Hitchhiking across the country sounds a lot more adventurous than it is, especially to the very curious teenager I was back then. While I had a good bit of apprehension, along with the irrational fear of getting myself so lost that I may never be found when I set out on that trip, I didn’t realize that getting trapped in place could be so much more terrifying. At the time, I was afraid that I would never escape that haunting little shack, but nothing could have prepared me for what was really going on.
Ever since I read On the Road, by Jack Kerouac; the first of many books my father gave me before he passed away some years back, I had dreamt of making my own long voyage across the many roads of America. My dad would sometimes talk about how much he regretted not taking the chance on a journey like this when he was younger, so I wanted to do this as much for him as for myself, perhaps more so.
Having decided to take a year off after graduating high school; pushing my college experience back a bit, I thought this would be as good a time as any to begin my adventure. Ant, or Anthony Ross to most, thought I had lost my mind, claiming that only a thrill-seeking nutcase would set out on foot with a perfectly good car parked out front of their house.
My dad left his prized Chevelle to me when he died, as he claimed mom could never drive it worth a damn, being that she was not a fan of a straight shift in the least. Regardless of the gorgeous car that was bequeathed to me, this wasn’t about the destination to me, but the trip itself. Maybe it wasn’t the safest or easiest way to spend the time away from my studies, but I felt like I had to do this.
Ant still didn’t get it, even after I explained my reasons, but he stopped giving me a hard time about it after acknowledging that my mind was made up. As it turned out, what I expected to be an invigorating, once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, turned out both far shorter than I had originally planned, as well as a great deal more terrifying.
My mom was still trying to talk me out of it when I headed out that morning, back in the fall of ‘98. Though she was a fan of Kerouac herself, the idea of her baby boy ending up dead in a ditch somewhere in the middle of nowhere, USA, was not her idea of a coming-of-age experience. She too backed off when she understood that she couldn’t talk me down from the ledge, so to speak. I hit the road with a heavy pack on my back, filled with hopefully everything I would need, as well as a good four hundred bucks in my wallet.
Yes, Jack Kerouac didn’t speak of such luxuries in his book, but as much as I wanted to somewhat follow in his footsteps, I wasn’t prepared to risk going hungry either. Not only that, but I thought the tent and some change of clothes for my time away would make things a little easier on me. I was adventurous, yes, but I had my limitations on things I could live without. I even had my dad’s old hunting knife stashed away for good measure.
The first 24 hours went smoothly enough; a stop for food and drinks here and there, the occasional air-conditioned bathroom break, as well as one or two visits to a nearby tree, but nothing much to speak of. Honestly, it took the majority of that first day just to clear the city before I found a good spot to set up my tent for the night. Being that it was the first time I had ever slept outdoors like this, I spent a lot of time tossing and turning before I finally passed out.
After getting back on the road the following morning, I headed back to the highway I had been traversing before ducking back into the woods for the night. My stomach was churning pretty good, but now that I was well beyond the city I left behind, I wasn’t exactly close to anywhere I could pick up some food. I was prepared for that when I set out on this trip, but that didn’t exactly make me feel any better about it at the time.
About an hour after heading back out, I managed to thumb a ride to the next town; one in which I filled my belly as I was able. I can’t say I wasn’t tempted to invest in a hotel room for the night, once my appetite was finally satisfied, but I wanted to see this through to the end, even if my enthusiasm was significantly waning.
I don’t want to come off like I was some spoiled kid back then, tiring of life on the road after a day and a half, but I was already considering turning back by the time I found my next resting spot for the night. Funnily enough, as much as I just wanted to pack it in while I once more fought to get comfortable in my sleeping bag, I was more concerned about giving my mom and Ant the satisfaction of my giving up than perhaps disappointing the memory of my father.
Regardless of my feeble attempts to convince myself to stick this out until the end, about seven hours into the following day’s walk, when the thunder cracked loudly from above and the world darkened around me, I had my mind made up. It was time to admit defeat and head back to the comfort of my home, even if Ant would likely give me shit about it for weeks on end. Unfortunately, not only had I made it a great many miles from my hometown, but when the bottom fell out, and the storm raged on from all around me, I couldn’t convince the first person to pull over and offer me a ride.
By the time I gave up on my pitiful attempts to garner transportation, I was already soaked from head to toe. I ran into the woods I had been walking next to, looking for a good spot to hide out from the storm, uncertain if I could even hope to set up my tent with how strongly the wind was blowing. If nothing else, the thick and bushy trees provided me with a little more shelter than I had out by the road, but it wasn’t much.
I crouched down in an almost dry spot, somewhere far beyond the treeline I escaped through, pulling up the collar of my soaked jacket, hopeful that the monsoon would pass by soon. While I sat there mentally beating myself up for making the ridiculous decision to head out on this miserable trip, the lightning grew more constant, illuminating the darkened world around me for seconds at a time.
Each time my surroundings would light up before my eyes, I tried to look around for anything around me that may provide better shelter than the leaves and branches I hide below. It was during one of those intervals of stabbing bright light, that I thought I could make out the roof of some sort of building off in the distance, just a ways deeper into the woods. I almost jumped for joy when I stood up to get a better look, seeing it far more clearly from a higher viewpoint.
With my surroundings being hidden behind the darkness in between those brightened sparks across the sky, it wasn’t the easiest thing to make my way through the dense forest with a heavy pack on my back. Still, even after damn near busting my ass multiple times, the closer I got to whatever building lay ahead, the more excited I grew about potentially being able to dry off a little.
Were it someone’s house, I could only hope they would take pity on me and allow me to enter their comfortable home. If it was a deserted cabin or something, perhaps I could find a door or window unlocked, even if I would feel like a burglar or squatter, helping myself to the dryness of somewhere I likely wouldn’t be welcome. It didn’t matter much to me at the time, to be completely honest. I just wanted to escape the storm before hopefully finding a way to get home when it let up.
When I finally did arrive on the outskirts of what appeared to be some kind of abandoned old shack, the first thing I took note of was that the roof seemed intact. Yes, it wasn’t exactly the lap of luxury, but it was shelter nonetheless. There was something of a clearing in the woods surrounding the small building, but when I crossed into it, another stab of lightning lit up the world around me.
I was frozen in place; rooted to the spot when I saw my shadow cast against the slender wall, along with that of something else. When the light flickered once more, almost making me think of a blinking street light, the area lit up for a little longer this time; long enough for the second silhouette to look as though it crouched down behind the bushes around the shack.
At that moment, as I felt the presence of whatever it was that cast that other shadow, I took off running. Knowing full well that it could be nothing more than my paranoia at the time, combined with the exhaustion that was almost overpowering me, I was certain that it was only those quick bursts of light that were playing tricks with my eyes. That brief moment of logical thinking went out the window when I came up on the shack for a second time.
I rationalized that I may have gotten myself turned around as I made my hasty retreat, regardless of the fact I was certain I had turned back the way I came. Perhaps it was a different shack altogether; one I simply hadn’t noticed before, given that I could barely make out anything in between lightning strikes. Whatever the case, I wasn’t exactly seeing reason at the time, especially when I saw the second shadow being cast against the exterior wall of the tiny, wooden building.
Again, I attempted to run, only to be led to that same damned wall with the hauntingly tall silhouette; something that felt all the more unsettling given the fact that it was still crouched down when I arrived to meet it once more. I could clearly make out the slender, elongated arms that reached to the ground, with the head looking to be around half a foot taller than me.
I still fought to rationalize this as nothing more than how the size and dimensions of shadows can be altered according to the distance between the light source and the object itself. I told myself it could just be a bird perched on a tree branch overhead that looked as though it sat right next to where I stood, according to the light’s reflection on the shabby, split wood of the old shack. Whatever the case, I attempted to move away from the dilapidated building yet again, this time keeping my eyes focused on the one before me as I backed away.
While the fairly constant lighting refused to allow my eyes the chance to grow accustomed to the darkness, I managed to keep my focus on the shack as I put more and more distance between myself and the roof I could still make out between the trees. With every flash, I could tell I was getting further away while I hesitantly paced backward, feeling around for obstacles with my arms and the heels of my boots.
As soon as I could make out no trace of the old shack, after spending god knows how long in my far more cautious retreat, I spun back around to face whatever lay ahead. As you can imagine, when I turned to see that damned, ratty old building almost right in front of my face, my legs felt as though they were about to give out. I almost planted my forehead into the wall before I reached out to catch myself when my lower extremities turned to jello, but when I backed up with my palm still pressed against the wall, the enlarged hand and elongated fingers of the shadow hand right next to mine inspired me to scream out like a kid squaring off against the boogeyman.
I just took off running, paying absolutely no attention to which way I was going. My shoulders made contact with the trees I sped towards, pinballing me from one side to the next, while I damn near tripped over fallen branches and dips in the ground more times than I can even say. Every time I found the path leading me right back to that shack, I wouldn’t even allow my feet to consider stopping.
Even when the splitting in my side became almost intolerable, I wouldn’t let up. As I sped away from and straight at that building over and over, I finally slid off my pack, not giving too much of a shit that everything I currently owned was held within. It wasn’t until I came across the shack yet again, seeing my heavy backpack lying next to it, that I could no longer convince myself that there was anything logical at play.
At that point, as I gasped for breath, once more staring down that same wall I had fled from in multiple directions, I finally gave in to the fact that I could not escape this place. My heart was thundering just as much as the sky above me, while my feet, back, and sides throbbed as hard as if I’d suffered a severe beating, rather than a far too extended sprint through the darkened woods.
I could feel the blank, silhouetted face next to my own, staring into my eyes, regardless of the fact I could make out no such features on it. When it began to move, I almost took off running again, but I knew that it would be futile at best. No, whatever this was, whatever it may want with me, I understood now that I would have to face it sooner or later. I just watched on with the stabs of lightning flickering in such quick succession that it appeared as though the shadow moved in stop motion, shrinking smaller and smaller as it seemed to draw closer to the old shack I could not escape.
When it finally stopped walking, shifting its posture in a way that looked as though it was turning to once again face me, it no longer towered over me. If anything, it was more like a child standing alongside my slightly more out-of-focus shadow, than whatever sort of giant it had previously been. Whatever it was, it seemed as though it was waiting for me to approach, which I began to do before I even realized it.
Even when my somewhat checked-out mental state guided me right up to the bushes that sat right next to the wall, my silhouette still stood a good foot or two taller than the other. My chest still beat like a drum as I faced off against whatever held me captive outside this dank old shed, but when the blurry head tilted, as though it were looking up right at me, I once more felt that presence that sent me running before.
I don’t know what I expected to see, if anything, when I turned my head to the side, to allow my shadow to glance down upon what sought its attention, but no scream breached my lips when my eyes finally met the source of that second silhouette. She looked to be maybe twelve or thirteen, with her dark hair knotted and clumped with dirt. The white shirt and grey sweatpants she wore looked as though they had been dragged through the mud, with almost as many rips and tears as had been carved into her pale flesh.
Her wide and almost blank eyes were a muted brown, having faded considerably since the life had seemingly left them some time ago, but when she turned to face the shack again, a single tear trickled down from each of them. I was still somewhat out of it when I finally sought out the entrance to the beaten-down old building; something that took me some effort to break through.
With how the greenery had grown around the place, as well as the heavily moistened dirt that seemed to have risen a good couple of inches up the base of the door, getting inside was no easy task. After digging a slight ditch in the mud with the side of my boot, while pulling away as much of the brush as I could, and tugging at the rusted knob as hard as I could, I managed to break the deadbolt through the dry rotted wood.
The interior of the building was maybe about 10x10 feet if I were to guess, with little to nothing remaining inside. An old table or desk of sorts, a countertop with ancient bottles of some kind tipped over upon it, and a filthy and faded rug splayed across the wooden floor were all I could make out in between the flashes of light from outside.
When I walked back out to see no trace of the girl, I noticed that her shadow remained, practically etched into the exterior wall. Just as I was attempting to convince my near-paralyzed vocal cords to ask what it was she wanted me to find, the silhouette appeared to shrink once more; that’s what I initially presumed anyway. After understanding that she did not shrink, but sank, I finally grasped what she was trying to tell me.
I ran back in, snatching the old rug from the floor and tipping the ancient desk in the process. When I tugged at the ring recessed into what looked to be some sort of hatch in the floor, it pulled free of the rotten wood before I could even hope to break the door open. When I noticed the slender keyhole next to where the ring had been, I knew I had little chance of getting in there without any tools.
“I know what you want now,” I told the shadow that still gazed out from the wall, after speeding back to meet her, “but I need to get help to open it. Will you allow me to leave? I swear I’ll come back!”
When the next stab of lightning lit up the world to reveal only the blank wall, I hoped that meant I would be allowed to head back to the highway. Sure enough, within ten to fifteen minutes of weaving in between and around the trees of the dense woods, I broke through the treeline to see cars speeding across the road before me. With the storm finally letting up, I managed to wave down a ride within a few moments.
I chose not to divulge the nature of my request to be dropped off as close to the nearest police department as she could get me, to the kind-hearted older woman behind the wheel of the late nineties Honda, as it still felt a little too far-fetched to put into words. I was second-guessing myself when she dropped me off in front of the station, given the nature of what led me into that old shack in the first place. Well, what wouldn’t let me escape it anyway.
Ultimately, I confessed my hitchhiking to the officer at the desk, as well as my seeking shelter from the storm, claiming that I picked up a foul odor at the old building I came across. It took some convincing to get them to send me back out there in the back of a police car; something that almost made me nervous when I allowed myself to remember how aggressively I had broken through that ratty old door.
Whatever it was, be it how pitiful I looked in my still-drenched clothes, or just the inherent creepiness of ancient buildings nestled away in an otherwise dense forest, they didn’t ask any further questions after I guided them back there. It only took them a few minutes to get the hatch in the floor open, with a little help from a trusty crowbar they brought along.
I would have some more questions to answer when they discovered the decades-old remains of what would later be revealed to be the fourteen-year-old Andrea Parkman; a girl who had gone missing from a few towns over to the west, some twenty years ago. Given my age, I could most definitely not be held responsible for the brutal murder of this innocent young girl, but the trace amounts of evidence left with the corpse would eventually lead them to the man who was.
While it is not my place to list the name of the one who apparently tortured, raped, and murdered this poor young lady, it is quite safe to say that he is no longer a well-respected business owner in the very town I found myself that night. Why he had chosen to set up shop so close to where he disposed of the body so many years ago, I can’t say.
Maybe the sick bastard was proud of his actions, inspiring him to stay close to where he could visit from time to time. There’s no telling, I suppose, but suffice it to say, he will finally be getting what he deserves; something that may have never happened had I managed to escape the grip that little shack had on me.
Some weeks after finally getting back to my home, I took a drive back to the small city, outside of which my excursion across the roads of America came to a close. I hung out in town for a while; hit up a movie at the local theater, grabbed some food, and just killed time until night fell. Somehow; if little Andrea Parkman was still out there, I had a feeling I wouldn’t be able to see her with the sun shining down overhead.
It didn’t take me long to reach the old shack after parking my dad’s old car off the side of the road. The police still had the place roped off behind yellow tape and the like, as I imagined they were still gathering evidence at that point. Still, when the moon’s glow cast my shadow against the exterior wall that sent me running through the woods, it only took a few moments for that second one to manifest beside it.
When that silhouetted head stared up at me, I saw no trace of the girl beside me this time, but when the smaller shadow reached out to embrace the taller of the two, I swear I felt that grateful hug as though she had been there in person. After a few moments like that, those final remnants of the poor, innocent girl whose life was so brutally cut short, faded from my view for the last time.
I never returned after that final visit, other than the occasional drive through or past that small town with some further off destinations ahead of me, but I will never forget that night, back in the fall of ‘98. Given how exhausted and drained I was that day, it’s most certainly very possible that I imagined a lot of what I witnessed during that storm.
It could easily be argued that while I assumed I was running away from that old shack, I may indeed have just been going in circles, considering I couldn’t see much of anything until the lightning struck. It could also be taken for granted that time may well have altered those events looking back a little over twenty years into my personal history.
Whatever the case; whether the spirit of that young girl held me captive until I understood what it was she needed from me, or the story I fed to the police was the way things actually went down, I still believe how I recall the events of that crazy night to have progressed. Either way, regardless of the bit of justice that resulted from that exhausting trip, I can honestly say that, to this day, I hope to never hitchhike again. No disrespect to Kerouac, or my father for that matter, but life on the road is not for me.