Ryan Wiley - Disappearance

I’m unsure of what to expect when I do see him. If it were a normal time in a normal world, my guess is there would be buzzards or other creatures feasting on his decayed body. Not a pretty thought, but in the animal kingdom there are a lot of things happening that humans would find unpleasant.

To get back on the highway, I make a left out of the driveway and continue to go straight. If I wanted to get to the house where I killed Cujo, I would need to make a right turn just before reaching the highway.

I still look both ways for ongoing traffic and realize I’m a more paranoid driver than usual — recently totaling a car will do that to you. Also, driving on the opposite side of the road feels odd, but I need to because I’m not exactly certain of where I wrecked and being on this side makes it easier to look.

Like with any new car I drive, I like to test it out by seeing how much faster it accelerates than my Cavalier. The Honda Accord doesn’t disappoint, and in no time I reach sixty miles per hour.

I’m dreading going all the way back to where my car crashed until I realize how much faster I’ll be able to get there. Yesterday was several hours of miserable walking with supplies strapped to me. Today will be a quick ten or fifteen minute drive sitting on my battered and bruised behind.

I make my way up the hill, which doesn’t seem quite as large as it did yesterday. I can’t help but have memories of rain and storms. I think about the tree that was struck with lightning. It was easily one of the most frightening experiences of my life as it sounded like a bomb went off next to me.

I slow down when I’m near where I think the tree is, but I can’t remember which one it was. I do remember it was still standing after it was hit so it should be here somewhere. If I looked hard I’m sure I could find it, but I don’t really care that much so I move on. I’ll have a better view on the way back.

After about ten minutes, I see no sign of where I wrecked. I know I tumbled down a hill, but the land off the highway is one giant hill for miles. It should be close, though, and I expect it to be easy to spot when I get there. A few more miles pass and I see nothing, which makes me start to worry. Did I miss it? There’s no way I could have.

Another five miles pass, and now I know I must have missed it. It couldn’t have been this far, but I decide to give it five more miles before I turn around.

I don’t make it the full five miles, though, before I realize I’ve gone too far. Off the highway, I see a quirky little clown statue I remember seeing before I wrecked. Why it’s there and how it got there I have no idea. All I remember is how annoyed I was seeing the jolly look on its face at a time when I wasn’t so jolly.

I make a U-turn and try to think how far it was after this statue when I wrecked. It’s so hard to remember. Being knocked unconscious must have done something to my memory, but I don’t think it was soon after here.

After a few minutes, I slow down to around forty miles per hour so I can make sure I don’t miss seeing it this time. I look for tire tracks and the pieces of my car that came flying off on the way down.

A few more minutes pass, and there’s still no sight of it. I’ll know when I reach the big hill I’ve gone too far. It took a few hours to walk there, which means it was at least three to five miles from where I wrecked.

Sure enough, when I look forward I see the hill in the distance. I may have forgotten where I wrecked, but I know for sure that’s the correct hill. That means I either passed Abby’s car again or it’s right here somewhere. I pull the car over and get out for a closer look.

I don’t see it anywhere so I turn around and start driving back. I get out of the car again for another inspection.

At first I don’t see it, but the more I look, a realization occurs to me. This is where I wrecked. I’m standing in the exact spot where I went off the road. No, there aren’t any tire tracks. No pieces of Abby’s BMW on the ground and, most importantly, none of the supplies I desperately want and need. But, I know for sure this is where it happened. After the wreck when I began my walk to the cabin, I stood right here and looked back, and I can tell from the landscape that this is the spot.

How can this be? Where did Abby’s car go? I walk down the hill wondering why there isn’t a guardrail here. It’s a pretty steep hill to have nothing to protect oncoming cars from falling down it.

Once I walk down the hill, I stand on the spot where I think my car was and look back up at the road. This further confirms my belief that this is where my car was.

This realization freaks me out. If it’s not here, then somebody must have taken it. That doesn’t make sense, though, because I can understand someone taking the car, maybe even all of the scraps that came off, but there’s no way they could have gotten rid of all the tire tracks and trampled ground from the car flipping over. This area was a disaster yesterday, but now there isn’t a blade of grass out of place. All the money and lawn resources in the world couldn’t have fixed this in one day. Things just keep getting stranger.

I walk back up the hill, noticing my painkillers are starting to wear off. Every step shoots pain throughout my body. I just want to get back to the cabin and take a nap, so I get in my car and turn on the ignition.

I’m a little anxious when I start the car. If it doesn’t work and I’m stuck here, I think I’ll push it down the hill then run in front of it so it can end my misery.

The car starts just fine, though, and I get to continue living for now. When I take off I make my way up my least favorite hill of all time. I look again for the tree that was hit by lightning. I’m not sure what would be stranger, if the tree was still in bad shape or if it magically disappeared like the car. Regardless, I keep a close eye out for trees once I get to the top of the hill. I drive slow and look but none of the trees I see look like they’ve been struck by lightning recently.

Whether that means the tree is repaired, or I’m just not looking in the right spot, I’m not sure. Either way, I drive down the hill thinking more about what happened to Abby’s car.

When I find my turn off of the highway, I decide I must know what Cujo looks like today. Did he disappear too? If so, that means somebody may be very close to my cabin, which would make me feel very unsafe.

Until now, I’ve forgotten that I left my gun and ax at the house. The gun would still be difficult to use given the state of my left arm, but the ax would be better than nothing — I’m a proven killing machine with that thing. I’m surprised I forgot to take it with me.

I make a left onto the road that takes me to Cujo. Once I get past a series of trees, I get my first glimpse of the house. When I look over, Cujo is still lying there mangled and beaten to death exactly as I left him. I pull up in the driveway to get a closer look. A rush of guilt pours over me again knowing it was me who did this.

One interesting observation I see is there are no flies around him. I’ve seen a few dead animals before, and there are always a million flies swarming around. With Cujo though there’s nothing around.

I consider getting out of my car for a closer look, but I think I’ve seen enough. The last thing I want to happen is to get out of my car defenseless and have a Cujo #2 come bounding over the hill. Instead, I turn around and make my way back to the cabin.

Knowing what I know now, I think I should have made the effort to shut the garage door. I feel unsafe having left it up with the door unlocked. Then I remember I smashed open the door that leads to the basement, so if someone wanted to get in the house they wouldn’t have any trouble anyways.