A Strange Day in Holmberg Hall

Aug. 24, 2004

Dear Diary,

It's been a strange day. I'm a little shaken up, so I thought I'd spend some time writing out my thoughts to calm down. It's the first week of school, and I wanted to get a feel for Holmberg Hall before the semester gets too busy, since I'm going to spend a lot of time practicing for some of the musical theatre productions this semester. But I don't know if I want to go back there anymore.

I went in around 6:30 tonight to scope out some of the practice rooms and see the auditorium, and I just got a bad feeling right away. You know the feeling in the pit of your stomach that just tells you to stay away from somewhere? That's how it felt. It still has that new building smell — the building had been renovated only a year ago — but I felt uneasy right as I stepped inside. I wandered back toward the practice rooms and I swear I heard organ music. I tried to follow the sound to see where it was coming from, but just as I thought I was getting close, it'd fade away each time. I felt like I was losing it, so I stopped a custodian I bumped into in the hallway.

I asked him where the organ was in Holmberg, and he looked at me like I was crazy.

"Organ? There's no organ in this building. Maybe you're thinking of Catlett," he said.

OK, whatever. That's weird, but maybe I just mistook a piano for an organ? But they sound so different. I don't know.

So I decided to avoid the practice rooms and take a look at the auditorium. I swung open one of the tall, heavy doors to the auditorium and felt the cool air rush toward me. The door slammed shut behind me as I wandered down the sloping aisle toward the stage. The stage lights were already on, so I climbed up onto the stage. I sang a few scales, listening to my voice echo throughout the room, notes bouncing off the walls and filling every inch of the room. It felt great — I could imagine myself on this stage, the star of a performance, all eyes on me. I closed my eyes and kept singing, soaking in the feeling of being under the lights.

Then, I heard the door to the auditorium slam. My eyes shot open and I scanned the room, eyeing the aisles for anyone who might've opened the door, but there was no one.

I started singing again, trying to distract myself with an old song I had sung in a high school production of "Oklahoma!" It's still one of my favorites.

"Out of my dreams and into your arms I long to fly," I belted. "I will come as evening comes to woo a waiting sky..."

Something caught my eye about halfway through the song: the shape of an old woman among the stage lights, perched high up in the balcony. I rubbed my eyes — surely the bright lights were just playing tricks on me.

But there she was again — leaning against the balcony railing, watching me. I still can't believe what I saw. She had gray hair and a tough face, someone you wouldn't want to disappoint. Then I heard the organ music again, and she seemed to sway along.

"Hello?" I called out to her.

She raised a hand slowly, gently waving at me, then vanished into thin air. Her sudden absence left a chill in the air, and that's when I had to leave — that feeling in my stomach was right. I don't know who she was or what she wanted from me, but I don't think I'm going to practice in Holmberg anymore.

The stage lights in the auditorium of Holmberg Hall, where Professor Boggess appears in this student's account of a ghostly encounter. Web source: Uncovering Oklahoma blog.