Forums → Art, Music, and Writing → The Hitchiker, a short story

This story is a little long(a few pages), and it isn't the best, since it was for an assignment and I hurried to make it, but it is still good: I present to you:
The Hitchhiker 

The little boy, Stephen, who was 8, was on a trip from his large town to the country, the big wide country an hour away, so the family could stay at the large house owned by his Grampa and Gramma Pratchett on his motherâs side of the family. They were going for the family reunion, where they spent four days talking and playing in the hot afternoon sun, and on the fourth day they had a large banquet dinner, from doughnuts to New York style steak, courtesy of all the Pratchett family.
Their grandfather was infinitely wrinkled and rutted, like old cow leather. The little boy thought he was very wise, and always looked upon the old man with awe, and a little fear. The old man was, as described earlier, very wrinkled, and had a long white scar running along diagonally across his right cheek. He was of a mild temperament, not given to anger very often. He was good-natured toward the children, but any little cheeky brat caught torturing the puppies or chickens or kittens (there was quite a collection of animals there, even though the place wasnât used as a farm in ages) or throwing rocks at the birds and squirrels was given a sound thrashing from grampa and his thin, cruel rawhide switch. If any little spiteful idiot went to torture the bees in their white, boxy beehives where grampa collected their honey, he learnt his lesson quickly.
Gramma was kind, and nearly as wrinkled as grampa, and she was very understanding. She didnât like to see little kids acting mean, though, and they ended up being swatted and threatened that she would call Grampa. That got them quieted pretty quickly.
Stephen watched boredly out of the window as their little blue car sped steadily towards its destination. Legions of corn swept past, and long rolling plains stretched toward the mountainous looking trees. They finally pulled into Grampaâs drive toward his house. It was, as I said before, quite large, with white painted walls and brown shutters and roof, with a large porch that had movable screen and glass, with stained wood floor, and a shaggy rug, quite large, and an old rocker, some other chairs, and a little glass table to play cards, checkers, perhaps monopoly, if given time. The inside had pale blue wallpaper, and thick, soft carpet. There was Grampaâs study/sitting room, the living room, the den, for the kids to play board games (there were new ones each time they came), and innumerate bedrooms. Grampa and Gramma had one comfortable chair in each, besides the bedrooms, and the den and living room each had long couches with corner seats spanning two walls of the room. There were many other chairs, and a table in each. They were used sometimes to play cards or eat dinner. The kids preferred the den the most, hence the board games.
Stephen ran out and hugged his smiling Grampa and Gramma, and walked into the cool house.
The day was very warm, with birds twittering sleepily, and bees droning lazily about the flowers that Grampa and Gramma planted. Most of the people there, even kids, were inanimate, and stayed in the house or on the porch. Eddy and Betty, four year old twins, went around and bugged everyone, and got into things, getting their rear-ends swatted a few times. Stephen was bored, and he was walking around, pretending to be a fighter plane in Grampaâs sitting room/study, when he bumped into a bamboo cane. He watched fearfully as it fell and knocked a small box off of the little table by grampaâs recliner. Stephen was relieved, then puzzled as he picked up the box. It was a plain wooden box with little notches carved in the side. Just out of childlike curiosity, he opened it, and then drew back and yelled.
A knife tumbled out of the box. The knifeâs metal blade was saw-edged and toothy looking, painted black. The worst thing about it, though, was that the handle was from a human length of spine, with rings of metal between the vertebrae. They were sanded and smoothed, and it had a small metal imitation skull at the bottom of the handle.
Grampa ran into the den, and saw Stephen staring in horror at the knife. He ran to his side and grabbed him.
âBy God, boy, what happened!?â Grampa cried, âdid you cut yourself?!â
âNo,â Stephen sobbed, âI was playinâ, anâ, anâ I accidentally bumped your cane, anâ it hit this box, anâ I opened it, anâ, anââ¦â
âSlow down, boy,â Grampa said. He smiled. âI see why you were scared. That there is one very nasty lookinâ knife, eh?â Stephen nodded. Then, some of the family burst in, along with Eddy and Betty. Eddy reached for the knife. Grampa absently swatted his hand and picked it up. The adults nodded in understanding and left. The kids looked puzzled, wondering why Grampa had such a nasty looking thing.
Grampa sighed, and said to them, âOkay, kids, it looks like I got a story to tell you about this here knife.â He held the knife reverently, thoughtfully.
âWell, it all started when I was visiting my old man for the family reunion. Yâsee, he used to own the house, and I lived a few hours away. I inherited it when he died. I had a little car trouble, so I started out late. And I mean late, it was about six when I got started. I was a little steamed, and it was starting to get dark.
Then, I saw a man, standing on the side of the road. He looked haggard and tired, and nothing really unusual about him. He stuck out his thumb, andâ
âWas it a ghost?! Was it, Was it?!â squealed Eddy and Betty.
âNo,â he sighed impatiently, âquiet down and listen.â
He continued. âI stopped and asked, âAre ya havinâ trouble with your car?â The man smiled sheepishly, and said âYeah, Iâm having a bit of trouble. Look in that ditch.â There was a car, not bad looking, it was red. He asked me, âCan you give me a ride?â I said to him, âYeah, sure! Where you going?â âJust down this road, my house is down there, an hour away.â he pointed. âSomething ran out into the middle of the road, and I swerved, going into the ditch.â I let him in. We talked pleasantly, but he started to go onto the subject of death. I was nervous. He looked no longer pale and haggard, but he now had a mad look to his eyes.â The children looked apprehensive. ââIsnât it funny,â he said philosophically, âthat instruments of death can be so small? And how that they can seem so normal?â He held up this box.â Grandpa picked the box up off the table. âThe man opened it and slid the knife out. âNow,â he said, âkeep driving. Here is where I get to play my little game.â He took the knife, slid it under my neck, and teasingly gave me a little scratch. I was frozen with shock, drenched with sweat. I just kept driving. The man chuckled coldly. âJust like I did with the lady in the car back there.â The man continued. âNow Iâll tell you the object of the game.â I sweated even more. âYou kill me⦠or I kill you. Can you beat me at my own game?â I then noticed he didnât have a seat belt on. I had a wild hope. I slowly pushed down the accelerator.
He grinned at me maliciously. âYouâre in shock, arenât you?â he chortled madly. âThat lady was too. She ran the car off the road that time, just for me. Isnât that sweet? I had my seat belt on though.â I smiled sickly.
All of a sudden, he noticed that the scenery outside was going very fast. âWhat are you doing?â Then he noticed that his seat belt was not fastened properly, as all good little homicidal maniacs should. He cursed and reached for it, but I slammed on the brake, and he pitched forward and slammed his head into the dash. He came near breaking the dashboard, as it was, he cracked it in a starburst pattern. I had a plastic dash, like any car, and I was going 90, pretty near 100 miles per hour. The knife just about flew into my head and ended my life in an ironic way when the maniac let go of it. I hit my head on the steering wheel, pretty hard. I was still feeling okay, albeit a bit dizzy, so I picked up the knife, and slammed it into his chest.â The kids stared at him horrifically. Eddy began to cry.
Grampa chuckled sheepishly, patted Eddyâs head, and put him on his lap. âSorry, kids. Actually, I took it and got the rope I carried in the back of my car, tied his arms and legs, cut off a smaller length of rope, and tied his hands with a twister knot. I dizzily drove the car to my dadâs; I was only a minute away by then. I staggered in the house, collapsed, and my family called the police. The man, a hitchhiker murderer called Jack Burns( he was called a hitchhiker murderer since he killed people when they picked him up) died of massive brain injury. The woman was okay; she wore her seatbelt and had God on her side. It seems like our little maniac had bad luck that night. We met up, ended up marrying.â Eddy piped up, âWhere is Gramma right now?â
âOh, sheâs around back, watching her hummingbirds from the back porch.â Grandpa continued. âWell, I kept this as a reminder of how much God was with me that night. I very well could have died that night. She could have, too.â
After the group of kids disbanded, Stephen asked, âIs that where you got that scar?â
His Grandpa laughed until he couldnât breathe. âNo, son, thatâs the ironic thing! I got that when I fell and tore my cheek on a nail!â Finisâ
David L. Mundy

Well? whatcha think? I tried to put in a lot of description. Didja notice? XD