Old Fraizer Bridge

 
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I need to tell you the story of old Frazier bridge. We were drinking milkshakes at The Blob diner, the one where The Blob was filmed. Earlier we had gone to pick up N*** from what might have been partridge lane, which was actually a cul-de-sac with a round-about in the middle since they didn’t trust their drivers not to cut through the middle. It was condescending of them. And unsurprising. N*** had just gone through a break up where his ex kept happening into the same places where N*** himself frequented. Perhaps it was the opposite since the ex had introduced Nick to those places to begin with. We spoke about it in the car some before we got to the diner where T** was going to meet us. N*** smoked menthols. He offered me one which I accepted since it was so close to my mint Juul anyway. And there was something more glamorous or retro about it, standing under the silver reflected lights of the diner. N*** told us of all the high school tops that he’d fucked since then. And the terrible attempted fuck buddy who had told him that he preferred twelve year olds because they were hot. T** joined us not long after we had ordered our milkshakes, directly off work from Sephora, sporting the crispest brows and turquoise lips. Coffin nails tapping the table while he ordered just a water from the waitress. I had very little to say since they weren’t my high school friends. But we talked about how E*** and I had gone to the King of Prussia mall the day before. A place so large that the touch screen maps had to zoom in to show you where you were between the Urban Outfitters and the Tiffany’s. A man was sitting at the counter ordering a hot dog to go. He spun around to ask: “Are you talking about scary places in Chester County?”

T**: “No, I don’t think so.”

E***: “I think we were just talking about the mall.”

Me: “Though the mall was scary large.”

T**: “it might actually be the scariest place in Chester county.”

In the midst of our chatter the man replied: “I shouldn’t say since I didn’t mean to interrupt since you weren’t talking about it but have you heard of Frazier Bridge?”

N***: “Is that the place where they found the suitcase?”

E***: “Oh! The suitcase. Yeah that place.”

Me: “What suitcase?”

E***: “The one that was found years back full of body parts.”

The man was still waiting on his hot dog and with nothing else better to do continued on saying that no that was the old Downingtown tunnel. And it wasn’t even close to the scariest place in the county. That we needed to know of Frazier bridge. By this point we were asking for the check and I wasn’t sure why we continued speaking to the man. But we did. Having already spooned out the remaining chocolate chips from the bottom of my mint milkshake and N*** having done the same with his moose tracks we tried again to ask him where the bridge was located. He seemed to indicate that it was behind a bar in the town of Frazier. None of us knew it. I didn’t know any of this since I was an outsider who was only visiting for the week. But ana continued asking and did in fact know some landmarks. Small town life still lingering in the recesses of her mind from when she grew up there.

E***: “What about old Frazier lanes? Is it near there?”

The man: “you know old Frazier lanes?”

E***: “Yeah, I used to bowl there, years ago.”

The man: “The bar I’m speaking of is right next to them and the bridge is behind the place you call old Frazier lanes.”

T**: “So how do you get to the bridge?”

The man: “You go out into the woods there. And if you get through the woods, which you won’t since you’ll be too scared, you’ll come to the train tracks, and if you make it to the train tracks, which you won’t since you’ll be too scared, you’ll have to cross them, but you won’t make it across since it’s too scary, but if you do you’ll have to walk to the foot of the bridge and if you make it that far which you won’t, you’ll be at the bridge and if you make it to the bridge you won’t be able to go on it, but if you do you’ll never make it to the other side.”

T**: “But what’s on the other side?”

The man: “I don’t know. I never made it. And even you, Miss Blue Lips, won’t be brave enough.”

T**: “I guess I’ll have to ride my broom.”

The man: “I can’t see you riding a broom.”

T**: “Me either.”

By this point the man’s foam box had arrived with what I can only assume was his hot dog inside. Yet he lingered to tell us more. I was very certain after all of this that I wanted to go to Frazier bridge. I wanted to see if it was there to begin with and even more I wanted to see if it was nearly as terrifying as he made out. I think we all did to differing degrees. But we had gotten enough out of the man and wanted to conclude the conversation with this random stranger so we Rustled about to pay our checks standing by the counter feeling like teenagers in a horror movie that had only just begun. The man threw his cash on the counter and left. Telling us to forget it all. To forget he had ever spoken to us. To never go to the old Frazier bridge and to forget that it existed. The waitress after hearing all of this begged us to not go to the bridge. To not listen to the scary old man. Saying please over and over as she processed our credit cards and as we walked out. He was still out there. Sitting on a railing across the parking lot. Styrofoam box open. Eating. T** said he had to leave. He had work in the morning but N*** was with us. And I was driving since E*** had only recently gotten out of surgery and was not yet recovered enough to drive. E*** was too scared of the bridge or maybe it was the old man she was scared of so instead of going directly there we went to the Downingtown tunnel and walked through it in the pitch black. N***’s cigarette, the only glow, except at one end where the flashing of the cars hazard lights lit it up like the crime scene it used to be. Even in that safer darkness Ana shuddered.