****** cold it was, this February night in Virginia.
Five or six degrees thereabouts with a bit of wind.
Hard to stay warm in the shack,
even with the heat running full blast.
Had to keep the window cracked just a tad in case I dozed.
The sound of the car engines would snap me back to consciousness
as they turned onto the property - the school property.
This is my moonlight gig,
midnight to eight - Saturday and Sundays, seven years now.
No major happenings.
No Taliban attempting a takeover.
No student going over the deep end
from home sickness.
Just an occasional alarm mishap,
or ambulance call for a sick resident.
But this morning was about to change all that.

It was 4:00am and my relief was just turning
the corner at the top of the hill.
It was time for my 30 minute nap at the Security office.
I hated the idea of leaving the shack,
climbing into my cold car and driving, shivering
on my way to some shut-eye,
but it would be worth it because
by 4:00am, I'm a bit buggy
and the thirty minute catnap would revive me til quittin' time.

The security office is located inside the business office,
a two story brick building which handles shipping along with several manager's offices, including Chief of Security.
I arrived, was about to make my way up the stairs
when I decided to check out
the candy dispenser in the small room to the left
on the bottom floor.
I've known it was there for seven years,
but not once in all that time have I altered my immediate
route to the stairs.
Perhaps because my time on these breaks is limited,
and every minute of sleep is precious.
This time, for whatever reason, I changed my routine.
As I was walking towards the candy dispenser,
I noticed a framed photo on the wall.
It was a photo of a gentleman who had worked here for thirty years.
A gentleman who also passed away on the property.
There was writing...thanking him for his service.
I proceeded to the candy and chips...nothing special here
as I suspected.
I then proceeded to the Security office,
pulled up a chair, leaned back and closed my eyes.
Something was different.
In seven years I'd never felt in any way a presence other than my own,
until now.
The old 25 watt lamp on the desk behind me began flickering and making that noise a bulb makes before it goes out...bzzzt...bzzzzt.
To my right was the office door - closed.
I was able to see the light of the hallway in the inch or so of clearance at the bottom. I'm not sure what drew me to look there, but just as I did, a large chunk of the light became blocked from right to left, then back, then back again as if a woman in a long dress or a man in a trench coat was walking back and forth. I tried to convince myself that this was the hallway lights flickering as well, but I knew better.
I mustered enough courage to slowly rise from the chair, which made  an ungodly creek, and walk slowly to the door. I opened it to find no-one there.
I sat back down after turning on the main office lights.
The old saying about the hairs raising on your arms when a spirit is present is true. They were standing straight as soldiers in formation.
I waited about 20 seconds and then began engaging whoever was with me.
'Can I ask your name? Did you work here?'
Before I could ask the next question, the lights went completely out.
I blamed it on the cold until I realized that the rest of the campus still had power.
At this point, curiosity and terror were running neck and neck. I sat motionless in the near pitch darkness for 30 to 45 seconds.
I finally gathered enough wits to speak; 'If you wish me to leave, I will do so, but I ask that you please turn the power back...' before I could finish, the power returned. I did not hesitate to make
my exit. I held my breath until I reached the bottom of the stairs, praying that the lights stay on. The hairs finally returned to their normal state when I reached the shack. George was watching 'Uncut Animal Attacks' and chomping on his giant 711 mug full of ice.
'Thanks, George! see ya tomorrow!'

I returned the next night, video recorder in hand and captured what I believe were the words of Jane Kyle -  'The Shrew of Foxcroft'