by B. A. Frade
“‘Prepare for double the trouble. Two times the tricks.’” I closed my eyes and recited the Scaremaster’s warning from memory.
The investigation was back on. I needed to think clearly if we were going to figure out who the Scaremaster was and what the story meant. I pressed my fingers over my eyes and rubbed my temples with my thumbs, giving my brain a minute to heal itself.
“You should go with him.”
I jumped back, only to discover that Samantha was now by my side. Her hair was messy and hung across her face, hiding her eyes.
“Yes, go. Sneak out.” Sydney, looking very much the same, stood with her.
“Huh?” This was confusing. Counselors weren’t supposed to encourage campers to sneak out in the night. Then again, they also weren’t supposed to send their kids around camp destroying the next day’s scheduled activities either.
Samantha shoved the small window open as far as the glass could go. I wanted to tell her that the whole reason these windows were like this was so no one could get out or in through them.
Sydney got down on her hands and knees, forming a step stool. “Stand on my back,” she told me. “Then pull yourself up.”
It was a weird offer, but I was scared to refuse. More nervous than I’d ever been before, I stood on my counselor and leaned out through the window.
Then, just when I thought things couldn’t possibly get stranger, they did! My counselors started working together to shove me out of the cabin.
“Maybe I should go through the door?” I asked as my belly scraped over the windowsill. “Ouch.” It wasn’t like I was sneaking out, so why couldn’t I just walk out the door like a normal person?
“What fun is that?” Sydney said. “Doors are boring. A window escape is awesome!” My hips were stuck half in and half out of the cabin.
“Stay out all night.” Samantha had a wild, sinister look in her eyes as she gave me a big push through the window. The frame splintered, and I fell to the ground at Noah’s feet. Bits of wooden windowsill rained down beside me.
“No more dull Camp Redwood Vines!” Samantha said while she and Sydney high-fived on their side of the window. I noticed they had the same look in their eyes. Was it because they were twins? Or something more?
“The twins are taking over!” Sydney said. They high-fived again.
I was overwhelmed with the feeling that counselors were on the villain side of the universe, rather than the superhero.
“You okay?” Noah asked, giving me a hand up for the second time that day.
I dusted off my jeans and checked for scratches on my belly and hips. “I’m fine.” I glanced back at my counselors, who were waving enthusiastically at us through the window.
“Have fun,” Samantha called out.
“Fun, fun,” Sydney echoed.
“Let’s get out of here,” Noah said, taking my hand and pulling me away.
I couldn’t agree more. My headache was gone now that I was out of that cabin. I was still confused, but I felt like I could at least think clearly.
“We need to do a close examination of that journal,” I told Noah as we headed toward the camp activity area. I wanted to avoid the art shed, in case my cabin mates were on their way to mix up the paints.
We ducked and dodged around Noah’s cabin, then crossed the path toward the ropes course.
It wasn’t quiet at camp like it should have been. Looking back over my shoulder, I could clearly see the counselors from Cabin Khaki supervising while their campers ran someone’s underwear up the flagpole. Loud voices were coming from Cabin Cloud. I cupped my ear to hear the counselors ordering the kids to put pinecones in Cabin Plum’s sleeping bags. I wondered what other pranks the counselors had planned for the night. It was like the entire camp was possessed: Counselors were ordering kids to do pranks that they didn’t want to do. What was going on?
“Look, Kaitlin.” Noah pointed out a lone figure in the distance.
“Is that Director Dave?” I asked even though there was no way it was anyone else. He was young, tall, athletic, and totally bald. His head reflected the moonlight.
“Yeah,” Noah said in a distracted whisper.
“Is he in the cemetery?” I squinted in the darkness.
“Yeah,” Noah repeated, then fell silent.
“Shouldn’t he be over here, stopping the madness?” I stopped and turned to Noah. “What are you thinking?” There was clearly something up.
“I—” His voice cut out. “It’s too crazy.”
I snorted. “Noah, everything that has happened today has been crazy. Spill it.”
“I swear I saw the director headed to the other side of camp when I came to find you. He was walking away from the cabins, toward the infirmary, not toward the cemetery. In fact, I changed my path and hid for a few minutes behind a tree so I wouldn’t bump into him.” He added in a puzzled whisper, “How did he get over here so fast?”
“It’s not a big deal. He changed plans.” I shrugged. “He probably heard about the raids and the stuff the counselors are planning and has been wandering around to check things out.” Of course, that didn’t exactly explain why he’d be in the cemetery, but maybe he was checking that out too. It was possible.
“Right,” Noah said after a long deep breath. “You’re right. There’s no way the guy could be in two places at once.”
“No way,” I echoed.
We walked in silence a few minutes to a picnic table at the base of the rock wall, which was part of the ropes course. It was out of the director’s view. “Let’s get started,” I said. “Do you have a pencil?”
He still had the stub we’d saved from the trash. Placing the book on the wooden tabletop, Noah said, “I’m convinced the Scaremaster is behind everything that happened today. In that other story, he called me a beginner and him the master.” Noah nearly choked on that last part. “He’s trying to outprank me by pulling pranks on you.”
“Well, that’s a good reason to find out who it is, fast.” Reviewing the day, it made sense. “Let’s end the competition. I don’t want to be in the middle anymore.”
We needed to figure out how the book worked. Whoever the Scaremaster was also had access to the newest technology. There were a lot of campers who were into robotics. I didn’t know about the counselors, but it was a place to start.
“Go on. Think like a journalist. Ask it a direct question. The more direct the better.”
Noah didn’t hesitate.
Did you start the food fight?
Yes.
“That was a little too easy,” I remarked, biting my bottom lip.
And the raids tonight?
Yes.
I lifted the book to look underneath. “I don’t get it,” I muttered, more to myself than to Noah. “Where’s the computer chip? Where’s the On switch? Is it wireless?”
“Let me ask something that’s not a yes or no,” Noah suggested. “Maybe the programming is limited.” He wrote:
Why are you doing this?
That was a big question. There could be a lot of possible answers. We waited for the reply.
Summer is supposed to be fun, not boring.
Okay, that was a start. We needed to find someone who was bored. That could be anyone! Samantha and Sydney had been talking about making camp more fun. I couldn’t imagine they were behind the book, but still, I tucked the possibility away in the back of my mind.
I struggled to think of something to write back that would reveal more clues. I needed to change the subject and ask something that might give us a hint to go on. Like “Where are you?” Or “How old are you?” But before I could the book started writing itself.
From now on, Noah can do anything he wants and never get in trouble. Kaitlin doesn’t have to be so good about following the rules. She can lighten up.
Isn’t it wonderful?
“No. I don’t want to lighten up,” I said, as if he could hear me. “I like me the way I am.” Holding out my hand, I asked Noah for the p
encil. “Can I write back?”
I was feeling personally attacked when I wrote:
I am not having fun. You’re ruining my summer.
I wondered if I should have added a question or something because the space under what I wrote stayed blank for a while. Then the Scaremaster replied:
Noah thinks it’s fun. He understands a good joke.
Noah took the pencil from me and replied in big block letters:
YOUR PRANKS ARE NOT FUN.
Adding under that:
NOT FUNNY EITHER.
Noah slammed the pencil down on the table. “There,” he said. “Noah Silvetti out.” He gave me a grin. “I’ve got your back. I won’t let some silly Scaremaster mess with my friends!”
Friends? Were we friends?
“I don’t think writing in the journal is helping us figure out who the Scaremaster is,” I said. Things had taken an unexpected turn. If the journal was run by a computer program, then all we’d discovered was that the list of responses it could make was endless.
A computer didn’t make sense. But I couldn’t think of anything else. I told Noah, “I think something bad is going to happen.”
Then came the Scaremaster’s eerie reply to confirm my fears:
I thought we would have fun together. Too bad. Plans change.
Have it your way. No more fun for you means all the fun for me!
All the writing on the page disappeared. The title “Doubles Causing Troubles” was replaced with something new. The story was now called “Twice the Terror.”
And under that, words began to appear:
Once upon a time, there was a boy named Noah
That was the same as the first time we’d opened the book, only now we were seeing the story being written. The sentence went on, adding:
and a girl named Kaitlin.…
I didn’t want to see more. I found that any curiosity I had about who was behind the story was turning to annoyance. This guy, or girl, was like a bully poking us with a stick. The more attention we gave him, the worse things got.
“Maybe if we stop reacting to the Scaremaster, he’ll just go away,” I said, slamming the cover shut. I just wanted it all to end.
This animatronic book and whoever was behind it were simply making me mad.
“You mean, ignore him and he’ll give up?” Noah considered that.
“Exactly,” I said. “That’s what my parents would tell me to do. We’ll simply walk away, leave him here, and forget this all happened.”
“Kids at the camp I went to last year tried that with me,” Noah said. “They tried to ignore the pranks I was pulling. It didn’t work. I saw it as a challenge and upped my game.” He gave me a mischievous smile. “That’s the reason I’m at a different camp this year. I wasn’t invited back there.”
While I appreciated Noah’s insight, I said, “Do you have any other ideas? No offense, but I wish we could send the Scaremaster to another camp.”
“I’m with you,” Noah said. “There’s an opening for a prankster at Camp Edwards on the other side of the lake.” He gave a small laugh. “But, fair warning, they don’t have much of a sense of humor over there.”
We sat for a while staring at each other. A cricket chirped as the moon rose higher in the sky.
“This must be what the camp counselors felt like at my old camp, when they were trying to stop me from causing trouble. I’ll admit, I don’t like being on the responsible side. I don’t know what to do.” Noah gave up. “Let’s try it your way.”
“When the book was in the trash, the Scaremaster saved it before the dump truck came,” I said. “We need a much better way to get rid of it for good.”
Our first thought was to bury it in the cemetery. Whether it was actually a burial ground or not, everyone stayed away. It would be safe there. But then Noah reminded me that was where he’d seen Director Dave. Just in case he was still hanging around, we needed to avoid the cemetery.
We went back to the clearing where I’d nearly been poisoned by ivy. It was the opposite direction from the cemetery. Noah had a flashlight and led the way. No one ever went back there. It was off camp property, plus… those plants! They were all so dangerous, they’d act as a shield to keep people away. I doubted anyone else at camp knew as much about how to get safely around plants as Noah did.
After making sure no one had followed us, we found a hollowed-out tree, and Noah stuck the book deep inside the hole. We felt satisfied that it would stay there till the pages rotted and fell out. The Scaremaster and his journal were gone forever.
As we walked back to our cabins, Noah bragged, “Ha! Now I’m the only prank puller at Camp Redwood Vines.”
Chapter Five
The next morning, the entire camp seemed exhausted from pulling pranks and staying out all night.
No one threw food at breakfast.
Samantha and Sydney were calm and didn’t high-five each other during the flagpole meet-up and announcements. In fact, I wondered if Director Dave had said something to them. They were very mellow, standing at attention as the flag rose and singing the camp anthem with unusual respect. That sinister look in their eyes had been replaced by a blank stare.
Maybe they got busted for their overnight pranks? Or maybe they were just tired from so much “fun.” Either way, I felt positive that, with the Scaremaster gone, today would be a great day.
Even though I’d have liked to ask the black-haired cook a few questions, I was relieved to see Spike in the kitchen when I walked in for my first scheduled activity of the day—lunch KP. Which would be immediately followed by my second activity—dinner KP. It felt more “normal.”
I mentioned the other cook to Spike and asked if he’d had a nice day off.
“No other cooks at camp,” he said. He had that blank look in his eyes, similar to the one I’d seen in Samantha’s and Sydney’s expressions that morning. With them, it was odd and out of place. With Spike, it was terrifying, like he might snap at any second.
I didn’t want to get on his bad side, so I made sure not to sound like I was arguing. “You weren’t here yesterday. There was another cook and a food fight. Did you hear about it?”
“No other cooks at camp,” Spike repeated more firmly than before. He was obviously a man of few words, and by his tone I understood that my question-and-answer session was over after just the two questions. He wasn’t going to even discuss the food fight, so I had no way to know if he knew about it at all.
“French fries for lunch. Wash hands. Peel potatoes.” He tipped his tattooed neck toward a long table. On the floor were several big burlap bags filled with brown potatoes. There were so many!
With a sigh, I washed up, then grabbed a peeler and set to work swiping off the brown skin to reveal the white flesh underneath. A few minutes later, Noah rushed through the door.
Spike turned his blank eyes toward the potatoes. Noah nodded and got to work.
“Hey,” I greeted him, finishing my first potato and moving to a second.
“Sorry I’m late,” Noah said. “My counselors are acting strange.”
That worried me. “Strange how?”
“Normal,” Noah said in a low voice so Spike wouldn’t overhear us. “Too normal.”
I didn’t have to ask what he meant. If his counselors Jayesh and Michael were anything like Samantha and Sydney, I got it.
“It’s kind of nice,” I said. “Right?”
“If you like cardboard counselors,” Noah said. “I even switched Jayesh’s toothpaste with shaving cream this morning to see what would happen. I was late because it took him so long to get ready.”
“And?”
“He brushed his teeth with it like nothing was wrong.” Noah frowned. “My senses are tingling. Something’s up.”
“Maybe he’s ignoring you,” I suggested. “Like we’re doing with the Scaremaster.”
“No way,” Noah said. “I haven’t caused enough trouble for that yet.”
“Other option: I thi
nk the counselors all got busted yesterday,” I told him. “They’re on their best behavior today.” Then I glanced at Spike, adding what I thought was more important to discuss, “He doesn’t know anything about the other cook.”
“Is he supposed to?” Without waiting for my answer, Noah rushed off to wash his hands. When he returned, he tossed his first peeled potato into a big silver bowl with mine and said, “If he had the day off, he might not know who replaced him.”
“Sure, except he is acting like he was here.” I finished another potato. Three down, a zillion to go.
“I don’t—” Noah began, when Spike called out from near the stove, “No chatter. Peel potatoes!”
Noah and I took a quick glance at each other, then fell silent.
The only sound in the kitchen was the swipe-swipe of peelers against potatoes and the sizzle of the griddle as Spike set frozen hamburgers onto the hot stovetop. Lunch preparation went on for a while like that, until the door to the kitchen opened and Director Dave entered.
There was a mud smudge across his bald head, and he was wearing the same clothing as when we’d seen him in the cemetery. I hadn’t thought anything of his white T-shirt and khaki shorts then, but now they seemed wrinkled and ragged. It wasn’t just the clothes either—the director himself seemed wrinkled and ragged.
He stared straight ahead, not saying anything to me and Noah as he passed. In his hand was a note. “Work assignments are being made today for the campers,” Director Dave told Spike, his voice flat. “Here’s a list of the kids who will be doing KP.” He waited while Spike surveyed the paper. I could see it was a pretty long list of names. “Have them do dishes or peel potatoes,” he said, seeming not to realize that potato peeling was already covered.
Then the director swiveled on his heel and walked out of the kitchen, brushing so close to Noah that they nearly touched. He didn’t react as he opened the screen door and stepped outside, letting it slam behind him.