The Ghost of the Carolina Rediviva

**  This story contains mature language. **

Prologue

I stood ten feet from a skeleton, laying face down with its bony fingers against the wall. My foggy brain could not recall their anatomical designation. The skeleton was covered in dust and stone debris so it must have been here a long time. I took small measured steps, then knelt down next to it. Putting down my badge, I used two hands to clear away some cobwebs and studied the bones. Had this person died a tragic death inside this wall? It was a haunting and tormenting scene.

☙

The eight PM flight from Boston stopped over in Reykjavík before continuing to the airport near Stockholm. Twelve hours later, my flight landed on time. Exhausted from the stress of travel and the jet lag that comes with it, I arrived at my guest room at the Akademihotellet near Sweden’s Uppsala University and, against all advice from my world-traveling friends, I took a nap. Big mistake. 

I awoke feeling worse than before. That languid feeling of pulling an all-nighter while drowning yourself in caffeine hampered my executive functioning. With my body still convinced it operated in Eastern Daylight Time, my autonomic system could win out at any moment. 

Uppsala University has been around for over five hundred years and has a vast collection of ancient texts, manuscripts and maps dating back as far as the 6th century. My tired body and foggy brain were in a battle with my yearning to fulfill a lifelong dream. I had to get into the Carolina Rediviva Library as soon as possible to see their collection of manuscripts that belonged to Copernicus. 

Leaving the Akademihotellet, I had the option to take a two minute walk down the Dag Hammarskjölds Väg or cut through the campus buildings. I opted for the scenic walk through campus in the hopes that the brisk, dry air would revive me.

I walked along the cobblestoned forecourt of the library and paused in front to take a picture of the one hundred-eighty year old building. The four-story rectangular building had eight-foot high windows on each floor at regular intervals along the front. The entrance boasted three arched windows fronted by four columns with grand wooden doors set in the middle. I entered and found my way to the research librarian’s desk.

“Hejda,” I said to the man with the neatly shaved head, round glasses and squinty eyes. Having exhausted my entire Swedish vocabulary, I instantly regretted the attempt at cultural proficiency. Luckily, he knew better. 

“Hello, how can I help you?”

“My name is Katherine Tombaugh. I’ve scheduled research time with the Copernicus collection.” Exchange students were common at Uppsala so I was just another grad student doing research.

I was given a guest pass, read the riot act on the dos and don’ts with the collection then was left alone in an environmentally-controlled room below ground. 

Hours passed fluidly. So absorbed was I in the collection that my exhaustion had evaporated. The steward came to retrieve the collection and I confirmed my next appointment for tomorrow. We walked together in silence until I remembered my badge was hanging from the chair in the study room. 

“I’ll just run back and grab it,” I said.

“Very well. I need to tend to another guest. See you tomorrow, Miss.”

I retrieved my badge and was headed for the stone stairs when I felt a cold breeze across my face. I looked around for the source of the cold air but couldn’t imagine how a breeze would blow through the basement. I felt it again, this time recognizing the direction from which it came. I walked toward the stone wall and moved my hands up and down, back and forth over the wall. In the corner of the building, there were small gaps between the stones with cold air rushing out. The cold grew sharper and the temperature of the basement fell noticeably.

They should really get this fixed, I thought.

I pushed at a brick; it wiggled loose. 

“That’s why. This whole wall is crumbling.”

I used my hand to move the brick back into place but it fell backwards behind the wall.

“Shit.” I looked into the hole I had made but it was too dark. Using the flashlight on my phone, I tried to peer inside. I couldn’t see the brick because it had fallen down against the wall. I could, however, see that a large room existed behind the wall. 

I stuck my hand and phone inside the room and moved the flashlight around. I scanned the interior as best I could. As my hand leaned on the adjacent bricks, two more fell in.

“Damn it. What am I doing?”

The ambient light from the basement illuminated inside the cavity enough so that I could see something on the floor inside. 

 Something came over me. Whether it was my exhaustion, my excitement at seeing Copernicus’s collection or plain old thug behavior, I started removing the other loose bricks. I placed them carefully on the floor until I made a space just big enough to accommodate my body. I bent at the waist into a tight ball and put one leg through, then my head and body followed by the other leg.

I stood ten feet from a skeleton, laying face down with its bony fingers against the wall. My foggy brain could not recall their anatomical designation. The skeleton was covered in dust and stone debris so it must have been here a long time. I took small measured steps, then knelt down next to it. I stood my phone up with the flashlight shining on the remains. Putting down my badge, I used two hands to clear away some cobwebs and studied the bones. Had this person died a tragic death inside this wall? It was a haunting and tormenting scene.

I couldn’t stay here. I would either be arrested for vandalism or grave robbing. I didn’t want any of that. I stood to leave. I pushed on the floor to boost myself and brushed against the skeleton’s arm. I would have been revolted for touching it but I was enveloped by a frigid feeling all over my body. Waves of dizziness, nausea and disorientation surged through me. 

I recovered and remembered where I was. I scrambled back through the hole and replaced the bricks as best I could. I ran up the steps, through the library and out the door to the forecourt. I rushed through the cold, Nordic air back to my room to process my day.

I felt a little squeamish about finding the dead guy in the library. Do I need to report this? What should I say? Excuse me, I was deconstructing your beautiful library when I found the skeletal remains of a long dead, and perhaps murdered, individual. Will someone notice the bricks being removed and replaced? I was waiting for the Swedish Police to show up. Or worse…Interpol. I managed to sleep through to the next day but still not fully rested. 

I drank some coffee and ate a stroopwafel cookie (or two). I was fixated on my situation but distracted by a thought that kept entering my head. A name: Nilsson. Never heard of it. I knew other famous people associated with Uppsala, like Anders Celsius and Carl Linnaeus, because I was a physics geek, after all.

I walked back to the library taking the more direct route. I exited the hotel before putting on my jacket. I was comfortable in my jeans and t-shirt, even though smoked-colored clouds covered the sky and a cold wind blew constantly. Maybe the incessant thoughts about Nilsson distracted me from the cold. 

Entering the library, I thought about the damage I had done yesterday and if anyone had noticed it. Apparently not, since the same Peter from yesterday greeted me with a smile. 

“Good morning, I’m back for the Nilsson coll—. I mean the Copernicus collection.”

“Nilsson?” Peter asked.  He raised his eyebrows and put his finger to his chin. “Now, that is a name with a lot of history. Unfortunately, we have no collections pertaining to Thorvald Nilsson.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t even mean to say it. I don’t know who that is or why the name keeps popping into my head.”

“Perhaps you came across some mention of him in the library. You may have seen his name on various placards or other exhibits. He does have an interesting connection to this institution.”

“Interesting connection? Was he faculty or a major benefactor?” I asked. 

“He was indeed on the faculty but several hundred years ago. He disappeared shortly after making a large bequest.” He snapped his fingers. “Just like that. It is said that his gengångare, his ghost, inhabits these walls.”

“Ghosts?”

“In Nordic culture, they are very different. They don’t haunt in the usual sense; they inhabit a living host to be mischievous. Do you have your badge?”

Shit. 

After waiting for a temporary badge, I was escorted down to my climate controlled reading room. When I was alone, I walked back over to the brick wall I had dismantled yesterday. I put my hand against it. I no longer felt the cold air rushing out despite the gaps being larger from my repositioning. I knew my badge was on the other side of that wall but didn’t have the courage to go back in.

Darkness had fallen when I left the library and a bitter cold had settled in. People were milling about on the forecourt outside the library. Many were gathered in small groups, smoking and carrying on conversations. I scanned the various collections of people. I felt vexed. A feeling of anger filled my body like a wave of heat you feel with nausea. 

I wanted to get back to the hotel. The same mental fog still clouded my head. Blindly turning around, I crashed into someone descending the steps of the library. Like a rabid animal, my rage erupted and I lashed out. I turned and pinched them on their underarm as hard as I could. 

“Owww! What the —!” 

I returned to reality to see the recipient of my pinch was Peter. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t know it was you. I thought —. Sorry!” I ran off to my hotel, embarrassed and remorseful.

At the hotel, I entered the elevator and pressed ‘vaning 3’ for the third floor. Another guest got on after me and stood between me and the door. As the door started to close, I felt another wave of heat well up inside me. I felt something else take control of my body. I pushed the woman off the elevator so hard that she fell to her hands and knees on the bare floor. I felt a deep laugh bubble up from my chest. And, then I was back. I remembered pushing that poor woman off the elevator but didn’t know why. What the hell is wrong with me?

I returned to the library the next day to find that Peter was not on duty at the desk. I was hoping to apologize profusely about yesterday in the hope that he wouldn’t have me banned from the library altogether. I guess I was off the hook.

“I don’t mean to intrude but is Peter not here today?” I asked.

“I’m afraid not. He’s out sick. He was so sick that he called last night to let us know. I’m Helga. I’m happy to help you.”

She escorted me downstairs. ”He’s never out so this is unusual.” 

“Helga, do you know what a yengenray is?” I asked.

She giggled. “I think you mean a gengångare,” she corrected.

“Yeah that’s it. Do you believe in them? Are they real?” I sounded like a five year old.

“They are an old Nordic superstition. After someone dies, they come back to finish their business.”

“Like a ghost?” I asked.

“Yes, a ghost. I have seen many horror films from America but these ghosts, the gengångare, are just mischievous and very annoying. Very different from other cultures.”

“But, do they take over living bodies? Do they make you do horrible things?” She had to think I was crazy.

“Ms. Tombaugh, you are a scientist, correct?” She waved her hand.  “You have no business worrying about this silly superstition.” 

I felt the heat again. It started in my chest and flowed upward toward my neck. I fought to keep it down. My stomach flexed as if I would retch. Unable to fight it, my voice just came out. Shut up, you dumb bitch! 

Helga gasped. But, it wasn’t over yet. It had control of my body again. I lifted my hand, extended my index finger and poked Helga in the eye! 

She put her hands to her eye and started wailing. “Ms. Tombaugh! My eye! Why would you do that?”

“I’m so sorry! It’s not me. I think I’m possessed! It has to be a gengångare!”

Helga’s hands were wet from the water pouring out of her eye. “It’s a superstition! They’re not real.” She removed her hands and asked, “Is my eye alright? It hurts so much.”

“I’m so sorry, Helga. It’s very red and it’s watering. Let me help you.” 

She led me to their employee lounge where I found some ice. I wrapped the ice in a towel and held it to her eye, apologizing all the while.

“Helga, listen. I don’t know what comes over me but I feel this heat rise inside me and it makes me do horrible things. I pinched Peter. Really hard. That’s why he’s not here today. And, last night, I pushed a woman off the elevator. What can I do?”

“You really believe in gengångare?” I saw her one good eye move to look at me.

She took over holding the towel to her eye. “That’s the only explanation. I’ve only been like this since I found the —.” 

Helga waited, looking at me.

“I found a dead body, well, a skeleton behind the wall in the basement. I removed some loose bricks and there was a skeleton inside. I touched it, totally by accident. Am I crazy?”

“You found a skeleton? My goodness!” She pulled the ice from her eye. 

“Do you think it could be the faculty member who disappeared? Something Nilsson.”

She called Peter on the phone. They spoke mostly in Swedish. Who goes to another country without the ability to even say ‘where’s the bathroom’?  He asked us to meet him in the basement. There we were. Helga with her eye on ice, Peter with his arm in a sling and me, the evil gengångare who can’t speak Swedish or keep track of guest badges.

“Do I really have to go back in there?”

The one-eyed woman and the sling-armed man both nodded. 

Being the only one with two available hands, I removed the bricks again. 

“Wait,” Peter said. “Once we do this, you will never be able to come back to this library again. If you do, you risk the gengångare returning.”

Helga nodded solemnly.

I climbed through the same hole as before. I turned the flashlight on and found my badge next to Thorvald’s remains. I reached down to pick it up. 

“Now what?” I looked back through the opening.

“Take this,” Peter said. He handed me a small bowl filled with a black sticky substance. “It’s a special paste that wards off evil spirits.”

“Dip your thumb in the paste and make a series of crosses around this opening,” Helga explained.

I dipped my thumb into the evil-eliminating substance. It felt cool and sticky. I started above the opening and pressed my thumb against the rough brick. I made crosses on the rough stone around the entire opening.

“Now, close your eyes and say these words,” Peter instructed. “Det finns inget som heter spöken.”

Once again, regret ran through me for not expanding my Swedish past ‘hello’. “Can you break that down for me?” I closed my eyes as instructed.

He repeated slowly, “Det finns inget… “

I said, ““Det finns inget…”

He continued, “…som heter spöken.”

“…som heter spöken.” I opened my eyes and looked down to make sure that Nilsson was still there. “Can I come out now?”

“How do you feel?” Helga asked.

I shrugged my shoulders. “Well, I don’t feel like hurting anyone.” 

“Sounds like it worked. Come on out now,” Helga urged. 

☙

Eager to escape my ordeal, I packed my bags the next day and said good-bye to my new friends from the Carolina Rediviva. They met me on the steps outside so I would not have to enter the library again. 

I held Helga’s hands in mine. “Again, I’m so sorry for all the horrible things I did.” I shook hands with Peter. 

“Bon voyage,” Peter said.

“Oh, finally a phrase I understand.” I laughed nervously. “Au revoir.”

Epilogue

Peter and Helga stood together in the basement of the Carolina Rediviva looking through the hole into the skeleton’s alcove. Their laughter was nearly sidesplitting.

“Did you see her face?” Helga spoke in Swedish between her gasps for air. “And what was that black stuff?”

“I mixed some ink with pancake batter.”

“And you had her say…what was it? ‘Det finns…’”

Peter helped her. “Det finns inget som heter spöken.”

She laughed again. “There’s no such thing as ghosts! I almost lost it right there.”

They caught their breath. 

“Do you think it’s really Thorvald Nilsson?” Helga asked him. 

“You ask me that every time. Hey, sorry about your eye. They don’t usually go that crazy when they find it.”

“That’s okay. No real harm done. It was worth it.”

One by one they replaced the bricks.

They started toward the stairs. “What do you think made her act like that?” Helga asked.

“It was probably jet lag.”