Screamscapes: Tales of Terror (31 page)

“Don’t worry. You’ll probably get to do it next year…
if you’re mature enough by then.”

Aidan would’ve turned green and burst from his seat belt in a fit of hulkulean rage to rip me a new pie-hole if Dad hadn’t distracted him at that exact moment.

“We’re here,” he stated simply. We strained forward against our seat belts for a glimpse of the summer camp wonders about to unfold before us.

Ahead, a single-lane dirt road led into the campground. It was covered with sparse gravel, full of potholes and lined with knee-high clumps of weeds. Fifteen feet above the road, an arched sign loomed over us.

It was the gateway to Camp Eustace.

The sign had a layer of rust working hard to eat away the last remaining patches of faded paint from the lettering and the background. In welded-on lettering it read:
CAMP EUSTACE: Founded 1879. CHILDHOOD IS BRIEF BUT MEMORIES ARE FOREVER
.

We all quieted down and stared wide-eyed in anticipation out the windows, each of us hoping to be the first to glimpse the Olympic-size pool with the three story water slide. I was surprised we had forgotten to tell Aidan that he wasn’t old enough to do that, either.

Dad pulled into the campground, passing under the entrance archway. He stopped the car for a minute, trying to figure out which way to go. I was surprised we hadn’t seen any other cars yet, no people, nothing at all. I looked around for teenagers in bright fluorescent yellow safety vests flagging us down, pointing us towards the parking areas.

The campground around us looked nothing like I had imagined. If anything, it looked a lot worse than Camp Cherokee. Several sagging wooden cabins slumped together off to our left, and a larger dilapidated building watched over them from our right.

Straight ahead was a military-looking brick building, a corroded copper sign hung above the door. I guessed it was the main office, since a crooked flagpole stood naked in front of it, thick weeds clustered at its base.

The most disturbing thing about it all was that there was no Olympic-sized pool or water slide anywhere in sight.

“Where is everybody?” Ethan asked, and Dad turned to look at us. His silence and the look on his face made reality sink in.

The place was deserted. We were all alone.

Dad turned the car towards the main building, eager to see what the deal was. Maybe we had gotten the date wrong.

Halfway to the main building, the car ran out of gas. It didn’t even make a sound - no sputtering or puttering – the engine simply stopped and the car rolled to a halt.

We all sat quietly. Dad turned to look at us, and I realized we were all perched on the edge of our seats, eyes wide, mouths hanging open in shock.

“ARE WE LOST?” Aidan broke the silence like a gunshot in the middle of the night. We all jumped.

The more I thought about it, the more I realized there was no reason for any of us to be freaking out. We were here. Somebody would be here. We were early, that was all - or it was the wrong day. At the very least there would be a phone and we would call for someone to come get us, or bring us some gas. At least we were
here
, at Camp Eustace, and not broken down at the side of the road in the middle of nowhere.

I smiled at Dad in what I hoped was a reassuring way. Judging from the look on his face, I wasn’t very successful. It was time for a pep talk.

“Come on, it’s going to be all right. Maybe we came in the wrong entrance. It says Camp Eustace on the sign. We’re here! We’re at camp - come on… let’s go check it out!”

With that I slid open the side door of the minivan and jumped out. Everybody else followed my lead and a couple minutes later we were on our way to check out the campground.

The cabins were close, so I suggested we check them out before heading to the office. Ethan and Aidan quickly rediscovered their pent-up enthusiasm.

“Last one there is a rotten egg!” Ethan declared and he was off, with Aidan bumbling along in his wake, pushing and shoving me as he tried for a second place finish.

The cabin buildings were not much more than decrepit shacks, much older than I had expected, certainly not the “newly refurbished” facilities that the website had boasted about. I wouldn’t have been surprised to learn they had been built during World War II.

It was hard to tell if the cabins were faded white from not being painted for a very long time, or if they were simply natural wood covered with dried mold. The tin roof looked like it was rusted through.

My brothers beat me to the first cabin by at least ten seconds, and they were on the small porch chattering excitedly by the time Dad and I joined them.

“This place is gross,” Ethan observed matter-of-factly, as I stepped gently onto the porch with them, gingerly testing the rotten wood to make sure it would support me.

“I don’t want to go to camp here,” Aidan said.

I looked through the front window of the cabin. Only a few broken pieces of glass still remained, the shards hanging loosely from the frame like eyelashes around a dead man’s eyeball.

Inside the cabin were a few rusty bunk bed frames, but not a single mattress. Sunlight shone into the building through a large hole in the roof. It looked like there was a nest of some sort in the far back corner.

Dad put his hand on my shoulder as we silently surveyed the desolate scene before us.

“I’m sure this is just an old abandoned part of the camp,” He said, trying to be reassuring. “I bet you the nice, new part of the camp and all the campers are over on the other side of the main office building right now. We probably came in through the wrong entrance.”

We all looked at Dad with hopeful but dubious eyes. I really hoped he was right.

“Come on, guys! Cheer up! I’ll race you to the office… last one there’s a rotten egg!” Dad said, and took off running.

I jumped off the porch and started chasing after him through a bumpy sea of knee-high weeds towards the office. Ethan and Aidan were right behind me, and we were all determined to
not
become the dreaded rotten egg.

The air was cooler here than it had been at home, and the sudden burst of exercise invigorated me as I ran full-speed ahead towards the imposing brick structure.

I took in the desolate scenery as I ran – to my right was a sunken field that looked like it had once been a small lake but now was bone dry, its bottom covered with a bed of dried moss and weeds. The carcasses of small rotting rowboats lay scattered here and there on what must’ve once upon a time been its banks.

The administration building was the only structure in the camp that appeared to have endured the test of time and passed. It was a sturdy and utilitarian-looking, with a tall façade on its front side that made it appear larger than it really was. The brickwork was drab and there were no visible windows. There was a small concrete staircase leading up to the entrance. Above the doorway was a green-tinted metal sign. It read, in smeary letters:
CAMP EUSTACE ADMINISTRATION AND CHECK-IN
.

I beat everyone to the steps of the office, and I could hardly hear my brothers gurgling and laughing in the distance behind me. I paused for a few seconds at the base of the stairs to catch my breath before going in. Maybe running hard after such a long drive hadn’t been a great idea. I was out of breath.

The metal front door looked as though it hadn’t seen a paint brush since Eisenhower was president. I sincerely hoped Dad was right, and that there would be a sharply dressed camp staff member inside laughing about how we had missed the main entrance to camp.

I climbed the stairs and reached for the doorknob. Before I could wrap my fingers around it, the knob turned and the door opened by itself – not much, only a few inches.

At first, I thought maybe I had actually pushed it open myself, but as I looked down at my still-outstretched arm and my empty grasping hand, I knew that I wasn’t going to be able to fool myself into thinking that.

That door had opened by itself.

A cool wind blew in from the field behind me at that moment, pushing the door open a little further, revealing a small, dark room inside. A heavy-looking desk squatted in the middle of the room. Through the gloom, I could see that stacks of old-looking papers were scattered across it.

I hesitantly stuck my head inside.

“Hello?” I asked in a very soft voice, but not really expecting an answer.

As soon as I spoke the wind blew again, lifting some of the papers from the desk into the air. They looked like giant moths as they fluttered down to the dusty tile floor.

“Anybody here?” I asked again, a little louder this time.

I pushed the door open all the way so as much light as possible would shine into the windowless room. Then I took a deep breath and stepped inside.

It took a second or two for my eyesight to adjust to the darkness. On the wall behind the desk were several hand-painted boards with extremely neat lettering. One board read: “
DAILY CAMP SCHEDULE
”; and the other said: “
REGISTRATION INSTRUCTIONS & CAMP RULES
”.

There were no pictures anywhere on the walls. An ancient-looking light fixture hung from the ceiling above the desk. I found a light switch by the doorway and flipped it up and down several times, but the light didn’t come on.

Dad ran up the stairs with my brothers just as I was reaching for one of the papers on the floor.

“Did you find them, William?” Aidan asked, hot sweat streaming down his crimson forehead. “Are we at the right place?”

“I don’t think so,” I said, and held the fragile piece of paper up to the sunlight, trying to read the faded words written there.

“Where is the water slide? Did they say where the water slide is? Where is the pool? I’m hot. I’m ready to go swimming. Where is the pool?” Ethan panted as he ran into the room. He stooped to rest with his hands on his knees.

“I don’t know,” I answered, still squinting at the paper. On it was a list of children’s names, probably campers from years long ago
. Ben Hinkle. Andrew Smith. Sam Crowley. Madolyn Rose. Kirsten Larsen. Neil Allen, Andy McClendon. Ethan Rohl. Austin Logan.

The paper in my hand felt so ancient, it made me wonder how many of those children were already dead from old age.

“If I don’t go swimming I’m going to die of heatstroke,” Ethan insisted.

“Is this the camp or not?” Aidan asked out of nowhere.

“It is and it isn’t,” Dad replied. I was sure his wishy-washy answer would only lead to Aidan asking several dozen more questions.

Ethan was closely inspecting the room, probably to see if any cold Mello-Yellos had accidentally been left behind.

“What’s in there?” he asked, pointing to the left of the desk at a closed door. I hadn’t noticed it before. It had a glossy coat of black paint that looked much fresher than anything else here, but for some reason, something about it made me feel nervous.

“I don’t know Ethan, but nobody’s here,” Dad said, probably sensing my anxiety. “We should probably go look and see if we can find any gasoline in a storage shed. Come on, guys, let’s get out of here.”

He shooed us towards the exit with his hands. Before I could take my first step towards the door and the sunshine that lay beyond, I heard a noise behind me that made my blood run cold.

I froze.

“Dad, look!” Ethan shouted as he pointed excitedly to the wall behind me.

I didn’t want to turn around. A rush of cool air rolled down the back of my neck, my arms, around my legs. I shivered.

“Look. Look.
Look
!” Aidan shouted, grabbing my arm and pulling me away from the exit, away from the sunlight.

Towards that door.

I turned around slowly to face it, knowing already it was open, knowing it had opened itself.

I turned around, hoping I was wrong.

I wasn’t.

The black door stood open wide. On the other side of the doorway was a much larger room than I had expected. In fact, I must have underestimated the size of this entire building, because beyond that black door lay what looked like an apartment. Thin beams of sunlight strained to illuminate the room through windows hidden behind heavy curtains.

My feelings of dread disappeared the instant I looked beyond the doorway, replaced instead with the overwhelming desire to go through it, to explore what lay beyond. I took a couple of steps forward, trying to get a better look.

My brother and Dad seemed to be feeling the same way. The four of us began shuffling towards the doorway, until our heads were crammed inside its frame, eagerly trying to get a look at what lay beyond without actually having to step across the threshold.

“Can we go in?” Ethan asked in a hushed tone. I was wondering the same thing myself.

“I don’t know,” Dad mumbled.

“Please,” Aidan begged, pushing so hard that I thought he might fall in.

Dad put his hand on Aidan’s shoulder, holding him back.

“I think it’s okay, Dad,” I said with the most authoritative tone I could muster.

“Just wait,” he said.

The rooms that lay before us were part of an elaborately decorated abode, barely illuminated in a musty gloom. Everything about the place was lavishly appointed, and ornate fixtures hung from the ceiling. Parisian-style furniture was crowded around an enormous ebony fireplace that lurked, cold and dormant, at the far end of the room. The mantel surrounding the fireplace displayed elegant craftsmanship, having been carved with an amazing level of detail.

The room had both the feeling of being lived in and of being empty at the same time. The scent of antiquity hung heavily in the air. Ancient newspapers and magazines towered in piles on end tables next to silken sofas here and there, as though the residents had set them down for a brief moment to run an errand that they had not yet returned from seventy-five years or so later.

“Hello?”

I was speaking that word into darkness for the second time today. My voice sounded as though it was being sucked into a vacuum, gone almost the instant the words left my lips.