Nightmare Fuel #29: The Hitchhiker
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Welcome to another edition of Nightmare Fuel, creeps and peepers. I'm Dan Cummins, and I will be sharing another original short story of the fictional horror variety. Another standalone this week, not connected in any way to any of the other Nightmare Fuel episodes. I hope you enjoy meeting Ace as much as I did.

I highly recommend noise cancellation headphones for the ultimate experience. Hope you enjoy this new nightmare. Time now for the tale of the hitchhiker. Ryan's hands were shaking as he pulled his virtually new Arctic Gray Porsche Cayenne GTS Coupe into the Shell gas station off of Highway 395 in the tiny desert census-designated place of Pearsonville, California.

He felt sick to his stomach when he pounded the steering wheel with his fists after he put the SUV in park following pulling up next to one of the pumps. God damn it! He yelled in frustration and buried his face in his hands. He tried to calm himself down to keep the rising, panic-induced bile in his throat from turning into vomit. He kept repeating, it's going to be fine, it's going to be fine, as he rubbed his eyes before he let out a dramatic, exasperated exhale.

Was it going to be fine? How could it be? He'd fucking hit someone. Someone he barely saw hitchhiking on the side of the road before he drove not just into but also over them. How was life ever going to be remotely fine after something like that? And it was all his fault. As much as he wanted to blame someone, anyone else, it was all his fault.

It happened around 9.30 p.m., over an hour after the sun had set for the night, when the desert had begun to get truly good and dark. He'd finally made it out of the very last remnants of L.A. traffic, after he'd left his office in Echo Park a few minutes before 6, almost three hours later than he'd originally intended, to begin the long, lonely seven-hour drive to Tonopah, Nevada.

and because he'd gotten started late, he'd lost another hour, at least, to miles and miles of near-gridlock traffic. Now, even speeding, he still wasn't going to make it to his hotel until almost two in the morning, and he had to be up by six to clean up his presentation. Damn it. Damn it! He'd been driving too fast when it happened, trying to make up for his late start, at least 85 miles an hour, and he sure as shit hadn't been paying attention to what had been an increasingly empty road either.

He'd been getting back to some end of the week emails and texts from some of his bigger, more important clients. He was maybe a minute past the Jawbone Canyon store and gas station in Cantill. He was driving around a big bend in the road when he looked up from his phone just in time to see a young white man in a dark jacket who looked like he was hitchhiking. The poor bastard had barely turned around in time to see the car that slammed him down into the pavement and surely ended him. It had all happened so fast.

Ryan never even got a good look at him before Ryan's brain had even fully processed hitting someone. He was running over him with first the front and then the back tires on the passenger side. Then he was looking in the rear view mirror as he braked to a stop and he saw him roll a few times down the road, his body illuminated by nothing more than his brake lights and the dim light of the moon. Ryan could see him just clearly enough to be able to discern that he wasn't moving, that he was still, very still.

Ryan strongly assumed he was already dead. He could have ran back to check on him. He should have ran back to check on him, but he didn't. Instead, he just sat there and stared into the mirror while the most horrible thoughts swirled around and around in his stunned mind. As much as he didn't want to, Ryan could not stop thinking about all the various possibilities of what kind of terrible damage the man's body had taken, the damage that he, through his car, had just delivered.

He couldn't stop picturing the man's brains bubbling out of his head, like the insides of some pot pie frothing up and over the edges of the crust in the oven. He pictured thick blood, no longer being pumped by a beating heart and already beginning to coagulate, as it oozed out of a face that had been fractured and mangled into an unrecognizable, meaty state.

He imagined how his ribcage and lungs had likely been crushed, how his insides had been utterly pulverized, turned into some torn, smashed, and shredded pile of gore, like what lay at the bottom of some butcher's garbage bag once he was done clearing out a pig's entrails.

He visualized one or more of the man's ribs piercing and then pushing through his heart, stopping it from beating forever. He watched a movie in his mind of the man's eyes being popped out of his skull due to the pressure of being trampled by nearly 5,000 pounds of speeding steel and carbon fiber and plastic.

He imagined, as much as he didn't want to, the man's eyes becoming completely liquefied, with their remnants mixing with blood and bone, pooling on the warm asphalt beneath his face like the whites of freshly cracked eggs. The gory possibilities were as endless as they were disgusting, and it was all his fault. But the man's health, or rather, his sudden lack of it, was not what Ryan was concerned about most at the present moment.

Even more than the possibilities of what kind of death-dealing damage the man's body had taken, Ryan thought about all the different potential nightmarish scenarios of what was now going to happen to him for being the one who killed the man, or rather, what would happen to him if he should get caught for killing him.

Crash site investigators would be able to easily determine that he'd been driving at least 20 miles an hour, maybe even 30 or more, over the speed limit. He couldn't remember if it was a 55 or a 65 mile per hour zone. And then when they'd look up the activity on his phone, they'd see that he'd sent an email within seconds of the crash. And many others in text as well in the minutes leading up to the accident. Between the speed and being distracted on his phone, Ryan assumed he would probably be charged with felony vehicular manslaughter.

and with a few other felonies he wasn't familiar with as well. Even with a good lawyer, a good, very expensive lawyer, he'd still end up as a felon. Ryan Castillo, a fucking felon. A guy who didn't have anything worse than speeding tickets and a minor in possession misdemeanor from over 15 years ago on his criminal record. But now he'd probably spend at least a few months, if not a few years, in prison. Real prison.

And then there'd be the civil case. Jesus Christ, that's where the real damage would be done. The man's family would come for him. Of course they would. They'd want millions. And he had millions. Millions he'd sacrificed and worked his ass off for, putting in 70, 80 hours a week for a dozen plus years. And he'd been literally on the way to landing the biggest client of his career when it happened. The kind of client he'd taken the massive risk of going into business for himself to get. He'd soon be making millions more a year.

If he didn't get caught. But all that would go away forever if he ended up in prison. The big house that looked like something out of Architectural Digest with its infinity pool and hillside view of the Hollywood sign, gone.

The fat bank account, the $200,000 car, the dates and casual hookups with actresses and models eager to please him, the designer suits and the first class flights, a future that almost certainly included real wealth, a mansion in a gated community in the Hollywood Hills, mega celebrities and producers for neighbors, grandkids he didn't even have yet, being born into enough money to never have to worry about paying their bills. All of that would be gone. And because of what?

Because he'd made one fucking mistake? Because he'd hit some asshole stupid enough to be walking down a dark stretch of highway wearing a black jacket at night? Some asshole who might have been walking in the road for all he knew. Not that the police would care. It wasn't fair. It wasn't even in the ballpark of fair. He'd probably done the world a favor by obliterating some fucking loser hitchhiking because he was too lazy to get a job that would have paid for his own goddamn car. Fuck.

The guy was probably some bum without a dime to his name. A nobody. A nobody who nobody had seen get run over by Ryan. Sitting there in the middle of the highway, his knuckles white and the veins in his forearms bulging thanks to the death grip he had on the steering wheel, Ryan's mind had swirled with all of these thoughts. Thoughts of how the man he had just hit had almost certainly died or would be dead in moments.

thoughts much more concerning thoughts to Ryan of how he had ruined his own life by hitting someone he had quickly begun to demonize, to rationalize the decision he was about to make to not only not check on the guy to see if he was still alive, but to flee and leave him to die if he wasn't dead already, alone on the asphalt. When Ryan saw a pair of headlights beginning to round the corner behind him, he didn't hesitate. The choice he'd needed to make was obvious.

He'd punched the gas. He'd put the big top-of-the-line V8 he'd paid almost $4,000 a month to lease to use. And after reaching around 70 miles an hour, fast enough to stay ahead of the car behind it, but not so fast that he'd risk getting pulled over, he'd switched on his cruise control, and then he hadn't stopped or slowed down for the next half hour, not until he had made it to the gas station in Pearsonville.

Nervously he pulled in Convinced someone would notice how his front bumper Was covered in blood and gore And dial 911 He was terrified that if the police came for him now Not only would he be arrested for vehicular manslaughter They'd also get him for fleeing the scene Of a fatal accident He'd lose everything He'd for sure go to prison And probably for a long, long time And like his mom always said He was too pretty for prison They'd eat him alive in there

He had to keep his shit together and figure this out. Ryan forced himself to open his door, and he stood on legs even shakier than he'd expected them to be. Before putting the gas nozzle in his car, he walked around to the front, prepared for the worst. When he looked down at and below the grill, what he saw made him gasp. He wasn't prepared for this possibility. Holy shit, he breathlessly exclaimed. Then he smiled and let out a little nervous laugh before he said it again. Oh.

Holy shit! No fucking way! There was nothing. Nothing visible anyway. No blood. No damage. No gore of any kind. He couldn't believe his luck. It didn't seem possible for him to have hit the guy as hard as he had and not see any blood. Not a dent. Nothing. Nothing.

But then his stomach dropped when the front spoiler beneath the bumper cover on the passenger side suddenly dropped down and rested on the concrete. No, he sputtered as he put his hands on top of his head before he then brought them back down and placed them on his hips as he muttered,

He didn't want anyone to stare or walk over and ask him if he needed help. So he prepaid for gas at the pump with his Amex and then immediately regretted using his credit card and further incriminating himself by tying his location to a gas station 30 minutes away from a fatal accident only 30 minutes after that accident had happened. Great. A bit more evidence some DA could use to put him away for years.

Once the gas was pumping into the cayenne, Ryan dropped down onto his hands and knees and lifted the broken spoiler back up, grateful that at least it wasn't covered in blood. And he hoped he could somehow miraculously snap it back into place. But he couldn't. He tried several more times, not necessarily having high hopes that it was going to work, but not knowing what else to do. Ryan didn't know shit about cars. He didn't even know how to check his oil or where to add windshield wiper fluid. He definitely didn't know anything about bodywork.

He sighed. He was done for. He'd just about gotten away with it. But now this stupid piece of his fucking bumper, or whatever it was, had doomed him. He couldn't catch a break. Hey, man, that's a real sweet ride you got. Dig the paint job. Ryan's heart skipped a beat as he quickly twisted his head around and looked up and behind him at the young man with the black coiffed pompadour that reminded him of Elvis Presley. He was tall and lanky and looked to be in his early to mid-twenties.

He wore a pair of pressed but faded Levi's, a plain white t-shirt, a black leather jacket, and boots fit for a vintage motorcycle. Somehow he'd never heard this guy approach. Too wrapped up in thoughts of his life being over, he assumed. Um, yeah, thanks, Ryan said somewhat dismissively. He did not want to be talking to anyone at the moment, especially not while he fumbled around with the front of the car he had just killed someone with. He turned back around and hoped the guy would walk the hell away.

He stared at the spoiler he didn't realize was called a spoiler and thought about how he might be able to MacGyver it to the bumper cover that he didn't know was called a bumper cover for the rest of the ride. You got tools to fix that, chief? Or should I lend you a hand? The man said next. He hadn't walked away. I'm good, thanks, Ryan said curtly, hoping he'd sent a not-so-subtle signal that the conversation was over. Best of luck, buddy. Body work ain't no picnic.

The man drawled before Ryan heard the loud clicking of the hard heels of his steel-toed boots, smacking against the concrete as he strutted away. Ryan continued to feel around and beneath the spoiler, desperately looking for a screw or bolt that might have slipped out, causing its fall. Growing more worried and frustrated over his predicament with each passing moment, he had no clue how to fix it.

But he also couldn't drive off while it dragged along the ground. And he couldn't call anyone to have it repaired and have them possibly find skin or hair or some other part of the man he'd hit stuck underneath it, could he? So what the hell was he going to do? For the moment, he focused mostly on not completely panicking. Then he heard the click of the gas nozzle signaling that his tank was full. He now had no reason to be parked where he was other than that damn busted piece of bumper.

He stood up inside in frustration. What he wanted to do was scream. And then he wanted to throw up or take off running into the desert or both when two highway patrol officers pulled in and parked next to the gas station's food store. Shit, shit, shit, shit. For a few seconds, he was convinced that they were going to start flashing their lights and arrest him. Then they walked inside without so much as glancing in his general direction and his stomach fell back down out of his throat. They weren't after him. Not yet.

But if he stuck around long enough, they or someone else would be. He had to do something, and fast. He thought of the guy in the jackets offered to help, and not feeling like he currently literally had any other options because he absolutely did not, he walked up towards the back of the gas station food mart, where the guy dressed like, what did they call them, greasers? Was leaned up against the wall, watching him, and smoking a cigarette.

"'Excuse me!' Ryan called out as he approached, with a much friendlier tone to his voice than he'd used with the man previously. "'If you're still willing to help, I'd really appreciate it,' he said with a salesman's smile that had helped propel him to a lot of early success managing rich people's assets. "'Would love to take a look, boss,' the man beamed with an impish grin. "'That baby's got style. And bodywork is what I've mostly done, more or less, for the past ten years.'"

"'Oh my God, that's great to hear,' Ryan uttered gratefully, feeling a big wave of welcome relief wash over him, as he thought again about how he might actually be able to get away with what had happened to him. "'I think I hit a raccoon a few miles back,' he lied, protecting himself in case the man found any blood. "'That had to be what knocked it loose,' he added. "'I didn't feel anything when I checked, but there might be some blood underneath.'

The man who looked like a mashup of a young Elvis and James Dean now seemed to stare back at Ryan coldly, judgmentally, just for a moment, with his steely, deep-set and intense blue eyes. As he sucked in another deep drag off of his unfiltered Marlboro, it felt in that moment like he somehow knew Ryan was lying, like he knew what he'd really hit. But the moment passed, and his eyes became friendly again. Then he said with his slightly curled upper lip and crooked smile, Tell you what.

I'll make you a deal. A deal, Ryan repeated. He didn't like where this was heading. Not at all. He was in no mood for a deal. He also unfortunately didn't have a lot of other options. And the clock was ticking. He needed to put some miles between him and the accident as fast as possible. And he needed to make it to Tonopah in time to at least take the equivalent of a nap so he didn't blow the presentation that had gotten him into this mess in the first place. Yeah, confirmed the young man in the well-worn vintage black leather jacket.

"'Look like you were heading north. I gotta make it to Reno by tomorrow night. So how about this?' He grinned slyly and flashed a twinkle in his eye. "'How about I make sure you ain't dragging that spoiler and sparking up a brush fire when you drive on out of here, and you take me as far north as you're heading tonight?'

No fucking way, Ryan thought, as he silently considered the offer. Absolutely not. He had shit to do he couldn't have this guy around for, like calling up his attorney and asking him some very incriminating, hypothetical questions. There was also the chance he'd need to quickly pull off of the highway and hide if he saw any police lights approaching. But he was done for right now if he couldn't fix that spoiler. Feeling like he didn't have much of a choice, he agreed. Okay, Ryan said.

"'You got yourself a deal. I'm heading all the way to Tonopah.' "'Ha-ha, damn!' the strange young man gleefully exclaimed before he put out his cigarette on the heel of his boot and casually flicked it over towards some dumpsters. "'Name's Vinnie Knox,' he said without extending his hand. "'But everyone calls me Ace.'

Less than a minute later, Ace was lying face up on the ground beneath the front end of Ryan's SUV, and less than a minute after that, he'd managed to pop off the driver's side portion of the spoiler. He told Ryan to put it in the back and take his car into a proper auto body shop to have it reinstalled when he had the chance. In the meantime, he assured him that the car would look and drive just fine.

Then, the next thing Ryan knew, he was settled into the passenger seat. And moments later, the unlikely pair pulled out onto Highway 395, and Ryan was once again heading north to Nevada. "What you got going on in Tonopah?" Ace soon inquired. "Can't imagine many folks driving a beefed-up beaut like this into a tired, dusty little burg like that. Just some business," Ryan answered vaguely before turning up the stereo a few clicks.

He didn't want Ace to know any more about him, then he felt like he needed to share to keep the ride amicable. This was not the time to be making a new friend. And this wasn't the guy he'd want to become friends with, even in normal circumstances. He couldn't get over how he dressed and the way he carried himself. Ace reminded Ryan a lot of John Travolta in Grease. Living next to Silverlake, he was plenty used to hipsters and eccentric characters, but this was a rare level of commitment to looking like someone from another era.

Must be some kind of business to take you all the way to Tonopah on a Friday night, Ace commented, as he looked around at all the Cayenne's features, acting like a guy who had never been inside a new luxury vehicle before. Based on how he dressed and the fact that he needed a ride, Ryan condescendingly assumed he probably hadn't. What about you? Ryan asked, redirecting the focus of the conversation and trying and almost succeeding at sounding like he actually cared. What's waiting for you in Reno?

Ace's eyes lit up with excitement as he said, "'Hopefully a gig with a muscle cat buddy of mine who's helping put together a house rock and roll band at the lounge in the new Cal Neva Casino.'" "'Muscle cat?' Ryan thought. "'What the hell is a muscle cat?' He decided he didn't care enough to try and find out. Instead he asked, "'You a musician?' "'Not yet. Not really. But I aim to be,' said Ace with a sly grin as he took a toothpick out of his jacket pocket, giving his mouth something to fixate on other than a cigarette."

"'I'm done fixing up other folks' rides in Lancaster. "'That's a dead-end job for a dead-end life, if there ever was one. "'Now, I got much bigger plans for myself than that.' "'Ryan nodded and tried to hide how little of a shit he gave "'about anything Ace was saying. "'Then he asked, just to keep passing the time, "'what do you play?' "'Rock and roll, baby!' "'Ace proudly beamed, laughing. "'Is there any other kind of music?' he asked. "'Jesus Christ,' Ryan thought.'

Of all the people who could have asked to help me tonight, I get this walking cartoon character. He wondered if he'd be able to keep this guy from realizing he couldn't stand him for almost three and a half hours. No, I mean what instrument? He clarified. Ace nodded. Oh yeah, right. He said cheerfully. Hopefully guitar, if Johnny's got a good one waiting for me, then I can make it sing. If not, I figure I can learn the bass good enough to keep time with whatever cat they got banging those skins. Who the fuck talks like that? Ryan wondered.

You're not bringing your own guitar? He asked next. I ain't bringing nothing but what I got on, chief, Ace announced. Last week did a real bang-up job on me. My girl of over a year left me. My 59 Thunderbird got T-boned. And then Johnny called and said I had a real shot of landing a paying gig playing music. All felt like a sign from the universe, you know. I figured, hell, ain't nothing holding me back home no more. And I wasn't too happy in that dump to begin with. So I pawned everything I could, guitar included, and started hitchhiking.

Ryan suddenly flashed on the man he'd run over when Ace said the word hitchhiking. The man who had just barely started to stick out his thumb as he spun around before Ryan obliterated him. He had to fight a shutter. You alright, chief? Ace asked, sounding genuinely concerned. But his voice didn't match his eyes. Ryan wasn't looking at him, so he didn't notice how his eyes had grown cold again for a few moments. You look like you just got lost in a thought, buddy. A bad one.

"'What? No. No, I'm good,' Ryan said, forcing himself to not think about the accident anymore. "'You hitchhike often?' he asked, refocusing the conversation on Ace once again. "'Only when I need to get someplace. And I don't have a car,' Ace quipped. Ryan glanced over at him with a furrowed brow and asked, "'It doesn't freak you out.' "'Freak me out how?' Ace wondered, sounding genuinely confused. "'What do you mean?' "'To hitchhike. Doesn't it scare you?' Ryan clarified."

"'Scare me?' Ace said. "'Shoot. Don't scare me a bit. Might scare whoever picks me up, though, depending on my mood,' he added with what sure sounded like a touch of menace. He stared coldly and directly at Ryan for a few moments again, just like he had when he'd been leaning up against that shell gas station wall and smoking. And this time Ryan noticed. After a tense beat between the two men, Ace laughed to break the tension.

"'I'm just fooling,' he said loudly and flashed his big crooked grin again. "'I don't think I've scared no one yet. I'm a friendly guy. I don't scare you, do I?' "'What? No. No, not at all,' Ryan babbled. Ace didn't scare him. Not really. But he had been starting to make him feel a bit nervous. Or maybe off-balance was a better description. He thought the guy was odd when he'd first met him, and that opinion had certainly not changed one bit as they drove down the dark and mostly deserted desert highway."

So tell me about that raccoon, Ace said next. What? Ryan responded, confused. The raccoon, Ace repeated. You forget already? Ryan had forgot. He stared blankly and smiled awkwardly as he tried to remember. The one you ran over? Ace said slowly and deliberately as he raised his eyebrows in mock concern. The one that knocked off your spoiler? Left you stuck with little old me? God, of course, Ryan said as he blushed.

Yeah, yeah, just kind of came out of nowhere. Eh, I guess I was driving too fast to miss him. Ace responded skeptically. Strange. Ain't really raccoons out in this here desert away from towns of any size. Too hot for their liking. Not enough easy food. Ryan didn't like where this was heading. It felt like Ace was accusing him of lying. Yeah, I don't know. Maybe it was something else. It happened pretty fast. He said more nervously than he'd cared for.

He didn't like the way Ace was looking at him again, like he knew he was bullshitting. But how could he know that? He thought to himself. He decided he couldn't, and that there was no reason to feel nervous. The guy was just weird. Yeah, maybe it was something else. Ace repeated incredulously before he added, while still staring at Ryan, like they were playing poker and he knew Ryan was bluffing. Raccoon probably ain't gonna be big enough to knock your spoiler loose like that. Maybe it was someone's dog you hit. Do you think he killed it?

Ryan was starting to sweat now. Why wouldn't this freak stop asking him these kind of questions? It was rude. It was none of his fucking business. What did he care? He tried to hide the anger that was beginning to brew inside of him when he said, sounding more defensive than he'd intended, I don't think it was a dog. And yeah, I hit it hard. It was definitely dead. Ace slowly nodded and continued to stare. It was getting more and more uncomfortable. The atmosphere inside the car had grown thick. And now he asked, did he check?

"'Check what?' Ryan said a bit tersely now. He knew exactly what Ace was getting at. "'You know, man, check to see if it—the raccoon, or maybe someone's pet, was alive or dead,' he stated coldly. "'I didn't have to.' Ryan spat as he twisted his head around, met Ace's stare, and clenched his jaw. "'I hit it real hard. It was a terrible, unfortunate accident I feel horrible about.'

Ace acknowledged and nodded again before he grinned ever so slightly while he stared at him with eyes that didn't match his smile. You'd be surprised what kind of hit an animal can take and still live. At least for a while. Especially a human kind of animal. What the fuck was this guy doing? Ryan wondered. Was he insinuating he'd hit a person? He couldn't know that, he told himself again. But now he felt a sliver of doubt creep into his mind. Could he?

You a fucking expert in roadkill? Ryan snapped. It was a fucking raccoon, and like I said, I feel terrible. Ace laughed, and his stare softened. Hey, man, I'm sorry if I got your blood boiling. I was just curious and making conversation. And then he mused cryptically. Yeah, yeah, I guess I am sort of a roadkill expert. Before he laughed again. Ryan didn't take the bait. He was done talking about what he may or may not have hit. He simply said...

Don't worry about it. And turned up the stereo further. Blue Orchid by the White Stripes was playing. And Ace immediately started to grin wider and bob his head to the beat. Hot damn! Ace blurted out. Dig that riff, baby! That sound is positively electric! Ryan nodded his head, forced a smile and thought, This guy's just weird. He's crazy. What a night. He'd hit one stranger he'd never known. And now he was stuck in a car with another one he wished he'd never met.

He was so pissed he hadn't thought to just tear the broken and loose piece off of the bumper himself. He didn't need an auto body guy for that. And also, the asshole could have easily just told him how to do that himself. The two men drove on with very little conversation, mostly just listening to and enjoying the music, or at least Ace was enjoying the music, for the next hour or so, until they made it to the little town of Big Pine, just before 1130.

They were driving across the Owens Valley now, in between the Sierra Nevadas and the White Mountains, with a perfectly clear sky above them, full of so many stars it looked fake. They were only two hours from Tonopah, and Ryan was starting to relax a bit. They'd passed another pair of California Highway Patrol officers a few miles back, who hadn't even given him a second glance.

And despite distracted driving being part of what had gotten him into the mess he was in, Ryan had lied after those cops drove by and he told Ace he was texting her girlfriend, he didn't actually have, to let her know the roads were good and that he was feeling fine about the rest of his drive. But what he had really done was Google fatal accident near Cantill, California on Highway 395. He'd been immensely relieved when nothing recent came up in the search results. Now he wanted to get out of the car and stretch his legs a bit.

and empty his bladder a lot. Ryan still needed to get to Tonopah as fast as he could, but he also had to piss like a racehorse. He hadn't used the bathroom since he'd left his office almost six hours earlier. Normally, he probably would have used the restroom in Pearsonville, but he'd had so much adrenaline pumping through him and was in such a hurry to leave the area for obvious reasons that the thought hadn't even occurred to him.

Now, as he entered one of the very few towns along the back half of the drive and saw a Chevron with the bathroom up ahead, his body let him know that if he didn't pull over, there was going to be trouble. And now, while Ryan takes a break from driving, how about we take our mid-show sponsor break?

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After he asked Ace if he needed to use the bathroom or grab a drink, and Ace had told him in his odd way, nah, I'm right as rain, chief, right as rain. Ryan left him by the car while Ace popped out and lit up a cigarette, while Ryan walked into the gas station's little store and quickly found the men's bathroom. Moments later, as he was midstream using one of the three urinals in the otherwise empty room, all the lights went out. And immediately following the blackout, he heard the clicking of what reminded him of Ace's boots walking into the room.

Whoever it was kept on walking until they were standing directly behind him. It creeped him out. And making it creepier still, it was like they had somehow carried in a cold draft of air with them. Ryan was shivering when he called out, "'Ace? That you?' "'Did you check?' It was Ace. And he had just repeated the question he'd asked earlier when he was grilling Ryan about the accident, but in a much more menacing voice."

"Check what? What are you doing, Ace?" Ryan asked nervously. "Did you check the fucking body, Chief?" Ace taunted. "Maybe he was still alive. Maybe you could have saved him, but that would have been messy, yeah? So you left him to die alone on the highway, didn't you? You yellow-bellied chicken shit."

Ryan's stomach sank as the temperature around him continued to plummet. The air pressure in the room was changing as well, and he suddenly felt dizzy and lightheaded, like he was about to pass out. Before he attempted to answer or he collapsed onto the floor, the lights came back on. The temperature normalized, and the pressure returned to normal as well. Ryan spun around quickly, not caring or even really registering that his dick was still out as he looked for Ace behind him. But there was no one.

"'What the fucking fuck?' he muttered to the empty room around him as he zipped his pants back up. "'What the hell was that?' he asked the air around him. "'Stress response,' he thought. "'I'm having some sort of stress response.' "'Of course you are,' his mind spoke back to him. "'Because you fucking murdered someone. "'They could have still been alive after you hit them. "'Had you called for help, they could still be alive right now.' "'Shut up!' Ryan yelled out loud. "'That's not true!'

Then he stepped over to the sink to wash his hands, and more importantly, splashed some cold water in his face to snap himself out of the unnerved state he was in. I just need a good night's sleep, he thought. I need to crush this presentation, land Rex's account, drive home, sleep Saturday night and all day Sunday, and then I'll be fine. I'll be- Ah! Ryan's self-serving rationalizing was interrupted when he opened his eyes and looked into the mirror. Staring back was not his own face, but the mangled face of the hitchhiker he'd run over.

The right side of the man's head, above a blood-soaked neck emerging from a black leather jacket, had been badly crushed, from his jaw all the way up to the top of his skull on the left side. A good portion of his brain was exposed above his temple, where his skull had been completely shattered. Some bone shards had been pushed into his brain, as had some of his hair, his dark, slick back, familiar hair. His ear had either been ripped off or pushed unrecognizable into the gore around it.

His cheekbone had been smashed in and his eye had popped and leaked down into his exposed sinus cavity. His jaw had been severely dislocated and was hanging down, unhinged, while his lower molars pointed straight out instead of up towards the few upper teeth he still had that were now exposed all the way back to his tonsils.

The left side of his head was much more structurally intact, but was missing most of its skin. His remaining eye was startlingly unharmed, staring intensely and looking somehow, impossibly, very much alive from behind a mask of pain and gore. The eye stared directly at Ryan, who stumbled backwards, tripped, and then fell down onto the bathroom floor. Once he'd managed to scramble back up to his feet, his own reflection had returned, and the gory face of his victim had vanished.

A gory face that looked a hell of a lot like Ace. His mind pointed out. It was the same hair, the same jacket. No, stop! He yelled as he grabbed his face in his hands. I have to get the fuck out of here before someone comes in and starts asking questions, he thought. He pulled open the door, walked over to the cooler where the energy drinks were stored and grabbed a Red Bull. He carried it up to the counter with a shaky hand, thankfully managing to only have to speak a few words to the quiet, dead-eyed cashier and walked back out to the car.

Before he got in, Ace, still smoking and leaned up against the wall, just like he had been back in Pearsonville, asked, "'What happened in there, Chief? You look like you've just seen a ghost.' Ryan snapped his head and stared intensely at Ace, who was grinning his signature grin. "'Strange choice of words,' he thought. And then not wanting to pursue it, he just said, "'Come on, we gotta move.' "'You're the boss, Chief,' Ace replied as he snuffed out the cigarette against the bottom of his boot and flicked it out into the night."

Less than a minute later, they were pulling back out onto the highway that ran through the center of town. You sure you're all right? Ace asked, but sounding more inflammatory than concerned. You get visited by the ghost of Christmas Pass in there, Ebenezer? Are you fucking with me? Ryan snarled. Ace was starting to really scare him. The more time they'd spent together, the stranger he'd seemed. And not just regular weird strange. There was something really off about him.

Whoa, easy there, Tiger. What's got you flipping your lid? Ace asked, while still smiling a playful smile that didn't match his cold blue eyes. Flipping my lid? Easy there, Tiger. Who the fuck talks like that? Ryan spat back. Me and all my friends, Chief. Ace responded coolly, not matching Ryan's insulting tone with any visible anger or hurt feelings. Least we used to, he strangely added.

Guess a little time has passed since we hung out proper like. Ryan ignored him for the moment and pounded some of his Red Bull before he shook his head. He didn't know what Ace was trying to say anymore and he didn't care. Their ride was almost over and soon he would never have to see the son of a bitch again. Sorry, he apologized. Today has not been my best day. Then he quickly shifted gears and added-

We got two more hours until we part ways in Tonopah. Unless you want me to drop you off a bit before that, where Highway 95 cuts up north. Ace quietly stared at Ryan for an uncomfortable length of time before he spoke again. How about I decide when we approach the junction, when I can put my eyeball on it?

Ace grinned when he emphasized the word eyeball, and Ryan immediately flashed on the vision of what he'd hallucinated in the mirror. Or hoped he'd only hallucinated somehow. That terrifying vision of the man's smashed, mangled head with one eye still intact, looking impossibly still alive and staring into his soul. Sounds good, Ryan gritted out, trying his hardest not to lose his cool again. So what kind of business you got in Tonopah anyhow, Chief?

Ace asked casually Is that they hadn't just had such an uncomfortable exchange Ryan decided there was no reason not to tell him It thankfully didn't have anything to do with the hit and run And it would hopefully help him keep his mind off What had happened in the bathroom And keep Ace from talking about anything else That would upset him I'm a financial planner And there's a guy there with uh Considerable assets Who I was referred to

He's interested in working with me, but he wants to meet me in person before he signs anything. He wants me to present my plan for him face to face. And to use his words, he wants to assess my character. The last time we talked, he said you can never really know a man unless you shake his hand, look him in the eye, and watch him while he talks. Old school, Ace said reflectively. I like it. And then after taking a contemplative pause, he added, you nervous? Sounds like you might be in trouble, Chief.

"What?" Ryan said, getting angry again. "Why? What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" "Not to reopen a sore subject," Ace said mischievously. "But earlier tonight, you basically admitted that you might have hit someone's pet and that you didn't bother to check on it, make sure it wasn't still alive. Some folks might not read that as the best example of a strong character."

"'Are you fucking kidding me right now?' Ryan snarled. "'I'm getting pretty tired of your shit, Ace. Why do you keep bringing that up? I told you it was a raccoon, and it's none of your fucking business.' "'Easy, Chief,' Ace snickered, still grinning, and throwing up his hands at the universal sign of surrender. "'No need to blow a gasket,' he continued. "'But you didn't say it was a raccoon. You said you thought it was. But then you admitted it might have been something else.'

"'So fucking what?' Ryan yelled. "'Maybe it was a raccoon, maybe it was a dog, maybe it was a man!' Ace loudly interrupted and stared at Ryan wild-eyed with a grin that now felt decidedly menacing. Ryan stared back at him in a bit of shock, temporarily stunned into silence. "'Right there!' Ace said as he pointed his finger knowingly towards Ryan's face. "'Hot damn!' he exclaimed as he slapped his knee. "'That's the look I've been waiting to see, Chief. That look of recognition!'

The look of a man who needs to share his burden. Ryan was starting to feel a bit dizzy, like he had in the bathroom. He tried to tell himself he had just drank too much Red Bull too fast. In addition to the stress, he was still, of course, processing over what he had done, over what had happened to him. But he knew there was more to it than that. "'What the fuck are you going on about?' He stammered, nervous to hear the answer. Ace shook his head and laughed. "'Damn, buddy, you sure got a mouth on you. I mean, that's coming from a guy used to being on the receiving end of judgment.'

My oh my, my old man would have some thoughts about you. Anywho, I knew by the way you reacted when I first saw you at that gas station, by the panic in your eyes that you were running from something serious. No one gets that nervous over roadkill, chief. Uh-uh. No, I've known, he said as he nodded his head. I've known what you really have done this whole time. Ryan's hands had started to shake.

His lip had begun to tremble. All the fear he'd felt before about getting caught and going to prison and having his life forever ruined had returned tenfold. You don't know shit, he whimpered. Ace laughed louder than ever. I know you ran, Ryan. Come on. I know you cared more about landing some big deal in Tonopah than you did about some young man's life, chief. And I know that don't speak well to your character, not one bit, chief.

Young man? Ryan thought, feeling sick. How could he know that? Why would he assume that he had not only hit a person, but specifically a young man?

Ryan decided in that moment he couldn't take any more of Ace. The guy was going to give him a nervous breakdown. And he didn't need Ace anymore. He'd already fixed his bumper and no one had reported him for the accident. Or at least the police didn't seem to be looking for him yet. And Ace couldn't possibly know shit. He'd already been at the gas station when he pulled in. He couldn't have seen the accident. So it's not like he was some witness he needed to worry about.

It was time to part ways. Now he'd driven him far enough for the night. Ryan pulled over on the shoulder, stopped the car and promptly and bluntly told his strange passenger, get out. Ace started laughing again, louder than ever and slapping his knee. Oh, come on, chief. You that mad? A big time successful man driving a big expensive car like you. Let little old me get under your skin. That don't make no sense.

I said, get out, Ryan repeated firmly. Now the smile dropped from Ace's face, and now he spoke with more than a hint of menace as his voice matched his eyes. Why would you care what I say, chief? I'm just some, how'd you phrase it? Some fucking loser, hitchhiking because he was too lazy to get a job that would have paid for his own damn car. Some bum without a dime to my name.

I never said that, Ryan stammered. Yeah, but you sure as shit thought it, didn't you? Ace sneered accusingly. Get the fuck out of my car right now, Ryan demanded in a voice a lot more sheepish than he cared for. No, Ace answered coolly. No, I think I'll stay right here until we make it to Tonopah.

God damn it! Ryan roared. I don't have fucking time for this! He killed the engine, popped out of the car, walked around and opened Ace's door, and yelled again, louder this time. Get the fuck out of my car! Now! Ace busted out laughing again, again slapping his knee. Ha ha ha ha!

I wish you could see yourself right now, chief. You done blown your jets, boy. Fuck this, Ryan yelled. He'd had it. He was more furious than afraid now, and he reached down to grab Ace's jacket and drag him out of the car, but instead his hand pushed right on through Ace's body and connected with the seat he was sitting on.

Ryan's mind reeled, unable to completely comprehend what was happening. His hand had passed through Ace's body, but he could still see Ace, who he was now face to face with. Ace said after he quickly pushed his face up close to Ryan's before he blinked out of sight in an instant, leaving Ryan alone on the side of a dark, empty road in the mountainous, barren desert. Ryan stumbled backwards, slipped in the sandy soil, and fell down on his back before turning over and then popping back up on his feet.

He began to spin around wildly, frantically trying to find Ace, unable to yet understand where he'd gone. What the fuck? Ryan mumbled. What the actual fuck? He was a ghost, his mind told him. No, no, no, no, Ryan repeated as he anxiously paced back and forth next to his car. I picked him up. He fixed my car.

He just helped knock a loose piece off. His subconscious explained to him. Not much different than a ghost opening or slamming a door, is it? There's no such thing as ghosts! Ryan yelled, and then he heard his voice echo off a distant canyon wall. It doesn't matter what you believe. There's no other explanation for what happened, is there? His mind countered convincingly. Holy shit! Ryan huffed before he stopped pacing, put his hands on his knees, and started to vomit. It was too much. It was all way too much.

Now he began to wonder if he'd ever hit anyone at all. And then his emotional state quickly shifted from one of fear and disbelief to one of joy and relief. No! He cried out gleefully. I didn't hit him! I didn't hit anyone! He squealed excitedly. There was no damage! He suddenly remembered the spoiler in the back and he quickly unlocked the lift gate with a button on his key fob. He looked it over under the interior lights of his car and started laughing maniacally. Nothing! There's

Because I never fucking hit anyone! He howled up towards the moon. No one alive, his mind interjected. And then Ryan really tried to remember what he'd seen in the moment before the accident. A young white man. A black jacket. A black leather jacket. Then as he thought harder, a few more details emerged. He could picture the man's black coiffed hair, his deep blue eyes. It was Ace. He'd hit a fucking ghost.

He laughed like a madman again. He felt like a madman. He felt both terrified and relieved at the same time. He'd hit and then driven with a dead man. It was a story he would tell no one. No one he really knew anyway. It wouldn't be good for business. Who hires ghost guy to handle their investments? Fucking no one. But also, he hadn't killed anyone. No cops, no prison, no lawsuit. He still had his life.

He just needed to finish the drive to Tonopah Where he was going to ace his presentation Ryan laughed at his pun And then he was going to take a different route home Fuck that haunted stretch of 395 And then he could put the whole strange Horrible night behind him Wow wow wow Ryan exclaimed to himself As he walked back to the driver's side of his Cayenne Got in and started to pull back onto the highway He had just under two hours left to go now And with his conscience clean He'd actually be able to sleep Once he made it

He finished his Red Bull. Caffeine had never kept him from sleeping when he needed it. And he cranked up the volume on the stereo. Highly Suspect's Natural Born Killer was playing. And he started to sing along with the chorus. I'm a natural born killer. In between singing, Ryan kept laughing about the utter unbelievable absurdity of his evening. What an insane rollercoaster it had been. He thought about how in most circumstances, he'd probably be terrified, especially over what he had seen in the bathroom.

but because he had been so certain for several hours that he had literally killed someone, that he had left them to die on the highway if they weren't already dead, that he would go to prison for years, lose his house, his business, and the future he had worked so hard to build. Immense relief and gratitude trumped any notions of fear of the paranormal. He laughed again, loudly and for a long time, as he hit the steering wheel over and over with seemingly no one around for miles to witness him acting like a mental patient.

No, it was just him in the cold, high desert of western Nevada and the vast and uncaring starry sky above. He cocked his head back to look up to the glass of the sunroof and take it all in. The night sky was strikingly beautiful. He could not only see all the stars, but the ghostly, ethereal white of the Milky Way.

Better keep your eyes on the road, chief. Don't want to hit anyone else? No! Ryan yelled and startled, and looking towards the passenger seat for Ace, he accidentally tugged on the steering wheel and ended up on the shoulder of the road, coming dangerously close to a steep embankment where he could roll down to the bottom of a rocky, dry creek bed should he not correct in time.

He steered the car back onto the road, but overcorrected, and the Cayenne precariously teetered on two wheels for a moment, nearly careening around enough to be sent into a death roll before veering off the other side of the highway onto a wider shoulder with no steep embankment before Ryan finally got the vehicle under control and pulled back safely into his lane.

Ah, damn, that was too close. I thought for sure you were done for, for the second day of chief, Ace leered. Why the fuck are you still here? Ryan, equally terrified and frustrated, yelled at the apparition. He could now see through the rearview mirror sitting nonchalantly in the back passenger seat. We ain't done, chief, Ace said, sounding every bit as friendly as he'd appeared when Ryan had first encountered him.

Come on, Ryan. He continued with his crooked smile. A deal's a deal. I'll fix your car. You take me as far north as Tonopah, remember? And since we're both gonna be there, I was thinking we might as well be roomies tonight.

"'No! Our deal was based on bullshit!' Ryan yelled, as he, not paying attention to how fast he was driving, picked up speed as he raced down the highway. "'I never hit anyone, you asshole! It was you! It was you the whole fucking time!' he shouted as he glared into the mirror accusingly. Ace laughed at that. "'Ha ha! You got me dead to rights there, Chief!' "'Yeah, that was me. But it weren't all smoke and mirrors. I weren't in the road. I was on the shoulder. Just like the real time back in 62.'

and now Ace's voice turned venomous. "And just like the real prick that hit me, you done me dirty. You left just like him, like I was nothing." Ryan had no response. He had thought he'd hit someone. He hadn't been paying attention, and he had driven away. "Doesn't matter," was all he managed to say. "Haunt me then. I'll find a priest and have him exercise your ass." And then Ryan laughed again like a crazy person.

"'You need to get it together, chief,' Ace cracked from the back seat. "'You're busting up with the seams,' he added with a big grin. But then the smile left his face again. His eyes grew the coldest they'd ever been, and his voice lowered nearly to a growl for what he said next. "'You see any priests around here, amigo? Far as I can tell, it's just you, me, and the knight.'

"You don't scare me, Ace!" Ryan lied. "You're all bark and no bite. You're dead, buddy. You're fucking dead!" He screamed, then he started to laugh again. Ace continued to stare him down with his cold, dead eyes as he coolly said, "Oh, I do scare you, Chief. I scare you bad. And I'm about to scare you worse. I really was on my way to Reno, you know. Sixty-three years ago this night, I was gonna be someone. But he took that from me. Hit me hard and busted me up real good.

But I was alive, goddammit! And then he roared. But he left me to die just like you! Ryan, his heart pounding with fear and adrenaline, kept speeding up subconsciously trying to drive away from the menacing ghost in the backseat. He didn't realize he was now driving nearly a hundred miles an hour. No, not like me! Ryan protested. I didn't really hit you! You died over sixty years ago! Move the fuck on! Ace's ghost laughed in acknowledgement, but clearly didn't find what Ryan said very funny. He shook his head, sighed, and said...

I would if I could. God knows I would. I'm not sure why I can't move on, but I don't. Too hot over it all still, I guess. Ace then paused, smiled mischievously and hissed. I got an idea, chief. How about you show me how it's done? Ryan felt truly, deeply afraid again. His voice trembled as he asked the question he feared he knew the answer to already. What are you talking about? Ace lit up a phantom cigarette before speaking slowly. Death, Ryan. Death,

is what I'm talking about. And then after he took a deep drag and exhaled, he disappeared. He was back, but a second later, now in the front passenger seat and looking every bit as mangled and bloody as he had in the gas station bathroom mirror. Show me the way, chief! Take me to the light! He roared impossibly through an obliterated face and jaw.

Ryan, horrified and startled, ended up jerking the steering wheel as he instinctively tried to back away from the monster beside him, which, at 110 miles an hour now, quickly sent the Cayenne rolling off the side of the road, down the steep embankment over a hundred yards to the bottom of a small canyon where it slammed to a stop against a rock face at the base of a mountain. The airbags deployed and Ryan was wearing a seatbelt, but the force of the impact knocked him unconscious, crumpled the front end and pushed the steering wheel into his ribcage, crushing it and pinning him in place.

He woke up roughly 30 seconds later bleeding internally with dozens of broken bones, but still alive. "How you feeling, Chief?" Ace asked him through the busted front passenger door window, still smoking his cigarette. "I ain't gonna lie, you've looked better." "Ha ha ha," he laughed. "And here comes some more bad news. There just ain't no way you're gonna make that meeting in Tonopah." "Sorry, bud," he grinned. Ryan could only gurgle and groan in response.

But, Ace now beamed, in better news, you're still alive. So I guess you're in better shape than me, huh? But unless you get help soon, well, I feel like that's about to change. You're pretty busted up. You better call for help. Phones turned off, which is unfortunate, but it's right there, Chief. He said as he pointed to the floorboard at the foot of the front passenger seat. Ryan's right arm wasn't broken and he was able to reach for it. But then he cried out in pain when he was still a good two feet from being able to grab it. He wheezed.

Please, just stop. 911. I can do that, Ace grinned. I can't do much in my spiritual state, that's for damn sure. But I've learned I can get some shit done. Like popping off busted spoilers or turning off lights in a gas station bathroom. Some other parlor tricks.

I imagine I could easily push a few buttons on a phone. Then he paused and glared ferociously at the cocky and narcissistic young wealth manager from Los Angeles who only cared about himself when he thought he'd ran a man down. But I won't, he seethed. What goes around comes around, chief. You ever hear that one?

"'Nah, you left me to die on the road, so it's only fair I return the favor. "'I imagine I'll probably keep haunting my stretch of road down south, daddy-o. "'Guess this stretch might be yours now. "'Maybe we'll cross paths again someday. Haunt some poor fool together. "'See you around, pal.'

And with that, Ace took one last deep drag off his Marlboro and faded into nothingness. Returning to wherever he would disappear to in between anniversary appearances at the sight of his death. A place not even he himself fully understood or knew how to get to or return from. It was just something that happened. No, please. Ryan croaked, doing his best to speak with a throat and mouth filling up with blood. Please come back. Please come back. No, please.

Don't leave me here. Don't let me die like that. Don't let me die like this. It's not fair. It's not fair. And then right before 34-year-old Ryan Castillo lost consciousness and died, of all the things he could have seen, he watched what looked like a little raccoon scurrying down from the road above him. Ace was wrong. They did live out in the desert alone, far from people. If he weren't dying, he would have laughed. And that's it for this Nightmare Fuel. I hope you loved The Hitchhiker.

Hope you enjoyed Ace. Good or bad character? I don't know. But probably still a better guy in death than Ryan was in life. Today's tale was written by me, Dan Cummins, and scored by Logan Keith. If you enjoyed this story, check out the rest of the Bad Magic Productions catalog. Time Suck every Monday at noon Pacific time with little short sucks on some Fridays. And these Nightmare Fuel episodes on some Fridays as well. Almost 30 of them now.

And new episodes of the now long-running paranormal podcast, Scared to Death, right here every Tuesday at midnight. Please go to badmagicproductions.com for all your bad magic needs, including show-related merch. And stay scared. Bad Magic Productions. Last year, Americans ate 32 billion chicken wings. Who knows just how many helpless sides of celery were heartlessly thrown away?

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