“I had friends in college when this was music,” explains Uncle Jeff, referring to Knight Hall. “I had buddies who stayed here overnight, and they wrote for the Index and went running out of here early in the morning because Vera had spooked them.”
According to the tale, Vera spoke to the boys and told them to stop playing music and talking loudly. The tale inspired me: Being on the Pacific Index staff, I was intrigued to spend an entire night in Knight Hall—and to succeed staying a full night where others had tried.
After visiting the admissions staff during daytime work hours, I asked permission to spend the night in three-story Victorian house. Without batting an eyelash, Karen Dunston, Assistant Vice President of undergraduate admissions, granted permission for the sleepover. But as intrigued and brave as I felt, I was not doing this slumber party with Vera alone—and with little convincing, my three soccer teammates agreed to join me, some more willing than others: Catalina Alvarado, Rhyah Jackson, and Gwendolyn Saing, agreed. On Monday, October 17, we went to spend the night at Vera’s house—and it turned into the spookiest sleepover ever.
The night began with Officer Carr unlocking Knight Hall’s aging wooden front door, but not until after sharing his ghost stories with us. With nerves heightened, Officer Carr left on his merry way, and wished us all luck.
The night started uneventful; around midnight, we were so bored that the four of us decided to test our luck and head up to the alleged haunted third floor. Arms tightly intertwined, we began slow steps up. With three steps from the top, the air temperature dropped suddenly and immediately; chills on our skin appeared. The biting temperature drop was pronounced, and felt like our first hello from Vera. Without hesitation and four screams later, we scrambled down the stairs.
But we weren’t leaving. Not yet. We tried to keep the main goal in mind. The goal? To not test our fortune and spend the whole night without bail. After all, we are determined soccer players. We know not to fold after one setback—or even a scare.
We put our pillows and blankets on the ground in the lobby’s center and planned our sleeping situation. We put the red velvet couches around us like barriers, then quickly realized we had a direct line of sight of the dark hallway for our night’s sleep—and, for good measure, closed the swinging double doors and jammed door stoppers in front of them (with the not so wise assumption that ghosts can’t pass through closed doors or couches).
It was 1:28 am when I woke up in sweats, having a nightmare that our ghost adventure went horribly wrong. I shook Ryhah awake, and told her about my dream. Simultaneously, she scrunched her nose and said she smelt sulfur. I urged us to pack up the fluffy blankets, grab the animal crackers, and Chips Ahoy because we were leaving the haunted house right then and there. But after some debate, we calmed down, group-persuaded ourselves that we were in it together and, ghost or no, were staying.
Ryhah and I decided to try and go back to bed, but I heard a piercing ringing in both my ears and vaulted up. No one else, though, seemed startled by the sharp noise.
But then Ryhah woke up in a panic, and said she felt like someone was sitting on her. For the rest of the night, the two of us did not go to bed—and 6 am soccer practice could not come soon enough.
Finally, the 5:30 am alarms went off—and Catalina and Gwedonylne, the deep dozers, finally woke up, oblivious—and skeptical—to our scary night. Until, that is, we packed up and all went to leave—and, wouldn’t you know it, one of the double doors was open with the door stopper feet away from it. — Emily Rutkowski
Major: Journalism
Hometown: Mesa, Arizona
Hobbies: soccer, track, being outside, hiking, writing
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