An ISU Mystery!

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What do our Professors do on campus in the middle of the night? Some dorm residents and I were just minding our business at Stevenson on a midnight (Watterson Towers fire alarms once again ruined my night) and who passes by? It was my professor. First they passed our small group to head down the stairs and we thought that was the end of that. It wasn’t. I think the professors here are hiding something because the only way they could of managed to enter the room next to us moments later would be if they went down a flight of stairs and ran to the other side of the building to come back up to our floor and loop back around.

The group I found myself in was given a new logic puzzle to solve, and unlike the mystery of why the fire alarms went off this was actually interesting! Speculations ran throughout our minds and soon the ideas were rolling. We debated as only bored sleep deprived college students can. My mind raced for logical explanations. Teleportation? Evil twin? Regular twin? CLONES? What was happening at out school? Then I got a text that Watterson was letting us in soon and we subjected ourselves to about twenty minutes in the cold begging to be let inside.

This was some time ago and I could ask my professor. I’ve had plenty of opportunities to bring it up since then, but I haven’t. I could ask any time in the near future. . . . Or I could speculate on what they surely won’t tell me. The secrets of the school. The conspiracy they need to be hidden. The ghost that haunts the faculties memories. The mystery of ISU. It sounds interesting if I put it that way, so that’s how I’m phrasing it whenever I retell the story. To be honest this is the closest thing to a mystery I’ve encountered here, as the apparent ghost from Williams Hall has yet to show me any indication of existing.

Maybe there is a reason and it was just our sleep deprived minds that found the situation so odd. At this point I don’t think I want to know any of the answers. If any of my questions can be magically answered then let me choose one that’s more important. Let this memory be an odd one I can think of, something to daydream about and perhaps inspire a heartfelt novel about a man named Pete. Why is his name Pete? I don’t know. Maybe he’s the secret clone of my professor forced to create a new identity and life after being brought into this world where he doesn’t have a fixed identity, but another man with his face continues to walk around. It’s certainly more interesting than whatever the truth is.

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