Spectral Tracking & Trapping

On a cold, blustery night, two unlikely people were about to turn into heroes, saving a college campus from a serious haunting...

We stepped out of the doors of D. H. Hill, ungratefully greeting the cold, frigid air that has been settling through the night. We turn right and pass into the open at the top of the stairs, a gust of air blew past our frost-bitten cheeks. Water started to swell up in my eyes. I could tell this night was not like any other; it was a colder cold, down to the bone, something like that you'd find in Alaska, not here.

We slowly crossed over the brickyard, battling the wind and cold. Nothing on our minds but to find shelter. Through my watery eyes, I was able to make out a light source a little bit away. Excreting our last bit of energy, we made it to the shelter. I wiped away the tears from my eyes and took a look around to see where we were at. Harrelson hall. Could be worse, but not by much.

The clock struck midnight. I felt a buzz in my pocket. Creamy Alfredo and I looked at each other, then, slowly taking the vibrating device out of my pocket, my fears came true. My spect-o-meter was going off. This could only mean one thing: a ghost. I lifted up the spect-o-meter and checked the radar. 100 feet away. Not good. Creamy Alfredo look to me for support. He has a pasty white look to him, no life in his face. I pat him on the back then tell him to stay behind a safe distance, I'll handle this. I attach the catching device to the spect-o-meter, and slowly walk towards the blip on the radar. Closing in now, only 80 feet. The air seems to get colder, condensation begins to bead on the screen on the spect-o-meter. Holding it out in front of me at arms length, I am ready for it. I slowly strafe toward the blip, one step at a time, careful not to break my concentration. I get to the top of the stairs leading into the darkness away from the shelter of Harrelson when I see it. It was just a wavering of the air 50 feet in front of me, like a thin film of water was just hovering there. It started to moved towards us, silently. I could no longer make out the radar on the spect-o-meter, it was fogged up completely. From behind me I hear a little shriek as Creamy Alfredo lets his uneasiness be known, but I do not let this falter me. I stand there, waiting for just the right distance between us, 20 feet. Thirty feet now, it's almost time. My finger is poised on the trigger, ready to fire at any moment.

The spect-o-meter lets out a loud beep. I pull the trigger with steady aim and hit the ghost dead on. A sphere of aura surrounds the ghost, squeezing it down into the device. It's over. It's all over. The air seems to get warmer ever so slightly. Lights seem brighter. Crickets start to chirp again. Creamy Alfredo starts to regain some color in his cheeks. I help him up from his fetal position he had put himself in, pat him on the back, and tell him it's all over, we can head home peacefully now.

We reach the doors of Metcalf, and I take one last look outside, smile to myself, then step on in to the warming air of our home.