Abby Ker, ‘24, couldn’t believe her eyes. Her morning bike commute to her 9:30 class was suddenly interrupted by a construction fence at White Plaza. Yesterday, the fence seemed a bit further back. Strange, she thought, but signs on the fence told her, and other blocked bikers, to continue past the bookstore to another entrance. Abby Ker and other heroically undeterred bikers began tracing the edge of the fence, “I had to do that embarrassing little shuffle where I had one foot on the pedal and one foot on the ground, but by the time it was 10:15, we realized that the fence didn’t end.” Abby Ker broke down in tears. Apparently, along the way, the fence had swallowed a kid, never to be seen again.
“Timmy was there, and then he wasn’t! He was screaming. It was terrible.” Abby Ker’s hypothesis seems to be something along the lines of the fence, itself, gaining sentience. “After about two hours, we were back at the bookstore. I thought about everything I had seen. Arrillaga, Nearillaga, Farillaga. And this time, the fence had, somehow, crept past Tressider. What are they hiding in there?”
Confusion turned to panic when students realized communication with the outside world was cut off this morning. Campus is now surrounded by impenetrable construction fencing. And nobody knows what is being constructed. Daisy Anfused, ‘25, has reported that, “after calling my mom, I got a strange message that told me to forget that she existed. I can’t tell what’s happening. If we’re inside the construction fencing, where’s the construction? What’s the project? What’s the problem?”
No university official has responded to requests for comments. In fact, our reporting indicates that none of them appear to be inside the fence. However, and this is the strangest detail, life seems to continue as normal. There is food in the dining halls. Residences are being cleaned. CoHo staff is as congenial as ever. Lectures are taught and recorded. Seminars are run. But where are these faculty entering from? And where do they leave? Why do they keep silent about the fence? Why do students like Abby Ker report that construction fencing is now in their room? Creating mazes on Wilbur field? What’s worse, says Abby, is that she can’t be sure whether the fencing is keeping her in, or keeping something greater out.