I spot a fellow standing on the side of road, slightly obscured by the low-lying fog. He’s got his thumb stuck out – kind of gruff and dirty looking. It’s late… Hell, why not. I pull the car over and the man opens the door; he hops in without saying a word.
“It’s your lucky night,” I state, “normally I don’t pick up any thumbers.”
Despite the night being dark, I notice some bright yellow teeth in my rearview mirror. I guess he’s smiling at the comment.
“Must be. I never thumb much myself anymore.” He halts, “Not since what happened.”
“Oh?” I ask. “What happened?”
The man in backseat pauses for a moment, but with a shrug of his shoulders he commences the tale.
“It were some years ago. Late at night as you might expect. I was out hitchhiking when a man comes along and picks me up. Sounds good, huh?”
He hesitates here but when I give a grunt of approval, the story continues.
“Well this man who picked me asks ‘Dangerous isn’t it?’ What is? I asked him. He says ‘Thumbing,’ and before I can even speak the man pulls a big ol’ knife on me. He says ‘Yep, dangerous alright.’ Then stabs at me. The car is swerving all over and he’s stabbing and stabbing.”
I grunt again, becoming interested. “Well what did you do?”
“I’ll tell ya!” the man yells. And out of nowhere he thrusts his arm forward, right up against my cheek. I look down at it. The hand is gone. He pulls the arm back. “This guy cut it right off!”
“How’d you escape?”
More bright yellow teeth in the mirror again. “Well, I got hold of his hand and instinct kicked in. I bit his fingers, got two of ‘em. Car hit a tree and I made a run for it.”
I grunt again, gripping the steering wheel with my bad hand – the one missing the two little fingers.
—
Credits to: S.R. Tooms
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