The Hitch-hiker

Clad in a black suit and a red bow-tie to go with it he finally styled his hair-backcombing-`smirked at the mirror, casting a last glance at his perfect reflection, he grabbed the keys, tucked his 9mm Beretta under his slick white dress shirt, his lucky black xp (pocket knife) and briskly went out the front door humming “Pearl Jam’s hitchhiker”. He was in a good mood today considering it was Thursday again. The luckiest day of the week and the one he particularly enjoyed. Besides the day was of religious importance too. He was a religious person to some extent. He went to the church on Sundays, respected Jesus Christ from all his heart and soul. The only day of the week he was excited for and waited thus. Besides the day was of religious importance too. He was a religious person to some extent. He went to the church on Sundays, respected Jesus Christ from all his heart and soul. He prayed. Praying was more of a habit than an intention though. An old habit his mother had developed in him at an early stage. An old promise he made before she went to meet the Lord herself. Before the Angels carried her wilted soul away to heavens or perhaps hell. Who knew. But by standards of the mundanes she went to heaven as she never missed church. He always ended up at church even when it was just any other day. As-if to speak to God. To tell him what he’s done. Or what he’s doing with his life.

He looked at his Patek Philippe (wrist watch)-that he bought recently from Time sqaure london on a recent business tour-and thought it was about time he picked up the hitchhikers again and smiled to himself. He always picked isolated places where stupid teenagers went to hangout, stayed till midnight and then either stopped strangers for petrol or money because they had none or because they had a terrible fight with their stupid boyfriends or because they thought they saw a ghost and they were too scared to wander off all alone on a dark road surrounded by trees. Sometimes some of those nasty creatures tried to rob off people passing by. Which he considered rude. It was simply unpardonable-unforgivable. He was a man in his thirties and well he liked to pick up hitchhikers and drop them off to destinations which obviously he selected. And sadly, they were all too stupid to even realize his intentions for he gave the impression of a saint.

A tall, handsome saintly man with a cross hanging in his car as-if to remember Jesus Christ or to be helped by Him and protected by Him. Just like his mother’s leukemia was cured by the God or how God saved him from his lunatic father’s beatings. God did help him though by providing him the means to get rid of that drunkard retard. All everyone ever saw was a decent man. A decent man at their service to sort out their problems or listen to them rant as-if he cared. Whatever got him the satisfaction of viciously killing those retards. “Tsk-tsk Kids these days. Didn’t mommy ever teach’em not to take ride from strangers?”
Clifton road suited his purpose as of today, it was desolated and stupid little teens would probably come out here to hangout for stupid expeditions as the rumors had it, this place was haunted. A residence for supernatural. The word haunted was enough for teenagers to visit these places and try capturing some creepy scenes at night or a spirit or two, so, later on they could brag about their bravadoes of encountering a ghost or two with other friends at the Milford Oyster House. Like a predator in ambush he waited for such dimwits to show up and then ask for his help. He didn’t even have to lure them. Ironically, they lured him there or the places lured those punks, as long as it served his purpose, he didn’t care. All he did was drive on the never-ending highways with a hope that a hitchhiker or two would stop him for help. And it always worked. As soon as they were seated and comfortable, chit-chatting with him telling him about home, boyfriend/girlfriend or school or whining about parents how they never understand and pressurize never realizing they were not being taken to their destination and by the time they did it was much too late and then he would shoot ’em up with his Beretta or slit their throats with his black xp, telling them how they should have listened to their mommies when they were being told not to take rides from strangers. But it was too late then.
He would dump their bodies in a dumpster or a spring or sometimes gutters or best leave them in the woods for the animals to eat. Once he literally burnt the bodies-after he was done slitting their throats he soaked them in kerosene and burnt the bodies to ashes. They were probably never found or heard of. But he was disappointed. He wanted to hear it on TV. He turned the stereo loud as it started playing Thursday’s child, one of his favorites and started driving casually. He knew soon enough someone would be in his sight and wave at the sight of his black Cadillac either hoping to loot him or simply be killed by him. Such was the fate. And fate really didn’t care or was probably too busy playing a chess duel with God.
He had been driving for two hours now but he was still patient as he knew the rules by heart. He must not get either impatient or lethargic, his job depended a lot on his mood too. Luckily, today he felt good. The weather was good too. He wasn’t annoyed yet, not slightly and the fruit of his endeavors awaited him. He knew it. As-if God was listening to his thoughts and silent prayers-his or the hitch-hiker’s- A boy in baggy jeans and gray hood came running in the middle of the road waving. “Aah there is my little hitchhiker” He smiled. He intently pretended not to notice him-as part of the plan to rush by- and passed by the boy who started screaming on the top of his lungs “Heyyyy! Heyy Mister!….Stop…Mis..” He stopped and waited for the boy to catch up. As, he did, breathing heavily the boy flashed a really innocent smile and asked him for a ride back home. The kid like other kids started chatting as soon as he jumped the shotgun and admired his car about a hundred times while he with a perfect smile on his face planned in his mind how to kill this one. Then, he started asking him about work and where was he coming from etc. Funnily enough most of them only told him about themselves, yapped and yapped. Uhh!! those ear-bashers. He hated such people. He pretended to listen and curse them deep down. But this one seemed to be a little well-mannered and decent. He liked how casually he spoke and hardly used slang with him or hardly bragged. Too bad he was his prey and he simply couldn’t let this one go because he was a decent college boy who was from Oklahoma where he lived with his frail old grandmother and came to live in New Jersey after she died. A wolf must hunt regardless of it’s prey. The beast is a beast and it is in his nature to hunt the weak.
He was still planning in his mind whether to slit his throat or blow his brains or perhaps both, when he first got punched and almost lost control of the steering wheel and hit a tree but he gained control of his senses and the steering wheel rather quickly and saved the car from bumping into the tree. With a bleeding nose he reached for his beretta with his left hand when the kid laughed and told him to freeze. He stopped the Cadillac and for the first time in his entire life felt stupid for not having the upper hand. How on earth did he lose the concentration? How did it happen? The kid sneered at him and mockingly said “Yo Old Man! Didn’t your mommy ever tell you not to give a ride to strangers?” He shot him in the head and blew his brain matter all over the wind screen and window. Then the hitchhiker took out the stranger’s beretta from under his coat holding it through his handkerchief and folding it in the layers thus. He got out of the car, and ransacked the car thoroughly. He found kerosene, ropes, a pair of pressed and dry cleaned suit. He sprinkled the kerosene on the body and threw his lighter at it, hence burning the body. Then he ran away as fast as he could, farther into the woods dumped his grey hood , heard the bang and went away humming slayer’s “beauty through order”.
Today was a good day.
“At your mercy they suffered while you sat there painless
Vile and shameless
Crowned you are now for the merciless sins
It’s the end…..”
-Aiza Chaudry aka The Gypsy
NOTE: It turns out there’s an 80’s movie named hitch-hiker as well.. But I assure you mine is different. I do not steal things. 🙂
Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s