The Hitchhiker

When a hippie hitches a ride home from Woodstock in the summer of 1969, he becomes suspicious of the driver after noticing many strange things in and around the van that night. Is he still just hallucinating from the drugs he took or is he now witnessing something terrifyingly real?

Created & Produced by Samuel Weston Evans
Written & Directed by Samuel Weston Evans
Sound-Designed & Edited by Samuel Weston Evans

Vocal Performances by:
Jax Pratt as Jerry
Samuel Weston Evans as The Keeper

Cover Art Illustrated by Mongemanuk.std
Special Thanks to Ren Dara Santiago
Website: https://aloneintheattic.buzzsprout.com/
Instagram: @_aloneintheattic

Transcript

There you are.

How nice to see you again. The ghosts and I are grateful for your company. Shall we?

Alright. Here you are.

Which item will it be now?

Of course. The guitar you hold in your hands belonged to Jerry Greene, a young musician traveling home from Woodstock, who trusted one too many strangers. This is the story of...“The Hitchhiker.”

You know the drill: close your eyes, open your ears, and journey back to that frightful evening.


It was August 18th, 1969, the final day of the Woodstock Music and Art Fair in Bethel, New York.

I had hitchhiked all the way from Richmond, Virginia to get there. As a singer-songwriter who was working at a record store, my life revolved around music, so I heard about the festival when it was first announced. It was billed as “Three days of peace and music,” which sounded like heaven to me. And with a lineup including CCR, Janis Joplin, The Who, Santana, Joan Baez, The Grateful Dead, and Jimi Hendrix, how could I not go? So I immediately bought a three-day ticket.

But I didn’t have a car, and no one that I knew wanted to take the trip with me, so I hitchhiked by myself. With only my guitar, a sleeping bag, and some pot, I traveled towards Woodstock with anyone who was headed in that direction.

I rode with a few different people, but once I made it to Baltimore, I happened to flag down a van with three others who were also heading to the festival. I had left in the morning on the 14th, which was the day before it started, and we got there that night.

But when we arrived, there were already cars backed up for miles. We were crawling forward for a little while until eventually it came to a dead stop. Once it started to get late, somebody told us all to go to sleep and said they’d wake us all up in the morning. The four of us slept in the van and then pulled into a nearby field once the sun came up, to walk the rest of the way.

The thruway was so backed up that the artists had to get brought in by helicopter. We were all pretty stoned, so we thought it was the military trying to break up the event at first, but then someone made an announcement that they were on our side. Army helicopters from West Point rained flowers on us and the cops didn’t even care that we were doing drugs. Nothing but peace and love.

We all gathered on Max Yasgur’s 600-acre dairy farm for the concert, and it was the greatest time of my life. Hundreds of thousands of people ended up attending and the atmosphere was unlike anything I had ever experienced before. I was stoned and tripping on acid, so my senses were real groovy. We were all sharing the love with each other and the music was life- changing. I was singing and swaying along. I felt like a child again, playing in a field. Good vibrations, man.

We were so fulfilled by everything, that we didn’t even care when food was running low or that we weren’t getting much sleep. Even being overcrowded in the mud, like a herd of pigs, brought us all closer. We looked after each other as a community. It really was three days of peace and music.

When the weekend eventually came to an end, I was really bummed out. I wanted to stay on that farm, listening to the music with all those people for the rest of my life. But when Jimi Hendrix strummed his last chord, it all came to a close.

Since there had been many delays, he played the final set on Monday the 18th, ending around 11 in the morning. Many people had already left the night before, but I stayed until the end, along with the friends I made from hitchhiking.

While waiting for the crowd to clear out and for traffic to die down, the four of us helped clean up for a little. After walking back to the van, we got some food to eat since we were starving. We smoked some more and tripped on the drive back, so that meal was the best I’d ever had.

I pulled out my guitar in the van and we all sang together along the way. I had only known them for three days, but we felt like a family. After a few hours of driving we made it back to Baltimore, where they were from. They offered to host me for the night, but I had to get back home for work the next day. We all said goodbye after exchanging addresses and telephone numbers, and then they drove off.

I stood alone on the side of the road, holding my thumb out in the dusk. I waited for a few minutes, but nobody stopped. The sun had sunk all the way down and the moon was shining brightly in the dark sky. While looking up at that glowing orb, my mind started to melt.

I couldn’t believe that three humans had just stepped foot on it a month before. As I gazed at it, the moon started to look like a face. Soon it was blinking and smiling at me. Woah. I was still tripping hard.

I was about to sit down, but then a weathered brown cargo van came to my rescue. It pulled up and the passenger-side window rolled down. The driver was a gaunt, middle-aged man, with a beard and thin dark hair down to his shoulders. And he was wearing sunglasses.

I told him I was heading to Richmond and asked him if he was going south. He nodded and motioned me to get in. I asked him if I could put my guitar behind the seat and he nodded again. But when I slid the side door open, I caught a whiff of something odd. What was that smell? I couldn’t tell. There was nothing in the van, except for a blue tarp hanging in the very back. It looked wavy. Was I just hallucinating? Or maybe the smell was me. I really needed a shower. Hopefully he didn’t think I smelt bad.

I quickly shut the door and hopped in the front before he could change his mind. I explained to him that I was coming from Woodstock and tried to tell him about it, thinking he’d be interested, but he didn’t say anything. I asked him what his name was and he gestured to show me he couldn’t speak. I didn’t know how to respond, so I just told him we didn’t have to talk.

I didn’t like sitting in silence though, so I asked if I could put on the radio. He nodded and switched it on, but there was just static. I tried changing the station, but it was the same on every one. There was a strange and unpleasant noise underneath the static too, but I couldn’t tell if I was just imagining it.

It was hurting my ears, so I turned it off and we sat in silence again. I looked out the window at the moon. It still looked like a face, making silly expressions at me. In the quiet, under the blanket of the night, I could feel my head and eyelids start to droop. The lack of sleep from the weekend was catching up with me and, after a couple nods, I was out.

I’m not sure how long I was asleep, but when I woke up I was lost. We weren’t moving anymore. The van was parked and turned off. We were in the middle of an empty field, about as big as Yasgur's farm. When I turned to my left, the driver was no longer there. Only his sunglasses were sitting in the seat and his door was open. Was I still dreaming?

I quickly unbuckled and looked around. I didn’t see him anywhere. But then I caught a flash of something in the rearview mirror. The paranoia was hitting me hard. I opened the door and got out to check. “Hello?”

I slowly walked around to the back of the van...but he wasn’t there. Once I finished circling the van, I didn’t see him anywhere. I looked off in the distance and saw what appeared to be a barn and a small house. What the hell is going on?

Suddenly, I heard a guitar string snap. It came from inside the van. I carefully moved towards the side door and gently slid it open. When I did, the strange stench from before wafted out. My guitar wasn’t there. Was I just hearing things?

But then I noticed the neck sticking out from the bottom of the hanging tarp. I tried to pull it out, but there was something on top of it weighing it down. I slid the side door shut and then went to open the rear doors.

The back handles were sticky with something red. When I opened the doors, I felt sick. Lying across my guitar was a mutilated pig carcass. And covering the tarp and walls of the van were strange designs painted with the pig’s blood. It couldn’t possibly be real. I was just having a bad trip, right?

My mind immediately thought of the vile murder of Sharon Tate that just happened a week before. The word “pig” was written on the door with her blood. Holy shit. I needed to get out of there right away.

I ran to the driver’s seat to try and start the van, but the keys weren’t there. I looked around for them, but couldn’t find them anywhere. I kept checking behind me to make sure the driver wasn’t anywhere nearby.

Since I couldn’t drive away, I decided to run for the house in the distance. Maybe there would be someone who could help. I sprinted towards it, but when I was about 25 yards away, I heard an engine start. I turned around and was blinded by headlights pointing directly at me. Suddenly the van began barreling forward. I started running again, as fast as I could, but it was gaining on me. My heart was pounding and I couldn’t see straight.

I was almost to the house, but right as the van was about to hit me, I dove out of the way. The driver quickly turned and braked, but he was going so fast that it tipped over and slid on its side to a stop.

I sprung to my feet and pounded on the front door of the house, but all the lights were off and I didn't hear anyone inside. I kept watch of the van and could tell the driver was moving inside it.

Suddenly, I saw a light turn on in the barn and the door was open. I ran to see who was inside, but when I stepped through the threshold, I entered a new nightmare...covering the floor were countless pigs, gutted and torn apart, with limbs scattered everywhere. The walls were painted with their blood.

I then heard the barn door close behind me and the bulb went out. The only light left came from the moon through the upper window. I heard the creaking of a ladder and then saw the driver appear next to the frame.

In the moonlight, his hands and face were covered with pigs blood. Without his sunglasses on, I could see two soulless, inhuman eyes, sunken into his head. I looked at the moon once more, as he closed the window on it...but it was lifeless. I no longer saw a face smiling back at me. Left in complete darkness, I—


Jerry Greene never made it home, and that guitar was heard no more. His heavenly high came crashing down, under the pale moonlight. But now he is singing and soaring again, for you have set his spirit free.

Well you know what that means. Time for you to return from where you came.

Why must you leave? Because you cannot be here when the sun comes up.

I don’t have time to explain anymore to you now. But next time you return, perhaps I can enlighten you further...

Be on the lookout. I will welcome you back to the Attic soon. The ghosts and I thank you again.

Stay safe out there...and don’t hitch a ride alone with any strangers.


Thank you for listening to Alone in the Attic. Tonight's episode was written, directed, and edited by Samuel Weston Evans, with vocal performances by Jax Pratt as Jerry and Samuel Weston Evans as The Keeper.

Join us next week to hear the terrifying tale of “The Campus Killer.” When two fellow classmates disappear, and news spreads of a possible serial killer on the loose, a southern college student locks herself in for the night on Halloween in 1978, only to learn she might not be alone in the house.

Find out next time...Alone in the Attic.