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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Thrillers  |  House: Booksie Classic
A tale about a mysterious stranger, without a name, without an identity, but definitely with a past.

Submitted: March 20, 2014

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Submitted: March 20, 2014



Heart pounding, hands shaking, covered with his blood. The stench of blood fills the thin air in the car. I can hear the sound of my own heart pounding in my ears. Boom... Boom... Boom. Like the drums of war. I stare wide eyed at my victim sitting beside me. His eyes stare blankly back at me, all the light and life has left them. The knife is still poking out of his neck, blood flowing from it. Time has slowed since I did this. Since I ended his sick twisted life. How could I do this? It’s not as if I was stronger, because this guy had so much strength over me. It was my instinct. After I lunged at his gullet, he fell beneath my blow like a small child. His jugular slashed in half so easily, like butter beneath my blade. His thick blood oozed and bubbled and he struggled to breath against the cold steal. He drowned on his own blood. Horrible way for a man to die, but he deserved it. They all do.


After a long day of constant walking I decided to rest my aching bones. Lowering my pack I sat beside it on the road. Placing my head in hands, I closed my eyes to listen to the silence of the night, to block out the noises of the cars passing by. Apart from them, the night was peaceful. Nothing is more soothing to me then the white noise which hums on a highway at night. A loud honk awoke me from my rest. I looked up to notice a white falcon parked not far from me. Cocking my head to the side like a confused pup I took in the sight. One person, a man, between 40 and 50. Thinning hair, broad shoulders, large build. Reasonably intimidating man, with a welcoming smile.


“Need a lift mate?” The driver asked. I nodded and returned his smile politely. It isn’t often someone stops for me, very rarely can I rest and travel. At first he seemed genuine, kind and friendly. He told stories of many different hitchhikers he has picked up on his travels. Despite his attempts to make me feel at ease, my instincts would never dull. I could tell there was something sinister within. He turned the radio on.


As my mind drifted listening to the songs playing, I began to drift asleep. As much as I wanted to stay alert, I am still just a man. The worst part about sleeping, the mind wonders, wonders to dark places. I began to dream. I could see the flames of a fireplace, flicker violently. A hot metal bar, poked it tenderly. A woman, fair skinned and dark haired, teased the fire with the prod. She turned, a smile of pure self-righteous power glowed from her snarl.  A mighty hiss spat from her lips, like a venomous snake feeling threatened. She pulled the rod from the fire and raised it towards me. My ears filled with an earsplitting child’s screech. The sound awoke me violently. A burning sensation stung at my hands. I rubbed them gingerly. The scars of my past still remain from the dark place. No distinctive finger prints, no identity. This was no dream, it was a memory.


Realizing where I was I snapped out of my distraction. I was still in the car, with a complete stranger. I had let my guard down. I noticed quickly that the car had stopped. Must be my stop. “Cheers mate.” I said to my driver. He smiled back at me with a suspicious grin. Ok I thought. Reaching for my door handle, I couldn’t get out. The bastard locked the door. I looked at him, blood boiling.


“You’re not going anywhere, little boy!” He snarled. He lunged for me, with a grin of sick sexual arousal. But I was ready for his attack. The whole ride I held in my palm a small switch blade, it was small but big enough for what I intended to do with it. By the time he reached my personal space, I rose my knife into his neck. I jabbed him repeatedly under the chin. Then drove the blade downward to his jugular. My prey struggled and gargled, he never saw this coming. He fell back, twitching like a gutted fish. I stared back at him. My instincts had taken over, that wasn’t me who did this. But it was always me who had to clean it up.


Keep it together. Shaking my head I try to calm myself. I reached for my knife and attempt to pull it from the soft meat it protruded from. I cleaned my knife on my jeans, the only bit of clean material. Just some more clothing I will need to get rid of. Sighing I reach over and unlock the car door, taking the keys with me. Luckily for me this car has a boot. Last time was in a small car. That night I had made a mess of her. But just like this one, she had other ideas about me. She proved that not only men can be capable of evil things, but, I always knew that. Pulling my victims heavy corpse from the car is as difficult as I had imagined. Being so heavy I am forced to drag him along the dirt, leaving bloody skid marks as I do so. Luckily the place my driver intended to ‘do away with me’ was as deserted and desolate as could be. The car is surrounded by tall foliage.


I dumped the body leaning against the car, he sat there, staring blankly at me. Don’t look at me, is all I can think staring into his dead eyes. I began to smell death in the air, the stench of blood has filled my nostrils. It disgusted me. I need to hurry. I unlock the boot and lift it. Another overpowering aroma fills the air. It smells worse than the fresh corpse beside me, it smells old. Long dead. I covered my nose, the smell is so repulsive it almost made me vomit. In the boot is a large camper back pack, with a sleeping bag attached. What the fuck? Ignoring the smell I reached into the boot and pull out the heavy pack. Then, I see the source of the smell. Wrapped in a garbage bag, is something pink, something fleshy. Something that once was alive and breathing. It is part of the remains of a human. Flies hover over the bag, taking in the stench. I have no idea what part of the body is in that bag, the pink flesh I can see is mutilated and carved beyond recognition. The smell and sight is too overwhelming, I could not hold in my repulses anymore, I hurled my stomach onto the floor. After a few moments of being sick, I was able to control myself again. I tore my collar off my shirt and covered my nose with it. Further inspection of the boot I noticed a barrel of gasoline. That will come in handy.


After taking the gasoline and backpack out of the car I violently stuffed the corpse into the boot. Closing the boot lid covered the pungent odor. The clean air is welcoming to my lungs and dry throat. I decided it time to inspect the bag. The sleeping bag I decided to hold onto. Inside the larger pocket are several shirts, pants, socks and underwear. Brilliant. I hate the idea of wearing dead men’s clothes, but it wouldn’t be the first time. I pulled them out and laid them on the ground beside me. At the bottom is a large plastic container of water. Yes, this is exactly what I need. I took a quick swig to clean my vomit tasting mouth and screw the lid back on. A few bars of dehydrated food is stashed in a side pocket, I didn't eat any as my hands were still covered in blood. I will eat later. I placed them on top of my new clothes. Time to search the front pocket. Inside is some more food, a water canteen, a towel and a small wallet. I set the items down. I flipped the wallet around in my hands, it’s tattered and old. Inside the wallet is over $100 and a few membership cards to various companies I had never heard of. I pocketed the money. The driver’s license didn't belong to my victim, it must have belonged to the remains in the boot. I felt a shudder shake my spine, I was staring into the face of that smell, the flesh in the bottom of the boot. That bit of death in the boot was once a young man. He was 20, blond hair, brown eyes, and a wide smile. He seemed so young. The license wasn’t in English, a tourist backpacker.  Another dead hitchhiker from a foreign land no one will find.

I felt overwhelmed looking into the face on the license. I put it back, I can’t stand to look at him anymore. He was so close to being my age, but never given the chance. I went to close the wallet when a photo fell out. I bent down to pick it up and felt a strange emotion I never felt before. It was perhaps sympathy. The photo was of the boy, he had his arm wrapped around the shoulders of a young woman. She was beautiful.  Her smile mirrored that of her companion. The way he held her gave me the impression they were more than friends. His eyes didn't stare at me in this photo, they stared at her. His smile was of such happiness, such love. I have never understood love, or happiness. Seeing this picture, made me realize that. I folded the picture and put it back in the wallet. I decide next time I was near a police station I would drop the wallet outside. Maybe someone will look for this boy. Even though they will never find him.


I striped from my blood-soaked clothes and threw them onto the ground. I took the large container of water, filled some into the canteen, and I then pour the remainder over my body. I attempted to clean as much of myself with it as I could. As I washed my eyes with the cool water another memory revealed its ugly head.

I am being forced into a shower, the water is beyond freezing. It stings my skin. Harsh fingers are wrapped around my thin, young neck. I try to breath but the water keeps being forced into my face. Over the rushing water I hear a woman’s voice. It is my mother.

“Wash out the devil! Wash out the sin! Wash out the evil of the father, the evil of the devil!” it was what she loved to taunt as she attempted to ‘clean’ my soul. I would beg her to stop, cry even. But the tears and agony only empowered her self-righteous hate.

“A child born of sin! Conceived of evil and hate, not of love and faith! I should have killed myself when I found out I was to carry the bastard child made by an act of such evil!” I never knew my father. But all I knew was my punishment, was because of him. Because of what he did to her. I hated him for that. But not as much as I hated her.

I grabbed the towel and dried my cold aching body. I dressed myself and packed my bag with the items I claimed. I feel awful about stealing from a dead man, but it is how I must live.

I searched the car for anything of use. I found some more cash and a lighter. I pocketed them. I eventually found a half empty packet of matches. Perfect, they will be easier to use then the lighter. I threw my blood soaked clothes into the car, and finished my long job. I poured all the gasoline over the car, then took a few steps back. I lit one of the matches, very carefully, then flicked it onto the car. It went up in flames, so easily. They always do. I sat a safe distance away, wrapped the sleeping bag around my shoulders and watched the flames. In a while I would begin to walk again, I never stayed to watch long, it isn’t safe. I sat and watched the car crack, flicker and burn. Soon it would explode, along with the evidence. Not that I would ever be caught.

It is hard to catch a man who does not exist.

Staring into the fire I rubbd my hands together, feeling the tattered skin. As I watched a voice spoke to me in my mind, it was my mother.

“Hands, they tell the story of your father’s evil. You are not my son, I did not want you. The fire will burn the devils markings off you. Hell’s fires will have your soul and your identity.”

As I said, it is hard to catch a man… who does not exist.

© Copyright 2018 Gailiel the Bard. All rights reserved.

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