by Jack Kilborn
“The story was fake, Laneesha.”
“That Plincer cat ain’t real?”
“He might be real. The name is familiar. But the way to make campfire stories sound believable is to mix a little truth with the lies.”
“How ‘bout all them cannibal soldiers, eating people?”
“Even if that was true, and it wasn’t, it happened over a hundred and forty years ago. They’d all be long dead.”
“So Martin was just joshin’?”
“He’s probably just waiting to jump out and scare us,” Sara said.
“Probly. That’d suck, but be better than someone grabbing him.”
Sara raised an eyebrow. That possibility was so far out she hadn’t even considered it. “Did you see someone grab him?”
“It was dark, ‘n he was right in front of that bush. Thought maybe I seen somethin’, but probly just my mind playing tricks ‘n shit.”
Now Sara was really reluctant to go into the woods. She knew the Confederate story was BS, but wondered if perhaps someone else was on the island. According to Captain Prendick, no one ever came out this far.
“That’s crazy,” Sara thought. “There’s no one here but us.”
There were over a hundred of these islands on Lake Huron, from the size of a football field up to thousands of acres. This was one of the big ones, a supposed wildlife refuge. But there was no electricity, and it was too far from the mainland for there to be anyone living here.
Other campers?
Sara reminded herself to be rational. Occam’s Razor. The simplest solution was usually the right one. Martin joking around made much more sense than unknown habitants, or coincidental campers, or old Warden Plincer and his ghostly gang of southern maniacs.
Still, they did have that radio the boat captain lent them. Sara wondered if her husband goofing off qualified as an emergency, because she was almost ready to contact Prendick and beg him to return.
“Let’s do this,” Laneesha said.
Sara nodded. Practically hip to hip, the women walked around the bushes and stepped into the thick of the woods.
They were watching. They were watching from behind the trees. Listening to words that made no real sense to them.
They smelled things. The woman smelled like soap. The thin girl smelled like mint gum. The thin boy smelled like sweaty feet. The baby smelled like powder and diapers.
There had been other smells, earlier. Better smells. Hot dogs and mustard. Toasted buns. Potato chips. But that had been earlier, when it was still bright out. So they waited. Stayed hidden. Bided their time.
They were hungry. Very hungry. The hunger consumed their thoughts. It was the only thing they cared about. All they cared about.
They had no affection for one another, no idea of how many of them were there. But they hunted as a pack. Hunted raccoon, and birds, and rabbits, and frogs.
Hunted bigger things, too.
When food was scarce, they turned on their own.
None of them remembered how they got to the island. But they knew the island was a bad place. Dangerous.
But they were dangerous too.
They watched. They waited.
Several of them drooled.
Very soon, they would attack.
Sara drew a breath, gasping at the darkness. When they’d hiked to the clearing earlier that afternoon, the woods had been dark. There were so many trees the canopy blocked out most of the sun. Now, at midnight, it was darker than a grave. The blackness enveloped them, thick as ink, and the fading Maglite barely pierced it more than a few yards.
“Be easy getting lost out here,” Laneesha said.
Sara played the light across the trees, looking for the neon orange ribbon. They’d tied dozens of ribbons around tree trunks, in a line leading from the campsite to the shore, so anyone who got lost could find their way back. But in this total darkness every tree looked the same, and she couldn’t find a single ribbon. Sara had a very real fear that if they traveled too far into the woods, they wouldn’t be able to find their way back to the rest of the group. After only a dozen steps she could no longer see the campfire behind them.
“Cindy, Meadow, can you guys hear me?” she called out.
“We hear you! You find any cannibals yet?”
Neither Sara nor Laneesha shared in the ensuing chuckles. They trekked onward, dead leaves and branches crunching underfoot, an owl hooting somewhere in the distance.
Sara had been ambivalent about camping, having only gone a few times in her life. But now she realized she hated it. Hated camping, hated the woods, and hated the dark.
But she had always hated the dark. And with damn good reason.
“Martin,” Sara called, projecting into the woods, “this isn’t funny. It’s stupid, and dangerous.”
She waited for a reply.
No reply came.
“I like Martin,” Laneesha said, “but screw ‘em. I’m a city girl. I don’t do creeping ‘round the forest at night. This is a total wack idea.”
Sara agreed. There was no hole or trench around here he could have fallen into, and if Martin hit his head he’d be lying nearby.
Still, if this was a prank, it was being taken too far. It wasn’t funny anymore. It was just plain mean.
And then Sara understood what was happening, and she felt her face flush.
Her husband was doing this because he was angry.
Is this how it’s going to be? Sara thought. Rather than act like the caring adult she fell in love with, he’s going to start behaving like a jerk? Was he actually trying to frighten her, knowing what she’d been through?
Well, Sara could be a jerk, too.
“You can stay out there!” she yelled.
Her voice echoed through the trees, fading and dying. Then…
“elll…”
The sound was faint, coming from far ahead of them.
“Was that Martin?” Laneesha asked.
Sara squinted, crinkling her nose. “I’m not sure. Could have been an animal.”
“Sounded like help. Know any animals that call for help?”
“Martin!” Sara shouted into the trees.
There was no answer. Laneesha moved closer to Sara, so close Sara could feel the girl shivering.
“We should go back.”
Sara shook her head. “What if it’s Martin? He could need help.”
“You the social worker. Y’all good at helping people. I’m a single mom. I gotta take care of myself for my baby’s sake. ‘Sides, probly just an animal.
“help…” The voice was still faint, but there was no mistaking it.
Martin. And he didn’t sound angry. He sounded scared.
Sara began to walk toward the voice. “You go back to camp,” she said to Laneesha. “Martin! I’m coming!”
The trees were so thick Sara couldn’t walk in a straight line for more than a few steps. Even worse, the Maglite was getting dimmer. How far ahead could he be? Fifty yards? A hundred? The woods seemed to be closing in, swallowing her up. There was no orange ribbon anywhere.
She stopped, trying to get her bearings. Sara couldn’t even be sure this was the right direction anymore.
A rustling noise, to her left. Sara turned.
“Martin?”
Then something bumped into Sara’s side, something strong enough to knock her onto her back. It scared Sara so bad she whimpered, feeling nine-years-old again, helpless and afraid.
Whatever unknown thing had jumped her, it was now straddling her legs, wriggling and thrashing.
And Sara had no idea what it was, couldn’t see it, because the flashlight had gone flying and winked out.
When Cindy was a little girl, she wanted to be a princess. It was partly because princesses were pretty, and had nice clothes, and lived in huge castles. No one ever called Cindy pretty, and her clothes were all her parents could afford, which wasn’t much, and she lived in an apartment which was so small you could hear the toilet flush no matter what roo
m you were in. So being pretty, with beautiful gowns, and a house with a hundred rooms, all sounded really good to a seven-year-old.
Meeting a prince would be nice, too. But Cindy didn’t really have any interest in boys then, and in fact she was jealous that princes got to do cool stuff like fight dragons and rescue people. Cindy didn’t need someone to rescue her. She wanted to fight her own dragons, thank you very much.
The biggest reason, the real reason, Cindy wanted to be a princess was because a princess would someday become queen. Queens ruled the country. They were the most powerful women in the world, even more powerful than the President, because there had never been a woman President, but there had been many queens.
Cindy wanted to be a princess who grew up to be a queen so she could take care of herself. She wouldn’t have to worry if Daddy made enough money to buy her new clothes, because she would buy her own. She wouldn’t care that Mommy wasn’t there for her after school, because Queens could take care of themselves, and it didn’t matter if their mommies had to work nights.
Yes, Cindy would settle for no less than princess, and then queen. She would be a good queen, too, and treat everyone fairly, and make sure everyone had enough food and toys and clothes and she would make working at nighttime against the law because it made people sleepy and mean.
When she told Daddy, he said regular girls couldn’t be princesses, and they’d never be queen, because you had to be born that way. But it was okay to pretend. Sometimes, when you can’t get what you really want, the only thing left was to pretend.
“Where’s the bathroom?” Cindy stood up, sucked on her lower lip.
“Girl, you kidding, right?”
Cindy looked at Meadow and shook her head.
Tom snorted. “We’re in the middle of nowhere. The whole damn island is your toilet. Pick a tree.”
Cindy stared into the woods, shifting from one foot to the other. She really had to go. And when she had to go, there was no holding it in. The crystal meth she loved so much had damaged her kidneys, and Cindy knew that if she didn’t find a spot in the next minute or two, Meadow would make fun of her for pissing her pants. He was bad enough on the boat when she was throwing up, laughing and making gagging sounds. That guy was a real dick.
She weighed that humiliation against heading into those scary trees alone, and wasn’t sure which was worse.
“Go with me, Georgia?”
“I go wit you, baby, help you take off those clothes.” Meadow laughed. So did Tom. Tyrone kept quiet.
Cindy looked hard at Georgia. “Please.”
Georgia sighed. “Number one or number two?”
This prompted more guffaws from Meadow and Tom.
“Number one. I’ll be really quick.”
Georgia stared into the blackness of the forest, but didn’t get up.
Maybe she was scared, too.
“I’ll go with you.” Tyrone stood up. He looked sympathetic.
“Jonesin’ for some white meat, homes?” Meadow nudged him. “Polly wanna cracker?”
“Be cool, man. The lady needs to go.”
Cindy appreciated the gesture, and if it had been another guy she might have taken him up on it. But she liked Tyrone. Earlier on the boat, he stood by her when she was puking her guts out, even holding her hair back. That was embarrassing enough. She didn’t want to have to pee in front of him, too.
“Thanks,” Cindy said. “But I’d rather have a girl go with me.”
She met Tyrone’s eyes, saw kindness there. Kindness, and something more. He nodded at her, and sat back down. Cindy turned again to Georgia.
“Please,” Cindy begged. “I’m gonna wet my pants.”
“I pay money to see that,” Meadow snickered.
Cindy looked from Georgia to Meadow and back again. Mercifully, Georgia got up.
Cindy rushed to her, grabbed her hand, and tugged her over to the tree line. Not in the direction Martin went. The opposite direction. That seemed safer.
“Look at those bitches go, holdin’ hands ‘n shit. That’s hot.”
Georgia halted, turned around. “Fuck you, Meadow.”
“You wish, mama. Maybe when you come back, I give you a chance.” He added, “If you come back.”
Meadow and Tom laughed. Tyrone stayed silent.
“Come on.” Cindy pulled at Georgia. She felt like she was about to burst. “We gotta hurry.”
Georgia followed. It became very dark, very fast, but Cindy forced her fear back, her whole body shaking with need. As soon as she was out of the boys’ sight she yanked down her sweat pants and underwear and squatted.
“Geez, gimme a little warning,” Georgia said, stepping away.
Cindy urinated, her relief so beautiful it was almost as good as getting high. The spray splashed against the leaves, droplets landing on her gym shoes, but she didn’t care. She closed her eyes and sighed, deeply, almost enjoying the cool night air on her naked butt.
Less than a dozen feet away, something flashed.
What’s that?
Cindy wondered if it was Sara, with the flashlight. Or maybe Martin.
But they’d gone in the other direction.
Cindy continued to watch, waiting for the light to flash again.
“I think I see someone in the woods,” Georgia said softly.
Cindy clenched. Her arms and legs broke out in gooseflesh. “That’s not funny.”
“I’m serious.”
Cindy couldn’t tell if the girl was kidding or not. Georgia was a strange one, and she had a mean streak.
“Where?” Cindy whispered.
“Oh, God.” Georgia’s eyes got wide, staring at something over Cindy’s shoulder. “He’s right behind you.”
Cindy jerked upright, cutting off the stream and tugging up her pants. She spun around, looking where Georgia was looking.
Nothing there.
Backing up, Cindy knocked into Georgia, who was quivering with laughter.
It was just a dumb joke.
Cindy made a fist and smacked Georgia on the shoulder. Not hard, but enough to show this wasn’t funny. “You ass,” she hissed. “You freaking scared me.”
Georgia smiled. “Scared the piss out of you?”
Cindy wanted to be mad, but a giggle came out. Aside from Tyrone, Cindy wasn’t really friends with anyone at the Center. Georgia wasn’t really friend material, and they wouldn’t be buddies out in the Real World, but at the moment it felt pretty good to share a laugh.
“Hey,” Georgia whispered, leaning closer. “Want to scare those dicks?”
She jerked her thumb in the direction of the camp. Cindy nodded. Frightening the boys was less than they deserved, but it was a good start.
“How?”
Georgia reached into her pocket, and for a fantastic moment Cindy hoped Georgia was carrying, that she was taking out a pipe and they’d smoke some ice right now. But the fantasy died when Georgia pulled some ketchup packets from her jeans. How could she have gotten meth anyway? Cindy’d been at the Center for four months, and security was tighter there than it was in rehab.
Besides, Cindy thought, I’m done with that shit.
Cindy had been clean for months, and wanted to stay clean for the rest of her life. Maybe there would even come a day when she didn’t think about meth every few minutes. That would be nice.
“We gonna throw ketchup at them?”
Georgia shook her head. “I took these from the fridge, hoping I’d get a chance to use them. I squirt it all over my face and shirt like blood, coming running out of the woods screaming, and fall right in front of those jerks. Then you come up from behind and yell and grab them. They’ll shit squirrels.”
Cindy nodded, liking this idea. She especially wanted to freak out that tool, Meadow.
“What do I yell?”
Georgia shrugged. “I dunno. Boo?”
“Boo is lame.”
“You’ll think of something. Help me spread this shit on.”
The ketchu
p was warm, and smelled good. For dinner they cooked hot dogs over the fire, but Cindy declined, saying she was still ill from the boat to avoid admitting the real reason. Now her stomach rumbled at the scent. Cindy smeared some ketchup on Georgia’s neck, then licked her finger. Not bad. Maybe there were hotdogs left. Maybe Tyrone was hungry, too, and he could roast one for her.
Stupid. He watched me barf. He’s not interested.
But he did give me his marshmallows…
Georgia stopped applying ketchup to her face and stared at Cindy in a funny way.
No, not at her. Behind her.
“Lemme guess,” Cindy said, still sucking her finger. “Some creepy guy behind me again?”
Georgia opened her mouth, but no words came out. She nodded, her head bobbing up and down rapidly.
“I’m not falling for that shit twice, Georgia. It wasn’t funny the first time.”
Georgia’s lips began to tremble, her face crinkling in a prelude to a scream. Cindy had no idea Georgia was such a good actress. She hadn’t been this good the previous time.
And for that very reason, Cindy suddenly understood this wasn’t acting. Georgia really was seeing something behind her, and she really was terrified.
Cindy didn’t want to look. The fear crawled over her like ants, and her legs felt like they weighed a thousand pounds. Georgia had lost all color now, and she was whimpering like a puppy.
Look. You have to look. Just do it.
Eyes wide, mouth dry, knees knocking together, Cindy slowly turned around, expecting to see some horrible ghoul with huge teeth grinning inches from her face.
She looked.
There was nothing. There was nothing there at all.
Cindy spun, pissed off she fell for the same trick twice, ready to give Georgia another cuff on the shoulder.
But Georgia was gone.
Sara frantically pushed against the person pinning her legs. She knew judo. Hell, she taught her kids basic self-defense at the Center. But with a baby strapped to her chest—a baby that was now squirming and crying—all Sara could do was push.
She felt breasts beneath her palms, a neck and chin, and higher up, closely-cropped hair.
“Laneesha?”