I’m not sick
I’m trapped
I got tagged
And it’s your turn next
My turn to what
To pass it on
Before it’s too late
Bug off
You can’t scare me
Then why did you just close the curtains?
I didn’t
Liar
You’re peeking behind them
But you’re looking in the wrong place
And for the wrong thing
GO AWAY
Moving to another room won’t help
That’s a nice kitchen, though
STOP WATCHING ME
I like that pic of you and your brother on the fridge
Is that your juice glass next to the sink?
Put the knife down
It can’t help you
You won’t find me
And you can’t stop this
I’m sorry
I didn’t want to believe in it either
What do you want
That’s the wrong question
Tell me the right one
What does IT want?
Who’s it?
You’re it now
Remember?
IT got you
Don’t let it stay
This isn’t funny
I’m dead serious
You’re it
And the clock is ticking
If you don’t tag the next person, your time will run out
Forever
Tick tock
I’m turning off my phone now
No! Stop
You’ll kill us both
What the
Why won’t it turn off
What did you do
How are you doing this
I told you
I got tagged
Now you’re tagged
We have no choice but to play
I quit
Believe me
I don’t want to hurt you
But IT does
See?
OW
STOP
How did you do that
Why
You’ve got ten seconds left
To tag someone else
Choose a victim
Or you’re done
Game over
Understand?
10
9
8
Stop!
7
6
I won’t do it
5
I can’t
4
3
2
Hey
Hi
I’m sorry
???
I’m so sorry
Who is this?
Your worst nightmare
Dear Dad and Nora,
How are you? I am great. Camp is good so far. The kids in my cabin are nice and so is our counselor, Alanya. The food is pretty bad, though, so if you feel like sending snacks, that would be awesome (hint, hint).
This morning I played tetherball with my bunkmate, Chloe. This afternoon I’ll take the swim test.
Please pet Peanut for me and tell her I miss her.
Gotta go!
Love,
Robin
Dear Dad and Nora,
Thank you for the care package! The spray cheese is delicious and so are the crackers, but it’s most fun to spray the cheese directly into my mouth. I’m glad to have something for days when lunch is gross.
Today they served us weird meat stew that smelled like boiled socks with the feet still in them. I only had an apple, but afterward Chloe and I ate the snacks you sent. We think maybe mosquitoes don’t like spray cheese blood as much as they like foot-stew blood, because we got way fewer bites than most of our friends at campfire. Must be all those healthy chemicals they put in the can, haha.
Time for lights-out. Good night!
Love,
Robin
Dear Dad and Nora,
Today Chloe and I kayaked all the way around the lake. I have blisters on my palms from paddling. I thought we’d get to spy on fancy rich people’s houses, but it turns out Camp Dunmore’s the only place around here. Maybe fancy rich people are afraid of ginormous mosquitoes.
I don’t blame them. The swarms are pretty bad. A bunch of kids from my cabin are covered in welts, and at night I hear them scratching. It makes me itchy, even though I don’t have any bites. I am well protected by the power of spray cheese.
Speaking of which, please send more snacks! And kiss Peanut on the snout for me.
Love,
Robin
Dear Dad and Nora,
Quiet time is extra quiet today. A bunch of kids got sent to the infirmary, so they’re not scratching in their bunks like usual. I said no wonder they got sick—they ate chunky swamp stew!—but Alanya says it’s not food poisoning, it’s bug bites. Plus exhaustion from heat and dehydration. One girl was so out of it, she fell over in the mess hall and took another camper down with her. Some people say she didn’t fall, she lunged at him on purpose. I didn’t see it, but whatever happened, the nurse took them to the infirmary to rest.
Chloe is fine, like me, and we’re passing spray cheese back and forth between our bunks. Thanks for sending extra, and for all the bug spray too.
Love,
Robin
Dear Dad and Nora,
This morning regular activities were canceled and we all did one big project. The project was building a barrier between the mess hall and the infirmary, all the way down to the lake. It’s tall—taller than I am. When we asked why we had to build it, the counselors were like, “You’ll see!” and “Keep working!” The whole thing’s very mysterious.
Maybe it has something to do with color war games, which happen the last week of camp. I don’t know. Chloe says there wasn’t anything like this last year. (She says the food was better last year too, and the bugs weren’t nearly as bad.)
The barrier went up surprisingly fast, considering we’re missing so many people. The infirmary’s basically stuffed. At least no one who’s stuck there is lonely. It must stink to be sick at camp.
I’m on my bunk now for quiet time—eating spray cheese, since I skipped lunch. Chloe’s getting tired of spray cheese (weirdo), but she loves the cookies you made. Apparently after quiet time we’ll be fortifying the barrier and starting another one. It’s actually kind of fun, even if no one has any idea why we’re doing it. Alanya says we can swim after, so we’ll still get to do our silliest dive contest. YAY.
Love,
Robin
Dear Dad and Nora,
I’m pretty tired from all the barriers we’ve been building the past few days. When I finish this letter, I might take a nap. I especially could use one after last night, when I woke up to all these weird noises. It sounded like someone was out in the woods, moaning and banging on the barriers. Maybe it was raccoons, or one of the older kids playing a prank. Or scary stories from campfire getting to my head.
Whatever. It’s gone now. Everything is less spooky in daylight.
Chloe got bitten by one of the bad mosquitoes, and the welt on her neck just keeps growing. She says it’s itchier than any bite she’s ever had, and she still hears the mosquito buzzing. I told her there aren’t any evil bugs near her head, and she should eat spray cheese to keep them off in the future. She wrinkled her nose and said spray cheese sounds gross now.
She also said today’s lunch meat smelled and tasted good, so maybe the bug bite poisoned her brain, haha. (Lunch smelled like onion farts and looked like moldy worms. I didn’t eat it, but I can guess how it tasted.)
I gave her the calamine lotion you sent, and she slathered it on the welt. Hopefully that will do the trick.
Love,
Robin
Dear Dad and Nora,
Last night Chloe was acting really weird. Her eyes looked unfocused, and when she talked, I could barely understand a word she said. I told her she see
med really out of it, and she was like, “Sorry, I’m kind of a zombie today” (which sounded like, “Shrrray em kernder ugh zhahmeeter ay”), but she insisted she wasn’t feeling worse, just worn down by the constant buzzing.
This morning her bunk was empty, and Alanya said she went to the infirmary. I can’t believe I slept through that. I’m already lonely without her.
I asked if I could see her, but Alanya said no visitors allowed. Campers who aren’t sick can’t go past any of the barriers. It’s almost like we built them to trap ourselves in.
Alanya says Chloe will be better soon, but no one who got sick has come back yet. There are more campers gone than there are left. Plus whoever started that stupid prank is up half the night, moaning and howling. It’s so annoying. Why can’t they let us sleep?
I miss home. I miss biking to the quarry with Seth, playing fetch and tug with Peanut, and eating normal meals like the ones we have at home. That’s how homesick I am—I would even give up spray cheese for a healthy, balanced diet! I wish I could sleep in my own bed.
Love,
Robin
Dear Dad and Nora,
Your letter and package did help me feel better, thanks. I especially loved getting Peanut’s paw print. I’ve tacked it to the wall near my bunk. And I’m sure the earplugs will help.
Yes, I understand why you can’t come get me early. And yes, I do have other friends here. But Chloe’s still stuck in the infirmary, and it’s not as much fun without her.
Morning activities are All Barriers All the Time now. I’m getting really strong from lifting so many sandbags, boards, and bricks, which is cool, but if I’d known Camp Dunmore would be like this, I might have gone to Girl Scout camp instead.
No one has gone to the infirmary in the past two days, but no one has come back from it, either. They’ve been spraying poison at night, so the mosquitoes are basically gone, but the counselors are still monitoring us all super carefully. They smear tons of cream on even small, regular bites. We’re basically not allowed to get itchy.
I miss Chloe. I actually thought about sneaking out last night to see her, but when I peeked out the door, all the banging and wailing got louder, and I kind of freaked out.
Don’t worry, I won’t try that again.
Love,
Robin
Dear Dad and Nora,
I’m shaking while I write this, so hard I keep dropping the pen.
This morning part of the barrier was damaged. They sent me up a ladder to repair the top, which meant I could see partway over. I swear—swear—I saw Chloe in the woods. She was walking really strangely, like her legs were too stiff to bend. I called her name and she didn’t look up, but I heard a groan.
I tried to climb over the barrier to get to her, but a counselor pulled me back to the ground. They said I must be dehydrated. That I’m overexcited and imagining things. They said Chloe went home last night.
So why are her things still here?
The counselor ignored my questions and sent me to the cabin to rest.
I did take a nap, but I woke up because of a loud crash outside. There were shouts and screams, then the screaming stopped, and now there’s only moaning. So much moaning. And what sounds like something being dragged through the dirt.
Maybe it’s just sandbags. But we’re supposed to lift with our knees and carry those.
It’s getting dark, which means I slept past dinner. Why didn’t anyone come get me? I ate the last of the spray cheese and one of my two remaining brownies. I’m scared to go out there.
Please send more food, but also please come get me now. Please? I don’t like it here anymore.
Love,
Robin
Dear Dad and Nora,
When I woke up this morning, the cabin was empty. No one came back last night. Not even Alanya.
The moaning has stopped and the sun is up, but I’m still afraid to go outside. I don’t hear anyone out there, or see anyone out the windows—though it’s hard to see much because the cabin has trees on all sides.
I ate the last brownie for breakfast, but I found another can of spray cheese that had rolled under Chloe’s and my bunk bed. It feels about half empty. Or half full, as Nora would say. Haha.
I’m taking it as a sign. A sign I am meant to survive this.
There are five more days until camp ends. Five days before you’re supposed to get me.
I can’t wait here that long.
I’m going to walk west, away from the lake. I’ll take spray cheese, bug spray, a flashlight, and this letter. I’m taking Peanut’s paw print too.
If this letter reaches you and I don’t, please tell Peanut I love her.
I love you guys too. Not just because you send me spray cheese.
I’m going out there.
Wish me luck.
Love,
Robin
There once was a boy
who wasn’t afraid
of things that go bump in the night.
Even the spookiest wail
couldn’t move him to
tremble or shiver with fright.
When cool winds blew
their breath on his neck,
the boy didn’t worry or shudder.
He merely walked faster,
right past the grave
where they’d buried his four older brothers.
He seemed not to hear
the chorus of moans
that swirled in the air all around him.
He chose not to flinch
if he noticed the bones
—once fingers—that beckoned toward him.
This boy believed
in the core of his heart
he’d be safe from all things he ignored—
as if choosing to think not of rain
kept one dry
whenever it thundered and poured.
If others attempted to
raise the alarm,
the boy rejected them curtly,
reciting the words
he wanted to hear:
“What I do not believe in can’t hurt me.”
But having no fear was
foolish at best,
and he soon would be joining his kin.
For he might not believe
in ghosts or in ghouls—
but the monsters believed in him.
Ava and Giuliana were the kind of friends who shared everything—including, and especially, their secrets.
Ava told Giuliana that she was the one who broke her mother’s hair clip, and how relieved she was when it got blamed on her baby brother (who was still too young to get in trouble). Giuliana told Ava where she’d hidden her private journal, and sometimes even let Ava read it (though Ava already knew about most of the things inside). They told each other what they really thought of the books they read and the people they met and the things they heard on the news. They shared their dreams for the future. They shared their fears and worries too.
There was nothing Ava couldn’t or didn’t tell her best friend. But there was one thing Giuliana refused to tell Ava. It was the only secret they didn’t share.
“What is it?” Ava asked. She leaned closer to Giuliana, though they were already side by side.
Giuliana shook her head. “I can’t tell you.”
Ava frowned and picked at a scab on her knee. “But you know all my secrets. I tell you everything about me!”
“I tell you everything about me too,” Giuliana said. “You’re my best friend. But I can’t tell you this secret. I just can’t.”
“Please?” Ava begged. “I won’t tell anyone, I swear.”
“I know you wouldn’t. But I can’t. The secret won’t let me.”
Ava crossed her arms. “What do you mean it won’t let you?”
Giuliana looked serious, and almost scared. She whispered, “I mean, the secret wants to stay secret. And if I tell you, for the secret to survive, we can’t both survive too.”
Ava shivered. “Are
you saying the secret would kill me?” It was the strangest thing Giuliana had ever said. Ava wasn’t even sure how that was possible. Maybe it was some kind of elaborate prank, or a game Giuliana was playing.
Giuliana blinked. “I didn’t say that. But who knows? It’s a powerful secret. Why take the risk? It’s too dangerous.”
Ava stood up. This was getting weird. She didn’t really believe what Giuliana was saying, but she wanted to stop talking about it. Her friend clearly wasn’t going to tell her the secret now anyway. She would have to ask another day.
“C’mon,” Ava said. “Let’s go play in the woods.”
So they did.
Ava couldn’t stop thinking and wondering about Giuliana’s secret. The next week, she brought it up again. But again, Giuliana refused to spill.
“It’s not that kind of secret,” she said. “It can’t be shared. We can’t both know it.”
Ava almost screamed with frustration. “Well, if the secret can’t be told, where did you even hear it?” she asked.
Giuliana glanced over her shoulder as if to check no one else was listening. “I didn’t hear it. No one told me,” she said. “One day, I just knew it. Like the secret decided to live inside me.” She lowered her voice even further. “Once I knew the secret, I had no choice but to keep it. That’s how this secret works.”
Ava felt a chill crawl up the back of her neck. Maybe she was glad not to know the secret. Maybe Giuliana was being a good friend by not sharing it. Just hearing about it was giving Ava the creeps.
Forty years passed in which they did not speak of it again.
They talked about everything else, though. Ava told Giuliana about her wife and three kids, and the things she liked most and least about her job, and the squirrel family that lived in her attic. Giuliana told Ava about her adventures traveling the world, and the last conversation she’d ever have with her dad, and the things her favorite music made her think about and feel. They shared all their hopes, dreams, fears, and regrets, and they still shared all their secrets. All except one.
Ava visited Giuliana and brought it up again. “Hey, remember that secret from when we were kids? The one you would never tell me?”
Giuliana looked surprised. “Of course I remember,” she said. She poured more tea, and nudged the sugar in Ava’s direction.
“Did you ever tell anyone what it was?” Ava asked.
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