Speaker 1: It was supposed to be a drive to reconnect, a
chance for Marking me to find some common ground after
months of bickering and silence. The rolling hills and the
quiet of the countryside seemed perfect. But that night, as
the sun dipped below the horizon and painted the sky
in bruises of purple and orange, our hope of reconciliation
turned into a nightmare. We were on an old country road,
far from the city's chaos, when we saw him, a
lone figure limping across the shoulder of the road, his
coat tattered and face shadowed by the dimming light. Mark Ever,
the good Samaritan, pulled over before I could protest, Hey man,
you need a lift? The man paused, looking up with
an unsettling smile under his old eyes. Would you I'm
just trying to get to the next town over. His
voice was hoarse, like gravel being crushed underfoot. I felt
a shiver crawl up my fine, but Mark was already
unlocking the doors.
Speaker 2: Are you sure about this, babe, It's just a ride, Sarah,
What could happen?
Speaker 1: What? Indeed, as the hitchhiker climbed into the back seat,
a cold gust of winds swept through the car, carrying
with it the faint stench of decay. I turned to
give him a tight smile, catching his eyes in the
rear view mirror, piercing, calculating. He strapped himself in his gaze,
never leaving mine. Thanks for this, you're saving me a
long cold walk. As we drove, he asked innocuous questions,
at first about the weather, our car, where we were from.
Then his inquiries turned personal, intrusive.
Speaker 2: So how long have you two been together? You seem tense.
Speaker 1: Mark laughed it off, choking it up to a long day.
But I could feel the hitchhiker's eyes boring into the
back of my head, reading things I wish remained unsaid.
The night grew darker, and a thick fog began to
settle over the road. That's when he changed. The air
shifted thick with his unset thoughts, and then he leaned forward,
his breath cold against my ear. Take me to the
old farmhouse off Ridge Road.
Speaker 2: You know the place. It's not far.
Speaker 1: There was a command in his tone that froze my blood.
Mark glanced at me through the rear view mirror, a
silent question in his eyes. That's a bit off our path, buddy,
maybe we can drop you at No, you'll take.
Speaker 2: Me there now.
Speaker 1: His outburst was sharp, a knife slicing through the tense air.
Mark's grip on the steering wheel tightened, and without another word,
he turned off the main road, the tires crunching on
gravel as we headed towards a destination that promised nothing good.
The farmhouse loomed out of the fog like a specter
from the past, its windows dark, it's siding peeling like
old scars. The Hitchhiker's breathing grew heavy. They excited, Stop here,
let's go inside. I have something to show you.
Speaker 2: We're not going anywhere. We're leaving.
Speaker 1: But before Mark could throw the car into reverse, the
hitchhiker produced a gun, the metal glinting ominously in the
dim light, out of the car.
Speaker 2: Both of you, don't make this harder than it has
to be.
Speaker 1: Fear, raw and sharp twisted in my gut. As we complied,
stepping out into the knight's cold embrace, the doors slam
shut behind us, the sound echoing like a gunshot in
the quiet night. There, surrounded by the oppressive silence of
the fog and the decrepit aura of the old farmhouse,
Our true ordeal began. The ground crunched underfoot as we
were ushered towards the decrepit farmhouse by the barrel of
the hitchhiker's gun. The air was with the musty smell
of decay, and every shadow seemed to whisper threats. Mark's
hand found mine, squeezing it tightly, a small comfort in
the face of impending doom. Inside the house was even
worse than its exterior promise. Dust lay thick upon everything,
and the air was stale, heavy with the weight of
long abandoned memories. The hitchhiker directed us to the center
of the dimly lit living room, where an old chandelier
dangled precariously from the ceiling, its crystals long gone. Sit
he commanded, pointing to the dusty floor. We obeyed, the
floorboards cold and hard beneath us. He paced before us,
the gun always aimed in our direction, his eyes wild
with a feverish gleam.
Speaker 2: You see this house.
Speaker 3: It holds memories, memories of pain, a betrayal, and tonight
you will help me right the wrongs. His words slurred
into madness, revealing a mind unhinged by past traumas now
projected onto us, he began to rant about his childhood,
about the parents who abandoned him, the cruelty he endured.
We were his chosen audience, a captive pair to bear
witness to his unraveling.
Speaker 2: We have nothing to do with your past. Let us go.
Speaker 1: We won't tell anyone we were here. He shot a
bullet in the air, tearing me up.
Speaker 2: Quiet, here are a part of this.
Speaker 3: Now he must pay the price of listening, of understanding.
Speaker 1: He began setting up what looked like a bizarre ritual,
placing old, fated photographs in a circle around us. Each
photo seemed to depict moments of a troubled family life,
a child's birthday with no guests, at Christmas morning with
no gifts, a graduation with no applause. The Hitchhiker's voice
became increasingly agitated as he described each scene, how each
instance of neglect sculpted him into the vessel of vengeance
he had silently become. Then he produced a rope from
his bag, throwing it at my feet.
Speaker 2: Tie him up, show me you understand the pain.
Speaker 1: The command was chilling, but it sparked a desperate idea
in me. As I moved to bind Mark's hands, I
whispered a plan to him, a risky chance that might
just save us.
Speaker 2: Play along. I'll make it loose. When I say, now,
you push him and we run.
Speaker 1: Mark nodded, slightly, understanding, flashing in his eyes. I tied
the rope loosely around his wrists, giving him enough slack
to break free when needed. As I stood to face
our captor, I steadied my breathing, preparing for the moment
to act.
Speaker 2: Good. Let me see if the missy even tied it hard.
Speaker 1: He bent down to check, and in that moment I
kicked hard at the hand in which he was holding
the gun, but it didn't fall now Mark.
Speaker 2: Mark surged up.
Speaker 1: Using the slack of the rope to lunge at the
hitchhiker startled. The man staggered back, firing a wild shot
that went wide. The moment of chaos was all we needed.
I grabbed Mark's hand and we bolted, racing towards the
front door. We burst into the night. The cool air
sharpened our lungs. Behind us, the hitchhiker shouts and the
sound of his stumbling pursuit filled the air. We didn't
look back, running blindly into the foggy night, driven by
pure survival instinct. The sounds of pursuit faded into the
distance as we reached the main road, whereby some stroke
of luck, a late night traveler stopped for us. He
called the police as we collapsed into his car, our
body shaking, our minds reeling from the terror we had
just escaped. The police later apprehended the hitchhiker at the farmhouse,
still ranting wildly about betrayal and vengeance. Mark and I
were safe, but forever changed. The ordeal left scars that
no time could heal fully, a haunting reminder of the
night we faced pure madness and survived. Reflecting on it
all now, I realized how close we came to a
different ending, one written by a madman driven by the
ghouls of his past. But in the frantic escape, in
our desperate will to live, we rewrote our fate, choosing
life over death he had planned for us. It was
just past midnight when I first saw him, a solitary
figure standing by the side of the road, thumb mount
stretched towards the murky glow of my headlights. His presence
was as unexpected as it was unsettling. This stretch of
highway was seldom traveled, even during the day. Reluctantly, I
slowed the car. The window rolled down with a hesitant whir.
You need a lift, I called, my voice, betraying a
trace of unwilling curiosity. The man nodded. A grateful smile
crossed his weathered face as he hurried to the passenger side.
Thank you, he said, settling into the seat and pulling
the door shut with a definitive thud.
Speaker 2: I wasn't sure anyone would stop.
Speaker 1: As we drove, the fog seemed to thicken, curling around
the car like a living entity. So where you're headed,
I asked, glancing at him. He was older than I
first thought, his eyes deeply set and carrying a weariness
that seemed out of place. Just up ahead, he replied,
gesturing vaguely forward, not far. That's when the oddities began.
First it was the radio. As we talked, it spontaneously
switched on, flipping through stations, rapidly, settling on an old
time time that crackled with static. I reached to turn
it off, but he stopped me. I liked this one,
he said, his voice suddenly distant. It's been a long
time since I heard it. The song played eerily, notes
warping slightly, as if the signal was bending around the
curves of the road. We passed a sign, then one
that was too rusted to read, its edges consumed by
ivy and darkness. There's an old marker for a cemetery,
he commented, his gaze fixed on the disappearing sign. Not
on the maps anymore, people forget. The atmosphere inside the
car grew heavier, the edges of my visions seeming to
flutter like the wings of night birds. Shadows appeared to
move with autonomy, darting in and out of the dim
light cast by the car's interior. I swallowed hard, focusing
on the road that now seemed more like a passage
through another world than a mere highway.
Speaker 2: A bridge was coming up, he.
Speaker 1: Sat next, his tone casual, as if remarking on the weather.
Strange things happen around it. Watch As we approached, the
head lights flickered, a stutter, and the illumination that made
my heart skip. Looking into the rear view mirror, I
thought I saw a figure standing by the water's edge,
their movements jerky and unnatural. But when I blinked, they
were gone.
Speaker 2: It's the light, he murmured. They don't like it. Who
doesn't like it?
Speaker 1: My voice cracked, the questions slipping out before I could
think better of it. The ones who stay here. Imagine
you've been tired for an eternity and finally wished to
settle down in the warm arms of the deep slumber.
But some buffoon brandishes a big light right in your face.
Speaker 2: Would you hate it?
Speaker 1: He answered, simply, as if that explained everything. We drove
in silence for a while, until suddenly the car's temperature
dropped sharply. My breath became visible, fogging the space between us.
He didn't seem to notice his attention. Now on the
road ahead, there's a diner not far from here, he
broke the silence. It's abandoned now, But sometimes if you
look right, you can see the patrons inside. I stared
at him, unease twisting in my gut.
Speaker 2: See them, how? Just watch?
Speaker 1: As we passed the dilapidated building, I risked a glance there,
behind the fogged and broken windows, where the silhouettes of
people frozen mid meal, their heads turning unnaturally slow to
follow our passing car. My heart hammered against my ribs,
the sight too surreal to process fully.
Speaker 2: What the who are they? What's happening?
Speaker 1: I managed to ask, my voice a whist of its
usual timbre. They're stuck, stuck, souls forgotten in time, he said,
his eyes reflecting a sorrow that seemed as deep as
the night itself. But what better place to get stuck
at if not for a diner? At least it's not
on the road like me, His last words hung in
the air, a confession wrapped in a chilling revelation. Like you,
I echoed, my mind racing as I tried to piece
together the meaning behind his cryptic statements. The road ahead
seemed to stretch into infinity, the fog a curtain veiling
the world beyond. Yes, he replied, his voice steady, eyes
locked on the horizon. I've been on this road longer
than you can imagine, always hitchhiking, always picked up, but
never reaching my destination. A cold shiver ran down my
spine as I processed his words. Why what keeps you here?
I asked, not sure I wanted to hear the answer.
He turned to look at me, his face illuminated by
the intermittent flicker of the dashboard lights. Unfinished business, he said,
the cliche ringing eerily true in the context of our
ghostly journey. There's something I need to do, something I
should have done long ago.
Speaker 2: What is it?
Speaker 1: I asked, the weight of his gaze making it difficult
to concentrate.
Speaker 2: On the road.
Speaker 1: Just keep driving, he instructed, pointing forward where the road
took a sharp bend.
Speaker 2: It's not far now.
Speaker 1: As we rounded the curve, the air grew oppressively tight,
as if the night itself was constricting around us. The
radio burst to life again, this time speeling a jumble
of numbers and static that made my ears ring. The
car began to shake, a mechanical shudder that grew with
each meter we advanced.
Speaker 2: This is where it happened.
Speaker 1: He said, softly, Almost lost beneath the cacophony of the
radio and the rattling car.
Speaker 2: My car had a flat tire.
Speaker 1: I was out, crouched on my knees when an out
of control wagon came for me, and I don't remember
anything else after that. The words had barely left his
lips when a sharp, bright light pierced the fog ahead. Instinctively,
I slammed on the brakes, the car screeching to a halt,
just inches from a massive oak tree that hadn't been
there a moment before. My heart pounded violently against my chest,
the shock of the near miss paralyzing me momentarily. He
opened the door, stepping out into the mist. Thank you, Ray,
he called back to me, his figure starting to fade.
That is when it hit me. I had never revealed
my name to him. Oh wait, I shouted, my boy's
hoarse with fear and confusion.
Speaker 2: Where are you going? Is this for real?
Speaker 1: As he disappeared, the radio quieted and the oppressive atmosphere lifted,
like a dark cloud passing. I sat there for a
long moment, catching my breath, before finally turning the car around.
The drive back was unervingly quiet, The fog seemed to
retreat with every mile, and the road behind me felt mundane,
no longer a passage through a haunted night, but just
asphalt and lines. It wasn't until I reached my own
front door that the magnitude of what had happened truly
hit me. I was shaking, not from the cold, but
from the profound eeriness of giving a ghost a ride.
I resolved then that I'd never travel that stretch of
road at night again. But as I turned to lock
the door behind me, I caught a glimpse of something
that chilled me to my core, a set of footprints
leading up to my house, disappearing at the threshold, as
if someone had followed me home from the fog. And
in that moment, I realized that I wasn't truly alone.