Nestled in the rolling, wooded hills of northeastern Georgia lies Brenau University, educational jewel of the small city of Gainesville. Its beautiful campus has been home to generations of young, primarily southern, women, all gathered to experience the gift of culture and education in preparation for their entry into the world of adulthood and career.

Yes, for over one hundred twenty-five years students have come to this lovely school for women, where all have eventually passed on through its gates and returned to the world. All, that is, except one – Agnes the ghost…

Agnes is said to be the spirit of a young student who committed suicide. Believers say she still haunts the combined theater and auditorium of old Pearce Hall. Why is it that she clings so tenaciously to her alma mater? That may be a more difficult question than one would think, because the story of Agnes is not just one story, but two – two stories, and one important lesson.

 As commonly agreed, the presence of Agnes in her woeful and evanescent manifestations seems to have its beginning roots sometime in the 1920’s, and is focused on the old Italian opera house styled theater built as part of the venerable Pearce Hall. Sighting descriptions range from mysterious ghostly shadows and hazy shapes all the way up to claims of a full figure hanging by the neck from a ghostly noose. Most common are the odd noises heard where there is no earthly reason. Heavy doors opening and closing, footsteps on the theater catwalk where no person is walking, loud crashes or banging, these have all been reported, not only by students, but by stolid faculty as well. It is here in Pearce Hall that the spirit of Agnes is most often reported; it is here where Agnes hanged herself.

The most common and apparently older recounting describes Agnes as a rather plain and unassuming girl who had applied to one of the favored campus sororities for membership. Believing herself to have been accepted, she writes home enthusiastically telling of her great good luck. The next day – horrors! – she finds that there has been a mistake. All of the new memberships have been filled and Agnes has been rejected! In a state of shame and despair poor Agnes makes her way to Pearce Hall, down into the basement room beneath the theater stage, down to where the school has built a women’s swimming pool. Tying a rope to one of the steam pipes overhead she hangs herself and dies at her own hand.

But there is a second version, a version that has made the rounds only in the last twenty-five years or so. This second and newer variation of Agnes’ story is also related to the theater contained within Pearce Hall, but this version claims that Agnes was a gifted young dancer who had determined to win the lead role in an upcoming ballet performance. In spite of her best efforts, she is passed over for the lead. The favored role goes to another. Unable to bear the loss of the leading part, Agnes defiantly returns to the empty theatre and hangs herself from the balcony of the President’s box. Again, her death at her own hand sets into existence the restless ghost that wanders the theater of Pearce Hall.

Why so much confusion over the location of the suicide?

Why the uncertainty over Agnes’ relationship to the theater?

The answer to these questions is the real lesson any ghost hunter needs to learn. It just so happens that some more recent skullduggery by misbehaving students has confused the original legend of poor Agnes. A Brenau alumna (who has asked that I not give her name,) recently confessed.

“During the fall 1975 term one of my friends was given the unwelcome task of taking four incoming freshmen girls on a tour of the college. She decided to make a rather dull duty into something a bit more exciting, so working with myself and another girl, we developed a plan where I would hide in the balcony with a candle and a veil over my head. She would lead the tour and the other girl would control the lights. Anyway, I waited in the president’s box and finally, hearing them enter below, I lit my candle and stood up. Our ringleader shouted, “LOOK!” and the other girl killed all the theater lights. I SHREIKED and bedlam broke out below! The four freshmen, already under the stress of entering a new college life had broken down into screaming, crying fits! This was way more than we had expected – one poor girl had to be medicated to calm her down. We figured out right away that silence was best, so for 29 years I’ve kept my mouth shut.”

Yes, for 29 years the conspirators have kept their mouths shut, but in the meantime all the countless other students have passed down this newer and far more interesting incident, conflating a common college prank with the older and apparently more accurate story of Agnes. The balcony became so intertwined with the story of the girl’s suicide that it began to be regarded as the actual scene of the horrible deed. Once the suicide had been moved to the balcony, the story of a shamed and scorned sorority pledge no longer fits so well, but an angry and impetuous dancer – ah! That’s just the answer! What has taken place since that frightful day in 1975 is a classic case of ghostly history rewriting itself to fill the experiences and suppositions of those who pass the story on. The prudent researcher will constantly strive to separate the wheat from the chaff, and with most stories that means finding the original version, the story as told by those who stood closest to the origin.

So if you visit lovely Brenau University and happen to pass through the renowned Women’s College, think of the thousands of young ladies who have passed through its halls and gates.

Think of the thousands who have passed – and of poor Agnes, the student who never left. But when you think of Agnes, look for her near the stage.

Listen for her on the catwalks.

But don’t expect to see her high in the balcony!