A mob of ghosts crowd the street. Mummies shuffle forward with arms outstretched while autumn leaves crunch beneath their cloth-wrapped feet. They all march towards the same door, outlined by a white arch set in colonial brick.
Ghouls block the door, eyes glinting in their skulls. The frightened mummies halt until the door finally creaks open. As they shuffle into the foggy gloom, a glimpse of the winding staircase reveals vampires descending the steps. The mummies huddle in the corners — too entranced by the movement of the intimidating apparitions and vampires to join.
As the Baker bells chime their morning reveille, the vampires retreat into the basement and the fog dissipates. The mummies head home to fall fast asleep in their graves and the ghouls find themselves on an empty dance floor surrounded by crushed cans and puddles of beer — now tasked with sweeping the same floors they once haunted.
Although exaggerated, this isn’t far from what many of you might have seen at a Dartmouth fraternity during the last weeks of October — at least, until Dartmouth induced a permanent change to the Greek First Year Safety and Risk Reduction Policy, known colloquially as the “frat ban.” The guidelines, which were changed in 2023 to extend the ban until after Halloween, now prevent hordes of freshmen from participating in Halloween debauchery.
During my freshman fall, this change threatened to destroy Halloween plans for my cohort, the Class of 2027. The Amazon boxes packed with fishnet tights, fairy wings and face paint that had been overwhelming Hinman Mail Center in the weeks leading up to Halloween were all for naught. That was until Chi Heorot fraternity changed their Halloween event into a dry gathering so that first-year students could attend.
That night, freshmen ’27s lined up 15 minutes before the party even began, desperate to enter the coveted Greek space. When the doors opened, we were bombarded with the now all-too-familiar shouts:
“[Dartmouth] IDs out! No drinks! Woah, woah, slow down! Single file!”
Fearing the infamous “ding” or “blocklist” — getting banned from rushing or even entering a Greek house — everyone obeyed. Shuffling in and mobbing the dance floor, we were engulfed by the music, flashing lights and smell of beer that seemed to radiate from every surface. We basked in the novelty of our first big weekend at Dartmouth.
Only a week later, the first-year frat ban was over for my class, and we quickly grew accustomed to these lines, shouts and overcrowded spaces, attempting to form “dance scenes.” As fall turned to winter, we trudged through waist-deep snow and put our “frackets,” subpar winter coats worn for social evenings, to the test for our weekly grand tour of Dartmouth’s fraternities.
Returning for sophomore year, however, the thrill of these festivities has dissipated. Greek spaces have lost the anonymity and allure they once held. The mummies — those mobs of underclassmen — have gotten to know each other, and the costumes and masks have been shed. Amid freshman year’s confusion and chaos, it turns out they were all just searching for a good time.
The frightening ghouls — in reality, the intimidating upperclassmen guarding the doors of Greek spaces. Now, as pledges at the bottom of their respective houses’ hierarchies, deciding who gets in and who does not. The harsh shouts and authority exerted onto us desperate freshmen last year were likely a manifestation of their own terrors as new members of a house. But, most of the time, it was also for our own safety, an attempt to avoid overcrowding or getting caught letting too many people in during Department of Safety and Security officer walk-throughs.
And, what has become of the vampires, those weary upperclassmen emerging from upstairs? If they decide to come out for a night, it’s to a place they’ve been a million times, perhaps for a game of pong or even a dance for old times’ sake. They are nearing retirement from Greek spaces, caught between the tension of trying to enjoy their last months while perhaps feeling a bit over it all. We underclassmen have also familiarized ourselves with these figures, through a club, class or even an awkward conversation during recruitment.
As a sophomore who recently joined a Greek space, these intimidating images of Greek houses that were impossible to understand last year unmask themselves more and more every day. However, the care-free dancing of freshman year does not seem so attainable. When you look around, there are still eyes glinting everywhere — but they are eyes that you now know well, members of your own class moving up the ranks at Dartmouth.
The only “monsters” remaining in the shadows are the ghosts of on-nights past. The stairs you fell down, the pong table where you were hopelessly defeated, the sink you drank from, the bathroom your friend left their phone in, the weird attic room you somehow ended up in. It all sends a shiver down the spine, not of fear but a second-hand embarrassment for your past self.
Despite these remaining sinister spirits, though, these places are also inhabited by the ghosts of good memories. Those times when every night seemed to be a dance scene and you were always meeting new people who would soon become your closest friends.
Speaking as a sophomore, for whom that scary illusion of the Greek house has faded somewhat, here is my message to the Class of 2028: soak it all in, because one day, you will become a vampire who knows all the other ghouls. The mystery of the haunted house will fade, becoming an all-too-familiar place that is still haunted — but in a way that makes you laugh with remembrance.
