The Halls of Mary Three

I looked out of my window on the third floor of the dormitory known as Saint Mary Hall. But people referred to this place as Mary Three. I shook my head in wonder as I stared at the huge amount of snow covering everything. It was almost surreal. Being from the south and all, this was a real first for me.

The banging coming from down below stole my attention. My roommate had gone under my bed (which was bunked up over my desk, just like his) to turn up the heat knob. As anybody up north knows, they heat these old buildings using steam. When the steam is turned on, the pipes expand, causing a banging sound. At realizing what it was, I just stared back out the window.

Saint John's was famous for a lot of things. Top notch academics. A championship football team. And an old, religious campus shrouded in mystery.

But I was never prepared for the mysteries to surround me.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

I awoke startled to the noise. The air around me was icy cold, but I could feel the heat rising from beneath me. Then it came again.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

I looked over at my roommate's bed. He was sound asleep. I looked around me, but I was alone. I was afraid, however, to look under the bed.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

And then, somehow, I knew it was over.

I awoke the next morning to feel the sweat running from my forehead. My roommate, still asleep, was reacting the same to the sweltering heat. I jumped off of my bed and looked at the heat switch underneath. The microwave had been moved to gain access. It wasn't me. It wasn't my roommate. But it was something.

I never mentioned the incident, but late one night, it all actually made sense.

"One night," a fellow resident of Mary Three started, "Long ago at the Greg House, there was a student. This was when our faculty resident was there, and they were apparently really close. This student was an overachiever and was under a lot of pressure. Then, one night, maybe after a failed test or a denied acceptance, he hung himself."

I listened closely. "They found him the next morning, and his room was hot as hell. This was strange because the guy always left his room really cold. But his neighbor told the school that he heard an almost foreboding banging of the pipes late that night.

"He said the pipes simply went, 'Bang! Bang! Bang!' three times. And then they stopped."

The storyteller smiled in a Stephen King sort of way. "Well, he continued, "because of this, his body had already started decomposing. The strong stench of death hung heavy in the room.

"They say he never left the Greg House. They say he roamed the hallways late at night, always followed by that same loud banging."

"You are so shitting me," another guy told him.

The storyteller shook his head. "Not in the least." He looked around the room. "Have any of you heard banging late in the night followed by intense heat?" Most in the room shook their heads. I had no reaction.

"What does that have to do with anything?" another guy asked.

The storyteller laughed. "Isn't it obvious? Our faculty resident just moved here from the Greg House." We all looked at him in disbelief. "They say that all the weird stuff has stopped there, but now they go on here. Perhaps this student felt no attachment to that old brick dormitory, but to the man who was giving him guidance at the time. Perhaps, even in death, he still needs that guidance. And until our faculty resident gives him what he was never able to give him in life, here he'll stay." The guy took a swig from his beer. "Sweet dreams, you guys..."