[Goosebumps 33] - The Horror at Camp Jellyjam

by R. L. Stine

  THE HORROR AT

  CAMP JELLYJAM

  Goosebumps - 33

  R.L. Stine

  (An Undead Scan v1.5)

  1

  Mom pointed excitedly out the car window. “Look! A cow!”

  My brother, Elliot, and I both groaned. We had been driving through farmland for four hours, and Mom had pointed out every single cow and horse.

  “Look out your side, Wendy!” Mom cried from the front seat. “Sheep!”

  I stared out the window and saw about a dozen gray sheep—fat, woolly ones—grazing on a grassy green hill. “Nice sheep, Mom,” I said, rolling my eyes.

  “There’s a cow!” Elliot exclaimed.

  Now he was doing it!

  I reached across the backseat and gave him a hard shove. “Mom, is it possible to explode from boredom?” I moaned.

  “BOOOOOOM!” Elliot shouted. The kid is a riot, isn’t he?

  “I told you,” Dad muttered to Mom. “A twelve-year-old is too old to go on a long car trip.”

  “So is an eleven-year-old!” Elliot protested.

  I’m twelve. Elliot is eleven.

  “How can you two be bored?” Mom asked. “Look—horses!”

  Dad sped up to pass a huge yellow truck. The road curved through high, sloping hills. In the far distance, I could see gray mountains, rising up in a heavy mist.

  “There’s so much beautiful scenery to admire,” Mom gushed.

  “After a while, it all looks like some boring old calendar,” I complained.

  Elliot pointed out of his window. “Look! No horses!”

  He doubled over, laughing. He thought that was the funniest thing anyone had ever said. Elliot really cracks himself up.

  Mom turned in the front seat. She narrowed her eyes at my brother. “Are you making fun of me?” she demanded.

  “Yes!” Elliot replied.

  “Of course not,” I chimed in. “Who would ever make fun of you, Mom?”

  “When do you ever stop?” Mom complained.

  “We’re leaving Idaho,” Dad announced. “That’s Wyoming up ahead. We’ll be up in those mountains soon.”

  “Maybe we’ll see Mountain Cows!” I exclaimed sarcastically.

  Elliot laughed.

  Mom sighed. “Go ahead. Ruin our first family vacation in three years.”

  We hit a bump. I heard the trailer bounce behind us. Dad had hooked one of those big, old-fashioned trailers to the back of our car. We had dragged it all over the West.

  The trailer was actually kind of fun. It had four narrow beds built into the sides. And it had a table we could sit around to eat or play cards. It even had a small kitchen.

  At night, we’d pull into a trailer camp. Dad would hook the trailer up to water and electricity. And we spent the night inside, in our own private little house.

  We hit another bump. I heard the trailer bounce behind us again. The car lurched forward as we started to climb into the mountains.

  “Mom, how do I know if I’m getting carsick or not?” Elliot asked.

  Mom turned back to us, frowning. “Elliot, you never get carsick,” she said in a low voice. “Did you forget?”

  “Oh. Right,” Elliot replied. “I just thought it might be something to do.”

  “Elliot!” Mom screamed. “If you’re so bored, take a nap!”

  “That’s boring,” my brother muttered.

  I could see Mom’s face turning an angry red. Mom doesn’t look like Dad, Elliot, and me. She is blond and has blue eyes and very fair skin, which turns red very easily. And she’s kind of plump.

  My dad, brother, and I are skinny and sort of dark. The three of us have brown hair and brown eyes.

  “You kids don’t know how lucky you are,” Dad said. “You’re getting to see some amazing sights.”

  “Bobby Harrison got to go to baseball camp,” Elliot grumbled. “And Jay Thurman went to sleepaway camp for eight weeks!”

  “I wanted to go to sleepaway camp, too!” I protested.

  “You’ll go to camp next summer,” Mom replied sharply. “This is the chance of a lifetime!”

  “But the chance of a lifetime is so boring!” Elliot complained.

  “Wendy, entertain your brother,” Dad ordered.

  “Excuse me?” I cried. “How am I supposed to entertain him?”

  “Play Car Geography,” Mom suggested.

  “Oh, no! Not again!” Elliot wailed.

  “Go ahead. I’ll start,” Mom said. “Atlanta.”

  Atlanta ends with an A. So I had to think of a city that starts with an A. “Albany,” I said. “Your turn, Elliot.”

  “Hmmmmm. A city that starts with a Y…” My brother thought for a moment. Then he twisted up his face. “I quit!”

  My brother is such a bad sport. He takes games too seriously, and he really hates to lose. Sometimes he gets so intense when he’s playing soccer or softball, I really worry about him.

  Sometimes when he thinks he can’t win, he just quits. Like now.

  “What about Youngstown?” Mom asked.

  “What about it?” Elliot grumbled.

  “I have an idea!” I said. “How about letting Elliot and me ride in the trailer for a while?”

  “Yeah! Cool!” Elliot cried.

  “I don’t think so,” Mom replied. She turned to Dad. “It’s against the law to ride in a trailer, isn’t it?”

  “I don’t know,” Dad said, slowing the car. We were climbing through thick pine woods now. The air smelled so fresh and sweet.

  “Let us!” Elliot pleaded. “Come on—let us!”

  “I don’t see any harm in letting them ride back there for a while,” Dad told Mom. “As long as they’re careful.”

  “We’ll be careful!” Elliot promised.

  “Are you sure it’s safe?” Mom asked Dad.

  Dad nodded. “What could happen?”

  He pulled the car to the side of the highway. Elliot and I slid out. We ran to the trailer, pulled open the door, and hurried inside.

  A few seconds later, the car pulled back onto the highway. We bounced along behind it in the big trailer.

  “This is so cool!” Elliot declared, making his way to the back window.

  “Do I have good ideas or what?” I asked, following him. He slapped me a high five.

  We stared out the back window. The highway seemed to tilt down as we headed up to the mountains.

  The trailer bounced and swayed as the car tugged it.

  The road tilted up steeper. And steeper.

  And that’s when all our troubles began.

  2

  “I win!” Elliot cried. He jumped up and raised both fists in triumph.

  “Three out of five!” I demanded, rubbing my wrist. “Come on—three out of five. Unless you’re chicken.”

  I knew that would get him. Elliot can’t stand to be called a chicken. He settled back in the seat.

  We leaned over the narrow table and clasped hands. We had been arm wrestling for about ten minutes. It was kind of fun because the table bounced every time the trailer rolled over a bump in the road.

  I am as strong as Elliot. But he’s more determined. A lot more determined. You never saw anyone groan and sweat and strain so much in arm wrestling!

  To me, a game is just a game. But to Elliot, every game is life or death.

  He had won two out of three about five times.

  My wrist was sore, and my hand ached. But I really wanted to beat him in this final match.

  I leaned over the table and squeezed his hand harder. I gritted my teeth and stared menacingly into his dark brown eyes.

  “Go!” he cried.

  We both strained
against each other. I pushed hard. Elliot’s hand started to bend back.

  I pushed harder. I nearly had him. Just a little harder.

  He let out a groan and pushed back. He shut his eyes. His face turned beet-red. I could see the veins push out at the sides of his neck.

  My brother just can’t stand to lose.

  SLAM!

  The back of my hand hit the table hard.

  Elliot had won again.

  Actually, I let him win. I didn’t want to see his whole head explode because of a stupid arm-wrestling match.

  He jumped up and pumped his fists, cheering for himself.

  “Hey—!” he cried out as the trailer swayed hard, and he went crashing into the wall.

  The trailer lurched again. I grabbed the table to keep from falling off my seat. “What’s going on?”

  “We changed direction. We’re heading down now,” Elliot replied. He edged his way back toward the table.

  But we bumped hard, and he toppled to the floor. “Hey—we’re going backwards!”

  “I’ll bet Mom’s driving,” I said, holding on to the table edge with both hands.

  Mom always drives like a crazy person. When you warn her that she’s going eighty, she always says, “That can’t be right. It feels as if I’m going thirty-five!”

  The trailer was bouncing and bumping, rolling downhill. Elliot and I were bouncing and bumping with the trailer.

  “What is their problem?” Elliot cried, grabbing on to one of the beds, struggling to keep his balance. “Are they backing up? Why are we going backwards?”

  The trailer roared downhill. I pushed myself up from the table and stumbled to the front to see the car. Shoving aside the red plaid curtain, I peered out through the small window.

  “Uh… Elliot…” I choked out. “We’ve got a problem.”

  “Huh? A problem?” he replied, bouncing harder as the trailer picked up speed.

  “Mom and Dad aren’t pulling us anymore,” I told him. “The car is gone.”

  3

  Elliot’s face filled with confusion. He didn’t understand me. Or maybe he didn’t believe me!

  “The trailer has come loose!” I screamed, staring out the bouncing window. “We’re rolling downhill—on our own!”

  “N-n-n-no!” Elliot chattered. He wasn’t stuttering. He was bouncing so hard, he could barely speak. His sneakers hopped so hard on the trailer floor, he seemed to be tap dancing.

  “OW!” I let out a pained shriek as my head bounced against the ceiling. Elliot and I stumbled to the back. Gripping the windowsill tightly, I struggled to see where we were heading.

  The road curved steeply downhill, through thick pine woods on both sides. The trees were a bouncing blur of greens and browns as we hurtled past.

  Picking up speed. Bouncing and tumbling.

  Faster.

  Faster.

  The tires roared beneath us. The trailer tilted and dipped.

  I fell to the floor. Landed hard on my knees. Reached to pull myself up. But the trailer swayed, and I went sprawling on my back.

  Pulling myself to my knees, I saw Elliot bouncing around on the floor like a soccer ball. I threw myself at the back of the trailer and peered out the window.

  The trailer bumped hard. The road curved sharply—but we didn’t curve with it!

  We shot off the side of the road. Swerved into the trees.

  “Elliot!” I shrieked. “We’re going to crash!”

  4

  The trailer jolted hard. I heard a cracking sound.

  It’s going to break in half! I thought.

  I pressed both hands against the front and stared out the window. Dark trees flew past.

  A hard bump sent me sprawling to the floor.

  I heard Elliot calling my name. “Wendy! Wendy! Wendy!”

  I shut my eyes and tensed every muscle. And waited for the crash.

  Waited…

  Waited…

  Silence.

  I opened my eyes. It took me a few seconds to realize that we were no longer moving. I took a deep breath and climbed to my feet.

  “Wendy?” I heard Elliot’s weak cry from the back of the trailer.

  My legs were trembling as I turned around. My whole body felt weird. As if we were still bouncing. “Elliot—are you okay?”

  He had been thrown into one of the bottom bunks. “Yeah. I guess,” he replied. He lowered his feet to the floor and shook his head. “I’m kind of dizzy.”

  “Me, too,” I confessed. “What a ride!”

  “Better than Space Mountain!” Elliot exclaimed. He climbed to his feet. “Let’s get out of this thing!”

  We both started to the door at the front. It was an uphill climb. The trailer tilted up.

  I reached the door first. I grabbed the handle.

  A loud knock on the door made me jump back. “Hey… !” I cried.

  Three more knocks.

  “It’s Mom and Dad!” Elliot cried. “They found us! Open it up! Hurry!”

  He didn’t have to tell me to hurry. My heart skipped. I was so glad to see them!

  I turned the handle, pushed open the trailer door—

  —and gasped.

  5

  I stared into the face of a blond-haired man. His blue eyes sparkled in the bright sunlight.

  He was dressed all in white. He wore a crisp white T-shirt tucked into baggy white shorts. A small round button pinned to his T-shirt read ONLY THE BEST in bold black letters.

  “Uh… hi,” I finally managed to choke out.

  He flashed me a gleaming smile. He seemed to have about two thousand teeth. “Hey, guys—everyone okay in there?” he asked. His blue eyes sparkled even brighter.

  “Yeah. We’re okay,” I told him. “A little shaken up, but—”

  “Who are you?” Elliot cried, poking his head out the door.

  The guy’s smile didn’t fade. “My name is Buddy.”

  “I’m Wendy. He’s Elliot. We thought you were our parents,” I explained. I hopped down to the ground.

  Elliot followed me. “Where are Mom and Dad?” he asked, frowning.

  “I haven’t seen anyone, guy,” Buddy told him. He studied the trailer. “What happened here? You came unhitched?”

  I nodded, brushing my dark hair off my face. “Yeah. On the steep hills, I guess.”

  “Dangerous,” Buddy muttered. “You must have been really scared.”

  “Not me!” Elliot declared.

  What a kid. First, he’s shaking in terror and calling out my name over and over. Now he’s Mister Macho.

  “I’ve never been so scared in all my life!” I admitted.

  I took a few steps away from the trailer and searched the woods. The trees creaked and swayed in a light breeze. The sun beamed down brightly. I shielded my eyes with one hand as I peered around.

  No sign of Mom and Dad. I couldn’t see the highway through the thick trees.

  I could see the tire tracks our trailer had made through the soft dirt. Somehow we had shot through a clear path between the trees. The trailer had come to rest at the foot of a sharp, sloping hill.

  “Wow. We were lucky,” I muttered.

  “You’re very lucky,” Buddy declared cheerfully. He stepped up beside me, placed his hands on my shoulders, and turned me around. “Check it out. Look where you guys landed!”

  Gazing up the hill, I saw a wide clearing between the trees. And then I saw a huge, red-and-white banner, stretched high on two poles. I had to squint to read the words on the banner.

  Elliot read them aloud: “King Jellyjam’s Sports Camp.”

  “The, camp is on the other side of the hill,” Buddy told us, flashing us both a friendly smile. “Come on! Follow me!”

  “But—but—” my brother sputtered. “We have to find our parents!”

  “Hey—no problem, guy. You can wait for them at the camp,” Buddy assured him.

  “But how will they know where to find us?” I protested. “Should we leave a note?”


  Buddy flashed me another dazzling smile. “No. I’ll take care of it,” he told me. “No problem.”

  He stepped past the trailer and started up the hill. His white T-shirt and white shorts gleamed in the sunlight. I saw that his socks and high-tops were sparkling white, too.

  That’s his uniform. He must work at the camp, I decided.

  Buddy turned back. “You guys coming?” He motioned with both hands. “Come on. You’re going to like it!”

  Elliot and I hurried to catch up to him. My legs trembled as I ran. I could still feel the trailer floor bouncing and jolting beneath me. I wondered if I would ever feel normal again.

  As we made our way up the grassy hill, the red-and-white banner came into clearer view. “King Jellyjam’s Sports Camp,” I read the words aloud.

  A funny, purple cartoon character had been drawn beside the words on the banner. He looked like a blob of grape bubble gum. He had a big smile on his face. He wore a gold crown on his head.

  “Who’s that?” I asked Buddy.

  Buddy glanced up at the banner. “That’s King Jellyjam,” he replied. “He’s our little mascot.”

  “Weird-looking mascot for a sports camp,” I declared, staring up at the purple, blobby king.

  Buddy didn’t reply.

  “Do you work at the camp?” Elliot asked.

  Buddy nodded. “It’s a great place to work. I’m the head counselor, guys. So—welcome!”

  “But we can’t go to your camp,” I protested. “We have to find our parents. We have to…”

  Buddy put a hand on my shoulder and a hand on Elliot’s shoulder. He guided us up the hill. “You guys have had a close call. You might as well stay and have some fun. Enjoy the camp. Until I can hook up with your parents.”

  As we neared the top of the hill, I heard voices. Kids’ voices. Shouting and laughing.

  The clearing narrowed. Tall pine trees, birch trees, and maples clustered over the hill.

  “What kind of sports camp is it?” Elliot asked Buddy.

  “We play all kinds of sports,” Buddy replied. “From Ping-Pong to football. From croquet to soccer. We have swimming. We have tennis. We have archery. We even have a marbles tournament!”