Dartmouth Tales from the Deep: the Supernatural Music Department

    Deep in the cavernous underbelly of the Hop, there lies a land lost to The Outside. In this lost department, hidden beneath The Earth—behind six stairwells, five doors, four hallways, and three summoning circles—there breathes a colony of students who have ceased to be human. Aye, they used to merely be pursuing academic interests back in the days of our Fore Fathers. To survive their surroundings, they become monstrous. They become barbaric. They are Dartmouth Music Majors.

    The sun never reaches those hallowed halls. In the pitch black of their tomb, with time, the musicians adjust to the darkness. Now, they do not need meager light bulbs to read their sheet music. Their large, piercing-red eyes pierce through the pitch black, needing only a glancing ray to see the strings of their instruments, having enough muscle memory to play their chanting tales for all ye who dare pass by.

    Hear my warnings and fear the sound of horns found down in that cavern. Reverberating through each nook and cranny of those disorienting, moldy and asbestos-filled dwellings, the brass can see better than any of us mortals with naught but their ears. By the time the booming sound waves surround you, it will be too late. They will know where you are. They will know where you are running. And they will know you are alone, vulnerable to the horrible hollowness of the dreaded tuba.

    You might call them vampires, zombies, or demons, but to describe them is to know them, which no one breathing can attest to. You might hear their singing when you are going to get a Hinman package. Please, ignore their pleas. Leave them buried in the ground where they belong. Do not disturb their slumber. Or else, you might feel compelled to pull out your old high school flute. After all, a little music never hurt anyone.

– CH ’24