Dog and I started early. Dog is my crapped-out car’s name when she is behaving. Last month when she failed her MOT, she was the Bitch. But mostly she is a reliable companion who chugs along, panting like an old and faithful Labrador.

It’s a long drive, but one I have done a hundred times. By the time we hit the highlands I had eaten my body weight in snacks and the passenger seat was buried under wrappers, half eaten apples and a bottle of Lucozade I hadn’t been able to open, its lid was apparently cemented on. The drizzle that had been blanketing the hills had turned into torrential rain, the possible beginnings of a second biblical flood.

I rounded a corner, regretting that I hadn’t slowed down, and spotted a figure in my path. I spun the wheel to avoid them, skidded across the road and hit the soft verge which slowed us before we bumped into a fence. It was the gentlest crash going, almost a non-crash, soft as it was.

All the same for a moment the world stopped. The only sound was the rain hammering down on Dog’s roof. I stared at the wipers as they struggled to clear the falling water which cloaked the windscreen like a veil. Then someone tapped at my window and I jolted, rocking in my seat. I had been far away, absorbed by the sheeting rain. Returned by the rapping I was dragged back into the moment and the reality of what had just happened. I had nearly hit someone on the road.

I turned to see an ancient woman peering in at me. She was weathered and it seemed quite possible that she was crumbling under the weight of her years. Her eyes were bright, emerald-green, serpent-like and her concerned face calmed me.

I wound the window down.

I meant to ask her if she was ok, after all I had nearly just killed her. Instead, she offered me relief.

‘You’re alright wee one.’

Her voice crackled like the embers of a fire, warm and reassuring. I nodded, surprised by the fact that yes, I was all right. Relief flooded me, I hadn’t done any harm, this woman, presumably had been the figure in the road and she was fine. So fine, here she was telling me I was all right.

I offered her a lift, hoping she wouldn’t mention that I had nearly run her down. She accepted and, when I started to clear the debris from the passenger seat, she told me not to bother, she would be happy in the back. She clambered in, bringing with her a fair amount of rain and settled in. I took a moment, just to breathe, letting my heart race slow, I was fine, Dog was fine and we hadn’t killed the old woman.

Once sure I was steady enough to drive, I popped Dog into reverse. For a moment she churned mud, but then thankfully she managed to pull free and we were back on the road. During our first mile I was worried I had done the car some damage, but she went well, and the rain was washing the mud from her as we went. Except for my fellow traveller there would be nothing to show for my spin out.

I asked the woman where she was headed and it turned out her destination was also the ferry crossing. I wondered about that. We still had a good fifty miles to go, so I asked if she had been waiting on a bus, though I hadn’t ever seen one out this way.

‘A bus or something,’ she replied.

Her answer caused me to frown as I wondered if perhaps, she been in the middle of the road on purpose, hoping to force a passing car to stop. It would have been easier and certainly safer to stand at the roadside and wave a lift down. But I didn’t like to mention this as I had very nearly struck her with Dog, best not to remind her of that.

I turned the heating up, thinking she would be grateful for the warmth and a chance to dry off. Dog’s windows quickly started to fog and the old lady gave off a peculiar scent as she dried. It reminded me of autumn walks, kicked up moulding leaves and cold frosted nights.

After a while, a grumbling snore echoed from the back of the car. Apparently, my passenger wasn’t going to offer conversation. Not wanting to drive in silence I tried the radio, but it didn’t work. Static hissed from the speakers, though I was sure I heard a voice mixed in there, it was soft and accented. Something about this tickled at the edges of a memory, but I was unable to tie it down.

The remainder of the drive was slow, and thankfully uneventful. Winding roads, tractors and a herd of sheep, no other near misses, or bumped fences. We reached the crossing and I pulled Dog up not far from the slip road. I wanted to stretch my legs and take a piss. I stood stiffly and took a moment to enjoy the view. The rain had finally stopped, and though it was only early evening a heavy moon hung in the sky, its silver light dancing on the calm sea. Behind me the car door opened and closed. The old lady was finally awake. Footsteps approached and she paused beside me.

‘Its beautiful at this time of year,’ she sighed.

I turned. The speaker wasn’t the old lady, this woman had a fresh young voice. I stared at the girl who stood beside me, she was naked and her skin was pearly perfection. She giggled at my confusion and her emerald, green eyes sparkled. They were the old lady’s eyes. Then she stepped towards the water, shedding her skin as she went, before finally as a serpent she entered the cold North Sea and slithered away through the moon-soaked waves.

© Juliet Robinson 2023, all rights reserved.

Mind Burble

Hitch Hiker was written for a workshop and there was a limit of a thousand words, I crept over by three I believe. Writing short stories can often lead to abrupt endings. For me I enjoyed this ending, but I do appreciate that it could be considered unsatisfactory.

The story was inspired by Emily Dickinson’s poem, I started Early – Took my Dog. Which if you haven’t read you are in for a treat when you do.

https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/50976/i-started-early-took-my-dog-656