Cambridge can be a scary place at the best of times. Rocking up in Freshers’ Week with fairy lights, a half-finished reading list and a crippling fear of saying something stupid in your first supervision is just the beginning. Late-night library trips, supervisors ripping your favourite essay to pieces, the ominous blob served onto your plate in the buttery, and whatever goes on in Revs every Wednesday mean that the horrors just continue. So this Halloween, as deadlines are starting to pile up and ivy creeps ever closer across college facades, here’s a few tales of our writers’ scariest moments of the Cambridge term, reimagined (with some slight additions) as the perfect horror stories to spook your friends on the night of the 31st…

Fresh out of hell

It was late October and a crisp, cold wind had forced Cambridge into an early winter. The streets were bustling with hungover freshers, and I was one of them. I had moved into college a few weeks prior, and things were going well…ish.

Michael Timbler was my only flatmate. He was a pale-faced, drawn-eyed, sad-looking boy who never spoke a word to me. Maybe this could be attributed to Michael being a Mathmo but even that didn’t explain why he had hauled a full-sized coffin up the staircase into his room on move-in day…

“The streets were bustling with hungover freshers, and I was one of them”

Apart from the uneasy feeling Michael gave, I felt quite comfortable in my new university life. That was until Halloween. It had started with a muffled scream that woke me up, hungover, at 3am. After listening into the darkness for a few minutes, I settled back into my slumber, fairly pissed off and still a bit drunk. A couple of minutes later, the screaming started again. Jumping from my bed, I ran across the hall, finding Michael’s door ajar. The screams persisted. Stepping inside, I was met with a large, wooden coffin lying alone in a bare room. With shaking hands, I lifted the coffin’s lid. There, placed delicately within it, was Michael Timbler, his skin reflecting the moonlight …

As it turned out, Michael had brought the 'coffin' to uni because it was the only place he could “get some well-deserved shut eye.” The night of the 31st of October was no different. He had finished his work and settled in for the evening – settled into the coffin, that was. Only this time when Michael closed the lid, it somehow got stuck, hence the screaming. Unfortunately, Michael really was just a Mathmo.

Dead (line) of night

I’d done it again. Here I was in the library at 1am with a whole essay to write. Today was not my day. Sighing, I watched my study partner shut their laptop. It was going to be a long, lonely night.

3am. Already. I’d powered through the first half of my essay, and it was time for a break. Just to stretch my legs up and down the stairs, of course. Leaving my laptop mid-sentence, I left my chair.

“I listened in horror as the sound got closer and closer”

After looping through the library twice, I was heading back to finish my dreaded essay. Or at least, I was planning to finish my essay. When I went to open my laptop, it was dead. I hadn’t switched the plug on at the wall. Sweating, I watched nervously as it loaded my files back up. Horror. I felt like throwing up, like throwing my chair out the window, like throwing a tantrum. The essay hadn’t been saved. It was gone.

The pub crawler

The pubs in Cambridge are some of the best I’d been to. In fact, I’m not sure I could survive a week without a pub trip. One particular night found me sitting in The Cambridge Blue, pint in hand, with my friends. Last orders had come and gone, and the pub was rapidly emptying. It had been lovely catching up with my coursemates, and I was feeling comfortably tipsy. I was not, however, looking forward to my trek to Jesus. It was a cold night, and the alcohol was my only warmth.

Hugging my friends goodbye, I resisted the urge to get an Uber. I’d gotten as far as The Grafton when I heard footsteps behind me. They were getting closer – maybe one of my friends had forgotten something? Turning to look, I stopped in my tracks. The footsteps ceased and the path behind me was empty. Weird. I was walking a bit quicker now.

At the gate, I stopped to find my Camcard. All I had to do was get inside and forget about the chill currently running down my spine. More footsteps behind me – slower this time. I listened in horror as the sound got closer and closer. Jolting into action, I quickly swiped my card, waited patiently for the automatic door to open, and ran through, not looking back.

Finally in my room, I slammed the door shut. Surely it couldn’t have followed me through college? I heard scratching at my door. Against every instinct screaming at me to hide, I forced myself to creep over to the peephole. Holding my breath, I peered through the hole. There, in the hallway, was a fox cub. It was quite cute really.

Scary, isn’t it? I hope my tales will leave you sleeping with a night light tonight! Each story is ‘embellished’ to heighten the horror and showcase my creative flair, but there is genuine fear in all of them. Speaking of terror, my most chilling experience at Cambridge? Paying £7.40 for a pint. It’s a frightening world out there guys. Stay safe.