Phil and the Ghost of Camp Ch-Yo-Ca (14 page)

YOU’RE BACK OUTSIDE,
walking toward the lake, when curiosity gets the best of you.

You can’t believe you’re about to say this, but . . . “Tell me the story of Chief Stinkum.”

“Dad tells it the best.”

“You go ahead.”

John Luke is still carrying the feather, still looking around for others as if they’re clues. “There was once the Pungent tribe from the Great Reek Mountains.”

You stop him. “Is this story all about bad smells?”

He laughs and keeps talking. “Their chief leader was a big man, a sweaty man, the kind of man who could bathe and still smell.”

“Definitely sensing a smelly theme.”

John Luke kicks a dead log as you follow him up a hill and into the woods. “He had four sons.”

“Four, huh?”

“Yes, four. One was named Pompem. Another Stompem. Another was Cadagompem. And the final son was named Carl.”

“Carl?”

John Luke nods. “Carl.”

“Are you making this up as you go?” you ask him.

“Sorta. So anyway, this son named Carl, he always felt different. Maybe it’s because his brothers had cool names and he was named Carl. But there was something else too. He didn’t smell. All his other brothers were proud of the fact that they stank. They stank really, really bad. But not Carl. He could sweat in the sun all day but never start to smell.”

“Is this a ghost story?”

“Yeah. Just wait. You’ll see. This son, Carl, one day he decides he really wants to smell. So he tries to give himself gas. Like horrible gas. First he eats beans for breakfast. That works okay. Then he makes himself some stuffed boiled cabbage.”

You abruptly stop walking again. “Wait a minute. When does this story take place?”

“They’re a fairly modern tribe. Just work with me.”

You nod for him to keep going.

“The stuffed boiled cabbage
 
—oh, he’s really starting to let it go now. But Chief Stinkum and Carl’s brothers
 
—Pompem,
Stompem, and Chompem
 
—they don’t care. They’re not impressed.”

“Think you got that third name messed up.”

“So for dinner,” John Luke continues in a loud voice, “Carl decides to buy a gigantic jar of pickled eggs that have been sitting in a gas station for who knows how long. Maybe years. He eats a dozen of them.”

“When does the story get scary?” you ask as you arrive at the edge of Bluff Springs Lake.

“Right now. So the whole family’s at a campfire
 
—you know, ’cause you’re tellin’ the kids this story around a campfire
 
—and the wind is strong. Carl is sitting there, and he can tell the wind is blowing in the direction of his three brothers and Chief Stinkum. As usual, they’re laughing and ignoring him. So he waits for just the right moment.”

John Luke pauses for a second, looking at you with a big grin. “Then
boom
. It happens. It’s the loudest sound in the world. After that, the smell comes. And it’s awful. People start running away from the fire. Others pass out. Some start crying. But Chief Stinkum doesn’t move. He’s tough. He’s smelled worse. The floating cloudy mass somehow catches on fire, though, and that ends up shifting over to the chief, setting him on fire.”

“A gas pocket sets him on fire?” you ask. “This really is scary. To listen to.”

“Chief Stinkum runs down to the lake to douse the fire. But it’s too late. He’s gone. And later, at his funeral, the smell is still so strong that they can’t have his body there.”

“If Carl was my son, I might need to have some words with him.”

“Now legend has it,” John Luke says, “Chief Stinkum likes to haunt the kids at camp who smell the worst. He comes out from the lake and brings night terrors and bad breath. Whoever sees or is touched by Chief Stinkum will be stinky his whole life.”

“Stinky his whole life, huh? That is one terrifying tale.”

“My dad can really get going with the whole thing about Chief Stinkum coming back from the dead.”

You smile and gaze over the lake. Several more feathers are floating on the surface.

“Did you put those there?” you ask John Luke.

He’s staring at them in disbelief. “No way.”

“You sure?”

“Yes, sir. But the camp counselors before us probably did. Having some fun with the kids. Maybe we should get them.”

“Hmm. Maybe. But that is about the strangest campfire story I’ve ever heard. We could get a visit from Chief Stinkum tonight.”

“I hope not.”

Do you ignore the feathers but stay down by the lake for a while?
Go here
.

Do you let John Luke take the feathers out of the lake?
Go here
.

Do you head back to the cabins to pick one to sleep in?
Go here
.

SOMETIMES ONE SIMPLE CHOICE
can change the course of your day.

And sometimes one quickly made decision can change the fate . . .
of the entire world
.

You tell John Luke to come with you into the woods. You have no reason to think that there’s anything actually dangerous out there. If there’s some kind of weird animal, then you’ll find it and deal with it. On the other hand, if it’s a bunch of kids playing some pranks on the campers
 
—well, you’ll deal with them too.

It’s dark in the woods. The sky is clear and the moon is bright, but the trees are dense. Chirping crickets can be heard in every direction. Each step you take seems disruptive with the breaking of branches and the shuffling of boots over leaves and dirt.

“I think it came from this direction.” You point that way.

You take a few more steps before you hear something strange. It’s a different sound this time
 
—a scratchy sort of noise.

“You hear that?” you ask.

“Yes, sir.”

“It’s like an animal’s chewing on some wood,” you say.

John Luke doesn’t reply, but you bet you’re both thinking the same thing.

The noise fills the air, and yep
 
—you’d swear it sounds like a beaver chomping away on some wood.

You keep walking. There it is again.

The noise is coming from above us.

Then you hear another sound. This one is louder, wilder.

It’s a low-rumbling bellow.

The chomping seems to be gone.

“You don’t have a flashlight, do you?” you whisper to John Luke.

He reaches in his pocket for his cell phone. You’re surprised that it’s actually not a bad flashlight.

“Can that thing microwave some popcorn for me too?” you ask with a chuckle.

John Luke takes the lead, waving his glowing wand. The deep bass grumble can be heard again, this time directly above you
 
—nearer than before. You look up, and it all happens before you can blink.

Something drops from the trees . . . landing on John Luke.

You hear screams.

You rush toward him, grab at the thing, and find it’s some kind of
 
—

No, it can’t be.

But you don’t think anymore as you rip at the tough leathery hide and try to get the long animal away from John Luke. It’s an alligator from what you can feel and see, but then again . . .

It jumped out of a tree. An alligator literally hopped right out of a tree.

The gator suddenly gets on all four legs and starts to
 
—

You see its tail. Except it’s like no alligator tail you’ve ever seen.

“Go on! Get!” you yell, and to your surprise it waddles away on its tiny legs.

Wait a minute.

That tail . . . it’s long and round and . . .

You go to John Luke to avoid the craziness swirling around in your head.

“You okay, John Luke? That thing bite you?”

John Luke stands, and the first thing you notice is his eyes. They’ve darkened, yet they somehow seem to glow in the night. And then, right before your very eyes, he starts . . . changing.

I’m sleeping, and this is all in my mind. Those fried pickles have gotten to my brain.

John Luke’s mouth and nose start to grow, to sprout out, to morph into something long. While his teeth
 
—he’s growing fangs. They’re like alligator teeth.

It reminds you of those old horror movies where the man turns into a werewolf. Except this isn’t a werewolf.

It’s a weregator.

No, ’cause look at that thing sticking out of him
 
—a tail, a beaver tail!

You back up, and you’ve never backed up from anything in your life.

But your grandson has turned into an . . . an . . .

He gets on all fours and runs into the woods.

You can feel your heart beating and your forehead sweating, and you know you’ve lost your mind.

Si’s the one who’s supposed to lose it
 
—not me.

You snap out of it. Your grandson is an allibeaver, and you have to do something about it.

For a few seconds you can barely walk, your whole body shaking, your mind in shock. But then you start to jog. You chase him toward the cabins.

That’s when you see the lights on the Jeep.

John Luke
 
—no, he’s an allibeaver now
 
—is driving the vehicle.

The vehicle flies out of the camp and leaves you in darkness.

Do you return to the cabin and go back to bed since you’re
surely
dreaming?
Go here
.

Do you track down John Luke?
Go here
.