Ghost Camp

by R. L. Stine

  He gave us a “Yohhhhhhhh, Spirits!” and a sharp nose salute.

  Then he turned and lumbered away. The screen door slammed hard behind him.

  “Fun guy,” I muttered.

  “He’s kind of scary,” Alex admitted.

  “He’s just joking,” I said. “All summer camps try to terrify the new campers. I think.” I dragged my duffel bag over to the bed.

  “But it’s all in fun. There’s nothing to be scared about, Alex,” I told my brother. “Nothing at all.”

  I tossed my sleeping bag into the corner. Then I started toward the low dresser to see if I could find an empty drawer.

  “Whoa—!” I cried out as my sneaker stuck on something.

  I peered down.

  A blue puddle.

  My sneaker had landed in a sticky blue puddle.

  “Hey—” I tugged my sneaker out. The blue liquid was thick. It stuck to the bottom and sides of my shoe.

  I glanced around the room.

  And saw more blue puddles. A sticky blue puddle in front of every bed.

  “What’s going on here? What is this stuff?” I cried.

  Alex had his bag open and was pulling stuff out and spreading it on the bottom bed. “What’s your problem, Harry?” he called without turning around.

  “It’s some kind of blue slime,” I replied. “Check it out. There are puddles all over the floor.”

  “Big deal,” Alex muttered. He turned and glanced at the blue liquid stuck to my sneaker. “It’s probably a camp tradition,” he joked.

  I didn’t think it was funny. “Yuck!” I exclaimed. I reached down and poked my finger into the tiny, round puddle.

  So cold!

  The blue slime felt freezing cold.

  Startled, I pulled my hand away. The cold swept up my arm. I shook my hand hard. Then I rubbed it, trying to warm it.

  “Weird,” I muttered.

  Of course, everything got a lot weirder. In a hurry.

  “Campfire time!”

  Uncle Marv’s cry through the screen door shook our cabin.

  Alex and I spun to face the door. It had taken us forever to unpack our stuff. To my surprise, the sun had lowered. The sky outside the door was evening gray.

  “Everyone is waiting,” Uncle Marv announced. A gleeful smile spread over his face. His tiny eyes practically disappeared in the smile. “We all love the Welcoming Campfire.”

  Alex and I followed him outside. I took a deep breath. The air smelled fresh and piney.

  “Wow!” Alex cried out.

  The campfire was already blazing. Orange and yellow flames leaped up to the gray sky.

  We followed Uncle Marv to the round clearing where the fire had been built. And saw the other campers and counselors for the first time.

  They sat around the fire, all facing us. Watching us.

  “They’re all dressed alike!” I exclaimed.

  “The camp uniform,” Uncle Marv said. “I’ll get you and Alex your camp uniforms tonight after the campfire.”

  As Alex and I neared the circle, the campers and counselors rose to their feet. A deafening “YOHHHHHH, SPIRITS!” shook the trees. Then a hundred left-handed nose salutes greeted us.

  Alex and I returned the greeting.

  Chris, the red-haired counselor, appeared beside us. “Welcome, guys,” he said. “We’re going to roast hot dogs on the fire before the campfire activities begin. So grab a stick and a hot dog, and join in.”

  The other kids were lining up in front of a long food table. I saw a huge platter of raw hot dogs in the center of the table.

  As I hurried to get in line, several kids said hi to me.

  “You’re in my cabin,” a tall boy with curly blond hair said. “It’s the best cabin!”

  “Cabin number seven rules!” a girl shouted.

  “This is an awesome camp,” the kid in front of me turned to say. “You’re going to have a great time, Harry.”

  They seemed to be really nice kids. Up ahead, a boy and a girl were having a playful shoving match, trying to knock each other out of line. Other kids began cheering them on.

  The fire crackled behind me. The orange light from its flames danced over everyone’s white shorts and shirts.

  I felt a little weird, not being dressed in white. I was wearing an olive-green T-shirt and faded denim cutoffs. I wondered if Alex felt weird, too.

  I turned and searched for him in the line. He was behind me, talking excitedly to a short blond boy. I felt glad that Alex had found a friend so fast.

  Two counselors handed out the hot dogs. I suddenly realized I was starving. Mom had packed sandwiches for Alex and me to eat on the bus. But we were too excited and nervous to eat them.

  I took the hot dog and turned to the crackling fire. Several kids were already huddled around the fire, poking their hot dogs on long sticks into the flames.

  Where do I get a stick? I asked myself, glancing around.

  “The sticks are over there,” a girl’s voice called from behind me—as if she had read my mind.

  I turned and saw a girl about my age, dressed in white, of course. She was very pretty, with dark eyes and shiny black hair, pulled back in a ponytail that fell down her back. Her skin was so pale, her dark eyes appeared to glow.

  She smiled at me. “New kids never know where to find the sticks,” she said. She led the way to a pile of sticks leaning against a tall pine tree. She picked up two of them and handed one to me.

  “Your name is Harry, right?” she asked. She had a deep, husky voice for a girl. Like she was whispering all the time.

  “Yeah. Harry Altman,” I told her.

  I suddenly felt very shy. I don’t know why. I turned away from her and shoved the hot dog onto the end of the stick.

  “My name is Lucy,” she said, making her way to the circle of kids around the fire.

  I followed her. The kids’ faces were all flickering orange and yellow in the firelight. The aroma of roasting hot dogs made me feel even hungrier.

  Four girls were huddled together, laughing about something. I saw a boy eating his roasted hot dog right off the stick.

  “Gross,” Lucy said, making a disgusted face. “Let’s go over here.”

  She led me to the other side of the campfire. Something popped in the fire. It sounded like a firecracker exploding. We both jumped. Lucy laughed.

  We sat down on the grass, raised the long sticks, and poked our hot dogs into the flames. The fire was roaring now. I could feel its heat on my face.

  “I like mine really black,” Lucy said. She turned her stick and pushed it deeper into the flames. “I just love that burnt taste. How about you?”

  I opened my mouth to answer her—but my hot dog fell off the stick. “Oh no!” I cried. I watched it fall into the sizzling, red-hot blanket of flames.

  I turned to Lucy. And to my surprise—to my horror—she leaned forward.

  Stuck her hand deep into the fire.

  Grabbed my hot dog from the burning embers and lifted it out.

  I jumped to my feet. “Your hand!” I shrieked.

  Yellow flames leaped over her hand and up her arm.

  She handed me the hot dog. “Here,” she said calmly.

  “But your hand!” I cried again, gaping in horror.

  The flames slowly burned low on her skin. She glanced down at her hand. Confused. As if she didn’t know why I was in such a panic.

  “Oh! Hey—!” she finally cried. Her dark eyes grew wide. “Ow! That was hot!” she exclaimed.

  She shook her hand hard. Shook it until the flames went out.

  Then she laughed. “At least I rescued your poor hot dog. Hope you like yours burned!”

  “But—but—but—” I sputtered. I stared at her hand and arm. The flames had spread all over her skin. But I couldn’t see any burns. Not a mark.

  “The buns are over there,” she said. “You want some potato chips?”

  I kept staring at her hand. “Should we find the nurse?” I asked.
<
br />   She rubbed her arm and wrist. “No. I’m fine. Really.” She wiggled her fingers. “See?”

  “But the fire—”

  “Come on, Harry.” She pulled me back to the food table. “It’s almost time for the campfire activities to start.”

  I ran into Alex at the food table. He was still hanging out with the short blond boy.

  “I made a friend already,” Alex told me. He had a mouthful of potato chips. “His name is Elvis. Do you believe it? Elvis McGraw. He’s in our cabin.”

  “Cool,” I muttered. I was still thinking about the flames rolling up and down Lucy’s arm.

  “This is a great camp,” Alex declared. “Elvis and I are going to try out for the talent show and the musical.”

  “Cool,” I repeated.

  I grabbed a hot dog bun and tossed some potato chips on my plate. Then I searched for Lucy. I saw her talking to a group of girls by the fire.

  “Yohhhhhhhh, Spirits!” a deep voice bellowed. No way anyone could mistake that cry. It had to be Uncle Marv.

  “Places around the council fire, everyone!” he ordered. “Hurry—places, everyone!”

  Holding plates and cans of soda, everyone scurried to form a circle around the fire. The girls all sat together and the boys all sat together. I guessed each cabin had its own place.

  Uncle Marv led Alex and me to a spot in the middle.

  “Yohhhhhhhh, Spirits!” he cried again, so loud the fire trembled!

  Everyone repeated the cry and gave the salute.

  “We’ll begin by singing our camp song,” Uncle Marv announced.

  Everyone stood up. Uncle Marv started singing, and everyone joined in.

  I tried to sing along. But of course I didn’t know the words. Or the tune.

  The song kept repeating the line, “We have the spirit—and the spirit has us.”

  I didn’t really understand it. But I thought it was pretty cool.

  It was a long song. It had a lot of verses. And it always came back to: “We have the spirit—and the spirit has us.”

  Alex was singing at the top of his lungs. What a show-off! He didn’t know the words, either. But he was faking it. And singing as loud as he could.

  Alex is so crazy about his beautiful singing voice and his perfect pitch. He has to show it off whenever he can.

  I gazed past my brother. His new friend, Elvis, had his head tossed back and his mouth wide open. He was singing at the top of his lungs, too.

  I think Alex and Elvis were having some kind of contest. Seeing who could sing the leaves off the trees!

  The only problem? Elvis was a terrible singer!

  He had a high, whiny voice. And his notes were all coming out sour.

  As my dad would say, “He couldn’t carry a tune in a wheelbarrow!”

  I wanted to cover my ears. But I was trying to sing along, too.

  It wasn’t easy with the two of them beside me. Alex sang so loud, I could see the veins in his neck pulsing. Elvis tried to drown him out with his sour, off-key wails.

  My face felt hot.

  At first, I thought it was the heat from the blazing campfire. But then I realized I was blushing.

  I felt so embarrassed by Alex. Showing off like that on his first night at camp.

  Uncle Marv wasn’t watching. He had wandered over to the girls’ side of the fire, singing as he walked.

  I slipped back, away from the fire.

  I felt too embarrassed to stay there. I’ll sneak back into place as soon as the song is over, I decided.

  I just couldn’t sit there and watch my brother act like a total jerk.

  The camp song continued. “We have the spirit—and the spirit has us,” everyone sang.

  Doesn’t the song ever end? I wondered. I backed away, into the trees. It felt a lot cooler as soon as I moved away from the fire.

  Even back here, I could hear Alex singing his heart out.

  I’ve got to talk to him, I told myself. I’ve got to tell him it isn’t cool to show off like that.

  “Ohh!” I let out a sharp cry as I felt a tap on my shoulder.

  Someone grabbed me from behind.

  “Hey—!” I spun around to face the trees. Squinted into the darkness.

  “Lucy! What are you doing back here?” I gasped.

  “Help me, Harry,” she pleaded in a whisper. “You’ve got to help me.”

  A chill ran down my back. “Lucy—what’s wrong?” I whispered.

  She opened her mouth to reply. But Uncle Marv’s booming voice interrupted.

  “Hey, you two!” the camp director shouted. “Harry! Lucy! No sneaking off into the woods!”

  The campers all burst out laughing. I could feel my face turning hot again. I’m one of those kids who blushes very easily. I hate it—but what can I do?

  Everyone stared at Lucy and me as we made our way back to the fire. Alex and Elvis were slapping high fives and laughing at us.

  Uncle Marv kept his eyes on me as I trudged back. “I’m glad you make friends so easily, Harry,” he boomed. And all the campers started laughing at Lucy and me again.

  I felt so embarrassed, I wanted to shrivel up and disappear.

  But I was also worried about Lucy.

  Had she followed me to the woods? Why?

  Why did she ask me to help her?

  I sat down between Lucy and Elvis. “Lucy—what’s wrong?” I whispered.

  She just shook her head. She didn’t look at me.

  “Now I’m going to tell the two ghost stories,” Uncle Marv announced.

  To my surprise, some kids gasped. Everyone suddenly became silent.

  The crackling of the fire seemed to get louder. Behind the pop and crack of the darting flames, I heard the steady whisper of wind through the pine trees.

  I felt a chill on the back of my neck.

  Just a cool breeze, I told myself.

  Why did everyone suddenly look so solemn? So frightened?

  “The two ghost stories of Camp Spirit Moon have been told from generation to generation,” Uncle Marv began. “They are tales that will be told for all time, for as long as dark legends are told.”

  Across the fire, I saw a couple of kids shiver.

  Everyone stared into the fire. Their faces were set. Grim. Frightened.

  It’s only a ghost story, I told myself. Why is everyone acting so weird?

  The campers must have heard these ghost stories already this summer. So why do they look so terrified?

  I snickered.

  How can anyone be afraid of a silly camp ghost story?

  I turned to Lucy. “What’s up with these kids?” I asked.

  She narrowed her dark eyes at me. “Aren’t you afraid of ghosts?” she whispered.

  “Ghosts?” I snickered again. “Alex and I don’t believe in ghosts,” I told her. “And ghost stories never scare us. Never!”

  She leaned close to me. And whispered in my ear: “You might change your mind—after tonight.”

  The flames flickered, crackling up to the dark, starry sky. Uncle Marv leaned into the orange firelight. His tiny, round eyes sparkled.

  The woods suddenly became quiet. Even the wind stopped whispering.

  The air felt cold on my back. I scooted closer to the campfire. I saw others move closer, too. No one talked. All eyes were on Uncle Marv’s smiling face.

  Then, in a low voice, he told the first ghost story….

  A group of campers went into the woods for an overnight. They carried tents and sleeping bags. They walked single file along a narrow dirt path that twisted through the trees.

  Their counselor’s name was John. He led them deeper and deeper into the woods.

  Dark clouds floated overhead. When the clouds covered the full moon, the darkness swept over the campers. They walked close together, trying to see the curving path.

  Sometimes the clouds moved away, and the moonlight poured down on them. The trees glowed, silvery and cold, like ghosts standing in the forest.

  They
sang songs at first. But as they moved deeper into the woods, their voices became tiny and shrill, muffled by the trees.

  They stopped singing and listened to the scrape of their footsteps and the soft rustlings of night animals scampering through the weeds.

  “When are we going to stop and set up camp?” a girl asked John.

  “We have to go deeper into the woods,” John replied.

  They kept walking. The air became colder. The trees bent and shivered around them in a swirling breeze.

  “Can we set up camp now, John?” a boy asked.

  “No. Deeper,” John replied. “Deeper into the forest.”

  The path ended. The campers had to make their way through the trees, around thorny bushes, over a deep carpet of crackling dead leaves.

  Owls hooted overhead. The campers heard the flutter of bat wings. Creatures scratched and slithered around their feet.

  “We’re really tired, John,” a boy complained. “Can we stop and set up the tents?”

  “Deeper into the woods,” John insisted. “An overnight is no fun unless you are deep, deep in the woods.”

  So they kept walking. Listening to the low hoots and moans of the night animals. Watching the old trees bend and sway all around them.

  Finally they stepped out into a smooth, wide clearing.

  “Can we set up camp now, John?” the campers begged.

  “Yes,” John agreed. “We are deep in the woods now. This is the perfect place.”

  The campers dropped all the bags and supplies in the middle of the clearing. Silvery moonlight spilled all around them, making the smooth ground shimmer.

  They pulled out the tents and started to unfold them.

  But a strange sound made them all stop their work.

  Ka-thump ka-thump.

  “What was that?” a camper cried.

  John shook his head. “Probably just the wind.”

  They went back to the tents. They pushed tent poles into the soft, smooth ground. They started to unfold the tents.

  But the strange sound made them stop again.

  Ka-thump ka-thump.

  A chill of fear swept over the campers.