I remember the sounds of dripping, a slow, rhythmic drone of trickling liquid falling unseen. A cold chill then flushed through my veins, followed by an immense pain in my skull and the smell of chemicals.
My eyes flickered open, met mostly by darkness with a few scattered sources of light. Something continued dripping down the side of my face, tickling slightly as it paradoxically rolled up my head. It pooled above me on a ragged surface of broken debris. It was then of course, I realized that my blood wasn’t actually defying gravity and floating upward, but I was in fact upside down.
That realization sent a wave of adrenaline through me, cutting through my dazed mind and wobbling vision. Below me was shards of broken glass and other items that I couldn’t fully discern. Without fully contemplating my action, I unlatched the seatbelt. Immediately after which I awkwardly tumbled down onto the overturned ceiling of my car. Glass crunched and scraped against my scalp and shoulders. With a groan I flipped onto my back and tried to ascertain what was going on.
Everything hurt, and at first, I didn’t remember why. As the minutes rolled on it slowly came back to me. Last memory I had was driving down the highway as a furious snowstorm raged all around. I thought I’d been careful, but clearly it wasn’t enough and I must’ve lost control. The jumbled innards of my scrambled mind continued to fester and a haunting realization occurred to me.
I wasn’t alone on the drive.
I looked to the passenger seat and after my eyes adjusted, my heart sunk to the depths of my stomach. Wide eyes stared back at me, unblinking and unreactive. For the briefest of moments I felt relief, but it evaporated in an instant.
“Emily… Emily?” I forced myself to a seated position, feeling my body creak from my wounds. Tears began to flow from my eyes as my pleading words turned to wails of horror. She was right there. Her body was broken, with her entire side of the car mangled beyond recognition. I knew before I even touched her that she was gone.
Part of the car’s frame had folded inward, splitting into a jagged edge that had impaled her neck. The wound was so deep it had nearly severed her head entirely, and her right arm was bent backwards with the bone jutting from her elbow. Blood had spewed all over the remnants of the seat and wreckage, and the pungent scent of death lingered heavy. It was the most horrific thing I’ve ever seen.
I just laid back and cried, wailing and muttering pitifully, unable to process anything I was seeing. Every square inch of my body seemed to cry out in agony. With every fiber of my being I hoped it was all only a terrible nightmare, but I couldn’t wake up. It felt as though my heart had been torn directly out of my chest, and perhaps that would’ve been a better alternative.
More memories conspired.
Emily always loved the snow. She loved getting on a hoodie and sweats while sipping a cup of warm tea as she watched it tumble down outside our house. Her and I would often have movie days snuggling together whenever a big storm hit. The two of us had driven through blizzards a thousand times before on our journeys together. We were on our way to visit her parents, and I never could’ve imagined it would be our last.
The air grew colder as the minutes past, and I was suddenly wrenched back from my delirium and to the present. Last I remembered we were on a remote stretch of highway a ways north of Edmonton. My phone which had been charging in the cup holder was now nowhere to be found. The piercing pain in my legs reverberated once more, and I realized I was in a very desperate situation.
I struggled to look out the cracked window on my side, and saw only a sea of endless white powder beyond. Not even see any sign of the road we’d previously been travelling was visible. Obviously, walking to the nearest town was out of the question, as even if my injuries would’ve allowed it the weather clearly was far too hostile.
The open wound on my head continued to drizzle, along with the gash on my right knee which was bleeding profusely. Shards of bone were visible beneath the skin, and even the most miniscule of touches sent ripples of pain throughout my body. That type of deep, nerve pain that turns your stomach and causes your teeth to clench on some primal instinct.
After rummaging around the broken husk of my Subaru I eventually managed to find my suitcase, and tore up a few shirts for a makeshift bandage. The bleeding on my head on hands eventually ceased, but the wound on my knee just wouldn’t stop. The gash was just too deep. At the very least it needed stitches if not surgery and I knew that, but I hadn’t the materials nor expertise to accomplish it.
A little while later I managed to locate my lighter and cigarettes, so at least my nicotine habit wouldn’t go unaddressed. As I sparked one up, another twinge of pain reverberated throughout my knee. The smoke burned as it descended my throat, but the calming sensation brought a modicum of comfort. When on death’s doorstep in the midst of absolute emotional turmoil, it’s the little things you find yourself thankful for.
Every time I met the cold, dead stare of Emily, I almost felt like joining her. It was me who had been driving, and it was my fault she was dead. The sight of her was horror beyond description, and even after I covered her the guilt did not abate an inch. It should’ve been me, I don’t know why it wasn’t.
For a long while I just sat there doing nothing, content to basically allow myself to just bleed out and end the pain. It wasn’t as though my prospects for survival were very good anyways. Giving in to death would’ve been so easy, and yet, I’m still here.
The human subconscious is truly enigmatic in that way. For even when the conscious mind no longer wants to continue, the unconscious does. The corporeal instinct to continue despite the circumstance is to be both commended and disdained. As Stephen King once put it, ‘sometimes dead is better’.
As I fiddled with the lighter in my hand, a plan formulated in my mind. I had to stop the bleeding or I’d simply die from the eventual blood loss. After collecting some scraps of clothing, bits of paper and other kindling, I sparked a small fire outside the window of the car. Luckily the wind was minimal, and the fire grew rather easily as I heaped more fuel onto it. In a few minutes it was a steady fire, and I turned my attention to the far more daunting task.
I managed to break off a suitable piece of metal from the crumpled dash, and after inspecting it I place it onto the fire. I took the belt off my pants and wrapped it tightly around my upper thigh, and found a book from the back. It was Emily’s book; a copy of ‘If It Bleeds’ by Stephen King. A chuckle escaped my lips as I realized how ironic it was.
After several minutes I took a quivering breath and reached for the metal shard in my smoldering fire. The shard glowed an eerie crimson as I withdrew it, warping the air around it and emitting a dull heat. I placed the Stephen King novel into my mouth and clinched my teeth down upon it.
I didn’t want to give myself too much time to contemplate it, as surely the fear would’ve grown worse with every passing second. With a few choice words I plunged the shard into my knee. My flesh seared and melted, as the smoke hissed by my nose with a noxious scent of burning flesh and hair. My teeth clenched down so tightly I felt the book begin to come apart at the seams, and my eyeballs felt as though they were about to burst in my skull like overly-ripe grapes. The wretched howl that escaped my throat burned my vocal chords like taking a generous gulp of battery acid, but still I slid further.
With the finesse of drunken sailor, I scraped the blade over my knee, watching the flesh warp and blacken below. Tears poured from my eyes and a grunting scream escaped my lips. I felt my mind flutter on a comatose brink, and then things went dark once more.
I think I did actually pass out then; or perhaps my mind just blotted out the memory due to the indescribable agony. Either way the next thing I remember was sort of stirring out of a slumber. My vision was blurry, and mind swimming in a sea of delirium. Everything still hurt, but it almost meant nothing when compared to the agonizing singe in my knee.
After forcing myself to a seated position I inspected my macabre attempt at mending. There isn’t a doctor on this planet that would’ve approved of my work, but at least the bleeding had mostly subsided. The entire thing looked less like a cut then and more like an overly well-done steak. With great expense, I attempted to bandage the mess of flesh with a few pieces of cloth.
Over the next few hours, I did what I could to make myself somewhat comfortable and hopefully less likely to die from the elements in miserable torment. I managed to dig the snow away from my window and carve a small pit. Luckily, there was no shortage of kindling material in the car and before long I managed to rekindle a small fire. Just in time too, as the sun had since begun to set and the already cold temperature began to quickly plummet.
The snow still showed no signs of relenting, and I knew I was in for a very rough night. The night hours consisted of me taking small naps, and awaking to restoke the fire and hopefully prevent freezing to death. I’ve heard that if you get hypothermia, you eventually just fall asleep and never wake up. Every time I fall asleep I feel it’ll be the last time, and yet so far it seems my body instinctually awakens once it got too cold. The human will to survive is truly extraordinary; even if the mind isn’t certain it wants to, the body doesn’t seem to care.
During that time was when I found this old notebook in the back, and I figured since I’m stranded I may as well record everything that’s happened. To Emily’s family, I cannot possibly express how sorry I am for all of this. I know that nothing I say or do or write will ever make any difference, but please believe me when I say I would give anything to have her back. I loved her with everything I am, and I had hoped to spend the rest of my life with her. Even now, I feel as though I should join her. It should’ve been me, not her.
Entry 2
I don’t know how long it’s been now. My previous entry was at least a day ago, maybe more. It’s getting dark again, and the snow still hasn’t stopped. I’m really beginning to lose hope. I found my phone some time ago, but it must’ve got damaged in the wreck because I can’t get it to turn on. I know Emily has her phone, but I just can’t bring myself to search her body for it.
My knee is in bad shape. The pain may be even worse now, and parts of it has turned sickening shades of purple and green with leaking white pustules. I really hope someone finds me out here soon. Ironically, the snow is obviously my main problem now, but also means I’m not really in danger of dying of thirst any time soon. However, I am starting to get really hungry.
Something weird happened last night. As I was adding more fuel to the fire, I would’ve sworn I heard someone speak behind me.
“You need to do it.” I spun back as soon as I heard it, but of course, there was no one there. It didn’t sound like her voice; I couldn’t even describe what the voice sounded like, but it seemed like it originated from where Emily is. More than likely, I’m becoming delusional from the hunger and potentially infected knee. Still, just thinking about it sends shivers down my spine, and this time I know it’s not the cold doing it.
Entry 3
I’m surprised I’m still alive. It’s been so long, and I’m starting to run out of kindling materials. I suppose I could start ripping apart the upholstery on the seats if I have to, but I’m not sure how well that’d even work. It stopped snowing now, but still I haven’t seen a single person drive by since we wrecked.
It doesn’t make any sense. Last I remember, we were on Highway 2 headed north of Edmonton towards Athabasca where Emily’s parents lived. It’s not the busiest stretch of road, but someone should’ve definitely driven by at this point. Maybe we’re farther off the highway than I thought, but the more I think about it the less sense this all makes.
My knee is really starting to get bad now. There’s puss and pitch-black blood pooling around the wound. It may very well be gangrenous at this point, but I don’t know how to tell if that’s the case. I still have feeling below the knee, and the knee itself still aches greatly, but I think that’s a good sign; or at least not as bad as the alternative. The worse aspect is the hunger; I can’t even describe the feeling now.
Entry 4
I’d ask for forgiveness, but there is no forgiving what I’ve done. Last night I had enough, and took a sharpened piece of metal to my wrist, intent on ending it. As soon as the edge met my skin, I felt a jolt surge through me like being struck by lightning. I tried again, but something beyond the fire stopped me. A shadow; a vague silhouette standing out in the snow. For a brief moment, I thought I’d been rescued, but that feeling evaporated as instantly as it arose.
“No.” It’s voice was forceful, inhuman and haunting. I cannot even describe the tone of it.
“Eat.” I don’t know what that thing was, but next thing I know and I was following it’s command. My teeth clamped down into something cold and gamey. It’s taste was loose and salty, like shredded pork with a pinch of copper finish. It sounds odd I know, but the taste was exquisite. Mostly it was due to the satisfaction of finally getting something in my stomach. I bite and gnawed at the morsel, stripping it bare, with a ravenous hunger.
Only after I saw the bones protruding from the end did I actually realize what I was eating. An appalled sense of absolute horror struck me as I realized what I had done. Emily… the girl I love, who I would’ve done anything for. I wanted to toss it away, shove my fist down my throat and expel the contents in my gut, but I couldn’t.
She was fucking delicious.
Entry 5
The fire is fading, and I’m nearly out of things to burn. My hunger has decreased significantly, but my overall condition has continued to deteriorate. Every time I run my fingers over my scalp I pull out new clumps of hair. Some of my teeth and fingernails have started to fall out, and the infection in my knee has since spread to both my shin and thigh. It still hurts, but not as much as it should.
As I sat, I grabbed my unclipped fingernail on my thumb. It popped off as easily as pulling a thumbtack from drywall. Underneath spewed a miasma of blackened blood that seemed to steam as it trickled to the ground. I tossed the nail onto my dying fire, and to my surprise it sparked up for a few moments. I never knew fingernails could burn like that, and I couldn’t help but chuckle.
Entry 5
She’s gone now, every last bit of her I can stomach. The remorse I feel is unparalleled, but I had to do it. There’s no sense for both of us to die out here after all. I’m all out of kindling, but it doesn’t matter anymore.
The cold no longer bothers me. It hasn’t gotten any warmer, but I guess maybe I’ve just grown numb to it. Miraculously, my knee has stopping aching altogether. It looks terrible, with the gangrenous scourge spreading far up my leg and onto my hip. Parts of my skin have split apart, even on my arms and other leg. I can see the muscles in some of them, and little shards of bone have started to sprout outward like malformed daisies in the spring.
It’s getting harder to write in this notebook because my fingers keep getting longer. I can’t find anything to see my reflection, but my face feels… different somehow; longer and more misshapen. Again, it doesn’t seem to hurt, but there is one pain I can no longer ignore.
The hunger is back, and I must have more.
The previous passages were found written in a bloodied notebook in the overturned wreckage of a Subaru Outback a few miles off the road of Highway 2 near Meanook, Alberta. The vehicle was registered to Greg Middleton. He and his girlfriend Emily Evanston were believed to have both been in the vehicle at the time of the wreck. Greg was my son, and recovery crews found his vehicle a few hundred yards off the road in a narrow ravine.
The partially skeletonized remains of a woman were found in the vehicle’s passenger seat, and later analysis revealed them to be the desecrated corpse of Emily Evanston. Signs of mutilation were evident, and it was the coroner’s belief that something had been eating her. Something or someone… and although he couldn’t be certain, he said it very well could’ve been from another human.
Last I’d spoken to Greg, he informed me that he and Emily were driving through a snowstorm on their way to Emily’s parents’ house. That was almost two weeks before emergency services found his overturned car. It was clear he’d been there for quite some time, and the notebook he wrote seems to corroborate that.
I don’t know how much credence to place in the journal he left behind, or whether I can even convince myself of it’s authenticity. It was barely legible after all, covered in blood and looked more like the ramblings of a lunatic than it did the account of a survivor.
This account was transcribed by me to the best of my abilities, but it wasn’t easy. I left out a lot of stuff he wrote, mostly because it seems like gibberish. Just words like ‘hunger’, ‘eat’ and other claims of seeing or hearing things. I don’t know what happened to him, or whether his final couple entries were delusion, but if you see him, don’t go near him. I can’t say for certain that he’s even my son anymore. As of right now, his body has not been found and his whereabouts remain unknown.