I am the ghost of Regina Hall
Callie Patrick | Thursday, April 25, 2019
When I first arrived on campus, moving into my dorm, I never could have fathomed the amount of ghost stories I would be subjugated to. As my roommate — a local — toured me around Saint Mary’s College, it seemed every building had some terrifying tale that if my studying wasn’t keeping me awake at night, it would.
She spoke of the Belles that haunted the Belle Tower, roamed within Queen’s Court in Le Mans Hall and wallowed about the over-a-century-old campus. It made sense to me; it seemed almost fitting that there would be so many stories of ghosts when I could see Saint Mary’s graveyard from the window of my dorm. I knew firsthand the frightful feeling these stories invoked when a group of us “smicks” made a mad sprint past Holy Cross graveyard on Saint Mary’s road on our way home after a football game. It was dark, the trees dense, and naturally a heavy fog had blanketed the land.
But at the end of the day, they were only stories — or so my roommate thought.
I swear it when I say I had no malicious intentions that night. I simply felt overcome to act on a sudden and odd impulse for minor mischief.
My roommate had her boyfriend over that evening — and again, I swear what I did wasn’t because I dislike him. In fact, my roommate and I bond over giving him a hard time. So that’s why when they had left the room for a split second and my eyes caught on his wallet laying in our side table, I just acted. No, I did not steal anything from his wallet. I said I was feeling mischievous, not criminal. No, as someone who gets ragged on for misplacing things all the time, I simply stuck the wallet in one of his shoes and just smirked at the unimpressive work of my compulsion.
After they returned, I wished them a good night and let them finish their movie, forgetting all about my prank — if you can call it that. It wasn’t until half an hour later and I was on the precipice of sleep that I heard a knocking on my door. I opened it to a bewildered roommate and her boyfriend over her shoulder frantically scouring the room. Cushions were raised, blankets had been unfolded then left in heaps.
That’s when my roommate apologized for waking me and was wondering if I had happened to see his wallet and, if not, if I could help them look. Apparently, they’d been looking for it for almost half an hour.
She apologized for disturbing me when in reality it should have been me apologizing to her.
I felt awful.
Despite my guilt, I looked her dead in the eyes and told her I didn’t remember seeing his wallet, and of course I’d help. What was I supposed to do? “Oh, your wallet? The one you’ve been looking for for half an hour and have torn the room apart to find? Oh yeah, you see, I just had this strange compulsion to hide it in your shoe. So funny, right?”
I was planning on “looking around” for a minute before I “found it” in his shoe so as to not raise suspicion but also not waste anymore of their time. It was within that minute that my roommate found the wallet, which then prompted her to call her boyfriend an idiot, to which he said something along the lines of, “I didn’t do it, you must be playing a joke, knock it off.”
I stood there silently as they volleyed insult and accusation back and forth over my doing. I even denied it when they had asked me if I had done it after they came to a standstill and accepted that neither of them did it.
That’s when my roommate got real quiet for a moment then whispered “ghost.”
She is convinced to this day that there is a ghost in our dorm. She will occasionally bring up an odd circumstance under the guise that it was the ghost. I haven’t found the courage to tell her the truth. I simply just laugh and play it off.
So I can’t say for sure whether the hauntings of Saint Mary’s are true, but I can say with certainty I am the ghost of Regina Hall.
The views expressed in this column are those of the author and not necessarily those of The Observer.