The Body Farm

I was a young woman, pursuing my dream of forensic anthropology at Boston University under Professor Mannis. He was my mentor— intelligent, tenured, and inspiring. Our class had taken trips to his body farm in upstate New York a few times throughout the semester. It consisted of a variety of environments that were perfect for studying various rates of decomposition: dense woods, thick brush, open fields, ponds, creeks, sheds, cabins and even a swampy marsh.

In the center of it all was the Mannis Home— an ancient yet beautiful colonial tucked beneath the massive pines. 

On the last day of classes before winter break, professor Mannis gently grabbed my arm as I was leaving his lecture and asked me to sit with him for a few moments. As we sat and sipped coffee he asked what my plans were for the holidays. The question was unexpected, but not off-putting. I told him that I was going to stay with my friend Jess. He asked why I wasn’t spending it with family, and I went on to explain that I had grown up in the foster system. He apologized profusely for which I told him it was okay. Professor Mannis took another drink and told me that he would be spending Christmas, as well as the remainder of winter, with his sister’s family in Florida— leaving his estate and the body farm vacant. 

I smiled softly as I realized what he was about to inquire. 

“You’re the top student in class by far. How would you like to work on the Mannis Body Farm this winter as part of your PhD program and continue my research while I am down South?” He asked. Christmas with the corpses. I couldn’t have said ‘yes’ faster.

If only I had known the horrors that were awaiting me.

I pulled down the long, gravel drive in my old Civic and the mansion came into view. It was even more beautiful in the snow. I parked the car, walked to the front door and unlocked it with the large, brass key professor Mannis had given me— I was beaming. 

There were 5 specimens planted on the property that I was to study: 

Subject 1: female, elderly, 36 months deceased, field.

Subject 2: male, adult, 2 months deceased, sealed barrel outside of shed. 

Subject 3: female, elderly, 8 months decreased, inside shed under tarp. 

Subject 4: male, young adult, 13 months deceased, dry creek bed. 

Subject 5, female, young adult, 2 weeks deceased, bank of pond, submerged.

I gave each specimen a nickname based on their location. There was: Fiona Field, Barry Barrel, Sheila Shed, Craig Creek, and Polly Pond. Immature and unprofessional? Maybe, but it helped me keep track and made the morbid reality a little easier to deal with. 

To be honest, the work was easy, quick and uneventful. Unfortunately, this did not last long. 

Each morning ‪at 9 AM‬ I would make my rounds and notate each specimen’s current stage of decomposition— as well as any signs of wildlife interference. It was solemn and a bit eerie, but I was doing good work, work that would help the criminal justice system and forensic scientists. 

At least, that’s what I told myself. 

Things had become routine by the 3rd day. I would put on my latex gloves and medical mask, followed by my snow gear. Most of the specimens could be studied visually from a short distance, with the exception of Barry Barrel and Sheila Shed whom I would have to examine physically due to their respective shelters. The subjects were decomposing at their expected rates. 

All but one. 

I walked to the edge of the pond and stared at Polly, frozen beneath the ice. Her head seemed to rest comfortably on the bank, while her eyes remained a blank slate gazing towards the winter sky. Polly’s feet were a blur of white as they stretched toward the depths. The scene was almost peaceful, as if she was merely a statue resting beneath glass— perfectly preserved in her own display-case. I stared at Polly’s naked body, ready to jot down my notes. My eyes descended from her head to her neck, breasts, abdomen, and finally down to the thin, dark strip of hair between her thighs. 

I stepped back as an unexpected sensation pulsated through my body. I felt embarrassed. Her nude body reminded me of my own, and I felt a sudden impulse to cover her. I laughed awkwardly to myself and scribbled the remainder of my notes. 

Satisfied with my morning’s work, I trudged up the snowy hill towards the house to make breakfast. I spent the remainder of the day working on my thesis and watching local television. As the sun set, I drew a bath to unwind. I rested against the back of the clawfoot tub and closed my eyes, soaking the day off of my skin. For a brief moment, my head submerged under the warm water and an image of Polly’s pale skin and milky eyes flashed in my mind. I shot up out of the tub, angry with myself for falling asleep. 

As I began to dry off, a loud THUD outside broke the quiet stillness of the night. 

I tried to convince myself it wasn’t real, but my sense of logic and reason wouldn’t allow me. Instead I concluded that it must have been local wildlife. (I was miles away from any other person, and no-one in their right mind would be rummaging about the property in the cold at night). My attempt to calm myself was failing. I quietly crept down the creaky stairs, and made my way to the sliding glass door at the back of the home. I slid it open and examined the property with my flashlight. All remained still besides the light, falling snow. 

I decided that I would investigate in the morning as I closed and locked the door. Looking at the clock, I reasoned that it wasn’t too late to call Jess— selfishly knowing her voice would make me feel less alone. We spoke for an hour before I went to bed with all of the lights on.

That night I dreamt of red flowers blooming through the white snow. 

The following morning was a dreary and still, I brewed coffee and listened to the news. A storm was coming and projected to hit on Christmas Day. After breakfast I geared up and began my rounds. Almost immediately I saw what had made the loud noise in the night. The barrel near the shed had fallen over, and Barry’s stiff, decomposing arm reached out towards the fresh snow. I approached cautiously. All seemed plausible at first, figuring the barrel must have toppled from wind or wildlife. Professor Mannis had warned me of local coyotes and their appetite for human remains and bones. 

I pulled the barrel upright and inspected Barry. As soon as I saw his hand, my heart began to pond in my chest. 

The nails of his index, middle, and ring fingers had been pushed back as if he had clawed at something. I grabbed the barrel’s lid from the snow and ran my fingers along the grain. Towards the center I noticed three symmetrical scratches. I felt like I was going to vomit. I sealed the lid and began to think. I told myself it was the result of the barrel toppling over— his hand fell towards the lid and the momentum caused the lacerations when his nails made contact with the wood. It made sense… there was nothing to worry about. 

I continued with my rounds. The specimens appeared intact and unmoved, giving me a sense of peace and security— until I came to the edge of the pond. I could see Polly as I approached and immediately felt as though something wasn’t right. I crouched down and examined her body once again. There was no embarrassment this time. I sat along the bank for a few minutes before it hit me. Polly looked like she was closer than she was the day prior. I quickly grabbed my measuring tape and extended it towards the icy corpse.

Her head was two inches closer to the bank than it was the day before. 

The nausea and panic returned in full force and my mind began to race for an explanation. “It’s fine.” I repeated to myself. Temperatures change and the water beneath the ice is still fluid. The corpse simply shifted in the night. I started to feel better and laughed at myself for being frightened. The solitude was simply getting to me. I finished my notes for the day and retired to the house. 

It was Christmas Eve, I deserved a little bit of fun. 

After lunch, I put on a Christmas record and made egg nog. The house felt warm and alive, I found it a welcome change from the usual eerie stillness. A few drinks later, I was finally feeling relaxed. I began rummaging through the Mannis home in search of Christmas decor. I found myself at the basement door before remembering the professor’s strict instruction to keep it closed and stay out. Half an hour later I was satisfied with the two wreaths and strands of tinsel I discovered in a storage closet near the guest room. I melted into the couch with a freshly refilled glass, and my eyes grew heavy as Sinatra’s rendition of Silent Night served as a lullaby. 

Just before I drifted off, three loud KNOCKS at the back door jolted me awake. 

I wasn’t able to explain this. I felt adrenaline pulse through my body. Maybe I had drifted instantly into a dream the second I closed my eyes? This idea was shattered as three more knocks rapped the glass of the sliding door. I ducked down to the floor, and contemplated my next move. The door was locked, I was sure of it. I knew then the best idea was to make a dash to the phone and call the police. Just before I took off, a muffled voice from the other side of the glass spoke. 

“Lyss, open the door bitch!” 

I could’ve died if I hadn’t started laughing so hard. Jess had come to surprise me. I unlocked the door and slid it open, nearly killing her with a hug. My eyes welled with tears at the realization that she had traveled to the Mannis farm in the snow just to spend Christmas with me. 

After catching up and a few more drinks, Jess proclaimed that this wonderful evening would most certainly not be right without a Christmas tree. Warmed from alcohol and our snow gear, we decided to head into the woods to chop down a small pine before the sun set. As we neared the shed, I thought of an idea that, at the time, believed would be hilariously brilliant. I told Jess to go into the shed and grab the axe “under the tarp” since I had to “check on one of the bodies” in the back. I remember her distinctly saying, “as long as I don’t have to see one of those things I’m happy.” I sat back and grinned ear-to-ear, waiting for Jess’ screams as she would soon discover Sheila under the tarp. 

The screams never came. 

Instead Jess emerged from the shed with the axe and said, “I didn’t see any tarp, but the axe was learning against the wall by the door. Ya know… for such a smart girl you’ve got a shitty memory.” I put on my best fake-smile and bantered with her. My mind silently raced. She must have missed it, that’s all. It’s a dark shed, I’ll check in the morning before the storm hits and all of the bodies will be fine.

We proceeded into the woods until we found the perfect little tree to chop down and drag back home.

The night consisted of even more drinks, a little cannabis, and old memories— it was more than enough to help ease my anxiety. Jess and I eventually retired to the master bedroom and fell asleep as soon as our heads hit our respective pillows. The next morning blessed me with the Christmas hangover from hell. After a gallon of coffee, fried eggs and bacon— I suited up for my routine 25-minute workday. Groggier than usual, I shuffled through the fresh powder towards the shed. The snow was starting to pick up and I knew I didn’t have much time. When the shed came into view, I couldn’t believe what my eyes were seeing. 

The barrel had toppled over once again, but this time the corpse within was nowhere to be seen. 

I ran inside the shed, and just as I feared… there was no tarp, and no Sheila. I sprinted to the field and dry creek bed, both of which were absent of their deceased inhabitants. Racing down the hill to the pond, I stopped and vomited when I reached the bank. Polly was gone as well— all that remained was a perfect, body-shaped cavity in the ice.

My adrenaline was back in full swing as I b-lined to the back door of the Manis home. Jess was smoking on the couch and nursing her booze-flu. My frazzled appearance got her attention as she asked me if I was okay. I didn’t answer. Instead I grabbed the phone and frantically dialed the number that Dr. Mannis’ had given me—which instantly went to an answering machine. Through my broken words, I was eventually able to articulate that all of the bodies had gone missing. Jess began to pelt me with questions, none of which I was able to answer. 

As the winter storm raged outside, Jess and I came to the grim conclusion that our only option was to lock ourselves in and wait it out.

Few words were spoken as several hours flew by. The storm continued to increase in intensity as the grey, winter sunset beyond the treeline. Jess and I continued to comfort one another as night fell, telling ourselves that we would wait out the storm and leave first thing in the morning. We triple-checked the doors, windows, and kept the fire in the burning in the hearth. 

We felt secure and warm. This was short lived as a loud CRASH hit the roof and the lights went out. 

I heard Jess wince in the darkness and I held her close. I whispered that it was okay and the storm must have broken a tree branch outside. We made our way to the kitchen and grabbed the flashlights from under the sink. Jess suggested that we should check the fuse box, and I reminded her that the basement was off-limits. Annoyed, Jess hissed that she preferred to not freeze to death on Christmas Day in a creepy body farm mansion. 

It was a compelling argument. 

A wave of musty air hit me as we opened the basement door and descended the stone stairs. I pleaded with Jess to be quick as we scanned the walls with our flashlights. Something about the basement didn’t feel right, and I wished at that moment that I could be anywhere else. Jess walked over to the breaker and flipped them to no avail. As she worked, my eye was drawn to a stack of photos on a wooden table in the corner. I began to tremble as I flipped through them.

All of the photos were of me— candid and dating back to my first year at the university.

My voice cracked as I called Jess over to look. She looked me in the eye and said, “we have to leave now.” I silently agreed.  We scaled the stairs as fast as we could and shut it.

Only to be greeted by a snow-covered Dr. Mannis sitting on a chair in the foyer. A shotgun rested lazily next to him. 

I nervously spewed words and sentence fragments, telling him that we only went into the basement to look for the breaker—followed by a procession of confused questions as to why he wasn’t in Florida. “I got your message, you worry me Alyssia,” was his only response. Grabbing the shogun, he motioned Jess and I towards the front door. We obeyed without hesitation. 

“Why are you here?” Jess asked as we marched in the blistering snow. “I heard my specimens are missing,” Mannis hissed. 

The beam of our flashlights struggled to cut through the darkness, but I knew we were nearing the shed through muscle memory. The crunching snow quieted as a wide-eyed Jess stopped dead in her tracks. “What’s the problem?” An annoyed Professor Mannis asked. Jess did not respond, and continued to stare— all color draining from her face. 

I pointed my flashlight ahead and saw them… the silhouettes of five familiar humanoid beings standing completely still in the snow. Mannis whispered “it worked…” as he ripped the flashlight from my hand and slowly continued towards the row of figures. Jess quietly grabbed my arm and pointed to the pickup truck keys clipped to his belt. 

Jess and I shook our heads in silent agreement. 

“Absolutely incredible!” Mannis’ proclaimed as he approached them. He couldn’t have been more than fifteen feet away. I squeezed Jess’ hand tightly. 

It was now or never. 

I lunged forward and grabbed the keys as Jess pushed Mannis down onto his face. The shotgun fired as it made contact with the ground— blowing a hole through the chest of the corpse directly in-front of him. The flashlight beam shot through the torso like sunlight escaping the clouds. 

“RUN!” Jess yelled, snapping me out of shock. I turned and followed her towards the house. Mannis screamed incoherently as he struggled to find his footing. Another shotgun blast sounded as speeding BBs whistled past my ear. 

I screamed. 

I looked back momentarily as Mannis shrieked at the top of his lungs. In a split-second, I saw the corpses descend on him like pigs at a trough. Mannis tried to shout once more, but merely choked as his mouth filled with blood. 

Jess fumbled with the keys as we climbed into the 4x4. We were both bawling our eyes as we fish-tailed down the gravel drive towards the main road. 

The next few months were filled with police interrogations, interviews, and an official resignation from the University. The official record states that the Mannis’ estate and farm were abandoned. The specimens on record, as well as Mannis himself, were never discovered.

The Christmas Season is approaching again— it is always a difficult time of year for Jess and I. I’ve never had the confidence to share my story with others, but now I think it is crucial should I disappear. You see, I found a handwritten note in my mailbox yesterday. There was no postage, return address or signature. The note simply read: 

“It’s time to finish our study.”