The Hook

It was a warm summer evening, the kind that makes teenagers restless and parents nervous. Mike and Susan had been dating for three months, and tonight they had driven to the old quarry road, a well-known lovers lane that wound through the hills above town. The radio was playing softly, and the windows were rolled down just enough to let in the scent of pine trees and warm earth.

They had been parked for about twenty minutes when the music was interrupted by a news bulletin. The announcer voice was grave: Authorities are warning residents to be on the lookout for an escaped mental patient from the Glenwood State Hospital. The man is described as dangerous, approximately six feet tall, with a hook in place of his right hand. He was last seen on the east side of town near the old mill road. Anyone who sees someone matching this description should contact police immediately. Do not approach him.

Susan shivered and reached for the door lock. That is so creepy, she said. Mike, can we go somewhere else? This road is kind of isolated. Mike laughed and put his arm around her. Come on, Suz, it is just some news story. They probably caught him already. Besides, we are miles from the east side. But Susan was not comforted. She kept glancing out the windows into the darkness beyond the reach of the headlights.

A few minutes later, they heard it. A scraping sound, like metal dragging across metal. It came from somewhere near the back of the car. Screeeech. There it was again, slow and deliberate. Susan grabbed Mikes arm. Did you hear that? Mike turned down the radio. Silence. Then the sound came again, closer this time. Screeeech. It seemed to be coming from the passenger side door.

That is it, Susan said, her voice tight with fear. We are leaving. Right now. Mike, for once, did not argue. He turned the key in the ignition and the engine roared to life. He threw the car into gear and sped down the winding quarry road, tires squealing on the tight turns. They did not stop talking until they reached the brightly lit parking lot of the diner on Main Street.

Mike turned off the engine and they both sat in silence for a moment, catching their breath. Then Susan opened her passenger side door and screamed. Hanging from the door handle, glinting in the fluorescent light of the parking lot, was a hook. A bloody, rusted metal hook, the kind that replaces a human hand. The strap had been torn from the handle, and long scratches ran down the side of the door where the hook had dragged across the paint.

They called the police from the diner. The officers who arrived examined the hook and the car, took their statements, and drove them home. The escaped patient was captured the next morning in a barn not far from the quarry road. He never spoke about what happened that night, and Mike and Susan never went back to the lovers lane. But they both knew what they had heard, and they both knew how close they had come to something terrible. The hook hanging from the door handle was proof enough of that.