Campfire Ghost Stories
by Jo-Anne Christensen
Stories Told By Firelight
The Message
A young college student was studying in her dorm room when her roommate walked in.
"I'm exhausted," complained teh roommate. "Would you mind studying somewhere else, so I can get some sleep?"
Thestudent was sympathetic and readily agreed. She gathered u pher books and her papers and walked across campus to the library.
She had been working there for hours when a group of friends found her. They told her that she looks as though she needed a break and that they were on their way to a pub, which would be just the thing to take her mind off her books.
The student hesitated for only a moment or two. Then she agreed to go, but said that they'd have to stop by her dormitory on the way, so she could pick up her wallet and sweater. Everyone agreed.
"Wait here," the student said to her friends when they reached the front steps of the building. "I'll ony be a minute." She ran lightly up the stairs on her floor and walked softly down the hallway.
When she reached the door to her room, she inserted teh key and turned teh knob ever so slowly and quietly. She was determined not to disturb her sleeping roommate. With that in mind, she paused when her fingers touched the light switch.
The light will surely wake her, the student thought. And really, I don't need to turn it on. After all, the room was very small and she was very familiar with every swuare inch of it. So she stepped quietly into the darkness and and closed the door to the hall behind her.
She took a few steps into the room, with her hands held out cautiously. When her fingers touched the little desk where she did most of her studying, she stopped. She set her books on the desktop, and then, very slowly and quietly, pulled open the top drawer. A few seconds later, she felt the familiar worn leather of her wallet. She picked it up and closed the drawer.
The young student then inched across the room to the one tiny closet the two girls shared. She let her hands lead her along the wall until she came to the closet door. Her roommate had left it ajar, which made it easier to quietly reach inside and grope around until she felt the nubby woolen sleeve of her warmest cardigan. The student slipped the sweater from its hanger, wrapped it around her shoulders and left the room as quietly as she had entered.
The girl rejoined her friends, who had been waiting patiently. The group proceeded to the pub, where they enjoyed themselves completely.
Several hours later, the student finally returned to her dormitory. She was met there by a most disturbing scene. Several police cruisers sat in front of the building, their lights flashing with eerie rhythm. There was an ambulance, too, and a dark sedan discreetly marked "coroner." Crime scene barricades were being erected on the lawn, which swarmed with uniformed cops and somber-looking detectives.
"What happened here?" the student asked person after person. No one would give her an answer. "Is someone hurt? Who is it?" she begged." I have to know if my roommate's alright!"
"There'll be a statement issued in the morning," was all anyone would say. But the young student couldn't wait until then to find out if her roommate was safe. She ran into the building and up the staircase, ignoring the barricades and ducking under the lines of yellow crime scene tape. She dodged every person who tried to stop her and ran until she reached the hall outside her door. She was horrified to see a concentration of investigators there.
"Who let this girl in?" barked a red-faced detective who appeared to be in charge.
"Please," the stuend gasped, "that's my room. I need to find my roommate."
The detective softened a little and walked over to the student's side.
"I'm sorry," he said. "We'll need to talk to you, miss. I'm afraid your roommmate is dead. Some maniac murdered her-somewhere around seven o'clock, we think."
The student felt faint.
"That's impossible!" she said. "I stoppped back here about seven thirty. Everything was fine."
"You were here, this evening?" asked the detective.
"Yes, for a minute. To get a sweater and my wallet."
"Well, then," the detective said, "perhaps you can help us make sense of something."
He led her into the room then, being careful to shield her eyes from the grisly scene being photographed and investigated. He directed her into the bathroom and flipped on the light switch.
"Do you have any idea what this means?" the detective asked teh student. He pointed to the mirror.
The student looked up and felt her knees weaken. Written on the glass, in dried streaks of crimson, was a message. Clearly, it had been left for her
It read: Aren't you glad you didn't turn on the lights?
by Jo-Anne Christensen
Stories Told By Firelight
The Message
A young college student was studying in her dorm room when her roommate walked in.
"I'm exhausted," complained teh roommate. "Would you mind studying somewhere else, so I can get some sleep?"
Thestudent was sympathetic and readily agreed. She gathered u pher books and her papers and walked across campus to the library.
She had been working there for hours when a group of friends found her. They told her that she looks as though she needed a break and that they were on their way to a pub, which would be just the thing to take her mind off her books.
The student hesitated for only a moment or two. Then she agreed to go, but said that they'd have to stop by her dormitory on the way, so she could pick up her wallet and sweater. Everyone agreed.
"Wait here," the student said to her friends when they reached the front steps of the building. "I'll ony be a minute." She ran lightly up the stairs on her floor and walked softly down the hallway.
When she reached the door to her room, she inserted teh key and turned teh knob ever so slowly and quietly. She was determined not to disturb her sleeping roommate. With that in mind, she paused when her fingers touched the light switch.
The light will surely wake her, the student thought. And really, I don't need to turn it on. After all, the room was very small and she was very familiar with every swuare inch of it. So she stepped quietly into the darkness and and closed the door to the hall behind her.
She took a few steps into the room, with her hands held out cautiously. When her fingers touched the little desk where she did most of her studying, she stopped. She set her books on the desktop, and then, very slowly and quietly, pulled open the top drawer. A few seconds later, she felt the familiar worn leather of her wallet. She picked it up and closed the drawer.
The young student then inched across the room to the one tiny closet the two girls shared. She let her hands lead her along the wall until she came to the closet door. Her roommate had left it ajar, which made it easier to quietly reach inside and grope around until she felt the nubby woolen sleeve of her warmest cardigan. The student slipped the sweater from its hanger, wrapped it around her shoulders and left the room as quietly as she had entered.
The girl rejoined her friends, who had been waiting patiently. The group proceeded to the pub, where they enjoyed themselves completely.
Several hours later, the student finally returned to her dormitory. She was met there by a most disturbing scene. Several police cruisers sat in front of the building, their lights flashing with eerie rhythm. There was an ambulance, too, and a dark sedan discreetly marked "coroner." Crime scene barricades were being erected on the lawn, which swarmed with uniformed cops and somber-looking detectives.
"What happened here?" the student asked person after person. No one would give her an answer. "Is someone hurt? Who is it?" she begged." I have to know if my roommate's alright!"
"There'll be a statement issued in the morning," was all anyone would say. But the young student couldn't wait until then to find out if her roommate was safe. She ran into the building and up the staircase, ignoring the barricades and ducking under the lines of yellow crime scene tape. She dodged every person who tried to stop her and ran until she reached the hall outside her door. She was horrified to see a concentration of investigators there.
"Who let this girl in?" barked a red-faced detective who appeared to be in charge.
"Please," the stuend gasped, "that's my room. I need to find my roommate."
The detective softened a little and walked over to the student's side.
"I'm sorry," he said. "We'll need to talk to you, miss. I'm afraid your roommmate is dead. Some maniac murdered her-somewhere around seven o'clock, we think."
The student felt faint.
"That's impossible!" she said. "I stoppped back here about seven thirty. Everything was fine."
"You were here, this evening?" asked the detective.
"Yes, for a minute. To get a sweater and my wallet."
"Well, then," the detective said, "perhaps you can help us make sense of something."
He led her into the room then, being careful to shield her eyes from the grisly scene being photographed and investigated. He directed her into the bathroom and flipped on the light switch.
"Do you have any idea what this means?" the detective asked teh student. He pointed to the mirror.
The student looked up and felt her knees weaken. Written on the glass, in dried streaks of crimson, was a message. Clearly, it had been left for her
It read: Aren't you glad you didn't turn on the lights?
