I grew up in the south in the late 70's and early 80's. My grandmother lived on a cotton farm in SC, and my cousin and I would go visit her during the summer. We'd help out on the farm, but during the heat of the day we'd go swimming in the river to cool off. Our favorite spot was fairly isolated, so we never really saw anyone else, but there was an old dirt road that ran from the gravel road back to an abandoned farmhouse in the woods.
My cousin and I were in the river when we saw a cloud of dust in the distance. We thought maybe our uncle was coming to take us back to the farm, but we always swam for an hour or so after lunch, and he never drove the tractor to come get us. We'd heard stories about some backwoods family who'd gone all Deliverance on some kids a few summers ago, but we figured it had to just be our uncle trying to freak us out. Regardless, we snuck up to the river bank so we could see the dirt road, but we'd still be hidden in the trees.
We saw a ratty Oldsmobile Delta 88 with blacked out windows creeping down the dirt road. The car didn't belong to anyone we knew. I only remember the make and model because I knew it was the Evil Dead car...and because of what happened next. After it passed by our hiding spot, we noticed it didn't have a license plate. It drove another 30 yards or so and then stopped. A black garbage bag flew out of the passenger window and into the field. It was about the size of a football. Then the car made a slow and methodical 3 point turn, taking great pains not to let the tires venture too far into the cotton field. It made its way back the direction it came, until it disappeared out of sight.
My cousin and I had remained silent throughout the event, and with the car gone we looked at each other. I wish we would have just ignored it. I wish we would have headed back to farm. I wish we would have told our uncle or our grandmother what we had seen and had them come investigate. But we were 13. Curiosity was killing us.
We had to look in that bag.
As we left our hiding place and headed down the road, we looked around nervously, hoping the Delt wouldn't show up again. As we got close to the drop zone, we could see blood on some of the cotton directly above the bag's resting place. We looked at each other one last time, and then we opened the bag.
There, in the bottom of the bag, wrapped in a bloody washcloth, was a tiny baby girl. She looked like she might have just been asleep, but she wasn't. The image of her lying there, naked, bloody, and discarded, has haunted me ever since.