As the morning walks to Wu grow colder and leaves start to turn, it’s clear another New England fall is upon us. It’s one of the most beloved times of the year at Taft, when the campus is at its most charming: the air is crisp, trees are painted in shades of red, orange, and gold, and days are filled with the familiar bustle of the fall term. The school year is officially in full swing, and with students rushing between classes, clubs, and afternoon activities, it leaves little time to notice anything… unusual.
But if you pause for a moment, late at night when the quad is empty, you may sense something different. A kind of presence that doesn’t quite belong to the living, one that seems to linger in the quiet corners and dark hallways of school. Have you ever walked through the hallways at night and felt…watched? Squeaky floorboards echoing where no one is walking, doors creaking open uninvited, random noises drifting through the walls, and lights flickering in otherwise empty rooms. Some blame it on the old wiring and aging wood, but others are convinced these strange occurrences are the energy of the past, a few extra residents who enjoy roaming after dark. After all, who’s to say Horace himself isn’t still roaming the halls, keeping a watchful eye on his school to make sure everyone’s doing their homework.
Then there’s the campus pond, peaceful by day but unsettling once the sun goes down. The story goes that a founder’s child drowned there many years ago, and that tragedy is the reason Taft has never built a swimming pool. Others tell a different version, claiming it was a maintenance worker who met an untimely end in the same waters. Whether either story is true remains uncertain, but the pond’s eerie reputation has only grown with time.
Bingham auditorium also carries a story of loss. In 1969, a student tragically fell to their death in Bingham Auditorium, slipping through a trap door while changing stage lights. Those who have been in the theater at night report feeling a sudden chill and the sense that they are not entirely alone. Could it be the wind? Sure. Or maybe it’s a past performer who just can’t resist checking out the latest production. I’m sure they can’t wait for Pippin. Either way, it is nice to imagine that the auditorium quietly welcomes back those who loved it most.
Long before Taft opened its doors, Puritans settled here, and it seems like one of their spirits was drawn to Congdon’s second-floor bathroom. Two years ago, a student turned around to find a pair of black buckled shoes standing behind her. Her gaze traveled upwards, revealing stockings, a Puritan-style hat, and a surprisingly chic, short cut bob. When the victim came face-to-face with the male apparition, she could only scream. I probably would too, so would you. Could this be the relentless spirit of a New England puritan, or did the victim just need to go to bed? We will never know.
So as autumn deepens and the familiar chill returns, it may be more than fall’s crisp air. When you walk down the hallways, keep your eyes open because you never know who might be walking beside you. Maybe it’s Horace keeping the freshman in line, past performers sneaking one last rehearsal, or even a bored, lingering Puritan. Whether you believe in ghosts or not, these stories are what make the Halloween season at Taft so special and spooky. After all, it’s still very much a campus of the living… mostly.
