A CASE OF LYCANTHROPY (A REALLY BIG WORD FOR A BIG CHANGE)
“SO WHAT’D THE THING LOOK LIKE?”
John Luke is driving you to the hospital in his Jeep. Miss Kay helped clean and bandage your arm a few minutes ago. The bite was pretty deep—whatever sort of animal did this to you, it had big enough teeth to take off a chunk of your arm.
“I didn’t see much of it, to be honest. But it had to be a wolf.” What else could it be? A werewolf? A big, angry, oversize German shepherd?
“I haven’t ever seen a wolf around here,” John Luke says.
“I’ve never encountered one that big anywhere. Or that annoying soundin’.”
A pain rips through your arm. It feels hot—exactly like a searing burn, as if you’re resting your forearm on a grill that’s been cooking steaks for the past half hour. You tighten your fist and grit your teeth.
“You okay, Papaw Phil?” John Luke asks.
He must’ve heard you grunt.
“Oh yeah. Just a tad bit sore.”
You start to sweat and feel light-headed. You took a couple Advil, but now you know this is more serious.
“I think I might need some help once I’m at the hospital,” you tell John Luke.
The headlights piercing the dark country road begin to blur and blend. You see weird things in your head.
Packs of wild dogs . . . the countryside . . . the full blue moon . . .
The blackness of the night fills your head. You shake it and try to stay awake. “I’m feeling kinda dizzy.”
John Luke speeds up.
The burning continues, this time throughout your whole body.
Then something else happens. Your shoes feel too small. Your jeans too tight. Your shirt too snug.
It’s like you’re about to explode, to rip right out of your clothes.
Something’s happening—something bad. I’m changing. What’s goin’ on here?
You turn to John Luke and get this weird, awful sort of feeling.
You’re hungry.
You glance down at your hand and see that it’s become a paw. A wolf paw with long, sharp claws.
You want to scream but can’t.
But that’s okay because John Luke does it for you.
It’s the last thing you remember before the transformation is complete.
THE HOWLING END
Start over.
Read “The Shadows That Follow Us: A Note from John Luke Robertson.”
DREAMING AND HAUNTING
WHOEVER’S TAPPING AT THE DOOR CAN WAIT.
And if that’s what’s freaking out campers in the middle of the night, then maybe you need to talk to kids these days about having some guts and backbone. There’s nothing haunting about the tapping. It’s annoying, but you ignore it and soon fall into a deep slumber.
For a while you dream of groundhogs. You have no idea what inspired this dream, but you find yourself at a campfire with several of the rodents. The first odd thing is that they can all talk. The second thing is their size—they’re as big as humans (and they’re sitting upright like you are too). The third and weirdest detail is that they all sound like your sons.
There’s the biggest groundhog, who thinks he’s the boss of the rest of them. His name is Weehog.
Then there’s a short groundhog who acts like a big baby. His name is Jep-hog.
The third one is really talkative with a bit of a dramatic flair. His name is Jayhog.
And the fourth is a groundhog who doesn’t have any hair. His name is Al-hog.
Of course, since this is a dream and all your sons have suddenly become groundhogs, you have no idea what’s going to happen next. But just as Weehog is starting to tell a story, you hear a crash and a boom.
You open your eyes but don’t see any groundhogs. You realize you’re back in the cabin at Camp Ch-Yo-Ca.
Is it haunting time yet?
John Luke stirs in the bed beside you. “What was that?” he whispers.
“Something outside.”
“Should we go check it out?”
“No, let’s stay in here for a while. It’s probably nothing.”
Then you hear another boom. And some kind of thudding sound, like a tree falling in the distance.
If a tree falls in the forest and barely makes a sound, is it worth heading into the darkness to investigate?
“Sounded like a tree hitting the ground,” John Luke says.
You’re still groggy from being awakened, but you’re sure glad not to be talking to the groundhogs anymore. You wonder what you guys should do.
“Should we see what’s going on?” John Luke asks. “That’s why we’re here, right?”
Do you do the safe thing and stay inside? Go here.
Do you do the risky thing and check out the sound? Go here.
C’MON, MAN!
IT’S DARK OUTSIDE, and you have no idea where the chainsaw dude is. But you’re so close to the Jeep now, you go out in the open anyway.
Maybe you haven’t watched enough movies in your lifetime.
Do you not understand that people who decide to be careless around chainsaw-wielding wackos end up in trouble?
Or do you not get that doing anything other than running far, far away from the crazy person is a bad idea?
But here you are, sneaking across the grass toward the Jeep. Peering around you to make sure the stranger with the chainsaw isn’t nearby. You’re crawling on all fours now to keep him from spotting you.
You don’t think to actually look in the Jeep. Nah. Why would you do that?
You’re too focused on your surroundings.
So when you reach the vehicle, you quickly open the back door, hoping to grab the rifle and dash into the woods again.
The first thing you notice in the back of the Jeep is a hockey mask. A very dirty hockey mask.
Then you spot a knife half-hidden under a blanket.
These two things are definitely not good to see. Like ever.
You gulp and say a quick prayer that God will protect you as you slowly lift a corner of the blanket.
Good thing there isn’t a scary person underneath it. The chainsaw dude must have stashed his extra accessories here in John Luke’s Jeep. C’mon now. What was he thinking?
Well, you’re in way over your head at this point. Time to get John Luke and grab his keys from the cabin—as long as the chainsaw creeper isn’t still hanging around there. You slip on the hockey mask as a disguise and pick up the knife for protection, then retrace your steps into the woods.
John Luke doesn’t hear you come up behind him, so you tap him on the shoulder. “Hey, let’s go!”
He turns before you remember you’re still wearing the mask.
You’ve never seen anyone scream so loud or jump so high.
This mystery-solving stuff is more than you guys can take.
THE END
Start over.
Read “The Shadows That Follow Us: A Note from John Luke Robertson.”
UH-OH
IT’S BEEN ABOUT HALF AN HOUR since you got into your sleeping bag. Everything’s quiet outside except for the crackling of the fire. You’re not sure if you’re asleep or awake when you hear more strange sounds coming from the woods.
You open your eyes and confirm that John Luke is secure in his sleeping bag. He’s definitely asleep.
The scraping sound of wood moves through the darkness. Of something tossing things around. Stepping on branches.
Then you hear a scrape-scrape-scrape that sounds like—
No.
But you’re sure a creature is gnawing at some wood. Like a beaver . . .
Or an allibeaver.
Whatever it is, you know something’s going on not too far from the fire.
It takes you a few moments to unzip your sleeping bag and climb out. Sure enough, John Luke is out cold. You keep hearing that tapping, chewing noise. It’s gotta be a beaver. A regular beaver.
You pick up the flashlight and wonder whether y
ou should grab your rifle too. Then you remember what John Luke said about cutting off the tail of the allibeaver. You know there’s an ax you could pick up back at the cabin.
Which one will you take?
Do you choose the rifle? Go here.
Do you choose the ax? Go here.
DEATHTONE
BEFORE YOU GO INSIDE THE CABIN, you pause and tell John Luke to do the same.
“What?” he asks.
“Shhh. Just listen. It’s so peaceful out here.”
But no sooner have you spoken than you hear something—a barely audible something.
“Is that a phone?” you ask John Luke.
He nods. “It sounds like it.”
It rings every few seconds.
“Where’s it coming from?”
“I think the dining hall.”
“They put one of those in there?”
“Not that I can remember.”
It keeps ringing and you assume it’s going to stop soon. But it doesn’t.
The ringing continues on and on.
“I guess it doesn’t have an answering machine,” you say.
On about the fiftieth ring, you wonder if maybe one of you guys should go get it. “You think someone’s trying to get ahold of us?”
John Luke checks his cell. “No, I got my phone here. And it has reception right now.”
There’s something eerie about the repeated rings of the phone. Over and over and over again. Not to mention that it might be hard to sleep.
“I can go get it,” John Luke offers.
“Okay.”
But you think about why Isaiah summoned you here and wonder why someone would be calling the camp.
Could be any number of weird reasons.
Do you play it safe and go to the dining hall with John Luke? Go here.
Do you decide there’s nothing to worry about and let John Luke get the phone himself? Go here.
CHIEF STINKUM
YOU’RE BACK OUTSIDE, walking toward the lake, when curiosity gets the best of you.
You can’t believe you’re about to say this, but . . . “Tell me the story of Chief Stinkum.”
“Dad tells it the best.”
“You go ahead.”
John Luke is still carrying the feather, still looking around for others as if they’re clues. “There was once the Pungent tribe from the Great Reek Mountains.”
You stop him. “Is this story all about bad smells?”
He laughs and keeps talking. “Their chief leader was a big man, a sweaty man, the kind of man who could bathe and still smell.”
“Definitely sensing a smelly theme.”
John Luke kicks a dead log as you follow him up a hill and into the woods. “He had four sons.”
“Four, huh?”
“Yes, four. One was named Pompem. Another Stompem. Another was Cadagompem. And the final son was named Carl.”
“Carl?”
John Luke nods. “Carl.”
“Are you making this up as you go?” you ask him.
“Sorta. So anyway, this son named Carl, he always felt different. Maybe it’s because his brothers had cool names and he was named Carl. But there was something else too. He didn’t smell. All his other brothers were proud of the fact that they stank. They stank really, really bad. But not Carl. He could sweat in the sun all day but never start to smell.”
“Is this a ghost story?”
“Yeah. Just wait. You’ll see. This son, Carl, one day he decides he really wants to smell. So he tries to give himself gas. Like horrible gas. First he eats beans for breakfast. That works okay. Then he makes himself some stuffed boiled cabbage.”
You abruptly stop walking again. “Wait a minute. When does this story take place?”
“They’re a fairly modern tribe. Just work with me.”
You nod for him to keep going.
“The stuffed boiled cabbage—oh, he’s really starting to let it go now. But Chief Stinkum and Carl’s brothers—Pompem, Stompem, and Chompem—they don’t care. They’re not impressed.”
“Think you got that third name messed up.”
“So for dinner,” John Luke continues in a loud voice, “Carl decides to buy a gigantic jar of pickled eggs that have been sitting in a gas station for who knows how long. Maybe years. He eats a dozen of them.”
“When does the story get scary?” you ask as you arrive at the edge of Bluff Springs Lake.
“Right now. So the whole family’s at a campfire—you know, ’cause you’re tellin’ the kids this story around a campfire—and the wind is strong. Carl is sitting there, and he can tell the wind is blowing in the direction of his three brothers and Chief Stinkum. As usual, they’re laughing and ignoring him. So he waits for just the right moment.”
John Luke pauses for a second, looking at you with a big grin. “Then boom. It happens. It’s the loudest sound in the world. After that, the smell comes. And it’s awful. People start running away from the fire. Others pass out. Some start crying. But Chief Stinkum doesn’t move. He’s tough. He’s smelled worse. The floating cloudy mass somehow catches on fire, though, and that ends up shifting over to the chief, setting him on fire.”
“A gas pocket sets him on fire?” you ask. “This really is scary. To listen to.”
“Chief Stinkum runs down to the lake to douse the fire. But it’s too late. He’s gone. And later, at his funeral, the smell is still so strong that they can’t have his body there.”
“If Carl was my son, I might need to have some words with him.”
“Now legend has it,” John Luke says, “Chief Stinkum likes to haunt the kids at camp who smell the worst. He comes out from the lake and brings night terrors and bad breath. Whoever sees or is touched by Chief Stinkum will be stinky his whole life.”
“Stinky his whole life, huh? That is one terrifying tale.”
“My dad can really get going with the whole thing about Chief Stinkum coming back from the dead.”
You smile and gaze over the lake. Several more feathers are floating on the surface.
“Did you put those there?” you ask John Luke.
He’s staring at them in disbelief. “No way.”
“You sure?”
“Yes, sir. But the camp counselors before us probably did. Having some fun with the kids. Maybe we should get them.”
“Hmm. Maybe. But that is about the strangest campfire story I’ve ever heard. We could get a visit from Chief Stinkum tonight.”
“I hope not.”
Do you ignore the feathers but stay down by the lake for a while? Go here.
Do you let John Luke take the feathers out of the lake? Go here.
Do you head back to the cabins to pick one to sleep in? Go here.
CHOMP CHOMP CHOMP
SOMETIMES ONE SIMPLE CHOICE can change the course of your day.
And sometimes one quickly made decision can change the fate . . . of the entire world.
You tell John Luke to come with you into the woods. You have no reason to think that there’s anything actually dangerous out there. If there’s some kind of weird animal, then you’ll find it and deal with it. On the other hand, if it’s a bunch of kids playing some pranks on the campers—well, you’ll deal with them too.
It’s dark in the woods. The sky is clear and the moon is bright, but the trees are dense. Chirping crickets can be heard in every direction. Each step you take seems disruptive with the breaking of branches and the shuffling of boots over leaves and dirt.
“I think it came from this direction.” You point that way.
You take a few more steps before you hear something strange. It’s a different sound this time—a scratchy sort of noise.
“You hear that?” you ask.
“Yes, sir.”
“It’s like an animal’s chewing on some wood,” you say.
John Luke doesn’t reply, but you bet you’re both thinking the same thing.
The noise fills the air, and yep—you’d swear it sounds li
ke a beaver chomping away on some wood.
You keep walking. There it is again.
The noise is coming from above us.
Then you hear another sound. This one is louder, wilder.
It’s a low-rumbling bellow.
The chomping seems to be gone.
“You don’t have a flashlight, do you?” you whisper to John Luke.
He reaches in his pocket for his cell phone. You’re surprised that it’s actually not a bad flashlight.
“Can that thing microwave some popcorn for me too?” you ask with a chuckle.
John Luke takes the lead, waving his glowing wand. The deep bass grumble can be heard again, this time directly above you—nearer than before. You look up, and it all happens before you can blink.
Something drops from the trees . . . landing on John Luke.
You hear screams.
You rush toward him, grab at the thing, and find it’s some kind of—
No, it can’t be.
But you don’t think anymore as you rip at the tough leathery hide and try to get the long animal away from John Luke. It’s an alligator from what you can feel and see, but then again . . .
It jumped out of a tree. An alligator literally hopped right out of a tree.
The gator suddenly gets on all four legs and starts to—
You see its tail. Except it’s like no alligator tail you’ve ever seen.
“Go on! Get!” you yell, and to your surprise it waddles away on its tiny legs.
Wait a minute.
That tail . . . it’s long and round and . . .
You go to John Luke to avoid the craziness swirling around in your head.
“You okay, John Luke? That thing bite you?”
John Luke stands, and the first thing you notice is his eyes. They’ve darkened, yet they somehow seem to glow in the night. And then, right before your very eyes, he starts . . . changing.
I’m sleeping, and this is all in my mind. Those fried pickles have gotten to my brain.
Phil and the Ghost of Camp Ch-Yo-Ca Page 8