For some students, the scariest sights on campus are the endless line at GW Deli or a past fling in the cubicle across from them in Gelman Library. For others, the true frights are less mundane — ghostly encounters that send shivers through GW’s halls.
From unexplainable shadows in Kogan Plaza to visits from the ghosts of Foggy Bottom folklore, The Hatchet staff have collected some of their creepiest encounters on campus. Flickering dorm lights, strange noises and the eerie feeling of being watched round out their most unnerving stories.
The ghost of townhouse past
Hannah Marr, Managing Editor and Tyler Iglesias, Senior News Editor
It was 4 a.m. on a Monday, and we were in the thick of an all-nighter, as we are every Sunday, putting the finishing touches on the week’s edition of The Hatchet. As the issue neared completion, we migrated from the townhouse’s ground floor to its rickety basement — stairs creaking with each step, air growing hotter as the altitude lowered. We sank onto the basement’s stained white couch, making small talk with the other 10 Hatchet staffers also finishing up their work.
Then, the townhouse’s upstairs door opened, the blinds hitting the glass pane. We heard footsteps and were communally perplexed. More than 60 Hatchet staffers have tap access to the townhouse and float in and out on Sundays, but no one should be stopping by at 4 a.m.
That’s when we knew. Janet.
We’d always heard rumblings of the ghost that lives in our building. In November 1947, Ida Stoll, who lived at the townhouse at the time, died in the building, and a wake was held in the room that now serves as the editor in chief’s office — the very room we’d just spent hours editing in. But the legend of this ghost takes another name: Janet, though nobody knows how, why or when she came around.
Terrified, we recruited another Hatchet staff member to join us as we investigated the mysterious footsteps. Armed with a fly swatter, we ascended the basement stairs, pausing before reaching the last step, lined one by one behind each other like Navy SEALs embarking on a top-secret mission.
On the count of three, we held our breaths and launched onto the first floor, prepared to encounter Janet. Scouring, we realized it was all clear. We then traversed the steps to the second floor, and, again, there was nothing there. Our hearts beat rapidly as we climbed the steps to the third floor to check Janet’s last hiding spot. But it too was clear — no spirit in sight.
Moving down the staircase toward the basement, we were more puzzled than ever. There was, apparently, nobody in the townhouse, but someone, or something, had definitely been there. When we reported our findings to the rest of the staff in the basement, a chill went down our spines as we realized the most haunting part: the door never opened again. The footsteps never left.
Scooter ride or séance?
Sophie Starr, Reporter
Last year, around 1 a.m. on a chilly October evening, I left Jacqueline Bouvier Kennedy Onassis Hall after visiting a friend. Ready to head back to my room in Potomac House and unwilling to make the long walk, I grabbed a Lime scooter, as any GW student might. I zipped past Whole Foods, cruised by Rome and Phillips halls and cut through Kogan Plaza.
Kogan has always felt scary to me, especially at night. As nightfall spreads across the wide, open plaza, you suddenly feel utterly alone, swallowed by darkness with no one else around. The air was crisp, the sky fully dark, except for the light pooling beneath the statue of George Washington by the tempietto. Already on edge, I felt a gust of wind — but it wasn’t a normal breeze. It was heavy, almost like it was pushing against me. Looking up from my scooter, I saw a tall, thin shadow dart past. It looked like a man, but there was no one there. Confused and unnerved, I stopped in my tracks and hopped off my scooter, blinking rapidly to focus.
Continuing on my journey home, I quickly tried to scoot myself through the thin alley next to firehouse Engine Company 23, getting caught on curbs and running over litter, and eventually making my way to Square 80 where I was stumped by the grass. I was almost home, but then the shadow found me again, appearing in front of me — now I was really unsettled. I went in circles around the square to see what would happen next, but I think the shadow knew I was onto its games. For the remainder of my one-minute ride home to Potomac, it was nowhere to be found — not even its heavy gust of wind.
The menacing specter of Mitchell Hall
Since I was a kid, I have been scared of the dark. Even now, I still sprint to my bed every time I turn off the lights before going to sleep. I always thought this fear was irrational, but during my time living in Mitchell Hall, it became justified.
There is a certain heaviness in the air when walking into Mitchell Hall. When I moved into my single as a first-year, I blamed this on the flickering lights, run-down bathrooms and clearly outdated elevators that would shake every time you would get on them. But then, some things started happening that I couldn’t explain.
I came across several cryptic messages left behind by past occupants of my dorm — one of which was written in the corner of my door, warning me to “RUN + HIDE IN THE CLOSET!” Not long after I moved in, I would wake up to the faucet turning on by itself, or to eerie noises coming from the courtyard. Not to forget the creepy sounds of people running in the hallways of the basement that I would hear while doing my laundry, just to find out no one was ever there.
My most terrifying memories are from the times I would be showering and the lights would mysteriously turn off. The first few times it happened, I thought it was a coincidence, or there was some sort of sensor in the bathroom. But both of my assumptions were wrong, and once again, I was left with an experience I could not explain.
Some of my friends called it a coincidence, others said it was old infrastructure, but I’ll call it what it was: a ghost.
Snow day shenanigans to ghostly grazes
Alex Kennedy, Reporter
At 2 a.m. one snowy evening as a first-year, my friends and I were meandering our way back to campus from a snowball fight by the Lincoln Memorial. The group had split up, and by the time we reached Kogan, it was just my friend and me — our breaths making ghost-like condensation in the air, our voices still booming with reckless late-night energy.
The little tempietto looked beautiful under its coat of snow, and we ducked inside, and that’s when I felt something. A touch — light and deliberate, fingers trailing across my shoulder blade.
I laughed and turned, assuming my friend was messing with me. But her hands were shoved deep in her coat pockets. Before I could process anything, I felt it again — that same gentle pressure, like someone drawing a line through snow on a windshield. I grabbed her arm, and we ran, pushing through Gelman’s revolving doors, hearts hammering. She suggested it was the wind, maybe a branch, but I knew what I felt.
We couldn’t stay in the library forever. District House was close by. We could make it.
Outside, the plaza seemed ominous, even with all the streetlights. My friend wondered aloud if maybe I’d been overreacting. I almost believed her — it was late, I was disoriented, my coat had probably just shifted — until it happened again. She tensed a second after I did, and I knew she, too, felt the ominous touch. I don’t know who screamed, but before I knew it we were running, sprinting like idiots across Kogan to seek refuge in District. The building seemed impossibly far, and I felt something tugging at the hood of my coat. We flew inside, rushing into the elevator. Refusing to acknowledge what happened, we sat frightened on her bed watching YouTube and eating leftover Halal Shack until the sun came up.
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