Creepy - Creepaway Camp 2023 - Day 7: Camp Camp & Camp Omega

Episode Date: April 24, 2023

Camp Camp***Link: https://creepypasta.fandom.com/wiki/Camp_Camp***Written by: Mak Ralston***Camp Omega***Link: https://creepypasta.fandom.com/wiki/Camp_Omega***Narrated by: Cole Burkhardt***https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0/***Check out our reward tiers at patreon.com/creepypod***Sound Design by Pacific Obadiah***Title music by Alex Aldea Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information. Hosted by Simplecast, an AdsWizz company. See pcm.adswizz.com for information about our collection and use of personal data for advertising.

Let me see. James Porterfield, Caitlin Miller, Misty Vastnika, Leon Andrews, Kendra. Oh, man. Let's just keep getting longer and longer. Hey, anyone here from the insurance people? What insurance people? We were running a getaway camp for kids. Did you think there wouldn't be a shitload of insurance involved? I hadn't really thought about it. Are you kidding me?

Did you think I was just making all this up, some weird excuse to lure you all out into the woods? God damn it. You've got to admit that with all the weirdness we get around you and the fairly constant stream of scary stories that a person could start to imagine the worst, right? That's fair. But what else are we supposed to do?

We narrate horror stories. How about something a little lighter? Well, I read a story on the tabloids. I think it was by a guy named Mark Ralston, about something a little more lighthearted. I think I might have been from the New York Times. Batboy! No.

That would have been a good idea. It was about Camp Camp. Camp is a style that prefers outrageous and exaggerated substance. A pallet for bad taste. A camp is a temporary lodge typically dwelled in by travelers or adventurers. And Camp Camp is, well, both camp unit's style and substance, and named ever so fittingly, after the nickname given to Camp Nalasi.

The Camp Camp. Camp Nalasi got its unfortunately fortunate nickname from the nearby silver waters of Camp Nalasi, the ledge and harbor beneath. See, at Camp Nalasi, there is something of an urban myth that serves as the lakes and surrounding campgrounds claim to fame. The Nalasi River Monkey. Now, if you've never heard of,

the river monkey, he'd be forgiven, because essentially it doesn't exist, at least to some. To others, the river monkey is a deeply endearing icon of the lakeside forest in North America, a less respected Bigfoot or Nessie in virtually every way, yet it too has its share of disciples, and most of them, rather conveniently, live within miles of the Nlossi, which mind you is not a river, but a lake. So the whole river monkey name in and of itself doesn't make a lick a sense, and neither does the legend

at large. Now you'd think that an oversized river dwelling primate would be the last thing on people's minds, but you'd be wrong. See, people eat this kind of thing up, especially in the middle of nowhere where the only thing to do is hunt down a fictionalized monkey man. Of course he's real,

a hick spat, depositing the rest of the rest of the world. of his luggy aside his boot and grinding it into the dirt. No one ain't seen him because he's hiding. Why is he hiding? Ella asked, cynically jotting an ex adjacent to the other two, winning her seventh game of Tick-Tac toe against herself, her only worthy opponent. She did have some notes on the page, but her mind clocked out hours ago. Was this really worth it? Driving all the way out at Tumfuck 2, wasting who knows how much precious petroleum,

just to interview some backwoods, probably inbred tinfoil hat wearing conspiracy nut, all in the name of a cheap buck? She didn't have that answer. She never did. But she was there, wasn't she? Smack dab in the middle of nowhere. And this wasn't the first time. What was the last month again?

That boy? That was a good one. How about the woman that was having sex with her husband's ghost? Or the guy who claimed he was molested by a yet. There were some weird folks that lived out in the middle of nowhere. And of course, by the middle of nowhere, she met the podunks, pocketed little cesspools squirming with the coochiest weirdos on God's green earth. And if you could believe it, some of those weirdos made the other weirdos look like beacons of normalcy by sheer comparison,

which only proved just how wacky some people could get when cut off from the outside world. Thankfully, most of the fringe types were harmless folks. But every now and again there'd be one that stir the pot, tipped the scale from conspiracy to collusion, like those crackpots that cut crop circles, the ones that gave them all a bad rap. And if they didn't, she most certainly could. Well, think about it, he said,

interrupting her in her monologue abruptly. Dribble, still dribbled from his scruffy chin. If he's caught, the government will probably cut him up and experiment and shit on him. "'Hm,' Ella nodded biting her tongue. "'Anything else?' The man stood, too slowly quiet, until he sprang alert.

"'Oh, yeah!' he said, rushing back into his home. Not five seconds later did he emerge with a folded-up piece of paper handing it over to Ella. "'I drew this as soon as I saw him. The police told me it wasn't evidence, but I swear he looked exactly like that.' It was the most crudely drawn picture of a monkey she had ever seen. so much so that it looked like a fourth grader would have laughed at it.

She couldn't help a crack a grin, one that only widened when she noticed the same faded print on the man's wife-beater. He must have noticed her eyesight as he too looked down at the scribbling on the shirt and smiled at toothy grin. You like it? He asked eyes wide. Oh, Nelasi liked it so much they started selling on T-shirts. I make royalties now. Where do they sell it? Ella asked,

A gift shop. I got some extras if you want one. What size is you? The man ass looking down at the woman's blouse and embarrassingly twitching back to eye contact with a nervous smile. I'm good. Thanks. That'll be all. Ella nodded with a click of her tongue and pen.

Of all the po-dunk she traversed in her travels, this one was the po-dunkiest. Aller and her brand new Lincoln Continental, now in need of a fresh wash, stuck out like a sore thumb amidst the vast array of dilapidated houses and shacks that aligned the dirt road leading to her undesirable destination, Camp in the Lossie, which is a place that should have only been visited by middle schoolers with an undeveloped brain. Yet the good old downtown Tadletale insisted that Ella Lancaster driver's sweet-ass a thousand miles into the boonies to milk yet another tragedy. all in the name of exploitation. It was a young boy this time, 13-year-old Cody Hodgson. And unlike the guy that got fondled by the abominable snowman, this kid wasn't able to book an interview

because he went missing. She could see the cover now. Young camper snatched by River Monkey. Not the kind of thing the parents probably wanted to read. But according to the charts, 20 or so odd million subscribers did. The approaching fork in the road picked the question feasting on her mind

Continue on or go home The fast lane back the way she came was right there after all But if she chose it she could kiss that overdue promotion goodbye But maybe she didn't want it It was a sleazy's tabloid in pound after all Not exactly a career she saw herself in But it paid the bills So with an internal release

Ella let her foot off the break and traveled onward. It was a dog days of summer for sure, but not even a dog dared to stick its snout into the sun. Instead, it merely licked itself under the shade of an overgrown oak, wrapped in the same metal chain that drooped from its neck. Not far away beside an old school bus whose yellow had faded as sickly white was a mailbox, perhaps fashion in the same shade of oak, which looked as if it had been hit a dozen or so times by straight pickup.

and though it couldn't sing like a dog, the worn and rusted hinges on that box attested that history and reputation of Campanossi, which had seen its fair share of eviction slips over the years. Yet here it stood anyway. The only thing not standing, in fact, was the operator of the fine establishment, a gentleman by the name of Stanley Reese,

who at one time was something of a lively, happy-go-lucky son of a gun, now diminished as something of an erotic, rocking back and forth on the porch swing that hung against the camp office window and murmuring nonsensicals himself. Then, in an instant, a brand spank and new Lincoln Continental pulled through the brush and broke to a stop atop the dusty gravel, a sight for sore eyes for Stanley, considering all the cops in and out of the place over the last four days. But when he noticed a fancy pants blouse and smugged, chiseled woman stepped from the elegant upholstery.

Something told him his worry wasn't for nothing. He descended the porch and skipped across the hot dirt on the balls of his bear and callous feet. And when he reached out, he smiled. Not genuinely, of course, but wide enough to pass off his falsetto tone is genuine. Good afternoon, ma'am. What brings you around these parts? He smelled like smoke, somewhere in between a cigarette and a campfire.

He probably hadn't showered in days, made apparent by the caked-down layers, a sweat that clung-goose face, and the young Kemp ball of hair on his head that looked like a sleeping cat. A dead, sleeping cat. I take it your Stanley Reese? The man nodded clumsily. I'm Ella, with the downtown tattletail? I have some questions about Cody Hodgson. The man ran his fingers through the dead cat on his head, sighing heavily. Let me level with you, ma'am.

The man pleaded That falsetto tone dropping Like beat a sweat Which rest assured we're dropping too I can tell you all about the differences Between a clove hitch and a half hitch Hell I can show you how to kayak Shoot an arrow and start a bonfire

Before time to eat lunch But listen I don't know how to answer all these legal questions I don't even finish high school Bella didn't bother with her notebook this time She nodded out of what little genuine pity she had for the well-meaning man and rephrased her prompt. All I want to know is what happened, from your point of view. Well, I mean, I didn't see much of anything.

I was getting supper ready and some of the campers swore me, told me about Cody. Immediately, I thought the worst. I didn't know if the kid could swim, but the cops never found anybody in the lake. He's just gone. Ella nodded biting her lip before asking What campers? Oh, friends of his, I take it. A dozen or so boys.

They all felt terrible. See, they told me they told Cody if he went into the outhouse the spider would crawl up his butthole and lay eggs in his stomach. Kids, right. Anyways, a kid refused to even look at the damn latrine, so he decided to go pop a squad out in the woods. After about 45 minutes or so, when supper was almost ready?

When our counselors asked his classmates where Cody was, they didn't know. Then they all came to me. Ella logged the story in the back of her mind, like chicken scratch on her soggy brain. She could tell that Stanley couldn't stand another question about the boy, so she opted to ask what was in her eyes a seemingly harmless one. So do you think it was the monkey? Stanley swallowed back any words he might have been rash to say. clearly he had something on his mind but his shifty eye suggested that he might have not been at liberty to say it after two more glances east and westward confirming that no one else was around he moved in closer to allah who could smell the sweat that had seeped under his pits that monkey he said is the reason this camp is still standing people love that shit oh pardon my french so much so that we got a damn

gift shop about him. So real, not real? Doesn't matter to me. He sells. I didn't even go to business school, ma'am. So you're saying it's a hoax? All I'm saying is that we're about to get a lot more business. River Monkey for president,

and I survived the River Monkey, and all I got was this lousy t-shirt or just some of the designs in the gift shop. Not to mention the Hicks eye witness, drawing available in six different colors. There were plushies, coffee mugs, and even a bobblehead pen of the thing. But what struck her as most intriguing was the wall of masks. Plastic pieces of garbage covered in faux hair that felt like peach fuzz glued to it to go

box. And aside from the fact that they were almost out of stock and selling for $25, she couldn't get over the fact that they might have been a clue in this whole thing. With her disposable, she snapped a shot. I take it you won't be buying nothing, a moist voice said. Ella turned sharply around with a gasp and noticed a young woman, an old woman, noled in 23, standing behind the counter and chewing on a wad of gum. The pig tails from her hair bounced with every smack of her lips,

and Ella wondered why she didn't notice her there before. But the real question was why she was there at all. I'm sorry, Ella said with a relieving breath. I didn't see you there. I thought you were. The river monkey? Yeah, I get that a lot. The girl reached into her jaw and removed the wad,

sticking up beneath the countertop alongside a dozen or so other flavors. You believe in that thing? Ella asked. The girl shrugged. I was going to say Stanley, but that too? Ella nodded with a half-smile. Who are... I'm Stanley's girlfriend.

The girl said before Ella had time to finish. I keep watch over the shopping bookkeeping. You're that lady from the papers, huh? She asked. She was far too young to be Stanley's girlfriend, but... Seemed like that wasn't going to stop him. Not out here.

The downtown Tadletail, yes. Ella said, stepping closer to the register counter. Yeah, I've read it before. you make us country folks on like hillbillies she said a sour look on her face we're not all crazy you know ella nodded softly i know sorry it was a relief saying that word for what might have been the first time oh it's all right the girl said noticing the embarrassed man on ella's face the name's angie she said as she extended her hand ella ella The girl's hand was softer than she expected, and yet her grip was firmer. Those masks sell well? Ella asked. Angie looked over her shoulder and nodded.

Oh yeah, most popular thing we sell. Camps like to scare each other, especially around the fire, telling ghost stores and whatnot, and then popping out in masks. That's pretty funny. I bet, Ella said with a smile. You ever think their pranks go too far? Angie shrugged. I don't know, she said. One time we had a kid fall into the river with his pants down.

Guess friends might have taken that one a little too far. Ellen nodded in understanding, stepping even closer to the corner top. Another step, and she would have been touching it. The reason I ask, she said, is because Stanley said this kid had bullies. Do you think they'd ever do anything to hurt him? Angie chewed on the question for a second. and a quarter into the gumball machine on the counter and twisting. A bright red sphere barely dropped into her hand before she jammed into her mouth and crunched.

The rack of masks stared back at her from across the wooden shack, and she put two and two together. Are you saying they frame the river monkey? Ella shrugged. Are you? Angie couldn't answer that one. I think it'd be hard to mistake a giant monkey for a 12-year-old kid in a Halloween mask. Angie said, Duleenie. noting the rack of masks.

It was clear that the implication was a bit steep, even for Ella. How about employees? She said. Could any of them have done it? That counselors? Angie asked. Her voice was raised. Surely any finger pointed at one of them was four pointed back at herself.

Or was it three? If you're asking if they'd kidnap a kid, you best talk to Stan. And not even he'd know. She said, a shot of hot air, escaped. keeping your nostrils as she chortled. What? You think we were on background checks out here? Ellen, did they didn't.

It could have been anyone. And anyone came in the form of a cruelly torn piece of paper wedged ever so conveniently beneath the driver's side windshield wiper of her Lincoln. She just finished photographing the place as the sun began setting. And if she was going to reach the hotel before midnight, she needed to get going. The one-lane country road stretched on for miles and wasn't like she could take the freeway. Angie and Stanley bitter farewell with a parting gift. Her perhaps is deprived to keep her article positive.

A t-shirt with a doodle that was all too familiar to her by this point. She smiled and thanked them and turned for the car. And that's when she saw it. Paper. It looked as if it had been ripped from a spiral notebook. The paper moist and grungy and smeared with a nearly legible semblance of letters. yet somehow she could faintly read the words. I know, followed by an address.

A tip. It would have been foolish for any woman, especially when as young and ambitious as Ella had to drive out to some lonesome house in the middle of nowhere and in the middle of the night and waltz right through the front door. God knows what might have been waiting for her. But then again, Ella was young,

and she was ambitious. The drive was only about five miles or so, yet the curved and treacherous terrain made this spindling journey last about an hour. All the while, the moon's reflection off to Nalasi act as a sort of guide. The only beacon of light aside from her zigzagging high beams,

which weren't doing her much good anyway. She almost struck two trees and killed a deer, so was a relief when she caught the first glimpse of a house. The first one she'd seen in what felt like, It was a solitary, beat-up-looking place, engulfed in a nearly endless darkness, if not for the single bulb that illuminated the front porch. What the light revealed was about as tired look in as she must have been, and for a moment, in her state of numbed weariness, it dawned on her that this whole thing might have been one big practical joke. A wild goose chase orchestrated by some dumb kids or a pissed-off camp operator and his girlfriend. She was a fool.

No, she should have turned back, something in her, call it her drive for that sheer ambition, forced her from Nat Lincoln, up to front steps, and onto the welcome map, which, if it were trying to welcome her, definitely missed its hospitable mark, being about as tattern and worn as the note from her windshield. Hello?

The voice was about as abrupt as the entire situation, was. Yet she still wasn't expecting it. She was spooked. Through the crack of the door, she could make out a dimly lit face. A man. His skin lumpy and stretched, with jet black hair jetting out of his ears and nose. Sorry, she said, composing herself. Are you the one that left the note on my car? The man nodded. Yes. He tried to pull open the door. door when it snagged on the metal chain. He tried again, harder this time. You've got to unlatch the... Ellis started, but before she could finish, the man ripped the chain from the dry-rotted wood. It hinges squealing as it opened wide, filling the dark house with the same dull glow of the porch light.

Thanks, she murmured and stepped inside. The first step she took forced her to dip about a half-inch or so into the floor, her weight forcing the wood to creak. She caught her bearings and surveyed the house as she approached a dining room table amidst what was largely an empty room cast in the blackness of night. And rolling in from that darkness became a pungent, rancid smell, perhaps a whiff of mucky lake water through an open window, or a dead critter beneath that elevated flooring. Either way, it stunk like a skunk. The man seemed not to notice or not to care.

I know what happened, he said, bending down to sit across from her at the table and erupting her self-talk. The chair bowed at his sitting, for he was a larger man, and it creaked similarly to the floor. And who are you, exactly? She smiled, despite her facial muscles stiffening. The man took a long, deep breath. I'm the bus driver. He said, his voice low and drawled, as if he was drugged around drugs. I'd drive the bus for the camp.

Ella nodded excitedly. Surely an employee, especially one with the knowledge of campground, such as a bus driver, would have known something of note. She took out her patent pen. And what did you see, sir? The man breathed in. I'm the river monkey, he said. Ella laughed, but the man remained firm in his expression. Stanley, he continued.

Makes me dress up like a monkey. The man stood and stomped over to the closet, pulling it open and retrieving from its depths, a large fur suit, brown and matted, like any run-of-the-mill gorilla suit from the five-and-dime Halloween store. The man dragged the suit over to the table and laid it across a tempered wood. Ella ran her fingers through the fur and stared up at the man whose demeanor was still unchanged. Why does he make you play tress-up? She said, a smile cracking her lips open.

Said it's good for the camp, he said. Legends of the river monkey bringing tourists and dollars. And the kid? Ella immediately said. He's okay. The man smiled elastically. he's in on the joke. Bella blew out a confused sigh, rummaging her fingers through her long, silky hair as what was it built up and somewhat nervous laugh belched out from within her.

So this was a publicity stunt? She laughed, shaking her head. I knew it. I damn well knew it. What about the papers? The news. All in on the joke, he said. bringing tourists and dollars.

Nella slapped the table, a smile wider than her cheeks spread across her face. Of all the kooky stories she'd heard over the years, over her many travels nationwide, this one was the kukiest. She pulled out her disposable camera and aimed it readily at the suit draped over the table's ledge. Before she pushed the little black button, she stopped herself and glanced up the towering man. You don't mind, do you? No, the man said, lifting a large hand. She snapped away.

After she finished snapping, she politely thanked the man and stood from her seat. This was going to make one hell of a story. And if she could manage an interview with Cody Hodgson, it might even make the front page of the next issue, she thought. Thank you, Mr. Bob, the man said. Bob, thank you. I'll return to face the door. the long road ahead dawned on her.

It'd be hours before she'd reach the hotel. Might I use your bathroom? She asked, turning back around to face him. Bob looked off into the shadowy darkness, assumedly toward the bathroom in question and nodded his head slowly. It'll only take a moment, she said before entering the darkness and finding her place. It was colder in this part of the house, and after her eyes adjusted, she could make out the frame of a

door filled with the hue from the nearby window, overlooking Camp Nlossi. It really was a beautiful sight, but her enjoyment was cut short by the returning stench that quickly filled the room, even stronger than it was before. She locked the bathroom door, and, not unlike her, began to sneak diligently. And when she stuck her nose too close to the shower curtain, she backed away, knowing all too well that she'd fell in the source of the smell. With one tug, she pulled the curtain back, and a wall of that same stench hit her in the face.

She teared up with one breath, stepped back, and had to force her eyes open to see what it was. A black mass, lying in the tub. It was a body, that of a shriveled, eaten away young boy. Cody Hodgson, no doubt. Before a moment to process,

there was a thought on the door, a jingling of the handle, before Bob's voice, muted and monotone, pushed through from the other side. Open the door, he said. The handle jiggled again. What the hell is this? Ellis screamed. Bob didn't answer. And after a deafening silent moment, there was another loud thud from the other side of the door.

Open. The door. The voice said. It was Bob's, but it was far deeper than even a moment before. Ella didn't respond. She'd already shuffled along the bathroom wall to the window trying to pry the rusty metal open. It wouldn't budge.

The handle began jiggling faster. The thud's ramping into succession of loud, heavy bangs. Open, open, open! The voice screeched. It was deep. deep and booming and no longer sounded human as if Bob was completely replaced by something awful and animal. The repeated lowen word from the voice began to lose all semblance of meaning, as though the voice

itself didn't even know what it was trying to say. The handle kept spasticly shaking until it flew off the hinges, falling to the floor and rattling. Then, suddenly, too long, hairy fingers poked through the hole where the handle once sat and scraped the wood violently. When they made little progress, they were treated, and the hole was instead filled by the nostril of something, huffing deeply through the small opening. The noises it made were panicked and shrill,

like that of a tortured chimpanzee. Ellis screamed, thrusting her pen into the brittle glass window with all her might. Two jabs and it cracked, three in it shattered, and one leap off the toilet, and she found, fell a story down into the muddy grass below. She would have never loved the feel of mud and grass against her skin, but now it was the only thing she wanted to feel. Relief.

She jumped to her feet and dashed for the car, not turning back. She could hear rummaging from within the house as she fled. A boost of adrenaline filled her as she turned the corner of the house and saw the Lincoln Continental. And with a final gust, she reached the car, flung open the door and jumped inside, locking it to be. immediately. She caught her breath, but only for a moment as she shoved the key into the ignition and

turned it. The high beams flashed on, and that's when she finally saw it. Then the Lossie River Monkey. It was halfway from the house to the lake sprinting with all its might with a jagged stagger. It must have been seven feet tall and covered in a mangy coated jet black hair. And unlike the image in her head, it was lanky, not but. bulky like the traditional ape she'd seen at the zoo. And at the same time, it was like the image she had seen.

The ugly one the hick had drawn. It really was that ugly. In its arm had held Cody Hodgson, what was left of the boy anyway. He was hanging from its gangly hand, which nearly touched the ground. And from what she could tell, there was something else hanging off its wet fur. Skin, a type of rubbery suit fashion. from human skin, which at one point she might have called Bob. He took a final glance over to the headlights,

its beady eyes glowing with the reflection of the high beams and jumped into the gloomy water without another beat. Ella, without waiting around herself, put the carnivorous and high-tailed it out of there. All she had after that were a panic attack and a couple of pictures. Mostly other run-down summer camp and a dirty old monkey, suit, which wasn't exactly going to make her story and easier. The house she'd come to find out was abandoned, and the body of little Cody Hodgson was,

as she knew it, vacated from its premises, either in the stomach of that thing or somewhere along the bottom and the lossy. The only thing she had to go off of was her own testimony, which, given her track record of falsified tales, wouldn't have held up too well either. No one would ever believe her, not even the folks back at the downtown tattletail, who never took any of this shit seriously anyway. And who could blame them? Who could blame her? That's at least the story they're going with at old camp camp,

with variations here and there, of course. Some of the times the yarn has spun around the fire, campers go into gory detail of how the river monkey ate her guts out. That one usually ruins most of the group's hands. appetite for s'mores. Or sometimes, fueled by her lust for that promotion of hers, Ella becomes a river monkey herself. Clever little plot twist for a bunch of middle schoolers, don't you think?

The truth of the matter? If such a thing exists for such a ridiculous campy story, is that we'll never truly know. We either listen to the witness of a pathological liar, a greedy summer camp. A handful of conspiracy theorists or a bunch of middle schoolers. Funny. That's exactly how the river monkey would have liked it. Okay. I'll admit that isn't nearly as bad as the stories you tell about your past.

Thank you. Wait. I hate to admit it, but I'm feeling a little better about this whole camp thing. You are? I mean, you are. I'm not going to admit like this isn't all really weird, bordering on dangerous and clearly not well planned, but I actually have fond memories of camp growing up. And the weird counselors, we're a part of the charm. John's definitely got the weird part locked down.

But I think you're right. Kids are going to remember this for the rest of their lives. Cole? You've been quiet. Okay? Yeah, I'm just a little anxious about what Nate said. We didn't all have the best camp experiences growing up. Camp trauma unite!

I mean, sorry to hear that, Cole. Where'd you go to camp? A place called Camp Omega. I remember it like it was yesterday. Camp Omega in the foothills of Virginia in some small town. It was like any other camp, bunch to sleep in, campfires at night, and friendly counselors. Looking back on it, maybe too friendly. At the time, I thought they were just being friendly because it was their job. I have never been so wrong. Camp was fun at first, though the activities were

a bit odd. We had to make these dolls that looked like us. Mine had straw for hair and blue button eyes. Then we had to make these bracelets with our names on them. Everything was personalized, which I expected from camp. There were 25 other campers and 15 counselors. One camper stood out to me. Her name was Jeanette. She was nice and didn't talk. talk too much. I was shy too, so we connected easily through enjoying the silence. It was the last day of the week-long camp. I was so happy to be going home the next day. Camp was fun, but I missed home. We sat at the fire with everyone, including the counselors. I wasn't sure if it was the fire, but they looked different. They looked for

familiar, but their faces were pale as ghosts. I shrugged it off and listened to the next activity. I wish I didn't. We all had our dolls that resembled us. I held mine in my hands and tried not to look at it as its blank blue button eyes stared into me. This represents the old you, the you before camp. The lead counselor said to all of us,

Then they had us throw the dolls into the fire. I watched as mine was indulged in flames, snapping and popping as the fire consumed its canvas skin. You are a new person now, the head counselor told us. After the doll burning ceremony, they told us there would be a goodbye ceremony and dinner. Two of the counselors led us back to the cabins and told us to pack our stuff. They explained that the celebration ceremony was at the nearby barn on the edge of the property. The other counselor left, so it was just one with us. His name was Scott.

He was acting weird as I sat next to him, waiting on everyone else. He was staring into the fire silently with a disturbed look on his face. I love you, he muttered once we were all assembled. I don't know whom he was talking. to, so I assumed I misheard him. I love you guys, and I'd do anything for you. He said clearly, so we all heard it. We all looked at each other with confused expressions, but it was a nice gesture, and we said

that we loved him too. He smiled and got up. We're ready, he stated, and led us through the forest to the edge of the camp. It was dark, and the air got up. and the air got thicker. I was excited for the ceremony. I was ready to leave and go home, where there was table and internet.

I've had enough of the outdoors. We suddenly exited the woods, and the barn loomed in the darkness. All of the camp counselors stood around it in a circle, with torches in hand. I felt my stomach drop. I knew something wasn't right, as they ushered us all into the circle,

the barn. It was an old rickety structure. I'm sure it wasn't up to any building code, and I was also pretty sure we shouldn't be in there. The counselor stepped inside and formed a circle around us, closing the door behind them. The head counselor broke from the circle and stood before us. Jeanette Lewinsky, please come forward for your departure, she said. We all looked uneasy but Jeanette stepped forward. I was happy for her. Maybe she would get a ribbon or something cool to take home. The counselors moved from the ring around the barn

to a ring around us, all while holding their torches. I could feel my heartbeat quicken as they came closer and closer, and stabbed Jeanette in the neck. She didn't scream, and suddenly it was sudden pandemonium as the counselors threw their torches at the walls of the barn.

I didn't notice that all of the counselors had long serrated knives with them. I tried to run, but the barn was started to go up like a match. Kids were running around screaming before being stabbed by the counselors. We have to get out of here, I screamed. before running straight into Scott.

Cole. Don't you want to stay for the ceremony? He asked me. His eyes seemed to appear pitch black, and he wore the most sadistic smile on his face. I punched him in the gut, and ran past him out of an opening in the barn. I had never run that fast in my life.

I looked back briefly. God, I wish I never looked behind me. I could see black figures silhouetted by the light of the fire, running about screaming. Some stood still with their arms out, accepting the stabs by the counsellors. I heard chanting of some sort. At first I couldn't make it out, but it grew louder. We know what's best for you. We love you.

over and over again. The sight of Jeanette's last breath as her mouth filled with blood flashed through my mind and I ran. I ran into the forest, my heart beating in my ears like a drum. I didn't know where I was going. I was just running in the direction that we came from. The chanting followed me. We know what's best for you. We love you.

It repeated like a broken record over and over. The glow of the inferno lit the property dimly, so I was able to come out the other side where the cabins were. I looked behind me again. I could see the brush moving and the chanting growing louder. How did they find me? How did they follow me? We know what's best for you.

We love you. I ran faster, but I felt a hand to tug at my shirt. I fell, and it fell with me. I looked back to see the counselor. He had my ankle in one hand and a knife in the other. His eyes were empty black pits, and his skin was white as a sheet. I screamed and kicked the knife out of his hand with my other foot. That loosened his grip a bit and gave me time to get back to my feet.

feet and run towards the exit. The sign reading Camp Omega stood hauntingly above the entrance. I ran straight through it. The footsteps behind me stopped as the counselors did. I looked behind again, and there they stood. Looking trapped inside of the campgrounds, stood all of the counselors, still as stone, as if they knew they couldn't cross the gate. It started to rain, and that's when they put their hoods up. I'd even notice the hoods and robes before. Even in the dim light, I could tell they were blood-red. We know what's best for you.

We love you, they chanted again. I started to back away slowly, my eyes wide in terror as they pulled their daggers out again. I thought they were going to throw them at me. Part of me wanted to run and scream, but the other was transfixed on the scene playing out before me. In unison, they raised their blood-stained knives and stabbed themselves in the nets. Blood spurred it everywhere. I could see it midst with the rain as it flowed down their nets and they fell. All I could do was scream and run down the dirt path into the little town. It felt like weeks that I ran until I found the town and the police station.

Relief washed over me as I entered the wooden doors. I must have looked a mess. My hair was matted with a mixture of sweat and rain. I probably had blood on my hands. I looked down at them. They were clean. The rain must have washed the blood off. I walked to the front desk as calmly as,

as I could, where the secretary looked at me. She had a shocked expression on her face, as if I had just risen from the dead. I assume it was because of my disheveled appearance. I explained everything to her. The camp, the counselors, what they did, everything. She looked shocked and gave me a glass of water. Do you want to call your parents, Cole? She asked me.

Yes, please? She gave me her phone, and I called them up. I'm surprised they could understand me since I was choking on my own tears and snot that ran down my face and accumulated into my mouth. They came as quickly as they could to pick me up. An hour later, they arrived at the police station. I was so relieved that they found me

that once I got in the car, I closed my eyes. I felt safe. I must have fallen asleep, because when I opened my eyes, we were in an unfamiliar place. I blinked a few times. We were parked in front of a brick building that loomed gloomily overhead. It was then I realized something. The woman at the police station. How did she know my name?

I never told her. Where are we? I asked with apprehension. My parents looked back at me with sad expressions. Son, we're at a mental institute. We're worried about you. My father stated flatly. My jaw fell open.

You don't believe me? I asked. Cole, you've been missing for a week now. You showed up at the police station in this small town ranting about some camp with murderous counselors. my mother stated. I was silent, trying to process everything. Cole, we know what's best for you. We love you. They chanted in unison.

Aw, that's really sweet. Obviously, they really cared about you. Did you hear anything other than that last part? Where'd you even go? I had to quit going mind my own business. Maybe you should too. Rude. You know what?

I'm under a lot of stress here. Do you have any idea what kind of pressure builds during all this? There's barely any of us left at the campfire because of the reasons that I'm not entirely clear on, and it's basically a countdown until a busload of kids' shells up here. There's still a lot to do. Like what? Do you need help with anything? You really need to delegate more

and not put so much pressure on yourself to do this yourself. No. I have to do this. I have to. I have to let some stress out. I'm going to go cut some firewood. Cole, can you... Give me a hand.