by Mary McCoy
Kadie waited behind the tree until her cabinmates caught up, and their little group walked down the dirt road toward the equipment shed together. The moment the Inge F. Yancey campers spotted them, they fell away from the boat and scattered, striking poses of impatience and indolence. Tania waved to them from the boat dock.
“You look tired,” she called out. “We can save this until tomorrow if you want to. You know, postpone your inevitable defeat.”
The other girls looked ready to take her up on the offer, but Kadie shook her head as they approached.
“We’re ready,” she said. “We just want to switch boats.”
Cressida tugged on Kadie’s arm and muttered through clenched teeth, “Are you crazy? Take the extra day.”
Kadie turned her back to the Inge F. Yancey campers and pulled the girls from Cabin 1 into a huddle.
In a whisper so quiet she was really only mouthing the words, Kadie said, “We’ve been sabotaged.”
Kadie whispered a few more instructions to her cabinmates, then Vivian and Kimber peeled away from the group and into the equipment shed. A few minutes later, they emerged toting a new boat over their heads.
Looking as though she had just been pickled, Tania sneered, “You can’t do that. It’s against the rules.”
“No, it isn’t,” said Kadie.
“Judges!” Tania shrieked. “We need a ruling.”
In no hurry, the trio of judges shuffled onto the dock, clutching one another’s arms for stability.
“What seems to be the trouble?” asked the judge in the floral-print dress, smoothing her skirt and freshening her lipstick.
Tania glared at the judge. “They can’t just change boats. Tell them they can’t do that.”
“Let’s see,” the judge said, pointedly tucking the tube of lipstick back inside her purse before turning to confer with the other judges.
After a moment’s discussion, the judge in the veiled hat cleared her throat and said, “The young lady is quite within her rights. There is nothing in the All-Camp Sport & Follies rules that would prevent the campers from getting a new boat.”
Kadie gave the Inge F. Yancey campers a triumphant smile.
“Besides, there’s something wrong with this one,” she said, pushing the sabotaged boat off the dock and into the water with a hard shove. The moment it splashed into the lake, pieces of the hull began to dissolve in the water like an Alka-Seltzer tablet.
Tania took Ron by the arm and made a simpering pouty face at him. “Well, a girl’s gotta try, doesn’t she?”
“Yeah,” Kadie said, looking over her shoulder to the other end of the boat dock, where her cabinmates were wrestling their new boat and oars toward the water. “Yeah, she does.”
The race wasn’t even close.
Fueled by determination, vengeance, and righteous indignation, Cabin 1 won by more than five lengths.
Inge F. Yancey: 2
Camp So-and-So: 1
A NOTE FROM THE NARRATOR
Before we continue, a word about the camp.
Of course, Camp So-and-So is not its proper name. There is something a little more formal inscribed on the letterhead.
It is not a secret; it is not hidden.
It is just that every time it is read or heard or spoken aloud, it goes up like a scrap of flash paper set alight, and all that remains is the memory of a place called Camp So-and-So.
Of course, it was not the intent of the first Inge F. Yancey that Camp So-and-So should have become a summer camp at all.
When he bought the land sight unseen, he had envisioned a lavish lakeside retreat where his friends and cronies could hobnob with Jazz Age luminaries. However, the stock market crashed before construction could begin, and, disappointed, Inge F. Yancey found himself preparing to sell off the land. He needed as much ready cash as possible to conceal from his family the extent of their financial ruin.
Inge F. Yancey acquired so much real estate that all his land deals tended to blur together, but there were things about this plot of land, which was nestled on a hard-to-reach hilltop on the outskirts of an obscure Appalachian town, that stood out to him as unique. He remembered that the land agent had been seedily eccentric with his purple pinstripe suit and hair that hung over his eyes. They’d drunk elderberry wine in Inge F. Yancey’s office as they finalized the details of the contract, and Inge F. Yancey remembered how excited he’d been about the prospect of opening his resort. He could almost see F. Scott and Zelda Fitzgerald clinking glasses by the lakeside.
Now, in retrospect, he realized he’d been giddy, which was unlike him. He was never giddy over a simple business deal and certainly not over a couple of freeloading inebriates like the Fitzgeralds. Why had he bought that land in the first place? he wondered. It was not practical, it made no business sense, he loathed the company of artists and writers, and so he bought a train ticket to the obscure Appalachian town to make the arrangements for selling the land.
Ordinarily, his chauffeur would have driven him, but Inge F. Yancey had fired the man, ostensibly for tardiness, the previous week. He’d been only five minutes late and claimed it was because his baby was ill, but Inge F. Yancey had no money to pay a driver and was looking for any excuse. He told his wife he’d been unable to find a suitable replacement, and that he’d enjoy the train ride for old time’s sake. He disliked lying about all these things, but found, paradoxically, that they were the kinds of lies that allowed him to face himself in the mirror.
Upon arriving in the Appalachian town, Inge F. Yancey hired a local man named Oscar to drive him up the hillside. When the truck would carry them no farther, they parked it in the middle of the dirt road and continued on foot. At first, Inge F. Yancey found the land to be utterly disappointing. The forests were infested with gnats and mosquitos. The the trees were gnarled, knotty, scrubby little things. Not only was it wholly unsuitable for a glamorous luxury resort, but it wouldn’t even be good for lumber.
Still, when he and Oscar crested a hilltop and emerged in a clearing that looked out over a pristine lake and a rolling green meadow, Inge F. Yancey had to admit that the view was lovely. But he had not come to this place to be charmed by views. He had expected to make a quick study of it, to determine how fast he could unload it and for how much, and to hope that it would be enough to finance his eldest son’s schooling abroad, his middle son’s summer at equestrian camp, his daughter’s debut into society, and the trip to Paris his wife had already paid for with money the Yanceys did not have.
He had not expected to fall asleep there on top of the hill overlooking the lake, the meadow, the forest-covered hillsides.
And when he woke, he had not expected to meet Tania.
What she offered him seemed impossible, and yet Inge F. Yancey found himself inclined to believe she could deliver on her promise to reverse his fortunes. And what she asked in return was so modest.
It was lonely here, she’d said, and she and her people had lived here so long with only each other for company. Perhaps Inge F. Yancey could arrange for some small entertainment?
The more he thought about it, the more perfect it sounded. What if, instead of having to sell the land for extra cash, word got out that he was developing it to start a luxury summer camp? A camp that would be open to the children of his friends and colleagues, and since there was so much land, he’d build a camp for the deserving poor, too. It would cement his reputation as a philanthropist, a magnanimous and generous tycoon, who, even at the height of international financial crisis, could muster the resources to give and give and give.
Within a few months, and with the help of Tania and her people, of course, Inge F. Yancey had made several shrewd and prescient business deals, cash flowed into his coffers, and construction was underway on what would become the Inge F. Yancey Young Executives Leadership Camp and Camp So-and-So. Thanks to Tania, there was now plenty of money again for his houses, for his sons and daughters, for their sons and daughters, for trips to Paris and trousseaus and part
ies.
And in the thirty years that Inge F. Yancey would oversee Camp So-and-So, before turning over control of the family interests to his eldest son and expiring in his bed, it never once troubled him that he’d gotten so much for so little, or that he did not entirely understand what Tania was getting out of the arrangement.
TO: Inge F. Yancey IV, CEO, Yancey Corp.
FROM: Octavia Henry, Director, Camp So-and-So
Dear Mr. Yancey,
Things have gotten rather desperate at Camp So-and-So. Due to the outrageous negligence of your assistant, Mr. Langley, the camp is without an operating budget, the bank seems never to have heard of us, and I can’t even afford to stock medical supplies, much less hire a counselor.
Now, Mr. Langley may think I can run this camp with no money, but I assure you, the girls will at least need to eat! I’ve attached the Kitchen Requisition form, submitted May 28 by Head Cook Theda Green, which was returned from your offices on June 5 stamped “Denied.”
I have seen the list of names and the signed waivers, and as far as I know, twenty-five girls are set to arrive in less than a week. However, without your immediate intervention, Mr. Yancey, I cannot in good conscience open Camp So-and-So to campers.
It may be too late to remedy the situation; the whole thing may be too far gone. If nothing else, I at least wanted to let you know how Mr. Langley has acted on behalf of your family’s interests—perhaps you should be looking for a new assistant!
Please let me know if help is coming, if I should even open the camp. If not, I have no choice but to resign as Director of Camp So-and-So.
Sincerely,
Octavia Henry
TO: Octavia Henry, Director, Camp So-and-So
FROM: Inge F. Yancey IV, CEO, Yancey Corp.
Ms. Henry,
Prepare the camp to the best of your ability, and open it to campers on the appointed date. When this has happened, and only after this has happened, I will accept your resignation.
IFY4
CABIN 2
KILLER IN THE WOODS
[SCENE: WALLIS, CORINNE, SHEA, HENNIE, and BECCA discover their counselor’s body hanging from the rafters of Cabin 2 and realize that ABIGAIL, a dangerously insane former camper, is likely to blame.]
That first night at camp, the girls from Cabin 1 slept soundly in their beds, but for Wallis, Corinne, Shea, Hennie, and Becca, the hours between dusk and dawn would hold no rest.
The crime scene inside their cabin had been carefully staged, from the bloody letters splashed on the ceiling to the flashlights taped to the corner posts, spotlighting poor Megan, dangling by her ankles with X’s drawn over her eyes with black marker.
It had the desired effect.
At first, the girls from Cabin 2 stood paralyzed with fear, unable to do anything but sob and scream. Then a terrible thought crossed Wallis’s mind.
“What if Abigail’s still here?” she whispered. “What if she’s watching us?”
With a yelp of fear, Corinne ripped a flashlight down from the corner of the cabin ceiling, Shea ripped down another, and they all ran for their lives.
A Note from the Narrator: They went to the other cabins for help, but the girls from Cabin 1 were still recovering from their run-in at the beach with Tania and her force field. Cabin 3 had set off on a quest to fulfill a prophecy. Cabin 4 was in the woods gazing at their soul mates for the first time, and where Cabin 5 had been, there was now only an impenetrable wall of brambles. The counselors were nowhere to be found, either by coincidence or design (though whose design, I wouldn’t dare to venture at this point).
It was Corinne’s idea to go back to the mess hall, where the camp director’s office and private quarters were housed on the second floor. However, what they found there was no better. The phone lines were dead. At first, they suspected that this was Abigail’s doing, but the real reason was actually a matter of housekeeping.
The camp director’s office and quarters were empty and looked as though they’d been abandoned in a hurry. The computer hard drive was gone, but the monitor remained. A wall safe hung open, emptied out. On the desk, Wallis found a stack of unpaid phone and utility bills dating back six months. No wonder they’d been eating gray hot dogs for dinner. There was no power, no phone service, no computer, no gas.
“The director must have left right after the Welcome Campers dinner,” said Hennie.
Corinne groaned. “Which means she probably took her car. But there has to be some other kind of vehicle around here, a bus or a truck or something.”
“THERE’S AN EQUIPMENT SHED AT THE NORTH END OF THE LAKE. THERE MIGHT BE A TRUCK THERE,” Shea said.
They all shushed her at once. Not even the prospect of being stalked by a murderous lunatic had encouraged Shea to lower her voice.
“I’M TRYING,” Shea said. “I DON’T SEE WHY IT MATTERS, THOUGH. WE’RE PRETTY EASY TO SPOT WITH THESE FLASHLIGHTS ANYWAYS.”
“Shea’s right,” Corinne said, swallowing hard. “We should turn off the flashlights.”
Of all of them, Wallis observed that Becca’s shift into survival mode was the most tenuous. Since fleeing the horrors of Cabin 2, she’d done little but whimper and sob and whisper under her breath, “I want to go home. I want to go home.” When Corinne introduced the prospect of turning off their flashlights, she began to hyperventilate.
The only thing holding her together was Shea. She’d held Becca’s hand and dragged her along with the rest of the group as they’d run from cabin to cabin, and then to the camp director’s quarters above the mess hall, all the way bellowing reassurances that had no basis in reality but, nonetheless, helped a little bit. Now, she pulled Becca into a hug, saying, “IT’S OKAY. I PROMISE IT’S ALL GOING TO BE OKAY,” until Becca’s breathing slowed again, and her sobs subsided to a less distracting level.
Still, it was clear that the notion of trekking nearly a mile in the dark to an isolated shed, with or without flashlights, appealed to no one. For a moment, they stood there, staring at each other and trying to think of a better plan, until finally, Wallis mustered the courage to speak.
“What about Oscar?” she asked. “He’d know.”
“The creep on the lawn mower?” Corinne asked. “Sorry, but that doesn’t sound any better to me.”
“YEAH, FOR ALL WE KNOW, HE’S ABIGAIL’S ACCOMPLICE OR SOMETHING. HE DIDN’T SEEM SCARED OF HER OR ANYTHING.”
“Well, isn’t that a good thing?” asked Wallis. “An adult who is actually here and not scared of Abigail?”
“But what if he’s not here?” Hennie asked.
She had a point. It was likely that most camp staff—if there were any—did not actually live on the campgrounds. Still, Wallis thought, Oscar had been mowing long after the Welcome Campers dinner had ended, and he didn’t exactly seem like the sort of person who went home to a loving family at the end of each day. Maybe he had some kind of arrangement with the camp director to maintain the grounds and keep an eye on the place during the off-season in exchange for room and board.
He’d stay in a cellar or a broom closet, Wallis thought. Some place small and out of the way. Some place like the small storage shed right behind the mess hall. Yes, that seemed about right.
“If he’s here, I know where he’d be staying,” Wallis said, feeling suddenly sure of herself. “It’s not far either.”
“FOR ALL WE KNOW, HE MADE UP THAT STORY ABOUT ABIGAIL,” Shea said, then added with a gasp, “WHAT IF HE’S THE ONE WHO KILLED MEGAN?”
“He wouldn’t have had time. We went straight back to the cabin after we talked to him,” Wallis said.
“He could have done it beforehand,” Hennie offered, and the other girls in Cabin 2 were startled by the sound of her voice. She’d been so quiet, even in the midst of discovering Megan’s body, they’d almost forgotten she was there.
Wallis shook her head at Hennie’s suggestion. “Megan put up all those decorations after dinner, so the cabin must have been fine then.”
Corinne c
radled her forehead in her hands and massaged her temples for a moment before looking up, a plan of action glinting in her eye.
“All in favor of going to the equipment shed to see if there’s a truck, raise your hands,” she said, raising her own hand. A second later, so did Shea.
She nodded, thoughtfully. “And those in favor of finding Oscar, raise your hand.”
Wallis and Hennie raised their hands, then turned their eyes to Becca, who stood there quaking, her eyes closed and her arms crossed.
“What do you want to do, Becca?” Corinne asked.
“I want to go home,” Becca said, clutching at her arms and twisting from side to side.
“You’re the deciding vote, so you have to make up your mind and tell us,” Corinne said, her voice gentle, but with a hint of impatience at the edges.
“I want to go home.”
Wallis took Becca by the shoulders and gave her a shake.
“Becca, if you don’t make up your mind, Hennie and I are going to go look for Oscar, and Corinne and Shea are going to go to the equipment shed, and we will leave you here by yourself.”
Becca’s eyes flew open, and she began to cry. Corinne hissed at Wallis to shut up, and Shea decided to take a gentler approach.
“BECCA, WE NEED YOU TO BE BRAVE NOW. WHAT DO YOU WANT TO DO?”
“Becca,” Wallis whispered, “the equipment shed is really far away. Oscar’s shed is only a few yards from here.”
It was not the nicest thing she had ever done, manipulating poor Becca like that, but Wallis had a feeling she was right about Oscar. Maybe Corinne thought he was creepy, but Wallis trusted him. What’s more, she knew that if there was anyone at camp who could help them, it was him.
