Category: Center Spread

(Very) Loosely Based on a True Story

When I chose to undertake reporting the legend of the suspicious hanging door on the third floor of Andrews Hall, I did not choose it because I have a particular affinity for halls named after me or because I like ghost stories (seriously, I get scared way too easily).  I just really like doors and finding out where they go.  On the other hand, this door is a special door.  “It’s just a storage closet,” some say.  Some say that it reads “storage” to cover up the sheer horror that is behind it.  There are many myths and legends surrounding this door, as many have felt their souls being penetrated just by making eye contact.  So what is this door?  I undertook an investigation to figure out what it was that made this door so terrifyingly evil.  Who put it there?  Where does it lead?  To my bad luck, I found out where it goes.  And it was not Narnia.  Or Terabithia for that matter.

Entrepreneurs and political leaders spent their time delving in a growing movement called spiritualism.  Spiritualism was practiced by people such as the Lincolns, the Roosevelts, the Rockefellers, the DuPonts, and yes, the Waltons.  They would spend their wealth and leisure time going to séances and psychics, believing that they could raise their ancestors from the grave and talk to them like “the good old days.”  Many of these people, in order to keep this disturbing pastime to themselves, built secret rooms in which they could partake in these events.  This is where the DOOR comes in.

Charles Walton is the man responsible for building the estate in which the University subsides.  If you have never heard of him, the hall in which you eat the majority of your meals is named after him (no, not the Breezeway to some of you). He opposed the idea of taking his beloved wife and children to his supernatural viewings, but his addiction to bringing back his deceased loved ones was too strong to go out of town to see a professional (mind you that this was 1913, when the Walton’s moved in).  So one night, he hired a psychic named Agatha Martin to set up his own viewing room in the loft above the stables (which is what Andrews Hall once was, the stables), complete with Ouija boards, mirrors, candles and other portals.  However, the first night he attempted to do it on his own went terribly wrong.  In an effort to resurrect his freshly deceased granddaughter Suzanne (aka Susie), the supernatural power he brought out was so strong that it sent the horses below into a complete frenzy.  The thrashing of the horses combined with the escape of Suzanne (who now roams the campus for eternity), knocked Walton off the loft and onto the second floor,  causing him to suffer severe head injuries (which some

suspect led to his untimely death of falling into a coma).

In the early 1950s, when Eastern Baptist College first bought the Walton Estate, Andrews Hall was largely untouched to their surprise.  By clearing out the old stables and making them into class rooms, the hall was soon complete, with only the third floor left to remodel.  Much to the administration’s surprise, the loft was walled in, with only a black door in the middle of the wall, with no floor underneath it.  Out of curiosity, they dug out another entrance into the walled off area, and, lo and behold, they were greeted by six mirrors around an Ouija board, with each mirror containing the visage of Suzanne Walton on her tricycle.  In order to avoid further contact with Susie, they planned to destroy Andrews Hall altogether.

However, they did not.  The administration chose to label the new door and the original hanging door as a storage closet, and painted over the black door with white paint for interior design purposes.  They cleverly made Andrews hall into a science building, because the paranormal supposedly does not exist “according to scientists.” They believed these logical people would not be startled by this illogical entity, thus rendering Susie’s existence invalid.

To this day, both doors are always locked, but occasionally, on certain nights, the original door opens ever so slightly.  To those brave enough to venture into the building on particular nights (usually 2:32 at night on a crescent moon), the door opens all the way, exposing the portal to the ghost world (very similar to the portal in Danny Phantom actually).  If you can make the jump and climb in, it is possible that you can visit the ghost world and learn all those secrets that famous people “took to their graves.”  Other legends suggest that on those nights, you may partake in “Susie’s playtime,” which is an enlightening game of hopscotch that will reveal to you the future: who you will marry, your future job, and to some procrastinating juniors, she reveals your choice of major.

I am sure there are many other strange tales associated with this supposedly haunted door, and it is quite compelling as a door enthusiast like myself.  However, those now thoroughly creeped out by this tale should know the truth of this door.  I too must make a confession as well:  I made this story up completely.  This door really leads to a storage closet in modern times.  But hey, it is fun to imagine right?

Of all the haunted mysteries that surround the campus, none reach the level of anonymity achieved by the isolated grave that lies just outside Sparrowk Hall. A headstone shrouded in mystery, the exact identity of its occupant has been lost to time, as the plaque has been eroded by the elements. Further adding to the enigma is that small monument had been erected long before Charles Walton had purchased the mansion known today as Walton Hall, obscuring its year of origin as well. Just what lies under the grave, and where and when did it come from?

Believe it or not, a rather unlikely rumor provides the answer to the resident’s identity: a pet horse. But does it have any merit? Student Development Vice President Bettie Ann Brigham is familiar with some of grave’s history, which dates back to over a century ago. Back before Charles Walton purchased his mansion, a family known as the Harrisons purchased land in the area where the Fowler and Workman halls stand today. “Back when the Harrisons purchased the estate“, she explains, “the grave was actually already there. However, they left the exact site of the grave intact out of respect after learning of its history.” While the exact details of this decision are lost to time, she explains that the Harrisons were supposedly aware that a pet was entombed there, thus giving rise to the rumor.

It’s a case that has even famed Eastern historian Frederick Boelke, who prides himself on knowing every detail of the university’s past, stumped to an absolute answer; however, he believes the headstone hints at a pet of some sort. “While nothing about the site itself hints at a horse, the grave‘s plaque doesn‘t have any sort of epithet and instead has an eroded picture of some kind, so I’d imagine it’d be a pet.” Despite this uncertainty, he does admit a horse would make sense. Presenting a map circa 1875 (before the Harrisons or Walton purchased the other estates), he explains the area of the grave roughly coincides with that of a site formerly known as Hedgewood Farm.

And what sort of animal lives on a farm? Horses!