At the start of my first year at San Diego State, I was excited to hear our library was open 24 hours a day. My nerdy little self decided I was going to spend all my nights studying in the library and doing work. Then, about a week into school when I started to receive actual homework and study material, I decided I would visit the library later in the semester. Finally when “later in the semester” came, I found another reason not to go to the library: I’d become scared of it.

The first time I realized I was scared of the library was when my roommate and I decided to explore it one night and ended up on the fifth floor. We went in different directions to try to find books we liked. Pretty soon, we lost each other and I was alone, lost in the maze of books. I swear, it sounded like voices were coming from behind the shelves and I just knew there was someone behind one of them waiting to push it on me and kill me.

Have I mentioned I have an overly active imagination?

Anyway, after about 10 minutes of looking, we did find each other. So the story didn’t end as horribly as I’d thought. But it did give my imagination ammunition to view the library as a horror-movie setting.

The next time I felt terrified in the library, I was once again on the fifth floor. For this reason, I am almost positive it’s haunted. This time, however, it was the middle of the day. I was alone. I had spent the previous night watching a very terrifying movie and consequently getting no sleep. As my brain was functioning on Starbucks and hyperboles, my imagination decided to give the library another shot.

I slowly walked around the fifth floor bookshelves in search of a particular book. Then, I got this creeping sensation I was not alone. I prepared myself for some horrifying, knife-wielding specter to jump out and chase and kill me.

So I stood there, trying to decide whether I would fight the killer, run away or just let him kill me (my fighting and running skills would have both gotten me killed anyway). Then, someone walked into the room, slamming the door so hard I jumped three feet in the air, dropped my phone and screamed a little bit. Obviously any notions of me hiding from or evading my killer were completely lost.

Luckily, this person was not a killer. It was just another student who was probably amused by my complete freak-out. Once again, I’d managed to exit the library with my life, but not my sanity.

My most frightening trip to the library took place during last semester’s finals week. I left a Monday-night meeting and locked myself in a fourth-floor study room for six hours, watching my friends leave one by one. By midnight, I was alone and hadn’t seen anyone on the floor for at least an hour.

I had to finish my last paper, then walk home and pass out on my bed. Which was a brilliant plan, until I started hearing voices. I couldn’t tell if it was someone nearby who I couldn’t see, or if my imagination and sleep deprivation were causing auditory hallucinations. What I do know is, upon hearing those voices, I began to panic and I yet again pictured the multiple ways I might die in the library.

I am not a fast person by nature. But I’ll tell you, I have never managed to move so fast in my life. It probably took me 30 seconds to gather my books, run out the door, travel down two flights of stairs and exit the building. It didn’t matter how stupid I looked — the only thing that mattered was getting out of there alive.

Looking back, I’ve learned a lot about the library since those frightful days.

I’ve learned it is in fact a safe place, particularly during the day, when on the lower floors surrounded by many other people. I’ve learned it’s not a place to be alone during all hours of the night. I’ve learned it’s not a place to go after watching scary movies. But most of all, I’ve learned to be grateful for all the times I’ve gone into the library and come out unscathed.

-Bree Lutjens is a public relations freshman.