by R. L. Stine
Larry and two other counselors, clipboards in hand, stood in front of us, shielding their eyes from the bright sun as they divided us into groups. The first group of about ten boys headed off to the river for a morning swim.
Some people have all the luck, I thought. I was eager to get to the waterfront and see what the river was like.
As I waited for my name to be called, I spotted a pay phone on the wall of the lodge. My parents flashed into my mind again. Maybe I will call them later, I decided. I was so eager to describe the camp to them and tell them about my new friends.
“Okay, guys. Follow me to the ball field,” Larry instructed us. “We’re going to play our first game of scratchball.”
About twelve of us, including everyone from my bunk, followed Larry down the hill toward the flat grassy area that formed the playing field.
I jogged to catch up to Larry, who always seemed to walk at top speed, stretching out his long legs as if he were in a terrible hurry. “Are we going to swim after this?” I asked.
Without slowing his pace, he glanced at his clipboard. “Yeah. I guess,” he replied. “You guys’ll need a swim. We’re going to work up a sweat.”
“You ever play scratchball before?” Jay asked me as we hurried to keep up with Larry.
“Yeah. Sure,” I replied. “We play it a lot in school.”
Scratchball is an easy game to learn. The batter throws the ball in the air as high and as far as he can. Then he has to run the bases before someone on the other team catches the ball, tags him with it, or throws him out.
Larry stopped at the far corner of the wide green field, where the bases and batter’s square had already been set up. He made us line up and divided us into two teams.
He started calling out names. But when he called out Mike’s name, Mike stepped up to Larry, holding his bandaged hand tenderly. “I—I don’t think I can play, Larry,” Mike stammered.
“Come on, Mike. Don’t whine,” Larry snapped.
“But it really hurts,” Mike insisted. “It’s throbbing like crazy, Larry. The pain is shooting all the way up and down my side. And look”—he raised the hand to Larry’s face—“it’s all swelled up!”
Larry pushed the arm away gently with his clipboard. “Go sit in the shade,” he told Mike.
“Shouldn’t I get some medicine or something to put on it?” Mike asked shrilly. I could see the poor guy was really in bad shape.
“Just sit over there,” Larry ordered, pointing to a clump of short leafy trees at the edge of the field. “We’ll talk about it later.”
Larry turned away from Mike and blew a whistle to start the game. “I’ll take Mike’s place on the Blue team,” he announced, jogging onto the field.
I forgot about Mike as soon as the game got underway. We were having a lot of fun. Most of the guys were pretty good scratchball players, and we played much faster than my friends do back home at the playground.
My first time up at the batter’s square, I heaved the ball really high. But it dropped right into a fielder’s hands, and I was out. My second time up, I made it to three bases before I was tagged out.
Larry was a great player. When he came up to the batter’s square, he tossed the ball harder than I ever saw anyone toss it. It sailed over the fielders’ heads and, as they chased after it, Larry rounded all the bases, his long legs stretching out gracefully as he ran.
By the fourth inning, our team, the Blue team, was ahead twelve to six. We had all played hard and were really hot and sweaty. I was looking forward to that swim at the waterfront.
Colin was on the Red team. I noticed that he was the only player who wasn’t enjoying the game. He had been tagged out twice, and he’d missed an easy catch in the field.
I realized that Colin wasn’t very athletic. He had long, skinny arms without any muscles, and he also ran awkwardly.
In the third inning Colin got into an argument with a player on my team about whether a toss had been foul or not. A few minutes later, Colin argued angrily with Larry about a ball that he claimed should have been out.
He and Larry shouted at each other for a few minutes. It was no big deal, a typical sports argument. Larry finally ordered Colin to shut up and get back to the outfield. Colin grudgingly obeyed, and the game continued.
I didn’t think about it again. I mean, that kind of arguing happens all the time in ball games. And there are guys who enjoy the arguments as much as the game.
But then, in the next inning, something strange happened that gave me a really bad feeling and made me stop and wonder just what was going on.
Colin’s team came to bat. Colin stepped up to the batter’s square and prepared to toss the ball.
Larry was playing the outfield. I was standing nearby, also in the field.
Colin tossed the ball high but not very far.
Larry and I both came running in to get it.
Larry got there first. He picked up the small hard ball on the first bounce, drew back his arm—and then I saw his expression change.
I saw his features tighten in anger. I saw his eyes narrow, his copper-colored eyebrows lower in concentration.
With a loud grunt of effort, Larry heaved the ball as hard as he could.
It struck Colin in the back of the head, making a loud crack sound as it hit.
Colin’s silver sunglasses went flying in the air.
Colin stopped short and uttered a short, high-pitched cry. His arms flew up as if he’d been shot. Then his knees buckled.
He collapsed in a heap, facedown on the grass. He didn’t move.
The ball rolled away over the grass.
I cried out in shock.
Then I saw Larry’s expression change again. His eyes opened wide in disbelief. His mouth dropped open in horror.
“No!” he cried. “It slipped! I didn’t mean to throw it at him!”
I knew Larry was lying. I had seen the anger on his face before he threw the ball.
I sank down to my knees on the ground as Larry went running toward Colin. I felt dizzy and upset and confused. I had this sick feeling in my stomach.
“The ball slipped!” Larry was yelling. “It just slipped.”
Liar, I thought. Liar. Liar. Liar.
I forced myself up on my feet and hurried to join the circle of guys around Colin. When I got there, Larry was kneeling over Colin, raising Colin’s head off the ground gently with both hands.
Colin’s eyes were open wide. He stared up at Larry groggily and uttered low moans.
“Give him room,” Larry was shouting. “Give him room.” He gazed down at Colin. “The ball slipped. I’m real sorry. The ball slipped.”
Colin moaned. His eyes rolled around in his head. Larry pulled off Colin’s red bandanna and mopped Colin’s forehead with it.
Colin moaned again. His eyes closed.
“Help me carry him to the lodge,” Larry instructed two guys from the Red team. “The rest of you guys, get changed for your swim. The waterfront counselor will be waiting for you.”
I watched as Larry and the two guys hoisted Colin up and started to carry him toward the lodge. Larry gripped him under the shoulders. The two boys awkwardly took hold of his legs.
The sick feeling in my stomach hadn’t gone away. I kept picturing the intense expression of anger on Larry’s face as he heaved the ball at the back of Colin’s head.
I knew it had been deliberate.
I started to follow them. I don’t know why. I guess I was so upset, I wasn’t thinking clearly.
They were nearly to the bottom of the hill when I saw Mike catch up to them. He ran alongside Larry, holding his swollen hand.
“Can I come, too?” Mike pleaded. “Someone has to look at my hand. It’s really bad, Larry. Please—can I come, too?”
“Yeah. You’d better,” I heard Larry reply curtly.
Good, I thought. Finally someone was going to pay some attention to Mike’s snakebite wound.
Ignoring the sweat pouring down my forehead,
I watched them make their way up the hill to the lodge.
This shouldn’t have happened, I thought, suddenly feeling a chill despite the hot sun.
Something is wrong. Something is terribly wrong here.
How was I to know that the horrors were just beginning?
9
Later that afternoon, Jay and I were writing our letters to our parents. I was feeling pretty upset about things. I kept seeing the angry expression on Larry’s face as he heaved the ball at the back of Colin’s head.
I wrote about it in my letter, and I also told my mom and dad about how there was no nurse here, and about the Forbidden Bunk.
Jay stopped writing and looked at me from his bunk. He was really sunburned. His cheeks and forehead were bright red.
He scratched his red hair. “We’re dropping like flies,” he said, gesturing around the nearly empty cabin.
“Yeah,” I agreed wistfully. “I hope Colin and Mike are okay.” And then I blurted out, “Larry deliberately hit Colin.”
“Huh?” Jay stopped scratching his hair and lowered his hand to the bunk. “He what?”
“He deliberately threw at Colin’s head. I saw him,” I said, my voice shaky. I wasn’t going to tell anyone, but now I was glad I did. It made me feel a little bit better to get it out.
But then I saw that Jay didn’t believe me. “That’s impossible,” he said quietly. “Larry’s our counselor. His hand slipped. That’s all.”
I started to argue when the cabin door opened and Colin entered, with Larry at his side.
“Colin! How are you?” I cried.
Jay and I both jumped down from our beds.
“Not bad,” Colin replied. He forced a thin smile. I couldn’t see his eyes. They were hidden once again behind his silver sunglasses.
“He’s still a little wobbly, but he’s okay,” Larry said cheerfully, holding Colin’s arm.
“I’m sort of seeing double,” Colin admitted. “I mean, this cabin looks really crowded to me. There are two of each of you.”
Jay and I uttered short, uncomfortable laughs.
Larry helped Colin over to his lower bunk. “He’ll be just fine in a day or two,” Larry told us.
“Yeah. The headache is a little better already,” Colin said, gently rubbing the back of his head, then lying down on top of the bedcovers.
“Did you see a doctor?” I asked.
“Uh-uh. Just Uncle Al,” Colin replied. “He looked it over and said I’d be fine.”
I cast a suspicious glance at Larry, but he turned his back on us and crouched down to search for something in the duffel bag he kept under his bed.
“Where’s Mike? Is he okay?” Jay asked Larry.
“Uh-huh,” Larry answered without turning around. “He’s fine.”
“But where is he?” I demanded.
Larry shrugged. “Still at the lodge, I guess. I don’t really know.”
“But is he coming back?” I insisted.
Larry shoved the bag under his bed and stood up. “Have you guys finished your letters?” he asked. “Hurry and get changed for dinner. You can mail your letters at the lodge.”
He started for the door. “Hey, don’t forget tonight is Tent Night. You guys are sleeping in a tent tonight.”
We all groaned. “But, Larry, it’s too cold out!” Jay protested.
Larry ignored him and turned away.
“Hey, Larry, do you have anything I can put on this sunburn?” Jay called after him.
“No,” Larry replied, and disappeared out the door.
Jay and I helped Colin up to the lodge. He was still seeing double, and his headache was pretty bad. The three of us sat at the end of the long table nearest the window. A strong breeze blew cool air over the table, which felt good on our sunburned skin.
We had some kind of meat with potatoes and gravy for dinner. It wasn’t great, but I was so hungry, it didn’t matter. Colin didn’t have much of an appetite. He picked at the edges of his gray meat.
The mess hall was as noisy as ever. Kids were laughing and shouting to friends across the long tables. At one table, the guys were throwing breadsticks back and forth like javelins.
As usual, the counselors, dressed in their green and white, ate together at a table in the far corner and ignored us campers completely.
The rumor spread that we were going to learn all of the camp songs after dinner. Guys were groaning and complaining about that.
About halfway through dinner, Jay and the boy across the table, a kid named Roger, started horsing around, trying to wrestle a breadstick from each other. Jay pulled hard and won the breadstick—and spilled his entire cup of grape juice on my tan shorts.
“Hey!” I jumped up angrily, staring down as the purple stain spread across the front of my shorts.
“Billy had an accident!” Roger cried out. And everyone laughed.
“Yeah. He purpled in his pants!” Jay added.
Everyone thought that was hilarious. Someone threw a breadstick at me. It bounced off my chest and landed on my dinner plate. More laughter.
The food fight lasted only a few minutes. Then two of the counselors broke it up. I decided I’d better run back to the bunk and change my shorts. As I hurried out, I could hear Jay and Roger calling out jokes about me.
I ran full speed down the hill toward the bunks. I wanted to get back up to the mess hall in time for dessert.
Pushing open the bunk door with my shoulder, I darted across the small room to the dresser and pulled open my drawer.
“Huh?”
To my surprise, I stared into an empty drawer. It had been completely cleaned out.
“What’s going on here?” I asked aloud. “Where’s my stuff?”
Confused, I took a step back—and realized I had opened the wrong drawer. This wasn’t my drawer.
It was Mike’s.
I stared for a long while into the empty drawer.
Mike’s clothes had all been removed. I turned and looked for his trunk, which had been stacked on its side behind our bunk.
Mike’s trunk was gone, too.
Mike wasn’t coming back.
* * *
I was so upset, I ran back to the mess hall without changing my shorts.
Panting loudly, I made my way to the counselors’ table and came up behind Larry. He was talking to the counselor next to him, a fat guy with long, scraggly blond hair. “Larry—Mike’s gone!” I cried breathlessly.
Larry didn’t turn around. He kept talking to the other counselor as if I weren’t there.
I grabbed Larry’s shoulder. “Larry—listen!” I cried. “Mike—he’s gone!”
Larry turned around slowly, his expression annoyed. “Go back to your table, Billy,” he snapped. “This table is for counselors only.”
“But what about Mike?” I insisted shrilly. “His stuff is gone. What happened to him? Is he okay?”
“How should I know?” Larry replied impatiently.
“Did they send him home?” I asked, refusing to back away until I had some kind of an answer.
“Yeah. Maybe.” Larry shrugged and lowered his gaze. “You spilled something on your shorts.”
My heart was pounding so hard, I could feel the blood pulsing at my temples. “You really don’t know what happened to Mike?” I asked, feeling defeated.
Larry shook his head. “I’m sure he’s fine,” he replied, turning back to his pals.
“He probably went for a swim,” the scraggly haired guy next to him snickered.
Larry and some of the other counselors laughed, too.
I didn’t think it was funny. I felt pretty sick. And a little frightened.
Don’t the counselors at this camp care what happens to us? I asked myself glumly.
I made my way back to the table. They were passing out chocolate pudding for dessert, but I wasn’t hungry.
I told Colin and Jay and Roger about Mike’s dresser drawer being cleaned out, and about how Larry pretended he didn’t know anything abo
ut it. They didn’t get as upset about it as I was.
“Uncle Al probably had to send Mike home because of his hand,” Colin said quietly, spooning up his pudding. “It was pretty swollen.”
“But why wouldn’t Larry tell me the truth?” I asked, my stomach still feeling as if I had eaten a giant rock for dinner. “Why did he say he didn’t know what happened to Mike?”
“Counselors don’t like to talk about bad stuff,” Jay said, slapping the top of his pudding with his spoon. “It might give us poor little kids nightmares.” He filled his spoon with pudding, tilted it back, and flung a dark gob of pudding onto Roger’s forehead.
“Jay—you’re dead meat now!” Roger cried, plunging his spoon into the chocolate goo. He shot a gob of it onto the front of Jay’s sleeveless T-shirt.
That started a pudding war that spread down the long table.
There was no more talk about Mike.
After dinner, Uncle Al talked about Tent Night and what a great time we were going to have sleeping in tents tonight. “Just be very quiet so the bears can’t find you!” he joked. Some joke.
Then he and the counselors taught us the camp songs. Uncle Al made us sing them over and over until we learned them.
I didn’t feel much like singing. But Jay and Roger began making up really gross words to the songs. And pretty soon, a whole bunch of us joined in, singing our own versions of the songs as loudly as we could.
Later, we were all making our way down the hill toward our tents. It was a cool, clear night. A wash of pale stars covered the purple-black sky.
I helped Colin down the hill. He was still seeing double and feeling a little weak.
Jay and Roger walked a few steps ahead of us, shoving each other with their shoulders, first to the left, then to the right.
Suddenly, Jay turned back to Colin and me. “Tonight’s the night,” he whispered, a devilish grin spreading across his face.
“Huh? Tonight’s what night?” I demanded.
“Ssshhh.” He raised a finger to his lips. “When everyone’s asleep, Roger and I are going to go check out the Forbidden Bunk.” He turned to Colin. “You with us?”
