Ghost Stories of Harvard Yard

You check your phone. The shuttle is late again. It’s always late—by exactly eight minutes every time. You wonder why that is, but your thoughts are soon interrupted by the rattling of a geriatric bus, painted crimson, which comes squealing to a stop in front of Widener gate.

The driver beckons you on. Under the shadow of his hat, his head is either bald or a naked skull. You scan the length of the bus. The other passengers look dreary. Among them: an old lady mumbles to herself while clutching a beaded purse full of cats; no less than four pairs of twins giggle to each other in the aisles; and a couple of thugs pound their fists in the back.

You decide to take the seat right behind the driver. “Does this shuttle go to the Quad?” you ask. He doesn’t answer, but moves his head in a way that might indicate yes. All of a sudden it gets dark and begins to pour down rain. “Pretty rainy, huh,” you remark to the driver in an attempt to make small talk. He doesn’t answer.

Soon you’re rattling down Garden Street in what seems to be a Quad-ward direction. It’s too dark to tell for sure. The peaked ceilings of the SOCH come into view. As usual, it's completely empty.

"You know the ten-man suite?" says the driver suddenly, "Used to be the eleven-man. Well, here we are." The bus doors fly open, and you're propelled out by a magnetic force.

The other passengers follow. The thugs don penguin suits and head toward Pfoho; from the sounds of it, the dining hall is hosting a rager featuring a musical saw ensemble. All four pairs of twins make beelines for Cabot Cafe to commensurate over double soy lattes. The old lady picks up her purse full of cats and stumbles into Currier, mistaking it for a nursing home.

You step onto the sidewalk, only to immediately realize, lo and behold, you never wanted to come to the Quad in the first place, and that there was no reason for you to get on that shuttle.

"Wait!" you say as you turn around. But the bus has disappeared. Kaput. Gone. Not a trace. "Not again," you sigh, as you hitch up your pack for the long trek back to Harvard Yard. The walk will take you precisely 17 minutes. But you're not worried. You have all the time in the world—in fact, you have all of eternity.