Are you afraid of the dark?
There was a request in TQC to tell a couple of my creepy stories, so here goes.
I have always loved living in dorms. Something about the history, the knowledge that so many people have left an indelible mark, the easy access to alcohol and hookups, is enchanting. My favorite dorm was always St. Charles. The oldest part of the college, it once was the college, entire and complete. The rooms have wooden floors, the walls are plaster, and the halls hold a ghost. Frankly, if a building is almost one hundred years old and is not rumored to be haunted, I am disappointed in locals' ability to create lore. So when I was told that St. Charles was haunted, I was distinctly unimpressed. I moved in with little fanfare, and sat in my room thinking of the stories I'd heard. I've had an interest in the paranormal ever since I left my parent's religion at the age of 13, when I started looking for what I believed. I'd maintained the interest, and had been to many supposedly haunted locations, only to be disappointed by creaky pipes and nothing more than a general feeling of creepiness.
St. Charles, as it would turn out, was something different. It started on a windy night, windy enough that I didn't even think about it at the time. The wind always wuthers and howls around the building, and it's old and creaky. So when my door swung wide open at 2: 15 in the morning, I got up, shut my door, and didn't think much about it. Until it kept happening. 6 to 8 times a month, my door would fall open between the hours of 2:15 and 3:15 in the morning. After the fourth time, I locked my door at night. Every night. A week later, the light crossed my face as the door opened once again. I got up, irritated, and decided the doorknob must be broken, and too weak to keep the door shut. I closed the door, and grabbed the doorknob, leaning away to prove my point. The door stayed shut. I pulled harder on the doorknob. Nothing. Mildly creeped out, I shook my head and said in was nothing, I would ask Mike, the janitor and general handyman, to fix it tomorrow.
When I talked to Mike in the morning, he said that the doorknobs were just replaced that summer, and he was sure there was nothing wrong with my door or the knob, but he would check it out. I watched as he looked at it, and told me there was nothing wrong with my door. I shook my head when he told me to lock it at night, knowing that it would still open. For the rest of the school year, it opened within the same hour a few times a month.
But I learned to live with the weirdness of that. The other things made me genuinely believe I was living in a haunted location. My student ID went missing in November; I went to get another, that was lost in February. This and of itself was not unusual. I am hardly the world's record holder for keeping track of things. The strange part was where I found them when I was moving out. I scurried under my bed to grab some things, and saw something out of the corner of my eye. I flipped on my back, and there they were, lined up perfectly under the bed supports. My IDs. What the...? I thought, wondering why and how they got there. I decided not to think about it too much.
The last thing I can't explain away in that dorm has to do with the attached theater. This summer, while working for conferencing, I was walking around campus around eleven o' clock. Someone had left the lights to the theater on. I quietly cursed the groups we had on campus, and used my code to get inside. I called out for someone, and no one answered. They must have just left the lights on when they left. I went around the theater and turned all the lights off, shut the doors and went back outside. I was outside for two minutes when I turned and looked at the theater. All the lights were back on. I went back in, told the theater that it was past curfew for using the facility, and went around the theater again turning off the lights, looking for any signs of human life, but the only sound was the echo of my own footsteps. I went outside again, looked back, and the lights were on. I had been gone for only a minute. I left and went to bed.
The other place on campus I've had an experience in is St. Albert's. Last summer, I went around to all the computers on campus and took down their identification numbers. It was the middle of the summer, and things were fairly dead in the old nuns' quarters. I went into an office, checking a computer, and heard the door across from me slam. The office belonged to a old priest who taught history, and I thought he was getting all shirty that I was letting myself into offices. I went across the way and knocked on his door.
"Father? I'm supposed to be checking computer numbers. I need into your office." There was no answer. I knocked again. "I really need to do this. Can you please let me into your office?" Nothing. Sick of being ignored, I let myself into his office. No one. Hm. I went and looked for an open window on the floor of the small building, but there were none to be found. I quickly checked the computer number and turned to leave, and just as I stepped out of his office, the door slammed against my heel. I left without haste.
My creepy college stories, ladies and gentlemen.
I have always loved living in dorms. Something about the history, the knowledge that so many people have left an indelible mark, the easy access to alcohol and hookups, is enchanting. My favorite dorm was always St. Charles. The oldest part of the college, it once was the college, entire and complete. The rooms have wooden floors, the walls are plaster, and the halls hold a ghost. Frankly, if a building is almost one hundred years old and is not rumored to be haunted, I am disappointed in locals' ability to create lore. So when I was told that St. Charles was haunted, I was distinctly unimpressed. I moved in with little fanfare, and sat in my room thinking of the stories I'd heard. I've had an interest in the paranormal ever since I left my parent's religion at the age of 13, when I started looking for what I believed. I'd maintained the interest, and had been to many supposedly haunted locations, only to be disappointed by creaky pipes and nothing more than a general feeling of creepiness.
St. Charles, as it would turn out, was something different. It started on a windy night, windy enough that I didn't even think about it at the time. The wind always wuthers and howls around the building, and it's old and creaky. So when my door swung wide open at 2: 15 in the morning, I got up, shut my door, and didn't think much about it. Until it kept happening. 6 to 8 times a month, my door would fall open between the hours of 2:15 and 3:15 in the morning. After the fourth time, I locked my door at night. Every night. A week later, the light crossed my face as the door opened once again. I got up, irritated, and decided the doorknob must be broken, and too weak to keep the door shut. I closed the door, and grabbed the doorknob, leaning away to prove my point. The door stayed shut. I pulled harder on the doorknob. Nothing. Mildly creeped out, I shook my head and said in was nothing, I would ask Mike, the janitor and general handyman, to fix it tomorrow.
When I talked to Mike in the morning, he said that the doorknobs were just replaced that summer, and he was sure there was nothing wrong with my door or the knob, but he would check it out. I watched as he looked at it, and told me there was nothing wrong with my door. I shook my head when he told me to lock it at night, knowing that it would still open. For the rest of the school year, it opened within the same hour a few times a month.
But I learned to live with the weirdness of that. The other things made me genuinely believe I was living in a haunted location. My student ID went missing in November; I went to get another, that was lost in February. This and of itself was not unusual. I am hardly the world's record holder for keeping track of things. The strange part was where I found them when I was moving out. I scurried under my bed to grab some things, and saw something out of the corner of my eye. I flipped on my back, and there they were, lined up perfectly under the bed supports. My IDs. What the...? I thought, wondering why and how they got there. I decided not to think about it too much.
The last thing I can't explain away in that dorm has to do with the attached theater. This summer, while working for conferencing, I was walking around campus around eleven o' clock. Someone had left the lights to the theater on. I quietly cursed the groups we had on campus, and used my code to get inside. I called out for someone, and no one answered. They must have just left the lights on when they left. I went around the theater and turned all the lights off, shut the doors and went back outside. I was outside for two minutes when I turned and looked at the theater. All the lights were back on. I went back in, told the theater that it was past curfew for using the facility, and went around the theater again turning off the lights, looking for any signs of human life, but the only sound was the echo of my own footsteps. I went outside again, looked back, and the lights were on. I had been gone for only a minute. I left and went to bed.
The other place on campus I've had an experience in is St. Albert's. Last summer, I went around to all the computers on campus and took down their identification numbers. It was the middle of the summer, and things were fairly dead in the old nuns' quarters. I went into an office, checking a computer, and heard the door across from me slam. The office belonged to a old priest who taught history, and I thought he was getting all shirty that I was letting myself into offices. I went across the way and knocked on his door.
"Father? I'm supposed to be checking computer numbers. I need into your office." There was no answer. I knocked again. "I really need to do this. Can you please let me into your office?" Nothing. Sick of being ignored, I let myself into his office. No one. Hm. I went and looked for an open window on the floor of the small building, but there were none to be found. I quickly checked the computer number and turned to leave, and just as I stepped out of his office, the door slammed against my heel. I left without haste.
My creepy college stories, ladies and gentlemen.