The Hitchhiker

I’ve heard my dad tell this story probably 20 times. No two times alike. Over the years, I’ve heard him add sections, delete others, and seen the story develop into what is now lodged in my mind.

It was a dark and stormy night in a small town in upstate New York. Betsy Johnson was at her boyfriend’s place, down on the corner of Mulberry and 2nd street. She was leaving the next day to go back to school and she and Tommy spent the night talking about how much they were going to miss each other.

She had promised her parents that she would be home by 10:00 p.m. The digital clock above Tommy’s bed now read 10:30 p.m.

“I gotta go,” she said and started gathering her things.

They kissed on the front stoop and Betsy waved to Tommy as she got into her beat-up Toyota Camry, pulled out of his driveway and headed down Mulberry.

Her parents were going to kill her. She was constantly coming home late.

Betsy lived about 15 minutes out of town, down Route 40 in a small white house. She tried to think of some excuses; she needed something original so her parents would let her out again the next time she came home.

And as she went over what to say to them something in the distance caught her eye. It looked like a deer on the side of the road and she slowed down. Betsy could see its eyes reflected in her headlights. As she neared it, she realized that it wasn’t a deer, but a hitchhiker.

The man was dressed all in black, with a black skullcap pressed down on his brow. He held his thumb out and stared. His eyes burned right through her, like daggers. And Betsy knew that she was not going to stop and pick this hitchhiker up. She pushed the gas and the Camry lurched past the man.

Betsy was freaked out, and very glad that the hitchhiker was now disappearing in her rearview mirror. She took a deep breath and calmed herself down.

Her mind starting to wander, she was excited to be going back to school. She liked her life there, her new friends, her classes. She was taking astronomy this semester and she loved the stars.

And then she saw them; those eyes in the distance. She couldn’t believe it.

Standing on the side of the road was another hitchhiker, dressed all in black, black cap pulled down to his eyebrows. His thumb outstretched.

And as she approached the man, she realized that it was the same man she had passed a couple of miles back. His stare was the same and he followed her with his thumb as she passed.

Again she hit the gas and lurched past him. She wasn’t breathing, as if holding her breath would make any difference.

“It’s fine,” she said. “Just a coincidence.”

Her eyes checked the clock on the dashboard and her heart sank. The small gas light underneath the needle had just gone on. The needle was on the E, for empty.

She dismissed it from her mind. The thought of running out of gas was too scary to dwell on. She had been in this kind of situation before. Well, not exactly, but she had always made it home running low on gas.

And as she climbed the large hill in front of her, in the distance she saw him. It wasn’t surprise that washed over her now, but sheer terror. For on the side of the road stood the hitchhiker. And in his outstretched hand, instead of an innocent thumb raised, he held a shimmering knife.

This time as she went to hit the gas, the Camry hiccupped, stalled and slowed, and as she rolled past the hitchhiker he bent down and looked at her through the passenger window of her car.

Betsy fumbled with the keys and started the car again. She hit the gas and the Camry responded. Making one last lurch forward and dying.

But she had momentum. And the car was rolling; it rolled over the top of the hill and started down the other side. She was three miles from her house, and picking up speed. Her heart beat a mile a minute.

In the distance was the Blue Moon Diner. Its neon light cast an orange glow on Betsy’s face and a small sign blinked “Closed” underneath. But under the closed sign was a telephone booth, and Betsy knew when she saw it that was her only chance.

In the rear view mirror she saw the hitchhiker slowly walking down the hill. She pulled into the deserted parking lot, stopped the car and leapt from it, leaving the keys in the ignition and the door open. She raced towards the phone booth, the Camry beeping a warning that she was forgetting her keys.

The hitchhiker was approaching, calmly strolling toward her, the knife open at his side.

She entered the phone booth, and pulled the door shut behind her. In the dark, she took a handful of change from her pocket and felt for the ridges of a quarter. The hitchhiker was getting closer, passing her car. The quarter went into the slot and she picked up the receiver.

She dialed the pattern of her parent’s telephone number from memory. The hitchhiker was a few feet from the phone booth. Betsy took her leg and pressed it up against the door. The phone rang.

The hitchhiker was standing in front of her, his eyes staring into hers. He took the tip of the knife and sliced his fingertip. The phone rang again. He took the bloody finger and pressed it up against the glass of the phone booth, smearing it back and forth.

“Please, please, please,” Betsy whispered to herself.

Someone picked up the phone.

“Johnson residence,” the voice said. It was not someone she recognized.

She tried to speak slowly, but her words came out quickly. “Hello, hello, this is Betsy, I need to speak to my mother.”

The voice took a deep breath and spoke very clearly. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Johnson can’t come to the phone right now. She’s in shock. Her daughter has just been murdered by a hitchhiker.”

The receiver dropped from Betsy’s hand and swung back and forth by its cord.