{"id":16573,"date":"2018-10-24T09:00:15","date_gmt":"2018-10-24T16:00:15","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.nexusnewspaper.com\/?p=16573"},"modified":"2018-11-01T08:55:13","modified_gmt":"2018-11-01T15:55:13","slug":"post-secondary-poltergeists-is-camosun-haunted-we-hit-the-ground-to-find-out","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.nexusnewspaper.com\/newsite\/2018\/10\/24\/post-secondary-poltergeists-is-camosun-haunted-we-hit-the-ground-to-find-out\/","title":{"rendered":"Post-secondary poltergeists: Is Camosun haunted? We hit the ground to find out"},"content":{"rendered":"

As always, October snuck up on me. I wasn\u2019t quite ready to let go of the summer, but midterms have come and gone and the turkey dinner has been slept off, which means that Halloween is upon us.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

For most, Halloween is simply a spectacle of consumerism, consisting of sweatshop-produced disposable costumes and pumpkins that, for some reason, get carved on their way to the dump. I have always thought of it as a bunch of hogwash, and\u2014just my luck\u2014Greg, my editor, has asked me to write a 3,000-word Halloween story. Initially, the idea of it made me want to vomit, but as he elaborated I warmed up a little bit. Apparently, there have been dozens of ghost sightings reported on the Lansdowne campus over the years. My assignment was quite simple\u2014if there are ghosts at Camosun, \u201cgo find them,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n

I told him I would try my best, under one condition: this is not a Halloween story; it\u2019s a ghost story. He agreed, so off I went.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

I\u00a0<\/span>bit hard. Google had a barbed hook firmly embedded in my upper lip, and I really didn\u2019t care to fight it. I\u2019ve heard bits and pieces of ghost stories as long as I\u2019ve lived in Victoria; one of our claims to fame comes from being the most haunted city in British Columbia. To be honest, I roll my eyes when I hear stories of the paranormal, but in the short time I sat reading at my desk in Nexus<\/i> HQ in the Richmond House, I stumbled upon several stories of ghosts living right here on Lansdowne campus.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

For the most part, the stories are about the Young Building. At the far end of my office is a wood-framed window that opens to the north side of the ominous-looking clock tower that stands atop Young. It\u2019s like a time warp. The Italian renaissance architecture of the Victoria landmark building called out to me, and I had to know more.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Always curious, I trusted my instincts and set out to find someone who had a first-hand account of the otherworldly inhabitants of Lansdowne college. With no idea of where to begin, I buttoned up my coat and walked out into the dreary Victoria afternoon, in search of long-tenured faculty who might be able to shed some light.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Like clockwork, I ran into familiar faces, people who were happy to talk for a minute; one after another, they told me that there have been Camosun ghost stories circulating for as long as they can remember, but nobody offered a first-hand account. Instead, I walked away with names of former employees and bits and pieces of their stories. Next, I tried the library but, once again, left only with a list of names and email addresses of local experts.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

I returned to my office and sent a half-dozen emails with hopes of a story, but as a student, the days are long, and I could feel that mine was coming to an end. Compelled by the clock tower, I walked back to the window and gazed upon the Young Building. I never would have guessed it when I woke up in the morning, but I couldn\u2019t look away. I realized that my heart was pounding, and I was full of adrenaline. I was in the middle of a ghost chase.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

I\u00a0<\/span>continued to read up on the Young Building. It has a very rich history that dates back to 1915, when it opened as the second Provincial Normal School, which was run by the Department of Education as a post-secondary institute for the training of schoolteachers.<\/p>\n

After a little bit of digging, I found out that during World War II the Young Building was converted into a military hospital. There was actually a morgue in the basement, and another in one of the larger art studios on the north side of the building. The Young Building was retrofitted with an elevator large enough to transport gurneys, allowing bodies to be easily transported up and down. Some of the smaller A\/V rooms were also used for body storage and surgery rooms.<\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a>
A view from the inside of the Young Building clock tower (photo by Fred Cameron\/Nexus<\/em>).<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n

Countless young men went off to fight for our country, and many were injured in the line of duty. Thousands were sent back to Victoria for medical treatment in the Young Building. Many didn\u2019t leave alive.<\/p>\n

The setting is perfect, and the pain and misery of voices from the past have long been reported across Lansdowne campus. Generations of Applied Communication students graduated with memories of seeing ghosts in the halls, hearing unexplained sounds, or feeling strange sensations\u2014sudden feelings of dread or panic for some, while others simply got the chills. The commonality is that most of the reports are of strange phenomena happening at night. So I knew what I had to do.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

One of the challenges every journalist faces is the ever-looming deadline. Several days have now passed and nobody has responded to my emails, so it seems I may be alone in my search. If there is a ghost out there, I have to find it myself.<\/p>\n

I have classes in the Young Building, but in light of my recent findings I\u2019ve had a change of perspective. I need to walk over and take it all in again.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

When I walk out of Richmond House, it feels like time has forgotten about the northwest corner of campus. The art studios, which look as though they have remained unchanged for decades, sit on top of moss-covered rocks in the shadow of the old clock tower. As I make my approach, the details become clearer and the forgotten art of masonry is beautifully displayed in the Young Building\u2019s finely laid brick walls.<\/p>\n

I am underwhelmed as I enter the building. Once you start to really examine it, it\u2019s rather drab. Much of the beauty in the main hall is obscured by the damage of time and is now covered by grey paint. At the west end of the hall, I find a staircase. A quick look, up and down, reveals the varying states of disrepair in the old schoolhouse, and my intuition draws me to the basement.<\/p>\n

About halfway down the flight, there is a definite change in energy. Maintaining my skepticism, I attribute it to poor ventilation, but as I enter the hallway my doubts waver. There\u2019s a strange hum that, echoing off of the plaster walls, sounds almost like a high-voltage transformer muffled behind a door. As I proceed, the sound gets louder and clearer, until I reach the door to room 110. I look around. Despite the countless voices echoing through the hall, there is no one in sight. I lean closer and put my ear to the door. Whatever is causing the hum has moving parts. I look around again. The coast is clear, so I try the handle. It is locked, but sound engulfs my thoughts.<\/p>\n

Moving onward, I find an open door on my right. Quickly and quietly, I poke my head in to have a look around. There are a few art students with their backs to me, unaware of my existence. The studio has a sunken floor, and several small rooms are connected to it. My stomach drops and my heart pounds. This is the studio that I read about. I can\u2019t help but wonder if the current students are aware that they might be sitting in what was once a\u00a0 <\/span>morgue. I\u2019m too nervous to ask, so I decide to keep walking. Again I become aware of the droning hum, only now I can\u2019t tell where it\u2019s coming from.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

I stop dead in my tracks and hold my breath as I listen. There are two separate sources. There\u2019s a distinct hum coming from one of the rooms up the hall. My anxiety grows to panic. I feel as if I\u2019m trapped in a haunted dungeon, almost too frightened to move. I take a deep breath and continue on. As I walk, the hum gets louder and clearer, and a rolling squeak now accompanies the drone, louder with each step. It sounds almost like an old gurney is rolling toward the door ahead.<\/p>\n

My chest tightens and I labour for each breath. I can feel a draft coming from the open doorway. Half-expecting to see the faint outline of a wounded soldier on a gurney, I turn my head, closing my eyes as I do. Stopped in my tracks, I stand at the gaping door, too frightened to look, and something happens that I don\u2019t expect: the squeaking stops.<\/p>\n

I open my eyes just in time to see a student grab their towel and step off of the treadmill as it rolls to a halt. The hall is silent, apart from a few students talking and laughing in the adjoining classrooms. My fear instantly subsides, my heartbeat returns to normal, and it hits me that I\u2019m standing in an empty hallway, staring at a bunch of strangers as they work out. I came in search of a ghost but got a lesson in psychology instead. I reach down to confirm that my pants are still dry, and I walk to the staircase at the far end of the hall.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

I climb the stairs to the third floor, which has been the site of most of the paranormal experiences students and faculty have experienced in the past. Compelled by the lure of the bell tower, I continue, peering into classrooms and peeking through windows, hoping to find a hidden staircase. I reach the far end of the hall. No luck.<\/p>\n

Out of ideas, I double back. After looking around to make sure no one is watching, I start trying the handles on the closed wooden doors. The first few are locked, but the fourth knob turns and I push the door open.<\/p>\n

Someone has accidentally left the door unlocked, and I find myself on the balcony in the Gibson Auditorium. As a student sitting in my chair in the second row, I hadn\u2019t realized just how big the room was. Looking out from above, I\u2019m in awe of the massive columns and the intricate detail work that frames the arched ceiling. Still no ghosts, but I\u2019m amazed by the craftsmanship of a bygone era.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

I should\u2019ve been more careful, as I exited back into the hall and ran into an instructor. Apparently, the door was supposed to be locked, and the balcony is off limits. I explain myself, and the instructor is sympathetic to my cause. We chat for a few minutes. As it happens, she doesn\u2019t have access to the clock tower, but she offers another piece to my story, and it brings me back to Richmond House.<\/p>\n

Up until this point, I was unaware of the history of Richmond House. It seems that my desk is in a former home that some say houses a ghost of its own. Could it be that I\u2019ve been working beside an unseen spirit all along?<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

I\u00a0<\/span>started writing a few hours ago and got carried away. Absolutely famished, I realize that the cafeteria is closed. It\u2019s late. I still don\u2019t have a story, so I guess I\u2019m working the night shift.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Starved for ideas, I go through the Nexus<\/i> archives with hopes of catching a break. I feel like someone must have written a similar story that might point me in the right direction. I skim through volumes of newsprint but find nothing new.<\/p>\n

It\u2019s pitch black outside, and, with the exception of the occasional passing car, only the ticking clock breaks the silence. The gnarled branches of the oak tree beyond the window block my view of the road, and I can\u2019t see beyond the front staircase. Under the yellow glare of the porch light, the house\u2019s age is evident, as the paint peels from the posts like arbutus bark.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

As I sit here listening to the ticking clock, I realize that I\u2019m so starved for ideas that I\u2019m now sitting in my office waiting for a ghost.<\/p>\n

As much as I want to quit and go home, I promised my editor 3,000 words, and deadline is quickly approaching. For the past hour, nothing worthy of a keystroke has happened. Suddenly I see red lights flashing and I jump out of my seat to see what\u2019s happening down the street, when\u2014boom!\u2014a door slams, and the whole house shakes.<\/p>\n

My heart skips a beat. Fight or flight\u2014adrenaline takes over. I look out the window and run the length of the office, scouring the surrounding grounds through the other windows, but there is no one there.<\/p>\n

I hold my breath to listen. Minutes pass. All I hear is the ticking clock. Maybe it was the wind?\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

My heart slows down, and I take a deep breath. Then a door creaks somewhere in the basement. I can hear someone climbing the stairs and walking into the hallway outside the office door. Heavy footsteps come toward me, keeping pace with the ticking clock. Just as I think a heart attack is imminent, I hear what sounds like a dungeon master\u2019s key ring jingle. The door opens. A strange face pokes through the crack and says, \u201cSecurity. There was a light on. Just making sure everything is okay.\u201d<\/p>\n

Trying to hide my terror, I thank him and say I\u2019m working graveyard. As he walks away, I slink back into the sofa and reappraise the situation. As I gather myself, I can\u2019t help but think about the Young Building and, more specifically, the clock tower. I\u2019ve been sitting here for hours with only a brief conversation with a security guard to show for it.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Drawn to the tower, I walk over to the window. I\u2019m out of ideas, and I can\u2019t listen to that clock any longer. Still no ghosts, but I have homework to do. I\u2019m calling it a night, and my girlfriend is on her way to Lansdowne to meet up for a late dinner.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Before we left last night, I took Jane, my girlfriend, for a walk around campus. I told her about my office. We walked through the courtyard as I told the story of old man Hully, who died in the old white house next to the Dawson Building during the construction of the library. Then we took a walk around the Young Building, where I recounted the building\u2019s tumultuous history, before eventually walking down the promenade toward Hillside Avenue and a return to reality.<\/p>\n

I set out looking for ghosts, and instead I received a history lesson. To the best of my knowledge, there is no published record of the colourful story of our institution. Sometimes we have to put it together ourselves.<\/p>\n

The next morning, it was all capped off when I received an email from someone at Camosun\u2019s Facilities department inviting me to take a tour of the old clock tower.<\/p>\n

We walked up to the third floor and into a small studio with a few drafting tables and a door that is rarely opened. We walked up a spiral staircase to the roof and took a walk around. We returned to the passageway and climbed upwards on a rusted steel ladder. The narrow passage is cylindrical and opens into a small room with a glass box in the centre that houses the clockwork. I didn\u2019t even notice it at first, but perhaps the real treasure is the graffiti. A dated record has been left by dozens of students who have had the good fortune of climbing to the top of the Young Building over the years.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

I could have easily spent an hour taking it all in, but a loud mechanical tick produced by the heavy steel rods that move the hands on the other side of the frosted glass face of the giant clock reminded me of why I was here. There was one ladder left. It was a rickety-looking contraption that, at a glance, I would guess came from the hands of a carpenter long since deceased. For a moment I feared for my safety. It\u2019s a long way down. I tested the ladder and climbed up to the top.<\/p>\n

It is an amazing structure that will outlive all of us. A hand-milled skeleton supports what I would guess is the most expensive roof vent I have ever seen. I was happy. I thought I had seen it all, but just as I reached for the ladder I noticed a ray of sunlight that seemed out of place. It was coming from a small access door that hung from two hook-and-eye latches. I carefully unlocked it and removed the door. There was an opening, just big enough for a person to squeeze through.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

I poked my head out. The view was astonishing. I was on top of the city, at eye level with the Dominion Observatory. Above the 100-year-old oak trees, I had a clear sightline in all directions. I\u2019m not sure, but I think I could see my house. It\u2019s difficult to describe the elation I experienced transitioning unexpectedly from the mild feeling of claustrophobia that comes from hearing the echo of my own voice to taking in the Olympic Mountains and the southern tip of the island in an instant.<\/p>\n

I didn\u2019t find any ghosts, but I did find one of the most beautiful sights I have ever seen. And for the first time, I realized that Victoria is home.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

As always, October snuck up on me. I wasn\u2019t quite ready to let go of the summer, but midterms have come and gone and the turkey dinner has been slept off, which means that Halloween is upon us.\u00a0 For most, Halloween is simply a spectacle of consumerism, consisting of sweatshop-produced disposable costumes and pumpkins that, […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":16574,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_active":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_note":"","_monsterinsights_sitenote_category":0,"footnotes":""},"categories":[10,221],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-16573","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-features","category-october-24-2018"],"aioseo_notices":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.nexusnewspaper.com\/newsite\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/16573","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.nexusnewspaper.com\/newsite\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.nexusnewspaper.com\/newsite\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.nexusnewspaper.com\/newsite\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.nexusnewspaper.com\/newsite\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=16573"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/www.nexusnewspaper.com\/newsite\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/16573\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":16575,"href":"https:\/\/www.nexusnewspaper.com\/newsite\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/16573\/revisions\/16575"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.nexusnewspaper.com\/newsite\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/16574"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.nexusnewspaper.com\/newsite\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=16573"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.nexusnewspaper.com\/newsite\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=16573"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.nexusnewspaper.com\/newsite\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=16573"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}