It was supposed to be an adventure, a chance to see the world and break free from the monotony of everyday life. That’s what I told myself when I decided to hitchhike across the country. The open road, the thrill of the unknown, the people I’d meet along the way—it all seemed so romantic, so full of possibility. But in the end, the only thing I found on that endless stretch of asphalt was terror.
I started my journey in late September, planning to make my way from the East Coast to the West. I’d packed light, just a backpack with some clothes, a few snacks, and a map that I barely looked at. I wanted to rely on my instincts, to feel the pull of the road and let it guide me. And at first, it worked. I met kind strangers, slept under the stars, and felt more alive than I had in years. But as the days turned into weeks, and the miles began to blur together, a creeping sense of unease settled over me.
The change was subtle at first. I noticed it in the way the drivers who picked me up would sometimes stare a little too long, or ask questions that felt just a bit too personal. I shrugged it off as paranoia, the result of too many nights spent alone on the road. But then I started seeing the same cars over and over again—vehicles I was sure I’d passed miles back, now somehow ahead of me, moving at an unnaturally slow pace. The same faces peering out from behind tinted windows, always watching, always waiting.
By the time I hit the Midwest, I was exhausted, both physically and mentally. I hadn’t slept properly in days, and every noise in the dark seemed like a threat. I began to second-guess myself, wondering if the road was playing tricks on me, or if something more sinister was at play. But I couldn’t stop. I was too far in, too committed to the journey to turn back now.
One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon and painted the sky in hues of orange and purple, I found myself walking along a desolate highway in Nebraska. The fields stretched out endlessly on either side, broken only by the occasional cluster of trees or a dilapidated barn. I hadn’t seen a car in hours, and the loneliness was starting to get to me. The last town I’d passed through was miles behind, and the next one was still hours away. I was stranded in the middle of nowhere, with nothing but the wind and the distant cry of a coyote to keep me company.
That’s when I saw the headlights.
They appeared on the horizon, a single pair of glowing orbs slowly making their way toward me. Relief flooded my chest. Finally, someone to break the monotony, someone who could take me a little farther down the road. I stuck out my thumb and waited, trying to look as non-threatening as possible. The car—a beat-up old sedan—slowed as it approached, the engine rattling with age and wear. The windows were tinted, and for a moment, I couldn’t see inside. But then the passenger window rolled down, and I was greeted by a man’s face.
He was older, maybe in his late forties or early fifties, with thinning gray hair and a lined face that spoke of hard years. His eyes were sharp, almost predatory, and his lips curled into a smile that didn’t reach them.
“Need a lift?” he asked, his voice rough and gravelly.
“Yeah,” I replied, trying to sound casual. “Just heading west. Anywhere you can take me would be great.”
He nodded and unlocked the door. “Hop in.”
As I climbed into the passenger seat, I was hit by the smell—stale cigarettes mixed with something else, something I couldn’t quite place. The interior of the car was cluttered with old fast-food wrappers, empty soda cans, and a few crumpled maps. The man didn’t say anything as he pulled back onto the highway, the engine groaning as we picked up speed. I settled into my seat and stared out the window, watching the fields blur past in the fading light.
For a while, neither of us spoke. The only sound was the hum of the engine and the occasional creak of the car’s frame as we hit a bump in the road. I could feel the man’s eyes on me, though, glancing over every few minutes, as if he were sizing me up. It made my skin crawl, but I forced myself to stay calm. I’d been in uncomfortable situations before, and I knew the best thing to do was keep my cool, make small talk, and get out of the car as soon as possible.
“So, where are you headed?” I asked, trying to break the silence.
“Just passing through,” he replied, his voice flat. “No real destination.”
“That sounds nice,” I said, forcing a smile. “I’m just trying to make it to California. Figured I’d see the country along the way.”
He nodded, his gaze still fixed on the road ahead. “Long way from home, aren’t you?”
“Yeah,” I admitted. “But I like the adventure. You meet all kinds of interesting people out here.”
He chuckled at that, a low, humorless sound. “Yeah. Interesting people.”
I didn’t like the way he said that, the way his smile seemed to twist into something darker. I shifted in my seat, suddenly very aware of how isolated we were, how far we were from any kind of help. The sun had dipped below the horizon now, and the world outside the car was a deep, inky black. The headlights illuminated the road ahead, but beyond that, there was only darkness.
As the minutes ticked by, the man’s demeanor changed. He became more talkative, asking me questions about where I’d been, who I’d met, what I was running from. His tone was probing, almost accusatory, as if he was trying to dig out some hidden truth. I answered as vaguely as I could, keeping my responses short and non-committal. But the more I talked, the more his smile grew, until it was stretched wide across his face, a grotesque parody of friendliness.
“You know,” he said suddenly, his voice dropping to a whisper, “you remind me of someone I used to know.”
“Oh?” I replied, my throat dry. “Who’s that?”
He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he reached over and opened the glove compartment, pulling out a small, battered notebook. He flipped it open, his eyes scanning the pages as if searching for something. Then he stopped, his finger tracing a line of text.
“A hitchhiker,” he said, his voice distant. “Picked him up on a night just like this. He was heading west, too. Said he had dreams of the ocean.”
I felt a chill run down my spine. There was something in his tone, something that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.
“What happened to him?” I asked, my voice barely more than a whisper.
The man’s smile widened, and for the first time, I saw something flicker in his eyes—something cold and dark.
“He never made it,” he said simply. “Got lost along the way.”
I swallowed hard, my mind racing. I needed to get out of this car, needed to find a way to escape. But we were in the middle of nowhere, with nothing but miles of empty road ahead of us. I glanced at the door handle, wondering if I could tuck and roll without breaking every bone in my body. But before I could act, the man’s hand shot out, grabbing my wrist in a vice-like grip.
“Don’t even think about it,” he growled, his voice suddenly harsh and menacing.
My heart pounded in my chest, and I froze, too terrified to move. His fingers dug into my skin, his nails sharp against my flesh. The smile was gone now, replaced by a look of pure malice.
“You think you’re special, don’t you?” he sneered. “Think you can just wander through life, taking whatever you want, going wherever you please.”
“I—I don’t—” I stammered, but he cut me off.
“You’re just like the rest of them,” he spat. “Always looking for something, always running from something. But you can’t run forever.”
He let go of my wrist, shoving me back into my seat. I clutched my arm, my mind racing with fear and confusion. What did he mean by “the rest of them”? What had happened to the other hitchhikers he’d picked up? I didn’t want to find out, but I knew I didn’t have a choice. I was trapped in this car, with no way out.
The man leaned back in his seat, his gaze fixed on the road ahead. The silence between us was suffocating, the tension thick enough to choke on. I could feel my pulse in my throat, my breathing shallow and ragged. I needed to stay calm, needed to think of a way to escape. But every time I glanced at him, I saw that same predatory look in his eyes, the look of someone who was used to being in control, who enjoyed it.
The road stretched on, the darkness pressing in from all sides. I had no idea where we were, no landmarks to orient myself. It was as if we were driving through some endless void, a place where time and space had no meaning. I wondered if I’d ever see the light of day again, if I’d ever make it to the West Coast, or if I’d become just another name in that man’s notebook.
After what felt like hours, the car began to slow. I glanced out the window, but all I could see was the faint outline of trees, their branches clawing at the sky like skeletal fingers. The man pulled off the road, turning onto a narrow, dirt path that led deeper into the woods. My heart sank as I realized what was happening. This wasn’t a detour—this was the end of the line.
I wanted to scream, to beg him to let me go, but my throat was too tight, my voice trapped by fear. The car bumped and jolted over the rough terrain, the headlights casting eerie shadows on the trees as we wound our way through the forest. I could feel the panic rising in my chest, my instincts screaming at me to run, to fight, to do something—anything—to get away.
Finally, the car came to a stop in a small clearing. The man turned off the engine, and the sudden silence was deafening. He didn’t move right away, just sat there, staring straight ahead, his hands gripping the steering wheel. I held my breath, waiting for him to make the first move.
When he finally spoke, his voice was calm, almost serene.
“Get out,” he said.
I didn’t need to be told twice. I fumbled with the door handle, my hands shaking so badly I could barely get it open. As soon as the door was unlocked, I bolted, stumbling out of the car and into the cold night air. The ground was uneven, and I nearly fell, but I managed to catch myself on a nearby tree. I could hear the man’s footsteps behind me, slow and deliberate, as if he knew there was no point in rushing.
I didn’t wait to see what he would do next. I ran.
The forest closed in around me, the branches tearing at my clothes, the underbrush snagging at my legs. I could barely see where I was going, my path lit only by the sliver of moonlight that filtered through the canopy above. But I didn’t care. All I knew was that I had to get away, had to put as much distance between myself and that man as possible.
I could hear him crashing through the woods behind me, his heavy footsteps growing louder with each passing second. My lungs burned, my muscles screaming in protest, but I pushed myself harder, faster. The ground was treacherous, roots and rocks threatening to trip me up at every turn. But I couldn’t stop. If I stopped, I was dead.
I don’t know how long I ran. Time seemed to blur, my senses overwhelmed by the sound of my own ragged breathing and the pounding of my heart. But eventually, the footsteps began to fade, the sound of pursuit growing fainter and fainter until it disappeared altogether. I didn’t dare slow down, not until I was sure I was far enough away.
When I finally stopped, I collapsed against a tree, gasping for breath, my body trembling with exhaustion and fear. The forest was eerily silent, the only sound the rustle of leaves in the wind. I listened intently, straining to hear any sign that the man was still following me. But there was nothing—just the whisper of the trees and the distant cry of an owl.
I had no idea where I was or how far I’d run. I was lost in the middle of nowhere, with no phone, no map, and no way of knowing which direction led to safety. But I was alive, and for now, that was all that mattered.
I sat there for a long time, my mind racing as I tried to make sense of what had just happened. Who was that man? What had he planned to do to me? And why had he let me go? The questions swirled in my head, but there were no answers, only a deep, gnawing fear that I couldn’t shake.
Eventually, I forced myself to stand, my legs wobbling beneath me. I needed to keep moving, needed to find a way out of the woods before morning. I had no idea what was out there, lurking in the darkness, but I knew I couldn’t stay where I was. The man might still be out there, searching for me, waiting for me to make a mistake.
I started walking, my steps slow and unsteady, my eyes scanning the shadows for any sign of movement. The night seemed to stretch on forever, the trees closing in around me like a suffocating shroud. Every rustle of leaves, every snap of a twig sent my heart racing, my nerves on edge. I felt like a hunted animal, trapped in a nightmare with no way out
Hours passed, though it felt like days. I was beyond exhausted, my body on the verge of collapse, but I forced myself to keep going. I didn’t know where I was headed, only that I had to get as far away from that clearing as possible. I clung to the hope that I’d eventually stumble across a road, a house, something—anything—that could lead me back to civilization.
Just when I thought I couldn’t take another step, I saw it—a faint glow in the distance, barely visible through the trees. My heart leapt in my chest. Light. That meant people, safety, help. I pushed myself toward it, my legs trembling with each step, my breath coming in ragged gasps.
As I drew closer, the glow became brighter, more defined. It wasn’t just a light—it was headlights, shining through the trees. I could hear the faint hum of an engine, the low rumble of tires on gravel. Relief flooded my chest. I was saved.
I stumbled out of the woods and onto the road, my eyes blinking against the sudden brightness. The car was idling at the side of the road, its headlights illuminating the path in front of it. I waved my arms, shouting for help, my voice hoarse and desperate.
The driver’s side door opened, and a figure stepped out, silhouetted against the light. I could barely see their face, but I didn’t care. I ran toward them, my legs barely supporting me, my mind focused on one thing: escape.
But as I got closer, I froze. The figure stepped into the light, and I saw him clearly for the first time.
It was the man from the car, the same predatory smile on his face.
“Going somewhere?” he asked, his voice dripping with malice.
I tried to run, but my legs wouldn’t move. The exhaustion, the fear, the hopelessness—it all crashed down on me at once, paralyzing me where I stood. All I could do was stare as he approached, his footsteps slow and deliberate, each one echoing in my ears like the tolling of a death knell.
He stopped just a few feet away, his smile widening as he reached into his coat pocket. My breath caught in my throat as he pulled out the notebook, the same battered book he’d shown me in the car. He flipped it open, his eyes scanning the pages before he looked up at me.
“You’re not the first,” he said, his voice soft. “And you won’t be the last.”
He took a step closer, and I finally found the strength to move. I turned and bolted back into the woods, the darkness swallowing me whole. But no matter how fast I ran, no matter how far I went, I knew I couldn’t escape. The road was endless, the darkness eternal, and the man—the man would always be there, waiting for me, hunting me.
Because on the road, there’s no such thing as safety. Only the endless, terrifying journey into the unknown.
And some roads never lead home.
Hayden Coombs 