Dormitory

Based on a true story. (Yes, I did live with a ghost.)

A girl died on our floor.
Way back in 1908:
She was killed by curfew
And her own hot fudge.

She still walks with us,
Us girls with half-curled hair,
Our shoes not shiny enough,
Skirts too short for sisterhood.

She’s there in her nightgown
While we tell our own secrets,
Which will never be enough,
Cause they’re not juicy or sexy at all.

She knew what it was like
To be in this massive hall.
She saw her own share
Of rainstorms and west winds.

Did Condie wait for them
To lock the boys out at night?
Did she look at the empty campus
And finally feel safe?

Did she have classes to look towards,
On the night of her death?
Was she making fudge for a sweetheart,
Or for the girls of West Main?

Was she planning to eat it all,
Piece by piece, fingers dipping,
The melted chocolate dripping
Over her white nightgown?

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If this sounds interesting to you, please look up “University of Montevallo Condie Cunningham”! She was our dorm’s personal poltergeist.