I Picked Up a Hitchhiker on a Highway That Never Ends

Scary Horror Stories by Dr. NoSleep

A man driving alone through a desolate desert highway at night encounters endless stretches of road, eerie radio static, and a mysterious, b

Key takeaways

• The highway symbolizes an endless psychological journey, reflecting the protagonist's internal struggle with fear and isolation.

Main topics

• Psychological horror
• Supernatural hitchhiker

Notable quotes

"I almost ran some chick down, and she doesn't seem to care at all."

"Don't tell me your name... I've been there, man, just trying to get from point A to point B without hassle, trouble, or drama."

Conclusion

The episode ends with the protagonist realizing his own car is stuck in a ditch—identical to

Transcript preview

Speaker 1 (0:00) In tonight's story, a man drives through the desert at night, trying to stay awake on a highway that seems to go on forever. The radio only plays static, except for an old announcer, who cuts in with strange messages. Then, out of nowhere, a barefoot woman, bruised and bleeding, appears in the middle of the road asking for a ride, and as they drive off he starts to wonder if something else is following them through the dark. But before we get into it, if you enjoy scary stories like this, be sure to like and subscribe so you never miss any of our weekly uploads. Speaker 1 (0:37) My eyes snap open and I twist the wheel, just barely keeping the car on the road. And when I say barely, I mean that two of my tires touch gravel, nearly sending me into a sideways skid. Good thing I pulled it together, or I'd be in that ditch right now. I slap my face a couple of times, give my head a hard shake, then blink hard and focus on keeping the tires off the shoulder. My car straightens out, and the engine purrs along as the desert wind blows outside. The night. and the highway are relentless. I swear that the sun set way longer than 12 hours ago. Shouldn't it be coming up behind me by now? Blinding me briefly in my rearview mirror? Yeah, but it's not. All I see is a stretch of highway that goes on for miles and miles, while bright stars and a moonless sky loom over everything. I try the radio again, but all I can get is some jazz station, and it's not even playing music. I don't mean it's playing some weird kind of jazz I don't understand. I mean there's literally no song, just a faint hiss of static and long stretches of dead air where the music should be. Maybe that is the music, and I'm just not sophisticated enough to get it. I'm no jazz aficionado, but I know the difference between Miles Davis and Louis Armstrong. The sound coming out of my speakers for miles and miles across the bleak landscape is neither Miles Davis nor Louis Armstrong. It's basically silence. Not that it matters much. What's coming out of my radio is the least of my worries. I go to switch it off when the announcer says, Speaker 1 (2:13) His voice is old, gravelly, and not just because of the ever-present static. He sounds like he's been in front of that microphone for decades, centuries, eons. Even with the interference, I can hear the sound of his lighter flicking and the long drag he takes as he sparks up his cigarette. Man, I could go for a smoke. It's been years, but there's something about driving alone at night, nothing but open road, open skies. and open possibilities to make you want a cigarette. Maybe open possibilities is stretching the truth a bit. I've got one possibility. Put as much distance between me and the city as possible, and as fast as possible. I've got demons on my tail. Not real ones, that'd be crazy. Nah, just a couple of loan sharks looking to collect. One wants my cash, the other wants my head. I hope neither of them catches up to me. assuming they can even figure out which direction I went. Lot of roads lead out of the city. Lot of roads. The jazz music the gravelly-voiced announcer promised still hasn't started, of course, and I turn the volume knob. All I get is a dangerous hiss, one that will blow out my eardrums if the music does start up suddenly. I turn the volume back to a safe level and wait. Rolling the window down, I shiver at the cold desert air that fills my car. It's incredible how it can be in the 90s during the day, then be in the 40s at night. The sting of the chill is definitely helping me keep my eyes open. Checking my rearview mirror, I think for a moment that I see headlights back there. But I'm wrong. A trick of the starlight is all. There's nothing back there but cacti, cacti, and more cacti. Just like to the sides of me. Just like in front of me. Which is where my attention is focused as I slam on the brakes, my hands gripping the steering wheel until my knuckles pop. The brakes squeal and tire skid, sending me a few degrees to the side. When my car stops, I'm idling at an angle across the highway, my heart pounding in my chest, my eyes wide with fear. I almost ran some chick down, and she doesn't seem to care at all. Standing there in only a white t-shirt and cut-offs, she leans down and looks at me through the side window. My finger hits the button, and the glass automatically rolls down. Hi. Can I get a ride? I'm at a loss for words for a couple of seconds, until she nods and pats the side of my car. Never mind. No, no, sure, yeah, hop in. She narrows her eyes, then nods, opens the door and gets in. Before I can say anything or even do anything, she says, don't tell me your name, which should be a strange thing to say, except I get it. I've been there, man, just trying to get from point A to point