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

I'd been on the road for about two hours when I saw the man flagging me down. My headlights bounced off the metal briefcase at his side, almost obscuring the man in the glisten. I slowed down as I approached him. It was late, and the road was n't known to be a popular place for hitchhikers. It was miles from anywhere he could have walked from. As my car tolled up beside him, I took not of how the man looked. He was impeccably dressed. Dark suit, dark tie, slicked back hair. He would have almost completely blended into the background if it was n't for the shimmering cufflinks he wore. I decided there could be no harm in helping him. Surely a man who looked like that had just had his car break down on him; it was probably further up the road. That was it. He had simply walked down the road, and I was the first one to happen upon him. 
 
 `` Everything alright?'' I said, poking my head out the car window. 
 
 `` Of course.'' he replied. His eyes stayed fixed ahead of him, trained on some invisible spot miles in front of him. 
 
 `` There are n't a lot of people just hanging out on this road.'' I said. The mans calm demeanor was almost funny to me. He seemed like he lacked the common sense to be bewildered. 
 
 `` Really...'' His eyebrows formed a quizzical expression as he said this, and his lips puckered, as though this insight had given him reason to question everything around him. His eyes, however did n't once deviate from staring straight ahead. 
 
 `` Are you sure you do n't need anything?'' It felt wrong to just leave this man stranded there, but I felt that I would have to if I did n't get some sort of an answer out of him. Still, the man's vague responses made me slightly uneasy. Would I even let someone want this in my car? 
 
 `` A matchbook would be lovely.'' His voice retained the same monotonous tone it had had every other time he spoke. The fingers on his left hand twitched slightly. 
 
 `` I do n't smoke, I'm sorry, I ca n't help you-'' I barely had to to ask if he needed anything else before his eyes snapped over to look at me. They were dull and glassy, and unnaturally sunken into his face. A small smirk spread across his face as he asked, 
 
 `` Well, perhaps you could take me to get one?'' There was something chilling about the lack of emotion he had in his voice coupled with the odd smile he had. His lips, cracked and dry, did n't part to reveal any teeth. He stood there like this, with his eyes unfocused but still looking at me, his hands calmly by his sides, and foot tapping expectantly, for quite some while I figured out what to say. He was oddly disarming, and not in any sort of way that put you at ease. I felt my mind go blank when he looked at me- or more accurately, looked *to* me. I gathered my thoughts enough to give a slight nod, and immediately rethought the decision as I noticed him walking purposefully to the front passenger door. Every step he took was methodical, as though he thought about each step before he took it. He barely even seemed to touch the ground as he walked. As he got closer, I noticed he was older- about sixty or seventy. His face was pitted with wrinkles and lines, and his brow looked permanently furrowed, as though he was constantly in deep thought. From what little I knew of him, it seemed like he was. 
 
 When he opened the door and sat down beside me, I realized I could have made an awful mistake. Perhaps this man was n't as respectable as I had initially presumed- it would n't be too hard to kill someone, steal their clothes, and pose as them in order too- 
 
 Jesus, what was I thinking? This looked to be a nice, if a little eccentric, old man, who was probably blind anyway. He'd probably wandered off from somewhere and could n't remember where he had came from. He did look a little gaunt. The ride was spent in silence, with the man staring ahead and focusing on nothing in particular. It was about a half hour drive to the nearest gas station, but it was n't out of my anyway, so I did n't mind. Maybe while I was there I could ask around, see if anyone recognized him. I'd buy him something to eat, too. He'd appreciate that. 
 
 The sun was just barely coming up when I stopped next to the gas station. I asked the man if he wanted to come with me, but he silently shook his head no. The man had a quiet dignity about him, even if he was rather strange. I picked out a sandwich- a slimy, day-old gas station sandwich, but hey, it was food- and a book of matches and brought it up to the front counter. It still struck me as odd that that was the mans only request, but again, I simply chalked it up to delusion. Perhaps he had a pipe back home that he desperately wanted to smoke. While I was at the counter, I asked if there was any blind old men who frequently wandered off near here. The store clerk, struck by the peculiarity of what I just said, shook his head in bewilderment. When I told him about the man in my car, he asked if he could come look. I lead him around the back of the store. 
 
 Upon getting into eyesight of the car, I immediately noticed the man was gone. 
 
 `` He - he was just here!'' I proclaimed. The store clerk looked doubtful for a moment, but then seemingly realized that no-one would make up a story that ridiculous. 
 
 `` Should we call the cops?'' he asked. 
 
 `` Probably,'' I said, `` He could n't have gone far. I'll go look for him.'' 
 
 The clerk walked back into the store, and the last thing I saw was him dialing the phone before I pulled away. I did n't get 5 minutes down the highway before I saw him. He was stopped, eyes fixed straight ahead of him, staring across the road. Just like the last time I saw him. I pulled up beside him and waved the pack of matches out the window. `` I have your matches.'' He started towards me, head unwavering, feet steady. Right before he could grab it, I yanked it back in the window. He swiped feebly at the empty air. 
 
 `` What'd you run off for?'' I asked. 
 
 `` Ca n't let anyone know.'' 
 
 `` Know what?'' I was beginning to get annoyed with the old man's proclivity to speak solely in vague riddles. 
 
 `` Why I needed them.'' His brow furrowed further, and his milky eyes nearly disappeared underneath his eyebrows. 
 
 `` The matches?'' I was beginning to get worried. Perhaps the psychotic assessment was more applicable than I thought. 
 
 The old man, in response to this, turned away. His hands fiddled nervously with his dazzling cufflinks. 
 
 `` Did you know you can set water on fire?'' He said this without any hint of irony, or amusement. He asked this as if he was sharing a revelation with an old friend. His head did n't sway from staring down the road. He was talking, but not acknowledging me. I opened my mouth to reply, but he went on. 
 
 `` It sort of.... glistens, you see? It has a magnificent rainbow hue, and it feels as smooth as silk. I gave some to my son to drink. He said he was n't thirsty, but I knew better. Boy, did I know better.'' He stopped for again, as if waiting for a response from the invisible person in front of him. 
 
 `` How was I supposed to know that?'' His finger wagged wildly in front of him, part accusatory, part nervous tick. `` Not my fault.... not my fault.... he was thirsty.... not my fault...'' The wagging stopped abruptly. His mouth stood agape slightly, and his head cocked to one side. He stood there, frozen, for several seconds. 
 
 `` I tried to get rid of it, I did!'' His voice broke, and any remnants of the calm, collected monotone man I had picked up earlier were gone. He was frantic, panicked. Every word was cut with an undercurrent of anxiety. His breathing quickened. `` I tried... to burn the water! The bad water! It hurt.... It stung! The water killed him, and so I would kill the water. I tried beating it, but that did not work. It splashed and splashed and splashed and splashed!'' 
 
 Suddenly, he turned to face me. His eyes were no longer dull- they were lit up brightly, fueled by a sort of mad craze I hope to never understand. In that second, I saw the soul of a man long broken. His hands were twitching psychotically. I tried to back away, but I found myself transfixed by the man. My eyes were stuck staring at his. No longer did he seem to be looking at nothing; now, he seemed to be boring directly into me. 
 
 `` I had no choice. The water was bad. It made him cry, and choke and sputter. It could not be beaten- no!'' The man was spitting his words, and every syllable was more shrill demented than the last. 
 
 `` I found them in the cupboard. They were the same things I used to punish the dog when it misbehaved- I could punish the bad water with them too! I knew water did not burn, but it mattered not. I took them, watched them sputter and burn as I struck them, and I threw them. I threw them at the bad water!'' He was smiling maniacally wide, shaking, rocking back and forth. `` And it swirled beneath my feet, rainbow colours mixed and mingled-and it erupted! Flame after flame swam through the water, lapping and dancing and swirling and spitting- but then they climbed. The flames climbed the walls, and they climbed her legs. They left little presents. Bubbly, oozing presents. She screamed, she was so excited! That's my Carol, always so excited, so happy for me!'' He stooped, suddenly. His face returned to it's troubled look. He stared at the ground. His eyes lost all focus. 
 
 `` Not my fault....'' he murmured. 
 
 The next couple hours were a blur. I remember lights, blue and red, and sirens blaring. The old man was taken away completely silently. The one thing that stuck out was him turning to face me, staring at the matches in my hand, as they stuffed him in the car. The cop explained to me that he was schizophrenic. They had received a call from the neighbors about a fire. They found it completely burned down. There were two bodies found; one a young boy who, judging form the autopsy, had been strapped down to a chair. The other was a sixty year old woman. His wife and son. Both burned to the point of almost being unrecognizable. He asked if I would like to make a statement. I agreed. 
 
 The ride home was silent. 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

