Archive of Our Own

Ugh, is this thing on? Why can’t they try to actually digitize their files? You’d think the Usher Foundation could afford something fancier than tape recorders…Shit it’s on.

[Clears throat]

Statement of Cody Albright, regarding his time spent on the prairie, case number 4313, accession 2017/034. Original statement given 29 July, 2017. Audio recording by Sarah Lopez, summer practicum student at the Usher Foundation, Washington DC, America.

Statement begins.

I’ve always liked the prairie. There’s something soothing about it, standing there with nothing but grasses and flowers around you. Growing up in the middle of nowhere, I was always able to see the horizon. But there’s something special about the prairie. It just feels better somehow, than the even rows of corn and soybeans or the partitioned fields of cows. More soul soothing.

I grew up in a small town in the middle of nowhere, the sort of place that takes longer to say the name of than drive through. It was an old farming community, but the family farms had all been bought up in the farm crisis of the 80s, so it’s mostly fading away. Growing up there, I always had a sense of bitter melancholy that I’ve never been able to explain except to people who also grew up in dying farm communities.

Anyways, what I’m trying to say is that I always felt more at home in wide open spaces than I ever did in cities or even large towns. Once it gets above 10,000 people is when I get uncomfortable and need to be alone in nature again. Which is what always drew me to the nature reserve that was close to the large town I was going to college in. Well, I say close. What I mean is a little over an hour away. But out here in the Midwest, that’s basically the same thing. But I would go there at least once a month, weather and schoolwork permitting, as a chance to recharge the figurative batteries, to be utterly alone in nature. I loved it, especially on the trail that led me deep into the prairie. I’d stand there, seeing literally no sign of civilization and ...well I’d pretend I was the last person on earth or I was standing there 500 years ago or whatever other fantasy allowed me to be alone. It was soothing and I always looked forward to it.

Plus it was free. And seeing as I’m a college student in the American education system, money’s not exactly something I have that much of.

I hadn’t been able to visit for a while, work and life generally keeping me away from the prairie in a way that I truly resented. So when I finally had the chance to go to the reserve in the middle of May, I jumped at it. Late spring was always my favorite season to go out there.

It was early afternoon when I arrived, not quite the hottest part of the day but not far off, and I was grateful I’d remembered to bring my insulated water bottle. I briefly stopped in the visitor’s centre to fill it back up with fresh water, but I didn’t spend any real time looking at the displays. I’d been going there for years by that point, and the displays had barely changed. Besides, I wanted as much time as possible alone in the prairie.

Luckily, even though it was a weekday, there were no groups of screaming school children or geriatric birdwatchers either in the center or on the small trail that wasn’t even half a mile. I didn’t need their presence putting me on edge and ruining whatever peace I managed to carve out for myself.

I all but ran through the first loop of the trail, eagerly turning off onto the longer loop, the one that was almost two miles long and took it as far away from everyone else as I could go. Finally, I was alone.

Almost giddily, I put down everything I was carrying. My water bottle, my phone, my keys. Anything that could weigh me down. And then I stepped into the grass. Not far, barely more than a few feet off the gravel of the path, but far enough to have the long grasses brush my legs. With a sigh of relief, I stared out over the horizon, utterly content.

I don’t know how long I stood there in the sun, but what caught my attention was how quiet it was. No birdsong, no insects chirping, not even the sound of low flying planes. Just the wind sighing through the grass. And the beginnings of thirst in the back of my throat.

I turned back to the path and my water bottle, but they were gone. I thought maybe I’d gotten turned around, but no. I couldn’t see the path at all, or my water bottle, or anything else I’d put down. I didn’t think too much of it at the time. I was more annoyed that I was going to have to backtrack once I found the path again to retrieve my water bottle and that the ice inside it would have melted by then and the battery on my phone would probably be dead.

It wasn’t until I climbed to the top of a nearby gentle hill that I began to panic. There was no sign of the trail from there. Or the visitor's center or any of the nearby farms that were on the edge of the reserve. Just endless rolling hills and green swaying grass. Still, I didn’t let myself panic for long. Just took a deep breath and set out, rationalizing that I’d hit the path or wander out of the reserve eventually. It’d be annoying, but I figured it couldn’t take too long, no more than a few hours of walking.

It was when I was in what had to be my fourth hour of walking that I really began to notice something was wrong. The sun hadn’t moved from its spot above the horizon and I could have sworn I had climbed this set of hills before. By this point, I was well and truly thirsty, and the stream that I knew ran along the center of the reserve had never appeared. I tried to rationalize it away, say that I was just cutting diagonally through the park and that was why I was still in the prairie, but I couldn’t quite convince myself to believe it. Still, I didn’t really have any better options, so I kept going.

I don’t know how long I kept walking. Long enough for my throat to completely dry out. I tried to remember what I knew of prairie survival, but I had never really learned anything about that sort of thing. So the thirst in my throat got worse and worse.

Plus my feet were killing me. What had begun as a brisk pace slowed into a walk, into a shamble, until I was barely able to put one foot in front of the other. I don’t know how long I’d been walking before I finally fell, but I couldn’t find the strength to get back up. I just rolled over and stared up at the sky. Even though it was the same blue hell it had been the entire time, I still wanted to die facing it rather than the dirt. As I stared up at the sky, I remembered the time I came out here for a nighttime event, something with a pun about stargazing in the name. I’d had to deal with other people crowding me on my prairie, but it had been worth it to look up and see stars with more clarity than I’d ever seen before. I’d wanted to be an astronaut as a kid. I remember thinking that at least the stars would know where I died as I finally lost consciousness.

Suffice to say, waking up in a hospital bed was a bit of a shock. There’s not too much to say after that. I was treated for dehydration and blisters and then released.

The worst part is...I still want to go back to the prairie. It still feels like home.

Statement ends.

Well, on the surface this one’s pretty straight forward. Emergency responder records clearly state that Mr. Albright was found by a park ranger less than five feet from the path in a state of severe dehydration with feet that were more blister than skin. The park ranger had been alerted to Mr. Albright’s disappearance due to his car in the parking lot after close and then found him near his assorted belongings upon making a sweep of the park.

What’s strange is that he’d only been missing about seven hours, not nearly enough time to cause the condition he was. Also, I’m not sure how Petra got me access to his records; I’m pretty certain that’s a HIPPA violation. Anyways, Mr. Albright has agreed to come in for a follow-up statement, although I’m personally not sure what purpose that will serve. I’m just the practicum student though, so whatever.

God I kinda hate this job.

[muttering] Go work at the Usher Foundation, they said. It’ll be fun they said. Not only do I have to deal with the normal shit like tetanus and asbestos, but the books are fucking alive and I keep having nightmares about a giant eye. We don’t even microfilm the statements. It would take up so much less room, but no. They have to be in the original paper form and on fucking tape. I should have gone into the children’s libraries track. Bet they don’t have to deal with haunted books that eat your soul.

Fuck, the fucker’s still on- Um. Recording ends.

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