The Hitchhiker

As Andrea turned off the motorway onto the road to Brockbourne, the small village in which she lived, it was four o'clock in
the afternoon, but already the sun was falling behind the hills. At this time in December, it would be completely dark by five
o'clock. Andrea shivered. The interior of the car was not cold, but the trees bending in the harsh wind and the patches of
yesterday's snow still heaped in the fields made her feel chilly inside. It was another ten miles to the cottage where she lived with
her husband Michael, and the dim light and wintry weather made her feel a little lonely. She would have liked to listen to the
radio, but it had been stolen from her car when it was parked outside her office in London about two weeks ago, and she had not
got around to replacing it yet.
She was just coming out of the little village of Mickley when she saw the old lady, standing by the road, with a crude hand-
written sign saying "Brockbourne" in her hand. Andrea was surprised. She had never seen an old lady hitchhiking before.
However, the weather and the coming darkness made her feel sorry for the lady, waiting hopefully on a country road like this with
little traffic. Normally, Andrea would never pick up a hitchhiker when she was alone, thinking it was too dangerous, but what was
the harm in doing a favor for a little old lady like this? Andrea pulled up a little way down the road, and the lady, holding a big
shopping bag, hurried over to climb in the door which Andrea had opened for her.
When she did get in, Andrea could see that she was not, in fact, so little. Broad and fat, the old lady had some difficulty
climbing in through the car door, with her big bag, and when she had got in, she more than filled the seat next to Andrea. She
wore a long, shabby old dress, and she had a yellow hat pulled down low over her eyes. Panting noisily from her effort, she
pushed her big brown canvas shopping bag down onto the floor under her feet, and said in a voice which was almost a whisper,
"Thank you dearie -- I'm just going to Brockbourne."
"Do you live there?" asked Andrea, thinking that she had never seen the old lady in the village in the four years she had lived
there herself.
"No, dearie," answered the passenger, in her soft voice, "I'm just going to visit a friend. He was supposed to meet me back
there at Mickley, but his car won't start, so I decided to hitchhike -- there isn't a bus until seven, and I didn't want to wait. I knew
some kind soul would give me a lift."
Something in the way the lady spoke, and the way she never turned her head, but stared continuously into the darkness
ahead from under her old yellow hat, made Andrea uneasy about this strange hitchhiker. She didn't know why, but she felt
instinctively that there was something wrong, something odd, something....dangerous. But how could an old lady be dangerous?
it was absurd.
Careful not to turn her head, Andrea looked sideways at her passenger. She studied the hat, the dirty collar of the dress, the
shapeless body, the arms with their thick black hairs....
Thick black hairs?
Hairy arms? Andrea's blood froze.
This wasn't a woman. It was a man.
At first, she didn't know what to do. Then suddenly, an idea came into her racing, terrified brain. Swinging the wheel
suddenly, she threw the car into a skid, and brought it to a halt.
"My God!" she shouted, "A child! Did you see the child? I think I hit her!"
The "old lady" was clearly shaken by the sudden skid. "I didn't see anything dearie," she said. "I don't think you hit anything."
"I'm sure it was a child!" insisted Andrea. "Could you just get out and have a look? Just see if there's anything on the road?"
She held her breath. Would her plan work?
It did. The passenger slowly opened the car door, leaving her bag inside, and climbed out to investigate. As soon as she was
out of the vehicle, Andrea gunned the engine and accelerated madly away. The car door swung shut as she rounded a bend, and
soon she had put a good three miles between herself and the awful hitchhiker.
It was only then that she thought about the bag lying on the floor in front of her. Maybe the bag would provide some
information about the real identity about the old woman who was not an old woman. Pulling into the side of the road, Andrea
lifted the heavy bag onto her lap and opened it curiously.
It contained only one item -- a small hand axe, with a razor-sharp blade. The axe, and the inside of the bag, were covered
with the dark red stains of dried blood.
Andrea began to scream.

MDH 1994 -- From a common urban legend

A Minneapolis couple decided to go to Florida to thaw out during a particularly icy winter. They
planned to stay at the same hotel where they spent their honeymoon 20 years earlier.

Because of their hectic schedules, it was di cult for the couple to coordinate their travel plans. So
the husband left Minnesota and ew to Florida on Thursday, while his wife planned to y down the
following day.

The husband checked into the hotel. There was a computer in his room, so he decided to send an
email to his wife. However, he accidentally left out one letter of her email address, and sent the
email without realizing his error.

Meanwhile, somewhere in Houston, a widow had just returned home from her husband's funeral. He
was a Baptist minister who was called home to glory following a heart attack.

The widow decided to check her email, expecting condolence messages from family and friends.

But after reading her very rst email, she screamed and fainted.

The widow's son rushed into the room, found his mother on the oor, and saw the computer screen
which read:

To: My Loving Wife

Subject: I've Arrived

Date: March 21, 2012

I know you're surprised to hear from me. They have computers here now and you are allowed to
send emails to your loved ones. I've just arrived and have been checked in.

I've seen that everything has been prepared for your arrival tomorrow. Looking forward to seeing
you then! Hope your journey is as uneventful as mine was.

P. S. Sure is freaking hot down here!!!

1.Title

2.Describe the Husband / the wife

3. Why did the wife faint?

4. What would you do if you were in the situation of the huston wife
 The Death Car

It was a cold night in September. The rain was drumming on the car roof as George and Marie
Winston drove through the empty country roads towards the house of their friends, the Harrisons,
where they were going to attend a party to celebrate the engagement of the Harrisons' daughter,
Lisa. As they drove, they listened to the local radio station, which was playing classical music.
They were about ve miles from their destination when the music on the radio was interrupted
by a news announcement:
"The Cheshire police have issued a serious warning after a man escaped from Colford Mental
Hospital earlier this evening. The man, John Downey, is a murderer who killed six people before he
was captured two years ago. He is described as large, very strong and extremely dangerous. People
in the Cheshire area are warned to keep their doors and windows locked, and to call the police
immediately if they see anyone acting strangely."
Marie shivered. "A crazy killer. And he's out there somewhere. That's scary."
"Don't worry about it," said her husband. "We're nearly there now. Anyway, we have more
important things to worry about. This car is losing power for some reason -- it must be that old
problem with the carburettor. If it gets any worse, we'll have to stay at the Harrisons' tonight and get
it xed before we travel back tomorrow."
As he spoke, the car began to slow down. George pressed the accelerator, but the engine only
coughed. Finally they rolled to a halt, as the engine died completely. Just as they stopped, George
pulled the car o the road, and it came to rest under a large tree.
"Blast!" said George angrily. "Now we'll have to walk in the rain."
"But that'll take us an hour at least," said Marie. "And I have my high-heeled shoes and my nice
clothes on. They'll be ruined!"
"Well, you'll have to wait while I run to the nearest house and call the Harrisons. Someone can
come out and pick us up," said George.
"But George! Have you forgotten what the radio said? There's a homicidal maniac out there! You
can't leave me alone here!"
"You'll have to hide in the back of the car. Lock all the doors and lie on the oor in the back,
under this blanket. No-one will see you. When I come back, I'll knock three times on the door. Then
you can get up and open it. Don't open it unless you hear three knocks." George opened the door
and slipped out into the rain. He quickly disappeared into the blackness.
Marie quickly locked the doors and settled down under the blanket in the back for a long wait.
She was frightened and worried, but she was a strong-minded woman. She had not been waiting
long, however, when she heard a strange scratching noise. It seemed to be coming from the roof of
the car.
Marie was terri ed. She listened, holding her breath. Then she heard three slow knocks, one
after the other, also on the roof of the car. Was it her husband? Should she open the door? Then she
heard another knock, and another. This was not her husband. It was somebody -- or something --
else. She was shaking with fear, but she forced herself to lie still. The knocking continued -- bump,
bump, bump, bump.
Many hours later, as the sun rose, she was still lying there. She had not slept for a moment. The
knocking had never stopped, all night long. She did not know what to do. Where was George? Why
had he not come for her?
Suddenly, she heard the sound of three or four vehicles, racing quickly down the road. All of
them pulled up around her, their tires screeching on the road. At last! Someone had come! Marie sat
up quickly and looked out of the window.
The three vehicles were all police cars, and two still had their lights ashing. Several policemen
leapt out. One of them rushed towards the car as Marie opened the door. He took her by the hand.
"Get out of the car and walk with me to the police vehicle. miss. You're safe now. Look straight
ahead. Keep looking at the police car. Don't look back. Just don't look back."
Something in the way he spoke lled Marie with cold horror. She could not help herself. About
ten yards from the police car, she stopped, turned and looked back at the empty vehicle.
George was hanging from the tree above the car, a rope tied around his neck. As the wind blew
his body back and forth, his feet were bumping gently on the roof of the car -- bump, bump, bump,
bump.

(MDH 1994 -- From a common urban legend)