Gustavus is quickly approaching its 150th anniversary, and like most institutions this old, we’ve got a few skeletons hanging around in our closet. But this isn’t an exposé of the greatest Gustavus scandals; it’s a collection of a few of the ghost stories that have been passed down through the Gustavus community over the years.

You’ve probably heard of a few campus ghosts before, like the ones they say live in Rundstrom and Bjorling. Maybe you’ve even run into one of them yourself, but for those who haven’t, here’s a look into the spirits you’re missing out on. For those on the prowl for paranormal encounters, check out some of these lesser-known haunted areas on campus.

A Ghost Rider in the Stacks

It was probably a dark and stormy night. The clouds might have twisted and swirled themselves into a heavenly sight reminiscent of Jackson Pollock, while a student security guard worked the late shift in the library.

The student pulled open the heavy metal door on the bottom floor staircase of the library and emerged from darkness into the checkered shadows created by dim nightlights playing with the bookshelves. He looked around tiredly for a few seconds before deciding that all was as it should be. Well, except for the Native American riding through the stacks on horseback.

The next morning library employees noticed that in certain areas, ten or fifteen books in a row were knocked off the shelves. Most student pranks have a lifespan of about four years, but the book incident was repeated in different parts of the library for ten years or so, right up until the tornado hit.

Because the library needed to be re-carpeted, the school also used the opportunity to increase the space between the bookshelves, making the library handicap accessible. Since then the book incident has yet to repeat itself, which suggests that when the bookshelves were moved, the library was also made ghost-rider accessible.

The Lost Swimmer

The Johnson Student Center, now home to the Community Service Center, KGSM Radio, Alumni Hall and The Dive, once housed the school gymnasium and one of the first indoor pools in the state. When Lund Center was completed in 1985, the gym was turned into Alumni Hall and the pool was converted into The Dive.

When the pool became a student lounge, the locker rooms and pool deck were gutted to make room for the small kitchen and offices that now occupy that space.

The pool wall is virtually all that remains of the old athletic facility … well, that and the ghost of a St. Peter resident who is rumored to have drowned in the pool in the 1930s.

After the Dive was completed, security guards began to notice things moving around at night and claimed to have seen the ghostly figure of a young man in a swimsuit walking around the Johnson Student Center and the Jackson Campus Center.

According to the lore, the figure seems lost. It is believed that he now walks through the Campus Center looking for the locker rooms that are no longer there, wanting only to dry his hair and change out of a swimming suit that he has worn for more than seventy years.

The Scary Security Guard

Before Chaplain Brian Johnson came to Gustavus, there was Chaplain Alvie. One night he was working late in his office, trying to get the kinks out of a sermon he was preparing. It had been a long day for the chaplain, and eventually the man fell asleep at his desk.

When considering the difficulties and daily challenges likely faced by chaplains at a campus like this, one can only wonder what sort of dreams they might have. Is someone with such a burden allowed reprieve in sleep? It seems likely that this is not the case; as they say, uneasy lies the head that wears the collar.

The chaplain was summoned out of sleep by the voice of a security guard doing rounds in Old Main. Chaplain Alvie turned away from his desk to see the security guard, who leaned through the doorway, smiled and said, “It’s getting pretty late, don’t you think you ought to go home?”

The startled chaplain agreed and began to gather his things. He had one arm through the sleeve of his wool overcoat before he realized that he had just witnessed the impossible. That security guard had been dead for more than a year.

Alvie dashed into the hallway, but saw nothing. He never saw that security guard again, no matter how many late nights he worked. They say that until Old Main was gutted and completely renovated you could sometimes see the lights going on and off through the building by themselves, as if a security guard was going through the building, checking each room.

A Message From Beyond

During the Gustavus Spring Break of 1998 a super-cell of tornadoes tore through Gustavus and St. Peter. They were responsible for ripping up all of our trees, knocking over the steeple of Christ Chapel, and tearing the roof off multiple buildings on campus. People weren’t sure if Gustavus would reopen its doors ever again, let alone reconvene classes that semester.

But President Axel Streuer led a huge rebuilding effort with the slogan “Building a Better Gustavus” and brought the students back in three weeks. The campaign was so successful that Streuer was able to bring in a record-setting first-year class the next fall.

During the intervening summer, an electrician was repairing damage done to the Heritage Room–a special topics research room honoring the relationship between Gustavus Adolphus College and the Augustana Synod, the group of Swedish Lutherans who founded the college. The room was dedicated to Emeroy Johnson, a man who served as archivist for both groups during the forties.

While the electrician was walking toward the front stairs after finishing his work, a small piece of paper fell like a leaf down from the ceiling directly in front of him. The electrician plucked the yellowed sheet from the air and read it. It was a copy of a letter Emeroy Johnson wrote to a church in northern Minnesota after its sanctuary was destroyed in a fire.

Emeroy’s letter was one of encouragement, telling the church that from their disaster, a better church could be built, echoing the “Building a Better Gustavus” sentiment. To those who saw it, it seemed like the former archivist was sending a message to members of the Gustavus community.

You’ve Probably Heard These Already, But Just in Case…

The Cow in Old Main:

Legend has it that years ago a group of rambunctious pranksters led an innocent cow to the third floor of Old Main and left it there for the faculty to find. Unfortunately for the poor cow, the hooligans did not consider how the animal would get down from the third floor of Old Main. Cows have the ability to go up stairs, but lack the expertise to go down them. As a result, the college shot the cow.

Ever since, the restless spirit of the ill-fated cow has roamed the third floor of Old Main, mooing into the night.

The Old Woman in Rundstrom

Have you ever been walking around in Rundstrom’s basement and come across the chapel, only to find an ethereal glow loosely outlining what may just be an old Swedish woman of Lutheran faith floating in the middle of that room?

If so, you may have chanced upon Rundstrom’s very own ghostly guest. According to (entirely unconfirmed) rumors, a woman committed suicide in the basement of Rundstrom ages ago. Whether that is true or not, residents of that building claim that someone’s spirit occasionally shows up in the chapel.

Thanks to Chaplain Brian Johnson, former Archivist Mike Haeuser and Director of Editorial Services Steve Waldhauser for sharing these stories.

Danielle Harms