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Mr. Azzedine
English10 Founder
English10 Founder
Number of posts : 373
Age : 97
Location : English10
Job/hobbies : Internet
Humor : Thinking
Points :
100 / 100100 / 100

Registration date : 2008-11-06

The Hitchhiker (TEXT)

on 2012-05-13, 15:00
As Andrea turned off the motorway onto the road to Brockbourne, the
small village in which she lived, it was four o'clock in the afternoon,
but already the sun was falling behind the hills. At this time in
December, it would be completely dark by five o'clock. Andrea shivered.
The interior of the car was not cold, but the trees bending in the harsh
wind and the patches of yesterday's snow still heaped in the fields
made her feel chilly inside. It was another ten miles to the cottage
where she lived with her husband Michael, and the dim light and wintry
weather made her feel a little lonely. She would have liked to listen to
the radio, but it had been stolen from her car when it was parked
outside her office in London about two weeks ago, and she had not got
around to replacing it yet.
She was just coming out of the
little village of Mickley when she saw the old lady, standing by the
road, with a crude hand-written sign saying "Brockbourne" in her hand.
Andrea was surprised. She had never seen an old lady hitchhiking before.
However, the weather and the coming darkness made her feel sorry for
the lady, waiting hopefully on a country road like this with little
traffic. Normally, Andrea would never pick up a hitchhiker when she was
alone, thinking it was too dangerous, but what was the harm in doing a
favor for a little old lady like this? Andrea pulled up a little way
down the road, and the lady, holding a big shopping bag, hurried over to
climb in the door which Andrea had opened for her.
When she
did get in, Andrea could see that she was not, in fact, so little. Broad
and fat, the old lady had some difficulty climbing in through the car
door, with her big bag, and when she had got in, she more than filled
the seat next to Andrea. She wore a long, shabby old dress, and she had a
yellow hat pulled down low over her eyes. Panting noisily from her
effort, she pushed her big brown canvas shopping bag down onto the floor
under her feet, and said in a voice which was almost a whisper, "Thank
you dearie -- I'm just going to Brockbourne."
"Do you live
there?" asked Andrea, thinking that she had never seen the old lady in
the village in the four years she had lived there herself.
dearie," answered the passenger, in her soft voice, "I'm just going to
visit a friend. He was supposed to meet me back there at Mickley, but
his car won't start, so I decided to hitchhike -- there isn't a bus
until seven, and I didn't want to wait. I knew some kind soul would give
me a lift."
Something in the way the lady spoke, and the way
she never turned her head, but stared continuously into the darkness
ahead from under her old yellow hat, made Andrea uneasy about this
strange hitchhiker. She didn't know why, but she felt instinctively that
there was something wrong, something odd, something....dangerous. But
how could an old lady be dangerous? it was absurd.
Careful not
to turn her head, Andrea looked sideways at her passenger. She studied
the hat, the dirty collar of the dress, the shapeless body, the arms
with their thick black hairs....
Thick black hairs?
Hairy arms? Andrea's blood froze.
This wasn't a woman. It was a man.
At first, she didn't know what to do. Then suddenly, an idea came
into her racing, terrified brain. Swinging the wheel suddenly, she
threw the car into a skid, and brought it to a halt.
"My God!" she shouted, "A child! Did you see the child? I think I hit her!"
The "old lady" was clearly shaken by the sudden skid. "I didn't
see anything dearie," she said. "I don't think you hit anything."

"I'm sure it was a child!" insisted Andrea. "Could you just get out
and have a look? Just see if there's anything on the road?" She held
her breath. Would her plan work?
It did. The passenger slowly
opened the car door, leaving her bag inside, and climbed out to
investigate. As soon as she was out of the vehicle, Andrea gunned the
engine and accelerated madly away. The car door swung shut as she
rounded a bend, and soon she had put a good three miles between herself
and the awful hitchhiker.
It was only then that she thought
about the bag lying on the floor in front of her. Maybe the bag would
provide some information about the real identity about the old woman who
was not an old woman. Pulling into the side of the road, Andrea lifted
the heavy bag onto her lap and opened it curiously.
contained only one item -- a small hand axe, with a razor-sharp blade.
The axe, and the inside of the bag, were covered with the dark red
stains of dried blood.
Andrea began to scream.

<<There are two ways of spreading light; to be the candle or the mirror that reflects it >> "Edith Wharton"
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