Samuel Drake has an exciting Halloween night on a lonely highway in central Illinois known as "The Dixie Highway." There's sex, danger, and, of course, the supernatural in this relatively mild story-- no VERY mild story-- intended for the 2018 Halloween Story Contest.
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WARNING! This warning is possibly not needed for this particular story, but I am including it because it is needed for most of my stories.
If you decide to read other of my stories make sure that you read the disclosures and warnings at the beginning of each story.
All of my writing is intended for adults over the age of 18 ONLY. Stories may contain strong or even extreme sexual content. All people and events depicted are fictional and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. Actions, situations, and responses are fictional ONLY and should not be attempted in real life.
If you are under the age or 18 or do not understand the difference between fantasy and reality or if you reside in any state, province, nation, or tribal territory that prohibits the reading of acts depicted in these stories, please stop reading immediately and move to somewhere that exists in the twenty-first century.
Archiving and reposting of this story is permitted, but only if acknowledgment of copyright and statement of limitation of use is included with the article. This story is copyright (c) 2018 by The Technician.
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It was 1958. Route 66 was in its glory as the primary route from Chicago to Los Angeles. While still in Illinois, shortly after the road passed through Springfield, just outside the small town of McLean, you passed by what was the premier truck stop of its day, the Dixie Trucker's Home, usually referred to as "The Dixie Truck Stop." This nationally-known truck stop was open 24/7, 365 days of the year. The huge sign with the word "Dixie" emblazoned on what looked like pilot's wings was visible for miles welcoming you in. Truckers and travelers stopped by at all hours for food for their bodies and fuel for their vehicles.
After eating, you could go back out on Route 66 or go out the side exit onto Illinois 136, known in the area as "The Dixie Highway." Route 136 wasn't part of the national road designated as "The Dixie Highway." It was so named because you turned onto Route 136 at The Dixie Truck Stop.
You could use 136 to get to Havana, Illinois, and connect with Route 24 which took you up river to Peoria and from there on north. It was a little bit longer, but you avoided most of the small towns and could easily go to either Rockford or Chicago or even the Quad Cities. Since Peoria and Rockford were both bustling manufacturing towns in those days, The Dixie Highway was the preferred truck route north for many drivers until Route 66 became four lanes. Then almost all truck-- and auto traffic-- moved to Route 66. By 1958, The Dixie Highway was all but abandoned except as a way for farmers to get to their fields.
Samuel Drake knew many of those farmers. He was a seed salesman. He had finished a leisurely meal at the Dixie Diner before heading west on Route 136. He would find a motel in Havana and then start his sales calls in the morning. But first he had to get to Havana without falling asleep from fatigue and boredom. Even if the night had not been so dark, Sam wouldn't have had much to see. There wasn't anything but cornfields and pastures on this thirty-mile stretch of road. To make it worse, it was Halloween and all the fields had been harvested. With nothing but empty fields along the highway, it was as if the world ended just past the shoulder of the road.
Right after harvest was the time for Sam's most important visits. If his seed had done well, he was almost guaranteed a sale for next spring. If his seeds had not performed as hoped, he needed to start damage control immediately before some other seed salesman convinced his customers to switch brands. And, of course, he would do the same-- stop by those who used his competitors seeds and hope to convince them that his brand could have done better. Such was the life of a traveling seed salesman.
An oncoming truck's headlights created glare on Sam's dirty windshield. He squinted and tried to keep track of the lines that marked the center and edge of the road. Then, just as the truck went past, another set of headlights flared directly in front of him... in his lane! Someone had evidently not seen him and was swinging out to pass the slow-moving truck.
There wasn't time to hit his brakes. Sam swerved to the right. He could see the truck moving to the left. Maybe there would be room after all. ... And then it was over. Sam gripped the wheel tightly and took several deep breaths. "That was a close one," he said aloud, "... an extremely close one."
As he continued down the road, again and again he had to squint through the glare of high-beam headlights. "What's wrong with everybody tonight?" he yelled as another car passed without dimming their lights.
He thought about just pulling into one of the field entrances and spending the night, but before he could find a decently-wide entrance, he saw a young woman standing by the side of the road with her thumb pointing west.
He shouldn't have stopped. Even without the legend of the Dixie Highway Ghost Hitchhiker who appeared every Halloween, stopping at night for a pretty woman hitchhiking was dangerous. She could very well be a trap luring him to the side of the road so her accomplices could strike. For some reason, despite a very bad feeling in the back of his mind, he pulled over and stopped.
"Where you goin'?" he asked through the rolled-down passenger-side window.
"Havana," she answered brightly. Then she added, "You going my way?"
"Well," he said slowly, still wondering if this was a trap of some sort, "I'm so tired, I was planning on pulling into a field entrance soon and catching some sleep. The traffic is crazy tonight and it's killing my eyes."
He looked up at an oncoming car with its brights lighting up the inside of his car and said, "It's like they don't even see me."
"I'd go for that," the young woman said brightly. "I can sleep in the backseat of a car as easily as I can on that lumpy bed at my apartment."
Sam wasn't sure what he said or did next, but the young woman was now beside him on the seat and they were heading down the highway. In another few miles, there was a wide field entrance that would allow him to pull off the road without entering the field itself.
