jasonabadboy4u 30M
48 posts
6/22/2006 1:21 am

Last Read:
8/13/2006 8:57 pm


This Story Is Influenced And Dedicated To Cannibal Corpse And Evanescence
In the low beams of Robyn's headlights, the dense fog shrouding the deserted street looked like an encroaching army of ghostly beings with grotesquely shifting faces. Even the hum of her car's motor seemed muffled by the cottony tendrils that probed and caressed her vehicle. She was just rounding one of the road's sinuous bends when a little girl appeared from out of nowhere, right in front of her car. Robyn braked hard and felt the car slew around on the mist-slicked pavement. There was no way she could avoid hitting the girl! She braced herself for the sickening thud of impact. . . . Incredibly, it never came. The tires squealed in resistance against the grade of the road, and the car skidded to a halt. Robyn sat with her head pressed against the steering wheel, breathing in short, shallow gasps. After a moment, she turned her head toward the driver's window. She screamed at the horribly distorted face that looked in at her. At least that's what it appeared to be, until she gathered her wits and realized it was the face of the little girl she had nearly hit. Hands cupped around the face, as someone would do to get a better peek inside the darkened window, had given it a monstrously abnormal shape. When Robyn opened her car door to scold her, she realized that the girl's agitated expression had contributed to her eerie appearance. From what Robyn could make of her features in the dim dome light of the car, she was a long haired of seven or eight, and her face and clothes were caked with streaks of grime and mud. She had been out for some time. "Please, Please, Please take me home! I'm scared!" She wailed. Her cry was so heartbreaking it thwarted any idea Robyn had of scolding the girl for nearly causing an accident. Instinctively, Robin opened the rear door of the car, and the little girl crawled in. Only after several queries was Robyn able to discover that the girl lived farther up the road. Her pitiful shivers were punctuated with whimpers and whines that frustrated any attempt at finding out what her name was, or what she was doing on the road at this time of night. Only as Robyn was buckling herself into the driver's seat did it register that the little girl had no coat on, just a denim dress that couldn't have offered much warmth. Robyn passed back the cardigan sweater she had shucked into the passenger seat before heading home from the office, and felt an icy chill where the child's skin made contact with her. The girl had to be freezing to make Robyn herself shiver also to. Robyn fully intended to give the girl's parents a piece of her mind on their negligent care of their daughter. The trip down the street was miserable, with Robyn trying to concentrate on the road before her while murmuring soothing reassurances to her passenger. The complete absence of other cars on the road compounded her uneasiness. At one point she snuck a peak into the rearview mirror to see how the girl was doing. And she could not make out the girl's quivering shape! Certain it had to be a trick of the light and bad weather, Robyn rubbed her cloudy rearview mirror, but the crunch of gravel that indicated the car was veering onto the shoulder forced her attention back to the road. She heard a sniffle from the backseat, and realized how silly her fears were. Almost as suddenly as the girl had appeared in the road, a house materialized out of the haze of the foggy darkness, on the right side. The girl's cries turned to sounds of joy. Robyn's headlights picked up a dented silvery mailbox jutting off the shoulder and she maneuvered her car up the gravel drive. She saw a front porch light gleaming a sickly yellow in the dreary atmosphere, and smelled the pungent wood smoke of a fire as she got out of the car. Robyn reached in to help the little girl out of the back. But her hand met only with empty air! Thinking she had perhaps frightened the girl by her abrupt movements, Robyn crouched down to peer into the backseat. The car was completely empty. A panicky feeling clutched at her throat. Had the girl left the car from the other side? No! She would have heard the car door slam. She patted the seat where the girl had sat, only to find it cold--almost as though it had been vacant all along. Unnerved, Robyn stumbled up the flagstone sidewalk to the porch of the house and pounded on the screen door. Her urgent blows eventually persuaded a startled man and woman inside to open the door and listen to her as she blurted out her story. As shocking as the evening had been, Robyn was completely unprepared for the impact from the wave of emotions that followed from the man on the other side of the screen. He accused her of having a sick sense of humor and cursed her behavior. Wasn't it bad enough he and his wife had buried their daughter when she was found dead twenty years before? Now, on the anniversary of her death, they had to deal with some slime ball's cruelty reminding them of their tragedy. The rush of air from the slammed front door was like a hard slap against Robyn's face. She awoke the next morning still shaken, and not at all sure how she had gotten home. As she pulled herself together for her trip to the office, she realized that the sweater in which she had put her pass and office keys was nowhere to be found. A search of her car turned up nothing. With mounting dread, she recalled handing the sweater to the little girl from last night. Her memory of that icy touch brought goose bumps. No doubt, she would find her sweater along the road where she had stopped her car. Or possibly in the driveway of the house she had stopped at. Gathering her courage, she left to retrace her steps of the previous evening. The police found Robyn just before noon that day, wandering dazedly in the charred ruins of a house, clutching a diary against her chest. It was recognizable only by the dented silver mailbox at the roadside. It's from police reports that we now know the story of her return to the house and her search for the young girl. Better known as The Vanishing Hitchhiker. Try as they might, the police could not comfort Robyn. They told her how a young girl had been killed there years ago, after having left after school one day. She was walking home alone and had lost her way in the dense fog. And they told her how, several years later, the house of the girl's grief-stricken parents had burned to the ground, right after they took their own lives. They told her that the barren lot where the house once stood had been vacant for many years. Maybe, because of the unearthly atmosphere that seemed to hover over the road, and seemed to permeate the fogs which were always thicker during the anniversary that the young girl was killed. The police were very patient in their explanations. They are always patient when speaking to those who accidentally come in contact of the Vanishing Hitchhiker. But they can't explain everything. For instance, they could not explain to Robyn why she found her missing sweater, with her office keys and pass, dirty but intact, hanging on the back of a child's chair buried in the charcoal rubble of a house that had supposedly burned down, almost a generation earlier. Or why she had found a diary that had belonged to the young girl. Robyn had picked up and skimmed through the diary. She read the last few pages. This its what was said in the little girl's diary.

My Uncle did it to me again. I'm writing this all busied and bloody. He must have found out that I finally told an adult that my uncle been me for a long time. At least a few times a week. I was walking home alone from school, and he pulled up next to me and offered me a ride. But as soon as we got to his house. He dragged me to a bedroom and handcuffed my arms and legs to the bed posts. Then he stripped, , and strangled me. I know he tried to cover it up, for he tried to hide what he had done to me by pouring gasoline on my naked body and setting me and the house on fire. The police found my charred remains handcuffed to a metal bed post frame With the open mouth expression of absolute terror and agony of my face. I don't remember much after that. For dying had stopped my screams and my tears.

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