Andrea's Story

As Andrea turned off the motorway onto the road to Brockbourne, the small village in which she lived, it was four o'clock in the afternoon, but already the sun was falling behind the hills. At this time in December, it would be completely dark by five o'clock.

She was just coming out of the little village of Mickley when she saw the old lady hitchhiking. She had never seen an old lady hitchhiking before. However, the coming darkness made her feel sorry for the lady, waiting hopefully on a country road like this with little traffic. Normally, Andrea would never pick up a hitchhiker when she was alone, but what was the harm in doing a favour for a little old lady like this? Andrea pulled up a little way down the road, and the lady, holding a big shopping bag, hurried over to climb in the door which Andrea had opened for her. When she did get in, Andrea could see that she was not so little. Broad and fat, the old lady had some difficulty climbing in through the car door, with her big bag, and when she had got in, she more than filled the seat next to Andrea. She wore a long, shabby old dress, and she had a yellow hat pulled down low over her eyes. She pushed her big brown canvas shopping bag down onto the floor under her feet, and said, "Thank you dearie -- I'm just going to Brockbourne." "Do you live there?" asked Andrea. “No, dearie," answered the passenger, "I'm just going to visit a friend. But my car won’t start, so I decided to hitchhike -- there isn't a bus until seven, and I didn't want to wait. I knew some kind soul would give me a lift."

Something in the way the lady spoke, and the way she never turned her head, but stared continuously into the darkness ahead from under her old yellow hat, made Andrea uneasy about this strange hitchhiker. She didn't know why, but she felt instinctive that there was something wrong, something odd, something... dangerous. But how could an old lady be dangerous? It was absurd. Andrea looked sideways at her passenger. She studied the hat, the dress, the shapeless body, the arms with their thick black hairs...

Thick black hairs? Hairy arms? Andrea's blood froze. This wasn't a woman. It was a man. At first, she didn't know what to do. Then suddenly, an idea came into her racing, terrified brain. "My God!" she shouted, "A child! Did you see the child? I think I hit her!" The "old lady" was clearly shaken by the sudden skid. "I didn't see anything dearie," she said. "I don't think you hit anything." "I'm sure it was a child!" insisted Andrea. "Could you just get out and have a look?” She held her breath. The passenger opened the car door, leaving her bag inside, and climbed out to investigate. As soon as she was out of the vehicle, Andrea gunned the engine and accelerated madly away. The car door swung shut as she rounded a bend, and soon she had put three miles between herself and the hitchhiker.

Then, she thought about the bag lying on the floor in front of her. Maybe the bag would provide some information about the identity of the hitchhiker. Pulling into the side of the road, Andrea lifted the heavy bag onto her lap and opened it curiously. It contained only one item -- a small hand axe, with a razor-sharp blade. The axe, and the inside of the bag, were covered with the dark red stains of dried blood. Andrea began to scream.