Better to simply be safe.
Better to simply be careful.
Of course, great men and women in history haven’t become great by playing it simple and safe and careful, have they?
This time, a part of you simply says, “Oh, well.”
But “Oh, well” isn’t gonna cut it (no pun intended) when you’re awakened again by the sound of a chainsaw.
A chainsaw that happens to be right outside your cabin door.
You jerk up and hit your head on the frame of the bunk above you. The chainsaw is roaring, and you realize that it’s not just outside your cabin door.
It’s cutting into the door.
Doing the simple and safe thing suddenly makes you feel really stupid.
“John Luke, get up!”
Not that you actually have to tell him. He’s already jumping around the cabin and generally freaking out.
You think about informing him that there’s a chainsaw chewing through the cabin door, but you assume he sorta knows this.
You grab him by the shoulders. “Is there a back door to this place?” you shout.
“Yeah,” he yells above the weeeeerrrrrrrweeeerrrrrr.
“Where is it?”
“It’s the door! In the back.”
That’s absolutely not helpful.
“You go and I’ll follow,” you tell him.
The chainsaw is destroying the door. Whoever’s doing this might as well kick the door in at this point. But the chainsaw just keeps grinding away.
John Luke takes you into the bathroom and through another door leading out of the cabin. You both run full speed for the shelter of the trees. The chainsaw is still running, but it soon sounds distant. Your escape isn’t complete yet, though.
“Where should we go?” John Luke asks under his breath.
“Where are your car keys?”
“In my jeans,” he says.
You look down and see he’s wearing his pajama shorts.
“What about your cell phone?”
“In my jeans.”
You sigh and nod. You might normally ask him where he keeps his brain, but now’s not the time to be funny. You can be funny when people are opening presents or eating cake or sipping coffee or watching TV, but it’s definitely not a good time when someone’s grinding down your door with a chainsaw.
“Is your Jeep open?” you ask.
“Yeah.”
“You still have your rifle in the back?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay. Let’s circle around through the trees to make sure we’re far away from the cabin. Then I’ll make a break for the car.”
“Who is this person?”
“I don’t know, but whoever it is, is gonna pay. I don’t like being woken up.”
You and John Luke scramble through the woods and sneak in the direction of the Jeep. The chainsaw sound has stopped for the moment. But that could be worse, because now you imagine someone creeping around with a massive weapon in his hands.
Maybe it’s just a local guy from the forest preserve doing some testing.
Yes, and maybe it’s Elvis visiting the camp and carrying a chainsaw instead of a guitar.
“Love me tender, love me—weeeeerrrrrrrweeeerrrrrr.”
You both manage to make it over to the part of the woods closest to John Luke’s Jeep. The vehicle’s silhouette can be seen from your spot behind the trees.
But it’s still way too quiet for your liking.
Do you make your way to the Jeep to get the rifle? Go here.
Do you stay behind the trees with John Luke until you know the stranger is gone? Go here.
A TALE TOO TERRIFYING FOR THE KIDS
“YEAH, LET’S SLEEP OUTSIDE,” John Luke says. “If anything sketchy is going on, we’ll hear it from out here.”
“Right. Let’s make a big fire and put lots of bug spray on and tell some spooky stories. See who—or what—comes to visit us.” You raise your eyebrows, and John Luke rolls his eyes.
He knows the perfect spot for your sleeping bags. You guys don’t have a tent, but that’s okay. You’ll be able to spot the monsters or aliens or bogeymen better this way.
After a few minutes, you have a good fire going and suddenly wish you’d brought some stuff to make s’mores with. It’s not that you’re hungry, but you’ve got to have a little something to eat when you’re around a fire, right? Especially at camp.
You lean forward on the log that serves as a bench. “So let’s hear one of those ghost stories you kids tell.”
“Which one?”
“Any of them. The scarier the better.” You toss a piece of wood onto the fire while John Luke thinks.
“Well, the one I always tell is about the allibeaver.”
You nod like you know what that is. “An allibeaver. Oh, this is gonna be good.”
“Years ago, one of the directors here had a pet beaver. All the kids loved him. He was a friendly little guy who made everybody laugh. But one night he escaped from his cage.”
“Uh-oh.”
“He wandered down to the lake, and this big alligator bit him. But it wasn’t no ordinary gator. This one was infected with some awful disease. Once he bit the beaver, it turned into an allibeaver.”
“What’s that supposed to look like?”
John Luke laughs. “It’s got the face of an alligator and the body of a beaver. So it can climb things but also tear off someone’s head with its long gator mouth.”
“I’d love to see one of those.”
John Luke is about to keep talking when you both hear something fall in the woods with a loud, heavy thud.
“What was that?” you ask.
“I don’t know.”
Maybe it’s an allibeaver responding to the sound of its name.
You probably won’t share that thought with John Luke.
“Keep talking,” you tell him.
“Now the allibeaver sneaks into the cabins and starts infecting the kids. When they’re bitten, though, they don’t die. They become allibeavers too. And they can walk around and infect other people.”
“Do they have tails?”
“Uh, yeah. And sharp teeth like gators.”
“This is the most terrifyin’ thing I’ve ever heard.” You smirk.
“There’s only one way to stop an allibeaver.”
“What’s that?”
“You have to kill it, and then everyone it’s bitten turns back into themselves. But you can’t just shoot the allibeaver. You have to cut off its tail.”
“Wow, that’s too much for me.” You shake your head and drop another piece of wood onto the fire. “So who does the choppin’ in your story?”
“Sometimes it’s me. Sometimes Dad. Sometimes it’s nobody, and the allibeaver infects everybody at the camp, who then go home and infect more.”
Another thudding sound echoes from the woods.
“Maybe it’s the allibeaver,” John Luke says, only half-laughing. Great minds think alike.
Do you and John Luke try to find what’s in the woods? Go here.
Do you stay by the fire and go to sleep? Go here.
THE HUNTER
YOU WAIT A FEW MINUTES and hear the wailing sound again. This time it’s farther away from you, deeper in the woods. You follow it.
You’ve hunted animals many times at night, so this is no different.
The trail leads you through the trees and over a hill. It’s cooler outside now and the sky above is clear, allowing enough light through the treetops that you don’t need to use your flashlight.
The animal scream rings out again. You’re getting closer.
You keep your rifle pointed in front of you, not wanting to be caught off guard by some kind of rabid beast. You imagine the headline: Duck Commander Phil Robertson Attacked by Wild Animal in the Middle of the Night.
At that moment, you make out another sound, distinct from the first one. It’s a deep, heavy panting sound, almost like a big dog.
Or how about a wolf?
/> You look at the moon and notice it’s full. You didn’t realize this earlier.
The howling surrounds you again. This time it definitely sounds like some kind of wolf. Except it’s more intense than any wolf you’ve ever heard.
The bushes in front of you shake with a wild, loud scampering noise.
Then . . .
Something rushes at you from the right. Attacks you. Crashes into you, bites your right forearm, and forces you to drop the rifle.
But you manage to pick up the weapon again and fire at the big, hairy beast. Once. Twice.
Yet it’s gone.
The pain in your arm is intense. You touch it with your left hand and can feel the warm blood.
You use the flashlight to survey the land around you. But you don’t see or hear anything.
You better go get this wound treated.
Do you go to the hospital just in case you need a rabies shot? Go here.
Do you bandage the wound at home? Go here.
STAGED
YOU FINALLY MANAGE TO WIGGLE the blade out of the trunk. It’s more than just a knife—you’re holding a machete in your hands. “Look at this. It’s gotta be about an eighteen- or twenty-inch blade.”
As you turn the machete to examine it, you see something you wish you would have noticed sooner. Something red.
Something that looks exactly like blood.
And it appears to be fresh.
It takes about ten minutes for John Luke to locate where the blood might have come from.
“Hey, Papaw Phil. I think I found something.”
John Luke is standing near the outdoor theater with seats in a half circle descending the hill. He points to the stage, where oftentimes a worship leader speaks to the campers and leads music. Lots of songs and prayers have been offered up from this little section of the world right here.
“Do you see that?” he says.
Both of you walk down the hill and step onto the wooden platform.
Sure enough, there’s some type of animal in the middle of the stage. And it’s not moving, even when you poke it with the machete.
You’ve seen plenty of dead animals before, and so has John Luke, so the sight doesn’t gross you out. But you are a bit fascinated with why this particular one might have been left here. Is it a message?
“Well, can’t just leave this thing in the middle of the theater,” you say. “Let’s clean it up and head back . . . after we’ve secured the perimeter.”
Before leaving, the two of you search the stage for a few minutes but can’t find any other clues.
Eventually, you give up and tell John Luke to deposit the animal in a nearby garbage can. “Don’t get guts on you,” you warn John Luke. “Your mom won’t like that.”
“I won’t like that,” he replies.
As you climb the hill out of the theater, the machete at your side, John Luke asks, “You think this has anything to do with the stuff that was reported?”
“I think this machete had something to do with that animal,” you say. “And I think someone’s having a good ole time laughing about it. That’s what I think.”
You head toward the cabins to unload your gear and settle in for the night, and as you walk, you notice how thick the woods around you are. You scan them intently, looking for anything or anybody. But nobody’s out there—not within your line of sight, at least.
At the cabin, John Luke goes straight to the bathroom to wash his hands.
“We’ll look things over again tomorrow,” you call from your seat on a bottom bunk.
That’s the moment you hear the sound again.
Ch-ch-ch-ka-ka-ka.
John Luke doesn’t say anything, so you figure he can’t hear it over the sound of the running water.
You step outside and squint into the woods. They seem darker than before. But the noise has stopped.
As you return to the cabin, you decide it would be a good idea to keep the machete close by. You may need it tonight.
When John Luke finishes, you head to the bathroom to clean up before bed.
But before you squeeze toothpaste on your brush, you hear the noise again.
Ch-ch-ch-ka-ka-ka.
You return to the main room and peer into the woods.
The noise definitely came from close by.
Do you run into the woods to try to find the source of the noise? Go here.
Do you ignore the noise and keep getting ready for bed? Go here.
TIMING IS EVERYTHING
JOHN LUKE RUSHES OUT of the dining hall ten minutes later. He’s out of breath and wide-eyed and looks both amused and freaked out.
“What’s going on?”
“There’s trouble, Papaw Phil. I gotta get you back to the Duck Commander warehouse right away.”
“What do you mean?”
“We have to save Dad and Uncle Si.”
“Willie and Si?” you ask. “What have they done now?”
“It’s a long story, so I’ll tell you on the way. We need to go home right now.”
You follow John Luke, wondering what he heard on the phone. Once you’re in the Jeep, speeding away from the camp, you question him again.
“Want to explain to me what’s happening?”
“Yeah. We’re gonna find a time machine in the warehouse,” John Luke says. “We need to open the door as soon as we can so Dad and Uncle Si can get out before it takes them back into danger.”
“Are you joking with me?” you ask.
“No, sir.”
“So why do we have to do this again?”
John Luke is talking so fast it takes a lot to keep up with him. You can’t remember the last time you saw him this passionate and animated.
“Because right now they’re in the future. And they’re in big trouble.”
“The future?”
“Yes, sir.”
“That makes no sense.”
“I know. But I know it’s true.”
“Why’s that?” you ask.
“Because—because I was on the phone with this guy who had a lot of information. His name is Raymond. And he seemed to know what he was talking about.”
You shake your head. “I think everyone in this state has gone Looney Tunes tonight.”
“Yeah, I think so too,” John Luke says.
He pulls up in front of the warehouse, and you both hurry inside. You have no idea what’s going on here, but you can’t help being curious. And sure enough, right in front of you is something that looks like an outhouse.
No, that is an outhouse.
“John Luke—that’s no time machine. It’s something you use to go potty in,” you tell him, just in case he’s too modern to recognize it. But you have to admit, this outhouse gives you a weird feeling, like the universe is shaking around you. Maybe there’s something to what John Luke is saying.
“Not this one,” he says. “Trust me. It looks just like Raymond said. And we have to open it.” But he hesitates for a second.
You shake your head, sigh, and let out a laugh. “Let’s get this over with.” You step forward and bang on the door. You’ve never entered an outhouse without knocking first.
There’s no answer, so you pull on the handle, but the door seems to be locked.
You eye the complicated-looking control panel on the door. You start pressing random buttons and feel an electric jolt run up your arm. As the door opens, the bulb-like antennas on top of the outhouse begin flashing, and you’re blinded by a bright-white light.
You have no idea what’s about to happen to you.
Your story continues in “Unknown Year” in Willie’s Redneck Time Machine.
COTTON CANDY
GHOSTS AND STRANGE NOISES you can handle, but hordes of spiders? Better call for backup. Willie and Si tell John Luke they’ll come as soon as they can, but who knows how long that will be.
“Let’s see if the lake is covered while we wait,” you suggest.
“I don’t think Dad even believes me,” J
ohn Luke says, pocketing his phone. “But I knew Uncle Si would be up for this.”
“Wait till Willie gets here. He’ll believe you then.”
Snowy-white cobwebs coat the trees lining the hill on the way to the lake. As you walk along, your boots picking up lines of the sticky stuff with each step, the lake comes into view. It’s entirely covered, just like you suspected it would be.
“Look at that, John Luke,” you say. “God made them spiders. Can’t they create pretty pictures?”
The webs shimmer in the faint wind.
“I’m tempted to dive in there,” John Luke says.
“I don’t know. You might want to be careful about those webs.”
John Luke steps out onto the wooden dock that juts into Bluff Springs Lake. Even as he does this, he’s clearing away the stringy white stuff that’s covering the platform.
John Luke takes off his shirt and tosses it aside. “I’m hot.”
You don’t think this is such a good idea. “I’m not sure about getting in that lake.”
“Dad’s probably not gonna be here for another hour. It’ll be cool to dive into those webs, and it looks like the spiders are all gone. But tell me if you see any more spiders coming.”
He climbs onto the railing around the dock and stands.
“John Luke . . .”
“It’s gonna be like jumping into the clouds! Here. Let me take a selfie.”
“You and your generation with its selfies. Sounds like some kind of communicable disease. Got a bad case of the selfies.”
You watch as John Luke balances himself on the wooden rail while he takes a picture of his face. Then he jumps back onto the dock and hands you his phone.
“Time to dive into some cotton candy.”
He climbs up again and launches himself toward the water. He cuts through the cobwebs, making a nice round hole in the sheer covering as he splashes into the lake.
Something suddenly pops out of the water and the web covering, but it’s not John Luke.
It’s some kind of spider. And it’s huge.
Phil and the Ghost of Camp Ch-Yo-Ca Page 4