by Dann Gershon
It took a moment for Einstein to realize that it wasn’t spi-ders speaking to him; it was the two girls in the row directly behind him. They were simultaneously digging their long, black, manicured nails into both of his shoulders.
“Do you mind?” he said indignantly.
The two girls giggled. Einstein’s anger quickly subsided as he got a better look at them. They were hotties. He noticed that they were identical in every way, all the way down to their long flowing black robes and their conical black hats. Both had dark hair, hazel eyes, and slim figures that had blossomed nicely. Even their noses were perfect. Not only were they the only females on the bus, but they were the only ones other than himself who had opted to dress up as something other than a mummy, a vampire, or a werewolf. Einstein had never had much luck when it came to the opposite sex, but his thirteen- year-old hormones had recently kicked in, and the possibilities piqued his interest.
“I just got out of prison for armed robbery,” Einstein con-fided to the twins. “Wearing a disguise will violate the terms of my parole.”
“Oh yeah, you look like a total gangster,” the girl on the right said. “What did you do, rob a piggy bank?”
Actually, Einstein had been nabbed once for shoplifting a carton of Twinkies from the supermarket, but it was more a case of forgetfulness than a deliberate act of larceny. The se-curity guard had placed him in the janitor’s office for a few hours while trying to locate his parents. Having no luck, the weary guard finally decided to release Einstein on his own recognizance rather than listen to any further threats of un-lawful arrest and police brutality. He even let Einstein keep the Twinkies as long as he promised to take his business to the 7-Eleven up the block.
“We’re the Whammy sisters,” the girl on the left announced.
“I’m Willow and she’s Wanda,” the one on the right added. “We’re, like, you know, witches.”
“Pleased to meet you,” Einstein said, recognizing the home-town accent. Though he normally found the Valley girl accent as offensive as curdled cottage cheese, at this point anything remotely within the realm of his normal day-to-day life was
11 welcome. Besides that, the sisters were kind of cute, and who knew what could happen over eight long weeks with no pa-rental supervision.
“Are you good witches or bad witches?” he asked flirt- atiously.
Einstein regretted asking the question. Willow smiled at her sister and then cracked him on the head with her broomstick.
“Take a wild guess, doughboy,” Willow cooed as she whacked him once more for good measure. Not to be outdone by her twin, Wanda poked him in the forehead with her magic wand, leaving a small, red welt.
Einstein slouched down in his seat to avoid any further con-tact with the witches of Woodland Hills, gently rubbing his skull. This was the story of his life. Neighborhood bullies and now a camp filled with monsters. For this type of abuse he didn’t need to travel to the middle of the Mojave Desert, he could have stayed at home and gone to summer school. He closed his eyes and let out a soft moan. If the bus ride to Creepy Time was any indication of what he could expect for the next eight weeks, it was going to be a very long summer indeed.
Cha p te r
T
Day One — 10:57 A.M. he first thing Einstein noticed as he stepped off the bus was the heat. It was well over a hundred degrees outside, but it felt hotter. A whole lot hotter. The July air was bone dry and it was difficult to breathe without scorching the inside of your nose. August would be more of the same, but worse. A whole lot worse. Einstein felt light-headed and woozy, wondering how much his delicate system could stand before it malfunctioned and shut down altogether. Sweat poured from his mop of curly brown hair like a leaky faucet, blurring his vision. He removed his glasses and wiped his brow with a beefy forearm.
“Einstein P. Fleet?” It took Einstein a moment or two to realize that someone was speaking to him. He put on his glasses and looked down his nose at a rail-thin man wearing a starched white camp creepy time—love it or leave it T-shirt that showed off his muscular arms to the best possible advantage. He swooped down on Einstein like a hungry hawk on a grass-hopper, grinning from ear to ear and scaring Einstein half to death. The overly cheerful counselor slapped a name tag on the pocket of Einstein’s sensible short-sleeved perma-wrinkle camp shirt and moved back a couple of paces to inspect his handiwork.
“Welcome to Camp Creepy Time, Fleet,” he said, shaking Einstein’s hand. “The name’s Tommy Buckman, but everybody calls me Bucky.”
The nickname suited the counselor to a tee. His front teeth hung over his bottom lip like two oversized Chiclets. He was half man, half beaver. Bucky pulled out his clipboard and scrolled down a list of names with his finger, stopping at Einstein.
“Looks like you’ll be staying in Cabin C, my man. You’re bunking with the werewolves.” Bucky tugged on the collar of Einstein’s camp shirt and made a clucking sound. “Say, what happened to your costume?”
“In the excitement of packing, I must have forgotten,” Ein-stein lied. “If it’s a dress code problem, I’d be happy to go home and get it.”
“No need for that, Fleet. I’m sure we can dig up a spare cos-tume somewhere.” Bucky rubbed Einstein’s belly and laughed. “Of course, we may have to have it altered.”
Einstein watched as the other campers were given their bunk assignments and wondered how to go about applying for a transfer. Maybe the next group of kids to arrive would be slightly more normal.
“When does the next bus arrive?” he asked Bucky. “Next bus?” The counselor shook his head and laughed. “There are no other buses. You thirty-six campers were all handpicked by our staff.”
“Handpicked?” Einstein replied. “Based on what criteria?”
“Based on your interest and knowledge of werewolves, mummies, and vampires. You’ve been to a theme park before, haven’t you?”
Einstein nodded.
“Well, this is what we call a theme camp,” Bucky said proudly. Then he bent down and whispered in Einstein�
�s ear, “If Creepy Time catches on, we plan to franchise.”
The midday sun pounded down on Einstein like a jackham-mer and he began to feel woozy. “Could I get some water, please?”
The counselor patted Einstein on the back and handed him the orientation packet. “Nothing like a summer in the Mojave Desert. It’s a little hot this time of year, but you’ll get used to it.”
“I need water,” Einstein repeated.
“This here,” he said, unfolding a large piece of paper, “is a map of the camp and a list of all the activities. The times and locations are all in your kit.”
“Water.”
“The cafeteria is right over there,” Bucky said, pointing to a crooked wooden shack that looked like a set from an old Western movie. In no way did the shack resemble the luxury hotel that had been featured on the cover of the brochure. “So is the main office.”
“Where is the infirmary?” Einstein asked weakly.
“It’s over there,” Bucky said, pointing to his left.
The main building was surrounded by two or three smaller structures. The wooden planks were warped, rotting, and in dire need of a fresh coat of paint. Judging from the termite
15 holes that riddled the walls, the buildings were long overdue for the services of a good exterminator. The doors were lop-sided and hung loosely on their hinges. The only windows that were clean enough to see through were the ones that were broken. All things considered, Camp Creepy Time was a regu-lar ghost town.
“I think I’m going to be sick,” Einstein moaned. Suddenly, the world began to spin. The ghost town was spinning. The ground was spinning. Even the bucktoothed counselor was spinning. The next thing he knew, Einstein keeled over, landing facedown in the dirt.
“Here you go, camper,” Bucky said, holding a canteen up to Einstein’s lips and regulating the flow of water. “Everyone has a problem with dehydration the first few days. Like I said, you’ll get used to it.”
He reached into his pocket, extracted two little white tab-lets, and handed them to Einstein “A couple of salt tablets and you’ll be good as new in no time.”
Einstein eyed the little pills with suspicion, but was too ill to put up a fight. He popped them into his mouth and swallowed, washing them down with a big swig from Bucky’s canteen. His stomach tightened and he instantly felt like he was going to explode. Einstein rolled over on his back like a beached whale, closed his eyes, and prepared to die.
An enormous woman dressed from head to toe in white towered over him, mercifully blocking out the sun. Einstein opened his eyes and looked up. “Are you an angel?” he asked, fearing the worst.
“I’m the camp nurse, dear,” the woman replied. Einstein squinted as he tried to make out the blurry letters on a black-and-white plastic name tag pinned to the chest of the woman’s uniform. “Nurse Knockwurst?”
“My name is Norkhurst,” she said, correcting him. “Nurse Norkhurst.”
Einstein wiped the sweat off of his spectacles and looked again. “That’s not what your name tag says,” he replied.
“You think that I don’t know my own name?” she growled.
Einstein managed to get to his feet and slowly staggered toward the oversized angel of mercy. She scowled at him as he stared at her name tag. The letters were blurry, but still spelled K-N-O-C-K-W-U-R-S-T. He looked up at the nurse and smiled. Given she was the size of a Mack truck and lacked anything that remotely resembled a bedside manner, Einstein decided not to press his luck. “I don’t feel good,” Einstein replied, rub-bing his distended belly.
“Have another salt tablet,” she barked. It was an order, not a suggestion.
Einstein shook his head. “I feel sick to my stomach,” he moaned. Before he could utter another syllable, he became vi-olently ill, projectile vomiting all over Bucky the bucktoothed counselor, the nurse, and everything else within spewing dis-tance. He threw up all over his orientation packet, all over his luggage, and all over several other campers who were now run-ning for their lives. Einstein dropped to his knees and gagged.
“What’s up with him?” Bucky asked the nurse.
“He may be having a reaction to the salt tablets.”
“That possible?” he asked.
“Only one way to be sure,” she said as she ambled over to
1 Einstein. The nurse held out a salt tablet and motioned for him to take it. She assumed the worst was over, but she was wrong. Einstein placed one meaty paw over his mouth and waved her off with the other.
“Look out,” one of the Creepy Timers screamed as he dove behind a dying cactus. “He’s gonna puke again!” Just as the camper predicted, Mt. Einstein erupted once more.
The nurse managed to sidestep the onslaught and escape with the other campers, but Bucky was not as lucky. This time, Bucky’s orange-and-gray mesh sneakers took the brunt of the blow. The counselor just stood there like a statue, staring at his feet, unable to speak or move. “I paid one hundred bucks for these shoes.” Bucky sighed, staring at Einstein in disbelief.
“You paid a hundred dollars for a pair of sneakers? What a rip-off!” Einstein pinched the tip of his nose to keep from smelling his own vomit. In a few seconds, his stomach began to settle. “I feel a little better now,” he announced.
“I’m so happy to hear it,” Bucky growled, snapping out of his stupor. He glared at Einstein with genuine hatred and then softened it up a bit, the venom turning into sugary sarcasm. “Anything else you need? A gallon or two of mouthwash, per-haps? A few packs of Tums? How ’bout I just spray both of us down with a fire hose?”
“If it’s not too much trouble,” Einstein asked, gingerly clutching the blue bound notebook that was now completely splattered with puke, “can I get a new orientation packet?”
Cha p te r
E
Day One — 11:27 A.M. instein held up the makeshift map that came with his new orientation packet and tried to decipher the directions. He had already walked by two other cabins, but his was nowhere to be found. Obviously, either the map was faulty or his two- month stint in the Cub Scouts had been a total waste of time. He
crossed his fingers as the next wooden shack came into view and hoped for the best. Spotting a large metal C dangling from the door, he dragged himself and his suitcase up to the porch and walked inside.
“Now this definitely wasn’t in the brochure,” Einstein moaned.
The inside of the cabin was in no better shape than the outside. In fact, it was worse. There were twelve rickety cots in total, six on each side of the room. The wafer-thin, moth- eaten mattresses looked as if they had been rescued from a dump. Dark green mold covered one of the walls, filling the cabin with a musty odor. Dust balls the size of tumbleweeds were everywhere and the floors were caked in grime. It was the filthiest flea trap Einstein had ever seen in his life, but he didn’t have much choice in the matter. He was stuck here for the next eight weeks, so he decided to make the best of it.
Einstein inspected a mattress for vermin, then placed it on the bunk that was located farthest away from the mold-covered wall. He tossed his sleeping bag on top and lay down slowly to see if it would support his weight. The mattress sagged to within a couple of inches of the floor but held. Rusted coils poked through the lumps in the mattress. It was like sleeping on a bed of nails.
“Home sweet home.” Einstein sighed.
The good news was that he had the cabin to himself, at least for the time being. Einstein assumed that Billy and the rest of the thugs from C-Block were either lost or busy torturing some of the other Creepy Timers. Einstein decided it was best to use the time wisely. He found a loose board behind the head of his bunk and removed it with a bit of effort. After inspecting the area to make sure that it was free of vermin, he carefully tucked his summer’s stash of Twinkies inside, making sure not to damage any of the precious pastries in the process. Einstein removed two of the tasty treats and secured the board firmly back in place, then placed the Twinkies inside the bottom of his sleeping bag for later consumption.