Chinese Okra - An Anthology

VII. The Highway Headsman

In which a car accident entangles a person in a deadly encounter with a seemingly innocent hitchhiker. 

*****

Emerging from the wreckage, your body aching with searing pain, you force yourself to move forward, dragging your wounded left foot across the razor-sharp shards of the shattered windshield. Flames devour the rear of your car, and it's only a matter of time before the inferno consumes the entire vehicle, bringing forth a cataclysmic explosion. Realizing you can't simply linger and become a human torch, disintegrating into a gruesome heap of charred flesh when the fire reaches the gas tank, you make a resolute decision.

Thankfully, you always keep your belongings within reach, tucked safely in your pocket. As you crawl away, you catch a glimpse of the hijacker. To your astonishment, he lies on the ground with a self-inflicted gunshot wound to his chin, the whereabouts of his gun unknown after the chaotic swerve that sent your car tumbling downhill. Your plan, at least, has come to fruition, and the anonymous hijacker now lies dead, his fate uncertain but hopefully lifeless.

Abandoning the vehicle, panic and distress consume you, causing you to hastily survey your surroundings. The ominous, shadowy expanse of the dense woodland stretches endlessly before you, obscuring your vision. Everything blurs into an indistinguishable abyss.

Just like everything else, your ingenious plan carries its flaws, and now you're experiencing them firsthand.

You were a mere two miles away from the accursed small town of Kolscher Town when you encountered that seemingly harmless young man. The innocence radiating from his waving arms, the sweet plea for a ride, and the deceptive simplicity of his attire—all led you to believe he was nothing more than a naive soul. But when his eyes turned bloodshot where your tears threatened to spill, revealing the true face of a deranged, armed killer hidden beneath his facade, it became clear that you fell into his trap.

As regret gnaws at your conscience and a more favorable outcome dances tantalizingly in your mind, the haunting moniker "The Highway Headsman" springs forth from the recesses of your memory—a fragment of a headline gleaned from an antiquated newspaper you pored over during your stint at the shabby motel after scouring for archival accounts in the local library. The ominous nickname, rumored to be the talk of Kolscher Town, resonates within you. If your recollection serves you well, four victims have met gruesome decapitation in the past four months, each execution occurring at the end of each month.

And tonight marks your departure from Kolscher Town, marking the conclusion of the fifth month since the initial murder—a month that, with any luck, has also spelled the demise of The Highway Headsman. After all, you know what you did to the young man back there. At the very least, you can rest assured that no innocent souls will fall victim to beheading any longer, for you are the one who put an end to that macabre cycle.

Yet, a nagging question persists. If the charred figure in the car behind you is indeed the infamous Highway Headsman, why on earth would he wield a gun instead of a more menacing weapon, such as an axe or a machete?

Your mind conjures an image, inspired by that fleeting article you perused. You envisioned The Highway Headsman as a sinewy, disheveled lumberjack, his voice guttural and unsettling, who took perverse delight in hunting unsuspecting prey as if it were a mere pastime. In your imagination, he always carried an outrageously massive axe, holstered upon his muscular back, whistling haunting folk songs as he made his way back to his secluded woodland cabin. In your mind, The Highway Headsman is a dark version of Paul Bunyan.

But reality defies your fantastical notions, it seems, unless the young man currently engulfed in flames within your car was never the notorious Highway Headsman to begin with.