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Here follows an account from Ms. Cindy Baker of Pilot Mountain, NC about the disappearance of Ryan James in October 1973.
We had been together since our freshman year at North Surry. We are seniors now. We were in Ryan's father's car in a field at the old Hacker place talking about our future together after high school and listening to the radio. It was a cold, clear night in October and the stars and moon shone brightly on the grass. We didn't notice that a fog had begun creeping up across the field. It was a thick, low fog that didn't seem to rise more that about ten feet, but it was solidly on the ground. That's when I heard the crying. It was faint at first. I could barely hear it over the radio. I rolled the window down a bit to hear better. I couldn't tell if it was a girl or a child, but it was definitely crying. I asked Ryan to turn the radio off. I guess I looked worried, and he did without his usual wisecracks.
We both sat quietly, listening to the faint crying and watching the fog slowly pass over the car. The crying was getting louder. I rolled the window up and I was getting frightened. The fog had covered the car. Ryan turned on the headlights, but the fog was so thick we couldn't see anything. The headlights disappeared into the thick mist just a few feet from the hood. We could hear the crying clearly even through the closed windows. Ryan opened the glove box and took his dad's three cell flashlight. I yelled "What are you doing? You're not leaving me here in the car!" He calmly said he was going to look around the car to see who's crying and if they need help. He told me to lock the doors after he gets out and wait for him to return. I was worried, . . . no, I was scared.
This whole thing just isn't right. Before I could say another word, Ryan was out of the car, walking towards the front with the flashlight shining in every direction. I could barely hear him. I opened the window just a bit to hear him and call out "See anything?" "Nothing yet." he replied. The crying was loud and coming from all around the car. But there was something else, the sound of the crying had changed. It didn't sound desperate, but more intense . . . darker somehow. I locked the doors.
I could still see Ryan at the front of the car, his shadow outlined by the headlights. Then I heard the crying slowly change into a low chuckle. A laugh, a low, menacing laugh. I looked around, but Ryan had disappeared into the fog. I called out to him, but I didn't hear anything but this evil sound of low laughter. The headlights went out. Ryan had said the battery wasn't very good, but it sure picked a fine time to quit. I called to Ryan again, but no answer. Then the chuckling, or crying or whatever stopped. No sounds at all, no crickets, no frogs, no birds. . . . Nothing. The fog was still as thick as ever. By this time I was frantic. I called time and again for Ryan to get back to the car. I thought I saw his flashlight a short distance in front of the car moving quickly in every direction. Maybe he was running. I don't know.
I thought I heard a muffled noise, but I can't be sure. The fog began to slowly rise and disappear. I called for Ryan again and again but I couldn't see him. The fog had almost gone and I saw his flashlight shining at the car, about ten feet ahead. It was on the ground. Ryan was gone. I was alone. In the dark. With a dead battery. I sat motionless in the dark night, staring at the flashlight until its batteries died.
The next morning, I got out of the car and searched for Ryan. I then looked at the flashlight on the ground. It had been bent as if it had been crushed by a great weight. I ran as fast as I could away from that field.
An investigation into the disappearance
of Ryan was initiated the next morning. Police and local residents searched
the countryside for any clue to his vanishing into thin air. After six days
of questioning and searching, no clues were ever found. Ryan James was never
heard from again.
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