The headlights of Sam’s pickup truck spot-lit a thin figure hunched over in
cold with its back to the wind and driving snow.
The hitchhiker opened the door to Sam’s truck. A biting-cold wind blew in a
swirl of snowflakes.
“Hey, thanks for stopping!”
The hitchhiker shook the snow off his coat. His brown eyes made brief
contact. His face was thin, clean-shaven with hollow cheeks, and grimy. His lips
had a tinge of blue.
“I was getting pretty desperate out there, you maybe saved my life,” the
hitchhiker said, as he tossed his backpack on the floor and slammed the door.
The hitchhiker hunched over with his arms wrapped around his middle, and
he offered a small frail hand.
“I’m Ralph.”
Sam thought he might be shaking a cold, rough piece of Jell-O. “I’m Sam.”
He looked in the rearview mirror; no cars were behind him.
“I’ll be damned if this here coat ain’t gots more holes than a sponge.”
Ralph sat up straight, unbuttoned his coat, opened up underlying layers,and
stuck his hands in his armpits. He rocked back and forth.
“Where’re ya…ya…headed, Sam?”
His teeth were chattering. Ralph reached down for his backpack and
bounced the grimy thing on the seat; clumps of slush splattered the new leather.
“Hey now, come on…put that thing on the floor.” Sam couldn’t get a good
look at the mess.
“It’s only snow.”
Sam felt his back and neck tighten.
“Where’re you heading, Mister?”
“Uh…just up the road.” Sam visualized the map for the next town, to dump
Ralph.
“Perfect! I’m heading to Worthington…that’s Minnesota. It’s just up the road,
about four hundred miles.”
“I’m not…going much further,” Sam said.
“Well…uh…do you mind telling where exactly you’re stopping? Ain’t a lot
between here and Wilmington. I know this route, hitch her all the time. So, why’d
you stop? You’re just taking me away from Rapid City.”
“Relax, will ya. Just not going far.”
“Well, I hate to say it, but you don’t know were the hell you are! There ain’t
no such thing as not going far in South Dakota, no sir there just ain’t. So, maybe I’
ll just hitch a ride with the next guy that’s more sure of himself.”
“I know exactly where I’m heading.”
“So, shoot me ‘cause I don’t want to freeze to death. Maybe, I’ll stick around
to see if you need my help.” Ralph put his fingers on the heater controls.
His nails were bitten down to the nail bed.
“Hope you don’t mind me turning up the heat.”
“Mind…why should I mind?” Sam said.
“That’s sarcasm. I’m really cold man.” Ralph sat the backpack on the seat,
again. “Hey, turn the cab light on so I can see.”
Sam hesitated. “Open the glove box. There’s a light in there.” Ralph’s long,
oily brown hair was wet, matted, and stiff looking. He was rummaging in the pack
for something.
“Ha…tuna fish. Want some? Cats love it, so maybe that’s why they gots nine
lives.”
He took out a can opener.
“Don’t mind my fingers.”
“I’ll just enjoy the aroma.”
“Sarcasm, again. I’m no idiot ya know.” The he took out a plastic bottle of
water. “Ah…now that’s good tasting water. Got it from a spring just before Rapid
City. Here, try some.”
“I have coffee,” Sam said.
“Really? Coffee sounds, really, good to me.”
“Sorry, only one cup.”
“But, I can use this tuna tin!”
“What about the oil?
“I drink it,” Ralph said.
“Truth is: I need it…to keep me awake later on.”
“Thought you weren’t going very far. I’m sorry. You just ain’t making’ sense.
Wow, it’s really starting to snow. Love the snow. It makes everything clean.”
“Maybe you’d like to be in it,” Sam said.
“Okay. I’m annoying you. Just pull over.”
“Look, here’s the deal. You looked like a woman that needed help, but you’
re a dirty bum. So, just sit there and—shut up.”
“Well, aren’t you charming’? I’m sorry to disappoint your…your
heroic…erotic fantasies about desperate women. Just pull over. Anywhere. Just
let me out!”
Sam choked the steering wheel. “Look, Pal! You’re just a waste of flesh, a
damn low-life nut job. Hey wait a minute…what’s with the knife?”
“On second thought, I’ve decided to stay…and maybe you can get out. I’m
not about to freeze my tits…balls off. What are you looking at? That was just a
slip of the tongue nothing more, forget it. I’ve always kind a looked like a woman.
It’s best you stay focused on the road.”
“You’re…a…girl. Crazy to boot,” Sam said.
“Okay…if it makes you happy…I am a girl, but I ain’t no nut case! What’s
wrong, Mister Perfect? Are you scared of me? I like sticking this steel blade into
things that bleed.”
Sam began to slow down; he needed an escape route.
“Oops, tuna oil all over your nice seat. Why are you slowing down? Why are
you putting your hand under the seat? Get it out! Or you’ll have to grab the
blade. Men are afraid of being stabbed, so they grab. Not a problem for me
though, I just pull, no matter how hard the brutes try and hold on. I carve a
bloody groove. I’ll do it! Okay! So, are you ready to grab it? I’m pretty fast.”
“I was reaching for a rag, you loser. You can put it away now. I got the point,”
Sam said.
“Ha, that’s, really, funny. No, no, you don’t have the point, yet, and the more
I think about it—the more I have to do it.”
“Well, do it to yourself.”
“Really? Do you want to see me cut myself? Here look at my arm. Yea…it
gave ya a shudder. I’ll do it, so you can watch, if ya want. That’s right…stop the
truck so you can watch. Where should I cut myself? This is exciting! I used to be
afraid but…come on, tell me where. Look…look at my ear. See, like Van Gogh.
Cool, huh.”
“You did that?”
“Yeah, and you like it! Admit it. I could show you more, but I’d have to take
my clothes off. You wouldn’t mind. Right? That’s what all men want. Here just a
sec--I’ll show you what you want. A breast. The reason you stopped. You thought
I was a woman, right. I know!”
She unbuttoned her shirts and opened the glove box.
“It’s not much. No more that a hand full.”
She held her hand over her left breast and twisted in her seat.
“Sorry, you might be disappointed. It’s not very big, but wait. Wait till you see
this: I cut my nipples off. Really. Here look. Like it? Yes, I see you do. Fuck that
nipple piercing. This is lots better. Sliced them both off! Real slow too, so I could
see blood bubbling up. Want a see some more?”
“You’re beyond sick. Here. Pay attention to this.” Sam held a handgun.
“That’s a thirty-eight. Go ahead and shoot me.”
She pulled up her sleeve and began to slice her arm, slowly.
“Look! I’m bleeding. Oops, it’s dripping on your precious seat. I like red on
white. Go ahead shoot. It’s okay, really. I’ve tried many times. I couldn’t pull the
trigger all the way back. Pulled it just a little though. That hammer is hard to see
with the barrel in your mouth, but I’ve looked cross eyed at the hammer and I’ve
seen it move. DO IT. PULL THE FUCKING TRIGGER. You had better do it,
because I’m going to cut my wrist real deep this time! And make a real mess in
your car.”
“Hey, Sheriff, isn’t this the Interstate Hiker? Something like this was bound to
happen, traveling back and forth across the Interstate for as long as she had.”
The bright sun reflected off the mound of snow that covered her body, but its
glancing rays were insufficient to warm the day. “Sad case this one, stabbing
innocent people. Wonder who finally popped her and put her out of her misery?”
The Sheriff put his boot on the body and pushed. “Deputy, get the Coroner
on the line and tell’m he’s sure welcome to come freeze his roids, but she’s
frozen stiff and she’ll fit in the trunk.”
The Sheriff looked around in the snow for indentations. He measured the snow
depth around her. A drift had collected against her back. He walked up to the
driver side door. The Deputy rolled the window down.
“Well, what did he say?”
“He said throw her in the trunk.”
“Come on then, lend me a hand. What about those Vikings today? Man they
had me worried, but that Hail Mary at the end. Jesus what a throw. That new
quarterback has himself an arm.”
The End
Hitchhiker
(2006) (Unpublished)
A Short Story by Russell Traughber
Note: This story may be disturbing to some readers. "Mom, don't read this one."
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