the Hitcher (1986) novelization
Thanks to my longtime friend, I became the proud owner of a printed book based on the movie Hitcher (1986). This is an unofficial fanzine, but I'll say it bluntly: it's so good that it could be an official one.
I started translating it into English so that as many people as possible would get to know it. I want to share with you the beginning of the first chapter :)
(It's too early for trigger warnings, but the work may contain violence, blood, and obscene language)
______________________________________________________________
"Get away! Death!
I am not death.
Death, I recognize you, you dressed up as a girl today.
But under the freckles, I see bones!"
Ray Bradbury "Death and the Maiden"
"Something wicked this way comes."
William Shakespeare "Macbeth"
Chapter 1. Killer on the road
Rain. Black rain. Rain and lightning, illuminating the road, the plain, and the proud, stately mountains behind it with rare flashes. A wonderful couple. Rain and lightning. Rain, lulling, soothing, calling and ready to take you into its gentle embrace, lift you above the world and rock you in a cozy cradle. Rock you so that your tired eyelids close, and you fall into a dream that will end somewhere on the side of the road with a car burning with bright white fire and a writhing burnt man inside.
Eyelids, eyelids are sticking together. Sleep, SLEEP.
Lightning. It grins through the window with its crooked, toothless grin, as if saying:
"Hello, boy. How are you? Where are you going? Why? Aren't you tired?
“So what's the matter? Sleep, boy. What could be better than a good deep sleep? Sleep, boy. Relax, and we'll take care of you. Sleep, boy…”
It disappears. Eyelids become heavy. Hands sag, unable to hold the steering wheel any longer.
Sleep. Came. Fell upon. Pressed down on the chest. Pressed into the comfortable back of the seat. Threw a noose around the hands.
A sharp signal brought James Halsey out of oblivion. Damn, he really did fall asleep. Pulling the car to the right, he saw in the headlights through the veil of rain a goddamn hunchbacked white Volkswagen. Blinking its red eyes, the "bug" went around him and, picking up speed, went ahead. For a few seconds, Halsey still saw its lights behind the viscous, sticky rain, but soon they disappeared too, winking friendly one last time.
James Halsey stuck a Lucky Strike in his mouth and struck a match. A bright flash cut across his eyes. For a while, he saw only an orange spot and blindly poked the cigarette at his hand, trying to catch the trembling flame. Finally, he succeeded. It couldn't be said that the cigarette gave him much pleasure. It simply chased away sleep. Although it didn't go away completely. But perched on the back of the neighboring seat, waiting.
"I need to turn on the radio, listen to music, otherwise I really might fall asleep, and that's not far from trouble."
James Halsey, twenty-three years old, had been driving a brand new Rolls-Royce for eighteen hours. The firm that hired him for this job explained that the owner needed the car no later than ten o'clock the day after tomorrow. Otherwise, he loses his commission and can go to hell.
We think, Halsey, you understand that there will be no one to appeal to. Yes, sir. Of course, sir.
Damn rain. Halsey reached for the receiver, turned it on, and twisted the tuning knob. Nothing but the weather forecast
clearing expected by morning
and the latest news. He turned off the receiver irritably. He took a small thermos out of the glove compartment with one hand and placed it on his lap. Coffee. A cup of strong, hot coffee. That's exactly what he needed right now. Halsey pressed the steering wheel with his elbow and began to unscrew the lid. He poured the hot, viscous liquid into an aluminum cup and, gripping the steering wheel, settled in more comfortably.
Move. Move. Or SLEEP. SLEEP — TROUBLE — BLACK BIRD. IT IS AHEAD, AND HE… what the hell? AND HE FEELS IT. God, what's wrong with me… IT IS LURKING AHEAD. BLACK BIRD — DEATH.
Halsey realized he couldn't see anything. His head was clouded with fog, black dirty fog.
SHE IS AHEAD. LOOK CLOSELY. PEER INTO THE DARKNESS, AND YOU... God, what is that? WILL SEE HER. SHE IS ON THE ROAD. BLACK BIRD — DEATH
with the smell of blood. The smell of blood and coffee. A cup rolled under his feet with a dull ringing sound, bumping against the pedals. Halsey realized that he had been hearing the furious roar of the refrigerator for several seconds and looked up. A huge luminous monster was moving towards him directly from the darkness.
Above the round, dazzlingly bright eyes shone the Mercedes emblem. And even higher, Halsey made out the contorted face of the truck driver. Eyes like saucers, mouth like a plate. All this flashed through his mind in a fraction of a second.
That's it, buddy, you've gone too far. He'll flatten you like a pancake, chew you up, and spit you out.
The next second, Halsey's hands turned the steering wheel to the side, his foot slammed the gas pedal to the floor, and the Rolls, swerving, returned to its lane, miraculously avoiding a collision. The truck sped past, roaring a threat after the unlucky one.
Halsey rubbed his forehead. What was wrong with him? The strange feeling of impending doom did not leave, but, on the contrary, squeezed his chest even tighter and caused a spasm in his stomach.
"I think I'm going crazy," he said to himself.
"You're just tired..." It's the rain.
"Sleep, man..." Lightning.
"What was that? A premonition? Or is he really going crazy? What strange creature was whispering a terrible prophecy to him from the depths of his mind?"
Fear rose to his throat, displacing all other feelings and thoughts. A mad fear of what was going to happen and what was impossible to avoid.
LOOK INTO THE DARKNESS. IT AWAITS YOU. BLACK BIRD…
A black figure emerged from the veil of rain.
WINGS. IT HAS WINGS. WATER DRIPS FROM THE FEATHERS AND ROLLS DOWN IN DROPS ONTO THE WET ASPHALT.
Halsey's eyes widened in terror. The panic nesting in his soul was ready to burst out in a loud, piercing scream.
Go away! Get lost!! Disintegrate!!!
My God, it's... A human. It was just a human. A lonely hitchhiker on the road
there are many of them, standing along the road with an outstretched hand and a thumb pointing down. What's wrong with you, man? What are you afraid of? It's just a
hitchhiker. Looks like you're losing it. Stop, pick him up. Otherwise, you'll definitely go crazy and start flinching at your own shadow. Halsey pressed the brake, and the “Roller” pulled over to the side of the road, leaving the hitchhiker a few meters behind. The man quickly approached the car and pulled the handle. For a second he stood in bewilderment, then pulled again and drummed his knuckles on the window.
Halsey glanced at the door and was surprised to find it locked. But he distinctly remembered not locking it. The person knocked again.
What the hell? Halsey bent down to the door and opened it.
The person grabbed the handle and pulled it towards themselves.
JIMMY. PLEASE DON'T GIVE THOSE HIPPIES A RIDE. THE NEWSPAPERS SAY THERE ARE SO MANY ACCIDENTS ON THE ROADS THESE DAYS…
Mom. She was always worried about him. Always. As long as he could remember.
Mom, I'm long past the age when kids need their bottoms wiped.
“My mother told me never to do this,” Halsey smiled, looking at the passenger. Medium height. The build is hidden by an unbuttoned raincoat. Short haircut. Thin chin and capricious lips.
“Quite ordinary appearance,” he decided. The hitcher sank into the front seat and glanced briefly at Halsey. Eyes. Empty, colorless, expressionless eyes. Halsey felt a prickle of unease. To hide it, he pressed the starter and pulled the “Rolls” onto the highway. Unease grew into anxiety. Gradually, like the shore filling with water during high tide. The hitcher took out a white handkerchief and wiped his neck, forehead, and face. Then he put the handkerchief in his pocket and sneezed deafeningly.
“Bless you,” Halsey said. He looked expectantly at the passenger. Silence. His hitcher stared impassively at the highway rushing under the wheels. A round drop of water hung on the tip of his nose, and for some reason this calmed Halsey.
“My name is James Halsey.”
“John.” The hitcher clearly didn't want to keep up the conversation. “John Ryder.”
Halsey already regretted giving him a ride. Not only did his companion turn out to be a taciturn person, but the anxiety wouldn't go away. He shouldn't have stopped.
______________________________
I hope I've managed to intrigue you *giggle*. I'll translate the rest of the chapter as quickly as possible.
(I don't have a beta reader. If you are interested in the story, I will be glad of your help :))
