Penn State Lives—and Dies—in the Willard Bathroom

We admit, this is quite possibly the most bizarre piece a writer has ever turned in to post on our website. But what would Halloween be without a little weirdness? For your enjoyment, Happy Valloween! And beware of the Willard bathrooms.

bathroom I’m not going to sugar coat this for you, Valley readers. There are many secrets unknown to even the most dedicated Penn Stater, and one of them is undeniably the reason why the Willard bathroom is like hell on earth.

Just recently, I was walking down the hall from our weekly Valley meeting to the bathroom. The night was dark…and most definitely full of terrors. The wind was blowing hard against the windowpane and I noticed a full moon high in the sky, red like blood.

I knew the bathroom was a cesspool of germs and life-ruining bacteria that, if met head-on, would most certainly cause the most painful and gruesome of deaths, but I just thought, maybe today’s the day.

As I approached the bathroom, I heard groans from the inside. I weighed my options—run to the Schwab auditorium and deal with those spirits (see Haunted Penn State) or just suck it up and get through it as fast as I could. I chose Willard for some reason. Still today I regret my decision.

Upon turning the corner immediately before facing the bathroom door, I witnessed the largest hairball-tumbleweed hybrid creature float out as the bathroom’s fresh victim ran out behind it, eternally scarred. She looked like a plague victim, only worse—her body was actually covered in black spots. She growled at me, soulless, and sprinted into the stairwell.

I braced myself and went in. At first, I only noticed the dim, flickering light buzzing loudly above me and the puddle of what I thought to be water in the middle of the floor. All the stalls were closed but I was alone. I chose the first one because I read somewhere that less people use the first stall.

Hands shaking, I quickly pulled open the stall door to see a dark toilet, awaiting me. I peered in it, searching the seat for anything foreign or unwelcome and thought I heard a whisper—“I am no longer the student. Now I am the master. You will learn humility from me.”

I disregarded it as maybe the noise of the vent and came out of the stall alive. I thought, then, that maybe the girl who came out earlier was just exaggerating and she liked to get into character for Halloween. It was, after all, just a week or so away.

I walked out of the stall and almost slipped on the puddle of water in the middle of the room, but then looked down and saw it was a liquefied version of a textbook, like the person who brought it in melted into the floor, which wasn’t impressed with the History of Folklore and Mythical Creatures.

I started feeling incredibly strange. Then I heard a loud boom of thunder outside the bathroom and I knew I was in trouble. I washed my hands hurriedly but there were no paper towels and I had to wipe my hands on my jeans. That may have been one of the worst parts of this. It’s literally the grossest feeling ever.

Suddenly, a spirit that I immediately identified as Ebola screeched and slugged its way out of one of the toilets and said simply to me, “Penn State lives here.” Its ugly body launched at me and at that moment I knew I made a huge mistake.

I pulled at the door to the hallway and it was stuck on globs of already-chewed gum. Ebola was slinking toward me and it was almost an inch away when I finally got the door open. I ran from that room of horror and was rooms away when I continued to hear the ghastly echo, “Penn State lives here…Penn State…dies…here.”


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