For my final blog post of 2025, I wanted to share a snippet of the #WIP I’ve been talking about for over a year now. This is still very much a work in progress, but it’s in good enough shape to share among friends. The snippet below is from Chapter 2. I think.

Happy New Year to everyone. Here’s to a wonderful 2026.

* * * * *

Eventide College was supposed to be just another job at just another campus. No red flags waved, informing me that this particular job on this particular campus would soon turn into a circus of horrors. Perhaps it’s more accurate to say that I didn’t see the red flags. I have thought about it often since. Did I miss the warnings? Was there some invisible finger jabbing me in the ribs, some sign that I should beware? How often have we looked back over events and realized that the signs were there all along, but at the time they were easily explained away. It’s only in hindsight that we understand. 

I had been aware of Eventide College for so long that when the position came up suddenly, I was intrigued. My second thought was, no, I’m happy at Yale, but I glanced at my calendar and realized that it was time to move on. I hadn’t heard anything about Eventide College in years, so I asked colleagues what they knew about the college in Southshore, Maine, and they had only good things to say. Gabriel Sweeney’s twins were students at Eventide, both studying Mathematics, and he said they were quite happy. Max Stewart, a former professor at Dartmouth, said EC, as Eventide College is known, has a solid reputation for its rigorous academic programs.

“There are many brilliant minds in the English department at Eventide, Jonathan. Many of the scholars who shape our current views of literary theory are there.” He laughed as he added, “Some people say EC is haunted.” When I asked how it was haunted, he said he didn’t know, and it was likely some silly rumor anyway.

When I asked Gabriel Sweeney what his twins knew about the supposed hauntings, he said they knew nothing, adding, “They say it’s just the English department that’s haunted.” As an English professor, I didn’t find the pronouncement particularly helpful. 

With more digging, I discovered that the English department at Eventide College—beyond the possibility of ghouls, imps, and I can only guess what else—was known for its exemplary American literature department, and American literature happened to be my area of study. I learned that English students from EC go on to become respected scholars, authors, publishers, and poets. I decided that I could handle an ogre or two for the opportunity to work there. I’ve dealt with worse than that in my time. I sent in my CV, university transcripts, letters of recommendation, a portfolio of my published scholarship, as well as teaching evaluations. Then I expected to hear nothing. Such is the life of an academic. 

One week later I received a phone call from Deanna Bronwyn, the English department chair. I answered my phone as I was locking up my office for the night. 

“Excuse me,” she said in her distinguished sounding voice, “but I was calling to speak to Dr. Jonathan Ferrer, the professor of English at Yale whose scholarship I’ve admired greatly. Is he available?”

“Yes, I’m Jonathan Ferrer.” 

Silence. Then, “Forgive me, Dr. Ferrer. I wasn’t expecting someone who sounded so young.”

“I am indeed Jonathan Ferrer, I assure you.”

I established my identity by speaking in depth about my scholarship, and she accepted that I was who I claimed to be. She spoke enough for the both of us and I was left with little to add except for an occasional “Yes” or “That’s right.” She praised my most recently published scholarship, on Poe and the Imp of the Perverse, and we discussed Poe’s personal imp of the perverse that wreaked havoc in his personal life despite his plethora of literary talent.

“We all have some inner imp whispering into our ears prompting us to do whatever wrong thing is in front of us, don’t you think?” she asked.

“Our own personal devil on our shoulders? Indeed I do.”

“To be honest, I wasn’t sure at first because you do sound so young, but you’ve convinced me. How soon do you think you could find your way to Maine so I can show you around EC and introduce you to everyone? I’d like you to have the opportunity to get settled here before the autumn term starts.”

“Is this an offer?” 

“As a matter of fact, I’d like you to fill the Eleanor C. Geddes Chair of American Literature.”

After I applied for the job, I refreshed my memory about the college. The Eleanor C. Geddes Chair of American Literature was fully endowed, funded by Eventide College’s leading patron. The Geddes chair was highly respected and one of the premier positions for literary scholarship in the country. Could she be offering it to me that easily? No preliminary interview? No job talk? For a flash, I was elated. Then reality set in. It sounded too good to be true, and I said so.                        

“We do things differently in the English department at EC,” Deanna explained. “I assure you, Jonathan, this is an offer, and everything will be fine. May I call you Jonathan?”

“Of course.”

“I have the necessary approval to hire you on the spot if I decided you were right for the Geddes chair, and you are. Welcome to Eventide College.”