St. Remedius Medical College: “The Trinity River Ghost Bridge”

Bridges, Like Doorways, Go Both Ways

(Who was St. Remedius? And why is a medical college named after him?)

Because of the topology of Texas in general and of Dallas in particular, this is not a city prone to fog. Steady and persistent south winds that suck the moisture out of everything they touch are only intermittently broken with storms or north fronts, and Dallas will never be compared in the same deliberation of fogs as London or San Francisco. It has a fug, to be sure: combine the city being founded on a flood plain and the Trinity River passing on the west side of downtown, with lots of areas that flood during the winter and then dry slowly in the summer sun, and Dallas gets a particular aroma from hydrogen sulfide in anoxic muds, dead gars and other air-breathing fish that survive in nearly oxygen-free waters until those waters evaporate in July and August, and generations of all sorts of industrial wastes that “accidentally” find themselves in the Trinity. At most times, if Dallas had fogs, the best comparison would be to the aftermath of a long night of pickled eggs and Budweiser, in a crowded elevator.

Every once in a great while, though, Dallas gets a truly spectacular fog. Any time between the beginning of September and the end of November, whatever contrary chaos deity assigned to the meteorological conditions of North Texas decides to liven things up with a break from tornadoes, thunderstorms, and the occasional quantum pocket deluge and pours out a truly great and spectacular fogbank that seeps over the area. By midnight, the first traces flow over roads and fields. By dawn, well, dawn is hard to discern, as is anything more than a few meters away. Traffic lights and signs disappear, trees and buildings fade and melt, and with the right ears one can just pick up the subsonic calls of great things moving just out of touch. Sounds go soft, and the more introspective sit outside, usually with a cup of coffee or hot chocolate, and take in the soothing near-silence. Those not prone to introspection are usually prone to calling tow trucks and ambulances, usually from rushing through intersections while suffering from texting or video addiction. This is, after all, Dallas.

Of those great whiles, occasionally one special fog hits the area, and when that does, look directly to the west from the Trinity River levee. As the fog gets thickest, the classic twelve pedestrian, motor, and railroad bridges over the Trinity are joined by a lucky thirteenth, all spidersilk and platinum, lit with green and blue foxfire. The bridge at the levee end is blocked for most motor traffic, but occasionally adventurous motorcyclists whip between the white metal pylons and disappear into the mist. They never return, but pedestrians and bicyclists pass through unimpeded. As the fog starts to burn off, they return, unable to articulate exactly what they’ve seen and heard but absolutely certain that it was benevolent or beneficial. Some come back with different hair or eye colors than the colors they had at birth, others find old scars or lesions gone forever. Some come back with wildly divergent personalities and perspectives than they had upon their departure: the more hidebound and narcissistic instinctively know that they may be changed forever, so they observe but never actually step foot on the bridge for fear of losing what little they have. Others, though, walk the bridge with no fear, and come back nearly electric in new ideas, attitudes, and passions.

In 50 years of tracking down Ghost Bridge travelers and requesting interviews and sometimes further testing, St. Remedius Medical College researchers never found a commonality in changes and modifications, either in total or with individual Ghost Bridge manifestations. The fog around the Ghost Bridge repelled further analysis by either technological or thaumaturgical means, remote vehicles either disappeared or were found burned and melted in the river afterwards, and travelers with recording and scanning gear or wards came back with those missing along with their willingness to talk about their experiences. Where the other end of the bridge led, nobody had any idea, but speculation was rife, and theorists waited for another manifestation to find out for themselves. Usually, though, by the time they received the alert of that the incoming fog was a special fog, said fog was burning off and the bridge inaccessible again.

All of this is a roundabout way of describing the circumstances where a quintet of previously musically disinclined individuals came in contact with a former software developer turned club owner and turned Dallas into the center for the biggest musical movement to hit Earth since ska. But that, unfortunately, is another story.

Want to get caught up on the St. Remedius story so far? Check out the main archive. Want more hints as to the history of St. Remedius Medical College? Check out Backstories and Fragments. Want to forget all of that and look at cat pictures from a beast who dreams of his own OnlyFans for his birthday? Check out Mandatory Parker. Questions, concerns, and disgust over generative AI? Check out Contact, Privacy Policy, and AI Policy. And feel free to visit the St. Remedius Medical College Redbubble shop for all of your Mandatory Parker needs.

fog Ghost Bridge St. Remedius