By VH
As the day’s tasks neared completion, Malcolm found himself embracing the open road, a sense of liberation coursing through his veins. The only company he had was the rhythmic hum of his car, the solitude of the journey both comforting and isolating.
Amidst the quietude, Malcolm’s sharp eyes caught a lone figure on the roadside. His Chevrolet came to a screeching halt, the tires briefly protesting against the sudden interruption. Dust settled as the car idled, and Malcolm’s gaze locked onto the hitchhiker standing by the road.
Rolling down his window, Malcolm extended a hand of inquiry, inviting the stranger into the sanctuary of his car. The hitchhiker, known as Erwin, approached, a glint of gratitude in his eyes. Upon discovering that Erwin needed a ride close to Malcolm’s home, the elderly man was prepared to establish a brief connection with the solitary traveller.
Erwin had a rough journey so far, he had money but he had saved it for a concert which is why he was hitchhiking in the first place, he didn’t have enough money for much else. Erwin didn’t really mind it, in fact, he enjoyed hitchhiking cross country as he got to meet new people, hear untold stories and engulf in the suspense of where this journey lead him next. Erwin was quite an extroverted man, always had been.
The atmosphere suddenly shifted, a sinister gloom enveloping the two man. Malcolm, peering ahead, remarked, “Oh that’s a storm ready to erupt, that is.” Erwin undeterred, responded with a nonchalant, “That’s alright, weather can’t stop me.” Raindrops began to patter on the windshield. Malcolm with a hint of concern in his voice, cautioned, “But son, when this town gets a storm, it’s monstrous. You’ll be dead before the sun emerges from it’s womb, you get me?” His eyes remained on the road, occasionally glancing over at a distressed Erwin. Erwin, taken aback by Malcolm’s peculiar language, found his way of speaking a bit jarring.
Malcolm brought the car to a halt as they reached their destination. The storm had fully unleashed its fury by now - the wind howled, whipping leaves in every direction, and the trees swaying as though an old skinny man dancing. The storm amplified the sense of isolation as not a single breathing body could be seen.
Erwin thanked Malcolm and headed towards the nearby bus stop, just one road down. Glancing at Malcolm's weathered house, he wondered about the old man's life. Broken panels and cardboard covered windows hinted at a tough past. But as the wind picked up, Erwin's thoughts faded. Sitting at the bus stop, he reconsidered his plans. The weather turned wild, prompting him to abandon the idea of traveling in such conditions, echoing Malcolm's earlier warning about the storm.
Erwin’s step led him to Malcolm’s house almost instinctively. He knocked three times, and a welcoming Malcolm opened the door. “Uh, I’m sorry to bother you again, but could you tel me where the nearest motel or a resting area may be?” Erwin asked. Malcolm chucked, but concern clouded his expression. “Good gracious, you’re freezing. Come in, I’ll make you some hot tea.” Feeling the cold seeping into his bones, Erwin obliged..
"And you can stay in my spare bedroom," Malcolm added. However, Erwin hesitated, refusing the generous offer, thinking he'd be a burden to the old man. Malcolm insisted, revealing that there weren't any motels around the town. He explained that the town was more of a 'passing by' stop, emphasising the lack of lodging options. Erwin realised he was out of options so he opted to accept Malcolm’s offer.
“I’ve got this bottle of bourbon which I think you’ll enjoy very much,” Malcolm said while pouring two glasses. Erwin made himself comfortable while accepting a glass, he could use it after such a long and tedious journey.
"I normally can't have alcohol; I've been waiting to open this bottle with someone," Malcolm shared, a glimmer of anticipation in his eyes. Erwin, intrigued by this revelation, wanted to unravel more about the honest man in front of him. "Why can't you have alcohol?" he asked.
With a sense of vulnerability, Malcolm leaned in closer to Erwin and confessed, "Well, the medication is for memory. I've been having problems with it, but I didn't take it today." He paused, his voice carrying an eerie note. "Frankly, I think it's just making it worse." On that eerie note, Malcolm decided to change the topic.
The next morning, Malcolm jolted awake to the sound of clattering, instantly on high alert. Gripping his metal bat, he cautiously descended the stairs, only to find Erwin standing in the kitchen, holding a bloody knife. Panic seized Malcolm, and he charged at Erwin, swinging the bat without warning and shouting, "Who are you? Who are you?”
Erwin crumpled to the ground, in and out of consciousness as the relentless blows rained down upon him. Malcolm stopped hitting when he confirmed Erwin was nothing but a corpse now, he stared at Erwin when all the memories came flooding back - the drive, the bourbon they shared and the frenzied confrontation, everything.
The weight of the misunderstanding hit Malcolm like a wave. Hurriedly, he reached for his medicine cabinet, his eyes widening in horror. Visible tension gripped the veins on his neck as he clutched his chest, realising he had mistakenly taken yesterday's medication.
The shadow of fading memories lingered as Malcolm hit the ground, letting himself go.
By VH
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