Short Story - "Need a Ride?"


Epic Gamer
Ok, I know its not the best story ever but I thought "why not". It's my first attempt at writing in the first person perspective so don't expect it to be the equivalent of Stephen King :lol: Any feedback/criticism is welcome.


Need a Ride?

I drummed my fingers on the wheel to the beat of the radio, eyes on the road ahead. It was hard, keeping my concentration on the road; the rain pounding on the window, the steady swish of the wipers, the same scenery passing by for miles on end. I hadn’t seen another car for three or four hours. I was travelling on a dark back road through the countryside, thick, jungle-like forestry as far as the eye could see, the car headlamps the only source of light visible.
I checked the clock on the dashboard; 00.43 a.m. I held back a yawn, arching my back, trying to get some feeling back into my shoulders. I was going to have to stop soon, I needed to pee. Eying the wet scenery by the side of road, I wasn’t much looking forward to standing in the rain under a dripping bush.
I took a sip of water from the bottle, turning my attention once more to the road ahead. Then I saw it; a glimmer of light in the distance stretch of the tarmac. It was hard to see much of anything in the rain; I slowed down to about half the limit, straining to make out the source of the light.
After about a mile and a half, I saw it. A car, parked on the opposite side of the road, facing my direction. I slowed some more as I got closer. Then, from about twenty foot away, I saw a figure, standing by the hood. Wearing a tan, knee-length raincoat, staring at my car.
Remembering a time from my younger days, stranded on the side of a road for hours, hoping for someone to pull over and offer some help, I stopped at the side of the road and wound down the window.
‘You OK?’ I yelled over the rain. If the figure said anything, the rain drowned it out. Winding the window back up, I opened the door and got out. Ignoring the water now streaming down my face, I hunched over, running over to the figure. It was a man, I could see now. I yelled again, ‘Need a hand?’ He nodded. I moved to the hood, waiting for him to pop it. He opened the door, reached down, pulled the lever. I pushed the hood up, putting the support rod into place. I didn’t really know what I was looking for. Straightening up, I looked for the guy; he was still standing by the open door. I yelled to him again, asking for a lamp or a torch. Seeing him shake his head again, I thought quickly.
Closing the hood, I moved over to him, and pointed at my car. Then I ran over to the driver side, opened the door, got inside. I watched the guy move around the hood. He walked slowly, like he had all the time in the world, careless of the rain pouring down his face. He opened the side door, got into the seat, closed the door. Switching the dome light on, I got my first good look at him. His hair was dark and lank, plastered down by the rain. His eyes, purple-grey in the weak light, looked out at the world with a distant, faraway gaze. This gaze had been turned on me now. I felt as though he was staring at a point several feet behind me, so penetrating was his stare.
Suddenly I realized I was staring at him. I coughed, gave a nervous chuckle. ‘What a night, huh? You been here long?’ He shrugged, gave a small shake of his head. ‘Well, I’m not that good with engines, but if you want, I can give you a ride to somewhere? A motel, or a garage?’ He said nothing. ‘Uh…I’m guessing you want to get your car towed…?’ Finally, he spoke. ‘It’s not my car.’ His voice was deep. He spoke slowly and clearly, like he had practised the words in his head before they arrived in his mouth. I looked at him, confused. ‘It’s not your car? But…’
Then I saw his hand; blood dripped onto the seat. ‘Your hand! Are you alright?’ He looked down at his hand, then cocked his head slightly, as if surprised to see the blood. His head turned slowly towards me, a small half smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. ‘It’s not my blood…’ I stared at him, confused. Then, the meaning of his words registered in my mind. His hand dipped into his pocket, came out holding a large hunting knife; I fumbled for the handle of the door. Unable to tear my gaze away from his eyes, my hand continued to grope blindly for the handle. He slowly wiped the blade across the wrist of his coat, his eyes never leaving mine. My eyes wide open with terror, I saw the blood left by the knife.
My hand found the handle, and I pulled. Suddenly, he lunged, bringing the knife around in a swift arc. I yelled, fell backwards out the door. Scrambling to my feet, I shoved the door closed. I heard him laugh from inside the car, then open the side door. Fear spurring me on, I ran to the other car, rain still pouring down. Praying the keys were still in, I yanked the door open, then fell back, gagging at the sight within. There was a body in either seat, a man and a woman, drenched in blood. I retched, threw up. Laughter, behind me.
Scrabbling at the wet ground, I got to my feet. Looking over my shoulder, I saw him walking towards me. I ran to the other side of the car. Looked back. The guy, still walking, his stride long, almost casual, was making his way across the road. Looking around, I saw nowhere to go except the forest. Jumping over the barrier, I ran into the line of trees.
‘You know, I cut the guys throat!’ he called, laughing. ‘The woman? No, I took my time with her…a little cut here, a little cut there…you should have heard her scream!’ he laughed again.
Blood pumping in my ears, I ran on, adrenaline pushing me further. Branches whipped at my face. I stopped suddenly, crouched low. Saw him a few metres away, moving forward, eyes roving back and forth. Held my breath as he stopped nearby, looking around. Finally he moved on. I waited for him to pass by, then moved back towards the road carefully. Climbing the barrier once more. Panting with fear, I ran back to my car. Opened the door, climbed in. Keys still in; started the engine. Put it in gear. Tyres skidding in the rain, set off with a roar. Built up speed, faster.
Suddenly, he ran out of the forest in front of the car, jumping the barrier with ease. I yelled, braking hard. He hit the hood, rolled into the windscreen and over the car. Screeching to a halt, I checked the mirror, saw him lying in the road behind. Breathing hard, I kept my eyes on him. Got out of the door, left the engine running. Picked up the tyre iron from the floor behind the seat. Walked to the body. Nudged him with my foot. No movement. Took a deep breath, closed my eyes. Tears of relief running down my face.
His hand suddenly closed around my ankle, laughing again, bringing the knife up. I screamed, brought the tyre iron down, hard. He grunted, held on. Hit him again. He dropped the knife. Hit him again. He slumped to the floor. Hit him again, and again, and again. Dropped to my knees, sobbing. Blood on my face. Crawled back to the car. Climbed into the seat. Still clutching the iron. Waited for the morning. Waited for the light.

The end. :shifteyes:
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/ˈɪzəˌbɛl/ pink 5
Dude, I think you should stick to drawing.


I read it and was surprised that I didn't zap in the middle of the story. So that must be good, right? lol Or it could be that I appreciate killer/thriller stories. Your protagonist must either be really brave or just stupid. I wouldn't get out of the car after hitting the guy. I'd drive over him and leave!


Epic Gamer
He was in shock! (At least, that's what I'm sticking to :lol:)

I wrote this like, 6 months ago, should've probably edited it a little lol


/ˈɪzəˌbɛl/ pink 5
I wrote poems when I was feeling adolescently depressed. I read them now and they totally make me laugh (although the writings were supposed to be serious and deep). At least I'm glad to know I've matured after all.


Epic Gamer
Huzzah for all :lol:

I found some poems which I wrote when I was about 10. When I read them I was very embarrassed :lol: