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Tales from the Crypt: The Ghost of Edmonds Hall

A low, echoing rumble rolled through the halls as Brandon Gilbert tried to get to sleep. His midterm beckoned with such cruel insistence, he had to get to bed soon. But something stopped him… a shadow in the corner, moving with a slow, imperceptible rumble that could only be… DATED 20th CENTURY ARCHITECTURE!?!?!?!

Gilbert yelped, throwing his blanket over his head and trembling. It’s fine, he told himself. It can’t be that. You live in the new building! A place so shiny and happy they haven’t even come up with a name for it yet! His bizarrely specific phobia soothed, Gilbert re-tucked his security blanket over his blue onesie pajamas and tossed his bunny slippers into the hall. His eyelids drifted lower and lower…

BANG.

He shot upright again, certain that this time he did hear something… a low, rattling wail like the screams of an overworked heating system. Gilbert shrieked like a dying opera singer as the gentle, spacious expanse of his 2150 Comm Ave room fell away, to be replaced with the tight, filth-blackened, poorly optimized confines of…

Gilber gasped. “Edmonds?” He asked cautiously, eyes feverishly scanning the room.

A low, menacing voice crept towards him, seeming to ooze over the layers of Cheeto dust and Natty light that once might’ve been a carpet. “Oh, so you do remember me.”

“Remember you?” gasped Gilbert, wheezing out a strained and desperate laugh. “Of course I remember you! You were a pillar of my BC years.  Visiting my friends in you… walking for half an hour to pick up mail from you… we had good times, right?”

“Wrong, Gilbert. Oh so terribly wrong,” intoned Edmonds in a heavy ear-grinding monotone. The walls crunched further together with a hideous screech, and the lights flickered overhead. More and more, the room resembled the rat-cage-esque dorms Gilbert had once secretly mocked his friends for being stuck in. The overhead lights vanished, except for one side (which made it awkwardly impossible to light the entire room).

“Umm, Edmonds? You’re making me uncomfortable…” rasped Gilbert, ensnared in the claustrophobic grip of death itself.

“You think you know uncomfortable?!? Let me share a little secret with you, Gilbert. When you’ve been shattered and broken by your own creators, when your innards are scooped out and your crumbling concrete flesh litters the ground without so much as a eulogical post-it note, then you can talk to be about UNCOMFORTABLE!!!”

A screaming vortex of hate tore open on the wall of the ghostly Edmond’s room, dragging a screaming, helpless Gilbert towards it. He gasped as his teddy bear whizzed by into the void, where it instantly compressed into ultra-pressurized fragments tight enough to comfortably squeeze into an Edmonds bathroom.

“Squirm in fear as you imagine what it’s like,” moaned the Ghost of Housing Past, as Gilbert’s fingertips slid closer to the end of his dresser.

“I never asked to be the dorm furthest away from Lower. I never asked my new residents to slouch in muttering ‘at least it’s better than Greycliff.’ I’m done enduring the mockery of your kind, Eagle scum.” The howling gale intensified, roaring with the fury of ten million AC malfunctions. “Don’t worry about which hell you’re going to… at least it’ll be better than Greycliff!!!”

With a final shrieking plea, Gilbert lost his grip and plunged into the ravenous void where once a drunken hockey player had punched through a wall. The walls of 2050 contorted, then leapt back into generously spaced bliss. 

Brandon Gilbert has not been seen since. His roommate intends to begin searching, as soon as his last paper is done.

Father Leahy conducted a ceremony last week, in honor of those lost to BC’s construction project mania. Henceforth, the ocean of wreckage lying alongside the mods will have a new name: Nothing-to-see-Heresville.

But this gesture has done nothing to abate the rash of disappearances in the night. Some say that if you close your eyes and listen, you can hear the faint, smoldering sobs of a once-great building, scheming to make someone’s bathroom too claustrophobic to comfortably poo in. Maybe even… yours.

 

Ghosts pregame too, so let’s start now:

 

 
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