|Miller's Lane (standard:horror, 1044 words)|
|Author: kendall thomas||Added: Oct 30 2002||Views/Reads: 2057/1243||Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)|
|Hitch-hiker gets stranded.|
MILLER'S LANE By Twisted Wabbit Jimmy pulled up the collar of his tweed coat and stuck his thumb out for the hundredth time. The blue pickup shot on by without slowing down in the slightest bit. In fact, every vehicle that passed seemed to be in a particular hurry. It was a cold, November evening. A drizzle fell. If he didn't get a ride soon he was going to have to camp out in the woods; woods that grew thickly on either side of the road as far as the eye could see. That prospect didn't much appeal to him. He would much rather spend what little money he had left on a warm motel room where he could take a much needed shower. Hiking across America like Jack Kerouac had seemed like a neat idea after getting out of high school. Now he wasn't so sure. It wasn't like he thought it would be. He had quickly run low on money. He was hungry all the time, and the cold was like a constant, gnawing beast that never relented. And, above all, it was boring. He had thought life on the road would be like a great adventure. It was merely drudgery without let up. And, also, people stared at him like he was a bum. It was humiliating. He longed to be back home once more without a care, kicked back in front of the telly, snacking on a thick burger and greasy fries. The thought made his mouth water. As he was finishing these ruminations he saw an old man with a cane limping as fast as he could up the other side of the road. “Hey!” Jimmy called out. Startled, the old man paused, but seemed hesitant; he glanced back over his hunched shoulder, fidgeting as if he had to be on his way and couldn't spare a moment. “Don't people pick up hitch hikers on this damn road? I've been standing here for six hours.” The old man shook his head angrily. “You're on Miller's Lane, boy. Nobody's gonna give you a damn lift on Miller's Lane, especially toward nightfall.” “Well why not?” “Ghosts, boy. Ghosts! Where the hell you from? Sure as hell not from around here.” “Ghosts?” Jimmy muttered to himself. Why the old fool must be half crazy. “If you're smart, boy, you'll turn around and go back the way you came while there's still some light.” “I can't,” Jimmy said. “I've been that way. I want to see what's up ahead.” “Well, you'd better hurry then. You've got about an hour of daylight left. If you can get past Selma Cemetery before then you may be all right. Miller's Lane ends up there.” “How far's that?” “About three miles.” Click here to read the rest of this story (87 more lines)
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