On the way back from the movie Jacinthe and Agnes linger by the darkened form of Trueman House. It’s about 2:30 in the morning. The town is in a deep calm, except for the wind rushing in the trees and the ragged clouds drifting across the starry sky.
“They say,” says Jacinthe, “there’s a ghost in there.”
Agnes stops short. “There is no ghost.”
“Oh, I’m not claiming there is. I’m just saying that it’s something I’ve heard.”
“Why would somebody say a thing like that? This is a university.”
“Well, people die, you know. Freshmen die, sometimes, for no known reason.”
“That’s crazy. This is a modern institution. If somebody died it would be for a good reason.”
“Bear in mind, this was years ago. It happened in the days when Trueman House was an all-male residence, in the Seventies, before they’d even invented the Walkman. Apparently every guy in this building had a complete stereo set-up with a pair of speakers this big.” She stretches her arms out. “I got this from my uncle who went here. Anyway, you know how guys are. They have to have things their own way. Apparently it was a point of honour with them to never have to listen to music they didn’t like.”
“But if it was the Seventies, wasn’t it all bad?”
“Yes, but they didn’t know that. So they used to crank those things up to 10 every night after supper and practically knock the place off its foundation, trying to drown each other out. Which is why it’s unfit for habitation today. There’s just too much structural damage.”
“I never knew that.”
“Well, look at this masonry. It’s shot to hell.”
“Gosh, it is. But what about the freshman?”
“Well, that’s the thing. One night this guy wouldn’t turn off his music. It was pounding away until well after two, and nobody could get him to shut it off or even answer the door. So they ended up knocking down the door, and there he was, dead on the floor. His brain had exploded.”
“What? From the volume?”
“Well, I’m no scientist. It has more to do with harmonics than decibels, apparently. He was sitting in just exactly the right spot in the building for a zone of ‘harmonic resonance’ to form right where is head was, and, well, blap.”
“And he’s the ghost?”
“There have been voices heard, apparently. And music.”
“Music?"
“Like I said, this building has been through a lot. According to the engineers it’s still echoing. I’m told you can feel the stones resonate.”
“No.”
“Yes. Here. Put your hand on it.”
Dubiously, Agnes extends her hand toward the red sandstone. The window above them flies open.
Dwayne: “Hey!”
Agnes and Jacinthe: “Shriek!”
Dwayne: “Are Shayne and Shawn still around?”
Jacinthe: “Dwayne! Shit! Ya nearly gave us a fuckin heart attack, ya fuckwit! Where’s your brain? Fuck! We’re gone! Come on, Agnes! Shit!”
They leave.
Dwayne: “Jeez Louise, what a fuss.”
He becomes conscious of someone standing behind him. Slowly he turns. There is a murky figure standing behind him in the darkened doorway.
Dwayne: “Yah!!” He goes out the window.
The Chinese vagrant rubs a sleepy eye, wonders what that was all about, then goes back to bed.
Professor Wheeler is doing his rounds. This morning on his way from the music department he has stopped for a chat with the head librarian, a cup of coffee with the chair of the fine arts department, and is now on his way from the Wu Centre to Centennial Hall for a word with the Dean.
Wheeler: “Did you know that UNB has just committed to putting a grad on Mars by the end of the century?”
The Dean sits back.
“That’s good. That’s a very good move. The sooner they start talking it up the likelier it is to happen.”
“And the beauty is, whoever has to take the heat when it doesn’t happen hasn’t even been born yet.”
“Hm. This will certainly move them up in the Maclean’s poll. It gives them an in with the Canadian Space Agency, hence the federal cabinet. And it puts pressure on us. Are we a 21st-century or a 19th-century school? We’ll have to respond.”
“How?”
“We’ll have to go first.”
“We’ll have to not go to Mars first?”
“I know you love absurdity. No, we’ll have to put the brand out there. How much does a Flying A sticker weigh?”
“An ounce? Maybe less.”
“Who are UNB talking to?”
“NASA or the ESA, I think.”
“Not the Chinese?”
“Not that I’ve heard.”
The Dean opens a bottom drawer, takes out a model of the spaceship Shenzhou VI, and positions it prominently on the desk.
Wheeler: “It’s all about the connections.”
“It certainly is.”
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