Draft in the author’s style. This poem was written for Poet of Chilling Shivers to sit beside the author’s own readings, and is waiting for the author’s review. The commentary is a working draft too.
The road out of the valley in winter turns to glass,
And the locals stay indoors at night and let the dark hours pass.
But I was late for the funeral, so I took the icy track,
With my headlights cutting tunnels and my wipers clicking back.
Halfway up the mountain, a girl stood at the side,
In a coat as white as snowfall, with her arm raised high and wide.
I stopped to offer her a ride, and she climbed into the seat,
And she never said a word, and her hands were cold as sleet.
She pointed to the hairpin bend where the rail was bent in two,
And she whispered, that's the corner, and my ride was just like you.
I turned to speak; the seat was bare, but a frosty handprint stayed,
And I braked before that hairpin bend, and I whispered, I'm afraid.
Poet of Chilling Shivers · Hear it on the channel ↗
Commentary
The vanishing hitchhiker is one of the world’s most-told ghost stories. Here it appears on an icy mountain road, with a ghost who wants to warn and not to harm.
In winter “the road out of the valley” turns “to glass,” and locals stay indoors. The speaker, “late for the funeral,” takes “the icy track.” Halfway up, “a girl stood at the side, in a coat as white as snowfall,” and climbs into the car without a word.
She points “to the hairpin bend where the rail was bent in two” and whispers, “that’s the corner, and my ride was just like you.” The speaker turns and finds “the seat was bare, but a frosty handprint stayed.” The speaker brakes “before that hairpin bend.”