Gertrude followed his instructions to the letter. By the time she began to steer, the car engine was no longer running. She let the car roll to a stop. She looked at the young hitchhiker, "Now what?"

"Now we get out and check under the hood."

"We?" Gertrude said in confusion. "I don't know anything about cars."

"You're gettin' out so I can keep an eye on you. I wouldn't want you to attract attention by "accidentally" blowing the horn. Now get out and keep your mouth shout."

Slowly, Gertrude opened the door so as not to make the man nervous. He watched her closely, matching her every move. He motioned her forward.

Standing in front of the car, he bent and pulled the release mechanism and the engine hood sprang up an inch or two. The old woman rubbed her hands together, hoping for a miracle, despite the fact that she had never been a big believer in divine intervention.

With a sudden motion, the hitchhiker threw the car hood open and gasped. Gertrude frowned, not understanding his reaction. Then she looked at the car and saw the reason for his frozen expression. The world had gone mad and her sanity threatened to evaporate also.

When the hitchhiker lifted the hood, he opened up the mouth of hell. Triangular, razor sharp teeth lined the edges of the hood like the jaws of a giant mutant shark. The purple flesh covering the underside of the hood quivered with an alien life.

A forked tongue sprang outward from a cavernous throat. The smell of fetid breath rolled upwards with the noxious odor of rotted meat. Strands of saliva dripped and gleamed from the teeth and surface of the horrendous mouth.

The headlights flashed on like two glowing eyes springing open. A vociferous roar bellowed forth and squealing tires launched the car forward. Gertrude gasped, placing her hand over her mouth to stifle a scream.

Again, the car pounced forward and the snake-like tongue shot out like a harpoon, wrapping around the young hitchhiker's body. He screamed hysterically and wildly fired his pistol inside the strange automotive opening.

The tongue yanked him closer, frightening Gertrude. She was just an old black woman. She was powerless to help him. And even if she could she didn't think she would. It mattered little now. She could only stand and watch helplessly.

With another roar the gunman's body fell into the endless depths of throaty darkness. His feet went down first and he squirmed to break free of the unholy grip. The hood reciprocated like metallic jaws, crunching bones, tearing muscles and masticating the live, squirming meal.

Blood oozed out of the hitchhiker's mouth and eyes. His struggles grew weaker. His screaming grew faint. Downward he went, swallowed slowly, as a snake eats its prey. Crimson gore lathered into a macabre foam.

The last breath left his mouth in a soft, pleading moan. Up and down the hood shaped jaws moved, smashing and pulverizing, chewing with intense ferocity. Finally, the last of the man's body disappeared into the gullet of the automotive beast. The forked tongue licked its teeth and fleshly fender wells clean, leaving only a reddish tint.

As Gertrude watched, the hood closed up tight and the headlights dimmed. She stood there shaking and looking at the vehicle, unsure of all she had seen. From left to right she looked across the divided highway. Strangely, she neither saw nor heard any vehicles approach from either direction.