Sarah Nunez-Lafontaine ‘22
’Tis the season of midterms and overpriced Thanksgiving flights, of everything pumpkin themed at Trader Joe’s, and the obligatory fall-themed photo shoot. We begin to plan our sexy/funny/sexy-funny Halloween costumes (I suggest sexy Marianne Williamson), and so the spooky season begins. To celebrate the arrival of Halloween, this hard-hitting journalist flocked to the Ella Strong Denison Library in order to find the truth about Scripps’ most haunted locations (cue the Ghostbuesters’ theme song). Here are some spooktacular and completely real ghost stories, so curl up in your flannel, order an extra-dirty chai from the Motley and remember to read these in your scariest voice.
The Creaking at Clark
Two years ago, Campus Security received a panicked call from a disturbed first-year claiming to have heard a spirit in the hall. The student claimed that as she was about to go to bed, she was awakened by creaking and moaning noises made by two distinct haunted voices, along with the occasional “Not there!” and muffled groans. The student, not satisfied with Campus Security’s response (apparently they don’t deal with hauntings) hosted a seance. She hoped to learn what the spirit wanted as well as how to appease the clearly frustrated ghost that was haunting the halls of Clark. It is unclear whether the seance was successful; however, a few days later, Campus Security checked back in with the perturbed student, wanting to see if there were any more disturbances. The student admitted that the ghost seemed to have quieted down, although she wasn’t quite sure what the buzzing sound from next door was or why her neighbors electric toothbrush always seemed to be on.
The Zombies of Kimberly
The clock strikes midnight on a typical Saturday night; suddenly a resident of Kimberly hears the sound of shuffling feet through the hallway. She grabs her pepper spray and, with fear in her heart, creaks her door open. She smells them before she sees them, reeking of Strawberry Svedka and Sour Apple Juul pods. “Kacey! Come on!” one of them screeches, her hair flying furiously across her face. “Devon’s pregame is almost over! Let’s GO!” Another one shrieks, her pasty white face covered in glitter, with streaked mascara. Her lips are covered with a thick red gloss, which is either blood or cheap lipstick. The resident makes the mistake of making eye contact; “OHMYGOOODDD I am sooooooo sorry. Did we wake you?!?!” she slurs, “Guyssss, let’s GO already, bitches!!!” To date, there seems to be no way to avoid these horrific zombies that roam the hall nearly every weekend.
Stoner mist of Toll
In 2012, a Scripps student made a report to a Scripps Voice editor, giving her an exclusive story about the mysterious happenings at Toll. The student reported that one night she was walking back from the browsing room. She had just turned one of the many corners when a door suddenly opened, revealing a thick mist. The student coughed, eyes watering from the smell. The fog began to clear, and suddenly two figures emerged from the haze, muttering about Potato Chips. The figures began to speak, slowly, as if each word a struggle. What was so odd was that they soon grew forgetful, stopping mid sentence to touch each others hair. The student stood still, hoping she would go unnoticed. The figures walked passed her, talking about how much they craved pizza from Jay’s Place.
The Dirty Secret of New Hall. Ever wondered what keeps New Hall so green? A maintenance worker, burdened by guilt, revealed the shocking secret to keeping the dorm beautiful. The courtyard is fertilized using a special ingredient: the bodies of the men who have scorned Scripps students. “At first we were shocked,” the maintenance worker reported. “But then we heard the stories about these douchebags, and like, we totally understood”.
The Witch of Routt. As the first-years, young and full of life, spend their evening basking in their youth below, a hag sits in her dorm room above, drinking her SHAW rosé and watching Brooklyn 99. Her ritual is disrupted again and again by the incessant partying of the youths. They insist on singing along to every song, and for some reason, every Lizzo track deserves a “WOOOOHHHH” before it starts. Angered by their lack of basic human decency, the witch storms onto her balcony, clad in a fuzzy bathrobe and in a face mask that cost $12. She calls out to the group of riff-raffs. “Some people are trying to sleep!” she warns, threatening to turn them into a frog, or maybe just turning them in to campus security.
10/30, Volume XXIX, Issue 3