Sports Camp

by Rich Wallace

  Riley noticed that Eldon was sitting on the bench with his shoe off.

  “Had a pebble in there since about the fourth inning,” Eldon said. He shook out his shoe and put it back on.

  Since everyone else was gone, Riley finally had somebody to walk with.

  Eldon was a few inches taller than Riley and almost a year older, but he didn’t quite seem to fit in with the guys his own age. He tried to join them when they bragged about girls or joked around about how tough they all were, but he spent of lot of time lying on his bunk reading comic books or sports novels, and Riley’d noticed that he always made a point of eating his vegetables and drinking all his milk.

  “That was close,” Eldon said. “I thought that last ball was gone.”

  “Me too, and I was right there.” Riley shook his head. “I almost collided with Vinnie.”

  Eldon let out his breath in a huff. “Vinnie,” he said with a bit of disgust. “These guys are so full of themselves. Vinnie, Barry, Hernando—they act like they own the camp or something.”

  Riley just shrugged. He could see that for himself, but it didn’t seem like a good idea to bring it up.

  Eldon stopped walking and grabbed Riley’s arm. “Don’t tell them I said nothing.”

  “I wouldn’t.”

  “I mean, they aren’t so bad. Just, you know … Believe me, Barry doesn’t have a girlfriend. No way.”

  “I didn’t figure he did,” Riley said. “But I didn’t feel like getting beat up the other night if I said anything.”

  “That he could do.” Eldon picked up a small stone. “Think I could hit the lake from here?”

  Riley looked down the hill. They were about eighty yards above the path that he’d taken on Saturday night when he walked around the lake alone. “Doubt it.”

  “I’ll give it a shot anyway.” Eldon ran a couple of steps forward and flung the stone as far as he could. It reached the line of trees but fell quite a bit short of the water.

  “Not bad,” Riley said.

  “Maybe if I used a heavier rock.” But Eldon didn’t look for another. He rubbed his shoulder instead. “Maybe not … So what are we doing?”

  “Now?”

  “Yeah,” Eldon said. “We got at least an hour to kill before dinner.”

  “I don’t know. Could check out the Trading Post again.”

  “I been there ten times. You buy me a candy bar?”

  “Okay.” Riley reached into his pocket and felt for the dollar bill he kept there. That would get two candy bars. He could spare it.

  But then they saw Barry walking toward them, waving his arms. “Get over here!” he called.

  “What’s up?” Eldon yelled back.

  “We’ve been sabotaged! Get your butts to the cabin.”

  Eldon broke into a run and Riley followed.

  The inside of the cabin looked like something out of a horror movie. Green slime was dripping down the walls, and socks and T-shirts had been pulled from some of the lockers and thrown around the cabin. A pile of garbage—greasy napkins, corncobs, banana peels—was sitting on top of Barry’s sleeping bag. And on the wall above Vinnie’s bunk were the words GET OUT in black writing.

  “Ghosts?” Eldon asked.

  “Idiots,” Barry said. “It had to be those jerks from Cabin Four.”

  “What about that slime?” Patrick asked, pointing to the wall. “It looks like ectoplasm!”

  Barry stepped over and rubbed the green stuff with a finger. He sniffed it and gave out a humorless laugh. “Shampoo,” he said. “Apple or lime, I believe. And that”—he pointed to the GET OUT notation—“was written with a burnt stick. There’s ghosts in this cabin—I’m not denying that—but this is plain old bad blood.”

  “So what are we gonna do about it?” Hernando said, pounding his fist into his hand.

  Barry gave Hernando a sinister look, then smiled thoughtfully. “Bide our time. Act like we have no idea how this could have happened. We’ll get even and then some. Just let me think it over for a few days.”

  Barry looked around at the walls, then pointed to Riley and Eldon. “You two twerps!” he said. “Hit the Larry and bring back some wet paper towels. Some dry ones, too.”

  They started straightening up the cabin. It didn’t take long. Barry hung his sleeping bag over a fence railing in the sunlight to rid it of the trash smell, and Eldon wiped the sooty message off the wall.

  “Not a word to anybody,” Barry said. “Not even the counselors. We’ll handle this in our own way, and it will be sweet.”

  “We should wait until they’re at a basketball game or something, then mess up Cabin Four twice as bad as this one,” Vinnie said.

  “Get deer crap from the woods and smear it on their walls,” said Patrick.

  “Catch some snakes and put them in their bunks,” said Hernando.

  “Don’t worry,” Barry said. “We can do a lot better than this.” He opened his palm and gestured around the cabin. “A stunt like they pulled takes very little creativity. When we get our revenge, it’ll be spectacular.”

  CAMP OLYMPIA BULLETIN

  Wednesday, August 4

  CABIN 6 PADDLERS DOMINATE RACE

  Canoe Points Give Sixers Overall Lead

  The Cabin 6 team of Troy Hiller and Avery Moretti captured the two-man canoe race on Tuesday, edging the Sullivan-Singh boat from Cabin 2. The Sixers picked up more points with a third-place finish.

  Cabin 6 is leading the race toward the Big Joe Trophy, despite being winless in basketball and softball. The big points in those sports and water polo will be awarded after the play-offs.

  Monahan Is Top Dog in Eating Contest

  Cabin 3 sensation Barry Monahan flabbergasted the experts Tuesday night, downing 13 hot dogs in 15 minutes to knock off defending champion Luis Vega of Cabin 5. Vega, trailing early, roared back in the final minutes and closed with 12 dogs, one better than he did a year ago. But that wasn’t enough to overcome Monahan, who said he could have eaten more, “but I didn’t like the mustard they put on the dogs.”

  Standings

  Total Points

  Cabin 6 20

  Cabin 2 19

  Cabin 3 12

  Cabin 1 11

  Cabin 5 11

  Cabin 4 5

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Big Joe’s First Victim

  It was just about fully dark, and the Monahan brothers had a fire going in the metal trash barrel behind the cabin. Barry had thrown in a long damp branch of green pine, so sparks and smoke were shooting into the air.

  Riley had just brushed his teeth over at the bathhouse and was taking the long way around when Barry caught sight of him and called him over. “Hey, Night Crawler!”

  “What?” Riley asked. He was still wary around Barry. He never knew what the guy might pull.

  Barry gestured toward the barrel. “Warm your hands,” he said. “It feels good.”

  “I’m plenty warm.” But Riley stood by the barrel and held out his palms just to seem friendly.

  “The smoke keeps the bugs away,” Patrick said. “So, that was another awful dinner, huh?”

  Riley rolled his eyes. They’d had salmon croquettes and mushy carrots. He’d tried to fill up on bread, but everybody else’d had the same idea and there wasn’t any extra. So he bought a Milky Way at the Trading Post after the basketball game—they’d finally got a win—but he wasn’t satisfied.

  Patrick pointed his thumb toward the cabin. “We still got a stash.”

  “Candy?”

  “Chicken.”

  Riley’s eyes opened wide. “You still have that Jersey Chicken from Saturday?”

  “It’s all good,” Patrick said. “You’ll see.” He tossed a handful of pinecones into the barrel and went inside the cabin. He came back with a black trash bag and pulled out the remaining red and white bucket. A soiled gray sock came out, too.

  “Your laundry?” Riley asked.

  “Some of it. I figured the dampness would help keep the chicken moist.
Don’t worry, I kept the lid on the bucket.”

  The bucket still held a small breast, a wing, and a couple of thighs. “I threw some ice in the bag on Monday, too, to keep it fresh,” Patrick said. “And it’s been in my locker all this time, out of the heat.”

  Riley peered into the bucket and sniffed. The heavily breaded chicken didn’t smell fresh, but it didn’t smell rotten either.

  “Have some,” Patrick said, taking a bite out of one of the thighs. “It’s still okay. We been eating it every night.”

  Riley took the wing. The skin was slick and the meat was dried out, but it had that unmistakable Jersey Chicken flavor, salty and peppery and a little garlicky. He gnawed it right down to the bones: skin, cartilage, gristle—it all tasted good. The best thing he’d eaten all week.

  “Take the last one,” Patrick said. “You had the smallest piece.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yeah. We’re tired of Jersey Chicken anyway. We’ve had it five nights in a row.”

  “A man can only eat so much chicken,” Barry said. “And so many hot dogs.”

  So Riley ate the last thigh and Patrick dumped the bucket and the bones into the barrel.

  Though they weren’t very good at basketball, the Monahans had proven to be the nucleus of the Cabin 3 softball team. Barry—he seemed to be cool with having the guys refer to him as Fat Barry, though Riley wouldn’t dare—was a good first baseman and a power hitter. And Patrick was quick and wiry and could hit anything thrown at him. The brothers were the main reason they’d won their first two games.

  A few other kids had wandered over and the moon was up in the sky, so Barry launched into one of his horror stories. “This one happened right in these woods,” he began, speaking slowly and staring at the fire, “oh, about sixty years ago. Way before this was a camp. Before there was even a paved road through these parts of the county …”

  The chicken bucket ignited, and the orange glow lit up the other faces. Eldon and Kirby. Riley looked around. He could see the Big Dipper low in the sky over to the west. There were lights on in most of the cabins.

  “There’d been a fight,” Barry was saying. “You guys might have seen that old run-down barn on the left about a mile south of here; we passed it on the way in. That farm’s been out of business for decades. Anyway, they say one of the hands—Maynard, they called him—got in an argument with the farmer about his wages….”

  Riley’s eyes met Eldon’s straight across the barrel, and Eldon looked away. Somebody shouted way over near the latrine. Just a name. Arnie or Harvey, something like that.

  “The farmer heard a noise in the kitchen that night and rushed down the stairs to see Maynard slipping out the door. It seemed obvious that he’d been there to steal what he thought was rightfully his. So the farmer and his son took off after him. Maynard ran into the woods.”

  Riley felt a surge of energy. And maybe fear. Those woods were dark. Must have been a whole lot darker back then.

  “It was a pitch-black night; you could barely see the ground in front of you. Maynard’s all scratched up from branches hitting his face, but he keeps running like his life is on the line. The farmer’s got a torch, so Maynard knows he’s getting closer. He also knows the farmer’s got a gun!”

  Kirby let out a nervous laugh. Patrick picked up another piece of punky wood and dropped it into the barrel. More sparks shot up. And smoky warmth.

  “Maynard’s sense of smell was vivid, so he knew he was approaching the lake. Our lake. Lake Surprise. He could smell the algae and the mud and even the fish beneath the water. This guy’s sense of smell was like a hunting dog’s!

  “He dives into the lake and starts swimming. He’s puffing so hard from running through the woods that he’s swallowing water with every stroke, but he presses on. The farmer and his son stop when they reach the water and fire a few shots, but they’ve lost sight of Maynard. They can’t swim. He’s getting away.”

  Riley licked his lips and tasted chicken grease. Everyone around the fire was wide-eyed. Barry rocked slowly back and forth as he spoke, never taking his eyes off the flames.

  “After twenty minutes of swimming, Maynard’s approaching the far end of the lake, that deep cold area that leads into the cove. He’s got barely enough strength left to hold on, but in two hundred yards he’ll be out of the water and on his way. In daylight he can make his way through the forest, all the way over to the Delaware River and Narrowsburg, and he’ll catch a ride and be in New York City by the following afternoon with a couple of hundred stolen dollars in his pocket.”

  Barry’s hand darted out and grabbed Riley’s arm, clamping down hard. “Like that! Swift and sharp, Maynard feels an unbelievable pain below his elbow.”

  Riley jumped back. He glanced around, but everybody else had their eyes fixed on Barry, not even blinking.

  Barry continued. “He takes another stroke, but there’s nothing there to propel him through the water. Half his arm is gone!

  “A second bite rips deep into his thigh and pulls him under the surface. He’s thrashing with his good arm and leg and comes up gasping for air, the water turning red with his blood. Then the fatal blow—this massive gray head surges through the water, clamping its beak in the center of Maynard’s throat and snapping right through the neck. Maynard’s final thoughts are only of the pain as he sinks beneath the surface for the last time.”

  Barry nodded solemnly and cleared his throat. “Big Joe’s first victim … It wasn’t pretty.

  “But that’s not the end of the story. Not by a long shot. You’ll never hear the counselors mention this—they don’t want to scare anybody—but you can still hear Maynard running frantically through these woods some August nights. You’ll hear the splash and swear somebody’s swimming for his life across Lake Surprise around midnight, and if you listen carefully, you’ll hear the crunching of his bones and his painful screams as Maynard turns into snapping-turtle prey.

  “Don’t get in his way when he’s running—he’ll knock you down and trample you. Might even drag you into the lake with him.”

  Barry took a deep breath and let it go. “Yeah, I heard him with my own ears last summer. A night just like this one—really quiet, really dark.”

  Barry shook his head and winced. He took a piece of paper towel from his pocket and tore it into a small square. He picked up a small handful of dried-out pine needles from the ground and rolled them tightly into the paper, then held the end of his homemade cigarette against the flame. He took a deep drag and held the smoke in his mouth, then handed the butt to Patrick.

  The butt went around the circle. When it reached Riley, it was only about an inch long. He put it to his lips and inhaled, then started to sputter and cough. Riley quickly handed it back to Barry and rubbed his hot fingers together. They smelled like smoky pine, and his eyes were watering. Barry laughed.

  Nobody said much after that; they just stared at the fire. A couple of times Riley glanced nervously toward the woods. The fire got low, and a few mosquitoes buzzed around.

  Riley felt an uncomfortable gurgling in his stomach. He burped up a sour chicken taste and looked toward the latrine. He still had his toothbrush and toothpaste in his pocket.

  “Must be after eleven,” Kirby finally said. “What happened to ‘lights-out’?”

  “The third basketball game must have gone into overtime,” Patrick replied.

  “Maybe they just forgot,” Barry said. “Maybe Maynard got ’em all.”

  Riley laughed. He was tired, and the qualifying for the big swim was tomorrow. But then he burped again and had to swallow some bile. Suddenly he had a bigger concern than sleep to deal with. He needed to get to the bathroom in a hurry.

  That chicken hadn’t been so fresh after all.

  CAMP OLYMPIA BULLETIN

  Thursday, August 5

  SIXERS SCORE MAJOR HOOPS UPSET

  Basketball Loss Is First for Fortunes

  The previously winless Sixers took to the hard court Wednesday eve
ning against the previously undefeated Cabin 4 Fortunes. Guess what? Lionel Robertson came alive for 17 points as the Sixers walked away with a 33–26 shocker.

  “We’re ready to roll now,” Robertson said after the game. “We’re not conceding that Big Joe Trophy to anybody.”

  In other action, the Cabin 5 Fighters remained unbeaten with a 39–27 win over the Cabin 2 Tubers. The Cabin 3 Threshers edged Cabin 1, 31–29.

  Big Swim Qualifying Is This Afternoon

  Twenty swimmers will earn their way into the camp-ending Lake Surprise Showdown this afternoon. The Showdown, a grueling 1.2-mile marathon swim, is set for Friday evening, August 13. In past years, points from the swim race have often decided the overall team champion.

  Today’s qualifying heats will cover about three-quarters of a mile, beginning at the dock and turning at the yellow buoy midway up the lake.

  Two cabins at a time will swim this afternoon, with Cabins 1 and 2 starting at 1:15 p.m., 3 and 4 at 2:00, and 5 and 6 at 2:45. The twenty fastest swimmers will advance to next Friday’s race.

  Upcoming

  Tug-of-war (Saturday morning). Flex those muscles!

  Shuffleboard tournament (Saturday afternoon). Sharpen your aim!

  Cross-country relay (Sunday afternoon). Don’t overeat at lunch!

  CHAPTER SIX

  Orange and Brown

  Riley stepped out of the latrine, where he’d been living since last night. There couldn’t possibly be any of that rancid chicken left in his system.

  He’d had no breakfast. No lunch. And the qualifying round for the big swim race was less than an hour away.

  Shawn was walking toward him. He’d taken Riley to the camp nurse that morning, and she’d given him a big pink dose of Pepto-Bismol and told him to take a nap. So Riley had slept through the softball game, which Cabin 3 managed to win despite being short one outfielder.