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Angel in Disguise

Author's note: This story is inspired by the great Stephen King.
Author's note: This story is inspired by the great Stephen King.  « Hide author's note
Chapters:   « Previous 1 2 3 4 5 6 ... 10 Next »

The Hitcher

The vodka felt hot and warm against Paul’s strained throat and coated it with a sort of satisfaction. Sip after sip turned into gulp after gulp and eventually Paul found he had one sip left. Sip, not gulp. No matter, the sip was taken as he fished through his cupboard looking for his flask containing a hit of schnapps. He had saved it for an emergency, which is what he considered to be now. Paul’s liver hiccupped with delight and continued to swim in its bitter bath of pure alcohol. Ineptly, he made it to his grimy shower and stripped naked of all clothes. He turned the heat to the max and stepped inside. Such relief it was against his tight skin, hardened from the day’s stress. As Paul closed his eyes to rinse his face off, he could have sworn he saw someone standing just outside his bathroom door. In fact, he would have bet his life savings, which wasn’t much, on it. Startled with fear, Paul jumped. Doing so threw off Paul’s balance and led to him almost falling out of the shower. He counterbalanced himself, however, and continued to shower. Not to say Paul wasn’t scared, he was terrified. He had the police station in mind and knew he was able to seek salvation there. If anyone can help me it’s the police, right? They’ll help me…they’ll hel…
Paul dressed and headed out of the door, starting his way toward the Jeep Patriot which was parked to the side of his home.
“Where ya’ goin’, pal?” asked a disembodied voice from behind the home.
Paul’s heart skipped one, if not two, beats just as the voice spoke out. He knew just who it was.
“Hope you’re not goin’ to them police up that road,” continued the voice. “I’d sure hate for you to go back on your word to me.”
Angered, Paul retorted. “I didn’t give you any word and you know it! You came to my house and started harassing me! If I had any mind whatsoever, I’d take my loaded shotgun that’s lying safely inside and blow your brains out with it because I believe that would be within my legal rights.” Paul pointed to a beaten up, yet still decipherable sign that noted: Private Property, Trespassers Will Be Shot.
“Fair enough,” stated Kissinger. “I’ll be on my way, just remember what I told you. That is, if you’d like to live a bit longer.”
Paul turned to his Patriot and as soon as he knew it, Kissinger had disappeared. He was still going to the police; he couldn’t help but call Kissinger’s bluff. Paul considered a gambling man a living man, and he was intent on living up to his motto. The radio turned on almost immediately upon startup and Paul made his way down the long and twisted driveway which led to an almost empty main road. The small town of Galien, Michigan had not many visitors after the mining incident of 1987 had rendered the roads almost un-drivable. Yet, it was where Paul lived, and he loved it. He had heard from his wife that she had moved to Hubbard Lake, Michigan, a town far north from Galien. He had never been there, but had been meaning to take his boss on a fishing trip up there for years. Paul glided down the interstate, heading swiftly toward town. Many hitchhikers had passed through Paul’s line of vision as he sped down the road. He paid no mind to any of them, as he had a keen opinion of hitchhikers. He had been quoted as calling them, “Wretched swine, beggars of society, and leeches of will.” One hitchhiker, standing in front of a Texaco sign stood out to Paul, however. Paul knew the man and cold decipher his identity through the cake of dirt and grime that littered his face. It was Barry. Kissinger was holding his thumb out, waving it at passers-by, hoping to catch a ride from someone who was insane enough to even consider riding alone with this maniac. Paul swerved his clunky car as Barry seemingly sleepwalked his way into oncoming traffic and was hit head-on by an oncoming truck. A horrid gasp escaped from Paul’s mouth and the stench of cheap liquor crawled its way up his nose. He had just witnessed a death. Part of him was relieved; finally that bastard is off my back. The other part of him was shocked and terrified. He had never seen anything be killed, aside from the myriad of deer he had shot on his last hunting trip in upstate Michigan. As selfish it may have been, Paul let out a sigh of relief, flooding the car with an even more potent scent of booze.
Chapters:   « Previous 1 2 3 4 5 6 ... 10 Next »


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