An All Too Relatable Spooky Story
Content Warning: References to sexual harassment and sexual assault
by Natalie Peek
You’ve heard stories. You’ve heard the whispers. It lies in wait after class, on your floor; it lurks in the darkness where the predatory glare of AUPD’s Ford Explorers cannot reach, where not even the energy-efficient carbon-neutral lights can illuminate, and where orientation videos simply could not have prepared you.
Sylvia says you can see a blue light no matter where you are on campus, but you can’t run fast enough. Fast enough for it.
Wherever you can hear AU construction, you feel it— amidst the smell of hot sun on manure, the bee swarms near the trash cans.
It is especially prevalent when your guard is down. Then you feel it changing into something you cannot control, cannot completely put your finger on. It becomes a soul snatcher, a conversation sucker, something unavoidable and unspoken.
You can tell it is near when you get a chill. You hear far off laughter, maybe a deep “huh huh, huhuh huhhh, no way bro!” So faint you’re not sure you heard anything.
Suddenly you hear it breathing, the sound reminiscent of your stepfather’s sleep apnea machine. The steps are offbeat, like a drunk freshman bopping to Lizzo. You sense it behind you, so you try to move over.
It seems close, too close. Just close enough to move you to the edge of the path and now you’re walking in the grass, trying to find that closest blue light because Sylvia said you should be able to find a blue light but you can’t find it and your heart sinks and you’re staining the soles of your shoes in the grass and it’s damp and you realize…you’re in its territory now. This is where it wants you.
You slowly turn to face it head on, starting at the feet. The Sperrys are worn, the Vans in style, the Adidas… and the sock tan hasn’t gotten less crisp from over the summer. You’re looking it in the eye. It has the same glasses of the kid in your Econ class who always answers questions first, the same bag of that person on your floor, the same harmless characteristics of every guy you have ever interacted with… it gives you a short, tight-lipped smile. Will this go exactly how you think? It opens its mouth, revealing dull eyes and an all-knowing smile, “Hey, saw your feminist pin and I think that I like understand the idea and all but…”
You try to pivot the conversation away from your identity to something safe: the climate crisis or the rats on campus but it never works.
“Actually, did you know that-”
Well, I did, but-
“Well when I worked for my congressman,”
I really didn’t ask-
“Like.. have you heard Rosalia? Her shit makes me feel, ya know?”
You don’t know and you feel your smile hurting your cheeks because you just want to leave. But you can’t. It would be rude, wouldn’t it? This couldn’t get any worse, right?
You are now safely away but you can’t shake the feeling of discomfort. Time wasted. You see your roommate and roll your eyes, “Well, there’s a half hour I won’t get back.” Kept in the claws of conversation for way too long, no escape in sight.
It’s not uncomfortable enough to warrant anything, right? Does it qualify as a bad situation? You can’t figure it out. What would your professor… RA… TA… think if you told them about this? What would you have done anyway? You both laugh uneasily and chalk it up to bad vibes.
It leaves you on edge, the tight muscles where you hold your stress tightening further.
You relive this at parties, at events, in the dorm hallways, and especially as you leave classes. You’re locked in social obligation, cheeks burning from an uncomfortable smile you’ve held far too long.
This is the haunting feeling we cannot avoid: they will always be there, in a classroom, in the workplace, somewhere in life. We try to convince ourselves that it’s not that bad, right? I mean, what can you do? What can you do? Sometimes, the answer feels like the spookiest secret of all: no one really knows.