— “It sounds like a ghost story, Mike. You know people talk about ‘The Hitchhiker’ legends around here.”
Michael, annoyed by her dismissal, snapped back:
— “I don’t believe in ghosts, Susan. She was a real person, an old woman who needed help.”
— “Well,” Susan teased gently, “next time you pick up a spirit on the highway, try to get her phone number so I can believe you.”
They ended the night with a forced laugh and a hug.
— “It’s been a long day. Let’s just go to bed,” she suggested.
— “Yeah, you’re probably right,” Michael agreed, though his mind was still out on that dark road. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he had missed something vital.
The next morning, Michael sat at the breakfast table, nursing a coffee and trying to focus on the news. He kissed Susan goodbye and headed out to the garage. But when he opened the passenger door of his SUV to put his briefcase inside, he froze. Lying on the seat was an old, hand-knitted wool blanket.
— “What on earth?” he whispered, picking it up.
The pattern was hauntingly familiar—a specific weave of blue and grey wool. He felt a jolt of recognition. Eleanor. She must have left it. But more than that, the blanket felt like something from a dream he’d had a thousand times. He took it with him to the office, unable to focus on his meetings.
By noon, he was convinced. The blanket, the song, the voice—it was all connected. He decided he had to go back. “I won’t rest until I find her,” he told himself. That evening, he drove the same route, the blanket sitting on the seat beside him. He wasn’t just returning a lost item; he was looking for an answer to a question he hadn’t known how to ask for 45 years. As he drove into the darkness, his nerves were on edge, but his resolve was firm. After miles of searching the shadows, he saw her. The same figure, standing in almost the exact same spot.
Michael pulled over and stepped out, his heart hammering against his ribs.
— “Eleanor?” he called out tentatively.
The woman looked at him, her brow furrowed in confusion. There was no sign that she recognized him from the night before.
— “Yes? Do I know you?” she asked, taking a small step back.
Michael felt a pang of disappointment. She had forgotten.
— “It’s Michael,” he said softly, keeping his distance to avoid startling her. “I gave you a ride last night. You left your blanket in my car. Remember?”
