Halloween is just around the corner, and I’m getting excited. Although I’m not usually one for holidays, Halloween brings on a childlike wonder for me with its possibility of seeing something unknown or supernatural. And according to the Nexus archives, there is a history of paranormal action right here at Camosun.
Of course, while reading stories of Nexus past my hopes of actually having a paranormal experience were getting higher. I would be one of the few to have a truly paranormal experience. Despite the many dramatized tales of Camosun’s haunted grounds, there aren’t many confirmed sightings of ethereal activity.
My young self’s gullibility is long gone and I’m a skeptic by nature, but I’m going to give it my best shot setting out on this ghost hunt: I’m searching the web to find the best way to conjure up the most activity possible and what to look out for.
I’ve come up with an entire day’s worth of activities to experience all the spooky cheer that Camosun’s Lansdowne campus could have to offer. From pumpkin carving in the Nexus office to taking advantage of Camosun’s haunted halls and even summoning beings from the beyond with a ouija board, I’m going to have some Halloween hoopla.
Haunted history
If you’re also not convinced of the existence of ghosts at Camosun, maybe a little history will help make you a believer. Since the buildings at Interurban are relatively new, most of Camosun’s arcane activity is at Lansdowne. On this campus, there’s one place specifically that’s known for having a ghost spirit haunting it: the Young Building.
Young was built to be a teacher’s college in 1913, but during WWII it was turned into a military hospital. During its use as a military hospital, not all of its patients made it out alive, so the building had a functioning morgue.
I’ve personally worked one too many long hours in Young but the most otherworldly experience I’ve had is light exhaustion. However, according to the college itself and other reports, there’s more. Due to the building’s past, there are accounts out there of people experiencing something out of the norm in Young.
The college itself likes to play this up: in a recent Camosun news release, instructors recall a few times that there were encounters with ghosts in Young. One of these, for example, involves someone leaning out of a window, about to fall, when a nonexistent hand saves them. Another one is an apparition coming toward someone and then dissolving. Then there’s the apparent screaming coming from the basement where the morgue used to be.
It’s no coincidence that supernatural events happen on this campus. John Adams from Ghostly Walks has been quoted saying that it’s because of the buildings’ location on the volcanic cone that is Mount Tolmie. Here, the energy of peoples’ spirits that have passed on lingers and is bound to the land. Whether their stories are true or not, I’m getting into the swing of the spooky season.
It’s the great pumpkin, Richmond House
To further the spread of the Halloween spirit the Nexus staff are adding a little holiday decor to the Richmond house—we’re carving pumpkins. And, as it turns out, pumpkin carving has a spooky history. Legend has it that there’s some actual meaning behind the mutilation of a gourd, scrapping out its guts, and making a demonic face out of the holes in its skin.
According to Irish myth, there once was a man named Stingy Jack that the tradition is based on. He’s known as a trickster that pulled a fast one on the devil. He got the devil to climb a tree and trapped him up there by carving a cross in the trunk of the tree. The Devil made a deal to not allow Jack into hell if he would help him down.
When he died, the Devil didn’t let him into hell, but God wouldn’t let him into heaven either. With no resting place for his soul, Jack was left to wander the earth for the rest of time. To prevent being a victim of one of Jack’s tricks, Irish people began to carve demon faces on produce to scare him away. When Irish immigrants came to the US, pumpkins started to be used because they grow in North America.
This wasn’t the only scary thing on my mind while carving a pumpkin (and you can see the end result of my handiwork on this issue’s cover). Injuries are a common occurrence when making jack o’ lanterns. This is unsurprising, seeing as oversized knives and artistic competition don’t necessarily pair well.
Between the stabbing of hands, severing of tendons, and damaging of nerves, there are countless ways for the Nexus staff to get injured in this seemingly wholesome holiday activity. Still, it’s a fun way to eat up office hours and a way to spend some time together that’s more affordable than a corporate retreat.
The other staff members at Nexus are also getting ready for the festivities. Zoe Mathers, our student editor, very generously offered to get us the pumpkins. Staff writer Nicolas Ihmels is coming in on his day off to carve.
Nic and I start by drawing out some faces scary enough to ward away Jack. Surprisingly enough, even though we work at a newspaper, our office doesn’t have a decent marker to do this with. I guess even we aren’t entirely immune to digitization. More shockingly yet, we do have all of the other supplies needed.
We’re making our jack o’ lanterns at our desks so we’re using old newspapers to keep a clean working space. And since we have a kitchen in the office and used to have a slow cooker for some reason, we, weirdly, have some pretty big, and sharp, knives. Asking your boss which knife he thinks would be best for stabbing and gutting isn’t what I’d imagine happens regularly in newspaper offices.
Then we start cutting into the gourds. It’s been so long since either of us has done some pumpkin carving that we almost forget how to do it. As seeds start piling up we begin reminiscing over our past holiday celebrations and traditions, like the toasting of pumpkin seeds, and the inevitable throwing of the uneaten pumpkin seeds in the compost a month later.
Due to changing schedules in the fall semester, we haven’t all been in the office at the same time in a while, so we spend a lot of this time catching up. It’s not that spooky, but it sure is nice.
A night in Young
Unfortunately, I can’t bring my co-workers with me to find apparitions. My night of ghost hunting begins alone, creepily sleuthing through the lower level of Young. Going into Young, even with the information I had researched, feels as routine as any other night. Most of my classes have been in Young and I’ve been there late studying too many times to count.
However, as I walk down the stairs to the basement, my nerves start to creep up on me. Maybe it’s all the overly embellished stories I’d read, or my desire to see something unexpected, but I begin to feel a chill up my spine. I am completely alone and start to feel very small, but I push on for the sake of ghost hunting.
The entire floor is empty, except for one abandoned janitorial cart. My paranoia is continuing to spike as I arrive at the door to the art studio. I know what you’re thinking, because I read past articles from Nexus to gain some insight on how to go about finding a Halloween story for myself. I know how overdramatic it sounds while reading it in the comfort of daylight. It’s a lot different when you’re the one in the story.
I keep getting closer and the hair on the back of my neck is standing up higher than ever before. My heart is starting to beat even faster… until I get to the door of the studio. Then it all stops as I start to freeze.
The knob is too easy to open, as if I’m having help from the other side, literally, but the door is heavy. I stand there in the open doorway staring into the dark and shadow-scattered room. There’s a reason why in the movies they use a single source of light that creates blackened figures and furniture that predates the past decade to nuance a fearful ambiance.
It’s more intimidating and scary than I thought it would be. I begin looking for a light switch, but my search is limited as I keep one foot out of the room. There’s no chance I’m letting a ghost get the jump on me. With no luck, I give myself a toughen-up-buttercup pep talk and enter the room.
The studio is sunken, so I find a feeling of safety standing at the top of the stairs at the entrance. A terrifying whistling is going through the room. A window must be open. Maybe it’s just my imagination, or maybe it’s the research I did on Young’s history, but I’m getting scared. I have to take a couple of steps back.
I can’t do it. I close the door and start walking away. Even with the janitor down the hallway, I can’t bring myself to go in. I have to take a minute, phone a friend, and try to ease my nerves, as the building’s regular, completely normal, noises of mechanics seem to play the perfect soundtrack to an Oscar-winning thriller.
I said that I would write this piece, so I’m going to do it. Worst-case scenario, my life could get turned into a Lifetime movie. Maybe it will hurt a little, but hopefully not. I just need to find a working light switch. One foot in front of the other, right?
A ticking clock heightens the bone-chilling atmosphere. I stand on the steps again waiting for the ghost to play games with me. My feet start moving from underneath me, but in my head, I’m still beside the door. I’m waiting for the inevitable slamming of the door behind me, but it never comes. By the sink there’s a painted hand mark and splatters of paint that in this low light look like blood.
Then, the lights turn on and I’m simply standing in an empty classroom. Are you kidding me? I’m so silly for getting so worked up over nothing.
It’s in the cards
As the night comes to a close, I decide it’s time to bring out the infamous ouija board. Although using one goes directly against my mother’s wishes, I’m thinking why not? They’ve been used since the late 1800s for a reason, right?
I’m taking it upon myself to make my own board for this exposition. Thanks to Google Images and my computer screen making it easy to trace outlines, creating this makeshift board only took a couple of minutes. In the scheming of this ingenious plan, I forgot to figure out what to use as a planchette. Luckily, I wear rings, and I figure those will work well enough.
With the makeshift board and ring in front of me, I settle in on the Nexus office’s couch, which is as old as it is comfy (honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if it had a soul of its own that could tell some stories). I turn off the mellow music that was keeping me from getting too paranoid. Ghost talks, here I come.
I call out into the empty soundscape for some reaction. Nothing. I ask again for some sign of presence. The walls of this old character home creak and I start feeling slightly foolish again. I try one last time. My fingers start to shake and my subconscious is apparently sympathetic to the kid at the sleepover that moves the planchette on purpose.
Who can say whether it was because I made it myself with a non-mystical pen and paper, or if it was because I’m using a heavy planchette for Richmond House’s spirits, but I’m not getting anywhere. With no luck with the homemade ouija board, I decided to try my tarot cards. In my research of tarot cards being used as medium technology, I found instructions on how to conduct a reading with the intent of reaching out to the other side. I’m in a relaxed space without distractions, as recommended. As I begin to shuffle through the cards I’m settling myself and trying to open myself up.
The possibility to give a voice to or hear from somebody who has passed on is a gift my existential self has been hoping for for a while now. Call it a Twilight-inspired pipe dream, but it seems like the easiest way to achieve immortality. With my objectives set, I can’t wait to start.
For those who don’t know, tarot cards are read in spreads. I’m choosing a five-card spread to communicate with a spirit, or at least try. The five cards represent the person, how they view their life, a lesson they’d like to share, something they wish they had paid more attention to, and a message they wish to send.
I pick each card by shuffling the deck, closing my eyes, and waiting to see which card to pick. One by one, I get a card for each place in the spread. Now it’s time to translate their meaning with my little book of tarot.
The first card is supposed to be chosen with influence from the spirit to give a representation of themselves. The card chosen is Empress and is presented upright, so it stands for Motherhood, Fertility, and Nature. This is a very welcoming card and slightly comforts me. Maybe this ghost is a woman who had children. I like to think so.
Five of Cups is the second card, representing how she perceives her life. Since it’s presented upright it means that she looks at her life with loss, grief, and self-pity. So: less reassuring. This card is followed by one for a lesson she would like to share. The Ace of Cups is reversed in this place, simply meaning emotional loss, blocked creativity, and emptiness. The picture of this woman is starting to come together now—a grieving mother who was never able to move past the tragedy of her child unnaturally dying before her, so her depression consumed her for the rest of her life.
The next card is to help her reflect on something in her life that she wishes that she paid more attention to. Reversed in this spot is the Fool, which means she wishes that she had paid more attention to her patterns of recklessness and inconsideration, and to being taken advantage of. So either she feels as though she missed out on letting loose and making mistakes or she made too many of them.
A message from her to me is the intention behind the last card. This card is the Four of Wands upright, which represents community, home, and celebration. I’m choosing to believe she means that I should welcome the happy aspects of life into my own life more, and make sure I don’t let sadness take over like I imagine it did for her.
I’ve learned something from this night of spooky fun: Halloween is a truly unique time of year when anyone can choose to experience a child-like sense of vulnerability to the unknown for the sake of entertainment. The best part is that as a community we can use it to further connect with one another. So take advice from the woman from the tarot reading and enjoy every kind of joy you can for the holiday, no matter how silly it makes you feel.