The lawn of the North Campus Apartments stretched before us like an interminable water way — the sprinklers were on at full pressure and I was wearing suede shoes. A haze rested low on the hill that ran down to New Apts, almost clouding my view of the way before us. We dodged the sprinkler rain of the damp, suburban plain and descended  into the wooded New Apartment valley. Suddenly, we spotted it, the Path of Darkness.

Between us there was, as I have already said somewhere, the bond of North Campus. Besides holding our hearts together through long periods of separation, it had the effect of making us tolerant of each other’s yarns — and even convictions.

This bond proved important as we inspected the asphalt path down to the silent wilderness. The boiling strip of black tar turned sticky in the afternoon sun, tugging on the heels of our crew of North bound Kenyonites.  It seemed to shriek and howl, “The New Apts wilderness is not for you! Do not tame the woods! North Campus will not continue be colonized! Who allowed this scary path to exist where the beloved Bexeleys used to be!”

Ignoring the warnings of the completely treacherous passageway, we braved the dark asphalt  and arrived at the New Apartments. Once we had arrived, we observed the New Apartments’ wealth of daddy long legs and toxic red mold. The journey had been excruciating and our reward was nearly as condemnable.

We looked at each other. Our lips formed the words, “The horror, the horror.”