A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Toll Booth

CLACK CLACK CLACK CLACK!

Elias’ fingers rattled across his keyboard like a man possessed. Forums, threads, comment chains — he devoured them all, chasing down stories of a desert toll booth that could send people away. At first he laughed it off as another internet myth, the sort of creepypasta born in shadowy corners of Reddit and 4chan. But then the patterns started to emerge.

The missing people weren’t anonymous. You could find their names in old newspapers, trace their photos back to real families. And always, always, there was mention of a man. A tall figure with eyes like faded glass — not grey, not milky, but drained of color, as though the world had run out of paint.

Elias leaned back, the glow of Reddit reflected in his spectacles. He wasn’t anyone remarkable. An accountant by trade, a loner by consequence. His life had been beige — steady, dull, almost invisible. Yet inside, something restless twisted. He yearned for the open seas, the wild road, the adrenaline of chance and danger. His only adventures were pinned to his Pinterest board, embarrassingly titled Adventures I’ll Have Someday. 

He clicked over to his Pinterest board.

A pirate ship crested a storm wave, sails straining against the wind. Another image showed a booth half-buried in desert sands, glowing faintly under a red horizon. A misty forest clearing held one more, its wooden frame weathered and leaning beneath skeletal trees. Then a sketch of a crossroads appeared, a lone booth silhouetted against a sky bleeding with sunset, its arm raised like it was waiting. And pinned between them all was a photograph of endless ice: a booth standing solitary on a frozen plain, northern lights bending across the sky above it.

To anyone else, it was just pulp adventure kitsch, a collage of daydreams and half-remembered myths. But to Elias, it was possibility.

Tonight, though, the clippings and threads all converged into one undeniable truth: the Toll Booth was real.

And for the first time in his life, Elias thought: Why not me?

The question jolted him. He tore through a drawer until he found an old road atlas, circling the desert highways in red ink. Somewhere out there was the Booth. Somewhere out there was the Man.

Tomorrow, he’d go looking.

Morning broke and Elias woke with a charge he hadn’t felt in years. He filled a thermos with coffee, tossed granola bars into the passenger seat, and slid an old mixtape into the stereo. The case, scrawled in red Sharpie, read ADVENTURE! — a college relic from when adventure meant nothing riskier than speeding with the windows down.

The desert unfolded like a painting scorched by the sun. Mile after mile of emptiness shimmered before him, daring him to keep going. Elias gripped the wheel as though the road itself might vanish.

Hours passed. The granola bars were gone, the coffee drained. His enthusiasm began to sag until he spotted a lonely diner on the horizon. He pulled off, hungry and half-ready to abandon the whole thing.

Inside, the air smelled of frying oil and burnt coffee. And there, in the last booth, sat the Man.

At first glance, nothing special: tall, weathered coat, skin etched by sun. But the eyes gave him away — that washed-out not-grey, not-white, that gaze that seemed to peel the world back.

Elias’ breath caught. He blurted, far too loudly, “Do you know where the Toll Booth is?”

The Man studied him with a silence so deep it pressed on Elias’ chest. Finally, in a voice like gravel:

“The desert takes what it pleases.”

Elias opened his mouth, shut it, then forced out, “So…is that a yes?”

The Man slid a small card across the table. Neat handwriting. Directions. Then he turned back to his plate of pancakes, as if Elias no longer existed.

Elias clutched the card like treasure. He had the map. He had his proof. The Toll Booth was real.

The road stretched endlessly, heat rising in shimmering curtains. The stereo blared “I Am the Highway,” the guitar swelling as wide as the horizon. Elias rolled down the windows and screamed the chorus until his throat burned. For a moment, he believed it: this was the start of his story.

Then came the music. Not from the stereo, but drifting across the desert wind. Brass and drums, faint but steady.

As he crested a rise, Elias saw them: a funeral procession, New Orleans–style. Men in black suits and straw hats, women in veils, children with parasols. A brass band led them, playing something mournful yet weirdly jubilant.

Elias slowed to a crawl. His windows rattled with each blast of the trombone. None of the mourners looked at him. They stepped, swayed, danced across the asphalt as though they’d been marching for centuries. A strange yearning crept upon Elias. He suddenly felt as though he himself must join the odd funeral procession. His fingers were on the door latch and he was about to get out when he abruptly came to his senses. Shaking his head like he was trying to free himself of that odd pull, he instead locked the car doors.

At the end, a boy with a snare drum turned his head. His eyes locked on Elias — not just at him, but through him. Straight through bone and marrow. Then the boy snapped back into step, and the whole procession turned onto a side road that wasn’t there.

The desert was empty again. No band. No mourners. Just the hum of his engine.

Elias let out a shaky laugh. “Yeah. Totally normal. Reddit definitely left that part out.”

The stereo jolted into Queens of the Stone Age — “First It Giveth.” The guitars sneered. Elias cranked the volume and floored the gas.

The sign appeared like a mirage: LAST STOP – FUEL & REFRESHMENTS. A squat gas station, neon buzzing, pumps leaning in the sand.

He pulled in. The pumps worked, but wrong. No card swipe, no dollar amount. The glass meter spun like a stopwatch, ticking backward as gas flowed into his tank. It clicked off by itself, a splash of fuel spilling onto his shoes.

Inside, the store was dim and humming. Shelves full, but not right. Bottles of water lined the back cooler, condensation sliding down the glass. Elias lifted one:

River Lethe – Forgetfulness Guaranteed.

Another: Fountain of Youth – Best Before: Never.

A third: Yggdrasil Dew – Pure from the World Tree.

His mouth was parched, but not enough to gamble. He set them back.

“Hello?” he called into the silence.

The bell above the door jingled. A hitchhiker stepped in.

He was lean, his frame swallowed by a long black duster that looked like it had weathered every wind from here to nowhere. Beneath it he wore a white ruffled shirt, the kind Elias had only ever seen on pirates in theme parks. Black leather pants clung close, polished yet travel-worn, and his boots — his boots were made of some strange hide patterned in scales. They gleamed faintly under the dim lights, not quite reptile, not quite fish, as though stitched from a creature that had never lived in this world.

A black Stetson crowned his head, the long almost ridiculously disproportionate  feather at its brim shifting color in the half-light — oil-slick blue, then green, then black again. Mirrored sunglasses masked his eyes, though Elias had the sense they weren’t reflecting anything at all.

“Headed west?”

Elias nodded cautiously.

“Ass, grass, or cash?” the hitchhiker asked.

“Excuse me?”

The man chuckled. “Price of a ride, friend. Don’t have much money, but maybe I’ve got something else you’d like…” He patted his jacket as if checking for pockets of mystery.

“That’s fine,” Elias stammered. “Just…don’t kill me or something.”

The hitchhiker laughed, said “No promises,” and walked past him into the heat.

Elias followed, heart hammering. So this was what adventure looked like.

The hitchhiker slid into the passenger seat without asking. Elias started the car. The stereo coughed, then poured out “Like a Stone.” The hitchhiker hummed along, low and tuneless, as if he’d been waiting for it.

They drove in silence. In the window’s reflection, Elias glimpsed the mirrored lenses. They weren’t reflecting anything at all — just black. A black so deep it threatened to pull him in.

He tore his gaze away, muttering under his breath, “Normal. Totally normal.”

The desert swallowed the gas station behind them.

“So,” the hitchhiker said at last, “what brings you all the way out here, friend?”

Elias gripped the wheel. The card with directions burned in his pocket.

“You wouldn’t believe me,” he muttered. But he believed more than ever.

“Try me”.

Elias’ eyes vacillated back and forth, trying to spy any hidden interlopers before saying the most preposterous thing someone could ever possibly say in this situation.

“I’m uh…looking for the Toll Booth…” Elias hurriedly said in a whisper, hoping upon hope the hitchhiker wouldn’t catch what he said.

Elias found his hope was in vain.

“A toll booth?” the Hitchhiker said amused, “Why would you want to pay a toll?  There’s all this wide open road out here!  If you want to pay so bad you can pay me” the Hitchhiker flashed Elias a toothy grin.  Elias saw his expression in the black lenses his passenger wore.  He looked uncertain.

“No no no not A toll booth.  The Toll Booth” Elias said exasperatedly.

“Ohhhh THE Toll Booth.  And where do you think it takes you?” he replied coyly.

“Well, it’s supposed to take you anywhere you want to go in time and space.  It read your blood or something and then you pay a toll and whoosh!  Off you go on an adventure of a lifetime!”

“And that’s what you want is it?  Adventure?  Or a lifetime?  Odd how you humans so often confuse the two”

Elias pondered this.  It seemed an odd question.  

“Well…adventure, of course…”

The Hitchhiker gave an almost sympathetic chuckle, “Adventure?  Why pay for adventure? What do you call what you’re doing now, friend?”

Elias stared at the endless black road ahead.  He didn’t know what to say to that. 

An awkward silence followed.  Finally Elias summoned the nerve to ask his travelling companion a question of his own.

“So…do you have a name?”

He flashed that wry grin again.  He must be related to the Cheshire cat, “I have had many names” he said with a certain finality.

The desert stretched endlessly, flat and shimmering, but it suddenly felt too narrow, as if the road itself were herding him forward.

The Hitchhiker leaned back in his seat, boots propped casually on the dash. The strange scales caught the sun and gleamed like something alive. He hummed tunelessly along with the stereo, each note a half-beat out of sync, like he was listening to a different version of the song altogether.

“So,” the Hitchhiker said after a long silence, “what do you expect to find when you get there?”

Elias frowned. “At the Booth?”

“Mm.” The Hitchhiker’s sunglasses tilted toward him. “At the end of your road. Where you think your story finally begins?”

Elias opened his mouth, then closed it. He wanted to say adventure again, or a chance to live, but the words felt flimsy now, paper-thin in the heat.

The Hitchhiker chuckled softly, as though he could hear the thought itself. “Funny thing about roads. Some lead you where you want. Most don’t. And the Booth—” He tapped a gloved finger against the glass. “The Booth don’t care which is which.”

Elias swallowed, trying to focus on the asphalt unrolling ahead. The directions card in his pocket suddenly felt heavier, like it was tugging him down into the seat.

He forced a laugh, thin and nervous. “Sounds like you’ve been there yourself.”

The Hitchhiker didn’t answer. He just kept humming, lips curled in a smile Elias didn’t like at all.

Elias shifted in his seat, his hand slipping into his pocket. The card was still there, its edges damp with sweat. He pulled it halfway out, eyes darting down to confirm the directions were still legible.

The Hitchhiker turned his head slowly, sunglasses catching nothing. “May I?” he asked, holding out a gloved hand.

Elias hesitated, thumb pressed against the card. Something told him this was a mistake. But against his better judgment, he passed it over.

The Hitchhiker unfolded the scrap and studied it for a long moment. Then he gave a low chuckle and shook his head. “Always the same mistake,” he murmured.

Elias frowned. “What mistake?”

The Hitchhiker looked up, grin curling like smoke. “Chasing the road instead of letting it catch you. Can I give you some advice, friend?”

Elias swallowed, the dryness in his throat almost painful. “…Sure.”

“Let adventure find you.”

And with that, the Hitchhiker crumpled the card in one hand and flicked it out the open window. The wind tore it away, scattering Elias’ only map into the blazing desert sky.

Elias nearly swerved. “What the hell was that for?!”

The Hitchhiker leaned back, unbothered, humming once more along with the phantom tune. “Roads are funny things,” he said softly. “The right ones don’t need directions.”

Elias slammed on the brakes, gravel spitting as the car skidded onto the sandy shoulder. He threw it into park and scrambled out, heart hammering. The desert wind clawed at his shirt as he scanned the roadside. Nothing but dust and endless scrub.

He dropped to his knees, pawing frantically, desperately through the grit as if the card might still be there, as if it hadn’t been devoured whole by the desert the moment it left his hand. His fingers came up empty, scratched and trembling.

Behind him, the Hitchhiker sighed loudly, climbing out of the passenger seat. He stretched, boots crunching against the sand, the strange scales on them flashing green, then blue, then black again.

“Pathetic,” he muttered, almost to himself. “Always chasing scraps of paper when the whole world’s trying to hand you the story.”

Elias spun around, wild-eyed. “That card was all I had! How the hell am I supposed to find the Booth now?”

The Hitchhiker tilted his head, that wry grin sliding back into place. “All you have” he echoed. “That’s your trouble, friend. You don’t know what you already have.  Roads only exist if someone is there to traverse them.”

He took a step closer, lowering his voice until Elias had to strain to hear him over the wind. “Here’s a final piece of wisdom: the Booth don’t care about your maps, or your pins, or your clippings. You don’t find it.” He tapped Elias lightly on the chest with a gloved finger. “It finds you.”

With that, he turned toward the open desert, the long feather in his hat catching the sunlight as he walked away.

Elias staggered after him. “Wait! You can’t just—where are you going?”

The Hitchhiker didn’t look back. “This is where I get off.”

Then he was gone — not vanished in a flash, not swallowed by shadow, but simply gone, floating away on the desert wind with the dust, the heat shimmer swallowing his figure like he had never been there at all.

Elias stood alone on the roadside, sweat stinging his eyes, the sound of the desert cicadas roaring in his ears. His chest heaved. His pulse drummed. And for the first time, he understood that he wasn’t chasing the Toll Booth.

It was chasing him.

TO BE CONTINUED.

End of part 1.

Elias’ conclusion will be published September 5, 2025.

See you on the road.