Phil and the Ghost of Camp Ch-Yo-Ca (12 page)

YOU FEEL SOMETHING WARM
against your cheek. You’re deep in sleep, but this sensation
 
—it’s strange. It’s almost like someone’s standing over you, watching you, breathing on you. A person with hot breath and a cold heart.

Something scrapes along your bed.

You open your eyes with a jolt and scan the room.

No hot breath or cold heart to be seen. Surely you were just dreaming.

Then you hear mumbling from the bed next to you.

“I didn’t . . . No, it moved
 
—I didn’t hit it. . . . The tree hit the Jeep.”

It’s only John Luke talking in his sleep.

“A hundred trees
 
—mean trees
 
—flipped the Jeep. . . . Bad tree.”

You decide to leave your talking grandson and head to the bathroom. There are many good things about getting older, but these nightly trips are not one of them.

As you’re washing your hands, you hear something outside. A branch cracking. You don’t think it’s anything to worry about, but then you hear a few more cracks.

May as well open the door and peer outside. For a moment you don’t see anything but darkness. But then something white and oval-shaped approaches you.

More branches snap. The sound of footsteps can be heard. Running footsteps.

The white thing gets closer and closer until you can finally tell what it is.

It’s a white mask. With black eyes and a tiny nose and mouth.

Someone’s
wearing
the white mask and running toward you.

Close the door. Get back inside.

When the masked stranger is five feet from the cabin, you slam the door and hear a loud bang. You crack the door open, revealing the figure sprawled on the ground.

“Are you crazy?” you shout, stepping on the guy’s chest so he can’t move.

You assume it’s a guy because the person is big and tall. He’s also wearing camo.

Wait a minute.

You loom over him, hoping you appear intimidating and not scared at all.
Not at all.

“Take off the mask,” you command. You let him stand, but he doesn’t remove the disguise. “I said take it off. Who are you?”

He pulls off his creepy white Halloween mask to reveal . . . a dark, thick beard and long hair. He looks just like the guy you passed on the road earlier this evening.

“Were you hitchhiking out there?”

His eyes don’t move. He simply nods.

“What do you think you’re doing? What’s going on with the creepy mask?”

He just laughs.

“You think this is funny? I got a kid inside here. The police wouldn’t think it’s too funny.”

He keeps laughing. Then his smile turns grim.

“They’re coming,” he whispers.

“They’re coming? Who’s coming?”

He turns, and suddenly you see them. Several
 
—no, make that a dozen figures emerging from the dark.

Wait a minute. Where’d this fog come from?

They’re all wearing masks like his.

“Is this some kind of joke?” you ask.

The man keeps laughing. And you decide enough’s enough. You shut the door and lock it behind you.

You wake up John Luke and tell him to call
Willie or the cops
 
—or anybody
 
—but he doesn’t have cell service.

And you keep thinking,
This is a joke. This is a joke.
But it’s no joke at all.

The hitchhiker’s voice reaches you from outside. “You should have picked me up.”

Go here
.

YOU CRAWL BACK INTO BED
and pull the covers over your head.
Wait till I tell John Luke about this nightmare in the morning.

A crashing sound wakes you up. You open your eyes but see only darkness.

Somebody’s gonna pay for that noise.

You crawl out of bed, thinking again about your crazy nightmare. Alligators and beavers and John Luke and . . .

There’s the crashing sound again.

“It’s the middle of the night, and whoever’s making all that ruckus better zip it!” you shout out the window. Then you open the door, deciding a face-to-face confrontation might work best.

There in your cabin entryway stands a terrifying creature
 
—a creature you thought existed only in your wildest dreams.

You pinch yourself to make sure you’re not still sleeping.
Ouch.

The thing has a beaver tail and a long alligator snout with sharp teeth. It appears to be grinning.

Yes. It’s an allibeaver.

You notice that this particular allibeaver is wearing a bandanna.

A stars-and-stripes bandanna.

Willie’s bandanna.

Oh no.
John Luke must have gone home and infected his family. Now Willie’s here to get you. You wish you had an ax handy to cut off his tail and stop the madness.

As he charges you, you think about how much Willie’s always resembled an allibeaver in some ways.

THE END OF THE “TAIL”

Start over.

Read “The Shadows That Follow Us: A Note from John Luke Robertson.”

“WE WERE ALREADY HERE ONCE,”
John Luke says as you join him in the Jeep, the walls of the cabin crashing down amid the fire.

“John Luke, what are you talking about?”

“This place . . . this cabin. It will be the site of a crime in the future. And because of that, it must be destroyed.”

“Son
 
—did you eat too many fried pickles tonight?”

He gets out of the Jeep, his forehead dotted with sweat. You follow him.

“I had to make it right,” he says.

“What do you mean?”

John Luke is out of breath as if he’s been running laps for the last hour.

“I went into the bathroom, and then I saw it. Some kind of . . . outhouse. Right inside the cabin. It seemed really
familiar
 
—I’m not sure why. I got inside the outhouse, and then . . . something happened. I was transported to the future. And I saw a kid being bullied in this cabin.”

“So
you
did this?” You can’t believe it.

“It’s the only way. This kid I saw getting bullied
 
—it only happens here, in cabin one. It won’t happen if the cabin’s not here. I mean, it won’t be the same in cabin two. Right?”

You shake your head. “This doesn’t make any sense.”

“I know
 
—exactly. It’s mind-boggling, right?”

“No, John Luke. It’s just plain dumb.”

He looks at you. “Your mind’s not boggled?”

“No. Not at all. But yours, I’m thinking, might possibly be. We need to get you to a doctor, and fast.”

You’re about to drive John Luke to the hospital in West Monroe when you see it blocking your way. A wooden rectangular shape standing in the driveway leading out of the camp.

It’s an outhouse.

A strange-looking outhouse.

You look at John Luke, and then you head toward it.

You’re gonna go back in time and undo what he just did.

Why not?

Even if you can’t change John Luke’s actions, you bet time travel will be pretty fun. Fun enough to write a whole book about it, maybe.

THE END

Start over.

Read “The Shadows That Follow Us: A Note from John Luke Robertson.”

“SO WHAT'D THE THING LOOK LIKE?”

John Luke is driving you to the hospital in his Jeep. Miss Kay helped clean and bandage your arm a few minutes ago. The bite was pretty deep
 
—whatever sort of animal did this to you, it had big enough teeth to take off a chunk of your arm.

“I didn't see much of it, to be honest. But it had to be a wolf.”
What else could it be? A werewol
f
? A big, angry, oversize German shepherd?

“I haven't ever seen a wolf around here,” John Luke says.

“I've never encountered one that big anywhere. Or that annoying soundin'.”

A pain rips through your arm. It feels hot
 
—exactly like a searing burn, as if you're resting your forearm on a grill that's been cooking steaks for the past half hour. You tighten your fist and grit your teeth.

“You okay, Papaw Phil?” John Luke asks.

He must've heard you grunt.

“Oh yeah. Just a tad bit sore.”

You start to sweat and feel light-headed. You took a couple Advil, but now you know this is more serious.

“I think I might need some help once I'm at the hospital,” you tell John Luke.

The headlights piercing the dark country road begin to blur and blend. You see weird things in your head.

Packs of wild dogs . . . the countryside . . . the full blue moon . . .

The blackness of the night fills your head. You shake it and try to stay awake. “I'm feeling kinda dizzy.”

John Luke speeds up.

The burning continues, this time throughout your whole body.

Then something else happens. Your shoes feel too small. Your jeans too tight. Your shirt too snug.

It's like you're about to explode, to rip right out of your clothes.

Something's happening
 
—something bad. I'm changing. What's goin' on here?

You turn to John Luke and get this weird, awful sort of feeling.

You're hungry.

You glance down at your hand and see that it's become a paw. A wolf paw with long, sharp claws.

You want to scream but can't.

But that's okay because John Luke does it for you.

It's the last thing you remember before the transformation is complete.

THE HOWLING END

Start over.

Read “The Shadows That Follow Us: A Note from John Luke Robertson.”