Phil and the Ghost of Camp Ch-Yo-Ca (19 page)

YOU’VE GOT BETTER THINGS TO DO
than to keep looking for whatever kind of animal is making that weird noise. You’d rather try to get some shut-eye.

The howling doesn’t happen again, and you’re pleased that, for once, it doesn’t take you a long time to fall back asleep.

When morning comes, you plan to investigate the source of the noise that kept you up last night. But first you’re going to enjoy a cup of coffee and the bacon that Miss Kay is making for you and John Luke.

The phone rings, and John Luke answers, then hands the phone to you.

“Hello?”

“Phil, somethin’ bad’s happened.” It’s Isaiah. He sounds more worried than he did last night.

“What’s goin’ on?”

“The camp. There’s been . . . I just got here and I don’t
 
—”

“Whoa, whoa. Slow down. Tell me what’s wrong.”

“It’s covered in . . . I know this has to sound crazy, but it’s covered in cobwebs.”

You don’t think you heard him right. “You say
cobwebs
? Like spiderwebs?”

“Yeah.”

“What’s covered in cobwebs?”

“The entire camp.”

You laugh. “What are you talking about?”

“You have to come see it for yourself.”

“You’re serious?”

“Dead serious. And even more freaked out than I was yesterday.”

“Are you still around here? I thought you were going to a funeral.”

“I’m heading out this morning. I swung by the camp, and then . . . then this. I don’t even know who to call. I mean, what are the cops gonna do? And I have to get going. My flight’s leaving soon.”

“You go on, and John Luke and I will drive over there in a few minutes.”

“Thanks, Phil,” Isaiah says. Then he quickly adds, “Be careful.”

The problems at the camp sound more urgent than whatever was in the woods last night.

You and John Luke arrive at the camp less than an hour after the phone call.

Isaiah was right.

It’s unbelievable.

The first cobwebs you encounter are on the soccer field. They’re so thick, the field seems to be covered in snow. But you know it’s way too hot for snow. Plus, snow doesn’t hang off goalposts like loose clothing.

“Is that for real?” John Luke says.

He’s staring so hard the Jeep starts to drive toward a tree. You jerk the steering wheel straight.

“That is the creepiest thing I’ve ever seen,” he whispers.

You pass a sign covered by what looks like a blanket. But of course it’s actually a huge cobweb swaying slightly in the wind.

“Thousands of spiders must’ve done this,” you say. “Hundreds of thousands of spiders.”

“Where are they now?”

You’re about to answer when you pull up to the cabins. They’re all white. Every one of them. The webs are glistening sheets that glow in the sunlight.

It’s the weirdest thing you’ve ever seen in your life. And you’ve seen some weird things.

The outdoor tables are also covered in white. You notice speckles of black on top of them.

“There are some of the spiders.”

“I’m not getting out of the car,” John Luke says. “Look at all of them.”

You open the door. “Come on. They’re just spiders. They’re not buffalo.” But you’re beginning to have second thoughts.

The tree you’re parked next to is smothered in spiderwebs. You swipe it to see how thick the webs are.

Dozens of spiders move down the tree.

You jerk your hand away and hop back in the Jeep. It takes you a minute to decide what to do.

Do you try to clean up some of the cobwebs yourself?
Go here
.

Do you call for reinforcements fast?
Go here
.

AS THE FIREMEN BEGIN PUTTING OUT THE BLAZE,
you go straight over to the first police car that pulls up and tell the two uniformed officers that you’ll be sitting at the picnic table if they need to talk to you.

Ten minutes later you watch a guy in a trench coat walk around the scene, talking to the other officers and looking for clues. He’s wearing a Sherlock Holmes–type hat, and you half expect him to pull out a magnifying glass. Eventually he takes a call on his cell phone and walks in your direction after hanging up.

This trench coat dude must be a detective. You confirm this when you see he’s wearing a badge that reads
Donny A. True Detective
. You snort when you first read it.

There’s no way “True Detective” is his real last name. Robertson
is a last name. True Detective is a made-up name that means you’re not such a great detective after all.

Donny opens the notebook he’s carrying and starts going through a page full of handwritten notes. “I’d appreciate it if you’d give me a full account of the events of this evening.”

So you begin the story from the moment Isaiah entered your house. Donny cuts you off after you mention the hitchhiker.

“I suspected as much. My sources just confirmed the name of this drifter you encountered on the road: Nathan Fremont. Originally from Denver, Colorado. Spent some time in Florida and Georgia, then school in New York. Nathan Fremont’s a wanted man in several parts of the country.”

“For killin’ people?” you ask.

“No. For making bad films. Really, really bad films.”

“Really bad films?”

“So dumb they’re inexcusable,” the detective says. “He likes taking familiar horror movies and making them ridiculous. Basically he ends up insulting the directors of the original movies he’s mocking. He’s also been known to hypnotize some viewers of his films. When they’re in the trance, he exchanges his film for another movie, and afterward the viewers awaken and think his movie was really great.”

“He’s actually done this?”

“Yes. He’s wanted for questioning.”

“So what do you think happened here?” you ask.

“I think he drugged you. You were both hallucinating when we found you.”

“But everything that happened tonight
 
—it’s real.”

The detective shakes his head. “He wanted you to
think
it was real. Your wallets were stolen. So was everything in your Jeep.”

“How could he drug us?”

“The water in the camp,” the man says. “Maybe he was starting to experiment last week and it resulted in some of the campers ‘seeing things.’”

“What we saw was real.”

“Really? Do you want to go on record about what you’ve experienced tonight?”

“I’d prefer never going on the record unless I’m talking about my faith.”

The detective shuts his notebook and gives you a friendly smile. “I’m sure if you get tested out at the hospital, they’ll be able to trace the toxins in your bloodstream. Your grandson’s too.”

“And that’s it? Just like that. Everything explained?”

He nods, then thinks for a moment. “Some people in this life, Mr. Robertson
 
—they like things spelled out. As in
s-p-e-l-l-e-d
out. But others . . . others like a little mystery. A little curiosity. A little lack of explanation. It boils down to who you are and what version you want to accept. The messy version? Well, you can go to whatever page is your fancy. But
the neat, tidy version? Well, some only want to feel like the time they’ve spent has been worthwhile. They want a lesson and a pat on the back.”

“I don’t need either,” you tell him.

“Okay. Then you two go home and forget about this. Forget that we ever showed up. Forget about ghosts and monsters. Forget everything and just move on. That’s life, right? Strange things happen, and then you move on.”

You watch him get into his car and leave. Then you look around the camp, knowing very soon it will again be full of life and love and prayer and faith.

Maybe a little mystery isn’t such a bad thing after all.

THE END

Start over.

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

THERE’S SOMETHING EXHILARATING
about sitting in a theater and jumping in your seat at a scary part of the movie. Or walking through the dark forest and having your siblings pop out of nowhere and almost give you a heart attack. We hold our breath and freak out for a moment, sort of like when the roller-coaster ride takes that first inevitable drop.

But these are only temporary scares. They’re fun and simple.

Life gives us daily opportunities for fear to be a real thing. Like the shadows that follow us on the sidewalk, we can’t escape them. We can, however,
do
something about them.

Fears can be as small as worrying about a grade on a test or whether your friend will like the present you bought him. They can be big too. The anxiety of facing a bully nobody knows about. The dread of knowing your family is about to move to a new place.
The concern for a sick loved one. The terror of turning on the news and learning about the evil that’s out there in this world.

The one solace we can take is that God promises he is there. That he will
always
be there.

I love the image that’s described in Isaiah 41:13:

For I hold you by your right hand
 
—

I, the Lord your God.

And I say to you,

“Don’t be afraid. I am here to help you.”

The God of this universe is right there, holding our hand. He’s not too big to still be able to do that.

It reminds me of when I was young and I’d hold my father’s or Papaw’s hand. Their thick, rough hands reminded me I would be okay. They still do now.

It’s fun writing about allibeavers and things that go bump in the night. When you’re at camp, it’s fun sharing spooky stories around a fire. But that’s all they should be
 
—fun. Like this book. It’s great to laugh and even get a bit spooked from time to time.

God doesn’t want us to carry our fears around, though. He wants us to know we don’t have to be afraid. He really is walking right beside us, ready to protect and help us.