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INTRODUCTION
To date, we’ve covered a handful of famous urban legends from around the world—some more familiar than others, some scarier than others. Stories of scary phone calls coming from a stranger inside the house, serial killers hiding in the woods, malevolent clown sightings across the United States, and more.
But we haven’t explored arguably the most famous urban legend—until now.
For most of us, driving is a mostly utilitarian activity—we get in the car to get from point A to point B. If you’re like me, it’s not even something we really think about doing—we just do it, almost subconsciously. Consider for a moment that driving is also a personal activity. For many of us, the inside of a car is a sort of safe place—we nestle into our seat, adjust things to our preference, turn on the music to our liking, and drive at a pace that’s comfortable.
But what happens when that safe space is disrupted? When a place and activity that can often be a comfort becomes one of terror and confusion?
In this episode of The Red Treehouse, we’re going to explore the famous Vanishing Hitchhiker. Is this story nothing more than an urban legend? Or is it truly an inexplicable and paranormal phenomenon? What should we make of the stories claiming to have encountered a ghostly hitchhiker?
I’ll share the details. You decide for yourself.
I’m your host, Will. Welcome to The Red Treehouse.
THE VANISHING HITCHHIKER
It might surprise you to know The Vanishing Hitchhiker is an urban legend that goes back nearly 400 years and originated not in the United States, but in Sweden. Of course, the story has changed over the centuries, but the premise remains the same:
A person traveling in a vehicle, usually on a secluded road, comes upon a hitchhiker standing on the side of the road. The driver pulls over to give the hitchhiker a ride. The hitchhiker sits silently in the passenger seat despite the driver trying to make small talk. After driving some distance, the driver looks over to the passenger seat, only to find it empty. The hitchhiker who’d been sitting there vanished without a trace.
The original story from 1602 tells of two farmers on their way home from a market, when a maid asked to go with them. On the way, they stopped at an inn to get something to eat and the maid wanted a jug of beer. When the innkeeper brought the drink, all were shocked to find it was filled with malt. The innkeeper brought a second jug, and this time it was filled with acorns. The innkeeper then brought a third jug—and this time it was filled with blood. The farmers were horrified.
Then, the maid spoke.
She told the farmers the year would bring a good yield of grain, the trees would bear much fruit, and the area would be ravaged by war and pestilence.
Then, the maid vanished into thin air.
As with most urban legends, there are variations on the original story. One such variation “involves the vanishing hitchhiker departing as would a normal passenger, having left some item in the vehicle, or having borrowed a garment for protection against the cold. The vanishing hitchhiker may also leave some form of information that encourages the motorist to make subsequent contact.”
Another version of the legend has the motorist pick up the hitchhiker and drop them off at a preferred location. As the driver pulls away, they look back in the rearview mirror—only to find the hitchhiker has vanished. Disturbed by this, the driver pulls over and walks into the location where they’d dropped the hitchhiker off—and are quickly informed that not only has no one seen the hitchhiker, but it was likely a ghost as others claimed to have similar stories.
And still another version—and the one I have heard most—is the hitchhiker is the ghost of a vengeful spirit who foretells an impending calamity. Soon after the hitchhiker disappears, the motorist gets into a fatal accident just down the road—and the hitchhiker appeared on the anniversary of their own death to warn the driver of what lies ahead.
There are a few interesting details in these stories:
The motorist is most often male, and the hitchhiker is most often female.
The most common accounts “featured someone deceased giving their address to the person who offered them a lift.”
The second most common accounts involve an elderly person giving a warning of doom or impending disaster.
Most Vanishing Hitchhiker stories cannot be substantiated or proven.
THE VANISHING HITCHHIKER STORIES
First story comes from a deleted Reddit user, likely a throwaway account:
“This story isn't as thrilling as a lot of the stories in this sub, but it baffles me. It's a little confusing, so I'll try to be clear.
Eight years ago I was working near the corner of Santa Monica and Gower in Hollywood. Around midday, I left the office to run and errand. As I got to my car, which was parked on Santa Monica, a young man approached me on the sidewalk who was walking the other direction. He was a white guy, maybe mid-20's, who looked like he was kind of a hippie. He asked me if there was a nearby area that was good to sightsee and maybe get some lunch. I gave him basic directions to the area of Sunset and Cahuenga or Vine, which is roughly a mile from the area we were in at the time. He asked if I could give him a ride, and as I got into my car, I politely declined and said that I was going the other direction. I don't know if he didn't hear me or what, but he got into the passenger side of the car.
Naturally, I was freaked out. I don't really know why, but I kind of just went with it, probably because I was just really confused. Generally speaking, we Angelenos interact with strangers in public so rarely that we really don't know how to deal with them. I will also add that I didn't get any kind of "bad vibes" from this guy. As an aside, I will also say that I know this was not the safe or right thing to do.
I told myself that I would just drive him to where he wanted to go and that this weird interaction would be over in less than five minutes. I don't remember talking with him at all in the car. I think I turned the radio on to deal with the awkwardness. We drove down Santa Monica and turned right on Vine, and somehow hit every red light and traffic started piling up.
About a third to halfway to where I planned to drop him off, I just bailed on the whole idea and told him that I was running late and needed to drop him off, and he politely said that was fine. I randomly chose the parking lot of a donut shop and pulled in. Here's where it's weird: after I stopped, he thanked me, got out of the car, and walked toward the donut shop. But as he did, a woman walked out, walked up to him, and the two hugged then began walking down the street together.
They didn't look surprised to see each other, but rather like they had met up at the place and time that they had planned. But I had chosen where to pull over, which was relatively far from his destination, which I had also recommended. And I never saw him use a cell phone throughout the whole incident.
I'm ready to accept any reasonable explanation for what happened, but I can't think of one!”
Second story comes from Jaaaaz:
About ten thirty a few weeks ago, I found myself driving down our curvy country road. I’ve made the same drive, at the same time, for the same thing dozens of times. We just wanted a few scoops of ice cream. It was foggy. There’s a small valley with a bridge at the bottom. I came down onto the bridge into a thick fog bank. My headlights hit a girl on the other side.
She stared straight at me. Brown eyes, fair skinned, and a red flannel shirt. I wasn’t in any danger of hitting her, she was on the other side of the road, but it was still surprising. I vaguely worried that the car coming up behind her was not going to have my luck. She stayed in my mind while ordering ice cream.
I kept watch for her, or her remains on the way back home. I didn’t find a trace of her. I was happy with those results. I didn’t know if I would have offered a ride or kept driving. I got home, we enjoyed our ice cream and finished a movie. I’d joked about her with my girlfriend, then pretty much forgot about her.
I took my dogs out before bed. They both bolt for the driveway, so I go after them. They're both trying to get under my car to something. I pulled them away and knelt down to look. The only thing under my car is a beat up red flannel shirt. I grabbed it, and go to drag the dogs back to the house. The front of my car is splattered with red.
I took the dogs in and asked my girlfriend, Jeri, about the shirt. It wasn’t hers. I made her come out and look at my car. Cleaner than I remember it ever being.
“Stop fucking with me.”
I didn’t believe it, either. We went back in and went to bed. I put the whole thing behind me. The next morning, everything was back to normal. The shirt had disappeared from the couch. I assumed she had thrown it away. I took my morning shower. I’ll admit that I was checking outside of the curtain more than would ever be normal. I turned the water off and felt cold drops hitting the top of my head.
I wasn’t under the shower head. I looked up to that girl from the side of the road, somehow clinging to the ceiling. Her chin pointed between her shoulder blades. She smiled like she hadn’t seen me in years. I scrambled out of the shower with my heart trying to get out before me. In the scramble I ripped down the shower curtain. There wasn’t a sign of her.
I convinced myself that I must not have slept well the night before. I ran down stairs and had a cup of coffee to wake myself up. I returned the bathroom and started shaving. When I looked down from shaving under my chin, there she was again, waving shyly behind me. I jerked around, cutting my cheek. She was gone, again.
I got dressed and went for a drive. The fresh air helped calm me down. I rode the curve into the bridge. There she was, leaning against the guardrail with that smile. I screeched my car to a stop. Gone. Gone before I could even get my door open.
I ended up at the supermarket. I figured there were enough people around that could confirm or deny my stalker if she showed up. I picked up some fruit and a few things we'd need for dinner. On my way to the car, my bags felt heavier. I checked each bag in the back hatch of my SUV. The bag with the cantaloupe felt glued shut.
"Shit. I broke it open." I thought.
It felt... squishier than usual as I ripped the bag opened. I screamed. I cussed. The paramedics said it was just a panic attack. I know what I saw. I know it was her head in the bag. Smiling and winking at me. I ended up at the hospital for an evaluation.
They had a police officer guarding my door. I kicked back in my bed and waited. Everything was normal. I couldn’t help but constantly check around the room. I was constantly expecting that girl to be standing there, smiling at me. I almost hit the ceiling when the doc opened the door. Her evaluation chalked it up to stress. I was released.
The ride home was quiet. I kept checking the side of the road, the sidewalks, the back seat, even checking if she’d somehow taken the place of Jeri. We were almost home, almost to the bridge. I could see the bridge. I saw a guardrail smeared with blood and a red flannel shirt hung on it, flapping in the wind. Jeri wouldn’t stop.
“There’s nothing there!”
“I saw the blood. Don’t tell me what I saw!”
I wasn’t completely sure of what I had seen. The rest of the drive was silent.
I saw her in our bedroom window before we pulled in the driveway. She looked excited. She gave a flirty wave before disappearing in a swirl of curtains. I was extra cautious. I checked every nook and cranny as I approached them. Jeri walked through the house recklessly. The bedroom door was cracked open. We always close the doors in our house.
I slowly pushed the door open. I checked as much of the room as I could from the hall. Nothing. I pushed the door all the way to the wall. No one behind it. I peeked next to the bed. My bat was gone. The closet. It wasn’t cracked, but it wasn’t closed either. I jerked it opened. All of my shirts had been replaced by bloody flannel. I slammed the door. I yelled. Then I heard the giggling.
It was child-like, but something about it was very alien. I froze. My stomach turned. It was coming from Jeri’s wardrobe. I opened the doors. Just her clothes. I fought the knots in my stomach and grabbed the handle on the big drawer. It shook, or maybe I was shaking, I’m not sure.
I slid it open. The smell hit me first. It almost knocked me over. I kept pulling anyway. There she was, she mouthed something to me, then winked. I went to grab her, so everyone would know that I’m not crazy. Coats. Two handfuls of Jeri’s coats. She wasn’t there, just our winter clothes. I decided to try to ignore her from that point on.
I found Jeri in the kitchen. I gave her a hug, I apologized for the bad day. She was still irritated, but she said it was alright. I went to grab something out of the living room.
"Hey, Kevin,” Jeri said, “where’s the crushed pineapple?"
I turned around in the doorway to grab it. I felt the color drain out of my face. That girl was squatting on the counter behind Jeri. She was holding up a knife and jestering to me, mouthing what I deciphered as “This one?” Ignore her. Ignore her. She’s not real. She didn’t like it when I nonchalantly went and got the can of crushed pineapple. Jeri was looking at me suspiciously.
"Are you alright?"
"Yeah, I, uh, just don’t feel well all of a sudden. Maybe I’ve had too much excitement lately."
She scowled at me. Her eyes screamed, "Really?!" at me. I kept ignoring her. I went to the living room to grab the paper. I went back to the kitchen and Jeri was standing on a chair in a cabinet. She peeked around the cabinet door. The next thing I know, I’m on the ground.
"Kevin! Kevin! Wake up! What the hell happened?!"
"I… uh… I don’t know. I just know my tailbone hurts now."
I couldn’t tell her that I saw the brown haired girl in her place. I was shaky, but I got up and dragged myself to my chair in the living room. I flopped down. Jeri went to get me a drink. I was at my wits end. I realized I was the mouse to her cat. I started having tremors as the hopelessness weighed in on me.
"Done so soon?" a shaky voice whispered from across the room.
My heart and breathing stopped when I looked around the room. I started to yell for Jeri. Maybe she’d have a solution if she saw I wasn’t crazy. I was silenced. I felt the coldest hand I’ve ever felt over my mouth, and what felt like an invisible elephant made of ice on my lap. I struggled, I tried to cry out for help. All that came was a giggle and a condescending tsk.
"No, no, no, no, no."
Jeri was standing in the kitchen door with a glass of water. I struggled, she ran to me in a panic. She tried to pull me out of the chair. Nothing. The weight on me seemed to get heavier. I gasped for air. Jeri tried harder to get me up. I’ve never seen her cry like that. I’d never cried like that. Jeri flew into her grandmother’s china cabinet.
The weight lifted. I fell to the floor. I looked to check on Jeri. She was shaking her head, mumbling to herself in disbelief. She saw her too. That girl, she looked right into my eyes, just like the night I first caught her in my head lights. Everything left me that afternoon. I don’t think I’ll ever forget watching Jeri walk out of the front door. It was like watching the worst puppeteer in the world try to maneuver a marionette. Jeri was hysterical. There aren’t words for the emotions I saw come out of her. I could see out of the living room window that she was still waddling to the street. I could just see the top of her head.
I tried to get up. Every single time I was knocked on my ass. Every time I tried to fight back, I’d just hit thin air. I heard Jeri’s screams. I heard the car horns, then the brakes. Then came the words that I can’t bare to repeat.
"All I wanted was a ride home."
I finally managed to get up. I stumbled out onto the lawn. Then into the street. Jeri was mangled. She had bled all over the road. All she could muster herself to say to me was, "Why me?"
CONCLUSION
Hearing these stories brings up something interesting for me: I’ve never encountered The Vanishing Hitchhiker; but I have a sort of innate fear of getting in my car at night and driving in a dark car. There are times when the fear is stronger than others, but without fail I will get in the car, turn on the overhead, and check my rearview mirror to make sure nothing—and no one—is back there.
And while I’ve never had a scary experience like this, it’s the possibility that scares me. And, honestly, you just never know—just because there’s no one back there when you first check, doesn’t mean they won’t just show up later on.
As we close this episode of The Red Treehouse, we’re left with these lingering questions: Is The Vanishing Hitchhiker nothing more than an urban legend? Or is it truly an inexplicable and paranormal phenomenon? What should we make of the stories claiming to have encountered a ghostly hitchhiker?
I’ve shared the details. Now you decide for yourself.
I’m your host, Will. Thanks for joining me in The Red Treehouse.
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