Corpse Cold_New American Folklore

by John Brhel

  think of my parents. It had all happened so fast. They had found Mom in the backyard that terrible summer, only

  days after I left for my freshman year. The police caught my dad in the forest behind our house, covered in her blood,

  muttering something to himself. He’d been in Rochester

  State Hospital ever since, and I hadn’t see him in the years since it all went down. My relatives encouraged me to stay in college and work on my future; said it was best for me, so I did. I’d thought about visiting the nearby asylum several times, to confront him, but couldn’t build up the courage.

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  CORPSE COLD: NEW AMERICAN FOLKLORE

  What would I say? But then it seemed simple enough: Why’d you kill Mom?!

  I left the lab around ten one night and started back to

  my dorm. It had snowed earlier in the day, and the snow

  crunched beneath my boots as I walked along the path. I

  was passing through the campus green when I saw a woman

  walking opposite me on an adjacent path. I noticed because she was the only other person on the open quad that night.

  She was a distance away, and I was unable to get a good look at her face, but I could see that she had long, dark hair and an athletic build. She was wearing a dress and a trench coat.

  I continued on my way, passing one frosted brick

  building after another under the chill February moon.

  Poring over lab data on the computer for hours had left me exhausted, and I couldn’t wait to get back to my room and

  lie down. I was almost back to Livingston Hall when, out of a vague, nervous curiosity, I looked back over my shoulder and spotted the tall girl some distance away. She was now

  behind me on the long path that led to my dorm. I hadn’t

  noticed anyone of her build hanging around Livingston

  before, but it wasn’t uncommon for students from other

  dorms, or those living off-campus, to crash there. I slid my keycard and opened the door, shutting it tight behind me

  out of habit, and went up to my room, where I quickly fell asleep.

  The following night I left the lab and took my usual

  route home, and again found the tall girl walking the path opposite me. I figured she must have had a similar schedule—

  it wasn’t uncommon to walk past the same strangers every

  day—and continued along my way. In my diligence to finish

  all my lab work, I had neglected to eat dinner, and decided to stop by Pizza Paul’s before heading back to my dorm. I

  purchased a few slices and exited the building, only to find

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  CORPSE COLD: NEW AMERICAN FOLKLORE

  the tall girl standing about fifty yards away, as if she were waiting for me.

  I would have written this off as mere coincidence,

  that we had both walked the same path to get to a popular

  restaurant at the edge of campus, had she not stood there, motionless, only walking again when I did. I wasn’t weirded out by any means, more so oddly curious. See, I’m not a

  particularly attractive guy and had rarely drawn attention from girls, so the thought that I could have some sort of

  secret admirer flattered me as much as it frightened me.

  Figuring that perhaps I had been cooped up in the

  lab for too long and was overanalyzing a series of simple

  run-ins, I turned away and walked back to my dorm. My

  initial thought, that our arms-length interactions were

  merely coincidental, was quickly snuffed out, however,

  when she followed me all the way back to Livingston again.

  I quickened my pace as I approached the front door. What

  if she wanted to talk to me? I figured I would need some

  time before attempting any kind of conversation.

  When I got up to my room, I kept the light off and

  peered out my window, which provided a broad view of

  the front of the building. I saw her standing there, her

  focus clearly on the second floor, on which I lived. In the darkness, I was unable to make out her facial features, but it was clear that she was staring up, and she seemed to be talking—not calling out, nor using her phone—just talking

  to herself.

  This went on for several days. I would leave the lab

  and the girl would pass me on a different path, then follow me, always at a comfortable distance. I became anxious, so much so that I decided to take a longer, more roundabout

  path back to my dorm. But my attempts to evade the girl

  were futile, as again she followed me, making no attempt

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  WOmAN ON THE CAmpUS GREEN

  to conceal her pursuit, only her identity. Who is she? I wondered. Why me? I had spent many long and lonely nights since the death of my mother and the institutionalization

  of my father, and considered what it would be like to have another person in my life whom I could be close with. The

  thought of having a girlfriend intrigued me, but I could

  never build up the nerve to approach her.

  After a bitter February gave way to a frigid, early

  March, and this girl and I continued our nightly routine,

  it had been long enough to reflect upon the situation more deeply. I made it my mission to finally confront her. I left the lab that night, later than usual, and instead of returning to my dorm, went into the nearby Wadsworth Auditorium,

  the school’s theater venue. As expected, she followed me

  into the dark building, which was open for third-shift

  maintenance staff, but currently vacant. I raced through

  the dimly lit lobby and into the main auditorium, hiding

  myself behind soundboards and stage lights, just beside the door.

  After catching my breath, I nervously called out:

  “Hey. I know you’ve been following me,” I tried to sound welcoming, but I was trembling, my voice especially shaky.

  “S- show yourself. I’d like to get to know you!”

  An oppressive few moments passed, and I wondered

  whether she would follow me into the pitch-black

  auditorium—but then the door opened and in walked

  my admirer. She stepped forward into the darkness, the

  light from the lobby illuminating her large frame as she

  walked down the near aisle, her back now toward me. It was the closest the two of us had been to that point, and she

  appeared even taller than I had imagined.

  As soon as the lobby door finally drifted closed, and

  the darkness concealed us, I sprang from my hiding spot

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  and assailed my stalker, plunging a knife I had carried all day into ‘her’ back!

  I had gradually pieced it all together. My father had

  somehow escaped from the asylum and had been trailing

  me, watching me, hoping to get close enough to kill me

  and reunite me with my mother. As the blade punctured

  my father’s flesh and he slumped back against me, I felt a strange, righteous satisfaction in the deed. It almost felt natural.

  But when a voice cried out from behind that long,

  black hair, I was shocked to hear a woman’s shrill scream.

  My eyes had adjusted somewhat to the dark, and as I flipped the paralyzed body over, I finally saw the face of my stalker.

  It was not my father, but a young woman, no older than

  22, stocky. I had no time to process it all—who she was, why she had followed me—because the bright auditorium lights

  flipped on and two custodians ran in, quickly subduing me.

  This all happened a few years back. Turns out the girl

  was a sophomore at Geneseo. I nev
er did find out what she

  wanted, though. Dad and I, however, have gotten to talk

  again. They keep us in separate wings here at Rochester

  State, but I get to see him on occasion. We talk about mom, among other things. I’m not mad at him anymore. It turns

  out we have a lot more in common than I had initially

  thought.

  • • •

  Addendum

  This story was excerpted and compiled from letters we

  (Brhel & Sullivan) exchanged with the young man currently residing at Rochester State Hospital. For months, he

  evaded our queries regarding his father’s motives in killing

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  WOmAN ON THE CAmpUS GREEN

  his mother. But in one of his final letters to us, he did

  reveal this much:

  “I felt that it was no coincidence that the

  confrontation between my mother and father occurred

  behind the house. See, my mother had grown obsessed and secretive over a metal box she had discovered in the woods the June prior to her expiration. Its contents remained her secret, and each night she would walk our beagle in the woods and my father would watch her from the window,

  seeking to pinpoint the various places she would hide the box and its contents. I’ve forgiven him, as we’ve sought the same knowledge. Since our reunion, he has shared with

  me the location of the box, which he was unable to obtain before the police took him, and which I will access in five to eight years, and return to him his sanity.”

  He cut off all contact with us when we refused to search his family’s property and retrieve the box on his behalf.

  • 143 •

  • XV •

  THE BLUE HOLE

  Lisa and Kelly weren’t outdoors enthusiasts, or even all

  that environmentally minded, but they had a dozen

  wine coolers between them and it was an especially warm

  spring weekend in Ithaka, NY. Ithaka was known for

  being a gorgeous area for hiking. There were breathtaking

  waterfalls, deep ravines, mountaintop vistas, and trails for miles in every direction.

  The women had originally planned to go cliff jumping

  with some guys they knew from Ithaka College, but then

  they had heard about the Blue Hole, a swimming spot deep

  in the woods, from Kelly’s older brother. They found

  the creek that fed into it with little difficulty—it was only a stone’s throw from a popular Finger Lakes trail—and

  the pair were soon standing over the natural, round pool

  (about the size of a typical above-ground swimming pool),

  daring each other to strip first.

  “This is stupid. Let’s just go in in our underwear,” said

  Kelly.

  “Your brother said it’s bad luck if you don’t go in

  naked!” countered Lisa. “C’mon, we haven’t seen anyone

  else this whole time.”

  Lisa stripped and slipped a leg into the cool water,

  while Kelly hesitated. “Fine. But I’m keeping my thong

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  CORPSE COLD: NEW AMERICAN FOLKLORE

  on.” The women giggled as Kelly finally stripped down and

  then plunged into the crystal-clear water.

  “Look, someone left their jockeys over there on that

  tree!” said Lisa. Not far off a pair of men’s underwear hung in the thick, green vegetation.

  “Guess they’re freeballin’ it home,” laughed Kelly.

  They sat on the natural stone ledges, feeling the creek’s

  light current surround them. Further down the creek, they

  could hear the telltale roar of a waterfall. They talked about school, friends, and guys, having a great time.

  “...and I swear, at the time it felt like it was as big as a Coke can!” said Kelly.

  “Is he still single?” Lisa asked, laughing, before taking

  the last sip of her wine cooler and tossing the bottle into the woods.

  The women startled at the sound of an animal running

  in the brush not far off. Lisa assumed she had startled some wild creature with her bottle, and instantly regretted her carelessness.

  “Something’s coming!” said Kelly.

  A dog ran right up to the edge of the water, growling

  and barking at them. They knew how vulnerable they were,

  and were bracing for the worst, when they heard a male

  voice call out: “Good afternoon, ladies!” They submerged

  their upper bodies as a scrawny, middle-aged man emerged

  from the trail.

  “Hi,” said Lisa, awkwardly, covering her chest.

  “Taking a dip in the Blue Hole, huh? I heard it’s good

  luck!” said the man, smiling and laughing to himself as

  he came closer. He was dressed in hiking gear from head

  to toe—a sweat-wicking shirt and cargo shorts, knee-high

  socks, boots, a bandana. A bulky backpack stuck out over

  the top of his head, and he carried with him two hiking

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  THE BLUE HOLE

  poles. At his side stood his now calm and amiable Bernese

  mountain dog.

  “Yeah, something like that,” said Kelly, looking at

  Lisa.

  The man chuckled. “My name’s Adam. You haven’t

  seen a tall guy with grey hair around, have you? Mid-forties.

  Wearing a Jets cap?”

  The women shook their heads. “No, sorry,” said Lisa.

  “His name’s Jack. He’s one of my hiking buddies. He

  wrote his name in the trail register yesterday, but never

  signed out. It’s not like him to do that, but maybe he

  forgot.” Adam was an awkward guy, but even he could sense

  the women’s discomfort at his presence. “Well, let me know if you see him. I’ll be coming back this way in an hour or so.”

  “Sure,” said Kelly.

  Adam thanked them and was about to walk away when

  he noticed his dog sniffing at something to the side of the trail. “What the hell! ”

  The women were startled by the sudden exclamation,

  wondering if perhaps the man had stumbled upon a wild

  animal.

  “Goddamn sonofabitch! Is that what I think it is?” The

  man was visibly upset. “Christ, does anyone have respect

  for the Leave No Trace ethos anymore?”

  Lisa and Kelly had sunk down to their chins in the

  water, hoping the man would just leave.

  “And it’s still fresh,” said Adam, turning and walking back toward the girls. “Did either of you do this?”

  “What is it?”

  “There’s diarrhea and toilet paper all over the place

  over here, practically on the trail,” explained Adam.

  “Huh?” said Lisa, twisting her face in disgust. “No, it

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  wasn’t us!”

  Kelly shook her head.

  “You’re the only two I’ve seen out here,” said Adam.

  “So?” said Lisa.

  “So, it’s more than likely one of you.”

  “It wasn’t us!” said Lisa.

  “You sure about that?”

  Kelly scowled back at the man. “Is it even human?

  People bring their dogs up here all the time, unleashed.”

  “Dogs don’t wipe, dear.”

  “Maybe it was your friend—someone left their

  underwear on that tree over there,” said Kelly, pointing,

  while still maintaining her modesty with her other arm.

  “Ah, I see. Unfortunately, I don’t know the style of

  Jack’s underwear, though I
highly doubt he left his hanging

  • 148 •

  THE BLUE HOLE

  in a tree in a protected forest.”

  “Really? Haven’t you guys ever come up here to party?

  When you were our age, maybe—back in the 80s?” said Lisa,

  sharing a knowing smile with her girlfriend.

  The man eyed them as he walked over to the water’s

  edge, resting his leg upon a large rock. “I have been hiking these trails for close to twenty years. I know the entire

  Finger Lakes Trail System like the back of my hand, and I

  treat it with the respect it deserves. I’ve never come up here to drink, do drugs, or skinny dip. And if I need to go, I go in a bag, same as I pick up after my dog, and dispose of the waste. I don’t take dumps on protected land and leave my shitty toilet paper lying around.”

  The women stopped smirking and floated away to get

  some distance between themselves and the interloper. Their clothes lay on the grass, within arm’s reach of the man.

  “Leave us the hell alone. We didn’t shit on your precious

  fucking land,” snapped Lisa.

  “Yeah, go away, dude,” added Kelly, meekly.

  Adam shook his head at the young women and left,

  whistling for his dog to follow. When he was out of sight, Lisa and Kelly practically had a coronary laughing at what had just transpired.

  “He’s probably jacking it right now, just out of sight—

  fucking nerd,” said Kelly.

  “Yeah, he was real creepy. He didn’t even pretend to

  look away,” added Lisa. She paused, before smirking at her friend. “Next time shit a little farther from the trail.”

  “That Mexican last night did a number on me. The

  Jose Cuervo probably didn’t help,” said Kelly.

  “Siiiick,” said Lisa, and they both laughed.

  The women downed a few more wine coolers and their

  conversation turned back to men and random gossip,

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  CORPSE COLD: NEW AMERICAN FOLKLORE

  putting the awkward run-in with the high-and-mighty

  hiker out of their minds.

  Lisa waded over to a far end of the pool. “The water’s

  cooler over here…” She went under, and surfaced a few

  seconds later.

  “There’s some sort of underwater cave. It’s pretty

  neat.”

  Kelly came over and stuck her hand beneath the