by Joey Comeau
He stood up suddenly and came around to the front of the desk, so that he was standing right in front of Martin. He smelled like soap and shampoo. Tony crouched down so their faces were inches apart.
“I started teaching at this camp so I could help people find Jesus in their hearts,” he said. “That used to make me happy. It made me feel like I was making the world a better place. A kinder place. And there’s nothing wrong with that. I don’t begrudge that old version of myself his happiness. But I think he was happy because he was doing what he was supposed to do. He wanted to make other people happy, and that . . .” he trailed off.
“I think people can just change. They can just wake up one morning and see the world a whole new way. Not better or worse, just different. Who hasn’t thought about just cutting loose?” Tony said. “We all want to go a little crazy sometimes, I think. We all want to just start tossing jellyfish around. It’s fun. It sounds fun. But most people just push those feelings down. They go around pretending that they are one kind of person when inside they are really a different kind of person. Why would God give us those feelings if they were so wrong?”
Martin didn’t say anything. He looked at the priest, and he couldn’t see anything cruel or mean in his eyes. Tony was smiling and happy, and it made Martin feel cold in his stomach. There was a small drop of blood on the priest’s collar. He had killed people, counsellors and children, and he was going to kill more. There was no doubt in Martin’s mind. But he didn’t seem even a little bit evil or mean. He smiled at Martin, and it was so genuine and so relaxed that Martin almost smiled back.
“Anyway,” Tony said. “I’m rambling, aren’t I? Don’t worry about the jellyfish thing. If that jellyfish had stung her out in the ocean, it’s not like we would get mad at the jellyfish, would we? Why are your impulses any less natural? So go on, get out of here. The heart wants what the heart wants. And sometimes the heart wants to throw jellyfish on little girls.”
Courtney’s feet were cut and bleeding, but she couldn’t feel them any more. They were just a part of the dull ache from her whole body. Her back was covered in jellyfish stings, her feet were torn from the branches and stones on the forest floor, and her lungs burned from running. She couldn’t stop running. He was going to get her. He was going to appear from behind the next tree. Or she would turn around and he would be right behind her.
But Father Tony didn’t appear. And Courtney kept running through the woods until suddenly she was standing on the gravel shoulder of a paved road. She turned right and kept running, enjoying the cool smooth feel of night-time pavement under her feet after the rough branches. Melissa and Joan thought she was getting help. They would just be waiting back at the camp for help. They didn’t know. They didn’t know about Sherri-Lynn. But Courtney couldn’t go back and warn them. Even if she wanted to, her body wouldn’t go back that way. She would find someone to help. She would get to safety and find someone to help. Oh god, she wanted to be safe. She wanted to know that she was safe and that Tony was not behind her.
She ran along the road in the dark, crying and trying to stay upright. She didn’t even notice the night sky stretching out above her, filled with stars. She just looked at the pavement in front of her, until suddenly the whole street was lit up with the headlights of an approaching car. It was coming from ahead of her. It was the opposite direction from the camp. But it could still be him, couldn’t it? He could have come after her in Sherri-Lynn’s car. She stood in the headlights, thinking that she had to decide, but not making any decisions. Not even really thinking. It didn’t matter what she decided. All she could do was stand there in her bare feet, waiting for the car to stop.
It wasn’t Sherri-Lynn’s car. It was a pickup truck, and the woman who climbed out wasn’t from the Bible camp at all. Courtney was shivering in her bathing suit, her feet were cut and torn, and she still had Sherri-Lynn’s dried blood all over her face. Her tears had streaked the blood a little, but not much.
“Good God almighty,” the woman said, kneeling down in front of Courtney. “Are you okay? What are you doing out here? Whose blood is this?” She took her jacket off and wrapped it around Courtney. There was no one else on the road with them. “Where did you come from?” she said.
“The police,” Courtney said. “We have to call the police. He’s killing people.”
“Come with me,” the woman said.
Courtney didn’t fight when the woman led her around to the passenger door. It was warm in the car, and even the scrape of material against her raw back felt reassuring. The woman walked around the truck again and climbed in on the driver side, and she put the truck in gear and they started to drive. Courtney didn’t know where they were going, and it didn’t matter. She couldn’t run any more anyway.
Cindy turned the shower knob toward the red just a bit more. It was sensitive. Even the slightest movement could turn the water from tepid to scalding in an instant, but she needed the water hot. It helped her calm down. The intensity of the heat on her skin cleared her mind. She was so tired of listening to her campers complain about the bugs, or about not having television.
She stood there, with her head against the shower wall, letting the scalding water turn her skin pink, and tried to let go of her stress. She did not notice Ricky peering around the corner from the doorway. He could see her only from behind. Her blonde hair was dark with water.
Cindy sighed. The heat was working. She was calmer. After this, she could go back to her cabin and smile and laugh with the girls, and she would try her best not to think about Chip until later that night, when she would actually get to see him. She turned so that her back was against the wall tiles and she ran her hand down her stomach, and on down between her legs. Ricky drew his breath in sharply. He covered his mouth, but it was too late. Cindy was looking right at him.
Cindy saw Ricky watching, but she kept right on touching herself. Let the little pervert watch. What did she care? Hell, maybe she should give him a show. She closed her eyes and tilted her head back, opening her mouth and letting herself moan a bit more than she normally would. The hot water poured down over her face and body.
It was too much for him to handle. Ricky turned and ran. He stumbled out into the hallway, and right into Father Tony. The priest looked puzzled at Ricky’s presence.
“I was . . .” Ricky said. He backed away toward the door to outside, to the cabins. “I was just going back to my cabin,” he said.
He had gone into the wrong showers by mistake. That was all. That was believable, right? He had just made a mistake. It was dark in the hallway. People made mistakes all the time. Tony smiled at the camper and nodded. Ricky smiled back, then turned and ran out the door, into the night air and toward his cabin, relieved to have gotten away with it. He hadn’t even noticed the axe in Tony’s hands.
Inside the girl’s showers, under the hot jets of water, Cindy was getting more worked up. She let out another moan, even louder than before. The water wasn’t as hot now, against her body. She liked the feel of it over her skin. She heard a sound halfway across the room. Probably Ricky coming closer, trying to get a better look. Maybe building up the courage to try and touch her.
“Don’t push your luck, kid,” Cindy said. But she kept her eyes closed and did not stop touching herself. She liked this feeling. Being watched made her feel dirty. She was close to coming. So close.
With her eyes closed, she didn’t see Tony. He lifted the axe into the air, and then brought it down hard with both hands into the crook between her neck and shoulder. She thought the bright pain was an orgasm at first, but it was too bright and there was too much of an edge to it.
The axe cut deep and her feet slipped out from under her. She fell onto her ass and her eyes flew open. She didn’t understand what she was seeing at first. Father Tony was standing above her, the shower water soaking him from the waist down. There was something on her shoulder.
Tony put his foot ag
ainst her chest, and tried to yank the axe out of the bone. It was stuck. He pushed his foot harder, working the axe up and down a bit while Cindy watched him. It finally came free and she felt that empty far-away sleepiness she felt after she came. She could just curl up here on the tiles and sleep. She closed her eyes and let herself fall slowly to the side. She laid her head on the tile floor, which felt soft and warm. Tony struck her again. Cindy didn’t notice.
The shower washed away the blood as it spilled out of her, running across her cheek and away down the drain. Tony turned the shower off, then knelt beside her. He ran his fingers through her wet blonde hair.
“I would probably look good as a blonde,” he said. “Don’t you think?”
She didn’t answer him, but there was a mirror on the far wall. He could see for himself. Tony pulled his knife out of his pocket and started to carefully remove her scalp.
Martin didn’t look up when Ricky came running into the cabin, the screen door banging. He was too busy rooting through his suitcase. Melissa and Joan were waiting for him outside, and he had to find his knife. But it wasn’t where he left it under the mattress. He just wanted to get his knife and go. They were going to run. They were going to head out into the woods and follow the shoreline. There had to be houses. There had to be someone who could help.
“Are you looking for your knife?” Ricky said. “I was playing with it, but you can have it back if you want.” He lifted his own mattress and pulled the knife out. “What do you need a knife for anyway?”
“Father Tony is killing people,” Martin said. “He’s murdering people. We have to run away. You can come with us, Ricky. But we have to go right now.”
Ricky tossed the knife onto Martin’s bed and laughed. “I must look like a real idiot, huh?” he said. Ricky turned and walked out of the cabin without another word.
Martin grabbed the knife and went after him. It was quiet and cool outside, and there was no one around. Where were Melissa and Joan? Ricky was walking toward the main building, and Martin wanted to call after him, but Tony could be anywhere. He could be listening. Still, he couldn’t let Ricky go back. He had to help him.
“Hey,” someone called from the woods to his left.
Martin couldn’t see anything at first. But as his eyes adjusted to the darkness he could see Joan’s head peeking out from behind a tree. He ran to where they were hiding.
“We have to get Ricky,” Martin said. He pointed to where Ricky was climbing the steps to the main building. “We can’t just leave him.”
“We’re leaving everyone else,” Melissa said. “I’m not going back into that building. I’m going home.”
Joan didn’t say anything, and Melissa shook her head.
“Come on, Joan. Don’t do this. We know this is stupid. We can’t go back for him. We will go and get help. The police can save him.”
Martin was ready to just run into the darkness with them, to leave everyone behind and save himself. He had to live. He had to get home to his mother. That was the important thing. She needed him. He couldn’t leave her alone. But now that Ricky was right there, just across the field, it didn’t feel right. It didn’t feel right to just leave him for Father Tony to find.
Chip turned the shower temperature up. He liked it hot. It made him grimace, and grimacing made him feel like the star of an old Western. When the water was too hot, it was something to endure. A challenge. He stood in the water, not washing himself or anything, just enduring the heat and grimacing. It was nice to have this time to himself without those idiot children around. He wanted to enjoy his summer, to enjoy the outdoors and be around people who loved Jesus. Bible camp was the one time a year when he let himself believe the best about people. Children were supposed to be kind, and full of hope, not violent little brats who threw jellyfish on each other.
But of course children weren’t kind or full of hope. Every year he realized this. Children were little monsters. Hateful little sociopaths. Chip turned so that the hot water hit his chest, and the heat was even more intense against his muscled body. He enjoyed the pain for a few minutes, enjoyed grimacing. Eventually he reached out and turned the water down to a more reasonable temperature so that he could wash. The warm water felt cool by comparison.
He stood facing the wall, rubbing the soap through his chest hair, then up and down each of his arms. He soaped the muscles on his upper arms and his shoulders. The skin felt tight and powerful under his touch. While he washed, he thought about soaping up Cindy’s body, running the bar over her breasts. He imagined the suds on her body while her boyfriend stood watching them. Chip let out a gasp, and reached down between his own legs.
He didn’t notice Ricky, peeking around the corner into the shower, watching as Chip stroked himself. Chip put his free arm against the wall for support. Ricky could only see the counsellor’s hand moving, and his butt flexing again and again.
The water was still a bit too hot. Chip grabbed the shower knob, making it cooler on his skin. This wasn’t sexy enough. He needed something else. Chip turned and leaned back against the wall, imagining Cindy in a short skirt. She was climbing a ladder, just high enough that he could almost see her underwear. Then she stopped and came back down. She climbed up again, slower this time, a gentle breeze swishing the material of her skirt, promising him a view. But it never moved the material quite far enough.
He heard a small gasp and opened his eyes, startled back to reality. Ricky was watching him, peeking from the doorway. Chip stared at him for a second. But he wasn’t gonna stop now. He closed his eyes and leaned back against the wall. He ran his free hand over his soapy abdominal muscles.
He pictured Cindy on the ladder again, this time holding a metre stick, like his elementary school teacher, Mrs. North.
Then one of the bathroom stalls kicked open from inside, the metal door slamming open with a clang. It was Father Tony. It looked like Tony, anyway. He was wearing his priest outfit with the white collar, but it looked like he was also wearing a wig. He was wearing a wet blonde wig, with strands of hair clinging to his forehead.
“Hi Chip,” Tony said, in a high-pitched falsetto. “It’s me, Cindy!” The priest arched his back, as though jutting invisible breasts forward. Then he pulled the axe out from behind his back and laughed, still in that high falsetto. “I’m a very naughty girl!” Tony said, lifting the axe up to strike.
Chip let go of his dick and raised his arms to cover his face, but the axe went low, chopping into Chip’s knee from the side. He staggered, but stayed upright. He dropped his arms away from his face and looked down.
“Oh,” Chip said.
There was a deep gash where the axe had struck him. Tony struck the knee again, the axe cutting further this time. This wasn’t right, Chip thought. He looked around for where he had left his underwear. He was naked, and his erection was right there for everyone to see. He had to cover up. He put his hands over his dick, protecting himself as Tony pulled back for another blow. This time the axe made it most of the way through his knee. The joint was split and the kneecap hung from the bottom part of his leg.
Ricky watched in horror from the doorway. Chip fell to the side, but he didn’t lift his hands to cushion his fall. He just kept them cupped around his dick. He looked like a tree falling over in the forest, tearing free of its stump.
“Why?” Chip said. He was on his side now, his face against the tiles, looking up at Tony. “Why are you doing this?” His voice was weirdly calm. He sounded like he was asking an everyday question. What time is chapel tonight? Where did you get that watch? “Why are you doing this?” he said again.
“It’s not me,” the priest said, kneeling down beside him. Blood was pooling around Tony’s shoes.
Chip was confused and pale. He was still covering himself. “It’s you, Chip,” Tony said. “You still don’t understand, do you?”
Chip’s head was lolling a bit, and his eyes were less focused now.<
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“It’s been you all along! You went crazy and killed Cindy. You killed those children.”
“No,” Chip said. He couldn’t think properly. “I didn’t kill, I didn’t kill anyone, did I?”
Tony poked him in the bloody knee with the axe. The lower half of Chip’s leg was barely attached any more, connected with some tendons.
Chip screamed and Tony jumped to his feet with a laugh.
“I’m just kidding, Chip!” Tony said. “It was me!”
And with that he stepped back and tilted his head curiously. Then he took a practice swing with the axe, like it was a golf club, lining up his shot before his real swing, up into Chip’s face. The axe cut deep, and Chip’s body started convulsing. More blood poured out.
“Gah!” Ricky said over by the doorway. He clamped his hand over his mouth, but it was too late. Tony looked over at him and took the damp wig off his head, dropping it on the floor beside Chip’s body with a wet sound. He gave a small wave.
“Hi there!” he said.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“Gaaaaaah!” Ricky burst out of the main building, running toward the cabins.
Adrian and Gavin were standing at the base of the Flying Fox, waiting for one of the other campers, William, to come swinging down so they could have their turns. They heard Ricky but had no idea what the sound was, at first. It was Adrian who spotted him, running their way. Father Tony was right behind him, axe in hand.
“Gaaaaaaaaaaaaah!” Ricky said as he passed Adrian.
He should have told them to run. But all he could think about was getting away. Into the woods. To the highway. How far was the highway?
He kept running. They would run. They would see Tony and the axe and they would run. The woods were right there. And the highway couldn’t be that far, could it? Up to the road where the driveway broke off, and then down that road for how long? Oh god, how long had that dirt road been?
