The Ghosts of Varsity Hill
My university sits on a hill, looking down on the city below it like a monarch. He is stoic and lavish, draped in fine gardens and heirloom architecture. He is a fair monarch but a monarch all the same.
His grounds are open for all curious eyes to roam with some doors kept locked too all but his most trusted subjects. But when night falls it is only he and the ghosts that are left. Every door is locked, the world is shut out and the ghosts trapped in. It is quiet. They gather in the library, busying themselves with unfinished tasks until morning permits them to leave. Sometimes they slip into the outside world but once they have left, they can never return. At least not until the next day resets and the process repeats. Where they go, it is not entirely known. Maybe they leave to find small pockets of rest from their wandering or maybe they just drift, mechanically following past commitments.
They look like you and I these ghosts. So much so you would not notice if you saw one. You see, ghosts are not invisible in the way you have been told. Physically, you can see them but somehow you can never find them. They are invisible in the way glass is invisible in water, blending into their environment effortlessly. And they are lonely. You might be misled by their purposeful strides for ghosts do not wander in the aimless fashion stories so often report. They are usually quite fidgety, walking to and from, spurred on by the tugging sense of past obligations that have not yet been fulfilled. But obligation doesn't ensure direction and many of them are still quite lost.
Walk though the halls of Varsity Hill, descend the stairs and trail the darkest corners. Here you will find rooms, small and worn, some with flickering lights and water pipes long past their prime. In these ancient squares you will discover rows of neat, wooden coffins. The coffins are placed vertically against the walls, their doors mostly shut but sometimes left ever so slightly ajar. The number of coffins can vary from 2 to several in one room. The ghosts use these coffins as refuge, seeking solace from their burdens in it's comforting confines. You can see their wails and shrieks carved into the coffin's walls. Their stories scrawled over nearly every surface in faded ink. And if you were to read these, you might find that you are not so different from them. You too feel alone and aimless. You too search for solace and comfort behind walls and in the company of people you do not fully know. You too are a ghost. And you wonder, where are all the other ghosts now? Where did they come from and where do they hide? And you are suddenly overwhelmed by the knowledge that, although you might be able to see them, you cannot find them. But time after time you can return to the coffins, you can run your fingers along the ink-stained walls. The ghosts are here, perhaps one day you will meet but for now there is just the walls, the stories and the ghosts of Varsity Hill
