By Kaitlin Pao
Disclaimer: Rest assured, no professors were harmed, staked or exposed to sunlight during this fictional investigation.
After a peaceful reading week, students at Toronto Metropolitan University (TMU) returned to campus—only to notice something strange about their professors. Whispers about darkened classrooms, Victorian furniture and a sudden surge in night classes hinted a supernatural explanation behind it all.
As bizarre reports flooded The Eyeopener’s inboxes, most editors dismissed them as nothing more than a post-reading week prank. Later, I got a call from fun and satire editor Sarah Grishpul with instructions to see “just how deep the rabbit hole goes.” I couldn’t resist digging deeper.
Our first tip came from an anonymous student source, Buffy LeVampire-Slayer, who reported a recent incident to The Eye. In their biology lecture, professor Mortis von Bloodworth fled the lab during a DNA sample examination.
“He suddenly looked washed-out, chalky-white and almost…dead-like,” wrote LeVampire-Slayer in an email sent from her iPhone.
Von Bloodworth has been notorious for giving long, monotonous lectures on blood circulation. Hence the sudden signs of hemophobia raised some eyebrows and left a bad taste in students’ mouths.
Another anonymous student, Peterpumpkineater12 went on the r/TorontoMetU subreddit to describe an instance when their English literature professor, Vladimir Tepish offered a bandage for a completely concealed injury.
“I scraped my knee while running to class,” the post read. “How did he know it was bleeding before I did?”
I started my investigation by following up with the user’s tip and attending Tepish’s next nighttime class. Upon entering the lecture hall, I immediately noticed a peculiar setup—a red velveted table decorated with serving trays, empty glasses and a hulking wooden drink dispenser. The pale, skittish teaching assistant monitoring the table greeted all incoming students.
The lecture began seemingly usual until the professor diverted from a reading of King Lear to a long-winded discussion about the concept of immortality and its slow but promising integration into our modern-day world.
Slightly disturbed and skeptical, I descended the tiers of seats to find handfuls of students slumped asleep with minimal to no colour in their skin and sunken faces…I guess the midterm season hits some harder than others.
With my curiosity piqued, I decided to investigate another professor known for strange habits—sociology instructor Seraphine Nightshade. Her office hours—suspiciously scheduled from 2 a.m. to 3 a.m.—were too strange to ignore.
I arrived at the faculty building to find an unsettling sight: a coffin casually displayed behind her desk. When I asked about it, Nightshade chuckled nervously, claiming it was just a prop for her new course, Darkness and Power: Myth, Identity and Social Fear. But before I could question her further, a swarm of bats burst from a nearby closet, sending me sprinting through Kerr Hall. It is still unclear whether the bats were summoned by Nightshade, or had just resided in the Kerr Hall East lockers.
As I escaped, I crossed paths with “Creepy” Carl, a campus custodian. Wheeling his cart of cleaning supplies, Carl leaned in and let me in on a juicy secret.
“I’ve seen ’em slipping out of classrooms at 4 a.m.—heading down to the basement of Jorgenson Hall for mysterious meetings,” he whispered. “Whatever they’re up to, it ain’t normal.”
Carl’s tip led me to the dark, spooky basement of Jorgenson Hall where I stumbled upon what looked like a faculty luncheon. I spoke directly with a handful of professors, many pale and uneasy, who fervently denied the vampire rumours. Tepish blamed the accusations on a “student-driven viral hoax.”
“Vampires? In the 21st century?” he scoffed. “Let’s stick to reality.”
In the end, I remain a skeptic. Vampires? Surely not. But in this ever-evolving investigation, I’ll leave you with one piece of advice: some things are best kept in the dark. The night has its secrets…and now so do I.
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