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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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
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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CORPSE COLD: NEW AMERICAN FOLKLORE
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
• 146 •
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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CORPSE COLD: NEW AMERICAN FOLKLORE
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,
• 149 •
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