The Devil was a Hitchhiker

Making Corpse Soup [Ch.1]

            In the blissful darkness, my sharp eyes picked up a very dim light coming from the distance, maybe about mile or two away. Finally, a driver, the first one in what seemed like days. Perhaps I would finally be able to ditch those dank roadside motels. I needed to either convince him to drive me to my destination or jack the car myself, which would be rather easy in a place like this. This was my favorite kind of highway, the kind in the middle of nowhere were only the adventurous traveled. Where no one could hear their screams.

            I stuck my thumb out, bent hitchhiker style. A man, maybe in his late twenties or early thirties, pulled up in a solid two-ton lump of blue rust that dared to call itself a Ford. He rolled down the passenger seat window as he drove by and stuck his head out to take a good close look at me. I only stared back at his stern face, taking good note of his slight wrinkles, rough shadow of facial hair, and a long scar that cut across from his nose to his forehead. By human standards, he did not look like a person to be trifled with.

            When he seemed satisfied by my non-threatening appearance, he said, “Hop on in, kid.”

            I jumped onto the tall seat with a bit of a grunt and let out a deep breath, to keep up with the appearance of being human. People picked up on miniscule things like that, little human habits that many vampires simply slipped up on. When little things - like the way you don't breathe hard after running a few blocks, like the way you groan or grunt a little when exerting sudden force – those little things added up to become huge warning labels for the observant.

            “Thanks for the ride,” I said coolly, feeling a little uneasy by the way the driver examined me from head-to-toe. Probably wondering what a trustworthy-looking kid like me was doing in the middle of a highway, dressed in a tattered pair of black jeans and an old studded Misfits jacket, my only material possession of worth to me. Probably thought I was just another lost teenager, trying to be a punk in order to get some attention.

            I had an advantage that many people in this world did not. A young, aristocratic, clean face. One that you could trust, angelic, even. After all, the best troublemakers where always angels, not demons. A good smile and a pleasingly-proportioned face could get you anything you desired. Just ask Ted Bundy and all the other serial killers whose mugshots still looked better than your highschool yearbook picture.

            The driver turned and asked, “So what's a kid like you doing around here? I assuming ya need a ride to town, right?”

            I nodded, purposely avoiding his first question. “Yeah. I also need a place to stay.”

            He whistled, lips forming into a tight, thin frown. “Can't say I can take you up on that last request.”

            Shrugging, I whispered, “It's alright. Wasn't really expecting it, but thanks for the ride.”

            “No problem. So, why were you out there?”

            Damn, persistent. “Just taking a stroll, I guess.” I ran a hand through my hair, creating an illusion of stress. The good thing about humans was that they trusted body language, enough so that if you did the right movements, they simply jumped to the easy conclusion and made up lies for you on their own.

            “Look, kid, if you're a runaway, I ain't gonna tell no one.”

            Double negatives. Don't trust him, I thought to myself, mostly for a little humor. Looking at him with wide, innocent eyes, I whispered, “Please don't turn me in to the cops. I don't like that far away, and I'm planning to go back home soon. I just needed some extra time to myself.”

            “Yeah, whatever. I'm just gonna dump you off at the next town.” Well, that went way easier than I had expected it to go. The man literally didn't give a shit about me, so hey, whatevs.

            “Don’t be a dick, asshole.”

            “What the hell?! I’m giving you a fuckin’ ride. Damn, okay, play nice and shit and then act like a little cunt while you’re in my truck. What’s it like to be raped up the ass by some random stranger, kid?” He smiled nastily, as if giving me a preview of what was to come.

            “Dude, calm your tits. Like really, I’m just fucking around with you.”

            He let out a soft sigh, trying to regain his composure. “Yeah, whatever. Sorry.”

            At that, I decided that his apology was probably the least sincerest I’ve ever heard and decided to give him a big, fanged smile. I was hungry, and he smelled like a blood bag, as good as any other. While he might have been more willing to fuck around with me, I wasn’t really into that. In fact, the best part was the killing. Sex was just a hook to entice my prey, whether prey was an unknowing girl or a buttraping, anus-scraping serial killer that offered rides to pretty young men.

            “Shit, man. If you think that dressing up as a fucking vampire and  hitchhiking as funny, it ain’t.”

            “Sorry,” I looked down at his nametag for one brief moment, “Dennis, but I don’t joke around.” I pulled him by the collar, demonstrating my strength. “Tell ya what. If you can get me to town boundaries before sunrise, I’ll let you live. And I’ll let you have a piece of this fine ass.” I winked. “Isn’t that what you get off of, Dennis? Being a fucking sicko and fucking around with little kids? I’ve known pieces of shit like you.”

            He smirked, rolling his eyes even as he was held by the collar. Sighing, as though he didn’t realize the full threat of the situation, he murmured, “Yeah, yeah, kid. Like you said – calm your tits.” He chuckled then, pulling over to the side of the road, pretending like something was broken. If only he knew how many times I’ve pulled that trick before.

            “The truck stalled, and the manual is under your seat. Get out.” He stood outside, staring up at me with a defiant glare. This man really was pretty damn fearless.

            “Sure. Hold up.” I jumped down, not at all surprised when he grabbed me by the arm and began trying to tear away at my jacket, holding me tightly. I played along like a ragdoll for a while, careful not to damage my threads and then let out a sigh as I pushed him with a brutal backwards kick in the chest. Dennis flew towards the metal bridge, where he landed with a loud clunk and painful groan. Immediately, I headed back to the truck to see if there was anything I could use from the back. Just the usual stuff – rope, tools, wait…acid. What kind of average guy dressed as poorly as Dennis invested as much money as he did in four large bottles of pure acid?

            I guess the instinct not to trust him had been right.

            He tasted like pure poison, bitter and caustic to the bone. I found him hard to finish, even though I was usually a rather voracious eater.

            With that, he struggled in the rope and tried to scream on his cloth gag as I poured the acid over the face, effectively making him completely unrecognizable. Then, I tossed his ugly body over the bridge so that he would sink to the bottom of the lake, rocks tying down his physical form like how his fucked up activities must have tied down his soul. I knew that feeling of having to lie and look behind your shoulder all too well.

            By four o’clock in the morning, I arrived at Blairville, where DREAMS ARE MADE. The aftertaste in my mouth reminded me of corpses.