Phil and the Ghost of Camp Ch-Yo-Ca

by John Luke Robertson

John Luke takes a gradual curve. “Wonder what he’s doing around here?”

  “Just passin’ through, he said. Lots of folks live their life just passin’ through.”

  The road winds through thick woods, and soon you’re near the soccer field. The camp buildings are just up ahead, all tucked around each other. It’s unusual not to see a hundred kids around here, especially at this time of year.

  “So does it look haunted to you, John Luke?”

  He shrugs. “Maybe the ghost of Zodie Sims is hanging out here.”

  “You’re gonna have to tell me about that one later.”

  He parks the Jeep and you both get out.

  “Well, think we can make it a whole night here by ourselves?” you ask John Luke.

  “Surely someone’s still here. Want to go see?”

  Do you try to find someone? Go here.

  Do you drop off your stuff in one of the cabins? Go here.

  THE PLAN

  IT TAKES YOU ABOUT TWENTY MINUTES to move all the mattresses back to their bunk beds. They’re heavier than you thought they’d be. “Whoever did this went to a lot of trouble.”

  “Someone’s messin’ with us,” John Luke mutters.

  “You think so?”

  “Yeah—they might’ve overheard us talking.”

  You head into the bathroom, where you placed your shaving kit earlier, and spot something strange right away. A message is written across all five mirrors above the sinks.

  The message is written in toothpaste. Your toothpaste.

  It reads, You don’t know the truth.

  “John Luke!”

  He enters and reads the message.

  “Did you see or hear anybody come in here?” you ask.

  “No, sir.”

  “I just placed my bag on the sink an hour ago.”

  “That’s really weird.”

  You nod. “It’s really wasteful is what it is. That’s some good toothpaste—it’s the whitening kind.”

  “Still don’t believe in ghosts?” John Luke sounds kinda worried.

  You stare at the words on the mirrors. “I can’t believe someone’s trying to make life miserable for people at this camp. And now that includes us.”

  “You think someone did this to scare us?”

  “That’s what I think.”

  “So what should we do?”

  You take your toothbrush and help yourself to the paste from one of the letters on the mirror.

  “We stay here and see what happens,” you say. “I have an idea too.”

  “What?”

  You shake your head, knowing someone could be listening. “Just an idea. That’s all. Brush your teeth. You can use some of my toothpaste. Then it’s time for bed.”

  About fifteen minutes later you can hear John Luke’s steady breathing, signaling he’s asleep. You slip out of bed without any noise. You’ve only had sixty-eight years to master the art of being quiet, after all. You don’t turn on a light, nor do you open the front door—the back door through the bathroom will be the perfect exit.

  The white toothpaste on the mirror glows as you pass by. I’ll get it off tomorrow.

  Or maybe tonight you’ll make someone else get it off, if everything goes according to plan.

  The door to the outside creaks slightly, but not too much. You slide out and shut it behind you.

  The question is where to go keep watch.

  You end up picking a large tree about twenty yards from the cabin. Here, you’ll be able to see both the front of the building and the doorway from the bathroom. Propping your back up against the tree, you settle in to keep an eye on things.

  Do you fall asleep? Go here.

  Do you stay awake? Go here.

  WHO LET THE DOGS OUT?

  WHOEVER IS HAVING FUN making noises in the woods will just have to wait. It’s bedtime for you. You turn on the bathroom light again and finish brushing your teeth. It’s pretty humid and sticky in here—hopefully there are some fans around to cool it down.

  You head out to your bunk bed and straighten your sleeping bag as John Luke takes his toothbrush into the bathroom.

  In about thirty seconds you hear his loud moan.

  “Uh, Papaw Phil,” he shouts. “I think I found another animal.”

  You go in there and join John Luke in front of the middle stall.

  “It’s in the toilet,” he says.

  Well, that’s rather unfortunate.

  “Get it out then,” you tell him. “Throw it away.”

  “This is nasty,” he says.

  But he does it. This time, however, he finds some gloves in the storage closet first.

  You search the rest of the cabin for other funky surprises but don’t find anything.

  You lie down on your bed, but after the events of the night, you’re more wound up than you thought. Normally you’d be able to sit in your La-Z-Boy and watch some action movie on television until you get tired. But tonight, it’s just you and John Luke.

  “Let’s build a fire,” you suggest.

  There’s a fire pit right outside, at the center of the boys’ cabins, and you both gather wood and pile it up. Soon the fire is blazing, and the two of you are sitting next to it, watching it crackle and wave.

  “You think someone’s really doing all this stuff to frighten the kids around here?” John Luke asks.

  For some reason you think of a story from years ago that you decide John Luke is old enough to hear.

  “Did anybody ever tell you about the dog thief they had around these parts years ago?”

  John Luke looks at you to see if you’re joking. “A dog that was a thief?”

  “No, no—a guy who stole dogs. It had to be—let’s see—oh, this was before Willie and Korie moved here to help with the camp. I think it was during the nineties.”

  “Someone was kidnapping dogs?”

  “Yeah. Dozens of them. At first the police just thought it was some weird coincidence. Dogs running away here and there. But then they realized some nut job was going around taking them. You know how easy it’d be? He tricked them by feeding them treats. Dogs are dumb—they’ll eat anything.”

  “Wow. Did he get arrested?”

  You nod. “Yeah. Someone reported him for suspicious behavior, and he confessed. He was proud of it. So he served some time. Got out. But then he got into some other trouble. Sin catches up to you.”

  The scent of the fire distracts you, making you hungry again. You wish you’d brought something to make s’mores with.

  “You don’t think there’s another person around like that guy?”

  “I don’t think so,” you say. “But if there is, he’ll get found.”

  You notice John Luke doesn’t look too sure about sitting outside surrounded by dark woods.

  “Don’t you worry about us,” you reassure him. “We can trust in God’s protection. And I have the machete in case anybody wakes me up.”

  John Luke laughs, knowing it’s best not to wake you up.

  In addition to the crickets chirping and the fire crackling, you suddenly hear something else.

  A high-pitched scream.

  You look at John Luke.

  That didn’t sound good.

  It’s one thing to hear strange noises coming from the woods. Or to find a dead animal. But to hear a scream like that—as if someone’s in trouble or hurting—is entirely another thing.

  You need to see what’s happening. But you also need to be careful with your grandson.

  Do you tell John Luke to go inside the cabin and then check out the scream yourself? Go here.

  Do you check out the scream with John Luke and your machete? Go here.

  Do you call the cops and drive home? Go here.

  THE BABY OF THE FAMILY

  YOU FEEL BETTER with your rifle in hand. It’s always been like this. Out in the woods, it’s natural to walk around with a gun. A predator searching for his kill. At the grocery store or the pharmacy, however, they don’t like it much w
hen you’re toting around your gun. Which is sad ’cause you certainly would like to take it with you wherever you go. The donut shop. The cleaners. An amusement park.

  You head toward the gnawing sounds. They keep getting louder and louder.

  The trees and the darkness are your friends right now. You blend in like a panther. Or a phantom.

  You hear a different sound—more of a crackling—and turn to see some kind of strange light. Little flickers dance off the trees. It’s a fire.

  You see a figure standing next to the blaze.

  It’s the monster. The thing of John Luke’s stories. This animal appears to be a creature of the dark pit of night. A hideous beast so foul, you’ve never seen the likes of it.

  An allibeaver.

  I’m gonna get you and stuff you and put you over our television.

  You grip your gun and raise it toward the figure.

  Then you see something else happening.

  The beast begins to peel off its skin. Literally.

  Okay, I’m not dreaming, so what am I seeing here?

  Suddenly you realize this is someone—a man—taking off a costume. He turns and you see a familiar face.

  “Dad?” It’s Jep, your youngest son.

  “Jeptha, what are you doing?”

  “Shhh,” Jep says, glancing all around.

  “You know you almost got shot in that costume of yours.”

  “We’re making a film,” he says.

  “Who’s ‘we’?”

  “Oh, they’re all around. The filmmakers. It’s great. We’re gonna make a bona fide horror movie.”

  “Starring who?”

  “You,” Jep says. “You and John Luke.”

  “Nope. Don’t think so.”

  “Shhh,” he says again, approaching you. When he gets close, he whispers, “They’re everywhere.”

  “Good. Then they can hear me.”

  “Just go with the program. This is going to be great.”

  “‘This’? What do you mean by ‘this’?”

  “A Halloween special. It’s called Die, Duck Commander, Die.”

  You give Jep a look.

  “I don’t think so,” you tell him. “It’s late and I need some sleep.”

  You start to head back to your sleeping bag and John Luke.

  Jep calls out for you in the darkness. “Dad?”

  But you keep walking.

  “Will you just be in this one allibeaver scene? Please?”

  You shake your head. Is it possible Jep and his little movie were seriously the cause of all the fears and worries around the camp? Unbelievable. And the movie doesn’t even look like it’ll be very good.

  Youth really is wasted on the young.

  THE END

  Start over.

  Read “The Shadows That Follow Us: A Note from John Luke Robertson.”

  VIBES

  YOU STARE ACROSS THE LAKE. It’s not big—you could probably swim to the other side without any problem. The water is still, the moon hovering over the tops of the trees. John Luke is texting someone.

  “There you go again. Always sending your texts. Boo bee boo bee boo.” You act like you’re holding a phone and tapping on it. He’s used to this from you. “You know what’s great about not having a cell phone?”

  He doesn’t look up. “What?”

  “You get to enjoy all this.” You point to the lake and the trees beyond it.

  All of a sudden you hear a noise.

  “What was that?” you ask.

  “What?”

  “Did you hear something?”

  John Luke shakes his head.

  You stand at the edge of the lake and squint. Only silence. And then . . .

  Ch-ch-ch-ka-ka-ka.

  “There—that sound. Didn’t you hear it?”

  “No.”

  “Are you making noises on your phone?”

  “No, sir,” John Luke says, slipping the phone back into his jeans pocket.

  You peer into the forest, trying to see if someone’s out there. But you can’t spot anything out of the ordinary.

  “Let’s go back to the cabins,” you say. “It’s gonna be dark before we know it.”

  As you start to retrace your steps, you hear another ch-ch-ch. You stop cold.

  The sound stops with you.

  When you resume walking, it begins again.

  Ka-ka-ka.

  “You didn’t hear that, John Luke?”

  “No.”

  “Then I think my hearin’s going, or I’m imagining things.”

  “Maybe it’s the ghost.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Hi, ghost!” John Luke shouts.

  The sound goes off again.

  Ch-ch-ch-ka-ka-ka.

  When you get to the edge of the woods, you notice something sticking out of a tree. You walk over and try to pull it out. Looks like some kind of knife. “You ever seen this before, John Luke?”

  “No. We would never have a knife like that where the kids could find it. What should we do with it?”

  Do you continue trying to pull the blade out of the tree? Go here.

  Do you leave the weapon here and head to the cabins? It’s kind of late and dark to be examining this kind of evidence. Go here.

  SCREAMING FOR BUBBLES

  “GET OUT OF THERE!” you yell at John Luke as his head emerges.

  Just as he turns in the water, the massive spider is on him. You still can’t believe how fast the creature is moving. Now the spider is clamped onto John Luke, and it drags him under the water.

  Did that just happen?

  “No!”

  The surface of the water gets very still.

  “No!” you scream again.

  Then you notice slight bubbles emerging from the lake. You stop screaming and the bubbles go away. You start screaming again and they continue.

  “No!” equals bubbles.

  Silence equals no bubbles.

  Soon you see something bobbing up and down in the water.

  It’s John Luke. He sucks in air and starts swimming back to land.

  “What happened?” you ask, confused but relieved.

  But he seems too out of breath to answer.

  As he starts to get out of the water, Si appears from the top of the hill. He’s holding a shotgun. John Luke is dripping and gasping.

  “You guys okay?” Si asks.

  “Are you okay, John Luke?”

  He nods and looks back at the water.

  “Why are you all wet?” Si asks.

  “I was hot.”

  Si shakes his head. “What’s with all these cobwebs everywhere? You guys seen any big spiders around?”

  “I just punched one in the face underwater,” John Luke says. He flexes his arms like a prizefighter.

  You throw him his shirt. “Dry off, Rocky.”

  “This place needs to be quarantined, Jack,” Si says.

  You don’t see anything else in the water, and you’re sure glad whatever it was that attacked John Luke hasn’t reemerged.

  “John Luke, I think it’s time we got out of here.”

  “Hey, Jack. What about me?”

  You turn to Si and pat him on the back. “You hold down the fort. We’ll send you some reinforcements.”

  “Who’s that?”

  “Oh, we’ll get Willie and Jase and Jep to come over here. That’ll be enough. You think, John Luke?”

  He nods at Si as you both start walking up the hill, leaving Si to continue talking.

  “Hey, man, this is serious stuff here! You see these cobwebs? They gotta belong to some ten-foot-tall spider. I mean, I once saw one over in ’Nam, and it had to be about fifteen feet tall, and I’m telling you, I got . . .”

  THE END

  Start over.

  Read “The Shadows That Follow Us: A Note from John Luke Robertson.”

  SCENE OF THE CRIME

  JOHN LUKE GIVES YOU A BIG HUG when you get inside the Jeep.

  “There was a dude wi
th a gas can who lit the whole place on fire,” he says, talking so fast he loses his breath.

  “And where’d he go?” you ask, looking around to make sure you’re not going to be attacked.

  “Into the woods. I called the cops, and I called Dad too. They’re on their way.”

  “Move over. I’ll drive,” you tell him.

  The strange noises and mysterious happenings were concerning, but this threat is real and it’s dangerous.

  You start up the Jeep and make your way back to the main road.

  “Call your mother and tell her you’re okay.”

  “She probably knows. I told Dad—”

  “If she doesn’t, then you’ll be the first to tell her. It’s better she knows you’re okay than to give her a scare.”

  You’re passing the soccer field when you jam on the brake. The Jeep skids to a stop, and both of you are caught by your seat belts.

  In front of you is a tall figure wearing camo, his face painted black. He’s got a backpack over his shoulder that’s bulging with stuff. He stands for a moment before raising a hand toward his face.

  “John Luke, get down,” you shout as you do the same.

  Then you hear something. Something familiar.

  A duck call.

  The guy in front of you is blowing a duck call.

  That’s a Duck Commander Mallard Drake call.

  The man bolts across the soccer field and into the woods beyond. He’s going too fast for you to chase him.

  You’re about to call the cops again when you see the flashing lights of police cars and fire engines racing toward you.

  Do you wait for the police to come over when they need you? Go here.

  Do you talk to the police right away? You want answers! Go here.

  LOUISIANA CHAINSAW MASSACRE

  SURE, YOU HEARD what sounded like a tree falling down in the middle of the night. But that tree will still be there in the morning, and the woods will be a lot less creepy then. You decide to go back to sleep and tell John Luke to do the same.