The school from which I received my undergraduate degree is like some many that dot New England. Small, private, emphasis on liberal arts, ivy covered bricks and white columns. When I was there, it was already well over a century old.
My junior and senior years I was an R.A. The R.A. staff was required to be back on campus about a week before students returned from summer break, and it was our responsibility to renew first aid courses, do room inventories to ascertain that every room had the requisite furniture, etc. As you might imagine, as so often goes hand in hand with old places, there were stories about strange things happening on campus over the years. That first week of my senior year, I was going through the rooms on my hall, one by one, making sure there were beds, desks, bookcases. I think I had checked about half the rooms without incident. It was still daylight, the sun was shining brightly, but I confess it was a bit eerie simply because there were so few of us around at that time. I eventually made my way into one of the suites, a large living room with a bedroom on either side. The building, Academy Hall, had hardwood floors, pressed tin ceilings, great crown moldings. The windows were drafty in the winter and the old radiators clanged. I stepped into the first bedroom, saw that everything was in order, and stopped in the living room, using a bookcase as desk, to fill in my inventory sheet. My back was to the main door of the room and as I was writing I heard someone come in behind me. Not only did I hear the floor creak, but I heard the actual footfalls. I turned, fully expecting one of my fellow R.A.s to be standing there but no one was. Whoever, whatever had entered the room and stopped just behind me, but there was no one to be seen. I ran out so fast I didn't care if the other room even had a bed. The kid who would inhabit it could sleep in the closet as far as I was concerned!
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