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shekindacreepytbh · 8 months

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Highway 09

A simple ride home turns out to be anything but...

She folded her arms tightly, burying her face into the faux fur lining the denim collar. She could smell the faint musk of her boyfriends cologne mixing with the lingering smell of cigarettes. She was thankful he’d left his jacket with her when he’d dropped her off earlier.

The rain was really coming down, running down her face and dripping from her now hopelessly flattened hair. As the evening had drawn on the rain had gotten stronger and colder, going from a cool light drizzle to the ice cold downpour.

Water had seeped through the worn toes of her fake leather boots and was currently soaking through her socks. Her jeans where so drenched with water they where hanging heavily off her hips, her inner thighs rubbing slightly against the wet denim.

She already knew what her mother would say when she came through the door, could almost see her mother’s brow furrowing at the water dripping onto her newly carpeted floors.

“My god girl! Did you swim home?” She’d say with love and exasperation, placing her hands on her wide hips.

Or maybe she’d say “Claire Marie Jones, you look like a drowned rat!” then rush away to find her shivering daughter a towel.

Thinking of home seemed to make the rain colder. She shivered as she stood taller and raised her arm higher, thumb pointed upwards as she walked slowly along the highway.

She’d been hitch hiking for years and knew luck played a large part in it. She’d had her fair share of long walks home when no cars felt like stopping. She sent a silent prayer that tonight wasn’t one of those nights as yes another set of headlights shot past her without slowing.

A few minutes later some headlights slowed and she saw a turn signal flick on. The lights drifted closer until the car was stopped a few feet from her.

She noted the car seemed odd, the body seemed too smooth and sleek. Reminding her more of the racecars she saw on tv then her boyfriend’s own admittedly beaten up ride.

The window rolled down quicker then she was expecting, revealing a middle aged man in a dark button down shirt. His top two buttons where undone and his sleeves where rolled up his forearms, he was smiling at her kindly.

“You okay there girl? What you doing out here?” His tone was curious but light as he gave her a cursory once over.

“Just trying to find a ride home. Thanks for pulling over but I’m looking to go south.” She said apologetically, gesturing over her shoulder in the opposite direction the car had been heading.

To her surprise he turned the car off, undoing his seatbelt and moving to open his door.

“What are you-” She began before he cut her off.

“Don’t worry about that love! I’ll take you where you need to go. Can’t leave you out here in the rain, can I? I’ve got a towel in the trunk you can sit on that if you don’t mind. Leather seats see.” He moved towards the back of the car as he spoke, popping the boot and rummaging around.

“Are you sure?!” She couldn’t believe her luck, “Thank you so much! I have a fiver I can give you for petrol, thank you so much! You have no idea!”

She was still babbling her thanks as he laid down the towel and she got in. She placed her purse by her feet, holding her pink fingers in front of the heaters as they pulled off.

“So where are we heading love? Oh, I’m Peter by the way.” He turned to smile warmly at her, not taking his eyes completely off the road.

“I’m Claire. Um, well ideally the south side of Craytown. As close to Maha street as you can get really.”

He frowned slightly, “I know Craytown, got a cousin there. Don’t know Maha street though, can you direct me once we’re in town?”

“You’ll take me to my house?” She was surprised but pleased, thinking maybe karma was trying to make up for the hour she’d spent in the rain.

“Of course! God girl, I’m not going to dump you on the high-street this late at night.” He shot her a surprised look as he spoke but his tone was still kind, she noticed a wedding band on his hand clutching the wheel.

“Thank you again. Honestly I can’t thank you enough, no one was stopping today. I thought I was going to have to walk the whole way.”

Peter shook his head disapprovingly, “That’d take you hours! And in this weather? You’d be lucky if you only caught a cold. Are you thirsty? there’s a can of coke in the glove box, careful when you open it though.”

He reached into his pocket as he spoke, lifting his hips awkwardly to pull a pack of cigarettes out. He placed one between his lips and offered her the packet which she accepted gratefully. She’d finished the last of her pack on her lunch break over a large cup of luke-warm coffee with her supervisor.

She reached into the glow box and took the coke, opening it carefully and taking a long pull. It tasted odd, almost chemical-like but then she normally drank diet. Regardless her rumbling stomach was thankful for the calories.

She laughed softly, “I know, I’ve done it before it’s not a nice walk. I was praying to every god I know someone would stop.” She pulled her zippo from her jeans pocket, running her thumb over the carving of a horse out of habit.

“Well one of them heard you!” He chuckled, taking the zippo from her when she offered. “Hey, this is nice.”

“Thanks, my boyfriend got it for me. It’s got the day we met on the back.” Peter had taken a long drag and handed it back to her as they spoke, the cold metal warmed by his hands.

“Where’s this boyfriend tonight? How come he’s left you to fend for yourself.” Peter asked light heartedly, waving smoke out of his face as they took the exit towards the Craytown.

As she took a drag of her own cigarette Claire felt a pain in her temples, a deep ache working its way back through her skull. Her stomach must have been emptier then she thought, it’d been years since she’d gotten light headed from a cigarette.

She took another sip form the can, getting used to that odd tase, “He always picks me up, I think- I think he’s ill?”

She had a memory in her mind, his car pulling into the car park and the rusty blue door swinging open. It was blurry but she could see his face smiling at her, the lines around his eyes deepening as he grinned. That was yesterday right? It had to be, otherwise she wouldn’t be hitch hiking. She felt lightheaded, couldn’t quite pull the memory into focus.

Peter shot her a look but didn’t push the question, they both gazed at the road as they smoked in companionable silence.

She turned the heater to face away from her, hoping the cooler air would ease her headache and make her feel more alert.

She frowned as she noticed car slowing significantly. “Why are we slowing?”

“It’s a 20 zone love, last thing I need tonight is a speeding ticket.” Peter didn’t look at her as he spoke, tone causal as he continued blowing smoke about the car.

Her frown deepened, she’d grown up in this town and this road had always been 40mph. For a moment she could’ve sworn the speed sign they past said 20, could see the shine of the wet plastic. Then the light-headed feeling came back and there was the old sign she’d grown up with.

She closed her eyes and rubbed them, willing the fog away from her thoughts.

“I’m sure it’s 40.” She said, taking a long pull from the coke can and snubbing the cigarette into the now empty can. She was starting to feel slightly nauseas, her heartbeat raising.

Peter gave a gentle chuckle, “C’mon girly I’m not that bad company am I? Where am I going here, left or right?”

“Left, um…”

He took the turn without comment, the familiar houses lining the shiny wet road.

Except she couldn’t quite focus on them, they seemed to flutter in and out of focus. The street-lights seemed too bright, she couldn’t look at them without the ache behind her eyes growing.

“I don’t feel well…” She said, her voice sounding thin even to her own years.

“You do look a little pale, are you going to be sick? Should I pull over?” His voice was laced with concern and she was starting to hear a faint buzzing sound.

“No, I just- I just want to go home.” Something in her was beginning to panic, an internal alarm going off. Thousands of years of instincts passed down through generations of women was telling her she wasn’t safe.

“I don’t know girl, you really don’t look well maybe we should-”

“Right! Turn right here!” She almost shouted the words, watching the shock on Peter’s face as he swerved right suddenly. They where driving down a street lined with bungalows, her boyfriends house was at the end of the street.

‘He won’t be there’ something whispered in her mind, fear curling hotly down her spine.

‘He will be! And even if he isn’t I’ll wait with The Sundersons till he is! Mr Sunderson is a cop he’ll help me.’ She shot back at the voice, adrenaline cutting through the fog in her head as she formed a plan.

Peter slowed for the speed bump she knew was half way down the street and her hand flew to the door handle. She pulled with all the strength she had and wailed like a wounded animal when it didn’t open.

“…locked….okay?….girl…” She could barely hear Peter’s voice over the buzzing and her thundering heart. She looked to roll down the window and climb out but couldn’t figure out how. There was nothing on the door besides the handle she was still pulling on futilely.

Suddenly the dizziness and nausea went, the fog seemed to dissipate replaced by a sharp pain in the back of her head.

She reached to the back of her head, touching at the wetness she felt there. She brought her hand to her face and stared at the thick blood dripping from her fingers.

She turned slowly locking eyes Peter as she opened her mouth to scream.

___________________________________________________________

He was still shaking as he pulled into his drive way, adrenaline still pumping through his veins.

He turned the car off and just sat there, his last cigarette burning down as he stared at the blood on his knuckles. He looked at the towel on the passenger seat, damp with rain water and blood. Should he keep it? Bin it? Burn it?

Her scream was still ringing in his ears, her pretty little face white with horror and her mouth stretched impossibly wide.

He was like a Zombie the rest of the evening, staring blankly at the tv and mindlessly shovelling his dinner into his mouth. He could see he was scaring his wife and daughters but he couldn’t bring himself to care, his mind still out there on that wet stretch of road.

His wife insisted he turn in early, buzzing about the bedroom and checking his temperature worriedly.

He lay in bed staring at the ceiling, his wife’s warm body moving slightly as she snored softly.

Eventually he couldn’t take it and reached for his phone, opening google and staring blankly at the search bar. He didn’t even know where to start, what to do.

He spent hours scrolling through articles, searching through local and global sites. He was surprised by how many people out there where like him, normal average people who never expected this of their life.

Then, almost on accident, he found it. A small facebook page run by a few locals, focusing on the areas history and urban legends. The pinned post was an article by a local newspaper, released around Halloween years ago.

The Phantom Of Highway 09

In 1972 20 year old Claire M Jones was riding home with her boyfriend, 27 year old Darren Harper, when a fight broke out.

Harper would later say he felt emasculated by the fact Jones was to be receiving a raise, meaning she would be earning more then him.

In a fit of rage Harper struck Jones across the back of the head with a flashlight he carried as night watchman at the local museum. Jone’s skull was shattered and she’s believed to have died instantly.

Harper dumped the body off the side of highway 09, where it would lay undiscovered for 3 weeks.

After the discovery of the body, Harper was taken in for questioning where he confessed instantly. Harper would later hang himself in custody before there could be a trail.

The article went on but he couldn’t read any more, his eyes glued to the image half way down the page.

There was Claire, wearing that same denim jacket he’d seen her in, smiling at the camera. The man next to her had his arm around her and was gazing fondly at her, a beer clutched in his one hand.

He reached for his bedside table and took the zippo from it, the metal reflecting the light from his phone screen.

It’d been on the seat when he’d opened his eyes, in the middle of the towel that was still damp from Claire’s wet jeans.

He ran his thumb over the horse on the front, feeling the ridges of the design against his skin. He flipped it over to read the inscription on the back.

15th March 1971 For my Claire-Bear

#short story #writing #horror #horror story #creative writing #urban legends #hitch hiker #2k words #This is the first time ive ever had the nerve to post something ive written so be nice

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