A Beta Ghost Story
(By a Haunted Beta)
Another day of class had ended. The snow had fallen all that day - but the novelty of a white campus had worn off weeks ago. No one could remember such a snowy winter. Both faculty and students were getting tired of plowing through the drifts, which were reaching monstrous sizes.
But that particular evening was awaited with great anticipation by the brothers of the Howell College Chapter, the Omicron Alpha of Beta Theta Pi. It was Skit Night: the time when the pledges entertained the brothers. Now, as their time of learning and examination was nearing its end, they would explore some of the
practical aspects of this developing friendship - both by brotherly humor and by cooperative efforts.
At Omicron Alpha, the pledges were expected to work together, but also to involve the chapter in any way they pleased. Often this would take the form of a carefully scripted caricature of the brotherhood: the pledges borrowing clothes or whatever was necessary to hint at the brothers being portrayed. Sometimes, in less creative classes, other kinds of variety shows would be performed; in any case, singing would be the predominant feature, and if omitted, would be quickly remedied by the brotherhood.
On that snowy evening, the brothers began to take their seats in the living room. Dave, the steward, had made big bowls of popcorn; just outside the porch window a variety of liquid refreshments were chilling in the snow. Mike, the president, had lighted a fire in the large fireplace. He looked into the flames, recalling the night two years ago when it had been
his turn... He wondered what the three pledges would attempt. The chapter had been looking forward to this night for weeks: due to unusual circumstances, all three pledges were juniors, and they had already demonstrated their creativity and enthusiasm.
Steve was the first to perform. He was working on a double major: music and mechanical engineering. Earlier that day he had tuned the chapter piano, and as he sat down he announced that he would play a medley of Beta songs. As he played, he glanced at the brothers to look for signs of recognition, but every face was blank - except perhaps Bill's, who invariably appeared to be half-asleep.
When Steve finished, there was scattered clapping, and some murmuring. Nick Guzman, an outspoken sophomore, shook his head and said, "I don't know any of those. Are you
sure those are Beta songs?"
"Yes, because Pledge Thomas Lewis got the music from Beta's web site for me. Of course, they're all from the 1872 songbook, and none of them are in our present songbook."
"Well, then why don't you three sing them for us," Nick requested.
There were a number of amazed faces as Steve turned back to the keyboard and, playing the same music as before, he joined the other two pledges in singing.
This time, the conclusion brought loud applause.
Nick nodded and said, "Well done!"
Next, it was Al's turn. He wrote for the campus paper; his major was English. He shifted some furniture, dimmed the lights, and lit two candles. Tom held a sheet of paper and stood in front of a chair at the end of the room, with Steve on his left behind a small table. One of the candles, a pen and some paper were in front of him, and he appeared as if he was taking notes, then he looked intently at Tom.
Al sat at Tom's right. When all was ready he nodded, and Tom began.
"...Again, my brothers, I thank you for electing me as president." He looked down at the paper he held, then glanced at Steve, who turned to his notes, and scribbled something.
Tom cleared his throat, and looked around the room. "As our next order of business, it is now time, as we arranged previously, for Brother Linton to give his address. Brother Linton."
Tom sat down, turning in his chair to face Al. Al stood up, his hands empty. Looking intently towards the brotherhood in the dim room, he began:
"In addressing you on this, the first anniversary of our beloved association, I should be blind to circumstances were I not to feel the responsibility of the station resting heavily upon me. When I look around me and consider the character of those whom I address..."
On he went, and later the brothers wondered if even David Linton himself could have delivered his own speech with such emotion. "And he's still only a pledge..." Mike thought to himself.
At the end, when he sat down, the brothers rose in applause. Mike looked over at Bill, a junior like himself, who had stared with eyes wide throughout the speech. Bill looked back at him and nodded, murmuring "Perfect." Bill, as all the brothers knew, had an amazing memory: he also could have recited Linton's speech verbatim, and though he was a brother, not even he could do it with the drama and trained stage-presence Al had just demonstrated.
Finally, it was Tom's turn. Al was about to turn the lights back up, but Tom stopped him. "No, it will be better this way."
He picked up one of the candles, looked at the brothers and smiled. "I'll have to read my contribution." He unfolded a manuscript and began. "This story is called 'The Haunting of Digamma Chi'."
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Once upon a time, at a chapter in a distant state, there was a brother who didn't believe in Wooglin. His name was Bob Marley. He could sing "Wooglin to the Pledge" and "Wooglin Forever" and "The Crow Song" - all the verses - and many others. He had read every poem, and the stories in Beta Lore, and even the "Legend of Wooglin" on the Beta Forum. He even had a dog, the chapter mascot - and every brother called the dog "kai", of course, but just the same Bob didn't believe in Wooglin.
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As Tom paused at the paragraph break, Nick shook his head. "Tom, I'm not sure you ought to be writing about this sort of thing."
Some of the other brothers seemed to agree, but Mike vetoed the suggestion. "No, let him continue. This sounds good so far - maybe a little ambitious for a pledge... But it goes to demonstrate curiosity - don't you agree?"
"Yes, Brother President," Bill replied. "We could use a new story about Wooglin, anyway - and you know as well as I do that pledges often have insights the rest of us don't."
Mike nodded and looked at Nick. "Besides, think about how happy he'll be when he learns the truth about 'The Old Guy'..."
"Yeah, Nick, let him go," said Kevin, a senior. "Remember what
you thought about him?"
The older brothers snickered, and Nick was glad the room was dimly lit. In a much smaller voice than he usually used, he said, "I withdraw my objection."
In the dimness, Mike smirked. Nick really was a great guy. "Continue, pledge."
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One evening Bob was talking with his best friend Gary, who was the chapter president. Bob waved his hand toward the chapter library. "I don't believe in dragons, or old hermits eating their dogs, or lost organizations which no one knows about."
Like most of the chapter, Gary didn't care very much about Wooglin, Beta, or anything else. He thought 'Wooglin' was a nice story for pledges, but once he learned about him, he lost interest. Besides, it meant all kinds of complicated things having to do with rules and stuff like that, so he preferred to deal with more mundane matters. He liked to enjoy himself, but he wouldn't even do that if it meant being stuck with rules. Bob on the other hand would read or study almost anything, but refused to be bothered with any of it. He not exactly lazy, but he hated anything which meant being bothered with doing things. Maybe they weren't really best friends, but they seemed to find less discomfort in each other's company.
"Yeah," Gary replied, settling into a more comfortable position. "All that same old good and evil... Every stinkin' book has it. Tires me out."
Bob nodded. "Yeah. It's all a nice parable, if you go in for that sort of thing. When I was a pledge I thought it was one of those morality things like the kiddies read: Mr. Nice or Little Miss Smiles or Angry Penguin. And Beta has Old Man Wooglin: 'Wooglin sees all, so be a good pledge or the Dragon will come and fry you to a crisp'."
The two brothers heard a kind of choking chuckle from a darker corner of the living room. "Indeed, heh, heh. Fried to a crisp."
Bob looked over. There was a man in the corner - one he thought he had seen at the last alumni weekend. Tall and well-built, his slick dark hair had wisps of gray at the temples which made it hard to tell his age. He wore very sharp-looking clothes, and walking towards them, he moved as if he owned the place. His voice was deep and cultured: "You seem well-read - and you've learned from your reading." He shrugged. "So many don't."
Gary frowned. "I'd just as soon not bother - too much trouble."
"Fine, fine," smiled the man. 'To each his own.' Reading has its place; it has a savor some delight in; others, just as wise, have other worthy pursuits."
"As long as those pursuits don't mean time or energy," Bob said. "I've got lots of things to do."
"Exactly my point," the man said. "Work is expected - even if it is merely the effort of avoiding effort."
The two brothers laughed at that; the man smiled. "But there is something about your conversation which interests me. You still find this 'Wooglin' topic still of sufficient interest to debate it, even if merely to reject it, on moral or literary grounds."
"Well, it helps pass the time," Gary said, yawning. "And there are still some pledges that find it interesting."
Bob nodded. "Yeah; it's good for them to have something to explore during that ridiculously long pledge period we have."
The man's eyebrows went up slightly. "I'm sure such clever thinkers as you are could easily find other entertainment for them - or even perhaps alter the pledge period completely." The two did not react to this, probably because it sounded too much like work. The chapter had committees to guard against that sort of thing, and Gary mumbled something about "referring it to our pledge committee."
The man's smile broadened. "Good, good. To spread responsibility is to eliminate it. If it's up to everyone to do it, that's as good as saying it's up to no one." In a quieter voice, with a hardly noticeable shudder, he added, "Anything to keep it from being my responsibility."
"Well, sometimes it has to be someone's responsibility, doesn't it?" Gary asked. "This stuff doesn't happen all by itself."
"But it can, and it does. Maybe I should show you." He picked up a briefcase from the floor and opened it.
Bob watched with interest. "What - some kind of training video?"
"Something like that; it's a proprietary technology made by some of my associates. Just let me light these candles; it's a matter of proper illumination..."
With some uneasiness, the two brothers noticed how dark the room had become. Earlier someone had lit a fire, but it had gone out. They saw the candles being lit, but there was something odd... was it their color? And how was it they were seeing that man? Suddenly there was plenty of light - but what they saw was no longer their living room.
Bob owned thousands of dollars of electronic equipment, but he didn't expect this. "Say, that is impressive. Three-D color holographics!"
They seemed to be standing in the corner of an old-fashioned classroom. There were maybe a dozen college students sitting around, whispering to each other from time to time. Another was at the teacher's podium, explaining something.
"Stereo surround-sound, too," said Gary. He began to walk over to one of the students but bumped into something. "Wow, I forgot the sofa was here."
The man smirked. "Don't go beyond the circle of candles, or I won't be responsible." The two noticed the faint glow of the candles around them. "Just listen and see how easily matters like this - even big matters - can be handled."
In the opposite corner from them, one brother stood up. "Brother Root, I disagree - I disagree strongly - with this proposal. This is not something which a Beta ought to consider; and far less ought he assent to it. Why, when I was initiated, I..."
The brother at the podium rapped the gavel. "Brother Boudinot, we don't want to hear all that again. I looked over the proposal, and all the rest looked over it, and none of us found any difficulties with it. They want less from us, and that gives us more time to ourselves. Betas would have us at conventions, writing letters, explaining our chapter life, who knows what else! Wouldn't you rather have more time for study?"
"But you told us the convention rejected the proposal."
"The fraternity is split by this war; maybe half the chapters weren't there. We spend too much time on things like that." He picked up some papers from the podium and waved them dramatically. "This proposal gives us everything we had with Beta, and much more. It puts more of our lives at our own disposal." He shook his head and held the papers up. "Enough of debate. Brothers, I put the question to you. How say you?"
The room rang with voices in the affirmative.
The scene faded. The two were back in the living room. The man stared at them and smiled. "You see, it's quite simple. What's more, it's effective."
"The one guy didn't like it," Gary stated.
"But did it matter? All he could offer was what they already had - an ever-increasing amount of effort. Sure they had to do something - one little thing - merely vote on the proposal, but then they would have less to do." He gestured. "It was a certain thing."
"I'd like to think about this some more," Bob said. He had a faint idea that he knew what it was they had just seen, and he didn't remember what it was all about, but it made him vaguely uncomfortable.
The man's face dropped slightly, but in the dimness they didn't notice. "What's to think about? Write up a nice long proposal, let everyone know it means lots less work, and put it to a vote."
"Still seems like a lot of work to change things," Gary said. "Even easier to let things be as they are."
"But things don't stay as they are," Bob replied. "Change is good."
"Right!" The man's voice was bold. "Just a little effort now, and lots more free time later."
The room was silent for a moment, then they heard a strange whirring sound out on the lawn. Then they heard an creaky old voice muttering "Confounded weeds. Who put them here?"
There was a shuffling and a tapping sound, and an old man came into the room. He moved slowly, his wooden stick or cane making a distinct sound even on the thick rug. In the dimness it was hard to say what he was wearing, but it seemed distinctly visible; it might have been a white lab coat. His eyes seemed to flicker and peer into the darkness. "Ah, it was you, my old enemy. What have you been telling these young men?"
The first man's face wrinkled with displeasure. "Merely some practical ways of having more time to carry out their own pursuits..."
"More time? More time? How can you get them more time? And what are these candles doing here?"
"Merely a demonstration of..."
"I see," said the old man dryly. "I concur with the first part of that word." He looked at the two young men and shook his head. "I can't quite guess what I might do with you, but it's too late to try anything else now..."
He lifted his stick into the air and the room vanished.
The two suddenly found themselves seated in some kind of receptionist's office. The walls were glistening black granite. At one end was a large desk, totally empty, made of some exotic dark wood of a reddish hue; scattered around were large chairs like the ones in which they were sitting. These were built in a ultra-modern reclinable structure of anodized steel and were richly plush with black leather. The ceiling seemed to be covered with some kind of sound-absorbing panelling.
The chairs were very comfortable, and they leaned back; footrests appeared automatically. After some time had gone by, the man they had seen back in the Beta living room walked in. He seemed slightly surprised to see them.
"Well, I had no idea you would be here. Just wait a little while I check in. I'll have someone come out right away..." He went through a hidden doorway and vanished.
The chairs were comfortable and the two really didn't feel like moving. Gary tried to sit up, then relaxed. "If this was the old guy's doing, it's even better than that one's." He could barely move his hand towards the hidden doorway.
"Yeah," Bob said. "No candles. Real nice work. But the ceiling seems awfully low for that other man to have walked around here."
Gary looked at the walls, but there was nothing by which to measure sizes. Then he saw the desk. "You know, I think you're right. This room is smaller than it was."
Bob shook his head slightly. "I don't know about that, but this chair is awfully comfortable. I feel like I'm sinking into it."
Gary struggled to sit up. "You are sinking into it. I don't know what that stuff is, but it's not leather. It's some kind of liquid. You ought to get up." As he pushed, the material seemed firmer. Sitting erect, Gary looked at Bob, and he seemed to be even lower. "Bob! Get up!"
"I don't think I want to - and the room does seem smaller. You had better sit down or the ceiling will crush you."
"No, Bob. Let's get out of here. Sit up." Gary struggled again and got up out of the chair. The ceiling did seem lower, but he could still stand upright.
Bob shifted a little. "Gary, look at that ceiling. That's not carpet. It's moving! It's some kind of worms..."
Gary glanced up. The ceiling did seem to be moving slightly. But Bob was even deeper in the chair, which seemed to have become more horizontal.
Gary put his hand out. "Bob, give me your hand. I'll help you get out."
Bob looked at his brother with panic. "I can barely lift my hand. This chair is too soft." He looked up at the ceiling again. "No, Gary, get down!"
Bob's hand pulled free of the leathery suction and grabbed his brother's. The more Bob tried to pull Gary away from the ceiling, the more he found himself free of the chair. Just as Bob was nearly free of the chair, the man with the dark hair came out, a look of amazement on his face. "You're not supposed to be..."
Again the two suddenly found themselves in another place. It was a large dusty room, nearly empty except for a couple of broken chairs. There were stairs at one end, and a fireplace in one wall. Outside it was raining.
There was an old man standing by the fireplace. "I thought you might like to see this place. I have such good memories - happy times - of being here." The two recognized the voice as that of the old man who had come into their living room, just before that strange experience in the black chairs.
Bob looked around. "Where are we?"
"You don't believe in Wooglin," the old man said sadly. "But you will be the last to ever look upon this place." He walked over to the main entrance.
Just then there was a flash and a loud blast of thunder. The old man pushed on the doors until they opened. Through the rain they could see a large lake at the bottom of the hill. The old man sighed. "Go away and let me alone. It's over."
"What do you mean?" Gary said. "What's over?" But the old man was silent, staring back into the hall.
For some time the two sat quietly on the front porch and looked out over the lake. The room with the black chairs was just a fading memory. The sky was starting to clear.
"Hey, Gary, do you smell smoke?" Bob sniffed the air.
Gary sniffed too. "Yeah; that lightning was real close. Maybe a tree got hit."
"Maybe. Hey, that is smoke. Where's that old man?"
"Look, the place is on fire! Fire! Fire!"
Smoke began to fill the hall. They could not see the old man. "Fire!" Gary called again.
Then they heard a faint elderly voice calling "Help! Help!" It seemed to be coming from within the hall, perhaps near the stairs. Gary tried to go inside, but the smoke was too much for him.
Bob ran down the hill to the lake. He took off his shirt and soaked it in the water, then ran back up the hill. "I know there's only the two of us - and even if we can't find buckets, at least we can try something," he said to Gary.
"You're right - just the thing," he said. He grabbed the shirt, and wrapping it around his head, was about to go back into the hall.
"Wait," Bob said. "Tear it in half, and give me part. Let's not get separated."
"Right," Gary said.
Each wrapped half of Bob's shirt around his face and plunged into the smoky hall.
Again the scene changed. For a time all was dark, though not the darkness of smoke, nor yet the darkness of the room with the black chairs. Then they saw a different hallway, which had two doors. Voices came from each door, arguing back and forth.
They heard a rich and cultured voice demanding, "Since they were determined to follow my ways, let them come with me." The doorway from which the voice came was bright and ornate and most enticing; along the nearby walls, posters and advertisements of every kind insisted on the superiority of what that door concealed. But the hinges were of a blackish alloy they had seen before.
Then from the other door they heard a old and frail voice pleading, "But at least they struggled for each other, if they wouldn't struggle for themselves. And they risked themselves for an old man - a stranger. They were willing to attempt my way." Strangely, that door stood open: it was roughly made, hewn as if by some village carpenter, and parts were broken and burnt. Through it they could see a faint path going upwards like a steep stair, then passing over a wild and rocky hill country.
Then the old voice seemed to address them directly: "My brothers, heed this wisdom from the past:
'Anyone who is determined to reach his destination is not deterred by the roughness of the road that leads to it'.
Again came the cultured voice, but straining now: "Why exert yourselves? My ways lead to Success without work. If only you..."
Then a third voice broke in. "It is not their time. Send them home. They have work to do."
Gary was the first to wake up. The living room was dark except for a faint glow from outside. He looked around and yawned.
Then Bob woke up too. He saw Gary. "Looks like we are home."
"Yeah. But I wonder if we're really back." Here, in the living room, it felt almost like a dream.
Bob stood up and stretched. "I feel hungry enough; we must be back. Feels like we've been gone for weeks." He looked around; there were no signs of candles, black leather chairs, or any strange men. The room was quiet. His shirt was whole and dry. "But I see the fire has gone out."
"Yeah," Gary said. "Maybe that was the problem." He stood up too and went over to the fireplace. "But there's one more log right here. Maybe there's enough embers left."
He threw the log into the fireplace; ashes flew around. There was a faint glow which quickly faded. Gary threw a few scraps of paper in.
"Try blowing on it," Bob said.
But it seemed that there was no fire left.
"That old man certainly got a fire going," Gary said. "Too bad he's not here."
"Unless it was that lightning."
They heard a creaky voice chuckle warmly; it seemed to come from the chimney. "Let's help them out, then." They heard a strange whirring sound again. Then a small gust of fire rushed down the chimney and set the log ablaze. The whirring sound faded.
"I'm not going to let this fire go out," Gary said.
"Me neither," said Bob. He didn't have any doubt who had helped light the fire. Not any more.
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Tom turned the last page. "And together they kept it going for the rest of their lives, and Digamma Chi became known as one of the warmest of all the chapters of our great and good fraternity. The End."
The brothers clapped and cheered. Mike looked over at Bill, who nodded, his eyes nearly open with amusement.
Nick shook his head. "Why do these computer science guys always try to write fiction?"
"Nick!" Mike laughed. "I thought
you liked computers and logic and that kind of thing." Turning back to the pledge, he said, "Tom, it was good. Just one little question: why is their chapter called Digamma Chi?"
Tom smiled. "I had asked Brother David Wheaton if the name 'Wooglin' was Greek, since I didn't think that there was a 'W' in the Greek alphabet. He told me that in early Greek there was a letter 'digamma' which looked like a slanted version of our 'F', but it probably sounded like our 'W'. So I thought I would call it Digamma Chi, or 'WC' - for Wooglin-on-Chautauqua."
"Oh, is that the place that was on fire?" asked Nick.
"Right," said Tom. "And the scene with Root and Boudinot was the Michigan betrayal during the Civil War."
"Yeah, I knew that. But what was that part with the chairs and the worms? I don't remember reading about that in any Beta Lore."
Tom was silent, and Mike looked at the sophomore. "I think you might want to read Fitch's story about Wooglin, and you'll see Pledge Lewis merely updated some of the scenery - right, Tom?"
"Yes - but as for the rest of it, it's pure speculation."
Bill laughed. "Pure speculation. Exactly! Just what I said - the pledges have insights..." And murmuring that word again, he laughed once more.
Tom and the other pledges were confused, but the other brothers knew Bill had seen something remarkable, and would no doubt explain it after the pledges had left.
"Just one more question before we have some songs," Mike said. "What was that whirring sound?"
"Oh, that's how I imagined the sound of a dragon's wings," Tom explained. "I remember reading about..."
Just then there came the sound of a strange whirring sound, sort of like a slow-beating helicopter. It seemed to be outside, and above the house. Tom's face went white. "Just like
that sound! What is it?"
As everyone rushed to the windows, there was a flash of light, the fire in the fireplace flared up, and from somewhere they heard an elderly voice saying, "Guard the fire, guard the fire..." The whirring faded away.
Once they realized that the fireplace had not exploded, they peered out of the windows, trying to see. There were some strange marks in the snow.
Everyone began to talk at once.
"What on earth was happening out there?"
"What made the fire flare up like that?"
"What was the sound?"
"Who was that who spoke?"
Nick had the loudest voice of the brothers, and above the din he declared, "I think it was Wooglin. He rode here on his dragon, and started our fire, and gave us a warning."
The talk subsided. "Could be," Mike said. "It's been a while since we've seen him here..."
"Yeah," added Kevin, "not since Nick's time, when he..." He fumbled with something in his pocket. "Oops."
The whirring sound started again, and he took a small remote-control box out and pushed a button. "Sorry."
"Oh, so
that's how you did it last year," Nick said. "You and your high-tech toys..."
But Tom stared in amazement. "How did you know what I wrote?"
"You printed your story on the house computer, didn't you?" Tom nodded, and Kevin pulled out a floppy disk. "You left this disk in it. There was no label, so I had to see what was on it."
"Typical of a computer science major not to label his disks," said another brother.
Tom was still doubtful. "But what made the fire flare up?"
"There's several things one can use, but 'it's network policy not to reveal them on the air'," explained Bill. "Perhaps the brother that works in one of the laboratories might give you the redox equation for it, though." Over in another corner, Andy snickered. He had read the story over Kevin's shoulder.
"I guess the dragon prints were yours, too?" Some of the other brothers laughed. They had spent the early part of the evening cunningly altering the smooth snow outside.
Mike shook his head in amazement. "One more question, Kevin, then we'll sing." The room grew quiet, then Mike said, "Kevin, whose voice was that on your tape?"
"What voice? I didn't really listen, as I was too busy watching for the moment to throw, er, something in the fire."
Mike scratched his head. "Didn't I hear an elderly voice saying over and over, 'Guard the fire'?"
The brothers replied: "Sure." "Yeah, right." "I heard it." "Me too."
"But there's nothing on the tape except that chopper effect I got over in the music department..." Kevin shook his head and pulled out the remote. "Here, I'll play it again."
The whirring sound started, but this time there was no voice.
The sound faded. The room was utterly quiet except for the crackling fire.
Bill stood up and walked over to the fire. The flames were bright. He nodded his head, and turned to look at the others. "I don't know about the rest of you, but I'm spending the rest of tonight right here."
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Alere Flammam
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Note: the quote of "wisdom from the past" is from a homily on the Gospels by St. Gregory the Great (see the Second Reading in the Office of Readings for the Fourth Sunday of Easter)
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