by Dann Gershon
Sincerely,
Einstein P. Fleet
Shirley Fleet walked into the living room just as her husband finished reading the letter. She was carrying a large platter of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies.
“Is that another letter from Einstein?” Shirley asked, sam-pling one of the cookies.
Norman leaned back in his easy chair and nodded. “It’s more like a handwritten blog.”
“Is he having a good time yet?” she asked.
Norman handed her the letter. She read the first few lines and began to giggle.
“Trained killer bees and campfire conspiracies,” she said, laughing out loud. Shirley put down the letter and picked up another cookie. “You gotta admit that our little guy has some imagination.”
“His imagination almost got us arrested,” Norman replied. “Or have you forgotten about the Wilson incident already?”
Mr. Wilson was Einstein’s fourth-grade history teacher. For reasons that no one but Einstein could understand, he was con-vinced that the man was part of a “sleeper cell” that had been sent by the forces of darkness to study the decaying school sys-tem in Los Angeles and replicate it throughout the country. The plot was to make America stupid. Einstein posted daily blogs on The Smoking Peashooter to warn anyone who would listen. An overzealous FBI agent in the counterterrorism division acted on the information and arrested the poor man. As it turned out, all Mr. Wilson was guilty of was changing his last name from Wilnofski to Wilson, but his motives were hardly sinister. His new name was easier for the kids to pronounce. The FBI released Wilson a few days later, but his lawsuit against the federal government and the Fleets was still pending.
Shirley walked across the room and handed her husband the plate. “Relax, Norman. Have a cookie.”
“Only Einstein could turn summer camp into a corporate conspiracy. If he keeps this up, they will probably give him the boot—which is exactly what he wants.”
“Give him a call and have a talk with him,” his wife suggested.
“It’s against camp rules. Besides, if Einstein thinks that we’re buying into this nonsense, he’s got another thing coming.”
“So, what do we do?”
Norman considered the matter as he helped himself to a cookie. Suddenly he had an idea. Why not turn a bad situation into a golden brown opportunity? As the regional marketing director for Hostess, he could provide Einstein and the rest of the campers with an eight-week supply of Twinkies and write off the cost of camp as a marketing expense. They didn’t call him “El Cheapo” for nothing.
“I’ll call the office and have them send a couple dozen boxes of Twinkies,” he said, winking at his wife. “Two can play at this game.”
5
Cha p te r
1
V
Day Six — 5:30 A.M. innie looked at his watch and yawned. He’d been up all night. No wonder he was exhausted.
Over the past few days Vinnie had become extremely
sensitive to sunlight. Every camper in V-Block seemed to be suffering from the same condition. As a result, they roamed the camp during the darkness of night and returned before sun-rise. Oddly enough, the camp counselors did not seem to mind these nocturnal activities. Curly even set up a special midnight feeding at the camp cafeteria to accommodate their schedule. The menu of blood-rare meat was limited, but no one seemed to mind. Given their snow-white complexions from the lack of exposure to the sun, a little red meat couldn’t hurt.
Vinnie had a terrible taste in his mouth and his breath smelled like rancid milk. He rifled his suitcase for his tooth-brush and some toothpaste, then made his way to the sink at the end of the hall. Every single window was covered with blankets and anything else that would block out the sunlight. The cabin was pitch-black, but Vinnie had no problem navi-gating. His night vision improved with each passing day. He assumed it was from living like a mole in the darkness.
Vinnie turned on the faucet and squeezed a thick wad of toothpaste directly into his mouth. No matter how hard he brushed, the foul taste would not go away. After several min-utes, he finally gave up and took a long swig of mouthwash. He held up his toothbrush and examined the bristles. They looked as if they’d been passed through a shredder. He inserted his index finger into his mouth and cut it on something sharp. His fake plastic fangs had been replaced with the real thing. He de-cided to call his father to let him know that he had contracted some rare strain of hoof-and-fang disease. Vinnie reached for his cell phone and remembered that he didn’t have one at his disposal. Unable to procure dental advice, he took matters into his own hands. Leaning into the mirror, he examined his new canines. Vinnie could feel the sharpened fangs, but he couldn’t see them. In fact, he couldn’t see a thing. He was standing di-rectly in front of the mirror, but no longer had a reflection.
“Vat in the name of good dental hygiene is going on here?” he mumbled, feeling the surface of the mirror, certain that it was some type of practical joke.
All of a sudden, Vinnie was overwhelmed by the need to go back to bed. Whatever the problem was, it would hold until later. Vinnie went to his cot and shut his eyes, but sleep was impossible. A symphony of clogged sinuses and snoring echoed throughout the cabin. He placed his pillow on top of his head to muffle the noise. After a few minutes he sat up and screamed at the top of his lungs, “Vill you keep it down over there? I’m trying to get some sleep!”
The symphony continued.
Vinnie got up and walked through the cabin. Something
wasn’t right. He could hear his roommates snoring like chain saws, but they weren’t in their cots. Vinnie looked up at the ceiling and gasped. The entire population of V-Block was sound asleep, hanging upside down from the rafters.
Vinnie felt an odd sensation course through his body. He began to float slowly toward the ceiling like a balloon filled with helium. He drifted until he came to an unoccupied spot and parked himself next to another camper, hanging upside down from the wooden rafter like the others. The odd sensa-tion soon passed and Vinnie began to feel better. In fact, he had
never felt better in his entire life. He felt strong and vibrant. His night vision was perfect, his hearing more acute, and his sense of smell had dramatically improved. The foul taste was worse than ever and his breath still smelled like rotten eggs, but it no longer bothered him in the least.
“I am Vinnie the Vampire!” he shouted. “I am immortal!” “You vant to keep it down there, pal?” the vampire hanging next to him snarled. “You’re not the only guy trying to get some sleep around here.”
Cha p te r
1
R
Day Six — 4:55 P.M. ise and shine, comrade,” Roxie demanded as she stood over the cot. Einstein had the blankets pulled tightly over his head and refused to move a muscle. She noticed that his clothes were strewn on the floor and he was moaning in his sleep. Perhaps Einstein was in worse shape than she thought. Roxie pulled back the blankets and gasped. Einstein was bound to the cot with electrician’s tape. A werewolf mask was taped to his head, and his own clothes had been replaced with a plaid shirt and a pair of gray slacks. Roxie gently removed the tape and then struggled with the rubber mask until she finally pried it off. She pulled a dirty sock out of Einstein’s mouth and used it to wipe the sweat from his brow.
“I really hate this place,” Einstein said, rubbing the corners of his mouth. He sat up and stretched, but did not get out of bed.
“What happened?” Roxie asked as she opened her pocket-knife. She began to saw through the tape that bound his arms and legs, doing her best not to cut Einstein in the process.
“What do you think happened?” he answered testily. “Nurse Knockwurst, Bucky, Billy, and a few of the other Hitler Youth
0 jumped me last night. They force-fed me a couple of salt tablets and gagged me so I couldn’t spit them out. Then they stripped me down to my underwear and dressed me up as a werewolf. It was another fun-filled night at good old Camp Creepy Time. So, what did you do last night?”
“Did you swallow the salt tablets?” Roxie asked, clearly concerned.
“I didn’t have much choice,” Einstein replied. “I thought I was going to puke in my sleep and die, but I wasn’t that fortunate.”
“Remove that costume immediately,” Roxie commanded. “Move it, Fleet. We have to get out of here and find a place to hide.”
“Einstein P. Fleet does not hide,” he replied indignantly.
“Is that right?” Roxie said. “Then what are you doing here?”
“I’m recovering.”
“You look just fine to me,” Roxie replied as she stripped the bed with him in it and tossed the blanket aside. Einstein hit the floor with a loud thud.
“Are you crazy?” Einstein shouted.
“Here you go, Fleet,” Roxie said, tossing him his fishing cap and the rest of his clothes.
Einstein pulled the mosquito netting down over his face and stood there.
“Now what?” she asked.
“A little privacy, if you don’t mind,” he grumbled. “Unless you’re looking for a cheap thrill.”
Roxie scanned the infirmary as Einstein dressed. Nine other cots were filled with injured campers, every one of them ban-daged from head to toe. The parts that were still visible looked withered and gray, more like the skin of elephants than of human beings. The sick campers stared at Roxie. Their eyes were dead and lifeless.
“Let’s go, Fleet.”
“What’s the hurry?” Einstein asked, tilting his cap to the side. “Are they running short of seats at the arts and crafts center?”
Einstein had been weighing his options for the past few minutes and was still undecided. Despite the hazing that he had suffered, staying in the infirmary had its advantages. If Einstein remained in the sick bay, he would be free of C-Block and his mentally defective roommates. He would have ample time to work on his planned exposé of Creepy Time for his website. Einstein was certain that his fellow bloggers would be appalled at the torture and use of experimental drugs on innocent campers in a laboratory disguised as a summer camp. Most important of all, Einstein would be freed from the physi-cal rigors of day-to-day camp activities, such as they were. No more running aimlessly through an empty field while being baked to a crisp and chased by man-eating wasps. Granted, the food in the infirmary was the same hog slop they served in the camp cafeteria, but at least the bathroom line was shorter.
On the other hand, there was Nurse Knockwurst and a room full of sick campers bandaged like mummies to consider. The room was beginning to smell like rotting flesh and the constant moaning was driving him crazy. Worst of all, he was starving. Einstein hadn’t eaten in days and recovering his stash
1 of Twinkies required leaving the infirmary. He had to admit, it was not an easy decision.
“Hey, Manny,” Einstein shouted across the room.
“Mmmmm?” the camper replied in a low, guttural moan that sounded more animal-like than human.
“You wouldn’t happen to have something to eat over there, would you?”
“Mmmmm,” Manny replied, slowly moving his head from side to side.
“This is an outrage!” Einstein shouted. “We have been incar-cerated against our will and starved. We must organize, com-rades. I’ll draft a letter of protest to camp management and let them know that this is not acceptable. Even captured prisoners of war have rights under the Geneva Convention.”
“Mmmmm,” the mummies moaned in unison, nodding in agreement.
“Poor devils,” Einstein whispered to Roxie. “They seem to have lost the power of speech. Did you notice that Nurse Knockwurst taped their hands and feet to the bedposts? She claims it keeps them from scratching their rashes raw. Now they can’t even raise their hands to go to the bathroom, let alone ask permission. The woman is a complete quack and a disgrace to the medical profession. It’s all in my report.”
“We really don’t have time for this, Fleet,” Roxie persisted.
“What are you talking about?” he asked.
“I’ll tell you later,” she whispered. “The walls have ears.”
Einstein looked around the room. Thanks to the handiwork of Nurse Knockwurst, there wasn’t an ear in sight.
> “How ’bout a Twinkie?” Roxie asked, watching his eyes light up at the very mention of the word. “Golden brown, baked to perfection, oozing with cream in the center.”
Einstein thought of the treasure trove of tasty treats that were wasting away in the walls of C-Block. His stomach began to gurgle and churn. After three long Twinkie-less days and nights, Einstein realized that the decision was really a no- brainer. He swung his hat around backward, removing the netting from his eyes.
“Let’s go,” he said, walking toward the door. “No fight was ever won on an empty stomach.”
“That’s the spirit,” Roxie said. “I’m right behind you, comrade.”
Cha p te r
1
C
Day Six — 5:22 P.M. urly the Cook placed the steaming hot bowl of earthworms, chopped wasp wings, and mashed butterfly gravy on the table and stepped back to admire his work. He added a bot-tle of Tabasco for flavor and sampled the dish again. It was perfect. “Come and get it while it’s still moving,” he shouted. “Dinner is served.”
“You’ve outdone yourself, Curly,” Big Al bellowed, savoring the aroma. Big Al tasted the thick gray sludge and smacked his lips. Years of training and discipline had taught him to impro-vise and adapt to any environment. Big Al had no clue what he was eating, nor did he care. The food was nutritious and could be foraged without leaving the camp.