My Ghost Story took place at college just before Christmas Break back in 1982, at the oldest women's college dormitory in the Midwest, Pemberton Hall, on the campus of Eastern Illinois University.
I was in my junior year and was dating the Resident Assistant on the 3rd floor of Pemberton Hall, a sophomore named Lori. She called me late one snowy night and asked me if she could get her typewriter back from me so she could finish a paper she had been putting off. I said yes, and that (being the gallant guy that I was) I'd bring it over to her at the dorm if she would prop-open the West Wing's back stairwell door just enough so I could get in that way. She agreed.
The snow was really flying and it was bitterly cold as I pulled open the door to the old entranceway, slipped-in and gently pulled the door closed so it wouldn't slam in the wind. My errand had to be top secret or I'd get myself and especially Lori into trouble with this late-night intrusion into the all-women dorm.
And so I trudged as silently as possible up the dimly-lit, echoey old stairwell, my boots dripping with melted snow as I thought to myself that these old buildings, with their high ceilings, weren't very efficient in their use of space since as I rounded the 2nd floor landing - the height of this 4 story dorm built back in the late 1800's was high enough to fit a 6 story dorm if it had the modern 8 foot ceilings instead of the 16 foot ceilings used here.
As I was about 8 steps from the 3rd floor landing's door - that was when I felt the eyes of someone looking at me from a few feet above, and when I flinchingly looked up - I glimpsed a blank pale face and blonde hair they pulled back over the railing of the first flight of stairs going from the 3rd floor landing up to the 4th floor. When I was 2 steps from the 3rd floor landing I looked again, and saw her fly up the stairs to the 4th floor without making a sound.
'Curses', I thought - that must have been the 4th floor Resident Assistant, and now I'm screwed for something as innocent and gallant as bringing a typewriter to Lori. I pulled open the fire-door to the 3rd floor and ducked into Lori's private room, the first door to the right.
She giggled as she ran up to me with a kiss, thanking me for coming in such bad weather, but I cut her off and told her what had just happened, "I've gotta dump this and run back down, because the 4th floor RA saw me and ran back up to probably call the campus police!" Lori's was completely stunned, "You're kidding me right? You know about Mary Hawkins, right?" I told her impatiently, "I don't know anything but that we're both screwed if I don't get out of here - she looked ticked-off!"
Now Lori's face went pale as she could see I was serious, and she began to tremble, "The forth floor has been closed and locked-up for 60 years - ever since the murder. The person you just saw was the ghost of Mary Hawkins." The terror in her face turned to tears as she said to me, "You've got to go back down the same stairs - - - now."
I could see that there was no choice - I could see that there was no point delaying the inevitable, and so I kissed her on the forehead, zipped-up my ski-jacket, pulled on my gloves, and slipped out of her room through the fire-door and into the back stairwell. I did look up the stairs toward the 4th floor once - briefly, and seeing no one - I began my cautious decent down the stairs. I went slowly & deliberately at first, trying hard not to let the panic inside me cause me to slip, trip, or stumble. But with each step I took, the overwhelming feeling of being watched became a much more oppressive awareness of being 'hovered-over' by the ghost that I had just seen.
By the time I was on the last flight I was hurling down the stairs 2 and 3 at a time - feeling almost 'shoved' by an oppressive presence (like the 'Black Blob' you mentioned) that sucked all the air out of the stairwell making any sound from my mouth impossible. I flew through the heavy old outside door and it slammed shut behind me with a deafening 'boom' that I was sure the whole dorm heard. I walked quickly away from the building, looking back briefly, and feeling like a character from a Don Knott's movie.
Since these were the days before the Internet - I had no way of knowing the history of Pemberton Hall. But now, if you Google 'Pemberton Hall', or 'Mary Hawkins', you'll find considerable material on the subject. Personally, my intuition tells me that the ghost I saw that night wasn't 'Mary Hawkins'. The ghost I saw was the nameless young co-ed who was murdered late one snowy night, as she softly played the piano on the 4th floor, 60 years earlier, by a custodian on work-release from a state mental hospital 10 miles from campus, who came up those same back stairs that I did, quietly like I did, but with much different motives
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