled softly. `` Sounds like your door there needs some WD-40.'' 
 
 I smiled back in agreement and made a mental note to fix the squeak as soon as I got home. `` Yeah, no worries man. I'm Matt,'' I said as I shook his cold, wet hand. `` You can throw your bag in the backseat.'' 
 
 The stranger named Ted twisted and set his dirty black Jansport neatly in the back, behind his seat and next to the old textbooks that always seemed to be floating around my car somewhere. `` Nasty weather. I nearly drowned out there waiting for someone to pick me up.'' His voice was tinged with a raspy accent. Too many cigarettes. 
 
 `` Yeah,'' I said. It had been raining hard for two days straight, raising the river in town and washing out parts of this county road that led up into Maple Falls. `` So, uh, where you headed man? Do you live in Maple Falls?'' 
 
 `` Kind of,'' he replied, fixing me with his dark eyes and wide smile. `` I'm staying up there right now.'' 
 
 `` Oh, cool man. You a boarder?'' I noticed his muddy boots and figured he must have been a snowboarder; the die-hard kind that liked to stay in Maple Falls in the offseason, hiking up to the mountain and skiing the hidden patches of snow that lasted into early summer. 
 
 At this question, the stranger smirked and turned towards the window. `` Nah.'' 
 
 `` Oh. Why are you staying in Maple Falls? There's like, nothing to do up here.'' A Ford pickup zoomed past going the other direction, tires squelching over the wet road and headlights cutting through the gloom of late evening. 
 
 `` There's always stuff to do.'' He flashed another smile, then became preoccupied with his fingernails, chewing and wiping them on his faded jeans. Chew and wipe. Chew and wipe. 
 
 We drove like that, in silence, for the next several minutes, passing stretches of empty property and the occasional tree farm. Chew and wipe. The road was nearly empty, but a pair of dim headlights had been tailing me for the past several miles. I sped up to 60, more than 15 miles above the speed limit. The headlights never wavered or fell behind. I frowned. *Fucking drunks. * Three people had already been killed on this stretch of road in this year alone. 
 
 `` HEY!'' The stranger shouted, suddenly and without warning. 
 
 I jumped and nearly put us into the ditch at 60 miles per hour. Recovering from the shock, I turned and said, `` Hey, what, man? You scared the shit out of me.'' 
 
 `` I love this song. Fuckin' Zeppelin, man!'' He reached out with his grubby fingers and turned up the stereo. A watery piano solo blasted it's way out of the speakers. *Close the door, put out the light. You know they wo n't be home tonight. * The stranger had his eyes closed, jamming on air drums and shaking his head from side to side. `` Fuckin' John Paul Jones, man!'' 
 
 I shook my head and focused back on the road. The car behind me sped up and passed on the left, leaving me and the wet Zeppelin fanatic in the dark again. As we started to roll through the few businesses that made up Maple Falls, the stranger finished up his air solo and pointed towards the bagel shop, closed and dark at this time of night, although the neon open sign flicked on and off. 
 
 `` You can drop me off there, man. I'll walk the rest of the way.'' 
 
 `` Ok,'' I said, ready to be done with the whole experience. 
 
 As I pulled up into a parking space parallel with the old wooden building, Ted reached back and dragged his soggy backpack from behind. He opened the side door and paused, turning his face towards me. 
 
 `` Hey, thanks again, man. Nobody picks up hitchhikers these days. Too dangerous.'' Grinning widely, he shut the door and cast one last look inside, and waved before shambling off. 
 
 Five minutes later I pulled my creaky car into the garage. Before I got out, I looked into the back to see if, by chance, the hitchhiker had left anything behind by accident. Frowning, I saw the round damp patch his wet backpack had left on my backseat. *That's what I get for being a nice guy. * I got out and grabbed a rag from off the workbench by the back door. Crouching over the front seat, I pressed the rag down on the wet spot, hoping to soak up as much water as possible. After a few seconds, I lifted the dirty white rag and glanced down. 
 
 It was covered in blood. 
 
 
 
 
 
 

