The Hitchiker

Below is the beginning of a short story I'm writing. Be warned that this is a pre-pre-pre-pre-First Draft, so it will likely be heavily revised as the story unfolds.

Thump, thump, thump. Sunflowers, autumn leaves, and a lilting laughter faded to black as I slowly came to. I pried my eyes open to the heavenly vision of a dumpy matron with a streak of tomato-red in her otherwise greying hair. She was thumping the diner table with a plump fist.

“Honey,” she rasped, “Your beautiful snoring was just breakin’ my heart, and we can’t have that.” She flashed a dazzling smile and waddled away, a tray of half-eaten lasagna balanced on her arm.

“Sorry, Wendy.” I yawned. My throat felt like sandpaper. “Won’t happen again.”

“Right. Like I haven’t heard that before.” She snorted and disappeared into the kitchen.

For a few minutes I sat there, fingering the lock around my neck, my mind still chasing red and gold shadows. But then my eyes wandered over to my watch, and I shot up like a buck on steroids, hitting the electric lights. I quickly stilled the jangling, but not before I heard Wendy yell, “If you knock out my lights Avrum, you can bet your britches I’ll knock out yours, y’hear?” I swore quietly at my clumsiness while I wiped the grease on my jeans.

“And no swearing in my diner!” She paused. “Only I’m allowed!” My lips quirked at that but I was wise enough to keep quiet. Wendy had spunk, and we loved her for it. All of us truckers did.

I lurched towards the exit on stiff legs. At that moment there was a jingle at the door, and Jim Burkman sauntered in. As I passed him, he gave me a once over and an easy smile.

“Hey, Avrum.” he greeted in a voice too friendly to be innocent.

“Jim.” I nodded, but didn’t smile back. The man howled in a chilling way when he shot his load. Better not chance it tonight with a full moon. Besides, I had a new shipment to pick up and I was late.

I skipped across the parking lot, fumbled for my keys, and finally installed myself into the snug and slightly smelly lair I’d called home for the past seven years. The careworn leather seat sighed as a shifted my weight. My fingers lingered for a moment on an old postcard clipped to the dashboard, and then in went the key and I was off.

Pulling onto the highway, golden lights illuminated a familiar and friendly trail. But the moon was bright tonight, and it cast a ghostly light of its own on a landscape that was neither familiar nor friendly. It was the kind of moon which could corner a man’s thoughts and make him think about the journeys life had taken him and the things which could or should not have been…

Suddenly, a moving shape materialized briefly in the periphery of my headlights. I slowed down ahead, coming to stop with my engine still roaring. I was pretty sure of what it was.

I waited.

Moments later, I heard the rapid staccato sound of shoes hitting gravel shoulders.

To Be Continued...