‘The Body Bog’ is the essence of a side-of-the-road attraction because there’s not much for a person to safely do while visiting. The parking lot reflects the relative tightness of the presentation, allowing for, at most, four cars or, in my experience, one very old camper. A short path branches from the parking lot, winds for ten minutes through some tree, and then ends in a sort of boardwalk over the wet bog grounds that give the place its name.
A sign there says only: ‘Body Bog’ (Coming Soon).
The guide says more:
‘It’s a threat, yes. Maybe not to any one individual but certainly to humanity as a whole. There are no bodies in ‘The Body Bog’ but it’s clear that its curators hope there will be soon. In previous years, more detailed signs included theoretical instructions for ‘ceremoniously’ sinking human bodies into the bog so that they would likely be preserved for years past their expiry in regular old dirt. The sign went on to include examples of the sorts of bodies one might expect to eventually find in ‘The Body Bog:’ cheating spouses, two-faced friends, annoying children, and neighbors’ pets. ‘Just to name a few,’ the sign was quick to say, ‘Just throwing ideas at the wall, you know,’ it continued.
Shortly after this sign was removed, visitors began to report hearing a voice in the bog, calling out about something called ‘Bog Cake.’ ‘Come on over this way,’ the voice said, ‘We’re celebrating ‘The Body Bog’ with cake! Totally safe to just walk on over!’ Local Rangers became involved in investigating the voice and it soon quieted.
These gimmicks quashed, ‘The Body Bog’ has sense settled on a patient silence that some describe as ‘pressured waiting.’ There is something expectant about ‘The Body Bog’ that is difficult to describe, and far be it from this author to discourage travelers from aiding the Wayside in its growth.
‘The Body Bog’ needs bodies, and someday it will have them.’
“Is someone there?”
Someone begins to shout just as I turn to leave the boardwalk and head back to the camper. I scan the surrounding woods but make out no movement.
“I need help!”
It seems impossible to me that anybody would fall for ‘The Bog’s’ weak lures and more impossible still that they would make it so far into ‘The Bog’ before becoming stuck. My first guess is that this is some new recording, which is why I’m concerned when it continues:
“I’m not a recording! I’m just a man with limited telepathic ability who has become… stuck, here. There was a bog spirit, I think… somebody calling about cake.”
I take another step back toward the camper and the boardwalk creaks loudly underfoot. The man quits screaming, for a moment.
“I heard that,” he says.
“I’m just going to call the Rangers,” I say, “Or the fire fighters or whoever is nearby. I’m not really in, uh, bog-wear.”
“There’s not time!” He coughs and chokes as though he’s swallowed some of the bog water. “I’m sinking!”
“Won’t be a minute…” I say, finding that every board on the path back seems to creak.
The man screams for me the whole way back, but it’s quieter after the first turn. I worry, a little, when I reach the camper and find I have no service, but it only makes me more determined to call for help as soon as possible. I hop in and drive toward civilization, checking my phone until a notification pushes through with new information about the next stop- some museum for an organ that doesn’t exist in the human body. Then, I see my old hometown is in the news again. I get a phone call about the camper’s warranty.
A few days later I remember the voice in the bog with a sudden shock. I wonder if I should call someone now, but I don’t.
-traveler
